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Dumbledore's Diary by HermyDat

Format: Novella
Chapters: 2
Word Count: 2,102
Status: WIP

Rating: 12+
Warnings: No Warnings

Genres: Humor
Characters: Harry, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape
Pairings:

First Published: 12/04/2008
Last Chapter: 12/04/2008
Last Updated: 12/08/2008

Summary:
A lot of insane rambling from our favourite Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. You will laugh. You will. Trust me.


Chapter 1: When Is a Potions Master?
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ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE

Sunday 1st September
11:00pm, My bedroom


And so the school year begins.
I knew because, just as I was getting changed into my new pajamas (blue and white stripes, the best kind) and getting ready for bed, who was to burst in but Severus.
He was looking as dramatic and forbidding as ever, nostrils flaring, cloak billowing and so on. Quite ridiculous. I remember finding a fan hidden in his socks one afternoon, after I noticed his cloaks whipping and flapping about quite independently. Don't ask me how I found them. That is between Severus, Madam Pomfrey, a Gryffindor spoon, and I. It shall stay that way. Unless the spoon suddenly discovers the power of speech, which I doubt since we destroyed it a few days after.

I believe that he has been forced to speed-walk through the corridors ever since.

But anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes. So he burst in on me quite unexpectedly, and I believe I may have been humming 'Chariots of Fire' and running in slow-motion around my bed, but I don't really need to go into details. The fact is, after he regained consciousness, he drew himself to his full height (with an expression of pain, as though he had been permanently scarred, but it can't have been my partial nudity).

Then he started to talk, and it all went downhill from there.

“Professor, I need to talk to you about the Defense against the Dark Arts job.”

I put my fingers together in the way I normally do when I am trying to stall for time, and looked thoughtful. Unfortunately, it is much easier to do that with a desk in front of you. At first, my elbows sort of floated around for a bit, then I decided to rest them on my hips, and continued to gaze at him. I believe the added hip-action made me look rather fetching.

“Sna – Severus,” I said serenely. (Serenely is my word of the week, although I am struggling a little since it doesn't seem to fit into any of my sentences.) “Professor Quirrel is quite capable -”

“How much did he pay you?” he interrupted.

“I – it's not important.” Merlin's darned socks, how did he know about that?

“Come on, Headmaster. How much? Because I'll top it. I'll … I'll … double it. Triple it. I'll quadruple it if I have to.”

“I … well …” I stuttered. I noticed in my panic that I had completely lost control of my elbows now, and they were sort of having little spasms. I tried to turn it into a native elbow dance. Then I blushed, and hung my head in shame. “Two penguin-shaped erasers and a packet of jelly beans.”

He shook his head in disgust.

11.30pm, Still in my bedroom

That man has been in my office for half an hour. Half an hour! Stinking up the place with his rants about Quirrel. At least, I believe he was still talking about Quirrel. I had stopped listening about 25 minutes ago, but every now and again words like 'abomination' and 'troll' and 'walks along the beach' puncture my daydreams.

I am still not quite sure how 'walks along the beach' fits in. But there is a logical explanation for everything.

Including the reason for Snapey's sudden need to become a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“Severus, please stop,” I said serenely.

He quite literally growled at me, like a dog or perhaps a small wolf.

“ 'I've got you figured out, Severus,' he said serenely,” I said serenely.

He just stared, but I internally whooped and punched the air. Yes! I had gotten my word of the week into a sentence! Now there was no stopping me. I felt as though I could conquer the world. One small step for me, one giant leap for mankind!

“You just want to get in with Harry Potter!” I declared, pointing an accusing finger at him (in a very dramatic but also intelligent way). “You want to get his autograph first, don't you? Well, why can't you just get it as his Potion's Teacher?”

He did a lot of nervous, downright shameful feet-shuffling, eye-avoiding diversionary tactics. But I saw right them, of course. I am very serene, as you will know.

“So what are your tactics, Severus?” I asked.

He sighed. “I had the scenario all worked out. I would be his favourite teacher, good old Professor Snape. We would joke around, you know? Have a bit of a laugh. Then I'd go, 'Oi, Harry, give me your autograph, will you?' and he would.”

“If I might say so, that is possibly the worst plan I have ever heard,” I said simply.

He glared at me. “I'd like to see you do better.”

I smiled. Serenely. “Alright then, you're on,” I said. “You have to get Harry Potter's autograph as his Potion's Teacher, and I have to get it as his Headmaster. Agreed?”

“Fine,” he muttered.

I launched myself into my 'Victory Speech'. Not many people have had the privilege to hear my Victory Speech, which is a shame, as it is one that would stir nations. It basically goes along the lines of 'I will win, you will lose, etc etc …' except in a much more inspiring and powerful way. Plus, I worked out how much money it would take to copyright the speech, and it is quite frankly not worth it. I am saving up for one of those toy hoovers, anyway. You know, the ones with the little balls in, that go round and round? Genius.

Anyway, to my absolute horror, he stopped me halfway through my Victory Speech. That's right. He stopped me. Not only did he stop me, but he whipped up his hand and started to sniff the air with those infuriatingly large nostrils.

“What ...”

“Tuna!” he exclaimed.

“You … what?!

“There is a distinct scent of tuna in the air. If I may, Professor -”

And to my utter disgust, he seized my hands and began to sniff them. I believe I may have blacked out a few times. My eyes rolled up into my head. Severus Snape was … touching me.

I regained control of my body, and said in a voice of forced calm, “Severus, I have neither seen nor touched tuna since the year 1990, as you may well know. I have mild allergies.”

Ha! That was a lie I was forced to tell due to the seriousness of the situation. As it happens, I love tuna. However, I do have a tendency to come out in a rash when I eat pecan nuts.

But he ignored me, and started to move further downwards, sniffing all the way. Eventually, he was knelt on all fours, sniffing the floor around my feet. I believe I was then in a state of shock.

Anyway, he moved away from my feet and started to rummage under my bed. MY BED! I hoped he wouldn't see my collection of china tea sets. Before I could protest, however, I heard him give a shout of jubilation, and he emerged from the bed, holding a small lump of …

“Tuna! I knew it!” he stood up, brushed himself off, and started to examine the lump, holding it gently with his forefinger and thumb. “Unless I am very much mistaken, Headmaster, this small lump of fish has been sitting underneath your bed for almost 11 years!”

He was very much mistaken. I had had a tuna sandwich only yesterday, as a light snack. It may have also contained sweetcorn, but I forget the details.

Anyway, I watched in dismay as he pocketed the lump, and simply walked out of my bedroom, whistling as he went.

So is my life.



Chapter 2: Dizzy On Lemonade
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Monday 2nd September
9:00am, just after breakfast


Great news! I've found a giant Oaty Flake!

Snape swears he found it first, and we had a bit of an arm wrestle with a hint of fisticuffs over it, with McGonagall refereeing. I only wish it hadn't been at the staff table. It was disappointing to have to hold in my celebration dance, and I wasn't even allowed to rub my victory in his face.

I think I will get the Flake laminated, just to annoy him.

10:30, in my office

Hoorah! The most unbelievably mind-blowing thing has happened, possibly even better than the discovery of that Oaty Flake! (It really was a huge Oaty Flake. I believe it was even worth the black eye that is now blooming on my face).

Sorry, I am distracting myself. What was I saying? Ah, yes. The mind-blowing event. My new balls have arrived! It has really perked me up. My old balls were a disgrace to ball-kind, all mouldy and holey. But now I have the most stunning set of huge shiny silver balls, and I am the happiest man alive.

I must admit that my golf-playing had been suffering a great deal.

McGonagall walked in on my celebrations, which was a little unfortunate. I did invite her to join in, but she rudely rejected my invitation. It was rather embarrassing, actually. She looked at the banners I had hung up around my office ('Greetings to my new set of balls!') and the picnic I had set up on my office floor, and mumbled something that sounded like “Urghfier ...” and walked out of my office backwards.

First Severus, now Minerva! Perhaps I should consider a 'Staff Therapy Program.'

She didn't even want a party hat.


12:00pm, In the Great Hall

Minerva still isn't talking to me. She keeps flashing me strange glances across the table. If I wasn't mistaken, I should think that she is madly in love with me; it is, after all, well known that a woman loves a sensitive man. I once cried at Bambi, so I think I must be quite a catch.

Snape was chatting with Quirrel, and he kept glancing at Harry Potter. Obviously plotting his autograph expedition. Ha! I have my own plans, such as challenging Mr Potter to a game of golf. I'm sure he loves golf. Who doesn't love golf?

Well, I know McGonagall and Snape don't. But that is hardly my fault. I am, after all, the Headmaster of a school. Everyone knows that Headmasters have nothing to do. I spend my lonely days in my office, with only my crazy golf set for company. And occasionally answering my fan mail. And having picnics with my new golf balls.

Inside picnics, of course. I happen to have very sensitive skin.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I am not a complete hermit, not like Severus. I have my trusty sunhat – you know the type – the sort with a wide brim and a load of corks hung around it on string. An ingenious invention.

5:00pm, in my office

My celebrations have gotten a little out-of-hand. It was only supposed to be a little first-day-of-term drink in my office, with Severus (he likes to think he is my friend, another reason why a therapy program would be a good idea). I suppose he must think of me as a sort of mentor.

Anyway, I had then broken out the lemonade, which is a mistake if ever there was one. Have you ever seen a child dizzy on lemonade? Have you ever seen Snape dizzy on lemonade? He's only just stopped referring to my beard as 'Sheila', but he is still giggling like a little girl. What have I done?

6:00pm, on the staircase

You may be wondering why I am writing this entry on a staircase. I am also wondering, as it is extremely hard to hold a pen, and write, and drag Snape along at the same time. Beneath those billow-some robes there lies quite a sturdy man, I must say.

You may also be wondering why I am lugging a Potions Master around the castle. Well, let me explain. I was sat in my office, listening to Snape's incessant giggling, and trying to work out the least painful way to end my life, when suddenly he just … stopped. Stopped giggling. And started to cry.

And then it got worse. He fell asleep.

So I am returning him to his rightful place (the dungeons, a blissfully lemonade-less zone), and I vow never to speak of this day again.

Ever.

6:30pm, back in my office

I dearly hope nobody decides to walk past the suit of armour on the second floor. Otherwise they may have the strangest notion that it is propping up a Potions Master.

And no one wants that.

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