September 2nd - First day of Teaching.
All fifth-years bound to fail O.W.L.'s, if today's performance is anything to go by. Ditto for seventh-years and N.E.W.T.'s. Cannot, at this moment in time, find it in myself to care very much.
Last class of day proves to be first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors; Speech is most effective, but dramatic pause perhaps not an improvement as it is filled by the clear and bell-like tones of midget McGonnagall nephew, claiming that It was Him that Swore. Pause becomes extended as I Scowl, and then Sneer; but Speech is, eventually, completed without further interruption.
Am inexplicably exhausted on return to rooms, and much inclined to sit in armchair and Do Nothing, until dear Hermione suggests, and then performs, a Massage. This proves to be unexpectedly stimulating and I find myself sufficiently revived to consume an excellent dinner in the Great Hall, and discuss virtues of Potions over Foolish Wand-waving with Filius. Have had this discussion many times before, and no doubt will have it many more times in future, but can think of little else to talk about, other than to ask him if he Likes being Small - which, I realise, lacks Tact.
Happy absence of Homework to be marked - this situation will alter only too soon - leads me to suggest to Hermione that I return the favour of a Massage; she replies that there is Nothing she would like Better - should think not, indeed - and we retire to bed.