Dear Richard:

One hopes and trusts this letter finds you well. Your reply was quite prompt and I appreciate all your assurances that the Order of the Fang's reputation shall remain untarnished, as pure as the driven snow.

I have considered your judicious counsel carefully, yet still find myself distraught. Lying awake at night I await the angel of sleep to come and lead me to that gentle place called Dreamland, but alas, she spurns my company. On the rare occasions when she does visit, I find myself plagued with visions of the dead Hufflepuff boy pointing his finger, a thin, crooked, and rather tree-like finger, constantly tormenting me, accusing me. "Why did you kill me, Edmund Pinkston?", he screams in a piercing, banshee-like voice which I can hear even now. I awake before dawn, my body covered in a cold sweat which I have heretofore never experienced.

Thus, I feel I must seek some sort of amends with the other Houses, lest I be driven insane forevermore. It seems there is no time like the present to set things right.

Dear friend, who would ever anticipate that I would be the one to extend the olive branch, yet fate hath laid a path upon which I must now follow. The things I do henceforth I do for the good of Hogwarts, and most especially for the good of Slytherin House.

Long live the Order of the Fang!

Your humble yet tormented servant,

Edmund Pinkston