Mar 16, 2008 16:19
He won't answer my owls with anything more than one word. I've taken to just owling him back to be an annoyance. If he thinks I'm going to put up with that, he is very much mistaken. At least he knows that she'd behind bars. At least he knows who she is. Who did it. He's lucky in that regard. Not that anything about this is lucky. It's not. It's really not. But, honestly... I'm the Gryffindor. We have pouting and brooding down to a science. He needs to let me handle the brooding and he needs to handle the... Hufflepuff type stuff. Baking? Knitting?
Now I'm going to have the image of him knitting in my head all day. Great.
Barny wasn't very happy with my trickery. I've been told, in no uncertain terms, that I will not be writing anything but society dribble for quite a while. I don't care. It was worth it. He threatened to fire me, but I had a copy of the parchment with his signature on it, giving me the right to publish it. To say he wasn't impressed with my skill is an understatement. Serves him right, giving me the assignment because of my blood. Ridiculous.
This, of course, means I will be looking for a second job. Not sure what's available. I'll have to look around Diagon Alley. I'm not really good at anything else.
I might have to take getting a hold of him into my own hands.
Problem? I have no idea where he lives.
Fuck.
mr. finch-fletchley,
prophet,
barny