A letter from Prof. Snape
So, I've been helping out around the severus_recs office while nishizono's off in London, and I rather thought I'd managed to at least not get on anyone's nerves, but apparently not. It's been an exciting and difficult week, and consequently I've been taking breaks to medicate meditate in the pantry. When I came out from one such session about an hour ago, I found the office empty and this note on my desk. I'm not sure it was intended for distribution, but I thought my f-list, at the very least, might appreciate it. It is as follows:
Miss Nehalenia,
Mr. Black, Mr. Malfoy and I have gone out for the evening. If, upon our return, you are still weeping, sighing, locking yourself in the pantry and generally behaving like a congested, premenstrual niffler, I shall be forced to put you, once and for all, out of our misery.
I can only assume that you have fallen victim to the same strange contagion that seems to be destroying the mental faculties of 99.9% of a certain type of annoying Muggle female known as - or so Draco tells me - “fan girls”.
If you have not, in fact, contracted this bizarre illness, then you might as well slip a canned treacle pudding into your cranium for all the good your small, Muggle brain is doing you.
You seem to be under the impression that, due to the release of a certain book, I am in some sort of mortal peril. Really now. Do I appear in any way to be preparing to go gentle unto that good night? Draco informs me I am not even wearing the proper footgear for shuffling off this mortal coil.
I should think the example of one Sirius Black - who only this afternoon was sitting on your desk, gorging himself on organic lavender chocolates and peering down the top of your blouse whilst you were having one of your maudlin moments -- should have informed you of the error of believing everything that unconscionable Muggle author writes.
Merlin’s bones, you idiot girl. For over twenty years I fooled the most powerful Dark Wizard our world has ever seen, all while dancing attendance upon a sugar-addicted, barmymanipulative old fool wanker - who happened to be the other most powerful wizard in the world - dealing with an infuriating set of Malfoys, bedeviling and rescuing various Potters, restraining myself from slaughtering Black and teaching a full slate of classes to some of the biggest dunderheads I have ever had the misfortune to educate. Given all of that, just how difficult do you imagine it would be for me to fool a bunch of Muggles? Even including that annoying author herself?
If nothing else will convince, I will admit that I have been toying with the idea of faking my own death for some time now -- ever since Book V, in fact -- if for no other reason than that I can certainly devise a more dramatic means of expiration than fatal drapery. (While Black does have a sort of winsome, scruffy charm, he does not possess style; not as we Slytherins know it, at least.) Whether or not I chose to flex those creative muscles remains to be seen.
Do I need to say more upon this matter? I would hope I do not, but in the event that your spongy little brain is too waterlogged to take my meaning, I will speak plainly.
I'm not going anywhere. Except out to dinner with Black and Malfoy. And then back.
If you are wise (and wish to see the morrow without tentacles growing out of your ears) you will not be seeping from the eyes and nose when I return.
You might also consider procuring more of those Earl Gray flavored dark chocolates. Since you seem to be the only one who knows where to get the blasted things, it might keep me from hexing you on general principle.
Now blow your nose and go do something useful.
Sincerely yours,
Professor Severus Snape
Miss Nehalenia,
Mr. Black, Mr. Malfoy and I have gone out for the evening. If, upon our return, you are still weeping, sighing, locking yourself in the pantry and generally behaving like a congested, premenstrual niffler, I shall be forced to put you, once and for all, out of our misery.
I can only assume that you have fallen victim to the same strange contagion that seems to be destroying the mental faculties of 99.9% of a certain type of annoying Muggle female known as - or so Draco tells me - “fan girls”.
If you have not, in fact, contracted this bizarre illness, then you might as well slip a canned treacle pudding into your cranium for all the good your small, Muggle brain is doing you.
You seem to be under the impression that, due to the release of a certain book, I am in some sort of mortal peril. Really now. Do I appear in any way to be preparing to go gentle unto that good night? Draco informs me I am not even wearing the proper footgear for shuffling off this mortal coil.
I should think the example of one Sirius Black - who only this afternoon was sitting on your desk, gorging himself on organic lavender chocolates and peering down the top of your blouse whilst you were having one of your maudlin moments -- should have informed you of the error of believing everything that unconscionable Muggle author writes.
Merlin’s bones, you idiot girl. For over twenty years I fooled the most powerful Dark Wizard our world has ever seen, all while dancing attendance upon a sugar-addicted, barmymanipulative old fool wanker - who happened to be the other most powerful wizard in the world - dealing with an infuriating set of Malfoys, bedeviling and rescuing various Potters, restraining myself from slaughtering Black and teaching a full slate of classes to some of the biggest dunderheads I have ever had the misfortune to educate. Given all of that, just how difficult do you imagine it would be for me to fool a bunch of Muggles? Even including that annoying author herself?
If nothing else will convince, I will admit that I have been toying with the idea of faking my own death for some time now -- ever since Book V, in fact -- if for no other reason than that I can certainly devise a more dramatic means of expiration than fatal drapery. (While Black does have a sort of winsome, scruffy charm, he does not possess style; not as we Slytherins know it, at least.) Whether or not I chose to flex those creative muscles remains to be seen.
Do I need to say more upon this matter? I would hope I do not, but in the event that your spongy little brain is too waterlogged to take my meaning, I will speak plainly.
I'm not going anywhere. Except out to dinner with Black and Malfoy. And then back.
If you are wise (and wish to see the morrow without tentacles growing out of your ears) you will not be seeping from the eyes and nose when I return.
You might also consider procuring more of those Earl Gray flavored dark chocolates. Since you seem to be the only one who knows where to get the blasted things, it might keep me from hexing you on general principle.
Now blow your nose and go do something useful.
Sincerely yours,
Professor Severus Snape