(no subject)
I'm sorry, Potter. I am sorry for not being there to scold the house elves when they so foolishly supplied you with fire whiskey during your recovery from doxy poisoning. I wrongly assumed that once locked in your suite and away from Tonks' admirable behind (which you may remember pinching a number of times, while Lupin despaired and pretended to make light of the situation) that secluding you from human company would lessen the blow of humiliation you would feel come morning.
I'm sorry you're a despicable horror and threatened my house elves with magical castration if they didn't bring you the entire contents of the mahogany cabinet in the parlour. I've always held to the belief you preferred to be their friend, but you have proved me a trusting, mistaken fool. Please, if it won't come as too much trouble, could they have the pillow cases back you've stolen? Apparently it's rather cold down in the kitchens, and neither they nor I wish to feign deep-seated interest in the floor any longer when they consult me on manorial accounts.
I'm sorry for slapping you unconscious in your vulnerable state when you decided it would be a brilliant idea to cuddle me on the bed sheets. The scratches on your clavicle were sustained beforehand, when you began to hallucinate and refer to me as Weasley's sister, at which point I panicked and scrabbled to get away much like the girl you believed me to be. I'm sorry that it came to the point where you completely deserved getting punched in the jaw for having shamelessly roaming hands. It was Ogden's influence, not yours, and I understand that.
There, there.
Shall I apologise further, or would you like a turn for a change? Considering the chaos you inflicted last night was almost entirely. Your. Fault.