Alessio Zabini has developed a backbone. Who knew those things were anally insertable? Malfoy, apparently.

The really interesting thing about his older brother is that he's absolutely adamant that Drake and Alessio get seen at Mungo's whenever they sniffle, but he's astonishingly reluctant to be examined himself. I think that's rather suspicious. But the really suspicious thing is that he doesn't find it suspicious. I'll talk to Draco tomorrow morning about it.

I also can't help but wonder about all the chakra anomalies. I'd like to take a reading or two on Nicodemo Zabini.

I'd also like to take a reading or two on Lalage Parkinson, because I bet it would be really interesting. I can't help but think that if Yvon Malfoy performed an abortion on his own girlfriend (and I think he would have been willing to tell me he didn't, if that were the case), something went wrong above and beyond simple contraceptive failure. Or at least he thought that it had. Who knows what's normal for those people?

Well, Alessio Zabini didn't get married. Colour me utterly shocked. And his little girlfriend seems to have been about as committed to the whole thing as he was. I know, I should be thrilled that amor vincia'd omnes, but all I can think of is that they will both eventually come back to work and not only will they both be terminally distracted, but so will all of the female staff under thirty. The kid had it right that they sound like a couple of third-year girls.

Corinne is taking it better than I thought she would, given that no-one who knows her didn't believe she was coming up here to play ministering angel to Artisson's Malfoy's broken heart. (At least this time it wouldn't have been in the broom closet. Well, at least not one of the ones at the hospital.)

I wonder if he has finally learned his lesson about trying to work while distracted. At least this time the person he almost killed was himself. There's almost none of the deep curse structure left and I've put Corinne to work because we missed the carriages anyway. She said something about how I wouldn't get up in the middle of the night unless Parkinson turned green and started doing a striptease and I told her that it wasn't necessary for Parkinson to turn green; if Parkinson starts stripping, I am THERE, sleep-deprived or not.

Malfoy's little brother looks just like him, only pointier; pointier nose, which I didn't think possible, and pointier tongue. I might be induced to go to a meeting of the Wizengamot when he starts showing up. It might even be fun.

This all stopped being funny and started to become extremely boring about six hours ago. I no longer care who did what with whom at which incredibly stupid orgy of adolescent excess and debauchery. I just want some goddamned decent help around here. I especially don't care where Rosier went last night, or what complicity Artisson may have had in it (no matter what Magistra Allison thinks); I just wish she were here right now. And I can even say that, because Kitty Turpin isn't here.

I still think Stephen should seduce Priscilla. It would make everyone around here so much happier if she got laid more often. That Spanish guy isn't reliable, even if he didn't work for her husband. Stephen said I should tell 'Jimmy' that.

I didn't hit him. The cane slipped.

Priscilla has made Dr Artisson take Miss Rosier to a party. I asked her if she provided Miss Rosier with all the appropriate potions and she told me she had told Dr Artisson in no uncertain terms that he was not to meddle with Miss Rosier. I asked her if she had told Miss Rosier that, and if she thought that Dr Artisson could resist her. It took her two minutes to stop sputtering. I know, because I timed her.

Then I told her I was fairly sure that Miss Rosier had already slept with her son, and she informed me that her son is a virgin. Because sixteen-year-old boys always tell their mothers about their sexual lives. Especially when they are living with their father's mistresses because they're angry that their mothers have just as much sex as their fathers do. I didn't say any of this out loud, but she read it in my eyes. And she says she's not a Legilimens.

I am actually not sure that it isn't Dr Artisson who will be needing the appropriate potions after his day with Miss Rosier, though I suspect that Miss Rosier is in fact quite conscientious about such matters. I shouldn't look forward to their return quite so much. Corinne Allison and Poppy Pomfrey will be quite put out, and I will actually have to do all of my own work until they get the pecking order re-established. But it is going to be very humorous.

I did not know that James let the nurses call him Jemmie. But he doesn't know that I know about that weather-witch of Kyteler's. Ultimately, none of this matters, and at least I do know that.

She finally threw the cheating bastard out. I don't believe it. She threw him out and she hasn't taken him back. And she isn't going to. It's been nearly a week.

Unfortunately, I'm talking about Priscilla, not Julissa Rosier-Wilkes. ♥ (I strongly suspect Julissa doesn't mind me at all; I am in fact not certain that she hasn't made at least one oblique sort of pass at me.) I probably should have taken her up on it. Men aren't the only ones who can be amazingly reasonable if you let them watch and participate once in a while. It's just...girl cooties!

Priscilla isn't talking about her situation to anyone here, but I don't think I can locate every single copy of the Prophet in this building before someone gets bored enough to read the registry office announcements, and Corinne Allison will find one eventually. Which means she will be talking about it, and sooner than she likes to think.

Ah well. At least the apprentices will be able to stop pretending they don't know what's going on. They're even worse at that than they are at some of their actual work.

Five things I never thought I'd find in Stephen Yang's office:

1. A pack of fags.

2. Opera tickets.

3. Raw vegetables.

4. Priscilla's engagement ring.

5. Priscilla's wedding ring.

But I suppose that if you're going to sleep with women, tricky creatures that they are, you could do worse than one who has a career like that.

Especially given the fact that she wrote a sex manual. There's no excuse for not knowing what she likes in bed. Except illiteracy. And Stephen is not illiterate.

(Actually, I'm fairly sure there's a completely innocent explanation. Dammit.)

1. Priscilla is pouting. Apparently I was supposed to be more sympathetic. But even I don't order painful and invasive testing when I don't actually want a diagnosis.

2. Having realised that Magistra Doctora Chattox-Kyteler doesn't really want to know what's going on--well, not under her roof, because he's not an idiot, but a few blocks down the street--I am debating whether or not to tell her what James told me about the conversation he overheard at the meeting. I did tell her that anything Servilia Bolingbroke-Warrington or Oceane DeVries happens to say to her in the course of their Lady Bountiful visits is nothing but poison. (Not to mention, proof that they don't actually know much, since the truth would be so much more damaging.)

3. I rather miss Frankel.

1. So. Tomorrow I get to go and talk to the Muggles. With Albus Dumbledore. I am thrilled beyond belief by this prospect. And then, after that, I get to do rectification.

2. Scalara's applied to join the Astrologers' Guild. I don't want to vote in favour of her admission, but I can't find anything in the laws of the Guild about not sleeping with the spouses of people who only happen to be friends of fellow Guild members. Dammit. She's good, too.

3. I don't think that I have ever seen Priscilla in such a foul mood. Then again, we've seen an awful lot of Dumbledore lately.

4. I thought that I was disturbed by the concept of Elie Frankel as Dumbledore's protégé...and then I met Zachary Crabtree.

5. Joscelin thinks I'm a prick. I'm sure no-one else has ever thought that about me. I'm so crushed.

1. Dammit, I hate it when they make me care.

2. I miss Durmstrang. Fuck. Fuck, I miss Durmstrang.

3. James hates it when Priscilla calls him that, and she will never, ever stop. We are not in the 18th century. "Jemmie" is the sort of thing people named Warrington or Walsingham or Malfoy get called.

4. Corinne Allison is bloody annoying. So is Poppy Pomfrey, but in a completely different way. If I never have to spend another hour in the same room with the two of them while they argue about the merits of potions versus crystal therapy instead of considering the actual situation at hand, I will be happy for...at least the next two hours.

5. I am not looking forward to the day when Priscilla finally figures out that it's Scalara she's being cheated on with, and not Delgardie or some fresh-faced recruit with a nice arse.

6. This does not mean I feel guilty about my own personal involvements. Dammit.

7. I am quite relieved that Miss Rosier has stopped bursting into tears at inopportune moments.

8. I need to write to Joscelin about that boy.