Lamentations of a Starry Eyed Twit

The Confessions of Auriga Sinistra

Author's Note: Well, teehee. That was, er, a bit of a pause, wasn't it? But come on. You all know you love the suspense.

Anyway, the story behind this chapter? I've had it planned out for months and months, and just kinda haven't been able to get into the Aur mindset to write it. And then earlier this evening, I was rereading Diaries and complaining to the author about how badly she needed to update. And then I told her that if I updated Lamentations, she had to update Diaries. And she replied with a 'maybe'. And by God, a 'maybe' is better than nothin'!

So, voila. New chapter.

This is for everyone who had the patience to wait around for so long. You guys kick the chickens to next Tuesday and back. Which is a good thing.

And to Dia in particular, because I'm trying to guilt her into writing. *cackles*

(Also, this hasn't been proofread in the slightest, because I thought I might as well just . . . post. I'm rash and impulsive. It's a flaw.)

Thursday, October 3, 1991

Bedroom Quarters

8:03 A.M.

            I have decided, after much extensive consideration, to reinvent myself.

            . . . Actually, it just kind of randomly occurred to me in a fit of grief and desperation after the little embarrass-self-in-front-of-innocent-first-years incident.

            But does that matter?

            Hardly.

            Because from here on, things are going to change. I woke up this morning feeling different. Empowered. And slightly hungry; I didn't eat much last night on account of the fact that I was being mocked into oblivion by my fellow faculty members.

            But that doesn't matter.

            The new Auriga Sinistra does not dwell upon such trivial details.

            Oh, no.

            Perhaps I should introduce you.

            . . . no, wait, damn it.

            I don't talk to the notebook as though it's a person anymore.

            Right.

8:06 A.M.

            This is going to be more difficult than I'd anticipated.

8:07 A.M.

Ten Easy Steps To Becoming a Less Pathetic Individual

1. Begin pronouncing your name correctly.

. . . God, that sounds even more pathetic when it's written down. But it's not my fault that I mispronounce my own name! Oh no. That blame can be placed upon my mother. You see, she thought it would be endearing to name me something astronomy related, because my father was an astronomer whose last name happened to be astronomy related. Enough astronomy going on already, if you ask me. But no. Mum stumbled upon 'Auriga' and decided that I absolutely had to be named that, disregarding the fact that Auriga was, in fact, male.

      And then she pronounced it 'Aur-i-ga', with the 'I' sounding like 'I' in 'is', when it is in fact 'Aur-eye-gah'. Dad, being the git he is, thought it was cute, and didn't correct her.

      Not so surprisingly, the first time I met Severus Snape, he sneered at me – little did I know, it was the first nasty facial contortion of many – and said, in that cold, menacing, and entirely unattractive way he has possessed ever since the age of eleven, "Isn't it 'Aur-eye-gah'??"

      I don't know why it is that that man has always been able to make me feel so utterly stupid. I mean, he was mocked ceaselessly all throughout school, and I was relatively ignored. And yet . . . ugh.

      . . . which brings us to number two.

2. Do not allow anyone to make you feel utterly stupid.

Because I am not utterly stupid. I'm aware of that. I mean, yes, I have my moments that are, er, less than sparkling. But I was in Ravenclaw! I am clever, Goddammit! If you don't believe me, ask the bloody Sorting Hat. Yeah. That's right. And . . .

I'm going to stop being oddly defensive now. Honestly.

3. Avoid potentially compromising situations at all costs.

The new Auriga Sinistra is not going down in (Hogwarts, A) history as the floozy of this school. Oh, no. The new Auriga Sinistra is classy and refined.

4. Do not attempt to seduce any of your coworkers.

Because it just doesn't work.

      And besides, none of them are proper seduction material, anyway.

5. Begin treating Wimmy less like an ex-boyfriend that you feel sorry for and more like a house-elf. Because he is one, you know.

6. Become more well-read. As a Professor – and a former Ravenclaw – you should be able to participate in conversations about today's literature. Will ensure that situations like the one in which Minerva made a reference to Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf and I thought she was speaking about one of the students' mothers do not take place.

7. Be respectful and pleasant toward all of your colleagues. Except Snape.

. . . all right, even Snape.

8. Don't be afraid to punish students accordingly when their behaviour is out of line. Do not burst into sympathetic tears when a Hufflepuff girl is distraught because a Slytherin mocked her hair, so she in turn curses black, cow-like spots all over his body.

9. Do something about the bushy mess from hell atop your head.

And lastly . . .

10. Do not harbor any sort of thought about Severus Snape – not loathing or, er, odd, almost affectionate emotions. He is simply one of your colleagues, and you are indifferent toward him. The word 'bastard' is from here on eliminated from your vocabulary.

            This is going to work. I know it. Goodbye Auriga, Mighty Whore of Hogwarts. Hello, Auriga J. Sinistra, competent, aloof, and sexy Astronomy professor.

8:16 A.M.

            This is never going to work.

Bedroom Quarters

11:25 A.M.

            Bwahaha! This is ingenious! I am driving Snape insane with my newly competent, aloof, and sexy attitude.

            And yes, I know technically we are not going to talk about Snape anymore, but let's just revel in my sweet victory for a moment, shall we?

            This morning, he swept viciously down upon me like some overgrown bat monster (it was actually a bit sexy. No! Stop! . . . er.), ready to give me absolute hell. "Auriga, much as I do appreciate your little . . . visits," he said, sneer a-flourishing, "I would advise you not to interrupt my classes again if you'd like to keep from mysteriously dropping dead at dinner one night after sipping your pumpkin juice."

            To which I gave him my most pleasant (but aloof, mind you) smile and responded, "Of course, Professor."

            Oh, the expression on his face. I wiped the sneer clean off of it, and he just . . . stared, as though he had never heard anything more utterly bewildering.

            "Anything else?" I asked lightly.

            And the staring kept on going, along with a dazzling reply of, "I . . . Auriga, what . . . Professor . . . you . . . sneer . . . no. Goodbye."

            The man actually said 'sneer.' He didn't sneer, just . . . said it.

            He is incurably odd.

            And I have never felt more empowered. Whatever strange spell he used to have over me is history. Hah!

            And so concludes my victory entry. When I return, there will be no more of this talk of Snape. Honestly. The man might as well be dead to me.

Bedroom Quarters

12:05 A.M.

            Good God, I'm in love with him.

            Which is rather unexpected. I mean, never in a million years did I think that I would just walk into the Great Hall and . . . but . . . oh, he's so charming and clever and perfect.

            Sigh.

            After all of this nonsense with Snape, it's wonderful to finally just be able to bask in the loveliness of it all. It's made all of the agony worth it, without a doubt.

            Yes, it's official.

            I am in love with Algernon Brightmann.

12:08 P.M.

            I suppose I should be more coherent on the subject, shouldn't I?

            Well, I simply stepped into the Great Hall for lunch, and there he was. He's a friend of Dumbledore's, and quite rich. His family owns the Gladrags chain, and he's here for awhile to discuss a new design of Quidditch robes for the house team that Dumbledore is considering, or something like that. There's really no point in relaying the pointless little details.

            The gist of it is, he was sitting at the table speaking to Dumbledore, and I was a bit flustered, but didn't really say anything of it. I simply slipped into the seat between him and Snape, and then . . .

            He said hello to me.

            Which, I suppose, isn't entirely miraculous. I have been said hello to before in my life, believe it or not.

            So I said hello back, trying all the while to remember that I was, in fact, Auriga J. Sinistra, competent, aloof, and sexy Astronomy professor. And instead of turning around and going back to his conversation with Dumbledore, he kept talking to me. It was the most beautiful conversation I've ever had in my entire life, and went something like this:

            Him: "Hello, there."

            Me: (prolonged pause while remembering competent, aloof, and sexy spiel) ". . . oh. Er. Hi."

            Him: "Algernon Brightmann. What's your name?"

            Me: "Auriga Sinistra."

            (I believe I deserve points for pronouncing it correctly.)

            Him: "Enchanté, Miss Sinistra."

            Snape on the other side of me: Sudden coughing fit.

            Me: (a bit of idiotic giggling before remembering competent, aloof, etc) "It's lovely to meet you."

            Him: "And you. You teach here, I presume?"

            Me: "Yes, Astronomy."

            Him: "Ahhh, a favourite subject of mine. I love the stars. There's something incredibly romantic about the night sky."

            Me: "I've always thought so, yes."

            Him: "I'd love to sit in on one of your classes sometime. If you'd been my teacher while I was at school, I'd have certainly paid more attention." (Insert knee-weakening, heart-melting, pulse-racing grin that nearly caused me to faint dead away in my chair.)

            Me: "Feel free to."

            Him: "I certainly shall."

            And then there was this lovely pause where we sort of smiled at one another, which was convenient, as it gave me time to mentally design the bridesmaids' dresses really quickly.

            Him: "So, Auriga-"

            Snape on the other side of me: "I believe you have yet to master the pronunciation of her name, Brightmann."

            At which point I was thinking mature and professional thoughts along the lines of, Go off and choke on your own bile, you dungeon-dwelling moron-bastard-prat-bastard.

            And I believe I certainly deserve credit for not saying it aloud.

            Him: "Really? (to me) I'm sorry – did I mispronounce—"

            Me: "No! Not at all."

            Him: "Ah, all right then. (to Snape) I'd thought it was Auriga-"

            Snape: (positively viciously – I'm surprised we all made it out of there alive. Honestly, the man is mad) "No. If you are referring to the constellation Auriga, to which the star Sinistra belongs, then it is pronounced Aur-eye-gah. However, if you are referring to the starry-eyed, disagreeable, and generally inept Astronomy professor here at this school, it is Aur-i-ga."

            And then he fixed me with this look that just sent shivers all up and down my spine.

            . . . oh, not like that.

            I don't think.

            I mean, not like that! It was just . . . intense. And a bit scary, really. A lot scary. Nothing else. Purely frightening, that look. Grr. Hate Snape. Bastard.

            And then he nodded very curtly and stormed off, probably off to the dungeons to rub some extra grease into his hair or whatever he does for fun.

            And so Algernon turned and stared at me, looking positively bewildered.

            And very, very attractive.

            Sigh.

            Ehm, anyway. So, naturally, I felt as though I owed him some sort of explanation, as it is never pleasant when Severus Snape has a mini-psychotic attack on you. I really would know.

            So I said the first thing that came to mind, which, er, happened to be, "Severus Snape. He's the Potions master, and a bit, um . . . delicate, as of late."

            "Delicate?" Algernon repeated confusedly.

            "Oh, yes," I said with a sad nod. "You see, we used to have a bit of a, er, relationship, he and I, if you know what I mean. But he really was completely suffocating with his affection, so I broke it off."

            "Really?"

            "Yes. Two years ago."

            "Really?"

            "Yes, yes," I said, sighing tragically. "He's having a bit of trouble letting go. He keeps telling me that I'm his soul mate, the love of his life . . . and of course, I feel just terribly for breaking his heart like this, but I figure love can't be forced."

            "Of course not," Algernon said, staring at the door where Snape had disappeared in a fit of bastardly rage a few moments before. "The poor bloke . . ."

            I nodded wistfully. "I try to be nice to him when I see him, of course. No need to torture him, after all I've put him through . . ."

            "That's good of you," Algernon said, and gave me yet another one of those smiles, only this time it was so swoon-inducing that I had to grab onto the table to avoid a very painful collision with the floor. "So, I suppose you're a bit of a heartbreaker."

            And then my lovely dreams of bridesmaid dresses and the perfect bouquet (I was currently considering a mix of white and pink roses – now I'm thinking maybe white and red instead, and of course I'd have to throw a bit of baby's breath in the mix . . .) fizzled and died temporarily.

            "No, no, not at all . . . it was just that once—"

            "I'd be willing to test that theory," he said, with this . . . oh, he's perfect. So handsome. His eyes are so warm and brown and they kind of sparkle, and . . . oooohhhh.

12:22 P.M.

            Don't mind me.

            I just, uh, kind of fell off the bed.

            Damn it.

12:23 P.M.

            Ahem. Anyhow.

            And then Dumbledore called him over, wanting to introduce him to Professor Flitwick and Victoria, so he said, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Auriga."

            I managed to put together a dazed "And you."

            And then he kissed my hand. He kissed my hand! He kissed my hand, he kissed my hand. I would never wash that hand again, except afterward when I was staring lovingly after him, I managed to spill the pitcher of pumpkin juice all over myself. Therefore, my hand has been washed, but still. Sigh.

            And he said, "You don't mind if I stop in on one of your lessons tonight?"

            I told him no, so he gave me one last smile and then wandered off. And I spilled the pumpkin juice all over myself.

            But that last part aside, oh, it was the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me. It is truly meant to be. Written in the stars.

            Wait. Scratch that. Not written in the stars, because written in the stars never really does go well.

            This will certainly be a million times better than that.

            I have decided on white and yellow roses.

            . . . or are roses too formal? Maybe daisies? I've always liked daisies. Or carnations . . .

            Of course, I can't rush into wedding plans. After all, this situation could present a few problems. For one, if Snape finds out that little, er, white lie I made up about him on the spur of the moment (and I honestly don't know why that was the first thing that came to me – you'd think that I was subconsciously in love with him. Which I am certainly not. Not when I am consciously in love with . . . Algernon. Sigh.), I am going to experience pain on levels I probably haven't imagined. And, even more importantly—

            What do I wear to teach my lesson tonight??