It was torture (and not the good kind) to catch only a brief glimpse of you Monday eve. Wanted to draw you aside to talk and more. To feast upon these brief moments with you. Impossible.

I weary of the vileness of this separation, scorn the barriers between us. Even more, I sense your purity is under attack, too. I fear your bright and keen edge has dulled, my lovely one, without me around to whet it to razor sharpness again for you.

The damned diricawl and squeaking bat weave shadows round you, deepening, deepening. And HIS actions couldn't even brighten your dimming eyes.

Consoled myself by reasoning you'll be with me soon. But it's not enough anymore.

Come to me and stay with me. You're mine, Justine. You know it. Cast off the shackles, blast the pigeons to bloody bits if you must, but come to me. I couldn't bear to be parted from you again. You love to torture me, but not like this, Justine. For once, make us both happy and come to me.

Even tidbit misses you.

Send me the word: Lincoln Castle, not just for the summer.

For good.

You aren't worthy to raise your wand to me.

Curse you open the veins white hot knife THAT'LL sear the dross away

Frie fire

fire if i were there there'd be none of this shit for mud nonsense, Justine

Mud for shite

Tidbit dont you dare keep
teh bleedin bottle from m
and clean up this fucking glass while you're at it

Urgent. tidbit's fingered a spy for me. But the pigeon's flown the coop, before I could chop its head off, curse it. Thing is, tidbit's hinted that it might have been sent by those two ruddy lestranges. The brothers. The wasp and the crup. All because of some stupid grudge.

They had warned me they meant me no good, the fools. Jealousy, no doubt. Thing is--well, you know their capabilities, even more than me.

Get here as soon as you can. There are certain steps I need to take, and I could use your help.

It's certainly been educational. And memorable for you lot, I'd say.

I'm in my offices packing to go, if anyone wants to stop by to say a fond farewell.

Min, I expect my property to be returned within the hour.

Proper pride, hippogriffs. Nothing like a good swipe of the claw for disembowelling pigeons who forget the proper pecking order.

A little more blood around here certainly wouldn't go amiss.

The arsewipes will insist on parting us, Justine, so must resort to this. Beneath us both, but needs must be our stern taskmaster. I railed and I ranted, all argle bargle, but to no avail. They even dared lock me in! The deaf needn't even bother to stop their ears but perhaps that serves His purposes when He squelches scum underfoot.

But us? Didn't expect it. He's changed, ain't He, since the silver hunt? (Actually quite more to your tastes, m'dear!) Cruel, yes, cruel and cold, sharper like your very favourite knives, twisty and tricksy and maybe doesn't mind anymore who sees it. Purified, yes. That must be it. I was impressed.

You'd think it would endear Him to us, the pure. Lodestone to lodestone. Surely as the dross has burned away, He should see your pure fire with clearer eyes. This fog is puzzling. All the chattering apes, the peacock, and others of that ilk, have drawn their trails of slime between His foot and our obeisances. Maybe even the bat, although I would have wagered sixty galleons He would have swatted her out of the air.

This waiting is tiresome. Hope the bed they've given you is better than the one they've given me (and mighty bloody cold it is without you to warm it).

And what they call whiskey I swear is no more than dragon piss.

Ah well. Draw aside your steel and leather petals for me, my silver one. I'll try to warm myself by imagining you dropping them.

One by one by one.

feathers all over the bleeding classroom
like a pigeon exploded and how could it if the bloody blood is missing

should be a cascade of rubies but there stolen
should detonnate them all, mark the purfple and smoke and shadwowwwws cant get lost in them
and sshe shades swooping and sliding right thorugh the pure heart through the climbing FILTH on the walls
wand shakes so shivers

TIDBIT! GET YOUR FILTHY MUDARSE DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW AND CLEAN THIS MUCK UP!
,sgut burning so bad,

Tore through my notes in a fury last night. Slime, essence, putrescence, menace, penance. Cold as a hag's dug this morning. The faceless watching, perhaps lingering a little too near. Cleansing fire would help, but ran out of firewood. Too much pigeon blood on the logs, kept them from burning very well. Scraps made with the fourth year essays helped with the conflagration, though. Best possible use for them, to my mind.

Building up a tolerance might be wise. It's worth thinking on. A little stroll in the moonlight, a few feet nearer every time. Must dare to do what no one else will dare. Purity will be the cloak. Might keep me warmer, too.

Am wanting a bloody sandwich, there's no tidbit available, and there's never a bloody house elf when you need one.

(I'm saving yours for you, Justine.)