I must be jumping the gun, there's trouble in the world all the time, but the acceleration of it lately is making me very worried. Disappearing Ministry members? And now an attacked student? You know there is a problem when Hogwarts is affected-- and a sick problem; who messes with children? It's the lowest, evilest tactic. Harming the innocent is no way to make a viable advance in anything!
I don't want to send Dora out to a school where there is risk of danger. Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place in Wizarding Britain; where else can she go? I know she's no safer here with me, but at least I'll be there and feel as if I'm in control. This is some panic to be fretting over an absence that won't occur for nine more years, but such is motherhood.
It's almost amusing how different I am now. It's not as if there were less dangers when I was a student at Hogwarts, they were all just threats from within the school itself-- the other Slytherins, even my family. Probably the same people making these same problems now . . . But though I worried, I always felt ultimately so invulnerable. Children can be so foolishly trusting of their own sense of immortality. Even in the safest place, that can be the most dangerous of all . . .
Alphard Black passed away this week. My Uncle Alphard was the most supportive adult in my childhood. He was just a rogue uncle, his power never enough to trump my parents' or anything, but he had enough of an edge that he could help out when things had become intolerable for Sirius or me. And mostly, he just cared, which was all I ever really needed, anyway.
Not to mention he helped me out immensely on several occasions. He would lie to my parents for me-- as immoral as that sounds, it was all for the right reasons and completely necessary. (Now I regret not spending just a little more time with him, himself, not merely telling my parents that I was with him). So Ted feels indebted to him, too; he wanted to go to the funeral. We were a little worried about taking Dora along to the ceremony, but as the girl pretty much disguises herself, with a little assistance from a silencing charm (I feel bad, but she is quite the gabby toddler, and we were in quite dangerous company-- I made sure to hold her hand the entire time, so nothing could happen) we discreetly watched from the back. Rather pathetic, considering that I don't know how truly reverent most of the company was.
He will be missed, at least by those who loved and understood him.
New Years came quietly at our house; Sora fell asleep at 9:00 pm-- I'm not complaining!
A few resolutions: 1) Further baby-proof the house. Dora's getting better at undoing latches now. 2) Master that pasta recipe Ted's mum gave me. (I've been loathe to try it in case it doesn't end up just right, since she says it's a favorite). 3) Start a vegetable garden. There's a little weedy patch in the backyard that's just asking to have something done with it, and there's some romantic about growing one's own food. 4) Get up to Hogsmeade more often to bother the still school-bound friends and relatives. 5) Get out more, in general. Maybe I should start a book club or something. Surely there'd be others interested. Surely?
The Christmas holiday was very pleasant, I must say. It's a quiet affair now, I must say, but somehow the holiday seems brighter now, even in the dark of winter.
Sirius, I must see you sometime, to give you your gift if anything. I could send it by owl post, but I'm going to withhold it until I see you, as a bribe, if I must. I was a Slytherin; you must expect at least some manipulation of the sort from me!
It tried to snow today. It really tried. There were flurries blowing about this morning when I ran out to get some groceries with Dora. They didn't stick-- they barely landed-- but at least there's hope. It's blisteringly cold now, anyway; it might as well snow! Plus I do want Dora to have a chance to play in her new boots. She's not old enough to really enjoy the snow, with the snowmen and snow forts and snowball fights and all that, but at least she's bound to find it more interesting than last year. Of course, knowing her, she'll get so excited by it she'll find a way to sneak back out into it, camoflage herself, and I'll find her a few days later frozen solid. The scrapes she gets into at only two years old-- though it's no surprise, considering the troublemaker genes in the family. I just hope I don't turn into one of those worrying sorts of mothers that writes every week checking up to see if she's alright, demanding all the details, once she gets into Hogwarts . . .
Speaking of Hogwarts, I've been thinking about taking a journey up thereabouts to do some shopping and reminiscing in Hogsmeade. Diagon Alley's probably better-stocked and more fashionable, but there are some lovely unique little shops in the north in which I could find more unexpected gifts for Ted and Dora.
. . . or it could be just an excuse for a change of pace and an adventure. Sirius, when's your next Hogsmeade weekend? I could meet you there.
Dora's Halloween went very well. Ted, Dora, and I were dressed as a Midsummer Night's Dream theme; Ted was an excellent sport and wore an ass's head so I could be the fairy queen. Dora stayed awake-- due in part to her sugar intake, I'm sure-- for most of the Halloween party we went to, and was mostly charming. Anything else could be justified by her costume; she was a little sprite, and we know how pixies and their relations can be, even if they're always charming in Muggle canon.
The leaves have all but completely fallen in the garden, and we've utilized a little repelling spell to keep them out of the pond. Of course, sometimes they get temperamental and refuse to pick a side to waft to, and just float around in little swirls above it which is quite pretty-- but if we weren't rurally located apt to get the Ministry on our tails.
And as my own family life goes on, I can't help but periodically wonder how my sister's getting along with her own new family, so distant to me . . .
Autumn's hit with full force; the leaves are falling already and it's been all Ted and I can do to keep them flushed out of the pond. It's not that I mind the falling leaves on the yard-- it's very festive-- but they just look so garish and dead when they're wet and disintegrating in the water.
As it's gotten colder, I've been more and more inclined to keep Dora indoors, which makes things a bit easier on me in terms of watching her but makes her restless. At least we've got Halloween activities to keep her occupied. Ted brought back some pumpkins yesterday, and we're going to set about carving them some time this week. I've got to think of a costume for her . . . any ideas? Then again, it's not like she needs much of a disguise; she could just go as whoever she decides to imitate!
The Prophet's not too clear about much of the details, but there's been an anti-Muggle skirmish in London-- with casualties, even, Muggle casualties. It makes me nervous about going out with Dora; we were just in the little park in Diagon Alley a few days ago. I've got plenty to worry about, after all, people that wouldn't mind to see me-- or, more particularly, my family-- hurt. I just feel even worse for the Muggles, who have no idea what they're up against, just minding their own business in their own Muggle world. How are they supposed to defend themselves? You'd think even those who aren't fond of them would give them a fighting chance, but I suppose that's part and parcel of the philosophy, that they don't deserve one, being non-magical and all.
I suppose I ought to stop shooting my mouth off. I've little to do with it and I've a family to protect; I have everything, and therefore everything to lose. I just can't help but feel like there's some Muggle mother out there, though, who once turned away the same thoughts on behalf of her baby whose name has now appeared in the papers . . .
Though classes are back in session for those still in school, it's still quite summery out (I feel a little badly for all those returning so soon to school!); I've still been working in the garden, and quite a few things have come to harvest. Dora isn't quite as fond of it as before; she had an accident outside a few weeks ago, and though her mum took care of the problem it may be a while before she's steady around where it happened. Ted's certain she'll be alright, though; I suppose it takes a mum to forget that bumps and bruises though perhaps not demented family members are a totally natural part of growing up.
I've gotten out of the house to spend some time by myself, too; ran into a-- Caradoc, I think his name was-- who compiles the Book Club lists at Flourish and Blotts. Now that would be a dream job. Speaking of which, I ought to get back to Diagon Alley sometime soon to pick up the next recommended reading.
Summer goes well. Dora and I have mostly enjoyed mornings in the garden; I do the work while she explores. Thankfully we haven't had any gnomes yet; I'm not afraid of them as I used to be as a girl, but I'm still worried one will jump out and startle me-- and Dora probably will be less afraid of it than I will be!
Still, I could use a little excitement. If anyone would like to stop by, a few vegetables from the garden have ripened and I could cook something. Or there's always going out. And Dora's always looking for more people to imitate; she's really quite astounding.
anxious
sad
inspired
pleased
mischievous