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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.

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