June 28th, summer before 6th year:
Now who would have thought, me, with a diary... amazing isn't it? Well what's really amazing is how I got it in the first place. It's kind of like a last resort. This landed in my hands and at first I thought it was prank material, but I really don't think any prank is worth 200 pounds. You'll get what I mean soon enough.
What do I mean, “you”? Who am I talking to? The bindings? Pages? The spirit of the diary? Do diaries have spirits? That's nuts! So, whom am I talking to, myself? Yeah, that works, so Padfoot this one's for you. This is a lot crazier than I thought it'd be.
Today ended the school term. Fifth year is now behind me! We pulled into King's Cross station promptly at eleven. I told Mum to pick me up at six, so James and I could "carouse" a bit of London. His mum's staying a ways north in Hampstead for the weekend, so she took his stuff and left us for the day. I don't think she would have left him if she knew what would happen.
I left my trunks in the men's lavatory at the station. Very filthy in there, but I locked my stuff up in a cubicle and James slapped on an "Out of Order" note to the door, so no one would bother it. From there we headed down south for lunch.
James dragged me up and down and around the whole bloody city and somehow we ended up in Notting Hill. Snotty district in my opinion, but James said there were girls. Whatever, all I saw was forty year old blobs, tourists, and snappy old ladies.
So after about five minutes, we established the place was a bore. I don't know what James was thinking; maybe he was trying to entertain me, but he stopped this old hag. A real frosty wench with hand bag, white gloves, white hair, older than Noah, I swear to God. He asked her if she'd be interested in a dinner date and that he really went for old girls with blue hair. Never did he think her response would be so harsh!
She whacked him! Swung that moldy old purse of hers and whacked him! The look on Prongs face will stick forever, total shock. I think she had just gone shopping because the main contents of her bag were canned goods. That's what really made the impact, I think. I didn't even realize I was laughing and the woman whacked me too! Not a pleasant feeling either, because my ears were ringing.
She must have had a year's supply of green beans in that bloody sack. James, the idiot started howling, laughing at me like a hysterical maniac. Granny took it to offense then started another round of whacking the both of us. The old girl was making such a scene that it caught the attention of a bobby. The stupid chap must have thought we were trying to mug her or something, because he grabbed James by the back of his shirt and me by my hair (I think I have a bald spot now, the git!) and accused us of harassing a fine old senior.
James protested by saying he was only complementing her on her hair, and I tried to shed some light on the fact that she was pummeling us for no reason. Her excuse was self-defense. Oh God! Really, defense from what- James's breath?! I hope she gets a nice little hot seat in hell for that one. Ha! I can just imagine it, her blue hair flaming. What a lovely picture.
So anyway, James had put us in a right ugly spot. The constable still had us captive to his grip and James just had to say something else, open his big fly trap and get us in a mess. He let in another one, saying he guessed this meant Gran wouldn't go out with him, and she went at us again with her bag. Luckily, she missed James and hit the constable, who doubled in pain on contact.
This made way for our escape. We high-tailed it up the street. James made a beeline for the nearest shop and I followed. The constable was screaming after us and I knew we were in deep water. He passed the shop- he hadn't seen us go in (thankfully). Once he was off my mind, I realized what kind of ruddy shop James had led me into.
It was one of those antique places. Great, more old ladies. I think you have to be an antique to work in an antique shop, don't you? The constable passed again and James dragged me behind a large vanity display. Safe form view, I was sure to give him a good punch, the dolt!
The shop lady (or whoever she was) said some junk about loitering not being allowed and that you had to buy something or leave. I stalled with the usual “just looking” and watched the constable pass twice more. The shopkeeper nagged us again and I just grabbed whatever. It happened to be this ancient little blue book. If I'd seen what the heck I'd picked up, I wouldn't have bought it at all.
So I threw the thing down on the counter and James handed her the entire contents of his pocket (now that I look back on this, I see what a real sneaky weasel that woman was). She looked at the cash then said all sly like if we wanted any change. With out thinking much James said no, and I grabbed my withered new piece of rubbish (Withered? New? It made sense the first time anyway) and just dashed out of there. We escaped the constable and hailed a taxi.
Finally able to breathe freely, I really gave it to Prongs. Just because I said I was bored didn't mean I wanted chaos. Yes, I admit, it would have been funny if I wasn't black and blue with bruises from a bag and a bat, not to mention a fresh new gap on the back of my head, but James is a little crazy sometimes.
When he suggested a visit to Piccadilly Circus I'd just about had enough, so I persuaded him (God! That was some chore!) to retrieve my baggage at the station. By that time it was almost seven-thirty. I was an hour and a half late and Mum would be furious with me… if she was still there, that is. And, as expected, she was nowhere in sight.
I snagged my trunks, avoiding the creepy homeless mate outside the cubicle, and waited with James in the parking lot. As it turned out, his mum agreed to pick us up and drop me off at Grimmauld Place.
James leaves Hampstead tomorrow morning for York, and who knows when I'll hear from him next. He's really bad at writing letters-, gets one sentence in at the most and it's usually just, "How are you, hope you're well “ciao". There's some hope he might invite me over though, maybe in July. It'd sure beat here...
Oh yeah, so it turns out James just gave that nutty shopkeeper a bit of a fortune- two hundred pounds! Yeah, he's bloody rich. When he told me how much he gave her, he just shrugged and said Muggle money is worth less than galleons anyway.
It really gets to me how he can shrug off that kind of money. James has got as many galleons as he has detentions, and that's saying something. I think we're at a tie now- between the two of us, James and I, we have about a hundred fifty, and even then I'd say that's a little low. We're going for the record. Filch says the worst- sorry, I mean best- was a hundred n' ten. We're close to beating it- with two more semesters I'd say it's an easy goal.
James is rather proud of the tallies Filch engraved on the back of his office door for our detentions. Remus reckons he needs a new door now, he's running out of room. We have files too! Judith Stebbins said I have my own drawer. That just gives me a warm, happy feeling inside. You know that feeling, the one where you love the world. I could almost kiss Kreacher it makes me... wait, I'm taking that back (vomiting feeling now).
Filch says our days are numbered. Every year he begs McGonagall to expel us. I think she would, if James didn't keep the house cup in her office- Quidditch helps a bundle with points. But our days? Numbered? Oh, I love that man, Filch. Every detention of ours is another daisy for his grave. I daresay we're sending him there rather quickly.
Hey, there's a moon tonight. I know, big whoop, the moon, but it's Remus I'm thinking about. Wonder how's he's doing. Looks as if he's got a bit less than a week 'til that time. Poor bloke, he has it worse off than any of the Marauders.
Well, with that happy note, I end my entry. My God, it's long! I've never written this much in my life! Heck, there's always a first for everything, just as long as I don't make this a habit. I don't want to turn into Snivellus. That thought makes me want to bathe. I need to go ice my forehead, I could really kill that woman! Rejection by an old woman, that should lower James' self-esteem, considering he can't get Evans either.