My Dear Eli Elinor,

Sincerely,
Clifford

Clifford,

You will, I hope, forgive me my delay in responding. To say that I was surprised to hear from you is something of an understatement, and I needed some time to adjust to the news brought to me by your owl. I rejoice only to have heard from you, for though Father and I had our differences—to say the least—it is not in my nature to wish death upon anyone, particularly when there are still those who do love them.

I urge you not to blame yourself for Father's contraction of the disease; it has, as you likely know, run quite rampant and might have been obtained anywhere. Few families appear immune to its grasp.

Though the circumstances are sad, I do hope that you are well. I think of you—and of Amos, and Mother, and even Father—more often than I care to, and wonder how you are all making your way through the world. I do not know if you think of me, and do not wish you to feel guilty if you do not. If you do, however, I hope you do so without concern, for I have found a position in the Ministry of Magic and am, in spite of all that has happened, doing well for myself.

I thank you for taking the time to write, and would welcome further correspondence, should you be amenable to it. I have, for half a decade, adhered to our father's wishes that I should no longer be a part of our family, and so have a lifetime's worth of questions and curiosities about what has transpired in my absence.

Yours,