potions_master @ 2003-06-14 16:24:00

Current mood:

aggravated

The Annotated Brothers Creevey.
Not Creely, nor Creepy.

Creevey.

It was with considerable dismay that I found myself stood outside the Quidditch pitch at half nine this morning with what should come to be called a sight to behold by optimists who are not myself. A car. A quaint trick, one could suppose, clearly orchestrated by a mind juvenile beyond repair. As I started off to fetch Potter in order that I could make him confess, McGonagall informed me that a young Dennis Creevey had been to see her and given a stunning confession: his older brother had done it all, and he now wished to, as they say, blab.

At this point I might have taken care to remind myself that the infinite amount of impatience I have was to be pushed, but as this directly concerned my House's Quidditch team I allowed an exception to my general rule of avoiding contact with miscreants and joined McGonagall in seeking out the accursed villain.

It is of no spectacular news by now to inform you that the Quidditch pitch has been turned to shambles by Creevey's stunt and a familiar Ford Anglia. I suspected a forte for the macabre of the young Mr Creevey, who of late turned a friend's bed into a coffin. His style, however, has lost its flair.

Perhaps the torch I provided was too bright when shoved in a safe yet menacing distance from Creevey's face. If in fact he intended to hide his crime, this was hindered by the axle grease under his fingernails. I have little patience for a pupil who cannot be bothered with stealth. There was, regretfully, no need to interrogate. Once we had cornered and questioned him, his abrupt confession was difficult to hear around the toothpick in his mouth. Gryffindors are not, as a rule, known for their talents as wordsmiths, but Creevey managed to surpass all standards with his stunning and eloquent confession: 'Sure, I did the job.'

McGonagall, I believe, has taken him to task and I am left with the despicably mundane responsibility of comforting Quidditch players stricken speechless at the sight of their precious pitch. I remain confident that comeuppance will be dealt this evening for the crimes Creevey has committed. There is none in Gryffindor House who shall remain unpunished for this action.

My office door, I remind you, is never open. This entry will now cease and desist continuing.

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