| 004. |
[02 Jun 2010|07:12pm] |
[Hexed Private.]
I can't believe Angelina heals DEATH EATERS. Heals them! Death Eaters, got a little scrape? Feeling under the weather lately? Got the sniffles? Is all of the Muggleborn slaughtering just wearing you down? Don't worry - just go see Healer Johnson at St. Mungo's Hospital, she'll fix you right up!
Fucking hell.
We met in Sudbrooke the other day, she came to visit me. Thought it would be nice and fun, bit of drinks and reminiscing and whatnot, maybe a snog if I was feeling rather lucky, but no. Nearly two minutes in, probably, and we had a full-on row. I simply TOLD her that I don't AGREE with what she's doing, and she got offended! It's not my fault. I even apologized, but she wasn't having it. She left! Came all the way to Sudbrooke to see me, and left, just like that. Unbelievable.
But I don't like to fight with her - partly because she keeps calling me a jerk, really, it hurts my very sensitive soul - so I'm not going to bring it up again. But I still think about it. It drives me mad. I don't see how she can do it, I don't see how she can treat those nutters who want so many of her mates dead or in Azkaban. I know she's a Healer, it's her job and she took that bloody OATH that she kept going on about, but blimey. That oath out to have an addendum about not treating MURDERERS.
Anyway, I told her I might come visit her in Kent, but I don't know if that's wise. Kent's a fair bit bigger than Sudbrooke, and I don't fancy running into a Snatcher.
Might go anyway, though.
Talking of Azkaban - Hestia turned herself in. Charlie's gone fully mad over it. I'm surprised he hasn't stormed the place himself, but I'd help him if he did. He loves her. Even proposed to her. I can't imagine.
I'm sick of sitting round this safehouse. I could be DOING something.
[/Private.]
After making six new batches of Canary Creams (more difficult than you'd think, when you've only got two of the twenty-seven necessary ingredients) to unleash upon the local youth, I've run out of things to do with my time. Perhaps I'll grow a moustache.
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| 003. |
[27 May 2010|03:53pm] |
[Hexed to Ginny.]
GINNY.
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| 002. |
[11 May 2010|06:48pm] |
It's a pity that I don't have a bounty on my head like my dear brothers. Feels like I'm not quite living up to family expectations.
[Hexed to Angelina.]
I think I've found a place for us to meet.
[Hexed to Hermione.]
Hi, Hermione How have you b--
I know we don't speak often, but I
I saw your journal and
Hermione. How are you?
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| 001. |
[06 May 2010|09:56pm] |
[Private.]
I've lost count of the days we've been stuck in this miserable old cottage. It's the same thing every day -- wake up, eat breakfast (fried eggs and a glass of milk for the past six days, mind), go to work, come back, eat dinner, sleep.
Job's not so bad so far. I work for this little lady who lives up the road, near the village, her name's Violet. She has big garden and I do a lot of pulling weeds, cleaning, that sort of work. Feels strange, doing everything the Muggle way. Dad would be chuffed, I'm sure. Violet told me today that she wants me to use something called a lawn mow-er tomorrow. Haven't a clue what that means. Should be exciting.
Right. I feel fully useless. I'm puttering around some old bird's lawn while people are being murdered. My brother's missing a hand. And Hermione's mum and dad --
And I'm weeding the garden.
I miss my shop. I miss lots of things. London, my mates, not being in immediate danger of death, having loads and loads of galleons at my disposal, sex, women, dating, Mum's breakfast, flying Quidditch, women, sex, &c &c. I am a desperate man. Perhaps I'll give old Violet a go.
I can see why people keep journals. Really, reflecting on my life has made me feel much better. I'll give it a name. Something French. Brigitte, perhaps.
Lovely. Goodnight, Brigitte.
[/Private.]
I've grown to hate fried eggs.
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| Frederick Gideon Weasley |
[06 May 2010|05:35pm] |
But there is a light, there's still a spark.
There is no place in this room for the dark.
So scatter the bones that's left of the old,
for dust only settles when bored,
( settles when bored. )
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