This is apparently the best way I can cope with anything regarding you, so here I go. Maybe I've just gotten used to writing everything down when it comes to this, I don't know, but I need to do something. I can't just sit here all day and pretend everything is fine. I can't even concentrate on a book!

First of all, when you make it back from this I'm not sure if I'm going to kiss you or kill you. I haven't slept. Last night was miserable. I had the most awful dreams and even when I did fall asleep I woke up before dawn with this overwhelming sense of dread. I do not put any stock in divination like my mother or sister do, but it just doesn't sit right. Even mum said something about the day being off and she's the only one in the family who might actually have some kind of prophetic abilities, though they're minimal at best. She likes to joke about the weather and she's often right, but honestly.  

Maybe I'll look back on these someday and laugh about how much of a lunatic I'm turning out to be. I have no intention to ever show you these. Maybe I'll just burn them when the time comes, but these are literally all I have to do with myself. I'm going to go stir crazy and I can't even tell anyone why.

Please, please, please be safe.

I'm an idiot. Mum had her tarot cards out after breakfast and I asked her to do the most basic reading she could. She thought it odd, but I needed a distraction (and I may or may not have been trying to make some kind of amends by letting her do something I never do) but I can't even tell you what they said. It was a lot of negativity, I'll just leave it at that. I can't tell if she just thought it a bad reading or was concerned, but I had to laugh it off and blame the fog and my wand.

I really hope you're having an uneventful day. I miss you.

I can't help but to wonder what you're doing right now. Have you found anything? Has anything exciting happened? Are you any closer to finding a solution for this crazy fog? The worry and the wonder has robbed me of any sense of focus. I can barely eat. I can tell Mum thinks there's something wrong with me, but she hasn't asked yet. I don't even know what I would tell her if she did. I feel incredibly silly, I know I shouldn't stress about this too much but I can't help myself. After going weeks with constant letters it's now so odd not to hear from you.

I've sat myself down to try and do something, anything productive. I've attempted to sketch, which I'm barely passable at on a good day. I've tried three times to pick up my book and get somewhere. Finally, the only thing that's stuck is attempting to embroider your handkerchief (hope you don't mind!). I can always take it out of you don't like it, but I've started a small purple violet in one corner. Nothing fancy and I'm admittedly not the best, but if I go slow and take great care, it'll be decent. It keeps my hands busy at least, though my mind wanders still.

Thinking of you, as always.

Well, at least I managed to finish off the handkerchief. It's alright, nothing special, but it doesn't look terrible either. Mum even complimented it, so there's that at least. I'm trying not to be so standoffish at home, even though I think she's still mad at me for a wide variety of reasons. I love them all dearly, but I don't think I can get out of this house fast enough, just out of the fog and away from it all. I'd be happy with a sunny afternoon in the park right about now. Some actual sunshine would do me some good. I know I shouldn't complain, it's everything all weighing down in a horrible combination and it's making me extra cranky.

Even Ianthe is getting antsy, she sees me writing and then not sending anything. I had to let her out to spread her wings with no letter, she gave me a look. I wasn't aware owls could make you feel foolish, but apparently they can.

Almost one day down. I wonder how many more we'll have to spend like this?

Hopefully sleep won't elude me too much tonight, I'm exhausted after doing nothing all day. Spending all your free time worrying and trying to look like you aren't is incredibly taxing. I've read the detective story twice now, I think you'll enjoy it. Maybe we can read it together sometime, in our big cozy bed before we go to sleep. I'm going to start something new and just read until I can't keep my eyes open any longer, it'll have to do for now.

I hope you're safe tonight.

Oh if you had any idea what I've been doing for the last hour or so, you'd be so angry with me. I can hear the lecture now about being reckless and how the streets are dangerous, but I had to get out and go somewhere that wasn't my own bedroom. Our garden isn't quite the same without you, but it was finally nice to feel a little relaxed, in a place that is unequivocally ours. I worry I'm going to wear down the designs on my locket with how much I've been running my fingers over it. I wish I'd thought to ask for a picture to put inside before you'd left.

I'm exhausted but can't sleep, it's incredibly frustrating. Every time I close my eyes I just have these awful dreams. I wonder if I could get my hands on a dreamless sleep potion. I hope it doesn't come back to that, but even after reading and wandering I'm still not in a place where I can get some deep sleep. What is equally as frustrating is not being able to place why I'm so worried. You're not even that far away, in a town I likely have friends in, but the fog started there, so it must have originated from there. Between the darkness and the toads and the locusts, I'm just not convinced there's a darker meaning here.

Maybe I'm overthinking it, maybe I'm just hypersensitive to it because everything came to such a dramatic high before you left, I don't know. Just please come back to me. I can't stand the thought of losing someone else I love to the unknown.

Another day down and I'm just praying no news is good news. I didn't expect to hear from you, but perhaps a small part of me hoped you'd be afforded a brief window of time to write. I know it's silly because I know it's important that you focus, but I can't help but to wonder and worry.

I spent the morning trying not to think about you and so therefore purposefully didn't write anything down. Instead I cleaned my room from top to bottom and rearranged my entire bookshelf. It is now quite nicely ordered alphabetically by author and I found some books I haven't read in a long while, perhaps one of them will hold my attention and keep my mind busy. Mother was rather impressed to say the least. I'm trying not to give her a hard time and not look miserable and worry her either. It's very tiresome.

Most fortunately I was able to spend some time earlier this evening with my friend Marlena. She came to visit for dinner. Do you know how hard it is to keep this secret? I've learned my lesson from last time, don't worry, but she and I have been friends since first year, it's hard not to share. It'd be so much easier if I could see you, then I wouldn't feel so antsy.

Some day, indeed. I miss you, be safe tonight.

I've resolved to only sit down once a day for this now. It's almost like writing in a journal, except I would never bother otherwise. However I think my mother still assumes there's something wrong with me, so I'm trying not to be so transparent about my nerves. I'm not sure anything has ever stressed me out this badly. However since I can't talk to anyone about it, I guess this will have to do, even if nobody is to ever see them.

I did manage to get a few hours of sleep last night, but not much. I think I'that's what's really getting me. It's like I just can't turn off my thoughts when I'm trying to sleep. Even if I do manage to pass out from exhaustion, I have these terrible dreams that leave me breathless and restless.

I shouldn't really complain, it's only been two days. If this had been an obvious or easy fix, the ministry would have taken care of it with the need for volunteers. I just can't explain my unshakable bad feeling about it, it's almost laughable.

I'm about to march my ass down to the apothecary for a dreamless sleep potion, you know that? If I could make myself one, I would. I did fairly well in potions, I could do it. I'm tired of being tired. I want to be mad at you about that, because this is your fault, you and your hero complex, but I can't because I just want you to come home. I don't want any more negativity clouding this situation, so I'm going to lay here in my bed and pray exhaustion claims me tonight. It has to win out eventually, right?

I can't even imagine what you're doing right now. There's so many options and I feel like none of them are particularly good. I'm overthinking it, likely, but I can't help it, too much free time, not enough distractions. I never though fog would drive me insane. Maybe I should have a glass of whisky tonight, maybe that will help. I have a bottle under my bed I nicked from August. I'm going to give it a try. The worst that could happen would be I wake up with a headache tomorrow, and that's just an excuse to stay in bed, I suppose.

Cheers, Love.

Day four. This shouldn't be so bad already, should it? I feel like a lunatic coming undone at the seams. It's been less than a week and I'm a wreck. I don't know what I expected, clearly this should take more than a few days, but I also thought maybe I'd hear from you. I can't even imagine what other people are going through, wives, children, husbands I suppose, wondering what their loved ones are doing right now. They must go about their day as normally as they can, but how?

I need to figure it out.

Mother almost asked what was wrong with me today. It was on the tip of her tongue, I could see it in her eyes and I very quickly made an escape before she could get the words out. I don't even know what I would say at this point. I should make up a story to tell when she inevitably does. I'll have to think on it.

In case you were wondering, whiskey does the trick for falling asleep, but it does little to help the dreams. I'll need a new bottle by week's end at this rate. Going to see how much finagling that will take in the morning. Thank Merlin for Mrs. Harding. I think she knows, though I haven't said a word. She keeps bringing me chamomile tea at night. She must know something by now, though I don't think she'd ever say something.

I miss you.

Looking for ways to spend these days at home is starting to slowly drive me mad. Everything will be fine when this fog lifts. You'll be home, I won't be stuck in the house all day every day. What I wouldn't give just to take my book out to the garden and read or use the old swing for a little while. It's lost its appeal when you can't see anything the fog tastes dusty.

It leaves me too much time to think. I miss our little trivia tidbits. I keep thinking up questions I'd like to ask or things I think I should share, things we could have a discussion about or should talk about. Maybe I should start a list for another time before I forget, but it's really not that pressing, I suppose.

I think the only thing I don't quite have the courage to ask you yet is why you never mention your mother. I remember you mentioning your father a time or two, but never your mum. I assume there's a good reason, and realistically, it's still none of my business, but I can't help but to be curious. It's not something I plan to pry about, but since you'll never read these, I can ask anything I want. Maybe someday we'll get there, I hope anyway.

I hope everything will be sooner rather than later, I don't have patience to begin with and I'm running low already. Nothing to be done about it right now but wallow in frustration and try to pretend I'm doing anything but.

For some reason I feel a little guilty about skipping a few days, which is nonsense, because nobody is reading these but me. I however, have been waylaid in bed for the last three days with some kind of fever and could barely lift my head off the pillow. I think the lack of sleep finally did me in. I'm a creature that thrives on sleep, not getting any was clearly bad for me.

I'm all caught up now, that's all I've done for the last few days is sleep. Let me tell you though, if I thought regular dreams were bad, feverish dreams were worse. I hope I didn't mumble anything incriminating while out of it. That would be bad. Today's better, I was able to at least sit up and read for a little while. I'm still really tired though. I can't wait to curl up in bed with you and get a real night's sleep.

Had another rough night, spiked another fever, Mum said. I still feel out of it, though it's broken now. One more and she's going to take me to the hospital, I swear. This is so utterly ridiculous, making myself sick over this. It may have just been a coincidence, a lack of sunshine, or a combination or everything, but I cannot tell you how foolish I feel, aside from feeling sick.

I cannot wait for all of this to be over.

I'm going to see if I can bribe August to get me a dreamless sleep potion from the Apothecary today. I need some completely uninterrupted rest, no crazy dreams about fire, doom and gloom. My imagination is out of control and I need it t stop.

Please come home soon.

Ten days down. Now I'm reaching the point where I thought it would be done. I didn't think this would be anywhere near as extensive as the expedition to find Irvingly in the first place? Maybe it's not, but it feels that way. What in the name of Merlin's beard is going on there? What's keeping you so busy that you're unable to write even the shortest of letters? Trying to operate on "no news is good news" but it grows harder with each passing day. I'm not blaming you, just the circumstances that separate us and the inability to do anything about them.  

I'm finally on the mend, fever free for the last day or so. I still feel incredibly weak, but it'll pass. I never thought I'd be sick of being in bed, but here I am. It would be so much better with company. Funny how I crave something I've never had, but can easily imagine.

I need to get my act together first. Mum's suspicious and worried and it's hard not to have anyone to talk to about this. I need to find a distraction or something. Maybe once I'm up to venturing out of the house again, I'll find something to occupy my time.

Stay safe, Love.

Feeling much better today. I was able to go downstairs for a little while and actually join everyone, instead of being bound to my bed for the entire day. I can tell everybody thinks there's something really wrong with me, which is plain old daunting because obviously I can't say anything of the real reason and I don't know what else to say otherwise! I hate having to make things up to tell them. I'd be so much better off if I weren't stuck inside all this time.

I think I need to find an occupation. I know you'd prefer the library, purely for location, but I've been thinking about volunteering at the hospital to see if maybe I should apply for a healing internship. Just how much would you hate that? It's hard for me to tell. I'm losing my mind sitting here idly and I really hope to avoid having to participate in another season, though I think we have that covered and this may be moot, but I'd like to pursue something sooner rather than later.

I feel like these letters are getting repetitive. I'm sure my constant complaining would be annoying by now if you were actually getting these. Instead I shall continue to be a bitter old biddy and sit here and stew in my endless annoyance and frustration. . . That makes me sound incredibly ungrateful and unreasonable. I don't even like this version of myself. You are never allowed to go on one of these things ever again, do you understand me?

Almost two weeks since your departure; I feel like it's been months at this point. I never thought I'd be this girl. I'm the adventurous one, the independent one, the one who laughs at the idea of sitting by idly and pining for a man, but here I am. How did you manage to do this to me? I feel ridiculous, you know that? I'd really, really like to punch you right now. If anything I would feel better and that would mean you would be close enough for me to do so.

Please, please, please come home soon. I can't stand this much longer.

Two weeks now. This is murder, do you know that?

I picked up my animagus books again. It's all moot until magic works again, but at least the research and reading about the theories gives me something productive to do. Lena and I were discussing my potential jobs after you left, but came up with nothing. I do keep thinking about the hospital, like I said in my last letter, but the more I think about it the more I think you'll hate the idea. I'm just hoping once  you're home I won't be so bored.

For now I have notes to take and transformations to study. I wonder what my animagus form will be. I never could produce a corporeal patronus so I don't even have that to go on. I hope it's some kind of bird, that would be so freeing. I should have you tutor me on a patronus, so I can find out and you know in case dementors invade Hogsmeade or something.

That would require you being here though, hurry up on that would you?

I forgot how truly interesting my transfiguration books really are. I likely could have fixed Lydia myself back on that first day in the alley if I remembered half of the stuff I'd already read about in these books. But then where would we be, hmm? She's asked about you in passing. She "hasn't heard me mention you" in a while. Which frankly I didn't do, ever, but I think after everything she had to bear witness too and that night she let you in, she'd have to be a real idiot not to think something was afoot. I like Lydia, she's no idiot. I think she may fancy you a little, her Hero on High Street. Mrs. Harding has also wondered aloud why I haven't sent any pastries out lately. You're nearly infamous around my house.

I'm less of a lunatic today after dragging out all of my books to study. I took a break to write this. I'm currently sitting on my bed positively surrounded by notes and books. It helps soothe the anxiety, just a little, if I can keep my mind occupied. I'm still feeling the after effects of the fever, just generally weak, but I'm feeling much more myself and actually a little less grumpy. Still not sleeping well though. That's been the worst part.

I'm going to need to burn these as soon as I get word on the expedition. When I reread them, I look like I belong in the asylum. It's ridiculous. I should just start destroying them as soon as  I write them. Eventually, I suppose. It's not like you're ever going to find them either way.

I miss you, Love.