Sirius Black

So, what are the odds that we'll go more than ten minutes today without Bea reminding us that she's three?

I think the hardest part so far has been keeping her out of the cake. (To say nothing of the incongruity of Kreacher even making a cake. I've checked it for razor blades or rat poison or anything equally malicious.)

When are we expecting the Moddey contingent? I've fielded about a million questions about Kevin, Keisha and Sara already. Who else did Alice plan to bring? (I can't quite explain so she'll believe me that Rory's not really interested in a party for a three-year-old.)

Maureen is coming, isn't she? Because if there are about to be a dozen children under six here we might need to set up a few more safety spells.

Alice, Frank: Thank you again. I'll definitely want to go back and see what I can get assembled. The engine and carburetor need significant reconditioning but it'll be much easier to put the spells in place on them before they're fitted into a frame. I thought I saw a few Triumphs and even a Royal Enfield; I'll have to look at the numbers to make sure they're compatible, though. Also see what manuals the place might have.

Anyway, it's brilliant. I'm glad you waited until after the lessons to show me. As it was, I hope Maureen didn't get too tired of Bea. (Oh, and please tell her I appreciate her volunteering to mind the monster, but I might take it personally if she keeps ducking Potions to do it. Perhaps we could ask Florrie to switch off now and then.)

I do think it's good for the young miss, anyway. Seeing other kids, playing. Between that and her earlier bedtimes she might just turn out civilised yet!

Been thinking about you all day.

You'd hardly recognise the house, especially after using it to hold lessons here at Easter hols. And everything we've had to do to make it safe for Bea. Couple days ago she decided to pull herself up by the curtains in the parlour - you remember the ones Mother loved and Father thought were far too dark for the room - and the bottom of the drape tore away in Bea's hands. Went right back down on her bum, started to sniffle a bit but then looked at the fabric in her hands and stuffed a corner in her mouth instead. (And then spit it out in disgust. With quite a commentary on how it tasted.) Dora kept trying to look stern and busting out laughing instead. I didn't even bother with the looking stern part. I could just imagine how Mother would have shrieked about it. (Well, Kreacher did a fair impression for us, when he saw the uneven rags, anyway.) Makes me wish we'd taken a knife to the bloody things years ago. Father might not even have punished us too harshly, either - he hated those awful drapes, anyway.


Say. If you were our locket, where would you have hidden yourself? I looked on your bookshelves and in your bedside table drawer but I couldn't get much further. Too many ... dust balls. I'm not giving Kreacher the satisfaction of asking about it, either. But she's asked again. It's almost as if it wants to stay lost just so Miss Parkinson can accuse me of not looking hard enough.

She's got some idea she can find you with the lock of hair. Or what's left of you, I guess, to put it more accurately. Not sure that's a clever idea - or well, perhaps it is but I suppose I'm not sure she really wants the answer she might get.


Probably going to get a proper teasing, writing to you like this. At least I'm not including song lyrics and poems, Mordred, you couldn't pay me to be 16 again for all the salamanders in Arabia.

Still. Teasing or not: Three years.

Remus says it was already too late by then, you know. That nothing I could've said those last two years would have made a difference. It's not those two years, though, that were the problem.

I suppose what bothers me the most is that even at the end, when you were like a man drowning, you continually refused to take the hand I offered. So maybe Remus is right and this was always the way it had to be.

But.

The thing is I know that people can change. Opinions evolve. Mac's have done, since he's come to work with the Order. And even bloody Snivellus can't deny that the Lilys and the Hermiones of the world are just as powerful and talented as someone with nine generations of magic to the family name. Merlin, apparently even our cousin Draco sodding Malfoy has come to see the futility of the Protectorate. And you did too, even if you were too fucking proud to say so. Or too frightened.

So .. Why? Why disappear or kill yourself or get yourself killed? Just to end your own suffering? Why when you could have just let me help you? Or is this your final revenge, Goblin, for all the times I wouldn't - play with you or listen to you or do whatever you wanted, for making my escape when I could do, and not ever really checking to see if you wanted to come along?

You know, the dead ironic part is she thinks it's a mark of how strong you were. And she thinks she knows you without ever understanding how smug, how superior, how snide or how much of a bastard you could be. But the thing is that it means she can mourn you and the only anger she feels is toward Voldemort for twisting you and breaking you. Not that I don't feel that, too, but I can't seem to separate it from the other anger. Toward you for taking the coward's solution. Toward me for not being more insistent with you - or persistent, take your pick - about your friends and your choices, about Mother and Father and their stupid games. I mean, yes, Voldemort broke you. But they're the ones who malformed you first.

Circe.

I can't even apologise properly. But that's the problem. I'll never be able to apologise because I'll never be able to fix the damage. I'll never have the chance.

Except by making sure he doesn't get another single one of the Blacks. Or anyone else, if I've anything to do with it.

We spent a quiet day today and put together a picnic tea party in the sitting room, with Moony ensconced on the sofa and Bea happily climbing all over him to celebrate that she's 18 months old now (and that in itself is somewhat unbelievable!). But taking a lazy day like this seems to lead to thinking about all the balls we currently have in the air.

Kingsley, don't take our silence here as disapproval of the decision to call an end to the Players. Today aside, it's usually fairly busy round here. But your choice is a brave thing in its way and as Frank says, it's not the end, just a new chapter.

Arthur: Well done, mate, on Terry's file. It's good to know it can be done, particularly if we work with Beth on more smuggling of people as well as goods.

Bill, happy birthday! Believe it or not it does get more fun as you go along (I never thought it would do, either).

Molly, any luck with Mrs Perks? It's only three weeks now until the solstice so if we're going to get her a place on the boat we need to get moving.

Minerva: The Book? How many do we have adding up?

Alice, I've been thinking about the list of topics you mentioned from the meeting at Moddey when our people came back from Ireland. And we've been chatting about them, off and on, but with no firm conclusions. I do think that our success has to lie on these multiple trajectories, even if it keeps us all fragmented. We have to be able to keep moving forward on a number of fronts, and not put all our ashwinder eggs in one fire - in case something goes wrong, like in Ireland.

Still thinking about what that means.

Moony and I (and Bea) spent the night in Grimmauld Place last night, first time we've been back for a full night since Ellie came.

We figured that'd be best since Ellie's still a bit skittish, but it was the full moon so Remus needed a safe transformation place and we didn't want to risk Ellie coming upstairs to check on Bea with only a door between her and a werewolf. And I couldn't have seen to Bea as a dog, or risk Ellie coming up to stumble on me, either.

Well, anyway. That part worked out well enough. But the part that we found curious was Kreacher. Do you know, I think he actually might have missed us?

Well. I say us. Really I think he missed Bea.

Dora, we may want to think about going back to Grimmauld a little more frequently, especially if we're not going to be able to tell Ellie the truth before next month. I dunno how he'll react if we only come back to give him Bea to look after for a few hours. When she's asleep, no less.

Anyway. I'm sending a final owl to Aleks to confirm what he's bringing us. Wands, of course, and the staples: Fruit, sugar, spices, chocolate, tea, coffee, so on. Poppy, I got your list (or rather Mr Ponds did) and I'm sending it along. Anti-fungal creme, really? And camphor and cotton and all the usual items.

Anyone have last-minute additions? No guarantees but if it's something simple enough we've a little time.

(That reminds me: The wards will have to drop when Beauxbatons and Durmstrang take their delegations home. Frank, Kingsley: Do you think we could get people out then, if we had a vessel to take them?)

Hermione: Merlin, I just realized I never asked about last Thursday. Are you all right? Did Harry satisfy Malfoy?

Sorry, I should have asked before now.


By contrast, what I was going to say is that Bea's 10 months old today (see, Dora, I can keep track!).

I think she'll be on to words any day now, though Remus says he reckons she's still a ways off from really knowing what they mean. I dunno: Whenever any of the three of us have been away and come back within line-of-sight, she bounces on her toes, reaches out, smiles and says 'Ma!' or 'Da!' - indiscriminately, to be sure, but she doesn't say it when Kreacher's about, or to any of the patrons.

Beth came by the shop yesterday, as well, ostensibly to have a chat with Dora but really I think to find out if we'd followed her suggestion and applied for a muggleborn servant. Moony talked to her (I was Padfoot, of course) and we think she was pleased. She mentioned bringing some people round this weekend. To check out the operation, was the unmentioned implication.

Speaking of that, we put down that the cellar would be where we'll quarter the person (when, if it all works out as we hope, she'll actually sleep in a room upstairs). I've spent a little time this morning making it look a bit less like the scene of a monthly dog fight - though not anything beyond a meagre pallet, washbasin and an old orange crate for a dressing table.

All of which puts me in mind of Terry. Hermione, what do you hear from him, anything? We've not forgotten him, Merlin knows.

Justin's written to say he's travelling or else he'd be able to accept an invitation from your Ron, Molly and Arthur, to play Quidditch at yours. He's still seeing He's also said they're taking them to a camp but he doesn't believe it'll be the real thing (nor do I). Arthur, Bill, have you heard anything about this?

Well, at any rate, it sounds as if you lot at Hogwarts should have a relaxing holiday, with everyone out of the castle. Might be a good time to do some scouting along the coast?

Oh. And I heard from Terrie Taylor, too. She's had a boy and found another job. Sounds like it's in a private sector farm, still using muggle labourers but at least they're relatively decent to the poor buggers. It's in Bedford but she can bring the little fellow with her. Apparently there's provision for that sort of thing. Anyway, she wanted me to know that she's still interested in helping, if she can. She thought perhaps she might be able to traffic people through, if we needed it.

Well? What do you think of Davidson's suggestions?

I dunno why I was thinking they'd come up with a witch. You know, barmaid sort of thing. Could take care of Bea as well.

But I suppose there's no reason not to try for one of these lot, if there are no other ideas - or if we can't think of a good reason not to make the attempt.

Remus, about going for the London muggleborns: It's up to you, love. I can't remember what Snape told you about whether you can delay Wolfsbane by a night so you can take Polyjuice or how long afterward it'll be before the Wolfbane is safe. Only know that it's probably not wise to mix drinks.

Well, I thought the breakfast itself was rather good, personally. And the conversation.

Could have stood not to be interrupted by that Ministry bloke. Everything all right, Remus? Thought I heard Bea fussing a few minutes ago. Did she and Dora get off to sleep okay?

More importantly, how much did the official want before he'd go away again?

Let me know if I should come back across as Padfoot or take some of the emergency polyjuice to pose as Mrs Dribb if Bea needs looking after and the coast isn't clear yet.