You know, it was good to back in London for a while. I had lots of opportunities where I could have come back earlier. I wonder how different everyone would be if I was back earlier. I didn't come back before because there was nothing for me here.

And that's still true I suppose. I'm leaving soon anyway. When we've reached a certain point, and Theo agrees, we're all going back to Italy.

He would be livid if he knew how much information I'm giving you through these. It's like some part of me wants to get caught. Like something inside of me doesn't care anymore. I've steadily deteriorated mentally through writing these. In the beginning, I was excited; I had a whole arsenal of painful experiences to pierce you with. But now, I'm just tired, and I want to stop. It was depressing, just sorting through the memories of a man who had the memories of the happiest you could be, and the worst you could be, you know?

Fifteen-year-old me wouldn't do this. Fifteen-year-old me did something else pretty bad. Fifteen-year-old me never got over the scars.

The big finale is coming, Hermione. Be ready when it does.