It doesn't look as if the under of your bed has seen a broom in seven years, so the odds of that changing in a day are working in my favor. But if you do happen to see this before you birthday, I'd appreciate it if you stop reading this note immediately and put it back until then.
Right, now, if it is your birthday, you are welcome to, after taking it out from under your bed so as not to get it dusty, very carefully open the box and see what's in it. The case inside is sealed magically and the glass is reinforced, but give it a tap and very clearly say "Karasjok Blows" to open it, if you absolutely must, but I WOULDN'T recommend it because what's inside is very, very important and fragile and I cannot express to you how
Well, actually, it's yours now, do with it what you like, just if you're going to get your hand-oils on it don't let me see or I will cry and it will not be manly in the least.
If you can't already tell, this is the glove my dad found at a garage sale of all places when I was 9. It was Dangerous Dai's, and that's his blood on it, from when his hand got shattered by a bludger. It's signed in silver along the index finger (which remained remarkably in tact!) and worth a fortune, not that that matters because you won't be selling it, all right? Because this is one of my most prized possessions in the world, which you would never even casually consider pawning.
But it's not mine anymore, it's yours, and don't ask me if I'm sure about this or not otherwise I will take it back and have to give you the stupid badge polishing kit that I actually did get for you weeks ago.
Happy Birthday-In-A-Day (but if you're reading this it is your birthday so just Happy Birthday, I suppose),
Your Mate Michael
[As explained in note, the box contains a magically sealed glass case with a ripped and bloody brown leather Quidditch glove on display. The faded writing along the index finger proudly spells out the name Dai Llewellyn in the deceased Quidditch player's own looping scrawl.]