A gloomy spring morning tapped through the school and settled through the nooks and crannies. Imogen didn't mind. It was bracing. She delivered the post and sat down with the others for breakfast. A letter for Miss Hardbroom and for her.
'Your parents write you letters? That's nice' observed Miss Cackle.
'I'm their one and only. I love speaking to them but I can't go to Mrs Cosy's every week for a call. I can reread them whenever I like. One day I'll be grateful for that.'
She tore open the letter and started reading.
'I hope you're not telling them details about the school' said Miss Hardbroom severely.
'They'd never believe me if I started talking about magic. My mum still thinks I'm working in a posh private school. Can't tell her otherwise.'
'As long as she doesn't expect to visit, we'll keep it that way' said Amelia, absentmindedly eating cheese strings off her toast. Constance said nothing but they could sense her thoughts swirling around. She'd read the letter. They'd rarely seen her read private correspondence in the staffroom. She seemed unconcerned by it.
'Any news?' Amelia asked. She didn't expect any.
'Just the usual.'
Imogen was curious to know what the usual was. Miss Hardbroom's post tended to be about ingredients in the wild and invites to lectures. The only letters she got were these ones. Imogen tilted her head to have a look. She'd noticed the crest on them but hadn't thought to look at them. She couldn't read it but it seemed to be from some institution. It took her a while to notice the irritated tap on Miss Hardbroom's nails on the table. She looked up to her the other woman observing her tartly.
'Sorry.'
Constance glared at her and put the letter away. Sipped her tea and said nothing more.