Terry M. Boot's Journal

"Attack!" The journal yelled at the top of its lungs as it lunged forward, sword in hand. Undoubtedly, people would think that a journal wouldn't be the greatest of leaders for an army, but those people were either uninformed or retarded. For, you see, that journal had once belonged to the great and wondrous Terry Boot...

I have a Quidditch team. Speaking of, I've probably failed to mention that Michael Corner somehow made the bloody team. ~~I suppose I was just tired out from all of the sexual favours he's owed me.~~ There goes the Cup.

If you thought it was too early in the year to have detention, then you were sorely mistaken, school's population.

Does that rhyme or is it just me? The latter is only possible because I've spent most of my life thusfar buried into a book about Defence, and I'm quite sure that Shacklebolt's got it out for me.

Did you know that he actually eavesdropped into my conversation with Kevin earlier in which I might or might not have mentioned exploding house elves? His exact words, Merlin's honest truth: "Mr. Boot, while I'm sure that you might find that entertaining, most people with a sense of conscience would not."

I deny ever saying such a thing. ~~And not just because I'm sure that Hermione would be all over my arse for such a thing. And not even in the good way.~~ He all but said that I have no conscience.

Professor Shacklebolt, no offense meant, but I certainly do have a conscience. And despite that, I still think that watching a house elf explode would be funny as hell. Perhaps it's just because exploding things, in general, seems to be an amusing pasttime. Perhaps I should take that up as a hobby.

I also may or may not have put whipped cream in Michael's bed. And by whipped cream, I actually mean the kind that goes wonderfully with chocolate. Merlin, I'm going back to my Herbology work.