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.
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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