4th July
It is late, and I am tired. My head is reeling and I want to sleep.
Joanie hasn't been getting much sleep either. Adelaide's only managed to get to sleep an hour ago, after I sang her every song I could think of, including a not entirely savoury one Fred Weasley taught me. I hope she doesn't remember it. Or worse, repeat it to Minty Stafford.
I think she knows. I think she knows that we can't keep her; that we are forced to give her to Minty and Benny so that we can give our lives to yet another cause. She senses my sorrow, feels my fear. But she will not face it like I shall.
I want to give her so much more. She deserves so much more than I'm able to give her. I'm a stranger; that can but love from afar. She may not even remember the little girl who cared so much about her.
But I'll always remember her. And one day she will know about me.
10th July
Tonight; my first night shift guarding the prophecy. I was shaking so hard leaving headquarters, Remus was worried. She might be ill, said he. Sturgis was determined; he said if we lose her Dumbledore will be furious- too "valuable to lose". But Moody put his foot down.
"If she wants to be in the Order, she has to grow up."
I'm not giving up, so it seems I must grow up. No going backwards now.
I position myself carefully, not daring to look at the mysterious white orbs that can be so tempting. I release numerous Patronuses that lumber off. They are my trusty guards, my sentries. Should there be any presence other than my own, they will alert me immediately. They will also inform me the identity, location and direction of the invader. And I have my trusty throwing knives with me. I don't even have to make a single sound.
Ten hours. Ten hours of isolation, with only the heaviness of my task and the need to stay awake present. Nobody knows I am here, tucked away in darkness. My hidden hours, in endless night. What does one do on a double shift?
Nights of paranoia, these shifts are. Jumping at shadows, at flickering lights. Emptiness and silence.
I could go back to work. Auror HQ is only a few floors and it's almost always busy.
To my horror, I find myself slipping into a nightmare.
It is the 6th day of May, in 1990 Yorkshire. Two girls, one with hair the colour of summer flowers, the other of autumn leaves. One tall and willowy, the other weeps. They are the children of killer.
And the mother of such children cannot bear to see them. Daily she prays to be released from the torment of a marriage, to be free her suffocating love, for Adina Popyngcart is in love with a killer.
These lost souls that look for a time of rest, are bound in flesh and blood, to a killer.
Pray Death will set them free of such a debt.
And so cometh he, the pox that cankers such flowers and the demon of his native land.
She loved him, but he did not keep her long.
He killed her too, added her name to a list of other innocent souls dragged down to his infernal hell of death and torment. Stamped all life out of her like an iron boot on a daisy, or frost on a meadow.
His green curse that strikes the victim like a thing of fire that taketh life from the giver.
And so it was that Adina Popyngcart lost her life.
Pray you shall not follow suit, in such an unfortunate fate as that.
The nightmare lasts longer than a vision but is equally terrifying. It's a reminder of the past. It's a reminder of what I am.
11th July
I came back shaking from that experience; and was thus ill in the toilet. Tonks and Remus were more than happy to relieve me of my duties that night. Joanie does double shifts but she has convinced him to go it alone so that she can accompany me.
People at the Order were sympathetic but I still couldn't stop feeling guilty over the ineptitude. Remus gave me chocolate (which I am gratefully eating at the moment) and even Sirius feels sorry for me. I know he would much rather go out to guard instead of me. It certainly isn't easy to be stuck in a house all day with bad memories. I may have killed and maimed, but he's stuck with that portrait of a mother for the rest of his days. It would be as bad as me having every reminder of my numerous crimes played in my head on a loop, inescapable unless I shut down completely.
I lost it with Mrs Black last week. There's only so many times she can call me filth, or insinuate that I've disgraced the only family I have. Worse that she calls Tom worthy of a horrific and early death, and implying that I should do the world a favour and go die in a hole.
So I sent a message bluntly expressing my opinion of her catcalling. No words could deem it expressible, so I conjured a throwing knife and hurled it at her. It hit its target: inches from her ear and catching her cap and pinning her to her own canvas. It took some working on her part to free herself and fling the knife back at me, missing entirely and knocking the nose off a stuffed house-elf head and screaming abuse for hours which I largely ignored. Much obliged to indulge in your conversation, Mrs. Black.
Kreacher has taken revenge by invading my privacy in my room. I've told him enough times (much politer tones than I deem necessary for Madame Black) that I will clean my room myself and that he need not interfere.
It's tiny, my room. A small divan, a lamp on a small chest of drawers. When I first got given the room it was awful. Bugs living in the cracks in the wallpaper, huge sheets of wallpaper just dissolving and peeling off. The Molly Weasley war effort is taking its toll on Kreacher's little sanity and I for one would rather have the house empty than filled with ominous junk that keeps trying to kill people.
Molly says I am very hard-working and very determined; she is one of the people that protests about my nightmare shifts.
"You work far too hard. Don't know what Dumbledore was thinking letting you join up. You are useful, you are talented and I know full well you can fight. But you are far too young. Besides, that ridiculously large workload you take on at the Ministry can't be good for your health! I don't even know why you work in the Ministry, there's no education to be had there whatsoever."
She's meaning my height. Curses, wounds and some quite serious operations to save my life have halted and stunted my growth. I'm probably eleven but half of my clothes are for an eight year old.
27th July
Packing. Adelaide leaves us tomorrow. Her last dinner here, her last sleep as our little girl. Then she goes to the Staffords', thirty five miles away in Canterbury. I can't write any more.
28th July
She is gone. We left her in Benny's gentle arms. Lovingly we packed the few things she has; her clothes, her treasures, toys and blankets, bottles and soaps. A shell that she smiles to see; and her bangle. Whatever few things we could give her now.
We went by car, Muggle transport. I felt empty the whole way and I know Joan felt the same. She kept very composed, deadpan face and stable hands. She cried as she handed her child over. Never again will they sleep under the same roof. That is how it shall be.
It hurts to see my sister and friend so grieved. She has been forced to kill too, to become a huntress of Death Eaters. But she has been as firm and as resolute as ever. But until now she has never felt separation on this scale. Never before must she part with a child.
Our mother lost three. Our mother lasted no longer.
Joanie is still weeping as her willow. She fell asleep next to Tom's favourite pot plant in the garden, as she cried her grief for them both.
I miss Adela. She is safe and she is loved. I am alone, with nothing left but to fight.
31st July
I met Dumbledore in his study today. He bade me walk in the grounds with him, all silent of laughter now that the summer holidays are underway.
"Of course I hope you remember that you must be ready to attend to my orders at all times."
"Of course."
"I have a mission for you. I have use for your Seeing Skills, as yet, but also of a mission I believe will be well suited to your disposition. Voldemort wants the prophecy, clearly, but he also wants to recruit followers. Lupin is to negotiate with the werewolves; and Hagrid with the giants. But the merpeople are of yet unaccounted for. The beginning of winter is the best time to reach them; and I believe the sirens will take to you. Your Druid heritage and Celtic blood will do you well. Play your cards right, persuade them in a way that only you can; and the waters will be a safer place for the Order."
"I do all that you command me."
"Truly?"
"Within reason."