January 21

What a bloody day I've had! Every flat I went to see was rubbish, not one suitable. I'll end up on the muggle side for sure if this keeps up. Perhaps I can oust someone from a good place, you know… scare them off. Don't suppose that would be a very nice thing to do, but I think I'll take it into consideration anyhow.

Course half way through my day I broke the heal off of my favorite pair of bat-skin boots. Madam Malkin said she'd see what she could do, but they'll simply never be the same. And then, to top all of that off I got my suede boots dirty later on, you'll never believe doing what.

Justin Finch-Fletchley of all people, was pissed beyond recognition at the Cauldron. Tom wanted him gone, and it seemed to me that he was about to pass out anyhow. So I, being the good citizen that I hate to be, toddled him on home (getting my suede's muddy in the process). I can hardly believe myself that I recalled his street. It's stunning the inconsequential things I find myself recalling. I finally got the poor soddy bastard up there, only to find he'd been robbed blind. They took everything except some letters from his family. It was utterly wretched and depressing. I can hardly get my mind off it now, the letter and drawings. They were so real, and well … not much like anything I've ever been owled, that's for sure. Rotten luck, and he doesn't seem to be taking it well.

I suppose this is the first time he's lost everything. Not that I've gone through it so many times myself. But I can't help but recall myself handling such things slightly better. It's been, what after all, five months since… that day. I'm doing alright aren't I. Have my affairs mostly in order. Sweet Salazar! I can't believe myself, but someone's going to have to help him. A Hufflepuff can never do this on his own, that's obvious. Leave it to a Slytherin of course.

I'm already disgusted with myself.