1st August

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place is always a curious place to be at night, secretly at work under bustling London. The world oblivious to our presence, working always behind the scenes. It's where I do my writing when I am here, though I have to fight hard to keep this diary out of Kreacher's hands. It's always written in Welsh, so he can't read it, but you never can know with elfish magic. The last thing I want is him translating it and having a heart attack at my comments.

Opposite me is Joanie, carefully adding pieces to her scrapbook. It's massive; and she's had it for years, and it still isn't full. There's a variety of things, from family photographs, quotations, sketches, watercolour pictures, curious ink blots and scraps of pretty fabrics. Delicately and lovingly wrapped in plastic to preserve them and attached with Spellotape. Whenever things go wrong, from a bad day to bereavement, she silently opens her scrapbook, confines the memory to its pages; rather like a paper Pensieve.

Sirius comes in; looking grumpy as he grouchily disturbs a snoring Crookshanks.

"What are you doing, Marion?"

He smells too.

"I am writing." He laughs and ruffles my hair even though he knows it always winds me up.

"How long? You've written heaps."

I shrug. The words are harder to say.

"Since his return; when Adelaide was born."

Joan looks up. She's holding a glue brush, which she uses whenever the Spellotape sticks together (which it often does; with her poised fingers) - bits of glue are dripping onto the pages.

I try to tactfully divert the topic.

"You should try writing, Sirius. It's engaging; it brings a sense of fulfilment. "

He barks out a laugh.

"What, today I counted thirty dead Doxy eggs and was subject to verbal abuse by my darling mother?"

I have the conversation under control; when Snape enters the room. I can feel storm clouds creeping. Remain calm. File quietly towards the exits.

Severus sneers as Sirius' face darkens.

"I don't know Black. Perhaps we should listen to the little one. Would be good for you to do something productive- for a change."

Oh, foot in mouth city! Sirius is moving for his wand. Time for an intervention. The situation can still be salvaged. I rise to my feet, in haste.

"Thank you, Severus, for an example of words very counter-productive. Sirius, I'm sure Remus needs to talk to you- upstairs."

Sirius slouches off, and Joan returns to frantically blotting some glue.

I glare a warning to Severus.

"Be careful what you say, Severus! By no means must the Order be split in two by your continual bickering!"

"I'm more than capable of taking on Black."

"I know you are. But there'll be no fighting under this roof. It is an area of sanctity and refuge from Voldemort's victims. Don't break the peace. "

He turns to a new tack- my diary.

"foolish girl. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Diary writing is suicidal. "

He snatches at the notebook and attempts to read it.

"Coleslaw- tuna- fish fingers!" He glares at my secret smile.

"The Dark Lord can break charms!"

"Good luck to him then. He can learn a thing or two from that."

"Don't push your luck."

"Don't push your mouth."

"You said it was a sanctity refuge."

"We can always go outside."

He storms off. Joanie's face is set from behind her scrapbook. I return to my books as Sirius comes back in, confused.

"Remus is out. Why didn't you say so?" I false sympathesize.

"Oh pity. Must have slipped my mind. My fault."

He rolls his eyes and shouts for Kreacher.

All that over, I wonder if Molly Weasley knows any good glue removal spells.

2nd August

It is hard to write, my hand sliding up and down the page drunkenly (though you'll never see a drop of liquor on me today) as we are on the move. Harry is in difficulty; and we must answer to the call of a friend.

After yesterday's escapade, I had meant to leave writing for a day or two (the river of creativity can be dammed and blocked through overuse of its faculties) but today's news has to be too important to lay off. And so I shall record.

It is before ten o'clock and having been summoned from Stafford Place alongside Joanie, mainly to find that pandemonium now rules the house. Dung is cowering underneath a table by my feet, fearful of Arabella Figg's vengeance. As well he might.

Dumbledore had interrupted the meeting to deal with the matter at the Ministry that Harry has caused. Sirius and Arthur sent off owls telling Harry what to do. I saw copies of them, and I have to say they were pretty abrupt. But I hope Harry follows their instruction. If I'd struggled with a Dementor as to who gets my soul, I'd want for at least some recognition. What else can one do? Ask it politely to pass you by? I don't think so. Remind it not to park on the double yellow lines? No.

Mad Eye's come up with a plan: to retrieve Harry and escort him to Grimmauld Place and on to Hogwarts. That way Harry can be kept closer under observation this year, from London to Hogwarts. Tonks has been asked to organize the operation, with my assistance, and whatever her clumsiness she is efficient. She also sent me a copy of the letter she sent to the Muggle relations- and I have to say it is brilliant. Only Tonks can come up with something like that. Diversions has always been a strong point for her, coupled with her flair for disguise. She has Muggle grandparents, like Adelaide, so the phraseology comes naturally to her. And it worked- they are gone.

I am to be in the Advance Guard tonight, with Joanie in the emergency rear guard. I pray she is not needed.

It's always nice to see Harry, he brings a smile to my face, a talent not everyone can achieve at a time like this. But I do hope that he has combed his hair since last Is aw him, he can be such a scruff. Tonks and I touch up our make up in front of a wolf whistling mirror. They don't call it warpaint for nothing you know. Should I be killed by Voldemort, I want to look my best, even if he won't.

A message from Dumbledore. There is to be a hearing on the 12th, and he wants me there. Amelia Bones has already nominated me as Representative of the Auror Office, it's a full criminal do. I rarely add my voice as the Office's, normally just to testify as a witness or similar. Besides, I'm working through the summer and Kingsley has been so strict with me lately. But he says:

"You are her [Amelia Bones] favourite. Also your presence will do well to pressure Fudge not to overstep the mark in front of Madam Bones. This should work to Harry's advantage, she'll be fair to him."

Later

Time at last. All is timed to perfection, we leave in fifteen minutes. I've been leant a broom for the occasion under strict observance from Mad Eye to bring it back in good condition.(He'd like it in one piece.) For once, someone's thinking about safety for me. It is deemed that should I lose my concentration through a spell, I could fall and potentially, die.

Tonks to my left continues to experiment and ponders if a Muggle can see electric blue hair from six thousand feet. She decides not to push her luck and goes for a "more neutral colour"- a strong shade of violet. I have my white coat on, a puffy little thing that seems to be reminiscent of the Michelin man.

I haven't been up in the air for a long while- the Quidditch World Cup was the last time I flew before Tom's death and Voldemort's return clipped my wings and suddenly flying is a danger and not a joy.

Brooms are a pain though. I borrowed Hestia's once, and huge handfuls of twigs started coming out when I tried to adjust the tailwind.

But this isn't pleasure flying. We have a duty to do, and by Merlin we'll do it.

The Dursleys' house is like a show room. Nothing out of place, no missed patches, no scuffs or marks of any kind. Does Petunia Dursley have a life? She must spend all day cleaning, especially without magic. Joanie spends less than twenty minutes with magic.

I'm keeping a spare eye out for Tonks. She 'd better not break anything. Harry's probably asleep.

Now she's gone and broken a plate. How did that drawer even get open?

Bashfully, she fixes it (thank goodness repairing spells exist) and puts it back in the drawer, knocking over a food processor while she's at it.

So much for quiet and stealthy.

Here he comes now, wand aloft. And no, he hasn't combed his hair. Surely he didn't imagine that we wouldn't come for him? What does he take me for?

The signal. It's all clear, our scouts have scoured the skies and seen no sign of danger. Moody rants his usual stuff, probably not realising that nobody actually listens. I can practically recite all of his speech. Stay in formation. Don't break ranks if one of us gets killed.

That's another thing about brooms. After a while, everything gets so cold. Turn west, south west, south east, north, east. I'm circling Harry like an eagle, swooping and dropping. This is going to get me very dizzy very quickly.

I check my watch. Flying for an hour, over an hour, and so slowly at that. Good job I wrapped up. Yep. There's Tonks, shouting at Mad Eye for wanting to double back. That must mean it's almost time to land.

Touch down on solid ground. Finally, I need some of Molly's tea!

Meeting time.