Feb. 11, 1979
Guess I never officially announced my return. Sorry about - well. Yeah.
Can one of you please help me attend to some minor cuts on my back? I can’t reach and… things just didn’t go quite the way I expected them to.
That bastard. The complete and utter prick. He had more than enough healing potion and yet - next time I’m going to bring my own. Next time I won’t have to walk home after having been rubbed raw. My clothes are absolutely ruined, the one pair of good trousers that didn’t look absolutely horrendous -
Oh Merlin, what have I done?
The way he - No. I can’t think like that. I gave it as well as I got it and we both looked like hell hours - Merlin’s balls it had been hours! - hours after we -
No I can’t think like this. Bad decision, Black. Nothing more. Not that it wasn’t bloody fantastic - and what in fuck’s name does that say about me?
Never mind that dad’s dead and the whole bloody continent is at war and my own brother - Merlinfuck, Regulus. I can’t even think about him right now. It’s too much to deal with.
There was a moment where I thought, just maybe - but the kid is so easily influenced. What about me? Am I just blindly following a different crowd with an opposite but equally as fucked up set of morals?
Still don’t know who offed Father. I’m sure I’ll be the very last on the list of people who find out too. I don’t care anymore. So what if it was one of my friends? I can’t care, not with everything else going on.
Rest in Peace you miserable bastard, if only you knew how Lestrange and I mourned your passing.
Next time he’ll be the one that’s wearing the bloody blindfold.