Dung

Tuesday

Had to see a man about a load of quills tonight. Turns out he got them from off the back of a lorry, so to speak, so he took a good price for them. I sold them on to my mate Wally, in the 'stationery trade'. Made a tidy little profit, if I say so meself. Always knew there was money to be made in the writing game, you just got to know your market.

Had some more of that baccy off Wally. It's strong stuff, clogs up me pipe. Worth it, though.

Wednesday

Watching that Potter boy again today. Bloody boring. All he ever does is mooch about, wasting his time. Wasting everybody's time, if you ask me. His aunt shooed him out of the house early on, I was still eating me toast. I'd only just got there meself. She's a dry old stick, that Petunia woman. Dry as a nun's quim. (Although I have heard some tales about nuns, old Stilesy used to go on and on about them...course, it could've all been in his mind...) Anyway, that Dursley bint looks as if she wouldn't know a good goosing from a dress fitting. And I'm certainly not going to volunteer to find out!

Nah, give me Nympho Tonks any day. No, I mean it, somebody give me Tonks! Gods, what that woman couldn't do to a body with that metathingy stuff she does. Phwoar. 'Course, she never would. I don't have any 'unrealistic expectations', I don't care what Shacklebolt said. I know my place.

Thursday

Another action packed day. I missed out on a whole load of moody silverware last night thanks to Harry bleeding Potter. Oh, don't get me wrong, he's a decent enough kid - a bloody important one too, if the Department of Mysteries is to be believed - but babysitting him isn't half cramping my style. I could've turned over about fifty galleons last night, if I'd been at that warehouse. Instead, old Stilesy got the lot, and he doesn't even know what to bloody well do with it! I can see it now, Dobber Jones'll rip him off and no mistake.

Oh well. Not my problem. Now where's that bloody pipe?

Friday

I found a new tee-shirt today. Well, I say new...it's a bit crumpled and stained, on account of it being found under the bed, but it'll do. Bloody hot week it's been, the old one was getting a bit whiffy. A bit crusty too. Don't want to appear too conspicuous to the Muggles. Need to blend in, like.

Saturday

Bloody Arabella Figg, batty old bint! I only left a few minutes early, how the devil was I supposed to know there'd be trouble?

I kept an eye on the boy all day. Sat on a bloody hard bench for two hours trying not to watch him playing on the swings in that little park near Privet Drive, and I knew there were some cauldrons on offer. Wally told me all about it last night, his mate Sparky was getting them straight from the forge, so to speak. A bit moody, a bit dodgy, but all good gear. Clear profit of seventy galleons, split two ways. And I only knocked off half an hour early, fer pity's sake!

'Course, the bleedin' Dementors had to show up, didn't they? And the bloody lad was with his fat cousin who saw everything! What a bloody mess! He didn't understand any of it, of course...not exactly the brightest knut in the pouch...I don't know why they didn't send someone to Obliviate him.

Okay, okay...that would've been down to me, wouldn't it, if I'd been there. Figg's a Squib, so she couldn't do much except screech about what a waste of space I am. I told her, she should try sweating around Little Whinging all bloody summer, gagging for a cup of tea and a smoke.

Still, me and Wally managed to wangle ninety galleons out of Dobber for them cauldrons, so it was quite a successful day, really.

Wonder if Shacklebolt'll take a bribe? I don't want to go back to a nice cushy little office job at the Ministry again, I'd lose all my contacts, not to mention my street cred.

And Wally's given me some more of that wacky baccy. Sweet.

Friday

She's a good woman, that Molly Weasley. Her harsh tongue and jabbing finger are just a front. She finds me completely irresistible. Gods, I'm stuffed. She knows how to cook. Nice bit of china here, too...I bet it's worth a knut or two. The silverware, now that's in a different league. Shame it has the Black family crest on it, but I bet it'd rub off easy enough. Old Sirius might be a little wary of me now, though, for mentioning it. Bloody Shacklebolt'd have my guts for garters too. Ah well, best not to mix business with...other business. That's what my old mum used to say. Either her or Wally, anyhow.

Wonder if Nympho would like a smoke with me?