4 Privet Drive
Surrey
14 July, 1995

Dear Sirius,

          Two things, first off. I'm really, really sorry you hurt your wrist in the wand accident. It's got to hurt enough to dislocate your wrist in the mundane fashion, but to do it the way you did—ouch! I meant to say something about it in the first letter, I forgot, and I probably sounded thoroughly inconsiderate going on about my own life. I'm sorry, and I hope you're feeling better. Be careful! You lectured me in your letter to me, so I think it's only fair to say the same thing back.

          Another thing—I think I scared you by accident when I told you about the "Dursley Diet". No, no, no. I'm not on the diet. It was a joke—see, I do the cooking, I imply that I put a few, erm, special ingredients in, and Uncle Vernon can't bear to eat it so I clean his plate for him. I didn't mean for you to take all that literally. I get lots of food packages from Hermione and Ron, don't worry. Though I have to say that Mr Lupin's omelette-waffle thingummy sounds marvellous. I'd love to try it sometime. Maybe someday. It's got to be better than Aunt Petunia's bloody plum duff.

          It's not that bad here, honestly. After the events of last year and all, the Dursleys are pretty small potatoes, really. I'm used to them. Don't like them, but I'm used to them. And thanks to you, my chainsaw-wielding godfather, I can get away with quite a lot these days.

          Oh yeah, chainsaws! You wanted to know about that. It's a muggle device for sawing down trees, and there's a motorised chain that powers the saw so it goes right through the trunk like butter. It's probably almost as fast as magic would be, but it's much, MUCH louder. I thought Uncle Vernon would have a stroke when one of our neighbours started one up at seven in the morning last Saturday. He rushed out in his pyjamas and screamed so loudly that he was almost—though not quite—audible over the "infernal row", as Aunt Petunia said as she scowled through the kitchen window. He went beet red when the man started waving the chainsaw at him, and left pretty quickly. You'd have to be careful with a chainsaw. They can go through your flesh faster than that tree if you're not careful. Eww. I'd rather not say more, but you've got the idea anyway.

          You were asking about the "charming ferret" (ugh) Draco Malfoy. Mr Lupin is perfectly welcome to read this part too, if he likes, by the way. It's one of those incidents that was dreadfully funny (dreadful and funny) when it happened, but now seems like it should have been a clue. Ron about split himself laughing at the time, though Hermione wasn't as pleased.

          Malfoy was being a prat, as usual. He said some things to Ron, and Ron said some other things and I said some stuff after that, and then Malfoy was about to hex me when my back was turned and I didn't know a thing about it. He was right about to turn me into a slug or whatever he was trying to do, when Professor Moody (so-called—it's hard, even after everything, to think of him as anyone else) ROARED with fury. I mean, the walls were literally ringing, his voice was so loud. I didn't know what it was all about until I turned around to see a ferret.

          A FERRET, of all things. All albino-furred, just like a Malfoy, and twitching its pink little nose and shaking like a leaf—not surprising, under the circumstances. So one of Malfoy's trolls, I mean henchboys, tried to rescue him so he could keep skulking around until Professor Snape turned him back, I reckon, but Moody wasn't having any of that. He rolled that eye of his all around the room, bellowed at Goyle or Crabbe, whichever it was, to "DROP IT!" (like anyone was going to touch Malfoy with him looming over us, even if we'd wanted to), and, just in case we hadn't quite got the message yet, he lifted his wand and ferret-Malfoy with it. And dropped him.

          Ever see a cat follow something with its head, looking up and down? (Mrs Figg gave me the opportunity to cat-watch too many times, so I know what they do.) Everyone was like that, watching this pure white ferret bouncing up and down like a Superball (Muggle toy—it's small and rubber and ricochets wildly for about ten minutes after you throw it at something. Dudley got one for his eighth birthday and broke Aunt Petunia's fake Ming vase she got from a Grunnings Valued Client. I got about three days in solitary for that.). Anyway, we were so shocked and some of us so happy that we couldn't say a thing. Moody bounced Malfoy higher and higher, so his head actually cracked against the stone ceiling of the hallway a few times. Good thing he was small and light at the time—and too hardheaded for it to do anything to him.

          I swear, none of us thought anything of it at the time, except maybe Hermione. I mean, yeah, we were shocked, but it was funny. It was MALFOY, for Merlin's sake, why would I cry over him? "The Amazing Bouncing Ferret", Ron called him. It wasn't until Professor McGonagall came along and tore Moody a strip for transfiguring a student (not that Moody gave two pins for that—he just said "Yep" when she screeched "Moody! Is that a STUDENT?!" and you can just hear her voice, can't you?) that Malfoy went back to his disgustingly normal self, though a bit banged about. Ron was walking on air for about a week, not surprisingly, since it was Mrs Weasley that Malfoy insulted in the first place, the bloody git. And not one of us thought it was strange, a teacher attacking a student like that. Transforming him, for punishment, just like it didn't mean anything. And Moody—the false Moody—did it for me.

          So if we'd thought, I mean, really thought about what that meant, do you think it might have stopped any of it? Snape threatened me with a dose of Veritaserum, and I wanted so badly to hex him into next week; he didn't care when poor Hermione's teeth grew out like a beaver's (she was crying and trying to get to the hospital wing, he gave her that disgusting, supercilious look and said "I see no difference." Can you imagine?!) But even he—even SNAPE—never caused actual physical harm to a student like that. Humiliate in public, yes, took away about fifty trillion House points, yes, made you feel like a flobberworm that hadn't eaten its lettuce, yes, made me want to break his beaky nose, yes. He'll stretch the line until you think it'll snap, but he never quite crosses it.

          Moody never thought there was a line at all.

          He rigged everything, manipulated everything. He didn't even punish Malfoy because he was acting like a prat—he punished Malfoy as an object lesson. Stay the hell away from Harry Potter. Because I need Harry Potter to be my pawn. Because I need Harry Potter to win the Tri-Wizard Tournament. And no matter how hard you fight, how well you play, how ever much of an edge you get, I'll make sure Harry Potter stays ahead. So he'll take the Cup. So he'll Portkey to the graveyard. So he'll bring back my master.

          So the spare will die.

          Yes, his master said that. "Kill the spare." It could have been anyone, Voldemort didn't care.

          It hurts so much to know that Cedric died for an illusion.

          Because he tried so hard. We all did. It was for the honour of our schools, right? It's really hard to convince people I didn't put my name in the Cup on purpose. I won't lie, because I did think about how exciting it would be to be chosen for the Tournament and to do all those things. I wasn't too happy when I was "chosen" after all, but oh well. I wasn't doing it to show off, but it's hard to get people to believe it when the Daily Prophet reporters are jumping out from behind the nearest rosebush and shoving a camera in your face. That was just... I know it sounds like bragging, but I didn't need that. I hope Rita Skeeter's learned something from her incarceration, but I doubt it.

          Oh, I don't think I ever told you—it's not like a lot of people know anyway. Rita had us bugged. I mean, she was a real bug. Hermione has her in a jar, last I heard. Couldn't happen to a nicer person, don't you think?

          But the point is, everyone went into the Tournament in good faith. And they did their best and they tried so hard, and it was all for NOTHING. I could have slept through the whole thing in Gryffindor Tower, and Crouch would still have found a way for me to "win". How the hell am I supposed to go back to school and look the Hufflepuffs in the face after that?

          And I liked Alastor Moody, dammit. I trusted him. He gave me a lot of what I thought was good advice, and maybe it was good advice anyway, just given for the wrong reasons. He... I thought he liked me. For myself. Not for the scar.

          Right.

          I suppose you have to know something about the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts masters to understand why Moody seemed so extraordinary. I've just finished up my fourth year, and I've had four different DADA instructors, that should tell you something there. For the other professors, McGonagall and Flitwick, just to name two, are Hogwarts institutions. And Snape is synonymous with Potions, which is probably why so many of us are terrible at them. Binns has been teaching History of Magic for how long? and that was after he died. But DADA is the turnstyle class. I'm fascinated to learn who'll be our next instructor, but I'm not taking any bets for tenure.

          Professor Quirrell. I suspect Snape didn't like him any better than he likes you or me, if that's any consolation. He (Quirrell) wasn't much of an instructor, but I don't know if he would have been any better without that damn turban. (Garlic, my arse! Sorry.) I didn't learn much about DADA that year, at least from that class. When it takes the better part of a lecture for the teacher to tell his class that they'll be studying Pogrebins that day, academic rigour tends to slide. Unless you're named Hermione.

          "T-today, cl-class, we'll be studying Pogreb... Pogreb-beb..." "Pogrebins," Hermione would whisper in my ear. "They're Russian demons, they like to pretend to be rocks." "P-p-p-p-og...!" He'd keep going on and on, getting worse with each attempt. Of course, by this time, we'd all be shaking with silent or not so silent laughter. Hermione just rolled her eyes and continued lecturing Ron and me, whether we were listening or not. If she'd just hexed Quirrell with Petrificus Totalus for the next hour and got on with teaching the class herself, maybe our year would have learnt something. Instead, she'd growl "Pogrebin!" under her breath and make scathing remarks after class until she remembered her manners and scolded herself for making fun of the poor man's disability. Not that it stopped her for long.

          She changed her tune with Lockhart. Ron and I loathed him, and that was long before he tried to wipe our memories in the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione thought he was dead sexy. We guys knew he was a self-absorbed, hypocritical phony. Guess who was right?

          I don't think you'll like the answer to how Gilderoy Lockhart ended up at St Mungo's. Basically, he tried to Obliviate me and Ron, and the spell backfired on him. Quite literally. At least Ron has a good wand now, so that shouldn't be a problem again—but I guess if your wand decides it just has to malfunction, it might as well be when someone's trying to give you a lobotomy with it.

          And if I never have to forge another signature on one of Lockhart's stupid, grinning photographs, it will be too damn soon. Yes, that was his idea of detention, having me help with his fan mail. That was when I first truly started to realise what it was like to be treated by someone as though you were his best friend, but all the time you both knew it was just so he could look good in front of other people. Thank god, I've never got that from Ron or Hermione. It keeps happening over and over again with other people who don't know me but want to pretend they do, so they can suck up to the Boy Who Lived.

          By the time my third year began, I was just glad to have a DADA teacher who wasn't actually out to kill me, let alone someone who could actually get through a classroom lecture. Merlin, you must be tired of me complaining over and over again. I guess it's just been that kind of summer. Focus, Potter.

          So I guess you have some idea now why Professor Lupin was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher I've ever had. Sometime I want to be able to stand in front of him and tell him in person just how much I owe to all he did for me that year. He didn't have to teach me the Patronus spell, but he did. He was tough enough to keep Hermione happy, even if the rest of us didn't like it much (joke!), and he helped make things a bit easier for Neville. I SO wish you could have been there when he defeated Neville's Snape boggart by dressing it in Gran Longbottom's robe and handbag and vulture hat. That's one of the best memories I have of Hogwarts, ever.

          I miss Professor Lupin. I wish he were teaching us again. Damn Malfoy, anyway! Please tell Mr Lupin, even if you don't tell him anything else from this letter, that none of us give a damn that he's a werewolf. He never hurt anyone, he never would hurt anyone. He's far too ethical and kind for that. He's not incompetent, and he's not a phony, and he knows his subject better than anyone, even Hermione. Hogwarts isn't the same without a grindylow in a tank in the corner of the schoolroom somewhere. It just isn't.

          But he's not, so that brings us to Barty Crouch Jr, aka Alastor Moody.

          I have to say, he knew his subject as well as Professor Lupin did (does). I expect next year someone will say how funny it was that the werewolf knew all the lore about Dark Creatures and the Death Eater was so keen on teaching about Dark spells. (I suppose not that many people know the truth about Crouch, really, but who knows what rumours will have spread by September?) I'd really like to know if the Unforgivable Curses are a standard part of the fourth-year DADA curriculum, or maybe Mr Lupin would be a better person to ask. I mean, is it really standard procedure to test the Unforgivables on spiders in class? Or cast Imperius on students to test their resistance? I don't know. Did they ever do anything like that when you were in school? I suppose it's more appropriate than autographing DADA textbooks all day in class (Lockhart again, are you surprised?)

          Moody (argh! Crouch! I just can't stop writing the wrong name) came off as someone who was tough, but fair. That eye was spooky, but it was wicked too, as Ron would say. And he was so clever, how he manipulated things. I didn't have a clue, not a bloody clue. It was all right in front of me, but I couldn't see it. I know, you keep saying that nobody caught it, not even Professor Dumbledore, but dammit...

          I keep derailing myself.

          So how are you doing? I'm glad Mr Lupin is feeding you properly. You keep saying how skinny I looked when you saw me. Yeah, I know I'm small, there's not a lot I can do about it, but at least it's good for me as a Seeker, don't forget. But you scared me when I saw you for the first time—not because I thought you were out to kill me, but you looked so haunted and starved and wild. No one should have to be like that, to live like that.

          Please, Sirius, keep yourself safe. I was really happy to see you and talk to you last year, but I was really worried you'd get caught. I'm not going to suggest that Mr Lupin put you on a collar and lead (eww!), and it's not like you need me lecturing you or anything. I mean, I'm just a kid. But I get worried sometimes. You must be a real handful for Mr Lupin. Make sure he reads that part, okay?

          And... thanks for yelling at me at the beginning of your letter. I wasn't going to kill myself (it sounds so weird putting it down in writing like this), but it's nice to know you don't want me to. That you care if I'm around or not. That means a lot.

          But Crouch cared if I survived, he made sure I would, and... I HATE myself for saying this! It's not true! But now every time someone's nice to me, I keep thinking there's got to be some motive behind it. That they just want me for something. And I know you wouldn't hurt me, Sirius, you never would, but this little part of my brain keeps thinking that if I could be so wrong about Moody, how can I be right about anyone, and I just want to cut it out or something, right out of my head.

          It's just like what you said in your last letter—"we don't know whom to trust, who's on which side, who is acting on his free will and who's being controlled." And it's horrible to drag you through that, even for a minute. You don't deserve that, especially not from me.

          Who else would keep my baby pictures for blackmail?

          That's a joke, Sirius. Anyway, I'd much rather you had them than Dudley. If he had them to flash round Smeltings, facing Voldemort again would be far preferable to running into Dudley's mates. That's a joke, too. I think.

          I'm doing a lousy job of saying it, but thank you, Sirius. Thanks for everything. I mean it. I've been sleeping loads better since I got your letter. This letter back to you can't be much fun to read, it's so egomaniacal even when I don't mean it to be, but I'm really happy that you're writing to me, even if Hedwig isn't always. (Joke!).

          God, is it really 2 AM?! Good job owls are nocturnal, isn't it? I think I'll be able to sleep when I've signed and sealed this letter properly and given it to Hedwig to deliver. I feel like I don't want to stop writing, like if I do, then I can't talk to you anymore. But that's just silly.

          Maybe tonight I won't dream about Cedric. Maybe someday his face will go away. But that would be even worse, to forget him. I couldn't forgive myself, if I did.

          If you're still reading this, thanks. I don't expect you are, but maybe I'll be lucky.

          Better go to bed now, I have to be up at 6 to cook breakfast.

          Your affectionate, and sleepy, godson,

---------------------------------
written by Teka Lynn
June 4, 2003

All rights to the characters and setting are held by J K Rowling and whoever else holds them, including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros. This fanwork was created solely for fun and has no legal or financial connection to the Harry Potter novels.