To Whom It May Concern:
I've figured it out, no thanks to anyone. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner, the way to end this bloody war, to put an end to the bloodshed, to stop Voldemort. So now that I've figured out the answer, don't try to stop me, and don't try to help me; I'm going to do it myself.
What the hell were you all waiting for? The right time? Until I was older? So instead of facing the inevitable, you had me tucked away, surrounded by false illusions of happy endings. I'm tired of being coddled, if you can call almost getting killed once a year "coddling." I'm tired of the lies. I'm tired of my friends and family being constantly at risk.
You're braver than you think you are. Just give yourself time, trust yourself, and for Merlin's sake, hex Malfoy at least once before you graduate.
Remember those photos you took of me in the Quidditch locker room? The ones I said I'd never let anyone see until the day I died? They're in my desk drawer.
You once offered to fix my hair, right? You can do it tomorrow.
I was a bit embarrassed at the time, but the singing Valentine you sent me was the only one I ever got. Now, I think you might be too good for me. I'm glad we're friends. I'm grateful for that. Thank you.
If it weren't for you, I would have died long ago. Thank you for your wit, your (sometimes brutal) honesty and kindness, your understanding, and your friendship. To let you know, I did finally read "Hogwarts, A History." In fact, that's how I figured it out. I wish I'd taken your advice to read it sooner. And please, shag Ron.
Mate, you're the best friend a bloke could have, even when we're both being stupid prats, and I want you to know I love you for it. You've been the closest thing I've had to a brother all my life. Your family has been like my own, and that's meant more to me than anything. Pardon me for getting all sappy here, but seriously, the only treasure you need in life is love, because it's the only thing you can take with you. Your family is wealthy beyond measure, and my life is richer because of the love you, your family, and Hermione (of course) all shared with me.
But if love is important, a broomstick comes in a close second. You can have my Firebolt. I just polished it.
By the way, shag Hermione.
I hate you.
If you'd told me sooner, none of this would have happened. But you didn't have the guts to tell me. Even when you said you'd tell me everything, you lied. All my life, lies of omission. They're STILL LIES.
You knew what that prophecy meant. And you knew what it meant when Voldemort used my blood to resurrect his body. "Neither can live while the other survives." Looks simple, but it doesn't work. I survived, and he's not alive; or he survived, and I'm not alive. We both look alive right now, so there had to be another answer. You meant it to look like it would be one of us or the other when you explained it to me, but that's not true, is it? The semantics didn't work, and the prophecy contradicted itself. At least, it did... until the spring of my fourth year.
I saw you smile, the night of the Third Task. Now I know why. He used my blood to recreate his body, but he's still not actually alive. But then, neither am I. We both have a half-life. I'm sharing a single life with Voldemort. That's why we're bonded. That's why he could get into my mind so easily. And I'll bet that if you push that theory back to the curse that started it all, it's also why I've got some of his powers. But since he used my blood to build himself a new body, you knew that there was no way Voldemort could gain full power again, even if he killed me. He'd made his fatal mistake.
BUT YOU DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME, AND YOU DIDN'T HAVE THE GUTS TO TELL ME THE TRUTH!
If I kill him, if I drench my hands in his blood, it's really my own blood anyway. If he kills me, he's cut off his life-source. His heart beats in time with mine, and mine with his. It doesn't even matter who curses whom. We both have to die.
I didn't matter to you. As long as Voldemort was gone, you'd be satisfied. The Wizard World would be secure; the Muggle world would go on in oblivious safety.
So, I'm not waiting anymore.
I'm going to find him now. I've taken your copy of the prophecy, Dumbledore. The one from the Pensieve. I've trapped it in a quartz orb, to match the ones in the Ministry; the last copy, and I'll destroy it. I've also taken the sword. I think Godric Gryffindor would be proud. I'll have a weapon I know I can use on Voldemort. Our wands won't work on each other, so I figure this might be fun. At least there won't be a stalemate. It's time to finish this game.
(The Boy Who Lived Too Long)