18th December 1995

We are all to have Christmas at Grimmauld this year. Sirius, generously hospitable as he is, pulls out all the stops to cheer up this grim and Dark house, which he despises so vehemently. Joanie doesn't really want to come, as she feels a deep attachment to Adelaide. I won't have Adela coming to this house, it's dank and it's damp and though she may be healthy I shan't risk it.

So that leaves me to deliver Yuletide greetings and presents. I try to help Sirius in his valiant efforts to brighten the house, and so I brought in a dozen Santa hats (Minty has too many of these...) and put them on the house elf heads, including the one that Walburga Black knocked the nose off when she returned my throwing knife throw unconventional methods (threw it at my head- and missed). None of the heads look too happy at their new makeover, but now they're dead, they're free.

Sirius is singing "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs". Out of tune. Again.

23rd December

I'm getting really worried. I've been to Grimmauld Place three times over the past few days, and yet not once have I seen Kreacher. Where can he have got to? I know Sirius shouted at him "to get out" but surely he can't have taken it so literally? Maybe he did. Either way, I must talk to Sirius about it.

Christmas Eve 1995

I have kept this diary for six months now, and I have to grown to love this old notebook, containing my silly whimsical notations and rants as dearly as a part of me. I have been the only one to have read it, and it's too private to share; although perhaps one day Adela will read it herself.

We took her tobogganing in Tetreton Park today, as the snow was still fresh and cold. She was delighted by the sight of it, not quite so happy when she found it was cold. Joanie and I practiced out Warming Charms on her mittens, which she was happy to participate in. Back to our house for hot chocolate and marshmallows and a quite day, mother and child reunited, La Duchesse housed in her fine new frame and spoiled rotten by her fellow portraits. I put my feet up to the heater and confide in you, diary.

It's these times that send me into trances- or into passionate opinion. So be patient, for I do tend to get carried along by waves of ideals!

The Willy Widdershins ordeal still irks me, because justice and an equal playing field is core to my heart, to who I am. His crime and his lack of repentance tugs at my very heartstrings, and it is the greatest insult he can give me. I did not decide to devote my life in servitude to the law and the capture of criminals so that they would walk free while my fellow children suffered, risked, died. Call me an insolent child, call me a dirty child, call me spawn of the devil and I shall say what I will. But hurt the innocent, and turn a blind eye to a degrading injustice; and you will invoke my unbridled emotions.

People have the ability to be so different, yet we are all one habitat of peoples, one earth. There are similarities in all peoples of all powers, all minds. We are souls. We may not be equal economically, and never will be, and some minds will always be sharper than others, we are not the same and can never be made to be. A square peg will not fit a round hole. But yet we are equal. We are people, and always will be. What is the real difference, between a muggle born and a "pure blood"? Prejudice is the child of ignorance. You don't have to perform magic to be special, or even be respected. If you are true to yourself and true to what you believe in, what more do you need to be?

Christmas Day, 1995

Peace on Earth, good will to all mankind

Because you're not going to get it any other day of the year, sunshine!

My 12th Christmas, so I must be at least eleven now- "legs eleven" as my neighbour Polly calls it. Joanie woke me up- somewhat uncomfortably, at half past five, as excitable as any child. This is role reversal, as I am normally the early bird.

I pack and get ready to head to London early, and Joanie strolls around casually making tea. Joanie and I exchanged gifts last night, so I am proudly wearing a pair of new pink legwarmers over my thin shoes. I gave Joan a purple tiered velvet skirt that made her cry. She hasn't worn skirts since she was a wife.

The Order's Christmas decorations have changed the house so much; and I can't believe it is actually the same house that houses only misfortune and an underground resistance movement, forced to resist Voldemort and the Ministry's stubborn denial (Fudge continues to confuse stubbornness with strength). Now, I can feel happy here.

Christmas presents all around: for Harry, a poster of "20 Unusual Hexes and Jinxes Your Opponent is Unlikely to Know the Counter Curse to" I made it myself, and came up with over sixty, but put the simplest to use down. Ron- polish for his fine new Cleansweep, Hermione, new quills in various sizes, Tonks some Muggle nail polish that changes colour according to your mood (turned bubblegum pink straight away) Sirius: 1984 by George Orwell. Thought the Muggle references would amuse him, maybe that he might even learn something from it, realise what Albus is trying to do. A book is the subtlest way of getting someone to learn something.

All was going well, until I let fear drive me too far; and it almost cost me a friend.

"Where's Kreacher?" I asked Sirius.

"I don't know," he says, carelessly.

I feel myself flood with panic.

"I haven't seen him for days."

"Neither have I. I'm sure he's just around somewhere."

I erupt.

"That's not enough! Where did you order him? You told him to get out!"

"He's bound to the family."

"Yes, he can take orders from anyone in the family and judging from experience with your mother's portrait alone, they are not the kind of people he should be talking to!"

The colour drains from Sirius' face. I've gone too far, crossed the unspeakable line, but I can't stop. I can't make myself stop; I care too much not to warn.

"He knows too much. We should have wiped his memory completely, and kept on wiping it. The moment he returns from this little escapade, question him, make him tell the truth!"

"You're nagging" he spits at me.

"I'm not nagging!"

"Yes, you are! For God's sake, it's Christmas, quit bugging me!"

I try to reach to him, but he brushes me off.

"You're the weak link Sirius!" I wail. "The Ministry doesn't know where you are. It doesn't even recognise your existence. If you fall ill, we cannot get you to a Healer. We cannot get you to hospital without arousing suspicion. If you go missing, we can't get the Ministry to look for you without returning you to Azkaban!"

He turns, icily.

"I'll die before I go back there," he says, cold enough to make me shiver.

And then he leaves me, without a backwards glance, I am only able to bury my head on the dusty sofa and dissolve into tears.

Seeing my wan face after an hour he picks me up and gives me a hug. I give him a pack of custard creams from my bag, as a peace offering.

He smiles. "Not ginger Newts?"

"Certainly not" I say stoutly, but giddy from his forgiveness "ginger biscuits are evil."

He laughs and together we rejoin the party. I am glad we are friends again, but I stand by what I said, though it was unfair of me to talk about it on Christmas Day. But the Dark Arts wait for no-one.

Later

The Yuletide is going fast now that the Day has ended, and the afternoon at the Staffords' was far more joyous and complacent. We are sore from laughter; and giggly from Benny's Firewhisky which tasted very nice with peach and lime juice.

I can't get Adela's smiling, rosy cheeked face from my head. She'll grow up to be happy, and a merry witch of the light, not troubled by my gift of the Sight or Joanie's death threats. She will be bright and cheerful, even with war pending and a mother and aunt up to their necks in conspiracy. She will be happy, even though Joanie and I are still so sad.

I have had more frequent and chilling visions of the prophecy, of the veil, the crows- and the vanishing Grim. I'm more afraid for Sirius than he is. And one way or another, a prophecy must come true.

Boxing Day, 1995

I sat in a dark corner, lit by only a few hovering candles. I sat in a black wood carved chair, and Kreacher came before me. It looked a very picture of hierarchy.

"Where have you been?" I asked of him, a little too sharply.

"In the attic." Was all he said. It may have been enough for Sirius, but not enough for me.

"As ever," I said bitterly.

He shrugged, a very human gesture. But then I did something without thinking, which was pure human instinct. I left my stiff chair and knelt before Kreacher, so that for the first time, I was on his level, and looked into his eyes. Outcast to outcast.

"I'm not different, Kreacher" and then I bent forward over my knees, so he was above me, and I was bowed before his feet.

But then, out of character, his bony hand reached out and lifted me up by my elbow, so that I was looking into his eyes once more, and we were direct with each other. He smiled, and neither of us said anything. In fact, I don't think he spoken to me for the rest of the day.

27th December

Sirius is getting grumpy again. Molly calls it "fits of the sullens." I wish he could come out of Buckbeak's room and talk to me. He's making it worse.

28th December

I am a pathetic wretch! A powerless creature! I am that, or I am a firebrand, a motormouth, too chatty, too cheeky to ever be trusted. And my call to alarm is to call wolf, and answered with a sharp blow; and with it, humiliation.

I am banned from 's.

I was up on level 5, spell Damage, delivering a report to the Chief Healer regarding the insurance of one of our Child Aurors, who lost a leg. Pointless, he'll get no money for it.

But I paused, and a slithering plant in a nearby pot set the gooseflesh creeping up my arms. The sirens, screaming in my head, set me off. Devil's Snare. It must have been disguised as that Flitterbloom, because that is Devil's Snare.

It was right next to Bode's bed, and as he reached out to touch it, I smacked his hand away. When I saw his confused face, I realised. And I screamed.

I heard shouts, furious hisses, footsteps from behind me. But my vision is focussed on one thing. That plant. I have to destroy it, it must not stay there, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

Could go off at any time.

I frantically try to communicate with Bode, my nose inches from his, but he's as blank as a sheet. I am incomprehensible, panic sending streams of Welsh and English at equal speeds out of my mouth. I snatch for my wand, fingers trembling, fingers snatching for it.

But before I can complete the spell, hands reach around my waist, my mouth and I am dragged kicking and screaming. No!

"You have to kill the plant - yn rhaid i chi lladd y planhigyn, rhaid dinistrio! Now! It's going to kill him, arbed iddo!"

"Don't be ridiculous, silly girl! It's a Flitterbloom anyone can see that. Come quietly now, you're disturbing the other patients."

"But you don't understand, it's Devil's Snare, it could kill-"

"I am well aware of the dangers of Devil's Snare," says Healer Strout, "I can also recognise it. There is no Devil's Snare, but there is a Flitterbloom. I have studied Herbology for far longer than you possibly can. I know more about any plant than you do. Now please leave and don't come back until further notice."

Then magical Security comes behind me and I am dragged unceremoniously down the stairs, the glares of disapproving visitors blazing behind me. The WelcomeWitch is shaking her head. Beneath my scream I can hear "It's disgraceful" and "Who does she think she is?"

A question I cannot answer.

I am cast out, words of eviction ringing in my ears, my cheeks aflame. I am shamed, I am downtrodden. Give me strength to climb back up.

2nd January 1996

A new day, a new term, a new year! Harry returns to troublesome Umbridge, and Neville's continual letter sending throughout the holidays will have to stop now that the old hag is dabbing her nose into everything. I'll not have that old toad reading my personal letters. Partly because I undermine her power at Hogwarts, and partly because I'm not entirely complimentary about her. (Well, I say what I think.)

I'm concerned about Harry's Occlumency lessons- Albus has somewhat unusually unwisely of him, chosen Snape as a teacher. He is skilled, but he is a double agent. Playing the double agent in this most dangerous game can be very difficult. The problem with being a double agent is that it can get very confusing at times. But to serve two masters, and being able to serve two masters at the same time when both want different things is extremely risky. How can Albus expect a Potter and a Snape to get along? It is ridiculous. We squabble amongst ourselves, when we should be united; how can we defend against Voldemort- who himself demands obedience until death, when we cannot agree on anything without snide comments and doubted loyalties.

Either way, something will go wrong in this idea, and Albus knows my mind on this. I love him, as a daughter does. I do not question my allegiance with him, but I will always think twice before I perform his orders. Normally, I go along with his plans, for though the risk there is gain to be had.

But he could get it wrong.

I like Stan Shunpike too, as we take him [Harry Potter] back through the Knight Bus. Stan is a bit slow, but you must never ignore the lesser people. Just because someone does the cleaning, or a task you deem menial, does not make them any less worthy as people. I certainly think more highly of him than half of the Ministry, whose only aim in life seems to be to increase the size of their ministerial department.

I didn't get much time to chat to him, because of Madam Marsh's stomach misbehaving. And anyhow, standing on the Knight Bus isn't much fun. You stagger and sway like a drunk on Firewhisky.