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10 December 1998
Padma,
Youre welcome any time you can come, the only plans I have are Whitling on the twelfth - can you still come that evening? - and Ive promised Blaise a visit sometime the day after.
I havent asked Goyle, Ive asked you. Is this an acceptance?
-T( . )
10 December 1998
Theodore,
Shall I come by tomorrow afternoon, if you are not otherwise engaged? There is nothing to be done immediately to appease my family, but we will be parted soon enough and they may take comfort in this while I take comfort in you.
You may return a response in the positive to the Fawcett's if you wish the most dull of Solstice party goers on your arm.
Yours,
Padma
( . )
10 December 1998
Padma,
Your company is always much more than welcome, though I feel there is likely little that I could do to change the opinions of your family. Im rather used to ignoring the opinions of my own in regards to who is a suitable match, but I rather think my mother would be far more amenable than your own, these days. She wants to see our family regain standing somehow, which depends in a large part on my actions, being of age seems to mean that Im capable to serve as head of my family in my fathers stead. Its a good thing, she has decided, that I did not participate so eagerly as Malfoy, Goyle, or even Blaise, who has now served his six months and is let out to the custody of his mother for another six. Shes not exactly the sort of woman who defines the term good influence, but Im pleased to have him out and about again.
If there is something I could do to help with your parents, besides feign Indian, which I know I am the opposite of, you will let me know?
Ive received an invitation to the Fawcetts solstice party on the 23rd, is two weeks enough time for your mother to be convinced of my reformation, do you think? I would very much like to see you before then - as often as you think best without earning a ban, really - but I dont want to accept if Ill have to go alone. Morag is in Edinburgh, or so she says when I write, so she - and Belby, Ive heard - wont be there either.
Yours,
Theodore( . )
10 December 1998
Theodore,
It feels foolish to write to you when I know just where to Apparate and am reasonably certain my company would be welcome, but I cannot get away today and am wanting to speak - or write, at least - to someone who won't return my attempts at civility with scorn or disappointment.
Certainly I should not be surprised at my family's reception of where I spent the greater part of the day when I was with you. Parvati isn't speaking to me and my father appears to be warring with the usual fatherly suspicions where young men are concerned and the particulars of your person - will it be a small comfort to you to know that the fact you are not Indian is just as unsavory as who your father is, or was? It was not to me, either.
I am most unsettled, of course, by my mother, who seems to think my behavior reasonable so long as I intend some sort of reformation of your character. I will only say that for all her talks of reason, she is far from willing to do so herself.
Yet there is sweet with sour. I have not been expressly forbade from visiting you, though I do fear I may not escape such mandates this holiday should they never have the opportunity to determine the honesty and integrity of your person for themselves.
Padma
( . )
7 December 1998
Theodore,
Meet me in Diagon at Flourish & Blotts at two?
If Rupa could scowl she would, and mother will be scowling soon, but I could not and cannot care.
p.p.
( . )
7 December
Padma,
Parvati and I arent destined to share any great affection for each other, I think. Sorry to disappoint, but yes, I admit I was amused at the idea of a squabble for the letter. Had it been discovered by her, I would have ultimately blamed your influence for whatever poetry could be found. I doubt it was as much as youve implied, though sometimes I do put forth an effort to say things well. Likely because the pen is not always the best communicator for me, you can easily convey a message you never dreamed of, if you dont choose your words carefully.
This is my room here at Robinswood. Ill take a picture of the one at my mothers next time Im there.
I havent any plans, no, youre welcome any time.
Theodore( . )
7 December 1998
Dear Theodore,
You would be heartily amused, I think, at the lengths I went to in keeping your last letter out of Parvati's hands. It arrived just as we were sitting down to lunch - thankfully, mother and father had not yet joined us - and Ascella was not amused by our scampering. No wands were involved, but I wouldn't be surprised if one or the other of us wake unusually sore tomorrow morning.
There is a fair amount of poetry in your letter, have I been a terrible influence? I am glad to have read with the door locked and a Charm for muffling the contemptuous noises Parvati is making in the corridor. But I think what you write of our cork tree... is true. It seems we revisit the same things, or perhaps I do, by force of will or circumstances. You could not impress anything upon me, as I believe I've promised to carry as many stones as I hold out to you, remember?
I am enclosing for you a photograph of my bedroom, which is very untidy despite my long absence. I was but a moment ago sitting in a square of light cast by that window, before rising to send Rupa off with this letter.
I do not think it wise to keep gracious Sylvia waiting too very long. Have you plans for tomorrow afternoon?
Padma
( . )
6 December, 1998
Dear Padma,
If your counter-sensibilities are agreeable, I would rather the happy distraction of your company after Mr. Whitling than before, so as not to linger overlong on whatever we discuss. I promise not to press the topic on you, of Joseph or our upbringing. Im not sure what my mother hopes for me to say, it feels strange to be expected to undercut her and my father on my brothers behalf. His choices were his own, however strong the parental influence, but I believe as well that we are at least partially a product of our environments. Your cork tree would not flourish here without careful tending, but may grow wild elsewhere.
I am sorry if you are sober, stiff, or sore tonight. Take an overly long soak in an overly hot bath, and crawl with pruny toes and fingers under weighty quilts to dream of even more snow. Hopefully it will help with whatever this anxiety is, and let you feel relaxed at least, if not fully gentle?
Sylvia has written me a letter, and asks how you are. I may delay in responding so you can add a post script yourself, if you would like?
Until your propriety is smothered by your brash ungentle nature,
- T( . )
5 December 1998
Dear Theodore,
If you should like it, I would give you some happy distraction before you must meet with this Mr. Whitling. I am feeling considerable ire on your account, for all it isn't my place. The whole of our last year at Hogwarts stripped each and every student of any child that remained, and there was no Professor Carrow to orchestrate what happened that night. All was willful, and even if mislead, leniency of this kind... I could not support. The reformation of character must first come with an understanding of that character, a confrontation of deed and intention.
I am sorry. I really haven't anything to say about Joseph that I could feel justified in writing for all I might write of it anyway, but I think you should know that I am conflicted. I think these feelings, the memories of what happened, must come out of me someday, if not in a book than in another form. I cannot go on all my days living with the weight of every shared and secret horror. Perhaps Zelma had more interest in what happened at Hogwarts than she let on, if she accepted me when she did. For her this is all one great war with a breath held in between, and in the scope of her research, I cannot disagree with this view. As for my being qualified... I cannot think of many who would wish my voice to be the one heard, if any at all. Certainly I do not wish it.
And now I am thinking myself perfectly of a mind to agree to any request made in kindness. I cannot promise I will not blink.
Tomorrow evening Zelma and I are dining with several of the distinguished scholars of Berlin for a far more formal evening than you had your last in Portugal. I shall retire sober and sore from stiff, half-understood conversation, and Apparate home in the morning. While I know better than to want to see you very soon after, I will admit I would rather ignore such inclinations than suffer failing to act because of them.
This does not make me a gentle woman, I think.
Anxiously,
Padma
( . )
4 December, 1998
Dear Padma,
Scotland is snowy too, snowier than a dusting, so its good to hear you have boots this year. There isnt any here in Burnham, but there isnt anything Ive found to do either. Im not adventurous when it comes to Muggle towns in Britain, I feel out of place. Theres some dodgy looking restaurants, a movie cinema, and little shops, besides the boating club. I never know what to make of the money - now they go by pee, which Max would find hilarious, but my father says shillings, and there were twelve pence in a shilling, and two hundred forty in a pound. And now there are a hundred, but its still pence, which is also pee?
Merlin I miss Galleons and Sickles. Dont start me on figuring out their tipping.
Mother and Max are well, though Im not keen on talking to Mum about her appeals on behalf of Joseph. She seems to know Fathers a lost cause, though she says that visitations are allowed and encouraged me to come with her closer to Solstice. Our solicitor seems to think that with this remodeling of Azkaban and the criminal court system, there is an argument to be made that Joseph was a child who was - and I nearly choked, hearing her say this - raised in a Pureblood biased home. I am to meet with Mr. Whitling on the twelfth, to discuss my upbringing. I cant imagine a more uncomfortable afternoon.
Its good to hear youre expected back, as you seem to take some enjoyment at least from the work, and your taskmaster too, in her own right. Maybe this is your work, your book. Not the same as Zelmas of course, but your own account of the more recent goings on. Look at what happened at Hogwarts from every angle, make a judgment for historys sake. Youre more than qualified.
Ive known you to be gentle far more than I have to be prickly, spiny, or shocking, but will avoid your nose all the same. If youll consider it, Id like to have a picture of you of my own making. Nothing scandalous, I very strongly assure you, just to attempt to capture with camera what you challenge is better penned by pen.
Very soon, and very happily, in your company,
Theodore( . )
3 December 1998
Dear Theodore,
We have had a light snow this morning! Only a dusting, really, but I traced characters with my boot heels in the snow and felt very fine. I am so eager to see you to be home. I know I must deal with ugliness in time and perhaps less even than I imagine myself to have, but still. I am hopeful.
How are your mother and Max? And how was town? I will be contented with any agenda you should set if it includes walks and stargazing and any other thing. When should you like for me to visit? Diagon Alley would do, briefly. My plans beyond what we have talked long of are slim. I promise not to tutor you as I am sure I have nothing whatsoever to teach, anxious and aimless as I grow daily. I write and scratch and strike and produce nothing. It is shameful and I am utterly without excuse. Zelma claims I am very distracted and hardly of use to her, either, but it seems she does wish me to return after the holidays. She has given me several books and has demanded I finish them one and all before 10 January. I have already begun on the first, a memoir.
Am I a gentle woman? I feel bristling and charged, every nerve a spiking fright. Should you put but a finger to the tip of my nose you would have quite a shock. Still. I will tell you when I can look you in the eye, or perhaps your shoulder, or your booted feet.
What would you have for Christmas?
Padma
( . )
2 December
Dear Padma,
How odd, Rupa and I get on as though weve known each other much longer. Whenever she comes, she brings me your letter, and sits with me as I read it. She drinks water and eats owl treats and spends some quality time with Ascella, its picturesque.
Only joking, she tries to bite my fingers and then flies off.
Happily - for your want to stay near the surf, not your plans to serve as my tutor - I own no boat in this harbor. Our pursuits might be limited to walking, stargazing, setting the meals at the wrong time of day, that like. Or whatever the town has to offer, Im not sure yet what that is, Ill be heading down tonight.
My thanks to Zelma for letting your family, Morag, and I borrow you. Im sure shell be alright for the holidays, and I wager that if you were to simply return following New Year, she would do very little besides look over her paper at you in the doorway and say "Circes tits, youve finally come back," in German, of course. Im sorry for the loss of your Muggles. Losing children changes who people are, Im told.
Why is Sakhi different than Sakha? Because you are a woman? Strange, Sakha sounds the gentler of the two to me. Luckily, I anticipated your indecision and bought something before I left.
When would you like to visit? We should meet first, somewhere in Hogsmeade or Diagon probably, as Robinswood isnt yet on the Floo Network, and I wouldnt want you to try and Apparate somewhere unfamiliar alone.
Yours,
Theodore( . )
1 December 1998
Dear Theodore,
I have delayed my letter in hopes that it reaches you at home, and is not deferred from Egypt. Rupa would be very cross with me indeed if she were to fly so far south only to have to fly north again, and as you have witnessed, she is a temperamental creature already. If she could speak I am sure that she would berate me endlessly, if continue to begrudgingly deliver my letters.
I am not familiar with Essex, though am not a complete stranger where maritime pleasures are concerned. As a child might, I prefer playing in the surf, but would not object to more adult pursuits. I am sure I have more Charms for water survival and sport than I could ever use. You will grow weary of lessons from me if we continue in this way. Perhaps this is what I shall tell my mother and father, that I am employed for the holiday for private lessons in all things from languages to Bubble-Head Charms. I must think of what I should truly say and soon, as my time here is now less than a week. Zelma goes on as though I am not leaving at all, and I cannot yet tell if this means she intends for me to return after the holidays or if she has simply forgotten that I have engagements other than those she has arranged. We did a very hard thing today, observing a pair of Muggles here who had been Obliviated after a giant destroyed the schoolhouse in their village in the mountains. They lost both of their children and believe the incident to have been a natural disaster. Zelma did not want to speak with them, but was instead interested in my opinion on what it could mean to have lies standing in for true and genuine tragedy. She has an uncommon interest in grief, Zelma does. I felt like swallowing everything that I wanted to say about what was necessary to preserve the secrecy of our culture, but I did not. We have made sacrifices, as well. It is sometimes easy to forget that one resides within the eye of a storm, to mistake a sharp gale for a breeze.
I would hope that the word you are wanting is Sakhi. It is... not the same as the other, but the sentiment is. I shall tell you what it means when I see you, as I do not want for you to use it in error or false feeling. I suppose finding this out is gift enough.
Padma
( . )
29 November, 1998
Dear Padma,
Robinswood is in Burnham-on-Crouch, in Essex. Its not as much about walking as it is boating, but theres countryside enough just outside the town, I think. To be honest, Ive not spent a good deal of time there, its always been meant more as a career house for myself, and eventually Joseph and Max. To my knowledge, there arent any other Wizarding residences in the area. Sweet things I can provide in abundance, sausages and bacon and coffee too, if your mother - or father, really - doesnt object to you spending so much time in my company. I promise less wild adventure, and only as much scandal as Morag may provide.
Today was my last day at work. They had a nice do at lunch, with lamb and rice and an onion and beef stew, and as a surprise, had found a steak to make for me English style. It wasnt remotely the same, but I appreciated the sentiment. Tomorrow I will pack and make my goodbyes - Ive purchased half a dozen chickens, as a gift to my invisible hostess, whom I will see for the fourth time on my departure, and then head home. I think you are right though, that Ive learned here. It might not have been so enjoyable as Portugal, but it taught me how poncy I look with a beard. I make no promises on you ever seeing such a thing, it would alter your opinion of me greatly.
What would you like best for your Solstice present, Sahka?
Did I say it right? Im sure I didnt. Youll teach me soon.
Theodore( . )
27 November 1998
Dear Theodore,
I can claim fluency only in three; I should apply myself better to the others. We shall both be learning, perhaps.
I can love England for many things, especially now I am come to Germany, and have all of the foul weathers of the north and none of the pleasures of home. There is something to be admired about a walk in an English wood or Scottish moor that even my love of other kinds of wildernesses cannot change. Has Robinswood fine walks? I should like to discover them all. I shall wear sensible shoes.
As for my family, I do find as the holidays near and the spirits that accompany them stir, too, I have found again those feelings in me that wish to be apart of something. The lonely traveler is not, I think, entirely purged, but perhaps she can learn to live in accord with a young woman who has obligations and attachments. I have had a letter from my father, recently, and I lost the whole of the afternoon feeling despondent that I was not there with him in his little annex, tending quietly to the herbs, our hands and faces having as much fill of sun and soil as the plants under our care. The cork tree we planted three years ago is flowering for the first time, as it seems he's finally managed to create native conditions. He hopes I will be home in time to see it, as do I.
Mother amended the end of his letter to write of her own eagerness to see me again, and I was surprised at the tenderness I found in her sentiment. She is more a proud woman than she is warm, and I am sure you will not be surprised to hear my anxiety when it comes to explaining to her my intentions desire plans to see you while I am home. I can only hope she will protest more my visiting you in your home than she will to you, though she cannot find good reason for either from my perspective. I have been in far more compromising positions visiting the MacDougal estate.
Egypt has provided you as fine of an experience as Portugal, for you have discovered much about yourself in each place. I am glad for it, and hope soon to have as much aim for my own future self. Next time you go, shall you let me judge the beard before it is gone again?
I am not as discerning at the table as I could be, and like things far sweeter than is entirely healthful. I beg you do not go to any special lengths for me, I would be as happy dining on bread and water if I am in your good company.
Yours,
Padma
( . )
26 November, 1998
Dear Morag,
Ill be back in Britain on the first, for the whole of December, and Im looking into New Years in Paris, if youre interested? Robinswood has been written over to me, will you help me fill it with good memories, rather than the last?
Though I know its a caddish uncouth thing, I ought to tell you before next we meet. Im utterly enamored of your dearest friend. Can you forgive me?
Fondly and With Hope,
Theodore( . )
26 November 1998
Padma,
It sounds to me as though you are the linguist between the two of us, me with a meager one and a half tongues, you with no less than five. Willing student as I am, I will be happy to apply my eagerness to whichever you best see fit.
As my time here dwindles down, I find myself in two minds. Ive come to a sort of understanding with Egypt, if not a true appreciation for all of it. Never will we be bosom friends, but should I return on holiday, I might find a comfort in the familiarity. I do not know where I stand with Scotland, or England. There are grievances against her that Ive yet to reconcile, but all the same it is my home. And she offers me Morag, and Kevin, and you, and a proper steak and kidney pie with real potatoes - for this alone, I must love her.
My mother has signed the deed to Robinswood over to me, though she insists that I come home to take it. I dont object to seeing her, or Max, though I do to the conversations I know will involve discussion of the absence of Father and Joseph. I think I will stay in England, make the new home a home, and visit my mother and brother when asked. You wont find me bearded and shorn, surely. I dont intend to keep this scratchy thing any longer than I have to, and my hair is a monstrous, unwieldy thing that has grown to a respectable length so I wont have to wear a bleeding hat all month. Hopefully you will recognize our conversations with even greater ease, and they will transition from long-winded responses on several topics at once to something common between friends, absent of the apprehension with your Zelma over breakfast.
What do you eat, for noonfast, besides coffee?
Theodore( . )
25 November 1998
Theodore,
Perhaps I have things quite turned around, and I am to teach you. Tell me, should you prefer Hindi, Telugu, passing Greek or Latin, or a wealthy vocabulary in your native English?
I feel as though I shall write you my last letter before seeing you again and want to pick up where I have left off, with great, uncomfortable pauses where I simply wait for your response. Our conversations will be monstrous, unwieldy things, and we shall drive off all sensible company. And you, bearded and shorn of head, shall be hardly recognizable, and I will feel utterly out of place. I suppose I shall have to give over all of the stories I have been withholding - I spoke of English modesty, and was speaking of course of myself - and then I shall be unrecognizable, too.
Zelma does not know to whom I write, nor do I think she is much concerned with what I do when I am not assisting her. Like a cautious little mouse, of course, I remain nestled in my hidey-hole, scribbling and watching and dreaming. I am beginning to believe that one must be at least forty and possessed of some great accomplishment to be worthy of her special note, though I do not very much like the test of claiming over breakfast, 'I am writing to Theodore Nott,' and waiting to see if she turns on me the critical eye she has in company with her resources, or slurps her coffee without so much as acknowledging that I have spoken. My fondness for such a taciturn creature quite escapes logic.
Six days is a very long time, Theodore. Twelve is even longer.
Disbelieving,
Padma
( . )
23 November, 1998
Boozy Padma,
I thought this was a bargain we had already struck long ago? If not, then I must file a complaint for a backlog of stories, as Ive been sharing mine all along. Rarely in the same state of senselessness, or as the subject of a party that offers hats, but all the same. Sounds like a brilliant party.
What language am I going to teach you? My English is satisfactory, the French fairly poor. I am not, whatever you say, fluent in wickedness. I have very little time to learn whatever this language is, as I return on the first. Only than a week left with the sand, only six days to become proficient at a whole new language?
Full of innocence and light,
Theodore( . )
23 November 1998
Dear Theodore,
I will share with you any stories that you like, though you must share, too. Tales and secrets are best traded, I've found. I want to ask Is this a fair bargain?
This afternoon has rendered me quite senseless. Zelma has been entertaining and I have been both party and sometime object of it. She calls me names I cannot translate, and I know not if they are good or ill, and the laughs that follow do little to offer context. She likes me, I think - or I hope and so then do I say that I think so that I might better believe it - for she bought me a sturdy hat, the kind that the witches here wear out of doors. It is very handsome.
I cannot write in this condition. I tried to take a photograph and dropped my camera but thankfully it is not broken. I would be so very sorry to break anything you had given me.
You are wicked and not I. I had thought you would teach me a new language once I had my fill of fluency.
When, sakha, when? I will be home 7 December.
Padma
( . )
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