Inside the Greengrass Estate
Irene had been insisting all week that he write to the girls. Never mind that he was sure that she had sent them a letter barely a week ago. Lyle understood his wife's urgency, to an extent. Although evidence from Daphne and Astoria assured them that life at Hogwarts was fine for those who stayed in line, life was becoming increasingly difficult for those not privileged with the excuse of being a student, regardless of their loyalties. Lyle and Irene once hoped, for instance, that the initial pandering of the Death Eaters for their allegiance was over. Of late it was becoming increasingly obvious that this was not the case.
Yet he was trying to let another night pass as normally as possible. Lyle would write to his daughters, now, in his study. He would assure them that everything was going well, remind them of the importance of keeping up with their studies in these most important of years, perhaps imply that another trip abroad might be imminent with the end of the term.
The tip of a quill freshly inked, Lyle sat hunched over his desk, watching a drop of ink fall onto the parchment meant for Daphne. Why was it no longer a simple thing to write these letters?