melannen | (no subject)

To-do list update:
1. labs for tomorrow - not done.
2. e-mail- not done, but got my inbox slightly cleaner. 155 messages gone.
3. library - nope.
4. bursar's office - nope.
5. mail - nope
6. fix computer - fiddled but didn't get anywhere.
7. web page - nope.
8. fics - did not get chapter one ready. However wrote chapter one for entirely different fic. blerg, evil muses.

That's about standard for one of my to-do lists. What did I accomplish? Went to class. Read a great deal of Good Omens, including all of

lower_tadfield and

buggreallethis and about half the book.
Randomly met a high school friend, who incidentally thinks livejournals are creepy, and called me a Harry Potter fangirl. Well! Just because I was walking around in an emerald green cloak with every flavor beans in the pocket. Besides, said cloak predates HP and is a remnant of LOTR fangirling, tyvm. We talked for far too long.
Drew, for the first time in ages. Took a nap. Wrote some original fiction as well. Went for a walk. Wandered around the 'net and fictionalley. Made it to two meals.

Tested the lj-cut tags by posting a fic snippet:
Every time I see the CoS movie, I am inspired to work on this AU some more, despite the fact that it's horribly cliche and I know I will never finish it. But I can't bear that it never see the light. So, here's my favorite bit so far, picking up at about the middle of the last chapter.

"Something on your mind, Potter?" asked Professor Snape, softly, after Ginny and the Malfoys had left.

"Well . . . yes," said Harry suddenly. "Riddle said I'm like him-- strange likenesses, he said."

"Did he?" said Snape, looking at Harry, one black eyebrow raised. "And are you like him, Potter?"

"I-- I don't know," said Harry. "Everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin. And we have a lot in common. We're both orphans, raised by muggles; both halfbloods; both Parselmouths; both in Slytherin house. But I don't want to be like him, even if some of my friends think I should. And I keep having to fight him. But that's not what a good Slytherin would do, is it? The Sorting Hat told me I'd do well in Gryffindor. Maybe I'm not really meant to be in your house."

"You aren't a halfblood," Snape said fiercely. "I don't care what he told you; whatever else she may have been, your mum was a witch, and a damn good one, too. Your blood's a pure as anyone's, don't ever let them tell you otherwise. As for the rest: Why are you an orphan, Potter?"

"Because Voldemort killed my parents."

Snape flinched at the name, but continued. "Exactly. You're an orphan because of what he did to you. And I'd say that you can speak Parseltongue for the same reason. He was the Heir of Slytherin, and a Parselmouth; and it's likely that when he lost his powers giving you that scar some of them transferred to you."

"Voldemort gave *me* some of his powers?"

"Not something anyone would do by choice, I'm sure, Potter, but yes. It's a logical explanation."

"But then I should be a Gryffindor," Harry said, looking down at his feet. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and--"

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, leaning toward him over the desk, "Do you truly think that Hat is as simple-minded as that? You happen to have many of the qualities Godric Gryffindor prized in his favored students; suicidal courage-- a tendency to be a bit rash-- a certain disregard for the rules," he added with what might have been a smile if he hadn't been Snape. "Yet the Sorting Hat put you Slytherin. Why?" He raised a hand. "Stop and think, for once, Potter. What made it choose Slytherin?"

"It only put me in Slytherin," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Gryffindor. . ."

"Exactly!" said Snape, smacking his hand on the desk. "You chose. You chose to take the chance to become the greatest wizard you can, instead of the easy, happy path. Just as Tom Riddle did. And just as you chose to fight him. It's our choices which make us ourselves, Mr. Potter, and our choices which give us power over fate. Any insipid Gryffindor can be good when he's seen no other way to be, but you're a Slytherin. You've seen evil, and you've chosen to turn away from it. That gives you power over it. And that makes you as different from Tom Riddle as you could be, and a much better Slytherin than he ever was. Slytherin is about power, Harry, and choice. Not darkness."

"But--" said Harry.

Snape sighed. "If you don't trust my word that you belong in Slytherin, Mr. Potter, I suggest you take a closer look at this."

Professor Snape reached across his desk, picked up the silver sword, still sticky with the basilisk's blood, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the emeralds along the curved blade catching the light. And then he saw the engraving, just below the hilt.

"Property of Salazar Slytherin," he read, softly.

"No one but a true Slytherin could have pulled that out of the Hat, Mr. Potter. And it is likely that no other sword could have harmed his basilisk. You won that fight because Salazar Slytherin wanted you to. So I don't want to hear anymore whinging about being in the wrong house." He looked Harry in the eyes then, for the first time Harry could remember, and held the gaze without speaking for a minute.

Then he looked away and shuffled some of the parchments on his desk. "Right, Potter, if we're done dealing with your unfounded insecurities, I have a very sarcastic letter to write to Miss Weasley's parents about proper choice in diaries for young girls. You have somewhere else you will be welcome, I'm sure, although possibly not without a bath first."

Harry put the sword back down on the desk, gingerly, and grimaced, realizing he was still covered in the muck he'd picked up in the sewers. "That might be a good idea, Professor. But first-- will Mr. Malfoy still be here?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I imagine he's taking the chance to visit your friend Draco, yes. They will probably be in your common room."

"Good," said Harry firmly. "I have to have some words with him about a house-elf," and he turned and swept out of Snape's office.

Snape, watching, allowed himself only a very small smile.