I miss Pansy quite a lot. I don't know who shall keep Millicent from crushing my ribcage when I'm seventy now. I rather wish that Wilkes weren't dead, and if I must be perfectly honest, I doubt that he is. Wasn't he already supposed to be dead? I'd rather see him locked in Azkaban. Actually, perhaps I could just take him to the Manor and lock him in between two walls until he suffocates, slowly but surely. Or I could simply lock him in a dungeon and bury him up to his neck, leave him there for a fortnight, then give him water if he were still alive. Then I'd come back in a fortnight and do the same thing until he wasted away in the dirt.
Crabbe and Goyle are, as usual, beating the rush by packing at the last moment. I was sitting in the dormitory, minding my own business, when I was hit in the face with a cockroach cluster. Needless to say, I decided it was best to leave the room.
Last evening at the ramshackle Leaving Feast, McGonagall informed us that Dumbledore's been trapped inside of a pensieve for over a week. I've no idea what sort of effect that might have on someone, but it's undoubtedly severe. I've never heard of such a thing. I wonder if Wilkes kept a pensieve.
I'm hoping that Mother and I can go on a holiday at some point over the summer, perhaps in August. I'd suggest going to Egypt, but I'm slightly concerned about the heat. Egyptians are rather dark. I'm not certain my skin could take that sort of sun. Nonetheless, perhaps I could get a very good sunblock. Or we could simply go to Iceland.
Millicent is, in fact, going to be staying at the Manor for the duration of the summer, so perhaps she can assist me in deciding what to do with the shop in Diagon Alley I received as a gift from my mother. Aside from that, I've made various and unimportant plans for the summer. I've never actually seen Finnigan while he was a horse, so that should prove interesting. I do wonder if he's been fit for horseshoes yet. I wasn't actually intending that as a threat when I began writing it, but now I'm terribly curious and can't stop wondering. When would he have had that done? Did he go to a smith? What would happen to the horseshoes when he was actually Finnigan? Finnigan's being a horse is so strange. It raises so many questions.
This morning I'm to have breakfast with Potter, and then Millicent and I have to dig into my gigantic collection of gloves so that we can remove some branches from a tree. I do hope no one minds riding the entire train home with branches.
The train leaves at half one and then I shall be gone from Hogwarts forever. I suppose I ought to have joined in on the barbaric burning of books a fortnight ago, but I thought it rather tasteless. I've given my books to the rubbish bin on the sixth floor. Everyone knows that burning magical books is dangerous.
I've become quite tired very quickly. I thought that I would be dancing merrily upon the day I was to leave Hogwarts, but now I just want to go home. Of course, this certainly doesn't mean I'm sorry to leave Hogwarts. Quite the contrary, actually. I'm simply less enthusiastic. It's rather hard to become enthusiastic about anything at the moment, though of course, I do have to pretend every once in awhile.