That certainly was true. At Hogwarts the headmaster and professors traditionally did all their paperwork, as well as the administrative work, themselves. That had worked in the past, but the amount of paperwork had grown over the years with society getting more complex, and by now it was eating quite a big chunk of their time. That certainly was one of the things he had to change, if the quality of the teaching was to improve from its current level.
Truth to be told, he himself certainly could use a personal secretary as well. He had realized how much of his work he had dumped onto his Deputy in past years, and now doing it again himself started to feel overwhelming. He really could use an anteroom to his office with a secretary to free him from the mass of mundane paperwork, so that he could concentrate on the truly important issues.
"Trust me, I made that experience as well when I ascended to being the Headmaster. We all overestimate ourselves until reality reminds us of the facts," Blatchly remembered. "Well, how do we start?"
"It would certainly help, if you explain to me how you run your school, how it is organized. I also would love to be given a tour, as I already am impressed with what little I did see," Dumbledore explained while picking up his tea cup.
That meant they started talking shop, and Dumbledore did learn a lot how Ipswich School was managed, it's curriculum and all the ins and outs. It did help that Mr. Blatchly was not only patient, but clearly enjoyed explaining these things. In his head, Dumbledore started to get a picture of improvements that could see use at Hogwarts, but he first would have to visit several more schools over the summer and get a more complete picture.
Still, he felt he was on a good track with things.
...12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th...
"That's an outrage! How dare they?!" Walburga Black snarled while reading the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, one article having ignited her anger.
Recently, her moods had become even worse than usual and even small things now tended to set her off violently. That meant her blood pressure now was quite often at a dangerous high, but her only response had been to fire her personal healer about three weeks ago, feeling annoyed by the man's constant warnings about her health. She was certain she knew better than him.
Today, an article about the passing of Cygnus Black had set her off. Cygnus had died two days earlier due to health complications and while she did have contacted Narcissa in order to arrange everything for her brother's funeral, the inheritance laws of feodum talliatum had reared their ugly head. The article in the newspaper spelled it out, that due to the death of Pollux Black some years prior, the death of Cygnus meant that the only male Black of the main line left was Sirius.
"This blood-traitor inheriting the Black fortune?! Not as long as I live!" she finally exploded. "He was removed! Disgraced! Disinherited! And yet they claim that by law he now gets everything!?"
By now her face was deep red with rage, the veins pulsing dangerously. She didn't care about anything but being angry at the moment. She felt horrifically insulted that in the middle of her grief for her brother she was confronted with what she saw as a major affront to the entire House of Black. She would fight tooth and nail to stop this from happening!
She jumped out of her armchair, madder than ever. "Never! Never, I swear! Not one single Knut for this shame of my... -nnngh-!"
Her rant was stopped all of a sudden when she felt a sharp pain in her chest and fell back into her armchair. It felt like her air was being cut off and the pain centered around her heart was getting worse with each moment. Her anger gave way to panic in an instant.
"K- Kreacher..." Her voice had weakened considerably already after mere moments.
The house-elf appeared right away after the call. "How may Kreacher... Mistress, oh no!"
"Help! ... Get help!" Walburga gasped, already seeing black dots in her vision.
"Kreacher is getting help!" He then disappeared right away and went to the one place where he knew he could get the help his Mistress needed so badly now.
Everyone in the entrance hall of St. Mungo's magical hospital was pulled out of whatever they were doing when all of a sudden a somewhat elderly house-elf wearing a uniform with crest of the house of Black - something most owners didn't bother with anymore - appeared. The elf looked close to a full-blown panic, rising his voice to its maximum, which was considerable for a creature of his size.
"HELP! HELP! KREACHER'S MISTRESS WALBURGA IS NEEDING HELP!"
For some seconds no one knew what to do, until the normally apathetic receptionist - who clearly had seen too many horrible injuries to care much anymore - snapped into action. "Sanders, get the emergency healers down here!" She then turned to Kreacher. "House of Black? Where?"
"Grimmauld Place ... Number 12," Kreacher managed to get out, becoming more upset by the second.
"Hurry, hurry!" the leader of the emergency healers called some moments later, after having heard this information from the receptionist. Running to the biggest fireplace, he quickly threw in floo powder. "Grimmauld Place Number 12!" he called.
To everyone's astonishment however, the green flame did nothing and fizzled back out.
"What the...?" In all his years, he had never before experienced this.
"Oh dear, now Kreacher remembers! Mistress Walburga had the house disconnected!" Kreacher gasped when this little detail of Walburga Black's paranoia came back to him.
"Great..." the healer cursed. "OK, change of plans, we apparate right into the house! Just don't mess up the address, people!"
Well, that had been the plan, but instead they appeared on the street in front of the house.
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