Thank you all so much for putting this story on alert! I have to warn you that diary form isn't something I've had a lot of experience writing in, so if at first the writings a bit sketchy I apologize. And a warning, from here on in there might be a bit of adult content. Also, I used a dodgy online spell checker that completely messed up this chapter, so if some words are in the wrong order or it seems like there's a word missing its the spell checkers fault. Anyway, happy reading!
1st July 1977
"What the fuck, Pads?"
James froze as he came in to his kitchen, clad in a maroon dressing gown with his hair messier than usual. It wasn't the greeting I had been hoping for but I couldn't really blame him. After all, if I had woke up to see James casually sitting at my kitchen table when I wasn't expecting him to be, I would probably have said the same. Or something worse.
"Your mum let me in. Then she made me some toast," I explained.
"Total star she is," James said a little grumpily. He was always cranky in the mornings, waking up to his ugly mug for seven years had taught me that much. I watched him as he fixed himself some cereal.
"I just thought you should know I'm running away", I said.
James paused to stare at me. "Er, right. Any reason?" He asked.
The reason was staring James right in the face in the form of my nose caked in dry blood, the result of the latest argument with my dear father. It had all started when he found the Muggle motorbike parts I was hoarding in my room. I'm convinced Kreacher tipped him off, the treacherous little bastard. My father began his usual rant about how anything to do with Muggles was tainted, and what ensued was the biggest argument ever to occur in the House of Black. I swear the ceilings were shaking. It wasn't anything I wasn't really used to until my father punched me in the face to which I responded with some comment about him fighting like a Muggle. It really kicked off then, ending in me storming upstairs to pack.
"You walk out of this door boy and that's your inheritance gone!" My father yelled.
"Keep your inheritance," I called back, "I don't need your filthy mone."
Which, now I think about it, is sort of a lie. True, I don't want a penny off them, but a few galleons would be nice seeing as I have no where to stay. I caught the Knight Bus to James's house to tell him of my predicament. And then there we were, sat in his kitchen. I thought about his question.
"I've just had enough," I shrugged
"Hm. You should get that nose fixed, though," James advised. He slid in to the seat opposite me.
"No problem," I replied, pointing my wand directly at my face, "Episkey! AH!"
"Moron," James mumbled, mouth full of cereal.
I span my wand around on the surface of the table, stopping when it began to shoot out sparks that hit Dorris the cat.
"I've got no idea where I'm gonna stay," I sighed, leaning back in my chair, "Where's Hogwarts when you need it? I think I'm going to miss those comfy beds."
"You can shack up in the spare bedroom for a bit if you want," James offered, then he added, "I think this calls for a Marauders gathering. We should go to the pub, start celebrating our freedom."
James got dressed, sent owls to Remus and Pete, then we set off to the pub in the village. James's village can be a little boring sometimes, the residents are all about one hundred years old. Nothing much ever happens. But I suppose that's ideal if you're a family trying to hide the fact that you're all wizards. We shuffled in to the tiny pub which stank of old pipe smoke and was vacated by old men in flat caps and golf jumpers.
Living in a Muggle village meant that James's father kept a little stash of Muggle money handy in the house. After much confusion and bickering the both of us managed to pay for four pints before settling in to seats in the corner. Remus arrived first, looking pale and rugged as usual. He rubbed the dark shadows underneath his eyes as he sat down.
"Rough night?" James asked kindly.
"And the last night, thank God," Remus muttered.
Peter scuttled in about half an hour later. He's late for everything these days, says his mum keeps getting ill. For some reason I'm suspicious. I don't like the way his eyes shift around when he talks. Maybe I'm just paranoid. So the three of us spent a productive afternoon getting pissed. When we got back to James's his mum had made us all a huge chicken pie. God love that woman.
When Harry had finished reading he found himself shedding a small tear. It was frustrating to read Sirius's concerns about Pettigrew when all Harry wanted to do was shake the diary and scream "He's betraying you!". And then it was strange to hear about his father, his Grandmother. She sounded like the homely, motherly sort. His first thought when Harry had read about her was of Mrs Weasley, for whom Harry held a place in his heart. Despite this he couldn't help but wish that it was his Grandmother he went to stay with in the summer, who baked him pies and washed his socks.
Harry stored the diary beneath his pillow before going downstairs. The past few days had seen the Weasley's starting to repair themselves, and it was almost like the old days. Still a cloud seemed to hover above the Burrow, a constant reminder of their loss. Harry had noticed that George rarely smiled, let alone crack jokes like he had used to. He managed to muster up a little grin as he passed Harry a box filled of Weasley Wizard Wheezes products though.
"Did you like your gloves Harry, dear? Ginny did ever so well didn't she," Mrs Weasley beamed proudly at her daughter.
Ron was sat at the table with Hermione perched on his knee. It still took some getting used to, seeing them as a couple. "Happy Birthday, mate," Ron said, passing over the latest in broom maintence gear. It had seemed like forever ago that Harry had received his first one from Hermione.
He smiled at them all, but really he wanted to be back upstairs, delving deeper in to Sirius's old world.