A/N: The long awaited for fourth chapter. I've got a much clearer idea of what I'm doing with the plot, so the next chapters should (hopefully) not take as long.
By late October Harry found himself pleasantly surprised with how his second year at Hogwarts was progressing. Apart from the dramatic start, the year was proving to be relatively peaceful – as peaceful as life could ever be when surrounded by hundreds of under-aged wizards and witches that had yet to complete their training– but Harry found it was significantly less stressful than his first year, and that fact was quite agreeable to him.
The initial shock he had experienced when first entering into the wizarding world had worn off, although he still found himself surprised by what could be accomplished by magic. His adjustment to the school schedule was much less difficult now that he was confident about where all of his classes were located. It astonished Harry how much of the first years' nerves would have been assuaged had they been provided with a map. More than either of these, Harry was finding that his journal – he hesitated to call it a diary for fear that Ron would discover it and laugh – was rapidly becoming his closest confidant, and that his private confessions were, more than any of the other factors, helping to relieve his worries in a way no one had ever done for him before. Harry mused that Tom was almost like an older brother or parental figure, and occasionally wondered if his parents would have acted as Tom was, providing both a sympathetic ear and helpful advice.
It was just beginning to get late in the evening on the night before Halloween. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were clustered around their books at a table in the Gryffindor common room where Hermione had appointed herself taskmaster and was monitoring the group's progress on their homework.
With a final scratch of his quill, Harry cast a cursory glance at his last essay – which he believed should have been titled "An Ode to All Things Lockhart" rather than "Proper Way to Wrestle a Werewolf" – and declared himself finished. In fact, he would have completed it already had Hermione not made him redo his first draft. Apparently writing Call Professor Lockhart across the top of the parchment wasn't a suitable essay, and did not meet the length requirement, although Harry was sure Lockhart would have given him and O regardless.
The intended effect of the glare Ron aimed at Harry was greatly diminished by the ink smeared across the tip of his nose. Hermione glanced up from editing Ron's potion's essay and said, "Great. If you give me a minute I can look it over for you."
"No thanks, Hermione. It's for Lockhart, it's not like he actually reads any of this rubbish."
Harry shared a conspiratorial grin with Ron as Hermione exclaimed at their lack of respect for a professor. Falling into a companionable silence, they sat for awhile watching the pre-Halloween celebration courtesy of the Weasley twins.
As he watched his brothers, Ron attempted to casually interject, "It's too bad we're going to miss the feast tomorrow. Do we really have to go to a death day party?"
Harry, who was beginning to wish he hadn't agreed to attend, nodded, "Yeah, I told Nick I'd go, but I don't mind if you want to go to the feast instead."
"No! We're coming with you!" Hermione said, "Aren't we Ron? It'll be so exciting! A death day party, I don't imagine many living people have ever attended one."
"Aww. Come on!" Ron half-heartedly argued, "It'll be depressing, AND we're going to miss the food!"
Harry grimaced a bit at the mention of the feast; he had been anticipating a chance to experience the Hogwarts Halloween celebration without interruption, but it couldn't be helped; he'd already promised Nick that he would attend and Harry did not intend to go back on his word.
Stifling a yawn, Harry stood and gathered his homework into his bag. He picked up Tom's diary and was about to excuse himself for the night when Hermione spoke.
"Harry, I've been meaning to ask for awhile now. What is that book? Only, you've been carrying it around for awhile now, and I know it isn't a textbook."
Harry froze for a second and reflexively tightened his hold on the book. He couldn't quite meet her eye when he said, "It's nothing. Just a journal."
Ron, as Harry had feared, laughed, "Mate, you keep a diary?"
Harry glared at him, while Hermione, after giving Ron a scolding look, appeared surprised, but also understanding. "Oh. I didn't mean to pry."
With a bit of an awkward nod, Harry said stiffly, "Well, I'm off to bed. Night." The sound of their replies followed him up the stairs.
As soon as he entered his dorm Harry stowed away his book bag. Grabbing an inkwell and quill, Harry closed the curtains around his four-poster bed and opened the diary. He needed to talk to Tom.
Harry wrote in a rushed manner, making his usual scrawl more sloppy than usual. Hello Tom.
Tom was eager to continue their conversations. Hello again, Harry. Are you alright?
I'm fine. Just – my friends found out about this diary. Harry continued writing quickly, almost able to feel Tom misinterpreting what he was saying. No, not about you or anything. Just that I'm writing in this. They think it's my diary. Ron laughed. They were staring and asking questions. It just makes me nervous is all.
It made Tom nervous as well. The last thing he wanted was for someone else to come snooping and get a hold of his diary. Harry was his key. Harry was his horcrux; no one else would work as well for his purposes as Harry.
That is a cause for concern, but, naturally, I trust you have diverted their attention elsewhere.
Of course Tom.
Very good. Is there anything else troubling you?
Harry smiled faintly at the praise and the concern. He didn't want his friends to find out about the diary either, but for an entirely different reason. As ridiculous as it seemed, Harry didn't particularly want to share Tom. Tom was Harry's to talk to; Hermione and Ron had their parents, and Ron had his older brothers to ask for advice. And, quite frankly, there were some thoughts best kept silent, even from ones closest friends; in a way Tom was very much like an actual diary as Harry felt that any thoughts he'd hesitate to tell Ron and Hermione he could tell to Tom without fear of ridicule, rejection, or offending, and he was better than a diary because Harry was almost sure that if someone else was to talk to Tom, Tom would keep Harry's secrets.
Nothing really. Just the usual. Those two first years I told you about, Colin and Ginny, are still annoying. I swear they've formed some sort of Harry Potter club. It kind of scares me actually.
Tom couldn't help but think this conversation style was becoming a little dull. Yes, he was learning little tidbits about the modern wizarding world, but Tom was beginning to think that Harry was entirely oblivious to almost everything because either Harry was more ignorant about the world than he was, or very few of the customs had changed in the last fifty years. Although, knowing wizards, it was entirely possible that society had remained unaltered.
Have you considered using a harmless, but effective hex as a deterrent?
Harry was aghast. Oh no! I couldn't do that! They aren't that bad, just a bit annoying. I'm not really upset by them anyways, I can usually avoid them with secret passageways. It's when I'm not expecting them, or I have to go somewhere where there isn't a secret passage that they're a problem. Like today, they ambushed me outside of the hospital wing when I was going to see Madam Pomfrey about a different cure for these headaches. I don't think this one is working.
The headaches had begun awhile ago, and behaved in a rather perplexing manner. Sometimes Harry thought that they felt eerily similar to the previous year when his scar would hurt, but that was surely impossible; it wasn't as if Voldemort was anywhere near him. He couldn't be. It was irrelevant anyways, because at other times it was nothing more than a slight twinge, while others where near crippling in intensity.
After one particularly intense episode Harry had consulted Madam Pomfrey, at Hermione's insistence, and had been given some potions to take to relieve the headache. They seemed to have worked; he hadn't had another episode since he'd started taking them, but Harry was beginning to notice that the slight ache hadn't gone away.
Tom was almost certain that he knew the cause of the mysterious headaches. You may have a slight allergy to one of the ingredients, or perhaps those two nuisances are more annoying than you've been letting on. I still suggest a hex.
Harry laughed. Tom! It's funny to imagine, but I really can't. Ginny is Ron's sister. He'd be so mad at me. I think he's a little angry with me anyways. Tomorrow's Halloween. He's not too happy that we're going to Nick's death day party tomorrow instead of the feast. Honestly, I'm not either. We're going to miss the feast and the decorations. Hagrid's pumpkins look huge! But I promised I'd go. I told Ron that if he doesn't want to go I don't mind at all if he goes to the feast instead, but Hermione's coming with me, and I guess he doesn't want to stay at the feast alone. I think Hermione's the only one who is excited about it.
I think a death day party would be fascinating. I highly doubt very many of the living can claim to have attended one.
That's what Hermione said. Harry thought with a smile that, if he'd been so inclined as to introduce them, Hermione and Tom would have gotten along well. And, well, I guess I am a little curious about it. It might be interesting, and –
And what, Harry?
Harry hesitated a bit; it wasn't a topic he was particularly fond of. Well. Halloween is the anniversary of when my parents were murdered. It's kind of fitting, I guess, that I'd go to a death day party on the anniversary.
Yes, Tom decided, a death day party had the potential to be very fascinating.
Harry took Tom's diary out of his trunk, and closed the curtains around his bed as had become his routine every night.
He was feeling pleasantly full. Sure, the food at the death day party had been unpleasant, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left as soon as they were sure their presence would not be missed, and had managed to slide into the Great Hall early enough to catch dessert. Hermione was rather appalled at not eating anything with nutritional value, but neither Harry nor Ron had minded.
Well, Tom, you were right. The death day party was definitely interesting.
Of course I was right. When am I ever wrong? – That is what is known as a rhetorical question, Harry. Tell me what happened.
A few blots of ink fell onto the page as Harry laughed. When he regained control of himself, Harry started scribbling rapidly.
It was extremely odd. The music sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Everyone but us was a ghost. Which is kind of strange to think about. I just went to a part where literally most of the guests were dead. Anyways, we talked to Nick a bit, but he got a bit upset when some other ghost – I think he was called Patrick or something like that – showed up with a gang of other ghosts and where doing something called the "Headless Hunt." They were throwing their heads around, it was really disturbing, but I guess Nick wants to join. The food there was disgusting. It was an entire table of rotten stuff, but apparently when its rotten ghosts can get a better hint of the flavour or something. I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to. But we got away from that table as soon as possible, the smell was horrible. Then we ran into Moaning Myrtle and talked to her for a bit. Ron and I had never heard of her, but Hermione said that she haunts the girls' lavatory on the second floor. She ran off pretty quick after Peeves started making fun of her. We went up to the Great Hall after that and had dessert.
Myrtle. Tom could hardly believe it, but moaning certainly sounded like the same Myrtle he'd temporarily gone to school with. Moaning Myrtle, why is she called that?
Harry thought it was a rather odd detail to focus on, but then again, he thought Tom was a little odd. Umm. I'm not sure. Hermione said that she haunts a toilet in there, and spends most of her time crying or flooding the room. I guess that's why.
Tom still found that he could scarcely believe it, although it did make sense. Myrtle. Moaning Myrtle. The name certainly fit her, even when she'd been alive she'd been a snivelly twit and it was just like Myrtle to waste her afterlife flooding a lavatory. Still, there was something almost inconceivable about known a person you'd murdered had come back as a ghost. It was, tangible proof of his deeds, and yet, no one would ever know that he'd done it. There was a certain thrill in that fact.
Death day parties had proven themselves to be exceptionally fascinating.
Then there was the Harry problem, Tom had yet to find a plausible explanation for why Harry could have survived a killing curse, and that was frustrating. There wasn't anything obviously special about the boy.