Friday the 13th, July.

1978.

The world is very blind.

I got some grim satisfaction off of the explosions at the Ministry -- very little else other than household potions and artifice went into that. Two Aurors tried to stop me. Yeah, I'd bet they'd like to nail me down quick and tight. My da would shoot you one at a time, but when a dog is full of fleas, you don't go picking through its fur to squash them individually, you just keep giving the dogs flea baths until they figure it out.

Turner wants to train me. Last I heard he wasn't the shit. Supposedly the woman who killed my father is such a bad combatant normally that they keep her in the back doing intel. Dad said she was smart, not a bad ass, but then he seemed to have more respect for the smart. Anyway, he's probably better than me still, so I'll probably take it, though of course, sure as this tobacco is Silk Cut, he's going to use it as some sort of excuse to tell me what the fuck to do. Fuck him too. I can't wait to see the look on his face when I come in with that prophecy my father fucking died trying to get, charging six or seven fucking people like a fucking moron if the tales can be believed.

Gallivant and I are going into Germany and bury him. I'm not sure what the hell I'm supposed to feel. My mother was a moron, and my father was a sick motherfucker and the apple didn't fall too far from the tree. No matter what those dickwads at the Ministry say, if they're going to stick one of the golden children like Miss Shiny and Popular in prison to cool her heels awhile then a bonafide Shredl doesn't stand a damn chance. Besides, Voldemort is cool as shit. Sticking it straight to the man, so much so they shit themselves to say his name, he looks like the front cover of a Twisting Grytrash album and he's so fucking crazy that its not even funny.

And what none of them remember is that I'm fucking smart. I love that. Put some pink dye in your hair and rip off half your jeans and throw on some dragonhide and people stop seeing that you were a Straight O Ravenclaw and they don't think about how well your career was coming along before the Great Dark Ephiphany hit. But what's nice is, I'm used to fading into the background. I've made it an art. A science. Lord-V is going to know what I'm capable of and if the rest can't look past the hair and the trash talk then that just keeps them out of my hair.

That woman Evelyn or whatever with the red eyes -- she looks like a bad photo negative, but if she streaked some green in that hair of hers or got a tattoo she might really start looking kick ass, maybe some boots -- anyway she freaking acted like she was in love with my father, and hell, maybe she was.

Then there's MacKenzie, who is creepier than shit, and this new guy who has been hanging out at Mephi's lately. And Elmer, who seems to think that he's going to be on Johnny Carson with all of his voice throwing. From the rumors a lot of our so called Company is a Company of Fools and a Comedy of Errors. Ed, I think, was really my dad's friend, so I can trust him just about as far as I can throw him, as opposed to some of these other shitkickers, who I could trust about as far as I could throw a fucking building.

And that guy Drake thinks he's going to reform me. Whatever. Get a god damn life. Stop listening to the Man. I mean I don't really give a damn about bloodlines and shit, but the Man is all -- oh lets hide. Hide, fuck it man, Muggles are all fucking about to blow themselves to fucking shit which anyone would fucking know if they'd raise their fucking heads once in awhile. If we ran the world they'd be better off for it too, and if we've got to burn down a few houses and lose a few morons along the way to get shit settled out, then hell with it, I'm game.

Got a few stops to make before my little list will truly be worth a shit. Probably take me about a month or so. Nobody's paying attention to what I'm doing though, unless its blowing shit up or whatever it is they're wanting out of me tonight, and time is what I've got. Meanwhile I'm off with Xak to go break into the museum. If its what I think it is, by the time I'm done plumbing this goldmine I'm going to come up smelling like Lord-V's favorite rose and everyone else can go fuck themselves up a tight pipe.