H. Granger's Journal

July

Sunday, July 6, 2003

9:52 PM

Spent the weekend camping at an event put on by the Society for Preservation of Historic Duelling Forms. It's a good excuse to spend time with friends, and be free of Weasley intensities for a little while. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie Bell (who spent a good portion of the event rejoicing that she was free of Hogwarts and serious studies, and could have fun for the first time in her life) were there, along with Roger Davies, finally settled down with Angelina, Neville (who has finally given up on Katie despite her love for Herbology, and was doing a fair imitation of the chivalric gentleman), Seamus, Katie's housemates (entertained by our British vagaries), and various men who have been connected to Alicia at one point or another. None of us were actually duelling-- of all of us Neville and Harry have been the only ones serious about the art, and Neville doesn't have the armour at the moment for truly Historic duelling. Thus we were mostly observing (and shopping; Roger Davies bought me a book, Chefs-d'oeuvre du A.E. Merlin Museum - Manuscrits Enluminés, while lamenting his inability to flirt with all comers now that he is a married man) and drinking more than I've managed since I stopped living in the room next to Ron's. Highlights included my attempt to make Roger Davies drunk enough that I could beat him at chess, and a smashed Alicia telling me that many years ago before a Quidditch match she sat on Harry's lap and he fondled her leg. Am entertained both that she remembered and that Harry (as I confirmed in the fire this evening) has forgotten.

Missed Harry rather a lot this weekend. The context required him somehow; he does duel, after all, and I was hardly about to go looking for women with Seamus, Neville, et al.

Sunday, July 13, 2003

12:32 AM

Took the train to Cardiff today to look at flats. Modern wizarding architects seem to be afflicted by the belief that if one knows how to work magic, one does not need a kitchen larger than a postage stamp; I wonder what they do when their cauldrons choose to tip over and the counter prevents them from jumping back. Allowing for this problem, however, I found several decent flats-- none so perfect that I can avoid another journey, however, I fear.

Ginny had an eighth-circle practical in Bellomancy today. The root in Bellomancy is Latin rather than French, and the specialty is indeed warlike; it involves focussing magic through one's body and prepared stances rather than a wand. The techniques are more influenced by Asian strains of magic than most British wizarding specialties; Ginny subscribes to an Indonesian school. (It's all a bit athletic for my tastes, but then Ginny has always been more interested in sport than I . . .) Though Bellomancy isn't required to become an Auror, many Aurors practice it, so it's quite prestigious in its way. I stopped by the centre on my way from the station to the Burrow, and discovered-- alas!-- that Ginny had left her practical partway through. She wasn't ready; nothing could distract her quite like the combination of Amsterdam and Draco. She's closeted with Mrs. Weasley now, between bouts of tears . . . I hope she can try again soon; it's very important to Ginny to be good at something that none of her brothers have tried. And Draco reached ninth-circle courtesy of his father (one of the few good lessons he can have learned!) some time back, which must make Ginny feel even worse.

12:46 AM

My worry for Ginny distracted me enough that I forgot to mention the books I acquired in Cardiff (at a lovely bookshop full of old books, and possessing an orange cat rather smaller than Crookshanks, as well as a strange attempt at a T-shirt captioned "Celebrating 666 Years Since the Bubonic Plague".) I now possess David Adams' seminal text on the Norse gods, and an analysis of trends in Chinese wizarding methods in response to the prevalence of Western Muggle technology by Oona O'Neill.

Monday, July 14, 2003

1:35 AM

Went fabric shopping with Ginny today. She wants to learn to quilt. (Nothing like a super-feminine activity to remove Draco from the picture! But that's not fair of me. He had to work.) We talked a little bit about her practical. She said she was nervous, and screwing up spells she knew like the back of her hand-- like Ron's Quidditch when he first started, this nervousness must be a younger-Weasley trait-- and she didn't want to reach the eighth circle feeling unworthy. So she stopped. She seemed upbeat and mature about it. I'm glad I avoided the classic Weasley screaming match I expected; though of course I was late coming back from Cardiff.

Less than two weeks till Harry moves; which means I need to find a flat, which means another trip to Cardiff. Will be very strange to live with him. No, that's not accurate. It is strange to contemplate living with him. When we are together it always seems utterly natural. But we've been in separate places for so long; and lately we've been squabbling over little things, petty jealousies, the fact that he reads my journal, the fact that I don't hide my journal under a rock. He is cursed with curiosity! And I with Gryffindor stubbornness, I suppose. I do not want to change to make Harry comfortable. I want that to be virtue and not selfishness.

Tuesday, July 15, 2003

11:33 PM

Apparently Draco, during the dark time in Amsterdam, found work as a security guard in a brothel. I'm sure he would have amazing stories to tell, if I could overcome my irritation enough to listen.

Thursday, July 17, 2003

12:57 AM

Made another expedition to Cardiff today. As I was rushing out of the house toward the train station, Draco asked me where I was going, and then why I was moving so far away; this proves that he pays even less attention to my life than I do to his. I am not sure whether the extreme mutuality of our lack of interest in each other makes me feel less guilty that I've been a bad houseguest and have avoided him, or more.

The expedition itself was reasonably successful, though the only way to avoid the postage-stamp kitchen problem appears to be to include the stove in one's main room. Rather medieval, really. I'll talk to Harry in the fire tomorrow, and choose a flat.

While I was in Cardiff I dropped by the Thaumaturgic Research Centre's library and looked up some information on Middle Breton sorcerous vocabulary and onomastics, just to keep my hand in. The library has two entrances, one on the techniques end of the building and one on the theory end. In the lobby of the theory end there's a mobile of ravens, enchanted to swoop about the room, and a large motto in both Welsh and English. I'd like to learn Welsh while I'm at the TRC, but I fear that German will have to come first; it's a far more significant language for arithmantical research.

While paging through Etudes des Sorciers Celtiques I found a translation of a fragmentary Welsh poem about the birth of Taliesin. It featured a witch who used her knowledge of Vergil and of herbs to make a potion that conveyed great wisdom . . . It's odd to think of myself, another witch and scholar of Vergil, so many centuries later.

5:58 PM

Mr. Weasley is happily discussing opium with Draco. (Mrs. Weasley has poppies in her garden.) The jolly theories are overwhelming.

Saturday, July 19, 2003

12:15 PM

Harry and I have escalated the petty squabbling into what would be a true knock-down, drag-out screaming match, if our style of argument favoured the screaming match above the purportedly reasonable statement alternating with long periods of grim silence. (We need Ron to yell properly. I miss him.) Of course, Harry and I can't even sulk blackly at each other in a proper manner, since he isn't here; we're reduced to sending each other flurries of owls, written at varying levels of inebriation.

Meanwhile, Fred and George are visiting Harry to help him pack, which means that I may expect a truly exciting unpacking process, if they take sides.

Less than two weeks till Harry's here. Less than that till I sign a lease swearing we will share a flat for a year.

6:54 PM

One should not attempt to apparate when one is exhausted from excess of emotion and has forgotten to eat and has spent the past several years on a very small island in the North Sea. One will inevitably appear on top of somebody who has had the boldness to purchase a designer robe and a dozen eggs in the same outing, and find oneself liable for damages one cannot afford.

I now possess an essay on wizarding religion and Stamen, a journal on women and spell design, however. So all is not ill.

Friday, July 25, 2003

7:08 PM

Harry is on his way to Cardiff, albeit slowly. It takes a while to move a flat full of belongings, even if one is a wizard.

We're ignoring our quarrel for the time being. I did speak to Cho in the fire a few days ago, though, while I was coming down from the peak of wrath-- she offered to curse Harry for me. I refrained from reading her the ethics lecture, supposing that she just didn't understand. Really, sometimes Cho's logic is beyond me, even if I have held the Token Explaining Female status for some time.

Apparently Fred and George are also On My Side. But I think this is more because they find Harry's reaction entertaining (or want to go on reading my journal themselves. Go away, Fred!) than any grand sympathy.

Wednesday, July 30, 2003

2:19 AM

The flat situation has been horrifically complicated. For some reason wizards tend toward an archaic and difficult concept of contract law . . . Am exhausted. More tomorrow.