Thank you for the reviews on Chapter 57!

The underlined words quoted here are from Percy Shelley's "To a Skylark."

Interlude: And Soaring Ever Singest

June 1st, 1995

Dear Potter:

Hello! How are you? Have you had any dreams of blueberry pies lately? My lord continues to wake me up when I am about to reach mine, so I must confess that the taste of blueberries is something my mouth has sorely missed, almost as much as it misses the taste of blood.

But that is not what I was writing to talk to you about. I am quite sure that you do not care about Death Eaters who miss blueberries. You might care about the blood, and I hope someday to taste a Crucio from your wand and see whether the taste you put into my mouth is different from the one my lord and Our Lady of Pain create.

No, I am writing to tell you three things. They are all important, so perhaps you should pay close attention. On the other hand, perhaps I am crossing my eyes at you on the other side of the parchment. After all, you cannot be sure, can you? I often sit with the letters I receive and try to imagine the expressions on the faces of those who sent them to me. I am never sure if I am right.

First, what you have accomplished so far is quite impressive. Higher still and higher from the earth thou springest, like a cloud of fire; the blue deep thou wingest, and singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. So sang the poet whose heart would not burn, the one who by the time he was nineteen had already begun to sing of revolution, and who died when he was not quite twice your age, drowned in roaring water. Impressive accomplishments for one so young, and your own heart is a soaring, singing thing by now, I imagine. It should be. The summer is so near, the summer of your soul.

Teach me half the gladness that thy brain must know. I wish you could. It would make my own madness more harmonious.

Second, you should still watch the sun, always. On the other hand, perhaps you should watch the moon. Or was it the stars? I am afraid I always mix these things up. Dire warnings are not my forte. On the other hand, I am quite good at causing pain, and playing games.

Everything is a game, Potter. Never forget that.

Third, I wish to extend an invitation to you. The time is not important; I will name the time in some future letter. But the place is dearly important to me. I wish to meet on that beach in Northumberland where we first danced together.

Tell me you will be there. Perhaps you will bring blueberries? Or blood? Either will be good.

In the game,

Evan Rosier.