A/N: No copyright infringement intended. Please review.
31 September 1994
Found fingerroot on sale at Spooner's Apothecary in Hogsmede. Two sickles an ounce. Is that a bargain or what, Ferdinand?
Seriously speaking- I think I'm losing my mind. The fact I even had to restock on fingerroot (ideally it has a shelf life of seven to nine weeks) is ridiculous. I bought enough to feed a small village at the start of term. I went into the closet this morning to prepare it for my first years (I think all this talk of 'feelings' and 'emotions' with you has made me lose half my backbone) and I couldn't find any of it.
Contrary to the popular belief that I am accusatory and paranoid, my first thought was not that someone had deliberately taken it (who would want seven pounds of fingerroot?). I actually first made sure I hadn't accidently put it in the wrong place. Unlikely, yes, as I am a bit obsessive-compulsive when it comes to organizing ingredients, but I did thoroughly examine my shelves. I then checked my personal records; the only discovery I made while looking through order forms was that I had imported a very large amount of powdered arsenic a week into term. I can't fathom why anymore. It was seventeen galleons worth, so it must have been important... Well, anyway, I couldn't even find that I had bought any fingerroot. Ever.
The thing is Ferdinand, I remember it like it was yesterday. I went to Spooner's on the sixth of September and purchased a positive shitload of it. I even used a green basket to tote it back to the castle. Minerva asked if I planned on selling hallucinogenic drugs to the students. Ha ha, Minerva, fingerroot is definitely not in any of the hallucinogenics I know of. It's much too brittle; it would never correctly oxidize the crescent mushrooms. When I got back to the dungeons, I wrapped it in wet silk and set it by the pickled frogs' legs.
Yet, I made no note of this transaction anywhere. Anywhere. While someone could break into the potions closet relatively easily, my office is more secure than the Ministry of Magic itself. You think I'm joking, I'm not.
I have some research to do. I'm off to the library to brush up on the impractical uses of fingerroot. Practical applications are all much too safe and downright boring. Someone is making a potion with my fucking ingredients and I do not appreciate it. I, Severus Snape, am the Potions Master. Master.
Oh. Yes, the arsenic was to poison Weasley for ruining yet another cauldron. I wrote it down on the label. I suppose I must have thought I'd be doing his mother a favour.
I really would. Sometimes I am truly impressed with how intelligent I am.
S.S.