Some things never do change.

Luckily, some people do. Perhaps that is why Granger and Weasley have been deemed suitable a suitable Head Girl and Head Boy--because aside from Granger's newfound knowledge of hangover potions and Weasley's half-baked predictions, I can think of no two more bland and ever-the-same individuals. Oh, and they're ( Read more... )

I am seventeen today, and as I write this various individuals are out on the veranda eating slouvaki, garides tiganites, skordosomo... plus plain English food like London broil and pudding. Some bottles of retsina have been uncorked, judging from the riotous sounds I can hear from here. Blaise and Millicent have Apparated up from Sicily, and ( Read more... )

Summer is beginning to disgust me. While the warmth of Greece contained a hint of breeze and plenty of shade, Wiltshire is stuffy and damp and unbearable. At least the Parkinson home is behind us now. When Pansy and I went through her bedroom we discovered that her fireplace floo was still set to land her directly in my old suite of rooms at ( Read more... )

Not every bit of news is fodder for the foul Daily Prophet; though since they have engaged in a pattern of announcing all things that enrage me thoroughly and completely, I am surprised that this latest tidbit has gone under their over-large noses. Surely they have some inappropriate speculation to offer regarding the Isle of Drear and thirteen- ( Read more... )

Yes, well, now you know.

Mother has a portkey to Lesvos, and on friday morning I took it for the sole purpose of purchasing as many different varieties of Ouzo as I could find. I don't know why muggles need so many different kinds of liquorice flavoured spirits, but there were literally hundreds to be found ( Read more... )

My week in London was well spent. Blaise and I met up on Wednesday and partook of the usual festivities. I'll not describe them here except to say that they for once resulted in triumphant success. He then left me at Fortescue's with his huge bowl of melting gelato so that he could Apparate off to share our success with Pansy. I was forced to ( Read more... )

I swear to Merlin that no one thinks to clean the Hogwarts Express between September and June. Last evening I sat in a stuffy, dusty car sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle, who were both blissfully passed out after consuming a large basket of Pansy's sugar sandwiches. There was a sticky patch on my seat, and Goyle drooled something pink onto the ( Read more... )

Have end-of-term examinations driven everyone in the castle mad? Or is there a cosmic rule that when a handful of individuals are spared the fog of insanity, others must be thrust into it to make up for their sudden absence? Either way, I cannot even begin to fathom everyone's disturbing fascination with my socks. Pansy's fascination I can ( Read more... )

When I came back from dinner there was a particularly full, crinoline and ruffled petticoat hanging from the doorknob of my dormitory.

To the perpetrator: you may think yourself crafty, and perhaps you in fact are, but allow me to make one thing utterly, astonishingly clear...

There is no chance, chance, chance.