Inside the Mind of a Snape

Inside the Mind of a Snape

Let me preface this instrument of torture with a little something that should clear up a common misconception. I do, contrary to popular belief, bathe. On a regular basis, in fact. I have been unable to find a decent shampoo for naturally oily hair - dare to mock the hair, and I assure you, you will soon find yourself in the hospital wing with a large bit of the Whomping Willow inserted in a painfully unpleasant orifice.

And now, to an immense source of displeasure: my life.

A prominent reason for my bitterness? I teach (which hardly needs clarification). Day after day of grading snivelling little brats on half-arse potions, and the next day I do it all over again. Not to mention having to follow the orders of that doddering old fool, Dumbledore - it's like having Santa Claus as your boss. (Ho, ho, ho.) If Santa Claus existed. Sometimes I think I'd have been better off with the Dark Lord...joke, I'm kidding. Really, I am. Despite all appearances, I'm not evil. And yes, before you ask, I do take great pleasure in tormenting students. So sue me. If you had to teach the sort of half-wits I do, you'd torment them too. I also like the colour black; I live in the dungeons, therefore it suits me. Any complaints? Fifty points.

Anyway, to gauge this in a time period you various Muggles and Gryffindor supporters will follow, all the crap started sometime during that Potter brat's fifth year. If you're still not following, there's a wonderful piece of literature in the Restricted Section you should read, entitled The Endless Book. Trust me, you won't regret it.

For those of you who have remained with me, the twisted tale begins here.

I received a rather passionate letter from some twisted person on the first day of term, claiming he/she/it is in love with me, among various other things which are so horrid and disgusting they'd make a Death Eater blush. (I, no longer being a Death Eater, was merely revolted.) For said reasons, I am sincerely hoping that this is a she.

And, (stupid of me, really) I happened to gripe about it to McGonagall, who proceeded to snort with uncharacteristic laughter. (The staff here is beneath me. So very beneath me.) It seems I have acquired a reputation for being...what's the word? Oh yes, cruel. Cruel? Me? Although I do quite enjoy terrifying that Weasley boy...Potter's dense sidekick, yes...though the other Weasleys present fantastic opportunities to be horrible, and since I can't tell the twins apart, I get two for the price of one. No, not like that, you perverted prats. (Damn, an alliteration. I must work on losing my poetic licence.) Anyway, McGonagall looked at me incredulously, and said, "You, Severus?"

Yes me, you twit. "It must be one of the students."

The old bat looked indignant. "That's against school policy!"

"I meant a student pulling a prank," I said curtly. Honestly, what I have to put up with.

"Oh," she replied. "There isn't a way to find out who?"

Way ahead of you. "None whatsoever, aside from tracing penmanship. And even so, they might have changed it. I'd rather not know who it is, if it's all the same to you." Trying with great difficulty to keep the condescension out of my tone. The intelligence of a Snape is often underestimated.

"Just thought you'd like to see them punished, as per usual." She raised her eyebrows at me.

"I'll deal with it on my own." Glad to be out of that situation. I don't like to talk to any of them if I can help it. I need to keep up my image.