pinkrobed@aol.com — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 20:58:25 GMT

This close to autumn, the leaves are just in the beginning stages of burnishment. The grounds are as beautiful as ever--though, sans the garden parties, the teas, and the luncheons, for all their beauty the grounds are desolate, too. ~~I would never admit this sentiment to anyone, though. There is no one around for the purpose of sentimental admission, anyway.~~

There has been much time for the purpose of ~~brooding~~ thinking, but that hardly means that thinking of substance has occurred. I have taken every dinner in the grand dining room, just as Father demanded of the family every evening, with proper dress and deportment. I have read and reread last year's textbooks, on the grounds that I'll doubtless be joining the masses at platform nine and three-quarters soon enough. I have not ventured off the grounds in some time. The strangest thing, however? I sit at the head of the dinner table now. I answer to myself. How strange to sit in my father's seat, to stare down the long dining table, alone save for the house elves who serve dinner and the ghosts that haunt the old mansion--while my parents sit in Azkaban, awaiting their trial.

Much has changed, and not just the seating arrangements at mealtimes. At present, however, there is little else to divulge in the way of my thoughts, not even on the great matter that still plagues the headlines. ~~As if I'd be foolish enough to divulge my thoughts on this subject anyway, given the...precarious nature of mine and my parents' situation.~~ I can't be bothered to concern myself, not until September 1st, at any rate. ~~Emotional procrastination, much?~~

saviors and saints and devils and demons and lies