I wasn't actually asking, bullfrog, as I, unlike others who shall remain unnamed, am capable of completing several tasks at once. Such as: paying attention to Binns and writing to you, as neither requires much in the way of genuine concentration, hm? (That and the fact that he's given this lecture several times already, and I vaguely recall someone dragging me to a museum in Hamburg at fuck o'clock in the morning and asking me, repeatedly, to translate the texts on display. There's nothing Binns can teach you that I haven't already, so don't act like you're not drafting Quidditch strategies: I'm sitting next to you, you lackwit, and I can see what you're writing.) (Impressive stick-figuring, by the way. I particularly like the one in which Potter has a broken neck.)

It's not larceny: you're just borrowing them. God, how many times must we go through this. In any event: peace, land, and bread & circuses -- why shouldn't everyone suffer? (I know the joke you're attempting to make, Wilkes, and I find it not the least bit funny. Fuck off.)

Your lamentations bore me. Was that a confession I read, or were you just letting your rather vivid imagination carry you off again? (And now, I must admit, I wonder how Slughorn would feel if someone were to try to cleanse him of one of his many addictions. It would be for his own good, of course --- and you say I'm not truly charitable.) (All the world's a stage, to wrench a line from context, and you're an appallingly bad actor: stop embarrassing both of us, would you please.) (Only sixty feet? Hm. Perhaps you should lead him a bit higher in the search for the Snitch. It won't be worth watching if it's not an eighty foot drop at least. Evans must have time to start the wailing.)

Do you think Potter is bright enough to hold onto his thoughts without setting quill to parchment? I'm sure he has to leave notes for himself: grunt, scratch arse, drool out of right side of mouth, &c. (You can tell yourself you're a Legilimens as often as you like, but it doesn't make it so.)

An unrelated thought, but not an unimportant one: I think we ought to visit the greenhouses after class and see if our OWL-year Herbology project is still in bloom -- and if so, we should take a sample back to the dorm for further examination. It wouldn't due for us to waste the entire day, after all, and since this lecture has been redundant at best, I think we'll simply have to take matters into our own hands. (I suppose I should mention that I might have promised Professor Sprout your services; something about needing volunteers from other houses -- I can't be bothered to remember, but you'll be assisting her for a time, at any rate. No need to thank me for my kindness: you know I'd do anything to help a friend succeed.)

(And what a marvelous opportunity for you to secure your membership in the Club: a simple nudge back off the wagon ought to be enough to place you in his graces forever.) (While you choose to make another one of your scathing comments, I will instead pause to reflect on the fact that you even know what embarrassment is -- after that incident in Royal Castle Square, I simply assumed you were a feral child and as such unable to grasp the concept. How else to explain your incessant leeching, your false pride, your -- well, I'll stop here, or else I might never stop.) (Excuses, Yezhov.)

(And that comment rather proves that you have the uterus this week, hm? Do try to raise your conversation above the level of 'primary school girl,' would you.)

Consider it a 'date,' my darling flower of femininity. And now, if you'd be so kind, shut the fuck up, as the bell is about to ring and I have no need for your companionship any longer.