( Words can't adequately express how much I hate to agree with Jubal William Goyle in any particular, but Armando Dippet is not in communication with reality. )

( I should have known... )

Words cannot adequately express the massive irritation that I am feeling. Mr Pettigrew, my newest prefect, has been brought to me by the Canadian in a state of inebriation I have seldom seen equalled even at dear Aleister's parties. The Dux Bellorum's youngest is sitting outside my office doing lines with a Muggleborn street rat from Whitechapel ( Read more... )

The Hog's Head is the same as it's always been: filthy, for the most part. Aberforth made fun of my preference in drinks even though he knows perfectly well that nothing can get you drunker faster than enough Whizzbee Fizzes. He is as incoherent and unreliable as ever and his inappropriately familiar familiar attempted to become inappropriately ( Read more... )

There's been no response from Aberforth to my last letter. I'm beginning to think employing him isn't such a good idea after all, and casting about for someone else to take the job, but he really would be good at it if I could just convince him to do it ( Read more... )

Botheration in extremis. The manticore's dead. It ate Professor Barlowe, and then it died.

My brother has neither answered my letter, nor has he appeared here to discuss the terms of his employment.

The de Kernoël boy has disappeared. Jennie can't locate him anywhere; her horary charts all turn up void of course. When Kyteler hears this, he ( Read more... )

Soon the halls will be filled with the noise of happy children at play once again. We will have new minds among our number, open and free and innocent. I should be thinking of this, and not that the boy did not write to me, nor of what I see printed in this venomous rag of a paper.

Kyteler's son is so dense. So blind, for so long, to something ( Read more... )

It amazes me that the Daily Prophet can be paid to print this rubbish. It's motivated purely by political considerations, and while I am no friend of Ned Kyteler's, there are things about his personal affairs I do not care to know. No-one is as morally upright as he would like to think, and there is no telling where this will end ( Read more... )

Damn it all. If what Kyteler claims is true-and from all evidence, it is-I have made one of the greater mistakes in my career to date in trusting Señora Zabini. I feel like a perfect idiot. And I am only too sure than the usual troublemakers shall be taking the opportunity to crow over this misstep ( Read more... )

I am going to have a ‘talk’ with this so-called holy father of Miss Walsh. A very long, very intense, very thorough talk.

And then I am going to examine every single piece of sacred ground in County Galway.

At least the negotiations with the Polish are over.