我的记忆能当真吗？

October 16th, 1951

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Dumbledore—

邓布利多——

My memory might be a bit weak, but I believe the exact phrase might have been something more like "smug, supercilious, INFURIATING bastard, sanctimonious git with a bloody superiority complex, like to pretend you're so humble, you hypocrite, no I don't want any candy." I wasn't even drunk.

我的记性可能不是太好，但我可以肯定的是，我当时确切的说法是 “自以为是，肤浅傲慢，令人火冒三丈的杂种，无耻做作总是喜欢故作谦卑的伪君子，不，我不喜欢吃糖。” 我那时可没喝醉。

Then again, I'm the one locked in a room for the rest of his life, wandless, slowly going mad. Can my memory really be trusted? I suppose now you'll tell me that what I console myself with at night is false—that I never slid your hair through my hands, that I never seen Dark spells crackle down your wand and set your face alight. I suppose next you'll tell me that you don't scream in the back of your throat at climax. I suppose next you'll tell me that I never took you over that old oak coffee table when Aberforth was out.

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