| 11; 27 April 1981 |
[27 Apr 12 @ 7:49pm] |
The day is perhaps not as beautiful as I originally perceived. This is what war does. It takes away from the sun in the sky, and birds singing in the trees. Laughter sounds hollow even when it's not your own. And it is and never will be so cut and dry as the good versus the bad.
The day that this is all said and done, if I am still on this Earth, I will say a prayer for every child I have taught who was a casualty, a catalyst, or a combatant of this war.
I think I will be praying for the rest of my life.
[Private]What a waste. What a waste of life, and of skill. Of potential. He might have been eristic, but he was very intelligent, and somehow... I expected better. I knew, as we all did, what was happening under our noses with so many of those boys. I wonder how many of them took the mark as Wilkes evidently did? How many of them still serve their Dark Lord? How many have been and will be forced to commit murder, chipping away at their souls, their waning innocence? Undoubtedly the poor child panicked, and now the result... nothing has been gained from this. I am no beacon of propriety, but celebrating is painfully crass. Poor Dominic Yaxley. I can only imagine the pain of not knowing that someone so close to you was involved in such things. He is undoubtedly dealing with conflicting grief, a sense of betrayal, and who is to say what else.
I suppose this is why they say morality is in shades of grey.
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| 10; 27 April 1981 |
[27 Apr 12 @ 9:38am] |
What a beautiful day!
[Augusta]I think I may owe you a drink for the entertainment you spurred yesterday, if nothing else.
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| 009; 11 April 1981 |
[11 Apr 12 @ 8:14pm] |
( Private )
[Marlene]I do hope that I am not Sorry to disturb you, but
Oh sod it.
If I am to be honest you are the person next to Albus I trust most in the Order, and this seems a rather triggering conversation to bring up after such a fight, wondering who to trust. Emotions are clearly running high, and all I'll likely accomplish is the equivalent of scratching a rash.
I cannot sleep. I simply had to write to someone other than myself.
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| 008; 02 April 1981 |
[02 Apr 12 @ 7:31am] |
I do so detest April Fools. Student sense of humor knows no bounds. Children turned to badgers, exploding confetti dropping with the owl post, itching powder on many of the seats in the loos, wands replaced all over the castle with the fake sort that would crack off like house elf apparation with no warning... those turned into billywigs and with no trees about in the classrooms the shock of the situation saw them hiding in some of the girl's hair, and my Godric. Never mind sense of humor, the pitch of terrified young women screaming knows no bounds either.
I never thought I would be able to say this, but this year's pranksters nearly gave me a migraine to match those induced by Sirius Black and James Potter in their heyday. The reality of that statement is incredibly terrifying.
Have holidays begun yet?
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| 007; 31 March 1981 |
[31 Mar 12 @ 8:38am] |
[Private]I will take some comfort in an extended Easter Holiday, in lieu of the... monstrous trends of late. I am not altogether reassured that we will be left alone, although I am unsure that even You-Know-Who would risk a full-run attack on the train itself; too many children of Death Eaters, no doubt. As for the platform, we will be on our guard.
I am well beyond being willing to leave anything to chance.
[Order]Good Morning. Students will be leaving the castle on April 4th for the Easter holidays, and returning on the 15th (the dates being extended due to the Full Moon). If you are able to be on the platform at King's Cross on these days, as a safety precaution, it would be most appreciated; additionally, many professors will be riding the train to London, and will be present upon arrival in the city. I honestly do not expect an attack, but I would much rather be safe than sorry, as certainly You-Know-Who has proven that his whims are not always predictable. Thank you.
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| 006; 26 March 1981 |
[26 Mar 12 @ 9:15pm] |
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I spent the evening playing cards with my brothers and their wives, enjoying a few glasses of wine, retelling stories of our childhoods. We were all rather... mischievous, and perhaps too much so for the children of a minister, but our sillyness and misbehavior do make for lovely memories (and ones that our father even now recalls with a smile). Which brings me to the purpose of my entry this evening: What is the most trouble you recall getting up to in your youth? (And feel free to tell of incidents that took place when you were a student under my tutelage at Hogwarts; I daresay we are all far beyond anything more than a tut tut.)
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| 005; 21 March 1981 |
[21 Mar 12 @ 8:00pm] |
Once upon a long, long time ago I worked within the Ministry's ranks, and while I cannot for a moment admit that I dealt with anything then comparable to what's happening in the world now (nor, I suppose it is apt to state, do I have any substantial understanding of the inner-workings of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement)... well. Criticism related to any power is an inevitability, I daresay. I certainly see it as a professor on a day-to-day basis. Conjecture, predominantly. A misplaced intention, a misused word; for me, frequently, it's children looking to get out of their assigned homework. For the record: No doubt your child has seen you and your husband/wife perform switching spells, but that does not for a moment mean that they should be exempt from background reading that explains the theory behind said spell. (Switching Spells are certainly those that are most complained about, and each instance typically ends with said student switching her/himself with a gargoyle on the castle roof, with chaos ensuing. With the blame on myself, naturally.)
It was poet John Lydgate who originally said (this later famously paraphrased by former American president, Abraham Lincoln), "You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time."
I think it rather goes both ways in relation to topics discussed in these journals today.
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| 004; 29 February 1981 |
[29 Feb 12 @ 9:14am] |
I am very pleased and honored to announce that, as of this morning, Headmaster Dumbledore (with agreement from the school's board of governors) has appointed me to the position of Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wish to express my sincere thanks for this delegation, and to ensure parents of children currently attending school (and those soon to embark on their education with us) that I am loyal to this historical institution, and that my first priorities will always be the safety and well-rounded education of magical youth.
[Private]There are days--days like today--when I feel very small. It is not the first day and nor will it be the last, but I am questioning my ability to contribute; my usefulness. You-Know-Who has yet to launch a proper assault on the castle, or to make it a real and true target, and that... I feel that I am waiting for that while shrugging my shoulders to other instances and altercations. So much of what has been happening feels as though it is taking place outside of my own reality; as though the school exists separately, to a degree, from the rest of the magical world. Media attacks, kidnapped cats, pirating the wireless... My great focus has been OWL and NEWT preparation, and love potions. There are moments when I feel so drawn into the lives, arguments and idiosyncrasies of the students that I briefly (but wholly and completely) forget that there is a war outside of the castle's walls. Now? Now that, in the headmaster's absence, Hogwarts is my responsibility to maintain and protect? I know in my heart and mind that this appointment is important (and that it is not a decision that Albus made lightly), that it will be valued by many, but...
I believe that now I am writing in circles. Time to move on.
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| 003; 16 February 1981 |
[16 Feb 12 @ 9:18pm] |
My father, a Presbyterian minister, has always been a lover of poetry. He has invariably included his favorite pieces in his sermons throughout the years, and much of the blur that is now my recollection of childhood is marked by the sound of him sing-songing Walt Whitman at his desk (that is, before trailing off into the soft recitation of biblical quotations). His voice has gotten lower, and a bit gruff, as he has aged, but his affection for the words he speaks is still audible, now, on those odd occasions when I visit my parents and catch him bent over pen and paper, searching for inspiration.
This evening my entire family were together to celebrate my mother's birthday. With my brothers and I living primarily in the magical world, the topic of the war around the dinner table was almost an inevitability. To our commentary on the after-effects of recent attacks, deaths, and threats, my father eventually smiled sadly, interjecting with an incredibly appropriate verse that, despite my honest indifference to poesy, left me momentarily speechless:Ever the undiscouraged, resolute, struggling soul of man;
(Have former armies fail'd? then we send fresh armies--and fresh again;)
Ever the grappled mystery of all earth's ages old or new;
Ever the eager eyes, hurrahs, the welcome-clapping hands, the loud
applause;
Ever the soul dissatisfied, curious, unconvinced at last;
Struggling to-day the same--battling the same. That is 'Life'.
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| 002; 31 January 1981 |
[31 Jan 12 @ 12:55pm] |
This is perhaps a delayed reaction to recent events, but in taking a few days to swallow the information and truly consider what was said... Well. Whatever your personal feelings concerning those anti-Death Eater vigilantes (and however unwelcome their words undoubtedly were to those who would happily purport purist propaganda to the masses), I cannot help but applaud them in their continued commitment to speaking plainly of the homicidal idiocy of Death Eaters. It warms this old woman's heart to be reminded that freedom of speech is still alive and kicking, and that there remain magical citizens of this country unwilling to sit back and allow the tyrannical rule of a self-appointed Lord to overwhelm and destroy us all.
Our current political climate is undoubtedly unapologetic where opposition to blood supremacy is concerned, but the ineffectiveness of fear-mongering is a lesson long overdue for a certain You-Know-Who.
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| 001; 15 January 1981 |
[15 Jan 12 @ 7:16pm] |
I will never cease to be dumbfounded by the exhibitionism teenagers default to between thirteen and fifteen. Had I a galleon for every time I have come across a tangle of limbs and inappropriate noises wedged behind a suit of armour over the course of my teaching career, I would be able to retire twice over. It has been some time since my existence was all but consumed by hormones, of course, but (at the very least) I cannot imagine a five-inch wide hollow in a stone wall conducive to the results most students undoubtedly desire.
Ah, to be young?
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