Disclaimer: I do not own Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, Albus Dumbledore or Armando Dippet, or most of the other names or places mentioned herein. They are the creations and property of JK Rowling.
6 September
This has been the longest week of my life. Perhaps that has to do with the fact that it feels like the first week. It feels as if my entire life before this has somehow been a dream, or a fancy, or a bad joke, and that IÕve only just come to reality.
We got our schedules on Monday. My first class was History of Magic, the one I had been most looking forward to. Sadly, it was also the most disappointing. The teacher, Professor Binns, is a ghost, and his lecture style is so boring I think I may be one too if I have to listen to him for seven whole years. Oh well, I suppose I can always teach myself.
Next was charms with the Ravenclaws, taught by a Professor Waffling, who also happened to be the Ravenclaw Head of House and a blatant favoritist. He knows his magic, though, so I suppose I can put up with it if need be.
The afternoon was long Herbology with Professor Spore, who literally wrote the book on the subject. Brilliant lecturer, too. I may end up enjoying Herbology more than I thought.
On Tuesday we got our first taste of Potions, taught by the deeply dull head of House Hufflepuff, Professor Stir. He must have been a Hufflepuff himself, because his approach to the subject was one of absolute plodding patience. ItÕs been a whole week and we havenÕt so much as lit a fire under a cauldron yet. Potions intrigues me, however, so I may end up teaching myself that, too.
We spent Wednesday night in the Astronomy tower with the Hufflepuffs, under the watchful eye of Aquilia Lestrange, our own Head. She is by far my favorite professor so far, even if Astronomy is not quite to my liking. She is probably the most brilliant, and the most powerful of the teachers here. She suffers fools poorly, but those who earn her respect are blessed indeed. I think I have, but IÕm not sure. Only time will tell.
Today brought our last new class, Transfigurations with Dumbledore, whom I found out is the Gryffindor Head. I almost wonder why the man is allowed to speak, much less teach. My first impression of him was as a bit of a dullard. I was wrong. He is a total fool, and probably more than a bit mad. He seems a bit out of touch, in fact. He knows his subject, at least, and I still canÕt shake the uncanny suspicion that he knows something or sees something that he isnÕt sharing. It bothers me. IÕll be keeping a very close eye on him.
All in all, IÕve enjoyed all of my classes so far, though some more or less than others. The preparation I did during the summer helped a great deal. It may be the only thing keeping me in Slytherin, as a matter of fact. The wary looks I saw on the first day have become glares of outright hostility. No one has said anything, of course, nor has anyone been anything but civil, if cold, when they had to speak. ItÕs obvious, however, what this is about: my blood. As it turns out, my perception was correct: there isnÕt a drop of Muggle blood in the entire House, save of course for my own. One of the peculiarities that the House looks for, I suppose. But then, why me? Why put a halfblood, raised by Muggles, in a house of militant purebloods? It just doesnÕt make any sense. Maybe IÕll ask Professor Lestrange. In the mean time, however, the weekend has begun, and homework calls.
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a/n: apologies for any glaring errors. Both this and the preceding were written at a very late hour.