Sunday, August the 11th, 1894
Anne,
What am I supposed to do to make this better?
I don't suppose that writing anything here will make things better. This is beyond t҉r҉a҉g҉e҉d҉y҉, Anne, yours might possibly be the saddest w҉o҉r҉d҉s҉ I have ever read. There is no one at Hogwarts I can think of who is more d҉e҉s҉e҉r҉ving of Prefect than you, not even me. In fact, I might be the w҉o҉r҉st choice for it. I think you do me too much credit to call me s҉m҉a҉rt, Miss Tearie Potts is far too quiet, too reserved to be a role model for anyone.
Please, A҉n҉ne, let me come see you. You are my dearest, most treasured friend. We can t҉a҉lk about it, we can even write a letter to Hea҉d҉m҉a҉ster Black together. There must have been a mistake, he will certainly see reason if it's brought to his attention.
Millie