She nodded silently and turned her eyes to the neat, flowing script and Draco opened the other letter, the one dated only yesterday instead of over three weeks ago. It was little more than a short note, dashed off quickly on a piece of parchment that had been roughly torn off to size instead of neatly sliced through by magic. His mother's usually perfect and precise writing was scrawled and messier, as if she'd been in a state of excitement or hurried, when writing it. He began to read, eyes skimming over the paper.