Chronicles
Part 2
Minisinoo

5. Black Blood

"I knew Mundungus wasn't trustworthy!"

For the moment, Minerva McGonagall was ignoring Molly Weasley's indignation, her attention focused instead on Cedric whilst Sirius tended the cuts on his palm and thumb from the alleyway glass.  "Exactly where were you all day?" McGonagall demanded.  "And why did you go to Little Whinging for an unscheduled visit?"  She sounded downright suspicious, but Cedric knew some adults even in the Order remained dubious about him because he'd been less than forthcoming over what had happened in June.  Nonetheless he hadn't expected to be grilled regarding his own earlier whereabouts, and felt panicked.

"I just went into London.  To a bookstore."

"Which one?"

He froze, then realized McGonagall likely knew no more about the exact whereabouts of 'gay London' than he had.  "It's on Old Brompton Road," he said.  "I don't remember the name."  That was even true -- he didn't.

"Give the lad a break, Minerva," Lupin said, laying one hand on Cedric's shoulder.  "He saved Harry's life."

"After endangering it in the first place," McGonagall retorted, brow raised.

"That was Mundungus," Lupin corrected, "who was supposed to be on guard."

At the moment, it was just the adults in the kitchen with Cedric:  McGonagall, Molly Weasley, Lupin and Sirius.  Sirius had taken him in there to tend to his hand while Hermione and Ron had taken charge of Harry in order to explain things.  Now, further conversation was halted when the kitchen door opened and Arthur Weasley ushered in Alastor Moody.  Cedric wasn't sure if he were relieved by that, or more terrified still.  Since Cedric and Krum had rescued him, Moody had been steadfastly on Cedric's side, but at the moment, his expression showed great annoyance and he shot Cedric an indecipherable look even as Sirius finished the bandaging and tapped it with his wand to Seal it closed.  "What took you so long?" McGonagall asked.

"Break-in at the Ministry too -- apparently coincided with the attack on Potter.  They're still recovering over there.  Shacklebolt will be along when he gets a chance."

The other faces in the room wore frank shock, right along with Cedric's.  "They weren't after -- " But McGonagall cut off with a sharp look at Cedric.  "We'll discuss this later.  For now, we need to resolve the issue of just what Mr. Diggory thought he was doing taking Harry out of the house after dark."

Before Cedric could open his mouth to reply, Moody cut in, "Just be glad he was with the lad."

"Harry might not have been attacked -- "

"No, he might not -- but then again, Potter could've wandered out on his own with nobody around."

"None of which might have happened if we'd brought him here to begin with," Sirius broke in, although he'd heretofore not spoken.

"You know perfectly well that he had to go back to the Dursleys'."

"Why?" Cedric found himself asking.  He hadn't intended to speak up but that question had been bothering him too.  "I mean, nobody's ever explained it to me -- nor to him.  Why not just tell him instead of guarding him secretly?  If it were me, I'd rather be told."

That drew a pursed-lipped expression from Molly, a slight smile from Lupin, and a sharp nod from Sirius.  Moody narrowed his eyes.  McGonagall spoke.  "Mr. Diggory, I do appreciate your questions, please understand, but as you're not a full member of the Order -- "

"Then make me one," he said, surprising himself at his own forwardness tonight.  "I know my mum doesn't want me to be in it, but I'm of age -- have been for almost a year.  I faced a dragon, and mer-people, and a sphinx.  I know it was all controlled -- somewhat -- but I faced them.  And I faced Barty Crouch, Jr., too."

"Cedric," Molly Weasley began, "your mother and father -- "

" -- want to wrap me in cotton wool, Mrs. Weasley.  And I understand why, but I want to help.  I'm old enough to make that choice."

"You're still a student!" she snapped.  "There are dangers to this of which you've no idea!  Your mother isn't here at the moment to speak, so I'll speak for her.  I know exactly what Fiona would say and the answer's 'no.'"

"I disagree," Moody broke in.  "I think the boy has a point.  That Goblet picked him.  I say tell him the whole truth.  Minerva?"  He looked at her.

She hesitated, eying Cedric for a long moment.  "I'm not absolutely opposed, but we should put it to a vote of the Order first."

"Most of whom are not here," Molly pointed out.

Moody scratched his chin.  "All right, we'll table it for now, but at the next meeting, we vote on Diggory.  And I think we'll have another to consider as well.  Diggory, out.  I'll talk to you later."

Frustrated, Cedric sighed.  He'd finally plucked up the nerve to object to something but didn't think it had got him anywhere.  He noticed Lupin's slight nod as he left the room.

Climbing the stairs from the kitchen to the main hallway, he could hear raised voices somewhere above, and hurried up the next flight of stairs until he found the room Ron had been given to share with Harry when Harry arrived -- and where Cedric had stayed on one or two occasions when he'd been just too tired to Disapparate home at the end of a day cleaning.  Harry's voice was loud and he was clearly furious about something, but all conversation cut off when Cedric knocked, then opened the door.  It was Harry, Hermione and Ron, and Ginny too.  Harry stood.  "What's going on?"  Then his eyes dropped to Cedric's now-bandaged hand.  "Are you all right?"

"It's just a couple of cuts; I'm fine.  And I don't know what's going on.  They asked me a bunch of questions, then told me to leave."  He decided not to go into his demand to be brought into the Order as a full member, or the fact the Order would vote on it.  "But Moody and Mr. Weasley arrived in the middle.  Apparently there was an attack at the Ministry at the same time as the attack on Harry."

"What?" Hermione asked, hand going up to her mouth.

"Is anybody hurt?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," he replied, coming over to sit down on the bed that would be Harry's.  "Moody said that Kingsley Shacklebolt will be by later to give some kind of report."

"Who's that?" Harry asked.

"An Auror," Cedric replied.  He's in the Order, along with a couple others.  They told you about the Order?"  He glanced at Ron.

"Yes," Harry replied, lips thin.  "You could have just told me yourself, you know -- earlier."

"No, I couldn't.  Fidelius Charm.  I was bound until McGonagall brought you in."

"You're clever, Ced.  You could have figured out something!"

His smile was wry.  "You give me too much credit -- and McGonagall not enough."

"That's what I told him," Ron muttered, annoyed.  Harry must have been taking out his frustration on them before Cedric had arrived.  His expression was still rebellious, and Cedric suddenly felt knackered, his body crashing from the earlier adrenaline rush and the fear of being in trouble with the Order.  Apparently he was in trouble with Harry too.  He wished he could just go home but Moody had said he wanted to talk to him.  Cedric had no idea what that was about, but if he left, he'd make them all just that much more suspicious.

Harry had turned his back on all of them to stomp around a bit.  "How did Professor Lupin know to go and get all my stuff?" he asked.  "It couldn't have been more than a minute or two between the time Cedric showed up here and Hermione told me Lupin had fetched it."

"Well, Mrs. Figg alerted us the minute the Death Eaters showed up," Hermione explained.

"Mrs. Figg!  What's she got to do with any of this?"

"She's in the Order -- "

"She's a MUGGLE!"

"No, actually, she's not," Hermione said, attempting to be calm.  "She's a Squib, like Filch.  Dumbledore apparently had her watching over you since you were a baby."

Harry looked as stunned as an ox before the slaughter.  "So all those times she babysat me . . .   She knew who I was all along?  She's not just some crazy old cat lady?"

"Well, I dunno about that, mate," Ron said, "she is a bit of a crazy old cat lady" -- which earned him a glare from Hermione -- "but yeah, she knew all along."

"WHY HASN'T ANYBODY EVER TOLD ME ANY OF THIS?" Harry shouted, back into full rage.  Cedric might have tried to try to calm him down like Hermione, but found himself wondering the same thing.

"Harry," Hermione was saying, standing to stroke his arm and try to look reasonable.  "I'm sure they just didn't want to worry or upset you, or -- "

"AND IT WOULDN'T UPSET ME TO BE LIED TO FOR FIFTEEN YEARS?"

"Well, yes, of course, I understand but -- "

"Harry," Ron interrupted.  "We're with you, all right?  We wish they'd just tell all of us instead of making us clean the house."

A loud pop of Apparition stopped further debate as the Weasley twins appeared suddenly in the middle of the room -- startling a squeak from Hermione and rolled eyes from Cedric and Ginny.  "Would you cut that out?" Ron asked them.

"We have news," one of them declared -- Fred, Cedric was fairly sure.  If they looked more alike than most twins, Cedric was starting to be able to tell them apart.

"The Ministry was attacked," said the other, George.

"Yeah, we know," Ron replied, gesturing at Cedric.  "He told us."

They glanced at, then ignored Cedric, which summed up their attitude towards him fairly well, he thought.  "Ah, but he couldn't tell you what department they attacked, could he?"

"Moody didn't say," Cedric replied, annoyed.

George held up something long and stringy and vaguely flesh coloured -- those damn Extendable Ears that Cedric was certain would get them all in trouble yet.  "You didn't have these."

"Because I was actually in the meeting, you dolt."

They still ignored him, sitting down on Ron's bed.  "The Department of Mysteries," George continued.

"But it's warded against Apparition!" Ron protested.

"Sure -- to get inside past the door, but you can Apparate once inside.  When the main shift went home for the day -- BAM!" George said, slapping his hands together.  "They struck."

"Is anybody hurt?" Ginny asked again.

"Moody didn't say, but I'd reckon so.  Unfortunately the meeting was starting to break up so we had to quit listening."

And in fact, on the heel of the twins announcement, there was a knock on the door, then it opened and Moody's head poked in.  His smile was a bit wicked.  "Hate to interrupt the consult," he said, as if he knew (more or less) exactly what they were talking about, "but I need you" -- he pointed right at Cedric.

Nervous all over again, Cedric moved from where he'd been standing near a dresser, arms crossed, and followed Moody out.  He could feel the eyes of the others on his back.  Moody led him into the drawing room, where the man cast some complicated spell with a flick of his wand and Cedric knew from the way Moody's voice lacked an echo that their conversation was shielded.  "Now," he said, "I want to know why you were in London, Diggory.  And don't dodge.  McGonagall's suspicious, and she's not alone."

Cedric felt weakness flash all through him like a rush of water.  "Wh-what?"

"Where were you today?"

"I-I told everybody -- a bookstore on Old Brompton Road."

Moody studied his face for a long time.  "You have a secret," he said.  It wasn't a question, and Cedric felt so frightened and nervous, he feared he might throw up.  He couldn't tell Moody -- absolutely couldn't.  The man would be disgusted and never let him near Harry again.

"Diggory," he said, "I don't know what you're hiding, but I don't think you're a Death Eater.  Unfortunately, there are some in the Order who wonder."

"A Death Eater!"

"That's right."

"I would never -- !"

"I'm inclined to believe you.  But I want to know what you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything!  If you think I'm a Death Eater, use Veritaserum on me and ask!"

Moody just shook his head.  "I know when a man's hiding something so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes, right?  I said it before -- I don't think you're a Death Eater, or in league with You-Know-Who.  The fact you'd voluntarily submit to Truth Serum . . . " He shrugged.  "But whatever I said in the kitchen earlier, I'm not sure I can agree to admit you fully into the Order until I know what your secret is.  It's too dangerous."

"It's nothing that would hurt Harry -- "

Moody lifted a hand.  "Any secret makes you vulnerable, lad.  Secrets have a way of getting out.  Just tell me."

Literally trembling, Cedric bowed his head.  "I can't.  But I swear on my life, it's nothing that would hurt Harry or endanger the Order.  It's . . . personal."

He could feel Moody studying him but couldn't meet the other man's eyes.  "I believe you don't think it will -- but I can't judge that for myself until I know what it is; I've lived longer than you, Diggory.  For now, I'll have to table the vote for your full inclusion until you can tell me.  I want you to reconsider.  I've heard it all, lad.  Unless you've got bodies buried somewhere, I'm not likely to haul you in for it."

And with a flick of his wand, he collapsed whatever spell had kept their conversation private before walking away, leaving Cedric still as shaky as a newborn, arms wrapped around himself.

Without talking to anybody else, he made his way out of the house and Disapparated straight home for the night.  He needed to be alone.  His father wasn't there -- probably having been called back to the Ministry in the wake of the attack -- but his mother stopped him on his way up to his room.  She wanted to know what had happened.  He gave her a brief summary, dodged questions, then raced up both flights of stairs to his precarious attic bedroom.  There, he took out of his pocket the book he'd bought earlier, Unshrunk it and hid it under his mattress, then flung himself down on his bed, still fully dressed in the Muggle clothes he'd been wearing all day.

He had no idea what Moody thought he was hiding, but the man couldn't possibly guess, could he?  What if Moody knew where Old Brompton Road was . . . what it was?  But if he did, he'd have said so, wouldn't he?

Despite his anxiety, Cedric must have dozed off because he woke again when he heard voices downstairs.  His father was home.  Checking his bedside clock, he saw that it was nearly two in the morning and sat up, rubbing his eyes.  He should probably change into pyjamas at least, but first, he wanted to know what had happened at the Ministry.  He doubted his father would give him the whole story, but his parents thought him sleeping so he sneaked down into the hall to crouch outside the kitchen where his mother was feeding his father a very late supper.  His hand was starting to ache and he rubbed at the bandages whilst he listened.  Apparently the Death Eaters had been looking for something specific in the Department of Mysteries.  Several Unspeakables had been injured, but no deaths.  Unfortunately, nobody had been caught and arrested, either.

"Why are they suddenly growing so bold?" his mother asked, voice deceptively calm.

"I don't think it's sudden," his father replied.  "It just took them a month or so to organize themselves.  Dumbledore's dead and You-Know-Who is back -- and school begins in less than a month.  Once Harry returns to Hogwarts, he'll be harder for You-Know-Who to reach."

"Maybe we should keep Cedric away from Harry until then?"

In the hall beyond, Cedric's stomach flip-flopped.  They wouldn't --

"I wish I knew how to."  His father sighed.  "I don't dislike the Potter boy -- "

"I don't either," his mother interrupted, hasty in her guilt perhaps.  "But Cedric . . . I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him.  Those Death Eaters tonight . . . "

"They've got Harry at Grimmauld Place now, where it's safer.  And that's our boy's doing."  His father's voice was rich with pride.  "He's quick off the mark, our Ced."

"I know, Amos, but --"

"He's of age, Fi.  I don't want him in harm's way either, but he's not a little boy anymore.  You've got to let him grow up."

"Just because I don't want him in the middle of a war doesn't mean I'm not letting him grow up!"  Her tone was sharp.  "Don't patronize me."

And Cedric barely had time to duck into the sitting room before his mother exploded from the kitchen, stalking back upstairs to the bedroom she shared with his father.  Cedric heard his father sigh again, then return to his supper with a clink of silverware against ceramic.  Cedric slunk away.

Back in his room, he put on proper pyjamas but despite his exhaustion, sleep didn't come, his mind flying this way and that like a brace of hares caught in a net.  He'd not considered before how all this was impacting his parents.  He felt so distant from them these days, but hearing them talk about him unguarded . . .   He was all they had.  Sometimes that felt like a crushing burden, but his father's pride was genuine, and his mother's worry.

Finally giving up on sleep, he rose again, Sealed his bedroom door, then padded over to his desk, silently opening a bottom drawer to lift out the spare stationery, quills, unopened bottles of ink, wax for seals, and assorted other writing paraphernalia.  Then he took his wand and Levitated the false bottom free.

In the shallow hidden compartment beneath, he'd stored some publicity pictures of Oliver Wood in his Puddlemere United robes and a collection of cuttings about him from Quidditch Illustrated.  There was also a pair of American Muggle magazines sporting pictures of pretty men.  He'd found them one evening last year during prefect patrol duties; they seemed to be for girls.  ("How to Know He Really Likes You" and "50 Fab Fall Fashions to Slim Your Hips" sort of gave it away.)  Yet paging through the slick images of handsome teen boys -- some shirtless -- he'd felt hot and cold and intensely aroused.  So he'd kept them instead of turning them in.

The last item hidden there was the leather-bound book he'd found in the tapestry at Grimmauld Place -- Regulus Black's diary.  He hadn't had any luck opening it and had begun to wonder if perhaps he shouldn't turn it over to the adults after all?  They certainly knew spells he didn't.

Yet now as he turned it in his hands, not even trying to open it, the soft leather bent, gilt-edged pages fluttering.  Mouth agape in astonishment, he lifted the cover to bare the cream parchment inside.  "What the . . . ?" he muttered softly.  Was this the sort of book that opened only if one didn't want to read it?

Turning the stiff front-piece, he found a message on the first page:

Black blood has me opened,
Black blood can me close.
But whether you can read me
Is for you to expose.

"Bloody bad poetry," Cedric muttered to himself.  He also didn't get it.  Blood was red.  Did the writer mean poisoned blood?  Or no, he was being too literal.  Given where he'd found it, 'Black blood' must mean a member of the Black family . . . which he wasn't.

Or, no . . . that wasn't entirely true.  His mother was the youngest daughter of Caspar Crouch and Charis Black.  It was distant enough he didn't usually think about it.

Black blood . . . he looked down at his bandaged hand.  A few spots showed dark on white in the low light of the moon sliding in his window.  Pressing his wounded hand hard to the page, he waited . . . but nothing happened.  It stayed blank past that one rhyming quartet.  He tried a few more pages, but none of them revealed anything.  Obviously, there was more to it than just dripping blood on the diary.

Sighing, he closed the cover again and pressed the bloodied bandage to it, muttering "Seal."  It did, and he slipped it back into the false bottom, covered it, then replaced the writing paraphernalia before sliding the desk drawer to.  Returning to bed, he lay awake a long time, puzzling over the diary and its secrets.

6. Krum

Harry would never have expected Hermione to behave in a fashion one could only describe as "all a-twitter," but she was virtually dancing around the kitchen when he finally awoke to make his way downstairs for breakfast.  "What's going on?" Harry asked Ron, who rolled his eyes over his corn flakes.

"Krum's here."

"What?"

"Viktor Krum arrived really late last night or this morning, I'm not sure which.  He and Moody have kept in contact.  Now he's left Bulgaria and he's here.  He's joining the Order."  Lips twisted, frowning, Ron pointed his spoon at Hermione.  "You'd think Christmas came early."

Harry settled down next to Ron and didn't comment on that.  Ron had never got past his jealousy of Krum with regard to Hermione, and the fact that Viktor, together with Cedric, had been the ones to rescue Harry from Barty Crouch, Jr. had only exacerbated the problem.  Harry didn't know how to reassure him beyond the obvious -- spend time with him.  To Harry's mind, nobody could replace Ron, but he also didn't want to exclude newer friends.  Even after four years, having friends remained a novelty to him.

While they ate, Ron's mum entered the kitchen and passed behind them, patting Ron's shoulder then bending to drop a kiss on Harry's cheek.  "Good morning, Harry dear.  When the two of you are finished, come up to the drawing room.  We're still not entirely finished in there with the cleaning.  Hermione, love?  I need you and Ginny both for a moment."

And then she was gone before Harry could ask.  "Cleaning?" he whispered to Ron.

"Yeah.  Remember what I told you last night?  We've been set to cleaning.  They don't tell us anything."

"But I expected . . .  Well, not that . . .  I mean, isn't there something we should be doing?  About Voldemort?"

Ron winced.  "Unless he's hiding in a cupboard here, not ruddy likely."

No longer hungry, Harry pushed aside his cereal bowl.  "If Dumbledore were still alive, I bet he'd have told me more."  Ron didn't reply, just pulled over Harry's bowl and finished that too.

Harry didn't see Krum until dinner.  The Bulgarian sat at the table with the rest of them, between Hermione and Cedric, who Harry hadn't seen all day either.  Krum and Cedric had their heads bent in what looked to be serious conversation while Hermione tried not to moon after Krum.  Yet every time Krum would pause in speaking to glance around at her, she'd blush and Krum would get a funny little smile on his face -- and nobody had to tell Harry why Krum had returned to England, professed work for the Order or not.

Cedric, he noticed, appeared troubled and a bit wan, and kept shooting glances at the adults.  But Cedric went home again after dinner and although he did show up to work the next day, with everybody all together Harry had no chance to ask him about it.  Cedric's secrets made things difficult in a house full of people, and the fact that Harry was back finally in the company of Ron and Hermione, and had fears and irritations of his own, scattered his attention.  At the Dursleys', he'd been able to . . . not forget, but not think about the fact Albus Dumbledore was dead.  Here, he couldn't escape thinking about it.  He was having fresh nightmares, his sleep troubled by a noseless pale face with red, slit-pupiled eyes.

"There's been an attack on Azkaban!" Hermione reported breathlessly on Harry's fourth morning at Grimmauld Place, turning her copy of The Daily Prophet so Harry and Ron could see.  Ten black-and-white images of wizards and a witch looked out of their frames, expressions smug or insolently bored.  The headline read:

Midnight Assault Ends in
Mass Breakout from Azkaban

Harry snatched the paper from her and Ron looked over his shoulder as they perused the article that followed:

The Ministry of Magic announced this morning that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners broke free last night after a midnight assault on the island prison led by Voldemort and his followers.  This assault comes only three days after the unsuccessful attack on the Ministry itself.  Scrimgeour says that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.

"The Ministry Aurors," Scrimgeour told The Prophet, "are doing all in their power to locate He Who Must Not Be Named's base of operations.  Nonetheless, we ask the magical community to remain alert and cautious.  Report any suspicious activity immediately, and on no account should any of these individuals be approached.

"Well, that last's rather stating the obvious," Ron said as Hermione, exasperated, reached across the table to snag the paper back.  Harry ignored both as ice-fingers crept over his skin.

"He's building up an army," he whispered.

That gave both Hermione and Ron pause even as Krum entered, glancing between their sober faces.  "What is happened?" he asked.

Hermione just sighed and offered him the paper in turn, muttering, "I may get to read it myself eventually."

Krum settled down in a chair to read while Harry leaned over to say, "It just gets worse and worse."  Ron and Hermione nodded.  "I wish we had Dumbledore.  How can we fight him without Dumbledore?"

"We have still Dumbledore," Krum said, somewhat unexpectedly, his eyes on the paper.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

Krum looked up, a finger on a line to hold his place.  "We have picture.  Or, ah . . . " He glanced at Hermione for assistance.

"Portrait?" she supplied, then clapped her hands together even before Krum could nod.  "Of course!  Why didn't I think of that?  Professor McGonagall's been going to Hogwarts regularly.  She must be going to speak with Dumbledore's portrait in the Head's office!"

"Da," Krum agreed.  "Moody tell me this when he meet me in Sofia.  Portrait give advice.  Portrait advise they ask me if will join."  He grinned rather widely and looked a bit smug.

"So asking you to come back here was Dumbledore's idea?" Hermione said, tone disappointed.

Krum actually blushed.  "Er, ah . . . I offer.  Portrait advises they accept.  But portrait we have, so Dumbledore we have."

"What's this?" asked a new voice at the door and they all looked around to find Sirius and Remus entering.  Krum held up the paper and both men walked around the table to read it over his shoulder.

"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered, lips thin.  "He's got Bellatrix back."

"Who's Bellatrix?" Harry asked; the name and face rang a bell, but he couldn't place her.  "Well, I assume it's the witch."

"Yes," Sirius sat down at the table on Hermione's other side from Krum so he could face Harry.  "She's my cousin."

"Your cousin?"  Harry glanced down at the picture in the paper again and spotted the caption beneath:  Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.  "She's one of those who tortured Neville's parents, along with Barty Crouch, Jr."

"Indeed, the very same."  Sirius' smile was wry and he shot a glance over his shoulder at Remus, who'd gone to the pot on the stove with the coffee.  Pouring it, Remus sent one mug down the table to Sirius, then a second to Krum before bringing over the third and sitting beside to Harry.  "Surely you must have guessed," Sirius said, "after just a few days in this house what kind of wizards my family were, Harry?  My idiot younger brother -- a much better son, as my mother was constantly telling me -- joined Voldemort, although he later panicked and wanted out.  He was killed by one of Voldemort's followers; I doubt he was important enough to be killed by Voldemort personally.  But once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

He took the paper from Krum, who'd finished the article now, and pointed to the lone picture of a woman, her face drawn and haggard from her time in prison -- yet the resemblance to Sirius was obvious.  "My cousin, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, eldest of three.  The middle got herself blasted off our family tree for marrying a Muggleborn.  That was Andromeda -- unsurprisingly my favourite."

"And the youngest?" Harry asked.

Sirius' smile grew even thinner.  "Narcissa Black Malfoy.  Lucius' wife."

"You're related to the Malfoys!"  Harry was aghast.

"The pure-blood families are all interrelated," Sirius replied with a shrug.  "If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left.  Molly and I are cousins by marriage, Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed, and so is Fiona Diggory."

Almost as if conjured, Cedric picked that moment to walk through the kitchen doorway, still yawning but dressed for the workday.  All their heads swivelled to him and he paused.  "Why are you looking at me?" he asked cautiously.

Sirius smiled.  "I was explaining to Harry how we're related."

"Oh -- why?"

Sirius offered up Hermione's Daily Prophet and Cedric took it, scanning the article quickly whilst he went for a mug of coffee for himself.  "Could I have the paper back when you're done with it please?" Hermione asked, sounding plaintive.

"Viktor," Harry said now gesturing to the Bulgarian, "said McGonagall's getting advice from Dumbledore."  Sirius and Remus both just nodded.  "Can I talk to him too?"

"For now," Sirius said, "Dumbledore wants you to stay here where you're safe.  My father put every ward and charm known to wizardkind on this house to make it Unplottable.  As long as you're here, You-know-who can't get to you."

"When the school year begins," Lupin added, "you'll be able to see Dumbledore.  In fact, he's insisted on you being taken to the Head's office as soon as you arrive."

Harry sighed, but didn't argue with that.  "So what can I do right now?  We've got to do something!"

"You can eat breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley said, bustling into the kitchen with Ginny in her wake.

And that ended that discussion.  Harry tried to find out more about the escaped Death Eaters as the day went on.  The Weasley kids and Cedric were the most forthcoming, but knew the least.  Sirius seemed to want to tell Harry, but also not to want to tell him, as if he feared it would worry him.  "It's worrying me more not knowing!" Harry snapped at his godfather when yet another attempt to convince him to talk after dinner ended in only titbits.  He stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron, almost running down Cedric, who was coming down the stairs.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry snapped.  Frustrated with one line of questioning, perhaps another would prove more fruitful.

But Cedric seemed only puzzled.  "What's . . . what are you talking about?"

"You've been acting oddly ever since Krum arrived," Harry said when a new idea suddenly struck him.  He leaned forward to whisper, "You don't . . . you haven't got a crush on him, have you?"

Cedric's face went slightly white, but he shook his head vigorously and glanced around, as if afraid the walls might have ears.  Then again, in a wizard house, Harry wasn't sure they wouldn't.  Gripping Harry's upper arm, Cedric pulled him into the bedroom Harry had been headed for.  "It's got nothing to do with Viktor," he said softly after closing the door.  But he suddenly looked nervous again.  "It's . . . I think Moody knows, Harry."  He glanced up, grey eyes dark with fear.  "I think he knows what I am."

"Why?"

"The night you arrived, remember how Moody asked to speak to me?  And even before that, in the kitchen -- they wanted to know where I'd been that day.  I don't think they trust me.  Well, I know they don't, not all of them.  Moody says he knows I have a secret.  He wanted me to tell him what it was."  All the blood had gone out of Cedric's face, making his pale skin even paler in the gold candlelight.  "I daren't tell them.  They'd kick me out of the Order, not let me near any of you.  I'm a bloody pervert!"

"Oh, stop it!" Harry said, a bit exasperated.  Hadn't Cedric learned anything from their conversations?  "You are not.  I've told you that loads of times."

"It doesn't matter what you think.  It's what they think.  And Moody -- well, I said I'd been to a bookshop on Old Brompton Road, and I think Moody may have guessed."

Harry sighed.  "First, Ced -- do you know how long Brompton Road is, old and new?  It runs through most of London; Earl's Court is just a small section of it.  Second, even if you'd said you'd been to Earl's Court, that wouldn't necessarily mean anything.  It's not like everybody there is gay.  Half of them are Aussie immigrants; it's also called Kangaroo Court."  Cedric's expression was mollified.  "You're acting paranoid -- and it's the paranoid part that's got Moody's attention."

"They think I'm a Death Eater -- McGonagall and . . . well, some of them."

"Oh, for the love of . . .   That's ridiculous!  Moody doesn't think you're a Death Eater!"

"No, he said he doesn't.  But he knows I have a secret."

"Then tell him what it is so he'll stop speculating!"

"I can't!  I told you!  He'll kick me out!"

And they were at an impasse.  Harry was convinced Cedric was overreacting, and Cedric was convinced he wasn't -- yet as much as Harry didn't want to admit it, he knew he wasn't as familiar with the Wizarding world as Cedric was.  Perhaps Cedric's worry was exaggerated because it was about himself, but Harry couldn't be certain of that.  "Look, if you want, I'll tell Moody I know where you were that day, and it's nothing to worry about.  Because it isn't."

Cedric started to shake his head, then pursed his lips hard as if reconsidering.  "I don't know -- "

The door swung open, revealing Ron, who appeared puzzled to find them in his bedroom, conferring in low voices.  "Did something else happen?"

"Eh?  No," Harry said.  "We were just . . . "  -- he frowned -- "having a disagreement."

Ron gave Cedric a dubious look and crossed to stand by Harry, as if to show his allegiance, but at the moment Harry just wished he'd go away again.  "What're you arguing about?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Cedric replied, straightening, lips thin.  Then he headed for the door.  "I need to go home.  See you tomorrow."

When he'd left, shutting the door behind him, Ron turned to Harry.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Harry said, echoing Cedric.

Ron blew out a breath.  "Yeah -- right."

Harry didn't know what to say; he hated keeping things from Ron, but it wasn't his confidence to tell.  Almost, he asked Ron about homosexuality in the Wizarding world but that would be far too obvious.  He considered asking Hermione, as she seemed to know everything and likely shared his Muggle perspective on it, however there was another person he could trust to ask -- and who wouldn't be seeing it from the outside, however well informed.  So despite his earlier temper flare, Harry approached Sirius late that same evening.  "Listen," he said, "Sorry about earlier.  I'm just . . . on edge."

"I know, Harry," Sirius replied, grey eyes soft.  "And for what it's worth, we're not all agreed, in the Order, on what you should be told."  In a lowered voice, he added, "I think you should keep asking, even if I can't answer."

Harry nodded, then said, "Actually, what I wanted to ask isn't about the Order.  It's more . . . it's about the Wizarding world."

He'd joined Sirius upstairs in the room where Buckbeak was kept; Sirius had been grooming him, but now set aside the curry brush to face Harry.  "What is it?"

Harry knew Sirius liked playing the role of godfather, giving advice about being a wizard -- things Harry should have learnt growing up, but hadn't.  "What do wizards think of homosexuality?" Harry asked bluntly.

Sirius' mouth fell open.  "What?  Why are you -- ?  You're not . . . not gay, are you?"  But then he crossed to grip both Harry's upper arms.  "Not that it would matter, you know, if you are.  It wouldn't change how I think about you.  You're James and Lily's son, and that's all that matters."

Given Cedric's fears, Sirius' reaction surprised Harry.  "No, it's not me," he said.  "I was asking because of a friend.  He told me about himself last year at school."  That wasn't even a lie; Cedric had told him last year and it would keep Sirius from thinking it was somebody in the house.  "He seemed terrified of telling anybody -- said they'd hate him.  But the Muggle world . . . it's not so terrible.  I didn't know what to think.  I want to . . . to help, but I don't know what to tell him."

Sirius' face was sombre.  "He's not entirely wrong, Harry.  I know something about the Muggle perspective on the matter, and the Wizarding world is different -- less tolerant.  But it's not . . . it's not an impossible thing to be.  Not everybody is judgmental.  He just needs to take care."  Sirius smiled.  "I'm glad he trusted you."  He paused, then asked, "It's not Ron, is it?"

"No.  No, it's not Ron.  I keep telling him to trust people, but he's afraid."

"Of course he is.  He's heard all his life that he's a freak -- if he heard it discussed at all."

"So you don't think that way?"

"No."  Sirius shook his head.  "No, I don't.  Tell him not everyone does, even among Wizards.  I'd tell you to have him talk to me, but being an escaped convict whose whereabouts aren't supposedly known --" his smile was wry "-- it's probably not wise."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he said only, "Probably not."  He'd talk to Cedric, do whatever it took to convince him to talk to Sirius.  Unfortunately, he didn't get the opportunity immediately.

7. Conversation

Cedric had got no further with the diary than opening it.  Part of his problem was that, away from school, he had no place or opportunity to do research, and was wracking his brain for everything he'd ever heard about spelled books.  It had been only a few days since he'd even got it open, but he was still frustrated with his lack of progress.  The one thing Cedric had always been able to count on was his own intelligence.  He knew he was a bit vain about it, more so really than about his face.  Vanity, in his experience, stemmed from something one liked being, and he didn't like being attractive particularly.  It caused him grief, winning attention he didn't want.  But his mind . . . that he was proud of, along with his athletic ability.  Both his studies and Quidditch gave him excuses for not pursuing a more active social life.

Yet now he couldn't solve this puzzle, and it frustrated him.  In the end, the solution accosted him, however.  He was in the Black family library, looking through books (those not locked away behind glass as being dangerous), when Ginny Weasley found him.  Her face was determined, pointed chin set at a stubborn angle, and she closed the door behind her, turning the key in the keyhole.  She also, he noticed, had her wand drawn and wasn't hiding that fact.  He eyed the wand carefully and set aside the book he'd been perusing.  "Planning to hex me?" he asked.  "I'd at least like to know why."

"You've been acting differently ever since the night Harry was attacked.  Nervous.  And you were with him that night.  And you have that book you found here."

Her observation-accusation annoyed as much as worried him, until she reached the end.  Then he frowned, but also relaxed slightly even as he tried to recall something nagging at the edges of his memory.  "What's the diary got to do with anything?" he asked.

"It . . . it could possess you.  Make you do things."

"Possess me?"  But she'd said that when she'd first found him with it too, and the niggling memory suddenly bloomed in his head.  "You -- your first year.  I remember now.  You had a book of You-Know-Who's and it possessed you, made you open that Chamber."

Her face went white.  "I hate gossip."

He made an impatient gesture.  "Nobody blamed you."  That, he suspected, was why word had been allowed to get around in the first place -- so she wouldn't be blamed -- although he didn't tell her that.  "But that's why you're so worried, isn't it?"

"It was a diary," she blurted.  Her wand was still levelled on him.  "It was a diary.  They're dangerous."

"A diary."  Gears clicked inside his skull.  "Tell me about it?  It must have been frightening for you."

The freckles on her face stood out starkly.  "You have no idea."

"No, I don't reckon I could."  He made his voice sympathetic.  If he felt awful for playing on her emotions, he needed this information -- and he genuinely did feel badly for her.  "What happened?  How did it happen?"

"It was just a book -- a blank book, a diary.  Not important-looking at all.  So I . . . wrote in it.  Just silly things.  It started to write back, like a friend.  I was -- Well, it doesn't matter.  After a while, I began to realize that I'd write in the book, then . . . wake up somewhere else.  I couldn't remember what had occurred in between.  And then -- then those horrible things happened.  Finally, it dawned on me that it was the book making them happen.  So I got rid of it.  Harry found it.  It talked to him too, but differently."

"Did he write in it?"  Cedric kept his voice level, not betraying his excitement.

"I . . . yes, I believe he did.  It didn't possess him, just told him stories.  It had . . . it had You-Know-Who's personality in it.  Somehow.  Like a portrait."

"Portraits don't possess people."

"Well . . . no, but like that."  Her wand was still out, pointed at him.

"Ginny, listen to me -- I'm not possessed by the diary I found.  There was nothing in it."  Well, not entirely true, but he had no intention of explaining, not with the way she distrusted him.  He understood her fear, but couldn't tell her the real reason he'd been nervous lately.  "If I'm acting oddly -- well, it's because I'm bloody worried.  Aren't you?"  He turned it back on her.  "The attacks on Harry, on the Ministry, on Azkaban.  I'm a bit on edge, you know?  Having you pointing your wand at me doesn't help."  Abruptly he sighed, adding, "I'm getting really tired of everybody doubting me."  And that, at least, was completely honest.  "How would you feel if everybody had doubted you after the business with the Chamber of Secrets?  You didn't mean to do Harry harm, did you?"

"But I told Dumbledore everything!"  Her wand remained level and, if anything, rose a bit.

He didn't flinch.  "Actually, I told Dumbledore everything too."  Everything pertinent.  "But he died, and I was Obliviated.  I explained that.  Harry knows everything as well.  Honestly.  Harry knows everything."  Well, everything except about the book, but that was mostly because he hadn't really had a chance to tell him.  "The rest of you I couldn't tell because . . . because it's not mine to tell, Ginny.  But if you have any doubts about me -- go and ask Harry.

The wand lowered an inch.  "I should."

"Good!  Go!  I'm quite serious.  He knows I would never hurt him -- ever."  And that came out a bit more . . . emphatic than he'd quite wanted it to, but either she didn't notice or she didn't know enough to make anything of it.

The wand went down finally.  "All right.  But you should burn that book."

He shrugged.  "It's apparently empty."  The lie came easy.  He'd spent his life honing necessary lies.

Ginny wasn't appeased.  "Yeah, I thought that too, three years ago.  Just get rid of it, Cedric.  Promise me."

He hesitated.  He had no intention of getting rid of it, but had to make Ginny stop worrying about it, which also meant he couldn't immediately agree or she'd be suspicious.  "There's nothing in it."

"Doesn't matter.  Get rid of it."

He sighed grandly for effect.  "Fine.  I'll burn it." 

"You'd better."  She left him then.

That same night after he was home and his parents had gone to sleep, he rose from his bed to fetch the diary from beneath the false bottom of his desk drawer, then sat down with his wand at the lowest illumination he could manage.  Getting out quill and ink, he opened the diary to the first blank page, dipped the quill and wrote:  Hello?  Will you reply to me?

He felt a bit, well, foolish, as he stared at the black words on pale parchment.  Then the ink faded, and in its place . . .

You're not Sirius.

It took him only a moment to get past the surprise before writing back, No.  No, I'm not.

But you are a Black or you couldn't have got me open.  Who, then?

Cedric started to tell, then . . . didn't.  A cousin, he wrote instead.

For a few moments, the diary didn't respond, then words appeared:  A cagey cousin, but I reckon that's to be expected.  Boy or girl, tell me that at least?  And if you opened this book, then I'm dead.  Is my dear, deluded brother still living?

I'm a boy.  And Sirius is your brother?

Alas, he is.

Then yes, he's still living.

Ah, too bad.  I'd have liked to greet him in hell.  Cedric blinked at the book, but before he could reply to that, it said, You mustn't give me to him.

Why not?

He'll burn me.

Perhaps he ought to?

I know things, cousin-of-mine -- things you want to know about the Dark Lord.

You do, Cedric wrote, torn between scepticism and belief.  Such as?

Ah-ah . . . first your promise.  You shan't give me to Sirius.  Or even admit that you have me.  Swear it on your blood as a Black.

Almost, Cedric refused, but he'd come this far, used his blood to open the diary -- and he knew how to hedge his bets.  And in turn, what will you give me?

Argued like a true Slytherin.  Cedric's eyebrow went up, but he didn't protest.  Secrets, of course.  Want power over the Dark Lord?  I can give it to you.  Want power over the Noble House of Black?  I can give it to you.  Now -- swear.

Very well, I promise not to give you to Sirius.

On your blood.

Obediently, Cedric pricked his finger and pressed it beneath the word 'promise.'  Done.

Promise forever.

Think think think, Cedric told himself.  But really, there wasn't much of a choice, was there?  Not if he wanted to know what the book contained.  He'd just . . . be very careful in how he worded it.

I promise not to give you to Sirius, ever.

Excellent!  The book replied.  Now, let me tell you a few things about my darling, honourable Gryffindor brother . . .

And the pages of the diary fluttered rapidly, revealing two entries:

Saturday, 3 July, 1971

Bella, Andy and Sirius are home from Hogwarts.  Mother still isn't happy with Sirius.  He says he wants to visit the Potters over the summer, but she's forbidden it.  I think she hopes he'll go back to school and the Sorting Hat will admit it made a mistake and put him in Slytherin instead.  It's a bit of a scandal, really.  Everyone says so.  Gryffindors are stupid and rash and think they know what's best for everybody.  And yes, that's Sirius sometimes, but being in Gryffindor has made him more so -- those friends of his, especially the Potter boy.

I'm glad Mother won't let him go to the Potters.

Monday, 5 July, 1971

Bella and Cissy came to visit today.  We played hide-and-seek because Cissy wanted to, even though Sirius and I don't like it much.  It's a girl's game.  Bella made us, though.  Cissy always gets her way, and Bella threatened to hex us if we didn't go along with it.  She'll be a seventh year, so she could do it.

She made us hide easy for Cissy, then we had to hide from Bella, but she gets angry if she thinks we made it easy for her.  She found me too soon and pulled all the tail feathers off my owl except for three, then told Mother and Father that I did it.  Father used his razor strap on my bottom for ruining the owl.  Bella thought it was funny, that she could fool them.  Sirius was angry, but at least I got to sleep with him.  He put strained pickled murtlap tentacles on the welts, then after, he sucked me for a while.  He didn't want to at first.  I know it's because he's sucking that Potter instead.  He says he's not, but I know he is.  I told him the welts hurt and it would make me feel better, so I rolled on my side and he did.  I still can't make jism.  Sirius says I'm not old enough.  He is now.  That's why he doesn't want to do me anymore; he thinks he's too grown up because he gets spunk and I don't.  But when I do, he'll be mine again and not Potter's.

Cedric slammed the diary shut, too shocked to do more than stare at the cover for five breaths.

That hadn't . . . that hadn't meant what he'd thought it meant, had it?  It couldn't have.  That wasn't . . . Sirius wouldn't . . . they were brothers, for pity's sake!  'Suck' had to have meant something else.  And yet it was clear from the end that it meant exactly what it seemed to mean.

Sirius Black had molested his younger brother.  And more than once, apparently.

What kind of sick bastard . . . ?  Disgusted and a bit ill, Cedric picked up the book and shoved it in the bottom of his desk, not even bothering to hide it in his hurry to get it away from him.  It had tricked him after all.  There were some things he just didn't need to know.

But the more he thought about it, the more he began to doubt it.  What a load of rubbish.  There was no way it could be true and not only because it was Sirius.  Sirius was a bit . . . well, peculiar, but he'd been locked up in Azkaban for years, after all.  Cedric thought him remarkably sane, given everything that he'd endured.

No, Cedric's doubts were bigger that than.  People just didn't do things like what he'd read, not really.  It was only a dodgy story Regulus had invented to shock whomever found his diary.  He'd made it up, more perverted than anything Cedric could imagine.  Cedric had sucked Harry, it was true -- and if he felt a bit protective of Harry, like . . . like Sirius to Regulus, well, they weren't related.  And it had been an older Harry, not a boy too young to go to Hogwarts.  More, Harry had come back in time to rescue Cedric, not the other way around, and Cedric hadn't known any more about sex than Harry had.  In fact, he'd known even less, despite being older.  Cedric wasn't . . . it hadn't been . . . it hadn't been like that.  He hadn't . . . hadn't taken advantage of Harry, had he?  He didn't think he had, but he worried sometimes.  It's why he'd never said a word to this Harry about what had really happened in his office that night in June, and this Harry had never thought to enquire.

But Regulus . . . Regulus had asked for it.  Pleaded, it had sounded like, and Sirius had given in.  Didn't that make it like Cedric and Harry?  Harry had asked and Cedric had given in, too.  Why had he given in?  Harry was younger, and Cedric knew his own wants perverted, didn't he?

Didn't he?

That book he'd bought down in Earls Court said they weren't.

But why should he trust a Muggle book?  The diary . . . Regulus had asked his brother to suck him and it was the same thing Cedric had done to Harry, and wasn't that . . . sick?  It was sick.  Perverted.  He -- Cedric -- was perverted.  No different.

Getting up from his desk, feeling vaguely ill, he crawled back into bed and covered his head with his pillow.  When his mother came in the morning to wake him to go to Grimmauld Place, he pleaded off and she let him stay home.  All morning, he lay in bed, dozing, trying to forget.

But he couldn't.

The more he thought it over, the more he worried at it, the more he realized he believed what he'd read.  It had been entirely too . . . matter-of-fact.  If Regulus had been making it up, wouldn't he have invented something more . . . lurid?  Colourful, shocking?  A tale of wine and opium potions and mad dancing?  Not razor straps and pickled murtlap and sexual comfort afterwards.

No, what he'd read must have really happened.  Bellatrix Black had tortured an owl then blamed it on Regulus for amusement, Regulus had been viciously punished and Sirius had performed fellatio on his little brother afterwards to make him feel better -- all related on the page in the same way one might discuss a garden party.

Getting out of bed, Cedric padded over and twisted the key in the door lock, then returned to his desk, retrieving the diary and pricking his finger to open it again.  Picking up his quill, he wrote,

Did you really have sex with your brother?  How often?

For a long time, there was no reply, then words appeared:  You tell me something about you first.

Tell you what?  What sort of a response was that?  You said you'd tell me secrets.

I did.  Your turn.

I don't have any secrets!

Everybody has secrets.

I don't have anything to tell you like that.

Then I don't have anything more to tell you.  Too bad.

Irritated, Cedric put the diary away and rose, unlocking his door to go down and eat lunch.  "Feeling better, pumpkin?" his mother asked, kissing his crown as she bustled around the kitchen.

"Yes, mum," he replied.  "And please stop calling me 'pumpkin.'  I'm almost eighteen.  It's embarrassing." 

She ruffled his hair.  "I'm your mum.  I'm allowed to embarrass you still.  Are you going into London this afternoon?"

He hesitated, but then shook his head.  "Perhaps I shouldn't yet.  Still not feeling too well."

She handed him a glass with cloudy liquid and he made a face, knowing what it was.  Pepper-up Potion.  He hated the stuff, hated the feeling of steam coming out his ears, but he could hardly argue, so he drank it down, then winced at the inevitable sensation of pressure on his eardrums as the signature whistle came out of his ears.  "Go back to bed, love," his mother advised and he did so, lying there for a while, turning it all over in his mind.  Yet he knew almost from the moment his head had hit the pillow that he'd give in.  Curiosity killed the cat, after all.  He had to know the whole story.  Had Sirius really had sex with his brother?  And for how long?  What about others?  Regulus had seemed to think Sirius had been involved with James, Harry's father.

What about Harry?  He wouldn't . . . he wouldn't try to do that to Harry, would he?

That decided Cedric.  Getting out of bed again, he locked his door once more and fetched the diary, opening it and writing:  All right.  A secret.  I stole four galleons from my mother's coin purse last year before the World Quidditch Cup, so I'd have a little money to spend.  I told my dad I'd saved it.

You call that a secret?  You nicked four galleons?  Is that some sort of joke?

Cedric was insulted.  We couldn't afford it!  My father couldn't have afforded the tickets if he hadn't worked for the Ministry!

Then he felt foolish as new words rose slowly to the page.  Ah.  So you're poor.  A pauper Black -- that's a better secret.

It's not a secret.  And we're not poor.

Your mother couldn't spare four galleons for you to spend at the World Cup?  That's poor.  Don't worry.  Your secret is safe with me.  After all, who would I tell?

The diary had a point.  All right, Cedric wrote.  So answer my question.  How often did you have sex with your brother?  And when did it start?

Saturday, 30 August, 1969

Sirius leaves tommorrow for Hogwarts.  I know he's nervus, even if he won't say so, but I'm more nervus.  I don't know if I can bare it here without him.  I'll be so lonely, I'd rather die.  Who will be there at night?  Or if Father gets angry?  He let me sleep with him last night and promised he would tonight too, just like when we were little.

Tuesday, 2 September, 1969

The whole house is in an uprore.  Sirius got Sorted into Griffindor.  I've never seen Mother so angry.  She even thretened to go to Scotland and talk to Dumbeldoor herself, set the Sorting Hat to rights, and that means she must be angry because she hates Dumbeldoor.  She's always saying he's the worst thing to happen to Hogwarts in over a senturey.

I was woried about Sirius, but I got a secrit owl tonight.  It came to my window.  Sirius said he's glad he's in Griffindor, but how can he be?  They're a bunch of tossers.  Bella always says so.  The only house worse than Griffindor is Huffelpuff.  The houses everybody wants to get into are Slytherin and Ravenclaw.  Bella and Andromeda are in Slytherin, but now Sirius is in Griffindor.  I don't know if I want to be in Slytherin if Sirius isn't there too.  But I don't rekon he'd let me sleep with him anyway, not with the big boys in his dormmatory.  He told me we had to be careful, that most people wouldn't understand.  "It's a secrit between you and me, Reggie."  I know Mother wouldn't like it that Sirius loves me best of all.  She says Sirius is more clever and braver, but now she's angry at him because he got himself put in Griffindor.  Tonight, she told me that I'd better be Sorted into Slytherin for the family onner.  It's fallen to me now.

Tuesday, 16 December, 1969

He wouldn't let me sleep with him and all he talks about is that Potter boy.  James this, James that -- fuck James Potter.  Except that's what Sirius wants to do -- fuck James Potter, not me.  And he won't sleep with me anymore, says that if anybody ever found out about it, we'd be in terrible troubble.  Now he's all ashaimed.  It was our private secrit before, but now he won't talk about it at all.  He told me never to bring it up again or he'd diniy it.

But Bella knows.  Bella knows everything, of course.  I told him that and he got white in the face, said there were things about Bella I don't know and I should stay away from her.  Where does he get off?  I know all about Bella, and I know she scairs Sirius.  That's why I said that I'd tell her if he diniyed anything.  He can't just throw me away like that because he wants to fuck Potter.  He says he's not, but I know better.  It's what you do when you love somebody.  He says he loves Potter and Potter loves him but they don't fuck.  I don't believe him.

The next entry was two Christmases before that and Cedric would have missed the date had it not been for the even worse spelling.  Regulus couldn't have been more than eight, surely.

Friday, 26 December, 1967

For my Chrissmis presunt this year, Bella tyd me up.  They came ovar for supper like alwaas, and afterwads in my rume, she tyd up me and Cissy and didn't let us go evan when Cissy cryd.  She nevar did that before when she plaas with us.  She said she had a new game she lurned at Hogwats, and made us take off all our cloeths, then tyd me to a chair and Cissy to the bed and got out a candal.  She kept shuving the candal in Cissy's hole and bottom, then she did it to me in my bottom.  She put rags in our mowths to keep us from yeling and tyd up the bottom of my prik so I staiyed hard, then went up and down on me a wile before making Cissy eat her, but she got more and more angrey and started spanking Cissy's bottom before she got bord and left.  It hurt lots but she said if we evar told anybody, evan Sirius or Andy, she woud kill us.  I don't think she was joking.

I didn't tell Sirius.  I put it here, like a penseev, to forgit.

It nevar hurts when Sirius dose it.

The final entry leapt ahead again in time.

Sunday, 28 June, 1970

I met that bastard Potter today.  Sirius came back on the Hogwarts express with Potter and some other boys.  He introduced me.  Potter looks stupid.  He has messy hair and funny-looking glasses.  Ugly four-eyes Potter.  Sirius slapped me when I called Potter that, but Potter -- the twat -- got between us and told him not to do that, I hadn't meant it.  Stupid little shit.  Of course I meant it.  Sirius knew it too but he does whatever Potter wants like his dog.  They hugged before Potter left with his parents, and Sirius said he won't sleep with me tonight.  He said he won't sleep with me ever again.  It's 'unnatural.'  Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts.  I know Sirius can't go without.

I hate James Potter.  It's all his fault.  He stole my brother from me.

That was the end of the entries.  Cedric turned the page but there was nothing more and he sat for a while, brows drawn, thinking.  He wasn't sure if any of it had answered his question about how long such things had been going on exactly, but it certainly seemed to be 'all in the family,' at least with the Black cousins.  Cedric rubbed his forehead, unsure what he felt.  Disgusted, yes -- still.  But a bit bemused by how easily Regulus talked about it all, as if he thought it normal -- not just having sex with his brother, but liking boys in the first place.  Was he really that bent?

Picking up his quill, he wrote, Do you only fancy boys, or do you fancy girls too?  Did you ever have sex with anyone other than your cousins?

At school, 'course I did.  I prefer boys really, but girls are good if I'm in the right mood.  What about you?

Cedric blinked at the page.  I'm not going to tell you that.

Ah, but you just did!  Or you'd have said 'girls' straight out.  You like boys too.

Don't be absurd.  Liking boys is queer.

Oh, for pity's sake!  Don't tell me you buy into that idiotic Muggle idea.  Mum says we shouldn't let the Muggle religion pervert the Old Ways.

What's fancying boys got to do with the Old Ways?  It's just not natural.  Boys and boys don't . . . fit together.  They have the same set of parts.

Yet did he really believe that?  When he'd lain with Harry in his office, he hadn't been thinking about things not fitting and it hadn't been anywhere near so simplistic as insert Tab A in Slot B.

You're just parroting now, the book told him, as if it could follow his own train of thought.  You don't believe that, not if you've done it with a boy.  Tell me about it.  Did you love him or just fuck him?

You're awfully nosey for a book.

I told you things.  It's only fair if you tell me things too.

Blasted cheeky collection of parchment.  This is ridiculous.  You're a book.  I'm not telling you things that private.

Then I won't tell you anymore, either.

And the book closed itself with a snap.  Cedric glared at it and shoved it in the drawer of his desk, getting back into bed and staring at the ceiling, hands behind his head.  He wasn't feeling quite as sick and shocked as he had last night, although the story Regulus had told about Bellatrix had been horrible.  She'd obviously been a nutter even back then.  Perhaps the difference was that he'd gone after it this time.  The first time, it had ambushed him; this time, he'd returned to the book and told it something in order to read more.

Didn't that make him just as sick as the rest of them?

He wasn't sure.  But he did need to know more.  He needed to know if Harry were in danger from Sirius.  It sounded as if Sirius had become reluctant -- but why?  That first set of entries Cedric had read had been a whole year after those about Sirius' reluctance, and if Sirius had still been hesitant, he'd also done what Regulus had wanted.  Had his reluctance stemmed only from an interest in James rather than a recognition that it was wrong?  Sirius had told Regulus that he wasn't involved with James that way, but had it changed later?  James had obviously married, fathered Harry -- yet Cedric knew all too well that sometimes one did things to hide the truth.  Cedric didn't think he was capable of having sex with a woman -- he'd learned that with Cho -- but others might.  Had James and Sirius been involved covertly?  And if so, and with James lost, would Sirius turn to James' son?

These questions and concerns nagged at him until late that afternoon he rose again, fetched the diary and opened it.  All right, he wrote.  What do you want to know?  I'll tell you something if you'll answer more questions.

Boys or girls?  came the diary's reply, almost predictably.

Cedric hesitated only a moment before writing firmly, Boys.  Just boys.

Ah, a poofter then, like my dear brother.

Sirius only likes boys?

Boys, boys and more boys -- never girls.  Maybe Bella ruined it for him.  You ever have sex with a girl?

No.  Dated one, but . . . never that far.  A little messing about.

Didn't like it, eh?

No.

Were you experimenting, or did she make you do it?

Cedric wasn't sure how to reply.  It hadn't been Cho especially, just . . . social expectation.  Not like your cousin made you, no.  That was rape, you know.  For me, it was just a dance.  I had to ask a girl.  Everybody thought it was more than it was, including her.

You're a very odd Black, you know, but if you're poor, I suppose you're a cadet branch.  Rape means you don't want to do it.  I wanted to do it, I just didn't want to be tied up.

Cedric was oddly irritated by the rationalizing.  Look, if you didn't want to be tied up, that is rape -- not to mention she was older than you and related to you.  Sirius shouldn't have done that to you either.  You were his brother.

I didn't mind.  He never hurt me.

It's not about being hurt!  It's just -- wrong.  It's wrong.

That's rich!  You're pretty judgmental for a boy who likes boys.  A prudish poofter!

Annoyed even further, Cedric wrote, It's not being prudish.  I just know what's wrong.  He was surprised how strongly he felt about it, how . . . defensive of Regulus.  Maybe liking boys isn't . . . isn't the norm.  But I never touched anybody who didn't want to be touched, never hurt anybody and never used somebody's trust against them.

But hadn't he, with Harry, that night in his office?  Was he really so innocent himself?

Blah, blah, blah, the book wrote.  You don't sound like a Black or a Slytherin.  You sound like a bloody Gryffindor.

Cedric ignored that.  How old were you when Sirius first touched you sexually?  You never did answer that question.

I don't know.  You think I kept notes of exact dates?  Well, beyond this diary.

So it was going on before you started keeping this diary?

Yes.

What about other cousins -- younger cousins?  Did Sirius have sex with any younger cousins?

We didn't have any.  Why are you so interested in Sirius?  The book sounded almost . . . petulant.  It's your turn; you tell me something.  Who was the first person you had sex with?

Frustrated, Cedric glared at the page.  He didn't want to play Twenty Questions; he wanted to find out if Sirius was a danger to Harry.  Yet it seemed he'd have to keep the book happy.  His name was Harry.  Cedric deliberately didn't give a last name.  I had a crush on him for a long time -- months -- when I found out he felt the same.  Well, sort of, but Cedric didn't plan to go into that.

A love affair!  Did he suck you, fuck you, give you a hand job, let you fuck him?  Was it a one-shot or did you do it loads of times?

The diary -- and its creator -- were lewd gossips, Cedric thought.  Does it matter?

I'm curious.  You owe me.

All right then, it was once.

Why, you're practically a virgin!

Lips thin, Cedric wrote, Yes, I am, but that's all right.  I had the opportunity I wanted.

So self-righteous, the book replied.  Tsk, tsk.

Tell me more about Sirius, Cedric wrote, returning to his questions.  Was there anybody younger?  Besides you? 

Sirius, Sirius, Sirius!  Why are you on about Sirius all the time?  the book replied abruptly and, again, snapped closed, refusing to open even when Cedric applied more blood.

"Fuck," Cedric muttered.  For now, it seemed he'd got out of it all that he was going to and, only in retrospect, did he realize they hadn't discussed He Who Must Not Be Named at all -- ostensibly why Cedric had opened the damn thing in the first place.  Cedric let the diary wait a while, went down to eat dinner, then came back and tried opening it again.  It gave.

You said you know things about the Dark Lord -- it felt funny to write that -- things I need to know.  If you don't want to talk about Sirius, then talk about that.

For a long time, nothing happened.  Cedric had almost given up on the book before three words appeared slowly.  Find the locket.

What locket?

But nothing else was forthcoming.  No matter how many different ways Cedric tried to frame his question, there was no reply.