As soon as Hermione returned to the Tonks residence, she shut herself inside of the library. She needed space to think, or avoid thinking as it was, so reading was the perfect option for the witch. Turning towards the door, she whispered "Colloportus." She heard the door magically lock before facing the expansive room behind her. Although she knew that Andromeda could easily get into the room by utilizing the counter-spell, she hoped that the older witch would respect her silent request for privacy.

Without the door open, the aroma of books was even more noticeable. The pages and ink seemed to call to her, and she approached the shelves containing the Black tomes but stopped when she remembered the boxes of material that had yet to even be sorted. The boxes were stacked to the side of a long wooden table. They were in a perfect position for Hermione to begin her research.

Sitting at the table, she opened the first box. Inside were numerous books of a darker nature. Most of them seemed to center on the topic of torture and curses. Hermione held the books at arm's length, unsure if she should indulge her curiosity. Part of her wanted nothing more than to immerse herself in the knowledge that she knew the books would offer. Out of all of the branches of magic available to learn, she knew that her knowledge was nearly absent when considering dark arts.

She elected to set the books to the side for the moment but found that the next two boxes were similar in nature to the first.

Sighing dejectedly, she reached into the fourth box. Inside of the box were a number of unmarked tomes. Each one had a flexible spine and fading cover. The pages were yellowed and appeared to be blank. The amount of wear was inconsistent with the amount of text on the pages.

The young witch gently ran her fingers across a blank page and sensed the slightest trace of magic. She grasped her wand and pointed at the paper, whispering, "Aparecium."

The book responded immediately as the previously pristine page began to reveal a full page of slanted script.

8 December 1966

Mother and Father have decided they want to announce my engagement at the end of the school year. It is not official until our OWL's come back. I believe they are afraid that other families may sully the Black genes with their lack of intelligence. I cannot blame their reservations, for I am also hesitant to enter into an engagement with anyone. Not that I have a choice. I wish I had some say, but it is not the pureblood way. I will be lucky if my betrothed even lets me work outside of the home, Father says.

I scoffed when he said that and was punished for that moment of "disobedience." He has been even more ruthless with his punishment lately. I cannot say one word out of line without getting a Cruciatus thrown my way. He used to at least reserve that particular punishment for more severe lapses of judgement, and he would never cast a Cruciatus at Cissy, but even she has been hit with it lately.

I think it may be due to the tension in the ministry right now. Father said that mudbloods are running rampant in the ministry. He says they know nothing. While I am not sure if that is true, I don't understand why they would want to work in our government. This is not their world. They don't understand our ways.

I did not realize the significance of having a mudblood serve as the Minister of Magic at first, but I am beginning to see why it is so problematic. There is just no way that they can be beneficial for the old families. They know nothing of our practices or extensive knowledge. They are barely magic at all. If they wanted "representation," they could always elect a half-blood. At least, they might know something of our ways.

I understand why it is important to continue the pureblood lines, but there is not a single pureblood that I want to be with. Maybe there would be a better match if we furthered our connections with our contacts outside of England. Perhaps I should speak with Mother about that. She might be more receptive. She is quite a fan of Durmstrang, for she was almost betrothed to a Bulgarian pureblood, but it fell through when the Blacks offered Grandfather a greater sum of money for her hand in marriage.

I know that Mother and Father have been planning my betrothal to one of the Lestrange brothers since I learned to walk, but we did not yet know that they would be complete dunderheads. They did not know that they were potentially thinning out our blood with theirs. Regardless of how pure it might be, it is likely some of the weakest pure blood there is. They may as well be half-bloods.

I could never tell Father that. He would consider me a blood traitor for speaking so lowly of any pureblood family, but he does not have to sit with them in class and watch as they fail miserably to cast even the simplest of spells.What happened to the concept that men were better at magic than women? I cannot lie. I never believed that concept. Father has been telling me that for as long as I can remember, but I never once believed that one of my male peers would be better at magic than I. And I prove my point every day. They will see after I take my OWLs.

Until then, I need to lie low. I cannot get into trouble with Professor McGonagall again. Every single time I get into trouble with that old witch, Mother stops responding to my letters. I cannot help infuriating the old hag sometimes. She is a blood traitor, and her little lion cubs are so easy to torment. I will have to be exceptionally careful to avoid making her angry before I have the opportunity to speak with Mother about reaching out to her Bulgarian contacts about a potential betrothal to someone more worthy of the heir of the noble house of Black.

9 January 1967

It is quite wonderful to be back at Hogwarts. Home is feeling less like home each time I return. Father has begun to host meetings with other pureblood families. Something is coming. I know it. I just don't know what it is. I could not get close enough to one of the meetings without being detected. The few times when I got close enough to hear snippets of conversation, Father quickly found me and banished me to my bedroom. He told me that I was a disgrace for sneaking around.

I fear that he is planning something that will get all of us into trouble. I am unsure what to do. Mother seems unconcerned. Father is as wound up as always. He struck Andy across the face when she asked why there were so many men in the manor. He merely told her to keep her nose out of his business and focus on studying because "she needed it." He doesn't understand her either. She has to work hard to do well in school. It isn't her fault that the professors are harder on us.

I offered to help her study, but she shrugged me off. I know she is embarrassed by me. She does not agree with the way I act. I fear that she may be adopting blood traitor ideals. I've noticed that she does not get in trouble with McGonagall like Cissy and I do. I worry about her. She will have no one if she gets herself disowned. I will be unable to help her if she really is a blood traitor.

Hermione slammed the book shut, lightly panting. Her eyes drifted to the door of the library. It was still shut, but she felt like she was being watched. Her cheeks flushed as the shame hit her. She was reading Bellatrix Lestrange's diary. She was reading the diary of a madwoman, a psychopath, a killer, a pureblood extremist. She left the book lying on the table and crossed the room, needing to get some fresh air.

She passed Andromeda in the kitchen, quietly sipping what appeared to be firewhiskey as she composed a letter. Hermione did not stop until she reached the back door. She threw it open and fell to her knees in the grass.

On her knees, she wrenched the sleeve of her robe up to her elbow and stared at the carving that marred her lightly tanned flesh. The letters were more crude than that of the book, but the maker was obviously the same. She had read the sane thoughts of Bellatrix Lestrange. She had read things that would have made some consider her a blood traitor. She had read only a small bit of text, but it was enough. Bellatrix Lestrange was a human. At least, she was at that point in time. Her stomach twisted in knots, and Hermione prayed that her dinner would stay where it belonged.

Hermione's head swam with unanswered questions. She needed to know what happened to make that girl turn into the monster that had carved the word 'Mudblood' into an eighteen-year-old's arm. She needed to know, but she could not bear to read any more of her thoughts.

It was not long before Andromeda joined Hermione outside. She took in Hermione's haggard appearance, noting the fact that her sleeve was pulled up to reveal her scar from Bellatrix. She kneeled beside the younger woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What happened?"

Hermione met Andromeda's eyes and recognized the absurdity of her behavior. "I found Bellatrix's diary."

Andromeda narrowed her eyes at the witch's response. "And that, compounded on top of the fact that you have just revealed your presence to quite a few people and received big news from your best friend, has you teetering on the edge of sanity right now, doesn't it?" She could see the chaos within Hermione's eyes. Her gaze was not as steady and intelligent as Andromeda was accustomed to when encountering the witch. Her gaze kept flickering between the horizon and Andromeda's face, and Andy would wager that Hermione's brain was closer to shutting down than she would admit.

The young witch nodded and glanced back down at her forearm. "She was worried about you."

"What?" Andromeda could not have heard Hermione correctly.

"Your sister. She was worried about you becoming a blood traitor. She cared about you." Hermione's eyes held no emotion at this moment. She spoke as if she was listing off items on a grocery list.

Andromeda took Hermione's hand and gave it a soft tug. "Come with me."

Andromeda did not need to ask twice as Hermione let herself be led inside and upstairs. With mere flicks of her wand, Andromeda removed Hermione's outer robes and conjured a dreamless sleep potion. She handed the vial to the young witch and watched her drink it before wishing her goodnight.

They would work on fighting Hermione's demons in the morning. For now, Andromeda was just glad that Hermione had not completely shut her out. She was still here.

Andromeda did not allow herself to consider the young woman's revelation. She downed a dreamless sleep potion, as well, and took herself to bed.