Bloomed

( Private. )

Reforming criminals seems like such a waste of time and effort. Degenerates and rebels should be kept locked away, not handed wands and let loose to do as they please.

( Draco. )

All this rain does nothing but depress me. I suppose I ought to be used to it by now, but every spring, when the snow turns to rain and everything is so dreadfully grey, it makes me want to do nothing but sleep. I don't even feel like drinking. I just want to brood and be melancholy and stand by my window, fingertips on the glass, and look out at all the wet people on the sidewalk.

I'd forgotten about this stupid little book. It really is quite useless. It's only served to make me feel more sorry for myself; I've done absolutely nothing productive since January did I do anything productive in January? and all I have to talk about is the rain.

Also, if my mother does not stop asking me just when I am going to squeeze out some grandchildren, I will strangle her. And then resucitate her. And strangle her again. And then NEVER have babies EVER, out of spite.

...Yes, I certainly could do with a little sunshine.

So, I had a lovely birthday. Despite some terrorist bint dying and stealing my birthday thunder, and certain people not sending me presents I had a lovely evening with very good company.

Spent the next two days sleeping off my lovely evening, but that's beside the point.

I made a painting today, though I'm afraid it's not very good. It was supposed to be a couple dancing, but I smudged purple onto the girl's face and even though I did my best to fix it, it never did come out quite right. I shouldn't have used purple anyway- it should have been blue.

Oh! And someone sent me my bracelet back. Good thing, as it turns out it was a gift I really liked that bracelet, and it just perfectly matches my eyes.

I really, really need to stop drinking. On second thought, natch that.

Had a fantastic New Year's celebration, although I've lost a very expensive pearl earring and... I believe, an emerald bracelet, as well. My name's engraved on the bracelet, if anyone's found it. I'll offer a reward if someone is just that keen on otherwise stealing it, but I suppose it wouldn't be too hard to have it replaced.

I spent most of today taking down the decorations and cleaning my disaster of a flat. It's nice to have everything back in order, but I'm a bit sad the the holidays are over. Now winter is simply cold and dreary with nothing to look forward to until spring.

Also, I get the most half-arsed presents for my birthday, since everyone's exhausted from Christmas.

Speaking of which... I turned 23 an hour ago. I don't feel any different. Not any older or more refined. There's certainly no sudden desire for a husband or babies.

Next year, perhaps.

Every year, despite the parties and the luncheons and the dinners, the gowns and the balls and the expensive displays, Christmas always sneaks up on me. Invariably, I pick a morning, wake up, and realize I've a week or so left to cram in an entire holiday. Presents and dresses to buy, things to cook, people to visit, people to work on avoiding.

There's less joy in it, now that I'm all grown up. I wake up in a lovely flat on Christmas morning, with a very nice little tree, and see plenty of important people and receive plenty of beautiful presents.

But getting a new pair of diamond earrings every year doesn't compare to the feeling I used to have. Waking up at six exactly, tearing down the stairs, pacing under the massive tree and shaking all the presents with my name on them. Eventually, Mother would wake up, Father would hand her her new diamond earrings, and I'd spend an hour carefully tearing open all my new dresses, dolls, and whatever else I'd convinced them to get me that year. And then we'd spend the rest of the day eating, every person that visited would have a new present for me, and because it was Christmas, I wasn't expected to share a single shiny new toy with anyone. It was my favourite day of the whole year.

I'll never wake up at my parents' home on Christmas again- not because I can't, but because my mother is absolutely ungodly until three in the afternoon, at the earliest. The tree hasn't been there since I was twelve, and I've much better things to do now than waste hours eating and listening to awkward family stories.

I sleep in, open a few expensive things, put on a new dress, and then go out and spend the night getting completely blasted.

Still fun, but not quite so magical, anymore.

( Pansy Parkinson. )