Dear Harry-

The fire was almost out.

I'm sorry about your

The only sound was the scratch of quill on parchment.

cloak, but I didn't know how else to get out of the common room. Dear Ron-

The silver cloak was laying on the floor, in ungraceful lumps.

please don't grieve for me. Tell them it's

She was wearing a thin white nightdress that had always been too small.

*all right. Maybe in my absence you'll be able to carve out*

It was so hard to find what to say.

*a little more of yourself. Hermione-*

Hermione.

*I am*

But it wouldn't be fair to her. It would only cause her pain, and she-

The girl blotted out the last three words on the parchment. The blots of ink reminded her of something long ago. Blots of ink- yes, she remembered what that was. If only she'd gone out then...

A knife, she thought- she hadn't felt like looking up spells. How very silly of her. How very immature. But then she'd always been silly, such a silly little girl-

And now, at the end of all her silliness, she bowed her lambent head and picked up the dagger. It was cool and cold- she'd always wondered what one of those felt like, against your thin pale wrist, cutting deep into the veins-

And then the door opened, and in an icy gust of wind, the fire went out...