Will stared at the blank sheet of paper.

As he rummaged in his brain for something, anything, useful, the only thing he could find were errant thoughts and questions. Why was he doing this? What good could possibly come of it? How should he ever hope to find the right words?

He sighed and picked up his glass of water. As he sipped from it, he stared out of the window, at the endless and bleak fields of wheat. Ah, England. What dullness besieged his senses after the wonders he was used to back in Sydney… But of course he knew that these dreary surroundings masked wonders that could rival any offered by Australia.

As his gaze turned back to the table, he considered the thick copy of today's Daily Prophet. 'MINISTER FOR MAGIC LAUNCHES PLANNED REFORMS', the headline screamed. Underneath was a picture of a young woman surrounded by reporters. As Will watched, her lips moved silently and she waved her hands animatedly.

Will grinned fondly and placed the glass on the table. His fingers rested on the typewriter and, after a brief moment of hesitation, jumped into action.

It all began when I discovered that I could do magic. This discovery led me on a path of friendship, wonder and eventually the strange case of the vampire Sir Herbert Varney.

The year was 1888 and on a fateful July evening, I heard a knock on the door.

There was a knock on the door.

Will started and after looking at the door suspiciously for a moment, stood up slowly and opened it.

"Tracey!"

They hugged tightly and Will stepped aside to let her pass.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"Just water's fine."

She followed him into the small kitchen as he crossed over to the sink.

"This place is… sparse."

"It's just a temporary escape. I quite like it here, though. It reminds me of my place back in Sydney."

Tracey sighed. "You've been gone for so long… I thought I'd lost you to Australia for good."

"It's only been a few years. I needed to get away from Britain. And from the magical world."

"What made you come back?"

Will shrugged but the corners of his mouth twitched. "I guess I got bored."

Tracey smiled. "How are the twins?

"Playing outside. As ever."

Tracey accepted the glass, running a finger across its side in a manner reminiscent of her sister. "And how are you?"

Will shrugged again. "Fine." But even as he said it, he could feel his eyes becoming wet, confronted so suddenly by this familiar face from his past. He blinked several times.

Tracey looked out of the window, giving him a moment to compose himself.

"What about you?" asked Will after a moment. "How's work treating you?"

"It's all right. Busy, I suppose. Haven't been able to see the kids as much this summer as I would have liked." There was an awkward pause in the conversation.

"So," said Tracey, "what have you been getting up to in this… escape?"

Will snorted. "I've been trying to write, actually."

"Really? Write what?"

"Something about the vampire. All those years ago."

Tracy's eyes lighted up in surprise. "That's unexpected! Can I see?"

"I'm not getting anywhere. I don't know what I'm doing, to be honest. Or what I'm trying to say."

Tracey considered this for a moment. "Well, are you trying to write about the vampire? Or about… yourself?"

"I guess both. Or maybe neither. I don't… I don't know… I just wanted to capture that first year. I guess maybe the vampire was just something to focus on."

"It makes for a great story. So why are you struggling?"

"I can't write it. Every time I try to write about what my own experiences were, what I felt and so on, it just feels… wrong."

"Why?"

Will shook his head in frustration, trying to find the right words.

"My voice just sounds stupid. On paper. I always sound like a jerk." He laughed bitterly. "So much for being a student of literature."

Tracey pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "You're doing this to remember her, right?"

Will flinched, then nodded. "I need to do something… But I just don't know how. I thought writing was something I could do, could even do well. And yet…"

"Then the answer is simple. Don't try to write as yourself. Write about yourself."

"What do you mean?" asked Will with a frown.

"Write about it all like a story. Like you're writing about someone else." Tracey smiled suddenly. "You shouldn't stop with one book either. This is good. It's good for you; it's good for both of us. Don't just capture your experience. Capture her experience. Capture all of your experiences. You have a pensieve, don't you?"

"But… Tracey, I can't even write two sentences without hating myself."

"Just describe what you see! It's nothing more, Will. The words will speak for themselves."

"I just can't."

"Yes, you can. You have to," said Tracey passionately. "Seven years full of excitement, right? There were seven of you, weren't there? You, Eloise, Gwen, Cait, Phineas, Thomas and Sia. One for each."

"It's their lives too. There's so much that's… personal. Private."

"Ask them. I'm sure they'll be fine with it, even support you."

"And what about…" Will's voice broke, unable to finish the sentence.

Tracey put down the glass of water. "I'll be back in a minute."

And without any warning, she disappeared with a loud crack. Will flinched. In this little refuge, not much magic usually entered. He waited, leaning against the kitchen counter, until Tracey appeared again out of thin air, now carrying a box.

"Diaries," she said by way of explanation.

Will stared at them with a singular intensity he rarely mustered these days. "I can't…"

"You can. And you will."

"I told you about all this not even ten minutes ago, and now you're pushing me into something I didn't even plan in the first place?"

"Yes, I am. This is the way you can heal, Will. It's perfect. Also…" - she paused for just a second - "I want to read the books. It's a tribute to her." Tracey threw down the box and grasped Will's hands tightly. "I need to have something. I need to find her again in you."

Will met her pleading gaze and sighed, knowing he could not deny Tracey this. As the enormity of his task threatened to overwhelm him, he said, "So the first book from my perspective? Or… writing about my perspective?"

Tracey smiled and nodded. "It feels like the right place to start."

Will reached into his pocket and withdrew the familiar stick. His faithful wand. He gave it a lazy wave and a drawer opened. From inside, a bowl with black, inky liquid floated out and came to rest just above the counter.

"I might as well get going," he said and put the wand to his temple. When he took it away again, he drew with it a thin silvery thread that he brought away from his head, staring at it for a moment before depositing it into the bowl with a snap of his wrist. As murky figures emerged, saying inaudible words, he bent forward, before turning to Tracey.

"You want to come?"

Tracey hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be doing this without you, so you might as well. We're going on a journey."

And with that, Will bent his head forward and disappeared in the depths of his memories.