Chapter 10: Dr. Diary
Dec 22
SLAM! Ruthlessly the heavy office door closed shut on Flitwick. Somehow the charms professor had gallingly managed to foist his Yuletide Ball duties on one very unhappy Professor Severus Snape. If that sly elven weasel did not cease with his incessant knocking, Snape vowed to toss him in the moat anchored to a grindylow. Fortunately the diminutive man gave up on further reconciliation as he could no longer withstand the 'gentle' protestations of an irate Snape. More likely the repetitive slamming of a door in Flitwick's face was hint enough.
There were more important plans to pursue for the week, none involved tangling with insanely clumsy aurors, hanging tinsel on backtalking evergreens or handing out candycanes to swotty brats who could not tell the difference between wolfsbane and hemlock. Plans should include: tying up the auror with tinsel then hanging the brats from the trees and poking them with the candycanes until they coughed up the two foot compositions that were given generously to them over the holidays.
An esteemed personage such as himself should be busy marking essays, arranging new lesson outlines, researching potions and recording his intelligent and insightful observations in scientific journals (not diaries). Now where was that blasted… diar– journal? Paranoia caused him to close the shutters and bolt the doors before entering his adjoined sleeping chambers. Furtively he retrieved an intricately carved oaken chest from beneath his mattress. It rattled like a boggart while he whispered the security incantations to unlock the box. After losing his mother's potion's text as a boy, he would not risk his… academic findings coming into the possession of any Tom, Dick or… Harry.
Gathering his favorite quill and a bottle of fresh ink, he returned to his desk and opened his journal. His journal was unorthodox to say the least and somewhat tempermental. Most importantly it was no diary! Diaries were for neurotic (see: psychotic) astronomy professors with penchants for hurtling coffee mugs like ceramic missiles at an innocent colleague accused of pilfering the last scrumptious pumpkin pastry from the staff break chamber. But you did pilfer the pastry… Snape discreetly concealed the pastry behind a photograph of Nicholas Flamel.
There was no evidence to support such a theory. Likely Pomona Spout had been cheating on her diet and absconded with the dessert in question. A likely story. Glaring heatedly at the photograph who guiltily wiped crumbs from his alchemist robes, the professor sorted through a stack of student papers separating them by house and alphabetically by last name.
Pfffffftttttt. And how did he know that Sinistra keeps a diary? He deduced this, one morning during a particularly bothersome faculty meeting. Her rabid scribblings in a notebook (aptly named 'Diary') went vastly unnoticed by the half snoring staff. Utterly revolting it was with the cliqued embossment of suns, moons and stars. He would dine on Filch's mop if it wasn't a horocrux. It was doubtful that her mad cackling was motivated by the study of the heavens or horoscope frippery that passed as a school subject these days. But then again Sinistra was always a few stars short of a constellation.
As he read through the abysmal excuses that posed as student essays, he was tempted to let the scrolls 'accidentally' slip away into the blazing fire. At least they would serve to keep the chill away if not for the entertainment value. As entertaining as a cruciatus. Dunderheads! How could one combine a curry recipe with Draught of Living Death – more like Draught of Toxic Flatulence.
In his boredom of red circles and scathingly critical comments, he wasn't sure whether he should laugh, cry or stab out his heart with a spoon. All he knew is that he had to keep himself from ripping out his hair by the roots… slowly. The journal beckoned, he could not resist turning its insidious page. You read Sinistra's diary didn't you? Severus pulled at his tight collar and hesitated slightly before penning his would be an invasion of privacy and it's highly improper. Like that has ever stopped you. Admittedly he happened to chance upon a few choice passages but he chose to ignore the book's jibe.
Gawking at Longbottom's potions paper with disbelief, he assigned it a Troll grade… unjustly. Obviously Granger did not assist Longbottom with his homework. For a spy you are a crap liar. And that paper was at least an Acceptable. The journal maintained in its neatly looping script. Cover to cover. But I possessed an altruistic purpose and not for indulging your prurient curiosity Journal. Furthermore I'll ask that you keep your scholastic opinions to yourself. If I wanted a fiction I would ask Trelawney to predict my future in the dregs of her sherry glass. Snape peered into his mug and wondered if the feathery object inside was floating or swimming the backstroke in his coffee.
I have been duly chastised. Continue on. I merely wanted to ascertain her views about our resident aristomancer. What did your ass certain? My ass is certain that those two don't want you poking your gigantic beak in their affairs.. Ascertain. Look it up in a dictionary. Troglodyte. I have a few instructive but physically impossible words for you buried in my glossary you… As the book lacked limbs to make the appropriate rude gestures, it wrote several illegible epithets in retort. Language. Journal or do you require vigorous scrubbing with lye and a threstral brush?
The journal's crass words halted in midsentence. Enlighten me with the information about Vector and Sinistra. Furtively he looked around before scrawling his answer in tiny precise letters. They are seeing each other romantically. Spill the juicy details I want to hear the lot. There are few details to spill. Disturbingly I noticed the two of them casting cow eyes at each other. To quote the teenage cretins lurking in my dungeon, it is enough to make me 'vomit in my mouth'. They are both bungling it. Vector wouldn't know romance if it jumped off his chalkboard and translated the multiplication runes into Aramaic. Sinistra… I can not even begin to list her shortcomings. How anyone would go for a sallow, pointy nosed, snarky, scrawny, diary writing, workaholic old maid like Aurora Sinistra…
Cough. Cough. Kettles and pots Snivellus. Kettles and pots. Charming. Liar, sneak, peeping tom, and regurgitating thief of pastries of the pumpkin persuasion. Confess thy sins wicked one and be absolved by the God of Ink and Parchment. I have it on impecable authority that a certain pink haired auror has been seen in the company of a sallow, pointy nosed, snarky, scrawny, diary writing, workaholic old bachelor. More scandalous is the lurid gossip concerning these two. The castle suits of armor were most edifying. They say you look good in a toga.
Flabbergasted, the alarmed professor hastily scribbled out a sketch of a mischievous sylph of girl with the uncanny resemblance of… And how is that delightful piece of baggage who goes by the name of Nymphadora Tonks? Nice likeness of her by the way but I don't think that her bosom is quite so… heaving. Wait. How are you so knowledgeable of heaving… bosoms. Because I am acquainted with a lecherous old wizard who subscribes to Playwizard… Heaving bosoms… attached to a stunning pair of gams, and an equally delectable derriere… that you could bounce a galleon off of… No more drooling dear boy you're making my bindings soggy. Bad wizard down boy. You'll need to go for a dunk in the loch… again. In an almost elegant motion Snape dabbed his mouth dry with a napkin.
I will have to speak with Flitwick concerning his interest in such sordid publications. Does it feel slightly heated in here? That was a rather unsuccessful avoidance of topic don't you think? So how fairs the fainting maiden? SHE has not spoken to me all day. Blessed silence. What a heavenly opera to my ears. No awkward small talk at the breakfast table, no muttered cursing while passing by each other in the halls. No interruptions while I'm hard at work ummm… writing scientific notes in my completely academic albeit sarky journal. Did I mention the peace and quiet? I could get used to this. Not a word, not an insult… not even an unladylike snort. Silence. Yes. Silence. His languid fingers flexed with stiffness after his lengthy exposition.
Maybe she's ignoring you. Snape stretched out too far in his leather armchair and toppled over. (Idiot.) Ignoring me?! Me? Professor Severus Snape, Deatheater, Order of the Phoenix spy, Potionmaster Second Order of Merlin, Dumbledore's righthand man (stooge). How dare SHE?!!! Rubbing his tender backside, he gathered up the scattered parchments from beneath the mahogany desk. Pity that none of them managed to end up in the hearth. Absently he stoked the embers back to life.
Because you are being a pompous greasy haired GIT. Trust me there are days when I want to glue myself closed instead of listening to you scroll on and on about Tonks this and Tonks that. It's enough to make me wish I listened to Mother Tree and became an encyclopedia instead. Just talk to her already. Tell her how you feel. Or are you afraid? Ridiculous. I am not a coward. It is uncouth of a gentleman to speak of … emotions. And I am not a greasy haired git, I'm an eccentric intellectual who is hair product challenged. I demand a retraction. And I demand a Pulitzer Prize but you don't see me bawling like a wee bairn. So less quilling in me and more wooing of said smart mouthed wench.
BAH! What do you know of les affaires du coeur, you associate with Witches' Weekly and the Quibbler. I can only imagine the mind numbing drivel you have been exposed he turned his attentions towards doodling a stickwizard dueling a stickwitch (who was victorious). Don't knock the new age hocus pocus. You might learn something about your chakra or how to touch your little wizard. Ahem I mean to get in touch with your inner wizard. Perhaps if I was not held hostage under YOUR bed all day I could expand my horizons at the library with a play or a sodding sonnet.
I do not keep you under lock and key. Do the words cruel and unusual punishment ring a bell? I have so many magical bindings around me, I'm starting to think you're into the bondage scene. Even I have a sense of decorum and I will thank you very much to refrain from gagging me. And pray tell what is that bog sludge lubricant you keep by your nightstand? It is not lubricant! It is tonic! It's so slippery. You could slather it all over the snitch so that Harry Potter won't capture it so easily while playing Slytherin. The Slytherin Head of House fumed from the reminder of his team's recent losing streak. He was sorely tempted to toss the snide non-diary off the astronomy tower in a flaming pile of owl dung. So is it ointment for your BROOMSTICK? Not like you've used it in a long time although judging by those callouses…
Shove a bookmark in it! Where was that flaming pile again… Can't, not with that wand lodged so far up there. Unclench already you're more bunged up than Umbridge without her prune enema. Vengefully Severus tore a page from the unrepenitent diary. YEOW! That was uncalled for. How would you like it if I ripped off pertinent bits and pieces from you. Mind you the witches won't be missing much. Insensitive meat bag bastard. That's my literature you're depriving the world of. The hacked off (literally) journal snapped shut on his assailant's nose.
Son of a disease ridden elm! I should drizzle you in aphid gravy and drop you in a termite mound. The harder he pulled, the more Journal squeezed. Flailing about the room, he bashed into a stone wall but the stubborn journal refused to let go. They both struggled to a fruitless stalemate. The diary still clamped tightly on the professor's hawkish appendage (nose of course) while the aggrieved professor attempted to despine his papered adversary.
Truce? Name your terms. Snape's voice was understandably muffled, suffocating between the musty somewhat more battered leatherbound covers of a blunt yet resilient volume known as Journal the Strangler. Do you acquiesce in the cessation of hostilities? One that does not involve scissors or origami of myself?I swear upon my Uncle Bible that I will not force you to choke on your pitiful stick art nor will I cause your untimely death by pushing all those heavy tomes from the top of the potions cupboard onto your exceedingly cantankerous skull. Truce his bruised nose, Snape eyed the journal with equal parts grudging respect and cagey wariness.May I toast to our mutual release? JOURNAL… Quite right I rather not witness THAT. As you were saying?
The business between myself and the auror is strictly professional. Uh huh. Do you doubt me? Permission to speak freely sir? (Like I ever grant you permission.) Are you thick? Somehow you have a beautiful witch under you spell. Seriously have you been dabbling in voodoo again? If so, there is a certain Marauder's Map I'd like to hex. I can hardly believe that any witch or wizard for that matter would be interested in getting into your cobweb filled drawers.
Journal received a spray of steaming coffee shot through one superciliously flared nostril in rebuttal. Lend me an umbrella your spittle is making me damp again and not in a saucy way. Do I have to spell it out for you El Snapeo? She likes you. You like her. You're a smart man where does this lead to? Impishly, the journal vandalized himself with pink and crimson cartoon hearts. That is preposterous. No. Preposterous is Dumbles thinking that he can match those lavendar and sienna robes with a mint green hat. This is a sure bet McSnape. Pursue her. Seduce her. Win her. Need I draw you diagrams? If it were so easy. She is so difficult and maddening. You're preaching to the choir book Snapey.
I am… uncertain as to which course of action to follow. Have a seat on the sofa and tell Dr. Diary everything. Reluctantly he sprawled his lean frame across the olive suede sofa with his hands neatly clasped together. Dr. Diary was propped up in Snape's chair and appeared to be taking copious notes in itself (actually it was amusing itself with naughty etchings but its patient was not privy to that fact).
If you reveal anything to anyone… Yes yes. Ritualistic sacrifice upon a hellish pyre. Must bring my own marshmallows. Don't bother yourself - the only ones I ever confide in are Sinistra's diary and Rita Skeeeter. WHAT?!!! Snape bolted upright in horror. Ha ha. Book make funny now grouchy man no poke hole with sharp quill. Savvy?
He almost wrote the word sneer on the page. First off. You sneer so much at the girl you might as well take a picture and just give it to her. Would save you the trouble and the wrinkles. Wrinkles where? Blah blah blah you are the fairest of the land. Now stop looking in the mirror Lockhart wannabe, you're going to crack the poor thing. Morganna save me from prima donna potionmasters / double agents/ headmaster's whipping boys with meglomaniac martyr complexes the size of Hagrid's three headed dog.
If you had a neck I would strangle you… and it would not be quick or without suffering for that matter. If I had hands I would hold myself and whap you upside the head for being a twat. Don't deny it. you fancy HER. Your infatuation is painfully apparent. You want her… If she were here right now you would sweep her into your crushing embrace, frantically strip her of every stitch and… Apparently the book had been fraternizing with several bodice ripping pirate romances.
ENOUGH! The diary aka journal was chucked rather forcefully against the mantle before it could complete its damning albeit delicious sentence. Minutes passed and the page remained eerily empty. Journal?! Are you alright? Groan. How can you treat me like I was a common takeaway pamphlet. Use me, abuse me and then pitch me. Don't be like that. Apologize. Forgive me. Snape rolled his eyes. I saw that eye roll. How the hell did you see that? I may be a diary but I'm not a braille tablet.
Fine I humbly ask your forgiveness. Tension broke his quill leaving him only the nub. I can't believe I'm apologizing to an enchanted diary with the soul of a soap actress and the morals of loo paper. Ah ha so I am a diary! Oi! Ow stop writing so hard. If you crease me I'll give you a papercut in a very uncomfortable place. Bah! You are but a JOURNAL and nothing more. Now cease these aggravating interjections. (More swearing occured between them involving orfices that don't exist on journals.)
Language Mr. Snape. I think that Glaswegian Sorting Hat is a bad influence on you. 10 points from Slytherin. With words like that I think I'll need another bath. In acid? I believe I can arrange that…Snape's teeth gnashed together in a snarl of frustration. Thoughts of 'recycling' his journal danced a violent tango in his head.
You made a spelling mistake. I never make mistakes. Yes you did right there. Where?The diary underlined the error in red mockingly with extra circles for cursed (nothing repeatable) before scratching out his mistake with an Ink Begone brush. His correction was completed with mercilessly vindictive quill strokes. Sadist. My poor vellum has been violated. Why do I even write to you? Why indeed. Caffeine was a weak medicine for dealing with his impending headache.
So are you going to ask HER to the ball? An unSnapelike expression of terror suffused his . I could always send her a letter on your behalf. That won't be necessary. (Translation: Maybe I should hie myself off the astronomy tower.) Casually Severus wondered how much pressure the journal could take before its bindings split. Or give her a peekshow of my pages. The dream sequences are definitely revealing… I think you have enough TALENT to author some erotica yourself. So much pent up lust Professor. Is that healthy? I fear you will burst. On second thought perhaps you already have… 10 – 9 – 8 – 7 -…
I will incinerate you. If I had a sickle for every time you used that old chestnut I'd be a Gringotts piggy bank. You'd be ashes. Ransacking his office for matches, Severus wished he hadn't sent out his wand for waxing. That is highly inflammatory sir. How would you like to line the bottom of Fawke's perch? I love it when you write dirty. Perhaps I'd move you to a different shelf away from that tarty French novel. Hmmm? Heartless wizard. Mon cherie and I make paragraphs sweet paragraphs together. Our love is eternalle. Whereas you and Tonks can't even get in a quick snog let alone a thorough shag! You wouldn't dare. Try me… Why don't you magick me up some feet so I can kick you in the… The beet faced man fastened the flapping book shut with a necktie… expertly knotted.
"And who says writing is therapeutic?" Tossing the journal into a laundry basket of smelly socks, Snape exited his office as if he were Egyptian royalty.
Go billow your cloak! Wanker.
A/N: Methinks he doth protest too much.
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Since I don`t Have You by Guns N Roses (Skyliners cover) - Easier by Dope
Lips of An Angel By Hinder -Already Over by Red
A Beautiful Lie by 30 Seconds to Mars - Done With You by Papa Roach
Away by Breaking Benjamin -Ex`s and Oh`s by Atreyu
Never Enough by Five Finger Death Punch