Private Message to Barty

[alt_antonin]

Dear one -- please say you are free this weekend for at least a brief period; I am in desperate need of time spent with someone who can remind me that I am, in fact, a capable and competent teacher. (Best not to ask. The idiot children have prompted the day from hell.)

I am having a hideous day, my head is throbbing, and I don't have time to run through a dozen books to find the right reference: do you happen to remember offhand which book has the chapter on adapting magic to compel and bind others' magic? I thought it was Daughtery and Smith, but that's not it.

Comments

[alt_crouch_jr]

Hackleford? No. I see what you're asking.

Cadlington-Smythe. Latter sections, I think.

A glance at the title lines of private messages out of Hogwarts today shows the Headmistress, Matron, the Headboy, and the staff all chattering. Imagine several headaches worth in whatever has happened.

[alt_antonin]

You are a miracle: bless you.

And yes, today has been dreadful. Apparently half the upperclassmen decided to form a secret underground society to duel the Arts in mimicry of Razzer and myself. Unsupervised. With no experienced casters and no experts in reversal. And -- not to belabor the point -- without permission, when both Razzer and I repeatedly said we would be happy to provide extracurricular study, and in defiance of our direct orders not to practise on their own.

At least two children in the Matron's care with damage that may prove irreversable, the entire staff aware of the problem so I cannot simply have a quiet word with the idiots in question and make the issue go away, and Dolores fucking Umbridge sitting in the corner sweetly clearing her throat.

'Headache' is not the right word.

[alt_crouch_jr]

It's the old debate: if we wish our small population to grow in purity and strength, is it best to prune out the weak brained and weak limbed? Or is it necessary to keep as many young bodies in the breeding stock as possible, despite their imbecility?

Cannot imagine any of them passing up the chance of training with the two of you.

I wonder. Could any of the rasher youths be nudged in a direction that would cause Madam Umbridge headaches & make her less of a nuisance for you?


But, Toshenka. Metaphors aside. Is there more to it than headache?

Have you spoken with your Healers? Or the Matron, at least?

[alt_antonin]

I will be winnowing through what information we have been able to find to see which of them can be redirected, which of them should be carefully supervised, which of them should be reined firmly in, and which of them should be interred six feet under in the Forest. (As to that last: I jest, if only because the parents would fuss.)

You will laugh at this: one of the little darlings kept notes, with detailed descriptions, diagrams, statistics -- an analyst's dream. Unciphered. With a poetic epigraph atop.

You may comfort yourself to know that no matter how much of a headache you and Reg ever gave me, it was nowhere near this.

I saw the Healers when we were just back from Ireland -- exhaustion, apparently, and the expected course of the curse. They think I may have another period of worsening before the final recovery. I am hoping to avoid the worst of it still, but days such as today are certainly not helping.

[alt_crouch_jr]

Is Nott's sprog one of them? The one that tried hexing you from behind. That one deserves a lesson.

A poetic epigraph. Reg would have loved that.

Speaking of which. I take exception to the idea we came short of the mark these students are setting! We should have tried harder.


Promise you'll call St M's or the Matron if you note any worsening. At all.

[alt_antonin]

The poetic epigraph was on the preface, apparently written after I ordered him to make a clean breast of it, in which he waxed effusive about how regretful he was at having blah blah blah:

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

That is the point at which I burst out laughing. Even Reg at his worst was never quite this dramatic!

Nott's offspring is indeed one of them, as well as Crabbe's and Goyle's. And several other familiar names. I rather think that many of them are used to trading upon those names in ducking consequence -- well, they'll find that my notions of consequence are different than what they may be used to, at least. If they're to act as children with no sense or self-control, I shall treat them as such.

I truly do believe the headache is more psychological than physiological -- but I will not neglect my health, dear heart. I do promise.

(And you were correct, it was the Cadlington-Smythe, and I think I can in fact do what I mean to do. Once I work out the arithmancy and the astronomy involved -- or rather, once I work out the arithmancy and ask Aurora for the astronomy.)

[alt_crouch_jr]

Poetic justice would have you transfigure that one into a blackberry bramble. You could plant it out in the grounds by the willow.

[alt_antonin]

Between you and Raz -- who thinks we should tell the children in question that since they have practised so much, they should be in fine shape to duel him, me, and you -- I am now, at least, laughing half again as much as fuming. Which is a considerable improvement.

(The headache-relieving potion is helping, too.)

Thank you for reminding me that I have at least one unalloyed success to my credit, lapushka. You always do lift my spirits.

[alt_crouch_jr]

At your service. Always.

Say the word and I'll set aside a day to come let your upstarts measure themselves against me.

[alt_crouch_jr]

I am, by the way, free and anxious to see you this weekend. I've had Pennifold check, but he reports that the diary already had 'Toshenka' blocking out the time. Barring the unexpected, of course. But then you could come with. What bits of time has Narcissa left me? And others? Know you have others competing for you.

There's a new place in Holborn that's said to be Andalusian. Braithwaite recommended it. Or is there some place you've been meaning to try?

[alt_antonin]

I am not sure when Narcissa will be stopping in (to select my donation to the St M's auction this year and, I suspect, to reassure herself I have not yet fallen over), but I do not think she would mind the further company. I will owl you once I've escaped from Healers' clutches -- you will always have the first claim to my time, dear heart. I may need to return to the castle Saturday night rather than Sunday, depending on how things work out with the idiot children, but we shall see.

Let us hope there are no further explosions of idiocy. So far today, our budding poet's notes have uncovered no fewer than five bungled curses or hexes that would have been asymptomatic until past the point they could be entirely reversed, including at least one that would have resulted in eventual death for the young man in question. Which has felt rather like rubbing salt in the wound, since the little idiots have no idea how valuable their good health truly is. (And before you fret: I am not declining further, I've just added sleep deprivation on top of the ghastly headache. I would not be seventeen again if you paid me -- but oh, do I miss the part where one feels invincible.)