DIARY ENTRY: 1 September, 1942
I had that dream again last night.
The beds black iron white sheets wet and sloppy with so much blood messy blood dirty blood
filthy blood
I washed it all away with magic, though. It's so much better, now. Everything is.
I hope I dream it again tonight.
I read a book, The Purity of Magic. I'm tired of reading that sort of rubbish. All those authors know how to do is blather on about revolution and purity but they don't have the power. They can't kill. Only the strong kill. The weak die like old Muggles at the dinner table.
It's so good to be back home.
The beds black iron white sheets wet and sloppy with so much blood messy blood dirty blood
filthy blood
I washed it all away with magic, though. It's so much better, now. Everything is.
I hope I dream it again tonight.
I read a book, The Purity of Magic. I'm tired of reading that sort of rubbish. All those authors know how to do is blather on about revolution and purity but they don't have the power. They can't kill. Only the strong kill. The weak die like old Muggles at the dinner table.
It's so good to be back home.