anyway because you seem basically harmless otherwise.' Lupin endured it, keeping his finger firmly on the page while Harry read:
Saturday, the Fourteenth of October. Drank too much last night.
Woke up with dreadful headache only to find blasted Godric stomping about yelling again. God he just never stops yelling. Its great for terrifying the peasantry but not at all pleasant if you're just trying to enjoy your breakfast. Then at the meeting today he took issue with my request that we keep the school closed to all non- pureblooded students. Wouldn't listen to a single one of my arguments. Every time I make a decision on my own, Godric throws a wobbly. Detestable git. And he sat too close to Rowena at dinner again. If he keeps this up-
Harry broke off and looked up at Lupin. 'What on earth is this?
What's it going on about?'
Lupin indicated with a jerk of his chin that Harry should keep reading. Harry flipped a few pages forward and read: Told Godric this morning in confidence that I was thinking of selling my soul to gain power over the entire wizarding world. He said, 'I don't think that's such a good idea, Sly.' I told him I thought it was a very good plan, flawless in fact, whereupon he lost his temper and called me a sad short bastard. I really don't understand what Rowena sees in him.
I'm very much looking forward to killing him.
Harry broke off again, and stared at Lupin with round eyes. 'Is this Salazar Slytherin's diary?'
'Well,' said Lupin, 'as a professional historian and academic, I'd have to say that I need to run tests to determine that, perhaps a Verificarum spell, but, well….' He trailed off, then smiled at Harry and Hermione, sure that the relief in his eyes was plain. 'It certainly looks like it.'
'Well he certainly sounds a sad sort of laughable prat, doesn't he?'
said Harry, staring at the book in disbelief.
Lupin shrugged. 'It's very hard to tell what motivates people to do the things they do,' he said diplomatically.
'When you look at this book,' asked Harry, stabbing a finger at the page, 'it doesn't look like English to you?'
'It isn't English, Harry,' said Hermione, looking ever so slightly prim. 'It's Parseltongue.'
Lupin smiled at her. ' It didn't even occur to me it might be a written language. It probably isn't, in fact, but the book could easily have been enchanted so that only a Parselmouth could read it. Very good Hermione, very good indeed.'
Hermione beamed as if she'd just been given full marks in an exam, while Harry, struck by a sudden thought, frowned violently.
'Does this mean I'm going to have to read the whole book to you out loud?' he exclaimed, staring at Lupin in dismay. 'Bollocks to that!'
If someone had told me this morning, thought Sirius grimly to himself, that at midnight I'd be standing in a lunatic asylum with Severus Snape, trying to piece together mangled bits of Lucius Malfoy, I'd have hit them over the head and called them a daft bugger.
Shows what I know.
The Ministry guards had been surprisingly willing — in fact, more than willing — to let Sirius and Snape into the cell to view what remained of Lucius Malfoy. Partly it had been Sirius' recognizability and reputation as a top- flight Auror; partly it had been Snape's Ministry status, and partly it had been the fact that nobody else wanted to go in there.
It was easy to see why. On walking into the room, Sirius, who had seen quite a few nasty things during his tenure as an Auror, nearly felt his legs give out. There was no body — or at least, nothing remained of Lucius Malfoy that could accurately be termed a body.
Blood drenched the furniture, splattered the walls, made viscous pools on the floor. The thin circle Lucius had drawn on the floor using blood gnawed from his wrist was nearly obscured by long streaks of blood and flesh, and there were also other — things — lying scattered around the room, mixed in with the blood and the white bits of bone: things Sirius didn't want to look at closely. Things that looked a lot like mangled limbs and organs.
'Well,' said Sirius, feeling lightheaded. 'I think we can rule out suicide.'
'Not necessarily,' said Snape, who hadn't so much as changed expression since they'd entered the cell.
'What, you think he got so depressed that he hacked himself into pieces?'
'Not exactly,' said Snape coldly. He pointed towards one of the walls with his wand. 'Have you looked at those?'
'Bloodstains,' said Sirius. 'So what?'
'I suppose it was optimistic of me to expect you to notice anything, Black. Look at the bloodstains. They look like — '
'Writing,' said Sirius, twigging at last. He squinted at the wall.
'Look, it continues on down to the floor.'
'It appears to be some kind of runic language,' said Snape, who had taken out the notepad and the Quote- Quill and seemed to be copying down the writing. 'They look like fire-letters,' he muttered to himself. 'The aftermath of a Summoning Spell, perhaps — I wonder what it was he was trying to summon? It's too bad this is so difficult to read-'
'Yes, if only he'd been a bit more careful while scrawling his dying message in his own blood.'
'Don't try to be funny, Black. You're not amusing.'
'I was trying to keep myself from being sick,' said Sirius. 'You're probably used to this sort of carnage from your days as a fun-loving Death Eater, but I-' he paused, suddenly, and looked at Snape. 'You are, aren't you?' he said.
'I am what?'
