The first time I saw you, Harry, I stood before you as your enemy.
It started with you and now you're here to see me off. Apt–there are many muggle photographs of couples parting at train stations.
I hate that you look whole without me inside. I hate to see the scar that was my anchor all these years and cannot go inside, cannot haunt the castle of you. You were my ship through killing waves, Harry. All this time you bore the pain and fear for the both of us, and I could hide from those waves.
I had forgotten, dearest, how frightening the waves were.
You are wondering why we're here at King's Cross. You're wondering why I am here, if you’ve gone mad. You're wondering if you won–if you died.
You're wondering why I look so alive.
I am not psychosis, but I am an ‘osis’ of psyche, an abnormality of soul. I am here, and I have joined with the others. (The waves were torturous, Harry. Tempestuous and terrifying.) Because as you walked to your doom I walked with you, and I wished so desperately to not be the one to kill you–to kill myself. I regretted the steps I had taken that brought me to that forest. I regretted every harm I inflicted because it made it easy to kill us.
The diary came first. He likes you, though he won't admit it.
The ring was curious. He is the hardest to keep down, as the one I least regret killing for.
The locket knows you well, and I'm sorry to say it hates you. It wishes to tear into you like a lover and a lion, both, but there is no time.
The cup was tired.
And the diadem, more than any of the others, wishes to see the world again.
You have not won yet, Harry, but you won over me. We're here now to decide who will stay.
I wish to tell you how much I want to steal your second life from you, Boy Who Lived.
I hate you. More than anything. I am dying for you. Every day you live will be one I sacrificed. Harry Potter, the Chosen One will know the world and the world will know him.
It should have been I who lived forever. It should have been I who was a king. I am dying too young, and I hate you more than everything.
You will think of me. You will look for me in your future and not find me. You may seem whole on the outside, but you will never find happiness as an unhaunted man. You are a knight without a king, a ghost ship of empty beds on a hollow wind, a passenger without a companion.
The waters are calamitous, Harry. And without me, your pain will be senseless.
I leave you without a kiss, without a photograph, this second day we face each other, and the last.