No matter how hard I try, my hand won't stop shaking. I try to steady it, and it only shakes harder, splattering ink on the parchment like drops of blood long since dried.

Blood. My blood, soon to be spilled.

Or maybe not. Maybe he'll use a Killing Curse. That would be quicker, at least.

I draw my breath in sharply, willing myself to stop contemplating my own death. I have to get this note written, and I can't write it if my hand won't stop shaking. But how to begin?

My Lord, I begin, then cross that out. Voldemort is not my lord, and he never was. Perhaps in name, but the Mark only blights my skin. My soul is free.

My soon-to-be-ex-master...I cross that out, too and grab another piece of parchment, waiting for inspiration to strike. It comes to me like Sirius whispering a joke in my ear.

Dear Moldy-Shorts,

I smile. Perfect.

This is just to let you know that your precious little horcrux has been found by ME. And guess what? I'm not giving it back! I'm going to destroy it and it'll be the most fun I ever had.

This is like a fake breakup note Sirius and I wrote when we were kids and our cousin Andromeda split with her first boyfriend. She wasn't sure how to dump him, so we wrote one for her. Ours was never sent, but she said she peed her pants laughing.

You're a coward, by the way--making all those horcruxes so you wouldn't have to die. Can you say WIMPY! Even I'm not going to do that

Never mind that I don't know how.

--and I'm about to die! And guess what? I'm not scared.

I am such a liar.

Go ahead and kill me. You can take my life, but you can't stop what I've started. You're going to die, Moldy-Shorts, and there's nothing you can do about it.

This is actually sort of fun. Too bad I've run out of words.

Wait--not yet...I have one more insult.

Here's hoping someone castrates you with a rusty spoon and craps on your grave.

Signed, R.A.B.

Smiling, I fold the note until it's the size of a piece of chewing gum and stuff it inside the locket, then shove the real horcrux into my pocket.

I am just about to leave my home forever when I think of something else--something I need to add to the note.

P.S.: I hate you.