| Thursday 17 September 1942 |
[Dec. 24th, 2008|08:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  worried | ] |
I was tempted to ask to stay in the infirmary last night, even though they looked and looked and couldn't find any reason that Smith and I were hearing some kind of call during last night's drill. If it were just me I would put it down to some kind of illness or delusion — which would be worrying enough, of course — and bed down in the infirmary but I cannot. We do not have another planned drill this week, I do not of course know Mathers' and Goyle's plans for the unplanned drills, but given that last night was such a general disaster I hope we're having more briefings and have the chance for a planned drill before another unplanned one. For the next planned one I will certainly have someone or someones trustworthy partnering myself and Smith and if it happens again we may be able to work it out while it's going on, and if not we can be taken out of the plans because I would not be effective in such a state and neither would Smith and who knows what these undiagnosed influences are?
Other things:
1. The drills, oh my, the drills. I hope to meet with Cross and the senior prefects no later than tomorrow to make sure we have a coordinated approach to revising the evacuation procedures.
2. Stop thinking constantly about having The Talk with my parents, although the pleasure of driving Dashwood mad as well as myself must be taken into account. (I wouldn't have necessarily thought it was that much worse than what any skilled energy worker could do, but it is, and I shan't bother to pretend I like it.)
3. Start thinking about having The Talk with Charis? Or perhaps not talking, precisely. Oh, for a week, or some days at least without a major disaster. |
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| Unposted letter from Minerva McGonagall to Charis Malfoy, dated 16 September 1942 |
[Oct. 10th, 2008|10:26 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | regretful | ] |
Well warded, folded neatly and stuck in one of Minerva's notebooks, to be given to Charis if she ever forgives Minerva for her role in Laurie Foggington's questioning.
Dear Charis,
I am bearing with Wood's betrayal of whatever insane trust in him I had tolerably well, although I will confess that I put off going to the infirmary until such time as he left school — I don't know that you heard, but he and Stebbins and others will not be back here this year. I might have been too tempted to finish what Goyle started with the whip was I to see him. Myself and everyone else who is cursing the loss of Quidditch this year as well. You and Lucius had best do all the flying there is to be done before you come back. If you do come back. For myself I hope you do, but I can imagine how little I would want to come back to the Badger's Den if I was at home and could fly straight out of my window and across the grounds, so, I will think of you flying and enjoying yourself if I may. However, if you do come back to school I promise to console you by being very open-minded about your new dress... |
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| Sunday 13 September 1942 |
[Apr. 9th, 2008|11:16 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  furious | ] |
I haven't slept and I can barely walk after ignoring the pain in my leg all night. I will have to have Pomfrey look at it as soon as I can, which won't be today, after all the burned students we took in last night. An extra dose potion to reduce the swelling will have to do for now. This might be the only moment I get to myself in days. The prefects who aren't healer apprentices — and who weren't ORGANISING THE PARTY — will have to spend most of the day calming down the students who weren't at the party, telling brothers and sisters, keeping everyone else from under the healers' and professors' feet.
I've never wanted to hit someone so much in my life as I did Dolores Umbridge last night, never mind jinxing her. Oh, except for Jeremy Wood. Between the two of them, I'd rather hit him. Of course, there is something terribly wrong with the elves goodness knows, and it is very strange that beings so powerful should luckily also be (usually) so servile, but if I never again hear someone all but crowing over students being trapped in a burning building because it aids making any political point whatsoever... it will be too soon. And so I will tell her if I hear it again, I forebore last night because every second was precious. The Slytherins had already noticed Miss Hornby was missing by the time we got to Goyle with news of what was going on, but if they hadn't...
How did we not notice our students missing? How many were keeping this secret? |
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| Saturday 12 September, 1942; later |
[Mar. 10th, 2008|02:52 pm] |
Dumbledore is headmaster. A few days ago I would have been considerably happier about it, but it can't be worse than what went before. I hope. We're very short-handed for patrol tonight, I very much hope that no one tries to take advantage of it. Far too many of the students are being unbelievably stupid about the drills and buddy system, and far too many of those are in my House.
Otherwise, well. I shan't flatter myself into thinking that I have composed the most awkward mash note ever produced in this school — I can hardly begin to aspire to such heights. But I do wish that I'd done a couple more drafts before letting the owl go.
Is two Hogsmeades weekends and lunch on the train and prefect meetings at the Gryffindor table and breaking my leg rather than going to the Mulcibers "walking out"? I suppose it might be. Except this is Charis Malfoy, and how serious can it be for her, I wonder? I don't know that tea every second Saturday is what she'd normally consider a satisfactory relationship. |
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| Saturday 12 September 1942 |
[Jan. 20th, 2008|10:14 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  curious | ] |
Hogsmeade will be rather different today from last Saturday! Today will be all stomping on Wood's toes (both of the Woods actually, Caro too) trying to get them to act their age, have a quiet party and not be potentially responsible for deaths and injuries to any number of students. We've all been saying "there's a war on" for years now, and of course for students who've lost family it's been very real. (Just this week the Karkaoff twins heard their mother died, it's been rather lost in all the other tragedies.) Well, now it's here for all of us, and all but a few Gryffindor prefects have got the word. What's wrong with us?
And my foot is already hurting and it's only just past breakfast. I need to find time to get to the infirmary, I really do. Very soon.
Last Saturday was, well, delightful. I wish I knew what it meant, that I feel like this. |
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| Tuesday 8 September 1942 |
[Sep. 1st, 2007|11:55 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | tired | ] |
Claire Jeannot was found dead in the lake this morning. I can't say I knew her really—but I do feel I ought to be sadder than I am. What I am is overwhelmed. Every prefect's personal agenda must have come into play this morning. Dolores Umbridge would like to use it to do goodness knows what to the rulebook. Administer Veritaserum to all the students nightly perhaps. Tom Riddle appears to have a taste for either anxiety or drama: he's rather hoping that it turns out she was murdered. Pettigrew would like to stamp out student sexual activity once and for all. Vicky Wurfel would like to see some more of her dear friends, or some such. Antares Black, of all people, wants me, of all people, to sympathise with him about his various failures and their natural consequences. What any of this has to do with getting the student body through the next few days, let alone the next week, I don't care to inquire.
Charis, thank goodness, seems to be being sensible. (And flirtatious. I'm rather better at it myself than I would have thought.) I don't know if her thoughts on prefect roles can work in Gryffindor, but I should think about it. I wish I had more sensible prefects here to talk to. (Wood. Pettigrew. Need I say more? And Annie is a dear girl, but an authority figure she is not.) The Hufflepuffs, as usual, can assemble at least two or three sensible prefects at any given time and Slytherin is doing reasonably too. And Josette has spent some hours at least being a model prefect. She I do feel sorry for. I remember her sister. Of course she's got the badge because Eileen (with Miss Rochford) is a prisoner of the school, which I really don't understand. Can the War Bureau be responsible for ordering that?
As for Transfiguration, I now have a pile of books with at least mentions of the experience of being in a different form and will try and deduce a reliable way to make reverse transfigurations. I appreciate Professor Dumbledore's faith in my abilities, but I'd rather not have been stuck as a cat for an hour for him to realise that I might want to read these.
At least my leg has finally, as far as I can tell, completely healed. I had best find time to get Pomfrey to check it thoroughly before tryouts. |
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| 1 September 1942 |
[Dec. 20th, 2006|04:20 pm] |
In just a couple of hours Mother and Mal and I have to Floo down to Kings Cross, only to come up to Scotland again on the train. Very silly; Mal and I could fly to Hogwarts from here. Usually I would also say that flying would be considerably more fun than the train, but I can't fly for a few days (they keep extending the estimate of the healing time, I can still hardly walk), and this year I'm having lunch with Charis on the train which hopefully will make it all worthwhile.
Charis has always been one of those girls for me who I would have a mad crush on — she's very cute and daring and cranky and funny — but who it is much more sensible to just have fun and be friends with. And I mostly succeeded at that and was only a little bit jealous of Ghislaine. And then Ghislaine married (was married off, rather, poor thing) at the beginning of summer and I heard that Charis had gone a little crazy, as well she might but I didn't write, because, well, what was there to be said?
And then a month later out of the blue she asks me to accompany her to the Mulciber's party. And then I fell off my broom because Mal noticed I was distracted and decided that a good hit with a Bludger would fix that right up (no hard feelings, I'd do the same to him, or at least, I'll be sure to now) and missed the party. So it's lunch on the train instead. I can hardly imagine anything will happen, but she must at the very least be somewhat interested in me, which means I need to decide if it's time for a mad crush or not. I am leaning towards yes. |
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confused