| potions_master in nocturne_alley @ 2002-05-21 12:00:00 |
| Current mood: | cynically amused |
| Current music: | franz schubert: piano trio in e flat, c. 929: andante |
we were so in craze in our dance hall days
The second year Hufflepuffs continue to drive me to distraction. I cannot reasonably explain why they cannot grasp even the most rudimentary concept of potions-making. There is a reason why I always impress upon Albus and the other Head of Houses that Hufflepuff needs to be scheduled with Ravenclaw for Potions.
Sprout likes to scoff, but for all her claims that her house is the end all be all authority on herbs and plants, it is rather alarming when finding that the average Hufflepuff cannot discern the difference between basil and cilantro. I pity dinner guests at those houses.
Speaking of Sprout, Xiomara gave some more tidbits of random information on Our Dearest Friend. From what I was able to interpret between Xiomara's hysterical guffawing and her choking on cigarette smoke, Sprout -- many moons ago, was gainfully employed as a Dance Hall Girl. Yes, you heard correctly, a dance hall girl. Scandalous! Shocking! It cannot be borne!
On the other hand, I suppose she knows the latest developments in the foxtrot. She is on the cutting edge of the Venetian Waltz. Her jitterbug is unparalleled. Yes gentlemen (and perhaps some ladies), for a galleon and a smile, Sprout can be yours for the space of a song.
What a bargain. I am quite certain that wizards were stampeding over each other in a scene that would be somewhat reminiscent of the migration of gazelles across the Serengeti Plain for her dance hall favours.
Allow me to express my scepticism.
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