"Padfoot?" Peter said, shuffling up to the bars of his cell. "Padfoot, what are you doing here?" He blinked his watery eyes and then added. "Where is here?"
"Azkaban, Peter," Sirius said. He never made plans to stop to talk to Peter, but somehow, he always seemed to.
"Azkaban? Is it really?" Peter looked around and quivered. He drew his thin, holey blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. "Why are we here? Is Moony about?" Peter asked. "And Prongs?" Thankfully, Peter seemed to snap out of it before Sirius had to respond. "Oh," he said softly. "That's right." He crawled back into the furthest corner, and folded himself up into a ball. Sirius watched. "You're not really here, then, are you? Just like James mustn't have been. Or perhaps it was Harry." Sirius wasn't sure what to say to that, but couldn't bring himself to leave either. "I've been thinking of you a lot lately," Peter said. "Or I think I am; it seems I'm seeing you all the time."
"I've been here a fair bit."
"Rubbish," Peter said. "There's nothing here for you. Why would you come?"
"Work," Sirius said. "I'm an Auror now."
"And here I was thinking I was the stupid one of the four of us," Peter said. He pursed his lips. "Well, perhaps I was, but you can't say I'm not creative; an Auror, hmm? Just like- just like- before?"
"Just like that," Sirius said, certain, now, that Peter didn't think he was real, that Peter thought he was imagining this.
"Well, perhaps I'm not very creative at all." Peter was silent for a few moments, and then looked up smiling weakly. "Perhaps I ought to have made you Minister, or- or conductor on the Hogwarts Express." Sirius didn't know what to say to that. "Still, I suppose Auror makes sense. How are you here?"
"What?"
"I- I'm enjoying your company, odd as that might sound. Or- well, it's not really odd, is it? We were friends, once. Good friends, in fact, until I spoiled it all."
"Spoiled doesn't quite do it justice, Peter," Sirius said.
"No," Peter said. "I suppose it doesn't. I suppose that's why you're allowed; you're not a wholly happy hallucination at all, are you? You're a reminder."
"Are you sorry?" Sirius asked suddenly.
"Predictable," Peter said, mostly to himself. "Though this is the first time you've asked it. Usually it's James asking."
"What do you tell him?"
"I ask him: would it matter?" Peter sniffed and pressed himself back further into his corner. "And he tells me of course it would, but this is James, and I know- knew James, that that's what he'd say." His eyes met Sirius' without really seeing. "Would it matter?"
"I don't know," Sirius murmured.
"Neither do I," Peter sighed. For several long minutes, it was just the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliff, and the wind howling through the cells, and the occasional whimper of a prisoner. Sirius thought Peter might have drifted into an actual hallucination; he was staring blankly at the grey stone of his cell wall, and Sirius, for all that he was sure his shift must have ended, couldn't make his feet move to leave. Peter looked up, eyes lucid. "Sirius?"
"Peter?"
"Are you sorry?" Sirius stiffened.
"For what?"
"For this. D-death would have been kinder, Sirius."
"I know," Sirius said, swallowing, because he did.
"I thought you might. Even I knew, all those years ago- I did try-"
Sirius left then, left the frail, broken man that had once been his friend, and headed for the exit.
If he wasn't in that cell, you would be, Sirius told himself, but no comfort accompanied the thought. A dementor glided past, and Sirius fed a happy memory to his patronus without thinking. All around him, however, the prisoners started to howl.
Prewett and Wellington had the next shift, and they stepped off the boat as Sirius – and Brown, who'd done the other half of the prison – stepped back on. A bear patronus, stomped ahead of them, guided by Wellington.
"Are we leaving?" Sirius asked Brown, who shook his head and waved his hand at the pebbled beach.
"The guards said to wait for him."
"Who is it?" Brown shrugged. A tall, thin figure was walking away from Azkaban's small graveyard, toward them. After several minutes, Bartemius Crouch climbed into the boat.
"Senior Undersecretary," Brown said, leaping to his feet. Sirius refrained from rolling his eyes, but only just. He nodded politely, if stiffly, and Crouch did the same, then turned back to Brown.
"No," he said.
"N-no?" Brown looked at him. "I- pardon, sir, but I don't understand why-"
"I said 'no' because I no longer have that title," Crouch said. "I am Head of the Department of International Cooperation." It was still an impressive title, but Sirius got the impression he was somehow disappointed with it. Brown didn't seem to know what to say. Sirius thought he should just sit down. Crouch cleared his throat. "Are we just going to sit here?" he asked.
"No!" Brown said. "No, we were just waiting-'
"For me, I take it," Crouch said dismissively. "And now I'm here. Shall we?" Brown charmed the boat into motion. Crouch cast a sad look back at Azkaban, which was fading behind tall, foamy waves. His presence surprised Sirius who hadn't thought Crouch cared much for his son, either alive or dead, but Sirius didn't dedicate anymore thought to the matter than that.
He wanted to go home, to Kreacher and Marlene, and get Harry through the mirror after Quidditch, and most importantly, he didn't want to think about Peter.
When Ginny blinked herself awake, she wasn't in her dormitory with the other girls and her red bed hangings. Instead, she was in a chilly room, with a window that showed not the sky, but dark green water, and was tucked under a green sheet. Tom, who was lying next to her, flicking through a book, glanced over.
"Ah," he said, "you're awake."
"Did I- I must have fallen asleep," she said, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Tom-"
"No need to apologise," he said, smiling at her. Ginny relaxed a little. "I was just looking through my diary in the hopes that it might help me remember something about the Heir."
"Have you found anything?" she asked.
"Nothing yet," he said. "But I'm hopeful." He closed the diary and set it down in his lap. "Are you feeling better? You weren't looking well when you arrived."
"I think so," Ginny said. "I- I don't really remember. We were just talking, and- I don't even think I remember coming here," she said, frowning.
"Like I said, you weren't looking well." Tom brushed a chunk of hair out of her face, and Ginny stared at his hand as it passed her eyes.
"Is that new?" she asked, looking at the ring on his hand.
"No," he said. "In fact, it's very old. It belonged to my uncle, who got it from his father."
"It's… nice," she said, but it wasn't really; it was a blocky stone, with scratches on the front of it. She wasn't sure if it was a rune, or a family crest, but Tom moved his hand and she couldn't see it anymore. Ginny checked her watch, but it never seemed to work in the diary. She started to push the covers off.
"You're not leaving, are you?" Tom asked, looking upset.
"I have to practice a charm for Flitwick," she said, biting her lip. "I meant to do it earlier, but then I got distracted with talking to you, and then I fell asleep-"
"But we've hardly spent any time together," Tom said, reaching for her hand. His own hands were cold, and she instantly wrapped them in her much smaller ones. "You're so warm," Tom said. He extracted one of his hands and held it against her cheek. His eyes closed, and the smallest smile crept onto his face. Ginny wondered what he was thinking, but didn't dare ask.
"Tom," Ginny said, trying not to sound like she was whining, "I really do have to go so I can-"
"I could always help you," Tom said. "You have your wand with you, don't you?"
"I- well, yes, I suppose, but-"
"I'd love to help you, Ginny," he said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Please? Give me a chance to repay you for the company you've given me these past months."
"You don't pay your friends!" Ginny said shaking her head. "I spend time with you because I like to-"
"Then stay," Tom said, smiling. "Spend some time with me, not sleeping, not worrying about the Chamber, or the Heir, or about poor Colin, or being bothered by Percy." Ginny had to admit that sounded nice. "A charm, at least, I can help you with."
"Are you sure? I don't want to be annoying…" Life with six older brothers meant Ginny knew that there were times when people needed time apart; knowing when someone needed a break from her was one of the main reasons she thought she'd survived her childhood.
Stupid, stubborn Ginny. Tom supposed it was better that she was hesitant, and that she didn't force her company on him constantly, but her reluctance to stay around too long was forcing Tom to the limits of his creativity; telling her he wanted her around as a vessel in the short term, but that in the long term he'd use her body and magic to rebuild his own was unlikely to end well for him.
"You could never annoy me, Ginny," Tom said, with the smile he'd used to charm old Professor Slughorn years ago. Ginny chewed her lip, and Tom swallowed an order for her to just stay until he told her otherwise. Instead, he put a hand on her knee, and smiled again; this time, it wasn't entirely manufactured. He hadn't been lying earlier when he'd told her she was warm; she was, warm, and alive, and her little sleep in the diary had left Tom feeling more alive than ever.
"Are you sure-" A plan – and a brilliant one, struck Tom like lightning. How his older self had messed up so badly, when he had brains and charm like this, was beyond Tom. He looked up biting his lip – the way Ginny did when she was nervous – and met her eyes.
"I- I'm not very good with these sort of matters," he said, trying to sound hesitant. It wasn't something that came naturally to him, but Ginny seemed interested; she was sitting straighter, and her eyes were fixed steadily on his own. "I've never really- I haven't had such a close friend, haven't- I haven't felt like this before." He looked away, not to seem embarrassed, though he hoped that would be what she thought, but rather because he didn't want her to see the smug look on his face, that would ruin this entirely. "It's foreign to me, this- this- and I don't know quite how to- I want you to stay." Tom wished he could blush; it would give this sort of thing a greater impact. Ginny's face lit up like a Lumos charm; she tried to control the expression, but he could see it in her eyes. Got you, he thought. "I-" Tom kept his eyes on the sheets of his bed. "I enjoy spending time with you."
"I enjoy spending time with you too," Ginny said.
"Me?" Tom asked, giving her a taste of self-doubt to see how she liked it. "A boy, trapped in a diary? Ginny, you're too kind, really."
"I do," Ginny said, blushing. "A lot." Tom let that hang in the air between them, and then, finally, looked up.
"So you'll stay?"
"Hermione!"
Hermione looked up, startled. Across from her, Draco grumbled under his breath, and mopped up his spilt ink. Ginny dropped into the seat between them, and Hermione thought it was just luck that had placed Madam Pince at the other side of the library. Otherwise, Ginny'd have lost points, and would already be on her way back to the tower.
"You're looking… well," Draco observed, and Hermione had to agree. She still had bags under her eyes, but there was light in them, and colour in her cheeks that hadn't been there for at least a few days.
"Can I talk to you?" she asked Hermione, and the colour in her cheeks rose even more. "Just you?"
"Of course," Hermione said, interested. "Draco, do you mind-"
"Yes," Draco said. "I do mind, actually. I'm only a paragraph off finishing and I'm not moving. You can either go somewhere else, or you can pretend I'm not here, but-"
"Ginny?"
"You're not here," Ginny told him, scowling. "If you tell any of my brothers any of what Hermione and I talk about, I'll-"
"You seem to be under the impression that I'm interested in listening," Draco said, sounding absurdly like Snape. Hermione thought it was unnerving. "Chat away."
"Draco-"
"Who are you talking to?" Draco asked. "I'm not here." Hermione exchanged a look with Ginny; Draco was a good friend, but he could be a complete pain, sometimes.
"Ron's not likely to show up, is he?"
"It's the library," Draco said, snorting. "Weasley and the library-"
"Ron comes to the library sometimes," Hermione said defensively. "Besides, Draco, you're not here, so be quiet." Draco pulled a face at her, but was silent, but for the scratching of his quill.
"So Ron-"
"Ron's down at Hagrid's, with Harry," Hermione assured her. "They won't be back before dinner. Is something wrong?"
"How do you know if a boy likes you?" Ginny asked. Hermione had never seen anyone's face so red. Then, the question sank in. Hermione herself, was only thirteen, and really not very knowledgeable when it came to that sort of thing. But, she'd read books where people fancied each other, and it couldn't be that different, really.
"Well," she said, "sometimes they're mean to you, other times, they might do nice things for you-"
"The normal ones will tell you," Draco said.
"You're not here," Hermione reminded him. "But he's right," she conceded. Ginny chewed her lip. "Why? Who fancies you?"
"I'm not sure if he does," Ginny said hastily. "Just- just something he said made me think-"
"Who?" Draco asked.
"Draco," Hermione said warningly.
"You- don't know him," Ginny said, face still red. "He's older."
"How much older?" Hermione asked.
"Not telling." Ginny fiddled with her tie. "I was just wondering if you know how to tell-"
"Ask him," Draco said.
Hermione opened her mouth to tell Draco to be quiet again, but Ginny turned to him before she could.
"But what if he doesn't?"
"I think the most important thing here, Ginny," Hermione said, breaking back into the conversation, "is how you feel about him. Do you know him well? Do you have classes together?" Ginny hesitated.
"He's-" Ginny's face glazed over, and then she blinked. "Do you know what, it doesn't matter. Maybe I'll just wait and see what happens. Thanks. I have to go."
"Ginny-" Hermione said, but she was gone, walking stiffly away from their table. She tripped on a stray chair, and Madam Pince descended, but somehow, Ginny said a few words, and smiled sweetly, and Madam Pince let her go.
"She's got to teach me that," Draco said. "Not the tripping part, the allaying Pince part."
Hermione only vaguely heard him; she was too busy frowning at Ginny's bright hair, as it disappeared behind the shelves.