 connoisseur of comfort ❅ Crayola's Wibby Mrs Alex Turner ❅ Netflix and meow
Clifford smiled politely when the Professor told him about coming from Northern France and living there before moving to attend Hogwarts. He thought France was interesting and was about to ask the man if he'd ever been lucky enough frog's legs and snails when he heard something going on outside. Eh?
And then Professor Dumont started laughing like a crazzeh man. What in the name of Merlin? "Peeves wuz heer?" He read out loud, craning his neck to read what had been written on the nameplate of the office door? That hadn't been there when he'd knocked, he was sure of it. Okaaay. "Is that some kind of foreign language, Sir?" He asked, eyebrows raised curiously. He mut've understood whatever it said to start laughing like that. "OOH! Is it muggle language?" That existed, right?
And then one of the most horrifying things happened, and Clifford's eyes widened in surprise at what he just witnessed. This ... thing ... nose-to-nose with the Professor, shrieked at the top of it's lungs before pouring ink right on the poor bloke's head. "Oh my ..."
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