Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire
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Harry Potter › General
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Adult ++
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Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
70
Views:
12,262
Reviews:
71
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story, though wish I did. The only money I have goes toward good wine and chocolate. You can't
Letters to Everywhere and Nowhere
Chapter Twenty – Four
Letters to Everywhere and Nowhere
25 July
Dear Jasmine,
Your mother tells me that you are still annoyed at me –hence she is also annoyed with me. Her mother tells me the same thing about both of her girls. I do dislike having my three flowers angry with me. What must I do to get back in your good graces? I fear that my apologies for not fully disclosing the true nature of your houseguest are inadequate yet I must ask something of you that will further annoy you. There is a young man in London who is quite lonely though his house has people wandering through it daily. He misses his pet. Could you see it in your heart to give up that pet for an unspecified amount of time to make the young man happier?
I hope you and Arielle are doing well and staying safe. If you are having problems with the Hecate’s Hawthorns growing too slowly – or conversely, too wild, please send a note to Pomona Sprout. She is expecting to hear from you.
London is trying, as always, and the Ministry is as it always is, only more so. Rumors of my involuntary resignation from the Wizengamot are entirely true. This means, of course, that I have more time to go bowling, which I am ever grateful for. I do hope that you will join me at the lanes some evening with Arielle?
Remember that nothing good can ever come from a confrontation with a Chimaera; avoid them.
A.D.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
26 July
Professor Grandpa,
You will need to explain to Arielle why you are taking her pet away since you gave him to her. I won’t let you weasel out of it. You want it, you’ll have to do it – busy with V. or not. I’ll also put you in charge of seeing that our rat population doesn’t explode again. The hippogriff eats them, and without him hunting, I know there will be more. You’ll have to figure some way out to deal with them.
I heard about the Wizengamot, I’m sure they are already regretting it. The hedgerow is growing just fine, neither too fast nor too slow.
I am still upset with you even though I know why you did it. I am hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you really wanted instead of hiding Sirius from me. I know you’re sorry and I do love you but it’s going to take me a little bit of time to get over feeling like you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the whole truth.
Shall we try bowling next week some time in the afternoon? I’ll let you spoil us with fish and chips from that place near the bowling alley to make you feel better. Perhaps you could not wear robes this time and yet still avoid the plaid trousers I know you’re thinking of wearing?
J.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
22 August
Dear Jasmine,
As I do every week, I ask you not to rip this up. As usual, I know it’s pointless, but I have to try. Jasmine, please read this. You don’t need to respond, but I beg of you, allow me the dignity of reading what I’m pouring onto paper when I bare my soul with quill and ink - since I can’t talk with you directly. Or not. Perhaps it is all insane ramblings of an insane man who lives in an ugly cage surrounded by more inmates – most of whom are redheads these days. Harry is still here, of course and has recovered from that ridiculous trial (at least he got one) but he’s still quiet. I worry about him but don’t know what to do. I’d like to just go out walking with him, have a talk and leg stretch but Dumbledore says it’s impossible. There’s no time or space for privacy here though so it will just have to wait.
Molly is still cooking – taking over my house and kitchen, which I’m grateful for. I can’t cook and I don’t trust the house elf not to try to kill us all with our next meal. Of course, he still serves me his special “Master’s Tea” which is revolting. He claims that my grandfather and father loved it – which is enough reason for me to hate the stuff. Dumbledore insists that I be kind to Kreacher – the house elf – so I drink it twice a day, every day like a good boy. Woof. I think he’s trying to poison me, but since I’m not dead yet, I don’t think he’s doing a bang up job of it. More’s the pity, I suppose.
Hermione is here, too. She’s doing a lot of knitting – she took your lesson last year seriously. She’s making little round things that are either the ugliest doilies ever to grace the earth or hats for deformed children. She said they are for house elves desperate to be free. I don’t think the house elves at school are going to be pleased. I get the vague feeling that she thinks they will accept clothing from a student. Before I put my foot in it any more, what are you feelings on having a house elf? I have one I am happy to give you, if you need or want one. He certainly doesn’t do anything around here but insult us – and make that tea.
Molly and the kids are doing a slow but thorough job of cleaning this rat trap. There are biting fairies (did you know the word doxy means something completely different to Muggles?) in the curtains and bed-hangings, dead puffskeins and rats’ nests under the furniture. Everything is still covered in almost fifteen years of dust – I’m sure even that is poisonous. We’ve been boxing up “family heirlooms” to be destroyed. You wouldn’t believe the things my family has collected. Some people collect art or bits of rock or crystal– my family collected weapons, poisons and enchanted gadgets that would kill someone just to fulfill its function. Did I mention the dead house elf heads on the wall? I send Kreacher out daily to destroy everything from “innocuous” blood siphons to a goblet that simulates the Imperious Curse to family photographs – I dislike my family and won’t keep reminders of them around. Buckbeak seems to be enjoying the rats that we find every day. Is Arielle all right with not having him there?
Harry saw my family tapestry and started asking questions. I got to explain my sordid ancestry and how most of the pureblood families are so inbred it’s a wonder we don’t all have two heads and call each other “Cousin Daddy.” I did note that you didn’t show up anywhere near my name (or the burned out hole where my name was). I’ll take it as a sign from above that we were meant to see each other.
Dumbledore told me that there is still no word on Eddelson’s whereabouts. Since I know you won’t read this anyway, I’ll just tell the parchment that I was there that night – it was me. (Here’s the sloppy, romantic part.) I promised Dumbledore that I wouldn’t go out – but I had to see you. You were beautiful. I still dream about the light in your hair and it was three weeks ago. I didn’t stay because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me but when I saw him pawing you, I wanted to kill him. A Stunner was the least of what I wanted to send at him. Since you haven’t answered me and I haven’t heard otherwise from Dumbledore, I assume you have recovered.
Sweetest Jasmine, thoughts of you rush gently through my mind. Memories of your hands stroking me or resting your feet on my side while you knit in the rocking chair at night keep me alive and able to smile. Without those thoughts, I don’t think I would be able to do either. I long for your smile, your touch, your kiss. You inspire me to poetry when I have never had poetry in my soul. James would be laughing to read this. He would say that it was about time that some beautiful woman knocked me on my arse like Lily did to him. I still wonder, will you be holding our child in a few months?
I miss James so much. It terrifies me sometimes just how much I do miss him. I look up from talking to Remus about some thing or the other and I see him sitting next to me with that mess of black hair and glasses and start talking to him then realize that it isn’t James. It’s Harry. Sometimes I look at him and forget that James is dead and Harry is growing into a man right in front of my eyes and then I get angry at Harry for not being the man that I called brother. He does and says things that amaze me at how strong and smart he is but other times, when I want him to take more chances like we did, he doesn’t. I get disappointed in him when I really shouldn’t but I can’t stop myself. Is this what fatherhood is about? I’m not sure if I want to be a godfather – or even a father. Sometimes I just want to run and run and run even though I love Harry like my own son. What does that feel like or is it just a phrase? Is it all consuming love, protective, prideful in his accomplishments, worried at the stupid risks he takes and frequently frustrated? Have I turned into a parent or something like it? Am I supposed to like it? That being said, I miss Arielle so much.
Jasmine, what do I do? I think I might be going mad. Please tell me that I’m not.
Sirius
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
23 August
Dear Sirius,
As always, I’ll write my thoughts and keep them tucked away in the little box I wrote about the last time I didn’t send a letter back. Of course you’ve noticed that I haven’t been shredding and sending your letters back. I keep them in the box, too, reading them at night before I fall asleep.
I’m worried about you. In your letters, you don’t sound like yourself – or the “you” that I remember. I know that you changed in prison and in the years since you left, but you seem different. More reckless and not – oh, I don’t know, less steady. I wish I had kept your first letters, but I think it’s been getting worse since you moved to London. I would tell Dumbledore but I’m sure he’s noticed.
Arielle is just fine with not having Buckbeak and I’m glad that there isn’t a dangerous beast living in my barn, I really didn’t like taking care of him, even though he kept himself just fine. Ari’s growing so big, you’d be amazed. She’s lost the second front tooth I wrote about last time. Now she’s running around squirting water through the gap and lisping when she talks. It’s adorable. She can do addition and subtraction without using her fingers now, as well as read Mary Muggle and Goodnight Moon (a Muggle book by Margaret Wise Brown) by herself though I don’t know if it’s reading or memorization She’s so smart, I’m just stunned. I’ve enclosed a drawing she did of you, and a recent photograph. Yes, I know you won’t get them, but the thought is there, I suppose.
I suppose I’m ready to write about the other now- I’ve been wondering how to talk to you but just haven’t had the time and energy to do anything but get over you since July – and no, I’m not pregnant. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad about that. As much as your affection makes me feel beautiful and important and wonderful, it also worries me. You really don’t know me – and I know you even less. I remember a boy in Gryffindor and a dog in my house. I never knew the man other than the few minutes on my porch when you left and these letters. Yes, we had sex but I didn’t know you then. Those times, you were a dream to me – a wonderful dream but you weren’t real. It WAS a mistake. It was my mistake just as much as it was yours - I can and will admit it. The sex was a mistake – you were still wrong in lying to me. I can’t pretend to have all consuming feelings of love or even tenderness for you. I don’t know you well enough to. All I know is that you are handsome, kiss well and your fur feels wonderful when I run my fingers through it. I want to know more but I’m terrified and yes, I’m still angry with you. I don’t know how to make it go away and I’m not sure if I should have to.
I suppose it’s all a moot point, since you’ll never read this anyway. I’m not punishing you by not sending it – well, yes, I am – I’m also protecting myself from you, too. I can’t let myself get hurt like that again. If I were stronger, I’d confront you with it and see what would happen. In the end, I’m just weak, I suppose.
Jasmine
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
31 August
Mum,
I’ll be home on Sunday as ordered but I don’t want you to go to any trouble for a “celebration.” I’m not really sure there is anything to celebrate other than the horrid schedule I’ve been keeping. The shop is getting busy again – I suppose people really are getting used to having just me there and all of the publicity has been good for business. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but there you go. I’ve been so busy that I even had to miss the welcoming feast at Hogwarts tonight. Adolphus Fustian has kidney problems from too much whiskey and on top of some nasty hexes but refuses to go to St. Mungo’s for treatment. His healer here has asked me to brew twelve different potions by 9 a.m. tomorrow before he goes to the Ministry dynomagus to get the aura stuff taken care of for the hexes. I’m up finishing it now – at 12:30 a.m. so it’ll be ready by nine. Perhaps I can even get a couple hours of sleep before my first class tomorrow (the last one is simmering for fifteen minutes and everything else is done). Did I get into the right business? I don’t ever recall you being up this late for anyone – not even on a wedding cake. I received an owl from M. Fournier thanking me for doing such a good job training the two apprentices that I sent him last year when Mr. Basilton started getting so sick. It was a nice note that made me feel better about teaching – they must have told him that I had a hand in teaching them rather than Mr. Basilton. He said they were so well trained that he didn’t have to watch them every second of every day – for a PM, that’s an impressive compliment. I still haven’t heard about the other kids that I farmed out but since there haven’t been any big news stories about deadly or disfiguring potions accidents I’m not worried too much. I do feel good about the few younger students that I trained over the years, even though Mr. Basilton released some of them before me – he did explain himself though – so I felt good about that too. He always did say that I was good with the young ones that came in. Hope I’m ready! I met another one of the new teachers, Miss Umbridge – wow, she’s awful. I’m glad I’m not going to be there much so I don’t have to socialize. She simpers and coughs to get attention away from Dumbledore – it’s very rude. She even wears a stupid bow on top of her head like a poodle even though she looks like a toad. I can’t tell you how often I’ve bitten my lip in the past couple of days so I don’t say something impossibly rude to her. I can’t imagine what the Ministry was thinking when they sent her. Everyone else is just about the same as they’ve been for the last twenty or so years, it seems. I suppose Hogwarts doesn’t ever change much, does it? Anyway, I do have a halfway decent introductory speech for my class, I think. Of course, it’ll never be as good as Snape’s speech to the first years, but I think it’ll do for me. I’ll do it for you when I get there on Sunday. Hopefully, that’ll give me enough time to recover from the week.
Love you and kisses to Dad,
Kiaya
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
1 September
Classes started today. He is here and fine but already in trouble with whom you expected him to be. Am watching. The old man is worried about Podmore’s arrest but powerless. Canines still in town but will get more information on how to get there.
Yr. servant
Letters to Everywhere and Nowhere
25 July
Dear Jasmine,
Your mother tells me that you are still annoyed at me –hence she is also annoyed with me. Her mother tells me the same thing about both of her girls. I do dislike having my three flowers angry with me. What must I do to get back in your good graces? I fear that my apologies for not fully disclosing the true nature of your houseguest are inadequate yet I must ask something of you that will further annoy you. There is a young man in London who is quite lonely though his house has people wandering through it daily. He misses his pet. Could you see it in your heart to give up that pet for an unspecified amount of time to make the young man happier?
I hope you and Arielle are doing well and staying safe. If you are having problems with the Hecate’s Hawthorns growing too slowly – or conversely, too wild, please send a note to Pomona Sprout. She is expecting to hear from you.
London is trying, as always, and the Ministry is as it always is, only more so. Rumors of my involuntary resignation from the Wizengamot are entirely true. This means, of course, that I have more time to go bowling, which I am ever grateful for. I do hope that you will join me at the lanes some evening with Arielle?
Remember that nothing good can ever come from a confrontation with a Chimaera; avoid them.
A.D.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
26 July
Professor Grandpa,
You will need to explain to Arielle why you are taking her pet away since you gave him to her. I won’t let you weasel out of it. You want it, you’ll have to do it – busy with V. or not. I’ll also put you in charge of seeing that our rat population doesn’t explode again. The hippogriff eats them, and without him hunting, I know there will be more. You’ll have to figure some way out to deal with them.
I heard about the Wizengamot, I’m sure they are already regretting it. The hedgerow is growing just fine, neither too fast nor too slow.
I am still upset with you even though I know why you did it. I am hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you really wanted instead of hiding Sirius from me. I know you’re sorry and I do love you but it’s going to take me a little bit of time to get over feeling like you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the whole truth.
Shall we try bowling next week some time in the afternoon? I’ll let you spoil us with fish and chips from that place near the bowling alley to make you feel better. Perhaps you could not wear robes this time and yet still avoid the plaid trousers I know you’re thinking of wearing?
J.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
22 August
Dear Jasmine,
As I do every week, I ask you not to rip this up. As usual, I know it’s pointless, but I have to try. Jasmine, please read this. You don’t need to respond, but I beg of you, allow me the dignity of reading what I’m pouring onto paper when I bare my soul with quill and ink - since I can’t talk with you directly. Or not. Perhaps it is all insane ramblings of an insane man who lives in an ugly cage surrounded by more inmates – most of whom are redheads these days. Harry is still here, of course and has recovered from that ridiculous trial (at least he got one) but he’s still quiet. I worry about him but don’t know what to do. I’d like to just go out walking with him, have a talk and leg stretch but Dumbledore says it’s impossible. There’s no time or space for privacy here though so it will just have to wait.
Molly is still cooking – taking over my house and kitchen, which I’m grateful for. I can’t cook and I don’t trust the house elf not to try to kill us all with our next meal. Of course, he still serves me his special “Master’s Tea” which is revolting. He claims that my grandfather and father loved it – which is enough reason for me to hate the stuff. Dumbledore insists that I be kind to Kreacher – the house elf – so I drink it twice a day, every day like a good boy. Woof. I think he’s trying to poison me, but since I’m not dead yet, I don’t think he’s doing a bang up job of it. More’s the pity, I suppose.
Hermione is here, too. She’s doing a lot of knitting – she took your lesson last year seriously. She’s making little round things that are either the ugliest doilies ever to grace the earth or hats for deformed children. She said they are for house elves desperate to be free. I don’t think the house elves at school are going to be pleased. I get the vague feeling that she thinks they will accept clothing from a student. Before I put my foot in it any more, what are you feelings on having a house elf? I have one I am happy to give you, if you need or want one. He certainly doesn’t do anything around here but insult us – and make that tea.
Molly and the kids are doing a slow but thorough job of cleaning this rat trap. There are biting fairies (did you know the word doxy means something completely different to Muggles?) in the curtains and bed-hangings, dead puffskeins and rats’ nests under the furniture. Everything is still covered in almost fifteen years of dust – I’m sure even that is poisonous. We’ve been boxing up “family heirlooms” to be destroyed. You wouldn’t believe the things my family has collected. Some people collect art or bits of rock or crystal– my family collected weapons, poisons and enchanted gadgets that would kill someone just to fulfill its function. Did I mention the dead house elf heads on the wall? I send Kreacher out daily to destroy everything from “innocuous” blood siphons to a goblet that simulates the Imperious Curse to family photographs – I dislike my family and won’t keep reminders of them around. Buckbeak seems to be enjoying the rats that we find every day. Is Arielle all right with not having him there?
Harry saw my family tapestry and started asking questions. I got to explain my sordid ancestry and how most of the pureblood families are so inbred it’s a wonder we don’t all have two heads and call each other “Cousin Daddy.” I did note that you didn’t show up anywhere near my name (or the burned out hole where my name was). I’ll take it as a sign from above that we were meant to see each other.
Dumbledore told me that there is still no word on Eddelson’s whereabouts. Since I know you won’t read this anyway, I’ll just tell the parchment that I was there that night – it was me. (Here’s the sloppy, romantic part.) I promised Dumbledore that I wouldn’t go out – but I had to see you. You were beautiful. I still dream about the light in your hair and it was three weeks ago. I didn’t stay because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me but when I saw him pawing you, I wanted to kill him. A Stunner was the least of what I wanted to send at him. Since you haven’t answered me and I haven’t heard otherwise from Dumbledore, I assume you have recovered.
Sweetest Jasmine, thoughts of you rush gently through my mind. Memories of your hands stroking me or resting your feet on my side while you knit in the rocking chair at night keep me alive and able to smile. Without those thoughts, I don’t think I would be able to do either. I long for your smile, your touch, your kiss. You inspire me to poetry when I have never had poetry in my soul. James would be laughing to read this. He would say that it was about time that some beautiful woman knocked me on my arse like Lily did to him. I still wonder, will you be holding our child in a few months?
I miss James so much. It terrifies me sometimes just how much I do miss him. I look up from talking to Remus about some thing or the other and I see him sitting next to me with that mess of black hair and glasses and start talking to him then realize that it isn’t James. It’s Harry. Sometimes I look at him and forget that James is dead and Harry is growing into a man right in front of my eyes and then I get angry at Harry for not being the man that I called brother. He does and says things that amaze me at how strong and smart he is but other times, when I want him to take more chances like we did, he doesn’t. I get disappointed in him when I really shouldn’t but I can’t stop myself. Is this what fatherhood is about? I’m not sure if I want to be a godfather – or even a father. Sometimes I just want to run and run and run even though I love Harry like my own son. What does that feel like or is it just a phrase? Is it all consuming love, protective, prideful in his accomplishments, worried at the stupid risks he takes and frequently frustrated? Have I turned into a parent or something like it? Am I supposed to like it? That being said, I miss Arielle so much.
Jasmine, what do I do? I think I might be going mad. Please tell me that I’m not.
Sirius
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
23 August
Dear Sirius,
As always, I’ll write my thoughts and keep them tucked away in the little box I wrote about the last time I didn’t send a letter back. Of course you’ve noticed that I haven’t been shredding and sending your letters back. I keep them in the box, too, reading them at night before I fall asleep.
I’m worried about you. In your letters, you don’t sound like yourself – or the “you” that I remember. I know that you changed in prison and in the years since you left, but you seem different. More reckless and not – oh, I don’t know, less steady. I wish I had kept your first letters, but I think it’s been getting worse since you moved to London. I would tell Dumbledore but I’m sure he’s noticed.
Arielle is just fine with not having Buckbeak and I’m glad that there isn’t a dangerous beast living in my barn, I really didn’t like taking care of him, even though he kept himself just fine. Ari’s growing so big, you’d be amazed. She’s lost the second front tooth I wrote about last time. Now she’s running around squirting water through the gap and lisping when she talks. It’s adorable. She can do addition and subtraction without using her fingers now, as well as read Mary Muggle and Goodnight Moon (a Muggle book by Margaret Wise Brown) by herself though I don’t know if it’s reading or memorization She’s so smart, I’m just stunned. I’ve enclosed a drawing she did of you, and a recent photograph. Yes, I know you won’t get them, but the thought is there, I suppose.
I suppose I’m ready to write about the other now- I’ve been wondering how to talk to you but just haven’t had the time and energy to do anything but get over you since July – and no, I’m not pregnant. I don’t know if I’m happy or sad about that. As much as your affection makes me feel beautiful and important and wonderful, it also worries me. You really don’t know me – and I know you even less. I remember a boy in Gryffindor and a dog in my house. I never knew the man other than the few minutes on my porch when you left and these letters. Yes, we had sex but I didn’t know you then. Those times, you were a dream to me – a wonderful dream but you weren’t real. It WAS a mistake. It was my mistake just as much as it was yours - I can and will admit it. The sex was a mistake – you were still wrong in lying to me. I can’t pretend to have all consuming feelings of love or even tenderness for you. I don’t know you well enough to. All I know is that you are handsome, kiss well and your fur feels wonderful when I run my fingers through it. I want to know more but I’m terrified and yes, I’m still angry with you. I don’t know how to make it go away and I’m not sure if I should have to.
I suppose it’s all a moot point, since you’ll never read this anyway. I’m not punishing you by not sending it – well, yes, I am – I’m also protecting myself from you, too. I can’t let myself get hurt like that again. If I were stronger, I’d confront you with it and see what would happen. In the end, I’m just weak, I suppose.
Jasmine
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
31 August
Mum,
I’ll be home on Sunday as ordered but I don’t want you to go to any trouble for a “celebration.” I’m not really sure there is anything to celebrate other than the horrid schedule I’ve been keeping. The shop is getting busy again – I suppose people really are getting used to having just me there and all of the publicity has been good for business. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but there you go. I’ve been so busy that I even had to miss the welcoming feast at Hogwarts tonight. Adolphus Fustian has kidney problems from too much whiskey and on top of some nasty hexes but refuses to go to St. Mungo’s for treatment. His healer here has asked me to brew twelve different potions by 9 a.m. tomorrow before he goes to the Ministry dynomagus to get the aura stuff taken care of for the hexes. I’m up finishing it now – at 12:30 a.m. so it’ll be ready by nine. Perhaps I can even get a couple hours of sleep before my first class tomorrow (the last one is simmering for fifteen minutes and everything else is done). Did I get into the right business? I don’t ever recall you being up this late for anyone – not even on a wedding cake. I received an owl from M. Fournier thanking me for doing such a good job training the two apprentices that I sent him last year when Mr. Basilton started getting so sick. It was a nice note that made me feel better about teaching – they must have told him that I had a hand in teaching them rather than Mr. Basilton. He said they were so well trained that he didn’t have to watch them every second of every day – for a PM, that’s an impressive compliment. I still haven’t heard about the other kids that I farmed out but since there haven’t been any big news stories about deadly or disfiguring potions accidents I’m not worried too much. I do feel good about the few younger students that I trained over the years, even though Mr. Basilton released some of them before me – he did explain himself though – so I felt good about that too. He always did say that I was good with the young ones that came in. Hope I’m ready! I met another one of the new teachers, Miss Umbridge – wow, she’s awful. I’m glad I’m not going to be there much so I don’t have to socialize. She simpers and coughs to get attention away from Dumbledore – it’s very rude. She even wears a stupid bow on top of her head like a poodle even though she looks like a toad. I can’t tell you how often I’ve bitten my lip in the past couple of days so I don’t say something impossibly rude to her. I can’t imagine what the Ministry was thinking when they sent her. Everyone else is just about the same as they’ve been for the last twenty or so years, it seems. I suppose Hogwarts doesn’t ever change much, does it? Anyway, I do have a halfway decent introductory speech for my class, I think. Of course, it’ll never be as good as Snape’s speech to the first years, but I think it’ll do for me. I’ll do it for you when I get there on Sunday. Hopefully, that’ll give me enough time to recover from the week.
Love you and kisses to Dad,
Kiaya
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
1 September
Classes started today. He is here and fine but already in trouble with whom you expected him to be. Am watching. The old man is worried about Podmore’s arrest but powerless. Canines still in town but will get more information on how to get there.
Yr. servant