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Work is a load of shite. I think everyone intentionally says, "Oh, let's just throw ALL THE WORK on NOTT." How ridiculously unfair is that?

...I'm also wondering, Tracey, when we'll go get tea together. Or coffee. Or ice cream. Whichever you prefer, really.

I also find it stupid when former students decide to drop by in work, thinking it's all right that they've "come to visit". Former Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs... no, you're not welcome to pop in for a "visit". If you're a Slytherin, perhaps I'll consider.
Tracey bought me a replacement to my damaged book, in which the first book I had was ruined because of Longbottom.

I suppose this one is even better, it has an extra author's note that wasn't in the last one.

Thanks, Trace.
I bet I've had a much better holiday than the rest of you.

Tracey? Have I lost you to the mansion?
Do I really have to go to this party, Tracey?

Will there be anything to do there?
So, er. Christmas is coming up, I'm going home for once. I've been known to stay here in the past, even at other people's houses, but I'd rather just go home, I guess.

I think it may be a little lonely there...
Happy Birthday, twins. Er.

I wonder if anyone remembered who else's it was...
This doesn't come as a surprise at all, but classes are completely pointless right now.

I don't have time for this.
What a nightmare.

I was TRYING to get my Transfiguration work done when SOMEONE shows up late. Of course, the seat next to mine was the only seat open because it's quite a big class. For the whole class, Macmillan was watching me and making absolutely obscene comments. One would think he was a schoolgirl with a crush.

And then, for no reason at all, HE BLOODY HEXED ME. Maybe because I hexed him first, but... we won't get into that.World, how is this at all fair? Hufflepuffs need to learn to control their emotions or something. Get a life, Macmillan.
So. Crabbe lost a few pounds. Why is everyone making such a big deal of this? I grew my hair a little longer. Want to say something about that?

And please, Boot, stop thinking about my Tracey's body. It's degrading to women and makes you look unintelligent. Well, you already were, but it just makes you look worse than before.
Honestly. We are not forced by some invisible magical law to write in these things. Events come and go in my life, and I will be the judge of who sees what.

It doesn't help that I'd rather not share anything at all. But there's this rather annoying voice, this very disturbing and poking finger, and so it shall come to pass. I will share.

We snogged on the balcony, we snogged in the kitchen, the hallway, her father's study. We snogged in her bedroom, my bedroom, the diningroom, the living room.

Against the wall, on the couch, on desk #23, desk #4, in the chair and almost up the ceiling.

Happy now, darling?