It is completely, utterly, one hundred percent his fault for walking into something sitting nearly in level with his nose, in Severus's opinion. His opinion that is clear as he stares at the display happening a few feet away.

A thing that also exists: the covering has decided that Netherlands is now its reference point of stability, and is attempting to wrap itself around his head. It's only trying to help.

Severus deals with the important bit first - sending his work neatly packing itself away from the stumble-range of this person - and then, graciously, points at the struggle. "Finite incantatem."

The shade flops down, lifeless.