Bellatrix Lestrange

My happy condition has not made life any less hectic. I am relieved, though, that everything is progressing so smoothly this time. The first few months were quite hard on me, and there were times when I wondered if we would be disappointed yet again. But I've just seen the midwife this week; she told me that everything is pitch perfect, and after a moment or two, I was quite convinced that she was telling the truth. Truth told, I feel quite healthy and energetic - as much as I ever did, in fact.

So much so that when running the Aurors through their new training programme last Wednesday, I helped Barty with several demonstrations. He might've gone easy on me, of course, but I don't think the boy is that sentimental. As of now the group will be tested on their new skills in early May, and anyone who can't keep up with be turned out for parchment work. Because honestly, if I with my load can manage, then surely any respectable man ought to be able to keep up.

I was hoping that Hydra would get to have a play date with dear Harry this week, but it seems that there was no time. Hydra misses Harry quite desperately, I think. She often does chatter on about how she can't wait to join Harry and her cousin Draco at Hogwarts next year.

Oh, blast it - I haven't had a minute free for Owls this week, so I'll just mention here that we should reach a decision by early this week, Professor Sinistra.

Nottingham has some truly spectacular architecture, it must be said. Looking at the heavily gothic style, I'd say it bears the mark of Waterhouse, which means that it's Wizard-done. Even better. There's a fair-sized community of half-bloods up here, most of them employed at Bobbin's main factory. Quite a few of the less established ones have flats at the Clifton estate. It's a pretty piece of land, with the Trent River running alongside. The escaped mudbloods must've followed the river all the way from Derby - quite an extraordinary trot by anyone's standards. The fact that Dawlish and Harkiss were searching the river from the east and yet somehow managed to miss them is also extraordinary. Stunningly so.

At the Clifton estate, a young couple by the name of Dames witnessed the elderly Wilbur Thompson admitting the escaped teenagers into his flat. By the time we got there, Thompson was having a grand old time showing the mudbloods how to use his wand to conjure up coloured handkerchiefs and bits of lint from a hat. It was quite reassuring to see how comfortable he was amongst the mudbloods, seeing as he'll be one from now on.

Lance and Carla Dames will generously rewarded, of course, for displaying their loyalty to the Lord and His Protectorate.

I'll be having a chat with Hopkirk this week about running the older Aurors through a more rigorous training programme. The difference between a Dawlish and a Yaxley, or a Harkiss and a Barty, grows more and more troublesome. In any case, I will have her know that tasks will no longer be delegated by seniority, but by my own preferences. I would have liked to have seen the mudbloods try to slip by any of the other Aurors and live to tell the tale. Even me. Though in my case it is high time that I remove myself from active engagements. I can't say I'm entirely happy about it, but His decision is, of course, for the best. I certainly don't want what happened to Yaxley and Marks to happen to me - not now.