Kingsley Shacklebolt

The Memorial Garden on the Isle of Man that was originally designed by COLIN CREEVEY becomes a designated National Park and Historical Site, and his dogwood tree, planted next to his brother's, flourishes. His father visits the park once a year, and Frank and Alice often picnic by his tree.

KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT also has his own tree in the Garden, along with a statue representing the Players.

We brought my father in today. To Moddey. To join up with the pack of parents we've been gathering up.

It was

I don't know.

With the younger kids, the ones who're two or three, you can see their faces when they first see their folks, like they're sort of suspicious and confused and excited at the same time, and there are these people they've called 'mum' and 'da' but haven't really known what that meant, and all of a sudden they're there, right in front of them, and

I guess I looked a little like that because Mr L kept looking over at me to make sure I was okay.

I've written my father loads and loads, and he'd had my picture, but it was just

it was very odd.

I wonder if it'll get less odd later.

It's sort of like he's my father, but not my dad. If that makes sense. He shook my hand, and clapped me on the back, but it wasn't long before we ran out of things to talk about.

We sat together at dinner. And we'll be staying here over the weekend. So maybe that'll help.

I just don't know what it'll be like when he's got a house somewhere. Like how often I ought to visit, or whether he expects me to stay overnight, or, you know, live there, and coming over for Sunday dinner is all well and good in theory, but Sunday dinner is when we all get together in a big group at Moddey, and Moddey is the family I know, and he just happens to be related to me. And I guess I thought there'd be this big moment of knowing.

I've seen it. I know it happens. We brought Melissa Mayberry's mum and sister and brother by the other day, and in two seconds, they were hugging and crying and laughing and talking a mile a minute and it was like they were picking up where they left off, only Mel was a baby when she was brought here just like me, and I don't know what made it easier for her.

Maybe if mum were still around it'd be different. Or Den Or if I was younger.

This is just all sorts of complicated.

And I know

I know it's extra complicated because of your dad, too. And how very much you miss him, and that we still haven't tracked him down yet.

Anyways. I thought you might pop over to Moddey sometime over the weekend if you wanted. To say hallo. And see if you could come up with things to talk about, because otherwise, it'll be me and him staring at our plates the entire time.

You're probably sleeping by now, but if you see this when you wake up, know that I miss you and love you.

I need a go at the salle.

Can you

I know it's on the late side, but

If you're already up for the night, I'll go it alone, that's fine.

To the one who now calls himself Harry Potter:

You belong to me, and always have. This has always been your purpose. This has always been your destiny. Accept it - embrace it.

Come to me and you need never know pain or fear again. Come to me willingly, and you can end this pointless conflict now and forever. Come to me before midnight in two days' time, and no one else need die because of your cowardice. Submit to my will, and understand. It's time, Harry.

Your schoolmates' lives depend on you obeying my command.

Alice, Davidson's troops are standing by. Most of the Enforcers guarding Barrow-in-Furness have been pulled away so we're able to move and out a bit more openly. The armoury is being emptied and distributed.

After a bit of assessment of the security measures in place, Tonks and I made it inside the prison. (She Metamorphed herself into the guise of a guard she stunned and stuffed into a closet. I used a Disillusionment charm.) We were in and out within a couple of hours (hiding our tracks with Obliviation). One hour was spent touring the cells, the other going through records of the prisoners.

Apparently, when the Protectorate took over, the prisoners who were there were mostly disposed of. Those with the more serious sentences were simply killed, and about a quarter went into the nearest Sleeper warehouse. A few were kept to do the labour needed to maintain the place, other than guarding. Cooking and serving meals for the prisoners, laundry, janitor work, and so on.

As for the new prisoners: the Protectorate has used the prison ever since for Muggles sent here without trial--not ones who had committed any crime, but people who were notable in the Muggle world before Voldemort's rise.

It's an interesting mix. They are haggard, obviously, suffering from years of imprisonment, but I think there is enough talent and intelligence here to have made mealtimes in the mess hall well worth the opportunity for conversation.

I jotted down a few notes on several prisoners of particular interest:

• Alfred Denning. Lord Denning that is, who under the old aristocracy was a Baron. He was the third most senior judge in England and Wales, and a former Master of the Rolls, whatever that means.


• Tim Berners-Lee, a scientist who worked with compyuteers, which as best as I can tell, seem to be the Muggle equivalent of Pensieves.


• Alec Jeffreys, described as a geneticist. I think that's similar to a word I've heard Regina Wilson-Lee use, when talking about crop propagation?


• Richard Dawkins, another scientist. I don't understand the nature of his area (sloppy prison notes) but apparently he was rather reknowned in his field. Whatever it was?


• Michael Foote, a politician. He was, I take it, the leader of the opposition party--in opposition to the Prime Minister who was killed in the early days of the regime.


• Martin Rees, another scientist. Terry was rather excited when I mentioned his name, having read about him in one of his muggle science books. Physics, something about the stars.


• Robert Runcie, who was one of the highest in the land of church government. The title was Archdeacon. No, Archbishop. Archbishop of some city or other. Canterbury, I think.

I think what we may have here is a resource of some quite prominent and intelligent Muggles, who may be key in helping rebuild, not only society, but some of the areas of knowledge we've lost.

If we ever manage to get the Lord Protector off our collective necks.

Sirius,

I know this is a helluva time to raise this. I should be raising it with Alice and Remus. But Alice is up to her neck with assisting the distribution of people and resources with the scattering of Sherwood. Plus, I know she and Frank are grieving over Neville. I know Remus is distracted over Tonks and Adam, and besides, it's just about full moon.

But I've been assisting Davidson and his surviving Lieutenant-Colonels with the military debriefing, tabulating all the eye witness accounts and the button network reports, and the Order leadership needs to know this. I guess I want to break this to Remus in a day or two, if he and Alice aren't told by Davidson by then.

What's becoming clear is that in one day between the three of them, Ron and Justin and Hydra targeted and killed more people--ordinary civilians--than all the number of babies we've managed to save since the Sanctuary began.

I'll admit I'm not as detached as I should be. I've lost the last of my closest mates, the Players, in the last year, and I lost dozens--hundreds--of friends and acquaintances in the last two days.

I'll also freely admit that I'm a killer myself, Merlin knows, so I'm not turning my nose up at them for ending lives when I have plenty of blood on my own hands. And that includes collateral damage. But I aim my wand at the Deatheaters, MLE, and Enforcers who are running this regime.

I understand why Hydra did what she had to do with Neville. As much as it guts them, even Alice and Frank understood that.

But this...this was targeting the innocent at the Protectorate's orders. That's stepping into Rachel Brodie's territory. I understand her usefulness to us, and I understand she has to maintain her cover. But to have three more of us join her in this type of undercover work--and the youngest among us, too, which makes it even worse--well. It's making the innocent bodies pile up a little faster than I can stomach. Is the benefit really worth so high a cost?

Maybe you think it isn't fair to bring this up before Justin and Hydra and Ron are ready to debrief themselves. But I think the point needs to be raised: what the hell are we doing?

Do you want to tell Remus, or you want me to do it, if Davidson doesn't formally report it (or the three of them admit it) first?

I'm penning this to sound the alarm. I was sleeping at Bedford, until about three patronuses from Sherwood converged right over my head, screaming that an entire bloody host of Inferi is moving in on their position. First reported by the button tender in a nearby camp who saw them going by. Then by a warning patronus sent in from an outlying Zulu bivouac--but nothing's been heard from those scouts since. Merlin, they may be already overrun. SHERWOOD may be already overrun.

Bloody hell, scramble EVERYONE. Alice! Alice, are you awake?

I'll take my journal with me, but I don't know how much chance I'll get to write. About to Apparate with Lee to Davidson's headquarters.

Right. I'm done sitting on my arse feeling sorry

I've been grateful for the hospitality at Moddey Dhoo, and the kids have been grand. But being idle isn't what I need now.

Alice, Remus, give me work. I need to be back out in the field.

It's what Dorcas and Caradoc would have wanted.

Shite. Quickly:

Have lost track of Dorcas, but Caradoc's dead. He was killed early this morning while attempting to cast the modified fidelius. Dolohov AK'd him in the middle of the casting. Ground unstable now, think the mine is burning. Saw Caradoc's body fall into a fissure, and couldn't retrieve it. The stones set as wards have been going off like bombs ever since.

Goal now evacuation. Get the word out on the button network, SEND EVERYONE who can help get these people out. Smoke and fire will provide some cover. Cast bubblehead charms.

wand flashes drew us out to the creatures shack

We can see a silhouette on the ground, male, slighter than a full adult, but not draco, I'm quite sure. Hair's not blond.

There's a duel going on over the body, which isn't stirring. Rabastan Lestrange and someone else.

Alice: do we engage or fall back? Draco isn't here, and they haven't seen us yet.