Hi! Just a little Author's Note! Three topics!
First: Okay, so I usually update every day but this update was kind of late... well, if I'm skipping my lectures to get pissed then I'm not exactly going to be running to a computer to update, you know? Anyway, long story short, due to alcohol-related commitments, I haven't been at home for a few days so I'm sorry to anyone who expected a quicker update.
Second: Oh my god, how much of a mindfuck is Reader Traffic?! An amazing hello and THANK YOU FOR READING to the readers from Iceland, Chile and India, to name a few! My god, I'd actually thought that ffn was populated entirely by Americans (me being the solitary exception). Now I feel stupid. Well, I didn't actually think that, but it's the kind of thing that you don't really acknowlege, right?
Third: A hugetastic thank you to everyone who has reviewed! You guys are so sweet and you really make my day. I'm so glad people actually like Raphaela.
Chapter Seven: Boys Don't Cry, Their Mascara Will Run
After lunch, the rest of the day absolutely flew by. It felt like I was just starting to get into the hang of things when Severus began shouting at me to leave and chasing me out of the dungeon with a broom. Ah, his wacky mannerisms. Eventually my stomach started to hurt from laughing at the vision of him chasing me with a broom, and I gently reminded him that I was supposed to stay and sort the potions ingredients. By 'gently reminded', I mean that I stole his broom and hit him in the head with it multiple times while shouting at him. I guess we both have our wacky mannerisms after all. I could even have sworn that I saw him release a reluctant snort of laughter, but I concede that it could have been a sneeze. It really is hard to tell with him, and I had been thwacking him about the face with a very dirty, dusty broom.
"Bless you?" I said cautiously, just in case it was a sneeze. I didn't want to appear rude, after all. In light of my newfound non-rudeness, I even (quite charitably) stopped hitting him with the broom. He looked at me with a peculiar, somewhat confused look on his face and I entertained the notion that perhaps it had been a laugh after all. "Or not, maybe?"
"It's peculiar," he said, taking the broom from me somewhat gently and resting it against a corner, "I don't recall you being this foolish when you attended the school."
"Aww, you remember me!" I squeaked, wiping a pretend tear from under my eye. "That's so sweet of you."
"It was ten years ago, it's vague," he explained defensively, turning away to move towards the door. "You were good at Potions. I tend to remember good students." He left the dungeon and I was left alone with his odd compliment. It was the first time he had actually said something nice to me without a look on his face like he was giving birth to a particularly scratchy watermelon. I decided to savor the moment, and savor I did, closing my eyes and breathing in the sweet oxygen of a compliment. After what seemed like only a few moments the dungeon door opened again and Severus was back, with his pumpkin juice. He set it down on his desk and glared at me. Glare number seventeen.
"You get none!" he snapped, pointing at the store cupboard. "Now you will sort and label, just like you said." He had a horrible, cruel smile on his face but I didn't care, I was still glowing from his compliment. He thought I was a good student. Though, I figured, he wouldn't say that if he'd seen me in my other classes. I almost failed Care of Magical Creatures because inexplicably, every animal I was assigned to care for died. None of those times were my fault, I'd done everything by the book, but sometimes animals can conspire against you and die, leaving you to look like a mass animal murderer and making the Professor regard you with a mixture of disgust, fear and blinding rage. I think I was just really unlucky and assigned to all the dud animals. Like that baby acromantula that bit itself while I was trying to feed it. Stupid venomous spiders, not even knowing that they're venomous. Or the ashwinder that swallowed its own tail and died when it digested itself. Or the bowtruckle that wasn't watching where it was going and ran into the fire. Oh, and there was the crup that I had to take care of for the night that somehow got into my trunk and drank my perfume. It was my favourite one, too. It smelled like vanilla crossed with incense. And who could forget my spectacular drowning grindylow? Yes, a creature who lives at the bottom of lakes actually drowned under my care. And did anyone believe me when I said that my fire crab had just blown itself up? I don't think so! I even killed a flobberworm, but that time it kind of was my fault, because I might've accidentally stepped on it. But the point is, to Kettleburn, I was a cold-blooded animal murderer. He wanted to fail me, but I did okay on theory and the final exams so it balanced itself out and I scraped a pass. Oh, and the horror that was Divination! I had it on a Friday morning and I usually came to class a bit… shall we say, hungover. One time I made the prediction that I'd soon be visiting an old friend who was short, round and porcelain, but Trelawney didn't think it was very funny. That was odd, because I've seen the amount she can drink and you'd think that the world of alcohol-related humor would be her forte. But apparently not.
Oh, for Merlin's sake. I'd been standing in front of the store cupboard for about four minutes, lost in my thoughts. I really needed to do something about my bad habit of going off on a mental tangent. Like this one time at the start of term for my sixth year, I almost missed the train because I'd been lost in thought about what I would say to Adam Ant if I ever met him in person. It was the eighties, and I'd had a thing for guys in makeup, just like every other girl. It wasn't weird. What was weird was my Cyndi Lauper haircut and horrific vinyl pants. Come to think of it, I still owned those pants. I was just wondering if I could still squeeze into them when I realised I'd gone off on another mental tangent and still hadn't made a start on sorting the potions ingredients. With a sigh, I trudged into the store cupboard and took down the first box. I set it down on the dungeon floor, figuring the best way to do it would be to get all of the boxes and jars out and then see to identifying and sorting them.
"So what do you think of guys in makeup, Severus?" I asked conversationally, noticing that he was watching me. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked moderately confused.
"What?"
"Well, when I was sixteen I was convinced I was going to marry Adam Ant – good thing I didn't though, have you seen him lately? Yeuch! And there was always something about Roger Taylor in that schoolgirl outfit with all the makeup that made my knees go weak."
"Who?"
"And oh my god, Robert Smith. No man rocks lipstick like that man rocks lipstick."
"Who?"
"I don't know though, some guys just end up looking like bad transvestites. Most of them look pretty good with a bit of eyeliner on though."
"This conversation seems somewhat one-sided," he said, narrowing his eyes at me while I continued to unload boxes. "Why don't I leave, and you can have a conversation with my desk? I'm sure you'll be able to keep the conversation going by talking enough for the both of you."
"Have you ever worn makeup?" I asked, pretending I didn't hear him. "I think you'd look okay with just a tiny bit of eyeliner. What say you?"
"No," he said loudly and determinedly. "No to everything you have ever, or will ever say to me. No."
"So… did you test negative for syphilis? No? Oh Severus, you really need to quit the rock and roll lifestyle, it's going to kill you." I affected a look of mock-concern for this, but all I got in return was the oddest look I'd ever seen. It looked like his rage was fighting to make itself known, but his bewilderment was ultimately stronger and they compromised by showing a half-rage, half-confusion face that was terrifying, to say the least. It was my eighteenth glare and my first day wasn't even out yet. I was so good at irritating Severus I was thinking of doing it professionally. There wouldn't be any shortage of people willing to pay me to infuriate the ornery old professor, and I'd have so much job satisfaction I'd fart rainbows. Wait, gross. Why did I just think that?
"You will be the death of me, Vialle."
"If I do my job right."
