A letter, tucked into Julian Knightley's valise.
The word you want is 'Bitch'. And it's okay, I've kind of got used to it over the years.
I had thought I'd talk about all this with you in person after, but the way you passed out, and after the nightmare, I didn't have the heart to wake you up. You really looked like you needed the sleep more than you needed to understand why I did it.
And by the way, it was my fault. I pushed your buttons, and I could have derailed it as quick as I'd got it started, but I didn't. You needed something to get through to you. Yes, you did. Stop protesting and bloody reasoning your way around it for a moment, and just pay attention, all right?
You've been a wolf since you were a kid, but you were raised by Wizards, and you've only ever lived with Wizards all your life. I mean, other than the one who bit you, I think my father might have been the first Wolf you ever met, right? He's the same way. He didn't spend any time with other Wolves until he was in the middle of that war, and afterward, he went straight back to living with Wizards. Neither of you seems to understand how the wolf in you needs to grieve.
I, on the other hand, was raised by Wolves, and until I broke away from the pack, I hardly ever lived without at least a few of them around. I've seen a lot of Wolves lose their mates, and I've seen what it does to them. A beta or an omega will pine, sometimes just lay down and waste away from the grief of what isn't there for them anymore. It's up to their pack to keep them moving, to make them eat, to bite their arse until they get up off it and start to heal.
But an alpha isn't the same. Alphas don't quit. We can't. The wolf inside us doesn't understand surrender or suicide for any reason. Alphas need to fight, to destroy when their grief overwhelms them, and if they don't get something to take it out on -- if they try and lock it inside, under a veneer of British civility, like you or my father -- then what the wolf destroys will be the human inside you. You're too good a man for that. You're too good a wolf for that, and from what I remember of this war, truly good wolves are more precious than rubies.
When I saw how you were -- locking it all down and pretending you felt nothing -- I'll admit it, it scared me. What I did, the things I said to you, they weren't appropriate, they weren't fair, and Lupa knows they weren't anything like nice, but I had to dig that wolf out of its prison before he chewed you up. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I pretty much know that it's going to be really strange between us now, but I'm just asking for one more kernel of trust from you, Julian.
Grieve for her properly. Go to your family temple, and howl. Take an axe to a tree, or that desk in your study, or a deer in your park. Give the wolf something besides yourself to destroy, and just let it get over the grief. Please.
For what it's worth, I'm sorry I hurt you.
But I can't say I wouldn't do it again if I saw you needed it, so I can't ask for your forgiveness.
I'll leave this un-charmed. You can burn it yourself if you want to.
Effigies can be cathartic, I've heard.
I'll contact you after the next meeting goes down.
Until then, be well.
Sophia Lupin