I'm here, so you don't need to worry (if you do worry -- do you worry?) I've been to the solicitors and then to the house, and that was so depressing I came back to the village to get something warm to drink and now I'm sitting in the most adorable little tea shoppe drinking tea and eating cake and writing to you. It's too bad you don't have a phone. I know, witches use the floo, but I can't and you're not here to do it for me and anyway if you were here I wouldn't want to use the floo, would I?
Oh dear, I'm not very used to writing letters. That wasn't where I should have started at all. Blame it on my ankle, it's aching from all the walking I've done today, even though I took a cab whenever I could. The people here think I'm dreadfully extravagant (by people I mean the solicitor and his mother), but if I've just come into money, I might as well be a little extravagant, don't you think? Not that there's much money, and I don't know about selling the house, it's rather dank. But surely someone would want it anyway? If it's cheap? Cheap for great rambling mansions is loads of money under any other circumstances.
And if you were here you'd be telling me to calm down and start at the beginning, so I shall. I took the train down, of course, and spent practically the whole trip talking with the bloke next to me about politics. He had very strong opinions about the economy, and I do love talking to dishy blokes with strong opinions, especially when they're trying to convert me to something. This one, it was socialism. I listened very attentively and didn't even hint to him that he was outdated.
After he got off, I spent the rest of the trip wondering what he'd have said about politics in the Wizarding World. I don't think he'd have approved. Muggles are comforting that way -- so complacent. I was imagining him spluttering about the corruption of power and maybe even uttering choice insults about fascist pigs (no, he wouldn't really, but I can pretend). When we finally got to the end of the line, I was so distracted I almost left my suitcase behind. Luckily an old woman who was sitting across the aisle pointed it out to me. She also told me how to get to the solicitor's office, which was sweet of her, but I wasn't really listening because I'd just realized that you can see the sea from the train station. Besides, it was raining, only drizzling really but I'd forgot my brolly. Of course I took a cab.
This is amusing -- the cab driver was a muggle, and he spent the whole time complaining about how it always took far too long to get anywhere in town, when anyone could see the place about about the size of a postage stamp. Of course, it's much bigger when you add in all the hidden wizarding houses. If I knew who to tell, I'd make sure they knew that some of the spells are wearing thin and muggles are starting to notice, but I don't know who gets things done around here.
Oh! Actually, maybe I do. It's probably the solicitor's mother. He (the solicitor) is a dear, about fifty, gray hair and glasses, and he blinks whenever he tells you something you might not like, like that the house you've inherited has a bunch of positively ancient anti-muggle spells on it that may keep you out of your own house, because you're a squib. And that your horrible cousins are still living in the top floor of your house, and you can probably throw them out if you're willing to do this and that, but they've said they're not leaving and you're not likely to get any official help until the aurors are done tracking down people from the war and so on.
The solicitor's mother never blinks (or tells you anything), so she doesn't miss a thing. She runs the solicitor's office, and I'm sure she makes him wear galoshes when it's raining, because she loaned me a pair when I was leaving. She admired the pin I was wearing -- you know, the one Markus gave me -- and she seemed so sincere and sweet that I gave it to her. I could tell she would love it, and I don't any more because it's from Markus. She was delighted, and that makes me happy when I think about it, but even so, now I sort of wish I hadn't.
Right. Now the house. I've been stalling, could you tell? The village is delightful, and everyone I met on the train and in the village were the nicest people you could imagine, but the house is dreadful and the relatives worse.
The house: it looks like whoever built it modeled it on a gargoyle, not the hideously cute ones but the sort with the terrifying expressions that crouch on roofs spewing water out their mouth. The old wing of the house is the gargoyle's body with its arse stuck up, and the new wing is its head, down low so it doesn't have so far to go when it spews the contents of its stomach into the sea. But the sea is lovely, even in the rain.
The cousins: Dardanos, Acantha, and Jasper. I remember Jasper from when we were all young, before it was completely obvious I was a squib. The others were older, and would have nothing to do with us, but Jasper was really quite fun some of the time. Do you remember when we all went on a expedition to find the source of the Nile? Do you remember how we called the stream near your house the Nile?
But do you remember how Jasper used to turn all my favorite things into mud, and laugh when I cried and tell me it was my duty to try harder to get my magic to work?
All three of them were there to watch me when I stumbled in. I'd had to walk from the gate, pushing the charm the solicitor gave me in front of me. It was like scaling a cliff or walking into a hurricane; that place didn't want to let me in. Then I was past the wards, and the gargoyle house popped up in front of me, complete with three baby gargoyles watching me struggle from the front window. I was soaked through and my ankle was throbbing, and they stared at me all the time I limped up the path and tried to get the front door open. It wouldn't open; I had to ring the bell of my own house, and they ignored it.
I finally went around back and came in through the kitchen. I put the kettle on and dropped into the nearest chair, and that's where they found me five minutes later, still looking rather less presentable than something the cat dragged in. Acantha looked like the heir of Glamorie, perfect in every way, and the others looked comfortable and dry.
"You know your grandmother hated you, and only left you the house because she knew you couldn't last out a month here," Jasper said unpleasantly.
"And we're going to love watching you fail," Acantha said.
Dardanos said, "And then it'll be our house, and squibs won't be welcome here. Squib."
"Are you looking forward to your examination by the ministry over your conduct during the war?" I asked sweetly. I probably shouldn't have said that, but they made me so angry. Truly, I don't think they're Death Eaters or I wouldn't be here no matter how desperate I was.
It didn't matter; they just ignored me. They'd said what they had to say, so they just used all my hot water to make their own tea, and left me in the kitchen.
I couldn't stand it a moment longer. I left. Don't even ask how I got back to the village; I think my new neighbors (muggle) think I'm completely mad.
Oh, Cassie! I have to live there a month before I can sell it. With my ankle still not very strong and no money and not being able to work, it's the only thing and I simply don't know what I would do if I didn't have the house to go to, and I am grateful to my grandmother and I don't really think Jasper was right. I don't think she ever hated me, she just loved the damn house and wanted to leave it to her only actual grandchild. And she wanted to make sure I gave it a chance before getting rid of it. But...
I'm just so tired. I know it will look better in the morning. And I think I might love the sea. I've never lived near the sea, did you know you can smell it even from inside? And the village is lovely, and I really only have to sleep at the house, right?
So that's all right. Truly.
But if you don't hear from me regularly, send out the search parties, because my cousins have probably murdered me and thrown my body in the sea. I depend on you to revenge me, or at least keep me sane by letting me complain at you.
And now that I've told you everything there is to tell (I hope it was at least a bit amusing), you must write and tell me all about you. How are you holding up? London isn't too dreadful, is it? Have you seen any of the rest of the family? Have you seen Markus? I hope nothing else has happened, but if it has, you must tell me all about it.