God's Second Mistake
Rated R
(5/20/2004)
by brensgrrl
Summary: Severus hates the new DADA Professor. . . maybe.
into next Tuesday.
On the verge of doing it. Really, the only thing that prevents me from doing it in fact is knowing that I would garner Albus' displeasure. But I don't think I would get the sack for it.
Oh Hecate's hells and Merlin's balls! I probably would get the sack for it.
But funny that, thinking that getting a disappointed look from the Headmaster would be worse than getting the sack and going to Azkaban for using an Unforgivable on a colleague.
I am going mad. Just more reason to curse the bint.
Her being here is yet more proof that that DADA position is carrying some kind of
unbreakable jinx. That job has degenerated into nothing but a stop-over for
the dregs of the Wizarding world; minions, cowards, imposters, cretins and fools, subhumans, ministry fascist slatterns, and absolute misfit bitches like her.
It is disgraceful enough that Albus continues to deny me a hand at the position; but it is even more pitiable that he had to go and hire a Yank for the job. It had to be her; a person with absolutely no sense of modesty or decorum or shame. The woman is a worse gypsy than Trelawny; at least Trelawny has the good sense to sequester herself in her tower. But not that trollop.
Bad enough that she has added muggle martial arts and lessons in the use of muggle weaponry to the Defense curriculum, but she also insists on flouncing about the school in varying states of strange dishabille and singing aloud, no less!
And it always seems to be me that is accosted by her hip-swaying, American person everywhere I go.
Every day she appears in attire that is more unkempt and inappropriate than whatever it was she wore on a prior day. A more motley collection of mismatched odd and revealing clothing this school has never seen. One day,
she's liable to appear in obscenely tight leather slacks or muggle jeans so ragged
that they are more holes than trousers. The next day, in combinations of skirts
blouses and shoes that rival those of the most hand-me-down streetwalkers in London. Her wardrobe had to have been collected from the most appalling cast-offs that the muggle Oxfam shops had to offer. She seems to be trapped in
her own can-you-top-this challenge of showing as much brown skin as possible. Merlin!
Since the beginning of the term she has been freely and brazenly traipsing about
the school like that.
I have noticed.
How could one not notice the spectacle of exhibitionism? How could one avoid overhearing the whispered debates among the fifth and sixth year boys? How could I not notice when she seems to be everywhere I go?
Just yesterday, she appeared at the Head Table for breakfast sans academic robe and wearing the usual tight denims and a white tunic that was so low cut and disarrayed that she was spilling out of it. She shamlessly sat there, chattering away with Hooch, pretending that she was unaware of what she was showing off. Albus acted as if he didn't see anything wrong, although Minerva did give her the odd glance or two.
Tonight, though, she had simply outdone herself. It was a good thing that there were no
students about.
I was only just making my usual nightly round of the school, just to make sure
none of the brats were out after curfew. As I made my way to check the owlery, I literally ran into the stupid woman.
She was owling letters.
And singing. And swinging her hips.
Which were only tenuously covered by a red robe so diaphanous that I could see . . .
Everything.
Then, she had the temerity to smile at me.
Needless to say, I got the hell out of there and back to my rooms as quickly as I could.
I considered taking my complaints to the Headmaster tonight, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.
I fear that my most immediate need is special treatment; just a little something to
deal with the dreadful shock I've just suffered.
I keep seeing just that! Her brown skin through the red . . .God!
Just a little help, right now.
Umm.
Yes. Ah.
Oh yes.
Yes. Right there. Yesss. . .
Ohhh. . . Woman was God's Second Mistake-- Nietszche