Severus Snape: Topic: Mail; Event: Ghosts
The usual disaster area of journals, yearly catalogues, parcels of ingredients, and work orders comes, today, with a grubby, much-handled, once cream-white envelope that makes Severus want to burn it away, starting with the stupid, ornate seal and ending at the hands of the senders, using just the ice-hot daggers from his eyes which he keeps especially to shoot at people. Who deserve it. Like whoever sent him an official envelope. Even the people who can't transfigure one should know how to make an ordinary one from paper and glue, and have access to both. It is to snarl, yea, and possibly bite heads off in the return post if they bleeding well manage to deserve a reply.
Because why would he (that is to say, Veris P. Braendon-Clayborn) be getting letters from Hogwarts? He was home-schooled. He has no connections there except for Slughorn, through his late cousin Severus, who had made Slughorn promise to use the official Slytherin stationary on all harmless outgoing mail, that people might begin to dread it less again (best not to ask when this promise was required of him, mind), and the occasional owl from Poppy--again, on the infirmary's stationary--ordering potions. Neither of them would send such fingerprinted mail, and the occasional idle note from Filius or Pomona is, at his request, on unmarked paper, in unaffiliated envelopes.
Der Mrestr Posh Der Mrestr Very See DobbyDobbs has rembred to rwight lyk a snetent beyng just lyk Mrestr Very says! Wen is Mrestr Very goyng to help poor Winky she is very Low and Lobby is thrwing thyngs at her agayn. Dobb hopes Mrestr Very is well and Mrestryss Kwyn to and so do al the elvs and Mrestrysss Poppy and Greyn and Dusty and Owly and Ruler and Moony and Mrstrs Happy and Shaggy and Cranky and Mrestryss Greyn says she has estra lavyndr
Master Clayborn,
I told Dobby not to bother you, but he said 'Master Very' would be angry if anyone stopped him snarling, and I'm sure you know how to ignore him if you want to--and that elf does give Miss Myrtle a close race with the wailing.
Me and Irma and Mrs. Norris and Hagrid are right glad you've got out in one piece, even if Irma says it's just so she can do to you what you do to books without having her wages docked, and the Pomfrey sent me a fair few detentions the night after you visited, so you'll know what to make of that.
The school's been ticking over well enough, although the Hat's been poorly, which I'm sure you'll be sorry to hear... Bit dull all around, but I will say old Sluggy leaves the dungeons easier to clean.
Hoping your shop does well and you can fit in some of that research you used to talk of,
A. Filch.
"I'm still considering, you lantern-eyed, infinitesimally elephantine piece of irritatingly obsequious misery," he snarls at the first letter in frustration. Although it's tempting to put it up on the wall for a dartboard, he leaves it out for Minerva to see. The two questions it raises do rather invite her input, and this is as good an excuse to bring them up as any. Not to mention potentially finding out out whether she knew the elves all call her Mistress Queen (Mrs. Norris not qualifying for the title, having been long since spayed).
"What a cozy little triumvirate of house-elves, Snivvy!"
His face doesn't twitch a single muscle, but there's nothing he can do about the color going out of it. He was never going to have to hear that loud, jovial, smirk of a voice again. Black--Sirius--had shown him that he wouldn't. There are not expletives foul enough. He will not turn.