One: tax returns.
So, here I am, taking a nice little nap atop of my newly cleaned desk after indulging a little and consuming an inordinate amount of Easter brandy (sorry, my good doctor, but tradition calls) and eating the special order, one-pound, Swiss chocolate rabbit, when a big brown barn out drops a stack of tax return papers on top of my head. The owl (poor thing, I really shouldn't blame it) is now missing a good amount of feather off the tail, and I now am sporting a rather shocking gash under my hair, probably surrounded by a good-sized bruise.
I thought I hired financial people and had that deal with H&R Block for a reason. But no... Hello screaming Howlers shouting "you're fucking fired, you fucking useless bastards!"
Two: the smell of Cuban cigars.
Who the bleeding Hell is smoking Cuban cigars around here? I smell it every time I go past the east shore of the Lake in the late afternoon. Let me tell you: if I catch you, you're going to wish that I was just Snape.
I need to go to Hogsmeade. I used the last of my good ammo on the bird.
Seamus, would you like to come with me?