Owl to Justin Finch-Fletchley
Justin,
My dear chap, don't think I didn't hear about that note you put up on the girls domitory recently. Such antics aren't exactly the sort that garner our House points for the Cup - quite the opposite, especially considering your general tone and the language you used. I mean, honestly. Booty? What were you thinking?
No, I suppose I know what you were thinking. You were enthusiastic, and I for one have never faulted your enthusiasm, Justin, I couldn't, but if Professor Sprout had found it, or it had gotten out and Boot had made some kind of complaint; you can think of the ramifications for you, for the House, for me as a Prefect. It would have gotten very messy; you might have been despondent, even, and I don't think I could have born the fallen look on your face over breakfast, or any sort of hangdog expression. Your pout, after all, is well known for being a formidable weapon in the wrong hands, and the less I say on that, the better.
I'm not criticising you. I'm not trying to censor you. But there is a time and a place for certain things, and although the girls might enjoy - if not encourage your behaviour - as well they might, considering you're virtually one of them, it might be better in future if you tame your natural joy in life a little, and if you really have to check out the man's arse, Justin, don't let him catch you.
There's more to life than Terry Boot's behind, I assure you. And no, I don't mean Hannah's skirt.
Ernie.
My dear chap, don't think I didn't hear about that note you put up on the girls domitory recently. Such antics aren't exactly the sort that garner our House points for the Cup - quite the opposite, especially considering your general tone and the language you used. I mean, honestly. Booty? What were you thinking?
No, I suppose I know what you were thinking. You were enthusiastic, and I for one have never faulted your enthusiasm, Justin, I couldn't, but if Professor Sprout had found it, or it had gotten out and Boot had made some kind of complaint; you can think of the ramifications for you, for the House, for me as a Prefect. It would have gotten very messy; you might have been despondent, even, and I don't think I could have born the fallen look on your face over breakfast, or any sort of hangdog expression. Your pout, after all, is well known for being a formidable weapon in the wrong hands, and the less I say on that, the better.
I'm not criticising you. I'm not trying to censor you. But there is a time and a place for certain things, and although the girls might enjoy - if not encourage your behaviour - as well they might, considering you're virtually one of them, it might be better in future if you tame your natural joy in life a little, and if you really have to check out the man's arse, Justin, don't let him catch you.
There's more to life than Terry Boot's behind, I assure you. And no, I don't mean Hannah's skirt.
Ernie.