I walked into the tiny three room apartment, my fingers gracing dust-ridden tables and chairs. I saw a familiar wood-burning stove, and as I looked into one of the bedrooms, I saw a soft bed I seemed to remember. It was all too much. Rushing into that room and onto the bed, I broke into tears.
I lay there, wrapping my hands around the pillow, when I felt something underneath it. A book. I pulled it out, wiped my eyes, and looked at it. I opened it to the first page and gasped, open-mouthed.
There, in front of me, was a picture of four boys. Four happy, friendly looking boys. One with messy hair that wouldn’t stay down, one who looked a bit ragged, one fat, ratty looking boy, and one with eyes black as night. I recognized all of them. The Marauders: James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black, were right in front of me.
I turned the pages and saw pictures that struck my heart. One was a wedding photo of James and Lily, Harry’s parents. The next was a picture of Sirius holding baby Harry. My mind was moving about one hundred miles an hour. I remembered these pictures, and yet I had never seen them before. What was going on?
As I gazed at the pictures, memories of two men started to float into my head. Not my two men, not the one with beautiful green eyes or the one with flaming red hair, not, they were of two different men. One with eyes black as night, and one who always looked slightly disheveled. And I knew their names. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.
‘“Sirius Black, one of the last surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix,” he said, holding out his hand to me.’
‘“I brought you a present, Hermy,” Lupin said, after a warm embrace with Sirius. I almost laughed out loud when he handed me a new pair of jeans, exactly my size.’
These memories baffled me. Sirius wasn’t one of the last surviving memories of the Order of the Phoenix, he was dead! And why would Lupin bring me jeans and call me Hermy? The only person, if you could even call him that, who called me Hermy was Hagrid’s, shall we say charming, half brother Grawp.
More memories were pushing forward, but I blocked them out as best I could, and began to search the rooms again. I went into the other bedroom, and noticed a slightly lumpier bed. I looked under its pillow, and found another book. This one nearly stopped my heart. The cover read:
The Diary of Sirius Black
Or:
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love…..Something
I couldn’t help myself. I plopped down on the lumpy bed, tucked my hair behind my ears, and began to flip through the book.
The first few entries dealt with the goings-on in Sirius’s seventh year at Hogwarts. I was able to gather that some love-struck girl had given it to him as a Christmas present. A few weeks later, I noticed, he name stopped appearing in the diary.
I saw the entry for James and Lily’s wedding day, the one for the day Harry was born. I flipped past a few others, Harry’s christening, his first birthday party, when I finally came to an entry that helped me on my search for truth. It was dated November 10.
Dear Diary,
I haven’t been able to write in you since Harry’s first birthday. It isn’t for wont of things to write though. Through the past two months, my life has changed more than I ever thought possible. I lost my best friend because of betrayal by another friend, I saw the rise of the most evil wizard ever, I was forced to go into hiding, and everything culminated last night with the death of, quite possibly, the greatest wizard ever, Albus Dumbledore. I won’t fill you in on the gory details, for they are too depressing to recount again. Remus and I have both found safe hiding place, and with a little luck we’ll get to that creep Wormtail before he can get to us.
I laughed for the first time in weeks when I pulled out this diary. I remember when Susan gave it to me; she thought she had found me the perfect gift. The title was already inscribed with everything but what I learned to love. I suppose she expected me to add her name, instead of.....Something, but I couldn’t resist.
And now that title seems more appropriate than anything. There is only one person left who I truly care about, and he is in just as much danger as I. The chance of both of us surviving the wicked power-hungriness of our “old friend” is slim, if none. So, what do I have left to love? There must be something, but I just don’t know what. Maybe this diary can show me.
