The only true account of the Hallowe'en ball.
I'm updating from my four-poster in the Manor, as Father came and rescued me from the drear that is Hogwarts yesterday evening. The house-elves keep knocking on my bloody chamber doors and asking me if I'll be wanting anything special at the Gala. Mother's been by and kicked one down the stairs, though, so I think at least they'll think twice before trying it again. Of course, I doubt they've got the brains to think twice, but perhaps they'll surprise me.
Since everyone feels it's within their duty to give false testament to whatever goes on in this school, I feel I might as well give the truth before everyone else posts their imbecilic lies.
As everyone no doubt knows by now, I decided to go as Potter. After all, it is custom to dress up as the ghoulish for Hallowe'en. Professor Snape has been allowing me use of the dungeons all month, so brewing the Polyjuice Potion was simpleton's work (since, of course, I'm so advanced in Potions). All it was after that was a matter of borrowing a set of Potter's Quidditch robes, since his costume was so easily predictable.
Naturally, I decided to keep my costume secret, since there really isn't much fun in using Polyjuice if everyone else knows you're doing it. Pansy and Millicent were, of course, absolutely bothered over the fact that they couldn't know what I was going as. Earlier in the week, Pansy gave me an empty box, suggesting I wear the costume inside. How bloody hysterical. Although, I must say, Pansy's Little Red Riding Hood costume was smashing, from what I saw of it.
I managed to sneak out of Slytherin Tower without being seen and take Polyjuice in the lavatory on the sixth floor in the east wing. Unfortunately, I had to abandon my robes to change into the putrid Gryffindor Quidditch ones, and when I went back for them yesterday, someone had stolen them. They're Slytherin robes, and surely no one else in this House will fit in them. They have my name in the collar. So, on Monday, I expect I'll be turning the collar of every Slytherin in the school. Rest assured, not a single set of Slytherin robes will remain unchecked before I find out who stole my bloody uniform.
At any rate, it was embarrassingly easy to stroll right on into the Great Hall like that. Potter was already there, but all of his pathetic little fans kept greeting me anyway. "Oooh, Harry, are you a Seeker for Hallowe'en? That's great!" Evidently, the intelligence of a teenage icon does, in fact, reflect the intelligence of those who stupidly worship. I mean, really. A Seeker. What a clever costume choice for Potter!
But of course, the worst costume of all was the Weasel's. A horse. Or rather, a knight from a chess game, but apparently the idiot forgot to cut out holes for his arms, and he could scarcely walk. Granger was dressed in some sort of white coat for some reason, and Potter, naturally, was a Gryffindor Quidditch player, so the three of them were quite the trio of terrific lack of imagination and elegance as Potter and Granger did their weakest to carry Weasley around the Great Hall.
I, on the other hand, decided that I might as well have a bit of fun with Weasley, so after Potter and Granger left him propped up against a wall, I decided to swoop in and have a little chat with my friend.
And all the bloody sod did was complain. "Malfoy this, Malfoy that, Quidditch match was tied, he'll pay as soon as I get out of this costume", et cetera, et cetera. He kept making me go get him punch from the refreshments table! With a straw! I don't know who he thinks he is, ordering someone else around, like he's ever had a servant in his life. Of course, I had to have another dose of Polyjuice five minutes to every hour, so I couldn't even have any punch myself. I was thirsty. But did the Weasel offer me any punch? No! He drained the whole thing, said, "Thanks, Harry!" and then had the nerve to ask me to move him closer to the fireplace. Apparently, he was cold.
So, move him closer to the fireplace I did. It's not my fault the cuff of his trousers caught on fire. He said he was cold. Unfortunately, the fire went out pretty quickly, and the stupid poverty case wasn't even mad. He kept saying it wasn't my fault. Ha ha ha. Gryffindors are absolutely pathetic when they think they're talking to other Gryffindors, in case anyone was wondering what the inside scoop was there. As is the natural course of action that any sane man would find himself doing, I eventually got bored of the Weasel and went off to find Potter.
Unsurprisingly, while everyone else was dancing, Potter was standing by himself, ever the rejected wallflower. So, quite innocently, I decided to have a bit of conversation with him, and he was expectedly stupid. He didn't even seem phased that someone dressed up as him. He probably expects this sort of thing. Famous Harry Potter and all, why wouldn't someone dress up as him? After all, who wants to dress up as something noble when they can dress up as the Boy Who Lived? Free psychotic visions via your fake scar all evening! For the really dedicated fans, try carving your own scab into your head! You'll look wicked! He probably thought I'd ask him to sign my bloody forehead. Obviously, Potter reckoned that anyone dressing up as him would surely have noble intent, and wouldn't dream of using their costume to their advantage. Surely, he thought, that anyone dressing up as him would be a bloody fan of his. Everyone thinks he's such a great wizard, but he didn't even bother to suspect that anyone would use Polyjuice to do something to him. How very aware. The Dark Lord himself could have simply put on a Potter mask, and Potter probably would have handed him an autographed bottle of Butterbeer.
Not, of course, that I intended to do anything as Potter. I'm a Prefect, naturally, so I certainly wasn't planning on doing anything.
The ball itself was a snore, as per usual. The snarflatist in the orchestra played far too sharp, and the dinglequairer's robes were atrocious. Of course, all the Mudblood first years were boringly fascinated by the whole thing, as usual. They kept asking me what everything was, since I, famous Harry Potter, am such a kind soul. I told them to sod off and they looked like they were going to cry.
Goyle was a toad, and he did hop on my foot when he passed me. Since he was doing it thinking that I was Potter, I suppose it's all right. At least he's keeping the Gryffindors on their toes when I'm not around.
Of course, I had to duck into corners a few times to make sure my face didn't start transforming in the middle of the Great Hall, and might I just say that Polyjuice is absolutely appalling. We're wizards. You'd think we'd be able to come up with a suitable blend that wouldn't scald the senses and have the texture of mud. But no, no; no comfort for the sake of vanity. I managed to get it down, but I'll be glad not to do that again.
And onto the highlight of my evening, and the high peak of entertainment of everyone else's pathetic little lives.
As I was listening to Weasley go on about one Chudley Cannon or another, he noticed that the Weaselette was dancing with Das Boot, and flew into a fit of hysteria. Evidently, he can't handle seeing anyone else's hands on his sister. So he asked me, his best pal Harry, to go dance with her. What choice did I have? It was, after all, a favour to my good friend, Weasel.
So I cut in, pushed (Das) Boot aside, and the quivering little Weaselette looked ready to wet her knickers with delight. As we were dancing, all I did was ask her if she was cold. She obviously was. I could tell. Ha ha. And the pygmy mouse looked like she was going to burst into tears. Of course, she's obviously carrying a little torch around for Potter. Does anyone else remember the valentine she sent him in second year? I, personally, have a superb memory, so I just thought I'd take the opportunity, as Potter, to inquire about it. Surely she should have been thrilled about it, given the way she was practically trembling at the idea of dancing with "Potter", but no. Instead, she gave me this look like I'd ripped her kneazle's bladder out through its ear, and then the commotion started.
Since Weasley couldn't walk in his costume, what to my wondering eyes should appear but Potter rolling the Weasel over to the Weaselette and me. He started yelling, from the floor, about the fact that I wasn't Potter, so apparently the game was over. Well played on my part, of course.
I was perfectly willing to leave and let them do whatever they wanted for the rest of the evening, but apparently, Potter had figured out it was me. He wanted to know what I was doing! How thick can you get? As though it wasn't obvious that I was merely attending a Hallowe'en ball in costume. I, of course, was completely innocent. All I'd been doing was what the Weasel asked.
So, just to have a bit of fun with them, I said that Potter was Malfoy, and that I was the real Potter. Apparently, they can't take a joke, because Potter got out his wand and tried to hex me! I was only having a bit of fun with them. Obviously, he'd woken up on the sticky side of the mattress that morning, though, or else he was trying to make good on the threat to duel me he'd made in detention last week.
I had little choice but to defend myself with a counter-curse, and the duel was on. Meanwhile, the Weasel was still yelling from the floor like the moron he is, and before I knew it, Potter attacked me. He lunged at me! With his fist! His fist hit me in the face, and I had to fight for my life! He knocked me to the floor, and he had his Quidditch gloves on, too, so naturally I was left susceptible to harsh blows from the Boy With Pent Up Anger. Before I, the innocent, knew what was happening, I was caught in a schoolyard fight on the floor of the Great Hall. I smashed my elbow on the Weasel's stupid bloody costume, since he was right there on the floor with us, and we ended up knocking him over so he was face-down. Too bad I didn't get to enjoy the sight of him shouting into the floor.
Potter was obviously trying to take all his troubles out on me, just because I happened to be there, and I nearly died. I was practically choking on my own blood, and he broke my fake Potter glasses!
Finally--and far too late, if you ask me--Professor Snape, Professor Vector, and McGonagall came over and pulled us apart, at which point I was grabbed around the middle by Professor Vector, who is apparently stronger than she looks. There was blood pouring out of my sodding face, it was running down underneath my robes, and I was already starting to feel faint from the blood loss. So when I saw the Mudblood looking ready to hex me herself, I was already understandably irritated. I'd just been attacked! For no reason!
She was staring at me, which, of course, was because of the blood. Being a Pureblood, I'm sure my blood looks awe-inspiring to her. ALL I said was, "Take a good look, Granger - this is the closest to Pureblood you'll ever get." What's the big sodding deal there? I was just stating the facts.
It's not my fault I just happened to spit a mouthful of blood in her face. I don't know why McGonagall looked so bloody horrified. It was either that, or choke on the blood.
If you ask me, I did the girl a favour. Surely it's hard to live with yourself when you're a Mudblood. I'm sure she was thrilled at the chance to have Pure blood anywhere on her. In fact, spitting in her face was far too charitable of me.
So, the professors dragged Potter and me out of the Hall and practically threw us into the nearest office they could find, put a Revealing Charm on me, and they didn't even bother taking me to the infirmary! Professor Snape looked rather amused, and of course, being the brilliant man that he is, he saw that this was all Potter's fault and took fifty points from Gryffindor. McGonagall, on the other hand, is clearly in Potter's favour, and took fifty points from Slytherin. Why should I lose points for being attacked?
Of course, no one was paying much attention to the fact that I was BLEEDING.
BLOOD WAS COMING OUT OF MY FACE.
BLOOD, MY BODY'S NUTRIENT, WAS LEAKING ONTO THE FLOOR.
Professor Vector, instead of helping, just watched Potter the whole bloody time like he was a unicorn sitting in an office chair. Meanwhile, I WAS SUFFERING FROM SEVERE BLOOD LOSS.
I COULD HAVE DIED OF BLOOD LOSS, AND THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN NONE THE WISER.
I felt so faint that I ended up collapsing onto the floor, never mind, of course, that I could have gagged from the blood running down my throat, and no one paid any mind at all.
Finally, Professor Vector got Professor Snape and McGonagall to stop arguing, so they could decide OUR punishments in the corridor. OUR! As though I'd done anything! I was lying on the floor, bleeding out of the FACE, and there they were, off to discuss how I should be punished for staining the rug!
And then, Vector said that Potter and I had to fix each other's injuries, since we'd given them to each other. Apparently, we were to use our "extensively learned knowledge" from Black in Defence Against the Dark Arts for this. As though Black has ever taught us anything. And then they left us alone. How intelligent. Yes, leave me alone with the insane orphan who tried to strangle me with his bare hands and instruct him to point his wand at my face. How wise.
Potter claimed that he wasn't trying to hex me in the Hall, that he was trying to put a Revealing Charm on me, but I'm certainly not buying that. Then, he had the gall to say ask if I could get up from the floor. Possibly he wanted to pummel me some more. Of course, I wasn't letting him anywhere near my face with a wand, and I certainly wasn't going to play nurse and fix him up, so I let him fix his own sodding injuries. Of course, I was far too weak from the blood loss to get up from the floor, so I was practically paralysed.
But no, no. Potter grabbed my arm and yanked me up, regardless of my gushing wound. For some reason, Potter thought he had permission to touch my person. So, what else could I do but try to fix my own wounds? Of course, Black has never been a proper professor, but I've at least had some experience with every sort of magic, thanks to My Father's guidance. Except, of course, for the fact that there was blood everywhere and I couldn't see what I was doing.
When the professors finally returned, Professor Vector issued us detention with her for a bloody week (starting Monday), seventy-five points were taken from each House, and, since Potter also attacked me at the Bleu Ball, we've both been banned from the next ball Hogwarts has to prevent us from turning this into an annual event. No loss there.
And on top of it all, we each have to write a NINE FOOT essay on the advantages of Muggle to Wizarding society.
And what did the rest of the school do while I was being mistreated? They bloody kept on dancing, that's what they did. Dumbledore told them all to continue enjoying themselves, apparently.
When I finally returned to the Slytherin common room, Pansy and Millicent were at least rather appreciative of the events. They did not, however, seem very concerned about my face, which was surely still stained with blood.
I was excused from classes all day yesterday, fortunately. Father finally rescued me, and now here I am, at the Manor. My Parents are having their Gala tonight, for which I'll have to make an appearance, but after the injuries I've suffered, I'm not sure I'll really be up to spending the whole night socialising. Father, of course, is intending on writing a letter to Dumbledore as soon as he has time. There's absolutely no reason I should be punished for Potter's actions. It's an absolute outrage.
Mother was dreadfully upset to find out I'd been injured, again, by Potter, again, since he's broken my nose once already this year. She was absolutely devastated. So not only has Potter caused physical harm to me, but he's caused emotional harm to My Mother.
I'm convinced that Professor Vector is some sort of a sadist, which I'd never realised before. Luckily I'm enjoying this weekend of bed rest before I'm condemned to a week of labour because of Potter. Again.
I think it's safe to say my costume was the best at the ball. No contest.
Since everyone feels it's within their duty to give false testament to whatever goes on in this school, I feel I might as well give the truth before everyone else posts their imbecilic lies.
As everyone no doubt knows by now, I decided to go as Potter. After all, it is custom to dress up as the ghoulish for Hallowe'en. Professor Snape has been allowing me use of the dungeons all month, so brewing the Polyjuice Potion was simpleton's work (since, of course, I'm so advanced in Potions). All it was after that was a matter of borrowing a set of Potter's Quidditch robes, since his costume was so easily predictable.
Naturally, I decided to keep my costume secret, since there really isn't much fun in using Polyjuice if everyone else knows you're doing it. Pansy and Millicent were, of course, absolutely bothered over the fact that they couldn't know what I was going as. Earlier in the week, Pansy gave me an empty box, suggesting I wear the costume inside. How bloody hysterical. Although, I must say, Pansy's Little Red Riding Hood costume was smashing, from what I saw of it.
I managed to sneak out of Slytherin Tower without being seen and take Polyjuice in the lavatory on the sixth floor in the east wing. Unfortunately, I had to abandon my robes to change into the putrid Gryffindor Quidditch ones, and when I went back for them yesterday, someone had stolen them. They're Slytherin robes, and surely no one else in this House will fit in them. They have my name in the collar. So, on Monday, I expect I'll be turning the collar of every Slytherin in the school. Rest assured, not a single set of Slytherin robes will remain unchecked before I find out who stole my bloody uniform.
At any rate, it was embarrassingly easy to stroll right on into the Great Hall like that. Potter was already there, but all of his pathetic little fans kept greeting me anyway. "Oooh, Harry, are you a Seeker for Hallowe'en? That's great!" Evidently, the intelligence of a teenage icon does, in fact, reflect the intelligence of those who stupidly worship. I mean, really. A Seeker. What a clever costume choice for Potter!
But of course, the worst costume of all was the Weasel's. A horse. Or rather, a knight from a chess game, but apparently the idiot forgot to cut out holes for his arms, and he could scarcely walk. Granger was dressed in some sort of white coat for some reason, and Potter, naturally, was a Gryffindor Quidditch player, so the three of them were quite the trio of terrific lack of imagination and elegance as Potter and Granger did their weakest to carry Weasley around the Great Hall.
I, on the other hand, decided that I might as well have a bit of fun with Weasley, so after Potter and Granger left him propped up against a wall, I decided to swoop in and have a little chat with my friend.
And all the bloody sod did was complain. "Malfoy this, Malfoy that, Quidditch match was tied, he'll pay as soon as I get out of this costume", et cetera, et cetera. He kept making me go get him punch from the refreshments table! With a straw! I don't know who he thinks he is, ordering someone else around, like he's ever had a servant in his life. Of course, I had to have another dose of Polyjuice five minutes to every hour, so I couldn't even have any punch myself. I was thirsty. But did the Weasel offer me any punch? No! He drained the whole thing, said, "Thanks, Harry!" and then had the nerve to ask me to move him closer to the fireplace. Apparently, he was cold.
So, move him closer to the fireplace I did. It's not my fault the cuff of his trousers caught on fire. He said he was cold. Unfortunately, the fire went out pretty quickly, and the stupid poverty case wasn't even mad. He kept saying it wasn't my fault. Ha ha ha. Gryffindors are absolutely pathetic when they think they're talking to other Gryffindors, in case anyone was wondering what the inside scoop was there. As is the natural course of action that any sane man would find himself doing, I eventually got bored of the Weasel and went off to find Potter.
Unsurprisingly, while everyone else was dancing, Potter was standing by himself, ever the rejected wallflower. So, quite innocently, I decided to have a bit of conversation with him, and he was expectedly stupid. He didn't even seem phased that someone dressed up as him. He probably expects this sort of thing. Famous Harry Potter and all, why wouldn't someone dress up as him? After all, who wants to dress up as something noble when they can dress up as the Boy Who Lived? Free psychotic visions via your fake scar all evening! For the really dedicated fans, try carving your own scab into your head! You'll look wicked! He probably thought I'd ask him to sign my bloody forehead. Obviously, Potter reckoned that anyone dressing up as him would surely have noble intent, and wouldn't dream of using their costume to their advantage. Surely, he thought, that anyone dressing up as him would be a bloody fan of his. Everyone thinks he's such a great wizard, but he didn't even bother to suspect that anyone would use Polyjuice to do something to him. How very aware. The Dark Lord himself could have simply put on a Potter mask, and Potter probably would have handed him an autographed bottle of Butterbeer.
Not, of course, that I intended to do anything as Potter. I'm a Prefect, naturally, so I certainly wasn't planning on doing anything.
The ball itself was a snore, as per usual. The snarflatist in the orchestra played far too sharp, and the dinglequairer's robes were atrocious. Of course, all the Mudblood first years were boringly fascinated by the whole thing, as usual. They kept asking me what everything was, since I, famous Harry Potter, am such a kind soul. I told them to sod off and they looked like they were going to cry.
Goyle was a toad, and he did hop on my foot when he passed me. Since he was doing it thinking that I was Potter, I suppose it's all right. At least he's keeping the Gryffindors on their toes when I'm not around.
Of course, I had to duck into corners a few times to make sure my face didn't start transforming in the middle of the Great Hall, and might I just say that Polyjuice is absolutely appalling. We're wizards. You'd think we'd be able to come up with a suitable blend that wouldn't scald the senses and have the texture of mud. But no, no; no comfort for the sake of vanity. I managed to get it down, but I'll be glad not to do that again.
And onto the highlight of my evening, and the high peak of entertainment of everyone else's pathetic little lives.
As I was listening to Weasley go on about one Chudley Cannon or another, he noticed that the Weaselette was dancing with Das Boot, and flew into a fit of hysteria. Evidently, he can't handle seeing anyone else's hands on his sister. So he asked me, his best pal Harry, to go dance with her. What choice did I have? It was, after all, a favour to my good friend, Weasel.
So I cut in, pushed (Das) Boot aside, and the quivering little Weaselette looked ready to wet her knickers with delight. As we were dancing, all I did was ask her if she was cold. She obviously was. I could tell. Ha ha. And the pygmy mouse looked like she was going to burst into tears. Of course, she's obviously carrying a little torch around for Potter. Does anyone else remember the valentine she sent him in second year? I, personally, have a superb memory, so I just thought I'd take the opportunity, as Potter, to inquire about it. Surely she should have been thrilled about it, given the way she was practically trembling at the idea of dancing with "Potter", but no. Instead, she gave me this look like I'd ripped her kneazle's bladder out through its ear, and then the commotion started.
Since Weasley couldn't walk in his costume, what to my wondering eyes should appear but Potter rolling the Weasel over to the Weaselette and me. He started yelling, from the floor, about the fact that I wasn't Potter, so apparently the game was over. Well played on my part, of course.
I was perfectly willing to leave and let them do whatever they wanted for the rest of the evening, but apparently, Potter had figured out it was me. He wanted to know what I was doing! How thick can you get? As though it wasn't obvious that I was merely attending a Hallowe'en ball in costume. I, of course, was completely innocent. All I'd been doing was what the Weasel asked.
So, just to have a bit of fun with them, I said that Potter was Malfoy, and that I was the real Potter. Apparently, they can't take a joke, because Potter got out his wand and tried to hex me! I was only having a bit of fun with them. Obviously, he'd woken up on the sticky side of the mattress that morning, though, or else he was trying to make good on the threat to duel me he'd made in detention last week.
I had little choice but to defend myself with a counter-curse, and the duel was on. Meanwhile, the Weasel was still yelling from the floor like the moron he is, and before I knew it, Potter attacked me. He lunged at me! With his fist! His fist hit me in the face, and I had to fight for my life! He knocked me to the floor, and he had his Quidditch gloves on, too, so naturally I was left susceptible to harsh blows from the Boy With Pent Up Anger. Before I, the innocent, knew what was happening, I was caught in a schoolyard fight on the floor of the Great Hall. I smashed my elbow on the Weasel's stupid bloody costume, since he was right there on the floor with us, and we ended up knocking him over so he was face-down. Too bad I didn't get to enjoy the sight of him shouting into the floor.
Potter was obviously trying to take all his troubles out on me, just because I happened to be there, and I nearly died. I was practically choking on my own blood, and he broke my fake Potter glasses!
Finally--and far too late, if you ask me--Professor Snape, Professor Vector, and McGonagall came over and pulled us apart, at which point I was grabbed around the middle by Professor Vector, who is apparently stronger than she looks. There was blood pouring out of my sodding face, it was running down underneath my robes, and I was already starting to feel faint from the blood loss. So when I saw the Mudblood looking ready to hex me herself, I was already understandably irritated. I'd just been attacked! For no reason!
She was staring at me, which, of course, was because of the blood. Being a Pureblood, I'm sure my blood looks awe-inspiring to her. ALL I said was, "Take a good look, Granger - this is the closest to Pureblood you'll ever get." What's the big sodding deal there? I was just stating the facts.
It's not my fault I just happened to spit a mouthful of blood in her face. I don't know why McGonagall looked so bloody horrified. It was either that, or choke on the blood.
If you ask me, I did the girl a favour. Surely it's hard to live with yourself when you're a Mudblood. I'm sure she was thrilled at the chance to have Pure blood anywhere on her. In fact, spitting in her face was far too charitable of me.
So, the professors dragged Potter and me out of the Hall and practically threw us into the nearest office they could find, put a Revealing Charm on me, and they didn't even bother taking me to the infirmary! Professor Snape looked rather amused, and of course, being the brilliant man that he is, he saw that this was all Potter's fault and took fifty points from Gryffindor. McGonagall, on the other hand, is clearly in Potter's favour, and took fifty points from Slytherin. Why should I lose points for being attacked?
Of course, no one was paying much attention to the fact that I was BLEEDING.
BLOOD WAS COMING OUT OF MY FACE.
BLOOD, MY BODY'S NUTRIENT, WAS LEAKING ONTO THE FLOOR.
Professor Vector, instead of helping, just watched Potter the whole bloody time like he was a unicorn sitting in an office chair. Meanwhile, I WAS SUFFERING FROM SEVERE BLOOD LOSS.
I COULD HAVE DIED OF BLOOD LOSS, AND THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN NONE THE WISER.
I felt so faint that I ended up collapsing onto the floor, never mind, of course, that I could have gagged from the blood running down my throat, and no one paid any mind at all.
Finally, Professor Vector got Professor Snape and McGonagall to stop arguing, so they could decide OUR punishments in the corridor. OUR! As though I'd done anything! I was lying on the floor, bleeding out of the FACE, and there they were, off to discuss how I should be punished for staining the rug!
And then, Vector said that Potter and I had to fix each other's injuries, since we'd given them to each other. Apparently, we were to use our "extensively learned knowledge" from Black in Defence Against the Dark Arts for this. As though Black has ever taught us anything. And then they left us alone. How intelligent. Yes, leave me alone with the insane orphan who tried to strangle me with his bare hands and instruct him to point his wand at my face. How wise.
Potter claimed that he wasn't trying to hex me in the Hall, that he was trying to put a Revealing Charm on me, but I'm certainly not buying that. Then, he had the gall to say ask if I could get up from the floor. Possibly he wanted to pummel me some more. Of course, I wasn't letting him anywhere near my face with a wand, and I certainly wasn't going to play nurse and fix him up, so I let him fix his own sodding injuries. Of course, I was far too weak from the blood loss to get up from the floor, so I was practically paralysed.
But no, no. Potter grabbed my arm and yanked me up, regardless of my gushing wound. For some reason, Potter thought he had permission to touch my person. So, what else could I do but try to fix my own wounds? Of course, Black has never been a proper professor, but I've at least had some experience with every sort of magic, thanks to My Father's guidance. Except, of course, for the fact that there was blood everywhere and I couldn't see what I was doing.
When the professors finally returned, Professor Vector issued us detention with her for a bloody week (starting Monday), seventy-five points were taken from each House, and, since Potter also attacked me at the Bleu Ball, we've both been banned from the next ball Hogwarts has to prevent us from turning this into an annual event. No loss there.
And on top of it all, we each have to write a NINE FOOT essay on the advantages of Muggle to Wizarding society.
And what did the rest of the school do while I was being mistreated? They bloody kept on dancing, that's what they did. Dumbledore told them all to continue enjoying themselves, apparently.
When I finally returned to the Slytherin common room, Pansy and Millicent were at least rather appreciative of the events. They did not, however, seem very concerned about my face, which was surely still stained with blood.
I was excused from classes all day yesterday, fortunately. Father finally rescued me, and now here I am, at the Manor. My Parents are having their Gala tonight, for which I'll have to make an appearance, but after the injuries I've suffered, I'm not sure I'll really be up to spending the whole night socialising. Father, of course, is intending on writing a letter to Dumbledore as soon as he has time. There's absolutely no reason I should be punished for Potter's actions. It's an absolute outrage.
Mother was dreadfully upset to find out I'd been injured, again, by Potter, again, since he's broken my nose once already this year. She was absolutely devastated. So not only has Potter caused physical harm to me, but he's caused emotional harm to My Mother.
I'm convinced that Professor Vector is some sort of a sadist, which I'd never realised before. Luckily I'm enjoying this weekend of bed rest before I'm condemned to a week of labour because of Potter. Again.
I think it's safe to say my costume was the best at the ball. No contest.