Bother
Disclaimer: Matraiea is far too tired to think up witty rejoinders to suffice as legal disclaimers. Insert your own uproariously funny disclaimer *HERE*. J.K. Rowling is rich off of these characters, and I am not.
Chapter Three - You Don't Need To Bother
*** You don't need to bother
I don't need to be ***
Gerald shot his son a dirty glare. "Who'd be writing you?" Prying loose the
purple wax seal, he opened the parchment envelope, withdrew the note inside, and
read aloud:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Snape,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and
equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Throughout the reading, Gerald's olive complexion had grown considerably
ruddier. Severus might've laughed at how closely his father resembled a grape
had he not been overwhelmed by this new information. As the last words were
spoken in a near whisper, the owl hooted once to impress upon them his need for
a reply letter. Gerald stared at the bird in shock, and frantically shooed it
away, glaring as it swooped gracefully overhead and landed on top of the
refrigerator. He read the letter again, silently, and finally looked at his son
speculatively. The boy stood tall, his beetle-black eyes glinting with hope and
not a little trepidation. With a cruel sneer, Gerald calmly tore the parchment
in half and threw it on the floor, enjoying the look of pure dejection that
crossed Severus' face before the boy ruthlessly crushed any trace of emotion
that lingered in his eyes. The owl hooted angrily in disapproval and disappeared
as quickly as he'd come, despite the lack of an open window to depart from.
"What is this, boy?" Gerald said, his voice dangerously low. "Some kind of
joke?" He watched as his son tried desperately not to give in to the
overwhelming desire to retreat as the large man stepped toward him. "You know I
don't take kindly to jokes." That impertinent defiance was still in Severus'
eyes even as he struggled not to cower away from his father. "But then, that's
nothing a good beating won't cure," Gerald smirked, as his fist made brutal
contact with the boy's preternaturally pale face.
