It's Not Easy Being Green
Confessions of Quirrell's Iguana
Notes: Thanks again for the support of this incredibly insane fic. I'm glad I'm not the only one who finds this iguana amusing.
-Part Four-
Friday, September 6, 1991
Cage
10:32 A.M.
Snape was … looking at me today. Just looking at me. It's not my fault that my Ultra-Scary, Ultra-Powerful, Ultra-Creepy Secret Agent of The Dark Lord master brings me to meals is it? I didn't ask him to take me to breakfast and attempt to feed me little pieces of egg while I was under the table, did I? Noooooo. But the Bastard stares at me like I'm some kind of rodent. Which I'm not, thank you very much. It's annoying. And creepy.
…
Well, it could be worse. Severus Snape could be a Death Eater on the lam, hiding at Hogwarts and pretending that he's just spying for You-Know-Who when he's really spying on You-Know-Who for Dumbledore.
… Nah.
He was probably thinking of all the ways he could kill me slowly and painfully, seeing as he must know now that I've been the one keeping him from the darling twit. I mean the starry-eyed twit. None of that darling stuff. No. None. Ever.
Right, anyway … By this point Snape must be coming to some conclusions about me. I'm always sneaking about and trying to put a stop to their secret meetings. He's angry because he wants to BE WITH HER.
HE LOVES HER!
Err … right. Well, I think he loves her even if he doesn't know it yet. Or, as close as a man like Snape can get to love, I suppose. It's probably more like a dull hatred. That's right. Dull hatred. Close enough.
Whatever it is he feels I must keep them apart.
… I wonder if Quirrell will take me to the staff meeting tonight. If he does maybe I can find a way to communicate with Dumbledore and tell him all about Quirrell's eeeeeeevil plan to kill the young Harry Potter.
I can communicate, dammit. I am writing a journal, after all.
8:32 P.M.
Under Quirrell's Desk
Well, he took me to the staff meeting and I tried really, really hard to tell Dumbledore what the Ultra-Scary, Ultra-Powerful, Ultra-Creepy, Secret Agent of the Dark Lord's plan was but the damnable old man wouldn't listen to me. He eventually asked Quirrell to stop me from squeaking as I was interrupting the annual 'Which First Year Students Will End Up Together?' bet.
I do not squeak!
Well, won't Dumbledore feel silly when Harry Potter is brutally murdered on the Quidditch pitch and everyone finds out that I was trying to tell him and he wouldn't listen to me because he's species-ist.
That's right! You heard me! I'm tired of being discriminated against because I'm an iguana. I have rights! I have needs and desires.
Species-ist bastard.
In other news Snape tried to bet a hundred Galleons that Harry Potter would die before he graduated from Hogwarts. Sigh. The way things are looking right about now I wouldn't take him up on that bet for fear of losing my life savings.
Dumbledore (species-ist as he is) supported my conviction that Snape is secretly in dull hatred with Sinistra. He tried to bet on them ending up together before the end of the year.
Yeah, well … we'll see about that won't we? There won't be any of this 'ending up together' nonsense if Herman has his way.
… Oh.
Oh dear.
I'm in quite the predicament, aren't I?
To save Harry Potter from death or Auriga Sinistra from … a fate much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much, much worse than death?
What a decision.
Saturday, September 7, 1991
12:35 P.M.
Wouldn't you like to know where I am you evil Secret Agent of the Dark Lord.? *glares*
Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything? Because I'm in iguana? Don't even get me started on my rights once again.
Honestly.
I want to know when important stuff happens, I really, really do.
And frankly, I think it's just slightly important that I be told when someone tries to break into Gringotts Back in an attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone that been perfectly safe there for Merlin only knows how long already.
I want to know this stuff!
Because it's my damnable master that's trying to break in.
I'm frightened for my life.
…
Hold me?
3:12 P.M.
Right.
Okay.
Have recovered from that little outburst of fear and/or loathing. (I can't quite decide which.)
Onto more important things. I really need help on deciding which mission I should currently devote my life to. Sinistra really seems to be falling for the Bastard lately … she's been all starry-eyed and twit-like.
Right. Not that she's not like that normally but it's different now.
She likes him. Shudder.
How and why I can't even begin to place my little green finger on but I can tell. I need to get some serious word done on this mission if it's ever going to succeed.
Hmmm. Maybe I can convince a house elf to fall in love with her. At least she can speak to a house elf.
But wait … no, I must think about Harry Potter and his impending doom. I need to find some way to stop this. I can't rely on humans to ever stop something as serious as a death because, as we've discovered recently, humans are stupid and fall for Bastards and carry around copies of 'In Style' magazine and take bets on which students will die and write poems (I heard him asking Sinistra what rhymed with 'wine') and throw coffee mugs at people and keep giant three headed dogs for pets.
Humans are stupid.
Ha! Looks like Dumbledore isn't the only species-ist bastard around anymore. I can be one too. So there.
…
I think I'm in need of severe mental help.
What kind of iguana tries to take on the love lives of two horribly hopeless people and tries to prevent a Scary, Creepy, Powerful etc Secret Agent of You-Know-Who?
Only Herman.
Severe mental help.