Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: It is so much harder to write, even harder to say. I will force this hand to write words that frighten me. I will force my mind to relive past realizations. And I will tell you the story of how I came to love my godson, more than I should have.


_Journal Entry Two _


Journal Entry 2

August 4, 1995

I hated myself. I wanted to die, go back to Azkaban, anything! But I didn't really.

I wanted to be with – with – oh God, James; you don't know how hard this is for me. To tell the man I had thought of as my brother, the man who entrusted his son to me should anything happen to him, that – that – I can't. And I need to but I don't want to.

It is so much harder to write, even harder to say. And sometimes I'm glad you're not here. Because I know what you'd do and what you'd say and – and –and I've been through enough. I know hatred, I know loneliness, and I know pain.

But not from you, never from you, and I don't want it from you.

I'm selfish. It's something your son has shown me. Indirectly of course. He's so innocent, so beautiful, and more than once I've found myself drowning in his emerald gaze. Serene and sad and guilty and, oh God James! I fear for him I really do!

He brings out the best and the worst in me that boy of yours. Every time I look at him I feel a warmth spread through my veins, but at the same time, I feel like I'm in Azkaban again, afraid and worried and cold.

And every day he places those jewels for eyes on my face, I feel a little more of myself die and a little more of myself come back. And it's wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time.

He has so much responsibility on his small shoulders; so much that it amazes me every day that he is still so carefree and happy and wishful. But – but – oh James this is what saddens me. To see the – the maturity in him; something that should not be there for many more years.

And I see what he hides: his pain, his guiltiness, his sorrow, his pessimism. And I see how he wakes up every day as if he's expecting someone close to him to die. And I see how he falls asleep every day, reluctant as if his whole life is but a dream and nightmare combined.

My heart aches for your son, James! I want nothing more than to hide him away from the world, but I – I can't. You wouldn't want him to have a sheltered life, and neither do I. So I live day after day, barely here. Watching, being nothing more than an observer to the life of my godson and your legacy.

Sometimes, I fancy that I can actually picture you being okay with this. You're understanding, telling me that it's okay because you believe that I deserve to love and be loved. And then you'll break the mood by telling Harry that he can rest a little easier knowing it's me he's with and not someone he's only just met.

But I can't fool myself, and I know this tears at my godson too.

Oh I am getting no where fast, my friend. But I can't bring myself to tell you how this came about. And I know I need to.

He's watching me right now, you know. Almost anticipating the moment his father will be told his son's tragic story. Knowing I'll try to water it down. But he doesn't know what I'm writing or for what purpose.

I can see him in my peripheral vision, his shoulder length unkempt hair in an adorable disarray. He looks just like you, with Lily's eyes. Except…he doesn't. Oh I can imagine vibrant emeralds dancing in mirth. And I can imagine soft hair, untamable and short. And – and – and oh James! I can imagine all I want, to my heat's content even. But it doesn't change anything.

Instead of glowing green eyes, mirror images of you wife's, I can see darkened emeralds, burnt out and forever sorrowful. And instead of your wild hair, I can see slightly more tamable hair, lifeless and dull.

He reminds me of all that I have lost. Every day, looking at him saddens me. But – but I know that I will always, always

No I cannot do it! It pains me. I have lost you already once before. But I refuse to loose you in the afterlife as well!

Tomorrow, I've decided. I will force this hand to write words that frighten me. I will force my mind to relive past realizations. And I will tell you the story of how I came to love my godson, more than I should have.


© 2008 Inyx Dawn