We have clearly reached a point where only rampant and unchecked stabbing can save us.

As the Potions Master of Hogwarts, I will take up the delightful challenge of slaying my comrades.

I shall start with the Gryffindors.

A recent complaint from a Slytherin student of mine has led me to believe that the Hogwarts' ghosts are playing a game, whereas the ghost who passes through the most people wins.

It's a distinctly unpleasant experience to have a ghost past through one's body.

I do not recommend it.

I believe the Bloody Baron is winning.

Pomfrey has always, and forever shall be, a permanent thorn in my side ( Read more... )

The door to the boy's dormitory has been replaced. I will never come to fathom how little girls could come to such a point as to burn down a door to get to their desires. I suppose it could be called excessive human behaviour, but I have no idea how to address the situation ( Read more... )

No person that is neither a Slytherin, student or a professor are allowed in the Slytherin common room or dormitories.

That means no Gryffindor students.

Any student that breaks this rule will be dealt with accordingly.

I trust that you will follow this rule and act as I would expect you too.

Apparantly the playboy of Slytherin has a fanclub.

I'm not surprised. The boy is terrified.

The fact that they burned down a door to get to him, is what surprises me. I chose the furnishings of the Slytherin chambers, common room and so on myself.

They burned down one of my doors ( Read more... )

I have forwarded Mr. Nott's letter to the Headmaster. Usually I would make the decision, but this time, I did not have the patience or time to make such a decision.

Autumn is here. I hear students already saying it's cold.

Cold.

I remember being thrown head-first into snow with a broken wand arm.

That's cold, you dunder-heads.

Trelawney was that woman? Impossible ( Read more... )

Boy bands are wrong and if one of my students ever joins one I will personally make sure their grandchildren have detention until their graduation.

That, or someone make that boy stop screeching into the bloody microphone. He sounds like a parrot.

I do not wish to recount the events which followed up to Nott's return. It would be tiring and rather forceful to say the least.

The ball has begun.

Where's the key to my bottle cabinet?