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Chapter 7

"Tell me about Dolores Umbridge," Lord Voldemort said quietly. She was standing in the kitchen of the last house on Spinner's End. She was rifling through the cabinets, much to the annoyance of the house's owner. Although he did not have the courage to say anything to her about it. Of course he probably knew she could hear his internal screaming.

She half wondered if he was more annoyed with the fact that she was moving every item he had around, or that he was using his pristinely clean cauldron right on his kitchen counter as a mixing bowl. Still, he was the one who'd chosen to live in a muggle home with functional appliances.

"She's every bit as horrible as one would expect from Cornelius Fudge," Snape said quietly. "She seems more concerned with establishing her own position than anything else."

"Lucius has said as much. He's received advanced copies of the ministry decrees she wishes to pass," Voldemort said. She had read through them this morning. None of them, to her mind, seemed to really have much to do with education. But as long as the Ministry was fighting Dumbledore her pans would be considerably easier to enact.

"I don't understand why they're fighting Dumbledore so hard," Snape said. "It seems counter-productive from every angle."

"Unless your angle is staying in power," Voldemort said. "Fudge is a peace time minister. He doesn't have the stones to be an effective war leader. He knows that. He knows as soon as fighting breaks out they'll be getting rid of him immediately."

"And you would prefer Fudge in power?" Snape asked.

"I would prefer someone in power who thinks there is no way I'm alive, yes," Voldemort said. She started scooping the batter out of the cauldron and putting it in neat piles on cookie sheets. Cookie sheets she'd created by transfiguring another cauldron.

"So you wish for me to assist her?" Snape asked.

"No," Voldemort said. "I wish for you to keep your same casual disdain for every aspect of your teaching career and suffer through the year while keeping me informed. If the winds change, as it were, I expect you to keep your job. At all costs." She popped open the oven as the timer indicated it was preheated. She put the cookie sheets in and closed it with her foot.

"Yes my Lord," Snape said, nodding. He didn't comment as she dug some tea out of a cabinet. She made a face at it, as if it wasn't up to her standards, before transfiguring some of his kitchenware into a teapot. A flick of her wand had the water boiling and she prepared two cups.

"What is she even teaching?" Voldemort asked as she put one tea cup down on the counter near him, before bringing the other to her lips.

"This," Snape produced the book from his robes and set it down next to his teacup. He did not take a drink from it. Voldemort slid it over and stared down at the cover. Defense Magical Theory at least it had a legitimate title, she thought. She paged through it and rolled her eyes.

"This is remedial," she said.

"As far as I can gather she, so far, has spent every one of her lessons just having them read a chapter in silence. They then have to summarize them for their homework. All seven years are doing the same thing. The students are not particularly amused by it," Snape said.

"I doubt I would be either," Voldemort responded.

"Apparently there is no practical aspect of her class either. Instead it is all theory," Snape said.

"And you're probably wondering just how you could get away with that in potions. Are you just going to have them read the recipes aloud as a group from now on so you don't have to bother grading individual samples?" Voldemort teased.

"Knowing the theory may be adequate with defensive magic but is not nearly sufficient for potions," Snape snapped irritably.

"Well still, seems easier than vanishing their potions so you don't have to grade them," Voldemort smiled.

"How did you know about that?" Snape snapped.

"You were practically shouting it when I mentioned grading," Voldemort said, nodding toward Snape. She knew he hated knowing that she could so easily get into his mind. But she couldn't help but rub it in a little bit. "And you were always easy to read."

"Perhaps," Snape said. He looked away and Voldemort didn't need magic to know what he was thinking. He was still wondering how much she knew, how much she'd always known, and how it would affect him going forward.

"You're going to cease doing that immediately," Voldemort said.

"I've done nothing that-" Snape started.

"Regardless," Voldemort interrupted him. "It will cease immediately."

"Why does his potions skill concern you?" Snape asked. Voldemort suppressed the urge to crucio him. She was finding herself more and more annoyed by Snape since her return. There was something about the way that he looked at her that made her want to hit him. He'd always been genuinely unpleasant to be around. But now he was even more so.

"It doesn't, Severus," she responded as icily as she could.

"Then I do not see what business that is of yours then," Snape said.

"It's a foolishly reckless way to endanger your job. Just what do you think would be the repercussion if Dumbledore or McGonagall saw you doing it? As of now you still are useful to me. If I were you I would not be particularly interested in what would happen if you found yourself unemployed," Voldemort said. Snape swallowed hard and looked at her.

"How I choose to teach my class is none of your concern," he said, the fight slipping from his voice as he spoke. Voldemort just kept staring at him. She paused long enough to take a sip from her tea.

"Just what do you hate him for?" she asked quietly.

"Your demise," Snape said, far too quickly. Voldemort laughed.

"Just what do you hate him for?" she asked again, putting more steel into her voice.

"The boy is his father reincarnated. The world does not need another James Potter. I just hope I can teach him some humility," Snape barked. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him.

"I feel like we've had this conversation. Sure, he looks like James. But in demeanor he is far close to Lily," Voldemort said. She paused, and then as an afterthought added, "And the world really could use a few more James Potters. The action-oriented type always seemed to go further than the bookworm."

"And you would know? What would you possibly know of Lily Evans?" Snape asked. He was at least smart enough to avoid her not so veiled barb.

"Far more than you, it would seem," Voldemort said.

"How could you possibly. I knew her from the time I was eleven. She was kind. She was warm. She was loving-" he would have likely continued for quite some time, but Voldemort interrupted him.

"She hated you," she said dryly.

"She did not she-" he started.

"She hated you," Voldemort said again. "And if she could see you now, she would hate you even more."

"How dare you," he spat.

"Tell you the truth? Someone needed to. Do you honestly think any woman could possibly care for a man who is intentionally cruel to her son?" Voldemort snapped. "Do you think I would even let you live if you were cruel to my son?"

"Good thing you were never a mother," Snape spat defiantly. Voldemort shook her head, thinking to herself that the man before her was woefully naive and arrogant. Perhaps he hated Potter so much purely because the boy was more like him than he cared to admit. Minus the interest in the Dark Arts and power, at least.

"Is that why you've kept this house. I can't imagine you have many fond memories of growing up here. Are you just hoping that one day Lily Evans will walk in looking for you? She's dead. Her son is her legacy," Voldemort said.

"The boy is nothing like his mother," Snape said. But he winced away from her.

"The boy is kind. The boy is warm. The boy is loyal. The boy is loving. The boy is curious. The boy is modest. The boy is exactly like his mother. Is it the eyes? Can you not look into his eyes without reliving your failures?"

"You," Snape spat, reaching into his robes for his wand. Voldemort smiled at him.

"Are you going to curse me Severus?" She had her wand trained on him before he even had his out of his robes.

"OF course not," Snape said guiltily. Voldemort just kept smiling at him.

"Well see, shall we?" she waved her wand, pulling his hand from his robes. His fingers were clenched tightly around his wand.

"And just what were you going to do with that then?" she asked as the timer on the oven went off. She smiled and walked over to it, withdrawing the two cookie sheets. She waved her wand over them to cool the cookies before transfiguring Snape's cauldron that she'd used as a mixing bowl into a clear container. She used magic to stack the cookies neatly in the container.

"I had a gift for you," he stammered, interrupting her.

"Well I certainly hope so. But we both know that's not what you pulled your wand for," she said.

"I, my Lord, I," he started.

"Crucio," she said quietly. Snape fell to the ground, writhing in pain. She held her wand on him for ten seconds before lifting the spell and kneeling next to him. He coughed and stammered and spit some blood onto the floor.

"My Lord," he stammered weakly. She plucked his wand from him and stared at her.

"Did we learn our lesson?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes my lord," Snape asked, his eyes filled with hatred as he stared up at her. A pity he would never realize that it was through his own actions he'd lost everything he thought he'd cherished. She knew she'd have to kill him, one day. But that day was not going to be today.

"Good," Voldemort said. She stepped away from him and placed his wand down on his kitchen counter. She leaned against it.

"I've given you my report on the affairs at Hogwarts. What more do you need, my Lord?" Snape said through gritted teeth as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Have you retrieved my diary yet?" She asked.

"Yes my Lord," he said carefully. She wondered if he was intentionally keeping it from her. As if he thought that revealing it now would curry some favor with her. He pulled it from his robes. She levitated it from him to her.

"How did he even…" she started, turning it over in her hands and marveling at the large hole left in the center of it.

"Basilisk fang," Snape said. "I assume the venom destroyed everything left."

"That's right, he killed Al," Voldemort said, frowning down at the diary as she paged through it.

"Al?" Snape said sounding stunned. "You named the Basilisk Al?"

"Of course not," Voldemort said dryly. "Salazar Slytherin named the basilisk Ariadne. But she preferred Al or Ally. And I wasn't about to argue with a thousand year old Snake."

"I don't think that diary is salvageable," Snape said, seeming to think it was best to not talk.

"You'd be wrong," Voldemort said. She waved her wand over it, slowly, moving it back and forth above the diary. Snape watched as the venom absorbed into the pages leeched back out of the pages and vanished into the air. Once she finished she repaired the cosmetic damage to the pages.

"How did you do that?" Snape asked curiously. "How could you repair that damage? Even Dumbledore couldn't salvage anything out of that diary."

"I'm not trying to salvage anything," Voldemort said. "I'm trying to make sure it doesn't poison anyone who touches it and fix the cosmetic damage. It will never be what it was again. But I do not need it to be what it was before."

"What purpose does that serve?" Snape asked.

"Your other master gets into your head as easily as I do, Severus. Do you really think I'd tell you exactly what this stage of my plan entails?" Voldemort said.

"Dumbledore cannot read my thoughts," Snape defended himself. Voldemort shrugged her shoulders and continued casting spells on the diary.

"Cannot and does not are two different things," she responded.

"Dumbledore trusts me," Snape said. "Perhaps I could help."

"Oh you will help, Severus. Now we were talking about Dolores Umbridge," she said.

"What more do you want to know about her?"

"How does she treat Harry Potter?" she asked. Snape flinched.

"I don't know. Like anyone else I guess," he said. But his thoughts betrayed him immediately. Voldemort sighed.

"Like anyone else?" she said, continuing to cast on the diary.

"Yes, like anyone else," Snape responded.

"How does she treat Harry Potter, Severus," Voldemort said.

"Like I said she treats him as any other student," Snape said. "There's been nothing unusual from what I can tell."

"Crucio," Voldemort said, snapping her wand away from the diary and to Snape. The potions master crumpled with a shriek of agony. She held the spell for five seconds before letting it go.

"Master…please," Snape begged as he rose to his feet.

"A week of detention with a blood quill? And that's how she treats everyone?" Voldemort snapped. Snape flinched away from her.

"Every detention she has given out has involved a blood quill, yes," Snape snapped.

"Oh cute," Voldemort snapped. "I should curse you again just for that."

"Master, I merely," Snape started, but Voldemort waived her hand airily to silence him and went back to working on her diary. Snape sat at the table, trembling from the after effects of the cursing. He did, though, finally take a sip of his tea.

"A week of detention with a blood quill though? How did she possibly get approval for that," Voldemort said.

"I don't think she really needs approval for anything, given that she answers only to the Minister of Magic," Snape said dryly.

"He may have permanent scarring from a week of that," Voldemort frowned.

"You've already scarred him once. What's a few more?" Snape asked.

"Shush," Voldemort said, her wand twitched toward Snape. But, she decided, it wasn't worth it to curse him again.

Instead Voldemort kept working on the diary. It took her the better part of a half hour before she smiled down at it and tucked her wand behind her ear. She reached for a self-inking quill Snape had laying on the counter and flipped it open. She wrote her name in it once, on the top line of the blank first page and smiled when the ink disappeared.

She didn't bother waiting for a response of any time. Instead she just closed it placed it down on Snape's counter, placing the quill next to it.

"Excellent," she said, lost in her own work.

"What exactly did you do," Snape asked.

"That is not your concern," Voldemort said. "Not that I could trust you with that information anyway."

"Master I would never," Snape started.

"Save it," she laughed. Snape closed his mouth but glared at her.

"What will you have me do then?" he asked, as if sensing he would be able to bring this meeting to a close if he were able to get his next set of orders and get out.

"Continue as normal but I want to know everything that this Dolores Umbridge comes up with. I may see if I can use some of it to my advantage," Voldemort said.

"Yes master," Snape nodded.

"And if I hear that you have vanished another of his homework assignments I'm going to be very cross with you," Voldemort said.

"That may appear suspicious," Snape said.

"No. Treating a student like a student and grading their work fairly would not appear suspicious," Voldemort said. "It would appear professional. Far more professional than your constant comparisons to his father."

"Yes my Lord," Snape said through gritted teeth. He paused for a moment, looking like he desperately wanted to argue. But he said nothing more.

"Good. Well then, until next month," Voldemort said, grabbing the journal and stepping toward the front door.

"Until then," Snape responded, looking both relieved and like he dreaded the coming date. She took three steps toward the door before pausing and turning to face him once more.

"Oh one more thing," she said, smiling.

"What?" Snape asked, his eyes darkening as he stared back at her.

"Since it seems like Dumbledore is trying very hard to avoid all contact with Harry I suspect he'll turn to you for certain tasks related to Harry Potter," Voldemort said.

"That does seem likely," Snape said.

"Then I suspect that soon he will ask you to teach Harry Potter occulmency," Voldemort said.

"Why?" Snape asked. Voldemort ignored him.

"It is crucial that Harry Potter does not learn occulmency," Voldemort said as she gathered up the cookies and the diary. Snape just nodded.

"Yes my lord," Snape said.

"Good," Voldemort responded before stepping out the door without another word.

Harry sat in the Great Hall rubbing his hand. Even though it was well after his detentions it was still nearly constantly sore. And when it wasn't it just itched excessively. He frowned down at it and ignored his breakfast. There wasn't really much else he could think to do.

He wasn't looking forward to History of Magic but he didn't think he felt ill enough to get an excuse from the nurse. He sighed and speared a bit of scrambled egg on the end of his fork.

"Are you going to eat or destroy your food, Harry?" Hermione snapped impatiently as Harry continued to mostly ignore his food.

"You can go to history without me," Harry responded, knowing full well that she was just impatient to get into the classroom and get her notes arranged exactly how she liked them. It was a ten minute process that tended to drive both he and Ron nuts.

"You'll be late!" she snapped again.

"I'll catch up," Harry said. Ron seemed to sense Harry's annoyance and took the time to clear his plate and speak up.

"Let's go, Hermione. I'm sure he'll catch up," Ron said, standing and pulling Hermione up to her feet. She glared at him for a moment before turning her gaze back to Harry.

"If you're late you will not be copying my notes," Hermione threatened. Harry just shook his head.

"I won't be late, Hermione. Not like Binns would care either way," he said as she and Ron left the Great Hall. The hall itself was almost deserted by then as most students and professors had moved to their classes. Harry sat there for a few moments, feeling annoyed at everything. Eventually he shoveled the rest of his eggs into his mouth knowing full well that he'd regret not eating breakfast in Defense when an empty stomach made him snap at Umbridge.

"Sneak some toast with you if you can," Ron said as he dragged Hermione away. Harry nodded, laughing quietly to himself. He sat for a few more minutes dreading the day. When he moved to get up an owl landed in front of him. It hooted and set down a package, offering its leg for cash on delivery payment.

Harry blinked and shuffled into his robes, the note on the package said four knuts. He put them into the pouch and the bird flew off leaving him alone with the plain brown wrapped package.

He paused, it wasn't stamped like all of the other packages that came in. He looked up to the staff table. Umbridge wasn't there. He paused and figured he may as well open it.

Inside was a small Tupperware with a few dozen chocolate chip cookies. Underneath the container was an oddly familiar journal. He stared at it for a few moments, blinking. There was no mistaking it. It was the same journal he'd stabbed in the Chamber of Secrets. Yet there was no gigantic fang hole in it. He blinked and stared down at it.

The warning bell for their first class rang through the school. He frowned, remembering he'd promised Hermione that he wouldn't be late. He gathered up his things, shoving the cookies and the journal into his school bag, and walked to history.

He stepped in as Binns shifted through the wall between his office and the classroom. The ghost professor paid him no heed as he took his seat. Binns started lecturing immediately. Harry sat in the corner next to Ron, pulling out his notes. He could sense that she wanted to lecture him on nearly being tardy, but she couldn't bring herself to interrupt for fear of missing any crucial notes.

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook, pulling Emily's journal out as well without realizing it. He looked down at the diary. Ron nudged him with an elbow and nodded at it curiously. Harry just shrugged and shifted his chair a bit away from his two friends. He looked down at the diary for a moment before figuring that there was no chance Binns would call on him anyway, and opening it.

There was a familiar script written on the first page. It was just a few lines of text written in a neat, practiced cursive on the front page.

Harry,

I hope that your first few weeks back at Hogwarts are going well. Please enjoy the cookies. I promise they're not poisoned. If you don't believe me feel free to take them to the kitchen elves for examination. If you've yet to discover the location of the Hogwarts kitchens they are located directly under the great hall. Head down to the Hufflepuff common area and look for a painting of a bowl of fruit. If one tickles the pear the kitchens will open.

The elves are quite exceptional at identifying food and ingredients and have a genuine love for cooking and food. Be careful, if you let them, you'll gain ten pounds in one visit and learn far too much about baking for your own good.

They are also amazingly apt to gift a bottle or three of wine if one inquires. Really, I think they just like the attention. Either way, a little wine never hurt while studying for the O. !

As you've undoubtedly already noticed I've enclosed my diary. The very same one you seemed to feel that you needed to stab with a poisoned fang. Don't worry, I'm not bitter about that at all.

Again, don't worry, the enchantments that were on it years ago are now completely null and void. Largely due to your efforts, mind you. But still, I think you may find it enlightening. Again I promise, Harry, that no harm will come to you.

Enjoy school!

E

He stared at the page for a moment. But eventually curiosity won out and he turned the page to see just what she meant. The next pages though, and really every other remaining page of the diary, was blank. He flipped back to the first blank page and stared at it, confused.

He picked up a quill and intended to write on the page. But before he could touch the nib to the page, the flickered silver and Harry found himself just staring before the classroom melted away around him.

Harry found himself on a train. But it wasn't the Hogwarts express. He looked down immediately and realized instantly that he was now female. He shot his arms up to examine himself and felt rather relieved when his arm ghosted out from the female body. He stood and stepped away from it, glad he could move around normally. He turned back to see just who he'd been.

A dour looking girl sat in the seat he'd just vacated. Harry tried to speak, but no words came out. He frowned and looked down at his hands, then around the train, then back at the girl. She wore shabby dark clothing, a grey shirt and a grey sweater. She was staring out the window, ignoring everyone else on the train.

It didn't take Harry particularly long to recognize her. Emily Riddle looking put out and very young. She couldn't have been much older than he was. He stared at her for a few moments, realizing quickly that this must be exactly what he'd done with the diary before.

He could feel the train starting to slow. Emily could as well. He saw she sighed and gazed out the window before standing and moving to the front of the car. Harry followed her, noticing a great deal of rather young girls in the train car with her. They were all asking her something, some were crying. Most seemed interested in where their parents were. Emily didn't really answer any of the questions.

Instead she just pulled some of her hair over toward her nose and sniffed again, making a face before brushing it behind her ear. Harry watched her movements, finding it all vaguely familiar. As he looked at her he couldn't help but think she looked exhausted.

Eventually the train came to a complete stop and the girls started to gather their things. Harry watched as Emily helped them take down luggage and queued them up to exit the car, for a moment seeming very much like a bored prefect.

She worked her way to the front of the queue and waited. Harry wondered for a moment why they weren't disembarking from the stopped train. He didn't have to wait long for an answer though, as a khaki uniformed man entered the train moment later.

"Good evening Lieutenant," Emily said with a curtsey. The man couldn't have been much older than her, perhaps five years at most. He looked young for an officer, Harry thought, and he walked with a severe limp, leaning on a cane as he moved.

"Good evening," he said, surveying the contents of the cabin behind her. "Orphans and refugees from London?"

"Yes sir," Emily responded courteously.

"Are you the matron?" he asked, staring at her.

"What? No," Emily looked bewildered. "Just the oldest one here, I guess."

"I see," the Lieutenant said. "Well head out of the train and continue down to the town. I'm sure the Bennett's will find a place for everyone."

"Yes sir," Emily said again. "Thank you." The Lieutenant just nodded at her.

"Welcome to Great Hangleton," he said brightly as the girls started to depart the train. Harry watched as Emily ushered the girls toward the town. They stayed to the side of the road as a fairly steady stream of army vehicles passed them. It was rather slow going with the luggage, but Emily stayed patient as they entered the town.

An older couple greeted them when they entered the town. They gravitated toward Emily and then spent a moment inspecting each child and sending it off with directions to what would be their home for the remainder of the war. Harry noticed all of the children looked rather frightened. Soldiers were milling around and chatting, but the mood seemed dour. He wondered just what year it was.

Eventually, with all of the children billeted, Emily was left with the Bennett's. She looked around the muddy roads and frowned.

"And where do I go?" she asked.

"Oh you're with us, Dearie," Mrs. Bennett said. "You're the spitting image of our Jane."

"Will she be joining us?" Emily asked, sounding rather concerned.

"No," Mr. Bennett said. "She's down south working at a radio factory. Doing her own little bit for the war."

"I should be helping the war effort," Emily sighed. Harry blinked and stared at her. She looked genuinely disappointed that she wasn't.

"Nonsense, dearie," Mrs. Bennett said. "Maybe if it's still going on in five years. Right now the best thing you can do is help out with the children."

"I could do more," Emily said.

"Well maybe offer to help out around the base. The soldiers are always looking for laundry or an extra pair of hands here or there," Mrs. Bennett said. Emily just shook her head. Harry noticed they'd started to move off toward a small house at the end of the square.

"We've made a deal with the base," Mr. Bennett said. "Lieutenant Billings and Lieutenant Price are staying on the first floor. They sometimes sup with us in the lower kitchen. But otherwise we've retained the entire second floor."

"So don't loiter downstairs," Emily said.

"They prefer it that way, yes," Mr. Bennett responded. They entered the house. Harry noticed it was very sparsely furnished. Mrs. Bennett showed Emily to a room with a small dresser, a tiny desk shoved into a corner, and a small bed. Emily sat on the bed and looked around, as if appraising her surroundings.

"No luggage?" Mrs. Bennett asked.

"No," Emily frowned. "It didn't last through the last bombing."

"Oh I'm so sorry. Feel free to help yourself to any of Jane's things. She's about your size and won't mind."

"Thank you," Emily said quietly.

"I'll leave you alone for now," Mrs. Bennett said. "You've had a long day. Bathroom is at the end of the hall if you'd like to freshen up. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours. I'll come fetch you if you doze off."

"Thank you again," Emily said.

"Oh it's the least we can do to help out, Dearie," Mrs. Bennett said as she left the bedroom. Harry watched as Emily just sat on the bed. She didn't move for what felt like an eternity before she opened a small bag she'd been carrying. She took out a trunk that looked like a scaled down model of his school trunk. She stared at it for a moment, before sighing. Harry suspected she was desperate to restore it, to take her clothing or schoolwork from it. But she didn't.

Instead she walked over to Jane Bennett's dresser and tucked the trunk into the top drawer, burying it amongst the clothing. Once she seemed satisfied with it she spent a few more moments looking through the options. Eventually she found a floral patterned dress in a small closet and held it up to herself. She frowned but threw it over her shoulder and stepped out into the hallway.

She seemed to attempt to sneak toward the bathroom, trying to make as little noise as possible. Harry noticed Mr. Bennett in a sitting room reading the paper. He gazed over the top of it at the new ward, but didn't say anything as she passed by.

Emily stepped into the bathroom and started the water, placing her hand under the tap and making a noise Harry could best describe as a moan as the warmth hit her hand. She stood and shook out her hair before starting to remove her clothing.

Harry swallowed hard as he realized what he was about to see. In moments, she was standing before him in her underwear. He stared at her, blinking, wondering why the Dark Lord had deemed to give him a diary containing this memory. He almost gasped aloud as she reached behind her.

But then the image dissolved rapidly around him. And he was sitting once more in History of Magic with someone tugging on his sleeve.

"Harry wake up," Hermione snapped at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't even take a single note!" she snapped again. Harry blinked down at the journal. The pages were a pristine grey. "Maybe if you write something next time you'll actually stay awake!"

"Maybe," Harry said, closing the diary and examining the cover carefully.

"That book looks familiar, mate," Ron said, eyeing it carefully.

"It's been in my trunk for years," Harry lied. "Figured it would be a good notebook/"

"It would be," Hermione snapped. "If you ever bothered to take notes!"

"Next time," Harry said. But he knew that wouldn't happen. He stared at the diary for a moment longer before tucking it into his bag, next to the container of cookies. He knew full well he'd never write into that book. Although, for some reason, he doubted it would be the last time he stared at it in History of Magic.

That thought caused him to chuckle quietly, drawing a confused look from Ron and another annoyed look from Hermione. At least, he smirked to himself, if he kept staring at the diary during History of Magic, and it continued as it just had, he might actually learn some history.