BETWEEN REVENGE AND LOVE

56

Tuesday, 28/11/1995

Y/n.

I want to start off by letting you know that; yes, this is supposed to force you into a corner. This is supposed to wake you up, to warn you, to help you - not, however, to offend you.

I'm just so scared that I'll regret it later if I don't tell you this now. That, what I fear will come true and you'll never see what I could have shown you until it is too late. Far too late.

Occasionally, a few words from a friend can be adequate, yes, necessary to help someone get back on track. Or maybe merely to get the right hints.

I know. I know that you are in pain, that you've been for a long, long time now.

You never talked to me about it, but do you really believe that kept me from knowing?

Astoria still worries you a lot, but she is not the only one that does.

Can you explain to me why Draco Malfoy has been furious all October, before that, and now still?

Ever since you've broken up with him, am I right?

Or why Theo Nott has gone quiet, why he always looks so tired?

Ever since there's nothing between the two of you, correct?

I don't know much about it, but I know that it, whatever you had with them, is over now.

And I know that you were happy with them. Or at least happier.

It was written all over your face, every time I looked at you, how much you broke over the breakups. I could see it beneath your empty, distant face.

For weeks you didn't talk, didn't participate in pretty much anything. I'm sure you know that better than I do.

I think you might have done more schoolwork in that time than I did, which would be impressive. Record breaking.

But maybe you were just pretending.

Maybe you stared into your books without reading, without studying.

Maybe you just used all your time to break and break over and over again over everything you'd lost.

And there's nothing wrong with that, with grieving, with needing time.

But there is a point where you should either get better, get your act together, or get help.

Y/n, I'm serious. Seriously worried about your mental state.

Everyone would be, I suppose, watching you suffer, watching you shut out everyone that loves you. Everyone that could help you - that wants to help you. Like Tracey and me, for example.

It was a few days ago that I first got the impression you'd done it; you'd gotten better. It was random but badly awaited. Suddenly you started talking again. Not much, but still, you did.

That made us all breathe a little lighter.

But after only a day it all started again, and that's when I knew I had fooled myself. You weren't better, you never were. Only miserable, as always.

I won't lie, I felt such disappointment. Such a great disappointment that I didn't know where to put it. All the sorrow, the frustration.

You are leaving again. I know you are. I noticed it; in the way you're acting, talking. Or more like in the way you're quiet, only breathing and existing.

And the thing is: you can't leave, Y/n.

Not again.

Because that breaks my heart and Tracey's as well.

I want you to try again, even if you think you've given up. Even if it's just for us, I want you to try and start living again, yes?

If Theo and Draco were able to make you happier, Tracey and I could do it too, don't you think? We are here for you, we always were. I guess you never really saw that.

But now you can, you can always change the way you live.

That is what I believe.

You cannot leave.

Hear me?

You can not.

Love,

Daphne

Whatever it was that I expected, this was not it.

Now her perfect handwriting blurs before my teary eyes.

Her words hit me hard, every single one. Because it's true what she's saying. Entirely true.

What did I ever do to deserve her care, her patience, her friendship?

It's crazy how much it comforts me to have her, yet at the same time, it makes me infinitely sad. And guilty.

For have I not been a horrible friend? 

Have I not caused her worry and sorrow and pain? 

Have I not been ignoring her for months? 

Have I not forgotten her, busy with my problems, busy with only myself?

I hurt people and she knows. I act terribly selfish at times, no, always.

And. She. Knows.

But still: this. 

This letter, these words, these promises.

What have I done to deserve her?

What have I done to deserve her help?