Omnia Vincit Odium

Part II

'FROM THE QUILL OF SIRIUS BLACK'

That pretty much sums it all up, as that is my name and this is my quill, so let that be the title of this journal.

And today is February 20th, by the way, which I forgot to write at the top and now the title takes up all the space. Not the best of starts, is it?

First of all, if you're not me, let me congratulate you on your undoubted curiosity and, most importantly, on your cleverness. As much as this method of writing a journal up on the wall is for fun, it's also to make sure that any possible reader't t't too thick.

On second thoughts, even if you are me, only old and rather senile, then I guess the congratulations apply to you, too. Nice job remembering this, mate!

Now, this all started when I happened to hear this programme on the wireless, where they presented the most interesting Muggles of all times (yes, a select few, I should think). They were talking about a bloke named Desad, who wrote a whole novel on the walls of his cell - in his own blood! Although I think this might have been a later addition to the real story (for which I don't blame one one bit, since they do have a show to do and finding something interesting in Muggles may prove quite a challenge), I thought the idea was rather clever. Due to some unfortunate mishaps in my past, which you already know if you're me and need not know if you're not, this house has become my prison and this room my cell. So it seemed only right tI shI should follow his lead and fill these walls with my thoughts. Couldn't find a novel hidden in me, though, so decided to settle for a journal.

Here I am, up on the wall and writing with red invisible ink to render some similitude (blood would have been a bit over the top, I think). Mundungus managed to smuggle this in for a reasonable price and no questions asked, which tends to be the case with most of his business transactions. I started from the top of the wall and intend to make this a sort of a downwards spiral, going round and round the room, so that the reader will have to spin around when reading it. That should give you some idea of the level of boredom I'm currently at.

Well, I'm already knackered. Writing on the wall is really not as much fun as I expd, ad, and certainly not all that easy. Best leave the rest for tomorrow.

February 21st

(See, I'm improving!)

Today, like every other day, I've been mostly thinking about Snape. I should say Severus, but somehow it doesn't seem to have the right ring to it; 'that bloody bastard' might come closer. Anyway, just to make things clear, this is a person I hate with every fibre of my miserable being and have been doing so quite successfully for the better part of the last twenty-five years. And it's now been exactly one week since I shagged him.

Probably the best sex I ever had, and still the bastard hasn't bothered with an owl. I, on the other hand, managed to wait a whopping three whole days before sending him one. The message read as follows:

'How's it going to be? - S.'

Simple, concise and to the point, I think. And yet, no reply.

Of course it may be that the bloody excuse for an owl I sent him never made it. There were no others available, so I had to use this one that's well past his sell-by date, to put it kindly. Now, I give him the letter, open the window and even give him a little shove to make sure he actually takes off. And wdo Ido I find in the middle of the backyard an hour later? One oversized budgie snoring happily in the sunshine, not ten bloody feet from the house! And it wasn't an easy job getting that bird moving again, but this time I made damn sure he disappeared from sight.

Still, it's only been four days since he left. He may very well be passing the end of the block any minute now.

February 22nd

I'm a total wanker. Already twice today and it's not even noon yet. Not to mention the four times yesterday. I'm beginning to remind me of myself at the age of sixteen, and the funny part is, even the bloke that I think of when wanking has stayed the same. I'm exactly the same bloody wanker I was back in school!

I don't think I can go into the bathroom ever again. Perhaps there's some magical way of staying stench-free, which wouldn't involve any washing. There's just no bloody way I can manage a shower without a wank. As soon as I step in to the tub and catch a glimpse of those cracked tiles and that big brass showerhead, all I can think about is him, standing there with the water running down his body, that black hair clinging to his face. Need I say more?

No, I need a break.

I'm back. It seems yesterday's record will be broken sooner than I thought. This is bloody insane, this is. I mean, how long am I supposed to keep this up? My knob is already getting a bit on the tender side. Maybe I'll try switching to baths, warm water might be relaxing. It might also help with this nasty cough I've developed from the cold showers.

February 23rd

Something quite unexpected happened - I found a portrait of myself! I'd forgotten it even existed! Sirius-16, I decided to call it, for the simple reason that it is me, at the age of sixteen. My mother had hidden it in the back of her wardrobe, and that's where the poor bugger had spent years before I finally managed to break the curse on the locd wad wake him up.

It's so nice to have someone to talk to. Not that Buckbeak isn't trying his best, but a Hippogriff really can't offer the same kind of company as only a copy of yourself can. From now on, intelligent conversation should be guaranteed around here!

Or will be, as soon as he quits making remarks about my appearance. Can't blame the lad, though. I must look like a thousand years old to him.

Still, it's good to know at least one person in the house will actually stay here. People seem to be travelling through this place like it's a bloody railway station. Of course I'm glad that I've been able to provide the Order with Headquarters, but they might at least provide me with some company in return. It's been so awfully quiet since Christmas, with everybody busy at work, fighting against the forces of evil, while I sit on my arse and argue with a deranged house-elf over my mother's old carpet slippers.

The Weasleys are here most days, but spend their nights in the privacy of the Burrow (they do have seven children, those rabbits). Tonks is always a laugh, but rarely in one place or body for more than two seconds, and Kingsley's a great bloke and can surely hold his ale (yes, I've woken under the table more than once), but he's pretty busy hunting down this dangerous fugitive, one Sirius Black.

Mad-Eye, on the other hand, is here perhaps a bit too often and really starts to get on my wick after the umpteenth conspiracy theory. At the moment it's the Muggle milkman that has raised his suspicions. The way he drives so slowly past the house, stopping at intervals, is evidently a clear sign that he's under direct orders from Voldemort himself.

If it weren't for Remus and Dung, I'd probably have gone mad already. But then, Remus can be gone for weeks on end, and Dung's got his own home - to put it kindly - so even when they are here, they too are only visiting.

Must say that we've had fun, Sirius-16 and I, just chatting. He's so eager to hear about everything that has happened since he was 'wardrobed' as he calls it. He seems particularly intrigued by everything concerning the Order. The moment when he asked what I'd done for the Order so far was awkward to say the least, but I managed to brush it off pretty painlessly, telling him about my escape from prison instead. That got him quite excited and he forgot all about the Order. Then again, now he's asking me about Azkaban, which is nearly as unpleasant.

Didn't say a word to him about this journal, though, and have kept him covered every time I climb up here to write. Perhaps it's best that after I've moved on to to speak, there'll be no one to point this out to anybody. For one, it would completely destroy my whole only-for-the-not-so-thick idea.

Odd, eh? To think that Sirius-16 will still be here after I'm gone. Lucky bastard.

February 25th

Been listening to the wireless again. This time the show was about a Greek bloke who seems to have had a word or a dozen to say about everything. According to him, it's possible to achieve what he calls 'catharsis', a sort of purification, through writing. This may very well be just another load of Muggle rubbish, but I've decided to give it a try anyway. Then perhaps I can have a nice shower without any wanking involved (oh, my poor, poor knob).

I can't be bothered to write everything that happened that day, so I'll just stick to the part that keeps haunting me.

It was on Valentine's Day, after we got back from our trip to a certain manor in Wiltshire. I had a few things to settle with Mad-Eye first, namely to shout at him for not bothering to tell me about that grand scheme of theirs, which could have easily got me killed and which, if I'd known about, I would have naturally gone along with just the same. And then I had a few treats to give to Buckbeak so that he would stand outside the bathroom door and keep a lookout, because that's where I'd arranged to meet Snape.

He was already waiting for me in the shower. I don't think I've ever undressed faster.

Bloody hell, I can just see him there, standing under the running water. There's some snogging, some water up my nose, some prickling in the cut on my cheek, and a lot of soap. He's all slippery and my hands slide to every place on his body, down the back, over the buttocks, between the buttocks. I wash him and he washes me and the water washes away the soap. Then I decide it's time to act and turn him over. He leans forward eagerly enough, taking hold of the wall and rubbing his arse against my knob, and clearly expects me to shag him, but that's not what I have in mind. Instead, I get down on my knees and push his legs apart.

The sound he makes when my tongue finds his hole is a nice mixture of surprise and pleasure. I circle slowly, teasingly, round it and keep him gasping. But then I can't help myself and I move on to his buttocks, first kissing them, then nibbling, and finally biting. For a second, I see the blood on his skin before the water rinses it off. Mad as hell, he turns around and slaps me, hard, with the back of his hand.

To my surprise, I find that I like it. I like it a lot.

His cock is right in front of me, so I take it in my mouth and give it a good, long suck, then harder, and harder, making sure I'm not too careful with my teeth. As expected, he grabs hold of my hair and slaps me again, and this time I can feel the water stingingthe the corner of my mouth. Ignoring the cut, I continue sucking him, but he pushes my head away and kneels down to snog me. He doesn't seem to mind about the blood on my lips, quite the opposite, and so I end up lying on the bottom of the tub with him on top of me. He's kissing and and groping my arse, and pulling my hair, and all the time rubbing himself against me. Slowly, I reach down, and with one push I have my finger up his arse. I enjoy feeling him hold his breath and seeing the flash of anger in his eyes. Quite brutally he grabs me, turns me round and pulls me up on my hands and knees. I'm just about to ask about how he's going to cast the Lubricatus without his wand when I feel him thrust himself inside me and can only gasp as his cock tears my arse. He's shagging me like a beast, banging against me with force, ignoring my quiet cries of pain. My hands slide in the slippery tub and I fall face down, almost drowning in the water on the bottom of it, but he pulls me up by the hair. Suddenly the thrusts stop, the grip on my hair tightens, his fingers dig deep into my buttock, and with one long, slow push he comes inside me.

We rinse ourselves under the shower and freeze our bollocks off, because the hot water has just run out. I ask why he wouldn't let me finish him off, and he says that he thought I didn't like the taste of it. That cheeky bastard! He knows perfectly well I meant the taste of my own, not his, but ver ver get round to telling him that.

This is where the nice memory ends and the chaos begins. I heard the racket all the way up from the basement and, after dressing almost as quickly as I'd undressed, I stormed out of the bathroom. I didn't notice anything when I got to the corridor, which should have been the first clue, but when I reached the kitchen it all became clear to me.

Never trust a Hippogriff. They take the meat you give them, be it dead rats or the finestf, sf, stay put for about half a second, and then head straight for the pantry. How he got it open, I'll never know, but there he was, covered in sausages and hams, with both Mad-Eye and Remus hanging from his neck.

It took a good while to calm the animal down and repair the damage, but all that commotion did allow Snape to sneak out unnoticed. At least I think no one noticed; Remus had apparently just got back and went straight down to the kitchen to help Mad-Eye, but where Mad-Eye and particularly that eye of his had been before that, I can only fear. Remus commented on the cuts my cheek and lip, the latter still bleeding a little, but Mad-Eye broke in quite quickly and took Remus's mind off it. Apparently Mad-Eye thought both bruises were from the dungeon and thought it best to keep Remus in the dark for the time being.

So, there. I am now purified. Let the wanking end.

February 26th

Those bloody Muggles. Five! Five bleeding times today! Catharsis my bollocks.

Thinking about that day, I now curse myself for being such an upright idiot and not asking anything for myself. But it was a debt I was paying back to him, and even we pathetic wankers have our pride. Too bad that pride is now going to cost me my hand and my knob.

One good thing, though: the hot baths seem to have helped and not a moment too soon. That bloody cough was driving me mad.

February 28th

You know, iturreurred to me only today that Mad-Eye must know something, and, what's more, he's probably known ever since the dungeon incident. I'm such a moron, really I am. Just think about it: right before the Portkey activated, he was standing in the middle of the whipping room, and there we were, doing what we were doing, right on the other side of the bleeding wall! How could I not have realised this before? For fuck's sake, the man can see through walls! And of course he remembered that I only had that one cut on my cheek when I came back with Snape, and must have noticed that my mouth didn't start bleeding until an hour later! I'm too thick for this life.

March 1st

No one's been here all day. Apparently Remus has found a new friend, a werewolf he met at St. Mungo's. They should have a good many things to talk about, comparing experiences and scars and all that. I couldn't be happier for him. Really.

Luckily I have myself to converse with. After telling Sirius-16 just about everything I know about the Order (I figured he ought to know what I know, considering he is me) most of our chats have revolved around the good old times, as that is all he knows. At first I thought it would be painful to talk about James and Lily with him, but actually I've found that all that reminiscing has been long overdue. He remembers so many little things that I've completely forgotten, and as he's telling me these stories that I should already know, it's almost as if I'm living them all over again. Makes me realise just how much I miss James, and just how little of him there is in Harry. As much I love my godson, he's not a reproduction of James, nor should he be.

Anyway, thought it best not to say anything about Snape to Sirius-16, not that there's much to say (still no owls flying my way), but he probably wouldn't understand what happened. And neither do I, for that matter. I haven't told anybody about the portrait, either (keeping my mouth strangely shut these days, aren't I?). Don't know why exactly. He's quite eager to meet Remus, seems to have missed him a lot, and surely Remus would be interested in seeing him too, but I think I'll wait a bit longer before making any introductions. For the time being he's mine and all mine, and nobody around here appreciates the company more than me.

And I'm now glad I haven't told him about jou journal. After writing about Valentine's Day, I really don't think I want anybody reading this, not ever. Preferably not even myself when I'm old and senile. The old ticker might not pull through.

March 6th

On days such as this, when Molly's not here to cook and command and I'm forced to make do with Kreacher's cooking, my lunches appear to be turning increasingly liquefied. And dinners. Not to forget suppers. Actually, I'm pretty pissed at the moment and havinme tme trouble staying up here on the dresser. But what else am I supposed to do with my time? Firewhisky is the only thing that can make this accursed house even remotely tolerable. Not to mention that I now believe I've found out what finished my dear mother off; that is, if there is such a thing as turnip poisoning. I said nothing when Kreacher shoved the roast turnip in front of me, ate my shepherd's turnip quietly enough, and even tasted the turnip pudding, but the turnip surprise (one raw turnip) was simply the last straw. I tell you, that elf has certainly gone round the bend a couple of times.

And I'm so sick and tired of thinking about that bloody bastard, and staring out of that bloody window, and waiting for that bloody owl to totter back. One more day of clear blue sky and not a bird in sight and I'll go mad! This is so ridiculous. My sanity rests in the hands of one twat and in the wings of another!

A thought just came to me - what if he's dead? Snape, that is, not Errol the owl. What if he's been killed in some hideous potion brewing accident, and that's why I haven't heard from him?

Nah, mustn't get my hopes up.


March 8th

He's here and appears to be fine. At the moment, he's dozing off on the bed, exhausted from the flight.

As for Snape, I really don't give a rat's arse any more. The owl did bring a letter, all right - a letter that was mostly about the bleeding weather! Here I am, waiting for him to pay me a visit so that I can shag him, and the bastard talks about how rainy it's been lately, going into minute detail on the first signs of spring! I can't believe this, I fucking cannot believe this! And this is the man that has very nearly cost me my knob! Fucking hell, I may never be able to have another wank for as long as I live, thanks to him.

Let him enjoy his bloody spring, say I. Come to think of it, the years in Azkaban must have added to the experience and, actually, the sex was really nothing to write home about. And I'm definitely not going to write back to him. In fact, I now regret sending any letter at all. I shouldn't have given him the satisfaction of seeing me grovel in front of him like that. I'm such a twat! And I don't ever want to see that pile of pus again!

March 9th

Sent the owl. Can't help feeling sorry for the poor sod, but as there still were no others available, I had to use the same one again.

I spent most of last night writing the damn thing. There was just so much I wanted to say and only so many curses I could think of. But I also have my pride and didn't want him to see how much this affects me. Not that it does, not in the least. It didn't turn out quite as concise as the first one, but equally to the point, I think. I wish I could've sent him a Howler, a simple letter really doesn't do justice to my feelings at the moment.

Somehow, I don't expect to hear from him ever again.

Not necessarily a bad thing.

March who-the-fuck-cares'th

He was here. There was a meeting of the Order, and for the first time since the Malfoy business, he showed up. I thought I'd jump at his throat the moment I saw his Slytherin face, but I'm proud to say that I held my cool. Although Remus did comment on the smoke rising from my wand as I kept rubbing it against the side of the table.

And there's no doubt in my mind any more that Mad-Eye knows about the snogging in the dungeons, as his eye kept turning from Snape to me and back again, ogling us throughout the meeting. He hasn't said anything, though, and I'm definitely not going to be the one to bring it up.

Otherwise everything went surprisingly well, until Snape asked - no, ordered - me to go and fetch his cloak from the hall where he had left it, as he was just in the middle of something and I, on the other hand, was completely useless (yes, he actually said that!). I blew up into quite a fit, telling him in so many words that I was not his bloody house-elf and that I had no intention whatsoever of getting him anything short of a rope with which to hang himself. It was at this point that Molly gave me one of her looks, saying that 'Severus' was, in fact, in the middle of something far more important than me.

Needless to say, when marching up into the hall, I cursed the whole lot of them with spells that evidently still wait to be invented as nothing shattering happened.

Now that I think of it, it was of course obvious what I should find hanging there by the door, but at the time, seeing the black leather coat managed to shock me completely. I picked it up and, without thinking, put it on. The smell was just as I remembered, and I found myself hard as a broomstick, just like three weeks before when that coat had first brushed by me on that very spot.

I'm ashamed to admit that it took me rather long to think of putting my hands in the pockets. Out came a shred of parchment saying, 'Go to your room.' Of course my first reaction was to go and make another scene in the kitchen, but then reason kicked in and I dashed upstairs. I didn't need to wait long before he Apparated into my room. Instantly I kicked up a row, mentioning among other things my lack of interest in the change of seasons, and made it quite clear I never wanted to see his bony arse again.

Instead of giving me a proper explanation, the bastard just grabbed hold of me and snogged me! As if that would make it all better and I'd just tear my clothes off in an instant!

Well, I did take the coat off. And the shirt. But not the jeans!

He pushed me on to the bed and there was some... messing about. Then, in the middle of the kissing, he whispered in my ear, that the owl I had sent him had barely made it to Hogwarts. It had been Hagrid, that wonderful fellow, who had found him lying at the edge of the forest and, seeing the letter addressed to Snape, carried him inside. And the bastard even claimed that my question had led him to believe that I was, in fact, asking him about the approaching spring.

Oh, the bloody nerve of that man!

Then, after the second letter Hagrid had carried in (at this point, I concentrated on nibbling his earlobe and tried not to fall off the face of the earth from sheer shame), he had thought it best not to burden the creature with anything as heavy as a piece of parchment and decided to wait until the next meeting. He asked me about the bit I had written about that Muggle Desad and my new pastime, but I managed to get his mind off it soon enough (it really is like flying a broom, isn't it? No matter how much time has passed, you never quite forget)d tod to wrap it all up, he repeated the usual list of insults and also that he hates me, loathes me, despises me etc. Funny, though, how incredibly sexy even words like 'half-witted oaf' or 'sordid git' can sound, when they're whispered in your ear in that low, hoarse voice.

He's gone now, again. There wasn't time for anything more than snogging, so I spent a good half an hour in the loo. Now begins the long wait for another meeting and another note. I know I can make it till then, but the real question is, can my knob?

March 16th

Had some words with Sirius-16. It now seems that I was wrong when I thought having myself to chat with would ensure an intelligennvernversation. Apparently, even though I had thrown something over the picture before Snape Apparated, the bugger had been able to peek through it somehow and was definitely not happy with what he'd seen. Accompanied with swears I didn't even know I knew at his age, the brat went on and on about what I'd been doing with 'that Slytherin creep'.

Funny thing is that I know he fancied Snape once! Still, that doesn't stop him from pestering me about what I do with 'that son of a Bludger'. I wonder what has happened to him that has changed his mind. Or maybe he thinks we're just too old to be shagging. At his age I never thought people still had, or should have, sex after 30. Of course, now I know much, much better.

I must find a thicker cloth with which to cover that bloody picture. He claims that when covered, he falls into a sort of half-sleep and doesn't hear much of the goings-on round him. It's exactly those 'half' and 'much' bits that worry me, though. I know I should probably just bury him in the wardrobe, like my mother did, but I can't bring myself to do it. No matter how big a twat he is, he's still me, and I think I've had enough of imprisonment for one lifetime.

March 21st

Meeting night, note night, snogging night. Snape shouldherehere next weekend.

And Buckbeak's here, but only temporarily. Molly's cleaning my mother's room and Buckbeak can get pretty protective when it comes to his droppings, the silly git. He seems to get along quite well with Sirius-16, though. Don't know what he sees in that painted nuisance. Since Snape's visit, it's been nothing but bitching and moaning round here. I'm certainly glad I haven't shown ho Reo Re as as it would probably take them no time at all to gang up agt Snt Snape. I know they hate him, and so do I, probably even more so, but there's no way of explaining them why I need that bastard. Bloody hell, the little time we had tonight in the cupboard under the stairs... Maybe there are things that just can't be explained, and shouldn't be, either.

Just now, when writing this, I noticed Buckbeak was pecking at the cloth, pulling it away so that he could see the portrait. Let's just hope for Sirius-16's sake that he won't get carried away with the pecking.

Even though he's been asking about it over and over again, I haven't told Sirius-16 anything about what happened in Malfoy's dungeon. After all, he doesn't even know about that idiotic stunt I pulled in the Shrieking Shack all those years ago, so why bother with the rest of the story. He has obviously decided that Snape's the enemy, no matter what, so it would be rather pointless to try to convince him that actually Snape fancied me already at his age, just like he fancied him. Or rather, just like I fancied him, or... Well, I know somebody fancied somebody! Anyway, the world seems so simple to him that I really can't be bothered to complicate it.

Again I caught Buckbeak pecking at the cloth over the portrait! If the friendliness between those two continues, Snape might very well fall victim to a fierce Hippogriff attack when he comes. Perhaps I should start rationing Buckbeak's rats. That might improve his appetite.

March 26th

Buckbeak's still here! Molly decided to make the cleaning a rather thorough one, and naturally I'm the one that suffers. This room is just not big enough for the both of us, and it's definitely not big enough for three, as Snape's supposed to be coming tomorrow! I must think of something and fast.

And the way Buckbeak and Sirius-16 have bonded is startingworrworry me. That reckless berk will no doubt try to talk him into escaping or something. Now, that would be a sight, all right, a Hippogriff flying over London with a portrait hanging from its beak. That should definitely sell a few Muggle papers, eh?

For some odd reason, Sirius-16 keeps badgering me about Remus. I've tried my hardest, explaining to him why it didn't work out and that all is over between us, has been for quite some time, but the bugger simply won't stop pestering me about the details. Sometimes I can't believe I've ever been such an annoying prat. Perhaps I should hang the portrait in my mother's room to keep Buckbeak company. Not to mention give myself some leave from the continuous nagging (that wardrobe is beginning to look more tempting by the minute). No, on second thoughts, I think I'll keep him right here. That snotball would be a bad influence even on a Hippogriff.

Even had a little chat with Kreacher, who seems to be around once more after his mysterious disappearances lately, all without any explanation, of course. Anyway, I ordered him to keep quiet about anything he sees in this house, especially about the portrait and any possible nightly visitors there might be. Don't know if I got through to him, as he just kept sniggering at me the whole time. He seems far too cheerful these days, due to the spring, I guess. Still, I have no choice but to trust that he will obey his master's orders. Or that's the general idea, anyway.

Right. I'm a goner, aren't I?

March 28th

Now that I'm writing this, I really can't be sure any more if all of it actually happened, or if I just had the best dream of my life. What's the difference anyway? The sun is shining and the Hippogriff is... well, not singing. More like snorting, really.

But I must start at the very beginning just to prove that I am, in fact, a genius. I had covered the portrait well beforehand, but that still left Buckbeak to take care of. (Here comes the part I'm particularly proud of!) Yawning and stretching, I complained to Remus that Buckbeak had started to snore and had kept me awake half the night. Now, knowing Remus, I was certain he would argue that ogriogriffs can't snore, which he did, and this gave me the opportunity to challenge him to prove it. Long story short, Buckbeak slept in Remus's room last night, probably as quietly as ever.

I was already in bed when I heard the door open. Don't know why, but I decided to pretend that I was still asleep. The moon was quite bright, and out of the corner of my eye I could see his shadow move round the room. Even when he got into the bed with me, I carried on shamming sleep, and he seemed to be buying it. Very carefully he pushed me on to my stomach and lifted first my right hand, then the left, and pulled them behind my back. At this point, I made a little snort and pretended to be turning in my sleepore ore settling down again, just to give him a bit of a scare. Then I heard him mutter something under his breath and suddenly the ropes tightened around my wrists. Sleepily I mumbled something, but my mouth was quickly gagged.

The wait had been enjoyable, to say the least, but lying there with my hands tied behind my back and with the gag in my mouth, I was ready to burst. He climbed on top of me, pressing his mouth right by my ear, and then thisphispering started. He kept telling me what a worthless piece of scum I was, what a useless nitwit, a filthy bottom feeder, and so on. And all the time, his cock was rubbing against my arse, and through the piece of cloth in my mouth I was begging for him to shag me. Finally the insults ceased and I heard that wonderful word 'Lubricio', and with one hard push he was inside me. I moaned but the gag muffled my voice. Then his hand found my knob, and it only needed to stay there, holding it tightly, and let the rocking take care of the rest.

I woke up alone this morning with the sheet glued to my knob and with marks around my wrists, the latter being the only proof I've got that it wasn't just a dream.

Been humming a tune all day that I don't even know, yet can't seem to get it out of my head.

March 29th

Funny how the same house can be almost habitable one day and the darkest hellhole the next. Perhaps it has something to do with getting laid, but whereas yesterday I was in high spirits, today the walls are closing in on me again.

Thank Merlin, Mundungus popped by around noon. He has a new business adventure that he's trying to get me in on. For once, I must say that he might actually have got something there. It's quills, and he even gave me a sample, the one I'm writing with right now. It's really not all that bad, considering the other ventures of his I've witnessed. He says that he may have a buyer for the whole lot, but there's just one tiny snag, and knowing Dung, there's bound to be. It appears the rest of the quills are still sort of attached to their owners. Quite attached, actually. Now, this is where I'm supposed to come in, for Dung wants to use my backyard to 'temporarily' store the flock of geese.

Something doesn't quite add up here, though. I can't help but wonder why the quill in my hand is rather black for a goose and instead bears a considerable likeness to a pheasant's feather.

Anyway, naturally I agreed. The geese should arrive some time next week, depending on the winds.

April 5th

Molly can be a real old hag sometimes. I mean, it's nice to have someone here to take care of things, even though she does make an unreasonably big fuss over the tiniest of things, like a couple of empty bottles lying quite harmlessly on the floor, not hurting anybody, or the toilet seat being up again (actually, I found a nifty little spell that puts it down every time the toilet's flushed, but had to take it off after Dung, who's a bit on the slow side, hurt himself quite nastily). And Molly's cooking definitely surpasses anything that daft elf shoves in front of me, apart from soup days, which are pretty much a draw between the two of them. But all that aside, the bloody woman ry gey gets on my nerves.

The geese were supposed to arrive this afternoon, and I don't know if she's been using one of those Extendable Ears she confiscated from the twins or what, but obviously Molly had got wind of it and forbidden Dung to bring them here. Forbidden! In my house!

We had a little encounter over the matter and my ears are still ringing (some voice that woman's got). She was in a ristatstate, going on and on about how the geese are probably nicked and she will not have stolen fowl in the house. Well, of course they're nicked, how else would a bloke like Dung get his hands on a pack of geese! It still doesn't change the fact that this is my bloody house and I'm supposed to be the one that calls the shots around here!

I admit the birds might have stirred up some controversy in the neighbourhood, considering nobody would've been able to see them, although certainly hearing them loud enough. But still, I think Molly was being quite unreasonable. I wonder how Arthur manages it, listening to her day in, day out? Not that anybody else around here shows any signs of gratitude towards me for letting them stay here, either. Just come and go as they please, don't they. Then when I ask for one simple thing, such as the use of my own bleeding backyard, I get scolded.

But for the time being the deal is off and Dung will have to find some other place for his quill factory. At least he won't be starving any time soon.

Not quite Easter yet

Since there's absolutely nothing to do around here, I'm finding it pretty hard to think of things to write about.

Sirius-16's the only one I have to chat with and, as I already mentioned, he has proved a bit of a disappointment. The questions about Remus haven't ceased and, by the looks of it, never will. I can't understand why the bugger's so keen on hearing what went wrong between him and me. There had scarcely been anythingweenween us by the time the picture was painted, but obviously that angst-ridden teenager had cooked up quite a story of tragic love during his years in this house.

However, all this talk about my failed relationship with Remus has brought back to mind the very beginning of it. I still remember the joy of the first kiss, and the horror of it afterwards. It was the spring of our fifth year at Hogwarts and we were alone in the tunnel under the Whomping Willow. James had hurt himself in the Quidditch match the day before and of course nothing could have forced Peter from his bedside. Poor Moony was even less enthusiastic about the full moon than usual as the last time had been a bit of a mess: he had got away from us and returned in the morning covered in blood. So, I was doing my best to comfort him, to cheer him up, and then... In the history of snogs, it had to be one of the quickest. It was more of a poke at the lips than an actual kiss really, and before either of us even realised what had happened, I was already running across the grounds with my tail between my legs.

It certainly took a good while before I could stand being alone with him again, and even then, the second kiss was probably even more awkward than the first one. But after the initial embarrassment and confusion was over with, we certainly had our moments. It was all so new and exciting, sneaking around the castle, searching for quiet hollows for a bit of clumsy snogging.

It's quite sad, though, to think that Sirius-16 has never shagged anybody. Perhaps I should have been swifter with Remus, so that the lad would at least know what he's missing. Yet I can't see why he's not more excited about Snape, about the fact that I'm actually getting some after all those years. But instead he just goes on and on about how Snape's only using me, how he doesn't really care about me. Well, of course he doesn't! Bloody hell, neither do I! But try telling that to a stubborn sixteen-year-old with romantic notions.

On a brighter note, Kreacher's vanished again. I'm getting quite tired of searching this house over and over again for that miserable little bastard. Honestly, I really wouldn't be sorry to see him gone for good, but he knows too much of the Order, and the Order always comes first.

The holidays are coming up, and as everybody else has some place to go to, it seems I'll have the house all to myself. Snape left a note in the last meeting with only one word, 'Easter', which I'm tempted to interpret as 'yes, you nitwit, I will be there to shag you repeatedly over the holidays'. I'm counting the days.

Not Easter any more

And no sign of Snape.

Instead, I woke up next to Remus. Nothing seems to have happened, since I was fully dressed, but I think something very nearly bloody did.

Spoke to Harry, my godson, yesterday and I guess that's what started the whole thing. He had seen something in the Pensieve, which happened a long time ago and which made me hate that bloody portrait even more. It involved Snape, and James and Remus, and of course me. Let's just say that we were not all that nice to little Severus back then, shall we? Of course Remus and I tried to explain to Harry what little berks we were, his father included, but that people do change and luckily grow up and stop being quite as idiotic as that, or at least some do. Don't think we got through to him, though.

The biggest shock, however, came when Harry announced that the Occlumency classes were at an end! I was ready to rush over there right away, but Remus stopped me and promised to take care of it. I know he'll give Snape a piece of his mind for sure, yet he can't possibly come even close to what I'm imagining I'll dohim him the moment that sorry bastard gets here. If he ever does, that is, since that Pensieve incident certainly explains why he failed to show up over the holidays.

Then, afterwards Remus and I started chatting, and somehow managed to empty a whole bottle of whisky in the process. There were still things that hadn't been said, about us and about not-us-any-more, and we definitely cleared the air once and for all. But then... he snogged me. And I pushed him away.

Now, is that the act of a rational man? I mean, look at my handwriting! It's amazing that I can even hold this quill in my hand, let alone write with it, after all the labour my wrist has been through lately. A sane man wouldn't refuse the opportunity to get his leg over, now, would he? Especially as there's a good chance the man I've been waiting for may never turn up again! There must be something very wrong with me.

Oh, and Sirius-16 got such a kick out of it, having seen a glimpse of Remus there with me before I pulled the cloth over him. He was practically shouting at me this morning, accusing me of having it off with two men at a time. It was just so fucking unbelievable - to be told off by a picture! So, now I'm forced to answer all sorts of questions again and feeling more of a loser than ever.

I really can't let Remus in this room again, for I'm sure the brat won't be able to keep his mouth shut. On the one hand, it would be best to let those two meet, then Remus would surely see why I've kept quiet about him. But on the other hand, there's the question of Snape, which Sirius-16 wouldn't hesitate to blurt out and which Remus would never understand. Back in school, I remember telling James about fancying Snape and he surely couldn't understand it, so I rather doubt Remus would, either.

I really can't think about this any more. I'm rather hung over, incredibly horny, and the mere thought of what I'm going to do to Snape if he ever shows up has me shaking uncontrollably.


Apparently Easter

Yes, it seems they've changed the course of days to suit Professor Snape's schedule the better. How convenient.

I was still a bit hung over when he came into my room last night. It appears he had come over on the excuse of leaving some report or other and then waited for Remus and Tonks to go home before sneaking upstairs. I had already covered the portrait before going to bed, because he once again wouldn't stop bothering me ('Moony' and 'failure' appear to be his favourite words these days). So, the candles were lit and we had the house all to ourselves. And then I screwed everything up.

I started out quite calmly, trying to reason with him so that he would continue with Harry's Occlumency lessons, but before I knew it I was shouting from the top of my lungs, calling him all sorts of things that did nothing to promote my cause.

Well, that got us nowhere, and he was ready to leave. Of course I couldn't let him go, not after weeks of waiting for the shag. Honestly, I was quite certain my knob would find a way to strangle me if he left. So I tried to stop him and we struggled at the door. Somehow, I managed to slam it shut and edged myself between him and the door. We both had our wands out, pointing at each other, but I was quicker andh a h a simple Disarming Charm managed to throw him face down on the bed (which was surprisingly easy, come to think of it). I was so mad at him that I think I could've killed him right then and there. But then, just looking at him lying there, the black hair covering his face, his arse right on the edge of the bed...

What can I say? I couldn't risk being strangled; the sight of my dead body would've been far too grotesque.

So without more hesitation, I tore his clothes off and tied his hands behind his back (again, quite easily), just like he had done to me the last time. But I had no intention of letting him off with just a shag, and, after a bit of searching in the drawer, I found Buckbeak's old leather leash.

The first lash was by far the best. He screamed with surprise, probably didn't think I had it in me to do something like that. I kept going, hitting him again and again, until his sorry arse was red all over, and with every lash I shouted some curse or other at him, calling him all sorts of names. Dear sweet Merlin that felt good! I was lashing him so hard that he was starting to bleed, the blood dripping down his arse and onto the bedspread. That was enough for me, and without any other lube than my own leakage, I pushed inside him and listened to him cry from the pain. The leash was still in my hand, and on a whim I flung it round his neck and pulled. At first the sound of him choking scared me a bit, but after loosening the leash just enough for him to stay conscious, I started to enjoy the power of having him completely under my control. I was fucking him and choking him and I don't think I've ever felt more alive.

But the power was soon gone. After I had released him, it wasn't long before my wrists were tied to the bedposts, and that gorgeous cock of his was rubbing against my face. Naturally I played along and refused to open my mouth, which really seemed to piss him off and that gorgeous cock of his grew bigger accordingly. How I would've wanted to taste it that instant! But instead I just hissed that he would have to 'make me' open my mouth and that he knew how.

The Flamgellum flashed quicker than I'd expected and hit me on the buttocks. It wasn't quite as painful as it had been back in the dungeon, but it did make me scream, and as soon as I opened my mouth, he shoved his cock in. Fucking hell, I could spend the rest of my days with that cock in my mouth! I gave it a couple of good sucks, then stopped, waiting for him to use the lash again, which he did, though not nearly as hard as I would've wanted. And then I sucked and sucked, and swallowed.

I must admit that I was pretty out of it when he untied me. Must have been the lack of air, but at the time I couldn't have cared less. I know I've already declared Valentine's Day as the best sex that I ever had, but now I believe we have a new winner.

Then, when he was dressing, I brought up the Occlumency thing again. I even tried to say something about the past, to apologise, again, but he wouldn't listen, again. It's almost as if he doesn't want to make peace with me. The man is a fucking mystery, all right. He just assured me that the boy had only seen a glimpse of us when we were in school, nothnothing more recent, for he had made sure of it, whatever that was supposed to mean. The thought hadn't even occurred to me, and I must say it scared me to picture poor Harry seeing his godfather doing something he probably wouldn't understand any more than he had understood his father and I being the berks that we were.

But as for the lessons, there's really no bloody point in trying to reason with him. The man may very well be hung like a donkey, but actually he's just a great big ass! So, who cares if Harry never learns Occlumency, who cares if Voldemort has unlimited access to his mind, who the fuck cares about anything any more! Of course the lad did wrong, poking into other people's memories like that, but there are bigger things at stake here and Snape's tendency to hold on to a grudge shouldn't affect them. But it's no use talking to him about it. Had livelier and more productive chats with the Dementors in Azkaban. Oh, how I hate that stubborn, petty bastard!

And still, the sex was amazing.

April 18th

This has not been a good day, not by far. Spent most of it in the loo but don't think I'll ever do that again. After the third wank I opened the door, and there's Mad-Eye, staring straight at me with both of his eyes. I thought I'd drop dead on the very spot, but no such luck. Evidently you cannot die of embarrassment after all.

And to top it all, Sirius-16 let something slip today that got me thinking that he might have at least heard something, when Snape was last here. It was just a casual comment, something about the Death Eaters and their liking for corporeal punishment. Now, he didn't actually say it, but the word 'Flamgellum' was definitely in the air. I know he couldn't have possibly seen anything, the cover was on the picture the whole time, but he might have heard Snape conjure the Flamgellum. Anyway, the lad can't be entirely daft and must have figured out that every time I cover him foe nie night, it's because I don't intend to spend it alone.

Then, of course, came the raving about what an evil bastard Snape is and that I should seek help for myself. For some reason, he seems convinced that Snape is only using me, that this is his way of getting back at me. Not much of a revenge, I should say. Still, no matter what I say, he remains thnoyinoyingly stubborn little bugger that he is and I was.

Actually, I've given this attitude of his a lot of thought, and I suspect it's all thanks to my dear mother. I'm certain she made a huge fuss about everyone who joined Voldemort's forces, especially the ones that graduated with me, so news of Snape becoming a Death Eater much have travelled fast. I can understand that Sirius-16 won't accept the fact that he's no longer with them, since even I wasn't too convinced of it until recently. But why isn't he at least happy that I'm shagging the man I (and he) always wanted?

Finally I told him that Snape would indeed be returning, and if Sirius-16 wouldn't behave himself during and after those visits, it would surely be the end of his oil-based existenThatThat did shut him up, but I'm sure I detected a trace of defiance in his eyes. Perhaps I should bring in a bottle of paint remover just as a warning.

April 19th

Things have certainly improved round here since the Weasley twins arrived. I suppose they'll be the talk of Hogwarts for quite some time after that stunt they pulled as a parting present, and now they are definitely the talk of this house. Molly's been in a right state ever since they showed up on the doorstep. It seems she doesn't take too kindly to the idea of them opening up a joke shop. The financing of it all is still a bit shady, although I do have some hint of where they might have got the gold (I do believe I've got the best godson ever), but I must say I couldn't be more proud of theming ing what they want and not taking orders from anybody. Absolutely brilliant lads, those two.

I even volunteered to test their new inventions. The foaming at the mouth caused some concern after the fourth hour, but this morning I was hardly spitting anything more than tiny bubbles, so after some polishing up, the Rabies Raisins should be on the shelves pretty soon, I expect.



April 28th

Haven't had a word from either Harry or Snape. The house has been almost deserted as everybody's on one mission or other, and I'm stuck here with that toerag of an elf, who keeps wandering through the house, muttering his curses loud enough for his darling mistress to hear. Yet he seems strangely jolly, enough so that he doesn't even seem to care about Snape's visits. Either that, or he has actually followed my orders to keep his mouth shut (my galleons are on the former, though). But whatever the cause of this mood change, if he wakes that bleeding portrait one more time and I have to listen to my mother's screeches yet again, I'll tear his hairy head off and add it next to his ancestors' slightly ahead of schedule.

May 4th

Last night was probably the last time I managed to sneak out of the house. It had been raining and, sure enough, I'd got some mud on my paws that left a nice se pri prints in the hall for Molly to find. A very strong exchange of words followed breakfast, and I was nearly locked in my room as a punishment (!), but then Remus stepped in and calmed her down with that soothing voice of his (they should really try selling that in drops or something, for the incurably cross). If it hadn't been for him, she could have been bloody sure that I'd have broken the ww inw in an instant, and then none of them would ever have seen me again.

I find myself hating Dumbledore more each day. Yes, I know he means well and only wants me to keep breathing for a bit longer, but it's quite easy for him to hand out these orders when he has no clue whaver ver what it's actually like for me to be cooped up in this house. Until you've been cooped up in a place as grim and ghastly as this, you really don't know what cooping up is. Bloody hell, I might as well still be in Azkaban! So what if I feel like stretching my legs a bit and getting a spot of fresh air into my lungs! Who would pay any attention to an ordinary black dog, roaming round the neighbourhood at nights? It's been nearly three years and I'm still on the loose, so why the fuck doesn't anyone around here trust me even a little?!

They don't understand what it's like for me, being in this house when I had sworn never to set foot in here again. Yet here I am, sent to my room like a naughty little boy, and it all comes back to me: my mother screaming at me, my father hexing the lock of my door, Regulus laughing his arse off. This is what they don't understand, not even Dumbledore in all his might - they've sentenced me to relive my bloody childhood!

All right, I think I've vented enough. I must go and clean up the floor or she'll have me starve to death.

May 15th

t tht the morning with Buckbeak in my mother's room - again. Sometimes it just seems he's the only one in this house that I can bear seeing, the only other completely useless creature (Kreacher has gone beyond being merely useless and straight to a pest). The others are such arses, the whole lot of them. I miss Harry. Life at Hogwarts must be sheer hell, but still nothing compared to this. That old hag Umbridge has made it impossible to get any word of him, and the same seems to apply to the staff as well. Snape still keeps leaving notes in his cloak pockets when he's here for a meeting, but there haven't been too many of those recently.

I can't say that I miss Snape, though. I miss his cock, very much so, but the man attached to it I could do without. That last note he left me, telling me to work on the Lubricatus Spell, as if I was one of his dim-witted students!

It just occurred to me, how incredibly easy it would be to just get on Buckbeak and fly straight to Hogwarts and drown the bastard in lubricant. Just as soon as I learn that bloody spell.

May 21st

It's quite alarming to find that a discoloured canvas is actually starting to make sense. Sirius-16 and I had a little chat, which really got me to question this thing between Snape and me. In the middle of a lot of rubbish, he brought up one fair point, namely Regulus.

After all, it was pretty much the same situation with that idiot brother of mine and Snape: both were dim enough to get involved with Voldemort in the first place and then even dimmer to try and back out of it. Yet only one of them survived. It does make you think just how much on our side Snape actually is. But if he is y, ay, and a double one at that, then why are we all still very much alive and breathing, myself included? He could've had this whole house wiped out long before now! Sirius-16, of course, sees only one side of it, the opinionated little prat that he is, but I can't help thinking that there's got to be more to this.

Concerning my relationship with Snape, assuming there is one, Sirius-16 now thinks that I'm under the Imperius Curse, because he refuses to believe that I would ever willingly touch that 'old carcass', as he calls Snape (although I'm pretty sure he uses the same term for me, as well). Perhaps I am cursed, as it would certainly explain a hell of a lot in my life, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm shagging the man I've always wanted, even when I was 16, and I don't think the Imperius makes you do things you've always wanted to do anyway.

I wonder which one of us it is that's actually under a spell of some sort.

May 25th

The closer it gets to summer, the longer the days seem to become. And this day in particular has lasted far too long.

I woke up around 5 o'clock this morning to a loud bang, followed by a horrible female scream. Of course my first thought was that someone had tried to get my mother's picture off the wall again, and hurried to see if the attempt had been successful. Instead I found Molly standing in front of the twins'm, om, or rather, where their room used to be. There was nothing; the whole room had just vanished! Behind the door was only a view of the room below and the ones next to it, and a whole lot of dawn.

I knew the twins had been brewing some sort of invisibility potion in their room all day yesterday, and naturally I had covered for them by keeping their mother well away from there. I did get my fair share of shouting when I told Molly about it, but I thought she ought to know that they were probably just invisible and not necessarily done for.

We spent good part of the day searching for any sign of Fred and George and finding none. They seemed to have managed not only to make themselves invisible but also unhearable - didn't I say they were absolutely brilliant lads?

Well, they did turn up later in the afternoon, along with the room. It appears they'd been in the house all day, enjoying their state to the full while waiting for the effects of the potion to wear off. It was all thanks to that cheap cauldron Dung had sold them (I've seen toilet paper that's thicker), and their measuring of ingredients was a bit off, but otherwise the experiment had been a total success. Of course there's no telling this to Molly, who's probably still raging downstairs (I left after the third wave of anger). Anyway, I'm sure the potion will be a huge hit. Sadly the effect is only temporary and shouldn't last for more than a few minutes, which means that it won't be much use to me - and also that the overdose the lads got must have been enormous!

Then again, if the twins survived being soaked in that stuff... I wonder how long it would take them to brew another cauldron of it?

June 1st

My left leg has been gone for good half an hour now, bhe rhe rest of me is still very much visible. I should have known the twins wouldn't be able to remember the exact formula they used that day.

If the leg isn't back by lunchtime, we're all in serious trouble.

Sounds funny when I walk, though. Almost like hopping on one foot.

June 6th

Maybe I should stop declaring this, as it's getting a bit old, but I do believe that last night was, in fact, the best sex that I have ever had. But due to the some things, which I'd rather not mention, I really can't write or even think about what happened yesterday. The shower this morning was a painful enough experience.

But it was nice. Very nice. Hanging from the bedpost, being kissed, and being fucked with a bottle...

Bloody hell. Did it again. Must breathe.

One would think that a man with a cut on his knob would keep his mind far away from anything even remotely arousing. And yet the cut itself reminds me of him, and of the bottle, and of the blood on his lips...

Bollocks!

I'll never make it through this day. All the other cuts are healing nicely, but that particular one keeps splitting open again and again.

The one on my neck called for some excuses at breakfast table and I'm not too convinced 'cut myself shaving' was believed by anybody. But as no questions followed, they probably just blamed it on poor Buckbeak.

No, sorry, can't go on. I'll die of bllossloss if I start thinking about how he made that cut, standing behind me, pressing the shard of glass on my throat, threatening to slit it open, and then shagging me against that bedpost...

And here we go again. Black, you sorry twat!

June 11th

I think I'm finally beginning to figure Snape out. He seems to hate, I mean really truly hate me, maybe almost as much as I hate him. And he definitely enjoys hurting me, but from the beginning he's been very careful not to go too far with it. Yes, blood has been spilled and pain has been caused, but not once has my life been in danger the same way as his was when I got a bit carried away with the leash. Neither have I seen him express any emotions apart from hate, but of course that has been evident from the start. It almost seems as if he's afraid of something, and needs to have complete control over himself even when he would much rather lose it. Of course this means that I'm not entirely covered in scars, so I guess I should only be grateful.

And I still remember him promising not to kill me when we were in Malfoy Manor, andt's t's also when he got all worked up over the thought that what had happened might be interpreted as rape. Now, why would a man who despises me so much care about something like that? And what's more, why the hell hadn't he done it long before, if he did fancy me already back in school, as he claims? It would've been fairly easy to simply take me by force, as I'm sure his Slytherin friends would've been more than happy to lend him a hand.

So my consent must mean something, even though he behaves like I'm less than nothing. I think youldould call it morals, though twisted at that, or perhaps just pride. What ever it is, it seems important to him that he's wanted, even if it's only by scum like me, and he's eager not to lose his regular shag by, let's say, accidentally whipping me to death.

I don't think I'll ever figure him out entirely, but this is as close as anyone can hope to get, I think. He is a despicable, petty little man, and I hate him more than my libut but if he doesn't bring that bloody arse of his here and soon, I can't be held accountable for what will happen.

June 17th

There seems to be some movement in the opposite camp, which might suggest that the snake-faced devil is about to make his move some time soon. Now, I wouldn't go as far as saying that this is a good thing, but if he were to come out in to the open, that would mean the Ministry would have to acknowledge the fact that he's returned, and then there might be a chance for me to clear my name. I'm sick and tired of lurking in this hellhole, just listening to those endless reports and waiting for something, anything, to happen. It's quite depressing to realise that the most exciting part of your day is guessing what's for tea.

I've decided to get rid of the portrait. I can't stand the idea of Harry seeing it and thinking that that annoying little prat and I have anything in common. Also, it would be far too much work to keep covering it every time Snape's here during the summer, which I hope will be the case quite often. However, as I can't bring myself to destroy it, I'm just going to hide in the attic or something. First I must think of a way to break the news to him, though, so I'm simply going to keep him covered till then.

By the way, I think I've finally found the only possible explanation for Siriu's h's hostility towards Snape and his stubborn refusal to believe that I'm actually shagging the bastard out of my own free will. But it's just too ridiculous even for Sirius-16. Admittedly, he does seem a bit soft in the head, and it would certainly explain his fascination with subjects such as my uselessness in the Order, mars ars in Azkaban, my failure with Remus and the repeated accusations against Snape. There's really only one reason for all this, but how can it be? I mean, is it even possible to be envious of yourself? And more importantly, considering the size of that list, what the fuck is there for him to be envious of?

In a way I understand him, but at the same time I wish he was a portrait of someone else.

June 20th

I'm getting near the end of the first round, must start the next one below that very first entry. It's hard to believe it's been four months already. How the time flies when you're bloody bored.

The summer's finally here! I've been strolling round the house all day, ready to burst into laughter at the slightest things. But Kreacher did look quite hilarious, trying to polish that old carpet slipper of my mother's (yes, the sneaky bugger seems to have snatched one of them after all), rubbing the cloth so vigorously, evidently convinced that he would make it shine. And Arthur did amuse everybody with his presentation on the structure and uses of the 'Remould Control' (the wireless didn't change neither channel nor shape, thou But But the most important thing is, of course, that school's nearly over, and that will bring both my most and least favourite persons back to me! I can't wait to see Harry again, although I guess he'll be spending most of the summer at those Muggles' place. And I can't wait to show Severus that I can now fill a whole bloody bottle with the Lubricatus Spell!

I find myself wandering through the house, imagining what he would feel like on that table or against that wall orthatthat cupboard. In my mind I've already had him in every single room. Even wondered whether it would be possible to shag him while he's under the Petrificus Totalus.

Better continue with this later. I'm off for another wank.

- End of Part II -