Entry One
Molly Weasley had always meant to join the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. She had grown up with Fabian and Gideon, after all—brothers who burned with a fierce sense of justice, who threw themselves into the fray without hesitation. The twins were more than just her brothers, they raised her more than her deadbeat father or busy mother ever did.

But she always thought of herself as a kind and loving person; she believed it was woven into her very soul. The sun rose in the morning, the Prewetts had red hair, and Molly Weasley née Prewett cared. The war only amplified what was already there.

Fabian and Gideon had been cut down in a way Molly still couldn't bring herself to speak of. The death eaters hadn’t just taken their lives—they had dismantled them. What they’d done to her brothers was brutality beyond reason, a statement to anyone who thought they could stand against the Dark Lord. It was said that it took five elite death eaters to kill them, that the fight lasted longer than it should have, and that they killed four of their attackers, but that offered no comfort. She didn’t care about the stories of their defiance, their bravery. What haunted her were the moments after, the silence that followed, the raw emptiness of knowing that her brothers—two of the strongest people she had ever known—were simply gone.

She cried until her brown eyes could no longer yield tears, and then she picked up her wand and demanded more assignments from Dumbledore. He declined at first, but she was insistent.

The thought of leaving the order never crossed her mind, she wasn’t just fighting for Arthur or her children—she fought for every mother who couldn't, for every child who needed her. It was her nature to shield others, to be brave when the world needed her to be, and nothing—not even the loss of her brothers—could take that away from her.

And if her spells got more lethal, if she stopped pulling her punches, if she stood and put down death eater after death eater: who could blame her? They didn't show any of their victims mercy, and they would get no quarter from her.

The day Bellatrix Lestrange crossed paths with her, it wasn’t just Molly Weasley standing there—it was a mother, a witch who had everything left to lose.

Entry Two
It was Trelawney’s completely made-up prediction that the boy was to become Minister for Magic that put the last nail in her coffin. A coffin lovingly fashioned and hammered shut, it must be said, she’d never really had a fighting chance, had she? Poor, wretched little Sybill. Cheap jewellery and even cheaper sherry. Her life of ease was over now, Dolores had seen to that. She would spread the word about her uselessness to every corner of the country until things were so desperate Trelawney might have to seek her fortune abroad! The snag with Dumbledore refusing to kick her out of the castle would need to be solved, but a wee educational decree should sort it. Trelawney needed to be taught how the real world worked. She’d had it too good for too long. It was all Dumbledore’s fault.

It was Dumbledore’s fault that the boy was allowed in this castle, too. He didn’t belong here; he should be rotting away in Azkaban. Inside a cell, or perhaps floating raggedly outside of one… She didn’t much care which, both made her belly flutter and her toes curl. The way he walked the castle corridors like he knew them and they him annoyed her no end. The agitation of his team mates on the quidditch team when she’d banned him… Misguided Minerva who had actually defended his bad behaviour in class… The insolence! It all needed to be stamped out. He acted like he belonged here when he didn’t. Not in her school. And it was her school. She’d show them, show anyone who doubted her. Anyone who stood in her way. She had the law on her side, her new order, from every decree to the blessing of the Minister. She was here to stamp out all the poisonous thoughts and behaviours that sprung from the heresies Dumbledore cultivated. She was re-educating the school, every teacher and every student. And if she encountered someone it couldn’t be stamped out of, then… well.

Dolores smiled, her knuckles lovingly skimming the top drawer of her desk. Locked in there was her special quill, a showcase of the ingenuity of her magic. Had he been a normal case it would’ve turned the defiance in his bright green eyes into tears, the determined set of his jaw into a wobbling upper lip. It’d been so close last time. So close, and then she would’ve been the one to re-educate him. The most stubborn ones you had to break down bit by bit before you pieced them into what they should have become.

He should’ve accepted facts. Her facts, which were the facts of the establishment. And failing that he should’ve let the dementors take him.

Well, this was all too late for him to rectify, poor, dreadful little boy. It was too late to apologize, to see the errors of his ways. He was too far gone, and much like Sybill he could no longer avoid his fate. Dolores would have to punish him. She’d take him apart and make sure he could never be put back together again.

Sighing contentedly, she opened the drawer. The special quill lay next to an expensive bottle of sweet sherry charmed to always refill itself. Dolores hated how sloppy half-empty bottles looked. With a shudder she remembered the sight that had met her and the class of sixth years when she, during her last inspection, had forced Trelawney to open a locked cabinet supposedly containing crystal balls. Sticky bottles tumbling out and Trelawny proceeding to bawl her eyes out in front of her students. Completely unbecoming of a teacher.

Dolores added a splash from her fine bottle to her steaming cup of tea. A little letter to the minister, he’d need a nudge in the right direction. She’d have Hogwarts at her fingertips and Potter was in for such an unfortunate time he’d soon wish he’d let her dementors finish him off.

Entry Three
Now she’d finally arrived, she was experiencing a character assassination unlike any other. The portrait was so mad it was frothing at the mouth, hair-raising to the extent the old-fashioned hair cap appeared to be floating over the wispy strands that had once been thick and black and shiny.

“YOU!”

Tonks was mildly impressed by the old-fashioned swearing that followed, but also assaulted by crass euphemistic descriptors she didn’t know the meaning of. Maybe she recognized some of the words from a half-forgotten conversation, or rather shouting match, she had witnessed between her mother and grandmother. Maternal grandmother, the one she hadn’t seen since.

She’d been late, but it wasn’t her fault. Her mother had made a ruckus over her clothes, an old muggle band t-shirt rather than some lovely new robes Andromeda had got her. But her mother always seemed to think she was slimmer and taller than she was, and Tonks was tired of being judged for her life-choices, whether they be her chosen career or how she liked her hips. Besides, she found she tripped herself up less if she was shorter.

“Ah, you must be from my side of the family. Hang on.”

Tonks looked around in a daze. She was going deaf, she realized, ears ringing like she’d just come out of the mother of all heavy metal concerts.

She’d been five minutes late because of all the fussing and Moody had gone in without her. All she’d discovered when she apparated into the Joseph Grimaldi Park was a delicate piece of parchment, caught by the wind the moment she spotted it. She’d spent several minutes chasing it around dry, unkempt flowerbeds. The address barely legible when she caught it.

“I’m Tonks,” she shouted eagerly just as the screaming stopped. Grinning, her cousin Sirius shook her hand. He was tall and with thick, shiny black hair on his head, but the rest of whatever he had once looked like he must’ve left in Azkaban.

“We’ve met before, you know.”

“Yes, but I’ve spent so much time after that thinking you were a blood-thirsty mass murderer. My recollection of you includes fangs and, like, a bloodstained, smoking wand.”

“Yes, I’m afraid reality can’t compete with fantasy. We better go downstairs, though, they’re all waiting for you.”

Thrumming with excitement she followed him through a door near the ghastly portrait. So excited, in fact, that she didn’t realize there was a staircase inside before she’d begun to fall.

Her cousin caught her as she tumbled past, and rather with the air of someone used to being capable of just picking other people up from the ground. He looked much too frail for it now though, and Tonks thought she could hear something in his shoulder crack.

“Watch out, there are steps.”

“I’m glad you warned me,” she said, rolling her eyes. But she wasn’t annoyed, nor embarrassed. She could hear the murmur of voices.

“This, finally, is Nymphadora Tonks,” Moody explained to the room. Tonks, who had been waving eagerly to everyone, stopped with a grimace. “She prefers to go by Tonks.”

“Yes, I’ll hex the lot of you until you remember that,” Tonks explained conversationally, rounding the table to shake the nearest hand and hitting her side against it in the process.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this group of people wasn’t it. Tall, balding Arthur Weasley stooped down to greet her, Mundungus Fletcher could’ve been sat outside the door with a placard stating he needed a few quid for food for himself and his one-legged dog. Dumbledore’s white beard shone in the light of the candelabra in the ceiling.

“Where’s my ladies at?” Tonks said eagerly, rounding fat-set Sturgis Podmore. Mrs Weasley said “hello dear” with the same fond smile as her husband had. Arabella Figg looked like she had recently escaped a home for dementia patients, she was in slippers and had what might’ve been cat sick on her ancient, moth-eaten cardigan. Emmeline Vance, though stately, had silver hair and a delicate, wrinkled face.

“Drink?” Sirius asked her, holding a bottle of Firewhisky in one hand, a dusty bottle of port in the other. “My dear Mum didn’t leave much behind, need to restock.”

“You sure she ever left?” Tonks said with a shudder. To her, Sirius smelled rather like he might’ve sampled a bottle or two before the arrival of the others.

“It wasn’t what you were expecting, I take it?”

Another man had appeared from the pantry, holding a cobwebbed bottle of pumpkin juice and a half-eaten bar of chocolate.

Slowly, Tonks shook her head.

“See if you can transfigure these into something edible,” the man told Sirius, who was staring at the items with some distaste. “Remus Lupin, nice to meet you Tonks.”

They shook hands. He had looked grey coming in from the dark, dusty corner, but she saw now that he wasn’t very old. Still…

“All the young ones died last time around,” he said, looking steadily into her eyes. “I hope you’re sure this is what you want to do.”

“I’m sure,” Tonks said stubbornly, sensing a similar lecture to those of her mother’s on the incoming.

Instead, both Lupin and Sirius lit up. Now they were smiling, she thought she could finally see who they were. She smiled back.

Entry Four
I set the pink coloured folder aside. “Beast Identification, Tagging and Containment Headquarters” was emblazoned across the top in neat curly letters.

I trilled to myself, “Not complete.” I slid the top drawer out. A dozen stickers lay inside, pictures of kittens striding, curling and sleeping on each sticker.

I took a sticker of a rather naughty looking calico kitten. I crooned, “You’ve been naughty, haven’t you?” The kitten hissed and jumped out of sight. I stuck it below the title of the folder.

I opened the folder. The first page had a moving picture of a deceptively kind-looking man. He had beige hair, touched with grey. He smiled wanly, before looking shiftily left and right. “Remus Lupin,” read the page. “Known to be an associate of Harry ...”

I slammed the folder shut with a sharp snap.

Harry Potter

I remembered the first time I heard that wretched name. “The Boy Who Lived,” they called him. They never minded that he stopped the pureblood renaissance – they were like slavering dogs after a fresh bone.

I had shut him out of my mind. I knew the renaissance was not yet dead and everything went swimmingly well, with Lucius’ dear help guiding Cornelius past Dumbledore’s traps. Until the brat had ruined it all…

“You Know Who has returned!” I didn’t care if that was true.

My breath hitched. Maybe I do, the Dark Lord had done more to discredit the pureblood cause than others. His return would mean a closer view of Cornelius’ actions, and the pureblood cause…

I sighed and looked at the decorative plate on the wall. A blend of the Mr. Green and my face stared back at me.

I looked away from my puffed up face and thick neck. A shudder of revulsion passed through me. Why did I look at it again?

Fudge and the rest didn’t understand what they were facing, but I knew. Oh, I knew and Cornelius wouldn’t listen.

“It’s too risky to do anything to him,” he blustered. I took matters into my own hands. An imperius curse on Mr. Benedict of Unbeing Liaisions and I had dementors sent to Potter. Such horrid creatures, but they have their head in the right place. They were all to eager to do their task. And all too incompetent at it.

Then the courtroom… A large smile tugged at my lips. Potter paling before the Wizengamot, quivering beneath their weighty gaze, his eyes glancing around frantically for support.

That had been a marvelous start to the year, even with Dumbledore’s interference. Cornelius understood the threat and had me placed at Dumbledore’s filthy school. It’s good that the sallow dolt heads the school now.

Filth leading filth. I nodded to myself at the striking fitness. The school was too befouled to be corrected.

I had managed to goad Potter into detentions, where I finally got a chance to get at him. He mewled about his quidditch team, but I had him doing lines instead.

Ah, the Blood Quill. I looked down at the open drawer and prodded my wand at a corner.

The drawer was no longer filled with stickers. A thick glass framed a feather with dried blood on its tip. I rubbed my hands in glee as a frisson of delight went through me. I had done what only the Dark Lord had done, I had marked him. And with such words!

“I must not tell lies.”

I gave a frankly unbecoming squeak before slipping the drawer shut.

The defiant fool thought he was resisting me by not complaining, while he carried out my orders. He wised up quickly enough. He had the gall to resist me, leading unapproved organizations, holding clandestine meetings and doing Merlin knows what!

Dumbledore probably knew, I silently conceded to myself. Potter went one step too far and got caught in my office! And…

My mind drew a blank. My chest began heaving. “Why can’t I remember,” I whispered softly to myself. A drop of sweat fell on my cleared desk. Potter and his mudblood bint had done something to me! I clenched and unclenched my fists as I strained to remember. I remembered just St. Mungos, its sterile smell, and piercing blue eyes staring sorrowfully at me.

Fudge got off well enough; the leaders always do, I reflected bitterly.

I grasped a pencil with my clammy palms.

I crossed out the words “Harry Potter” and printed above it in blocky letters, stilling shivering hands.

“Undesirable No. 1”

Entry Five
“Please, you have to find him. I’m… I’m really scared he might have gotten lost. Or worse.”

Marlene leaned anxiously over the counter, separated from the muggle policeman by only a thin screen of glass. The place was otherwise empty, save for a muggle cleaner.

Sirius tried to look suitably concerned, standing a few feet behind her, and also not like he was checking the exits. A small muggle town wasn’t your typical place for a Death Eater attack, but they could have been followed. Constant vigilance, as Moody liked to say.

“Miss,” the muggle was saying, “I understand your concern, but two days is really not enough to worry. He might have gone over to a friend, or taken a sudden trip. He’s a grown man, he can take care of himself.”

“No, you don’t understand. My brother… gets confused sometimes. That’s why I was looking after him. Mom does that, normally, but she’s away, and… oh, please, please, you have to find him.”

Sirius had to admit that Marlene was one heck of an actress. She wore the appropriate costume; muggle jeans and a leather jacket, but it was really her performance which sold it. Arms across herself, brown hair tossed, and bouncing slightly in place, she really looked the image of an anxious muggle girl, and not the accomplished witch she actually was.

The muggle policeman, who Marlene had told him was called ‘Bobby’, had no choice but to acquiesce.

“Alright, Miss…”

“Mary.”

Bobby smiled. He was a middle-aged man, with graying hair and a bit of a gut. Looked perfectly harmless. Still Sirius kept his hand in his pocket, just in case.

“We’ll put out the word. It’s not that big of a town, someone should have seen him. What’s his full name?”

“Mundungus, Mundungus Fletcher.”

“Age?”

“Thirty.”

Bobby nodded, writing it down.

“Could you give me his description?”

Marlene did one better. She took a picture from her jacket, frozen still, as muggle photographs were, and handed it to him.

Bobby’s eyebrows raised, as he looked at it.

“It was taken during a house party,” Marlene said with a forced grin. “Brother liked to dress up like a wizard, you know, rabbit and all.”

Bobby shook his head slightly. “Well, we’ll put it in the local paper. Someone ought to have seen him. We’ll also take a statement from you shortly, but in the meanwhile, feel free to sit over there and wait.”

Marlene turned from him, face downcast. She really had a nice profile – classical nose, pointed chin, symmetrical face. Sirius shook his head. That was something his mother would have said. Although she would have never said it of her. Marlene was a muggleborn, after all.

She gave his hand a slight squeeze, and led him to a row of chairs, placed against the wall of the station. Sirius put his arm around her shoulder, like the dutiful boyfriend he was meant to be, and she leaned into him, like the distraught sister she pretended she was. It brought familiar memories to his mind, which Sirius tried to put aside. Those times were long gone, even if Marlene’s hair smelled just the same.

It didn’t take much time. After a short wait, Marlene was taken into an office, where, Sirius presumed, she fed them the rest of their bogus story, and then returned fifteen minutes later.

“All done?” he asked.

Marlene nodded minutely. She allowed him to put his arm across her shoulder again, but only until they had left the station, and cleared the corner. Then she shrugged him off.

“There,” she said. “Hopefully that’ll get us somewhere.”

“Hopefully,” Sirius echoed, looking around. The muggle street was empty, the row of shops mostly closed. It wasn’t that late into the evening, but cold and dampy as it was, he could see why most shop owners had gone home early. No Death Eaters though, or Dementors.

“What, you’d rather try sending Fletcher another owl?” Marlene turned her eyes to him with some hostility. “It’s as stupid as when you first tried it.”

Sirius felt a flush crawl up his neck. “Hey, it could have worked. If only we had flown a little faster…”

“Not every problem can be solved by getting on a broom, Black. But if you want to get on one and fly away, by all means.”

Sirius sighed. “You used to love getting on my broom, back in the day.”

Marlene scoffed at him.

“Unbelievable.”

“Wait, that’s not–”

That’s not the way Sirius had meant it. He had meant the joyrides they had gone together back at Hogwarts, around the lake, back in their sixth year. Before the war had turned ugly. Before Sirius had bollixed it all up. Still, it was too late to fix that particular mistake. And chasing the owl with a broom had indeed been dumb, even if he would never admit it.

“–nevermind. What now?”

Marlene hugged herself slightly. That brown jacket might have been fashionable in the muggle world, but it was really too thin for late autumn, particularly in Scotland.

“Now we wait, and hope they find him.”

Sirius bit his cheek. Voicing his doubts about the ability of the muggle police to find a wizard, even if he was a crook making his living by swindling them, would earn him no favor with her.

“Well, if we have to wait, I suggest we do it someplace indoors, where it's warm,” he said instead.

Marlene shivered, as if his words had reminded her just how chilly it was. “What do you suggest?”

“Three Broomsticks? We could also take the opportunity to ask around, you know, casually. Or just have a couple of drinks, if you’re tired of skulking about.”

“Finding Fletcher is important, Sir– Black.” Marlene sighed. “Dumbledore needs something from him, said so himself.”

“Just the one drink, then. Before we get on with it.”

Marlene looked at him. She was too clever by half, this one. Too clever, and too pretty. And brave. She had joined the Order too, after all, and unlike Sirius, she’d only done so due to the strength of her convictions.

Sirius gave her his best lopsided smile, although he knew it to be quite sad. He regretted many things these past few years, but the way he had treated her most of all.

She knew, of course. As she knew most things about his miserable life. She still hadn’t forgiven him. It was her prerogative, as Lily said.

“One drink,” she said at last. “But you better not cry all over me again.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Marlene had a small smile on her lips.

“I might. But not tonight. Come on, we have a war to win, and only so much time.”

Entry Six
Emmeline Vance joined the Order of The Phoenix because she loved Sirius Black.

She knew it wasn’t a good reason to throw herself into the jaws of war, but she didn’t have anything tying her to England, or anywhere else for that matter. No family, no roots, and her only two friends had already fled. This cause, this fight, and him—these were hers now.

Injustice made her blood boil, always had, but she wasn’t one of those who leapt into battle without fear. Left to her own devices, she would have turned a blind eye, convincing herself that someone else would rise to the challenge. She often wondered if that's why the hat refused to sort her in Gryffindor, despite her insistence. She couldn't look away now though.

The last time they went on a suicide mission together, she kissed him. Once, twice, thrice, like she wasn’t sure she’d get another chance. It made her heart race and her mind fall silent. He ran his hands through her black hair and kissed her sharp nose and everything was less despairing.

Sometimes he’d catch a look in her eyes, distant and haunted, like the weight of the fight had finally settled on her shoulders. She never said a word about it, but he didn’t need her to. He knew what it meant. She was afraid—not just for herself, but for him too.

Sirius loved her, and Emmeline loved him. But that didn’t change their reality: They were fighting a war they couldn’t win. Every day, another friend fell, and the walls closed in a little more.

There were times she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and plead for them to flee, to leave this cursed country and never look back. And other times she thought that it would be a trivial task to obliviate herself, to make herself forget the memories of him, of the Order, of this hopeless fight. Emmeline Vance did neither.

He kept fighting, and so did she.