"If you knew the side of Fenrir that I do, you'd know why he's my everything. You would know why I would die protecting him and why I fought to save him from himself. If you knew the Fenrir that I know, you wouldn't think of him as a monster, you wouldn't see him as a murderer...
If you saw Fenrir as I see him, you would see a caring friend, a passionate lover, a caring father... And the most important person in my life. Even if I write down everything that happened, I doubt you could see him as I do. But even if you can't, I still want to try.
Before I say anything else about Fenrir, before I say anything about the man he is to me, I want to you know this:
Before all else, Fenrir Greyback was my friend."
Fenrir lifted his gaze from the small black book in his hands, feeling the pages tremor in his grasp. Curious as to why an inanimate object was moving, he glanced back down, realizing that it wasn't the book but his hands. He closed the book on his thumb, lifting his hand up to his face, watching the tremors. He never would have guessed that it would still shake him up after all this time. She'd been gone for so long... He closed his eyes, fingers clenching into a fist.
After a long moment passed, the man put his fist down onto his knee, flipping open the diary with his other hand. Reluctantly, he let himself turn the page, catching a sight of the date. On the top of the page, the entry was titled "20 December, 1961". A week before she died...
Emotion clutched at his chest in a sudden fit, bending him forward over the diary and bowing his shoulders under the weight of the grief. He suppressed his memories the best he could, trying to fight it off but succumbed in time. After several long moments hunched over in physical pain, he straightened himself, his hands shaking so bad he could barely hold the book. This wasn't her diary, this was her story.
Fenrir took a breath to steady himself, opening up the book once again.