Diaries of a Dungeon-Dwelling Moron
Discreet Disclosures of Severus S. Snape
Author's Note: Well, well, well. It's been how long since my last update? I apologize sooooo, so much. I've been so busy with school, and then the whole CougerNet fiasco where I didn't have internet for like... a month. *grumble grumble* And then these silly professors actually expect me to do homework and show up to classes. It's madness! So, after all the angry/begging/pleading e-mails I received, I decided that I'd better write some more before you all decide to attack me ala the house elves in Lamentations. And that would just be bad. So I tried. It didn't work so well. But Nita helped! We used The System (Because The System works, The System called... The S-Y-S-T-E-MMMM!! Er... right then.) And I finally got back into full-on Snape Mode, which can be a very frightening place to be if you don't know how to handle all the complex emotions and denial. And so, slowly but surely, and then rather quickly and freakishly, Diaries came back to life. My baby. My never-ending baby of a story that's growing into quite the monster. But oh well. I love it so.
-Part Eight-
14 September 1991
Chambers
7:31 a.m.
...You don't think that Auriga got the wrong idea from what I said the other night, do you? She couldn't possibly thing that I am... interested in her... romantically. Of course, I suppose it is only natural. You know, it's getting worse. Instead of merely Hooch and Sinistra... Madame Pomfrey asked me to come by after classes to deliver some potions. And you know what that means. I only wish I didn't. But I do.
Oh, yes, I do.
The first time, I thought nothing of it. I merely stopped by and dropped off the potions she'd asked for. Nothing out of the ordinary happened... at first. But she kept... talking to me. And not just about potions and remedies, like one would expect. She began to ask about my personal life. Thankfully, I managed to get away with the excuse of my next class. The next time, I was not so lucky. She kept asking about my health (surprise, surprise, coming from the school nurse). And then... she asked, "Aren't the dungeons uncomfortably cold for you, Severus?"
"Um... not... particularly."
"Oh, naturally it wouldn't be that bad now, but what about..." (Right about now, she seemed to get something in her eye, for she kept blinking.) "... at night?"
I must admit, I did not even fathom where she was heading with this. "Not particularly," I repeated.
"You know, if you are, I could provide something to... warm you up... Severus."
"I can mix my own Warming Potions, thank you Pomfrey."
She giggled. Actually giggled! A grown woman... giggling. Do you see what I do to women? It's madness. I don't know what it is about me that has this... effect... but I wish I could make it stop. Anyway, continuing on.
This is rather embarrassing. After her girlish fit of... giggles, she moved closer, looking up at me (with something in her eye again... you'd think that being a nurse would lend something to knowledge for removing whatever was bothering her vision), and said, "I wasn't talking about a potion... (cringe, criiiiiiinge) ..."
Oh, I cannot write this. It's too much.
I just can't do it.
I won't.
I refuse.
I have the right not to share every intimate detail of my personal life here, you know. Just because I have so far... that means nothing!
Oh, fine.
She called me...
Ahem.
"Sevvie."
Snee...
Oh, God. Sometimes, I want to cry.
And I do nothing to bring this on, you realize. I am not to blame here. Which is why there is no way that Sinistra could think that I had romantic feelings for her. Because I don't. And I have never given any signs of it. The entire idea is ridiculous. And sickening. I'm sickened just thinking of it. She would never be so batty as to think...
Then again, she is Sinistra. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been harbouring repressed emotions about me ever since that one night... that one horrible night, rather, where we both were completely pissed and happened to... have a sort of romantic interaction. Don't forget that I was completely out of my mind with drink and had little to no idea what I was doing. No, I take that back. I had no idea what I was doing. If I had, I certainly wouldn't have enjoyed kissing her like I... wait. No. I didn't enjoy it. Not really. I only thought I did because I was completely drunk. I've certainly gotten over that little mishap and have moved on. (Okay, so I haven't actually 'moved on' as that implies that I have another romantic interest at the moment, but you know what I mean. I have no feelings for Auriga Sinistra whatsoever. None.) Now her, on the other hand. She has certainly not moved on. (Come on, she's practically begging for me by trying to throw herself into a relationship with Quirrell, just to prove that she doesn't need me.) It's quite clear.
She wants me.
It's the only explan...
...
Someone at the door.
Bloody early.
...
Ah, it's Draco. Wonderful. I wonder what...
...
WHAT?!!?
7:38 a.m.
...
...
NSDFHDKFRAXXLEKSDFLKDFKCKDDFKS!
...
I must avenge this act of evil!
7:48 a.m.
Someone will pay.
They will.
I'll be bloody well sure of it, mark my words.
I just... dammit... he... how... how could... complete disregard... he... Merlin's beard!
They'll pay. And when they do, I'll be certain that Potter never lays hand on a Nimbus 2000 for the rest of his miserable life. Ever.
And when he's dying, I'll be there, holding the bloody broom and mocking him.
...
Maybe I'm taking this a bit far. I mean, honestly. So Minerva used funds to buy Harry Potter, a first year, one of the finest brooms on the market today so that he can play Quidditch for Gryffindor. So they purposely did not tell me. I don't know why they would conveniently leave that out of our everyday conversations. It isn't like I'd overreact or anything irrational like that.
...
Certainly not.
...
Now, where the hell is Minerva so I can curse her into... no, nevermind spells. I'm simply going to wring her neck.
...
It'll be so much more satisfying that way.
Well, she'd be in teacher's lounge at this hour, so I do believe I will be paying her a little... visit. Then we'll see what she has to say for herself. She daren't oppose my wrath. I'll expose her for what she is!
...
What is she, you ask?
Well, isn't it painfully obvious? She's biased! She'd do anything for her precious house to win! Even cheat! I mean, honestly, how low can you get? What complete slimeball would be so...
...
Oh, right.
...
Shut up.
But... I have an image to keep up here! I'm Severus S. Snape, Head of Slytherin. I have to be evil and sinister and biased about my own students... even when most of them are complete idiots, or completely spoiled. Or both.
Take, if you will, Draco Malfoy. It was through this ridiculous child that I was forced to discover that Potter (Sneeeeer.) had acquired a Nimbus 2000 for no apparent reason whatsoever. (I saw nothing wrong with him simply using his own bloody broom... if he's so wonderful, he should be able to make do, wouldn't you think?) The whiny brat comes in here and tells me that Potter got a Nimbus 2000, just right out of the blue! No warning... no, 'Are you sitting down, Professor?' 'Would you like me to bring Professor Sinistra in to snog... er, take out your anger on?' Nothing! Just... announces it, like it's the bloody morning news.
Well, it's not! This is a serious infraction, and it is now my civic duty to... do something about it!
This could get messy. Don't wait up.
7:53 a.m.
And yes, I know you're a diar...journal and that you can't wait up, per se.
It was a figure of speech, dammit.
Leave me alone.
7:55 a.m.
... Don't say anything. Just... don't.
...
You know what I mean.
...
Gah!
8:20 a.m.
...
I have never been so insulted in my entire life.
...
Except for that one incident. You know the one. We needn't mention it here.
Again.
Ahem. Anyway. Insulted. Right. There I was, storming into the teacher's lounge, and demanding (quite civilly, mind you) what was going on, and she has to be... childish. She implied, thinking it hilarious, I am sure, that we were 'over'... excuse me, through. Which implies that we were... not through... at one point in time.
I'm laughing, really.
I would sooner kiss Sinistra.
Oh wait, I've already done that. Joy.
... Why do I keep mentioning that? You'd think I was... obsessed with the incident or something. Which I am not. At all. More of... repulsed by it. And repulsed by Sinistra. And her hair... and her... glasses. That keep... falling down.
...
...
...
Erm. Right. Anyway. Minerva. She's completely ridiculous, using sarcasm and her oh-so-sharp wit to avoid the question. Which is... I forget. But anyway. And of course, Victoria Vector, was there, with her annoying presence and her annoying comments and sitting by Sinistra... annoyingly.
The maturity level of the room was far too low for my tastes, so I left in a completely dignified manner. I did not curse Vector's hair to develop snarls whenever she brushes it or give a rude gesture to Minerva when she wasn't looking. None of that. That would be stooping to their level, and that is something I would never reduce myself to.
Though it was rather soothing to hear Vector scream as I walked down the hall.
But that's completely irrelevant.
I cannot believe that Minerva gave that... pathetic excuse for a Gryffindor a Nimbus 2000. Gave! Like it was Muggle sweets or some other sort of worthless things. You don't see me giving Marcus Flint the latest in Quidditch merchandise, do you? No.
Of course, I highly doubt anyone would willingly donate money to give that imbecile anything, so that's rather beside the point...
Why must I be surrounded by idiots wherever I go?
Perhaps I should just stay in my chambers and never come out. Actually, that's not a bad idea. It's not like my Potions students learn anything anyway, since they are, as I stated, idiots. Except for that Hermione Granger, that is. But she's just... freakish like that. The girl has probably read every single Potions book the library has to offer, plus any restricted ones she could get her greedy hands on. She could teach the bloody class.
That's not such a bad idea either. I could just have her teach the class, and I could remain locked here... away from all of... them. I could retain my sanity, what's left of it, and be rid of them forever! HA! Hahaha! Ha...
...
Ha.
... Do you think they'd even notice I was gone?
...
Any of them?
... Would you miss me?
Wait.
You're not... real.
Right. I knew that. Really. I am simply distraught. Over... Potter.
Sneer.
Ah, there we go. All it took was the thought of that blasted Potter to get me back on track. Good to know the boy's good for something. He'd noticed I was gone, for sure, simply because there would be no one to hold sway over his wild, irresponsible actions. But... that would be it. No one else would notice. Oh, sure, they'll say every so often, "Didn't something horrible and disgusting used to lurk around the dungeons?" And everyone will shudder in recognition. And then Quirrell will probably take my place as Slytherin Head of House, since he took my position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor... and then the entire House will deteriorate into a bunch of blithering dunderheads. They'll be known as the Stuttering Slytherins and will have an iguana as their new mascot.
Good God, I can see it now.
It'll be horrible. Merlin... who would have known what would happen if I weren't here. Things would be atrocious. Thank the powers I'm here. As much as they'll try to be rid of me, I simply won't go. I won't give in to Slatero. Never! He and his bloody iguana will never have Sinistra... er... Slytherin House. That's what I meant. An innocent mistake. I confuse my 's' words a lot. Simple slip of the tongue... pen, whatever. Definitely not a Freudian slip. Though I never really understood what the bloke was talking about, what with dreams and slips and everything. My psychiatrist didn't hold with his methods anyway.
I do miss him sometimes. But I'm completely cured, so why go back, right? I don't need to go back. I won't be wasting my money just to keep in touch with someone who only cares about my problems because I pay him. I could get someone else to listen to me for free. Just because they want to.
Like...
...
Um.
Well, it's rather hard to name someone right off the top of my head, you know. These things take time and careful consideration. I mean, I didn't say I'd give a specific name, alright? I do have friends.
Or at least a journal.
Yay.
9:02 a.m.
No offense meant by that, of course.
9:03 a.m.
I need to get out of here. I think we've both discovered through this little time together that it is best if I remain in the public eye.
Oh, the sacrifices I make.
10:10 a.m.
This is what happens when I leave my room.
I think I need a shower.
Erm. I'll be right back then.
10:39 a.m.
I really don't know why people say I should shower more. I really think it's quite a frequent occurrence around here, don't you? I may run out of cold water soon.
Honestly, though, things would have been so much easier today if I would have merely stayed in my room, according to my previous idea. But noooooo, I had to go out. Ridiculous thing, that socializing. Highly overrated. And I don't recommend it at all. I can get you into... strange situations. Ones that involve Sinistra.
As usual.
All I did was take an innocent walk, to check up on what I'd missed during my temporary hermitage in my quarters, to catch Potter at some mischief or another and have an excuse to break his broom, to see if Albus had any new magazines since last nigh... week.
(Note to self: Subscribe to Magical Mates for the Socially Secluded. Looks rather interesting... um, for the sake of laughing at the poor wretches who actually submit themselves to such idioticy. Saw a rather interesting article about star-crossed... I mean... I thought of showing to Sinistra. She certainly needs some help in the romantic aspect of her life.
...
Not like I should be talking.
But I always have Madame Pomfrey.
Erm.)
But back to the actual story at hand. So, as I was innocently wandering the castle I happened to go past Auriga's room again. Strange how that always seems to happen on my little walks. Must be the staircases changing, and such. Anyway, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, had I not heard her... oh, how to put it delicately?... screaming in ecstasy.
That's not a thing one hears at nine o'clock in the morning. Well, not usually. There are occasions like holidays and such... but this was definitely not one of them. As for myself, I was beginning to wonder why I always happened to wander by at the most incovenient times. It's a gift, I tell you, one that I am burdened by.
But honestly! Nine in the morning! And screaming her bloody lungs out so that any poor child happening by would be subject to a most scarring experience. I pity them.
I pity myself.
More than usual.
She kept yelling things like "Get off me!" and "What if someone sees us?" like she didn't want to be caught. But I knew from her voice that she didn't mean it. She was enjoying it quite thoroughly.
Well.
I was going to put a stop to that.
I very kindly informed her of the hour of the morning, you know, in case she had forgotten. After all, her door was unlocked. She was practically inviting me in. She probably planned it. You know, so I would see her in the throes of passion and automatically want and need her.
She threw her sweater at me.
...
Close enough.
So, there I stood, holding her sweater, for once at a complete loss as for what to say. And she has the gall to order me out. "I'm busy," she said.
Ha. Like I couldn't see that. Busy getting undressed for her mystery lover. I had finally managed to notice that there was no one else in the room with her... except... Quirrell's iguana. It was on the bed. Grinning at me like... like he knew, the smug green little bastard. I swear he winked at me. (speaking of which, the iguana is a male... so why does it have a pink collar? Obviously Slatero has some larger issues at hand than his choice in headwear.) But I knew, then. The iguana was involved. "Oh, God, Auriga, " I said. "Don't tell me Quirrell's talked you into using that iguana in your strange sexual practices."
And she tried to deny it, the cheeky wench. "Severus!" she cried, nearly impairing my hearing. After that, I don't exactly remember what she said. But the fact that I was holding her shirt became more than a little more apparent, if you, er, know what I mean.
Then she was yelling again, and my gaze snapped... up again. "Oh, God, stop it! Didn't anyone ever teach you about eye contact?" She attempted to cover herself with a blanket. Ha. Like I hadn't seen everything already. Well, not everything, but... a lot more than I'd seen before. Which is... bad. Right. Bad. As she grabbed a blanket, the bloody iguana fell off onto the floor. I found it very hard not to laugh. Die, iguana, die. (Ooh, new poem idea?)
The humour reinspired my biting, witty sarcasm. Ha. I knew I still had it. "Didn't anyone ever teach you about clothing? Oh, wait - you're busy throwing it at me."
Snape:1
Sinistra: 0
Ha.
But anyway. There was a man in here. I knew it. Herman, as evil as the diabolical thing is, could not make Auriga moan like she was doing. I know her too well... but not... too well, mind you. Though I have now seen her shirtless. Ha again. Though I don't know why I said 'ha' to that. But oh well.
She tried to deny it, stammering and stuttering as much as Quirrell himself. How could I have had any doubts that they were together? The evidence is all there!
To seal the deal, Quirrell finally decided to show himself, like the man he isn't. And then he actually attempted to pretend that he was honestly just there for that... thign.
Thign? Er... thing. See, I'm so upset I cannot even write correctly! This was an emotionally distressing experience! Honestly, you can't tell me that he would walk into a room where Auriga was shirtless and make a beeline for a bloody lizard without even noticing, unless he meant to do it. That would take an extreme amount of willpower not to look at her... shirtless... and even he cannot be that obsessed with the iguana. ... That would just be creepy. And wrong in so many ways.
"A . . . Auriga . . . S . . . s . . . s . . . Severus, d . . . didn't mean to . . . disturb."
Oh, ha. Like I believe that. And Herman can write.
"You're not disturbing anything!" claimed Sinistra, looking like she wanted to perform an Unforgivable on herself. Or on me, since I was the one disturbing her intimate night with the turban freak. Ugh.
"Likewise, Quirrell," I said, making certain he knew that I knew what he was up to.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him. She actually asked him that!
Right, you're going to fool me, you ridiculous twit.
"I . . . I knew Herman was going to be here," he returned. Yes, you're psychic now. Try psycho. He takes my job, he takes my starry-eyed twit, and now he takes my god-dammed psychosis.
Continuing on. "And you knew that . . . how?" she asked, innocently, as if she didn't know why the t-h-i-n-g (there we go... thign.) was in her room, on her bed.
"He l . . . left me a n . . . note."
I knew it! Er, I mean... iguanas can't write. Rot and nonsense.
With that enlightening statement, the big bad DADA teacher wandered out of the room, muttering something about 'an iguana may love a witch, but I'd be forced to kill her out of spite' or something like that. I couldn't' really quite make it out. Not that I cared.
And... I was still holding her sweater. Why? I'm not quite sure, really. But it was... soft and kindof... smelled like her. I resisted the urge to smell it, but was staring at it rather a lot. She finally noticed. Damn.
"Oh, give me that!"
She grabbed the shirt from me, but I didn't, er, let go in time as she pulled on it. Somehow, I ended up on the bed, on top of her, still holding the bloody sweater. Only, I was holding her too. Kindof. In a weird, sprawled-awkwardly-on-a-bed-in-a-way-that-should-only-be-reserved-for marriage way. I looked down, realizing how close she was and how much I was lying on top of her. I now have a very good idea of what witches wear under their robes. Not that I was looking.
Er... intentionally.
This time.
Oh, God. Breathe, Snape, breathe.
I need a drink.
And then, since the bloody door was still open, that strange house elf that's always singing Muggle sex songs happened to come in. Why, I didn't know. But I soon found out.
Apparently, the creature is completely head-over-heels for Auriga. He cried, and I quote, "Miss Auriga Miss! Wimmy was thinking we is having something between us! Wimmy was wrong!"
Which was just great in itself. But then she immediately replied as he fled the room in pathetic tears, "Wait, Wimmy, it's not what it looks like!"
I died.
Well, not literally, naturally, otherwise it would be rather hard for me to be writing this. I've never yet seen a ghost who keeps a diary. A journal, either.
But I was nearly crying from the laughter.
I suppose, thinking back, that it must have been a disturbing sight... me howling with unnatural laughter on Auriga's bed while she simply stared at me, still, er, shirtless.
The moment was kindof ruined when Vector walked by and saw us (since the house elf didn't have the decency to shut the bloody door as he made his distraught exit). Naturally, the wench came to the conclusion that we were involved. Because, you know, there's absolutely no other reason a man would be in bed with a half-dressed woman. Honestly.
So, now this rumour will be spread around Hogwarts like wildfire. Auriga found in bed with Potions Master. Wonderful. It'll completely taint my horrible bastard exterior.
Damn.
... I just realized something.
Her sweater is sitting beside my journal. Oops.