Seamus Finnigan is magically delicious.

Valentine's day is in thirteen days. Which means I've got to get all of my beloved ones some sort of Valentine. Tons of chocolate, yeah, and maybe a flower. However, I don't want anyone to get left out and thus I'll be sending all of you girls something. Even the taken ones. I'm looking at you, Ginny Heartbreaker Weasley. If anyone has a problem with this, please speak up now and prepare to be ignored.

Spread it. Doesn't have to be a holiday for you to spread the love. Thus, I'm going to take this opportunity to spend the time until Valentine's day telling people what I love about them.

MARY ABIGAIL RUNCORN, I love you because we are clearly soulmates and without you my life would be about ten times less interesting. It's good to not be the only loud, hilarious blond around here.
NATHANIEL SUMMERBY, I love you because you're just about the most wicked bloke I've met this year, loyal as hell, funny, and a good card player. I still want to marry your sister, just so we can be related.
DEAN THOMAS, I love you because -- nah, your ego doesn't need stroking. You fecking know already.
HARRY POTTER, I love you because I hit on your girlfriend every single day and you haven't punched me yet. Oh, and because you have foofy hair.

The rest of you will have to wait until next time.

QUIDDITCH!!!!!!!!!!!

WARDED AGAINST ANYONE WITH A VAGINA [EDITED LATER TO ALSO EXCLUDE SLYTHERINS WHO AREN'T DILLONSBY]:
Time to live up to my title as Seamus the Shameless.

Who is the hottest girl at Hogwarts?

Guidelines: (1) Harry and Ron, you are not allowed to name your girlfriends. (2) To give the Snakes a fair shake, include them on the basis that you've seen them in the street and have never heard them talk or seen them glare or know that they're black-hearted souls masquerading as females. (3) Dean, you are not allowed to participate. (4) All of the rest of you have to answer. (5) None of this "inner beauty" rot. The girls can't see this so you've no one to impress with your sensitivity. (6) Nate and Dillonsby, you've got to answer, too.

My pick's for Mary-Abigail Runcorn. Go.
END PRIVATE.

Did I mention QUIDDITCH?

Suddenly, I miss when the Prophet used to print nothing but lies.

I don't even want to talk about this, but even I'd feel weird pretending there's nothing going on and going off about the scrimmage or whatever inane thing we do to distract ourselves from the fact that everything's awful and we've got to deal with it.

I only just really met him so this isn't that big a blow for me, but... my thoughts are with you, Hufflepuffs. It's like he's dead and come back as a ghost. He's there -- or will be, eventually -- but it will never be the same again.

( Private [Readable by Dean] )

Twas early, early, in the month of June
I was sitting with my glass and spoon.
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was a jug of punch.
Toor-a-loora-la, toor-a-loora-lie
Toor-a-loora-la, toor-a-loora-lie
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was a jug of punch.

That there's your song of the day and the one I'll be teaching ye to sing on the night of the grand ould scrimmage. I've got a round of butterbeer for the winning team, so it had best be whichever one I'm on. And, if I'm on said team, then of course we're going to win.

Who's not playing in the scrimmage? I want to assemble myself a crowd of cheerleaders and fawning supporters to beg for my autograph. Granger?

PRIVATE TO HARRY AND RO RON RON:
I've been cavorting off with Hufflepuffs when I should have looked no further than my own dorm. Either or both of you want to take a break from your woes to learn the fine art of Gaelic footie and get gee-eyed doing it?
END PRIVATE.

PRIVATE TO RON PRIVATE TO RON:
Do you fancy Lav?
END PRIVATE.

If MacFusty's teaching the fine art of Scots Gaelic phrasing, I'll be gracing you all with the fine art of Irish Bawdy Drinking Songs. Repeat after me, ladies:

An old man came courting me, hey ding doorum-da
An old man came courting me, me being young
An old man came courting me, saying "would you marry me"
Maids when you're young, never wed an old man
For he's got no faloo-doo-rum, fal-diddle-oo-doo-rum
He's got no faloo-doo-rum, fa-diddle-day
He's got no faloo-doo-rum, lost his ding-doo-reeum
Maids when you're young, never wed an old man

Runcorn, I expect you to be singing the loudest.

The best part of class is getting out of class.

The worst part of class is that I already have homework.

I think the fact that I've finished it all already is more than enough proof of the kind of state I'm in. I did my homework so I could get a break from my own thoughts and now I've left myself with nothing to do but think. Or drink. Or do homework in advanced. I hate this. I tripped over a first year in the common room. I wish I was that small again. I was a damn cute eleven-year-old.

( Private to Self )

Thanks for all the gifts, everyone. The best way to validate your love for someone in that interim between grand gestures and soulful declarations is with material items. Now I know for a fact that most of you love me. You are also all obvious enablers and when I end up in AA or in St. Mungo's with a liver problem, I know who to blame (you lot, not me for I am always blameless).

I'm considering coming back to London early, but I don't know where to crash. The Leaky? What's the going rate for a room these days? Or I suppose I could always crash with Dean. His mam thinks I walk on water. I'm sure if I ask nicely, she'll give me his bed and put him out in the backyard with the stray cats.

I figured I may as well ask now than to get an unplesant surprise three days to Christmas. Are any of you lot expecting presents from me that I forgot to buy presents for?

I got Lavender, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Padma, Nate, and Miscellaneous Dormmates, but I could have skipped someone in my haste to get the fecking hell out of that store. It's not you, it's me. Just let me know, would you?

Someone decide when Justin's party is. Right now. I need to know how to plan the rest of my month and start kissing up to me mam from now. She doesn't like me to go anywhere with you unsavory Brits. She says you're dangerous and drink too much tea.

( Private )

I need to come up with more (and better) slogans for these buttons and posters. So far I've got:

Down With The (In)Justice System
We Are Not Them (or We Are Not Our Parents)
Wizengamot: Where Equality Goes To Die
Equality: You're Doing It Wrong!
Is This What We Fought For?
I Fought In The Wizarding War and All I Got Was This Stupid Registry
The Time Has Come To Choose Between What Is Easy and What is RIGHT
Judge Us Not By The Sins Of Our Fathers

Not Guilty By Association!
How Far Will You Go?
We Did Not Fight the War to Become the Enemy
Sympathiser Registration is Hypocritical

I've also got a sign that says "Register This!" with a crude hand gesture, but that's a bit inappropriate. I'll be putting that on my wall instead. Any suggestions?

I am also proud to announce I've finished my Christmas shopping.

Thank Merlin we're going back to Hogwarts. I'm going out of my head being home.

Me mam keeps coming in here and tearing up or sighing in relief every time I amble down for breakfast and I love her, really, but does she really have to remind me every day that a war went on, honestly

I've already woken up twice with an empty bottle of sangria and no idea what I'd done the night before. I need discipline before my liver gives its three-week notice and quits.

I'm not getting you lot anything for Christmas unless you buy me something large and expensive. I'm a gold digger. Ever been to the World Cup? In case you couldn't tell from the favours the Kestrals chuck out at the audience, we Irish like gold or the equivalent - something large and expensive. Besides which, I'm poor and need a sugar daddy benefactor.

( Oh, he doesn't smell like Irish Spring and he never taught me anything, but still I slap my chest and sing of my drunken Irish dad. Oh, his face looks like a railroad map and he never shuts his freakin' trap, but all the ladies catch the clap from your drunken Irish dad. Ask a Hennessey, Tennessey, Morrison, Shaughnessy, Reardon, and Rooney, they'll tell you the same. McNulty, Mulrooney, and Carter and Clooney, all feel the same mixture of pride and of shame. Finnegan, Hannigan, Kelly, and Flanagan look to the ground while their dad passes by. Cafferty, Rafferty, Joyce and O'Lafferty, fight for his honor and then start to cry! Oh, we Irish lads are all infirm and our moods infect us like a germ 'cause we're all the spawn of a pickled sperm (and we don't tan well either) from a drunken Irish dad!  )