Deus didn't really know what he was supposed to do with a yearbook. His past yearbooks, after having gone through the song and dance of getting signatures, were littered with notes and observations on his classmates. Because hey, he never knew if one of these years, he'd be on the other end of a duel with a kidnapped former friend. It was good to have advance knowledge if you were going into crime as a future occupation. Completely logical. And, you know, it was kind of nice to have a record of the various people he liked, amused him, and had wound up in detention with.

At the moment, Deus was nowhere near his yearbook. He was enchanting a tube of green lipstick he'd lifted off a graduating seventh year, full intending to put a permanent sticking charm on it for signatures in others' books.