Colin

Tell me why we had to grow up so fast.

Why we're hardly kids anymore, more hardened warriors who think the Cruciatus isn't the worst they've got.

Why Neville's got great big slashes on his cheeks.

Why Dennis doesn't laugh anymore.

Why first years are chained to walls. Why people like Michael are tortured for saving them.

I believed in you once, I remember-vaguely. I believed, somehow, that everything would always be alright. That I'd kiss a girl and it would be fate. That I'd marry and have kids and grow up and be just as happy as I was when I was five. That life would be life, and never disillusioned.

I still believed when I got my Hogwarts letter. I believed that I'd kiss a girl and she'd be wearing robes and it would be fate. That my kids would grow up to be wizards and witches. I believed more because I was happy. You can't say magic crushed my imagination. Crushed my belief.

I believed when Neville said it was war. I believed when I realized it was. Because magical war is always better than Muggle war. Better spells than guns. Better curses than knives. Because there's always good and bad here, cleanly in black and white. Always good and bad, sharp as spilled blood.

But the blood marred the silver and now my camera's broken. The last picture I took was of Hannah Abbott, fast asleep, hair mussed and eyes flickering and lips in a tight frown.

I believed even when I had all the reason not to, but seeing the little first year and then Michael chained up, seeing Dennis Cruciated, seeing McGonnagall helpless, seeing Snape evil, seeing Neville cry-that did it. Seeing what this is doing to these people I love-that did it.

I'm sorry.

But you won't tell me anything, so I can't believe.