The Silver Three

Dear Eleanor,

I dislike the summer. It is hot and bothersome, especially here in Italy. We have a vacation home in Florence, overlooking fields of grapes used for wine. The house elves prepare us dishes and cheeses that taste well enough, but I prefer my backyard with my quidditch hoop.

I’m going to tryout for quidditch this year. Father says if I make it, he’ll give the lot of us new brooms. Blaise says he wants to tryout as well, and we are in agreement that you should too. You’re light and small, perfect for a chaser.

I haven’t any friends here, though the Goyle family is supposed to visit us for a while. I have to say I would rather your company, because at least you can read and we could talk about how ridiculous the Daily Prophet is.

How is your new kitten, Hecate? You should try and draw a picture of her, since you’re good at drawing. Try not to let the heat in the islands kill you. Next year would be a bore if you were dead.



The sun is hot on my legs. I’m sitting on the beach in our summer home off the coast of Miami. There is a place called South Beach that is booming in the muggle world. There is a lot of neon lights and clubs, but we ignore that and go strait to the island. Mother says she loves to tan, while father pops in and out using the Floo Network.

I don’t know where father goes.

Folding Draco’s letter carefully, I place it in a box where the first two of his letters are also sitting. Blaise sent his first letter yesterday, and it also sits in the box. I pick up my quill and parchment and begin to write.

We will always write. We swore in blood.