The Not-So-Secret Diary of Bethan Black

The dog was tired. It had run for nearly 24 hours with only a few, short rests, in the rain and gusting winds. Despite the fact that it had now reached its destination, it still paused on the doorstep as if steeling itself for the final hurdle. Anyone watching closely would have seen the scruffy mongrel turn into a tall, dark haired man who knocked lightly on the door of the tiny, single-storey cottage, before quickly resuming the canine disguise.

The door opened. A weary-looking man whose hair was greying prematurely at the temples stood in the doorway and stared at the dog.

"Merlin..." the grey haired man whispered, looked suspiciously around as if expecting the dog to have been followed.

He stepped aside as the dog passed him by and quietly closed the door.

"Nope, sorry to disappoint...I am the next best thing though."

The dog had vanished and in its place stood the tall, dark haired fugitive who had knocked on the door, dripping a puddle of rainwater onto the threadbare carpet.

He was grinning at his joke, but the rest of his face didn't seem to share the mirth, it was grim and haunted.

"Sirius, you look like shit. What's happened?"

"I'll tell you my friend. That's why I'm here. But I'd like to get warm and dry first, if you don't mind."

"Of course, here, go in the kitchen, get those wet robes off, I'll get a blanket."

Sirius shuffled into the kitchen, shrugged off his wet clothes and wrapped himself in the blanket that his friend held out for him. The blanket looked old and scratchy, but felt soft and warm next to his skin.

The grey haired man made a pot of strong, black coffee and began carving up thick slices of bread. He set them on the table and watched as Sirius devoured them in minutes. He wasn't offended or disgusted by his friend's lack of manners, he was only concerned for the man that he had only recently begun to love again, like the brother he had once been.

Only when the dark haired man had eaten enough, drained his coffee cup and readied himself, did he begin to tell his long and amazing tale. He told of a task in a tournament, about a servant masquerading as a teacher, of a young boy taken against his will to a dark, gloomy place where he would watch the death of someone good and the re-birth of someone evil and he told of a duel, a most unusual duel, where the ghosts of murdered souls protected the living.

"Remus - he's back." He shivered, despite the warm blanket. "Fudge can't, or won't believe any of it. That's why I'm here - Dumbledore sent me to round up you, Arabella and Fletcher - the old crowd. I don't know what he's got in mind, but we're on our own this time, the Ministry's not going to help us."

Remus only nodded, to show he had listened and understood. He took a few minutes to gather his thoughts and make some decisions before he was ready to speak.

"I'll go to Fletcher. You can't go - he'd hex you as soon as look at you. I don't know where to look for Arabella, wouldn't even know where to begin, we'll have to see Dumbledore about that. We can't do anything tonight; it'll have to wait 'til morning. You should get some sleep. You can have my bed - I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No, don't worry - I'll take the sofa." He held up a hand to stop his friend's protests. "I haven't slept in a proper bed in so many years, Remus, I'm sure I wouldn't get any rest."

Remus consented and let the way to the small living room. Sirius looked around as he entered. There were grey curtains drawn at the window, an old, leather sofa in the middle of the room, and a small, paraffin lamp on a rickety table. The sparse furniture looked strange in front of the magnificent, ornate fireplace where a fire was blazing away in the grate. Over the mantel was hung a solitary picture. The girl in the photograph was smiling and waving, occasionally stopping to blow silent kisses to them. She looked young, happy and radiating, completely out of place in the dark, neglected room. Sirius was drawn to the picture as soon as he saw it, forgetting his tired and aching muscles.

"Beth?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Yes. It's the only one I keep of her now. That photo always was my favourite. I have others, but ...well, like I said, that was the best one. I have them stored away along with a few other bits and pieces that I kept hold of."

"May I?"

"Of course."

Sirius reached up and gingerly lifted the picture from its hook. He cradled it in his hands and sat down on the sofa.

"What else do you have?"

"Her wand, her diary."

"Her wand? It wasn't buried with her?"

"No, I'm sorry Sirius, but after you were captured the Ministry assumed that she was a Death-eater too, they took her wand, ran tests on it and on her body. By the time they decided she was an innocent victim, it was too late - we'd already buried her. Her friends fought for her, refused to believe she had been corrupted. I should have fought for her too, but I was a mess, I fell apart. I never doubted her though, not once.

"After a while, it was generally believed that you had had her killed because she'd found things out about you, or something..."

The two men sat silently for awhile, ashen-faced, staring at the black haired young woman in the photograph. She had never been beautiful or elegant like her mother had been, but Sirius was suddenly amazed by how pretty she was and wondered at himself for not realising that before.

"What else did you say you had? Her diary?"

Remus nodded, "Hang on..." He left the room and returned half a minute later, holding a small purple box. He sat down next to his friend, positioned the box on his knee and tapped it gently three times with his wand. The box doubled in size, made a series of funny clicks and whirring noises, than doubled again. With a final click, the lid of the box sprung open dramatically. Remus reached inside and brought out a thick, tatty looking book and handed it to his companion. The cover of the book was pale blue and had been decorated with hand drawn silvery runes. Sirius turned it over and over in his hands, then opened it up and read the first page.

The very secret diary of Bethan Black, aged 19 and ½.

And underneath in scarlet ink;

To my best cousin and favourite friend, Happy Christmas Beth, love Rhea

"Have you've read this?"

"It was all I had left of her." Remus explained, but he certainly wasn't going to apologise for it. "Besides, there's not much in there that she didn't actually tell me herself."

Sirius stared at the large, loopy handwriting of his cousin. He felt a strong desire to read the diary himself, to discover the person that his sister had been, the real person, but something was holding him back. He wasn't sure that he would like what he would learn.

As a young boy he had viewed his sister purely as an object for him to torment, bully and tease. As a student, he simply ignored her very existence in the hope that she would disappear, or regaled pretty sixth-formers with made-up tales of his little sister's tragic and untimely death, so they would fawn over him sympathetically. In his twenties, he was too busy battling evil, saving the world and entertaining attractive barmaids with fanciful tales of his own heroics, to have much concern about his sister's life. And in Azkaban his only coherent thoughts had been bent on death and revenge.

But now his mind was clear, his thoughts were moving away from the present and the horrifying uncertainty of the future, and were lodging themselves firmly in his past. Memories that he had long ago stored away in the deep recesses of his brain, to stop them from tormenting him, were now unravelling before him.

He turned over the first page. Just the one page, he told himself. Only one page, no more. The familiar handwriting of his sister filled the page in tiny, neat silver letters.

1^st January.

Rhea bought me this diary for Christmas. Its everlasting, so as the pages are filled in, more will appear at the back. She says that it is no ordinary diary and that when I begin to write in it, it will help me to clarify my thoughts and understand my actions. She even joked that it might help me to remember people's names better, although I think that's getting a little far-fetched. I'm sure the book is good, but not that good.

I haven't kept a diary since I was thirteen and that was just silly, childish ramblings. Maybe I won't fare much better now, as it is not as if my life is so incredibly exciting.

Even if I only use this diary to analyse my game, it might be worthwhile. I've got a trial for the 'Appleby Arrows' next week, but I'm not really holding out much hope. Rumour has it they're looking for a Keeper and a Chaser, but the interest is huge and they will be attracting players of much greater ability than me...

"I didn't know she'd tried-out for the Arrows." Sirius said, looking perplexed. "I take it she didn't get in?"

Remus shook his head slowly, reached over and turned a few pages in the book, stopping on...

10^th Jan

Try-outs went well, but I didn't get in. They said I was third choice for keeper, but they were only recruiting for reserves today, so the two guys that beat me have become first and second reserves. It's probably just as well, I mean, who'd want to be second reserve - you'd hardly ever get to play in a decent match. They gave me lots of good pointers and advice though, so it wasn't a wasted trip.

I was offered a trial with the 'Lincoln Lizards' yesterday, but I think I'll stay with the 'Hulk's' for now - Better the devil you know, and all that...

Sirius closed the book gently. He'd already read more than he'd intended and he was certain, well, almost certain, that he didn't want to read any more. It was intriguing though, how much of her life didn't he know about? How much had bothered to find out about her while she was alive? Apart from Rhea, he couldn't remember the names of any of her friends - was that because he'd never met them?

He felt tired now, suddenly weary again, so he told his friend, who began fussing around rooting out pillows and more blankets. Remus reverently hung the gold framed picture back on its nail and closed the purple box, hesitating thoughtfully before tucking it under his arm and carrying it out with him as he said "Goodnight".

When Sirius was finally alone he climbed into his makeshift bed and realised that he was still holding on to the small, blue diary. He stuffed it under his pillow, settled down and closed his eyes. The image of Bethan from the photograph swam before him. Why had he never gone to watch her play? He had always joked that she was a rubbish keeper; maybe he had said it so often he'd started to believe it. So, she hadn't been good enough for a professional team, but at least somebody had considered her good enough for a trial.

In his mind he saw a new picture of Bethan, her broom over her shoulder, wearing the sunshine yellow robes of Hufflepuff, though she was clearly not a schoolgirl now. Sirius wasn't sure what colour robes the adult Bethan had played in. Blue or purple, maybe, but he couldn't remember. He realised that what he was seeing couldn't have been a real event, more of an amalgamation of memory and imagination.

She celebrated a win with her team-mates, smiling and cheering, then looked up to see Remus Lupin hurrying over to her, grinning from ear to ear. He swept her up in a hug, robes billowing around them and gazed proudly into her eyes.

The image faded as Sirius fell asleep, to be gradually replaced by the darker, haunting dreams that were more familiar to him.