RORSCHACH'S j o u r n a l }}

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Got another journal from Hermann for Christmas.

Of course, it came through Mum. The sneaky bastard knows I would just refuse point blank if he gave it to me in person. It would be in the hospital dustbin before I even left the building. But he knows I wouldn't upset my mother by doing that. He knows how much I love her, how much she means to me.

So I had to accept the damn thing.

I haven't told anyone about me knowing their secret. They would deny it and treat me like I was paranoid. They can call me what they want, but I know their game whether they deny it or not.

I mean, the note attached to it was proof enough.

'Hope it will help me?' If that wasn't one of Hermann's dishonestly compassionate lines then I'm Joseph Stalin! What a twat. That arse-hole will pay for using my mother to try and get his retarded methods into use. I'm not falling for it; all this journal will be is a record of all the studies I shall follow up. It'll be my little black book, not some gushy novel of my emotional confessions.

Hermann will never wheedle his way into my head. NEVER.

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I should have written these notes two days ago, but seeing as the family were trying to absorb me into Christmas 'fun and games' I got preoccupied. Plus, I was pissed off at Hermann for giving me this journal and I can't concentrate on my studies when I'm angry.

Christmas has been a fiasco, as ever.

Christmas eve was spent at Granny Brynn's and Pap Austen's this year in Wales. Gran made her customary apple strudel which she makes every year and practically kills herself doing it. Mum does say she could help Granny out with a flick of her wand, but the old girl won't have it. I think she wants to prove to us that muggle cooking can be just as good, if not better than magical. I'm rooting for her, myself because such support gets extra strudel, and I'll admit that I have a soft spot for Granny's strudel proudly made from the apples of Pap's shop. The old fogies fussed over me like they always do, but Uncle Eoin was there to save me. He knows what it's like to be overly indugled by his parents seeing as he was the baby boy of the family. He's a sweet fellow, a little too quiet at times, but he stands up for those he values. He took me out for a walk when Gran got the baby pictures out which spared us both from the embarassment of observing our infant selves.

Christmas day, we were back home with Eoin, and Aunt Millie and Felix came for lunch. Millie gave me her usual bear hug while Felix gave me a respectful shake of the hand. I've always wondered why Millie married a stiff like Felix. He seems far too posh and conservative for my care-free and liberal aunt. But I suppose his sober personality balances out her flighty one, and they seem happy so why should I fuss?

Mother and Millie got to chatting about women's business while Felix and Dylan were enthralled by one another's boring outlooks on life, so Eoin and I were stuck with entertaining ourselves, which was fine. Uncle Eoin has always seemed like the odd-ball in our family, aside from myself, for he has never really fitted into one of the cliques. Millie and Mother's gossip leaves him cold, and Dylan and Felix's conversations confuse and bore him. He did get on with me and Homer when he was around, for although Homer's garish character daunted Eoin, his sense of humour amused my younger uncle. But Eoin and I still stick together at family occasions even without Homer there, and we get on well. This year we played wizard chess and talked about the part Field Marshal Douglas Haig played in the First World War.

We had turkey, as usual for lunch. It was a little dry because Dylan forget to set the timer which resulted in a spat between him and Mum. She won of course.

Eoin and I finished our game of chess after lunch and then we all got round to opening our presents. Aside from this journal, I got a smart fountain pen from Grandma Effy and Grandpa Walt, some fudge and walking boots from Eoin (he knows I like my walks), a broomstick care pack from Millie and Felix, a new watch from Mum and Dylan (it's a very handsome looking thing. Clearly Mum's choice), and then a Defense Against the Dark Arts book and encyclopedia of the world's most dangerous dark wizards from Homer (who obviously wasn't with us after what happened under the mistletoe a couple of years ago).

The books were fantastic, so I sent Homer a letter thanking him. I'm planning on meeting him in the Fox and Hound on the twenty-ninth. Nobody'll know of course, but I'm looking forward to seeing him. You know, I didn't think I could hate Dylan anymore than I did already before he banned Homer from ever seeing him, Mum and me again, but I was wrong.

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I saw Homer today, as planned.

I didn't like everything I saw.

I snuck out of the house at around ten saying I wanted to go for a walk which caused little stir amongst the folks aside from Eoin. He offered to come, but I quickly detered him by saying I wanted to go on my own, which was true. Millie swooped into the rescue at that point, saying it would be good to give me some space. Why can't Dylan be more like his brother and sister? They're the ones who seem to understand me the best, Mum excluded.

So I got to the Fox and Hounds in great time, crossing the threshold at around twenty past. I spotted him almost immediately seeing as the pub was virtually empty; most of the punters were at homes with their families, whether they wanted to be or not. At first sight, he looked relatively the same but that was only because his back was towards me as he sat hunched over the bar. I use the word hunch with great emphasis, but I'd seen him like that before. Homer's never had the best of postures, and he always sits like that in a pub, and actually, most people do when they're sitting at the bar.

It was when I saw his face that I noticed the change in him. He didn't look up to regested me until I'd made my way up to the bar, and although he beamed, laughed, and gave me a crushing hug as he usually does (he knows such shows of affection embarass me, but I love him all the more for doing so in such a warm way), there was an emptyness in his eyes, and his general appearance was far more shabbier than I remember it. He looked thinner too, and his skin was so pale. I thought he was ill at first, and although he didn't sound or act like he was, I suspect there is an illness which afflicts him. It perhaps isn't a virus or a basterial thing, but one of the heart. I think he misses my mum, and in some ways, Dylan. Homer loves his younger brother, even though he had taken away the woman he loved, and although I consider that a bit of a personal weakness, it is clear that he is a man with a good heart.

A soft heart. A heart which has been damaged.

We talked about various things like school and world affairs, but all the while I was studying him. As I have mentioned, he is gaunt, and there is a reddness to his eyes which tells me he hasn't been sleeping well. And then he did something which alarmed me. He ordered a drink. A beer, at five to eleven. Now, a beer may not seem like such an alcoholic beverage to some as whisky or vodka, but I have never seen my uncle drink before noon. And he drank it so quickly with a thirst which only heightened my alarm. Sure, I've seen Homer drunk before, just as I have seen my other relatives in such a state; after all, he was inebriated when the mistletoe incident occurred. But this was and is different. I know my uncle, he is like a father to me, and seeing him in this state, with the tell-tale signs of a man on a downward spirral, I am extremely concerned for him.

I don't know what I should do. If I tell my parents, I'm not sure if they'll do anything aside from telling me off for seeing him. And I don't really want to be a snitch on my uncle...

Merlin, I'm actually starting to wish I hadn't gone to see him. I have horrible visions of every time I see him, him becoming increasingly dissheveled and drinking increasingly stronger beverages...

But what am I to know? I am no seer, so I cannot predict the future. For now, all I can and should do is wait it out.

Perhaps it's nothing, perhaps it's just because it's the time of year when Homer is most reminded of my mother.

Only time will tell, I suppose.

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So it's the start of a new year.

A fresh start.

An oppurtunity to turn over a new leaf.

A time for resolutions.

Last night was pretty dramatic, in an undramatic way. Millie got tipsy and giggly as she always does which entertained us all, but embarassed Felix a bit; though once he started drinking, he warmed up. Mum stuck to fruit juice and water as usual, but she didn't seem any less happy than the others. Eoin got drunk after a glass of Ogdens, which made Grandpa Walt laugh to no end, and made Grandma Effy blushed a bit when he admired her beauty. Eoin's a friendly drunk who goes into a state of everyone being his best friend which is amusing in contrast his awkward, shy, sober self. (As a side note, Walt and Effy arrived on the thirtieth to stay with us for New Year's.)

Really the only out of the ordinary thing happened when Dylan got pissed. And I mean properly pissed. He could barely stand up by the end of the night. It made Mum uncomfortable, seeing him like that, but Millie just took it in her stride and persuaded Dylan to join in with the merryment she was creating. He really was in a state, to the point that he took me to one side while the others were occupied with a game of charades to tell me how sorry he was about everything. He gave me this bizarre rant about only trying to do what was best for me, and having my best interests at heart. He even started crying, and if it wasn't for Eoin cutting in by starting up a conversation about whether unicorns were real or not, I think he was going to pull me into a big bear hug.

He's still licking his wounds the morning, as are the other inebrids, but seeing Dylan like that both amused and sickened me. If the idiot thinks I'll forgive him because of some apology he gave while he was off the wall, he must think me the stupidest boy in the world. I may be a Hufflepuff, but I'm not thick. I know when people are being sincere and when they're not, so he can stick his 'apology' where the sun don't shine.

He probably doesn't even remember talking to me last night. Just as well really, I'm never going to bring it up.

So what are my New Year's resolutions?

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Mum and Dylan had a fight.

Again.

It was about how he was acting over new year.

Can't wait to be back at school.

Only a few more days and I won't have to see Dylan's sorry face again.

He's such a twat.

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Back at Hogwarts.

Applause. Roll on snare drum.

It's better than being at home with Dylan, I'll admit that, but there are some kids around here who are as big a fucktards as my so-called father.

For instance, I saw a Slytherin sixth year trip up a Ravenclaw first year into a puddle when I was walking past the greenhouses. The Slytherin uttered this moronic laugh as the little kid tried to brush himself off, and the snake arse-hole then proceeded to rub the Ravenclaw's hair with a hand full of mud. It was only because I stopped and glared at the f**k*r with wand in hand that he buggered off; don't think he was scared of me, just didn't want to get involved in anything on his first day. I didn't mind. Helped the kid clean up. Tried to thank me. Didn't say anything and just walked off to common room.

Why are students such tossers to one another? They attack without any provocation and seem to find it funny to do so.

I'm sure this 'Lord Voldemort' has something to do with it. There have been murders in this school, and a lot of the Slytherins are more restless than usual.

The magical needs a major sort out. We can't go on like this.

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An owl crashed into the stain glass window above the teacher's table in the Great Hall this morning.

Mrs. Norris got her mits on it before the thing could pull itself together.

Filch is going to have to pay for a new one.

I am so bored.

DADA is the only thing keeping me going at the noment.

Fuck, I need to find some friends.

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One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,
One was blind and the other couldn't, see
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don't believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man he saw it too!

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Known this poem since I was little. Wanted to write it down.

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Why do I never eat?

I do eat, of course, sometimes, but not as much as other people do. While everyone's plate is full at breakfast, lunch and dinner, I can manage with just a slice of bread.

Don't know what it is, but food as never do anything for me, aside from nourishing me. I rarely crave it or fantasize about it like some do. Chocolate has never awoken a crazed lust in me, and fish and chips doesn't make my mouth water at the thought of it.

Mum used to think I was anorexic, but I'm not frightened of food. I take very little interest in how I look. And I'm slim, but not skinny.

Suppose it's just another strange aspect about me. As if I didn't have enough of them already.

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Had a cooked breakfast this morning. Wasn't half bad; those house-elves know how to cook.

Gryffindor prick started throwing thumb tacks at me in History of Magic. Must find out his name. Would be nice to practice body-bind curse on him. Haven't had detention yet; should put the professors out of their misery.

Sent letter to Homer as well. Expect a reply back soon. Hope he's all right.

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Got Homer's reply today.

He was unusually rushed and his writing was bigger than normal, like he was trying to fill up the page more with less writing... Or it was easier for him to write clearly with bigger hand writing.

Going to send a letter to Millie now, asking how he was on this visit of her's. Perhaps she can shed more light on his current condition; she is his sister, and they say woman are more observant about these kinds of things. Though, knowing her, she's going to try and sugar-coat it for me.

Shit, why is my family so fucked up?

Might follow up on Homer's suggestion, though still not sure.

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Got reply back from Millie. Sugar-coated, just as I expected.

There's definitely something wrong with Homer. The way Millie kept telling me not to worry, she knows her brother's not well.

Fucking hell, this is all Dylan's fault. If he hadn't stopped Mum and Homer from seeing one another at all, I don't think Homer would be half as bad. That bastard ruins everything! It's his brother for Merlin's sake, how can he be so fucking cold hearted?

Why the hell am I surprised, though? This is the man he voluntarily let his son's brain get fried by a Nazi sadist.

I wish Homer was my father; he wouldn't have let all this shit happen, and perhaps I could have been normal and happy. And he'd be happy too, with Mum. He cares for her so much...

Why is life so bloody messy?

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Dumbledore announced we're going to be having a Valentine's Ball on the fourteenth.

Whoop dee fucking doo.

As if we didn't already have enough sweetness in this school. My fellow Hufflepuffs are really starting to get to me. Why the hell do they have to be so friendly all the time? They always looking at you in a funny way if you're not smiling and ask if you're OK.

Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just got a bi-polar disorder, which can be a pain, a father who tortured me for a tenth birthday present, and an uncle who I think of as a father but could be actually turning into an alcoholic. You know, just the normal stuff.

I have come this close to saying that a couple of times in the last few days, but I can't be bothered. The black dog's on me again and it's an effort for me to do anything.

A lovey-dovey ball is the last thing I need. Everyone's getting over excited about finding a date.

Don't know if I should even bother with this thing. Probably gunna be some kind of scandal like an attempted rape or somebody kissing someone else's date because really they've loved them all along. Normal, Hogwarts, teenage drama.

Someone's probably going to spike the punch, so I guess I'll go. Don't give a shit about the whole dateless embarassment thing which people get overly obsessed with. Having some bimbo cling onto my arm and giving me the doe-eyes all night does not sound like my cup of tea.

Fucking hell, I need something to do. Or a drink.

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Saw a pair of Gryffindor sixth years sucking one another's mouths off in the library today.

It was really quite disgusting.

No wonder children get mentally scarred when walking in on their parents screwing; bad enough seeing them snog passionately, let alone having them sprawled over one another.

Guess those two are going to the ball together, or they may just be having a casual fuck type relationship.

Note to self; need to get a life. In danger of turning into a Peeping Tom. Already messed up enough to let that happen.

Should get on with my Herbology essay. Due in tomorrow.

Still haven't got a date for the ball. What the fuck do I care, anyway?

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