POPPY POMFREY resumes her duties as the Matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, treating the ailments and injuries of students. When she is not reversing hexes, applying salve to potions burns, calling a halt to rampant contagion, and administering dose after dose of Dry Dreams syrup or Himalayan HotWot, she enjoys time with colleagues, Halloween feasts in the Great Hall, summer rambles hither and yon, and keeping up with her friends near and far.

In the second summer of the Peace, she makes a trip to Europe and, in consultation with an historian friend who specialises in the battles and betrayals of the Grindelwald era, Poppy locates the likely burial place of her husband, Rafe. She'll never be entirely certain, but she feels better for having made the trip.

A highlight of her later years, is the opportunity to be the keynoter at a joint Magical-Scientific conference on adolescent health and healing. Sally-Anne submitted her name to the conference planners. Poppy addresses one of the mysteries of the adolescent mind, the entirely predictable predisposition of teens to make self-destructive choices even while possessed of all the evidence needed to choose wisely. She particularly looks at the accumulated evidence that possession of a wand magnifies the likelihood and severity of accidental injuries and death amongst the 11-17 year-old population. In this, she concludes, wizards are in no way different from or advantaged over the non-magical population.

Over the years, Poppy has brightened her small office with things given her by her friends and students. Most prized amongst these are several beautiful cut-paper snowflakes made her by Terry Longbottom; a number of cunning drawings given her by Colin Creevey (her favourite remains a coy rabbit, caught with a mouthful of tender grass shoots); and a pair of ridiculous red silk slippers that curve up to a point with bells on, which were a Christmas present from her much beloved and certainly ridiculous cousin, Caradoc Dearborn. Poppy is blessed in her friends, her long life, and her good memories.

Why is Antonin Dolohov writing you privately?

All. I also have some progress to report--this, on the admittedly fraught conversations regarding St Mungo's neutrality. I've represented the Order; Cornelius Jugson's represented the post-Protectorate government; Socrates Kosta and Armenius Fletcher have represented the St Mungo's administration; and we've managed to bring Osiris Sinclair (New London, Bath, Hogsmeade, etc.) and Eurydice Scripps (Bristol, Leeds, Edinburgh) to the table, representing the morticians' guild.

We've inked and signed a treaty of neutrality that reiterates the Healers' Oath to treat all patients to the utmost of our abilities, and further promises that no Healers affiliated with the Order or with St Mungo's will breach any patient's privacy by alerting authorities of an opposing side of that person's presence within a hospital, infirmary, or triage centre in our (the Order's or St M's) control. Additionally, there are promises that Coroners affiliated with the Order or with St M's will release bodies to next of kin without prejudice and without any collaboration with hostile parties, which might lead to entrapment of bereaved families seeking to collect remains. The independent morticians have likewise subscribed to these promises.

It's been a difficult undertaking, and the result is far from a perfect document. I feel certain you will all immediately see that it does not and cannot ensure anyone's safety should one find oneself transported to St Mungo's (or should one be forced to deal with a mortician in New London or elsewhere for whatever reason). I suppose that makes it all sound absurd.

And yet it was not a wasted effort.

The talks did produce some positive results. My contacts within St M's tell me that Kosta and Fletcher appear increasingly under pressure from without and that their command within the hospital is slipping. I can report that they appeared to have orders directly from Rowle and Lestrange to take these negotiations with due seriousness, which hints at the state of things outside the hospital. (For that matter, the choice of Jugson to represent the government is also a signal; they could have sent an underling, but they sent a Councilwizard.) And I'm told that Fletcher and Kosta are at least giving lip service to enshrining the articles of the treaty in hospital protocol.

One happy revelation from our people on the inside: we have more friends at St Mungo's than we knew, and it's their impression, in fact, that the numbers have now turned in our favour.

That's hearsay, of course. And the sort of thing one wishes to hear, at that. But it's hopeful.

Met today with senior healing staff.

Hierarchies are still provisional as we continue recruitment, but it was a great good thing when Frances Oxley came our way. I've every confidence in her ability to manage the organisational challenges. Protocols have been agreed and compensation matters settled enough to see us through. Able Bellweather's agreed to direct our regional clinics and coordinate triage units when we've a need for them. Now if we can merely keep supplies moving, we should be well-equipped.

I met privately with Oxley and Bellweather afterwards. Both assure me their contacts at St M's remain firm, and that when the time comes, we can count on key staff to stand with us. I've heard directly from Healer Allthorpe, who is currently head of department for the magical maladies unit, but is standing ready to pull his staff in behind him when our moment arrives.

All's quiet on the ward here, so I've agreed to go tomorrow with Miss Weasley to pay a call on one or two of the families she's identified as likely candidates.

If either of you will be in the castle tomorrow evening, perhaps we could meet then for a fuller briefing if you'd care for one.

Alice, you'll want to send someone out to the gates in a few minutes. Healer Repton Chandless and his family (his wife, Meliflua, and 2 young children plus his mother-in-law and her mother) will arrive as soon as they've collected their belongings.

Meliflua sings with the opera company in New London. Her mother is, I believe, a painter or perhaps it's weaving she does, I'm not certain. The great-grandmother was a curse-breaker for Gringotts in her day, though I gather she gave it up quite some years ago. (Perhaps when she married the second time.)

Healer Knox declined to join us and had to be Obliviated, as did Healer Behm, I regret to say.

We're headed for Derbyshire now to pay a call on Tempus and Delilah Grandin; I expect he's on-shift this morning, but if she's persuadable, we'll ask her to call him home. I believe they've got small children, as well. Wish me luck. I don't have the history there that I do with some others, but he came to Hogwarts once for one of Aurora's YPL programmes, and he was both solid in his craft and a clear, patient instructor with the students. He would be an asset were we to bring him over, and he's certainly on the list of people who might come under suspicion for having been connected in that way with known Order members.

Auror Harkiss, Enforcers Jordan, Cooke and Brindl came with me, but I've left Cooke and Brindl with Melchior Culpeper to make rounds of people M thought he might be able to talk over to our side.


I'm determined to wring whatever advantage I can from the Nesbitts' tragedy.

My dear, I am just on my way to check on you.

Do not feel you ought to answer here or that you need greet me when I arrive. I hope that you are already resting, but if not, we'll see what we can do to make you more comfortable.

To those on ground floor and grounds: have Greenhouse 1 staged for receiving patients. Have a number here already, in fact.

Kingsley and his lot have warded the area well, and are maintaining safe passage between here and the side door.

Are either of you at Grimmauld this morning or have you gone along to Malfoy Manor?

I've something to pass along to you that is both time-sensitive and in need of special handling. From Smythstone.

Alice, Remus, Albus, All:

First off: I'm safe, and have all my faculties and limbs intact.

I had, however, quite a close shave in Salisbury last night. Albus: Merridel Hedges is no longer one of ours.

I noticed the warding as soon as I entered the inn, but I didn't suspect it was anything more sinister than security to keep anyone from surprising them. In the event, it was rather more sinister, indeed.

The gathering began normally enough with people trailing in, sharing their own news and other people's, and there was the usual fuss about finding the programme on the wireless. There were a number of first- or second-time visitors, and there was lots of sharing about how they'd all first heard about the 'fugitive station' and how they'd come to learn about the listening parties.

And naturally, there was lots of chat about my being there, and how long it had been since this or that one had seen me, and stories of the accidents and ailments that had laid them up in the hospital wing all those years ago. And then, of course, they told how shocked they'd been when I'd had to leave the school. (No one ever speaks of Pomona, but there are mournful looks that say she's on the minds of many.) I was momentarily taken aback when the talk turned to that 'Professor Brutka', who'd come from France and turned out to be one of us. It's never come up, and to be honest, I'd forgotten that outside a small circle, no one knows that was you, Albus.

That topic passed, thankfully, as it was getting on towards time for 'The Tuckers', and several people wanted to know if I've met Ms Morgansen and were quite enchanted to think I had done. What is she like in person? Is she tall or tiny? Pleasant or annoying? Could I bring them signed copies of her books? Or her signature on a serviette, even? And then Merridel Hedges turned the questions to the programming and the presenters, and who else besides Astra Morgansen were writing for the shows? And where on earth were they broadcasting from? Was it one, fixed location or were they having to always be moving about?

... And somewhere in there I began to have a very bad feeling about where this might all be tending. But then the music came on and the recap of last episode, and everyone was buzzing about what an appalling thing Tertius Apsted had done, and whether we'd have to wait and wait to learn whether Susan Hopping is really Elbert Candle's daughter, and whatever is the story behind Norbert Veigle's limp?

Then, just as the first scene started, there was a scuffling beyond the door, and in burst the Watch. It was madness. People launched themselves every which way. Chairs overturned. Naturally, Apparition had been warded against. And the wards... they'd been set to hold in anyone who'd not been told the counter and given a key stone. I was fortunate that someone looked out for me in the midst of the chaos.

Spells flew. I was briefly Petrified and rolled under a table, but Harry Clover, kindly soul that he is, Finitéd the spell, and someone else hustled me to the cellar door, and then I was rushing down ladders and through tunnels, and out into the night. As soon as I could, I apparated away, and made several quite random hops until I honestly couldn't risk another. I'm out in the western reach of Northumberland now--out above Kielder water--in a trekker's bothy, and I believe I'll stay put here today. It's a peaceful spot.

About last night: I'm painfully certain it was a trap in which I was not only a target but the bait to draw others in. I'm afraid many of the newcomers were arrested and many of the established members. Certainly, their identities are now known to the authorities, and if they got clear, they won't have been able to go home. One fears for their families.

If there's anything we can do for them, I'd like us to try.

I confess I was concerned to read that the ward was closed last evening. Was that at Crouch's insistence? Surely if there'd been another serious illness or injury, those students wouldn't have been turned away?

Never mind. It's not mine to interfere, which is why I didn't wish to write whilst you appeared to be in the midst of a difficult situation.

I trust that you feel things were managed well enough in the end.