4 December 1995

I know that's kind of hard to imagine at this point, but there's more to my life than getting in trouble and sleeping with Sirius Black. It's been a month, and I haven't even told you about my job.

Guess I should, though, no matter how complicated it is. Because trust me, it is complicated. When people learn that I'm a Gringotts clerk, they usually treat me like a rock star without even asking what I exactly do there. Do I sweep the floors? Do I prepare Griphook's morning coffee? Do I sit in a bureau all day?

. .

My job interview for the Greatest Wizarding Bank Ever included myself, Director Ragnuk and Minister Fudge who gave us both an hour-long lecture about the Importance of This Project on A Wide Political Scale, Bringing Wizards and Goblins Together, and all that jazz. As if it wasn't all about Ministry debt, and Dumbledore conspiring with the Goblins right under his nose. I was supposed to be interviewed, you know, and I don't think I spoke more than my greetings.

…oh boy. That's one of those memories – the ones that come back to me when I'm trying to sleep but they make me cringe so hard that I just can't. Here it goes – we're sitting in the 'Gallows (where you can't have a mocha for less than five bloody Galleons) and Fudge is just going on and on, and I'm positive he wouldn't stop before I DIE out of embarrassment. I'm folding my skirt this way and that way. Director Ragnuk is drumming on the table. I taste my tea, and it's too bloody sweet. Then Fudge FINALLY leaves the room, and Director Ragnuk gives this quiet, almost courteous snort under his breath. And he goes, "D'you think he keeps his brains in his hat, pretty? Takes 'em down on occasion?" And I'm like, "What brains?"

It was supposed to be my first day at work. All tidied up – high heels, makeup, not smelling like leather and dung for once – and you can't imagine how nervous I was. I've never had an office job before, just ones where I had to serve pints or tame dragons. Or dig Bill Weasley out of the occasional hole… Anyway, I didn't have a clue what to say or how to behave. I only knew that Goblins were not humans and that they liked gold, underdone steaks and phrases with a double meaning. Oh, and that they probably pissed on the Wide Political Scale Fudge was going on and on about.

. .

I think Director Ragnuk decided that he liked me. Perhaps that's why I wasn't immediately fired when I broke that super expensive vase in Griphook's office. You could say that it was nothing you couldn't fix with a single Reparo but you'd be wrong; Goblin artefacts are loaded with magic, and breaking-then-repairing them modifies a fat lot of things about their nature.

If you overlook the fact that this information was screamed at me in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, it was an interesting lesson. Professor Flitwick sure as hell forgot to mention that the vase you repair with a spell will no longer be the same exact vase as before. As I understand, it all has to do with continuity, consequentiality and some other Arithmancy stuff entirely beyond my grasp.

. .

OTHER THINGS I'VE LEARNED ABOUT GOBLINS

First: they're great liars. Talented. Subtle. Clever. They know how to sprinkle general (and often harsh) truths with a bit of exaggeration, or retaliation, or doubt… and your own imagination does the rest. All in all, you gotta be really darn careful with them.

Second: Once you tick them off, they have bad temper – save perhaps Ragnuk, who is just perpetually sardonic instead. Maybe that's why they chose him to be the Director.

Third: They're one closed community – extremely closed and extremely self-protective. Only, sometimes there are clan wars and everyone gets murdered over stupid shit. I've never actually seen a clan war, but Griphook told me about one that was fought over a bag of diamonds and another one in which Clan 1 stole Clan 2's Welsh Green egg and replaced with a river stone.

Fourth: IMPECCABLY PROFESSIONAL. Not a Knut goes missing from the vaults. Not one client walks out the door unsatisfied. We're all dead serious about our jobs here, or else we're immediately given the boot.

…that's Gringotts for you. No random coffee breaks. No yawning. No quickies with the good-looking accountant from the neighbouring box. Just work. Huh. I remember walking home after my first day in the Business Department, convinced that I'd never racked my brain so much in my entire life.

. .

Then, there are the Goblins who roam all over Knockturn Alley by night. If those little guys are bank clerks, then I'm a reincarnation of Merlin. So one day, I asked Ragnuk if he had to do something about blackmail, Leprechaun gold and money laundering – just occasionally, you know. And he was like, "No. That's my brother." And that's how I met Gnarlak, this shady ex-gangster who is allegedly "a good guy now". He uses more four-letter words than Sirius and I combined and his cigs kick like a Hippogriff. I personally think he's brilliant.

Then there's Griphook, my supervisor, about whom you already know that he yells a lot. He started off as an engineer in the mines, but Ragnuk figured that he had a knack for negotiation and put him to the upper circle of the Business Department. Now he's my boss. It's also him who taught me how to set currency rates.

I never thought I'd say this, but I love my job. It's fascinating. Imagine that the Head Auror in the United States tells something loony about prisoners' rights, or it turns out that Bulgarian economy is falling. Well-well… Scandal Ensues – impeachment procedures, that kind of thing. And we, at the Business Department of the only International Wizarding Bank in Europe, get to decide if the dragots should be cheaper today with 4,534 Knuts because Edward Limus is an asshole, or on the contrary, the Bulgarian basilisk-eyes should gather plus two-twenty because three days later, it turns out that the economy rumour was just created out of political enmity.

Now that I understand how currency rates are being calculated, I find this awesome. Really. It makes you strangely powerful to sit above that table and joke about Veela-chasers and vegetarian vampires while you raise the value of money with a snap of your fingers. My Dad always wanted me to be "influential" – well, here you go, old man…

This is my diary, though, so I'll have to be honest: the truth is that power aside, Gnarlak's hilariously incorrect jokes aside, EVERYTHING ASIDE, the power of public opinion scares the shit out of me. Hard to describe… but let's say it is an avalanche. Once it gets out of control, there's no stopping it; and if you happen to stand at the wrong spot… well, you blink once and poof, you're six feet under.

All you need is a story that catches attention, and you have opened the gold-mine. ONE single revelation about the fact that X is corrupt and Y cheated on his wife lowers the value of money in entire COUNTRIES.

Bloody hell.

15 December 1995

I finally cornered Dumbledore you-know-where after the Order meeting. Super hard to speak to the man – he always looks like he's off to save the world in five minutes, and he doesn't have time for your shit. But this was important. See, I've been increasingly bothered by my auntie's letter last month, and I wanted Dumbledore to know about it. You know, just in case… and I have also promised to tell him about the guy in the hat, if you remember. The trick was to somehow get around Sirius, because I didn't want him to hear any of it.

So we hurry into this dark room, and we sit down in a pair of moth-eaten armchairs. I light my wand and whisper, "There is something I have to tell you, Professor…". And Dumbledore's like, "Obviously," but he doesn't say anything else, he just waits. So I tell him what happened, and I say I am certain my relatives want something from me, but I don't know what.

Dumbledore only smiled and said that everything was going to be all right, and I didn't have to worry, and that he was happy to hear from my aunt and uncle. "They're great people," he said thoughtfully, and there was something weird about his expression, something I could not quite put my finger on; so I asked, "Do you know them well?" And he was like, "Well enough." Me: "Will you tell me about it?" Him: "One day."

So that was it. See, I sort of wanted to tell Dumbledore the rest, I really did, but at the moment, it just seemed ridiculous. I tell you what – the guy in the hat wanted my money. He saw me in that bar and kept following me through the night. Then Remus gave him the fright he deserved. End of story.

I mean, why the hell would anyone want to follow me? I'm just being paranoid. And I'm sure Dumbledore has plenty of other things to worry about.

. .

When Dumbledore was gone, I looked around in the room. Must have been a living room or a bureau once, with a long back wall, covered in this faded tapestry thing. It was a giant version of the Black family tree – not at all surprising, since you-know-where had once been the home of the Blacks.

Sirius never really talks about his family, but I already know that the terrible screaming portrait in the corridor is that of his mother, Walburga Black; and that the grumpy old house-elf, Kreacher had once been the Blacks' beloved family servant. I know all about wanting to ignore your roots, so I never really asked Sirius for more detail – now, though, my curiosity got the better of me, and I scanned the tapestry. I was mostly searching for the Corbitts – see, my Mum was a Corbitt, and I know that they were one of those Sacred before my granddad took a Muggle-born wife to have Mum and her sister Lucy.

Hm. I might have been named after her. I don't know.

Anyway, I did find one or two Corbitts – respectively, from before the ominous marriage of my granddad happened – but I also found a few other unpleasant things. For example, the spot where Sirius should have been was replaced by a neat dark hole of burnt fabric.

He did tell me that he ran away when he was sixteen, but I somehow never figured that it was that bad. He also had a brother who died embarrassingly young, and not a word… so much for being honest with me, I guess.

And that's not the worst. As I was reading that tapestry all over, I found a branch, right next to Sirius's – his cousins. Three sisters. Narcissa Black, Bellatrix Black, and another black hole.

It was that Bellatrix Black. The one who married off to Rodolphus Lestrange, became one of You-Know-Who's servants, and killed my mother.

Sirius's cousin. Now isn't that fucking ironic. How – I mean, really, HOW could this family produce someone like him? But wait, it gets EVEN WORSE. At further inspection, I could read a letter 'A' next to that Bellatrix (the rest was burned) and I instantly realized…

Andromeda. It had to be Andromeda. Dora's mother. My best friend's mother, and I spent half my summers in her house. She made me lemonade and brownies, and bought me ice cream, and her sister murdered my mother and she never told me a word about it. Neither did Dora.

Does she even know, though?

. .

…so that was fucking it, I had to sit down. I tried to cry, but of course I couldn't. I can never cry about Mum, not even after all these years. The lump is always there in my throat, but there's no swallowing it.

Anyway, I was sitting there, curled up in a ball of angst, and suddenly I heard the house-elf's slouching steps on the parquetry. As usual, he was going on and on about all of us being blood traitor scum and Sirius smelling of booze (he's kind of right about that one). I glanced up, as suddenly and maleficently as I could manage, and of course he was all like "Kreacher hasn't noticed young Mistress", blah-blah-blah.

I was on the verge of sending him down to fucking hell like I always tell Sirius not to, but I noticed something in his hands. A golden medallion. It was the same thing we've dumped into the trash, like, more than three times already. Apparently, it is important for Kreacher, although he doesn't tell us why. He's all paranoid about it, as if we wanted to destroy the thing, or something. But why would we? Sirius would probably just toss it out like trash and be done with it; Dung would probably game it away; and the rest of us… well, I don't know.

I think I'd take it to Borgin & Burkes. I once bought a candleholder there for Bill; it had the habit of shouting obscenities in the most random situations you can imagine. He loved it. Of course, that was before he had that stupid Veela girlfriend.

Anyway, back to Kreacher – as soon as he realised that I saw the medal, he was gone. Like, poof. Maybe he hid it under his bed, or something. I don't know where he sleeps, and I don't know why he would care so much.

There's something profoundly weird about that medallion. Or Kreacher. Or both.

. .

I was thinking about this all evening. I didn't even realize that I'd left without saying hello to Sirius.

I hope he won't get all Lord Byron about it.

23 December 1995

STATUS QUO: So… You-Know-Who might have just tried to have me killed. (COMMENTARY: But why?!)

CONSEQUENCE 1: I don't know what to do now.

CONSEQUENCE 2: I'm stuck you-know-where for Christmas, along with Sirius, the Weasley family and Harry Potter. Yes. THE Harry Potter.

. .

Okay. So I'll try to tell you what happened. I'll try to give it some semblance of sense.

. .

Arthur Weasley sought me out on Thursday after my meeting with Fudge and offered me to exchange shifts. Now… about shifts. Thing is, there's something in the Ministry that You-Know-Who would very much like to have. It's not technically a weapon, but let's stay with that. Anyway… the Order has to constantly watch the thing, right under Fudge's nose. So here we are, doing a job most of us couldn't be less qualified for… because the people who ARE qualified are ignorant asshats.

Now look me in the eye and dare tell me that's not typical.

. .

…back to Arthur. So I met him in the elevator (it was just the two of us so we could talk), and he explained to me that he was about to have a meeting the next evening that he had to absolutely attend, (kind of rare for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, mind you), and that it would save his life if we could change shifts.

Well, it didn't really save his life at the end, but I'll get to that later.

I said yes, of course – I mean, he's always been nice to me, plus he's in the Order, too, so why wouldn't I help him out? Anyway, I ended up taking the shift that Thursday evening instead of him. Then, I spent the rest of the night in this wicked Muggle club, trying not to drink my face off.

Next morning, I went to work – neat robes, pretty hair, lipstick, high heels. And I wasn't even late. Hah. See that, Griphook…? I was so proud of myself, you can't imagine.

It was a perfect day. Light snowfall. Comfy music in Diagon Alley. Barely noticeable hangover. Gingerbread discount at Fortescue's. And on top of it all, I ran randomly into Remus after work and he invited me over for dinner. We resumed our previous conversation of almost a month ago (that's one thing I absolutely adore about Remus; he's just so easy to talk to). He made hot chocolate and we played Carcassonne until late in the night. Very late. It was new moon, so Remus was at his best, all cheery and lively. You'd barely think it was him.

And then everything escalated. Quickly.

. .

It could be, I think, four in the morning. My dragon was burning off the roof of Remus's castle and Remus's pigs were eating up all the corn I've grown for eight bloody turns. In the meantime, Remus's Chief Knight took to poking the dragon's nose with his lance, squeaking be-gaune, fell bestiole! Be-gaune! in his hilarious French accent. We were both waiting for my dragon to start spitting fire again, and in fact, there really was a sound of cracking fire coming from somewhere in the room – only, it was not the dragon figurine but the fireplace.

It was Dumbledore. He stared right at me, as if he was trying to see through my bones (I really hate it when he does that), and he was like, "There you are."

We continued to stare at him, and he said, "Arthur Weasley is currently being treated in Saint Mungo's. He's been attacked."

Remus and I looked at each other above the table, and a Somewhat Theatrical Scene followed, in which Remus accused me (very rightfully) of not having told Dumbledore what was going on with the guy in the hat. I was trying to explain myself but Remus was really mad at me and he threatened to tell Sirius. I felt that it was time to, as Gnarlak puts it, calmer le jeu; so I said, "Remus, look. You guys are not my parents, or something –"

At that point, Dumbledore cleared his throat, so we suddenly realised that he was still there and swallowed the rest of our argument quite awkwardly. And he was like, "I have been looking for you for the better part of the last hour by Sirius's bidding, in fact, who would be ready to shake the Minister himself from his sleep if it meant finding out where you were."

Dumbledore graciously ignored that I had turned bright pink, and he said he would also appreciate if I revealed whatever Remus believes I should have told him. And when Dumbledore asks you something like that, you'd better obey.

You might forgive me if I admit that I cut the Knockturn Alley part somewhat short, though.

. .

So it turns out that Arthur got bitten by You-Know-Who's giant venomous snake, and if we hadn't exchanged shifts, it would've been me. In fact, the entire Order thought I'd gone missing because Arthur forgot to tell them about our agreement, and Dumbledore had to personally restrain Sirius from breaking into the Ministry to look for me. He quickly streamed Harry and the Weasley kids into his house instead so he could play the Responsible Adult.

Well-well. Guess I should go missing a bit more often.

Anyway, the situation didn't fully register in my brain until Dumbledore said, "Now you Floo through to the Headquarters, and you don't move a step until I say so. We still do not know what might lurk in the dark."

So I'm like, cautiously: "Wait a second… Professor Dumbledore, do you mean that the snake… the attack… that it was meant for ME?" And Dumbledore looks at me sharply, and he's like, "We do not know."

Well, I tell myself, shit.

I stared at my dragon as it roamed over Remus's village on the Carcassonne board. The houses were reduced to ash; and on the opposite side, my mayor was herding my archers upon the town walls to shoot Remus's impetuous pigs.

And I felt as if all blood had been drained out of my body. As if I could faint in any second. As if the world was going to end, or something.

But of course it didn't.

This was just an assassination attempt.

. .

…so that's how I found myself you-know-where before dawn.

As soon as I was through the Floo Network, Sirius rushed into the room, wand drawn – paler and more scruffy-looking than ever – and I swear, the look in his eyes was enough to freeze the blood in my veins. Merlin. You don't wanna get to the wrong side of that man.

Thankfully, Sirius thought of actually looking around before he started blowing shit up (that's a first!) so he stopped short and stared at me. I stared back at him, and we were both standing stupidly for several precious seconds. Then he said, "Fucking finally!", he crossed the room in three long strides and kissed me so hard that I suddenly couldn't quite breathe.

I would've been happy to leave it at that, but of course he had to switch into mother hen mode, like "you look pale, princess" and "are you all right?" and "what happened?" and "where the fuck have you been anyway?!". To which I said, quite awkwardly, "I was playing Carcassonne with Remus" – and that's how I found myself in the crossfire of his sick temper once again. Because how dare I, and it's past 4 AM, and he was worried sick, and all that jazz. I said that he wasn't my Dad or something, so he worked himself all up once again and he said that of course he wasn't, because unlike my Dad, he was there for me.

At that point, I called him a fucking asshole, and he looked like he was going to shatter his whiskey glass on my head or something, but he suddenly just held my face in between his hands and he kissed me again. I was wondering if I should bite him like real bad or something, but I didn't. I don't know why. I had to fight back tears instead, which is kind of hard to do with another person's tongue in your mouth. Luckily, I'm an expert.

At least the whiskey glass remained intact. We're gonna need that shit.

. .

Naughty Sirius went to sleep, and Nice Sirius ended up carrying me to his room and tucking me in as if I was a little girl. Nothing even "happened", you know. I was actually very thankful for it. I mean, not because "nothing happened" but because he tucked me in. I don't think anyone else than Mum has ever tucked me in.

I asked Sirius if he knew Arthur was all right, and he said that he was alive. There was a short pause, then he added thoughtfully, "I guess that qualifies as all right," and I burst out laughing. Dunno why. I sometimes just laugh at things Sirius says, even if they're not funny.

Then, he blew out the candle on the nightstand and told me that I should sleep, and that he'd get downstairs to look after the kids. I said okay, of course, but I was actually quite upset he'd leave. I don't like to be alone in his room – the air is dry and heavy, and I can only wonder what sorts of things had happened there between him and his terrible parents, or what sorts of thoughts does he have before he sleeps. Not that my own pre-sleep expatiations are usually very cheerful, mind you.

I know he was trying to be nice, but it would have been decidedly nicer if he'd just locked the door and shagged the living soul out of me.

At least I'd know where we stand.

. .

Yeah. That's the problem here. I'm frightened.

It's not that he got furious at me for nothing once again, or that he had been worried about me that frightens me so much. Nor the suspicion that someone has been following me. Not even the fact that if not for Arthur's meeting, I would probably have bled to death alone in a dark underground chamber.

It's just that I don't fucking know where we stand.

It's hard to explain… but this is my diary, my sanctuary of Being Honest… because I sure as hell cannot be honest in real life. And because of that, I'll try to give you –

. .

LUCY'S REVELATIONS ON THE NATURE OF RELATIONSHIPS

Part One – General Overview and Hypothesis

As soon as you grow tits and generally become a woman instead of a silly little girl, you'll very soon learn that there are guys like this and guys like that. And if (like myself) you refuse to marry yourself off to the first bloke who got into your panties and juggle each Knut out of his low-paying Ministry job, you'll also learn that there are affairs like this and affairs like that. There's friendly shagging, casual shagging, shagging because you're sad, shagging to get revenge, shagging to help someone get revenge… and so forth.

In any case, there's some invisible LINE that you never CROSS, because that would mean getting INVOLVED. And in most cases, that's no good for anybody.

Usually, though, you learn that the hard way.

Part Two – Personal Exemplification

Let's face it, I've been with a certain number of men. Your average Pureblood miss would say I've shagged half the world; a real hooker, on the other hand, would probably consider that I've seen nothing. Everything is just a matter of perspective.

People usually think I'm a gold digger, and maybe they're not entirely wrong. I was a gold digger once. I still have nightmares about it sometimes.

See, when I ran away from home, I had nothing but my school stuff, and my Dad's service car. I stole it. I was still underage, and I couldn't just run away on foot – that would've been so… slummy, you know?

Anyway, school was over in two years and I decided that I wanted to make something of myself. I applied to the Scamander Academy in Canada but my grades dropped after the second semester because I had to work overnight to be able to, you know, eat and stuff. It wasn't like Hogwarts. Essentially, I lost my scholarship because I had to buy food somehow; and the only way I found to pay my tuition – to get a false certification that it had been payed, that is – was to get into a nasty underhanded affair with the rector's husband.

Only, the lines were not that clear. He was actually quite good at pretending to love me, which is why I found out so belatedly that he was an asshole (and so I did my best to pretend that I was still only digging for his gold). Face-saving operation, you know. Better to be called a vulturous little bitch than a naïve one.

See, I'm not playing the victim here. I knew exactly what I was doing. Well, most of the time. And I wasn't hoping for a miracle, either. Well… not at the beginning.

I told you that bit about learning things the hard way, haven't I? I thought that man cared for me. I thought his wife was a nasty crone who kept him in check. I thought he was going to leave her, and everything was going to be all right.

Guess what… I was wrong. What a surprise, eh?

Part Three: Behavioural Analysis

I think I've been continuously avenging that gold-digging thing. Ever since. I take it all out on people because I can't figure it out by myself. It's not even that I do it on purpose; most of the time, I just don't realize that I've been doing it again. And from that point on, it's basically me dumping the guy before I'd get dumped. Sometimes, it's literally a race.

And then cometh the weeping and gnashing of teeth, Remus would probably say now, and point his finger to the ceiling.

He's too good for this world, Remus. When he's not a giant manslaughtering wolf, that is.

Part Four: Conclusion by Foresight

So that's why Sirius continues to frighten me with his… episodical affection. Sometimes he seems like the coldest person I've ever met, but some other times it's evident that he actually does care about me.

I never wanted him to. Merlin, I didn't. He deserves WAY better than me… and he's not an idiot, Sirius. He'll figure it out, too, as soon as he'll be out of that terrible house and he could walk free once again. He'll realize that there are plenty of fish in the sea, most of whom are not nasty and unbalanced like me. And if I continue caring about him the way I do, that will hurt like a bitch…

ADDENDUM: It's not like I'm incapable of loving people, you see. I have a heart, too, and I do love Sirius in my own way – or at least, I care about him. Pretty much. It's just that I want to keep my distance, because every time I grow to trust somebody, they spit right into my face at the moment I'd expect it the least.

And let's face it: I've been horrible with so many people – why would I deserve kindness or care, then? Even in Muggle fairy tales, it's not the dirty witch who gets the prince but the blushing little maid who could never hurt a fly.

I guess Muggles aren't idiots, either.

. .

So there I was, thinking about such cheerful things for the remainder of the night. And when I had relatively calmed down about the prospect of Sirius leaving me (I don't know, are we even together…?) my mind switched into alertness, and I started theorising how the hell could Arthur survive. Who noticed he was there…? How could the help arrive in time…? Does You-Know-Who actually want us to know it was him…? I wrecked my brain for possible explanations, but nothing came up, other than the somewhat far-fetched concept that You-Know-Who was pulling a Lockhartian stunt, and it was actually a fake snake that bit a fake Arthur, and the Healers that were to treat him in Mungo's were currently being slaughtered with Muggle kitchen knives to hide the evidence.

At that point, it occurred to me that I might be a little bit tired, so I conjured a flask of Sleeping Draught from my bag.

Sirius didn't come back at all. Guess he was with the kids.

. .

That being said, I don't think I can look the Weasley kids in the eye now. I mean… their dad almost died because of me, and Mrs Weasley still hates me because I'm Bill's ex.

Wait until she finds out that I'm Charlie's ex, too.

26 December 1995

Actually, Christmas ended up quite nice. We buried the hatchet with Mrs Weasley – now she's all for hating the idea of Bill's new girlfriend. I'm kind of a partner at that, so we're cooking together and stuff. Her, Sirius and me. I never thought this would happen, it sounds like a play from Beckett.

Anyway, It's cheerful in here. We have fake snow and lanterns and a giant Christmas tree; we eat a lot, we drink a lot, the twins are progressing with their wicked Wizarding Wheezes, and – hold on – Sirius found an old guitar in the attic so he's now giving random concerts of God Bless Ye Merry Hippogriffs and so on. Or stuff like Wish You Were Here, on better days. He actually can sing a bit.

I think this might be the happiest Christmas I've ever had.

. .

I've taken all my remaining days off, so I won't have to work between the holidays. I'm not really writing these days, because everything is relatively O.K. – and when everything is O.K., you take it for granted and just forget to tell about it.

One thing I'd really like to talk about, though, is Harry Potter. The boy is SO NOT what I expected. We have only spoken briefly in August – I managed to sort of cheer him up before his hearing in the Ministry for underage magic, so I think he's okay with me. He's Sirius's godson, and they're very close.

I didn't really want to get into that at first. I've rarely been with guys who had kids, or anything along those lines, because the kids were annoying – I mean, when it's just for a night, nobody cares, but you wouldn't want to get into something like that on the long term. And let's face it, this is becoming long term now. Maybe.

Anyway, Harry's super cool in that respect. Might have something to do with being a teenage hero, being threatened all the time and having to save the world, like, two times a year. I really admire him for all the shit he takes from the Ministry. As I hear, Umbridge is giving him a really hard time, calling him a liar, banning him from the Quidditch pitch (he's a wicked Seeker) and punishing him all the time… so what does Harry do? He organizes a SECRET STUDENT SOCIETY against Umbridge and the Ministry. Now if that's not 100% punk, I don't know what is.

And he's a nice person. I've learned that only recently. See, one day I was struggling with my Patronus Charm, alone in that room with the tapestry. I was trying to get it right before that day's DADA training with Sirius, and of course I couldn't do it. The Patronus Charm is something that I simply can't do – think of something happy and conjure some immaterial guardian in front of you that will chase your monsters away! Because a fucking memory can remedy all! Go on, girl, help yourself! (Ridiculous).

So I was getting all worked up about my Patronus, and Harry caught me swearing quite colourfully under my breath as I stared at my silver cloud of utter defiance. And you know how it is – you just feel it when someone's watching you. I did my best to smile and I said, "You didn't hear anything, yes?" Harry grinned, but then he looked at me all seriously, as if he wanted to say something but wasn't sure that he should. And suddenly, he's like, "It doesn't have to be a happy memory, you know."

Me: "What?"

Him: "I was struggling with that, too. I'm not a happy person."

Me: "How astonishing."

Him: "Yeah. So, you know, it's just… sort of…"

Me: "Sort of…?"

Him: "So, it's… you think of something like a shield. Something that makes you think, like, 'sod off Dementor, I'm having none of your crap.'" (Pause). "Something worth fighting for. Because Dementors make you feel like nothing really matters, but that's not true."

I stare at him, completely stunned, and he becomes red as his scar, and he says, "I guess that doesn't make that much sense, but…" And he has clearly no idea what to say next, but I'm like, "Actually, that changes everything." I rummage my brain a bit, I try again, and –

Well, of course, no Breakthrough happened. But Harry's positive that it was a lot brighter this time. What a sweetheart.

Author's Notes

The unofficial soundtrack for this chapter would definitely be 'Back to Black' by the magnificent Amy Winehouse. ("Sans mauvais jeux de mots", as the French put it).

The Muggle board game 'Carcassonne' technically appeared in 2000, but I'd like to think that a more complicated (and political) Wizarding version exists since ages.

Lucy's family background merges with my friend Hirfael's stories (in fact, our HP fics take place in the same universe, given that some of our characters are related). Anything and everything about the Corbitt clan belongs to Hirfael, respectively.

Thank you for having read this far. Please tell me what you think!