Severus Snape had just settled down for an evening of pleasure reading, his well-worn copy of How to Betray Friends and Humiliate People by D.V.S. Naipaul on his lap when a sudden noise interrupted the quiet.'Hullooo, Professor Snape!'Snape nearly spilled his glass of firewhiskey, Wormtail having polished off the last of the wine during another one of his pathetic late night binges.
'Nigel,' he said irritably to the head protruding from the grate in the fireplace, 'it's late. Someone important had better be dead.'
Nigel had the sense to look a bit shocked, 'Sorry sir. Just thought you might like an update on that Muggle wireless show about you.'
Snape put down his book, 'Have they finally heeded my warning and ceased this nonsense?'
'No sir,' Nigel said nervously, 'They even released another show, and the other Muggles really seem to like it.'
Snape glared at him.
'Of course, it's still not as popular as that show about onions and some other show about Muggles,' Nigel added.
'Aren't all their ridiculous shows about Muggles?' Snape asked bitingly.
'No sir, not all of them.' Nigel gulped, 'In fact, one of them's about Harry Potter.'
'Potter.' Snape's lip curled.
'Of course, that show's a lot more popular than the one about you,' Nigel said helpfully.
Snape simply glared.
Nigel's head lingered in the grate a moment as if he had something more to report.
'Are you quite through Nigel?' Snape hissed.
'One more thing sir,' Nigel said hastily as he tossed a small brown parcel out of the fireplace. 'The missus sent these along. She thought you might want to give them a try. Says they're much more hygienic than what you've got on now.'
And with those cryptic words, Nigel was gone.
Snape retrieved the small package and unwrapped it. Inside were several pairs of cotton undershorts decorated with the most garish patterns in colors hideous enough to make one's eyes bleed: tiny pink cauldrons spewing clouds of purple smoke, cuddly green snakes grinning madly upon a field of lemon yellow, and bright orange and blue houselves cavorting with lumpy red trolls.
'Idiot woman,' Snape muttered and obliterated the offensive undergarments. What business was it of hers what he wore beneath his robes anyway.
Before he could settle back down with his book, however, a tapping at the window caught his attention. There, perched on the sill was an odd assortment of post owls, all of them clutching parcels very similar in size to the one Nigel had just given him, and suddenly Snape had a sinking suspicion that this was somehow the fault of that rotten muggle wireless show.
Shameless Plug: If you think crisp new troll covered underpants are more hygienic than old graying ones, vote for Snapecast on Podcast Alley.