| 18 July 1979, 10:18 PM |
[10 Jun 2010|08:34pm] |
Well, that is the last time I buy a book without making absolutely certain it is what it appears to be; I thought it was only a journal, even though Mr Corcoran swore it was not part of his stock, and come to find out it's already been written in.
I am inclined to think this a particularly strange prank, but as I must sit here waiting for this potion to brew for at least another hour and have nothing else of note to record tonight, I might as well follow directions for my own amusement.
1. As an Unspeakable intern, it is entirely beyond my power to prevent myself from agreeing to the use and development of anything, and if this project turns out to be above-board I will truly enjoy sorting through the charms that may or may not be a part of it.
2. I must wonder what constitutes an "entry" and what the penalties may be for failure to communicate every two weeks. For example, say an accident at work leads me to be quarantined for upwards of two weeks sans journal? Will I come out to find my participation nullified? Would it help if I got a message to a friend and asked them to write in it for me?
3. Name/date/time. I am slightly uncomfortable leaving my full name anywhere, although I shall do so this once. In future, unless contacted and told otherwise, I prefer to sign with my initials.
4. This journal is about eight inches in length and bound in royal blue leather, with no identifying marks. I thought it looked very nice and Mr Corcoran let me have it for an excellent price. If it's changed, I wasn't watching closely enough to notice.
5. I immensely dislike being bound by magical contract not to speak about this, but it is absolutely understandable, under the circumstances. I am striving to overcome my distaste for such things, in order to be (allegedly) helpful.
I think that about covers it. Interrogation is not my specialty, so I shall simply wait to see if anything happens. And feel a bit silly if it doesn't.
~ Regulus Arcturus Black
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[10 Jun 2010|08:54pm] |
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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