Private message to Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout

[alt_sinistra]

I hope the public message conveys what I’m trying for: grace and civility and good will. It’s certainly not how I feel. But I’ve known since they told me on the 6th that there truly was nothing I can do about it. They hedged it around with thanks and pretty words, but it was the clearest possible “Your services are no longer required.” one could imagine.

I - well. I don’t have another fight like this spring in me. And, as Raz has pointed out, some of what they’ve been insisting on including is only going to get worse. More difficult. (I don’t know how much of the discussion you’ve seen about the Muggle management sessions, or some of the other challenges. I did what I could, but I couldn’t prevent their inclusion entirely, as inappropriate as I think it is for 16 year olds.)

I’ve hoped for so long that I could moderate some of the worst of it and that if they replaced me, it would be with someone inclined to balance. Or at least practical good sense. Clearly, I’ve failed entirely on the latter, and I wonder about the former as well.

The oversight board took no chances, either. They made the quite blunt threat that if I were difficult, they’d do their best to ensure Raz and I didn’t get permission. I swear it wouldn’t have changed my choice not to fight but I hate they think it might have. Or that you might.

She insists on a clean split, which gives me the shudders - there are so many details she clearly hasn’t grasped yet. And I hate even more that we’ll have to bear with her at school. She keeps trying to give me advice, and unlike you both, of all the wrong sorts.

And again, apologies for not telling you sooner: they gave me an explicit instruction not to tell anyone. (I told Raz, of course, and I did warn Miss Perks on Thursday so she’d have time to brace herself.) Last thing I’ve not been telling you that needed telling, I promise.

Comments

[alt_poppy]

My dear, when I sat down this morning to write in my journal, I had meant to reply to yours here to say how sorry I am for the miserable treatment you've received in return for your commitment, your generosity, and your skilled work for those programmes. It's unconscionable what they've done and appalling how they've handled it.

But then I had a very unpleasant surprise interrupt my quiet breakfast: a most unsettling visit from Healer Stint. Here, in Cumbria, at my cousin Dearborn's inn out beyond Troutbeck: it's not exactly on the beaten path to anywhere, and I had not until this morning mentioned in any public forum my intention to come here.

I've not been feeling at all well, I'm afraid, and I thought a few days to recover would be a help, but here this morning, before I could chip the shell from my egg, was Stint, glaring down at me and insinuating that I was shirking my duties by coming here between one seminar and the next.

And then he insisted on examining me, as if I intended to plead this ague as a reason for avoiding Snowdon. Which, of course, I've no intention of doing. Not least because it was made plain to me that they could choose to sack me if I fail to fulfill any jot or tittle of their requirements.

If I felt the slightest bit easier this morning when I awoke, I can assure you that after swallowing Stint's restorative, I feel worse than ever. Quite wobbly all over.

I'm not entirely certain I will be able to make the journey to Snowdon, even if I floo to Llanberis and leave apparating for only the last bit. And, well, I feel silly saying so, but I wanted to check in with you both to let you know what's happened.


Just in case.

[alt_sinistra]

Oh, Poppy, goodness. Truly, that worries me. More than a little.

Can I do anything to help? The one good part of the whole mess with the YPL is that I've only the last few final reports, and it's only my own sense of work ethic that's making me finish them. It's not like Dolores wasn't there for all of the relevant discussions.

So if either rousting out someone trustworthy - Delilah, say - or coming to do side-along for you would help, you have simply to ask.

There's been other matters with Stint, too. I'm hesitant even to spell them out in the journals (and frankly, this is a separate message because I worried they might check into any replies on the formal announcement more than they normally do.)

But you did see that rather odd post from Draco Malfoy last week? His parents are well aware of the situation, and so are other people who might be able to be of assistance, but ... no one's quite sure what to make of it, apparently. What Stint's up to. I'd be glad to tell you more in person, or by owl, where I can charm properly for privacy.

And then having to be obedient to their whims and biases. Ugh. I wish you far more success than I had, though that's not hard to manage, really.

(As to the referenced pub, incidentally: I was there, it had decent ale, but it also had some less than courteous locals who do not think highly of outsiders swanning in. You'd likely be quite all right as they're notably kinder to older women than most others, and a little appreciation of the local brews, music, or the publican's wife's good taste all go a long way. But I mentioned it rather hoping Stint would have to inspect it and then put a foot wrong.)

[alt_poppy]

Are you saying that-

No, you're quite right not to say more here.

I really don't know what to make of Facinorous Stint. He's appeared with no warning every three or four days all summer. Sometimes he does not bother to say a word to me directly, but he makes sure I realise he's there, speaking with the instructors.

But today- really, he would have to have been reading his book just as I wrote and then apparated within minutes, or he would need to have spoken to one of the two people to whom I mentioned stopping in here this weekend. I'm not even certain I named the inn to either of them, so he'd need to have done a fair bit of research. Alun's not even a close cousin, really.

I'm sure I don't know, but it's making me feel worse than I did out on that infernal platform in the north sea! This is the worst case of the colllywobbles I can remember.

I'm afraid I'm seriously considering your offer to help with the trip to Snowdonia. I hate to think of putting you to that trouble, but I'm not certain I'll manage it on my own.

[alt_sinistra]

It's not just the more dire interpretation, Poppy. With the formal announcement today, all it'd take is one person in the right department at the Ministry more interested in a quick sale to the gossip rags than their job. Makes one careful.

I'd not put it past Stint at all to be that kind of attentive, when he's got someone in his sights. But I agree that's highly suspicious.

And look: I've cleared off my evening, had a quick chat with cousin Mel (and she suggested a few things to bring with me that might help) and I can come meet you whenever.

Is floo my best choice? The Snowdonia side, the apparition's no problem. I was up and down near every inn and pub in the area, between my own research work and Cadugan's interest in long rambling walks that summer.

What else are friends for?

[alt_poppy]

Yes, they're on the Floo here. The Mortal Man. Troutbeck.

Thank you, dear. So very much.

And Pomona, thank you. I'm sorry I haven't the energy for more just now.

[alt_sinistra]

Oh, goodness. You're quite close to Mum and Dad's, actually, I just haven't been in The Mortal Man in a decade or more.

If you feel you can't make the trip tonight, I know the guest room at Mum and Dad's is free, and you'd be harder for Stint to find. We could try for Snowdonia first thing in the morning instead.

(And that means I can avoid flooing, you know me, I'd rather.)

Be there inside of a quarter hour. Just want to update Raz on my plans, and grab my satchel.