Too stressed right now to put the date
The sight of Joan galvanized me into action. The sight of Joan, my sister, spirit broken; tears pouring down and ugly bruise marks on her neck. All it took was a blunt warning and a brutal choice for me to crack. Joan required physical force to make her comply.
I didn't need to ask.
"I'll never see her again "
She shakes her head, as if that will clear the thoughts that will not go, the fears that linger even after danger has passed. "My child."
It's binding, this contract. It has set its snare and it will choke her. We are bound to the guardianship of the castle for life. Nothing short of death will free us. The castle was once our freedom, now it is our prison. We once looked on the grounds, hills and plains with joy in our solitude. Now they are taunts of what we can no longer have.
Some would think this paranoia, obsession- but who can tell what is what these days? This war has changed our minds of what is cruel and what is survival, what is beyond human capability. It is harder to draw the line between human and devil. What seemed to be jumping at shadows six months ago is now a very real fear. And how do you know that a shadow could not kill you?
I promised myself that I would never again beg at Scrimgeour's feet, never infringe upon his mercy or ask anything more of him that what I could afford- not in gold but in blood. But with Joanie's happiness has gone my pride. It is for her sake that I must once more be pushed down into submission, and push the limits with my employer.
It will tighten my shackles for sure, but it may release her of hers. I have to try, for Joanie. Scrimgeour's not fool enough to suspect me of disloyalty, we will know my intentions clear enough. This not self-interest, nor greed. It is desperation, and the knowledge that this could be my last chance to give my sister the life she deserves: a free life. She has the bravery and the beauteous spirit to come through this. I would not end her here on my account, and it is for that which I bear myself to Scrimgeour.
He is surrounded by advisors, Toad Umbridge among them. I am alone. He stands across the corridor in front of his office, me across the way. He is in his world, in his power and I am in mine, in my plight.
At my gaze he turns and says casually offhand, "Leave us." Umbridge waltzes off in her self-righteous fashion, the others with a little less arrogance. I am shunted with a brusque gesture into the office where I stand, he sits. Even then, I am little taller than him and anyway can tell that I am far from his equal.
"I believe I am too late for myself," I begin. "Six years too late. I beg you, spare my sister. I know that she has performed well, but must that count against her? Must she lose her youth, her peace and everything that makes her happy? Must she die in all but name?"
He stays quiet and pensive, despite the ill-hidden plea in my voice.
"Why are you here?" he says irritatedly. "Come on. You self-serving little snake, tell me. You have put yourself at great risk. Why are you here?"
I bite my lip stubbornly and look him straight in the eye, something I have steadfastly avoided doing.
"Because she's my sister. And her happiness is mine."
He sighs, tired of my melancholy yearnings, tired of the very sight of me.
"Go."
My feet are eager to obey, but my head is not.
"Not until I have your truth."
"No she shall not be excused. I cannot let one go on the pubescent broodings of another. Now get out before you are thrown."
I have no choice but to comply. I leave before a faceplant occurs. If you're a Child Auror it's illegal to draw your wand against the minister or his assistants, no exceptions. He can beat you, throw you, insult you and crush you, but draw a wand in response and you go to prison. You might even get a Kiss if they mistake you for someone else. There's nothing to stop a Dementor kissing you, they don't get punished. You learn this pretty quickly.
24th June 1996
Due to my failure, this is the last time that Joanie will ever see Adelaide again, and me too. I regret it bitterly, for I shall miss all her growing up. A year is not enough, but for a mother like Joan I don't think her love would be content enough for anything short of a lifetime.
She is dear to me; and as much to Joan, who remembers Adela as a baby far better than I do.
She is quiet and solemn, with a thoughtful expression and when you talk to her she puzzles over her answer as if each word deserves attention. She does not smile or laugh often, but when she does it is as though the sun has come out. We did some drawing all together and as I emptied my tin of pencils she lined up neatly; by colour, shade and depth of colour whereas I would just leave them lying around across the floor, moving them only for space or to pick one up. She thought for a long while of what to do, before selecting a black and drawing a series of curving shapes. I almost laughed when I saw it, it looked just like she was creating her own alphabet.
I thought what to do, and brought down from Minty's bookcase a small dictionary of Ancient Runes and put it before her. She seemed unsurprised by it in its book-form, but having opened it she seemed fascinated. Not by the topic, for she is a long way off learning to read- but by the words, the letters, the idea of language. She traced the long shapes with her finger for hours, almost mesmerized by them.
Naively, I thought she was oblivious to all that was going on, to the world at large, almost to Joanie's continuing sadness. But she's an astute child, and knows more than I thought. Of all the details she is ignorant, but she knows our emotions almost better than we ourselves.
I take my niece out into the garden, so much neater and tidier than our own overgrown one.
"Look Adelaide, look at these- these sunflowers. Don't they have such bright, happy faces?" I fight to keep my voice neutral as Joan tends the wisteria emotionlessly.
"Yes," the child says. "I would like some for me. Then when I am sad, they can make me happy." I marvel at this little girl, who can find joy in such small things.
"I would also give some to Mummy," she says. "For she is very sad. I think she wants to be somewhere else."
"Indeed, I think we all do. What a place the world would be if it were but a garden, with only the sunflowers and their nodding heads."
2nd July 1996
The moment I hear of their enterprise, I race to help.
The premises that the twins have acquired is fantastic, even if it is only filled with hundreds of boxes that they want help stacking. True, my levitation is a bit wobbly but its worth it to see the future being unpacked, stacked and priced.
To be honest, Reader I am a little useless and just spent much of the time looking and touching.
"This is nice. Can I have it?"
"Love potion?" says Fred incredulously (George is upstairs cataloguing.) He goes down on one knee and clasps his hand on his heart melodramatically.
"Sorry love. My heart belongs to another."
"I know that. Never mind why I want it. I want it; and I want for no-one to find out about it. This purchase must not be on record."
He grins cheekily.
"For a price."
"Money?"
"No. Assurance."
I roll my eyes and bring out my deck of cards, ignoring the prickling at the back of my neck. I fan them out for him. And instruct him to "pick a card."
He taps one at the back of the pack. "What is this one?"
I turn it over so that only I can see it.
"The Two of Cups. A powerful bond. You and your brother will do very well out of your shop here. Expect prosperous times."
He beams. But something feels wrong; the card feels thick in my hand. Then I realise: there's another one, underneath, I move the other card and a leaden weight falls inside me.
For grinning up at me is a skeletal face with a scythe.
Death.
Battle. Loss. Torn in two.
Fred's frowning at me now. "Another card? I thought I only had to pick one."
"It's nothing," the lie comes as easily as if it had been put there. "Joanie just mixed up my playing cards with the Exploding Snap. It means nothing."
But I know, as I collect the potion and put away the cards, it means everything.
16th August
I take as long as I can to pack, though none of us is eager to go. I shall have to leave my house, my beautiful sheltered house. Leave Kent completely for Scotland, hundreds of miles north. Leave the places and the people that I have known and loved only to be surrounded by enemies, ensnared by plots and constantly watchful, and watched. Harry may delight in returning to his beloved school but I take little comfort in it. He has his teachers and friends, a whole Ministry behind him. I have to live by my wits, be fearful of losing my head lest I never get it back.
I say goodbye to my river, my secret river and jasmine flowers, black irises and lavender. I'll miss every quirk and commodity about this place. The priest's hole, the double bookcase, the oubliette (where I keep slipping) the Welsh dresser, the love I've had here, where I'm myself, not an ally or enemy but truly myself, Marion Popyngcart.
What I could do if I could be myself, without intolerance or ridicule. I could be free.