Thought I'd write about how messed up Andy is. The following are his diary entries. (Please do not leave comments. If you have something to say, tell me when I'm online.)
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*The words of the poem are scribbled in black ink, there are spots at which the quill has torn through the paper, leaving splotches of ink on the white parchment.*

You’re above the blame,
Above saying sorry.
By the time you realize I am gone,
It will be too late.

I am the words you did not speak.
I am the truth you could not see.
By the time you realize this,
It will be too late.

I was never good enough,
To you, I was a collaboration of failures.
By the time you realize that you are the failure,
It will be too late.

I am your mistakes gone unredressed,
I am the constant reminder.
By the time you realize this,
It will be too late.

You are the blood that runs through my veins.
You are the heart that beats within my chest.
But, by the time you realize this,
I will be a mere memory.

You are the warmth sapped from my wrists.
You are the echo as the knife falls from my bloodied hands.
You are the whispered regret as the blade cuts,
Drawing crimson in its wake.
But, by the time you realize this,
I will be rotting in the ground.

You were my last breath.
You were my final thought.
Yours was the touch that haunted my dreams.
Now, it’s too late.


For you, my hear beats eternal.
For you, I write these words.
For you,
I wait.
I linger.
I long.

For you, I died.
Yet for you, I shall live eternal.

In this segment of the diary, Andrew comments on his emotional status and feelings at Hogwarts. (Please do not metagame this information)
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I feel lost … surrounded by unfamiliar faces, although I have been around these people for seven years of my life. I’m being suffocated by shadows of my own making, phantasms haunt not only my dreams, but shades of doubt pain my every waking moment. I walk the dungeon corridors in silence; alone, afraid and trapped in a cycle of continual bereavement for which there is no apparent reason. I can’t explain why I feel this way, I don’t know from where my emotions flow. People like Rhea try to watch out for me, try to be my friend; but I see past their advancements. I see the pity, the contempt. I don’t need friends, I don’t need anyone. Yet, I contradict my words, knowing that I need someone. I can’t face everything alone; I can’t even exist without someone who will stand by me when I need them most. I need more than a friend; I need to find love in this loveless world. Every day I surmount the bleak vortex of despair that is my life, to be tossed back down to wallow in self-pity; I know I will lose, but I keep trying. Is there any hope? Why should I not give up? What strange regret keeps me from acting on my most self immolating thoughts? I don’t believe I will ever know the answers to my questions, perhaps, with time I can overcome these emotions. For the time being, I suppose I will endeavor to find surcease of my sorrow from some other source.
From out my tower window I can see the sun set; feel the last amber rays of a dying sun heat my tear-streaked cheeks. In a world where I can do anything, be anything, why am I not compelled? I am rich, handsome; why then am I not happy? I seek answers and only find more questions; I make a successful choice and am greeted with a plethora of far more difficult ones. I’m shaking. I don’t know why. How can I feel so vulnerable when I have an arsenal of spells at my beck and call? I’ve spent the better half of a decade searching for spells that would make the weak of mind tremble. When I surrender to the euphony of my magic, when I can’t help but let loose a torrent of spells, I feel at peace; lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Only through knowledge and power will I find happiness.
There is no companionship for me, not in this life. For me there is no hope, it has forsaken me.