September 8th - Day does not begin well, as dear Hermione is still in extremely Bad Mood. Feel that this does not bode well for successful teaching of third-year Arithmancy, and am unfortunately moved to tell her this as we part after breakfast.

She responds with sharp Slap to my face, and departs with great vigour.

Am entirely stunned by this, not least due to public nature of confrontation - busy corridor full of gaping students - and am not comforted to see Hagrid approach, wearing knowing Grin.

What, he demands humorously, have I been doing to upset Hermione This Time?

Attempt to conceal natural embarassment with feeble Joke, to the effect that She must have Werewolf Blood, since the Full Moon always affects her this way.

He chuckles at this, which is at least somewhat gratifying, then enquires, entirely unexpectedly, if her Monthly Visitor is due?

Am determined to be Modern Husband, willing and able to discuss all aspects of Married Life at the drop of a hat, so suppress surprise at nature of question - also immediate retort that it is none of either of our businesses, anyway - and merely reply that, Yes, It is.

Am then proved to be very Ancient Husband indeed when Hagrid explains reason behind recent Bad Mood, and mentions that Madame Maxime is Much The Same.

Reflect that female physiology is undoubtedly very, very strange, and have embarked on disturbing train of thought about possible effects of hormones on euphemistically big-boned Madame, when Hagrid draws me back to myself by declaring that Chocolate is the Only Thing.

But not Medical Chocolate. Proper Chocolate, in a box. With a Bow.

And Apologise, he adds.

For what? I am unable to avoid asking, at which he looks hunted and replies, Everything, before departing hastily.

(Query - Might this not be the explanation for the various injuries recently sported by our Care of Magical Creatures master, which in the last year alone have included several black eyes, broken wrists and ribs, and something referred to only as Groin Strain?)

(Answer - Does not bear thinking about.)

Morning passes by almost unnoticed, and Lunch is by-passed in favour of swift trip to Hogsmeade, where I purchase the very best that Honeyduke's have to offer in the way of Chocolate, before returning to Hogwarts and concealing obscenely beribboned parcel in desk lest it be spotted by Anyone at all. Can only hope that shop assistant was new to area, and did not recognise me.

Parcel is presented to Hermione in privacy of own quarters after dinner, along with Heartfelt Apology for Everything; she becomes Tearful, and declares that she doesn't Deserve me, and I'm too Good for her, and Everything is Just So Awful, and she Loves me So Much.

Feel that I am now more than qualified to cope with such effusions, and produce secondary, smaller parcel, in shape of Heart.

Suffice it to say that Bed is restored to former size and degree of comfort.