Monday.
Unfortunately, it is Monday morning and I am awake. Why I bother to get up at such dismal hours is beyond me. I quite like having a nocturnal schedule, and it is rather convenient for one whose classes are held only after dark. I normally prefer to spend my evenings awake and my days in rest. However, the Headmaster wishes to speak with me today, and so, here I am. On a Monday, of all days. I think this is enough evidence to prove that Dumbledore is, in fact, a sadist. Not that I disapprove of such things, but it is a bit much coming from a one hundred and fifty-year-old man.
Evidently, Professor Dumbledore wishes to put me in charge in an up and coming event. I can't see why he couldn't have told me this in an owl. Perhaps he was worried that the owl would mistake it for one of his regular Top Secret letters, and would swallow it after I received it. I assume this is the sort of normal procedure when Dumbledore sends owls out. Regardless of the reason, I am forced awake on a Monday morning with everyone else.
For some reason, it seems that all children are prone to develop some sort of disease that requires them to forget everything they have learned in five days over a matter of a two day weekend. It's almost interesting to watch, if it weren't so boring. This morning in the Great Hall at breakfast, they were all blinking as though mystified, looking like foetuses ripped out of the womb prematurely. Not only had they forgotten their newest Charms and spells, but they had apparently forgotten their way around the Great Hall, too.
I have noticed, in my day out of bed before sundown, that the more ghastly male members of this school's student body cannot eat without punching another male at the same time. Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle of Slytherin House seem to be the ones most severely inflicted with this problem. Fortunately, they seem only to affect each other with it, and the punches they receive have no effect at all. However, I had to take four points from Slytherin for the french toast they sent scattering across the floor, where it very nearly landed on my foot. As french toast is the devil incarnate, that simply wouldn't do.
Our dear little Sevvie was sentenced to an afternoon of chess with Professor Black yesterday afternoon. Apparently, several hours were spent, and no one checked mate. Perhaps they have gotten too far in age to check mate. Of course, having known Professor Snape as long as I have, I am quite aware that this is not, in fact, the case for him. I am certain that Madam Hooch would be in agreement.
Evidently, Professor Dumbledore wishes to put me in charge in an up and coming event. I can't see why he couldn't have told me this in an owl. Perhaps he was worried that the owl would mistake it for one of his regular Top Secret letters, and would swallow it after I received it. I assume this is the sort of normal procedure when Dumbledore sends owls out. Regardless of the reason, I am forced awake on a Monday morning with everyone else.
For some reason, it seems that all children are prone to develop some sort of disease that requires them to forget everything they have learned in five days over a matter of a two day weekend. It's almost interesting to watch, if it weren't so boring. This morning in the Great Hall at breakfast, they were all blinking as though mystified, looking like foetuses ripped out of the womb prematurely. Not only had they forgotten their newest Charms and spells, but they had apparently forgotten their way around the Great Hall, too.
I have noticed, in my day out of bed before sundown, that the more ghastly male members of this school's student body cannot eat without punching another male at the same time. Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle of Slytherin House seem to be the ones most severely inflicted with this problem. Fortunately, they seem only to affect each other with it, and the punches they receive have no effect at all. However, I had to take four points from Slytherin for the french toast they sent scattering across the floor, where it very nearly landed on my foot. As french toast is the devil incarnate, that simply wouldn't do.
Our dear little Sevvie was sentenced to an afternoon of chess with Professor Black yesterday afternoon. Apparently, several hours were spent, and no one checked mate. Perhaps they have gotten too far in age to check mate. Of course, having known Professor Snape as long as I have, I am quite aware that this is not, in fact, the case for him. I am certain that Madam Hooch would be in agreement.