March 31st, 2004
|riley_rose||04:56 pm - Hormones? Virus? Does it matter?|
I've begun to observe a fascinating phenomenon around the school: The rising temperature is directly proportionate to the length of the skirts in Slytherin house. There is an unspoken understanding that as soon as the weather outside reaches 15C or so, Slytherin skirts are charmed up and down, making sure they bounce just a little extra and rise up that extra bit. It's turning the male population into a group of great drooling fools. You can't blame them, I don't think--say you're an adolescent male, is there a better way to emerge from the dreadful winter than to the sight of rising hemlines? Exactly.
The first victim I diagnosed as having contracted the virus was the Potions TA. Can I first point out, that Snape even having a TA bodes for what a genius this young man is, although I shudder to think what might happen if he were to fuck up. At any rate, Alexis, as he is called, knows more about Potions than anyone rightfully should and he has so far been an invaluable tool for those of us who despise Potions. And might I say, that seventh year Potions could be equated with the 10th century raping and pillaging of the mystical tribes of Asia. If it weren't taught by my head of house, you can bet I would not be there half as much as I am. But to the subject at hand! Today's recipe was virtually incomprehendable and the stifling heat of the dungeons was not helping the blood flow to my brain. In fact, I was fairly sure the pressure on my brain would force it out my ears and down my neck. Snape indulged us in the luxury of removing our robes to avoid heat stroke and this allowed for the perfect conditions: our friendly virus thrives in hot, tense situations.
"Evelyn," he began with me, eyeing the suspicious mixture in my cauldron.
"Evie," I corrected, he never remembers how much I hate my name, although I suppose that isn't his job.
"Right, Evie, you can't just arbitrarily add beetle legs to this potion, especially not before you mix in the Graphorn powder."
"But," I protested weakly, "in the last potion it didn't make a difference."
"Did the last potion involve Graphorn powder?"
"Thank you. You know the properties of the powder, yes?"
I was already completely lost at this point, but I nodded anyway. He continued: "If you add the legs before the powder, the hellebore you added in the first directions will not have sat long enough to be chemically prepared to react with the leg..." on and on he went, launching into a hysterical scientific rant that might've lasted for hours if I hadn't dropped the cap for my horned slugs.
"I'll get that," he muttered uselessly.
"Oh don't bother," I was trying to pleasant, after all he's been salvaging my marks for the semester. It was at this moment, that I bent over to retrieve the cap. It was an instinctive sort of thing and my mind, surprisingly, was not focused on the fact that my skirt had been freshly charmed...the hem raised so that the tiniest bit of my lacy boy shorts were revealed. After snatching up the cap and securing it over my horned slugs I was met with the most startling sight: A Hogwarts TA was staring at me with his mouth hanging down to the floor.
"Is there something the matter?" I still hadn't remembered my skirt.
Or the lace.
"Your face, did someone hit you or something?"
He shook his head vigorously but the damage had been done. As we turned back to the potion I gave a quick peek downward to find that a band of pygmies had pitched a tent in his pants. Curious.
Isn't it odd how men are much more attractive when you learn that they're attracted to you? Perhaps tonight I shall bring it up with Soleil and Cecily...they've managed to get their hands on a stock of butter beer and that usually lends itself to sex talk.
Current Mood: contemplative