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Emaciated and scarred, I find it hard to believe I was once beautiful.
I’m the only prisoner left alive.
The guards have left, and a house-elf pushes food to me over the bars.
Even the magic on my watch is wearing off.
The hands tremble, and the date is hard to read.
I guess an owl takes three days to get here from Hogwarts? Or more? Does the world stretch out farther beneath my feet? Otherwise, why do I feel further away from you? Judging by the ...
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