The Moanings of an Overgrown Dungeon Dweller

The Great Hall

I hate this enchanted ceiling. It is in fact snowing and because we have no roof it is snowing into the hall. Not that it actually falls onto us but it is damn annoying anyway. Dumbledore's fault I suppose, or the stupid old farts before him that were headmasters, or the stupid people who made this building. I blame everybody who was here before me who had more authority than me. It's their fault and I am suffering for it.

Everybody is in lessons, but I have got a free period and I thought I would spend my free time marking some work, giving out terrible grades and scaring house elves as they clean but guess what, Quirrel has a period off too and at this minute he is scurrying round the castle trying to find me. I'm actually in hiding and I know that I don't hide from anybody, but Quirrel wants me to read through the book about Erwin. I swear if I hear one more word about that bloody iguana and how it can catch sticks I'll be going after McGonagall's hat.

She has bought a new hat, to be precise FIVE more tartan hats. One even has little bobbles on it. She gave me a triumphant smile as she strutted past with that damn hat perched on her head. I thought no one could strut more triumphantly around than me, but I now have a rival.

Crap. Quirrel is sticking his head around the door; I hope he doesn't see me. Please let him not see me, please! He's seen me.

"Oh Severus!"

I swear he said that and just how you are thinking he said it. Don't be so disgusting.

"I didn't know you would here!"

Course you didn't. Creep.

"Do you want to read through my book?"

No. Smelly Creep.

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do, but unfortunately I have to go and mark some work." (Me shuffling desperately for the door at this minute.)

"But can't you do it later? This is quite important."

(Important my arse.)

"Can't. Have to do it now, or Minerva will have my head." (Me now making violent guillotine motions, still shuffling for the door.)

"But… but…" (Bottom lip starting to tremble. I love making people cry, but seeing a grown man cry is a bit scary.)

"Oh well. Never mind. Bye!"

I am at this minute running down the corridor making sure Quirrel isn't following.

Safety! At last!

I'm bored. I'm going to roast some Grangler plant. No, I'm not going to roast Granger, however much I would like to. And Potter, especially Potter. And Weasley. And McGonagall. And Dumbledore. And Quirrel. Along with his iguana. And that damn book. Grangler is a very toxic plant that reeks when roasted. I am going to stink out the castle and blame it on someone else. I haven't decided whom to blame yet. McGonagall? She's stupid and old enough to do something like this. Wait, am I saying I am stupid by doing this myself? Fine, I won't bother. I might as well mark some work. Giving F's to loads of Gryffindors really makes my day whole. Along with five cups of coffee, black with three sugars, make sure you remember that.

Study

Finished my marking. I tell you some of them:

Granger- B- (That's the lowest I could get without looking petty. I hate smart Gryffindors, more than I hate other smart people.)

Weasley- F+

Potter- F- (Ha ha ha!)

Longbottom- U (And that's been one of his better homeworks. Usually I throw them in the bin beforehand and save myself time.)

Malfoy- A (Just to annoy Potter.)

Crabbe- B+ (Just to annoy Potter even more.)

Goyle- B (One of the most gormless people I've ever had the misfortune of teaching. Therefore it'll really annoy Potter to see that even someone with the wit of a bag of sand can do better than him.)

Or am I just being nasty and annoying? Yep, and I'm loving it. Better go for lunch, hopefully Quirrel won't be there, I'm going to stick my head around the door just in case first.

At the teacher's table- currently staring at a bowl of mushed up mushy mush that looks like, well, mush.

Sometimes I wonder if the house- elves are punishing me for being nasty to them. It's not my fault I kicked the little bog- eyed twerp down the stairs the other night, how was I supposed to know he was there? I was too busy gazing at my impressive profile in a mirror while doing a mildly evil sneer. How was I supposed to know the damn elf was dusting? I bet all my food has been poisoned. Maybe I should complain to Dumbledore? Or not.

Quirrel isn't here by the way, or I would have gone down to Hogsmeade and got some food down there. I think I will actually, this food is seriously off-putting. Yucky, mushy and lumpy. Just how I like it, maybe not.

I've just had another thought while scanning the hall in a mildly menacing way. Potter seems very edgy, he's reading the Daily Prophet and keeps looking around to see if anyone has noticed. Well ha! I'm on to you Potter and I'll find out what you're up to, sooner or later, sooner rather than later admittedly but I will give you a detention for whatever you are doing before the end of the day. That's not a threat, well actually it is, but it's also a promise.

That reminds me, I have to finish the potions for the protection of the Philosophers Stone. Dumbledore wants me to make one to get through black fire, one to get through purple fire, some nettle wine and finally some poison. I asked Dumbledore why not fill them all with poison, that would stop anybody in their tracks, wouldn't it! I might put poison in them all anyway just to spite people, and make me feel better.

I'd better go and get started; it may take me a long time to work out a little poem to go with the bottles. Even that idiot of a Granger won't be able to crack it, not that she'll have a chance to.

Oh no. Quirrel has just shuffled in; if I'm quick enough I can make it out of the side door before he notices me. How good am I?

The Kitchens

Thankfully the elves aren't trying to kill me, in fact they have been very helpful and are at this minute making me some dinner that is a) edible and b) Quirrel free. Roast beef does sound very appetising, with jam tart for afters and a cup of coffee. I'm trying to spot the elf I kicked down the stairs to apologise in the least sneery way possible. Which is very hard for me, whenever I see someone who I dislike (nearly everybody) it causes me to swish my cloak out behind me, sneer at them and usually end up telling them off for something. Usually it's not even their fault. What? Of course it's their damn fault, they shouldn't have been put on this planet specifically to annoy me and be in my way. If they don't like me moaning at them, they should bugger off and not give me a chance to moan at them, but then I would call them cowardly so they would never really be free. Uh oh. Just spotted that elf and he doesn't look too happy with me. If there were any windows in the mole- hole I would stare out of it unconcernedly, but just my luck because there isn't.

Wait! There's a mark on the ceiling, which I am currently staring at with all my might. Don't sneer, whatever you do, don't sneer. Well great, you just had to sneer at yourself telling you not to sneer! That elf will probably attack me for sneering at him, why can't I keep my sneers to myself? Just had another thought, I'm scared of an elf, a bog- eyed, big- eared, tea- cloth dressed elf. I am mighty, I am great, let's go kick some butt.

In considerable pain in my bedroom.

Have you ever had roast beef tipped down your front? Well I can tell you now, it's bloody painful. I stood up to 'apologise' (in a trying-not-to-sneering way) to the elf and the little scruff who was carrying my roast beef tipped it all down my front! I am currently trying to scrub gravy off my black cloak. I can just see McGonagall's face if I go around with a massive stain all over my front.

"Severus, you have a stain all down your robe."

"It's the fashion, Minerva. You should try it."

Let me help you get the look just right, roast beef or Yorkshire puddings? Both have brilliant results. I need more robes and a plaster for my burnt finger. It's my coffee finger too, how am I supposed to drink coffee with no finger to hold the cup? Through a straw? I'll change then try to find one…

Still in some pain, still in bedroom.

Just come back, failed to find a straw, but did find a galleon down the back of that statue of Boris and watched a second year sink into the vanishing step. I almost lost my cool and laughed at her, but regained my sneery posture before sweeping down the corridor, scattering pupils in my wake. I hope she is still in there, unless her little 'friends' managed to pull her out. I hope not. I don't want to be the only one in pain. Have started a book by the way; it's called 'Me and my crap life.' By Professor Snape. Here's the first line.

My life is crap. My only 'friend' is obsessed with his iguana, I have an old bag with too many tartan hats smiling at me the whole time in her sympathetic way and now Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts and I have so far not managed to kill him.

What do you think? That's my life summed up in less than fifty words, I bet not very many people could do that.