Am coming to you from Harry's new flat, which is somewhere in Edinburgh. We've just finished putting up some security measures and made the place Unplottable, though it seems a bit silly I suppose since school starts in four days. Nevertheless, I'm not taking any chances. We've got a bit more to do before I'll be truly comfortable with him living here, but for now it will do.
There's not a speck of furniture in here either, save for a chair and Harry's bed from Dogear. We shopped around a bit but Harry didn't really see much that he liked, so I think we'll be bringing over a few things from the house instead. The flat is fairly small, but it's nice. Harry's quite proud of it. I'll admit I was a little leery of his living on his own, but by the time he'll be able to move into the place properly he'll be nearly eighteen, so there's really not much that I can do about it. Frankly, I don't blame him for wanting his own space now, and his mother did the same thing when she was seventeen. They're so much alike, sometimes.
After shopping we went to a local pub and had dinner, and a few pints of course, and wound up talking until last call, about important, unimportant and likely highly inappropriate things that you talk about when sloshed. Thanks to Harry's wonderful Sobering Charms, we were both lucid enough to sneak back up to his flat, past his Muggle landlady, without a lecture. I like her because she reminds me of Mrs Weasley, but she has a way of making you feel like a naughty child - particularly if you are skirting forty, sitting on the front steps having a fag, and in desperate need of a haircut. Oops.
All in all, it was a good day.
It's really quite late and if I don't claim some of the bed for myself I am going to wind up sleeping in the bathtub. Though, that's rather tempting - the boy kicks like a can-can dancer.
Oh dear, someone was reading over my shoulder and is now greatly insulted. Also, I apparently have "stabby elbows."
Right, I must go now and defend my honour. Goodnight all.