1st December, 1890
Black,
How the devil are you, old man? I was just dashing off a letter to one of the children when I realised just how near the end of term we were! How have you been, survived another one up at the castle? I hope you have not had to put up with anything too intolerably dramatic, though I suspect the school is full of drama no matter how many years you spend there. I believe I heard something about mysterious corn mazes?
On another note - and I almost daren’t ask - but you wouldn’t have happened to hear anything from the board of governors about their damned ban on beaters, would you? No likely reversals in the new year? No flip-flopping reneges like that half-breed ban a few years ago?
Not that I give a fig about quidditch, personally, particularly school quidditch - (do they make you sit through the games? poor soul, if they do) - but as I’m sure you’re aware, my son Cadawalader was one of those once-beaters for Gryffindor, and I fancy he has been unreasonably heartbroken about that loss since the summer. That to say, now that the children are set to come home in a few weeks, I don’t know if I can take a whole Christmas of his moping about it, and some good news would spare me there. Else I shall have to take to hiding in my own house!
Speaking of the holidays, will we be seeing you and your wife at any of the usual society parties over the festive season, or will you be too busy hiding up at the castle?
T. Selwyn
