Jan. 10th, 2003

frost_incarnate: (Default)
Yesterday, I decided to give Pansy a tour of the house.

A couple hours later, having toured the wine cellar extensively, we were making out when Father walked in.

The resulting conversation is something I choose to believe didn't happen. I, Pansy, and Father all reacted in ways that seem (now that I am sober and have a hangover potion brewing) to be surreal.
frost_incarnate: (white)
Yesterday has raised some serious questions in my mind.

Pansy and I talked about 'corrupting' one another, and 'taking advantage'- but we never spelled out exactly what we meant.

How far was she intending to go? I know what I thought once I was drunk- but was that what we both meant when sober?

Then there's the fact that I stood up to Father. I said no to him. I've never done anything so stupid.

It felt good. Especially.... I was quite drunk, but I think that he was threatening Pansy. With what I'm not sure.

If he was, I'd stand up to him again, I think.

Even while sober.
frost_incarnate: (Default)
I was having a very nice evening talking to Pansy before it flew in the window and scared the hell out of me.

I should probably owl him and apologise for turning its feathers permanently pink.


No, I don't think I shall.

I am lost.

Jan. 10th, 2003 11:31 pm
frost_incarnate: (white)
Exceedingly lost.

Blaise and I argued about the falcon, Pansy and I argued about if I'd implied to Blaise that I was shagging her, neither argument got me down.

Then I went and played the violin, for the first time in a month.

Then, the flute. That I play around once a week, so it wasn't so uncommon.

Then I sat around for ten minutes wishing Father hadn't thrown out my saxophone last summer because it was invented by Muggles. I only had it for a week, so I would've sounded awful trying to play in any case.

Then I did something I'd never done before.

I tried my hand at poetry.

I was horrid, and I stopped. Then I burned it, in case pansy found it.

Nothing bloody rhymes with Pansy, anyway.

Why am I writing poetry in the first place? I hate poetry.

Now, I must find a way to convince Father that I ought to be allowed to spend the rest of the summer at the Patils, as Pansy stubornly refuses to leave without me, despite the fact that I've been here my whole life. I can handle it. I don't want her to have to. Father scares me when he's around her. It's alost like...

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