(no subject)
In a fit of wretched decision-making, both Lupin and Black have been instated as professors for the duration of the term. Isn't it lovely going to Hogwarts? Best wizarding school in the world, my foot. They have us being taught by WEREWOLVES! And dogs! Escaped convict long-haired dogs! You should see the looks Black and Potter exchange in class. I'd rather not disgust myself with the thoughts, but you can piece two and two together for yourselves.
I would just like to make it perfectly known, right here, logged for all to see years from now, that I hate Potter. Of course, I'd hated him before this, but I've never been forced to read his absurd little journal before. How boring can one person get? Of course, Peter Weasley is rather boring himself. Good lord, am I the only one on here who actually leads an entertaining life?
Had a lovely evening with Pansy. Actually, before any of you decide to cast ill thoughts upon my journal, allow me to clarify by saying that Pansy Parkinson is a lovely girl who happens to relish in completing my assignments for me. Of course, I am such a giver, I can't help but let her do it. The girl wants to. So, while I went flying this evening, Pansy sat on the Quidditch field doing my History of Magic essay. She kept shouting something about not being able to feel her legs anymore, but I think it was just her way of flirting.
Being the Captain of my Quidditch team is almost a tiring task, I must admit. Why should I be the one expected to make up the schedules for practice? Can't they just congregate without me? I know what I have to do, they can figure out the rest for themselves. One of my Beaters, Millicent, actually had the nerve to come to me today asking what she should do about the latest broom she's broken. She almost hit me when I suggested she shed a few pounds.
The nerve of that girl. Perhaps I'll start a petition about her dieting for the good of her house. I've been taking her abuse for far too many years. I ought to do something about it when I've got the time.
This morning I caught Potter talking to a painting that didn't talk back. It was a landscape. And you doubt me when I say there's something wrong with that piece of lice.
I would just like to make it perfectly known, right here, logged for all to see years from now, that I hate Potter. Of course, I'd hated him before this, but I've never been forced to read his absurd little journal before. How boring can one person get? Of course, Peter Weasley is rather boring himself. Good lord, am I the only one on here who actually leads an entertaining life?
Had a lovely evening with Pansy. Actually, before any of you decide to cast ill thoughts upon my journal, allow me to clarify by saying that Pansy Parkinson is a lovely girl who happens to relish in completing my assignments for me. Of course, I am such a giver, I can't help but let her do it. The girl wants to. So, while I went flying this evening, Pansy sat on the Quidditch field doing my History of Magic essay. She kept shouting something about not being able to feel her legs anymore, but I think it was just her way of flirting.
Being the Captain of my Quidditch team is almost a tiring task, I must admit. Why should I be the one expected to make up the schedules for practice? Can't they just congregate without me? I know what I have to do, they can figure out the rest for themselves. One of my Beaters, Millicent, actually had the nerve to come to me today asking what she should do about the latest broom she's broken. She almost hit me when I suggested she shed a few pounds.
The nerve of that girl. Perhaps I'll start a petition about her dieting for the good of her house. I've been taking her abuse for far too many years. I ought to do something about it when I've got the time.
This morning I caught Potter talking to a painting that didn't talk back. It was a landscape. And you doubt me when I say there's something wrong with that piece of lice.