Introductory Post
I have spent the past fifteen years teaching Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Fifteen years. Nearly half my life spent trying to instill an appreciation for the subtle art of potion making in students whose hormone-and-Quidditch soaked little minds resist anything that requires thought or effort beyond the flick of a wand to get results.
There are few potion brewers of my calibre, which is likely why the headmaster refuses to give me the position I truly desire: Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. I am more than qualified; at age eleven, I knew more about the Dark Arts than all the rest of my fellow First Years combined, and my knowledge and skill have only increased since. The Dark Lord has returned, and we are at war, yet Albus continues to fill the position with whomever he can get for the past five years. So far, that has included a poncing git, a werewolf, an agent of the Ministry of Magic who tried to take over the school, and two servants of the Dark Lord. Sterling choices, indeed.
Meanwhile, I've been forced to play nursemaid for that spoilt, arrogant brat, Harry Potter, rescuing him from scrape after scrape. The boy couldn't find his ass with both hands, but he does manage to find trouble readily enough. It is but one of the drawbacks to being the Dark Lord's archenemy. He thinks he has had a difficult time of it so far, but it is nothing compared to what he will face before all is said and done.
As for myself, I continue to walk a fine line between the dark and the light, spying for the Order of the Phoenix in the guise of a Death Eater, one of the Dark Lord's followers. There are those who question my loyalty to Albus and to the Order; I did not join the ranks of the Death Eaters as a spy, after all. They may think what they please of me. My reasons and motivations are no one's business but my own.
There are few potion brewers of my calibre, which is likely why the headmaster refuses to give me the position I truly desire: Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. I am more than qualified; at age eleven, I knew more about the Dark Arts than all the rest of my fellow First Years combined, and my knowledge and skill have only increased since. The Dark Lord has returned, and we are at war, yet Albus continues to fill the position with whomever he can get for the past five years. So far, that has included a poncing git, a werewolf, an agent of the Ministry of Magic who tried to take over the school, and two servants of the Dark Lord. Sterling choices, indeed.
Meanwhile, I've been forced to play nursemaid for that spoilt, arrogant brat, Harry Potter, rescuing him from scrape after scrape. The boy couldn't find his ass with both hands, but he does manage to find trouble readily enough. It is but one of the drawbacks to being the Dark Lord's archenemy. He thinks he has had a difficult time of it so far, but it is nothing compared to what he will face before all is said and done.
As for myself, I continue to walk a fine line between the dark and the light, spying for the Order of the Phoenix in the guise of a Death Eater, one of the Dark Lord's followers. There are those who question my loyalty to Albus and to the Order; I did not join the ranks of the Death Eaters as a spy, after all. They may think what they please of me. My reasons and motivations are no one's business but my own.