I was going to write back and let you have your moment of gloating while I was sick.
I was going to write back and tell you that James and I both think you'd have made a better Head Boy than him.
I was going to write back and ask after this Latin you're on about, and see if maybe it could be used on more than just walls.
And then I got to the end of your letter.
IT MIGHT BE GOOD TO TALK TO MY MOTHER?
WHAT COULD IT HURT?
I know you've had your nose in a ruddy book for the last six years and you have no idea what it's like to come from a Pureblood family. I know you have no idea what it's like to be the first born son to a HOUSE that is CENTURIES OLD. But you know that I know what it's like, and how can you question me on something like this? How - with a straight face and a rational mind - could you have written that to me? Yes, fine, when I was young I was treated very well - I was the heir to an ancient family name that brought with it wealth and prestige and anything else I could ever have wanted. I remember people catering to me in stores like my arse didn't stink and bowing at me when I was only a child.
But I ALSO remember sitting for hours and hours every day practicing my ettiquette, because "playing out of doors is a Muggle pasttime not meant for Pureblood little boys." I remember practicing my script until my hands hurt so bad I couldn't hold the quill. I remember being punished for having found a Muggle book on the way to the shop and bringing it home once when I was very young. Do you know what that's like?
Do you have any idea how it is knowing that other children are getting to play games and have toys and you're expected to sit perfectly still for hours on end while your parents entertain guests? Do you have any idea the punishment that would come down if we spoke or stepped out of turn, or - Merlin forbid - expressed any interest in Muggles or Muggle culture? Do you have any idea what it's like to hear your mother say that You-Know-Who "probably isn't so far off", or what it's like to have your only childhood friend and your only brother tell your parents that you've been talking to students at school who AREN'T from Pureblood families? Do you know what it's like to see your name burned off your family tree, because finding friends and getting Sorted into the wrong house is so unforgiveable that your OWN PARENTS NO LONGER CONSIDER YOU THEIR SON?
No. You don't know. You don't even know the beginning of it and yet from your comfortable home with your loving parents you tell me that I am wrong not to speak to that woman. YOU are wrong, Remus. YOU are wrong and you will NEVER KNOW just how wrong you are. And though it's just cracking for me to get a letter that shows me that ONE OF MY BEST MATES doesn't understand a single thing about me or where I've come from or what I've been through in getting out of it all, the real problem is this: even if you don't understand what it's like to come from pure blood, then you should at least know enough to get off your throne of morality and not give me guilt about it. Because I DO understand it, Remus. INNATELY.
In a slightly less furious handwriting, probably added later...
PS: I will be there by tea on Friday.
*headdesk* remind me to change the letter's dates and to show you that we have our dates wrong, because I didn't understand what d.h. and m meant. And I can read Latin?! How can I not read a lunar calendar.
Anyway we'll just change the dates to early July, which makes a little more sense anyway.