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...
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...
