So little has been of interest lately. Young Miss Weasley's banana-blowing antics in the Great Hall have caused quite a stir among the rest of her schoolmates. The boys tend to make suggestive remarks; the girls are giving her incredibly cold shoulders. I must admit to being fairly impressed by her lack of reaction. She simply marches through the school with the straight-backed, lofty-nosed coolness of a Beauxbatons student. More and more I think she should have been a Slytherin.
Draco is standing by her quite staunchly. I've turned a blind eye more than once as he threatened to curse an oversexed male who came on much too strongly. He's aware now that I saw his cream-puffilingus that morning at breakfast, and has been making doubly sure to toe the line whenever he knows I'm around, for fear that I might put a bug in Lucius's ear about it.
In other news, Mother is on my case about not forgetting Father's upcoming birthday. He's only going to be twelve million years old. As if I could forget it, the way it's being shoved down my throat. She's organizing a massive party and getting the students involved to celebrate. I'm not overly fond of birthday parties -- well, except those involving Poppy and chocolate cake -- but I must admit that Father has been mostly good to me throughout my life, taking me back into the fold after the Death Eater incident and all that, so I suppose I must participate. Perhaps I'll get him some socks; he's always going on about how he never has enough socks. Daft old bat.