Journalling for Dummies

Sunday, 10:00pm, Dec. 1st

I cannot believe I am doing this. No, scratch that; I cannot believe Albus is making me do this.

I suppose it seems fitting to him, in all his slightly juvenile humour, that I should be reduced to doing something so inane. 'Let the punishment fit the crime,' indeed; very well. If he wants me to create and keep an infernal diary, then that is what he shall have. And if he wishes to read it later, then he shall be welcome to do so; if he finds it offensive, so much the better, at least from my punitive standpoint.

Now, given the situation and my proclivities, one would think that Albus was aware that I am perfectly capable of producing such drivel on my own; however, for my first entry at least, he has given me a specific subject: to write about that which landed me in such a humiliating situation.

That, at least, is easy. A conjunctivitis curse, followed by a perfectly executed musculus congelo and finished up with a petrificus totalus, which was necessary because even with his muscles frozen, Black was still trying to gnaw my ankles. Now, THAT is a memory worth preserving.

Finis.

---

Tuesday, 1:00am, Dec. 3rd

I had hoped that the passing of time would change Albus' mind on this, but it seems to have only made him more adamant; therefore, in deference to his request, I shall continue to keep this infernal journal. Let it never be said that my loyalty for Albus Dumbledore wavers.

It is now one o'clock in the morning; Monday has come to an inglorious end, and I have absolutely nothing of interest to report. I am tired; each successive year produces pupils with worse essays than the year before - with, in fact, no more than a passing acquaintance with their own native language - and I, as teacher, have the tiresome job of telling them so. More's the pity that so few of them take correction well; but I suppose arrogance must come as a course of nature with 'courage so true.'

As for tomorrow, once again, I have nothing planned beyond my duties at school. Perhaps I am the only ex-Death Eater in existence who suffers from the lack of a social life, but it seems that since I have begun this pitiful journal I have been forced to look my hermitage more closely than I like. I shall have to remember to thank Albus for this distinctly pleasant exp

That, dear diary, is an inkblot. It is there because I was startled in mid-thought by a noise in my classroom, which proved to be none other than Longbottom attempting to steal aconite from my store cupboard.

This will be dealt with immediately.

Finis.

---

Tuesday, 10:00am, Dec. 3rd

Longbottom confessed in tears. It seems there was an unhappy joke played on the boy; he was told by the Weasley twins that their sister, Ginny, had been given a love potion by Draco Malfoy and that the only cure would be a mixture of their own creation using the aconite SOMEONE would have to steal from my cupboard. Sadly, Potter is still in the hospital wing and was unable to assist; and Longbottom, who is smitten with Miss Weasley for some unknown reason, volunteered to help.

His confession helped to save him; no points have been taken from Longbottom, but he has been given detention to teach him not to believe such absurd things without going to a higher source to check. The Weasley Terrors, on the other hand, have been given detentions and fifty points has been taken from their house.

They left my office looking alternately miserable and defiant; McGonagall left looking disappointed - as if, somehow, she had expected something other from the people in her house.

Slytherins would not have done this; but then, Slytherins have never felt the need to hide what they are. If you wish to find deception, trickery, dishonesty, look not to the Slytherins: look to the Gryffindors.

Gryffindors steal and lie with utter calm, most bravely cheating their way through life while appearing to be the heroes. Gryffindors run boldly into the face of danger, never once thinking how it will affect other people - rather not unlike one Sirius Black, come to think of it.

This is nothing I have not said before; but as always, Albus turns a blind eye to their faults, seeing fit instead to award them points for the grand feat of being extremely lucky. Life is unfair, as Albus himself is wont to remind me, and he agrees that real life will not treat them so nicely. But even given that, there seems to be no one at this school save myself who cares to teach them this while they are still young.

It is true; life is unfair.

Finis.

---

Wednesday, 12:00am, Dec. 4th

God help me, I cannot wait until this term is over. It was not enough to have Potter out of the hospital wing and back in my class; nor was it enough to have my own students doing so very poorly in the current house competition. No, to top things off, I have been given Longbottom and the Weasley's for their detention.

I know Albus is laughing at me. When he reads this, perhaps he'll laugh some more.

Saturday I am going to deal with the Weasleys detention; Tuesday, I will deal with Longbottom's. And God help anyone else who bothers me badly enough to earn another anytime before the end of the month.

Finis.

---

Friday, 9:00pm, Dec. 6th

I have fallen behind by one day, and somehow, Albus was aware. In response, he has informed me that the brief account I gave of my experience with Black at the beginning of the week was not acceptable, and that I must now provide full details.

Perhaps I will make my students do this, after all. It is considerably more laborious than I first believed.

On the night of December first, Sunday past, several of the Order of the Phoenix members were having a small discussion regarding the young Mr. Potter. The conversation itself was civil enough - at least on my end - and then somehow, the subject turned instead to Remus Lupin.

"Harry wishes you'd stayed," Black said, swirling his firewhiskey.

"I know," replied Remus, and stared at the fire. He was very, very quiet.

"You never did tell me why you quit, you know," Sirius added, and threw back the rest of his drink. He'd already had quite a lot of it.

"You know why, Sirius - they found out I'm a werewolf," Remus replied quietly, weariness bending his back; in the dim firelight, he looked far older than he was.

"No, I mean - how they found out." Sirius was feeling conversational; sitting up, he scanned around for his half-empty bottle.

"Oh. Well... word got out, didn't it?"

Sirius frowned. "Come on, Moony, you can do better than that." He threw his head back and finished his firewhiskey.

Remus sighed and rubbed his face; he, too, had had a lot of firewhiskey, but it affected him differently. "I think I need to go to bed, Sirius. I have a long day tomorrow."

"No you don't, you don't even have a job!" Sirius exclaimed in tones of hurt, as though he thought he were being abandoned.

Remus flinched slightly; Sirius didn't seem to notice.

"Come on, Sirius; I have things I have to do, and so do you."

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, and then, with abominably bad timing, Severus Snape walked in the door. Shutting it behind him, he frowned at the smell of firewhiskey and the people occupying the room.

"I need Molly Weasley," he said. "Do either of you know where she is?"

"And why would we tell you, Snape?" Sirius said, eyeing him as though Severus's very existence were a personal challenge.

Severus favored him with a look that said volumes about his opinion of Sirius' intelligence. "Because, Black, last I checked the two of us were actually working on an assignment together to attempt to stop he-who-must-not-be-named from taking over the world - although I suppose that's easy for you to forget. The job of surrogate house-elf is certainly time consuming."

Sirius stood immediately, knocking over his empty bottle of whiskey, and Remus leapt to his feet as well, standing between them.

"Severus - she's upstairs, taking care of Buckbeak," Remus offered by way of a peace treaty, and Severus nodded at him.

"Thank you, Remus," he said, and, ignoring Sirius, swept toward the stairs. If he was aware of the death look Sirius was giving him, he paid it no mind.

"Fucker," Sirius spit the moment the door was shut, and Severus heard him. But Severus only smiled; Black had lost his temper: that meant Severus had won.

---

The meeting with Molly Weasley went quickly enough; it was simply a matter of passing on information that her husband needed in the ministry, taken from Lucius Malfoy, and too sensitive to deliver any way other than in person. On his way back down, Severus could hear someone arguing.

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" Black was hissing, and there was the sound of breaking glass. "He's a fucking liar! He's probably selling us ALL out!"

"Sirius, please - "

"Don't interrupt!" A thump; perhaps Black had hit the table. "It wouldn't surprise me if that vile sack of shit is the reason you got fired!"

And then there was silence; the heavy kind of silence, the one that only comes when something too true for its own good has been said.

"...he is the reason, isn't he?"

"No... no, Sirius, it isn't that at all - "

"Don't try to lie to me! HE'S the one who let this slip! You've been hiding it from me!"

"Sirius - "

"That's it." Chair legs scraping against wood, and the sound of Black rustling for something - probably his wand.

Severus sighed. It was no use waiting in the hall; Black would be coming after him any moment, and if they had a confrontation there, they'd draw everyone else into it. Slipping his hand into his pocket and wrapping it tightly around his wand, he waited until he could hear Sirius coming for the door, and then he opened it.

Sirius stopped suddenly, startled.

"You know, that's the problem with you, Black," Severus said softly, shutting the door behind him. "You never think about how your actions are going to affect other people."

"You... son... of... a... BITCH!" Sirius hissed, and raised his wand. Severus did nothing. "How DARE you come in here and try to lecture ME!"

"I must, Sirius. Unless you really think I should have let you come at me in the hall and wake the whole house." Sirius paused, eyes narrowed, hand trembling, and Severus knew he had him. Nearly whispering, he pressed on. "You've always had a habit of forgetting the other person, haven't you, Black?"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Black shouted, and his mother's portrait in the hall began howling at the top of her lungs. Severus sighed.

Remus tried to get in between them again. "Stop this! Both of you, STOP this!"

Neither paid him any attention.

Sirius was panting, his cheeks flushed by firewhiskey, his hand unsteady; his mother's screeching seemed to have unnerved him. "You... you don't... you don't even...."

"You never even thought about what he'd feel like the next day, did you?" Severus whispered. "Never thought how he'd feel the next day, waking up to find that he'd killed - to find that he was covered in blood because YOU sent him fresh meat - "

Sirius roared something blasphemous and mostly unintelligible, and tried to curse him; but Severus was ready.

Step one: knock Remus Lupin out of the way, hard enough that he could not possibly interfere.

Step two: knock out Black's vision - because then, whatever curses he used, he'd be shooting wild.

Step three: paralyze.

Over the past fourteen years, Severus had been practicing his duelling skills, briefly under the tutelage of the Dark Lord himself. Over the past fourteen years, Sirius had mostly been in Azkaban and not practicing anything at all. It was an easy battle; Severus won.

Remus finally recovered enough to pull out his own wand and shout a quick expelliarmus at Severus, knocking his wand to the floor, but it was really unnecessary at that point. Severus had done what he intended; Black was defeated, humiliated, and uninjured. Smiling at Remus, he raised his hands and waited for calm to return as more members of the Order came stumbling through the kitchen door.

Say what you like about the Dark Lord; he was utterly, completely correct about one thing: power is everything.

Power removes pain.

Power removes fear.

Power carries one to glory and leaves one always on the high ground.

Power is what matters; and in that moment, for one of the few times in my life, I had power over Sirius Black.

I had power over the one who taught me how to hate.

Say what you like, Albus, diary, conscience, God, whomever; this is what I have believed, and this is how I survive. There is no other way.

Finis.

{ to be continued }