I think pink looks bloody good on me. Don't you?


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It's been nigh on 4 days after the Creevy brothers' bloody bakesale, but people are still popping in after turning invisible and still spouting truths that frankly, I do not need to hear - like Orla Quirke's rather hurried confession that sometimes she fancies I'd turn up in front of her bearing chocolates and cranberry sauce. Cripes, I almost had ( Read more... )

Hogsmeade: fun.

Baked goods: yum.

Colin and Denis Creevy: therearenowordsforthosetwo. Seriously.

Have done good and moral duty of informing everyone on proper way to say 'occlumency'. Feel that all is right in world. Except, perhaps for one or two things ( Read more... )

Hannah has no eyebrows. She's just one big forehead now.

The Slytherins were wearing leather pants. Tight leather pants. Leather pants that left nothing to the imagination. I regret leaving my omnioculars in my trunk. What was I thinking?

I just heard the most awful, awful, awfulest thing.

There I was, minding my own business and I overhear a conversation by Pansy Parkinson and Theo Nott. Let me just say that it was not the most friendliest of banters.

They plotted about the destruction of a certain Gryffindor. Must go warn. Must go raise the alarm ( Read more... )

But a feather boa?!

It seems that Blaise Zabini was found dead yesterday, apparently killed by a feather boa. What, did it decide that the late Miss Zabini wasn't a good enough drag queen for it to worn by her? Or perhaps the cold-hearted feather boa didn't want to be seen round the neck of a Slytherin. Maybe it preferred to be round the neck ( Read more... )

That was, quite possibly, the longest time I have ever been asleep. My arms and legs feel like they're about to fall off, they're so numb.

The castle is so quiet, it's eerie, really. I guess this means that no one has awoken. Hm. Must go find something to eat. I am starved. I wonder if the house elves have got any pudding. Chocolate,

He's dead. Gone. Goodbye. I can't believe it. It feels like such a dream. But if it is a dream, why am I feeling so tired?

All I want to do is just go to sleep ... sleep ...

It seems that I am to blame for everything.

Susan dropped her quill in Herbology. Whose fault was it? Mine

Michael Corner stubbed his toe thirty feet away. Whose name did he cuss out? Mine

The giant squid caught a cold. Who did Hagrid blame? Me.

What in the hell is going on today?!