Charlie's really properly annoyed by the time he's climbed all two thousand and thirty-three steps to his rooms.
Bloody
Fricking
Skrewt
Felching
Snitch
Itching
Puss
Skimming
Gnome
Snogging
Newt
Nuzzling
Utter
Ab
so
lute
Fist
Shagging
Dick
Licking
Cunt
BASTARD
!!!!!!!
Crikey! No one should have to climb those stairs three times before, well, whatever time it is. But if you've got to do it, it's probably as well to have washed down your lunch with a completely unsavoury dose of Septimus Bloody Hodge.
~*~*~*
His sofa has never looked so appealing. Pity he can't--
"Yes, Strich. I hear you!"
He fishes the last -- drat it, yes, the last -- of the mice out of its cage and hands it over to the owl. Demanding much? Just like -- yes. Just like her owner. Who is expecting an answer.
Charlie sighs and plonks down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the scroll of parchment.
Jupiter and all the stars. I'd give every one of them to see you, Val. Whether you believe that or not. As he unrolls the letter, Charlie wishes that possibility would match with Dumbledore's plans, but he knows better. And he knows why.