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The envelope sat on the kitchen table of Spinner End half buried under a pile of unread Daily Prophets. It arrived at the beginning of June, and Severus had nearly set it on fire the moment he saw it. But he hadn’t, and now it sat ignored, but not forgotten.
Every morning it taunted him while he drank his coffee, a bent corner of creamy paper visible from under the heap of newspapers. He might not be able to see the name written in a crooked chicken scratch, but Severus knew it was there.
He would always know it was there, and while it was impossible to bin it, it was equally impossible to open. At least for now. It was after all only an envelope, and perhaps it wouldn’t hold sway over Severus forever.