Dear Book,

Have you ever wondered how many cats you could fit into a broom cupboard? Of course you have, because you're me, and I thought of that.

.. Wait, if I'm writing to myself that essentially means that I'm a loon. I don't want to be crazy, as I'm sure you don't want to be too. Does this mean that I'll be put in a straight jacket? OH HOLY MOTHER OF MERLIN, I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE PUT IN A PADDED CELL. I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD SEX WITH REMUS YET.

WHY THE F-BLEEP- DID I SAY THAT?

Ahem, speaking of the devil, he is looking at me like I've done something wrong.

'It's perfectly normal that a man can hold a not-at-all-a-diary-rather-than-a-MANLY-book-in-which-I-talk-about-MANLY-things to his chest with sheer desperation so YOU DON'T STEAL IT.' I should say.

There, I said it.

He replied with "The actual fuck, Sirius?" with a beautiful –er- confused glare.

That's it. He cannot be trusted.

ENGAGE ESCAPE THEME MUSIC.

THERE! I LIVED! I'M HIDING IN THE ROOM OF REQUIREMENT, FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT TURNED INTO A PADDED CELL FOR ME THIS TIME. WHY AM I YELLING? That's better.

Remus yelled "Why are you humming that?" As I sprinted out the door. Majestically, I might add.

Trust no one, Sirius. Trust. No. One.

For extra security, I shall keep you, dear Book, in my pants.

And Remus will never be wiser on the subject.

MWU HA HA.

Yay! More 'Dear Book'!

I'm having trouble getting ideas, so you can drop me a suggestion, if you want. If you do not want, don't suggest anything. Simple, no?

PLEASE TELL ME SOMEONE PLAYED THE GAME FROM A COUPLE OF CHAPTERS BACK.