"What's this?" Percy asked, rummaging through Ginny's cauldron of school supplies. Ginny, who'd been lying on her bed and doing her best to ignore him, glanced over.
"What's what?" she asked, scowling at him. Percy had lost one of the books he bought at Diagon Alley, and decided it must have been mixed up with hers. Ginny knew for a fact that Fred and George had it, and were changing the title from N.E.W.T.s For Newcomers to N.E.W.T.s For Nitwits, but Percy wasn't allowed to know that she knew that, so she was keeping her mouth shut.
"A diary?" Percy said. Ginny glanced over her shoulder at him and saw he was frowning. "Did Father really buy you a diary?"
"Apparently," Ginny said, "if it's in my cauldron." He had her attention now, though; she hadn't asked for a diary, nor had Dad said anything about it, and she thought she would have remembered if a diary was on the booklist. It was plain looking; small, and bound in black leather, and looked as if someone had owned it beforehand, but that wasn't surprising. Ginny thought she liked it. And, as she reached that conclusion, Percy made an odd noise and waved it at her.
"Can I have this?" he asked.
"What?" she asked. "No, it's mine."
"Ginny, do you know who this used to belong to?" Percy asked seriously. His eyes were awed behind his horn-rimmed glasses.
"No," she said, and then sighed, because Percy was obviously dying to reveal the diary's previous owner. "Who?" she asked.
"Tom Riddle," Percy said, with the same reverence that Ron would save for a Chudley Cannons player.
"Who?" she said again.
"He was a Prefect, Ginny," Percy said, clutching the diary to his chest. "Years and years ago, but still. He won an award; I've seen his trophy!" His eyes narrowed. "This was obviously meant to be mine. Father must have given it to you by accident. I wonder what he's written in it." And just like that, Percy's eyes were bright again.
"It's mine," Ginny said slowly, watching her brother's face.
"I just said," Percy said, rather crossly, "that there's obviously been a mistake-"
"You've already got a diary, anyway."
"But-"
Ginny stood up and marched over to Percy. She plucked the diary out of his hands; for all that Percy was older than her, and bigger, he knew if he tried to fight her over it (which Percy was too proper to even try) that it wouldn't end well. If she didn't win outright, then she'd have Fred and George help her steal it back later.
"Now," she said, tossing the diary down onto her cluttered desk, "out."
"But-" Percy obviously wanted to keep looking for his other book, the one about N.E.W.T.s, but Ginny had had enough of him for the afternoon.
"Mu-" Ginny started. Percy baulked and scurried out, but not without one last look at the diary.
Odd, Ginny thought, closing her door behind him. She and Percy usually got on well, or at least, as well as Percy got on with anyone.
She went back to the list she'd been making - at Mum's insistence - of things to wash and pack ready for Hogwarts next week, but only managed to write another two things before her gaze flicked to the diary. Warily - for no good reason - she picked it up. It was warm, which she hadn't noticed before, but she shook her head and put that down to Percy holding it before. A flick through its pages told her it was empty, which she thought was odd; surely Riddle ought to have left a tally of house points, or a list of homework to do, or his girlfriend's name, or something.
Still, she thought, I won't complain. Nothing of Riddle's in there meant that there was more room for her to write... though Ginny wasn't entirely sure what to write. She'd never had a diary before.
Ginny dipped her quill in ink, and hovered over the first page. Dear diary seemed like a stupid, girly way to start, and Fred and George would tease her if they ever found out.
Hello, she wrote instead, and then sucked on the end of her quill while she tried to work out what to write next. Next thing she knew, though, her ink had dried and vanished into the page. Ginny's eye narrowed, and she tried again with her Hello. Before she could finish writing that, however, another hello had appeared on the page, in handwriting that wasn't Ginny's.
Out of habit, she glanced at her door, then at her window, half expecting to see Fred and or George watching her and laughing. She couldn't see them, though, or hear them stifling laughter, and she turned back to the diary, frowning and the page which was blank once more.
Then, as if written by an invisible hand, more words appeared: Who are you?
Ginny's eyebrows shot up, and she scowled at the words, which were fading into the page again.
Who are you? she wrote back, and underlined it with a huff. It seemed like a stupid thing to ask a diary, but then, she'd never imagined herself asking a diary anything, so she nodded to herself, and waited.
I asked you first, came the reply.
I don't care, Ginny wrote back. The next reply didn't come as swiftly. Ginny waited, half wanting a response, half hoping that this was all a strange dream.
My name is Tom Riddle.
The Prefect?
Ah, Tom Riddle's handwriting said. You must be a Hogwarts student, then?
No, Ginny wrote.
The page remained blank well after her answer had sunk into it. Ginny guessed the diary - or Tom Riddle - was trying to work out how she knew him.
My brother is a student, though, Ginny scrawled, relenting. He knew your name.
You've still not told me yours.
Ginny Weasley, she wrote, somewhat reluctantly.
It's a pleasure to meet you, came the swift reply. Ginny found herself reassured by that. Not everyone was like Mr Malfoy and sneered at the name Weasley. I don't think I've ever met a female Weasley before.
I'm the first one, she replied. For a long time, anyway. It was in the paper. There was another long pause.
May I ask, Ginny, what year it is?
1992.
Ah. There was a pause, and Ginny didn't know what to say. So long...
What do you mean? Ginny couldn't help but ask.
I'm afraid I have to go now, Ginny, Tom Riddle's diary said at last. Will you talk to me sometimes, though? Perhaps again in a day or two?
Ginny didn't answer, but she didn't think the diary needed her to. It didn't seem to be dangerous, and it had been polite enough. Besides, she wanted to know how Tom Riddle had made his diary talk, and what it needed time to think about. Did diaries even know how to think?
"If it's too hard, Sirius, I-"
"I'm all right," he said, and he was; he spent a moment reliving the memory of Lucius Malfoy's face when he'd seen Sirius approaching in the bookshop, and then Sirius' mental Patronus was glowing and he couldn't feel the cold anymore. Or the Dementors' cold, anyway; it was still windy, and water still crashed against the rocks and splattered their faces and robes.
Marlene didn't look to be coping quite as well; despite the fact that they were only on the shore of Azkaban, stepping off the boat, she was pale, and her eyes dim.
Dawlish, who was behind Marlene, also had a haunted look about him, as did Dale, while Brown looked grim, but composed.
Since Fudge had ordered the Aurors to investigate all Ministry staff and associates, Azkaban had been under the guard of Dementors, and cleared Aurors; the usual Azkaban guards had been removed from their positions until it could be proven they had no questionable connections, and no particular association with dark magic.
Sirius looked up at the prison with critical eyes, tossed another happy memory to his patronus Padfoot, and led the way up the rocky path. He heard Brown and Dale muttering behind him, and could smell their doubt; he thought they were expecting him to start sobbing, or run back to the boat at any moment. With a wry smile, Sirius brushed his fingers against the back of Marlene's hand, and kept walking.
"Afternoon," Blackburn called out to them when they reached him and Wellington, who were stationed under the archway that was the entrance to Azkaban.
"Afternoon," Brown said back. Wellington nodded to Sirius, and smiled at Marlene. "How does this all work?"
"First shift for all of you?" Blackburn's eyes flicked over their faces and then he nodded and waved a hand at the damp steps behind him. "Finch, Yaxley and Prewett are outside the guardroom, waiting. Pair off once you're there, and split off into the blocks of the prison, and one pair in the main building to oversee visitors. You remember your way around from training?" Marlene, Dale and Brown all nodded. "John, you've been here enough times to know your way around, and-" Blackburn seemed to notice Sirius for the first time. "-Black."
"I remember bits," Sirius offered. And he did; his mind, where his patronus prowled, glowing, looked like the prison they were walking in now.
Blackburn didn't seem to want to make a fuss - either about Sirius being too familiar, or doubting his ability to find his way around - so he nodded.
"You're here to make sure the prisoners aren't causing any trouble. If they are, settle it youselves, or call for Dementors." Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Marlene glance at him, but he ignored her. "We've got Proudfoot and Ackerly on meals and medications, so expect to see one or both of them between five and eight. Next shift starts at eleven, and then we're free to go home." Blackburn looked delighted by that prospect.
About half an hour later, Sirius and Marlene were wandering up a dim stone corridor, in one of the higher security parts of the prison. Sirius - for all that everyone gave him skeptical looks when he mentioned it - was very capable when it came to handling Dementors, and he'd handle this part of the prison better than, say, Dale; she, along with Brown, had jumped upon the opportunity to stay in the visiting and questioning building.
"Sirius, look," Marlene said, catching his sleeve. Sirius did look. The cell was empty, which wasn't unusual - he'd noticed only one in about three cells were occupied - but what made it stand out was its colour; every brick, every bar, every bolt, and even the toilet within the cell were gleaming silver in the dim light.
"Greyback's cell," Sirius murmured.
"And they say Dung did this?" Marlene asked, doubt clear in her voice.
"So they say." Sirius wasn't sure what he thought; on the one hand, Dung was too self-interested to go to Azkaban for anyone else... on the other hand, he wasn't sure Dung had the talent or the desire to go after Greyback. And there was the fact that Dora always frowned when the topic arose, but remained tight-lipped whenever Sirius or Remus tried to talk about it.
Sirius shook his head and then kept walking. Marlene's foosteps echoed behind him for a moment, until they were level again.
She was sticking closer to him than Sirius thought she would have, had they been patrolling a normal prison, but she was still the one to ask, "Are you all right?"
"Will you believe me if I say yes?" he asked, with what he thought must have been an odd smile.
"No," she replied, and her mouth twitched. Sirius would have kissed her, or taken her hand or something, but there were eyes watching them from cells further up the corridor.
"And how about you?" he asked.
"I've- I can think of things I'd rather be doing," she said, after a pause, and then offered him a weak smile. "But really, Sirius, it can't be easy for-" Sirius only just heard her, and when she realised he wasn't paying attention, she cut off. Then, her hand was - very lightly - on his arm, and she was looking past him into the cell they'd arrived at.
It was just as he remembered, save for the lock, which had probably been replaced after his escape.
Small - and Sirius remembered he'd once known the exact number of paces it was from one wall to the other - with flakes of rust on the bars, and what seemed to be the same tattered blanket he'd had when he was its occupant. And the walls were as he'd left them too; covered with small, etched tally marks. He heard Marlene swallow beside him.
Sirius was surprised how little he felt. Not sad, not angry, not even numb. It was like looking at something from a dream. A dream he'd used to protect himself, from the Dementor's Draught, and from the Dementors themselves, that awful night before Sirius' trial.
"This was mine," Sirius said, gesturing to it. He didn't know what else there was to say, or if he should have spoken at all. Marlene's eyes were tracing the marks on the walls, and then something let out a squeak from behind them. Sirius spun around, lifting his wand. There, huddled under a blanket, in the cell opposite the one that had once been Sirius', was Peter, or at least, what was left of him.
His collarbone protruded sharply above his grey, prison shirt, and his eyes - still that same, watery blue - sat above sunken cheeks. His fingers were more claw-like than ever, with his spindly fingers, and long, ragged nails. His hair was greasy and hung around his shoulders in colourless lumps. Sirius was sure his prison attire had fit when he arrived, but now, his clothes seemed to have swallowed him. There was nothing left of Peter that resembled the chubby, loyal boy he'd been in fifth year.
The only thing about him that didn't look like it could be blown away by a strong wind, was his Dark Mark, which rested dark and clear on his skinny forearm. As Sirius watched, Peter scratched at it, whimpered, and then tried to cover it with his sleeve.
"Sirius," Marlene said, and her hand was in his and she was tugging gently, but Sirius shook her off and took a step forward.
Peter seemed to see them for the first time, and started to rock.
"You're not real," Peter whispered, shaking his head, and staring at the floor, then at Sirius again. "You're not real." He rubbed at his eyes, blinked, and, when Sirius didn't move, burst into noisy tears. Sirius couldn't feel anything but shock, and, amazingly, pity. He should hate the man, or at least be disgusted - next to him, Marlene had curled her lip, and her hand was hovering near her pocket, where she kept her wand - but he just couldn't. This was the man that was the reason Lily and James were dead, the man who had framed Sirius and would have killed Remus and Harry that Halloween, if things had gone to plan. Sirius had wanted him dead. Yet Sirius looked at him in his tiny cell, watching him pull at his hair, and shiver under the thin blanket and thought it was punishment enough; everything Peter had done was to make sure he survived, and he had, but while he was alive, he wasn't living. "You aren't!" Peter cried. "You-"
"Oh, shut up, Wormtail!" a petulant voice called, from further down the row.
"So Tonks moves to France today, right?" Harry asked. Next to him, was the beginning of a letter to Draco.
"Right," Remus said tersely, sipping his tea. Sirius was off at Azkaban, doing Auror things, and so there was no one to distract Harry. An idea occurred to Remus. "Did you want to invite Ron or Hermione around?"
"No," Harry said, pouring milk into his cereal. "Ron's gone to work with Mr Weasley today, and Hermione's parents like to know at least a day in advance."
"What did you want to do today, then?" Remus asked.
"Dunno," Harry said. Kreacher set a plate of eggs down in front of Remus, and, deeming them both provided for, announced he was off to do some shopping. Harry called a cheery goodbye after him, and then turned to Remus. "Are you still going to Hogwarts on Thursday?"
"I am," Remus said, sprinkling salt over his breakfast. Harry frowned, and Remus found himself wishing he could swap mornings with Sirius, even if it meant time in Azkaban.
"And you and Tonks still aren't talking?" Harry continued.
"Harry," Remus sighed, "can we not talk about this, please?"
"Why?" Harry asked. He sniffed the air for a moment. "You don't smell upset."
"I'm not upset," Remus conceded. "I just- would rather not talk about her."
"Don't you miss her, though?" Harry asked. Remus stabbed his eggs, not prepared to admit how much. "I do," Harry continued.
"Why don't you date her then," Remus grumbled. "Obviously she doesn't mind age gaps."
"Ew," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. That drew a reluctant chuckle out of Remus.
"That was a joke," he added. "If you tried, I'd drag you outside on a full moon and eat you." Harry grinned.
"What if someone else tried to date her?" Harry asked. Remus' stomach curled unpleasantly. "They could, you know, if you're not around." Remus sat very still, and when he thought he was calm enough to breathe again, and move, he saw that he'd bent his fork. He hoped Harry hadn't noticed. "Would you eat them too?"
"No," Remus managed to say. Harry's smile widened in a way that reminded Remus of Sirius.
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Are too," Harry said, and Remus saw his nostrils flare. Remus gave him his best withering look, one that he'd used on James and Sirius when he'd had to be Remus-the-Prefect, but it didn't work any better on Harry than it had on them. Remus wondered why he'd thought it would.
Not for the first time, Remus cursed Sirius for even telling Harry that Dora was leaving; Harry, being Harry, might not have even noticed, otherwise, and Remus wouldn't be forced to endure this sort of inquisition at nine on a Monday morning.
Remus was aware of Harry's eyes watching him as he stabbed his eggs again.
You picked this, he told himself. You chose this, and now you have to live with it. Remus swallowed and pushed his eggs away, suddenly feeling far less hungry than he had before.
You chose this, Tonks told herself, as she looked around at her empty flat. The only things in it were her trunk and rucksack - which contained just about everything she owned - her broomstick, the clothespeg that had been her portkey, and her cat, who'd just been released from his wicker carry-basket by Dad.
"It's nice," Dad said, dodging Canis' swipe. Canis went straight to the windowsill and glared down at the people on the street outside. "Better once you get some furniture, but still." He glanced over at her, and she smiled weakly at him, grateful that he'd taken the day off so that he could come with her, since Remus wouldn't. "Dora," Dad said, lifting a strand of her hair, which had gone a deep blue-purple. He pulled her into a hug, and rubbed her back, and then stepped away and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a photo of her, Mum and Dad, taken at the Dad's work's Christmas party, last year. He set it on the mantel, and Tonks swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Thanks, Dad," she said. He smiled at her, and looked around.
"Did you need help settling in, or-"
"I'll be all right," she said.
"We're only an owl away," he said, hugging her again. "And once you're all settled, we'll talk about Christmas, and see if you want to come home, or if you want us here."
"I'll write," she promised.
"You'd better," Dad said, chuckling. "Otherwise you'll have your mother on your doorstep." Tonks' shudder wasn't just theatrical. "Good luck on your first day, not that you'll need it." He winked at her, and Tonks found herself smiling. "Love you, Dora."
"Love you too, Dad." Then he was slipping out the door of her flat, careful not to let Canis, who was lingering, escape. Tonks clicked her fingers at him, but he hissed at her and went to hide in the bathroom. "Stupid thing," she muttered, and then set to work; she'd brought all sorts of things to transfigure into furniture, and the sooner she finished, the sooner she could have a shower and go to bed.
