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This is going to make Stephanie jealous...
Feb. 1st, 2005 07:08 amAs Tony Blair was visiting a neighbourhood this morning, a schoolgirl who looked about fourteen jumped out of the crowd and kissed him right on the lips.
Feb. 1st, 2005
A fragment from an epic
Feb. 1st, 2005 04:11 pm“The Potions Master must stay in the rear, preparing ointments for weapons and potions to heal the wounded. It is not a position I desire, I assure you.”
Then, seeing that there were still some dissatisfied faces, he pushed on: “But Slytherin will be led by someone worthy of it. Ladies and gentlemen, I have given the battle flag of the house in the hand of Madam Margaret Bulstrode. I ask for your consent to this appointment.”
Severus Snape stood back, and Margaret Bulstrode stepped forward. Standing slightly above the loyal Slytherins, she looked even more impressive: not much taller than the average, but nearly as broad as she was tall, with arms like oak boles and legs that seemed to grip the floor like tree trunks, yet unmistakeably female, indeed exaggeratedly so – a vast bosom, and flanks swelling like wooden barrels. The very sight of her brought silence.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, in a deep, brooding alto, “are you Slytherins?”
From various sides came a rather uncertain yes.
“Yes you are. You are the last Slytherins left; those who have not betrayed themselves and their House, to pursue an easy path to power. You are the ones who have not lied to themselves.”
Margaret Bulstrode let that sink in, and then started again: “They say that to be a Slytherin is to be ambitious. I say that to be a Slytherin is to want to be the best. The best and nothing less. To be a Slytherin is to have only one judge – oneself – and that judge is the most severe of all.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, those who left us have failed themselves. They have sought to satisfy ambition the easy way, by taking their cowardly position under the cloak of a Dark Lord. This is not ambition, it is the perversion of ambition. It is wanting to rise above others by placing themselves below someone mightier than oneself. It is an ambition that Salazar Slytherin would spit upon – he who always walked alone, who stood or fell by his own judgement. It is to make oneself a slave, only in order to have slaves even lower than oneself. Is that ambition, ladies and gentlemen?” Her voice had risen in the last sentence; and from all corners of the room rang out the enthusiastic answer, No! No! Her Slytherins had understood her. She started again.
“Do you have ambitions as low as that? Of course not; and that is why you have stayed, where the weaklings have gone. Your ambition is higher. Your ambition is to be the best; and before tomorrow is done, you will prove it. We will prove it. They say that Gryffindors are brave: but we will take the most advanced position, the Wizard’s Prow. The Silver Snake will be raised where no Gryffindor would dare stand. They say that Ravenclaws are clever: but each of you will bring the spells you have all worked on in the privacy of your rooms, fair and unfair, legal and illegal – and the enemy will know that they face the best spell-casters in Hogwarts. They say that Hufflepuffs are tenacious: but we will meet the enemy face to face on the Wizard’s Prow, and stand like a wall of steel; we and nobody else will stand there, until they snatch the Silver Snake from the dead hands of the last of us, or until they break before us and we pursue them into the sea. In the sight of wizards, of elves, and of gods, we will show what the heritage of Salazar and the Silver Snake is!”
The cheers of the assembled Slytherins shook the walls, reaching the rest of Hogwarts like distant thunder; as if the whole House, not less than half of it, were still in the assembly hall. For Draco, the whole experience was surreal, almost a dream. He had been brought into this hall sullenly, a virtual prisoner, committed to the defeat and the destruction of everyone around him and everything they stood for; and yet Margaret Bulstrode’s presence and words had so shaken and bewildered him that he found himself swept along, cheering with the rest. He only recovered himself when he noticed Margaret’s daughter, Millicent, smiling ironically at him.
Severus Snape stepped forward again. “Madam Bulstrode has spoken eloquently, ladies and gentlemen. And the corollary of what she has said is that the true Slytherin is a free man, a free woman, bound only by his or her conscience, but bound by that as immovably as the mountains. And it follows that the voice of the Slytherin is given freely; but, once given, it binds us till our death. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to consider well before you give voice; for your word will be your bond. Are you willing to let Madam Margaret Bulstrode be the Captain General of Slytherin in my absence, bear the banner of the Silver Snake, and be your leader in battle till victory or death?”
There was an instant’s silence. Professor Snape had spoken with the utmost gravity, and each Slytherin felt as though this was the last chance to step out of a terrible road. Madam Bulstrode had been all too clear: Slytherin would stand in the path of utmost danger, and in a battle that seemed already lost before it began. It was to step in the very path of death; and for what? Slytherin pride? Every Slytherin present, even Margaret’s own daughter, felt that their heart might just fail at this decisive moment.
It was Tamsin Johnson who broke the hush. She took a dramatic step forward toward Margaret Bulstrode, raised her muscular right arm, fist clenched, in the air, and said as loud as she could, “I say, Yes!” In a split-second, her sister was beside her; and the silence turned into a roar, as a hundred Slytherin fists rose into the air, and a hundred throats repeated the assent. Draco alone remained silent, in spite of a desperate inner tug to respond: he had to be loyal to his father. Besides, his rational self was certain that these people were doomed.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..
In Ravenclaw Junior Common Room, Professor Filius Flitwick looked down at his little flock. By comparison with Slytherin, very few of his students – only about two dozen – had gone over to the enemy; and of them, hardly one of the best. Even so, the gaps in the orderly ranks of Ravenclaw seats came close to break his heart. He knew, rationally, that it was not his fault; but emotionally, there was something in him that whispered that if he had done something different, maybe those young men and women would not have taken their disastrous path. They could, of course, win; but Professor Flitwick had no doubt that to win at the condition of selling one’s soul and demeaning one’s intellect was far worse than to lose. And so he grieved. Yet, when he spoke, his voice was clear and pleasant.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I will not insult your intelligence...
Then, seeing that there were still some dissatisfied faces, he pushed on: “But Slytherin will be led by someone worthy of it. Ladies and gentlemen, I have given the battle flag of the house in the hand of Madam Margaret Bulstrode. I ask for your consent to this appointment.”
Severus Snape stood back, and Margaret Bulstrode stepped forward. Standing slightly above the loyal Slytherins, she looked even more impressive: not much taller than the average, but nearly as broad as she was tall, with arms like oak boles and legs that seemed to grip the floor like tree trunks, yet unmistakeably female, indeed exaggeratedly so – a vast bosom, and flanks swelling like wooden barrels. The very sight of her brought silence.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, in a deep, brooding alto, “are you Slytherins?”
From various sides came a rather uncertain yes.
“Yes you are. You are the last Slytherins left; those who have not betrayed themselves and their House, to pursue an easy path to power. You are the ones who have not lied to themselves.”
Margaret Bulstrode let that sink in, and then started again: “They say that to be a Slytherin is to be ambitious. I say that to be a Slytherin is to want to be the best. The best and nothing less. To be a Slytherin is to have only one judge – oneself – and that judge is the most severe of all.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, those who left us have failed themselves. They have sought to satisfy ambition the easy way, by taking their cowardly position under the cloak of a Dark Lord. This is not ambition, it is the perversion of ambition. It is wanting to rise above others by placing themselves below someone mightier than oneself. It is an ambition that Salazar Slytherin would spit upon – he who always walked alone, who stood or fell by his own judgement. It is to make oneself a slave, only in order to have slaves even lower than oneself. Is that ambition, ladies and gentlemen?” Her voice had risen in the last sentence; and from all corners of the room rang out the enthusiastic answer, No! No! Her Slytherins had understood her. She started again.
“Do you have ambitions as low as that? Of course not; and that is why you have stayed, where the weaklings have gone. Your ambition is higher. Your ambition is to be the best; and before tomorrow is done, you will prove it. We will prove it. They say that Gryffindors are brave: but we will take the most advanced position, the Wizard’s Prow. The Silver Snake will be raised where no Gryffindor would dare stand. They say that Ravenclaws are clever: but each of you will bring the spells you have all worked on in the privacy of your rooms, fair and unfair, legal and illegal – and the enemy will know that they face the best spell-casters in Hogwarts. They say that Hufflepuffs are tenacious: but we will meet the enemy face to face on the Wizard’s Prow, and stand like a wall of steel; we and nobody else will stand there, until they snatch the Silver Snake from the dead hands of the last of us, or until they break before us and we pursue them into the sea. In the sight of wizards, of elves, and of gods, we will show what the heritage of Salazar and the Silver Snake is!”
The cheers of the assembled Slytherins shook the walls, reaching the rest of Hogwarts like distant thunder; as if the whole House, not less than half of it, were still in the assembly hall. For Draco, the whole experience was surreal, almost a dream. He had been brought into this hall sullenly, a virtual prisoner, committed to the defeat and the destruction of everyone around him and everything they stood for; and yet Margaret Bulstrode’s presence and words had so shaken and bewildered him that he found himself swept along, cheering with the rest. He only recovered himself when he noticed Margaret’s daughter, Millicent, smiling ironically at him.
Severus Snape stepped forward again. “Madam Bulstrode has spoken eloquently, ladies and gentlemen. And the corollary of what she has said is that the true Slytherin is a free man, a free woman, bound only by his or her conscience, but bound by that as immovably as the mountains. And it follows that the voice of the Slytherin is given freely; but, once given, it binds us till our death. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to consider well before you give voice; for your word will be your bond. Are you willing to let Madam Margaret Bulstrode be the Captain General of Slytherin in my absence, bear the banner of the Silver Snake, and be your leader in battle till victory or death?”
There was an instant’s silence. Professor Snape had spoken with the utmost gravity, and each Slytherin felt as though this was the last chance to step out of a terrible road. Madam Bulstrode had been all too clear: Slytherin would stand in the path of utmost danger, and in a battle that seemed already lost before it began. It was to step in the very path of death; and for what? Slytherin pride? Every Slytherin present, even Margaret’s own daughter, felt that their heart might just fail at this decisive moment.
It was Tamsin Johnson who broke the hush. She took a dramatic step forward toward Margaret Bulstrode, raised her muscular right arm, fist clenched, in the air, and said as loud as she could, “I say, Yes!” In a split-second, her sister was beside her; and the silence turned into a roar, as a hundred Slytherin fists rose into the air, and a hundred throats repeated the assent. Draco alone remained silent, in spite of a desperate inner tug to respond: he had to be loyal to his father. Besides, his rational self was certain that these people were doomed.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..
In Ravenclaw Junior Common Room, Professor Filius Flitwick looked down at his little flock. By comparison with Slytherin, very few of his students – only about two dozen – had gone over to the enemy; and of them, hardly one of the best. Even so, the gaps in the orderly ranks of Ravenclaw seats came close to break his heart. He knew, rationally, that it was not his fault; but emotionally, there was something in him that whispered that if he had done something different, maybe those young men and women would not have taken their disastrous path. They could, of course, win; but Professor Flitwick had no doubt that to win at the condition of selling one’s soul and demeaning one’s intellect was far worse than to lose. And so he grieved. Yet, when he spoke, his voice was clear and pleasant.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I will not insult your intelligence...
But really, what has he done that does not suggest guilt? Not by the legal yardstick, but to common sense.
...so go in and enjoy it! http://grusha.net/snape/add.htm I have used this to deliver detentions to one William Shakespeare of Hufflepuff (shovelling Hippogriff dung) and Martina Hingis of Slytherin (cleansing the whole Potions room). The designer has done a top job and got the real Snape tone. Have fun!