H. Granger's Journal

Monday, June 2, 2003

1:36 AM

Finished packing. It is late. The sheer concentration of precisely shrinking everything I own until it fits into my hatbox is extremely tiring. Things have been complicated (Harry visiting, a few hours of attempts at polite conversation with Draco, Padma, Ron leaving, a minor grant, etc.) and I am too tired to be more coherent now.

Tuesday, June 3, 2003

8:48 AM

Ginny and her parents went down to London to see Ron settled in, so I'm at the Burrow by myself right now, which is a very strange sensation. It also means I have the dubious honour of meeting Draco at the station later today. Draco and I simply have nothing to talk about; his conversation is dominated by his plans to restore the Malfoy fortune, which are universally unrealistic. (He was interviewing Harry and me about the way one becomes a Muggle film star.)

With any luck, though, Harry and I will find a flat in Cardiff quickly.

5:52 PM

Draco wears enough cologne to give me a headache.

Thursday, June 5, 2003

8:56 AM

Ginny woke me up this morning to fix a Quick Quotes Quill, which had become confused and was attempting to transcribe in Polish. The problem was easily solved; I am now contemplating whether I want to spend the day at the stationer's or at a bookstore.

With all the boys gone, life at the Burrow would be astonishingly quiet, if it were not for the fact that Draco is less than enamoured of sedentary pursuits. Since the garden gnomes are in hiding (I think perhaps they miss Fred and George), Draco has fallen back on cleaning. The Burrow actually approaches spotlessness. The effect is disconcerting in the extreme.

6:04 PM

The Institute grant for my time in Cardiff comes to around 700 Galleons, which is significantly more than I had expected. Meanwhile, however, the Ministry is threatening Mr. Weasley with downsizing his department again, due to recent budget adjustments; I am somewhat disturbed.

Monday, June 16, 2003

3:32 PM

Received an owl today from S.S. Shaw & Co., an investment firm specialising in cutting-edge sorcerous development. Evidently they somehow obtained copies of my Design Certificate results. Rather excited to know that somebody outside the tight circles of state-sponsored research institutes cares about said scores, though I prefer my small fellowship to corporate endeavours.

Life at the Burrow continues quietly. I've been investigating the history of arithmancy; I'm particularly interested in one Nicole d'Oresme, a fourteenth-century Frenchman whose analysis of transfiguration rates anticipated modern calculus. Alas, my library privileges here are unduly limited.

The Ministry has not managed to remove Mr. Weasley's department altogether, but his position is seriously threatened and he is engaged in a long series of fireside talks with nearly all of his acquaintance. So strange to see Mr. Weasley in jolly and political mode.

Draco has a position as a security guard at Eleazar's Elegant Emporium. Ah, how the mighty have fallen! However, Ginny admires his uniform.

Saturday, June 21, 2003

1:12 AM

Ginny woke me up this morning by cheerfully coming into the room (I've been using Percy's old one) and rooting through my closet for my second-best set of black robes. She is working (just a part-time job; she's planning for an eventual qualification in psychological medisorcery, focussing on practical and therapeutic applications) and has evidently decided that her own clothing is insufficiently exciting. Since most of my wizarding attire was purchased with her help-- or with Mrs. Weasley's help and her significant advice-- it suits Ginny all too well. I was irritated, since she woke me from a dream in which I was just about to identify a mysterious mammal called something like a tamao. (Brazilian name, evidently. I'd like to know if my subconscious is producing genuine and therefore portentous mammals, but the Burrow is lacking in complete zoological references. I may not know until Harry and I relocate to Cardiff!)

This evening I went dancing with Katie Bell, the people she shares a house with (a Dutch man named Jorghel, and his American wife Liz, both at least semi-professionals in Quidditch), Kevin Entwhistle, and Alex Crowley. Alex was-- as his name suggests-- a dedicated Slytherin; he dresses impeccably formally, all in black and silver, and slicks his hair back to a vampire point. Liz and Jorghel had some sort of argument, very suddenly, early in the evening, and disappeared; I believe Jorghel was exhausted from Quidditch, and not up to another energetic activity.

Like most wizarding dances this was a country dance, but in small sets and with fairly consistent partnering. With Jorghel and Liz gone our group degenerated to rather consistent pseudo-couples (though Katie, always buoyant and enthusiastic, had several partners). I ended up mostly dancing with Kevin, which was not necessarily to be desired, since he was demonstrating classic Ravenclaw uncertainty at physical activity, and my own skills at dancing are not high. Was slightly sorry not to dance more with Alex, who actually attended those sixth- and seventh-year courses on Etiquette in the Wizarding World. (They weren't offered my seventh year, anyway, for obvious reasons.) Alex is outgoing in a way that makes me slightly uneasy, however. Was wondering if he knows about Harry, though really, how could he not?

At the end of the evening Alex told a pseudo-riddle, which I reproduce here:

A woman meets the man of her dreams at her mother's funeral. Afterward she realises she does not know his name; she asks others at the funeral, but none of them can tell her. He cannot be found. A week later she kills her sister. Why?

Alex claimed that this conundrum was posed to a selection of prisoners entering Azkaban some years back, and they uniformly produced the correct solution, which I will not bore myself by repeating here. Katie was utterly puzzled, which I found very strange-- but then, she has always been more classically . . . loyal and brave and filled with friendly energy than I could ever aspire to.

Alex's air of mystery annoyed me, so I guessed bees, which is what the answer would be if it had been a real riddle. Something like that, anyway, with only one Queen at a time . . . Kevin chose the obvious after much prompting. Alex then produced the Azkaban statistic. He suggested that Kevin and I together made one murderer, though if we push this thesis to the logical extreme I am rather more than one murderer, having concealed my answer.

Damn Slytherins. I miss Harry.

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

1:11 AM

One of the Weasleys' cousins is getting married tomorrow, in Greece; he informed his father (Molly's brother) today. Somehow this makes Ginny's marriage seem reassuringly ordinary.

The Burrow is cold at night. I've been knitting gloves with angora cuffs (I taught my needles a new method of casting on the other day) but I believe they will go to Ginny. They should look unfortunately stylish with the black pullover she keeps borrowing.

Friday, June 27, 2003

9:19 PM

If Draco tells one more funny story about fat people I am going to . . . leave supper in a rude rush yet again, though to be honest with the general level of chaos I doubt anyone can tell.