A/N: Heh heh. Popped into my head one day and wouldn't leave. Is occurring during the Philosopher's Stone.
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THE EXREMELY SECRET BLOG OF SEVERUS SNAPE
Mood: Almost cheerful
Eating: Roast beef sandwich
Listening to: Watermelon Man
Ok, today is almost good. Professor Icabod of DADA stormed off this morning with three nifflers attached to his gold earring. Dumbledore announced post of DADA prof. open at lunch. YESSSSS! does super secret Slytherin victory dance Have copied my resume (for the tenth time and counting) and submitted it to the old bat. The job's jinxed so surely Dumby will see reason as no one else will apply… ok that might actually be because of the copious amounts of sticky taffy in his In tray…
buy more sticky taffy
never do super secret Slytherin victory dance when the door is open and McGonagall is walking past
remove niffler hairs from robes
Entry: 10 bajillion (wtf do I have to keep count?)
Eating: my sorrow
Drinking: my woe
Listening to: a fly buzz in the window
I HATE MY LIFE! No, more accurately, I HATE PROF. QUIRREL! That little nancy-boy is DADA teacher! Oh, yeah. I also hate Dumby as he is a retarded old man. Hellooooo? Am I not clearly ten thousand times more qualified for the job than some stuttering loser? Oh, well, on the bright side (or the slightly less pitch black side, that is), Quirrel is such a pansy that scaring him away will be no problem. Hmmmm…garlic in his closet? The man's so paranoid about vampires it's unbelievable…took Pomphry ages to remove that hex from my boots the last time I went to the annual costume party.
Entry: the door
Listening to: the beating of my black, black heart.
Uggggghhhhhhhhh…McGonagall (I hate her) forced me to alphabetize the first years for her (along with multiple threats to turn me into a platypus if I didn't comply). Stupid old bat. Or cat. Or whatever. Turns out the retarded son of that Potter being will be attending school here. I'd hoped his obviously Squib-like tendencies would have won over…probably the brat will be as Cro-Magnon-like as his sire. Clearly his undersized brain will cause him to fail all his courses. Or at least Potions…heh.
Quirrel-Status: Still alive
Me-Status: Still Potions Master
get the forking niffler fur off my robes already!
Entry: not permitted
Drinking: Quirrel's blood (in my dreams)
Listening to: Dark Lord of Derkholm on tape
Quirrel must die. And believe me, I have perfectly legit reasons for wanting to aid him on that path we all must take. He talks (and stutters) about Albania all. The. Time. And he is planning on wearing a purple turban to the welcoming feast. God help me. Did you know it's nice in Albania this time of year? No I bloody well didn't and I BLOODY WELL DON'T CARE! McG finally silenced him with one of her patented 'I will destroy you and feast on your flesh' death glares. Sprout and Vector are planning on raiding Quirrel's quarters, finding the offensive headgear, and utterly atomizing it. Perhaps I shall aid them…
take robes to the dry cleaners
Mood: utterly depressed
Drinking: rather copious amounts of Guinness Stout
Listening to: Celtic Woman
Am drunk. Am aware of this fact. Am not sure exactly how this came to be. Met Potter brat today. Potter brat has green eyes. Am almost too drunk to remember why this matters.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Or all the joyous rites of spring
Upon which we merrily were gay
And golden sparrow cheerily did wing?
The turtles did move slowly through the grass
And tentacles extended from the lake
What's surface, when as smooth as glass
You're pretty face a view could take.
But now the augries awkwardly make moan
And thestrals spread their gloom around my mind.
And this sonnet makes the learned groan
But to thee with my heart I to it bind.
And the disdainful monarch on his throne
Will use this crappy poem to wipe his hind.
Eating: a pickle
Drinking: nothing alcoholic
Listening to: Goldeneye
Since I've somehow survived the first week of school, I believe I know the students well enough to make my annual list.My Annual List
Other Patil-passably intelligent
Macmillan-grade B suck up
Malfoy-grade A suck up
There we go. I count 5 retards, 1 know-it-all, 2 suck-ups, 3 giggly people and 2 Cro-Magnons (plus I think I've forgotten some people). They've only had the decency to send me 4 passably intelligent people and 4 unimportant people—those two being the only kinds I can stand. This year looks like sucking. So what else is new?
Me-status: Potions Master
extra hard 7th year Newts pop quiz (eh heh heh)
destroy Quirrel and dance on whatever's left
petition Filch to make giggling illegal in the dungeon areas
Mood: vaguely cheerful
Drinking: a Green River ice cream soda
Listening to: John Coltrane
Saturday. The best day of the week. No teaching terminally idiotic teenagers, no dealing with overly enthusiastic co-workers, just a nice day sitting in my lair alone. McG (the old hag) has decided to rule that our annual staff Halloween party will involve dressing as characters from classic novels. I plan on busting out the Dracula costume, as usual. Have been heavily insinuating to Quirrel that he ought to go as Bill Sikes and act out the ending of Oliver Twist. He has no idea what I'm talking about.
Dumbledore has been ignoring my complaints about Potter who breaks rules left and right and always gets away with it—not fair! He just told me to keep an eye on Quirrel. Something fishy seems to be afoot…hm.
grade OWL level essays
look up canine sharpening spell (lupus denturus? Naw…)
ARG! The accursed Weasley twins have blown up my dungeon so I gave them detention cleaning, Muggle-style, all the dragon tapeworm guts off the walls. I believe it is time to start my annual countdown until those miserable twits will graduate—4 years. My laziness prevents any higher accuracy.
A/N: TBC? Not sure…if the muse strikes…