The Extremely Private Communal Notebook

Dear Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot:

Somebody kill me. Just right now, somebody swoop in and Avada Kedavra my lonely arse to end this gut-wrenching pain. Thwarted again by love! My heart trampled on by the one I give it so freely to! Woe betide he who is in love, for his plight is that of a suicide mission. I shall never love again! I will become a monk. Yes, that is it, I shall be a monk. Father Prongsy has a certain ring to it, doesn't it? Yes, I shall be a lonely, celibate monk, for I have discovered the Unalienable Truth: Women Are Trouble. Learn this lesson now, my compadres! Learn it now, rather than first hand! Join me in my monkdom and we can change our name to The Marauding Monks. Catchy, huh? Hurry, boys. Monkhood awaits!

Too Depressed to Answer Anyone,

Prongs

Dear Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs:

I'm really sorry about Lily, James. Unfortunately, I cannot join you in your monkhood, as I have a date. With a girl. A pretty girl. With blonde hair and boobs and everything! Oh, the fates are finally shining on me! Go Peter, it's my birthday! Go Peter, it's my birthday! I'm actually doing my Happy Dance of Death right now, so be thankful you're all down in the common room doing homework. Well, I have to go get ready. For my date. With a girl. Have I mentioned that she's pretty? And that she's blonde? And don't forget the boobs!

Yours in a Boob-tastic Stupor,

Wormtail

Dear Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs:

Oh, James. I'm still so sorry. I know you must be miserable. I know this because you're lying on the floor next to my chair, your hand on your forehead, palm up, eyes closed, sprawled out exactly as you fell, moaning and groaning, along with the occasional whimper of, "Lily! My Lily! Love not another!" I'm dreadfully anticipating the moment when you give a rousing chorus of "You are So Beautiful to Me." Please don't sing, James. Please don't. Oh, damn, there you go. God, your voice is like rocks grating on a chalkboard. The ghosts would love it. Perhaps you can sing at their parties? Don't know how they would pay you, as ghosts don't have money, but ah, well...Anyway, I'm afraid that nor can I join your Marauding Monks. I'm saving myself for Minerva. Or most of me, anyway.

Padfoot, I don't panic just because the full moon is coming...I'm panicky all month long. But, I repeat, there is never a stick even near my arse. And I still don't have naughty dreams about Minerva. I would never dream such impurities!

Wormtail, your date isn't for three more days. Don't start getting ready yet. Little things like sleep, meals, and showers will mar what I'm sure will otherwise be your perfect appearance.

Yours, Still Sans-Naughty Dreams,

Moony

Dear Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs:

Oh, for the love of all that is pure and holy, JAMES STOP SINGING that infernal song! If I hear you say the line, "L is for the way you look at me..." one more time, I will hex you into oblivion! Ah well. At least you stopped singing "You are so Beautiful to Me." That was really annoying the hell out of me. Prongs, it'll be all right. I promise. Lily's shot you down before, and you always manage to survive. It's like that old saying, "If you fall off, get right back on the proverbial hippogriff and ride her." Er...well, you'll need to get a date before you can do that, so I suppose I should be saying, "...get right back on the proverbial hippogriff and date her." Then again, dating a hippogriff sounds mildly disgusting, so perhaps that's not the best advice either. At any rate, quit singing. For the love of God, man. You look pathetic. You haven't gotten up out of that spot in days. You haven't eaten, you haven't slept, and, most importantly, you haven't showered, and trust me, "Father Prongsy," you NEED it. Desperately. It's horrible. Moony is threatening to just dowse you with a bucket of cold water, and if he tries it, I can't promise that I'll try to stop him. Just get over her, James! It can't be that hard! But I can't join you in your monkdom. I uh...sorta still have a thing for girls of the female persuasion. Sorry, mate. If you asked me to give up anything else, I'd say yes in a heartbeat, but I could never give up girls. Too many that I haven't shagged yet.

Wormtail, quit bragging about your date when poor James is lying on the common room floor in such a state. Have you no tact? And for the love of God, man, less gel in your hair, okay? You look like we all spit on your head 36 times a day. People will start getting the wrong ideas. I know for a fact that we only spit on you 12 times a day. I've counted.

Moony, you can keep lying all you want, but you have naughty dreams about McGonagall. It's extremely disgusting, mate.

Well, must dash. James' singing is grating on my nerves something horrible, so I'm off to grab some earplugs.

Yours in "Hearing Blockages 101",

Padfoot