(no subject)
Well, there's really no need for formalities, is there? I might as well go right into the fact that this bloody castle is a bloody nightmare and I bloody well will.
I've just woken up only to discover that my bed is now a mere foot from the floor. The house-elves are moving rather quickly in their efforts to shave the height from my bed posts. I don't know why they're doing it. I don't know what they think it's going to accomplish. All I know is my dormitory has become the sort of area receiving as much action at night as cornfields. My bed becomes lower to the ground as fast as a crop circle appears, and I'll tell you something, oh Hideous of Hogwarts - I have had enough. This cannot be borne!
Speaking of the house-elves, I received a voodoo doll in the mail with a note attached that read, 'One good turn deserves another.' Now, honestly. The spelling was acceptable, I suppose, so perhaps it wasn't from the house-elves. Doesn't anyone realise that voodoo dolls are so last term? And if it was meant to be a present, my little secret admirer should have known to send gold or jewels. Surely you can think of something a bit more useful than a voodoo doll.
Or perhaps this Bed Caper isn't the house-elves at all. Perhaps it's an inside job, and one performed by the same slippery little eel who sent me the voodoo doll. If any of you are working in cahoots with the house-elves, I'd just like to address how absolutely pitiful I think you are. And by thinking it, I've done more than you'll ever do.
Last week, which I'd fondly like to term Werewolf and Weasel Week, I was oh so privileged to spend two nights in a row in detention with Lupin and Weasley. First he forced us to clean out all of the cages of all of the bloody disgusting animals and beasts this school has to offer. And of course, the Weasel was an absolute klutz about it. He made me drop a jar of Grindylows and one of them latched onto my nose. My nose! This is the second time I've had an attack on my person related to my nose this term! First it's Potter maliciously socking me in the nose for minding my own business, now it's the Weasel sending his long-lost aquatic relatives to latch themselves onto me. This is balderdash! Oh, and you would think that Lupin might have helped, seeing as he is, oh, a professor. No, no. He just made the Weasel wrestle it off of me before having a good hearty laugh.
Then, the second night, I was forced into one of the biggest atrocities of my life. A more nauseating spectacle, I cannot recall: I was forced to watch a unicorn give birth.
I don't know what Lupin thought was going to be so special about this. I don't know why he thought it was going to turn into a great love-fest. I don't know what potions he's been drinking. What I do know is that unicorns don't allow males near them, so basically I was left to spend the evening standing around with the Weasel while lingering in the faint smell of after-birth.
And let me tell you something else, Hags of Hogwarts. Watching a unicorn being born is no bloody different from seeing anything else born. It's bloody disgusting. I was so revolted, I could hardly speak. Placenta. If anything, looking at placenta should be a form of punishment. Which, of course, it was, but the good old professor seemed to think this was the most delightful detention imaginable--probably right up there next to having acid poured into one's nostrils and wands shoved beneath one's fingernails. For some reason, the sight of this made me want to gouge my eyes out. Can you imagine? All of that miracle of birth and magic, and I get into a snit about after-birth. Silly me!
And another thing! Unicorns aren't even born with their bloody horn! It was like watching a goat being born. Oh, yeah, that's everyone's wildest fantasy, of course. Nothing says bonding quite like watching an after-birth laden goat come shooting out of the loins of a unicorn. The nutter professor looked downright pleased with himself, of course. Perhaps there's something about werewolfs and unicorn that they're keeping hush-hush.
Finally, he let us go, and I very nearly made it back to the dungeons to rip my eyes out when I ran into Professor Sinistra, who found it in her heart to spend a good few minutes discussing placenta with me. Then she made a comment about me turning the same colour as my TIE, and let me pass. What kind of school are we attending when the professors think it's amusing when their students are becoming ill?
Certainly My Father will not be amused to hear that I was subjected to such violent examples of the reproductive system. If I am, in fact, scarred for life, My Father definitely will not be pleased to note that the Malfoy lineage may stop at me thanks to a professor who thought it would be just spiffy to share what, exactly, Hell looks like.
For some reason, Lupin thought we'd learnt enough after that and called off the rest of the detentions. How very generous of him. Naturally the sight of placenta was a suitable punishment for improving upon Weasley's looks with a bit of produce. I'd hate to see what would have happened if I'd turned his ears to a dairy product.
Now, yesterday in Potions, I was ever so fortunate enough to be paired with Weasley and Potter to make a Sleeping Potion. One would think that even Gryffindors could accomplish making such a sodding easy potion. I don't want to name names, but I held up my end of the stirring. It certainly isn't my fault that the whole potion blew up all over Potter. And it really isn't my fault that the stupid sod went to sleep right there on the floor of the dungeons. Perhaps if the Weasel hadn't been trying to hex me across the cauldron, his little hero wouldn't still be sleeping right now. Professor Snape obviously agreed, because he assigned all of Ravenclaw House detention because of Potter, and gave a detention to the Weasel as well.
I don't know why the staff pairs me with anyone during these classes. Clearly I am far more advanced than the rest of my "peers." If anything, I should be working by myself so I'm not dragged down by their stupidity. I'll have to mention it to Father in my next owl.
I've just woken up only to discover that my bed is now a mere foot from the floor. The house-elves are moving rather quickly in their efforts to shave the height from my bed posts. I don't know why they're doing it. I don't know what they think it's going to accomplish. All I know is my dormitory has become the sort of area receiving as much action at night as cornfields. My bed becomes lower to the ground as fast as a crop circle appears, and I'll tell you something, oh Hideous of Hogwarts - I have had enough. This cannot be borne!
Speaking of the house-elves, I received a voodoo doll in the mail with a note attached that read, 'One good turn deserves another.' Now, honestly. The spelling was acceptable, I suppose, so perhaps it wasn't from the house-elves. Doesn't anyone realise that voodoo dolls are so last term? And if it was meant to be a present, my little secret admirer should have known to send gold or jewels. Surely you can think of something a bit more useful than a voodoo doll.
Or perhaps this Bed Caper isn't the house-elves at all. Perhaps it's an inside job, and one performed by the same slippery little eel who sent me the voodoo doll. If any of you are working in cahoots with the house-elves, I'd just like to address how absolutely pitiful I think you are. And by thinking it, I've done more than you'll ever do.
Last week, which I'd fondly like to term Werewolf and Weasel Week, I was oh so privileged to spend two nights in a row in detention with Lupin and Weasley. First he forced us to clean out all of the cages of all of the bloody disgusting animals and beasts this school has to offer. And of course, the Weasel was an absolute klutz about it. He made me drop a jar of Grindylows and one of them latched onto my nose. My nose! This is the second time I've had an attack on my person related to my nose this term! First it's Potter maliciously socking me in the nose for minding my own business, now it's the Weasel sending his long-lost aquatic relatives to latch themselves onto me. This is balderdash! Oh, and you would think that Lupin might have helped, seeing as he is, oh, a professor. No, no. He just made the Weasel wrestle it off of me before having a good hearty laugh.
Then, the second night, I was forced into one of the biggest atrocities of my life. A more nauseating spectacle, I cannot recall: I was forced to watch a unicorn give birth.
I don't know what Lupin thought was going to be so special about this. I don't know why he thought it was going to turn into a great love-fest. I don't know what potions he's been drinking. What I do know is that unicorns don't allow males near them, so basically I was left to spend the evening standing around with the Weasel while lingering in the faint smell of after-birth.
And let me tell you something else, Hags of Hogwarts. Watching a unicorn being born is no bloody different from seeing anything else born. It's bloody disgusting. I was so revolted, I could hardly speak. Placenta. If anything, looking at placenta should be a form of punishment. Which, of course, it was, but the good old professor seemed to think this was the most delightful detention imaginable--probably right up there next to having acid poured into one's nostrils and wands shoved beneath one's fingernails. For some reason, the sight of this made me want to gouge my eyes out. Can you imagine? All of that miracle of birth and magic, and I get into a snit about after-birth. Silly me!
And another thing! Unicorns aren't even born with their bloody horn! It was like watching a goat being born. Oh, yeah, that's everyone's wildest fantasy, of course. Nothing says bonding quite like watching an after-birth laden goat come shooting out of the loins of a unicorn. The nutter professor looked downright pleased with himself, of course. Perhaps there's something about werewolfs and unicorn that they're keeping hush-hush.
Finally, he let us go, and I very nearly made it back to the dungeons to rip my eyes out when I ran into Professor Sinistra, who found it in her heart to spend a good few minutes discussing placenta with me. Then she made a comment about me turning the same colour as my TIE, and let me pass. What kind of school are we attending when the professors think it's amusing when their students are becoming ill?
Certainly My Father will not be amused to hear that I was subjected to such violent examples of the reproductive system. If I am, in fact, scarred for life, My Father definitely will not be pleased to note that the Malfoy lineage may stop at me thanks to a professor who thought it would be just spiffy to share what, exactly, Hell looks like.
For some reason, Lupin thought we'd learnt enough after that and called off the rest of the detentions. How very generous of him. Naturally the sight of placenta was a suitable punishment for improving upon Weasley's looks with a bit of produce. I'd hate to see what would have happened if I'd turned his ears to a dairy product.
Now, yesterday in Potions, I was ever so fortunate enough to be paired with Weasley and Potter to make a Sleeping Potion. One would think that even Gryffindors could accomplish making such a sodding easy potion. I don't want to name names, but I held up my end of the stirring. It certainly isn't my fault that the whole potion blew up all over Potter. And it really isn't my fault that the stupid sod went to sleep right there on the floor of the dungeons. Perhaps if the Weasel hadn't been trying to hex me across the cauldron, his little hero wouldn't still be sleeping right now. Professor Snape obviously agreed, because he assigned all of Ravenclaw House detention because of Potter, and gave a detention to the Weasel as well.
I don't know why the staff pairs me with anyone during these classes. Clearly I am far more advanced than the rest of my "peers." If anything, I should be working by myself so I'm not dragged down by their stupidity. I'll have to mention it to Father in my next owl.