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Lion,
You left a single strand of curly brunette hair behind. Did you leave it for me on purpose, or was it a supreme lack of attention to detail? I can’t imagine it would be the latter. Will you ever read this note? The jumps are loosening my resolve—my mind. Nothing feels real anymore. Does this letter even exist? And if so, in which threads of time? I’m probably just writing to myself. Or to the aether. In any case, I address this to you.
-Snake
Snake,
Nothing I do is an accident, as you know—you’ve been trailing me for years…If years mean anything anymore. The time-turners manipulate our minds as much as time. I’ve traveled back and watched you linger where I stood. I’ve seen you thwart my efforts. I’ve seen you pause too long, contemplating whether to stay in that single thread or not. Escape would be easy for us, wouldn’t it? To abandon our posts, our causes. But I would die for mine. Would you?
P.S.
I was surprised you wrote. Were you surprised I found your letter buried in the dirt of Malfoy Manor, amongst the blooming flowers, or were you expecting it? Hoping for it? Have we already been in this thread before? Has this conversation already happened?
-Lion
Lion,
I do not know how to answer questions such as these anymore. My cause is not my cause whatsoever. I risk myself by saying that. I risk myself by writing to you at all. If the others find this, they will kill me. Will I still exist in other threads if they do? Considering you wrote back, you are either lulling me into a false sense of security to obtain information…or you are as desperate as I. Jumping through time is a lonely existence.
I have lingered, I admit. Your scent hangs in the air after you turn; did you know that? I always know where you have been as my acute awareness of your essence has become second-nature. It is as familiar as my own. If you found my first letter, that means you followed the breadcrumbs I left for you. Maybe it is I who is duping you? You always pause in gardens; I knew you couldn’t resist. You cannot help but smell the roses and take a moment for yourself. But that is not allowed, is it?
A moment is a lifetime. A moment creates a braid of time that cascades and spiderwebs out for eternity. What did that moment create when you dug your fingers into the soil and grasped my letter? We are supposed to travel, manipulate in the slightest manner, and leave without a trace. But we have altered much now. Is this a part of your cause? Am I?
My cause will be my death one way or another.
P.S.
The flowers were Clematis. I planted them for you.
-Snake
Snake,
Have you never inspected the other threads after killing an opponent? Poor reconnaissance on your part. Any intersecting future threads are affected, but if you die in one strand, you may still exist in others prior to the central event. That being stated, I could kill you now and still be burdened by your shadow.
I know what I am fighting for, what I have sacrificed for. But I no longer think it will have an end. Will it cease without you and I? Are we making progress on either side or just prolonging the inevitable? Is there even a war at all, or are we simply in our own war, affecting nothing but ourselves? I find myself asking you these questions when really I’m asking myself. My mind is addled with different realities.
“Clematis: ingenuity; cleverness”
Were you paying me a compliment? I know it cannot be easy following me through time. If you think me clever now, just wait. Or rush. Who knows anymore. The coffee beans I left with this letter are uncommon in this thread and location. Take them as a gesture of my good faith. You looked tired when I spied you in 1965.
P.S.
Maybe I am desperate. Perhaps I cannot go on like this. Your shadow is my only constant.
-Lion
Lion,
You’ve always been clever. I admire that about you; I always have. The flowers are a compliment if you will accept them as one.
I saw in the papers of this thread that the Minister died of “natural causes.” Was that your doing, or a happy coincidence? As with accidents, I fear nothing happens to you by coincidence, either. Your work is flawless, except that I can trace it. I know your markers; I know the signs of you. I know you, for you are my constant as well. Without you, I have no anchor.
I feel you in the wind when you circle back to me. The breeze caresses my skin the moment before I turn. Do you whirl on purpose when you land?
P.S.
I left a few logs in the hearth. The weather is cold here.
-Snake
Snake,
The loops are endless. You follow me; I follow you. Who knows who came first at this point. Does it ultimately matter? All I know is you are always there, and so am I. You are a worthy adversary. No other agent has picked up on my trace. How did you do it? Do you wonder how I picked up on yours? The players on my side deny your existence at all. But I know. I know you are here, combing through the braids and threads.
You’ve become my sole focus. And I yours; otherwise, you wouldn’t have found me.
Why do you leave me small comforts? Why do I? I feel as though we aren’t even fighting anymore. Are we just jumping through time to outrun the inexorability of us? My focus was lost long ago. Or soon ago. I said I would die for my cause, but that cause feels further and further away every time I turn…with a purposeful whirl.
P.S.
The way you obstructed the Knockturn Alley explosion in 2032 was meticulous work. I planted those timed bombardas well.
-Lion
Lion,
Did you find the poem I left for you in 1842? If not, I suppose this ruins the surprise.
“Lions are fierce, snakes are sly.
Though they cross paths infinitely, they both would deny.
Snakes say lions are foolish, full of hope, and full of pride.
But lions know snakes are just lying, devoid of faith and devoid of wine.”
It wasn’t a good poem. But I am devoid of wine as I’ve left my bottle there for you. I know they have all but been destroyed in that thread. Maybe it will grant you another of your stolen moments—a moment I will experience in its aftermath. I will smell the lavender and vanilla in your hair, and I will taste the grapes that you exhale into the air.
Look at that; I rhymed again.
You infallibly leave behind scent and taste, yet sometimes, I remain longer than I should to catch a glimpse or hear an echo of you in the same braid. But above all, I long to feel you. My senses are not complete without the experience of you afflicting each one. I don’t even know if I exist anywhere you aren’t anymore.
I am bereft without you.
-Snake
Snake,
Is this our 100th or 1st letter? I hardly know anymore. I burn them all, as I’m sure you do, too.
In time, we are a thousand different people, and not one of them knows their true selves. To sow the seeds and alter the future, we become the threads; we become time. We are no longer ourselves. I am tired of being a means to an end. I am adrift. You are the tether that tugs me back, that holds me down. Whenever I sense you in a braid, I feel home. My cause doesn’t even exist in some strands. But you exist in them all.
I have died and buried myself a hundred times, but whenever I return to a thread, I have to dig myself back up again. I am but a husk of what I once was until I find another of your letters. You sustain me.
Smoking is a bad habit, you know? You could develop a sickness in this thread, and then, who would I stop from derailing my plan to poison Tom Riddle’s grandfather? You’d ruin all my fun. But your cigar smoke hangs in the air like a cloud of promise.
P.S.
Did you hear me on the wind today? I sang to you. I couldn’t get close, but hoped my melody reached your ears.
-Lion
Lion,
You lingered today. I left you my shirt, and you stopped. You stopped too long. That could have been a trap, my little lion.
You’ve been traveling faster lately. Why is that? Have you been found out? Should I stop writing now? I fear I cannot stop.
But I also cannot risk a longer letter as things are growing ever perilous for me.
-Snake
Snake,
I wonder how many letters of yours I will read in times I have not yet been.
We’ve passed through so many strands at this point I don’t think there is any braid left that hasn’t been marked by us. I have been turning quickly. I thought I could escape this. I scaled down every thread—weaved through every braid. But it seems I love you in each and every one.
But will you ever concede to me? We are too competitive to entertain whatever this is between us—at least, we used to be. Do you remain unchanged? I have already stated that I know not who I am anymore.
P.S.
I can never stop writing to you. I will never.
In all time,
Lion
Lion,
I have sifted through time like sand, touching every grain and poisoning it with us. You say I won’t concede, that I won’t accept losing. But I have nothing left to lose. I had lost everything already. But then I found you. I found you in the first thread. I found you in flowers, in wine, in coffee, in firewood, in everything, and I twisted us into a knot no one can untie.
I will find you in all time, in all places, in all ways. I will entwine our threads until we are indistinguishable from one another, and they cannot destroy one of us without destroying the other.
I covered your tracks as we tread through time. No one else can find you unless I will it.
There is no place in time where we are not. This cannot be undone— we cannot be undone. We will hide in time. Find me when our love first bloomed. Find me when the Clematis grows, my lion, my love.
Yours,
Snake
*These letters were discovered and recorded by:
Eros Granger-Malfoy — Strand 1009 Year 8 of the Second Wizarding War;
Delphia Granger-Malfoy — Strand 5 Year 24 of the Second Wizarding War;
Horace Granger-Malfoy — Strand 832 Year 50 of the Second Wizarding War;
Harry Potter — Strand 0 Year 0 of the Second Wizarding War, who severed the first thread before it could ever exist.