March 18th
Phyri,

You cannot possibly believe the misfortune that has befallen me since we last spoke. I went to the street fair (and had hoped to see you there, but perhaps we went on different days?) and was solicited by this old hag of an irish witch to try something dreadful called hand-fasting, and I suppose in the Muggle world it is merely a symbolic ordeal, but I've ended up with my hand actually tied to a man's — a Mr. Bixby, who plays for... oh, I don't know, Puddlemere, I think. He was in my year in Hogwarts but I really don't know much about him, but of course we've been spending all sorts of time together over the past day because we haven't any choice and now there are all sorts of rumors floating about, and then Witch Weekly — my very own Witch Weekly, can you imagine a crueler twist of fate, a more complete betrayal? — has run some ridiculous piece of speculation about the two of us being long-lost Hogwarts sweethearts.

Worst of all, there's some speculation in the article about why I left school in the first place — though everyone who was there at the time knows it was for family reasons — and they said I might have been with child! At fourteen, can you imagine? It's so ridiculous I hardly even know what to say to refute it, but I'm terribly worried that someone will believe this rubbish. You don't think Mr. Devine will, do you? Surely he's far too sensible for that! I know of course that he doesn't read Witch Weekly but I must imagine that this will get around to him sooner or later (and if his mother reads it I may well have entirely destroyed any goodwill built up on that front) and now I simply don't know what to do. I can hardly go and see him to try and make amends when I still have Mr. Bixby hanging off my finger tips!

You don't think he'll call off the wedding, do you? I am in such a state this morning that I don't know what to think. Of course I shall be resigning my position at that horrible magazine, just as soon as I can think straight enough to compose a decent letter!

Oh, Phyri! I could simply die! What shall I do if Mr. Devine does want to call off the wedding?

Ophelia

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18th March, 1888

Dear Ophelia,

Now, now, now, you must know Irish traditions are not the sort of thing to be trifled with. We Irish folk take our superstitions seriously.

No, but that was a dreadful cruel trick to play on you! And I should like to find that woman and give her a piece of my mind for it. As for this Mr. Bixby - I hold out hope that by the time you receive this letter in return you will have been freed of that Utter Hell, but if not - I am more than willing to come by and chop off his hand if it helps. I needn't use magic, if magic has failed you thus far.

I am sure that would be enough to stem the rumours. Not that you should pay any mind to the rumours at all! It sounds like pure nonsense, and far too outlandish for people in society to believe it! (...Although I suppose society sorts are not the pinnacle of our race, and so perhaps may lack the brains to dismiss it.) But you are quite right about Mr. Devine, of that I am sure! His family and friends must have the common sense between them not to trust such trash, and he is not like to believe whispers of scandal from anyone else. The best person to address these sorts of rumours must be you, yourself... but if you can avoid doing so at all, so much the better. Besides, I am induced to think this will blow over, for isn't Witch Weekly bursting with new scandal every week?

You must be calm about this, O. Remember how sickeningly happy you have been and how awfully endeared Mr. Devine is to you - the worst outcome of this should merely be that the wedding must be postponed, and certainly nothing more severe. I am almost convinced the man would marry you even with Mr. Bixby attached to you, so you mustn't fret. (I rather hope you weren't hoping to weave handfasting into your ceremony, because, well...)

I reiterate again that I half-expect the ordeal to be quite over by the time you receive this, but if it is not, you must let me know if there is anything that I can do for you, for I shall do it at once! I can visit you at home, if you like - forgive me for not offering to hold your hand through it, for I fear that is in bad taste. I wasn't joking about hacking off his, though.

Be assured that I am

thinking of you,
Porphyria

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March 19th
Phyri,

The Ministry was indeed able to detach us at last, though I appreciate most dearly your offer of chopping off his hand. I am certain he could learn to play Quidditch with one hand; I am less certain that Mr. Devine would wish to marry me were I trailing around a hand, bloody at the wrist and still glued at the fingertips! And while it might stop the rumors of my supposed elopement, I should think it would start all kinds of other rumors.

I have written Mr. Devine, though I have not yet heard back — but I am feeling at least a little optimistically about the whole situation, now that I am free of Mr. Bixby. If it comes down to it I can floo to Wellingtonshire and throw myself at his feet in contrition — which would have been quite impossible, I think, with that oaf on my arm.

I have written, also, to divest myself entirely of my association with that cursed magazine, and I hope I never so much as see another issue of it again!

Ophelia

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July 1st
Phyri,

Mr. Devine and I retired to Ireland when the fog reached Hogsmeade, as I think you knew, and although the estate could not be more lovely I am deliriously bored out here so far away from all my friends, and without hardly a party to attend. I mention this not to complain (as I'm sure you must be feeling similarly, being so cut off from Hogsmeade and all those that live there) but rather to excuse what I tell you next, as the act of a desperate mind in search of any sort of stimulation: I have been reading Witch Weekly again.

I did actually leave off for a good while after I was married, so it wasn't entirely an empty threat, but I could hardly cut myself off from society entirely when the fog set in, and so I have been keeping up with it through the month of June and now into July. They seem to have moved on to other matters and left my supposed affair with Mr. Bixby out of their pages, but this week there was an absurd rumor that I had been spotted in The Hog's Head, of all places, with a man!

You don't think anyone will be daft enough to believe that, do you? I'm not even in Hogsmeade, and if I was I certainly shouldn't choose someplace so terribly low brow for my supposed trysts! Do you think they included that just to be mean-spirited about my having left, or did someone actually think they saw me there?
Ophelia

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2nd July, 1888

Dear Ophelia,

Well you must come and visit me more often then! Why should you need another cure to boredom than me?

Even better, I should come to visit you, for you and Mr. Devine don't have a relentless tribe of siblings to endure on the daily. Suffice it to say, I do understand your ennui. I very nearly signed up for that expedition into the fog, if only for something to do; but I heard whispers of the Ministry planning to send people off in groups, and I didn't fancy my patience with all the other oddballs and nincompoops who probably signed up. Frankly, I don't fancy my patience in groups.

So Witch Weekly was almost next on my list, too. No, I'm kidding of course - I would not read it if it were the last piece of literature ("literature") on earth. And you had been doing so well, darling! I wish I had sent a Howler, if only so you could hear me tutting at you. I'm tutting right now.

...I confess I am intrigued about the Hog's Head rumour too, though. No fool could believe that, particularly not if they are acquainted with you, for they will have received all your invitations and non-invitations as per the fog, and not all of society has the memory of a goldfish. I do wonder why they didn't try harder to make it plausible, if they were trying to sully your name. After all, you might've been alone in the Leaky Cauldron with a man. Or - I'm certain there are far worse inns in Knockturn Alley. Why, they should let me write their falsehoods for them - at least I'd be logical about it!

Did they mention a particular man? Clearly I'm not asking because I believe a whit of it - and nor will anyone else who matters - but I wonder whether there mightn't be a bigger mystery at hand. I am almost tempted to go investigating at the Hog's Head, see if I can't find you an accidental doppelganger! I wouldn't even mind going into the fog for it; it could be my own personal expedition. I'm not even entirely sure I'm joking!

I can't believe you're tempting me with Witch Weekly drivel, but nevertheless, I hope, at least, to

see you soon,
Porphyria

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July 4th
Phyri,
Of course you must come to visit us as soon as is convenient! I am quite amazed I hadn't thought to invite you already, but I suppose after living so long with Armando (who is so disagreeable when I inflict company on him for anything longer than an hour or two), I am still adjusting to the idea that I am mistress in my own house and can invite whomever I like for as long as I like (within reason; while we are in Ireland we are living with Mr. Devine's parents, as you know, and I should hardly want to inconvenience them too much, but I cannot suppose in this case they could possibly have much objection since there is so little to do without guests).

Signing up for an expedition sounds exactly like the sort of folly you are prone to (do not take offense at my wording; everyone has their own particular brand of folly and yours is no worse than anyone else's, and a good deal better than most), but I am terribly glad you didn't; I should worry about you ceaselessly if you were off in the unknown without even a wand! (And you would leave me no one to write to).

As for the rumor, I don't believe any particular man was mentioned (as though it would make much of a difference which Hog's Head patron I was running about with, if that were the case), but now that you've mentioned a dobbleganger — well, the idea doesn't seem entirely likely, I admit, but I did have a letter from Miss R— who is still in Hogsmeade and was certain I was, as well, because she said she had seen me on High Street. I thought she must have been mistaken in the fog but it does present quite the mystery.

If I do have a look-alike, I hope they will take care not to go trouncing about with men at the Hog's Head!

Yours Affectionately,
Ophelia

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7th July, 1888

Dear Ophelia,

I shall endeavour to call on you sometime soon, then, and relieve us both of the boredom! How are you getting on with Mr. Devine's parents thus far, mind you? Oftentimes I can barely stomach my own parents, let alone anyone else's!

Not that you aren't far more charming a creature than me. Although I expect it must be almost wearisome to be liked by practically everyone, would you say? (Besides Witch Weekly, of course.)

Having said that, it occurs to me that perhaps there is even more to the mystery than an "accidental" doppelganger. Perhaps you have an arch enemy, a secret nemesis, and the vision of you in the Hog's Head not accidental at all. They may not even be associated with the magazine themselves, you see, for they might be all dressed up in polyjuice potion to imitate you directly for reasons of their own. It would be an ingenious way to toy with a rival's reputation. Or, after all, they might have even more nefarious goals than wounding reputations! The next article may well be "Ophelia Devine Murders Ten Men", for all we know!

I don't suppose you've any vague memories of someone sneaking off with some of your hair, or a fingernail, or... a body part, any body part at all?

I won't hear your protests of this, by the way. I'm terribly bored. Let me spiral.  

With love to you and

your mysterious doppelganger,
Porphyria

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July 12th
Phyri,
You don't really think it's possible that someone could be trying to impersonate me purposefully? What a perfectly horrid thought! Just imagine the sorts of things they might do which could utterly ruin me! Put in that light being seen with a man at the Hog's Head could be only the first step in a path of spiraling rumors which could see me become a laughing stock in the face of all civilized and polite society — and then I should be forced to become a shut-in in Ireland in order to avoid them, and spend all my time with the elder Mr. Devine & his wife (whom I will confess I am not getting on with as amiably as I had hoped; but you must remember that I have not had the trouble of dealing with parents for many years, and even before then my father was so different a creature than Armando or Mr. Devine or even your father that I had no experience in ... appropriate daughterly deference, I suppose. You may think me more charming generally speaking but perhaps you might be better suited to the task of maintaining peace between us).

I can't imagine when anyone would have stolen off with a piece of my hair, since my employment at the magazine was always conducted via post — unless a stray bit of hair found itself in the fold of an envelope? Or unless Mrs. Ventus took a bit when we first met and made the arrangements — but I can't imagine she would have had such designs against me then. Of course, if she made designs since my leaving the magazine it would be quite easily managed if she had access to the servants at Armando's house, wouldn't it? The maids who packed my things before I left for my wedding could have gotten a bit of hair off of anything!

Surely this sort of thing must be illegal, though, wouldn't you think? Suppose I contacted the Ministry — or a solicitor — do you think anyone could do anything about it, or would they only laugh the matter off until I am on trial for murder some day?
Ophelia

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14th July, 1888

Dear Ophelia,

I shouldn’t have said a word! You know better than to listen to me, I have too much fondness for horror to be of any help to you.

And if impersonation is not illegal, it certainly ought to be... though I don’t expect anyone could do a single thing about it without proof - and we have none of that, since the idea was purely plucked from my imagination to amuse! Please don’t be paranoid. The Hog’s Head rumour was only a case of mistaken identity and nothing more, because real life always has a horrifying predisposition for the mundane explanation, and I, on the other, do not. (In any case, I should not think Yente Ventus has the wherewithal for such a complex scheme. It would be a wonder if she had any grains of intellect to spare.)

Don’t stew over it a moment more, I implore you, O, or you’ll make me feel guilty for putting ideas in your head, and I hate to reproach myself for anything. Besides, if anything of the sort were to happen, you could nevertheless rest easy in the knowledge that it was not, after all, you to blame, and the truth would out. Indeed, even if the Ministry and solicitors should fail you - since we are so prematurely prepared for any wild eventuality - I would find proof of it myself!

Otherwise, I have always wanted an excuse to visit Azkaban for myself -

On another matter: I find parents - and parents-in-law by extension, I presume - are best endured in small doses, so I hope for your sake that the fog clears up soon. Most are tediously predictable in their parental wants and hopes, though, and if they are slow to see you as a conduit to their precious son’s happiness (they seem the sort to be over-fond of Mr. Devine, rather than perpetually disappointed - these are the two most common parental avenues, by my thinking -  but you would know their sort better than by my first impressions), then I find most people are always flattered to be needed just as they need to be flattered, and near all of them like offering their youngers a fount of (unwanted) advice that one might pretend very well to treasure.

Unless either of them are like my father - in which case, you might try sailing.  
 

Porphyria

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