I'm in a melancholic mood. And I don't know even why. Anyway, I was waiting to go in class and I wrote that… I didn't expect it to come out like that, but I liked it so here it is.

October the 4th 1975. My birthday. My fifty-years birthday. My half-a-century birthday. Even before setting a foot on the floor I knew this was going to be a bad day. I was so right…

.

I remember wishing that none of my students would get to know about this. Especially not those Marauders. There was a time when Gryffondor House was the proudest of all house. A time when my nights were spent grading or even sleeping. I wish I had enjoyed it. Then most of my nights were spent chasing and lecturing those in my care.

I remember wishing that somehow it would be just another day. Just another classical day. I should have known that a snowball in hell would have held a better chance. When I arrived in the Great Hall there already was most of the students. I didn't mind; breakfast was informal after all.

I remember ignoring my co-workers' glances to go and sit in my usual place. I didn't react to the Scottish pattern in my plate not to the 'Happy birthday' engraved on my fork. The Marauders were looking at me. It wasn't unusual but that day it made me uncomfortable. I reached for the tea.

I remember sitting there useless, ageless and most importantly clueless. I poured the tea in my cup while staring at the three pranksters (Mr Lupin was resting in the hospital wing). Mr Pettigrow looked down and bent under my glare but his two classmates remained straight. I discarded the teapot and grabbed a toast with some marmalade.

I remember the headmaster trying vainly to prevent me from getting out in the Entrance Hall. There was some noise behind me. I know now that the students didn't want to miss the show. No one was outside. I headed toward my classroom. Nothing had happened. Yet. When I reached the middle of the room something exploded. I took hold of my wand but it was too late.

I remember a scent. It was both repulsive and appealing.

I remember dust covering me from head to toes. It was like little green leaves.

I remember a sound. It was a dreadful song sung by hundreds of armour, wishing me a happy birthday.

I remember a reaction. The catnip was beginning to have an effect on my traitorous body.

I remember swearing to kill the Marauders. I couldn't. I hadn't the right.

.

. October the 4th 1975. I was so right… It was my badday.