“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, “a matter of no importance… It's not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I'd apply, but apparently I don't fulfill requirements’-”
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
“But you would think, wouldn't you,” he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, “that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?”
“Oh - yes,” said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
“I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -” Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: