From the desk of Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION
To Whom It May Concern,
I have found the source of the flannel sounds. It seems a wild band of feral laundry has been inhabiting these caves for hundreds of years, gaining in numbers with the addition of new articles of clothing from each successive school year. I found a pair of knee-length striped socks I lost ten years ago, but unfortunately they do not seem to want to come quietly, as they have since then mated with a school scarf and a kitchen napkin, respectively. I tried to take the socks by force and was immediately attacked by tiny striped scapkins and narfs.
I have been having difficulty getting back on track to the Zoowalash's cavern, since getting sidetracked by the laundry. Strange symbols and shapes are carved throughout the inner caves and tunnels. I can't seem to make any sense of them. They don't seem to have been made by the laundry, mostly because the laundry's only real talent appears to be skeletonizing a cow in less than two minutes. I am beginning to realize just how many thousands of years old the foundations of the school really are. Which makes no goddamn sense to me, as the school itself is comprised of mostly ecclesiastical 14th century European gothic architecture, barely more than seven hundred years old. Whatever.
I am camping out tonite in one of the smaller side caverns, and must admit that I am enjoying myself far more than if I was back up in the school, listening to MacGonagall tell us all for the hundredth time that one story about the time she put a dollar in the staff soda machine and got two sodas by mistake. My fondue kit needs washing up, but I'm sure there must be some groundwater around here somewhere. I am, after all, right under the lake itself. I wish I'd brought a dish sponge, though.
On second thought, I wish I'd gotten married and brought a wife, so she could do it for me. She probably could have sorted out that whole sock business, as well. Women love laundry.
After answering a few more letters, I have turned off my iMac and am now ready to rest up until tomorrow, when I hope to at last reach the outer caverns leading to the. . . what was that? I could have sworn something dragged itself by the tunnel entrance. If it's that damn laundry again, for the last time I do NOT have any bleach.
What's that outline. . .I can't quite make it out. Looks like a. . . large sheet of wood. . . hammered together with the parts and pieces of a hundred long-dead furniture projects. . .
What the. . . oh-oh my GOD. . .it isn't. . .it can't BE. . .
PROFESSOR DOOR?!
Totally Freakin' Out!
Severus Snape
P.S. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
RE: REQUEST FOR DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS POSITION
To Whom It May Concern,
I have found the source of the flannel sounds. It seems a wild band of feral laundry has been inhabiting these caves for hundreds of years, gaining in numbers with the addition of new articles of clothing from each successive school year. I found a pair of knee-length striped socks I lost ten years ago, but unfortunately they do not seem to want to come quietly, as they have since then mated with a school scarf and a kitchen napkin, respectively. I tried to take the socks by force and was immediately attacked by tiny striped scapkins and narfs.
I have been having difficulty getting back on track to the Zoowalash's cavern, since getting sidetracked by the laundry. Strange symbols and shapes are carved throughout the inner caves and tunnels. I can't seem to make any sense of them. They don't seem to have been made by the laundry, mostly because the laundry's only real talent appears to be skeletonizing a cow in less than two minutes. I am beginning to realize just how many thousands of years old the foundations of the school really are. Which makes no goddamn sense to me, as the school itself is comprised of mostly ecclesiastical 14th century European gothic architecture, barely more than seven hundred years old. Whatever.
I am camping out tonite in one of the smaller side caverns, and must admit that I am enjoying myself far more than if I was back up in the school, listening to MacGonagall tell us all for the hundredth time that one story about the time she put a dollar in the staff soda machine and got two sodas by mistake. My fondue kit needs washing up, but I'm sure there must be some groundwater around here somewhere. I am, after all, right under the lake itself. I wish I'd brought a dish sponge, though.
On second thought, I wish I'd gotten married and brought a wife, so she could do it for me. She probably could have sorted out that whole sock business, as well. Women love laundry.
After answering a few more letters, I have turned off my iMac and am now ready to rest up until tomorrow, when I hope to at last reach the outer caverns leading to the. . . what was that? I could have sworn something dragged itself by the tunnel entrance. If it's that damn laundry again, for the last time I do NOT have any bleach.
What's that outline. . .I can't quite make it out. Looks like a. . . large sheet of wood. . . hammered together with the parts and pieces of a hundred long-dead furniture projects. . .
What the. . . oh-oh my GOD. . .it isn't. . .it can't BE. . .
PROFESSOR DOOR?!
Totally Freakin' Out!
Severus Snape
P.S. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!