I wish I was there too, if only so that I might feel alive once more. Uncle Orlando seems fascinated by the fog and I want to feel the same, but instead I'm so dreadfully worried—perhaps it does not make me a squib, but still traps me here into the autumn and prevents me from going to Hogwarts. What shall I do then?

I am sure that if you asked her, your mother would be happy indeed to take you shopping for a wand sooner than later, especially if some dreadful rapscallion is showing off about it where you are staying. Aunt Rufina has never cared to see you suffer, after all; we are truly fortunate in the mothers we wound up with for all that mine is dead

Wish I was there,