Marauding, etc.

Short Fiction concerning the Marauders and their contemporaries.

Book of Days

Hermione had never before ventured into the library at Grimmauld Place, thinking it to be a place of dark magic and memories that were better left undisturbed. Today however since they were emptying the house for refurbishment to sell it onto Muggles, she felt they should deal with any magical traces left behind, especially those of the Black family. Of course, her instinct to have her nose constantly in a book had led her to volunteer for the task of emptying the library.

The rows of dusty books in the obviously enlarged room took even her by surprise. There seemed to be more books here than orbs in the room of prophecy at the ministry. She shuddered, unwilling to remember that day. To occupy her mind she wandered along the shelves and slid a small, plain book out from between two larger volumes. Written on the first page, in perfect scripture were the words, "The lost days." She stared at it in slight confusion, wondering what days could have been lost and later found, so they could be written down in a book. She turned the page, and almost dropped it.

My dear Hermione,

You told me the first night you came I would have to write this down, so you would find me. It isn't hard for I recall every word we shared, even though some of it was nearly fourteen years ago, and at the time your real self was just a Muggle toddler.
Close your eyes Hermione, you will find me. Will yourself to me, you will find me. Follow your heart, and know it was your love that kept me sane, not Padfoot, you.

Come for me Hermione, here I still live, if only in a lost life.

Hermione stared, she recognised the handwriting but was unwilling to believe. She shut her eyes, against all the risks, willing herself away.

The cell was dark and cold in the harsh November rain. The lone figure in dirty robes huddled into the corner away from all sounds, rocking back and forth as though mad.

"Sirius?"