Dec. 5th, 1957

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December 5th, 1957

Gellert,

盖勒特，

You've hit more than one nail on the head, I'm afraid. Hammered them in, even. There is so much that I fear, in the end. And--and I do not know what. The more I think on it all, on our history—decades of it by now, startlingly enough—the more I cannot untangle myself.

你不仅是一针见血，而是针针见血。你甚至不是用针，而是用锤子。总之，我害怕的东西太多了。而且——我说不上来是为什幺。那些我们的往事，我想得越多——数十年的往事，遥远得令人惊异——越陷入自我纠结中。

I first made my Pensieve, you realize, to sort through every memory I had of our time together. To look, with an objective eye, as best as I could, at who you were, what you were doing, how you were acting. To see if I should have been able to predict your actions, if I was as short-sighted and blinded to your darkness as everybody around me thought I was. So, yes, what you seek is there, well-preserved. "Yes," I said, "she might drop dead at the sight. Though of us or the blood magic, I'm not sure." I then went on with that ultimately doomed theory of mine about Transfiguration-based amplification of the latter.

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