September 12, Friday 3.18 PM

I will never speak to anyone ever again. Especially not certain people who make up rules and then let other certain people break them, just so that other certain people (who the first certain person happens to be in love with) can get on the Quidditch team, even if it is against all the regulations in the world. But no, we all bow down to certain Gryffindor idiot Potters because no one seems to think straight except for those who live in dungeons.

I could scream. Actually, I did scream. The second I heard, I flew into Dumbledore's office with the speed of a drunken missionary, spluttering and squawking in the way that only Dumbledore would understand.

"Severus," he said, acting like he was a good, old mate (he is not), "I understand that you are upset about Harry."

You see, Dumbledore likes to pretend that he can read minds. I bet he just keeps a list of all the things that he knows make me want to kill him, so that whenever I swoop down upon him, he can take it out, choose the most likely item, and then think that I think that he is reading my mind, which makes him feel really intelligent. He is not.

"But you must understand," he continued, "that Minerva was desperate. I am quite sure that I'd bend the rules in the same way for you."

I just gaped attractively for a moment and then gave my Die-You-Fiend Glare (with a slight baring of teeth), before storming out of the room. I refuse to converse with people who talk out of their arses. Then I decided that I could not let him off so easily, so back I ran to tell him how I felt. But again, I just couldn't stand his voice. It kept talking. And it was talking total crap, too. So out I went again within moments.

This back-and-forth continued for a full ten minutes, until I collapsed against the wall across from those dumb gargoyles that guard his office. I never was a good endurance runner. Then that's when I realized that even though I was no longer in his office, he was still talking to me. I was not going to stand for it.

"SHUT UP!" I yelled. A pair of seventh years were walking by, and that perked them up, I can tell you. One of them jumped out a nearby window, and the other pitched her books into the air so high that they slammed into the ceiling, and then ran. Unfortunately for her, she tripped over nothing at all and fell right on top of me, which would have been uncomfortable enough even if I was not her professor.

I pretended not to notice (a difficult thing when someone is smack on top of you), and just kept yelling at the old bearded man, "YOU'RE STILL TALKING YOU OLD FART! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LALALALALAAAAAALA!" The unfortunate Seventh Year Girl was wise enough to flee, "YOU GREAT, GREEN, GIANT, POTTER-LOVING, UNRECOGNIZABLE TALKING-FOOL! EAT YOUR WORDY WORDING WORDS, SEE IF I CARE! YOUR SOCKS SMELL LIKE QUIRREL ANYWAY AND NOBODY LIKES LEMON DROPS! LIMA BEAN!"

You know what, I think I will stop there. You know, something so witty in retrospect can seem like waffle, but I'm sure that in context those insults would not seem so. . .retarded? Yes, I'm sure. Yes. . .Did I really say all that?

From now on I should just ignore myself, and not listen to or comprehend a word that I say. It would make life so much easier.

But in any case, Dumbledore's favoritism has reached an all-time high. If I hadn't already known for a fact that his last lover (urggggggghhhhhhhhhh) was a woman named Norma Jean "El Dicionario" Who, then I would think that there was something between him and McGonagall. Why else would he do her this favor? I would teasethem about it if it didn't give me a distinct nauseous feeling thinking of anyone snogging either of those old bags. In that respect, they go very well together.

Still. Lima bean? It's hard to believe that I, Master of Wit, could have said that. One would think that someone or other could have smote me down with a lightening bolt, as a favor, before I let that leave my mouth.

And this Quidditch thing is not the only thing I have to annoy me right now. "Professor" Quirrel has now taken to stalking me. No, I am not joking. He follows me around like a bobbing piece of nothingness in a turban. EverywhereI go,I see him just a few steps away. It's maddening. And he has been asking me dubious questions. Just today he asked, "So, Severus, what was your l-line of work before H-hogwarts?" This, as everyone knows, is a thoroughly stupid question. Everyone knows what I did. I murdered innocent civilians. So I decided to have a private joke with myself and said:

"Oh, I was the Ministerial Dentist. That's why it made so much sense for me to become a potions teacher. Because, you know, dentistry and potions are very closely linked."

"Really," Quirrel said. He looked exquisitely irritated, and he was doing a very bad job of hiding it. I've never seen him angry before, because he always quivers so much that it makes me twitch to look him right in the face because it moves around so much. He had forgotten his quiver, though, so I could observe very accurately that he is ugly. That fact rather distracted me, so I wasn't quite paying attention when he said, "I had thought, for some reason, that you worked for V-v-v-v-vvv-vvvvvvv-v-v-v-v-vvvvv-vo-vo-vv-v-vo-vo—" He went into some sort of spasm and purple electrical-looking shocks—I swear—began to come from his turban. It looked very painful, but I couldn't be bothered helping him. First of all, I was too busy laughing at him to do anything else and also I didn't feel like finishing the conversation. Discussing the finer points of all my moral failings with Quirrel would have been the end of me.

So that's the way I left him, a heap of turbaned nothingness, writhing from the electrical shocks emitted from his own turban. I wonder if that turban was of his own design, to stop him from ever saying the Dark Lord's name if he ever felt tempted. It is weird though, that he would shock himself. But it's also very convenient, because it saved me the trouble of shocking him myself. Serves him right for following me around like a schoolgirl.