The End
We were friends.
Once.
Before I left for Hogwart's. Before I got in to Gryffindor.
Before you were taught that I was wrong.
And that they were right.
Do you remember?
You didn't want me to go. But when I came back, you hated me. You hated me because of them.
What happened?
It couldn't have been that wrong, what I did.
So why? Why did you believe them?
With their ideas, and your confidence, you thought you could take on the world.
You were just a kid.
You didn't know any better.
You became one of them. With that mark, on your arm.
And you were only 14.
That was the summer I left.
That I left you behind.
I'm sorry.
When school started, I saw you in the halls. Sneering at the first years.
Thinking so highly of yourself. Acting like you owned the place.
I never said anything to you.
You never said anything to me, either.
Our lives were split. For good.
When you were 9, I was your brother.
When you were 10, I was your friend.
When you were 11, I wasn't good enough anymore. I couldn't be that brother anymore.
I wasn't "toujours pure".
After that, you did what they said. You were their puppet.
Why couldn't you see it?
Why didn't you believe me, when I said their way wasn't the only way?
You were 13, at the time.
I remember well.
You levitated a table, and sent it flying at my head.
It left a scar.
I laugh now, at the thought. That was the last contact we had.
The last time we spoke to each other, as family.
We were strangers to each other.
We still are.
Your only 15.
Your climbing the ranks.
Becoming his favourite.
Becoming their favourite.
While here I sit, blasted of the family tree.
They hated me.
For not being their precious.
For not being their dream.
You were that to them.
You would be the heir.
Toujours Pure.
Why did it end up this way?
This is the end, isn't it?