...so I accidentally packed a pair of his pants in my bag, and they're those stupid Slytherin green ones with the light green snakes on them, and if I didn't know myself better I'd think I was sitting here sniffling over a stupid sodding pair of underpants.






I hate my life.

Harry woke up with a gasp and a shudder, his body cold with sweat, and couldn’t remember when he tried what he’d been dreaming about. In recent weeks the nightmares he’d been having since childhood had seemed to be subsiding, which made this one, lost to him as it was, even more unsettling. It seemed like forever since he’d woken in such a blind panic and clawed at the sheets.

Harry reminded himself to breathe, and squinted into the dark, trying to see the numbers on the clock without his glasses. It was 3 am, as near as he could tell. Draco was curled up beside him, which was surprising; not so much that he was there, as he’d crawled into Harry’s bed after the lights went out and demanded to be attended to, but that he’d stayed to sleep, instead of tiptoeing back to his own four-poster as he usually did after they’d fooled around. His pale hair was almost glowing in the thin streams of moonlight the blinds let through, and his brow was furrowed as if in deep concentration. Also, he snored. Harry wanted to lean over and kiss him, to wake him so that Draco’s hands could roam over his body, chasing away the rest of his anxiety.

It wouldn’t be fair, he decided. Draco had strength training first thing in the morning, and however fond he usually was of impromptu sex, Harry had a feeling that Draco would rather have the sleep so he could do well in his tests. Harry himself had no small number of important things to do during the upcoming day, and he thought that he might try to go back to sleep himself. He tried counting sheep for a while, but just kept imagining house elves with bulging eyes hopping over croquet wickets, and turned his thoughts to happy memories – the few snatches of his mother’s face that lingered in his mind; all the mischief he’d gotten up to with Ron and Hermione; his first kiss with Ginny; his first kiss with Draco….

Sighing, Harry settled back against his pillows, tugging the blankets back over his body. He allowed himself to drop the lightest of kisses on Draco’s brow before he closed his eyes and sunk back into sleep.

*

When Harry woke again, Draco was freshly showered and getting dressed in his training clothes. The fitted black trousers really showed off his bum quite well, and Harry pretended to be asleep for a few more moments to appreciate his uninterrupted view. Draco wasn’t fooled.

“Don’t you have things you need to be doing,” he asked crisply, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Didn’t they schedule you for a practice mission today?”

Harry stretched and yawned, making a show of just having regained consciousness. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, what time is it?” He blinked, peeking at Draco’s stomach in the process.

“It’s eight thirty, you lazy arse, and your instructor has you down for nine, so if I was you – which, thank all that is good and holy, I am not – I would get said arse out of bed and stop ogling mine!”

“Shit,” said Harry, scrambling out from under the covers and searching for his own trousers. As he dressed he mumbled, “I wasn’t ogling, I was appreciating.”

“Yes, well,” said Draco, lacing up his trainers, “you’re still a pervert.” But as Harry rushed out the door Draco slowed him long enough to give him a quick, stealthy kiss, which kept Harry smiling all the way to the portkey where his instructor waited.

“Took you long enough,” sniffed Kelly. “Another minute and I’d have gone. Dark wizards don’t wait, you know.”

“I know,” said Harry, belatedly remembering that he hadn’t even tried to comb his hair that in his haste, and reflecting that he probably looked as if he’d been shagged all night. “I had a late start. Long night. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Kelly muttered, but her blue eyes twinkled, and Harry momentarily blushed as he wondered what she knew. “Get on with you, then,” she said, jerking her head toward the enchanted handbag that was to serve as their transportation, “one, two, three…,” and on three she and Harry both grabbed for the portkey, which whirled them away to a designated spot at the edge of a forest a mile or two outside of Bath,

*

It would, Harry later thought, probably have gone better if he hadn’t slept in that morning, if he hadn’t been tired and his reflexes slow. It would have been better if he’d actually taken a moment to brush his hair, because it might have been more unruly than ever, and he would have been late, and missed the portkey – he would have had a moment to tie his shoes properly, so that he didn’t trip over them dodging a hex and catch a curse right between the shoulderblades. If he hadn’t woken in the night he would have been able to remember a shield spell, or a counter-curse, or responded with a hex of his own, or done any number of things that would have ended with him being anywhere but here…wherever here was.

It wasn’t a place he recognized, he was at least certain of that. He’d never been anywhere remotely like it before – incredibly flat land purple with heather and gorse as far as they eye could see, dotted with strange black stone monoliths that seemed to have arisen spontaneously from the ground to poke at the sky, which itself was like nothing he’d ever seen; it was the soft, shifting blue of the sky he was used to, but it seemed to be perpetually rolling and heaving, and to have the texture of soft hills, or of waves, and was dotted with pinpricks of light that reminded Harry of stars. It occurred to Harry that he’d somehow stumbled out of the world when that curse hit him, and that what he was seeing was, impossibly, the other side of the atmosphere.

“Oh, fuck me,” he said softly, and sank down onto his knees, not sure whether he should laugh or cry, or start looking for an escape hatch as soon as possible.

“I would,” said a voice from behind him (a familiar voice, said the part of Harry’s mind that wasn’t currently reeling in awe), “but I don’t really play for that team, if you catch my meaning.”

“Seamus?” Harry breathed, feeling if all his blood had just up and left his body. He felt dizzy. He made to sit down but realized he was already sitting.

“In the flesh,” said Seamus cheerfully, “but not really. I’m not even here.” He pulled a cigarette and a silver lighter from his pocket and lit up, exhaling as if the very act caused him great pleasure. “I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

“Are – are you…?” Harry ventured, finding he choked on the word dead.

Seamus took another thoughtful drag. “Hard to say. Maybe. But what do I know? It’s not as if us figments have minds of our own, now do we?”

“I…,” said Harry, barely able to wrap his mind around the idea, “…you smoke?”

“Nah. But I always wanted to. Not like it hurts me here.” He chuckled. “It’s kind of hard for something to kill ya when you don’t even exist.”

Harry thought about that a moment more, and then gave up. “Am I….dead?” Seamus shrugged.

“Again, hard to say. But probably not. You’ve got the smell of life about you. Pretty easy to pick out in this place.”

Harry watched him smoke for a while, and was reminded, with a pang, of Draco, and the relaxed way he held his face when he smoked his stupid cigarettes. He put his head down on his knees and closed his eyes as hard as he could, praying that this was just one of his nightmares, and he was going to wake up any minute now.
“Any minute now,” said Harry aloud. He wasn’t much surprised when nothing happened. He pounded the ground with his fists, and only succeeded in making them hurt. Belatedly, he wondered what had happened to Kelly, if she was okay, or if their assailants had killed her, or if something similar had happened to her, and if he walked long enough he would find her sitting at the base of one of the strange tall stones, just as bloody confused as he was.

Harry turned around to say something to Seamus, but the other boy – figment, dream, whatever he was – had wandered away, and Harry could see his silhouette in the distance. He thought about shouting, but it seemed futile.

After a while, he just lay back against the ground and watched the not-sky turn orange and then white, bubbling as if boiling. He wondered who else he would see while he was here and how long he’d have to stay; he wondered if this was the sort of situation anyone had ever got out of. He wondered if this was real, or if he was in a coma somewhere and having a very unsettling dream. His stomach growled, and he thought about finding something to eat.

“This,” said Harry to himself, “is probably why Aunt Petunia always told me not to take drugs.”

*

He woke up again and the world had changed. Harry was disappointed not to see the forest he’d flickered out of, but he was at least relieved not to see miles and miles of empty land. Instead he was staring into a warm, crackling fire in a very cosy sitting room painted green. It appeared he was lying on a squashy brown couch, and someone (he assumed), had tucked a very soft knitted blanket around him.

“Last time I saw you, that blanket seemed rather larger,” Lily said softly. Harry jerked his head around to look, and saw that his mother was indeed sitting in an armchair opposite, looking very beautiful, and smiling as though it pained her.

“Mum….” Harry croaked. There was an enormous lump in his throat. “Mum, I –“

“Of course,” she continued with a little chuckle, getting up to come sit beside her son, “you were rather smaller last time I saw you.” Lily put her hand out to ruffle his already messy hair, then seemed to pause a moment, before she drew him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Shit,” said Harry. “Shit shit shit shit.” He tried to ignore the hot tears that spilled into the shoulder of his mother’s jumper.

“You should watch your language,” said James behind him. Harry took a deep breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Hi, Dad,” said Harry.

*

In a bright, cramped little kitchen, they made him tea, which didn’t really taste like any tea he’d had before, and fixed him sandwiches that made him feel, if anything, hungrier than ever. But Harry ate everything they put in front of him, and was glad for the sight and sound and smell of them, and their idly snarky conversation with each other, and was almost thrilled, for a moment, than he’d been hit by a curse and landed wherever this was, and began to feel like he couldn’t stay too long, and couldn’t give a damn if none of it was real.

Which was why it hurt, just a little more than it should have, despite the fact that he’d known she was going to say it, when Lily fixed him with her level green gaze and told him, “you can’t stay here forever, Harry.”

“I know,” said Harry, swallowing his mouthful of ham and cheese.

They all paused for a few moments, and then James cleared his throat and said, “I bet you’re wondering how you got here, Harry.”

“Got hit by a curse,” Harry replied, suddenly fascinated by the wood grain of the table.

“Fair enough. But I bet you’re wondering what kind of curse it was, and how – and if – you’re ever going to get out.” When Harry didn’t reply, James went on. “It’s a spell called Insideo Invertus,; basically it works by swapping your mental world for the physical one. You – you aren’t on earth, exactly, but you aren’t quite off it, either. It’s an archaic bit of magic, but it’s been used a lot lately by dark wizards, so sooner or later someone’s bound to recognize what’s happened to you, and they’ll work out a way to pull you back to the real world.”

“And….in the meantime?” Harry asked.

“And in the meantime you wait,” Lilly told him, leaning over to fix his collar. Harry sighed. He rested his cheek on the table.

“Mum, Dad,” he said, apropos of nothing, “I’m gay.”

Unexpectedly, they chuckled. And then, even more unexpectedly, James patted Harry on the back and said, “we know.”

“You know?”

“Of course we know,” laughed Lily, “this is your mind, remember? You made it our business to know.”

“Oh.” Harry thought for a second, then wrinkled his nose. “Does that mean you’re watching when we – “

“Oh Merlin, no,” said James, looking vaguely nauseous. “Even figments of the imagination can avert their eyes.”

Lily shot James a disapproving glance. “For what it’s worth, Harry, we approve of him.” Harry gave a bark of laughter.

“Of Draco?” He squeaked, trying to keep the note of incredulity out of his voice. His parents looked at each other and chuckled again.

“Well,” said James, “he does look rather too much like his father for my taste. And I’ve met dragons with better attitudes, but he does seem to love you, Harry.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Yeah, I suppose.”

*

Later in the evening, when the sky had begun to pale again, and boil as if the earth below was on fire, Harry took himself out to the back garden and lay in the cool grass, trying to find shapes in the clouds. The smell of his mother’s roses hung thick in the air, and somewhere in the dense flowerbed off to his left he could hear bees buzzing. All at once a wave of sadness rose up and broke over him, and he fisted his hands in the long grass, willing gravity to hold him there. He missed Draco, and Ron, and Hermione, but he wasn’t sure if he could live his normal life having been here, having known what it felt like to have his mother’s hand stroke his face. He knew he couldn’t stay, but he wanted to more desperately than anything.

Harry blinked the tears out of his eyes and looked at the pinpricks of light in the whiteness, and wished he could see through them. On the other side of them the camp had probably raised a huge search, and was even now tromping through the wood, looking for him. Draco was more than likely sick with worry, though he’d be keeping a brave face, and here Harry lay, in a garden that didn’t exist, in a world that existed only in his head, and nothing to do but wait.


he says I know you have to go
you have gone before
we are fighting on two different fronts
of the same war
but no matter what else
I will do
I will wait for you



*lyrics from The Waiting Song by Ani DiFranco

He was the first one in the camp to see sunlight that day, his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window in the room he and Draco shared. It had been a long night for Harry Potter; he hadn't been to sleep even though he'd turned the lights off and got into bed ten o'clock the previous night, and since two in the morning he'd been sitting in the large window with his arms around his knees, a cup of tea undrunk and going cold beside him.

The barracks the Ministry provided for Aurors in training were rickety little buildings, short and squat, redolent of dust and age and sometimes the mice that scrabbled in the walls, but they did have some advantages, like the fact that they were situated on steep granite cliffs overlooking several sleepy little hamlets, and the grey sea in the far distance, and if one was feeling particularly low or lonely, one had only to look out over the twinkling village lights and the moonlight on the water to find a bit of comfort. He'd been looking for hours now, while Draco snored sedately in the bed opposite, and at the rounded edge of the horizon, where the dark of sea met sky, the clouds were beginning to lighten and show the faintest streaks of pink.

It wasn't what he'd expected, any of it. He'd left Hogwarts eager for adult life, half-mad with love (or infatuation), and the promise of childhood dreams realised. He'd tried, he had - thrown himself headlong first into the exams and then the exercises, and been good at them. He'd slowed things down with Draco, which only made their undeniably tempestuous relationship sweeter, and grown even fonder, if that was possible, of his friends in his absence. He'd thought for a while he was close to making a difference - it had all seemed so easy when he'd planned it in his head: Graduate, defeat Voldemort, become an Auror, live happily ever after - but the gleam of his new became more tarnished with each letter that arrived, missives full of worry and sadness and a determination that he hated only because he felt it stirring in himself. Seamus was gone - dead or alive, it didn't really seem to matter anymore - and more people were disappearing or being injured on a daily basis than Harry cared to count, or wanted to.
It had been foolish to think that just because Voldemort was gone, dark things didn't still stir in the depths of the world.

*

Harry sighed, and stretched his legs. Light was slowly illuminating the room now; in a couple of hours they'd go down for breakfast, and then begin manouevers. After that there'd be classes, then a break, and exercises, then supper, and the day would be over. He liked the training because it helped to pass time, and distract him from what was happening with his friends, but it seemed lately that he couldn't quite shake himself out of his stupor, and he found himself sleeping less, looking more and more frequently over the world laid out in front of him and wondering what he would have to do.

Harry glanced over at Draco's bed and saw that he was starting to wake up. "What are you doing, Scarhead?" Draco yawned, pulling the covers up to his chin and regarding Harry with eyes that weren't quite focused. He had pillow creases in his cheek. "Have you slept at all?"

"I slept for a little while."

"Liar. I'll bet you've been sitting at that window the whole night, brooding."

Harry snorted. "I'm not brooding."

"Oh yes you are. Feeling sorry for yourself is your natural state, Potter, and I'd worry if you weren't."

"Shut up, wanker!" Harry picked up a pillow and chucked it halfheartedly at Draco's tousled head.

"Missed," said Draco, with some satisfaction; he was more awake now, and his grey eyes were shining in an appreciative way that made the pit of Harry's stomach flutter not unpleasantly. "You know," he drawled, leaning back on his elbows, "my bed's rather cold."

"I suspect it'd be warmer if you had a heart."

"True," said Draco, not missing a beat, "but if you got your skinny arse over here we might be able to remedy the situation."

Harry laughed in spite of himself, and swung his feet to the floor, narrowly missing knocking his teacup over. "Was that an attempt to seduce me?"

"Are you so stupid you have to ask?"

"I hate you," muttered Harry, "Shove over."

"Ooh, Potter! I'm weak in the knees."

"Must be because you spend too much time on them."

"As if you're complaining."

"And my arse isn't skinny."

"I've seen fleshier toothpicks!"

"Fucker," growled Harry, but as Draco was regarding Harry's lower lip with a great deal of heated interest, there wasn't nearly as much venom in the insult as he'd intended.

"Look," sighed Draco, "are you going to kiss me, or what? Because I could snark all day, but I've got a problem here that I could just as easily take care of in the loo before I go down to breakfast."

"But you're not going to," Harry murmured, tracing the shell of Draco's ear with his tongue, "because it's eggs this morning, and I've eaten rubber that tastes better."

"Guess you're out of luck tomorrow, then," Draco said, unbuttoning Harry's pyjama top. "It's waffles tomorrow, and I never miss those."

"Better get a shag in now, hadn't I?"

"You're slow, but you come 'round in the end."

"Git," said Harry.

*

But later, when he had a bite mark on his shoulder, and Draco was dozing again, and the fragile May sunshine was bathing them both, Harry felt something else fluttering in his stomach that might have been thankfulness, might have been hope, and knew that whatever came, he wouldn't be fighting it alone.


Unless it was Waffles Wednesday.

I do not like gnomes. I thought those beastly little plaster things Aunt Petunia kept in the front garden were horrid, not to mention ugly, but I have been proven wrong. Magic gnomes are worse. And uglier. This afternoon I was almost grievously injured by one of the potato-headed little sods when I unsuspectingly agreed to de-gnome the flowerbeds for Mrs. Weasley. Nearly bit off my left thumb, it did. I flung it extra far, and I wasn't in the least sorry when it hit a tree and made a cracking good sound. Dirty little bastards.
Other than that, life is good here at the Burrow. September creeps ever closer, which means the start of Auror training, but I'm having too much fun playing Quidditch in the garden every night, and being veritably stuffed with Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking to think much of it just yet. And it's a constant revolving-door cast of characters, so it's never dull, as there's always someone new to talk to at dinner each night.

Malfoy is here. He is a bloody great kisser git, as per usual. Pansy is here too. She is Slytherin as well, which can't be helped, but she is also entertaining, in an I-put-vodka-on-my-cornflakes kind of way.

And I miss Hermione. I mean, most of the time when she was here, she was tucked away somewhere with her nose in a book, or pretending not to notice the sickening googly-eyes Ron always made across the table, but she was always there and now she's not. And I want to talk to her. I know she's doing well with her studies, though, and I'm so happy for her.

Let's see, what else - suprise half-sisters, new stepfathers, new franchises and jobs - seems like everyone else's summer is turning out to be not half bad.

*

This has been a strange summer for me. Very strange indeed. I'm learning....all kinds of new things about myself. Spending a lot of my time off thinking. Yes, Thinking. Ahem. It's all very philosophical.

- Harry Potter, the Boy Who Rambled Endlessly

Supposing....

Supposing that there was this bloke, and that this bloke was madly in love with a girl. A girl who....who when sunlight falls on her hair looks like nothing he's ever seen. Who's good and kind and brave and beautiful. Who makes the bloke that loves her feel like he's never done anything wonderful enough to deserve her. Suppose it was like that.

Well. And that the bloke, he did - he did this thing. A wrong sort of thing, the kind of thing he knew would hurt the girl if she knew about it, but he did it anyway, 'cos he was confused. And what if the thing just kind of happened to him, sort of before he knew what was going on, and it felt brilliant nice okay?

And what if it blew his mind, and made him so fucking flummoxed he didn't know which way was up?

The point...what I mean is - D'you think the bloke should tell his girl about the thing? Even if it hurts her feelings.
Even if....it changes things between them, er, and things?

Just supposing.

Calling our NEWTS NEWTS is actually rather deceptive, because the name tends to remind one of other things that are pleasant and amphibious and made of chocolate, when they are not at all like chocolate frogs and are rather more like ruddy great harbingers of bloody Death and Doom!!!
Point is, this afternoon I had my head stuck in the book I borrowed from the library to brush up on my Transfiguration work. I mean actually physically stuck - as in, I was just reading along like a normal bloke, minding my own business, when the blasted thing suddenly clamped shut on my face. There I was, flailing around like a right idiot, and in a fair amount of pain, until someone (who was not Hermione, because Hermione was too involved sharpening her quills to notice my suffering) had the sense to pull it off me. Now I've got bruises all along my jawline, but I think it looks kind of spiffing and manly, if you fancy that I-was-viciously-attacked-by-wizarding-literature look.

McGonagall says exams aren't dangerous.
Pfft. And Hippogriffs fly out of my arse.

Also - to the next person who makes the "Harry Potter, the Boy Who Shirtlifted" joke in reference to my sexuality - you might just find that Ron's dirty socks are dancing a Tarantella all over your face when you sleep. If you think Voldemort is scary, you've obviously never encountered knitted Weasley socks that haven't been washed for a month.

I'm going for a walk by the Black Lake. To brood attractively. And contemplate my, erm, tendencies.

Blimey, things really are quiet around here, aren't they?

Daphne may or may not have snogged Charlie, and Seamus is on the hook for stealing (or not stealing) McGonagall's knickers. I don't even want to know, mates, I don't even want to know.

Other than that? Ron's still AWOL, Malfoy's still a magnificent pouf, and I'm hungry.

*peers around at the rest of the school*

What about you lot? Anyone pregnant? Homicidal? Both?

*

I'm going down to the kitchens for a bite to eat. Ginny Anyone want to join me?

I'm just...

I'm just tired. I know part of it's my body fighting off what's left of the flu that went around, but there's something else, too, something that has more to do with my mind than my body.

I don't like Malfoy. He doesn't like me. In general, our relationship has been limited to mutual hatred.
But then there's......well, you all know what's happened. He's an orphan now. Like me. I feel like I should be happy that his parents are dead, having the part they did in killing mine. I feel like I should feel vindicated. But I don't.

I just...

I don't want to get out of bed.

*

Where in bloody hell is Ron when I need him?

So it would appear that the entire bloody school has come down with the plague. Everyone is lolling about in the common room looking very sorry for themselves, feeding the fire with their used tissues and quaffing Pepper-Up like Ron did that time with the Firewhisky this summer and he was sick to his stomach it's going out of style. Everyone, that is, except for Hermione, who seems to have sequestered herself in the library and shows no sign of ever coming out. (You are going to have to come out of there eventually, Mione. To eat, and, um, shower and things. Besides, how safe is a magical library, really? Just because there aren't legions of diseased Gryffindors about doesn't mean that one of the books isn't jinxed! You could turn purple, or be all over boils, and then where would you be, Hermione? Then where would you be?!)

Makes me sort of glad I haven't seen Ginny too frequently lately, because I'm sure that bogeys are less than seductive.Although, bogeys or not, she's still rather cute when she's sick, and it would be lovely to have someone here to stroke my hair and spoon-feed me chicken soup.........did I just type that? I blame the cough medicine!

Lying in bed is boring, but if I move I think my head will fall off.
Wizard's chess?
Anyone?!?

BoredBoredBored.

- Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived (Until He Was Tragically Struck Down, Not By Voldemort, But By The Common Cold)

Am bad. Am very, very bad. Feel like hippogriff dung (still) after the Halloween Ball.
Am very glad I didn't puke on my costume, as the amount of gold the bloody thing cost me could probably buy me Windsor Palace. Urgh. I think I should make some sort of resolution come New Years about never drinking again, but only after Christmas, because there's no way I'm missing out on Mrs. Weasley's brilliant eggnog.
Just hope I didn't make too much of an idiot of myself (not like Seamus, I hope. Mate, I've been hearing funny things about you, a table, and a strip routine, and that makes me sort of glad I can't remember much of anything past midnight).

I do remember Ginny though. Merlin, she looked downright smashing. Nobody even noticed my rubbish dancing because they were all too busy staring at her. I'm the luckiest man in the wizarding world. Hell, make that the whole world.
(And, erm...Gin? You wouldn't happen to remember why we were all over each other on the common room floor, would you? I have a feeling it had something to do with how I couldn't keep my hands off you.)

And now I have a load of homework to do. I can't be arsed to do it, but just the thought of the look on that wanker Snape's face when I don't hand anything in is enough to scare me into submission. I should probably see Madam Pomfrey about some sort of potion for my head before I attempt any essays, though.

Hermione - congratulations on Emmy's babies!

Ron - How about some chocolate to dull the memory of Pygmy Puff childbirth, yeah? Meet me in the dorm in ten minutes.

***

Well, bugger me! Is it snowing outside?!

The whole school seems to think I spend all my time doing inappropriate things behind the broomshed with Ginny. They're not entirely wrong. I am capable of using my free time to do other things, like that ruddy homework I've been putting off. I do feel a bit silly, though - I had thought we were being a bit more discreet than that. Oh well, bollocks to discretion.

Going into Hogsmeade tomorrow to see about my costume - it's actually shaping up to be rather handsome, I think, and I hope I'll do Ginny proud. Let's just hope Fred and George don't think up funny things to do to it, like some sort of "shrinking trousers" charm or something.
I'm still a bit nervous about having to dance at the ball. Hermione, Ginny, Ron - what d'you say we do some practising tonight after dinner?

On a completely different note; except for Pansy, there seems to be an absence of Slytherins lately. Makes you wonder what they're up to. Zabini and Malfoy in particular.

Anyway, I'm off to snog slog through Binns essay. That was so not a Freudian slip.

Contrary to popular belief, I have not, in fact, dropped off the face of the earth. Or the earth according to this LiveJournal thingie. Things have been absolutely mad the past few days, and I needed a little respite (see that, Hermione, I used the word respite! I even know what it means!) from the internet, 'cos my real life is absorbing enough, thanks. Still, my pile of homework has been nearly vanquished, I was ace at Quidditch practice today (if I do say so myself, which I do), and I have been snogging like a snogging thing spending some quality time with Ginny, so I am a happy man once more.

I think it's greatly amusing that the pygmy puff Ron got for Hermione is preggers by Arnold. Who knew that the little fuzzballs were so bent on reproducing?

In other news, Snape is, as per usual, an enormous git. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, he just seemed a little more snarky than usual in Potions today. Took five points from Gryffindor because I sneezed while he was talking. I think he'd take points for Ron having freckles if he could. Maybe it's because the ball's coming up and he can't stand the idea of a school full of happy smiling faces. Or perhaps he's just on his cycle. And I'm suddenly wishing I could Scourgify my brain of that image.

Bugger - I really need to see about my costume before I forget!

Er...yeah. This is turning into a long and pointless post, so I'm going to go have a lie-in attend to some very important business.

My brain hurts.

I've got a pile of homework that's as tall as Hagrid, a Quidditch game coming up, and a ball costume to see about. Also I just knocked my head on my bedpost. I think I should just go feed myself to the giant squid now and be done with it.

Quick, someone feed me chocolate!

Poor, poor Ron. Once he's stopped shouting at everybody and acting like Hermione doesn't exist he should be alright, but for now I think he's in dire need of Pumpkin Pasties. Perhaps I should see about some Butterbeer too.

It's not as though I'm gloating, but there's the littlest bit of me that is completely untouched by how upset Ron is (sorry, mate) - because Ginny said she'd go to the ball with me! It wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be, and I think I managed to do it without looking like a complete prat. I think it was actually kind of romantic up there on the Astronomy tower with all those stars - girls like that sort of thing, don't they? I thought I should probably snog her or something, but I was afraid she'd say no and then push me off or something, so I decided against it. Ahem.

This leaves only the problem of finding a costume. Ginny said something about my going as a Snow King to match her (and Ron, if you so much as snicker I will hex you into next week), so I'd better owl Madam Malkins. I just hope I don't end up looking like a pouf. Like Malfoy.

Ergh. Speaking of Malfoy, I had the most erotic disturbing dream nightmare about him last night. I'm half-thinking of getting Hermione to modify my memory so I don't remember anything. *shudder*

Whoever thought that another ball was a good idea has clearly been smoking too much Gillyweed. I'd rather marry a Flobberworm, though Hermione says she thinks that would be a bit extreme. At least we get to choose our own costumes this time; no more nancy dress robes.
There's also the small matter of having to ask a date. I've an idea of who I'd like to go with, but the concept of the actual asking is more terrifying than facing Voldemort a bit scary. Remember what happened when I asked Cho Chang to the Yule ball? Not Pleasant. NOT. PLEASANT.

Ron - what do you want to wager that we can get Snape to finally poison me before the ball? And also, sorry about your pasties. I'll get you something next time we're in Honeydukes to make up for it.

Ginny - Please go to the ball with me? I'll try not to look like the death throes of aforementioned Flobberworm while dancing. Er..never mind.


Perhaps we can have some sort of party involving illicit alcoholic libations to numb ourselves afterward?

Don't have much time...ruddy computer's been acting up, and I'm going to be late for potions, which will provoke the wrath of Snape, I'm sure...

er...now I've forgotten what I was going to say.

Merlin’s Balls, what a day!

Had Quidditch practice in the bloody rain today, which wouldn’t have been so bad except that it was really windy too, so by the time we finished we were all freezing and soaked to the skin. To make matters worse, the Slytherins had the pitch after we did, and Malfoy tripped me as he was coming out of the changing rooms. I got mud all down my front. It’s a pity that blood is so hard to get out of Quidditch robes, or I would have killed him right there.

Oh well. Dinner was good. I had treacle tart for pudding, and Ginny sat three down from me.

Today in Transfigurations McGonagall wanted us to turn a piece of cheese into a mouse. Waste of time if you ask me – I don’t think I’ve ever looked at a cheese and thought, ”that would be so much more useful as a hairy rodent." I did pretty well, though, my mouse was orange by the end of it, but Ron didn’t have much luck. His cheese just squeaked. Then he got hungry and tried to take a bite out of it, but the cheese bit him on the nose! It was dead funny, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I waited until he’d gone to see Madam Pomfrey to laugh. Hope Fred and George don’t find out what happened – they’ll tease him about it for ages.

Think I’ll go see if Ron has any chocolate frogs left in his stash. That loony Binns set us two rolls of parchment on Saladin the Syphilitic for homework, and I don’t fancy having to endure that boredom or Hermione’s nagging about having done it earlier without something sweet to ease my suffering.