Disclaimer: See chapter one... (Oh, and the song quoted in this chapter is one of my personal favorites - "Secrets" by OneRepublic. Which I don't own. :D)

Author's Note: Hey! Anyone out there...? No...? Okay. To my non-existent rabid fans: Thanks for reading! Why do I get the feeling that I'm talking to myself?

Yeah, um, I just wanted to thank the people who've reviewed so far. Your words were very encouraging!

On a separate (slightly desperate!) note, I am still in need of a Beta. Even though I check my own writing multiple times before posting it, I know I'm missing things, and that bothers me. :) If you'd like to volunteer (Hint, hint! -_-) I'd be most appreciative. Please PM me if you're interested!

Okay, just one quick note about this chapter: I chose thirteen as the age that heirs of the Ancient families get their signet rings unless the previous heir has already relinquished it to them simply because Draco is seen wearing a ring (which I, as an almighty authoress am declaring the Malfoy signet ring!) beginning in The Prisoner of Azkaban (movie). So I thought I'd just use that for my purposes...

Anyway, this is the chapter that really starts everything off. It will be a quick progression from here.

WARNING: Mentions of abuse in this chapter. I don't think this really goes over a T rating, but of course it can still be rather disturbing.

xxSincerelySienna


All My Secrets

Draco's eyes were drawn to him.

He had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to imagine how Harry lived, and how he acted with those he loved, yet what he saw puzzled him.

The Gryffindor did not strut. He did not have any sort of superiority complex. And he did not seem perturbed by the stories that the news and the tabloids were spinning in the least. In fact, he seemed to try remarkably hard to be normal.

In the mornings he stumbled downstairs bleary-eyed with Ron and the twins, still wearing his pajamas and with his hair seeming to take on a life of its own, shooting out from his head in a rather comical way as though he'd been struck by lightning or something.

Draco found himself smirking at the inadvertent pun, but he didn't say anything. He had learned quickly to keep his head down and his nose clean.

In the afternoons, Harry sought out his godfather and the two often disappeared into the library or the den, voices and laughter drifting out to bless the rest of the grim old house.

After dinner, Harry and his friends would converge in the living room to play chess, Exploding Snap, or some other game. The girls and the twins enjoyed mind games that twisted your thoughts and made you analyze everything. The end result of said games was often much giggling and often some sort of playful argument. Hermione usually tried to spark some in-depth discussion about their games, but the others would wave her off.

"It's just a game, Hermione," Ginny would laugh. "Not everything always has to have a deeper meaning, and if it does...well...you don't always have to look for it."

Draco was surprised that by simply listening to the conversations around him, he was learning more and more about the people he was being forced to reside with. Harry (Draco hated to admit) had a great sense of humor, though it was rather darker than he would've expected for the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Upon reflection, however, it made sense: There had to be some darkness in him, with all he had seen.

Hermione was not all rules and books. Surprisingly, she had little-to-no patience for almost any sort of strategy game. Her distaste for them had stemmed the twins' quest to find something for her to do with them that didn't involve anything heavy, dusty, and containing pages. Ginny had soon joined in, and the four had created a plethora of long-winded riddles and tongue twisters that forced you to think creatively.

Ginny had an odd sense of wisdom that was tainted by the horrors of her first year. Her words were carefully chosen, and her advice, though freely given, was worth taking a second look at, because if you did you would often find double meanings and a perceptiveness that was almost scary.

Draco was in no way used to being treated as he was at Grimmauld Place: Molly Weasley didn't seem to know quite what to make of him, so she simply smothered him in motherly love and her delicious home cooking as if it were a default for her to fall back on. (This, to Draco's amusement, never failed to rile the second-youngest redhead up, and he found it more funny than intimidating when he found himself on the receiving end of doting from the mother and loathing from the son.)

The rest of the Weasley kids tended to avoid him. He had noticed the girl, however, casting him appraising looks, as though she were attempting to decipher something particularly interesting involving him. In turn, Granger had been watching Ginny carefully, but she seemed utterly bemused by what she was seeing. Draco couldn't deny that he himself was. It certainly wasn't as if Ginny was interested (the idea itself was repugnant to Draco), but she was clearly up to something. Although, it was quite funny to watch Granger become more and more frustrated as the days passed, seeming to come to the same vague conclusions as Draco had regarding Ginny's intentions. It also seemed to bother Hermione when that barmy Auror, Tonks (another mad cousin of Draco's), was over and immediately gravitated towards Ginny for a very giggly, very suspicious-looking conversation that certainly did nothing to quell Draco's fears about the whole situation.

And then there was Potter himself. He had barely glanced in Draco's direction in the three days that he and his mother had been at Grimmauld Place. The rivals had yet to speak a word to each other, and it appeared to almost concern Harry's friends that he and Draco weren't arguing. Keeping their interactions to a minimum wouldn't last long, though. They were bound to bump into each other at some point - there were only so many routes to the bathroom, and even fewer to the kitchen - and when they did, Draco had a feeling that the tension in the house would implode and the two of them would be at the center of it all.


"Focus, Harry," Narcissa admonished gently. Beneath her Pureblood Ice Queen facade was...well...a mother. One who loved her son, and couldn't help but allow the charming, jade-eyed orphan to wrap himself around her heart. "Your mind is scattered. You are worrying."

"Well, of course I'm bloody worrying!" Harry grumbled.

"Language, Harry, and you are not to talk back to me," Narcissa said, her words holding a stern bite that she used when drilling Harry in the rules of Wizarding etiquette, a subject that had come up quite by accident, and that Narcissa had found the boy lacking in.

"You know nothing of your ancestors!" she had sighed in the closest thing to despair Harry thought he'd ever seen from her. "You haven't a clue what is expected of you as the sole Potter heir, and...Oh, Heavens! What to do about your signet ring..."

Their discussion about the Potter ring had been put off long enough, and Narcissa was determined to do something about it that day.

"Sorry, Aunt Cissy," Harry said quickly, straightening up and looking her in the eye before lowering his gaze in a show of respect and regret.

Narcissa nodded approvingly and raised her wand. "Once more, and we shall rest. You have done well when you're focused, and that's a start, but it's not good enough. When you're in a battle, when you've woken from a nightmare, you're not going to be able to focus. You need to be able to put up your shields at a moment's notice."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and raised the Holly wand, dredging up the last of his energy and forcing up his newly-constructed shields.

"Legilimens!" Narcissa intoned, and Harry went rigid.

Aunt Marge's dog was snapping at him as he scrambled up into the relative safety of the branches of a tree in the Dursleys' yard, and he was trembling with the effort to cling to the limbs of the Maple.

His stomach gnawed with hunger and his face glazed with tears as he yelled at his uncle, "I didn't do it! I swear, Uncle Vernon, I didn't!", but it made no difference as Vernon's hand collided with his jaw.

The door of his cupboard swung closed, shutting out the image of his uncle's red, furious face and alcohol-brightened eyes, and he retreated to the back corner, nursing bruises that trickled in obnoxious black and blue reminders that he was a "FREAK!" down his arms. The fingers of his right hand were swollen and he couldn't move them...and he was scared. He was scared.

"Stop, stop!" cried Narcissa shrilly. Harry stumbled back and collapsed onto the couch behind him. Narcissa was shaking slightly. Finally, she came and sat down next to him.

"Harry, what was that?" she asked. Her face was closed off but her eyes were fierce.

"I - it was - it was nothing, I was -"

"Harry James, I will not tolerate any sort of dishonesty," she hissed. "What was that?"

"They don't like magic," he whispered ashamedly, his hesitation even in the face of Narcissa's warning a testament to how concerned he was about his secrets being spilled.

"Clearly," Narcissa spat, her eyes darkened with rage. "Was that the worst of it?"

"Yes," Harry replied a little too quickly.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Harry -"

"Please, Aunt Cissy," he murmured, gazing down at his lap. "Please don't make me tell it all now."

Narcissa softened. "I will get it out of you, Harry. Not all at once, though. I promise."

Harry nodded. "Alright," he choked out. "Alright."

"I think...I think that is enough for today," she said briskly, pulling herself together and patting Harry's hand absently. "Yes...we'll pick back up tomorrow afternoon. Please practice clearing your mind this evening. Remember, organizing your thoughts is not necessarily ideal for a novice Occlumens. That may only make it easier for a Legilimens to access information. Instead try the layering technique I explained in our first lesson. I believe it will work better for you," she concluded with a tight smile.

"Yes, Aunt Cissy," Harry mumbled.

"Look people in the eyes when you're talking to them," admonished the woman automatically.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I will find you in a few hours to discuss what we can be done about your signet ring," she added after a moment.

Narcissa took her leave, her emerald robes dancing across the floor as she turned on her heel and exited the room.

"Oh, Harry dear?" she called, sticking her head back in.

"Yes?" he asked softly, looking up.

"You know you're not alone, child. Do you think Lucius, in all his wickedness, never laid a finger on myself or Draco?"

Leaving the boy to ponder that, she went to help Molly with dinner. The two women got on surprisingly well while cooking.


The piano's playful notes had been turned into a mournful sound by his stuttering fingers that climbed the keys with minor hesitance. The mistakes he made went unnoticed in light of the sincere beauty of the music in the midst of which they were made.

Ginny knew immediately who was playing. The song, however, she did not recognize. Standing in the doorway of the drawing room, she listened quietly.

"...Oh, got no reason, got no shame

Got no family I can blame

Just don't let me disappear

I'ma tell you everything

So tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

This time, don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away..."

Harry never saw her tears, his eyes clouded by his own, but it didn't matter, because now Ginny could pull together the pieces of one of the many mysteries of Harry Potter, and put them into perspective.

She backed out of the room and crept through the hall to the bedroom of Draco Malfoy.

Nobody was inside. She glanced around. The bed was made tidily and not much was out in the open. She pulled a quill and her songbook from her robes and tore a page of notebook paper from the little black ledger.

'When one is hurting for many of the same reasons as yourself, what do you do?

When one's feelings are not hatred, but bitterness, when and where does one draw the line?

Think on it and undo the damage of the past four years.'

The note was scripted carefully and placed on the creaseless pillowcase. Ginny pulled open the closet and glanced back at the slightly-ajar door. She pulled out her wand and contemplated it for a moment, before reasoning, nobody would know...and it does more good than harm.

The blaring orange Cannons garments faded and were quickly replaced by the well-tailored, expensive robes that had hung there before the twins had implemented their brilliant plan a few days previously.

Sure, it was rather a waste of a fantastic prank, but if it helped Harry, she thought it wasn't too much of a sacrifice. Besides, it also meant getting one-up on her brothers, even if they didn't know who had reversed their spell.


After dinner, Narcissa beckoned Harry discreetly and led him to the Black family library.

"I've found something that could help you get your signet ring," she explained briskly, flicking her wand and Summoning a heavy, musty tome. The cover, Harry noted with raised eyebrows, was not leather but Dragonhide.

Narcissa motioned for Harry to take a seat at a small wooden table nearby and handed him the book, saying, "Page 578".

Looking mildly surprised, Harry brushed his fingers over the cover gently, and withdrew them to find them coated in dust. Wiping his hand on the thigh of his jeans, he lifted the sturdy cover and flipped through the pages gingerly, afraid that the ancient, brittle, yellowed parchment might disintegrate under his touch.

Nestled right in the middle of page 578 was a small on ancient families and their customs.

"The heir of any of the Ancient Houses comes into possession of a ring baring his family's crest at the time that his father sees fit, or else it is relinquished by his father on the thirteenth anniversary of the heir's birth. If the previous heir is incapable of performing his duties, the eldest son (unless another heir has been declared, or there is not a male successor) is declared Head of House and given the signet ring to seal it. Though the successor is given the signet ring to seal the status as heir at age thirteen, they do not become Head of their House until their seventeenth birthday unless the previous heir is deceased or decrees otherwise..."

Harry looked up from the passage he had just read.

"So this means that whoever was responsible for it should have gotten me my signet ring by my thirteenth birthday latest," he summarized. "Why hasn't it happened?"

"Harry, did you know that Albus Dumbledore has quite a lot of control over your possessions?" Narcissa asked seriously.

Harry frowned, reaching up to rub his eyes under his glasses with dusty fingers. "Then why hasn't he given it to me?"

"I do not know, Harry, but Dumbledore...Dumbledore is a man with a remarkable perception of the big picture. He has the rare ability to assess almost any situation and correctly hypothesize how it will affect the future. Yet he does not often think of how it will affect the people he is using as pawns and puppets."

Harry groaned softly. "I don't know what to do with this information, Aunt Cissy," he admitted quietly.

"You are to go to Dumbledore with it. You are to get him and your godfather alone, and you are to present it as it is. A direct confrontation is our only option at this point, Harry. You are to word your inquiry carefully, though. You are to say that you were doing some reading on the Ancient Houses as you had heard talk of them. Whatever you do say, I was not involved."

Harry nodded. "I understand," he said.


The door was open, and that was what caught his attention - he always closed the door. Draco allowed the ghost of a frown to crease his forehead and slipped into the room cautiously, thinking of the menacing red-haired time bombs that were the Weasley twins and their pranks.

Nothing seemed amiss, though. In fact, the closet door was propped open, and all his robes had been restored to their former glory. His confusion deepening, Draco spun on his heel and surveyed the room sharply. Finally noting further evidence of an intruder, he strode to his bed and plucked the note from the pillow.

Reading it cleared nothing up, save the knowledge that the handwriting was very feminine, yet also rather young-looking. That left Granger, the Weaselette, and perhaps the oddity Tonks.

Shaking his head, he read the note again. Who was it talking about and what were they playing at?

Author's Note: Yeah, so, that's all for this one! The fourth chapter will probably take a bit longer, but I hope you enjoyed this. If you have any comments or suggestions, please feel free to share! That's what the review button is for. Innit pwetty? *Bats eyelashes* Yeah, so, um, review!

xxSincerelySienna