1 April, 1977
Prongs --
I swear by the God of Tea Biscuits and Farts Upon A Broomstick that if one more person perpetrates an act of So-Called Prankdom upon This Day, This Day of Pranking Rest For Those Who Know The Utter Gaucheness* of Pranking on April 1, I will hex my name upon their privates.
Man or woman, no one is safe.
Benjy Fenwick is in particular danger after that spectacle with the Bludger, two tomatoes, and a lilac-scented candle. LILAC SCENTED, my friend, LILAC. The least he could have done was choose sandalwood, and retained some sort of perilous relationship with the concept of "manhood."
Save me from myself.
- Padfoot
* if you show this to Moony, and he lectures me on the fact that Gaucheness is not a word, I will be forced to Insta-Perm your hair. If you think that thatch atop your head is trouble now, give me two seconds with a wand and a nice line in Romanian curses, and you'll know otherwise.
Padfoot --
Lilac?? Ye gods. I thought Benjy would be above all that. Tell me the candle exploded, at least.
They besmirch the name of pranksters everywhere with their trite tricks. April Fools? I mean. Why bother?
Did you see Alphelion's face when I raised my hand just then? Looked like he thought I was about to turn him into an asparagus. Chuckle chuckle. Surely they should give us a bit more credit than that.
And if you come near my head with your wand again, I shall be forced to contemplate extreme measures, my friend. EXTREME.
Ever wondered what a BALD dog would look like?
~Prongs
Moony --
Prongs is threatening to shave, singe, or otherwise do-away-with my supremely splendid Padfootian coat.
a) he is clearly deranged. Please exercise caution around him.
b) he seems to have forgotten that Today Is A Day Without Pranks For Those In The Know etc etc ad infinitum. Please remind him as I am quite overcome with exhaustion after fixing Margaret Briggdomister with a passable impersonation of The Evil Eye for the last twenty minutes.*
-- Padfoot
* this is clearly not a Prank, as no real Evil Eyes were involved. Time doesn't half fly, though, watching her twitch.
Where the hell is Peter?
~Prongs
Padfoot,
You are entirely too concerned with the state of your coat. Shall we contact the Kennel Club and inform them that we have a new entrant for this year's competition? Only you must promise not to spend quite so much time sniffing the lady judges as you have in previous shows. It does not reflect well on me, your handler.
Alas, though I shudder to admit it, you are right. Prongs needs to be reminded of Certain Tenets of Pranking. I will gather the usual items necessary for such a lesson. Perhaps Wormtail can enlist the aid of the Venomous Tentacula; he seems to come away from those encounters with fewer bodily injuries than the rest of us.
-- M
Wormtail,
The sacred Day of Rest for Pranksters has been violated by one of our own. Commence Operation Humiliating and Painful Reminder. I'll meet your outside greenhouse #4.
-- M
Moony --
Sadly, Peter has already gone the way of Pomfrey, Potions and Pus thanks to Benjy Bloody Fenwick's girlish excuse for a Prank. On This Day of All Days! Poor Peter -- maimed by the flying remnants of a lilac-scented candle, tomato guts stuffed up his nose. I would take my hat off as a sign of respect for dear Wormtail, but I quite forgot to ever buy one so as to have it ready for removal at times like these. Call yourself a handler Moony? And here I am, hatless. You're clearly falling down on the job.
What should I do as to be ready to assist in Operation Prongs Is Doomed? (I'm sure you can come up with a better moniker for our activities but I am forced to throw some sort of name into the breach or forever foam at the mouth remembering the day that 'the thing we did to Prongs' went unmemorialized for half a second).
-- Padfoot
Peter?
That last note returned unread. That's never happened before. And I was very careful to say "Voluscrit" instead of "Volupspit" this time. (And there is not a single dancing vole in sight, so I'm certain I did it correctly.) Where are you? --M
Pads --
Peter isn't in the infirmary. I checked. No idea where he is.
Even if you owned a hat, you would not be able to fit it on your greatly swollen head.
Now, regarding Operation Venison For Supper. We need seventeen pinecones, two tortoises (borrow them from that Hufflepuff second year again--she never even notices that they're gone), four different socks (not two matching pairs--you won't make that mistake again, will you?), half a bottle of distilled Leering Liquid, a potato, and that talking celestial calendar from Professor Mirador's classroom. Oh, and a ham sandwich. Because I missed lunch.
-- M
Moony --
I do not like it when Pranksters are unaccounted for -- it makes me nervous about the ankles. Excuse me while I feign sickness (which really won't be hard if I stare at what I truly believe is the large drop of snot currently hanging from Snape's gigantic nose) and steal away to track down our idiot dorm-mate. And if I should, say, trip over a stash of Honeydukes finest on my way around the castle, and feel compelled to hide in an alcove on the third floor to eat said booty -- well so be it.
Perhaps he decided to try and remove the tomato guts himself. Addled, precocious boy.
I will fetch your supplies, good sir, including a ham sandwich. I am just that marvelous a person. Also, I am wholly in your sway, of course.
Excuse me while I fake my own near-death
-- Padfoot
Padfoot,
You truly are marvelous. Once all of the required goods, and the rat, have been located, we shall abscond to the dueling gym. This particular Lesson will require a lot of space. And, perhaps, some clean linens. But don't you worry your massively oversized head about that. I'll take care of the linens and the ungulate.
-- M
M & P --
What are you looking so smug about? You're NOT writing girly love notes to one another again, are you? Because if you are I shall be forced to vomit in Snivellus' book bag.
Which I may do anyway if the bangers and mash from lunch keep talking back.
*BURP*
Haha.
~Prongs
Prongs --
We are reliving all the glorious ways in which we mutually debauched Evans over lunch. Isn't it obvious?
-- Padfoot
P.
Ha bloody ha.
She wouldn't go for you anyway, you great ugly dog.
Shut up.
~P
Prongs --
Daft boy. Of course she wouldn't go for me -- I'm far too much man for her to handle. I believe she already went for Moony, however. Several times. Behind The Greenhouses, no less.
I must now go track down Wormtail, who has disappeared under troubling circumstances. Budge up a touch, old sport, as I'll need the extra floor space for my 'please send me to the infirmary!' flailing.
-- Padfoot
O Antlered One,
You're too young to know what we're writing about. Ask again after you start shaving, and we may tell you.
You honestly haven't seen Peter since the candle incident? Madam Pomfrey said she sent him back to the dorm to recover, but in the dorm all I found was that book of his about the Aboriginal art of Australia. And some suspicious scorch marks, but those were probably from last night.
-- M
Holy Mother of Pearl, Moony.
What was that farce all about? I swear, if Padfoot swoons any more he's going to actually turn himself into the girl we all accuse him of being. And where does he get off ducking out of lessons without us? And Peter.
No, I haven't seen him. Scorch marks? You don't think that he... He wouldn't, would he? Not by himself.
???
J --
That was quite an accomplished swoon. I think Waverly was taking notes, for the next time Nigel the Hufflepuff fails to notice her compulsive eyelash-batting. Padfoot could make a few sickles if he started offering lessons in swooning.
And Peter...he has tried it before, by himself. He made it all the way to the Tate Gallery that one time. Rather impressive, actually, even if he did spend a good six or seven hours lost in "The Fairy Feller's Master Stroke". And had nightmares about it for months afterward. But...this is different. I don't think he would--I don't think he mentioned anything, did he?
-- M
R-
I dunno. He doesn't always say though, does he? When he needs help. And you say I'm the one with the ego.
But Sirius will find him.
~J
Prongs,
Right, Peter's probably fine. More importantly--we need to have a Top Secret Meeting after Transfig. this afternoon. The old dueling gym, and be sharp! Looks like the Ravenclaw team might have cottoned on. We need to alter our plans.
Did you see that? I swear to god I saw a duck-billed platypus fly past the window. They're not supposed to fly, are they?
-- M
Moony, you utter, utter sod. What have you been smoking behind our backs? The duck-billed platypus' resemblance to fowl ends at the beak, you nutter.
~Prongs
Ministry of Magic, Sorcery and Shamanism
Canberra, Australia
Office of the Minister of Magic
Headmaster Dumbledore,
It is my duty to inform you that at approximately five minutes past ten o'clock this evening, Ministry officials in Alice Springs were alerted to the activation of an illegal transportation spell near Uluru. Upon arrival at the scene, they discovered that the spell had been cast by a young man who appeared to be in a general state of confusion, disappointment, and undress.
Subsequent investigation revealed that the intruder possessed only a wand and a half-eaten pumpkin pasty. Under interrogation, he gave his name as Peter Pettigrew and admitted to being a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Pettigrew claims that his appearance atop Ayer's Rock was due entirely to an accidental misapplication of a modified Advanced Ars Conjungere Charm, popularly know as the "Artist's Connection".
Because of the perpetrator's youth and inexperience, the Ministry of Magic, Sorcery and Shamanism has decided not to seek punishment for the various crimes that have been broken, including, but not limited to, Illegal Penetration of a National Border, Misuse of a Restricted Transportation Charm, Trespassing in an Area of Magical and Historical Importance, and Indecent Exposure in a Public Space.
Really, Albus. Again? My dear old friend, this is the seventh time as many years we have had to turn one of your charges loose without so much as a smack on the bottom for their magical indiscretions. How is young Mr. Dearborn these days? We do hope he suffered no ill effects from his prolonged exposure to that rather hostile colony of coral. They can be quite nasty when surprised like that. And Miss Cheswick? That was truly an unfortunate occurrence, although my Ministry experts assure me that the spiders will, eventually, lose interest in the young lady and migrate back to Perth.
One might suspect that you are actually encouraging your students to seek out flashy and impractical ways of miring themselves in unlikely situations. Not so different from a certain headstrong Gryffindor boy I once met in Prague, if I may be so bold as to remind you. It was quite fortunate to find a Roma woman who was charmed by a pair of blue eyes, else we may never have located your fourth finger.
Alas, you should know as well as I do that times have changed, Albus, and it is no longer safe for young men and women to risk carelessly magicking themselves about the globe. Why, in the past week alone I have received no fewer than four missives from your own Minister Bagnold requesting that we tighten our Border Patrol and increase the penalties for Suspicious and Unexplained Border Crossings. These are troubled times, my dear, when friendly governments do not hesitate to direct demands and accusations toward one another. In fact, both your government and mine have voted to raise the requirements for the International Portkey Standard. Under ordinary circumstances, such a change would make it quite impossible for me to return Mr. Pettigrew to Hogwarts without an official inquiry.
But while my hair is not as dark as it was in Prague, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. You can expect Mr. Pettrigrew--fully clothed, of course--to arrive in your office just after breakfast.
It has been far too long since we shared old memories over tea, Albus. Perhaps you will find time in your busy summer schedule to venture in this hemisphere for a few days? I hope this message finds you well, and I do hope you will not punish Mr. Pettigrew very severely. I believe that the indignity of attempting to descend Ayer's Rock in the dark whilst wearing not a stitch was quite enough to persuade him not to try such a spell again.
With love,
Cordelia
Cordelia Amuletta Mathers
Minister of Magic, Sorcery and Shamanism