Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

This is a very short chapter because I'm exceedingly busy, basically. I promise to update reasonably soon however.

Chapter Eleven: The Moanings of an Overgrown Dungeon Dweller

Easter Holidays

I hate holidays, especially the ones when students don't go home. Why Dumbledore insists on leaving the school open for students to stay is beyond me, I can't go anywhere or do anything without seeing one of their ugly mugs gawping at me. It's as though they're surprised that I don't have a home to go to. On a more positive note, just before the holidays Trelawney predicted Potter's death again, which was quite exciting for all of about three minutes. Nothing ever happens around here.

Good Grief

Everyone is so damn childish! Who cares about a stupid Quidditch match? I've spent the last three days trying to separate Gryffindors and Slytherins when they've got into fights! I overheard Malfoy telling Crabbe and Goyle to 'sort Potter out' and chose to ignore it, deciding that they were probably joking and if not Crabbe and Goyle can't sort themselves out, never mind anyone else. I don't think Potter's got a lot to worry about somehow. I have been wondering why there are such a lot of stupid people in Slytherin, but then I spotted Longbottom and was thankful for the students I have.

Ah!

McGonagall keeps on going about Lupin, making comments whenever I see her and it's really starting to get on my wires. I haven't quite got round to apologising for what I said to her, and I somehow I don't think I ever will. Dumbledore has started appearing randomly and asking me stupid questions about my hobbies and what I do in my spare time. For some reason he didn't think 'pickling dead animals' and 'baiting Potter' were acceptable hobbies. And I'm not going to the Quidditch match tomorrow either, Dumbledore can stick it.

Why can't I get any PEACE?!!

At half eight this morning there was a knocking on my door as I didn't go to the Great Hall for any breakfast and I was planning on staying exactly where I was until after dinner when I had a second year lesson to teach. I opened the door and there was Dumbledore, looking happy and slightly concerned but with an air that he could sort out any problems that were presented.

"I did not SEE you at breakfast OR yesterday at the EVENING meal Severus. Is everything alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you SURE?"

"Yes."

"Then will YOU accompany ME to the Quidditch Match?"

"No." Dumbledore just raised an eyebrow and smiled happily. I hate him. "Fine Headmaster. I shall join you." Hate him. HATE him!

Stupid bloody Quidditch

I'm perched on a scabby bench, it's freezing cold, everyone is screaming and shouting and to top it all Dumbledore is sat next to me. Ha, they've all started fighting, that boy that looks like a gargoyle has had his face smashed into his broom handle and is bleeding everywhere at the minute. I conceed that this is quite entertaining. They should bring back blood sports.

We lost

It's crap. Though I'm not surprised, all Gryffindors are cheating swines. McGonagall is going to be gloating continuously for weeks. And Dumbledore had the audacity to suggest, just as the final whistle went, that I get a hobby that was acceptable in polite society. I nearly kicked the person sat in front of me in the head out of sheer shock.

Exams have started

Finally a bit of quiet. Exam time is always brilliant, students are all on edge and so are most of the teachers. I know that most of my students will fail and nothing I could do would help them. I don't see why Potions is compulsory for everyone, I have this argument with Dumbledore at the beginning of every year and it always ends up with Dumbledore changing the subject and before I realise what's happened we've been chatting about dragon spit for half an hour. I would devise a simple task to test the student's intelligence, willingness to learn and speed. I was thinking of handing them a vial of poison, the intelligent ones would never drink something handed to them by a Potion's teacher, the willing to learn ones would learn never to accept anything from me ever again and the speedy ones would run to Pomfrey before the poison made them immobile. I'd soon wheedle out the weak ones.