Night. Time to transfigure. Thank god. An escape. Escape from parents, already wondering what to expect. From Rita Skeeter and the whole damn Daily Prophet. From Potter and—well, not Voldemort. No running from Voldemort. Tomorrow, a meeting with the Order. What could we possibly do next, without our greatest weapon? It is time, once again, to call old friends together. To brace yourself before opening up the Prophet. To skip straight for the obituaries. To change, nightly, into a cat, just to remove myself from the rest of the world. Funny, the comfort to be had in anonymity. Suppose can't run forever. But, for now…
