(no subject)
My day was spent toiling over incoherent essays by the third years. I fervently remember a particular essay by a third year saying that unicorns were "cute" and we should "not cut off their horns."
Cute.
Cuteness is abhorrent and should be restricted only to the vocabulary of giggly little eleven year old airheaded brats.
Dinner was bearly tolerable. The entire table of professors was wondering why a first year was flapping his arms about. I rather thought someone had hexed him, but Madame Pince was adamant that he was simply impersonating a duck for some unknown reason. It was later deduced that the first year had been talking animatedly about Quidditch.
I believe, Headmaster, that you expect me to tango with Professor Tonks.
I do not tango.
And I will not be attending the ball either.
Cute.
Cuteness is abhorrent and should be restricted only to the vocabulary of giggly little eleven year old airheaded brats.
Dinner was bearly tolerable. The entire table of professors was wondering why a first year was flapping his arms about. I rather thought someone had hexed him, but Madame Pince was adamant that he was simply impersonating a duck for some unknown reason. It was later deduced that the first year had been talking animatedly about Quidditch.
I believe, Headmaster, that you expect me to tango with Professor Tonks.
I do not tango.
And I will not be attending the ball either.