Cheers, mate. Yeah, I'd have another of those apple brandy thingers, if you're buying next round.

Maybe we can find Rowle and get him to tell us his speech again: drink on NEW, DAY, INTEGRITY, ALLEGIANCE and FUTURE. Drain the cup for PROSPERITY or FIDELITY.

Heh.

Say, which stall had those chocolate truffles? I haven't had good chocs forever. Where do you suppose they were able to get them? Smells like blackmarket to me! I say we go shake them down for whatever stock they've got--

ohlook fireworks! on the waves!


You coming back with those drinks, then?

If I stopped round your office at half-ten tomorrow, would you have time for a cup of tea?

I should be finished with my morning circuit (Braithewaite, L S-P, Broome, Braithewaite) by then.

So you know, Mother, the reception yesterday was quite interesting. We've been invited to join in a Protectorate initiative to put New London back to rights and to ensure its security in these days when the Phoenixes continue causing so much consternation.

Basically, it boils down to noblesse oblige, and naturally one does what's needed.

So far, that's consisted of drinks, hors d'oeuvres, and an hour's small talk with a roomful of people--not only my set, but we were certainly all out for it--followed by respectful attention to an explanation of the new organisation, its mission and structure. As expected, we've been assured that quality will take top spots. In fact, I was assured that my CCF training will mean a commission at advanced rank.

That was it, apart from signing--a loyalty oath and the commitment forms.

Tomorrow, first thing, Susan and I are to go receive our commissions and first orders, and then be fitted for uniforms.

It would be a kindness, Mother, if you would invite Susan for luncheon following. I'm certain she'll be free by noon, and I've an idea I may need to do a bit of unofficial work to establish rapport... and other necessary things. In any event, she's been so wet recently, it's a strain to keep up appearances. As you're the one who thinks it necessary to make a show of things with this marriage, the least you can do is entertain her for the odd lunch.

My thanks.

Mother. I am not coming to the Floo again to speak with you. I don't know when they'll have them operational again, but I've never known you to use them for transit. Why on earth would you begin now? Or are you worried he could come through that way? If that's it, then be glad they're blocked.

Now go to bed. Do. It will be much better in the morning when you're... rested. And, no, I've no real suggestions what you ought to do if Cadmus Mulciber's ghost visits you again tonight.

Is that why you're worried you'll be targeted? I doubt he's asking Mulciber for help with his list.

Honestly, Mother. You're a society witch. You're not political at all. It would require a massive stretch of the imagination to think anyone would select you out of all the people in the Protectorate to murder.

And if he does? You know, I give you at least even odds. You've rather an impressive record for surviving, don't you think? (Don't huff. It causes wrinkles. Anyway, you know I'm right.)

Turn off your wireless and go to bed, Mother. I can hear you, but I am seriously not getting up again. Remember, you arranged my marriage and gave me this townhouse so I'd be out from under foot in Wilton Crescent. Why haven't you got someone there with you who'd be some use in a crisis? Or against a foul-tempered ghost? Has Jerome Caustic broken things off again? Then, I tell you what, go out tomorrow and find someone new. Or hire more security. Who knows, one of them might be good-looking.


Oh, now, look. You've gone and woken Susan. I just heard her slam the door to her en-suite. If she comes down here next and shouts at me, I promise you I'll be displeased, so, do just shut up.

To the one who now calls himself Harry Potter:

You belong to me, and always have. This has always been your purpose. This has always been your destiny. Accept it - embrace it.

Come to me and you need never know pain or fear again. Come to me willingly, and you can end this pointless conflict now and forever. Come to me before midnight in two days' time, and no one else need die because of your cowardice. Submit to my will, and understand. It's time, Harry.

Your schoolmates' lives depend on you obeying my command.


For as long as I've known you, you've been the sort who always stood for decency and cared what happened to others. Do the decent thing now, Marvolo.

Since you've gone, everything's gone to hell.

Wouldn't both of you have loved to think that would be true? That the world would fall apart without you.

I mean to say, when we were young, we thought we were All That and the world was just waiting for us to take it on. You two were going to take up your spots on the Council. Draco, you'd have taken your place on all the boards and Ministry committees and commissions, and Teds, you'd have gone on being 'singular' or 'eccentric', and I expected to go along with you both and make up the number. And host half the parties. And bed most of the witches.

Only it's nothing like we thought. Everything went mad, starting with the two of you.

It's been a long year. Honestly. But now NEWTs are almost here, and after? I've got serious doubts about what's coming after.

Every day there's something worse in the papers. Dumbledore's stolen Dover. Inferi and werewolves are rampaging. Rebels are everywhere, and everyone's suspect.

No one's safe.

Mother firecalled yesterday afternoon with news that Abbeystead's been raided by MLE because a band of bloody outlaws were hiding up in the moors there. Mulciber came to see Mother, telling her he could have her arrested on suspicion of harbouring traitors. Mother. Really. Can you think of a less political witch in the whole Protectorate? Please! The most serious thing she ever does is wager on cards. Or decide her wardrobe for the next season.

She's terrified. It's not as if she's ever been to the Lancashire estates. That I can remember. But now she's got the idea that as soon as I'm finished here, I'm to make an inspection of all her properties. As if I'll know what to do if I find half of Dogstar hiding in the hedgerows.

Or maybe not Dogstar, actually. The Prophet says the Aurors have just routed them--got that Ridley woman who headed it and caught a huge lot of others out there with her. North Yorkshire, apparently. At least it wasn't that lot, making free with our land. But that's just it--it could have been. Because things are just that mad, and there's no one can stop it. MLE and the Aurors are always six steps behind, reacting, but never anticipating. And it seems for every traitor they catch, they threaten and terrorise ten or a hundred good people who've given them no cause.

I don't know.

And then there's Daphs, marrying Crouch. Which is... just wrong. In so very many ways. But there's nothing to be done. She's decided it's what she wants, and no one's going to change her mind.

And now Mother's planning a wedding for me, and I'm going through with it because, to be honest, I think settling down into quiet obscurity's a completely reasonable plan. Not that Susan Spinx is a thrilling prospect, but it may be the nearest thing to an invisibility cloak I can manage.

So you see what all you're missing? What's not dull is deadly.
 
 
 
Mostly, I think I'd give a pile of treasure if we could all just go back to being ten years old, but that's not happening, is it?
 
 
 

Tomorrow with Desai's likely to be interesting.

I tried warning Greg and Vince about the catch in that spell, but I'm completely certain neither one of them listened to two words in three.

Honestly.

If it didn't cost so many points, I'd let them have their just desserts...

Have you tried warning Mils?

Expect that was as much wasted breath.

Professor, I'm sorry to bother you, but I think you ought to know.

Harry Marvolo packed up his trunk with all his things and left the House. I heard about it when I got back from rounds. And I think the elves have vanished his bed. At any rate, it's not there any longer.

I suppose you're packed and ready for term? The Welcome Feast can't come soon enough for me. Mother is... Mother. I suppose it's natural that we're finding it difficult. I should have taken a flat if I hadn't believed her when she said she needed my company.

I can't believe I'm saying it, but I wish she'd find someone.

Actually, I wonder if I could persuade you to come out for an early supper with me on Friday and then go along as my plus-one to a soirée at Sophia Novello's. We needn't stay long if it's dull.

What do you say? I think it's fitting that the Slytherin Seventh-year Prefect should take the new Head Girl for a celebratory evening on the town. Who knows? We might make Whirl and give everyone something to chatter about when the next issue arrives with the post owls next week.

Has your turn come up to answer questions yet? Mine was pretty bland. I mean, I've got to write out a list of all the people I can think of who associated with Draco and a list of dates for parties we were both at and any other kind of gathering. And they wanted to know if I'd ever heard or seen anything to suggest that he's got perverse interests.

And they asked about Teds, but really, what's there to say? Aside from telling them if they were looking for someone with 'varied tastes', Teds would've been more likely than Draco.

I'm thinking I'll ask the elves to bring tea to the common room. It's quiet in there now everyone's gone. Care to join me?