Raining in... where I am

Claudette left a little while ago. We had breakfast and she said I'm to owl her this week. Not sure if I shall.

All you students out there, listen up: What happens between two consenting adults is not an example for impressionable witches and wizards. You should be thinking about spells and potions, not love charms and...and all that rot.

Though a little harmless snogging never hurt anyone.

Yes, well.

The beach outside is wet, sand dark and rocks slick with rain. The sea is choppy; looks like autumn comes even to the Riviera.

Quiddich later - should be a good match. The Ukrainian Ironbellies have been doing particularly well this season.

Think I'll have another cuppa and see what the post brought.


Later
Bloody Hell... another journal. This one to my official persona. Brilliant.


It brings up an intriguing question of what to do with this journal. I suppose if I keep posting, eventually some Death Eater will find it, but it seems only fair to give them a sporting chance. All my cousins and in-laws out there, enjoying their fatted calves, hear that? That's right, I'm not afraid of you.

Perhaps I ought to use this as an opportunity to give Malfoy and those Ministry toadies exactly what they want: Information about the state of the Wizarding world outside their fascist, oppressive regime.

Yes. That might be just the thing. It would be rather a load of work, but then, totalitarianism is what happens when good people do nothing.

Just to prove certain people wrong about my rashness, I'll even think on it while I'm traveling today.

Home

Ukraine won. Raining like the dickens, all through the match. Soaked to the skin.

I started sneezing just as I began to Apparate home--lucky I didn't splinch myself. Though I think I did leave a bit of my moustache behind. Hard to tell for sure, but a patch of my lip feels tingly.

I'm having a dose of Pepper-Up, and a bath to keep off the cold.

An owl from Jean-Paul arrived while I was gone. Hm. Wants to know if I fancy having drinks next week. Perhaps.

Let's see what's happening at Hogwarts....

Oh, sod it, Carrow's traumatising the children, what a surprise. Longbottom, if you're reading this, he's a git. He's always been a git. Unfortunately, he's a git with power for the moment, so don't let him frighten you, but don't tempt him, the sadist.

Monster Book of Monsters? Are they still using that text? Raw meat will let you get in close enough, then stroke the spine; that'll do the trick, er, Hermione.

Hm, the Gryffindor prefect seems to have his nose alternately in the air and wedged between Death Eaters' buttock-cheeks. Percy Weas...not Molly Prewett's middle boy, is it? Well, I never. A son of a Prew--

Reg.

Reg?

Is that really you?

my God....