(no subject)
I finally found my journal today. I’d had it in the back pocket of a pair of jeans that were under me bed and squished behind a few old copies of the prophet, which were trapped under a rather heavy case of broom polish. I have no idea how it got there, but mam says if I don’t get me room cleaned up soon she’s going to…well she never finished the threat but I’m sure it’s something awful.
I meant to write about staying at Deans house, but he really already went over most of it. I deny talking in my sleep though. I sleep quietly and have never before been told that I talk. Harry, Ron, Neville, I don’t talk in my sleep do I? I mean, I know I’m known to fall out of bed on occasion or be tackled by a particularly ruthless bedsheet, but talking, really?
I meant to write about staying at Deans house, but he really already went over most of it. I deny talking in my sleep though. I sleep quietly and have never before been told that I talk. Harry, Ron, Neville, I don’t talk in my sleep do I? I mean, I know I’m known to fall out of bed on occasion or be tackled by a particularly ruthless bedsheet, but talking, really?