Harry Potter and the Boy of Two Houses

Chapter 4

The Hidden Diary

Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the next few days (unless you counted Peeves hovering in Potions for the first few minutes of class making snogging noises). On Friday morning, however, Harry was greeted at breakfast by none other than Angelina Johnson.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked, clapping him on the back. She sat on the bench, forcing Ron to move down a few inches.

"Fine, how 'bout you?" asked Harry.

"Good, good . . ." Harry eyed her nervously, knowing that Angelina had not turned up just to ask about his health. Sure enough, a moment later he was proven right.

"So, when did Quidditch practice start?"

Harry stared at her blankly. He could feel his cheeks turning red as she gazed at him expectantly, obviously waiting for a date. "We haven't started yet," he mumbled under his breath.

"Haven't started?" demanded Angelina, all pretense of friendliness gone. "Have you even held tryouts for the Chaser position?" Harry shook his head dumbly, aware that Angelina was now looking at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head.

"What do you mean you haven't started?" she demanded, teeth clenched.

"Just that," said Harry irritably.

"Harry," said Angelina sweetly, not looking sweet at all. "When Professor McGonagall recommended you for the post she said that you were an experienced player. How can you not have started practice yet?" she exploded. Gryffindor table was silent for a few seconds before titters of laughter could be heard.

"We'll start today," he hissed angrily.

"And your new Chaser?" Angelina inquired coldly.

Harry grimaced. "We'll have tryouts tomorrow night, I guess."

"Good." Angelina sighed. "I suppose I'll post some signs around the common room tonight."

"Is that where you're staying?" asked Harry, surprised.

"Yeah, for now at least." Angelina grinned. "Sorry, Harry, for coming down so hard. I do think you'll be a great Captain. I just . . ." She sighed again and began ladling syrup over a waffle, obviously having no intention of leaving. Angelina quickly struck up a conversation with Ginny about Chaser tactics.

"Shouldn't you be sitting with teachers?" Ron asked pointedly, eyeing his former seat hopefully. Angelina took no notice of him, however, and continued chatting amiably with the other Gryffindors. Harry chuckled at Ron's disgruntled look and peered at his timetable. Defense Against the Dark Arts was next. With a chill of foreboding, Harry glanced at the teachers' table, looking for Professor Evans. He spotted him right away, sitting next to Professor McGonagall. His scar twinged painfully and Harry, eyes watering, could barely keep from yelping.

He didn't look at Professor Evans again for the rest of breakfast, fearing another spasm, and when it came time to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry found himself wishing classes had already ended for the day.

When the sixth years entered the classroom, Professor Evans was sitting at his desk, quietly grading papers. Harry felt a swell of resentment against him, wondering yet again how much Dumbledore had told his cousin. On the board was the word 'Patronus' in silver cursive. Whispered conversations broke out around the room as the students sat down. Harry sighed, thinking wistfully of going directly to Herbology, his next class.

"Please hand in your essays on what you believe your Patronus is," directed Professor Evans as soon as the chatter had subsided. "Mr Longbottom, if you would collect them?" Neville started and then blushed, standing hurriedly. Harry couldn't resist smiling slightly as he handed his essay to Neville. This had perhaps been the easiest of his homework that week. The only problem was explaining the symbolism of his Patronus' shape. Harry had already told Professor Evans in class that his was a stag because that was what James would have been had he become an Animagus. He couldn't very well say in his essay that he had lied and James really had been an unregistered Animagus.

"I don't know what mine is," Ron had told Harry unhappily when he had finally begun his homework. "It's not very big, and it moves pretty fast, but it always disappears so quickly!" Hermione's on the other hand, was an otter, simply because it was one of her favorite animals and she had done a research project on them when she was still in Muggle school so she knew a lot about them. Much to Harry and Ron's disbelief, she hadn't wasted time trying to find other reasons to put in her essay.

"I think Harry taught us most of what we need to know about Patronus' last year," Hermione had said reasonably, causing Harry to go red. "As long as it protects me, I don't care what shape it is."

"Today, we will practice conjuring Patronus'," announced Professor Evans, standing up and smiling. "Can anyone tell me what the incantation is for producing a Patronus?" Unsurprisingly, every hand in the room went up, including Neville's, who rarely spoke up in any class.

Professor Evans, though he looked startled at the response, regained his composure quickly and called on Lavender.

"Expecto Patronus," giggled Lavender, taking a quick glance at Hermione, who looked more than a little disappointed that she had not been called on.

Professor Evans smiled kindly at her and shook his head. "Almost, my dear. Let's see . . . Mr Longbottom?"

Neville went white for a minute at being called on, but then he said very fast, "Expecto Patronum."

"Very good," chucked Professor Evans. "Five points to Gryffindor." Neville's plump face broke into a happy smile, and Hermione looked slightly mollified.

"I'm going to split all of you into pairs today. One of you is to practice the spell and their partner is to make notes on what the Patronus' shape looks like." Professor Evans walked along the desks, pairing up the Gryffindors. Harry and Ron were partnered, and Hermione was working with Parvati.

"Right, do you want to go first?" asked Ron, looking nervous.

Harry shook his head. "Maybe I can tell what your Patronus is."

Ron nodded and gripped his wand until his knuckled were white. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, and a faint white wisp emerged from his wand. It curled in the air for a moment until Harry was almost certain he could see a head- and then it disappeared. Ron stared at the space where it had been for a moment, white, and then tried again.

"Expecto Patronum!" Ron yelled, making Lavender squeak in surprise and drop her wand. The white wisp was bigger and Harry could definitely see a tail- or an appendix of some sort- it was hard to tell because it evaporated so quickly.

Ron sighed loudly and lifted his arm to perform the charm again when Harry stopped him.

"Maybe you're not thinking happy enough thoughts," he suggested. "What are you thinking?"

"About the time I became a prefect," Ron admitted, his face red.

Harry stared in concentration at the other couples practicing the charm. Hermione had let Parvati go first and from the looks of it she wasn't faring much better than Ron. She kept on waving her wand wildly through the air, shouting 'Expecto Patronum' over and over. Hermione kept trying to correct her movements but Parvati ignored her, angrily trying to produce a wisp of silver.

Neville was working with Dean and had succeeded in producing a semi-corporeal Patronus. It did not stay long but it was large and distinguished enough that Harry could see the resemblance to a dog or wolf. Lavender had also progressed. The last time Harry had seen her trying to produce a Patronus, her wand had emitted nothing more than puffs of smoke-like vapor. Now silver blobs shimmered around her in the air, staying for at least thirty seconds before fading.

"Maybe that's not a happy enough memory," said Harry thoughtfully. "Fred and George were making, er, fun of it and Hermione was more than a bit . . . incredulous."

Ron gave Harry a small grin. "And everyone thought it would be you." Harry nodded, smiling slightly as he recalled the memory. It was true he hadn't been made prefect and at first he had been angry and hurt but now it didn't seem to so important. Ron was always complaining about his prefect duties and Hermione was always badgering him about it- Harry found it almost a relief not to be a prefect.

"How about when you beat Ravenclaw at Quidditch?" suggested Harry.

"Yeah, if that wasn't happy, I don't know what is," exclaimed Ron, his grin widening. "Expecto Patronum!" A silver shape burst out of his wand; it hovered in the air for a moment and then disappeared.

"That was much better," said Harry approvingly. "It looked . . . well I don't know what it was," he admitted. "But I could definitely see a head."

"Yeah, and arms or something like that," added Ron eagerly. "Shall I try again?" Harry was about to say yes when Professor Evans' voice rang out around the room.

"All right, everyone, you've all been doing excellent jobs. I'd like the partner who was watching to practice the spell now."

"Sure, we've been doing excellent jobs," growled Parvati. She still hadn't accomplished more than tiny puffs of smoke and was glaring at Hermione as if it were her fault. Ron put his wand away and moved back a couple of feet from Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and brandished his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" A glittering silver stag exploded from the tip of his wand. It seemed to stand still in the air for a moment, looking at him. Harry stared back at his Patronus, the stag an exact replica of his father in his Animagus form. It was as if Professor Evans had given a silent announcement to the class to stop for everyone paused to watch Harry's Patronus. The stag pawed the air and then, still glistening, began to fade. In seconds it was gone. Parvati gave an almost inaudible gasp, and Lavender sighed dreamily.

"That was a wonderful example of a corporeal Patronus, Harry ," proclaimed Professor Evans, smiling. "Ten points to Gryffindor." Hermione beamed happily at him, and Ron clapped him on the back. Harry repeated the spell two more times on Professor Evans' request and then the pairs began practicing again.

In no time Hermione's shining otter was leaping around her in circles, and Dean had half of what looked like a feline of some sort dangling in front of him. Seamus was still only producing wisps of vapor but he was grinning broadly, calling out for Dean across the room to look.

"Do you want to give it another go?" asked Harry, and Ron nodded, shooting furtive glances at Professor Evans who was strolling around the room, inspecting their progress.

When class had ended and it was time for Herbology Professor Evans commended them on and awarded Gryffindor ten points. "I'm very pleased with your abilities," he said. Was it Harry's imagination or was the Professor looking straight at him? Harry shivered, his glee at Gryffindor's newly acquired points diminished somewhat.

In Herbology Professor Sprout announced that they would begin growing Venomous Tentaculas. She gave them each a pot, fertilizer, and a seed, and proceeded to show them her own Venomous Tentacula in the corner, swatting it whenever it snapped.

"Why do I feel like this is Care Of Magical Creatures?" moaned Ron on their way to lunch.

"Oh, hush," said Hermione impatiently. "They haven't even started to grow yet."

"They don't need to grow," responded Ron furiously, brandishing a bleeding finger. "Their mother bit my when I was filling my water can!"

***

At 7:45 that evening Harry left the Gryffindor common room for Quidditch Practice. Firebolt in hand, he marched proudly onto the empty pitch. It was as if all his worries had fallen away, thought Harry as he mounted his Firebolt. He flew around the pitch a few times, enjoying the wind in his air. He had been afraid, at first, that he would have lost all his Quidditch skills over the summer. Now, though, Harry felt as if he'd never been away from his Firebolt. He did loop after loop in the air and when he finally landed on the ground ten minutes later, clapping and whistles ensued.

"You were great, Harry," said Ginny, eyes shining.

"Thanks," he replied, grinning. Harry turned to the rest of the team, some of his uneasiness flooding back into him now that he was on the ground. Katie Bell smiled at him, leaning on her broom.

"Nice to see you flying again," she commented.

Harry grinned. "Thanks. It's great to be back on the team."

"And Captain, too!"

Harry flushed. "You're sure that you don't want to do it?"

"Nah." For a second it looked as if Katie wanted to take it back, but then her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Too much work. I think you'll do fine."

"Course he will," said Ron, grinning. "With all of us to help, why wouldn't he?" Harry introduced himself to their two new beaters, Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, eyeing them carefully. They stared back nervously, clutching their brooms. Harry racked his brain, trying to remember how they'd played last year. They weren't bad, but Fred and George had definitely been better.

"Ok, team, let's, er, get in the air and . . ." Harry paused, wondering what Oliver and Angelina used to do. They would warm up, go over tactics, and practice.

"Right," he said, turning red. "Let's-"

"Harry! Harry!" Harry turned around to see Angelina striding across the field toward him, the chest of Quidditch balls in her arms and a broom over her shoulder.

"Hi," he called, relieved.

"Glad to see you've started," she said approvingly, waving to Katie.

"Er," said Harry. "Yeah, we were just about to start flying."

Angelina nodded and motioned for the everyone to mount their brooms. "Go on everyone, I just need to talk to Harry for a minute."

Katie was the first to leave the ground, followed closely by Ginny. Ron hesitated, glanced at Harry, and shrugged, beckoning for Jack and Andrew to get on their brooms.

"What's up?" asked Harry, relieved that things had finally started.

"Well, I've got signs in the Gryffindor common room announcing tryouts tomorrow," began Angelina, ticking things off on her fingers. "I brought some of the boards that Oliver used to use, and I got the balls from Madame Hooch's office." She pointed at a pile of whiteboards that Harry recognized as being the ones Oliver used to draw diagrams of tactics on.

"Before I forget, here's the key to the cupboard where the balls are kept." Angelina drew from around her neck a gold chain with a tarnished key on it. She hesitated for a second before dropping it in his palm. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it. Harry took the key, unwilling to wear it as a necklace like Angelina had. Finally he nodded his thanks and put it in his robes' pocket.

"I figured today Katie and Ginny can practice passing the Quaffle since Ginny's never done it before. Then they can try to score and get past Ron. I'll throw tennis balls for you if you don't want to use the Snitch yet," she offered. Harry nodded eagerly, glad that she had arrived with a plan.

"Jack and Andrew can chase the Bludgers," Harry offered quickly, not wanting Angelina to think him completely useless.

"Yeah, but they should start out with one, and try aiming at each other." Angelina smiled ruefully. "They're terrible at swinging." Without waiting, Angelina mounted her broomstick.

"Release the balls!" she yelled down. Harry opened the chest and gulped. He undid the catch on the Quaffle first and threw it to Angelina. Next were the Bludgers, rattling their bindings furiously. He undid one and it zoomed out with surprising speed, rocketing up into the air.

"Go get it, Kirke!" he heard Angelina yell. Harry stared almost reverently at the tiny golden Snitch that was still fluttering in the chest. He took it out, grasping it firmly. Mounting his broom, anticipation rising in him, Harry let it go. Immediately the Snitch disappeared, flying through the air with enough speed and agility to match the Firebolt's.

Harry soared after it, stopping by the Quidditch goals to let it get a head start. Ginny was attempting to get the Quaffle past a smug Ron, who blocked her every move.

"Fake him out, Ginny!" Angelina called. "Ron, don't get so close to her. Stay close to the hoops or she might-" Her voice trailed off as Ginny flew under Ron's feet and spun past the left hoop, dropping the Quaffle in. She whooped, doing a somersault in the air. Angelina and Katie clapped while Ron turned red.

"That was great!" Harry called. Ginny beamed happily.

"She will never let you forget this," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Ron.

Ron grimaced, shuddering. "I know."

Harry laughed and flew ten feet higher, searching for the Snitch. He saw a glint of gold hovering near the end of Jack Sloper's broom. Harry grinned and went spiraling after it. Jack's eyes opened wide as Harry bore down on him. With a yelp he swung away in the air, managing to hit the Bludger and Andrew's broom with his club in the process. Harry felt fluttering wings and grabbed the Snitch.

"Just hit the Bludger!" he called to Jack and Andrew, who were gazing at him half reproachfully, half in awe. Harry let the Snitch go again and flew once more towards the goal hoops, just in time to see Ginny dodge Ron and score. Harry smiled. Maybe they had a good chance at winning the Quidditch Cup after all.

"Ron, you better hope there aren't any girls on the Slytherin team," Ginny teased later that night in the common room. Ron made a face at her and, still frowning, turned back to his Herbology essay on Venomous Tentaculas.

"Give it a rest," he grumbled. "Just because you scored five times-"

"Six," corrected Ginny, stifling laughter.

Ron glared at her before turning to Harry. "Do you think you could help me with the Patronus charm after you're done doing homework?"

Harry stared at him, confused. "Why?"

Ron flushed, avoiding his gaze. "It's just that- you and Hermione can do it so well, and mine doesn't even have a proper shape yet."

"Ron, it doesn't matter," interrupted Hermione, worriedly. "Just because we can do it doesn't mean you have to."

"But I want to," snapped Ron. Harry could tell he was trying to keep his temper.

"You're already in Potions without me," Ron continued. "You can both shield yourselves from Dementors. I can't."

"But you don't know if I can either," protested Hermione. "I haven't faced one yet." She bit her lip, staring apologetically at Harry. "I mean, I did, but that was ages ago and I fainted! Me!" she cried incredulously, as if the idea were preposterous.

"You still have a better chance than I do," said Ron stubbornly. He turned back to Harry, his eyes pleading.

"Will you help me practice?"

"Course I will, mate," said Harry, forcing a smile.

Ron grinned. "Thanks, Harry. Just tell me when you're done with Sprout's essay."

Harry had been working on his essay for several minutes when he noticed Hermione twisting in her seat and staring behind her at the far wall.

"What's wrong?" he asked exasperatedly as she started to get up and then sat back down in her chair with a thump.

Hermione bit her lip, blushing. "It's just- I'm worried about that first year."

"Well, don't be," said Ron roughly, turning to look at Conrad. The boy was sitting in the same armchair he'd occupied a few days ago, brooding over a small book in his hands.

"He isn't worth our time," Ron said loudly, glaring at Conrad.

"Hermione, stop worrying about him," said Harry. It was true that there was something strange about the kid, but Harry was starting to think Ron was right: Conrad was just bad news.

"I know," sighed Hermione, wringing her hands agitatedly. "I just wish we could help him."

"We'll alert you when that happens, but until then, stop doing that- that- whatever you're doing," exclaimed Ron, indicating her hands. Hermione glared at him, folding her hands in her lap and staring at him severely.

"What's wrong?" she demanded coolly.

"You look just like my mother," said Ron vehemently.

"Ron, let's practice your Patronus now," intervened Harry, unable to deal with another argument.

"Yes, we wouldn't want you left behind," said Hermione snippily. Ron glared at her and stood up, shoving his chair in with a bang. Harry led him over to the other side of the common room.

"Ok, say the incantation and focus on something happy."

Ron nodded eagerly, flourishing his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" Silver light sprang from his wand, vanishing as quickly as it had come. Harry sighed inwardly at Ron's disappointed face.

"It looked like it had a pointed nose," he said, trying to sound positive. "Or maybe a beak. It could be something like a fox or a weasel or something."

"'Cause that's exactly what I want my Patronus to b-" began Ron furiously. Suddenly he stopped, and his eyes opened wide. "Exactly," he whispered.

Then, louder, "Expecto Patronum!" A silver shape burst from his wand and soared around him in a circle. Its head was a mass of light but Harry could easily see that it had wings and a body. The Patronus hovered for a second and then faded, leaving both him and Ron speechless. Slowly, clapping came from around the room.

"Bloody brilliant, Ron!" cried Seamus, hopping down from his armchair. "What was it?"

"I- I don't know," gasped Ron, staring at where his Patronus had been. "But I did it, didn't I, Harry?" he asked excitedly.

Harry nodded. "That was much better than your first time."

"But what was it?" asked Ron, clearly confused.

Hermione cleared her throat from across the room. "I think it was a bird," she said, hesitatingly. Her eyes met Ron's in a silent apology. "It was really good."

Ron flushed scarlet. "Thanks."

"That must've been some memory," said Ginny, staring wide-eyed at her brother. "What on earth were you thinking? Your Patronus was huge!"

Ron grinned mischievously, and Harry was reminded of Fred and George.

"I thought of it when Harry said my Patronus might've been a weasel. Anyone remember of a certain, nameless Slytherin who, shall we say, hits the ceiling when he gets in trouble . . . ?" It took Harry only a second to realize what Ron was talking about and by the disgusted look on Hermione's face, the same was true for her.

"What do you-" began Seamus and then stopped, a grin spreading across his face. He laughed uproariously, clapping Ron on the back.

"Brilliant, mate! Bloody excellent!"

"What?" demanded Neville, staring at them anxiously.

"Why, Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret, of course!" cried Ron, lapping up the attention.

"What a git," chortled Seamus, and Dean had to hold him up to keep him from falling down laughing.

"I'm a little, insensitive furball!" crowed Ron, dancing around the room.

"Ron!" interrupted Hermione impatiently. "Can you stop?"

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione," exclaimed Ron, motioning her over. "Have a little fun."

"Not at other's expense," said Hermione firmly, glaring coldly at him.

"He would do it at yours!"

"That doesn't mean I'll sink to his level!"

Harry watched the battle rage between his two friends. What should he do, he wondered desperately. Hermione was right when she said it wasn't proper to make fun of the dead- but on the other hand taunting Malfoy gave Harry immense satisfaction.

"You hated him! Admit it!" cried Ron.

Hermione stood, boiling with rage. "I will not make fun of him with you," she spit out. "He was an evil, despicable jerk, I'll admit that, Ron, but at the moment so are you!" She pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait and climbed out, leaving all her books on the table.

The common room was completely silent. Harry stared at Ron's shocked, white face, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Ginny was looking almost as if she'd like to run after Hermione, but Dean put a gentle hand on her shoulder, holding her there.

"Well, I guess that puts us in our place," said Seamus at last, trying to sound cheerful. He began to pat Ron on the back again, but stopped at his livid expression.

"How dare she- how dare she-" he sputtered, turning to look at Harry. "Compare me to- to Malfoy?" He gazed desperately at Harry as if begging him to say that Hermione was wrong, but for once Harry couldn't disagree.

The only reason Hermione returned to Gryffindor Tower that evening was to avoid being caught by Filch and sent to detention. She crept in close to midnight after she was sure everyone else had gone to bed. Sure enough, the common room was empty. The only sign that the students existed were the piles of books and parchment Hermione had left lying haphazardly on the table. She stuffed them into her bag, crying silently. Why did she have to fight with Ron so often, she asked herself. He was her best friend! Harry was her best friend as well but she hardly ever fought with him.

Slowly Hermione trudged up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, too drained of tears to cry any longer. With a sigh she lay down on her bed, staring at the still forms of Lavender and Parvati. They thought she was silly for fighting with Ron. Flirt not fight was their motto. Hermione couldn't resist a small grin. Imagine flirting with Ron. No, it was unimaginable. They were best friends, at least she hoped they still were. Hermione would have to apologize in the morning. Ron was sometimes rude and obnoxious but he could never be as bad as Draco Malfoy. Hermione closed her eyes, thinking of what she would say to make it up with Ron tomorrow. Maybe Harry would help her, was her last coherent thought before drifting off to sleep. Assuming he wasn't angry at her, too . . .

Despite the fact that she'd gone to sleep well past midnight the previous evening, Hermione was the first one up in the morning. She felt strangely energized, as if she'd gotten twice the amount of sleep than she'd actually had.

The only students in the common room when she got down that morning were two seventh years who nodded and then went back to their discussion. Hermione pushed the Fat Lady's portrait open again, remembering her flight the night before. She groaned, pushing her chocolate brown hair back. A good, long walk was what she needed, Hermione decided. Maybe she'd think of something to say to Ron along the way.

No one was in the halls, either, except for the occasional floating ghost. Hermione had reached the Great Hall and was about to go in and grab a piece of toast to take with her when she heard Peeves singing from inside. Hermione hesitated, hand paused on the door. No, she decided reluctantly. She was in no mood for a run-in with Peeves. Hermione glanced around the front entrance and her gaze settled on the dank, dark entrance to the dungeons. She bit her lip, wondering if she dared go down there. Hermione knew that Slytherin House was somewhere down there, and they probably wouldn't be happy if they saw a Gryffindor in their midst.

So what? Hermione asked herself sharply, squaring her shoulders. Are you a prefect or not? She went down the steps, shivering as the air around her grew cooler with every step. At the bottom Hermione stopped, confronted with several different passageways. She could hear footsteps behind her approaching. Without a second thought Hermione dashed towards the left, berating herself for coming there in the first place.

Her feet pounded on the floor as she gasped for breath, rounding the next few corners before reaching a dead end. Finally Hermione stopped, clutching a stitch in her side. She slid to the floor, leaning against the wall. I'm sorry, Ron, she thought, staring at the black stones across from her. But he should apologize, too. Hermione sighed, knowing that while this was true, Ron was the stubbornest teenage boy she'd ever met, and would probably refuse to see her side. She closed her eyes, letting the coolness of the stones refresh her. The wall behind her was rough but the stones beneath her were smooth from years of people walking on them, though from the looks of the dust and grime no one had been there in months.

Hermione's eyes opened wide as she saw, against the corner of the wall, a statue she hadn't seen in her haste before. It was tall and resembled a man. His mouth was twisted in a sneer and in his left hand was a long wand. His robes, despite the fact that they were made of stone, looked expensive. At the base of the statue was an inscription.

Hermione squinted at it, unable to read it in the gloom. She crawled over to it. Salazar Slytherin. Well, she thought grimly. That explained his grumpy expression. Hermione touched the words, wondering how long the statue had stood there. She closed her eyes, wondering if statues of the other founders were hidden around the school as well. Suddenly her fingers stopped. That wasn't stone she was touching. Was it- leather? Hermione opened her eyes in shock. At the base of the statue was a slot, hollowed out years ago. There was something in it.

Hand trembling, Hermione drew out a handsome black book, the size of a diary. It had a lock on it, but when she reached under the statue again a key met her fingers. Hermione pulled it out and unlocked the book. For a brief second she paused, wondering if this were a dangerous book, like Tom Riddle's diary that Ginny had unknowingly fallen prey to in her first year at Hogwarts. There was no dust on the cover of the book, though, and Hermione's curiosity soon got the better of her. She slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The lock fell away with a click, and Hermione opened the diary.

A white end page greeted her, empty except for two words.

Draco Malfoy.

Hermione gasped, slamming the book shut out of instinct. She stared down at what she was now sure was a journal. Draco Malfoy's journal was at Hogwarts? Hermione wondered. She moved to open it and then stopped. What right did she have to read his private thoughts? asked her sensible side. On the other hand no one will know and maybe it will have something about Voldemort, argued her other half.

Hermione opened the book.

She turned past the end page with his name on it. Neat cursive filled the page, a date at the top. August 28^th, 2002. Their fifth year, Hermione realized. There was no hesitation in her mind when she began to read again.

Mother gave me a new journal this year to take to school. She does it every August, telling me to write in it. She says that a diary is the next best thing to confide in besides a mother. Personally, I think this journal probably knows me better than she does. I always tell her that I'm too old for a journal, and I don't need one. I write in them anyway, though, because it makes her happy. And I suppose in a way Mother is right. I can tell this journal anything because no one else will read it.

Hermione stopped, guilt overwhelming her. Here she was reading Malfoy's diary, the diary that he thought was private and safe from prying eyes. Hermione gulped, ready to put it back under the statue. She stopped, a new idea springing to mind. She would give it to Snape and he could give it to Mrs Malfoy. She would appreciate it considering that she had given it to him. As Hermione stood up, the journal in hand, a thought struck her. Why was the journal still there? Malfoy had started writing in it at the beginning of fifth year and that had long since passed. Why hadn't he taken it home on summer vacation? Hermione wondered. Why leave it at school where he couldn't write in it?

Footsteps echoed around the passageway, and Hermione gasped, whirling around. In a panic, she hid the diary behind her, wondering who was coming. Possible excuses as to why she was in Slytherin territory were running through her mind when the intruder rounded the corner.

Hermione gasped, staring at the newcomer. "What are you doing down here?"

The look of shock on Conrad's face matched her own, and he was momentarily speechless. "Why aren't you in Gryffindor tower?" he demanded angrily, his hands balled into fists.

"I should be asking you the same question," replied Hermione coolly.

"I have every right to be down here," replied Conrad. "What's that behind your back?" He took a step forward, reaching towards the hidden diary.

"Nothing!" exclaimed Hermione, retreating until she bumped into the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Conrad's eyes immediately went down to the hidden slot in the base.

His gaze flew back to her, his face outraged. "Give it to me!" Conrad cried, stepping forward and reaching for the diary.

Hermione ducked his outstretched hand and whirled around so her back was to the exit. "No," she said firmly. "It's not yours."

"Yes it is! It's my diary!" Conrad retorted, and for the first time he sounded scared.

"It doesn't belong to you," repeated Hermione, stepping backwards. "It belongs to a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy. He's the one that's dead," she added helpfully.

Conrad glared at her, seething. She was struck how much older he looked now, the juvenile air of a first year gone.

"I'm going to give it to Professor Snape," said Hermione, slowly and clearly. "He can give it to the Malfoys." Conrad lunged at her, grappling for the journal. Hermione yelped and stumbled back, landing on the floor. The black book flew from her grasp, skidding several feet on the stone floor. Hermione and Conrad dived for it, and she, being taller and stronger, pushed him aside.

"What is with you?" she demanded, breathless. There was a small scratch on her cheek from hitting the stone floor.

"Give me my diary," pleaded Conrad, reaching for it. "I've written in it!"

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "You wrote in Malfoy's diary?" she asked sharply, unable to believe her ears. Conrad stared at her sullenly, his face pale.

Hermione took a deep breath, wondering how to calm the psychotic boy. "I can prove it's Malfoy's," she said, opening the journal.

"Don't!" cried Conrad, panicked.

"The Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor. Me! Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin! I tried to argue but McGonagall just told me to go to the table. As if that weren't bad enough, the Dream Team decided to come and welcome the 'poor first year.' That mudblood thinks she can solve everything. I hate this. I hate looking like a stupid little first year. I tried to talk to Crabbe and Goyle after the feast, but they just sneered at me. Damn the Sorting Hat for putting me in Gryffindor. I hate this! I thought I could at least tell them who I am . . ."

Hermione's voice trailed off as she stared at the journal in disbelief. What she had just read was impossible. Feeling slightly nauseous she looked up at Conrad. He stared back at her, his face void of expression. His damp brown hair was plastered against his sweaty skin. A red tinge had appeared in his cheeks, but when he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out.

"Malfoy?" whispered Hermione, staring at the boy in front of her.

For a moment Conrad stared at her. Then, face burning, he nodded.

Hermione gasped, involuntarily taking a step back from the person she thought was dead. "H- w- how?" she choked out.

"Look, just give me my diary," snapped Malfoy angrily, reaching for the little black book. Hermione clutched it tightly, still not grasping the concept. Malfoy swore under his breath and moved to take it. Hermione held it above her head, simply staring at him as he tried to grab it.

"Bloody hell, Granger!" exclaimed Malfoy. "Give it to me!"

"No," said Hermione quietly, glaring fiercely at him. "Tell me how you changed from a blonde sixth year to a brunette first year!"

"It's none of your business!"

"Well, you're going to tell me anyway!" ordered Hermione.

Malfoy watched her for a moment to see if she was serious and then sighed. "Granger, please just give me back my diary," he insisted. Hermione was about to relent, his unhappy expression tearing at her heart, but then she remembered who he really was and her resolve strengthened.

"Malfoy, tell me why everyone thinks you're dead, and maybe I'll give it to you," she said, trying to sound reasonable.

Malfoy sighed, muttering something under his breath that Hermione had a distinct feeling was about her.

"Who did it?" asked Hermione encouragingly.

"The Dark Lord," said Malfoy irritably, leaning against the wall in defeat.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "Why? You're dad's a Death Eater!"

Malfoy glared contemptuously at her. "You think that matters?"

"I don't understand," exclaimed Hermione, frustrated.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in mock skepticism. "I don't believe my ears, Miss I-Know-Everything Granger is admitting that she doesn't understand something."

"Ok, now that sounds like Malfoy," said Hermione coolly. They stared at each other furiously, waiting for the other to speak.

"And Voldemort wanted to hurt you why . . . ?" prompted Hermione.

Malfoy flinched. "He was mad at my father," he said through gritted teeth. "For messing up in the Department of Mysteries last year."

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "And he took his revenge on you because?"

"Because Saint Potter put my father in Azkaban," snapped Malfoy. "Thanks to you and your precious boyfriends I have no father, and I'm in first year again."

Hermione bit her lip, sympathy flooding her even though the 'boyfriend' comment was very unfair. Don't feel sorry for him, she said to herself sternly. This is Draco Malfoy; he's not really a first year and he doesn't want your pity. Looking at him, though, it was hard to imagine that the little brown-haired boy in front of her was really the arrogant bully she had despised for five years.

"Why didn't you tell Snape or Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked softly.

"One, they wouldn't believe me, two, the whole school would know about it, and third, no one can break the curse but me or- him."

"How do you undo it, then?" asked Hermione immediately.

Malfoy shrugged. "How should I know? I don't even know what kind of spell they used. I just know what he told me."

"Well, how did they cast it?" she demanded impatiently.

"They gave me a potion."

"And you just took it?" said Hermione scathingly. "Even you, Malfoy, are not that stupid."

He glared at her venomously. "I didn't ask for your opinion, mudblood," he hissed. "There's more than one way to force someone to do something."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him off for call her a mudblood when a sudden, horrible thought struck her. "They- they didn't torture you?" she whispered, feeling overwhelmed and slightly panicky. Even Malfoy, cruel and deceitful as he was, did not deserve that.

Malfoy stared at her for a moment and then said indifferently, "maybe."

Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down and think logically. "You really should tell Dumbledore. I'm sure he could help."

"Saint Dumbledore," growled Malfoy. "Yes, he'll be able to fix things."

"He might," said Hermione indignantly. "You should at least tell him so you can get into sixth year classes."

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, because everyone will think I'm telling the truth." He eyed her suspiciously. "What I don't understand is why you believe me."

"Should I?" asked Hermione quietly.

Malfoy looked at her, a strange expression on his face. "Yes," he said at last. "You should."

Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I don't know." She paused for a moment, trying to think how Ron would phrase it. "You could just be a cheeky, snot-nosed first year."

Malfoy bristled. "I am not a first year," he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione tutted. "I'm afraid you'll have to prove it. What's the name of the Slytherin girl you were dating?"

"I was not dating her!" argued Malfoy exasperatedly. "You take a girl to a Ball and suddenly everyone thinks you're a couple! Bloody insane!"

"Her name?" repeated Hermione in a bored tone.

"Pansy Parkinson," he snapped, arms folded across his chest.

"What's the name of your old house-elf?" she asked primly.

"Dobby," Malfoy spit out, disgusted.

Hermione smiled, a final question springing to mind. Oh, this one would be good. "And what kind of Animagus is Rita Skeeter?" She could almost hear his teeth grind.

"A beetle," said Malfoy at last, glaring at her. "You think you're so smart, Granger, making me admit-"

"If you're really Malfoy," interrupted Hermione, voicing the question that had been hanging in the back of her mind. "Why did the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor?"

Malfoy started to respond and then stopped, looking confused. Finally he shrugged. "How should I know how the stupid hat's mind works? I certainly didn't ask to be put in Gryffindor!" he said angrily. "I thought it would put me in Slytherin."

"It must have seen something it hadn't seen the, er, first time to make it put you in Gryffindor. Bravery, chivalry-" She stopped, staring at him skeptically. None of those qualities described him whatsoever.

"What?" snapped Mafloy. "You don't think I'm brave?"

"I was with you in the Forbidden Forest first year!" Hermione couldn't resist smirking. "The first time, I mean."

Malfoy swore again. "Listen, Granger, I don't have to stick around to listen to insults-"

"Why are you skipping classes, Malfoy?" interrupted Hermione, smiling sweetly. "Are you trying to get in trouble?"

"You don't think I'm actually going to take first year classes again, do you?" he demanded incredulously. "I thought you were supposed to be smart, Granger."

"So what are you doing when you're supposed to be in class?" asked Hermione, choosing to ignore his last comment.

"Trying to find out what I should be learning," he replied angrily.

Hermione frowned, her brow furrowed in concentration. "So that's why you were at Care Of Magical Creatures," she said softly, more to herself than him. Hermione snapped her fingers, smiling. "And you bumped into Harry outside of Potions! It makes sense!" There was an awkward silence while they stared at each other.

"S-so do you know what we're doing in class?" she stuttered finally.

"Not exactly," he admitted, flushing. "I know you're doing Love Potions-" He paused, his cheeks turning redder. "A-and you're transfiguring each other in McGonagall's." He looked positively miserable at missing these activities.

"Maybe if you just tell one of the teachers," began Hermione hesitantly.

Malfoy looked at her scornfully. "I already said I don't want to do that. I don't know why I bothered to tell you anything, and I don't know why you care. I'm just the evil, despicable jerk, remember?" His eyes bored into hers, daring her to argue.

Hermione was about to ask what he was talking about when memories of the previous night flooded back into her head. She gave a small gasp, realizing that Malfoy, posing as Conrad, must have heard everything they'd said in the Gryffindor common room. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the way Ron and the others had been making fun of him, unknowingly to his face.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione at last, unable to think of anything else to say. "I didn't mean it." She paused, aware how stupid and hypocritical she sounded. Malfoy snorted.

"Well, yes I did, I guess," she said nervously. "But I am sorry that you heard it."

Malfoy was silent, glaring bitterly at her. "I'll be sure to remember that when they start it up again tonight." He turned to leave, forgetting his diary.

"Granger, don't tell anyone."

"I- I can help you," blurted out Hermione. For a second there was complete silence, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a cry. What had she just offered?

Malfoy paused and after a second, slowly turned to face her. "What?"

"I can, er, . . . help you," repeated Hermione. "You know, tell you what we're doing in class and stuff- give you the homework."

He looked at he suspiciously. "Why? What's the catch?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "I feel bad," she admitted truthfully. "For everything you've had to put up with." Malfoy looked unconvinced.

"Plus," Hermione added. "I'm a prefect. We're supposed to help people." She stared at him pointedly.

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. "I- I guess," he said uncertainly. "That would help." He looked up, his pale cheeks pink. "Thank you, Granger."

Hermione nodded. "I bet Harry and Ron will help, too. Er, well, maybe not, but anyway-"

"No!" said Malfoy sharply. "Don't tell Potter and Weasley.

Hermione stared at him in surprise. "Why not?" she demanded indignantly. "They're my best friends."

"And my worst enemies," he reminded her. "I don't want to have to put up with more insults. Don't tell them." Hermione opened her mouth to protests but no argument came to mind. It was his choice, she thought reluctantly. It was his secret.

"All right," sighed Hermione. "You're more stubborn than Ron is . . ."

For the first time Malfoy looked pleased. "Thank you."

Hermione hesitated, wondering where they would go from here. "Maybe I can give you some assignments tonight," she suggested. "In the library at four? If anyone asks I'll bet tutoring you," she added smoothly.

Malfoy frowned, sighing. "Yes, I suppose so," he said regretfully. "Imagine, working with Granger . . ."

"I have to help a Malfoy," retorted Hermione, smiling. "I have the hard part."

Malfoy held out a hand, rolling his eyes. "Can I have my diary back now, Granger?"

For a minute Hermione was sorely tempted to refuse him it. It would be sweet revenge to hold his diary hostage for all the things he had done to her over the years. Reluctantly, though, she held it out, and he snatched it back eagerly.

"How much did you read?" he demanded, flipping through the pages, his face a mask of concentration.

Hermione blushed, not meeting his gaze. "A paragraph. At the beginning."

Malfoy glared at her, but didn't say anything. Then he sighed. "Granger, you're not quite the goody-two-shoes people think you are." He stared at her appraisingly for a moment. "Reading another person's journal is almost worthy of a Slytherin.

Hermione, not knowing whether this was a compliment or an insult, said nothing.

"Thank you," Malfoy said at last, his face expressionless. "And thank you for- for not making fun of me with Weasley. That was- it was kind." It looked as if the words were costing him extra effort to say, but Hermione didn't care. She smiled, accepting his thanks with grace. Malfoy nodded curtly, looking relieved, and began walking down the passage. After a few moments Hermione followed him.

She couldn't wait to tell Harry and Ron that Malfoy had just thanked her. A lump formed in Hermione's throat, and she groaned. She had promised Malfoy she wouldn't tell Harry or Ron. It would be hard to keep it a secret, Hermione contemplated, especially since she would probably be spending a lot of time in the library now tutoring Malfoy.

A trance-like state enveloped her as she entered the Great Hall, now full of chattering, hunger students. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy taking a seat at the far end of the table, several feet from the Gryffindors. Her stomach gave a sudden flip-flop as she scanned the table and saw Harry and Ron talking. If only she could tell them! Why had she offered to help Malfoy? Hermione wondered, taking a seat next to Harry. It certainly wasn't because she was friends with him. It was in her nature to help people, Hermione decided at last. And, she reflected, she couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. After all, he was stuck in an eleven year old's body, was in a house he despised, and had no friends.

Hermione smiled at the irony. Who would ever have thought she'd feel sorry for Draco Malfoy?