A celebrity's work is never done.
Due to having time off recently I had to go on tour, and do a book signing in a million different countries. Most of my fans are quite wonderful except for the old women who come wearing garter belts showing through thin skirts. I am a man of principle, I reserve my affections for women under 55.
And on my return many of my little fan groups here at Hogwarts came to see their faithful leader and I spoke to them about protecting themselves from the wrath of an old woman's kiss. One must be protected all times, and I should know. My right cheek has become completely numb from the battle. But that's all settled now and I'm about to have brunch with that woman who teaches the quiddich. Her name has skipped me, but really I can't remember the name of all my devotees. I'm sure it will come to me when I see her.
I hope she doesn't ask me to sign her newest purchase, my Holidays With Hags novel. I won't know what name to sign it to!
I don't think I have enough words in my vocabulary to possibly express the distain I have for Filch's dirty, rotten cat. After my Defence class more of the young ladies were looking at me quite disgustedly at me as I moved closer to them. Even that young intelligent one Hermione who has always fluttered her eyelashes at me. She came to discuss her project with me and immediately turned right around with her nose scrunched up. Finally I figured out that someone had dusted powder upon me (could only be that cat) that made me reek like a dead body rotting in a garbage bin.
I passed the Weasley twins in the corridor trying to sell some sort of rat looking thing to a girl who was as pale as a ghost- they identified this potion as their own concoction and restored me back to my masculine, musky aroma. I had to drink a god awful potion that felt like I was swallowing mushed slugs. I had an inclination they lied about the fact I had to drink that to rid the stench, because George- or maybe it was Fred- tapped his wand on my shoulder and muttered something and then they were gone. Madam Hooch confirmed my question as to my lingering stench. She came up and asked me to perhaps read her an excerpt from Holidays With Hags, as she wanted to hear the true voice of the author reflecting into her memory. How could I deny? I am accustomed to providing excellent responses to my fans.
Professor Sprout was not impressed. Not that I care. She really believes her knowledge of things herbal extends my own. Has she not read of my encounters with Herbology in Magic Me?
I swear I can still smell that powder somewhere around here. If it weren't for the fact I wish to stay at least five minutes away from every room that Filch fellow has been in, I would certainly put her in her place. Or perhaps its a he. You never know these days, and you certainly can't tell with that untamed fur. Unlike my own.
Well, I suppose with my talent I must do something for the fans.
Getting a lot of looks from being the new Defence teacher, especially from the young girls. I've felt, as the new professor there, it is my duty to remain their hero and mentor. I do my best. Some of them have taken up so well to reading my published literature- and I wouldn't blame them. It is most informative and a great read even for those who don't feel they've ever been interested in it. I find I have a knack for involving people. My charm never fails me. That is... never until that Malfoy kid and his Malfoy bleach-haired father with that stick that is trying to constitute for something else he's lacking. I do feel sorry for the family, having to base their entire exterior upon a wardrobe of black just to make up their 'meanness' factor.
My excellent dressing has certainly got me in the good books with some of the staff. I gave a signed copy of Magical Me to one or two of them. Can I help it if they seem to fluster and warm at my undeniable gentlemanliness?