capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHO: A bunch of magic lamers.
WHERE: Dunwich, Massachusetts.
WHEN: Friday, September 2nd through Sunday, September 4th.
WARNINGS: TBA. There's bound to be something.
SUMMARY: Herp derp.
FORMAT: Whatever you feel like!

Let's get it on.

■ Friday, September 2nd.
■ Saturday, September 3rd.
■ Sunday, September 4th.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Snape watches Neville squirm and lose his spine all at once, can only smirk as the returns to fumbling and bumbling.]

And apparently you've had someone give you a a twisted tongue hex. Speak clearly, boy. You're a wizard here, and we all have fans at this miserable place.

Don't shame us all now.

Anymore then you do already.

Is that what they are? What does that--?

Shaming you isn't a worry of mine. I can't imagine w-wanting to do the opposite, in fact -- I'm not about to hex anyone 'round here or anything if that's what it takes to get on your good side...

Why would disrupting a public event please me, Mr. Longbottom? Have I ever been known to create great and vast disturbances, flicking hexes willy-nilly at whoever might be caught?

[... he says this now, but hey, Longbottom doesn't know what sort of trouble he was constantly in during his school years...]

Well -- no... But I don't exactly know what makes a person like you pleased... P- Snape.

Pleased? Very simple. Respect, intelligence, and ambition -- like any Slytherin. You cannot manage any of these, however, so there is no fear: you shall never please me, Mr. Longbottom.

Ever.

So you may rest assured that by simply existing, you aggravate me.

Are you happy now, Mr. Longbottom, that your very mediocrity is an irritation?

You're wrong. I can manage plenty of respect for people that deserve it.

[Snape's eyes flash as he steps just within Neville's personal bubble, glowering down at him; the boy will soon be as tall as he, he knows-- but for this moment, he enjoys this last time to look down on Neville Longbottom.]

Silence. You have no idea what I do or do not deserve. You haven't even begun to earn the right to speak of who you has earned your respect. You're not yet a man. Don't forget that, boy.

I-I've every right. You're not my professor anymore.

No, thankfully, the City removes that burden from me, as does your complete ineptitude in the subjects I teach.

That does not, however, give you the right to be flippant with me, boy. I may not be able to take points from your miserable house, but I am still here, and you will find I am not going away.

You are not rid of me yet, Mr. Longbottom. Inversely, I am not yet relieved of the burden of cleaning up your messes. I assure you, when I am, hallelujahs will be sung.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only