Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit
The Confessions of Auriga Sinistra
by She's a Star
Disclaimer:Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Sprout's first name (Eolande) was stolen from my dear friend Gedia Kacela. Since poor Sinistra doesn't even have a first name in canon, I decided to call her Auriga since that was JKR's original name for her. Destiny du Maurier belongs to Drama-Princess, and appears in the hilarious Family Matters, which you all must read.
Author's Note:This is utterly random. It just...came to me. The beginning of Postcards From The Edge by Carrie Fisher inspired me for some odd reason. And I am having far too much fun with this.
Dedication:This is for my wooonderful beta reader Drama-Princess, my fellow Snape/Sinistra obsessee. Gotta love the Snape torture, Milla dahlin'. But Sinistra torture is proving to be quite enjoyable as well. Bwahaha.
Saturday, August 31, 1991
Just got back from the dreaded start-of-the-year staff meeting. Nothing new, besides the fact that the Philosopher's Stone is being kept here this year. A few selected teachers are performing charms and assorted obstacles to guard it. Naturally, I'm not one of them.
I'm so tragically under-appreciated.
As far as my wonderful colleagues, everyone was just like they are at the start of term every year. Eolande was annoyingly cheerful, Minerva is due to suffer one of her annual nervous breakdowns anytime now, Albus kept offering everyone bizarre Muggle sweets (sherbet lemons aren't bad, actually), the new Defense Against The Dark Arts professor stammered through a couple of nervous sentences (I doubt he'll hold up a week with the Weasley twins in his class), and Sibyl Trelawney kept predicting my untimely demise.
She's been doing this since my third year at Hogwarts.
It's getting old.
I swear, if the old bat tells me that I will suffer a long and painful death one more time, I'll Avada Kedavra myself.
And that way it won't be long and painful, just to spite her.
Oh yes. And Severus Snape was a complete and total bastard.
As you can clearly see, my life is filled with excitement.
He called me a starry-eyed twit.
What, you ask, did I do to merit this affectionate little nickname?
But I got him back with 'dungeon-dwelling hygienically ignorant moron'.
And then Minerva told us to "please shut up, for God's sake; you act like children."
Well, excuse me, Miss High And Mighty Deputy Headmistress.
He started it.
...I don't know why I'm dwelling on this.
He's still a bastard.
Sunday, September 1, 1991
Lesson plans are the devil.
Somehow the knowledge that I'm enriching young minds with the beauty of wisdom just isn't all that invigorating.
How did I get this job, anyway?
This is my fourth year, and nothing particularly fascinating has happened, besides the whirlwind of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. I have to say, I was glad to see most of them go. Professor du Maurier was quite possibly the scariest excuse for a human being that I have ever witnessed in my entire life. Call me crazy, but someone who greets you with 'May you travel gaily on the broken rainbow panels of your life; may you never experience the sour taste of anguish' when you first meet has something wrong with them, sanity-wise. Plus, she wrote romance novels, one which I had the misfortune of coming across. I will never think of the names Rosamunda, Maxamillion, or danishes the same way Ever. Again.
Then there was Professor Ford, who I always thought was too old to be teaching. But of course, did anyone listen to me? No, of course not. I'm just starry-eyed Auriga Sinistra, the lone Astronomy professor; what do I know?
Well, morbid as this sounds, I did have to allow myself a triumphant laugh or two when he fell over dead during the middle of a lesson.
People really should listen to me more often.
I must say, though, that I didn't object at all to Professor Sandersought, who was quite an able educator. (Not to mention that he looked amazing without a shirt - and no, I was not spying, I was simply passing by at a very convenient time.)
And I still refuse to accept that I'm the reason he quit.
Honestly! If a man said to you, 'Why don't you come to my office later so we can...discuss this further?', what would you think he wanted? To talk about constellations, as he so claimed? ('I was very interested in them as a child.' Ha. Yeah right.)
He clearly just got cold feet, as when I decided to be a strong woman and make the first move, he yelled for me to get off of him. 'You know, Auriga, I have been wondering for quite sometime why you knock on my door at the same time every Thursday night when I always happen to be getting undressed for bed, claiming you forgot the password to Albus' office. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but now things have grown pretty clear, and it's scaring me.'
The fact that he quit the next day had absolutely nothing to do with it.
And I do not know how Snape found out about that little episode, but whoever told him will pay dearly.
The bastard taunted me with that for months.
But little does he know, I am all too aware of the episode where he was humming that Celestina Warbeck ballad, 'Spell on my Heart', in the shower. (House elves can be such delightful creatures.)
And when the times comes, I will attack him with that knowledge full-force.
Apparently, Harry Potter's coming to Hogwarts this year. It's...strange, really, that he'll be coming to school just like any other eleven year old boy. Everyone knows who he is here, and he doesn't know anything about it. This will be so strange for him, no doubt.
I wonder what it will be like. I hope I won't turn into a bumbling idiot around him - I do have the slightest tendency to do that, I suppose. Or, as Snape puts it, I'm 'no more able to string together a coherent sentence than that quivering fool Quirrell'.
He loves me, really.
But how am I supposed to teach The Boy Who Lived? How? I'll probably stare at his scar like some sort of insane fangirl.
Good God, I'm nervous. Get ahold of yourself, Auriga. You are a professional.
Yes. A professional.
Well, there is one definite advantage to Potter's coming here - Snape's reaction. He was positively livid all day, muttering to himself about how Harry would no doubt be just like his 'conceited, big-headed father'.
Talk about childhood rivalries going too far.
I bet Snape's still sour about that time in fifth year when the Marauders turned his hair pink.
...I still laugh about that. It was truly one of the highlights of my life.
Which, I suppose, means that my life is quite devoid of highlights.
But it was brilliant, really.
Force me to go to sleep. Force me. This is absolutely ridiculous. I do not want to be exhausted for the first day of lessons tomorrow because of...this.
I'm even embarrassing myself.
But Year With The Yeti really is an interesting book. Gilderoy Lockhart sure knows a thing or two about Defense Against the Dark Arts. Perhaps we can get him for professor next year; I should bring that up at a staff meeting.
He does seem a bit stuck on himself, but I'm sure that being able to stare at him during all meals and assorted passings through corridors will make up for that. He really is gorgeous.
I haven't had a boyfriend for the past five years. Is that incredibly pathetic?
Oh, what am I talking about, of course it is.
Even sadder, I've only had two boyfriends throughout my entire life. My entire life.
All right, okay, fine.
One was a disloyal asshole who cheated on me with a secretary called Felicia, which is so thoroughly unoriginal that I won't even think about it any longer. The other took me to the Yule Ball in seventh year and walked me to classes for two weeks.
When one thinks about it, that wasn't even a boyfriend.
But that's so sad that I won't even think about it.
I haven't even kissed anyone since that little episode with Professor Sandersought two years ago.
And then there was that time with...
I don't even like to think about it.
So I'm not going to.
The Weasley twins had spiked the punch, I was horribly drunk, and therefore cannot be held accountable for anything.
He's not even a very good kisser, anyway.
I'm going to sleep.