Dear
Mrs. Goyle Miss Carrow,
It took me a week in order to gather my thoughts straight enough to soberly write you this letter. I know that we fell out of each other's lives awhile ago for whatever reason that may be, though I must have it said that I would have done anything to keep our relationship going.
I suppose that would have all be in vain, anyway.
Despite wanting to know whether you mistake me for a fool or concern yourself naught with anyone lower than the blood purist elitists of this village, I do not ask for a letter back. Hearing you answer my questions is worse than living a life not knowing. What I aim to do with this letter is inform you of what your actions, deliberate or not, have done, as it seems you are ill to conceive of what effects your actions might have on others.
I thought I had known for a fact that you had cared for me. No woman in her right mind would allow herself to submit to the things we did together had she not cared for someone. However, I am to believe that you felt nothing, as you had once tried to convince me. Your letters had all seemed so warm and so caring once; now, they seem shallow, empty and full of lies. For Merlin's sake Tisip Miss Carrow, you allowed your employer to do things to you that you allowed me to do. What am I supposed to believe? Would you have me pay for you, as well? Are you nothing more than a common whore, playing at being better?
As I said, I require no answers. Should I have answers, I'm not sure whether I'd be inclined to believe them anyway.
Let me put it this way. Your antics, though I should not be concerned about what you do or who you do, have put me in a place of incessant denial, heartbreak and you have deeply wounded my pride. Should I have thought for a moment that you were the type to have cared only for your class status and moving up I never would have gotten involved with you in the first place. And how could I think otherwise? You turned me down time and time again, even after I cut my heart and bled for your love.
I could have loved you with the intensity of a thousand suns. We could have had a house full of daughters and my love for you would have remained honest and true to you and only you. I loved you for everything you were and everything you weren't. There wasn't a damned thing I would have changed about you, save for helping you better yourself by finishing your degree, taking you in and treating you like the wonderful, lovely person I was always under the impression you were.
Though, in the end I suppose the sorting hat actually does know what it's doing when it places people into houses. You are a snake, and I a lion. Despite what I have done to try to prove that we could make things work, I suppose a snake is always a snake, and a lion always a lion. Nothing more.
-- C. Bones
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