||[Feb. 10th, 2004|02:48 pm]
Bugger. Head. Hurts.
Haven't had a hangover-pounding-headache this bad in years. Usually I just puke and sleep all day and then I'm fine. Ouch. Maybe it's on account of being pissed?
Yeah. Ow. Probably. ( PrivateCollapse )
To Blaise// It's really not a good idea to tell me explosive secrets when I'm drunk, you know. I suppose I'm at fault, though, for acting like I was still a thirteen year old firmly entrenched in house rivalries. I'm sorry, I guess. No, I am sorry. Can you carry my apologies to
Ophelia Granger Hermione?//
God, I hate being grown up. No, you know what? I'll apologize myself.
Ophelia // I'm sorry for last night's explosion, and, well, if Blaise is as crazy about you as he seems to be, I ought to be nice. Besides, we did seem to be getting along fairly well, and there's not really a reason beyond my own drunken behavior to become enemies (well, remain enemies, I suppose). Is there perhaps still a possibility of shopping? I'll treat. //
This does not mean that I've gone soft. If anyone asks, I'm going to blame it on the lasting effects of the alcohol. (And the fact that Blaise does hold most of the Firewhiskey, doesn't he? And the potential for getting more.)