Chapter four: The Moanings of an Overgrown Dungeon Dweller

Just finished walking down the corridor giving out evil glares to anybody who looks at me

It's Halloween. I overheard some first years discussing whether I would be dancing round a cauldron at midnight. I'll give them dancing. Little did they know I was hiding from Quirrel behind a statue of Gordon the Gormless on the third corridor. They didn't half shriek when I stepped out from behind it and coolly informed them that dancing around cauldrons in the middle of the night isn't really my style and taking lots of points off Gryffindors is. I proved this point by taking away twenty points from Gryffindor, each.

Later I was hunted down by a vicious wrinkly old bag, McGonagall, who demanded to know why sixty points had just been removed from her house.

"I was feeling festive." I swooped off down the corridor leaving her gasping like a stranded goldfish. Ha. Nice to see I haven't lost my charm with the ladies. I just called McGonagall a lady. I'm going for a lie down.

Sat in hall, on my own, feeling unwanted.

My finger is still in a plaster because of the incident with the house elf and I cannot drink coffee because the cup is too hot for me to balance between three fingers. Trying long- life milk at the minute. I wonder who invented this rubbish. I hate cows.

And what is long life about it? I would have died the minute I tasted it if I wasn't so immune to poison. Time for a flashback?

Many, many years ago… Hang on. I'm not that old. Am I?

I was in my fifth year. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I had just finished brewing a wart removal potion. Not for me I might add. But it was still a pretty good potion none the less. Potter and the Potties were at the back, making a complete mess as usual. Fang face (Lupin) or Potty Number Three as I like to call him, was actually doing quite well. Me, being me, wished to help my fellow classmates and pass on my expertise. I took a chance to stroll past their table on the way to the ingredients cupboard and whispered, not too quietly.

"If there is ever a chance that you will do this potion right Potty, it would be a FULL, I mean BLUE, moon."

Evil sniggering, stare at Lupin, begin to walk off.

Okay, so maybe it was a tad nasty, but they did push me in the lake the day before. I was halfway down the squid's throat before it realised I wasn't a bit of toast. They were asking for it. The evil snigger was quite ruined however when Sirius' calm voice floated to my ears. He wasn't annoyed. Damn it.

"Think that's funny, Snivellus?"

"Well. Yes. It was actually. You see, that was why I said it."

I was going for a full-blown oily smile, (I hadn't quite progressed to sneering yet) when I was pushed headfirst into Potter's cauldron. He had unmistakeably done the potion wrong because it tasted of fish and it was meant to taste of sweaty feet. I stood up, a bit shaky, but never the less chuffed because I realized something. Potter had made a poison immune potion.

"Let me guess. You added the Wombat entrails before the sheep's eyeballs?"

"Shove off."

"Gladly."

So there we are, the immunity has persisted throughout my life. Which has now been proved by drinking this… substance… and not immediately turning purple and falling to the floor as dead as a smashed cockroach. And you can't get much deader than that.

Still sat at breakfast table, thrown the milk at Mrs Norris without Filch noticing. I consider this one of my greater achievements.

The post is coming in; don't come near me you flea-ridden ferrets with wings. I hate owls. What's this? Potty has a package. Oh good, it's hit him and his little side- kick over the head. Haha. I wonder what's in that broomstick shaped package?

A broomstick. Great. I can feel McGonagall's gaze, just daring me to say something.

'Say something. Say something!'

Smash. Crack. The students and teachers turn to watch as my goblet goes flying through the air and hits the wall. That's another one gone. Some of the Hufflepuffs are staring at me, or at the remains of my goblet, which is at the minute scattered over most of the floor. I'm going to go and do some very loud complaining to Dumbledore.

Stalking along the corridor. Everyone is jumping out of my way. Good.

Malfoy has just come bounding up to me and said:

"Sir! Sir! Guess what?"

I despise guessing games.

"What, Malfoy?" Who cares?

"Go on, guess Sir!" Annoying Little Berk.

"What?" Bored look, bored sneer, bored voice and bored eyebrows.

Malfoy finally seems to get the point that I don't want to guess. I want to be told.

"Harry Potter has been entered for Gryffindor seeker!"

I know. Why do you think I was smashing cups against walls for, you stupid boy? For your personal entertainment? Because I'm insane and keep getting mad urges to throw things?

"Yes Malfoy."

He seemed a bit surprised that I didn't show more emotion. Maybe ripping the head off a nearby Ravenclaw would have been more appropriate? Or jumping up and down planning death and destruction by various torture methods? Anyway, he toddled off to his next lesson. I wonder if he bleaches his hair?

Later that afternoon

Bloody show-off. Potter, not Malfoy. Even though he isn't far behind Potter in the big-headed department. Potter has to make a statement the minute he sets foot in this place,

'Look at me I'm Harry Potter and I can play Quidditch like my scruffy haired pillock of a father.'

I'll just get my own team to knock him out and the match will be ours. I'll go and complain to Dumbledore anyway because it'll be a nice start to my day.

'A complaint a day, keeping the niceties away.' That's one of my more favourite sayings. My other is 'Hate the world, it'll hate you more for it.'

I have to drink pumpkin juice, which I detest with all my being, even more than milk. I wasn't even surprised when I found a dead fly floating round in it. Yucky disgusting stuff. I feel sorry for the fly that drowned in it; out of all the things to drown in, it has to be pumpkin juice.