22 October, 1972
Dear Emma,
Hi.
Don't get mad at me. I figure you're out doing something silly for your birthday—either with Graham and Remus and Lily or those other two idiots you hang out with. Just enjoy your birthday. Maybe look at this when you get back to your room.
Gods, I've missed you.
I'm sorry I didn't write. I really, truly am. I was ashamed; we left so quickly that I knew I wouldn't get to see you, and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't tell you or talk to you. I felt like I'd let you down and that it wouldn't be alright. Worse than getting kicked out of school.
But you keep writing to me, and I'd really like it if you didn't stop.
Let me try and tell you where I am right now: in the middle of the bloody ocean. Moody says we're still heading for the Americas, but that it'll take longer than we expected. The ship's enchanted, so we miss most of the storms and the like, but she's still a ship. Wizards apparently don't believe in technology or anything of that sort.
We've seen a few pirates off some ways in the distance, but none of them ever get close. Moody says that as long as they're Muggles, they won't come near us. We haven't seen any magical pirates yet, but Moody says that's probably because they don't want us to see them.
Magical pirates. This is my life.
I'll try to write more often. I still like hearing about what you're doing, and I promise that I read every letter. You haven't said much about your classes; what's going on? You're not getting in too much trouble, are you?
And, Em? I'm always proud of you. You dork.
Happy Birthday.
Cabin Boy Killian Jones
