Me: Two updates in one day. This is good.
Spock: Considering how often you've updated before...
Me: Oh, you be quiet.
Spock: ...
Me: Anywho, this goes waaaayyy back. Back to... *dramatic music* (Hey! Where'd that come from?!) THE MARAUDER'S ERA!
Disclaimer: Me no J.K. Rowling. Me American teenager. Me borrow Harry Potter-verse. Me return later.
Me: No idea why I was writing like that. But it's fun!
10. Polishing my wand in the common room is acceptable. "Polishing my wand" in the common room is not.
I notice that the Marauders are being suspiciously quiet, which doesn't bode well. So I, as a Prefect, should probably see what's up. "What are you four doing?" I ask, sneaking up from behind them.
"Er, hi, Evans…" Sirius Black says, shoving a bit of blank parchment over several filled with writing. I notice that James Potter's hand has leapt to his hair.
"What are you doing?" I repeat.
"We—we're polishing our wands!" squeaks Peter Pettigrew, holding up his wand and a cloth as evidence.
Remus Lupin, my fellow Prefect, shoots me a sheepish look.
I sigh. "Fine. But if you turn my robes pink again…" I trail off. I've scared them enough.
Me: Uh, if you want the time for this...fifth year or later? Because Prefects are chosen summer before fifth year... So you can decide: fifth year or sixth year. Not seventh, because then she'd be Head Girl. It's up to you.
Spock: Reviews are appreciated.
Me: Flames are used to roast marshmallows, along with other things. Mmm...s'mores... Want a virtual s'more? Here ya go!