Another utterly, despicably boring day at Hogwarts. Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions, ah with the Gryffindors. I still haven’t got Potty, The Weasel and Mudblood back for last year on the Hogwarts train. No respect for their superiors. If I were that Mudblood, I’d watch myself.

McGonagall is currently lecturing about turning a piccolo into a pineapple, trying to sound impressive. I wonder what McGonagall was like when she was at Hogwarts. The old bat was probably exactly the same, with that tight black bun, and those stiff robes. How does the woman breathe? She was probably just like Granger, the mudblood, a fucking know-it-all.

I’m practically snoozing here, this is ridiculously simple. I don’t know why I’m forced to take this class with the people in my year. Father said I should be taking advanced courses, but Dumbledore wont allow it. Muggle-lover.

***

"Watch it, Weasel," I say as I smash past him in the doorway. His lanky body falls with a thud to the ground. I shove my hand in the pockets of my robes. The second he pulls out his wand, it’s over.

"S-Sorry," he stutters, picking himself up off the floor. What the fuck? I’ve waited all day for this. He can’t just play the almighty Gryffindor and walk away. Who does he think he is, Potter? He’ll pay for that one too. He brushes off his already tattered robes and sits as far away from me as possible.

Snape is rambling about some ridiculously easy potion that I could have done that in my first year.

"What’s the most important thing to remember when using the hair of an Oliphaunt?" Snape glares at the class. Immediately Granger’s hand flies into the air. Of course, I know the answer to this question; I just don’t feel the need to answer it. Snape purposely avoids her, and sighs. “The Oliphaunt,” he begins. Snape a speech like this can last hours. I tune him out as I stare at the clock. There’s fifty-three minutes left. Oh, God. Could this clock go any slower? The steady ticking is affecting my brain. Bringing me into its endless pattern. Something brings me out of my stupor. The feeling of someone watching me. I turn around to eye the possibilities. I turn to my left, Pansy Parkinson? No, she seems to be asleep. Some days this class can actually be amusing, today is not one of those days. I look again to my right, maybe it’s Crabbe or Goyle. No, they’re involved in a game of Patty Cake or some shit. I began to search the class room. Thomas? No. Longbottom? No, thank god. I can feel someone’s eyes piercing through my skin, it’s eerie. Who is it? Potter? No. Fucking Weasley? It’s fucking Weasley.

I attempt to scowl back at him, shoving my hand around my wand again. He blushes and turns away. What the fuck is he doing? Is he…no, no, that would be too good. Maybe there’s something on my face. I didn’t look in the mirror after last class. Fuck. "Goyle," I whisper. He turns to me as Crabbe smacks him in the chest. (They were still playing Patty Cake.) I think I’ve disturbed their fun. He gives me a puzzled look. This isn’t anything new; the statement is practically tattooed on his face.

"Wha?" He asks.

"Do I have anything on my face?" I feel like such an ass. Not like I care what he thinks though.

"Wha?" He asks again, brows knitting together. Excuse me, brow, he only has one.

"Do-I-have-anything-on-my-fucking-face?" I ask, enunciating each word.

"Oh," He laughs huskily. "Uh, no."

I roll my eyes and go back to glaring at Weasley. Again, again, he was looking at me. Is he cursing me under the table? I better curse him, just to be safe. "Aracunous," I say under my breath as I aim my wand at his leg. A rather large black spider begins to crawl up his shin. He doesn’t notice it yet; he’s pretending to look riveted by Snape’s rambling. It’s slowly inching its way up his inner thigh. God, his legs are long.

"S-shit!" He screams as he jumps up from his desk. Pansy Parkinson’s head finally comes up off the desk, a bit of drool clinging to her thin lips. Weasley jumps and screams, brushing off his robes violently. He keeps giving these awful shudders, and turning a brutal shade of white. I think he might puke. I can’t help but crack a sadistic smile. Potter gets up to save the day again. Too bad Father didn’t finish him off when he had the chance. Oh well, he says it will happen soon.

"What is it, Weasley?" Snape asks irritably as Ron lifts his robes up, and shakes them.

"S-s-spi-d-der," he manages to spit out. I snicker loudly and the other Slytherins follow cue. It’s at this point I wish I had a button that says "Weasley Stinks," as opposed to the Potter one I still carry around. Snape looks suddenly very amused as the excitable redhead begins raking his hands through his hair and shaking it.

“Sit down Mr. Weasley,” Snape growls as he walks over to Weasley. He looks down at the ground and sees the little black spider crawling across the floor. He stomps on the spider, which makes a horrible crunching noise, and says, “10 points from Gryffindor. Now, take your seat Mr. Weasley.” The Gryffindor sits down, looking thoroughly mortified. Ah, my work here is done.

***

My room is cold tonight. Crabbe and Goyle lay snoring in their beds while I try to block out the noise. It’s a shame I don’t know a spell for that. The green coverings around our beds are thick, but apparently not thick enough. The clock next to me reads 3:16 AM. I praise whatever God gives a shit that tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m notoriously not a morning person. I hate the sun pouring through a well-placed window. I hate those awful birds chirping in the trees outside.

My mind keeps returning to Weasley. What the fuck did he want? Normally a sneer or a stare from Weasley means a fist is about to fly, but today… Something’s up. Those do-good Gryffindors are plotting something. Weasley can’t hide a thing; that’s why he was gaping at me. It must be revenge. Ever since the little scuffle with my father and his friends last year those Gryffindors have had something against me. Imagine, as though I had said, "Father. I hate Potter. Go kill him for me." It’s absurd. It was really the Dark Lord saying that, or something similar to it. My father was just doing his bit to help humankind. Well, wizardkind really.

That fucking Weasel. I need to do something. I can’t just lie here like people aren’t plotting against me. I need to take a walk. A walk will clear my mind.

***