A/N: Heh heh. Popped into my head one day and wouldn't leave. Is occurring during the Philosopher's Stone.

Disclaimer: Opinions expressed by the blogger do not necessarily represent those of Solo by Choice.


Entry: forgot

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…

To Do:

buy more sticky taffy

buy shampoo

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?)

Mood: pissed

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.

To Do:

kill Quirrel

Entry: the door

Mood: depressed

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

To Do:

fail Potter

destroy Quirrel

buy shampoo

get the forking niffler fur off my robes already!

Entry: not permitted

Mood: irritated

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…

To Do:

murder Quirrel

buy shampoo

take robes to the dry cleaners

Entry: huh?

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.

Entry: pi

Mood: bored

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









Boot-passably intelligent

Goldstein-passably intelligent

Other Patil-passably intelligent

Corner-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?

Quirrel-status: breathing

Me-status: Potions Master

To Do:

extra hard 7th year Newts pop quiz (eh heh heh)

buy shampoo

destroy Quirrel and dance on whatever's left

petition Filch to make giggling illegal in the dungeon areas

Entry: e

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.

To Do:

grade OWL level essays

look up canine sharpening spell (lupus denturus? Naw…)

purchase binoculars

Entry: 5.3476901

Mood: annoyed

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…