Finny had found boys. Older boys, who didn't give a shit about her. She was a thing to them, just a body without a mind. One after another after another. She referred to them casually and briefly, with me and in group. By first names only.

I hated it. I hated them. I knew it wasn't good for her, but there was nothing I could do. And she knew, of course. So where once we had shared everything, now we just sat, silently, side by side.

We had this one spot, on a rooftop. Finny figured out how to get up there. No one in the lobby would ask questions if you acted like you knew what you were doing and got on the lift quickly. And you could see so much of the city, especially at night, with all the lights.

That was the summer I first heard from Juliana Finchworth. She showed up in Griffith and Melissa's living room sipping tea with my guardians. Must've done something to them, but I never knew what. I didn't like it.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long time, Nathaniel." Her smile wasn't cold like my father's, just empty.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I worked with Augustus Rookwood." She paused just long enough to be alarming. "At the Ministry."

While my father's coded memoir had told me very little about his life in general, this was one detail that it covered. Before his arrest, Augustus Rookwood had been a senior member of the Department of Mysteries. But I didn't like the look of Juliana, and I wanted to test her.

"I thought my father was an enemy of the Ministry."

Juliana looked angry. "Oh, yes. There was the accusation of espionage. And the raid. They should never have followed him into the Department. But enough of Augustus Rookwood."

Did you ever learn about my father's illustrious capture? About how many died? But it was just another battle, and we never learned that history.

Let me tell you. The Ministry learned of my father's defection during a trial, and sent everyone they had there to arrest him. But he had a network. He knew. And he fled into the Department of Mysteries.

It's a maze in there, as I'm sure you know. He knew the place. Knew all the tricks, all the secrets. The Aurors followed him in there. Three died. The Unspeakables, the Department staff, got caught in the fight. Seven died. More were injured. All for one man.

The Unspeakables were never close in with the rest of the Ministry. But after that, they held a grudge. Never should have followed him. Never should have taken one of theirs. And my father was a brilliant man, and he was one of theirs.

You have to be careful what you damn someone for.

Juliana had lots questions for me, about how I was doing at school, about my friends, about my teachers. It was almost like she was looking after one of theirs, almost like she cared.

What's the worst lie a parent can tell their child? I love you.

I got an invitation from the Malfoys to go to the Quidditch World Cup. Probably Lucius Malfoy wanted to wash his hands of whatever vestiges of obligation he thought he should feel for me.

I almost turned it down. Sports aren't really my thing. And why would I want to let Lucius Malfoy off so easy? But the way things were going that summer, I thought, why the hell not? Surely, things couldn't possibly get less pleasant.

Well not for me they couldn't. But I should've thought it through. Things could get a lot worse for Draco Malfoy, and they did.

I don't thin there was a good way out of it, for him. His father would've hated to see him act like we were friends. I was the wrong sort of person, and I reminded him of things he'd rather forget, besides. But he still thought he owed me, and also maybe I was someone in important, in a way, so he wanted his son to be nice to me. So whether Draco spoke to me or not, he would've got hell for it.

I must've heard Lucius Malfoy tell his son to talk to me at least a hundred times. He prompted and berated and made vicious little hints so cruel that I'll never repeat them. Especially not to you. Draco was such a self-righteous asshole at school, I was sure he would fight back, but he never did. He even tried talking to me a couple of times.

All children really love their parents. All children want to be loved by their parents.

And his mother never even said anything. I kept wanting her to. She acted like she was alone, like her husband and son weren't even there.

It was so different from how I imagined her, the woman who sent so many notes and packages from home. But it's easier, by far, to never say a thing. To pretend that nothing's wrong. And to play the good parent from a distance.

After the match, Draco kept looking like he expected something to go wrong. And I hoped that at least I would be the witness that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't allow. But that's not how he did things. As the night wore on, he told his son to stay out of the way. And then he sent us out into to woods, and headed off in a different direction entirely. Draco's mother was nowhere to be seen.

We stopped near the edge of the trees. No longer in his father's presence, Draco was reconstructing his smug act. Then you came. I know Hermione never forgave me for not standing up to Draco then. Maybe you didn't either. But that was never my style.

You have to be careful what you damn someone for.

I got us both out of there as fast as I could. Pulled Draco off into the forest, deeper and deeper. I didn't want a fight, not over something like that, and he didn't either, not really.

Then Florence got a hold on us, and we didn't stop just out of the way. I think we knew there was something going on. Some magic. But I didn't know what. We just kept going, stumbling in the dark, and then in the faint light of an illumination spell I'd been working on. It left the world so pale and haunted-looking. Then we came to the ruined cabin, and suddenly we could go where we wanted.

Have you ever seen a ghost, aside from the tame shades at Hogwarts? The ghosts at school are the ancient dead, their quarrels long buried in time. Their stories old tragedies. They have nothing left to fight for, so they aren't very scary.

Florence was terrifying. She flitted around the edges of our vision, and moved objects far too heavy lift, and rattled the rickety woodwork, and made the walls breathe. Draco was all swagger in his fear.

"I't just a ghost," he scoffed. "It can't hurt us."

That's when he got hit upside the head with a heavy crystal decanter. He fell with a whimper, and I saw blood.

I should've seen to him and left, maybe, but I knew we'd been led there for a reason. Florence, hostile as she was, wanted to show us something. And I found it.

Only one thing in that cabin didn't look old and stained. A book, not very well made, with a cover printed with flowers. A teenage girl's diary, protected all those years by strong magic, probably the strongest she knew. What teenager doesn't think their thoughts are important enough to preserve for all eternity?

When I picked up the diary, fir a moment, I got a real look at her. She was young. Just a kid, really. That's the age she died at. Sixteen. The kind of girl who wouldn't think she was pretty. Long hair, straight and limp. Dressed like a witch.

I took the diary and got Draco. He had retreated outside, and if I hadn't been ready to leave, maybe he would have gone back without me. He never really wanted a fight, not even with a ghost.