Letters I Can't Send

36

Y/n's POV

Everyone is still giving me weird looks from when I was helping Harry Potter with the first task, so seeing me at the Slytherin party for Cedric (without Cedric, by the way), the looks are even harsher—and for what?

But it doesn't matter anyway. Quinn is like my safe place. Wherever she is, I know things will be okay. I remain with Quinn for the duration of the party until someone calls my name—Gracie Douglas. She tells me an owl is knocking on our dorm window, and my eyes light up. She descends the steps as I dart through the crowd, pushing past people all the way to the stairs, where Gracie catches my shoulders before I trip up the steps. "Slow down, girl," she smirks as I break from her grip and jog up the steps.

I open the door to our dorm and immediately see the bird pecking at the window. I rush to the windowpane and unlatch it to let the poor creature in.

I see a letter attached to its leg. I hesitantly untie the twine around her ankle and she doesn't resist by biting or scratching. I rip the letter open (addressed to me, of course, but in such familiar handwriting).

I bite the inside of my cheek as I slip the piece of parchment out of its envelope. Then I read.

Dear Y/n,

I don't have much time to write—and I'm so so sorry I didn't write sooner. But I'm on the run (if you couldn't tell) and I only stopped in this town to get information and write to you.

I think it's time I tell you what's happening.

Lord Voldemort is rising. Slowly, yes, but rising, with the help from his followers. He wants to recruit me to his side. Because, you see, I have an ability that could greatly benefit his cause. I was born with a psychic ability—sort of like divination—where I am able to see the past, present and future through visions or dreams. I know this will come as a shock to you, but I am truly sorry I did not inform you of this sooner. But I think it is vital for you to know now.

The night you went back to school, I came close to getting caught by one of the Deatheaters. I do not know who exactly it was, but I know that he is an imposter at your school.

I freeze when I read the line. Someone unsafe is in the school—a deatheater. But I continue.

So, I warn you, daughter, to watch your back. As I keep running, I will write to you, but you must not write back—no matter how much I want to see your handwriting and read your words. I hope I am not scaring you, but I'm only trying to help you. I wish I could tell you the full story over coffee in a Massachusetts café, but, sadly, life has gotten in the way.

I love you.

-Father

I don't realize I'm crying until I notice that I've taken a seat on my bed. I can't send him letters, no matter how much I want to, no matter how much he wants me to. I understand, but it hurts to not be able to talk to him, to tell him about everything that has happened. I hurts to know that he's still out there somewhere, and not here with me, safe (to some degree), and unharmed. I wish I didn't have to worry about him, his life, his soul. I wish I could make it all go away. I wish I could tell him I love him.

I wish I knew who the imposter was.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door.

I look up and wipe the tears from my cheeks, Quinn's voice from behind the door. "Y/n? Is everything okay?" I hear her tender voice, and it dawns on me that she is the closest thing to a family I've had in a long time. Even my foster family, the ones I barely spend time with, seeing as I'm at school most of the time—I don't know them too well, and they sure as hell don't know me.