The Dungeons

Draco. ( I wouldn't expect to see you up at this hour. )

A problem of a rather serious nature has occurred. I have spoken to a number of you privately, but this is really the quickest way to disseminate the information and determine what we shall do about it.

In short, Headmaster Severus Snape was dismissed from his position here at Hogwarts yesterday by the Board of Governors, (under extreme prejudice.)

Marcellus, what on earth is going on? Slamming doors in Lake Cottage is generally a bad idea. It gets quite irritated by that sort of thing.

Severus,

I am hopeful that you will forgive my inattention, because you have done so increasingly over the years, and my years are very advanced indeed. Also, I was on holiday in Majorca last week. Better not to ask.

In any event, Horace has just informed me of the latest gift from your most sincere admirer, R.S.

May I call on you? And, more to the point, is there anything you would like me to do? I may, for example, be able to access your office.

I need hardly add, don't worry. We will, as always, sort this out.

Affectionately,

Albus

The ink is splattered in places, and the entire note reeks of Macallan.

Albus,

For God's sake, man, don't send that bloody Patronus of yours on a body unawares. Blasted thing knocked my whisky off my chair arm.

Call on me if you want. I don't care. Horace knows where I am. In London. At his club. In Pall Mall. But if you do, bring the tin of shortbread in the second drawer of my desk. I forgot the damned thing yesterday. Or whenever it was. And I want my bloody shortbread.

Rufus Scrimgeour is pasty-faced gnomefucker, Albus. I want that perfectly clear and in my personnel file. Make certain Horace puts it in there. I said Rufus Scrimgeour is pasty-faced gnomefucker. And he probably enjoys it, the perverted bastard wretch. I hope they bite his prick off one day.

Bring the shortbread. And more whisky. No. They have whisky here. But no shortbread.

Severus

P.S. Majorca, Albus, really? I would expect better of you.

*The seagull arrives exhausted, bedraggled and storm tossed with a small parcel. The parcel is wrapped in brown paper stamped "Avis International Express Delivery Service: Your packages delivered same day or the bird gets it". The seagull flies off looking relieved.*

Dear Ginny,

Happy birthday, little sister. I hope things are wonderful for you today and every day. I saw this and thought of you.

Love,
Bill

*the parcel contains a carefully wrapped small gold and enamel pin*

Are you going to ask me in?

I would hate to have the staff talk.