Chapter One: HP

I finish signing my name at the bottom of the page of paperwork. No one said that being an Unspeakable didn't come without it.

A diary flops down onto my desk from an ever growing tower of paper, books, and photos.

I stare at it before deciding that now was as good a time as ever to deal with it.

The diary had come into the Unspeakable's possession a few weeks after the end of the war. It was in Lucius Malfoy's hold until he was arrested and administered the dementor's kiss.

I opened the diary to the first empty page. Which, to say, was the first.

Evidently the diary wiped itself after each use. I didn't mind that, I wanted to know if it remembered the information after it cleared it's pages.

Dearest Tom,

I scrawled. I pause, my quill poised above the page, ink gathering at it's tip. What will his reply be, I wonder, wanting to know.

'Good lord, not another Ginny.' He wrote, 'Always 'Dear Tom' this and 'Dear Tom' that.'

His reply, was almost instantaneous, so he did remember.

Laughing aloud because indeed, I am not another Ginny, I was another Harry Potter.

The ink finally dripped onto the page, splatters of it covering the page. The ink brought me from my thoughts back to the real world.

My quill was ready to write, my hand inches above the page as if frozen in time.

The reply I wrote to him was an empty, air-headed one that would shine the wonderful author of it in a dunder-headed light. Aloof, cheesy, and incredibly useless.

I shut the diary and reached for the papers I was signing before the diary fell off my desk. Finishing the signage, I snatched the book from the floor, no doubt Hermione would shout at me when she returned from America...

How she would know the book was dropped I would never learn. Book-whisperer. That's what Ron called her.

As I walked through the short corridors, thumbed through the pages, noting one, the very last page, had a few indistinguishable words that I would read after I had given Don the papers.

I found Don in his office, filing papers.

"Don, Don?" I said, nearly shouting.

"What Potter?" he snapped.

"Do you have papers so I could take a couple of days, weeks, worth leave? " I asked.

"Why would you want that?" he questioned. "In all seven years you've worked here, not once, not once, have you ever taken a minute absence. What's changed?"

"I found an item that needed immediate attention and will likely take me on a grand adventure. Like I haven't had enough of those... Look, Don, I don't even know. I don't even know where to go right now. Heck, I don't even know when I'm going to be back."

"Sheesh kid, have the time you need."

"Thanks, Don," I said.

He passed me the papers I would need and I filled them out as I walked back to my office.

Finally having the courage, I opened the diary to the ink-splattered page, reading the words: Potter go WEST, you idiot because you're an immigrant. Go visit the damn statue of your lady.

The words were at least helpfully written against white paper, compared to the rest of the page, neatly lining the borders in red ink. Like blood.

I could feel myself sinking back into the dark hole, the hell that held memories I had locked away.

Screaming, Bellatrix was screaming, cursing anything in her line of vision. I ducked, my eyes closing as I let my magic flare, protecting me. A glimmering shield, eerily red, surrounded us. A dome of safety, Bellatrix pounded on it, screaming, curses flying towards it but I couldn't hear her. Couldn't see her. Hermione's blood was streaming down her arm, the cut on her neck had rivers too, a knife she said.

If it was a knife, it could be a knife again.

I reached for Dobby's hand, letting him take us to somewhere safe. Safe and away from here. Anywhere safe.

In a last moment of madness, Bellatrix pulled the knife and threw it, ripping it's way through my retreating shield, it impaled itself in Dobby's chest, then we were gone, away from the pain.

I opened my eyes, one, blinking at the bright lights, then I blacked out.

As I came to, I saw that I had sank to the floor in my office, calming myself, I wasn't there. There was destroyed. I couldn't go back.

I locked the memories away in that dark corner of my mind and stood up, finding my cup of water on my desk.

Taking a sip, I decided in that moment I would go wherever the diary took me. Nothing worse could happen than time being rewritten and a new war, worse than the last happening. Maybe I would find someone who could help me.

I packed up my office, leaving the signed papers on the table, and floo'ed home to grab the things I would need. Other than the standard clothing, food, and toiletries, I brought the diary, my potions, the few I had, and... I was forgetting something. Something in me wanted to grab the Hallows. So I supposed I might as well.

I sent Hedwig out with a letter for Hermione and Ron telling them I would be in America "for work," which, technically, I was. They were there on their honeymoon, touring the country for the next two weeks.

Luna and Neville were also away visiting a Magical Herbal estate in France.

After I called them I thought about what I was about to do.

Leave my home for an unknown amount of time to adventure into the great, wide, world.

Seemed like a fail-proof plan.

It was odd though, that Riddle would make me go west. I knew there were interesting things to do, visit the statue, which Riddle presumably wanted me to do, and other stuff. But why. Sure, I had researched the lore and everything related to pure-bloodedness out of curiosity. The Deathly Hallows were a touchy subject in most house-holds. After Dumbledore's death, any talk of them was silenced, now only whispers were heard, and even then, only in Knockturn Alley or worse places.

I took the floo back to the Ministry, arriving at the sixth floor, Magical Transportation. Through all the chaos of people rushing hither, letters flying overhead, scattered documents being swept into piles only for one to walk into one, I found Liz. Why she would willingly work in this chaos... I supposed she was the cause of the chaos a majority of the time.

"Liz, I need your help to go to New York."

"Hey punk, how ya doin'? Why do you need to go to NYC? Why do you need my help going there?" She spit-fire asked me.

"1, I am not a punk, honestly, you act way too much like Tonks to only be her half-cousin six or something times removed, you act more like her sister. And 2. It's none of your business about why I'm going there."

Liz started walking away. "It is too my business. Tell me and I'll send you over, no-hassle."

"Liz, you're technically hassling me right now, but whatever. I need the 'key so I can find something or someone. I'm not sure."

Liz stopped walking so fast, I almost bumped into her.

"Okay," she said, "have your key. Over there," she motioned with her arm to a platform where people were departing from, "is where you'll Portkey from."

She passed me a business card and spoke the charm to turn it into a portkey. She shrunk my stuff and sent me on my way.