Author's Note: It has come to my attention that the Philosopher's and Resurrection Stone are, indeed, not the same thing (thank you, Io). However, they are two sides to the same coin, both of them dealing with immortality and the prolonging of life, somehow, so please bear with my headcanon, because it's present in this piece &hearts

November 2, 1998

We were just toy soldiers to you, weren't we? Step by step, heart to heart, left, right, left, we all fell down in your little game. We were always meant to fall apart, I was always meant to die for you─I still hear his voice in the dead of night, The Boy Who Lived, come to die; he was the Dark Lord you didn't mind defeating, and I was the weapon you didn't mind breaking in the process.

I can't believe you sent me the Philosopher's Stone in a Snitch. All you left me of your legacy was a reminder of a childish achievement and a death wish, because that's what it was, wasn't it? When I saw my parents, my professor, my godfather, not one of them told me to keep fighting; not one of them told me there would be another way, because they weren't there, were they? That's the secret of that damned stone; it's the Mirror of Erised in a neat package. Take a bite from the underside, you grow small, take a bite from the surface, you grow tall. One brings life, but the other one sure brings death. They were just mouthpieces for death, and you were their master.

I, the dutiful younger Peverell, fell right into their trap: die so that others could live. I may have greeted you as an old friend at the platform, Death, but we both know that they were the ones I was longing for.

And the enemy wasn't the elder Peverell, and the Prince wasn't the middle brother, because I already have two brothers. One of them didn't claim his price when we snapped the twig in two, but the other one, she took the stone home, and I'm afraid you might have killed her.

This comes too late, all the words I wanted to say to you, all the things you deserved to hear at least once. The Greater Good may not have been your catchphrase anymore, but you certainly still lived by it, didn't you? I don't believe the tales about the Thestrals anymore; the wizarding world has been deceived. It's not when you've seen Death that they appear; it's when you've been marked by it, and you marked me from the first moment you touched me.

I have a whole list of Thestral-watchers, all of them one-legged, stand-up people, who went through the trouble of returning from the frying pan to the fire. You will say they were reborn, you and your Phoenix obsession, but they won't. They all jumped into the fire on your command, and you weren't even there to watch them burn, because curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction never brought it back.

Are you satisfied now?

October 31, 1998

To the two people who are still concerned: I'm sorry I wasn't stronger.

They may have called me the Brightest Witch of My Age, but this is no longer about logic. This is about all the things we lost in the fire. They say that history shapes the present, and I'm a firm believer that our history shaped us; I just wanted to make sure it made us into the right people.

The stone was right there, so tantalizingly in reach. I've only used it for research, to catalogue the war through its victims; at least I did until about a week ago. I didn't know what to expect at first. You never told me how it worked; did you say the words aloud? I open at the close like a hymn in the night. Then again, you didn't really have to; I doubt you would have been able to put into words that you simply thought about them, about guidance, and there it was, ready to guide you one way and one way only.

But he suddenly stood there, in the house that's been empty for months. I'm ashamed, now, that I hadn't even tried to locate my parents. If I had, I wouldn't have felt so lonely by comparison when the stone wasn't in my hand; when his face didn't light up the autumn nights.

He stroked my cheek, you know, and I'm so sorry that I didn't see the slippery slope before it was to late. That even though I leaned into nothing but air, I still craved it every night. His freckles, his red hair, his smile; I don't know why these are unacceptable on everyone else. I don't know why I can't let him go.

I can't believe he came to me, and now, I feel like I have to pay him back. He came to me; he rescued me. How can't I pay him back? Even if I know that this is the stone's final test, how can I not hope that this is real?

I never want to say Goodbye to him again. I'm sorry I have to say it to you two instead.

Please don't hate me.

April 1, 1999

What's a king without a kingdom to rule?

What's a king now, without his fool?

Happy Birthday, brother.

Prompts

The Fairy Tale Challenge: The Steadfast Tin Soldier
Additional prompts: "We were always meant to fall apart.", Losing Your Memory - Ryan Star, King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men,

Potions Club: Unicorn Part - Write about the boundary between the mortal realm and the realm of spirits

The Game Is On: The Three Students

The Eurovision Song Contest: Denmark - Soldier

Challenge Your Versality: Tragedy