Well, Homer isn’t back yet, which I can only assume means he’s been seduced by those majestic American mountains one hears so much about. Or perhaps he’s decided he’s had enough of dreary old England and has gone off to start his new life as a cowboy. I assume that’s the sort of thing most Americans do, though I admit I have only a cursory knowledge on this front, having never been to the States myself. My dad did once, though. Spent a week on a Muggle dude ranch out in Wyoming. Or was it Wisconsin? I can’t remember, somewhere terribly American sounding where they have a lot of cows. Anyway, it was a great laugh, according to him, so maybe Homer’s onto something.
If he doesn’t turn up soon, I’ll send this letter via Virgil, my parents’ rather doddering old owl. I’m not strictly speaking supposed to use him for cross-country journeys, but London isn’t all too far, after all, and though it’s only been a few days, I am anxious to hear how you are settling into life with that charming sister of yours. Do let me know.
The quill that had been scrawling this cheerful missive paused, and James Potter scrubbed a hand over his face, frowning intently. Nearly a full minute passed before the ink-dipped nib of his quill returned to the parchment.