Antonin Nikolaevich Dolohov

Miss Greengrass,

Barty asked me to write you and thank you for the care package -- the biscuits and tarts were quite appreciated. And the flowers are lovely as well, and the charm work upon them is first-rate; did you do it yourself? The book, as well, is most soothing. You've a lovely voice for reading; Barty has been listening most afternoons.

(Please forgive me writing to you in his place; he's recovering, but holding a quill is still difficult.)

We both hope you have a pleasant holiday.

He's home. Desperately ill, but home. He's at Cottesmore now, with the elf looking after him when I can't be there, but I'm trying to convince him to recuperate in my quarters here at Hogwarts instead. (I am having about as much luck with that as I am with trying to convince him to be seen at St M's.)

Benevolent gods and all the saints have mercy upon me, this has been a fucking awful day.

I don't want to distract you while you're in the middle of your misson; I should say that up front. Don't spend a minute worrying about me. I am fine, only heartbroken. And so damnably tired. And praying for whatever grace I may have earned that Our Lord does not take his temper out on me when he hears

You remember the summer spent going through Hogwarts' ledgers bit by bit, and how I could not untangle the rat's nest of layers they had accumulated throughout the years? I gave them to my analyst-in-training, the arithmantic genius. Redacted, of course; he's good enough to do the calculation without any of the details, and naive enough to never draw the lines between his reports and what might happen after he hands them over to me. It's a good thing, too; he would be heartbroken if he realised what he'd uncovered, and what it led to.

Pomona Sprout has apparently been supplying Black and the Order of the Phoenix from Hogwarts' greenhouses. I don't know for how long in all, but the last few years, at very least. I called her in this evening to discuss it, thinking she was only trading on the black market, but realised quickly there was something more sinister going on. I brought Bella in to question her, and although she tried to occlude, she slipped just enough, Bella reported, to think her regrets that she brought Auri in on it before getting caught.

This was apparently enough to trigger a mass exodus of those who had been lying in wait. When the dust cleared -- yes, I am summarising considerably -- Pomona was dead, and Poppy and Auri had fled the castle, David Brutka along with them. And according to the portraits, Brutka came into my office (where we had left Pomona under guard by two Enforcers), overcame my clerk, and escaped with him as hostage. I am left with one dead professor and Head of House, two escaped professors and one escaped matron, a missing clerk who knows far too much of my business and is undoubtedly in the hands of my enemies, a student body that was already traumatised enough, and far too many unanswered questions.

Why must this damnable vow hanging around my neck like a millstone force me to destroy everything I have built? He has driven so many good people to desperate straits and carved us into his pawns along the way, and nothing amuses him more than to force each of us to sacrifice every last scrap of what we've built for ourselves, one by one, and feed it to the fire in front of him so he can watch it burn. Auri was the only person remaining in this damned castle with whom I could let down my guard even slightly, and all I can give her now is as much warning as I can without endangering myself and the gift of a clean death when it comes to that. I owe Poppy my life, and that debt still hangs over me and I cannot now discharge it, and I know that if he realises he will take glee in making me be the one to kill her. And I have Savitha standing behind me and watching for the smallest sign of weakness, and Lana may value what I can give her but I do not believe for a moment she would hesitate to sacrifice me for the smallest advantage should it come to that point, and you are hundreds of miles away and the gods only know if you will make it back to me alive and I

The worst part is how I cannot disagree with a single word Auri wrote to me, and yet there is still nothing I can do about it. I can serve and obey him, or I can die, sacrificing whatever tiny scraps of influence I might have otherwise had, and if I die having broken the oath I made, I will have lost not only this life but any hope of the next. And I cannot ever say any of this to you openly, even when we are in our library behind every privacy ward I know to cast. I will not make you choose between your love for me and your own sworn vows, because I know your answer would be me and I refuse to lead you into that temptation. I will not force you into having to choose between being the one who denounces me or the one who shares my fate. One of us needs to get through this alive.

If Diggory should attempt to contact you in any fashion, let me know as quickly as possible; I do not know what they will try to get him to do. I will be spending the next week, at the very least, going through the remaining staff and questioning everyone in excruciating detail, and I will have to spend at least part of that time questioning the students our traitors were closest to to see how far the rot has spread.

I pray with all the breath left in my body that your mission is going far, far better than mine is at the moment. May the Seven Arrows of the lady of the place before the beginning of time turn away from you and strike your enemies down; may he who separates heaven and earth open your way to victory and clear your passage home. May you be free of the poisons of the encircler of the world, he who was spat out, the great undying destroyer, scourge of all that is right and true. There is nothing I would not do to free you from him if I thought it was ever possible

I love you, my son, and I will swear so to the gods themselves.

I know you aren't behind these wards.

I am exceptionally limited in my possible responses here, and the longer you are missing, the more those choices close off until I will be left with only ones that neither of us want to happen. If you turn yourself in to me now, I will do whatever I can, for you and for your family.

Please don't make me do this

I'm sorry, dear heart -- I'm running late, as you undoubtedly could guess. I'll be a little while, still.

Since it's my turn to host, feel free to let yourself into my quarters and wait -- there's a stack of books I have set aside for you, on the sideboard, if you need the amusement.

If you have a chance, can you let me know which ingredients in this infirmary-supplies ledger absolutely must come from a particular supplier? (Not prepared potions -- those I know are non-substitutable -- but I'm sure there are individual ingredients that certain houses do better than others.) Likewise, if there are any houses that have been unable to fill your orders in the past, or have provided substandard ingredients and ought not be trusted.

Earlier in the month I caught an irregularity in what one of the NL apothecary providers was charging us for restocking the Potions storehouse before term began, and further poking into the matter shows that between the infirmary, the Potions programme, and the Herbology greenhouses, we're using nine different suppliers under fourteen different contracts, the terms of which vary wildly from "favourable" to "laughably bad". I can undoubtedly save us a not-inconsiderable amount of Galleons by switching us over to another distributor next year, or switching to growing more in-house. I'll be putting the contract out for tender as a starting place to see what sort of nibbles we get, but you will know more than I about who should not be trusted with the bid.

I, having been kept from my altar, do write this prayer as though this were my altar, and may our honoured dead be witness to this prayer as they have been witness to all the prayers that have come before and will be witness to all the prayers that will come after.

It is not me who says this but Isis, Aset, Ast, fiercely-bright one, she who knows Ra by His own name, bringer of flame, maker of the sunrise, mother of the king and of all the gods, She-who-Avenges. If my son, the Great One of Magic, bone-breaker, Lord of Faces, is not safely returned to me, I will stop the sun in the sky, I will destroy the bodies of the gods, I will break the circle of the sky. If my son, the Enchanter, the Falcon upon the ramparts of the house of him of the hidden name, He who is Above, is returned to me safely, I will offer a black bull, free of blemish, to any of the gods and our honoured dead who may spare him.

It is not me who says this but he before whom the sky shakes, the black boar who swallows the moon, the bringer of storms, lord of the red places. I am the lord of death, who embodies death, who defends life by summoning death, as befits the natural order of that which is and will ever be. I cast out the serpent, he who was spat out, encircler of the world, the great undying destroyer, the lord-of-undeath. I abjure thee. I abjure thee. I abjure thee. I will not let your breath touch the body of my son; I will not let your bau persecute him further.

I say this as I have said every night since my son was taken from me and will say until he is returned unto me: may the Seven Arrows of Sekhmet, lady of the place before the beginning of time, be turned from him and strike his enemies; may Amon-Ra, he who listens to prayers, shield him and seal him so no evil may come to him; may his enemies be under the soles of his feet; may Wepwawet, he who separates heaven and earth, open the way to victory and clear his passage home.

May all the gods and saints and all our honoured dead shelter and guide me and mine always and eternally, now and ever and to the ages of ages, amen. Sanctus Deus, Sanctus Fortis, Sanctus Immortalis, miserere nobis. Ἅγιος ὁ Θεός, Ἅγιος ἰσχυρός, Ἅγιος ἀθάνατος, ἐλέησον ἡμᾶς. Holy God, Holy Almighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us, both now and ever and to the ages of ages, amen.

I saw that you had written Barty, and --

I'm so sorry, milaya, I'd meant to write you sooner, but I haven't had a moment to breathe. Barty was summoned by Our Lord after Erewash and sent to Ireland. To handle the recent troubles there, I'm assuming.

I don't know for certain, though. He was just able to let me know where he was and that he was safe. It's the ward crossing, you see -- it apparently takes quite the toll upon anyone doing it, even if they are authorised. From what I was able to gather from Gus, they've developed a potion meant to ease the strain, but if that's the case, I'd hate to see what would happen to someone without it. It looked as though it had taken him an hour to write the PM header and a two word message.

I haven't heard from him since Friday. I'm not -- well, I'm trying most diligently not to worry. Any more than I already am.

Do you have a few moments this weekend? I'd like to pick your brains about the Octoboros system a bit -- I feel as though with the one having been stolen, whoever is behind the modified Fidelius may have incorporated some of the things they could glean from the Octoboros system. The Ireland wards, too; we know from experience that there was traffic back and forth and that at least a few of the groups Black is associated with had contacts in Ireland, and it's possible that they were able to pass information about the Ireland wards from side to side. If they have access to a strong magical theorist, who has pieced together multiple sources, it might explain why the modified Fidelius is so damn odd. (It is driving me spare; I would like to unravel the problem.)

I am upon Our Lord's business on Saturday until evening, but if you'd like, I will host supper, and throw in a chance at the library for bribe.

We have returned; Savitha, Lana and I are all exhausted, and will be at very least sleeping in tomorrow morning. The children are likewise exhausted, but otherwise none the worse for wear. They have been sent off with firm instructions to get a good night's sleep, and I've told them that they should be prepared to sleep at least until lunch, since none of them are yet accustomed to how their bodies respond to the invigouration potions. Septima, can you make it known to the rest of staff at breakfast that I have approved their absence from class for as long as need be tomorrow?

Thank you both, and the remainder of the staff as well, for the work you have done to cover for our absence; I apologise for the necessity of it, but it is comforting to know that Hogwarts is in good hands.