Dear Ginny,
I saw you last night.
You were running, as though in a hurry. Your hair trailed behind you in a molten river of ruby, gleaming with the glow of the corridor's torches and flowing like flame-colored silk. Your black robe swirled about you gracefully, in sharp contrast to the fact that your robes are all tattered hand-me-downs.
I wish I could buy you new robes, and give them to you, and experience your sweet smile given to me out of gratitude . . .
But your smile is always for him. He does nothing to deserve it, yet you adore him. You'd do anything for him, because you love him.
He, too, would do anything for you. I know you long to believe that it is because he loves you back.
In truth, it is because you are the dearly loved sister of his closest friend. Sometimes I want to tell you that. I want to watch your enchantment with him fade from your sparkling eyes, eyes that are infinite mahogany pools which I long to sink into . . .
But I can't bear to disillusion you that way.
I watch you every time I get a chance to. But no one notices. I'm good at hiding my feelings. I learned that from my father. He is a master at impassivity. He taught me that all I can reveal is anger or contempt.
Unless I am facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Then, I will feel and reveal whatever the Dark Lord wants me to. Whatever will aid me in avoiding his ire, his cruel torture.
I have experienced the Cruciatus Curse many times. My father asserts that it is good training, so that I will not be to shocked when I experience it at the hands of the Dark Lord. And I will. It is inevitable.
My mother buys me everything, to make up for it. But what amount can compensate for an inhuman torture?
I know how to use the Cruciatus Curse on others. I know how to use all the Unforgivable Curses. My father warns me to never let anyone find out. But I can trust you, can't I?
There are times when I see something in your eyes that hints that you could empathize with me, and I you. You, too, are dissatisfied with your life and sometimes angered by it, aren't you? But I have material riches, and basically no family. You have a loving family, and no money.
If circumstances were different, I would end this letter with, 'Love Always,' then my name.
But they are not, and never will be.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Crabbe and Goyle lumbered over to a dark sofa where a boy with silver- blond hair sat. "Hey, Malfoy," Goyle said loudly, "What are you doing?"
"None of your business," Draco snapped, crumpling something up in his hands.
Crabbe growled, as politely as he could, which wasn't saying much, "Let's eat dinner."
Draco tossed his letter into the fire. "Sure."
Without a backward glance, the three of them left the Slytherin common room.
I saw you last night.
You were running, as though in a hurry. Your hair trailed behind you in a molten river of ruby, gleaming with the glow of the corridor's torches and flowing like flame-colored silk. Your black robe swirled about you gracefully, in sharp contrast to the fact that your robes are all tattered hand-me-downs.
I wish I could buy you new robes, and give them to you, and experience your sweet smile given to me out of gratitude . . .
But your smile is always for him. He does nothing to deserve it, yet you adore him. You'd do anything for him, because you love him.
He, too, would do anything for you. I know you long to believe that it is because he loves you back.
In truth, it is because you are the dearly loved sister of his closest friend. Sometimes I want to tell you that. I want to watch your enchantment with him fade from your sparkling eyes, eyes that are infinite mahogany pools which I long to sink into . . .
But I can't bear to disillusion you that way.
I watch you every time I get a chance to. But no one notices. I'm good at hiding my feelings. I learned that from my father. He is a master at impassivity. He taught me that all I can reveal is anger or contempt.
Unless I am facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Then, I will feel and reveal whatever the Dark Lord wants me to. Whatever will aid me in avoiding his ire, his cruel torture.
I have experienced the Cruciatus Curse many times. My father asserts that it is good training, so that I will not be to shocked when I experience it at the hands of the Dark Lord. And I will. It is inevitable.
My mother buys me everything, to make up for it. But what amount can compensate for an inhuman torture?
I know how to use the Cruciatus Curse on others. I know how to use all the Unforgivable Curses. My father warns me to never let anyone find out. But I can trust you, can't I?
There are times when I see something in your eyes that hints that you could empathize with me, and I you. You, too, are dissatisfied with your life and sometimes angered by it, aren't you? But I have material riches, and basically no family. You have a loving family, and no money.
If circumstances were different, I would end this letter with, 'Love Always,' then my name.
But they are not, and never will be.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Crabbe and Goyle lumbered over to a dark sofa where a boy with silver- blond hair sat. "Hey, Malfoy," Goyle said loudly, "What are you doing?"
"None of your business," Draco snapped, crumpling something up in his hands.
Crabbe growled, as politely as he could, which wasn't saying much, "Let's eat dinner."
Draco tossed his letter into the fire. "Sure."
Without a backward glance, the three of them left the Slytherin common room.