What an extraordinary whirlwind of a month August was. I know this observation is quite a few weeks belated, given that we are entering the last days of September now, but I had scarcely even noticed the conclusion of summer – that is, until I opened my journal this morning and found a rather ludicrous analogy drawing links between Muggleborns and the persecution of albinism and realised after too long a pause that, of course, it would be Mr Fenwick's doing flipped back through numerous pages in my journal earlier this morning and found myself faced with words I had written, yet almost no recollection of the days that had slipped between setting quill to parchment. It is quite astonishing that so much should have happened in so short a time period, and that Mr and Mrs Lestrange's benefit gala should be occurring so soon, almost a landmark to signify stepping out of the surreal dream world and returning to order.

Well, I certainly do not mind. And so they say that the new year begins, well and truly, in autumn.