Basil was furious. In hand he held two identically packaged responses from Witch Weekly to an ‘ad’ he was supposed to have posted. Both had come attached to distinctly different notes with varying handwriting and obviously different tones. Who in their bloody right mind—!? Was this someone’s ridiculous idea of a joke or had a very, very erroneously meddlesome someone submitted something on his behalf? Atticus? Poppy? His mother? Eldritch even? Professor Foxwood couldn’t quite decide, even as he read the second of these responses over again.
This one was at least polite and, had he had any inclination whatsoever to spare even a moment more of thought on this, he might have considered the author for an elegant creature. One it might do him some good to know. As it was, he had no such inclinations and promptly crumbled up both responses and threw them into the bin. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in this scheme and, by Merlin, when he found out who’d done this! “Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself and turned back to his work.
This one was at least polite and, had he had any inclination whatsoever to spare even a moment more of thought on this, he might have considered the author for an elegant creature. One it might do him some good to know. As it was, he had no such inclinations and promptly crumbled up both responses and threw them into the bin. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in this scheme and, by Merlin, when he found out who’d done this! “Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself and turned back to his work.