I have quite a few things to do today, among them writing a letter to Pansy's mother. While I fully support the rule that women ought to stay at home and tend to the cleaning, people of mine and Pansy's stature have servants to do that sort of thing. I see no problem with Pansy working at the Ministry, as she's quite clever. Pansy's mother is a rather docile woman, so I imagine that a strongly worded letter shall do the trick.
We had Charms this morning, and I'm far more annoyed with Charms than usual. We've been learning the Patronus Charm and I think it's useless. Unless Flitwick is trying to tell us we're all going to wind up in Azkaban, I can't see how this shall ever come in handy in life. They've wisely chosen not to let loose the Dementors on Hogsmeade this time around with Pettigrew, and as I don't intend to visit Azkaban, I shan't be interacting with Dementors ever again. Unless, of course, Potter goes insane, kills several people and winds up in Azkaban, in which case I'd have to visit so that I could eat a three course meal in front of him.
As I was saying, I see no point in these lessons and find them stupid.
Evidently our journals are being graded as I type. It's quite amusing to see that so many people panicked at this news. I didn't know we were actually going to be graded on them, but you'd think others would have remembered that these are homework. Once again, I rise above the masses.
The library is an utter disaster area. It looks as though a pack of creatures was set loose in it. It took me over an hour to find a book this morning, and every time things are put back together, some riff-raff inevitably destroys everything again. Why would you try to make a mess of the library during exam time? Idiots. Everyone is an idiot. How is anyone supposed to find anything? Madam Pince will turn to booze before the fortnight's through.
A first year was reduced to tears in the common room last night. I suspect it shan't live to be a seventh year, as if it's crying over first year exams, O.W.L.s will surely kill it off. Apparently forgetting that I am no longer a prefect, Nott asked me to use my superior talents to make it stop, but when I told it to shut up it only cried more. Children. When I have children, they'll certainly not run around untamed like that.
Whilst speaking to Professor Snape last week, it occurred to me that I would be an excellent asset to any professional Quidditch team. Of course, I'd realised this before, especially as I was accepted to the Chudley Cannons, but I'd not given it much thought. I may decide to play a few years of Quidditch professionally, though I imagine I'll wait until a few years have passed after Hogwarts. I'm certain I'll need that much time to recover. Finnigan also inquired of my plans after Hogwarts. Everyone seems ridiculously enthralled by what everyone else is doing, and I simply do not care what any of you are going to do once you've finally left my life. Why is everyone so sentimental? How can one emote over the fact that there's so little time left when we've had to live, eat and sleep amongst the same people for seven years? Lord, you'd think everyone would be as eager to get away as I am. I can't imagine why you'd want to spend even more time with someone after seven years of irritating socialising.
People are promising to look each other up and send owls, but I don't see the point. Am I supposed to care that Longbottom may be working (fittingly) at St Mungo's? Besides, all of you who are trying to guarantee that you won't lose touch are morons. Everyone does. You're not going to spend afternoons lunching with the witch who sat three seats down from you in Transfiguration. Oh, sure, you can act as though you will now, but everyone knows you make better associates once you've left school. Hardly anyone here will care about anyone else within two years' time. Live with it.