Sevens ✓

A F T E R

pick a sad song.

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Dearest My Favourite Kind Of Flower,
I'm not sure how to phrase quite what I want to say; how to put it into distinguishable words that you'll take in and understand because I can't quite myself.

It's only been mere months since term ended and you're probably sitting in your dormitory with your hair in plaits like it always was, reading this and wondering.

This is not the first letter I've written these past days. But the other one, I cannot say too much about — it's someone's secret — quite a well-known someone, actually ... You may have heard of him.

But that is not the point.
You are, in many ways, so unknowing of everything that has been going on. On your side it's all war, isn't it? Killings and all of that. I still read The Daily Prophet, I've seen it.

But I was on another side and so I've seen it from a different point of view to you and therefore I know things and see things and hear things and it's all so different.

But right now I'm in hiding. And that is why I am careful with what I put in this because, and I bet you know too, that they're watching the posts. So I'm going to try and not say your name although it's hard because this was never how I wanted to end knowing you.

Perhaps when you recognise my handwriting you'll throw this away and perhaps you'll never read this and I'm wasting ink, but I needed to tell you something, and say goodbye, I suppose.

I mean that in the rawest way, yes, because, as things stand — I know I will be dead long before you read this.

But don't worry, don't. That was the last thing I want you to do. In fact, I doubted whether to write you a letter and to just let you hear about my passing on the radio or in the paper. But that was unfair because that would leave things unsaid and unexplained.

I just want you to keep going and stay strong, I suppose. If you and Glasses are happy and he is treating you right then it's okay, it is, because I know we won't be together, even if I was to remain alive.

Also another point of these words on parchment is to say that I regret making the wrong choices.
Remember when you shouted and warned me not to get too close to 'that group'? I should have listened.

It was always in my intention to follow them and it seemed intriguing and powerful and I wanted to feel powerful — this opportunity seemed brilliant, therefore — but once I found something out, things changed.

And so I'm rather pathetic, I agree. Unlike my brother, I am not brave and did think that my parents were right. Or maybe I was too soft — you've said I am the softest Slytherin you know, even over Greasy-Hair — but we don't talk of him, do we?

I also miss how things used to be. I still remember your face the time you walked down the hall to be sorted and how your hair was falling out because of your fluster, and the time I helped you to potions — the first time we spoke.

And the library, us, the dusty books — I miss that.

But the fact is, the purpose of this whole letter, is to apologise and to tell you I'm not coming back — ever — and quite literally, too.

I'm also going on a mission to do some good before he find out and gets me killed, because I already know he will, for certain. I've never been one of his favourites, anyway.

I'm going to destroy something in hope to destroy him, and in the process, I hope to find some redemption from you, maybe you could half forgive me — it hurts, to think that you never will — so perhaps try and attempt to as I will explain it all.