"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" Ron questions me with an underlying hint of fear in his voice. "You're sure you wanna go down this road and find out what really happened to her?"
He sits on the couch across from me in the common room as he hesitantly eyes the sprawled out mess of clues the two of us have laid out on the table before us. I nod confidently from the other side of the table. Absentmindedly I rearrange my pieces of parchment with chaotically scribbled notes and observations in chronological order.
"I have to, Ron," I sigh. "I'm the one that sent her to the hospital wing that night, had she been safe in her dorm. . . maybe none of this would've happened."
Ron is silent, though I don't take any offense. I'd have trouble finding a correct response, too , if the person before me blatantly blames themselves for the death of another. Especially when he probably agrees that I am somewhat to blame.
It's been no secret to anyone that I've been all out of sorts since Sarah's passing. I've really been struggling in coming to terms with the fact that she's no longer here, that I've seen here for the last time and it pains me deeply, that I'm the only one who knows the truth. Her poor parents who I can practically picture laying restlessly at night, holding onto the hope that their little girl is still out there, missing not murdered.
Despite the plethora of times that my friends have told me it's not my fault; that if Sarah knew too much they would've found another way to get to her, I simply refuse to accept it. It's like she were barely scraping along, a little benign deer in a forest trying to avoid being hunted and I went and threw her into a clearing and painted a bold red target sign on her. I may not have committed the crime, but I sure as hell feel like an accomplice.
"I just feel that I owe it to her to find out what really happened that night," I admit. "You know, for my own piece of mind for one thing, to bring justice to her name, to personally ensure that whoever done this to her will serve their time and then some."
I sigh once more as I dubiously scan the makeshift detective station before I begin growing more and more overwhelmed by the second. The likelihood of drawing any conclusions from the resources before me rather unlikely.
"Or, to at least give it my all in trying."
When I finally look up after the few moments of silence following my little rant, I notice that the fear has notably subsided from Ron's face.
His eyes meet mine and I can literally feel the sympathy in his gaze radiating onto me.
"You know, I don't think I realized just how much this has affected you," Ron says.
