Yurgh. I slept through my alarm clock because I was dreaming that my fiance's sister was disdainfully picking through my wardrobe to tell me what would be suitible for me to wear for Easter dinner. I woke up, found the Salinger link, and now have an indelible mental image of Snape styling his hair in a pompadour, and for some reason, rolling up the sleeves of his robes to stash his cigarrettes. I think he's now starting to compose bad Beat poetry a la "So I Married an Axe Murderer." My brain hurts.

On the upside, I got to read more of your fic. The day's shaping up pretty well.