#amycusharrowed

First off: Please stop writing to me. Everyone thinks I’m the traitor enough without me getting mysterious owls, that are clearly coming from someone they shouldn’t be. I don’t know who fucking told everyone about us, but the way they look at me now. Hard to put into words, probably the same way they would look at you if they knew about me. Actually it’s probably better than that, they would kill you if they knew about us, wouldn’t they. 

And stop finding me after fights. For the same reasons. It’s not safe for you or me. Someone’s going to catch us eventually. And don’t ask me who gave me the scars and hex marks. You know who did it. And it shouldn’t matter to you what your friends have gone and done to my face. I am not your pretty toy you need to keep pristine any more. I never was. Actually I don’t even know any more. 

Most importantly stop fucking murdering everyone I care about. And stop murdering people I don’t care about. Just stop fucking murdering people, Amycus. Please. I know you think that’s your only option but it’s not. You can do better than all of that. None of them deserve it. We’re people just as much as you are and I cannot believe I have to say this again, I regret not saying it more in school. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I had. 

Are you really the monster you always said you were? I never believed you when you told me at school, I always thought there was something beneath what you created for yourself. At this point I don’t even know if there was or if I was just so desperate to believe in human goodness that I would read it into people who didn’t have it. I like to think it was the former, and that there is something really good in you, no matter how deeply it’s buried. But sometimes I don’t know. I’m getting as cynical and jaded as everyone else. Are you proud of that? I mean, it’s not entirely your fault. It’s everything. But I know you thought I was a bit stupid for believing in everyone. 

God I want to hate you so badly. I should hate you, I would be completely justified in hating you. I have tried to hate you, I spend nights awake thinking about it. I try as hard as I can. Usually I just end up hating myself because I still remember the way you looked at me, kissed me, told me everything you couldn’t say to anyone, even Alecto. Do you remember that? That night back in school, in the Room of Requirement? Before everything happened with Alecto. Do you still have the letter I wrote you that night? It was a hell of a lot nicer than this one. I don’t know what you remember. It’s so hard to keep track of what Alecto took from you, what you got back, and what you may have destroyed yourself in the years since. But I remember that night. And all of the others. I don’t know if I want to. What was it like? Having all of that erased, forgetting about us. 

Come back. Please. Just come back to me. Fuck your father. Fuck Alecto. Fuck Voldemort. Fuck this goddamn war. Fuck all of it. Fuck you for putting me through hell. Fuck me for still fucking loving you. 

How sick am I? For still loving you? For loving you in the first place. 

I can’t do this any more. I’m out of gin.

Goodbye you fucking prick. 

I hate you.

I love you.

Yours.