Diaries of a Dungeon-Dwelling Moron

Discreet Disclosures of Severus S. Snape

Disclaimer: Snape is not mine, and probably will never be. He, along with everything else, belongs to JKR. The idea for this fic comes from ze brill Nita (She's A Star).

Author's Note: This is a companion piece to Nita's 'Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit.' It inspired me (and Milla *cackles*) and everyone must experience the wonder that it is. Read it. Love it. Repeat.

-Part One-

31 August 1991

7:30 p.m.

Chambers Adjacent to Office

Am preparing for the yearly social stressor in this farce called my life. I loathe and despise beginning-of-term staff meetings with every fiber of my being.

The main problem is that they are so damn predictable.

Iolana Hooch will slap me on the back and say 'Evenin', Sunshine.' Albus will shove Muggle sweets down our throats. Flitwick, from his ridiculous perch of pillows, will float tea over to himself in a vain attempt to show off. (You know what they say about vertically challenged individuals. Always trying to make up for their deficiencies. Fortunately, I do not have that problem, as I was 6'2" the last time I checked.) Minerva will purse her lips so tightly that they will be most likely to freeze that way.

And Sinistra, that ridiculous, addled-brain excuse for a teacher, will be a perfect wench.

What fun.

I have given up preparing. There is no way to prepare oneself for such torture. Damn Albus. Voldemort should have thought to use such tactics.

... As an afterthought, I am beginning to wonder if Albus does not have plans to become the next Dark Lord.

9:35 p.m.

Sadly enough, I was correct about every aspect of the staff meeting... with one slight alteration. Minerva's face has been frozen in that expression for quite some time.

Sinistra was indeed a wench. She completely over-reacted to my suggestion that her students might learn more if she were not such a starry-eyed twit.

It was a harmless statement, really. She needn't have reacted so vehemently.

The bitch called me a dungeon-dwelling hygienically ignorant moron.

I must admit, a small portion of that is true.

But I am not a hygienically ignorant moron.



Quirrell, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, looks as if a slight breeze would fell him. I also now realize, thanks to him, how fully and completely I hate stuttering. By the end of the meeting I had nearly shattered the teacup I was holding. Scalding coffee on one's breeches is not a pleasant thing to end a meeting with.

But really. I doubt the man has the capabilities of a toad. I have more talent in my little finger than he does in his entire, shivering form. Why do I continually get passed over in consideration for this ridiculous position?

Simply because I was a former Death Eater does not mean that I will hex all the students.

Only the Gryffindors.

Honestly. Do people think I have no morals?

Now as for the bother known as Quirrell. Perhaps if he were... indisposed... I would be allowed to substitute for his class. Do you suppose Albus would notice if I accidentally used an Unforgivable on him?

Maybe he'll get lost in the Forbidden Forest.

9:40 p.m.

Maybe he'll take Sinistra with him.

Damnable woman.

1 September 1991

12:35 p.m.


Can my life get much worse?

As of now, I severely doubt it.

I have just been in Albus' office. I was... looking for him. Yes. And while doing so, I just happened to catch a glance at the first-year roster for the upcoming term. It was just lying out in the open. Well... actually, it was partially under a book. But when I accidentally bumped into the desk, the book moved. And there it was, right where anyone could see it.

Albus really should be cautious of where he leaves his possessions. I should remind him of it at the next staff meeting.

But the important thing remains. As of this year, I shall be submitted to the abominable pleasure of teaching the vile offspring of my former mortal enemy.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Unfortunately-Lived, is coming to Hogwarts.

Why me?

12:37 p.m.

Did not know that Albus subscribed to In Style magazine.

12:39 p.m.

Did not want to know.

10:46 p.m

Somehow, I have found that I forgot to replace one of the Muggle magazines when I had finished perusing the contents of Albus'... roster.

Ah well. It is too late to return it to him now. I can always give it back tomorrow.

Surely it cannot hurt to look through it a bit before bed, can it?

11:30 p.m.

I was never aware until now how little clothing Muggle women wear.

Do they not get cold?


11:48 p.m.

I wonder if Albus will notice the bent edges on the magazine?

Either way, I am certainly glad that witches' robes are not so... revealing. It would make one rather uncomfortable in the monthly staff meetings.

I do not even want to imagine Eolande Sprout in any such thing as this... lingerie. The idea is enough to sicken me.

But of course, I am even more disturbed by the thought of that daydreaming stargazer in such attire.

Enough of this. Muggles must be deranged to think such things attractive.

Perhaps I shall take a cold shower before bed. Just... because. I happen to like cold showers.


2:34 a.m.

Cannot sleep. Am plagued by nightmares of Sinistra in something called a 'sundressy.'

I did not enjoy it.

At all.

I wonder if there's any Dreamless Sleep potion left in my supplies. I'm afraid I may have used it all when Hooch's back slap went a bit too low last month.

I hate my life.