They showed up last night same as ever. But how could they expect it to be the same? I’d never been so close before to killing, never. I wanted his blood, wanted to rip him and drink him. I had to look at him the next day in class, remembering thirsting for him. Remembering the smell of his blood. And Padfoot did that to me. How can it be the same now? And Prongs—he stopped me, but he wasn’t really sorry.
But—I went along with them again. They can keep me out of trouble. But who’ll keep them?
He should have been grateful. Hell, he could at least have pretended. I didn’t have to stop him; I could have pretended not to know. Well, no. I couldn’t have. But if there’s anyone who might deserve it, it’s that scrawny greasy git. He’s so into the Dark Arts, what’s a little more to him? At least Lily Evans thought I did the right thing, saving his life; she even asked some questions. I had to tell her I wasn’t supposed to talk about it, but it was nice—to have her attention. Maybe she’ll talk to me again, now.
I am not satisfied in my mind. Two victims, two malefactors—how to be fair? I had to protect Lupin; he was the true innocent in this—prank—and any adequate punishment for Black meant his exposure. The points I took from Black, I awarded Potter: so the secret is safe. No one can wonder at Black’s detentions. Lupin’s friends could be counted on not to talk, but not the Slytherin. I had to Tie his tongue. But I don’t think the boy takes responsibility for how his own malice led to this. I fear he feels I favored Gryffindor.
I thought I must’ve been wrong, that something else was going on. I couldn’t believe that even Black would send me in there if Lupin really were a werewolf. That he would try to murder me. I should’ve trusted my own logic; I was right. And they’ve been abetting him, I know it, letting him loose. I just don’t know how. The Headmaster wouldn’t listen, even though I was right about the other. Black got off with nothing, and Potter’s pretending to be a big hero.
But it’s worse. He’s told Lily lies. And I can’t tell her the truth.
Greasy git, spying on us. He deserved it. But I thought he’d back out, the little coward, before he got there. Moony and Prongs were pissed at me, but nothing really happened. And he deserved it. I’d seen him sneaking around after us, the month before. He’d been trying to follow us at the full moons; I thought he’d guessed what we were doing, actually. So why did he go through with it? The dirty little Death Eater, maybe he wanted it; You-Know-Who likes werewolves. But pretending to be the big victim.
At least Dumbledore’s closed his mouth for him.