Antonin Nikolaevich Dolohov

Before you come across the children fretting and likewise fret at me: I am feeling poorly, and plagued by a host of new and interesting symptoms, but I am under the Matron's most diligent care. (Before one of you suggest St M's rather than Matron: I do not wish to make accusations, but at this point I am more confident that Madam Pomfrey will have her patient's best interests in mind; it is nothing concrete and nothing I can make a complaint over, but the more I think about it, the more I realise my team at St M's is showing more interest in research possibility than patient improvement. At very least I will be confirming their advice with her from now on.)

I am most vexed: I was not expecting the rite's restorative effects to last much longer, but this is a rather more dramatic reversal than I had been expecting. So much so that I spent lunchtime yesterday checking self and environment for curses that might have made it past my protections. (Verdict: nothing. I suppose it would have been too easy an answer.)

I am eating, sleeping, resting, and minimising my effort expended, and with luck this will just be a temporary setback; I will keep you both posted. (And please do reassure Narcissa!)

Meanwhile: Lyoushka, Dolores is growing more insufferable, and behaving as though she is utterly convinced of her mandate to stick her nose into everything --mandate from whom, I remain uncertain. Remind me to show you the list of "helpful" questions she sent me after observing my classes last week. (And the response I wrote her, which was -- if I do say so myself -- a masterwork of subtle insult wreathed in effusive flattery.) I still do not know what her game is, and I am keeping an eye on her, but you may wish to do so as well.

Barty -- solnyshko, I have not forgot your birthday next week. How would you like to celebrate?

Dearests --

Have spent last several hours with this afternoon's messenger -- she appears to have been chosen to carry their offer of surrender precisely because she knows very little operational detail, but further interrogation has left me with a small but unshakeable suspicion there is something deeper going on.

Bella: at earliest convenience can you send a runner to turn up MacDermott's confessional record from Sunday? It has gone missing and I would like to cross-check its detail: what he said about the device in Loughrea has been contradicted by our newest guest and at least one other, for instance. And as soon as you have restocked the Veritaserum, please send that as well, as it may come to that if I'm unable to place what is bothering me so strongly.

At the moment, can only recommend you stall until Saturday at least, using whatever pretext necessary. Sandoval-Pennifold is playing Bad Auror with the prisoner (very well -- we have been switching roles all day) while I try to chase this nagging feeling to ground.

--T

Dearests,

After the week I have had, including putting my foot in it at least once and barely avoiding putting my foot in it several times over, I am afraid I must throw myself upon your collective mercies and beg for the extended bout of What The Bloody Hell I've Missed, including but not limited to the details of:

-- what the hell happened to Reg (Miss Padma Patil fed me a story that was more confused than not, with extensive backtracking the moment she realised Reg was one of mine, but from the impression I got, I believe I may have acquired a debt there);

-- a story I have half-heard of you dueling with Alecto, Lyoushka, and more specifics of her and Amycus's decline (as it is proving more relevant than I'd thought);

-- a rather garbled tale of your apparent death and resurrection, Barty, and who the hell would dare to strike against you (you can imagine the fierceness of my reaction when I heard; that is the sort of thing that should have prompted a message, for the record, dear one);

-- the true stories behind Warrington's and Travers' demise -- was not at all surprised to hear Warrington had displeased Our Lord (though must confess, was slightly shocked at the public nature) -- but Mal?

Realise this is undoubtedly opening a box of curses and could be best handled in person, rather than through journal -- Lyoushka, I believe you will be up the castle this week for a Governors' meeting? Would be most appreciative if I could claim a few hours of your time after. And Barty, I will be in New London this weekend, as I've mentioned, and would take it as a kindness if I could lay claim to your Saturday afternoon at very least.

Certain I could come up with some way to show my gratitude,
T

Old friend, little flower --

Forgive me for not writing you separately, but in the interests of saving time: have finally been set free from my checkup at St M's. I have been cleared for resumption of duty, though rung 'round with dire cautions about attempting to conquer all Gaul in an afternoon. And in possession of a sheet full of exercises I am to undertake morning and evening without fail, to which I shall apply myself diligently in eternal hope the last of this irritating tendency towards losing track of my extremities will soon be behind me. Delay at hospital due entirely to organisational confusion (and gossip in corridors) resulting around that unfortunate Healer's demise, not bad news. Do please discreetly pass the word for everyone concerned to stop fretting.

(You cover it well, all of you, but the lingering looks I've been at wand-end of over the past several days are unmistakeable to one accustomed to reading nuance. Am perfectly aware my reassurances will be taken as the culturally-mandated stiff upper lip, but rest assured, I've no intention of jeopardising my recovery; little petal, I hope to enlist your services in convincing our little family I'm not just blowing smoke up the dragon's nostrils. Old friend, I know you in particular far too well to believe you entirely sanguine no matter how well you pretend.)

Snowflake, since you were present for the overture, I share with you the entr'acte, in the hopes you've amused L with it as well: darling Dolores took my reply entirely at face value, wishes to flatter me into lending my shoulder to shifting weight for her glorious vision. I shall practise my best expressions of puzzled geniality and deploy them in her direction at all turns. The imp of the perverse (and the childish desire to introduce a foot into the stride of an irritant -- must learn to control that impulse, though if I haven't by now it's likely a lost cause) prompted me, after you had left, to issue warning to Raz's astronomer that darling Dolores has it out for her; she assures me it was not new information. (On that note -- I am most cross with you, milaya -- somehow in our cosy little gossip session you neglected to convey how guilelessly delightful Raz's beloved manages to be. Goodness, they're actually a love-match, aren't they? Must confess I was not expecting that!)

My eternal and undying affection to all. Off now to apply myself most studiously to Healer's directives (read: a balanced meal, a mid-day nap, and an hour in the gardens with a pleasant book for company, in no particular order) before addressing the remainder of my obligations. I shall be fetching away to Hogwarts tomorrow afternoon, assuming no disasters arise in my plans -- and that I do not get waylaid by someone else to whom I remain utterly incapable of saying 'no'. (I have so missed you all.)

Disconsolate at the length of time stretching before me until I will again have the pleasure of your company,
T