5th July, 1893

Flora,

Certainly you've heard the news by now, but I will relay it to you nonetheless, for it is important to tell one's own stories, don't you think?

I am, it seems, to be on bedrest for the remainder of the month. Bedrest. Can you believe such a thing? That I, a young man full to the brim of vitality and innate flying ability (I am on bedrest; you must allow me my exaggerations) must remain confined to my bed for weeks on end?! Alright, perhaps I did fall from my broomstick when attempting a trick with Sirius and break my leg in three places, but still.

Bedrest.

(It is worth noting that the healer did suggest a wheelchair might make my imprisonment more bearable, but Uncle Orlando vetoed that plan when I asked if it could be made to fly.)

And now, I must beg of you to keep your poor, wretched cousin abreast of all that happens out there, in the outside world, lest I lose my mind entirely. I don't even have summer homework to keep me occupied, only the looming anxiety of our upcoming O.W.L. results. Merlin, this is going to be a dreadfully long summer.