Fawns Heart

{Seventy-four}

August 27th, 1997

Hermione told me that it would be a good idea to keep a journal, and seen as though I enjoy my writing, I thought I'd give it a shot.

We left the burrow about a week ago, and it's been hard. Not having him by my side, not hearing his voice in the mornings, it's been harder than I could ever imagine. Harry has been trying to figure out a way to destroy the locket, but no spells seem to work. He even suggested I try burn it, to see if my magic would have any sort of effect. 

But it didn't.

Camping out in the woods was something I didn't expect to worry me so much. There are snatchers everywhere, and I can't help but think about what would happen if they caught us. We hear all kinds of animals in the middle of the night, my nightmares have gotten worse, and he's not here to help me. I suppose I'm thankful that Mione knows what to do, she's been far more helpful than the boys.

Harry hardly spoke to me, after finding out about what Voldemort made me do, he's been conflicted, thinking about weather he can trust me or not. No matter how many times I try to explain that it wasn't me, he just walks away. It hurts, in all honesty. 

Anyway, I suppose that's all for now.

September 1st, 1997

Things haven't gotten any better, Harry is frustrated, almost all the time. He yells at Ron, at Mione, at me, I can't help but wonder if I should tell him or not. I have a strong feeling that I shouldn't, that it isn't the right time. 

We would be on the train to Hogwarts today, on our way to our final year. But we aren't, instead, we are stuck in the woods, trying to figure out what the next horcrux is and how to destroy them. Books are not use, everything we try doesn't work, it's getting frustrated. How were we supposed to hunt the bloody things without any kind of lead? 

I had a nightmare.

The playground.

But I could see him, his features were as clear as day. His blonde hair, his black coat, I felt as though I remembered everything that happened, only now there was a face that I remembered. He was in other nightmares too, ones where I was captured, tortured, and he would do the same things. Almost every night I wake up with shaky breath and sweat covering my forehead. I wake up everyone in the tent, the boys seem to be getting annoyed, but I can't turn off my dreams, it doesn't work like that. And somehow, they don't understand that. 

They may hear me scream, but they don't know what I'm screaming about. 

September 29th, 1997

Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

This is pointless.

Ron is on edge.

Harry is mad.

Hermione doesn't know what to do.

And I miss him.

So much.

October 15th, 1997

Why is hunting these stupid things so exhausting? We haven't made any progress, everything is moving too slowly. All we do is look through books Hermione had stocked in her bag, cook whatever food we have, and sit in silence. 

It's aggravating.

Most of the time, I train, I teach Hermione how to throw daggers, Ron joined in on the fun, though Harry almost hated it. Hated the idea of us training, having the smallest bit of fun. 

I miss him.

-------

"Can you stop throwing the bloody daggers?" Harry nearly shouted as I threw my last one into the tree we were using for practice.