And once again I must wonder what the hell Alecto Carrow thought she was teaching. And why Our Lord left her there so long. Any one of my third-years could do a better job. Honestly, it's embarrassing. It's no wonder Lyoushka kept declining to put his name forward for sponsorship; if PW hadn't earned his spot on my Little List I would no doubt be beating my head against the wall in trying to teach the dunderhead how the world works.
(Actually, I may stop by this weekend for a 'casual chat' and offer my assistance, come to think about it; we've obtained what we needed; wards cast by Yours Truly would be another piece of evidence that PW is looking for the next set of boots to lick. Although, no, strike that, if you're meeting with Rowle about your meeting with Mulciber, having me show up at Weasley's flat afterward would be tantamount to declaring sponsorship... although come to think of it, that might light even more of a fire under CM, and make him think he'd scored a point against us, which might be useful later. Think a bit about what message we want to send there, I suppose.)
It does amuse me to think of Molly Prewett's furious gnashing of teeth about this whole business, though. How appalled her dear, departed brothers must be in the worlds beyond.
Ah, well. At least the youngest son seems to have received all the common sense his elder brother lacks. You lot have him as an intern this summer, no? Have they beaten that tendency towards sloth out of him yet? If he were at all more ambitious I would have adopted his cause, but alas, he's seemed content to stumble through life thus far. (Pity; he's a knack for the Arts, and it would so amuse me to woo him out from under his mother's ample sheltering bosom.)
Yes, the symbolism does work for Nott, but the doorstep is entirely too tame for something that delicious, I believe. His kitchen table, perhaps? Or his bed.
Do let me know what Rowle has to say. And I wish you luck in keeping a straight face.
(Still not eaten. It is so damnably disquieting here. And I can't help but wonder who each of these poor bastards are.)
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Date: 2014-07-11 06:00 pm (UTC)And why Our Lord left her there so long.Any one of my third-years could do a better job. Honestly, it's embarrassing. It's no wonder Lyoushka kept declining to put his name forward for sponsorship; if PW hadn't earned his spot on my Little List I would no doubt be beating my head against the wall in trying to teach the dunderhead how the world works.(Actually, I may stop by this weekend for a 'casual chat' and offer my assistance, come to think about it; we've obtained what we needed; wards cast by Yours Truly would be another piece of evidence that PW is looking for the next set of boots to lick. Although, no, strike that, if you're meeting with Rowle about your meeting with Mulciber, having me show up at Weasley's flat afterward would be tantamount to declaring sponsorship... although come to think of it, that might light even more of a fire under CM, and make him think he'd scored a point against us, which might be useful later. Think a bit about what message we want to send there, I suppose.)
It does amuse me to think of Molly Prewett's furious gnashing of teeth about this whole business, though. How appalled her dear, departed brothers must be in the worlds beyond.
Ah, well. At least the youngest son seems to have received all the common sense his elder brother lacks. You lot have him as an intern this summer, no? Have they beaten that tendency towards sloth out of him yet? If he were at all more ambitious I would have adopted his cause, but alas, he's seemed content to stumble through life thus far. (Pity; he's a knack for the Arts, and it would so amuse me to woo him out from under his mother's ample sheltering bosom.)
Yes, the symbolism does work for Nott, but the doorstep is entirely too tame for something that delicious, I believe. His kitchen table, perhaps? Or his bed.
Do let me know what Rowle has to say. And I wish you luck in keeping a straight face.
(Still not eaten. It is so damnably disquieting here. And I can't help but wonder who each of these poor bastards are.)