Written late Wednesday 22nd, arrives with morning post Thursday 23rd February.

Feliks Spectre
Slytherin House
Hogwarts School
Scotland

Johann Storm
Spectre Estate
Edinburgh
Scotland

Dear Feliks,

How are you? I write this from the French Ministry’s train carriage on the return journey from Helsinki to London. Half of the passengers are taking a nap, and the rest are in our carriage having what counts as a party for European diplomatic assistants. We could have returned by portkey, but these are the times international relations are strengthened, and secrets are stolen! Also tradition, but that’s less exciting to say.

In reality I’m dog-tired, and looking forward to seeing your father, and sleeping in a familiar bed again. I’ve not seen much of Finland, at least not much in daylight. The sun has risen after us and set before business concluded. Wizards can talk. Witches too. But they really talk. But it’s more about frank and open discussion here than the International Confederation. All of this, you’re probably entirely uninterested to know. I’ve been around boring suits since Sunday morning, definitely need to be home to the mud and the menagerie.

How is the mud and the menagerie at Hogwarts? I hear you have caught up with Sylvain. I will have to tell him I am fiendishly jealous. Not that I would like to teach creatures (I’d be beyond incompetent) but because he has the honour of your company once in a while. I am not exaggerating when I say you are better conversation than some of these wizards. (Also, if you were here you could join me in trying not to guffaw at the snores which surround me. Two rows in front of me someone has just muttered “your artichokes are glowing” in their sleep.)

Did you survive valentines day, or did you discover a secret admirer? Do first years do that? We didn’t really go in for it at Durmstrang but we were far more up ourselves than was healthy. Hogwarts seems a far more human place to study. Like a rambling family. Given that most students are related in some way to each other, this is hardly surprising.

Yes, speaking of secret admirers, I was entirely serious about taking your post to a Professor. Last thing you want is a wolftail scarf cursed to strangle or something grizzlier. Professor Storm’s old enough and wise enough not to come to harm but I don’t think you should trust whoever sends you things anonymously. Do you have any sense of who the sender is? Are you quite sure nobody from the cottage would think so send you something like this? I know you might not, but gut feeling can count for a lot as a wizard.

Truth is, there are some rather distasteful souls out there who might think it fun to send Ira Almasy’s son some dark objects. Your mother had some admirers who are not to be befriended. That Witch Weekly article rather illuminated who you are and where you are, so in a way it’s remarkable there hasn’t been more by owl. Still, best not to go around telling people what you’ve received. You might attract the wrong kind of friend for hearing about it. No, parcels to your teachers. Promise?

Tell me what you’ve been up to. Of valentines, of new friends, house points earned. What you’ve enjoyed learning lately. But do tell us if you’re worried, and if anything comes to mind, anything at all - we’re an owl away. Less than six weeks until you’re home. They will go by in a flash.

Much love,



P.S. Turns out artichoke-wizard is with magical agriculture. Probably has seen some glowing artichokes in his time. He was still talking about them in his sleep as I left the carriage.