It's amazing what one can find in cellars, aside from cobwebs and rats and small wooden boxes that turn one's skin blue when touched. I had forgotten about that one.
I've been getting reacquainted with the house these past few weeks. The cellars and the ground floor are mine, the second floor is still rented out to Miss Jernigan, an elderly spinster type who's been living there for as long as I can remember. She's disgustingly old, I'd be surprised if she could even raise a wand anymore. And she's dotty with it too; she's under the impression I am Nott Senior, I think, as she keeps asking me about my lovely wife and son. She was most perplexed when Tracey came to visit last week, kept looking at me disapprovingly in the hall for the next few days whenever our paths crossed. I've tried explaining things to her, but she won't have it. Although I can see Miss Jernigan's point, it would have been very like my father to bring
a very attractive witch like Tracey someone back to the flat while his family were elsewhere. I recall he looked most disappointed when he remembered that my mother had made him promise to give me the place when I turned eighteen.
And I had to let myself into her floor after a few days of being back - the constant shuffling around on the floors and the racket her elf was making was absurd. A quick silencing charm soon put paid to that, thank Merlin. But the smell! I don't know what she's brewing up there, but I don't like it one bit. Knowing her, it's probably just something for bunions, to be honest, but it reeks. I shan't be going back up there unless I absolutely have to.
So aside from returning my skin to it's natural colour, and drinking my way through the wine cellar, I have been relatively sedentary of late. There's the odd job for Tracey, of course, but things are oddly quiet at present. I'm not sure why, but that unnerves me.
Which is why I ended up visiting Dodger. Boredom drove me to it, I suppose, and I'm still not sure what he wants from me, but he's a useful man to know in some ways. He keeps talking about me doing some work for him, but I'd never be sure if he could pay me, or if it was a set up. At least he's stopped talking about me marrying his daughter, at any rate. That was beginning to be tiresome. Still, it was nice to see his mother, Tracey's grandmother, as I don't have much call to be at the house any more, especially now that Tracey has her own offices.
Blaise, are you ever going to come around and test this piano? I want to know if it's worth selling, or if you want it, as I certainly don't. It's not doing much just sitting there in the parlour, at any rate.