Tears of a Basilisk

Journal entry the seventeenth


Merlin, seventeen entries already, where does the time go. Oh, that's right, it flies when one is having fun, and I am enjoying myself more that I probably should arranging all the nice little pranks and inside jokes I have in store. All my plans are going as they should, so why shouldn't I have a bit of fun. Recently I've been experimenting with time-delay hexes that can only be removed either by the caster or after a predetermined amount of time. I've already incorporated a couple into this text, so what the heck, before I move on with some of my history I'll give my readers a good laugh.


That reminds me, if you hear a scream or encounter a frantic Ron or Hermione fairly soon, well, I always thought they would look good in Slytherin colours. Most people would restrict themselves to clothing, but why not extend the House pride to the skin, hair, eyes, and even nails and tongues of the victims, er, “lucky recipients”. And since the canvas will be prepared, why not include a couple inspiring phrases in the mix. Since so much is going on visually, well, honesty is a virtue, so let's make them the most virtuous people on the planet in that way, letting their honest opinions rip with no heed to tact or other social conventions. And since it is a good thing to show House pride and some humility, let's have them stay that way until the caster removes the hex, since there is no time limit on this particular spell.


Oh, wait, that's right, I'll be long gone by this point, so there will be no way to remove the hex. Golly gee, that's so tragic it makes me want to laugh like a hyena on ecstasy. Oh, I'm such a naughty boy, naughty naughty me. I need a spanking for that one, hmm, maybe Sev would take me up on that. Mm, forbidden student/teacher S&M, it's enough to make me drool. I know that most men get hot when I Speak to them, I wonder if Sev shares that fetish. After all, his voice can damn near make me come in my pants, so why should I not be able to return the favour. Ooh, now I really need that spanking.


You know, I've changed my mind about revealing more of the history I started a couple entries ago tonight. My journal, my prerogative. Instead I think I'll do a dissertation on most of the central figures of my tale, let the truth be known. I have a dual motive for this, on one hand I want the people that I am either neutral towards or genuinely like to stop beating themselves up over my fate, yet on the other I want all the rest of the scum to know exactly, in scathing letters, how low my opinion is so they can live with that hanging over their heads for the rest of their natural lives. Since I'm still not sure who will be receiving this book (which has and will be the source of many a magical occurrence, you have been warned), I will also send letters to each individual I mention with slightly more elaborate versions.


Let us start from the beginning of my wizarding existence as Harry Potter, shall we? Of course the natural person to talk about at this point is my first encounter with the wizarding world, my meeting of Hagrid. Poor gentle giant, he must be beating himself up horribly over me. He was my first adult friend in the wizarding world, and was my best in many ways. Sure, he knew me only as the BWL, but he liked me for who I am as well. Whenever I had any problems that I needed to talk about, I knew that I had Hagrid as an option to unburden myself. I care for him deeply, which is why I left him the grounds of Hogwarts in my will, so that no one can ever take him away from the school that we both love so dearly. I'm sure it came as a surprise during my will reading that I am the rightful legal owner of Hogwarts through my own bloodline, I'd bet that plenty of people fainted. I'd like to imagine that Hagrid is the caretaker I never knew in this life, someone who looked out for my safety not because of some screwed up game but because he cared whether I lived or died. Such an honest, gentle, caring soul, anyone who crosses paths with him will end up a better person for it.


Next, let's tackle Draco. When I say tackle, of course he will be physically tackled by this lovely little hex I found not too long ago. Let's expound on this, I'll set it so that he gets tackled (playfully, of course) every time someone reads a certain word in this journal. Just for fun, let's make it “sick”. So, in other sick words, every time my sick, sick mind comes up with some sick notion to work the word “sick” into my sick but honest text, he will be tackled. I have such a sick, twisted mind. Did I say that it was sick? Very sick. Extremely sick. Tremendously sick. Ah, what fun. I love magic. Moving on, part of me still wished I had taken Draco's hand that first day, things would have likely gone the same but at least I would have had some intelligent, if arrogant company. I don't really have anything against my dear cousin Draco, he can be a bit of a prat at times but at least he's honest about it. Besides, he's a lot of fun to rile up and prank, our archenemy status made things quite enjoyable for me most of the time. Most people would think that I was a truly sick individual (heh, couldn't resist) for enjoying the conflict, but it provided a refreshing counterpoint to the SICKening (again, I am so naughty) time spent with Ron and Hermione.


Ah, Ron and Hermione. I will give those lowlives credit, they achieved a high level of treachery at a very young age, in that aspect they are both prodigies. Acting so superiour, using me for my celebrity and to gain status, you'd think they came from spoiled rich backgrounds. I think it's rather clear how I feel about those twits, yet when they stabbed me in the back it still stung horribly. At one point, I actually cared about them, I thought they were really my friends and not just acting on orders from a senile, sick old man (hehe). If they think that I am done with my revenge, they are sorely mistaken. They have no idea whom they went up against, and let me assure you dear reader there are far worse things being planned for their miserable hides. I seriously doubt that the eventual recipient will feel very sympathetic towards those two, so my advice is to sit back and enjoy the ride. Believe me, everything that happens to them is nothing more than what they deserve, and the journal is not the only thing with time-delay hexes on it. The worst is yet to come, so enjoy the show!


Let's move on to my dear head of House, the lovely Minerva. Such a talented witch, but so self-absorbed and oblivious she missed the clearly obvious signs of malnutrition and illness (bet you thought I was going to say the magic word, eh?). The spell placed on her and others were to encourage certain behaviours, but the reason that the spell isn't illegal is because the person retains some degree of free will. Sure, she was being yanked by puppet-strings, but if she possessed the formidable will she claims to have then it should not have had such an effect on her. Long story short, I don't really like my dear transfiguration professor, but nor do I hate her. She's just there, like a faintly annoying fly buzzing around your ear.


Of course, thinking about that spell leads me to the manipulative old man himself, dear Professor Dumbledore. Oh, where to start about this know-it-all old fool who simply wants to use others to regain the glory he found after Grindelwald. For someone of his reputed talent and knowledge, he certainly screwed things up for himself in spectacular ways. Well, at least he's no longer a threat. How do I know that he will no longer be a threat, you are likely wondering my dear reader. The answer lies, dear, in all the preparations that I have immersed myself in. As smart and manipulative as he supposedly was, don't mess with the master. Not only am I successful with my schemes, but I like to believe that I have a certain flair, however sick, that lends credence to my skill.

Let's end this for tonight on a high note and move onto my objet de lust, the snarky, sexy Severus Snape. Interacting with him has been the biggest challenge to date, since I've been fascinated with him ever since our first potions class. Sure, most kids would have been as offended as I pretended to be, but in reality I was star-struck by the vision in front of me. Most of my attention problems in class are due to my trying to stop staring at his nice, shapely bum whenever he would walk past. I know that I'm physically and mentally attracted to him, but I remain unsure whether or not I love the snarky git. Just thinking of him gives me a dreamy feeling. Even though I cannot be with him in this life, I hold out hope that, if another life is in store for me, our paths cross once more under a more favourable star.


A side note, I almost pity Draco. Almost. The hex is now permanently tied into the whole text, so that any time the word is read from this point on the effects will happen. One difference, since I don't want an undue amount of physical trauma to happen, I am now changing the effect from tackle to tickle. Personally, I think this is even more devious than the sick, twisted original version. I am such a sick, sick, sick bastard.


Speaking of sick, reading my entry back so far I just realized that I chose the people in this entry loosely based on a popular American tv series' horribly catchy theme song. I won't be so bold as to reveal the show directly, but I will clarify one point. By the order listed, my love interest would fall under the “Marianne” part of the song, and that might seem confusing. Well, I always thought that she was hot in those shorts, and I admired how she somehow deflected the attentions of all those horny men she was stranded with. What can I say, both get me hot and bothered, so it was a natural placement. I really need to stop watching all those old reruns, but they are just so deliciously campy I can't resist. Just sit right back.....


Always leave your audience wanting more, so ta for now my dear reader.


P.S. Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick. There, Draco should be out of breath and a lovely shade of crimson. The letter I'm sending you, my dear reader, has the same power as the journal, so you now have portable tickle control of Draco. Have fun!


Whatever substance he was obviously on when writing this entry, I wish I had some. I stand in awe of his spell-crafting, Draco is currently lying on the floor gasping for breath with a large bird trying to slap some sense into him. I think my godson is scared to be alone when I read these entries, just in case he's in the middle of something important when one of these beautifully crafted yet fiendish hexes manifests. Who knew he was that ticklish anyway. I would normally consider it beneath my dignity to even try out the letter that materialized a little bit ago, but the temptation is strong. Maybe there's a subtle hex on this blasted book that would make me more inclined to follow through with his harebrained, yet clever schemes.


I was a bit surprised that he decided to be candid, for once, about people he knew. Whatever Harry included in Hagrid's letter, I hope that it will bring our caretaker out of his cloud of sadness. With his insightful nature I'm sure that it will have the effect intended. I have not as yet read mine, even though both Tom and Draco have read theirs. Judging from the reactions on their faces, a wistful teary smile from Tom and complete shock with a trace of dread from Draco, I shall wait until I regain a modicum of privacy. We three have been gathering for the readings, and I think that we are all better off for it, even though I am still the one primarily responsible for the reading and transcription of his journal.


It is now starting to really frustrate me regarding the Plague of Crow. Part of me, the slightly paranoid but intuitive part that was honed during my Death Eater days, tells me that Harry has something to do with the crow. I can't find any magical signature, or any other trace for that matter, but since when did the rules ever apply to that twisted genius. I have no doubt that, after enough time, light will be shed on the situation. In the meantime, I get to enjoy the sight of a multi-millionare pureblood heir getting beaten up in a comical fashion by a bird. Tom and I both agreed that it was necessary that Draco learn some humility in a harmless way, so we share the blame for his current predicament.


Right before I sat down for my nightly additions to this compilation, I thought it might be prudent to find Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger to assess the damage. What we found stunned every member of our “Silver trio” into silence, quickly followed by hysterical laughter. Harry truly outdid himself, even the blasted bird was laughing with us to the point where it couldn't stay perched on Draco's head. Both of the former members of the Golden trio are completely tattooed with green and silver swirls on every visible part. Their hair is now a sickly shade of green with silver streaks throughout, the whites of their eyes have been replaced with shiny silver, their pupils are now a uniform, familiar shade of killing-curse green, and written on both foreheads is the inscription “I will not tell lies” written in mirror language. Once I threatened to take house points for the silly prank they fell victim to (knowing full well they can not do anything about it), they ran quickly to Gryffindor Tower, where I imagine their letters were waiting for them. We will learn the contents on the morrow, I suspect.


There is something that perplexes me, and that would be his reference to Dumbledore. No one presently knows his whereabouts, during Harry's swan-song he was the target of an unfamiliar spell, that despite the language still sounded nasty, and the next moment he had disappeared. Despite numerous search parties before the truth of his nature became known, and a few token attempts afterward, not a single trace of one of the most powerful wizards in Britain was found. In this, I find myself trusting in Harry's judgment. As depraved as his mind may have been, all of his actions were necessary and right. Perhaps sometime in the future we will learn about my former mentor's fate, but I will not lose any sleep over it. Ah, sleep, a truly enjoyable state of being when there is no huge black bird watching you sleep. I think that I will partake in that lovely activity once I try to figure out what song he was referencing at the end. I may know more pop culture than most wizards, but I know precious few things about American television. Perhaps a clue lies in some of his yet-unsorted effects. I must know who Marianne was, and why the devil I was viewed as an appropriate comparison from his point of view. I get the sinking feeling that the answer will likely be as twisted as the man who made the reference. Well, I've gotten this far, it would be a shame to stop now.