Chapter Five: The Moanings of an Overgrown Dungeon Dweller

Nearly ready to go down to the Halloween Feast.

This is going to be rubbish. Halloween is a made up festival so that witches and wizards can feel important, even Muggles celebrate it. Dressing up as bats, witches, wizards even Frankenstein's monster. I mean, come on. If you are going to dress up then at least make it look somewhat real. Most witches don't have warts and wrinkles, in the case of McGonagall they do, and dance around cauldrons cackling. I am the only person who dances round cauldrons, and that is very rarely. And I don't own a cat, parts of cats that I have pickled and then bottled in green substances maybe, but not one full alive cat.

I hope Dumbledore hasn't decorated the Great Hall; it looks stupid, bats flying everywhere and depositing 'things' in your coffee. Or pumpkin juice as it is now. I wonder if I still have that bottle of Firewhisky hiding somewhere?

Aha! I've found it, a little dusty, a little mouldy and a few years out-of-date, but I'm sure it'll taste just fine anyway. I'd better pour it into a goblet or McGonagall will do her nut, drinking in front of students, blah, blah and blah. And now I can't find my hat, the one with a splodge of dried blood at the top, and it's my favourite. I NEED that for Halloween, it's my very special hat that I wear every year because it scares people senseless. I'm scarier than the Bloody Baron, he's a ghost and therefore can't harm you or take points away from your house, and I on the other hand can.

Right I'm ready and I have plenty of time to complain to Dumbledore about Harry Potter before the students come down. Mmmm. I'm feeling more festive by the minute.

In the Great Hall, daring bats to fly to close to me.

Guess what, Dumbledore got bats. I despise him. I also moaned at him about Potter.

"Headmaster! A moment please." Me, billowing cloak, evil hat, evil pose.

"Yes Severus?" Dumbledore, stroking one of the bats under the chin.

"Harry Potter is a first year and therefore should not be allowed into the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It is a school rule and should therefore be upheld." Me wanting to squish the bat against the table.

"I am aware of that Severus."

Well why the hell aren't you stopping it then you doddering old codger? Get moving and tell that old bag that Gryffindor will just have to find a different seeker. Harry Potter is a first year and therefore cannot be in the Quidditch team. End of argument.

"Slytherin have won the Quidditch for many years, why not let another house have a chance?"

Why not? Why not? I'll tell you why not. Because it is HARRY POTTER! One of the Potties! Potty Number Five! Helllloooooo! Potties are the bane of my live; the want of seeing Potter humiliated is keeping me alive!

"Professor. I must insist." No, really I must.

"Now, now Severus. Why don't we go and enjoy the Halloween Feast?"

Because I don't enjoy anything. What is he wearing? I think he is colour-blind. It's Halloween! Black is the colour! Not orange!

Some little brats from Slytherin have just come up and presumed that I wish to be associated with them.

"Sir! Sir! What are you dressed up as?"

Me slowly turning purple as I survey him. Sometimes I despair. What do I look like? A piggin' PUMPKIN?

"Very amusing, Strudel."

What a stupid name, Strudel.

Sat at the teacher's table, swigging Firewhisky. Quirrel is nowhere to be seen, thank goodness.

I think McGonagall has rumbled my foolproof 'Pretend Firewhisky is actually Tea' plan.

"What are you drinking Severus?"

"Cat's blood, want to try some? I thought it would be more fitting with the Halloween theme." Haha. Stick that in your cat food and eat it.

"Severus. Really!"

Yes really.

"Really what, Minerva?" Ha.

"Is this really a good example to set the students?"

Who cares?

"I'll go and get some Firewhisky instead then, shall I?"

She gave me the hen's arse look. Don't think I don't know what you call me behind my back! Overgrown bat indeed!

A bat has just shat in my Firewhisky. It's McGonagall's fault. She distracted my attention away from stunning any that come too close.

Quirrel has just come running in shouting about a troll, down in the dungeons. He can't act for his life. I'm going to get some more Firewhisky. I'm sure there is another bottle in that cupboard. Dumbledore can sort this out. I'll just shuffle over here, and slip out this door. McGonagall hasn't spotted me. Potter has, damn it, RUN!

Back in bedroom, after Halloween Feast.

Unfortunately Quirrel caught me taking a shortcut through the third floor to get to my room and stuttered out an excuse.

"S…s…Severus! What are you d…d…doing up here?"

I could ask you the same question.

"Mainly making sure all the students have gone back to their dormitories and not gallivanting around trying to kill the troll by themselves. And you?"

"I…I…I was…looking for Erwin."

Yes. Hopefully Hagrid's dog has eaten it.

"Well I'm sure it'll turn up."

"But…But… He will be scared all alone in the dark."

Give me strength.

"It's an iguana."

"But… He has n…n…never been away f…f…from his d…daddy before."

Let him have a holiday, away from you. He's probably run off.

"Fine."

We went along the corridor, peering in various places when I yanked open the door at the end. I heard the lock break and suddenly a massive head sticks out of the doorway covered with hair, I thought it was Hagrid for a minute, until it took a chunk out of my leg. I have probably got rabies. Quirrel stood staring at me while I wrestled the damn dog back and shut the door on it, conjuring a new lock.

"Are you all right Severus?"

Do I look bloody fine to you! Maybe if my leg falls off it might give you a clue. Perhaps you have missed all the blood pouring out of my leg?

"Fine Quirrel. Let's find Dumbledore."

And what do I find, not Dumbledore, but McGonagall stood with the troll at her feet. And who should be stood there, with a grin plastered al over his smug little face? HIM! And his little Potty sidekick and Potterette brain box.

And what does McGonagall do? Gives them five points each! Pah! Quirrel collapsed again, clearly overreacting. Potter stared at my leg from which blood was still pouring. I hobbled off in the most dignified way possible.

Next morning, in staff room.

I woke up this morning to find that a bat had followed me to my room. I could hardly run around trying to hit it with a Daily Profit, so I opened the window and tried to shoo it out. Instead as I opened the window, McGonagall's tartan hat hit me square in the face. I peered out and spied the squid waving two tentacles in the air as either a victory dance or a very rude gesture. Then the bat chose that minute to fly out the window and clonked me over the back of the head. I have taken my chances and decided to drink coffee, even if I do spill it everywhere.

I have discovered a book hidden under McGonagall's chair. I was under there because I was looking for a straw. It's called 'The Knight's Bride.' Mills and Boon. Sick.

Look! Look at the drivel they write in these things:

'Their green eyes locked at close quarter and she felt trapped in a green sea of anguish. Slowly, the lashes dropped over the emerald orbs and his lips descended again, this time open and probing. Here was a kiss, not of peace, but of raging need and dark promise. Her insides melted like butter on a hot scone.'

Did they even have scones in 1314? I can't believe McGonagall reads this! It's set in Scotland, and McGonagall is old enough to have been around in 1314. Maybe she is reliving her romantic encounters? Eww. Wrong thought.

Damn. I have just spat coffee all over it. McGonagall is going to kill me. Quick! Hide the book and run.