The Black Forest or the Secret Diary of Prof. S. Quirrell

July 18

Levin revealed to me that we took the troll path to avoid a pack of werewolves who were well known to her, even though there was no full moon. Their human forms were no better than their wolven ones, she explained, and that it was best to pass by them altogether.

"I would have liked to meet them. Perhaps one of them attacked me —"

"No, you would not like to meet them! Were-peoples live a strange half-life, whether they are sang ‘solut, sang ‘mol or nici’ magie. None of their kind understands the werewolf. They only have each other."

"Hence the pack."

"Yes. They feel safe together." She smiled, but sadly. "They kill together. They live by their own law and code — and it is not always friendly to your kind — or to the nici’ magie."

"Are these wolves registered?"

"Maybe in England, they register. In Eastern Europe…" she shrugged.

Our encounter yesterday with the trolls has made me bolder with Levin than I would be normally and it has made her softer in her replies. How long this will last, I can’t guess, but I must use it while I have it.

"Levin, why did you choose this life? Your people aren’t even supposed to know we exist, let alone that the dark forces in these woods do. But you know them more intimately than Todorov or Charles or anyone else I’ve met here. Why?"

She kept silent for a long time, lost in thought. Then she answered my question with a question. "Have you ever killed?"

"Once, yes. I was teaching myself curses when I was thirteen and I accidentally blew up my sister’s ferret." I could still see the little splotches of blood and fur on the table, all that remained of Narcissa’s pet. I shouldn’t have cried — it was for that and not the killing that had me locked in my room for a week. What was left of the poor creature made a flattering collar for my sister and she wore it often enough to remind me of my failure. "I never ended another life again, even by accident. I don’t have the stomach for it."

Levin traveled on, mulling my answer. "I have, many times more than I would reveal. There are many shades of red on these hands. But it is my nature to kill. For survival, yes, but also for pleasure. Because I like to, because it is right for me. It is like instinct. It is like breathing."

I don't reply for some time. Diana, this huntress is not. Finally - "Did they force you out, the nici' magie?"

A long sigh, but no answer. Or perhaps the exhalation was the answer.

"It is always the same, verita mic. You will never understand."

Never understand what? The desire for murder? It is better I shouldn't. Her? She's my guide, not my lover - understanding Levin is neither necessary nor desirable. The darkness? That I won't. There is too much at stake.

Q

July 22

Levin has stopped speaking to me again, the incident with the troll no doubt forgotten.

We are passing through the mountainous region of Serbia. There is unrest in this place, even in the non-magic, of whom we see very little. Hatred, anger and blame for thousand year old deeds and deaths. I've never been so uncomfortable in a place before; it sends a chill through my spine.

We passed by an abandoned monastery where vampires are said to lie. If Levin were speaking to me, I'm sure she would explain who they were, where they came from and why there was a gypsy cart out in front of the crumbling facade.

Probably just a nici' magie Romany, hanging garlic or crosses. There was plenty of that to be seen in the woods surrounding the ruin.

Logically, why garlic is repellant to the soul-less creatures is debatable. The strong smell? The taste it leaves in the blood? Non-magic medicine and traditional herbology do reveal that garlic is beneficial to the heart. Perhaps it thins the blood or changes its consistency, making it poisonous to the vampire - or at least unpalatable.

To be safe, I took a few cloves from a peasant’s cross on the roadside. Perhaps it will keep Levin away as well the local undead.

Not that I need it for that. I myself am apparently enough to keep her at bay.

Q

July 23

I hate mountains.

Q

July 25

Ditto.

Q

July 27

Ditto Ditto.

Q

July 29

Ditto Ditto Ditto.

I hate mountains.

Q

July 31

Levin spoke to me today, at first merely to comment on my observance of the Boy Who Lived's birthday. In the Defenses realm, this holiday is of special importance as there is magic in young Harry Potter we can only hope to understand and harness. When he comes of age - next year, in fact - we'll commence studying him up close.

I magicked a birthday cake and chanted a few protection spells, as we in the Defenses have been taught to perform. I used to watch my former master say the same and learned his specific charms: one for mind, one for body and one for spirit, woven together and given wings so they might find their mark.

"Harry Potter? Bai't' Locuind? You remember this day?"

"Yes. It's almost a holiday among my kind." I offered her a piece of cake.

She took it, a little suspiciously. "The little boy destroyed a powerful wizard."

"A dark wizard and an evil man." Talking of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has always felt strange to me, as if he never existed but on the fringes of my consciousness. Still in school when he was defeated, I remember little more than the upheaval he caused among my classmates. The light and the dark were bitterly opposed to one another that year, accusations were constantly flying in the halls.

Thank the gods for Dumbledore. Only through his healing were we able to go on. Without him, Hogwart's would have been destroyed.

Of course, the Quirrell's remained above the fray. If Mother knew anything of non-magic history, she would have declared our family Switzerland, knowing full well that if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had won, we would have followed him.

Neutrality is safe and a haven for cowards, someone once said. For cowards and for diplomats, for my mother was the latter. How else could she have managed to marry one sister into a family of Death Eaters and another into the Aurors?

Levin finished her cake and held out her hand for another piece. "You should become a baker, verita mic."

"Perhaps I will, after this. I've a special love for sweets spells."

"And a talent for them." She genuinely grinned and I thought for a moment we might be friendly again. But such is not meant to be.

"I wonder what would have happened if Bai't' Locuind had died."

"Terrible things, to be sure."

"They would not have affected you. Sang 'solut would have gone on, as they always have."

"He could have destroyed your people."

"Let him! What have my people done for me?"

Her nails raked my cheek as she slapped me and I felt hot blood and chocolate on my face.

"You will not speak of what you do not understand. Death is what they deserve and I would die myself to bring it to them!"

My heart freezes to write her words, seeing her black eyes blazing red. I close my own and I can feel them on me still, burning. Murdering.

"There are many shades of red on these hands."

Including my own. Remember that. Remember.

Q

Aug. 1

After dragons in flight, the most beautiful sight on earth is a flock will o' the wisps passing through the forest at night. It's odd to see them at this elevation (they tend to be swamp creatures, so much so that the non-magic have taken to dismissing them as "swamp gas"), but there they were all the same. Just after dark, while Levin and I walked on in search of a suitable stopping place, perhaps one hundred Wills swept by us on their way north Levin knows the land too well to be enchanted by their chatter and seduced off our path, but as they surrounded us, she took off her pack and slid down to her knees

"As if the stars were laid on top of stars," she said out loud, but not to me. "Hundreds more than are known to me."

I joined her on the ground and understood. The air was lit like daylight with tiny pinpricks of blue and white and luminous balls, circling one another like living solar systems. Dancing and playing, enjoying themselves and the night. After they moved on, Levin and I remained where we lay for another quarter of an hour, watching the leftover stars — the heavenly ones — as if they were no longer enough.

We walked on for another kilometer then made camp.

Q