| 13 April 2030, 11:30 PM |
[Thursday 17th Jun @ 7:53pm] |
This took too much thought and effort to be one of James' pranks. Albus or Hugo maybe. Why they had to write this rubbish in my brand new journal though...Jerks. Got to admit though, it was impressive. The different handwriting, and weird entries for such a random couple people. I can't believe they included that vile woman though. Granny Molly would have a fit.
Anyways. I'll play along with their little joke. They'll get bored and shove off eventually. So the journal is bound in a bit of leather and this really thin, flexible wood for the covers. It's got a dragon carved into the front filled with gold leaf or something. I got it in Flourish and Blotts yesterday. YESTERDAY, you prats. When I find out which one of you is screwing with me you're in so much trouble.
I'm moving into my new flat tomorrow. I can't wait. Nice little place in London, fourth floor, two bedrooms, little balcony, and a nice walk to the Ministry's visitor entrance. I get to tend the unicorn foul that came in last night at work tomorrow too. We don't get unicorns in often, and by that I mean never.
Lily Luna Potter
aka The Lune
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[Monday 14th Jun @ 11:15pm] |
14 June, 1980. The time is around 11 pm in the evening, which by the 24 hour clock is hour 23. At least this is according to the clock that I have here, but I've long suspected that it's not entirely truthful. It's endured a rather large amount of debris thrown in it's direction.
This journal is currently 1.016cm x 19.05cm x 24.892000000000003cm in the metric system, 0.4 x 7.5 x 9.8 inches by the antiquated English system should American measurements be needed. It weighs 12.6 ounces, or 357.20401499999997 grams. This weight may be given to change as there seems to already be writing on it and I can imagine that it will gather more, though not of an appreciable amount in the matter of notebooks. The cover is thin and almost paper like and has taken on a hue of deep blue. Pages are crisp, white, and clear of blemishes outside of the previously mentioned writing.
At the moment it seems interactive in nature, but seems to have no conclusive data of such interactions. This entry was written by Damocles Belby.
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| 13th January 1996, 11:30pm |
[Sunday 13th Jun @ 6:34pm] |
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It is clearly my master’s will that I discovered this journal. I had faith he would not forget me. His most loyal! All those years in Azkaban could never be for nothing. The Dark Mark beautifully printed on the cover was clearly a sign from him. I am sure he desired for me to follow this instructor’s instructions. Though I am sure he will excuse me for not writing things as an actual journal I am not stupid enough to write my thoughts in a book. That would be something ridiculous like Cissy would do. There is not much else for me to say perhaps I may actually try to sleep. It will be unusual to sleep in an actual bed compared to Azkaban.
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[Thursday 10th Jun @ 8:54pm] |
Upon this twenty-second day of the month of December, in the year of our Lord 1126:
I am bitterly distressed by the rude words hurled in my face upon this evening by one I choose to call sister. Ha! Sister! No true sister mine would dare speak to me in such a manner. Were she of the male persuasion, or did I love her less, or both, I should have run her through where she stood. My dear Salazar insists I take her waspish comments too much to heart, but the insult cannot be borne. Certain of my apprentices were privy to the argument; how will they respect me anon? I suppose you did not think of that, Ravenclaw!
Though I long for nothing more than to run a league or two despite the blizzard beating at the castle, Salazar has informed me in no uncertain terms that he will have my head if I risk my health so. I am strongly tempted to go out anyway. It will serve her right. I know not who would care for the learning of my apprentices were I to catch the fever and wither away, although the thought is indeed laughable - I, who have never had the fever a day in my life! But to entrust their futures to any of my brethren, dearly as I love them, is impossible. I shall simply drink off this brandy and go to bed, and hope that in the morn, Ravenclaw has seen the error of her ways and chooses to apologise profusely. Preferably in front of the entire population of the castle.
I must also inquire sternly as to who among our pupils has defaced this book by writing in it, then replaced it upon the shelves. I cannot be bothered with their scrawls.
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