That night, after I had shuffled, exhausted, back to the Ravenclaw common
room, and crawled into bed, I remembered the diary. I reached for my wand
and held it up.
"Lumos," I said as I reached into my robes for the book. I laid it on the bed and sat staring at it for some time. I was afraid to open it, I wasn't really sure why. I now know that I probably had an idea of the secrets that it held, and the impact they would have on my life... on other's lives. After some moments, I finally turned the first page, my hands shaking from tiredness and anxiety.
The parchment looked old and yellowed. At the top of the page, written in deep violet ink was the date, April 23, but no year. I began to read.
Dear Diary,
My mother gave me this diary for my seventeenth birthday. Aren't you lovely? I promise to write in here at least once a week, if not more. So many things have been happening lately that I am quite positive this journal will be full within a few months. I suppose I should tell you a bit about myself, since we have just met. As I just said, I am newly seventeen years old. I live with my mother and father, and little brother Benjamin. I call him Benji, but he scolds me when I do, because he says he is far too old for that pet name. He is only twelve, not at all old! We make a nice, respectable family, I believe. We are, for the most part, very happy.
And now I should get to the juicy bits. You'll never guess; I've just met a wonderful boy who says he lives down the street. He's just moved in and his name is Harold Shue. I think he is just a darling! He's the sweetest boy I've ever met. Most of them are such brutes and show offs, but not Harold. He's a dear.
Oh, tut, I have to go, I hear Mum calling for dinner.
Cheers!
Berthe
The diary went on this way for several more pages, Berthe spoke about Harold in nearly every sentence, about how wonderful he was and how she was seeing him more and more. One day, she wrote, in a flushed sort of way, that she had gotten her very first kiss.
It was just a peck on the lips, nothing more, but it felt like electricity! I can't wait to see Harold again...
Then, suddenly, all talk of Harold ceased. I reread many pages, looking for something, some sign of why she spoke of Harold no longer, but I found nothing. The entries became increasingly gloomy and scattered. Sometimes, Berthe would not write for months at a time, and when she did again, the entries were usually short and undetailed.
The family is well. The weather is dreadful.
Then, on November 7th, she wrote,
I fear that I have not been honest with you diary... but it is hard to say... I couldn't even tell my family for the longest time. All I feel is shame, especially when I look at you and I read my earlier entries. I was so foolish then. I will tell you, but not now. I can't seem to write the words...
She did not write again until January.
It is time to tell you the truth now, because it is all said and done. I have married a man... not Harold... His name is Snape... he is a horrible, horrible man, but he was the only one who would take me... in my condition... My parents said it was the only thing to do. I had to marry before I had the child... Harold's child. I do not know this man at all! I do not even know his first name; I just call him Mr. Snape. I am so afraid of him, diary. My son and I are moving to his house tomorrow. Oh, how did I get myself into this mess? My mother cried and cried when I told her the truth a few months ago. I had kept it hidden for a while, but I knew I couldn't hide forever. I have been so, so foolish. Mother says that I will grow to love him and my son. My father can't look at the child or me. Benji hides in his treehouse day and night. What have I done to our family?
I stared at the page for quite some time, finally realizing that the sun was rising. I had been reading the diary all night. I snapped it shut, though I could hardly resist turning the page and reading on. I had to sleep, I told myself. I had to, even for just an hour. But I could hardly shake the thoughts that were twirling in my head. Could Professor Snape be a husband, a father?
"Lumos," I said as I reached into my robes for the book. I laid it on the bed and sat staring at it for some time. I was afraid to open it, I wasn't really sure why. I now know that I probably had an idea of the secrets that it held, and the impact they would have on my life... on other's lives. After some moments, I finally turned the first page, my hands shaking from tiredness and anxiety.
The parchment looked old and yellowed. At the top of the page, written in deep violet ink was the date, April 23, but no year. I began to read.
Dear Diary,
My mother gave me this diary for my seventeenth birthday. Aren't you lovely? I promise to write in here at least once a week, if not more. So many things have been happening lately that I am quite positive this journal will be full within a few months. I suppose I should tell you a bit about myself, since we have just met. As I just said, I am newly seventeen years old. I live with my mother and father, and little brother Benjamin. I call him Benji, but he scolds me when I do, because he says he is far too old for that pet name. He is only twelve, not at all old! We make a nice, respectable family, I believe. We are, for the most part, very happy.
And now I should get to the juicy bits. You'll never guess; I've just met a wonderful boy who says he lives down the street. He's just moved in and his name is Harold Shue. I think he is just a darling! He's the sweetest boy I've ever met. Most of them are such brutes and show offs, but not Harold. He's a dear.
Oh, tut, I have to go, I hear Mum calling for dinner.
Cheers!
Berthe
The diary went on this way for several more pages, Berthe spoke about Harold in nearly every sentence, about how wonderful he was and how she was seeing him more and more. One day, she wrote, in a flushed sort of way, that she had gotten her very first kiss.
It was just a peck on the lips, nothing more, but it felt like electricity! I can't wait to see Harold again...
Then, suddenly, all talk of Harold ceased. I reread many pages, looking for something, some sign of why she spoke of Harold no longer, but I found nothing. The entries became increasingly gloomy and scattered. Sometimes, Berthe would not write for months at a time, and when she did again, the entries were usually short and undetailed.
The family is well. The weather is dreadful.
Then, on November 7th, she wrote,
I fear that I have not been honest with you diary... but it is hard to say... I couldn't even tell my family for the longest time. All I feel is shame, especially when I look at you and I read my earlier entries. I was so foolish then. I will tell you, but not now. I can't seem to write the words...
She did not write again until January.
It is time to tell you the truth now, because it is all said and done. I have married a man... not Harold... His name is Snape... he is a horrible, horrible man, but he was the only one who would take me... in my condition... My parents said it was the only thing to do. I had to marry before I had the child... Harold's child. I do not know this man at all! I do not even know his first name; I just call him Mr. Snape. I am so afraid of him, diary. My son and I are moving to his house tomorrow. Oh, how did I get myself into this mess? My mother cried and cried when I told her the truth a few months ago. I had kept it hidden for a while, but I knew I couldn't hide forever. I have been so, so foolish. Mother says that I will grow to love him and my son. My father can't look at the child or me. Benji hides in his treehouse day and night. What have I done to our family?
I stared at the page for quite some time, finally realizing that the sun was rising. I had been reading the diary all night. I snapped it shut, though I could hardly resist turning the page and reading on. I had to sleep, I told myself. I had to, even for just an hour. But I could hardly shake the thoughts that were twirling in my head. Could Professor Snape be a husband, a father?
