Notes: I realize that this is a very short chapter, but Herman ran out of interesting things to say.  Hopefully he'll live up to his full potential in the next chapter

It's Not Easy Being Green

The Confessions of Quirrell's Iguana

- Part III –

Wednesday, September 4, 1991

11:46 A.M.

My Cage

She was here!  You know of whom I speak.  The one.  The precioussss …

Er, yes.  Sinistra was here.  In this very classroom.  She stuck her head in and watched the moron teach.  I think my mission to get them together is going to fail miserably.  Besides the fact that I have fallen madly in love with the woman (I was going to try my mission anyway … I'm just noble like that, I know that she and I could never be together), she was staring at Quirrell with this odd little expression on her face. 

Like she thinks he's stupid or something.  I mean, he is stupid (or something) but that's completely beside the point.  She's not supposed to know that.  She's supposed to think he's handsome and dashing and … and … and …

Dammit, I need another good quality of Quirrell.

I can make one up, right?  I mean, I did make up the handsome and dashing part.

Okay, the moron is handsome and dashing and …

… and …

… AND …

Oh!

And he has an iguana.  You don't get much sexier than that. 

Right? 

11:59 A.M.

Not that this is remotely connected to anything I've mentioned above, but I've since realized that the Bastard attracts far too much unwanted female attention.  Quirrell explained to me a few days ago that Hooch's morning greeting of a hardy back slap went a little too low.

On purpose.

Shudder.

Why, oh why does that have to happen?  I certainly hope that the lovely Sinistra would never fall for such underhanded tricks.  We all know that he secretly encourages such practices as … Gag … as … Shudder … as theslappingofSeverusSnape'sbum.

I think I need to wash my mouth out with soap.

He enjoys the extra attention a little too much, I think.  Not that it's my business, but I still think.  I'm allowed to think.

I'm cold.

Damn classroom.  It's drafty.

Bastard.

7:43 P.M.

Oh, dear Merlin.  I'm doomed.  That's it, the end is drawing near.  I can see my little tombstone already.  I am dead.  Dead.  D-E-A-D, dead!  I can't believe I didn't know.  I mean, sometimes he acts a little strange . . . for example, why would any man in his right mind want to go visit Fluffy at night?  Other than Hagrid, you would think people would choose to stay far, far away from a giant three headed dog.  But no, not my loving master.  He walks right into the room that Fluffy is using as a giant dog house and studies the damned thing.  I should have guessed already but apparently I'm too stupid to realize when I'm being raised by a secret agent of You-Know-Who!

. . . Er . . . you do know who, don't you?

Voldemort.

There, I wrote it.  I can feel the evil creeping over me already.  Shudder.  My Quirrell is an agent of the Dark Lord. 

Let's just hope no one overheard his little one-sided conversation with me earlier.  I myself wasn't paying much attention until I heard him mention Harry Potter.  What's not interesting about that boy?  He seems to go out of his way to make trouble for Snape and that is something I can definitely appreciate.

I like Harry Potter.  Haven't met the boy but I've decided that I like him.  Maybe I can set up Sinistra with him just to keep her away from Snape and GOOD GOD what am I thinking?  He's just a boy and Quirrell is a follower of You-Know-Who.

Perspective, Herman!

Right . . . anyway, back to when Quirrell mentioned Potter.  I thought he'd have a nice little one-sided chat about the boy and we'd get on with life.  I never thought he'd confess to trying to kill the poor child.  There was something about Quidditch (never much understand that game, but I'll save that rant with a time when someone's not going to die) and a spell and … death.  Yes, death.

And not my death either.  Oh no, this time it's something above and beyond my precious life.

The death of an innocent child.

Wow.  I'm getting a little too serious.  I'm just an iguana, what can I do?

. . . NOTHING!  That's what I can do.  Absolutely nothing.  I have no weapons, just my teeth . . .

Wait a second . . .

. . . Hehehehe.  Let's hope Quirrell takes me to the game.  I'm really good at biting people.

7:56 P.M.

And I do not want to know what Snape was doing with a copy of 'In Style' magazine earlier today. 

I just don't.