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What I Said People I Vex So busy! Pansy Sod Off Back In Time Sod Off Back In Time Sod Off Forward Sod Off Forward
Never Ending Wangsty Tedium aka N.E.W.T.s - Perfectly Pansy
The malevolent have hidden teeth.
perfectly_pansy
perfectly_pansy
Never Ending Wangsty Tedium aka N.E.W.T.s

Had an owl from Dorian today. Naturally, he's ever so relieved at the turn of events. He can play Quidditch without the expectation of other allegiances hanging over his head, and he needed accept the blame for failing to step up to servitude to the Dark Lord. He's accepted a position with the Tornadoes, which isn't his favourite team, mind, but for Dorian anything's better than the Magpies. Dori's invited Nathaniel and I, Justin (which means Blaise as well), Zacharias (sans his current amor, I expect), and Draco and Tracey to Tutshill for the first weekend in July, which I rather think will be a lovely reprieve after our N.E.W.T.s. He didn't mention Millicent, and Millicent is tight-lipped about such things, so I figure I ought to leave it at that and not enquire further. To be a good friend, though, I did show Millicent Dori's owl, and she really didn't seem to mind. We've made plans for the seaside for mid-August. Anyhow, we're to bring our brooms, naturally -- I wonder if I will be able to talk Nathaniel into a leisure fly? I've never taken the time to poke about in the Wye Valley, and I always enjoy going places where I don't have to say anything -- a mouth of this size gets plenty of workout as it is, and I fancy a respite from my incessant gum flapping (although I would never admit that to some people, hem hem!) -- and if Nathaniel reinforces any one thing in me it's that often one doesn't need to use words to get one's point across. Sometimes just sitting side-by-side says more than any words could ever. Also, I've had an employment enquiry from a small wizarding library in Chepstow, and I'll owl the head librarian to see if she might be able to coordinate my interview with my travel plans. If not, there's always the Floo.

I find myself ignoring the employment enquiries from the Ministry itself. I've had three owls of interest, but only one is from a department I'm even remotely interested in, and that's only on a vague, peripheral level. Researching and devising spells can be fascinating, of course, but the problem with working for the government is that you are bound by their bureaucracy and held hostage to their political jockeying and positioning. The Ministry is mired in its own quicksand; it cannot see the forest for the trees, and it spits out ridiculous half-solutions in its attempt to please all parties all the time. I would never last there -- I like to say what is on my mind, and I don't like shrouding truths in veils meant to do nothing than appease a given group's inner umbrage at whatever perceived slight they may find. They're like Nifflers, those lots, burrowing and digging until they find something to take offence at. I don't mind asserting my opinion, of course, but I'm not stupid, and I'm not a drone, and I would get sacked at the Ministry faster than anyone could say Bob's your uncle. Out there is just a larger version of in here, really -- I crave order, but I like to make my own order. I crave knowledge, but I crave full knowledge -- just like I did with the Dark Arts. I never felt being informed about all aspects of the Dark Arts indicated anything other than a more global knowledge; others feel being interested in the Dark Art means one is inclined to become a dark witch or wizard themselves. What a truly ignorant position, in my opinion, but it's certainly not uncommon. I do believe I've just come to understand that I've three owls to write, in addition to my other neglected correspondence. I shall add this to my to-do list.

I do not fancy a life behind a desk. The research position in Chepstow intrigues me because I would be allowed to conduct necessary research from my home or from the field, and that is very inviting. I can't stand being confined and constrained, and four walls without any windows are maddening. I often hate that I cannot just settle into a routine, that I crave drama and noise and change and stimulation and intrigue all at the same time, but my father says that I ought not worry so much about being the way that I am (although he prefers me to not utilise my smart mouth as often as I do), but rather I should just find something that lets me do what I want as much as possible.

I shall not miss this place. I look forward to living above ground, in a place that has windows and sunlight. I don't know where that will be yet; mother has her estate agent scouring the listings for me. Really my only specifications are that wherever I go I must have a Floo hub in the house (I think that's a given). It must have windows. It must have a large bath. It must be pink. It must foster the development of Bowtruckles, Japanese maples, and turkeys (wherever I go, I must have ready access to turkey snoods, should the mood strike). It must have a built-in shelf for my Lego, my butterscotch tin, my crocuses (the real kind, not my knickers!), my copy of the Muggle novel Les Miserables, and my Beelzebarbie. There must be a punchbowl for Blaise and a special hanger for her raspberry robes. There must be a hook for Nathaniel's kite, and anyone else who might have a kite. There must be a closet for Gregory's three stone, and poppyseeds in the kitchen for Vincent. There must be a belfry for Theo's benefit, as I'm sure he doesn't like turning into a bat animagus in front of others -- for him, a book on rhetoric as well. There must be a wine cellar stocked full of Sauternes and strawberry sugar quills for Tracey, and a conservatory just for Millicent, Su, and me so we can take tea whenever we'd like. And of course there must be a Draco Room, for all things Draco! Wall-to-wall Draco, my first everything, my forever friend. Draco would be displeased with me, should I slight him his own room! There must be secret passages for continued conspiratorial games and declarations! There shall be plenty of teacups and Croak Kay mallets and quills and mugs and bound notebooks especially for the left-handed. There shall be a place by the door where I can put Horton (now a handbag) so he might never be forgotten. There shall be a pond for Weasel the goose. The grounds must be large and sprawling enough to allow for a proper hunting of the Snark. There shall be two gargoyles over the door and I shall call them Zustin and Jach, for Gargoyles are protective creatures in a way. There shall be a portrait of my Uncle Egg over the fireplace. There should be a tree which shows pink and purple leaves in the fall, under which I shall always reign Little Miss October. There shall be omnioculars for any KNICKER LOOKERS who may perchance to visit. Wherever I live should be a haven for all the emotionally retarded, and it should have a ballroom available for whenever the mood to dance saucily strikes. It should have a duelling hall, and plenty of ink and quills at my bedside. There should be soapboxes for everyone, refractable wards, and bullying guard penguins. There shall be a disco called the Copa Banana and a framed copy of Cattulus No. 69. There shall be a room for whoever needs one, where when the lights go out at night and we are mired in darkness, all blood sounds the same whilst rushing through its veins, and nothing matters but one's next breath. And, most importantly? Wherever I live, I shall be Head Boy!

I expect I should be grateful for independent wealth, for I have a feeling I'm going to have to build my own place. Ah well, haven't I always? And successfully at that. Just another adventure in the grand scheme of things, I expect. One door closes and another opens; I shall not be sad to see Hogwarts' door close, for I've managed to pull through its door those and that which matter to me most. Colour me resourceful.

~*~


Only until this cigarette is ended
A little moment at the end of all,
While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,
And in the firelight to a lance extended,
Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,
The broken shadow dances on the wall,
I will permit my memory to recall
The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.
And then adieu, -- farewell! -- the dream is done.
Yours is a face of which I can forget
The colour and the features, every one,
The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;
But in your day this moment is the sun
Upon a hill, after the sun has set.


~*~


I'm feeling: busy busy
Music In My Mind: Owls hooting