July 12th 1968

Dear Diary

It has been a trying day. Being a Friday, I had hoped things would run smoothly and I’d be able to leave work early, but, alas, no. Just as I was clearing out my in tray, Cornelius Fudge called me in and dictated another four letters. Yes, Diary, FOUR letters. They weren’t even that important, and could easily have waited for Monday, but when has that ever stopped Fudge. Then he asked me to personally deliver the letters (why he can’t use the inter- departmental postal system, I don’t know) and I was told to wait for replies. As one of these letters was for Bartemius Crouch who was very busy dealing with something important in the Auror department (unlike silly Fudge whose most pressing problem is how many paperclips he can string together), I was left waiting for a long time. I didn’t get back to my desk before six, and by then Fudge had decided to leave. He left me a really rather rude note telling me he had a pressing engagement in the country and couldn’t hang around waiting for me.

Pressing engagement, my wand! Cornelius Fudge has a cottage in the country. That’s where he was going!!!

Anyway, I made up my mind. I’m putting in for a transfer. I can’t work for this whining gasbag any longer.

The only nice thing that happened to me today was someone holding the lift door open for me as I was carrying some sheaves of parchment. No idea what his name is, and he looked very young, but it’s lovely to see that chivalry isn’t dead.


August 9th 1968

Dear Diary

Hooray!! My transfer came through. Oh, Diary, I am the newly appointed secretary to the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. I can’t wait!

Ughh! And Fudge didn’t even get me a proper leaving present - just a very small and rather wilted pot plant. I don’t know why he even bothered.


August 19th 1968

Dear Diary

My new boss is a Mr Perkins. He’s sweet, but was rather boring on the subject of camping. I tried to show an interest, but it’s very hard keeping your mouth clamped shut when you’re trying not to yawn. Then he asked me why I wanted to work for him.

Oh, Diary, I’m afraid I had to fib and tell him it’s because I found Muggles fascinating, when between you and me the truth is that it’s the only way to get away from gasbag Fudge. Mr Perkins seemed to swallow it, though, and smiled at me.

There’s one other person in the department. I vaguely remember him from school, although he was a few years younger than me, but someone that tall and with such bright red hair is hard to forget. His name is Arthur Weasley, and to my delight, he is the person who held the lift door open for me a few weeks ago. It will be such a wonderful change working with two polite people, rather than horrible old Fudge.

I left the pot plant on my desk. Hopefully it will die soon and I can throw it away.


August 20th 1968

Dear Diary

My pot plant has been revived! It’s actually quite pretty and has lots of rather sweet little yellow flowers. I thought they were pansies, but Arthur told me it’s a primrose plant. He smiled at me and said he hoped I didn’t mind, but he’d been treating it with a gardening potion that his dad invented.

What a sweet boy he is!


August 21st 1968

Dear Diary

The primroses are flourishing. I moved the pot towards the centre of the desk and towards Arthur’s so he can get the benefit, too. He seemed to appreciate that because he smiled again. I was going to ask more about the potion, but then Mr Perkins came in and handed something called a battery to Arthur. Both of them seem to think they’re fascinating. I tell you, Diary, they’re obsessed with Muggles. I don’t think it’s altogether healthy.


August 23rd 1968

Dear Diary

Today was quite interesting. Mr Perkins brought in a Muggle artefact. He said it was a plug, a device Muggles poke into a wall when they want to make things like tellyfishes work. Arthur, rather predictably, thought it was fascinating. Leaving it on the table, he examined it from every angle, his nose almost quivering with excitement.

“The ingenuity of these Muggles. They’re quite marvellous, don’t you think Malafda?�

I decided not to correct him on my name; sweet boy will only be embarrassed.


28th August 1968

Dear Diary

My primrose plant is so beautiful these days. Arthur instructed me on its care today, telling me I should pinch off the flower heads as soon as they start to die. Then he added a small drop of his secret potion, and we watched as more flowers bloomed.

He gave me a very mischievous smile, Diary, and I felt quite giggly. Then, just as I was about to offer to make Arthur a cup of tea, Mr Perkins called me into his office to take dictation. When I returned Arthur had gone to lunch. He was busy on a mission for the rest of the afternoon (checking out exploding toilet seats, I think), so I never said thank you.

Ah well, there is always tomorrow.


29th August 1968

Dear Diary

There was rather a to-do in our department today. Bartemius Crouch, Cornelius Fudge and Mr Perkins were huddled together for at least an hour discussing something. When I took in a tray of tea and Ginger Newt biscuits, I caught the words ‘Statute of Secrecy’. Unfortunately they all clammed up when they saw me. I pretended I hadn’t heard anything, and set down the tray on the table. I have, Diary, long learned the art of reading upside down. The memo in front of Mr Perkins said something about flowers in a Muggle garden. I tried to read more, but at that point, Fudge jogged his tea and spilt it all over the tea. Really, that man is a bumbling fool. How he heads a department, I don’t know. He is an idiot!

I backed out the room but left the door ajar so I might be able to hear some more details. Unfortunately for me, Bartemius Crouch made sure the door was fully closed, so I couldn’t hear anything else.

Arthur was a little late back from lunch today and had a yellow primrose in his robe lapel. I was telling him what I’d overheard, but he seemed distracted and didn’t reply. He was smiling dreamily, too, but did chuckle most jovially when I said thank you for reviving my magnificent primroses.

“Think nothing of it, Malafda!� he exclaimed, then started to talk about flowers and what a delight they were at this time of year.

I nodded, then bent back over my work. Arthur was in a strange mood for the rest of the afternoon. He’s usually so conscientious, but he today couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. I ended up going through his in tray and finishing most of his work for him. He was really ever so grateful and made me a cup of tea. He even remembered that I took three sugars!

He is lovely and only three years younger than I am.


August 30th 1968

Dear Diary

Oh, Diary! Today something rather strange happened. The Daily Prophet ran a story about Muggle gardens sprouting enormous blooms out of season. They suspect magic, of course, and are casting aspersions on every department. Mr Perkins called both Arthur and me into his office and gave us the inside story. Apparently, there have been narcissi the size of oranges, and daffodils as tall as front doors in some places. The Muggle newspapers are going mad for the story and Mr Crouch is furious. He can’t believe the story made the papers.

As we left the office, I saw Arthur biting his lip and the tips of his ears were turning pink. He was very quiet for the rest of the afternoon, not even enthusing when Mr Perkins showed him the inside of a radio.

I wanted to ask him what the matter was, but he left the office early, muttering something about an appointment.


September 2nd 1968

Dear Diary

Arthur was in the office when I got there. This was most unusual as he usually hurries in late, with his hat askew and his hair ruffled. Today he looked very smart, even his shoes were shining. He gave me such a haunted look as I walked in, that my heart dropped. I immediately made him a cup of tea and encouraged him to tell me what the problem was.

He gulped his tea, then in a hushed voice said, “Oh Malafda, I think I’ve landed myself in big trouble. It’s about those enormous blooms.�

He gulped some more, so to show some sympathy, I squeezed his hand and told him to tell me everything.

“It was my potion,� he said. “I sprayed it on a few Muggle gardens near where I live.�

Oh my word, Diary. Poor, poor Arthur. He’s made such a silly mistake and can’t really explain why, except that he says he wanted to cheer people up. That is so like him, always trying to be helpful and kind. His heart is in the right place, he just didn’t think - at all - about the Statute of Secrecy.

Arthur bit his lip again and told me he’d come in especially early to confess. (That explains the smart attire, Diary).

I patted his hand and assured him everything would be all right. No one needed to know about the potion and as long as there were no further enormous blooms, then everyone would soon forget.

At that it wasn’t just his ears that went pink. Poor Arthur Weasley’s face flushed a brilliant shade of red. He was fumbling so much he snapped his Ginger Newt into several pieces.

And then he confessed that he’d sprayed another five gardens in the same village.

“They’ll be blooming in two days time,� he wailed. “Oh, Malafda. What am I going to do?�

I frowned in concern and told him we’d think of something. Arthur smiled gratefully as I squeezed his hand and then cleared up the crumbs he’d dropped on the carpet.


September 3rd 1968

Dear Diary

I hardly know where to start! This has been a most exciting night! Arthur and I went to the Muggle village, broke into the gardens and watched as the flowers he’d sprayed, emerged through the ground. Oh, Diary, it was lovely to watch as the petals unfolded, each flower the size of a teapot. I became quite giggly at the sight, and Arthur was beside himself with glee. Then, sadly, we had to cast Shrinking Charms on them all, and sighed together as they diminished before our eyes.

As we left the last garden, Arthur stepped towards the village green. Under a sliver of moonlight, I could see a glisten of tears on his cheek as he gazed at a flowerbed full of primroses.

“Such beautiful flowers,� he said and sighed.

“But the wrong time of year,� I reminded him gently.

“Yes,� he replied. He raised his wand then faltered. As he half-turned his face, I caught a glimmer of a smile. Instead of blasting the flowerbed, he simply gathered up all the primrose plants. “I can’t bear to destroy these. They’re such a pretty colour.�

We left soon after that. Arthur said he was going to find a good home for the primroses and with his hands full, started to Apparate. But just before he left, he pecked me very gently on the cheek and thanked me.

He kissed me. I can feel his soft lips on my cheek still, Diary. Arthur Weasley, the sweetest, kindest man in the world kissed me.

I shall ask him to lunch tomorrow. I shall wear my prettiest robes and let him talk about plugs. We have so much in common ... and he kissed me!!!


September 4th 1968

Dear Diary

Arthur was late again, dear muddle-headed thing. I made him a cup of tea as soon as he walked in and he smiled gratefully. I was about to ask him if he cared to share a sandwich with me at lunchtime when we were interrupted by one of the new secretaries from Personnel with a message for Mr Perkins.

Arthur flushed when she appeared. I’m not surprised. I remembered her - very clearly - from Hogwarts. Molly Prewett was always loud and rather too flirty, in my opinion. Although I suppose some men are attracted to the fast sort. Arthur, though, kept his head down and wouldn’t even look at her, despite her casting interested looks his way.

When she’d gone, I broached the subject of lunch again. Unfortunately, he was meeting his brother, Bilius, which was a shame, but it’s nice to see Arthur has a proper pride in his family.


September 5th 1968

Dear Diary

Arthur wasn’t in today. Mr Perkins said he’d sent an owl saying he was ill. Poor darling! He must have caught a chill when we were out.

The day was very dull without him. I deadheaded my primroses, and attended to my work, but without his gentle smile, there was nothing at all interesting about the day.

If he’s still away by Monday, then I shall take him some chicken soup. That’s always good for chills.


September 9th 1968

Dear Diary

Arthur Weasley is an idiot!

I can’t believe I ever thought he was sweet. He’s the same as all the others, taken in by a pretty face.

You’ll never guess where he was, Diary, when he was pretending to be ill. Yes, I say pretending, although LYING is probably more appropriate.

UGHHH!!!! He strolled into the office today, whistling some irritating tune and with a sickly smile on his face. There was a primrose in his lapel again, and I smiled when I saw it. Then I noticed something - or rather someone. Tripping into the office after him, hanging on his arm and simpering, was the horrible Molly Prewett.

Except she’s not Molly Prewett anymore!

Oh, no! The foolish boy has married her! They ELOPED! I smiled at them (through gritted teeth I assure you, Diary) and then she started giggling. She perched on the edge of Arthur’s desk and started to tell me all about it. Apparently, Arthur turned up on her doorstep and presented her with a basketful of primroses (I think we know where he got them from). They’re her favourite flower.

Not that I’m at all interested. I pretended to listen as she gabbled on and on about how she was so ‘enchanted’ that she immediately agreed to be his wife. Then they Apparated to Gretna Green.

How romantic!

Molly then admired my primrose plant. With admirable restraint, I picked it up, but instead of throwing it at the duplicitous Weasley, I gave it to her - saying it was a wedding present.

The simpering girl was gushingly grateful. Arthur looked happy, too.

I’m leaving the department. Bartemius Crouch is after an experienced secretary and he’s a very proper man. It will be a pleasure to work for someone held in high esteem by everyone in the Ministry, instead of this

Ridiculous!

Idiotic!!

SHAMBLES!!!

Of a department!!!!

And HE STILL CANNOT REMEMBER MY NAME!!!!!!!!!