She knows the Heimlich she won't choke, not Daphne (farsick) wrote in caged, @ 2013-11-09 07:18:00
Sparrow,
How are you, love? I’m home, finally. As of Friday afternoon, more precisely. It seems there is a lot to do, between work piled up and things around the house to be seen to. Your father doesn’t have quite the way with Tinsel that I do, even after all this time. Though, he and Cee haven’t been letting me do much. It’s very silly. Writing this letter feels like the first moment I’m properly back. And it is nice to be back. Hospitals are terrible, even if necessary. Remember that, and stay out of them if you can.
I’m writing you, first of all and of course, to assure you that I am fine. You don’t need all of the details, but the headaches and vertigo have improved enormously since Thursday, and I think I may return to work on Tuesday. I was sorry to miss the Fawcett service. Abigail was a brilliant Witch, and will be deeply missed by many, including myself. We’re still waiting to hear more encouraging word of Bastien.
However, that brings me to the other reason for this letter. Your father intimated you had asked for more information on what happened last weekend, but were unsure of whether I would wish to speak about it. I will warn you that I lost consciousness near the end, so what details I can offer may not be very satisfying. By then things were very messy and chaotic. Spells flying every which way, people running and shouting. My office is near the back of the floor, and much of the fighting was concentrating near the middle, but I did get involved. The intruders - the Order of the Phoenix, they were disguised, but from all I have been able to surmise then and since the accounts have not erred there - had a peculiar way of apparating, I remember that very vividly. Almost in a glow of white light, if you can imagine it. It wasn’t ordinary. They were going after some confidential files, so we attempted to close rank and protect any records until the DMLE could arrive on the scene. There were Aurors there by the time I was taken down, in fact, and their presence seemed to aggravate the matter.
I’m not sure how it panned out after that. Caster Mulciber was killed. You must have heard conjecture that he was part of the reason for the break-in - if you have not, now you have. He was not a bad man. He was quiet and dutiful and kept to his own devices. I don’t know what to make of the reports of his suspected allegiances, but for that I doubt them very much given the absence of the Mark when they found him, and that to draw conclusions about a person for his brother’s deeds is one of the worst kinds of foolishness. I am much more certain of the involvement of feckless vigilantes, because I saw them with my own eyes, and I saw what they were doing, and I see what has come of their actions.
I’m sorry that this is all I can say of the matter. It’s what I witnessed and know myself. But if your concern was the veracity of what you’ve been hearing in the news, or are hearing in the halls at school, then I hope that this, at least, might allay that. I also hope, perhaps more, that the vigilantes are brought to justice swiftly, before their short-sighted methods see that something like this happens again. I have every confidence that our Ministry is doing its utmost in the wake of this appalling offense, so please know that and take some heart in it.
I wish that I had a brighter note on which to end this letter. Ah! -- we had a bit of early snow here last night. Barely more than a dusting. But you know Cee. She was very pleased and hitched the dogs up to a sledge, and they ran off before she could hop on. She ended up chasing them on foot for fifteen minutes, came back home covered in pond mud, and tried to blame the tracks all over the parlour on your father. If there wasn’t such an age difference, I’d blame you for being a bad influence. How’s that?