I've always felt that diaries are for sissies.

Is that harsh? Probably. But really, writing all your feelings down in a book?
Please.
That is, at the very least, stupid. Books can be read. They're easy to lose, and easy to find. They're vulnerable. And why commit your deepest darkest thoughts to something vulnerable?

It's careless, is what it is. I've always thought so.

It's foolishly putting your feelings where anybody can see them, and that's just exposing yourself to harm, and that's nothing but pathetic.

That's what I thought.

But, as per usual, I'm wrong. I've been proven wrong.

Somebody showed me that there's strength in committing your feelings to a book. Strength in baring your soul in the hopes that the right person will read it.

Strength in the conviction that while some might mock you for your thoughts, one person might, just might, read it and understand.

My dad showed me that.

His diary showed me that.

Of course, being a boy and therefore protective of his masculinity, he called it a 'memoir'

But still, he was no sissy.

I guess it is foolish to trust other people with your heart. But it's brave, too. Those two qualities are so often found together.

Go talk to anybody in Gryffindor- they're all walking, talking examples of courageous stupidity and blind daring.

My dad was a Gryffindor, so I guess that makes sense. But I'm not. I'm Slytherin through and through, so this is difficult for me.

I can't see any strategic benefit, no way to further myself, by writing in this book. So it feels unnatural, weird.

But it is necessary. I need to get these feelings out, somehow and this is as good a way as any.

And besides, I want you to know, whoever you are. I want somebody to know how this all got so messed up. I want somebody to know why I'm sitting here, with this godforsaken tattoo on my left arm.

Actually, it's for you, Harry.

I'll be honest. It is.

I don't want you to think I betrayed you- did all of this- just because you were an idiot. Though you really are a complete bastard, it would take more than that to compromise my morals. A lot more. I want you to be grateful to me. To respect me.

To see that I'm probably a better person than you.

It's also for you, Draco.

I'm showing you how it's done- rebelling against the people who raised you. I'm showing you how to stand up for what you think is right, no matter whom you have to knock down to do so.

And finally, it's for you, dad.

God, I can't believe I wrote that. So unbelievably corny- so cliched. But I did, and I meant it. It's for you. You wrote so much for me, and I will never be able to tell you how much that meant, and you'll probably never know, but it did, really it did.

This is my reply to the one letter you ever wrote to me, the longest letter in the world. You said you were giving me the period of your life that defined you. Now I'm giving you mine. Even though you'll never read it.

I want somebody, anybody, to know that I'm not what people think I am. I want just one person to know the truth, to know the long, convoluted sequence of events which led me to this place.

God, I am such a fool.
But I'm a well intentioned fool.

I'm a well intentioned, stubborn, caustic, cruel, sarcastic, bitchy fool.

I'm slutty and mean and I never pull my punches. I'm malicious and sulky and spoilt.

But I'm no death eater.

No matter how this all looks, no matter what everybody thinks, I'm no death eater, and I want even one person to see that.

And maybe that one person could, I don't know, spread it around a little. Because Sirius Black would want the world to know that, despite appearances, his daughter fought on the right side of the war.

Because despite it all, she was good.

And she wasn't a sissy, either.

...

Let's start this story at the beginning:

My mum died when I was five years old.
I don't mean that as an excuse- "oh, my mum died, so naturally I'm allowed to screw up in life"- No. That isn't what I'm telling you.
I'm telling you so that you might understand my early life. I wouldn't like to leave questions unanswered for you.

You don't need to know much, but I'll tell you that it was I who found her, that day, leaning against the window sill, a long, thin stick in her hand.

You'd think that, being only little, I wouldn't have realised that she was dead, that I would have thought she was asleep. But I knew. I knew straight away.

What else do I remember? Oh yes. The officials couldn't work out what she'd died of. It wasn't a heart attack or a stroke. It wasn't even the illness she'd been suffering from- the one she'd refused to go the doctors about. The specialists used lots of big words, wondering about it, puzzling over it.

It was as though, they said, she'd died of fright.

But my mother was never scared of anything.

They needed her name, for the death certificate. I showed them her passport.

"Dahlquist." One of them had mused quietly. "That's an old name, isn't it?"

"One of those upper-class families, I think." The other had said. And then to me; "Could you tell us your grandmother's name, so you can stay with her?" I'd shrugged. "Your grandfather? Uncles? Aunties? Cousins?"

I'd just looked away, close to a tantrum. I hadn't known- not any of that. It had always just been us.

So they published my name and tried to find my relatives.

After that, it was a blur of nameless faces.

That was when the man with the silver hair came. He was my uncle, or close enough to it for it not to matter. Nobody asked any questions or even checked to see what I thought.

I was furious, until he showed me his wand and told me that magic was real. When I saw that long, thin piece of wood in his hand, so similar to that of my mother's, I thought I understood.

"Can magic kill a person?" I asked.

He frowned sharply and said, "most times."

I didn't know what he'd meant by that. I'd never heard of Voldemort. I'd never heard of 'The Boy Who Lived'.

He was gone as soon as he'd come, though. My dear uncle Lucius left me in France, under the care of an old, dull woman I'd never met. But when I turned 11, I was sent away again. This time to a proper school, where they taught me about magic.

But Beauxbatons was hell for commoners, and even more hellish for bastards. I was the last Dahlquist- a legacy, one of the purest French wizarding families, directly descended from Morgan La Fey, but nobody knew who my father was. So I was an abomination, a disgrace. And more than that, a waste.

I wanted out, but nobody seemed to care what I wanted until I was 13. Then, the man with the silver hair was back, for the first time in eight years, and in a rush, I was shuffled across to England, to another school.

I didn't hate this one quite as much. Not everybody cringed when I said my last name was 'Dahlquist'. Some people didn't react at all.

And even if they had, I had my cousin by my side, and he'd never have let anything happen to me. Because Draco loves me. Despite everything that's been happening, I know that.

So I was fine. I persevered. I made friends.

And one year passed, and then I started my fourth year at Hogwarts.

And I suppose that that is where this really begins.

So let's start there, shall we?

xxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Okay, so just some basic information. This story is, in a way, the sequel/ companion piece to my other long, long fan fic- "The Life and Times of Sirius Black". But it can stand alone fairly well.

For those who haven't read it, the story was Sirius' record of his highschool years, written to the daughter he's never met (Estelle) over the period of Harry's 5th year. This story also begins in Harry's 5th year, although being younger, Estelle is in fourth year.

The implications that you need to know about from "The Life and Times" are that:
(1): Estelle had no idea who her father was- her mother left before his arrest and lived as a muggle in France
(2): Narcissa Malfoy has officially had custody of Estelle, since her mother's death.
(3): Harry has read Sirius' memoir- without Sirius' permission- and so knows Estelle is Sirius' daughter.
(4): The memoir was delivered by Harry to Estelle after his death.

So hopefully that's not too confusing. Stick with it. After this chapter, all your favourite characters will come onto the scene.

And please, give it a go!