(no subject)
Dearest Potter,
I have purposely seated myself at my desk before this scroll of parchment, bottle of ink and quill in order to torment you. I could have scribbled on that boring, lined Muggle paper with one of the cheap Muggle ink pens that you've lifted from various and sundry Muggle establishments, but I have come to realize that this small throwback brings out the pervert in you.
For this exact reason, I have also put on a fresh white button-down shirt, and rolled up the sleeves to my elbows. Kinky sod.
It would be a pity if you lost control prematurely and interrupted me before I've had the chance to finish up, but I suppose time will tell either way, won't it? You're trying to look properly busy over there, but you ought to know that you're failing horribly.
In any case, Potter, you should also know that I understand why you're still peevish about me topping up Our Babies' magic. You have certainly come a long way in not hating my guts about it this past week, but you have yet to fully make peace with it. I have shown you books. I've allowed you to discuss it at length with Mauvoisin, Granger and even your dogfather. Remember, just because you aren't aware of something doesn't make it evil and wrong.
Having children isn't entirely different than making Horcruxes, you realize. Every time I allow another little hellion to be purged from my Manly Uterus™, it's exactly like splitting a little sliver of my heart, soul and magic, then packaging it neatly into a new entity that I don't have complete control over. I can only assume that you feel similarly, as I would have noticed by now if you were, in fact, a soulless void. Even when you and I are dead and buried, our souls will live on through each of them. What's a bit of extra magic on the side after all that? After everything we've been through, any magic I give them has been a combination of us all along.
I can feel you watching me, Potter. If you burn a hole in the back of my head and ruin my hair, I may never forgive you. Before you lose control and accost my person, I shall conclude by begging forgiveness for leaving you briefly in the dark. Perhaps once you've had a go, you might understand where I'm coming from.
And speaking of coming, I see you're perhaps seconds away from losing your losing battle, so. . . .
The End. ♥
I have purposely seated myself at my desk before this scroll of parchment, bottle of ink and quill in order to torment you. I could have scribbled on that boring, lined Muggle paper with one of the cheap Muggle ink pens that you've lifted from various and sundry Muggle establishments, but I have come to realize that this small throwback brings out the pervert in you.
For this exact reason, I have also put on a fresh white button-down shirt, and rolled up the sleeves to my elbows. Kinky sod.
It would be a pity if you lost control prematurely and interrupted me before I've had the chance to finish up, but I suppose time will tell either way, won't it? You're trying to look properly busy over there, but you ought to know that you're failing horribly.
In any case, Potter, you should also know that I understand why you're still peevish about me topping up Our Babies' magic. You have certainly come a long way in not hating my guts about it this past week, but you have yet to fully make peace with it. I have shown you books. I've allowed you to discuss it at length with Mauvoisin, Granger and even your dogfather. Remember, just because you aren't aware of something doesn't make it evil and wrong.
Having children isn't entirely different than making Horcruxes, you realize. Every time I allow another little hellion to be purged from my Manly Uterus™, it's exactly like splitting a little sliver of my heart, soul and magic, then packaging it neatly into a new entity that I don't have complete control over. I can only assume that you feel similarly, as I would have noticed by now if you were, in fact, a soulless void. Even when you and I are dead and buried, our souls will live on through each of them. What's a bit of extra magic on the side after all that? After everything we've been through, any magic I give them has been a combination of us all along.
I can feel you watching me, Potter. If you burn a hole in the back of my head and ruin my hair, I may never forgive you. Before you lose control and accost my person, I shall conclude by begging forgiveness for leaving you briefly in the dark. Perhaps once you've had a go, you might understand where I'm coming from.
And speaking of coming, I see you're perhaps seconds away from losing your losing battle, so. . . .
The End. ♥