November 12th, 1951
Gellert,
It was Aberforth. He blamed me for Ariana's death. I could not bring myself to set the bone.
I do not question either your memory or your sanity. We touched, yes; I do not deny it to you, though I keep it a secret from most. We were boys drunk on summer, and I was a fool, playing with power I did not comprehend. What else can I say, Gellert?
I enclose another book I've been enjoying, with hopes that it will not remind you overmuch of what you've lost.
With apologies,
Albus
[enclosure: The Waves, Virginia Woolf]