Hogwarts Owlery
24 November 1976, 1:06 a.m.
Not-so-dear-right-now Mr Padfoot,
Innocent, you say? Really, it's such a waste of ink to try to convince me that you were ever innocent. You should save the speech for McGonagall; add your "But I'm so nice and cute!" look to it and she's likely to acquit you of stealing her ball of wool even while clearly seeing your fingers entangled in the strands. But me? Oh no, Mr Padfoot, our correspondence has not been intercepted by any impostor. I am very much me, the one who has known your devilish mind for far too long — and has the scars to prove it — to fall for your pathetic claims of purity. (And by tomorrow I'm sure I will have even more scars to put on your account because, honestly, my knees are KILLING me.) I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Thus, you are guilty of all consequences of my being here as well — such as whatever mess those owls are inflicting on my properties and objects of my daily use, and my body freezing to death. And as the guilty party, you must offer me some form of compensation. The thought of you covered up in owl crap and sneezing pleases me; I'll accept that as compensation. Note that I'm not demanding reparation for the atrocious pain in my body. Aren't you astounded by my generosity?
My heart is filled with gratitude towards Mr Wormtail for keeping you up and cranky. I shall remember to reward him with a giant basket of eclairs. And be sure that I will protect him from any devious plans you might have envisioned involving Trixie-the-owl and our rodent friend.
I must say I find your thought patterns fascinating. You move from owl faeces to your cousin's choice of lipstick to your family's house-elf's humours so swiftly, as if the connecting links were obvious for everybody else. I do feel sorry for your brain cells sometimes. Jumping from cliffs into the open air, without brooms or a safety net. No wonder so many of them have perished since I first met you.
Concerning our Potions studies: although I was for a moment tempted to defend the idea of the Frou — with straw-coloured highlights — I suppose we can do a much bigger favour for all the inhabitants of Hogwarts — permanent and temporary — if we spare their aesthetic senses from the insult that is our dear client's slimy hair. So tell me, what are Mr Jigger's suggestions concerning alopaecia? Are we aiming for instant effects? ("Oh, my head feels so light all of a sudden...") I was wondering if we could make the process take exactly as long as you had to endure the effects of the Purgatio Kseron (and as long as I had to endure your endless moaning and cursing). We should always strive for poetic justice, don't you think? (Is my desk clean yet?)
Let me get this straight... Trixie pecked your fingers while you attached the letter to her leg, so you took it off to inform me, forcing you to attach the letter a second time? My (now) DEAREST Mr Padfoot, that was incredibly brilliant of you. I feel so much happier now, just by picturing the scene. She must like you especially, as she isn't giving me any of that nasty attention. So yes, I will choose her again, in hopes that she's liked the taste of your blood.
Speaking of brilliance... Since Filch and Mrs Norris aren't around and I'm locked in here alone without supervision, why haven't I asked you to send me up your wand, so I can finish the cleaning faster and save the few muscles in my body that are still working properly?
Trusting Trixie to give you my love,
| Prongs |
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written by Morgan
D.
June the 22th, 2005
All characters mentioned above are property of J.K. Rowling and her associates,
such as Bloomsbury, Scholastic Books, Warner Bros and Merlin-knows-who-else.
This is fanfiction: created solely for fun, has no legal connection to the
Harry Potter novels, and attains no financial profit.
The Purgatio Kseron is a creation of mine.