Your little flower indeed has more sense than that -- and you know me too well entirely, old friend.
Your Weasley, meanwhile, has less sense than he ought; what are they teaching in schools these days, when one so blatantly of the house of Lion doesn't think twice at an unfettered offer from the house of Snake? His return missive was charmingly artless (in all senses) and adorably sincere -- apparently I'm certain to be a favorite of the little darlings in this forthcoming year. Well, I suppose it doesn't need a Seer's powers to predict I'll be more of a favorite than darling doomed Alecto, at least. Wonder how many of the chicks will flinch instinctively when I walk in the room?
Still -- there is ever joy to be found in a challenge, and he wears the hunger more plainly than the dirt clinging to the hem of his family's robes. And not the hunger for a more elevated station to which you refer (though yes, someone does need to culture him -- much as one might an oyster -- before he's presentable in polite company). If I could be bothered, I'd stake the pride of my library against the best of your cellar I could temper him to steel, actually, if never precisely to greatness; as is, well, you know how helpless I am in the face of a sincere desire to immerse oneself in the lore. No matter what the poor boy's done or not done, he hardly deserves Alecto to have been his only tutor. We shall see how matters develop and whether (and how quickly) I grow bored; for now at least, I find the artlessness endearing.
(Rest assured I shan't encourage dereliction -- in fact, sent the books by way of elf, ordered to provide whatever services the household requested for an afternoon. Curious to see what it'll observe while there.)
My love to Narcissa, and if you haven't already told Draco of the news for fear of it spreading, you've twelve hours or so to beat the Hogwarts owls. Stephen stopped by earlier to avail himself of the fruits of my travels (I did cull those titles I thought you'd be most interested in beforehand, though the thestralskin-bound Cruor Invictus with the 15th c handwritten marginalia was my apology gift to Barty for missing so many birthdays) and offered his usual astute observations on how to head off a Howler or two at my sill tomorrow evening. Should prove entertaining, if nothing more.
I find myself oddly anticipatory of the adventure that awaits, actually. Our Lord's kindness in allowing me this task defangs much of the manticore's sting in knowing I've still a long road to recovery ahead of me.
(Oh, and -- MLE? Shall send the elf out for a copy of the Prophet when it returns, to see what I've missed. I trust you know that if you've need of me, you only need call, Lyoushka, though as always I can hardly imagine anything that might be.)
Yours faithfully, and surprised to discover how much I'd missed that mode of address, T
Re: Private Message to Lucius Malfoy
Your Weasley, meanwhile, has less sense than he ought; what are they teaching in schools these days, when one so blatantly of the house of Lion doesn't think twice at an unfettered offer from the house of Snake? His return missive was charmingly artless (in all senses) and adorably sincere -- apparently I'm certain to be a favorite of the little darlings in this forthcoming year. Well, I suppose it doesn't need a Seer's powers to predict I'll be more of a favorite than darling doomed Alecto, at least. Wonder how many of the chicks will flinch instinctively when I walk in the room?
Still -- there is ever joy to be found in a challenge, and he wears the hunger more plainly than the dirt clinging to the hem of his family's robes. And not the hunger for a more elevated station to which you refer (though yes, someone does need to culture him -- much as one might an oyster -- before he's presentable in polite company). If I could be bothered, I'd stake the pride of my library against the best of your cellar I could temper him to steel, actually, if never precisely to greatness; as is, well, you know how helpless I am in the face of a sincere desire to immerse oneself in the lore. No matter what the poor boy's done or not done, he hardly deserves Alecto to have been his only tutor. We shall see how matters develop and whether (and how quickly) I grow bored; for now at least, I find the artlessness endearing.
(Rest assured I shan't encourage dereliction -- in fact, sent the books by way of elf, ordered to provide whatever services the household requested for an afternoon. Curious to see what it'll observe while there.)
My love to Narcissa, and if you haven't already told Draco of the news for fear of it spreading, you've twelve hours or so to beat the Hogwarts owls. Stephen stopped by earlier to avail himself of the fruits of my travels (I did cull those titles I thought you'd be most interested in beforehand, though the thestralskin-bound Cruor Invictus with the 15th c handwritten marginalia was my apology gift to Barty for missing so many birthdays) and offered his usual astute observations on how to head off a Howler or two at my sill tomorrow evening. Should prove entertaining, if nothing more.
I find myself oddly anticipatory of the adventure that awaits, actually. Our Lord's kindness in allowing me this task defangs much of the manticore's sting in knowing I've still a long road to recovery ahead of me.
(Oh, and -- MLE? Shall send the elf out for a copy of the Prophet when it returns, to see what I've missed. I trust you know that if you've need of me, you only need call, Lyoushka, though as always I can hardly imagine anything that might be.)
Yours faithfully, and surprised to discover how much I'd missed that mode of address,
T