A/N: Here's a way to get a chapter ignored, post it just after Amynoelle and Heaven and before the story disappears from the first page. But for those who read it anyway, please forgive the descriptions of Nice, France and the Bulgarian-English speech. I'm not JK Rowling, and I was very distracted from the Wikipedia article on Nice today. Hopefully you won't mind and leave a review. Hint-hint.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but oh, Jo, why do you have to come to the States when I should be back home again? Why? WHY? *is dragged away bawling*
*****
Chapter Eleven
Within two hours every seedy haunt of the local dodgy wizard population was raided and thousands detained. It took four days to screen each and every one of them and officially charge three. New Year's Eve I was told by my father that though it was announced to the general population that they'd captured the culprit, they were actually nowhere near the person responsible. I did not cry, I barely even reacted, what good would that have done? I'd just spent the last four days recuperating from serious magical burn damage at my grandparents' house in Nice, I had no idea where or what had happened to Connor and the other five who had been injured along with me, and I had at last come to the frightening realisation that someone was trying to kill me and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not Hogwarts, not the Ministry and apparently especially not my parents.
I did not let on to this of course as I came down to breakfast on New Year's Day. In sharp contrast to Hogwarts in Scotland, winter in Nice, France was cool, sunny and bright. Birds sang openly in the trees just out my window, flowers bloomed in sills and in the garden around the Granger property (clashing garishly at times with the still-up Christmas decorations), and if I so chose I could go swimming in the sea (though it was not advised, it was still winter) just a fifteen-minute drive from the house. Milo and Mackenzie went often, walking hand-in-hand with Granny at their backs. I was too severely burned to leave the house at first, so I remained behind, lying in a hammock at the back of the house, reading through Milo's Úlfhéðnar comics, a get-well/peace offering that thankfully helped me pass the time.
Add that to my parents' insistence on pretending, for my, Milo and Mackenzie's sake officially, but theirs really, that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, it was as if we'd all taken a family vacation.
After the letter exploded in my face I and the others had been rushed to the Infirmary. But due to the severity of our injuries, three of us-me, Connor and a girl who'd unfortunately been sitting next to me-were transferred to St Mungo's. When I awoke a day later it was in France in the spare bedroom that my grandparents had set aside as mine since I was a child, as my mother gently rubbed a healing salve all over my face, neck, chest and arms-all where I'd been burned-humming a favourite lullaby. I'd been too stiff then to cry happily as I wanted to, but as time passed I found that I was numb, too numb to care about anything other than wonder about who had done this to me.
My mother looked up from the table as I appeared and said, "Happy New Year's! I should go wake your father; he's been dying to see you out of bed and walking around."
"Happy New Year's, needed a change of scenery today," I said.
She came over to hug me, but I faked pain and she quickly let go, saying, "I'll have to rub you down again, Madam Pomfrey said to keep doing that as long as you hurt."
I made no reply, but took my seat at the table and with my hands in my lap, stared listlessly out the window. Rigel had sent me a letter just that morning from Malfoy Manor, wondering how I felt and had liked the gift. I wrote back that I had and was using it at that moment, in actuality it was still in the bottom of my trunk, along with the Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak, at our sadly vacant home in Godric's Hollow. He would have been pleased to learn that Milo and Mackenzie had both long disposed of their sweets, as surreptitiously as possible of course.
He'd also sent me a copy of the Daily Prophet announcing the arrest of the individual the Ministry claimed was responsible. The wizard ranting mutedly at the gaggle of journalists shouting questions to him and the Minister of Magic looked nothing like a vengeful Death Eater, and more like any other Knockturn Alley inhabitant nowadays, some of who were too young to have been involved in the war. No wonder my father was not convinced.
My true concern though, was Connor. I had heard almost nothing of him apart from a snippet I'd managed to tease out of Rigel on my first day awake, through a letter I'd been forced to dictate to Milo, stating that he'd been sent home as well, for both parents were there and his father was walking about now and so was able to take care of him. He did not know their address and unwilling to get my parents involved I hadn't asked them for it. Stupid really, but I just didn't want to.
I was drawn from my thoughts by my mother sitting beside me with a bowl of cornflakes and warm milk, a glass of juice and the healing salve. I ate one-handed while surrendering the other to her ministrations, and therefore was trapped when she asked, "Aren't you happy to see us?"
I looked her directly in the eyes, and was more than a little surprised to see that her usually bright brown eyes were dull and sad. I tried to reassure her, bad liar that I am, "Yes. I've been dying for you and Dad to come back, and you're here. Why wouldn't I be happy?"
She gave me a look and I confessed, "I want to know what's happening. I want to know who it is and being here isn't helping that. Dad's sure that it isn't the bloke they arrested and you both are having doubts that the one you're following is connected too. So if it's not either of them, who is it and where are they?"
Finished with the first arm, she stopped for me to give her the other, and then she replied, "Sometimes you're too much like your father."
When I looked back into her eyes at this, she said, "You have to recover before you do anything. And since we're both here you can tell that your Dad isn't going to let you go back to school until he finds out who did this. He knows that this means that the wizard we were tracking has time to disappear, but then he's also sure that if we found him once we'll find him again. I can only help you as far as getting you back to school, he knows I won't let you miss one day, and at this point you might have better luck at finding the person who did this than he will."
Realising what she was saying, I stammered, "B-but... everyone s-says that he's Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Triumphed, he can find anyone. I'm just `Harry Potter's daughter', who can't play Quidditch, duel or sense dange-"
"Don't be silly!" my mother snapped, startling me. "You're Magnolia Potter, who's smart and headstrong and can make up for whatever she doesn't have with what she does. You have a name even if other people don't see it, or don't want to see it, and you have nothing to prove to anyone. You don't have to learn to play Quidditch, you don't have to be the best duellist in the world-unless of course you want to be an Auror-and your father can't sense danger any better than anyone else. If you want to find out who's hurting you, I have full confidence that you can and will."
I smiled and let her hug me this time, glad that at least one of us was confident. And then we were interrupted by the arrival of my father, siblings and grandparents. Milo came running over to separate us, and plopped something in lap that immediately began sliding off to the floor. My mother stemmed the flow with a hand and said, "Ah, more comic books. Aren't you being a good little brother nowadays?"
I looked at him beside her, concurring with blatant suspicion, "Yeah, isn't he wonderful...."
Milo though, began as innocently as ever, "This is the second year's issues. You get more history on Faolán and his clan and then the search for the second rune. I can get you the key if you want, I couldn't figure it out on my own before he solved it but maybe you can."
Mackenzie came up beside him and said, "You couldn't figure it out because you're stupid."
"Mackenzie..." said my father, warningly, from his seat opposite us at the table.
She looked away, embarrassed at being caught, but did not apologise. Milo continued, ignoring her, "Carl says that if you tap some of the runes with your wand you can find a secret message, he used Aisling's but couldn't read it, so he thinks that there might be another key."
"Really?" asked Grandpa from the head of the table, beside Dad.
"Yes, but why would you put something in the comic book that nobody else can read?" asked Milo.
Mum looked over the comic books in my lap, each one featuring a small, adolescent wolf with bright grey-blue eyes in various poses and settings, strongly resembling the wolf Connor had been drawing that Christmas Eve in the library, and said, "Well, sometimes authors like to include things in their works that only they or their friends may understand. It would make no sense to the reader unless explained to them, but that's not the intention, it's for the author and his friends alone."
Mackenzie considered this for a moment and then declared, "That's silly."
Dad and Milo concurred shortly after, but Mum replied, "Maybe, but sometimes it's just a way for the author to put a personal touch to something he's created. I've heard it said that when artists create works for public display they lose control of it. Officially it's theirs, but the interpretation lies with the audience and unless they were pretty clear about what they were doing-and sometimes when they are-the audience determines what they want of the work, and not what was intended. So maybe, your Romulus Kveld-Ulf has an `inside joke' in that secret message that only he and his friends know about and would understand. He put his personal touch there, but everything else is for you."
Mackenzie still looked as if she thought it rather silly and went over to clamber into Dad's lap and help herself to his breakfast. It was a habit Mum had been trying to break out of her for some time but Dad always undid all her hard work by letting Mackenzie do as she pleased. She looked across at him disapprovingly then and he quietly lifted Mackenzie out of his lap and into her own seat. She was about to protest when she saw Mum's face.
Milo then said, "Well anyway, when you're finished with these I have all of the third year. Did you know that Uncle Dean accidentally gave away the title of the first issue of the fourth year yesterday? He was giving an interview-you know, because Romulus Kveld-Ulf won't speak to anybody face-to-face, his biography says that it's just because he doesn't want to be recognised and not because his face is all scarred-anyway, he was speaking and he told them that they renamed it. It was going to be "The Storm" and now it's called "The White Wolf", and then he said since he told them that he might as well add that they're introducing a new character. We already knew that, but he says that they changed the character."
"Any explanation as to why?" asked Dad, only half-interested.
"No," said Milo, looking disappointed.
At this point Granny interrupted. "All right now, it's breakfast time, away with those books. And afterwards, Hermione, your father and I are taking the children down to the beach, Magnolia too. You two need some alone time."
"`Alone time'? I have a wizard to find and dismember, I can't pretend that this is just another family vacation," said Dad with more venom than he probably intended.
It was Mum who insisted, "Remember we're keeping up the appearance that we're taking a break to be with our daughter in a difficult time for our family-we are by the way, Lillie, just so you're clear." I nodded, she continued, "We might as well act like it."
"Right," said Granny. "We'll go down to the beach and you two can be alone."
Something about that worried me and I looked up at my parents mildly alarmed, their expressions though, were blissfully blank. Mackenzie asked innocently then, "What? Are you going back to work? You're really still working?"
Dad shook his head and replied to her, though he was looking at my mother. "No, we're on vacation."
He said no more after this and I looked back at Mum and said, "I'm so worried about poor Aunt Tonks. Once the baby's born she'll need all the help she can get and Uncle Lupin won't be able to help her sometimes. When he's sick he can't be around when the baby's colicky or Aunt Tonks is really tired...."
Mum gave me a look that plainly said "Nice try" and rose to wash her hands to have her breakfast, saying, "I'm wondering about Connor. He seemed so distraught when he heard that you were hurt, kept muttering over and over again, if only he'd known, he'd seen the owl and he didn't realise. And poor Oscar, the vet said he'd been Confunded."
Milo and Mackenzie ignored that, instead catching on to her earlier statement on Connor, "Ooooooo, Lillie's got a boyfriend."
I glowered at them both, "I don't have a boyfriend."
"But Connor likes you," said Mackenzie, grinning, then stuck out her lips in a pout and went, "Smooch, smooch, kissy, kissy...."
Then Milo began singing, "Lil-lie and Con-nor, sitting in a tree...."
Dad cut them off, "Eat up you two, you don't want to go swimming on an empty stomach."
"You're not supposed to go swimming on a full one," said Mackenzie.
"Yeah, but not an empty one either," said Grandpa, who apparently shared Dad's views on the boyfriend conversation, in that he didn't like it.
Mum came back to sit with us and smiled, "I wouldn't torment your sister if I were you two, one day you're both going to be in the similar situations."
Mackenzie and Milo exchanged a glance and gagged.
*****
Knowing that it was the dead of winter away at school, it was strange to stand on the sunny beach in Nice watching people stroll casually down the white sand shore, while others chanced a frolic in the chilly cobalt-blue sea. Feeling slightly self-conscious for the burns, which now looked nothing more than bad sunburns against my usually pasty skin, I had walked along sticking close to my grandparents while Milo and Mackenzie happily raced around and ahead of us. Now that we were at the beach though, Granny and Grandpa set up a couple of beach chairs and settled into them with their books and portable CD player, while I was set to watching the younger two as they played.
That was probably not such a good idea, because standing there watching the two play was boring and my mind wandered to Connor as I tried to imagine what he was doing at that very moment, wherever he was. His last words to me constantly replayed themselves in my head, "Who's it from?" They could have been the last thing he ever said; just sitting next to me could have gotten him killed. Was this going to be my life from now on? That friends and innocent bystanders alike were going to have to look out whenever I was near and someone wanted revenge for something my father had done?
Milo and Mackenzie came running up the beach with a little bucket, apparently intent on building a sand castle. They'd been doing that all the holiday so far and were apparently yet to tire of it. Were they to go through the same thing I was now, too? Would they one day have to face the fact that they could have people they don't know killed for just being in the wrong place, with them, at the wrong time?
"Magnolia darling, why don't you go for a swim, or sit down and read or something? You're blocking my light!" suddenly called Grandpa behind me.
I turned back to him, sneered, then snatched up the Taliesin Rhys-Hussey novel from Granny's bag, walked a little further down from them and then flopped down on the sand with it. As soon as I opened the book, his current best-seller, The Living Death, a sheet of folded paper fell out. It was the drawing Connor had given me for Christmas. I immediately slipped it back into the book and shut it. This wasn't going to work. I stuck the book back into the backpack, stood, dusted off my bum and said, "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in tick."
Granny said, without looking up, "Don't go too far."
"I won't," I replied and immediately began walking off down the beach.
My grandmother had forced me into a two piece bathing suit, my father insisted that I wear a pair of shorts and a hoodie over it, and with my sunglasses and head bowed, I trekked across the sand, walking down the beach trying to ignore my thoughts. It wasn't difficult. Nice is a lovely little seaside town in southern France, on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, with a history that dated back to the Greeks and many handsome young natives to draw the attention of even the most discerning tourist. From the moment my mother's parents had first visited it, they claimed, they knew that they were going to retire there someday. Winter weather was usually very mild, as was the weather today, but it barely seemed to hamper anyone's plans as for the sea. I passed no less than twenty groups lounging on the beach front, apparently unaware of the highway that ran the length of the stretch of beach we were on and the cool air. At home now no one would dare go to the sea unless they had to go out fishing or to rescue someone, and at school the lake had been frozen under for so long and in such thick ice that I had to wonder how the inhabitants endured it.
Mum had said once that she, Dad and Uncle Ron had come here after the war. The sun was so hot Uncle Ron nearly died of heatstroke the first day, then couldn't be removed from the beach unless by force for the rest of their stay. There were far more people then than there were now and they were often at a party with someone, who, though not knowing them for who they were, would invite them over for dinner anyway. It sounded like paradise, and when she added the bit about Dad finally telling her that he loved her on this very beach, it became a romantic paradise to rival my LaFolle collection.
At the time though I'd said, "Eww!" like my siblings would.
I stopped walking then and shook my head firmly to clear it. No thinking of romance, those thoughts nowadays would end in anxious musings on Connor. But as I began to walk again, someone said, "Hey! Hey! You girl! Can I have a vord vit you?"
Puzzled, and against parental warnings, I stopped and looked around for the owner of the heavily accented voice. It did not take me long to find them, they were running down the beach in my general direction, and nor did it take long for me to recognise them. My heart seized and my jaw dropped, it was Stanislav Krum.
Just like he'd appeared in Witch Weekly, he was a tall, handsome boy with long black hair that had been cut and shaved into something like a Mohawk-mullet, dark eyes and his father's hooked nose. And in his shorts and vest, he looked stocky, slightly muscular, and tanned, like the mythical hero of oh-so-many teenaged girls' dreams. I could not move, I could barely breathe, and I was sure that if he touched me I would fall. And then I noticed that he wasn't alone.
Coming up behind him, running just as quickly, was an almost equally tall girl, also with long black hair and dark eyes, but softer features and fuller, rosy lips. She was curvy too, and wearing a single-piece bathing suit that made sure that anyone looking on would not be able to keep their eyes off of her for long. (Noticeably, it didn't appear that anyone was looking our way though, obviously a bit of magic at work.) Svetlana and Stanislav were identical twins actually, of the rare occasions when they were and a boy and a girl.
They both came to a stop directly before me and Stanislav spoke, "Are you Magnolia Potter?"
At first I couldn't speak, so shocked by what I was seeing, and then his sister came up to him and the two carried on a hurried conversation in Bulgarian. I could not understand a word of it, but it looked as if she was upset with him about something. What, was he not supposed to let anyone know that they were there? Was there something wrong with speaking to me? Then she turned to me and asked, "You are Magnolia?"
I nodded. "Good. Is Connor all right?"
Still staggered, I struggled to find my voice, "I-I-I I don't know. I h-haven't-haven't spoken to him since-wait a tick, how do you Connor?"
"Ve vrite," said Stanislav.
"What? I'm sorry?" I asked, not meaning to be rude but unsure of what he'd just said.
Svetlana pushed him aside, "They vrite-on paper-you know, write-pen pals?"
Realisation dawning, I said, "Oh, oh! You're Connor's pen pal? You both...? How do you know...?"
"Ve met through the paper, your Prophet?" he said, trying to explain.
"The Daily Prophet?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes," he nodded. "Ve write and he tell me about you. He said-"
His sister immediately shushed him, and asked me, "Vas he hurt, bad? They said it was a letter?"
I extended my arms to show them my burns. "He shouldn't have it this bad, but it was bad enough that they took us to the hospital. He's home with his parents, I was told-I'm sorry, you know Connor?"
Svetlana looked understandably impatient and annoyed by my question, but her brother was the more patient and said, "Yes, ve talk, and his comic book, ve like the comics."
"His comic book...?" I asked, puzzled now, and becoming increasingly annoyed with myself for repeating their every question.
Svetlana cast her brother a dark look then, and replied, "Úlfhéðnar, ve read it too, and talk about it together. Ven ve heard vat had happened to him ve tried to contact him but got no answer, and ven ve heard that your father had brought you here ve begged Mama to bring us so that ve could ask you. But you say you do not know vat has happened to him...?"
"I haven't been able to write to him myself," I explained. "I don't have his address."
"Oh? Vell I can give it to you, maybe they vill let your owl through, ve use another name for safety," she replied.
"I don't have a pen or paper," I replied.
"No matter, come, ve are right here," she said and turned towards a small black and blood-red tent near some lawn chairs on the beach. Knowledge of magic told me that it was larger than it looked; mere common sense reminded me that I shouldn't just go up the beach with them. I didn't follow, and eventually they stopped and she asked, "Vat is it?"
I didn't know how to begin to explain. Instead I just stood toeing the sand awkwardly, until Stanislav caught on and said, "Don't vorry, ve are not... Death Eaters, is it? Ve are Connor's friends."
I looked away up the beach where Milo and Mackenzie were apparently still at play near my grandparents, saw them still sitting blissfully as before, they hadn't missed me yet, and then walked up behind them to their tent. When we were feet from it though, Svetlana hurried on ahead and went inside. I stopped outside with her brother, looking about nervously still, and then she returned a while later with two thick envelopes and a sheet of paper. These she handed to me and said, "These are our letters; please make sure he gets them. I put in something extra for his sister, Zoe. And this is his address; they must not know us so they do not let our letters through. Thank you very much."
She smiled then as she handed me the letters, and so did Stanislav so that I could not help but respond in kind. When they said nothing more though, I realised that the conversation was over and I should be on my way. With another smile and a, "You're welcome, both of you, it was nice to meet you," I turned and headed off back up the beach.
I was nearly ten feet away before I began to wonder at what had just happened. I turned back at once and found them still standing there watching me go. Good, I hadn't been dreaming, I thought. I smiled again, they smiled back, and I continued on my way to my grandparents.
Granny said as I finally got to their chairs, "Where have you been?"
"Walking, like I said," I replied, and added no more having apparently unconsciously made a decision to keep the meeting to myself.
"Took you a while there," said Grandpa.
I went back into Granny's bag and took out my book, slipped the letters and paper inside and said, marvelling at my serenity, "Well, it's a long beach."
Granny laughed, "See, what did I tell you? She's fine here, safe."
I, like Grandpa, wished that we could have believed that.
The moment we were back in the house, just in time for a late lunch, I raced up the stairs to my bedroom, wincing as my healing-tight skin stretched with my movements. (The healing salve cleared up the burns but only mildly eased the tightness of the healing skin.) Once I was in my room, I barely paused to slip out of my sandals before heading to my desk there and taking out a sheet of parchment, an envelope and a quill to write to Connor. I was so excited that I found myself bombarded by a series of different things I wanted to tell him at once and no idea where to begin. And it did not help that I managed to translate this to Ophelia, my little owl, for she was now zipping about excitedly in her large birdcage beside my desk, hooting and screeching in anticipation of finally being sent out on a delivery.
As she had been in my pocket when I opened the letter she had been spared injury. But still she had been examined by a Magical Creature-specialist and forced to rest in her new cage-a joint-gift from Milo and Mackenzie in light of my injuries-until now. I intended to send her out with the letters, worryingly long though the journey was going to be and tiny as she was, for I knew that Connor would recognise her the moment he saw her and let her through. And only when I received his response would I dare to believe what had just happened to me up the beach, for surely I had not just seen Stanislav and Svetlana Krum?
But before I could put the first word on the paper someone called from below, "Come down, Magnolia! It's lunch time!"
"Er... I'm not hungry!" I called back; hoping that Granny would believe it. My mother certainly would, but she and Dad must have left for that "alone time" already.
She didn't. "Come down, we were all out on the beach, time to eat!"
I looked back at Ophelia in her cage, then the address and two letters on the desk before me, and called back, "Give me a minute!"
"Hurry up!" she said.
I wasted no time. Barely dipping the quill in the ink, I scrawled hastily:
Dear Connor,
You've got some explaining to do. Are you okay? Haven't heard anything. Worried.
Maggie
Then I quickly folded the letter, sealed it in the envelope, copied over the address and found a rubber band to secure the other letters. Once they were attached I released Ophelia, she hopped lightly on my hand, pecked at my finger and I found a piece of string to attach the package to her feet.
Granny called up again, "Lillie, come down now!"
Ignoring her, I opened the bedroom window and with a whispered, "Take care", sent the little owl on her way. There was a tense moment where she dropped and flew awkwardly with the package at her feet, but then she secured her grasp and took off again, in a thankfully much steadier manner.
Granny called, anxious this time, "Lillie! Lillie?"
"Coming!" I called, and sped out of the room.
*****
That night after dinner I retreated to my bedroom with my mystery novel and Milo's comics, wondering all the while why I hadn't told my parents about meeting Stanislav and Svetlana on the beach. What if they'd been Polyjuiced impostors and the letter was another little bomb? But then it would have exploded again when I touched it, wouldn't it? Or what if it required my opening it like the last time? Had I just sent Connor his death? He was too far away now to be warned by owl, and this house had no fireplace for me to use the Floo, had I just killed him myself?
Someone was trying to kill me, why was I being careless? Why was I allowing things to distract me?
I contemplated going down a moment to tell my parents-who'd returned a little before dinner this evening all smiles and hanging off of each other, again I register awe that they could pretend that this was a normal family holiday-but then decided that I was silly. What had happened this morning on the beach was too strange to be a guise. They had had more than enough time to snatch and kill me when I'd been speaking to them and no one would have noticed a thing, if they didn't then they were never going to.
And if this was the case then Connor, how lucky was he to find Stanislav and Svetlana Krum for friends? He deserved it too, for all the things his family had gone through and were still, he deserved every bit of luck he had. I wonder though, if they knew that his father was a werewolf, and how had they reacted to it? How would Kimberly react if I ever told her that I'd met them today and they were "Connor's friends", to quote Stanislav?
So many questions, not enough answers, or at least none that could or would be answered today. Not to mention the most important of them all, when would this all end?
I tried to settle back into the bed then with the comic books and novel, finding the first issue of the comic's second year, and opening it up to read. I had to admit that it was a rather intriguing read, this comic. I usually considered comic books for children, never taking them seriously, but this one had a charm that I could not resist. It was, for one, set in Ancient Britain, and not Scandinavia like I'd earlier believed. The main character's name was Faolán and the story was mostly told from his perspective. And the riddles were easy to decipher but difficult to apply to the mysteries unless one had enough information from the story. The first year's rune-riddle lead to the first ingredient: the remarkably tame dried lacewing flies. I wondered if the author intended for readers to create the resulting potion, if it was a real potion, and what would happen when they did?
I had barely finished the first page when there was a tapping at my window. I flew off the bed and dashed to the window to let in the owl. It wasn't Ophelia, but Rigel's eagle owl, Lucius, (Mrs Malfoy didn't know this of course, she called him Orion) and as soon as I opened the window it hopped onto my desk and stuck out its foot for me to take Rigel's letter.
I took the letter, gave it a treat and sat down to read:
Dear Magnolia,
I hope your Dad doesn't burn this letter before you get it. I know he doesn't trust Grandmother, but I made sure that she never handled this letter or Lucius, and so I can also write what I want. I'm not sure if you got my other letter this morning; the distance is not really conducive to communication by owl. In that vein, firstly, how are you? I've heard that you've been awake since Boxing Day but not much else. I hope that you have fun while it lasts, just remember that school opens in a few days.
I myself am fine, personally. Grandmother was concerned about how the incident affected me and collected me from school in the afternoon; with you gone I had no choice. Hogwarts is boring without you. I haven't seen Connor, but his Mum's in the hospital. They think she's going into labour early because of stress, I'll keep you updated. Mother is home as well, but she's busy debriefing at the Ministry and it's Grandmother's turn to have me. Oh joy. Haven't heard from Camilla, I've decided to profess my undying love and devotion but she hasn't responded. Know that her Dad's back though, Grandmother said that `the belated Madam Bones' granddaughter has taken an interest in your Herbology professor'. Look out for disgusting displays of affection in the coming weeks if anything happens. Don't really care for anyone else at school, but rumours are going round that the Dark Lord's alive. Those duffers, they'll believe anything.
Now to your attacker: nice, I didn't know Voldemort was in the habit of recruiting Muggle-born toddlers? Grandmother laughed when she read the papers this morning. I do hope your father knows that this is just a publicity ploy. Talk to you when school opens. Happy New Year!
Rigel
P.S. What do you want for your birthday? I've got nine days to trump your Christmas gift.
Same old Rigel. Full of gossip, though he would publicly deny it, and concern, though he would never acknowledge it, not even personally. I smiled at the thought of him sitting alone in his palatial bedroom at the manor awaiting my owl, and sat down to write my response.
Dear Rigel,
I'm fine. Nice is the nicest place to recuperate in the world. Ignore the pun; it's awful I know....
-->