Harry Potter series © J.K. Rowling


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6

I didn't know how long I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the diary's blank pages that remained inanimate in my lap like a man obsessed, clasped hands supporting my forehead, elbows on my knees, digging in painfully but not awakening me from this nightmare.

Curiosity itched at the back of my eyes, urging me to write in the diary, to see something happen.

More options would be open to me once I reached Hogwarts where there was Dumbledore to consult. If I wanted to. This was supposed to be Harry's first year, where the Philosopher's Stone was about to be stolen by Lord Voldemort and Quirrell working together.

If Voldemort got his hands on this diary, what would happen? Would they merge and become something more terrible?

My fingers itched to write something. Even something like, "Hi, I hate you, asshole," would've brought me immense satisfaction. But if I did write, the diary would surely respond and my curiosity would eat me up alive if I didn't respond. Sheesh.

I turned my mind to other stuff: how had I gotten the diary?

Dobby knew; that was the crucial hint. I hadn't gotten close to Lucius since—just hours ago, when I got back. Hadn't he asked me to take my letter? I'd went to get it myself but he asked Dobby to take it for me—surely, that must be when the diary was slipped into my trunk: Dobby had been ordered to do it, my death sentence.

Lucius wanted me out of his way for the Black inheritance. Oh how wealth and prestige blinds you. And he likely wanted me to kill the Mudbloods before they could taint Draco. Or something. I've got to destroy it.

The first weapon that came to mind was the Sword of Gryffindor, as I could hardly waltz into the Chamber of Secrets and ask the Basilisk for a fang nicely. Now the question was … how do I get the sword? Especially when the sword hadn't even absorbed the quality of a Basilisk's venom?

A mangled, hysterical shriek of frustration tore from my throat: my fingernails dug so deeply into my palms, I bled. I didn't realize until blood dripped onto the right page of the diary. Pain stung at me, but not as badly as the realization of what I'd done did.

Another scream was ripped from my mouth as my blood disappeared, absorbed completely by the diary, and then: Are you hurt? Do you need help? was written in my own blood. My blood! I had paid enough attention to Professor Snape in class to know that blood was a powerful, binding magical property in potions – or any magical substance you were making. I hoped this did not apply as making something.

I looked reluctantly down at the diary: the words hadn't disappeared. As if the red letters were orders, however, my fingers were moving. I swiped the quill off my desk and, after dipping it in a pot of ink, shakily wrote: I'm fine for now. Unless you know how to ward off an uncle out for your blood.

The ink sank into the paper. I waited. Then: Why don't you tell me the whole story?

So you can absorb my life force for your own physical form, Mr. Horcrux? No thank you.

I slammed the diary shut with finality, tossing it carelessly across the room and flopping down onto my bed, exhausted. I was asleep before I'd even blinked twice.

I woke to someone poking me in the back. "Draco," I groaned miserably, batting the hand away. "Go'way. 'm tired."

"It's dinner time," the boy piped up. Though he was already eleven, I couldn't erase the image of a five-year-old Draco. He was still the little brat I'd put up with for years and might've even grown fond of, to some limited degree. "And we have a lot to talk about!"

"No, there's nothing I want to share."

I expected some whining but none came – had he matured in the time I was gone? What sort of miracle was that? "That's fine," said Draco and his voice was sly. I stiffened, tempted to turn, but Draco walked away: his polished shoes clicking as he walked away. "You can ask that horrid elf to bring your dinner up later if you want."

"…Yeah, I'll do just that. I wouldn't want to ruin your father's appetite." Draco closed the door once I was done talking. I wondered if I'd been too harsh. Sighing my guilt, I rolled over, squinting in the dark. My room was the same from all those years ago when I'd stepped foot in this mansion: creamy white walls, powder blue covers.

And ghosts. Terrors of my imagination.

Shuddering, I pulled my covers up and over my head, determined to sleep until tomorrow.

~{VI}~

Unhealthy as it was, I spent the remainder of summer vacation locked in my room. Sending Dobby out to get me books from Lucius' library and studying, self-teaching some of the subjects to myself. It was ironic how much I worried over the diary when I first got it and it took me at least three days to realize the diary was gone.

Maybe my belatedness in realizing it was missing was played on by my desperate wish that it had never happened. When I found it missing, it only became that much more horrifying to relish. I had no control over the events now; I couldn't control what the diary could do.

But who would take it? Dobby?

"It's dinner time!" rang out in my head. Draco had been the only one to come into my room after I'd tossed the diary away: Draco had taken it? Cold panic washed over me. Annoying as he could be, I never wanted real harm to happen upon him.

After ransacking my room for the fourth time and found no diary, I finally did something I'd never done of my own accord before: I went to Draco's room. I knocked harshly and quickly. Draco responded pretty quickly, eyes widening in surprise when he saw me.

"Sal?" he whispered in disbelief. "What're you doing here?"

I was agitated as I replied, "Have you seen a diary in my room? My diary?"

Draco stiffened slightly. Only slightly. Had I not been watching him for signs of guilt, I wouldn't have noticed. But I did notice and I narrowed my eyes at him. "No," he replied, managing to pull off casual.

My jaw clenched as I was reminded of his stubbornness. "Give it back," I ordered, holding a hand out for it.

Draco pursed his lips, chin jutted out. "No! As it's not even yours in the first place!" Then he slammed the door shut in my face.

My mouth fell open in shock: Draco never pushed me away. Never. Sure I had done it to him plenty of times but never … never in my entire life … had he ever given me such a cold reception. Still stunned, I made my way back to my room, sat by my desk and stared at the book depicting a gruesome death by a Lacerating Curse.

There's no other way around it: I've got to steal it back.

..

.

I hate it! He's hanging out with house-elves, blood-traitors and Muggles! Scum and by-product of filth! Why doesn't he ever pay attention to me?

Now, now, Draco, patience. All you need is something impressive.

What do you know about impressive? You're just a diary.

A diary that happens to know the very thing that will draw Sal's attention: something of such magnitude he won't be able to look away.

What's it? Tell me, Tom!

You might be frightened, I cannot, in good conscience, let a young boy …

I won't! Just tell me!

Have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?

.

..

"Sal!" Cedric slung an arm around my shoulder, smiling, the moment he saw me at the station. Draco, decked out in his school robes and being fussed over by his parents for the last time in a long while, stood slightly apart from me. I had gone the longest time without being bugged by him and while this was a reprieve in many ways, it hardly put my mind at ease.

My eyes ached with weariness: I had insomnia – a problem I had been struggling against ever since my parents were incarcerated in Azkaban.

Cedric's smile wavered in concern as he took in my state; his gray eyes slid over to the Malfoy family, who stood at a good five feet away from me. "They didn't…?"

"I had nightmares, nothing to worry about," I brushed him off, smiling mildly. "We should find a compartment. One without Harry Potter in it." Or Draco Malfoy, I thought silently, taking Cedric's hand and pulling him along.

Draco did not call out after me.

Cedric helped me get my trunk onboard, then we worked on his trunk. "Your trunk is heavier than mine," he noticed. "What did you bring with you?"

"Books I smuggled from my uncle's library." I smirked, shrugging innocently as I plopped down by the window, looking out. Aunt Cissa unexpectedly caught my eyes – we had seen little of one another in my last week at the Manor – then, awkwardly, she lifted a hand in a wave.

I blinked in surprise before I returned the gesture – I dropped my arm when I caught Lucius' eye and his calculating smile, counting my worth with every gauge. She smiled warmly before she linked her arm with her husband's and Disapparated.

I cast the station one last cursory glance and promptly froze at a sight. I practically lurched out of the window to see it.

"Sal?" Cedric sounded baffled. I was, too, though for a different reason.

There, standing beside a vulture-hat-wearing old lady and a stuttering boy with pink cheeks and blonde hair, was a woman: she bore remarkable resemblance to her son, the Auror Alice Longbottom. She was sane, out of St. Mungo's, and she swooped down to give Neville Longbottom one last peck on his forehead before ushering him onto the train, smiling as she did so.

Cedric pulled me away from the window, staring at my bewildered expression. "What's wrong?" he asked in a dramatized whisper.

"I … nothing," I managed to get through.

Oh Merlin – so many things changing, so much out of my control. I worried my lip and my expression must've been strained enough for Cedric to keep quiet and refrain from pestering me.

The train was whistling when Cedric nudged me. "Hey, your cousin," he muttered, jerking his head at Draco who dawdled in the hallway. I saw Greg and Vince. He was talking purposefully to them but his eyes were on me, daring me.

I opened the compartment door just to hear, "—arry Potter down there."

I changed what I wanted to say: "Trust me, you wouldn't be making friends with Harry Potter," I snorted at the thought.

Draco scowled heavily at me. "Why not?" the Malfoy heir bristled.

"Your attitude," I replied curtly, "Potter was raised by Muggles, he must love them." Hah! I knew he didn't. "You and your prejudiced ways won't earn favors from him. Just stay away and save yourself from embarrassment, Draco. Come sit with me." And give me back the diary.

Draco made a move as if to accept my offer – obviously, he was surprised and tempted because I'd never offered my time to him before – but then he paused. His arm tensed; my eyes traced his right arm to the tight grip he had on Riddle's diary. Shit. "No," he said quietly. "I've got other stuff to do."

Then he swept away before I could stop him, his bodyguards trailing after him like obedient puppies. "Draco!"

"Excuse me," a bossy sort of voice interrupted me, "Can you please not block the aisle?"

I swiveled my head to stare at the first-year: her bushy brown hair made her pretty face looked small, her brown eyes were like chocolate. I stepped away. "Thank you," she said huffily but she did not immediately go down the hallway. Instead, she peered none-too-subtly over my shoulder to look into my compartment.

"First year?" She – Salazar, why? – jumped at Cedric's abrupt addressing. "Come on in!" He invited generously, like the Hufflepuff he was. "If you have nowhere else to seat."

Embarrassment made itself clear on her face. "Thank you …" Her tone was less pompous as I stepped away for her to enter, dragging her trunk behind her. I suddenly felt claustrophobic; I retreated to seat next to Cedric, making it clear I did not want to sit next to her: she did not seem to notice, busy as she was with Cedric who helped her heave her trunk ahead.

"I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name? You're my seniors, aren't you? Tell me, are the lessons really tough? Will I, a Muggle-born, have a tough time catching up? What are classes like, mind?"

"Rasalas Lestrange, pure-blood."

"Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff." My friend – galling as it was to admit sometimes – nudged me playfully. "This misogynist is a Slytherin. Those are the two Houses of Hogwarts, the others being Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Muggle-born, yeah? You don't have to worry at all; the classes are straightforward and fun, the professors are helpful and the seniors are quite kind – granted if you ask nicely – you won't fall behind at all!"

She shot off a paragraph of questions and he answered splendidly without missing a beat. I could see how Cedric would sweep girls off their feet.

Already, Hermione was turned to him, chattering away. I relaxed in my seat, heaving a sigh of relief.

Cedric and Hermione managed to keep one another company – with several intervals of interruption where the trolley lady came by and she politely requested we leave while she changed – until the journey to Hogwarts ended. Hermione practically vibrated on the spot. Though she wrung her fingers nervously.

"You'll do fine!" assured Cedric for the umpteenth time. Did he not get bored with assurances?

I sneered. "Spoiler alert: you just have to put on a hat to be Sorted."

"Sal!" cried Cedric, scandalized. Every upperclassman participated in the hazing: scare the first years with made-up stories about tests during the Sorting.

I smirked. "You'll do well in Ravenclaw, Granger. See you not, kiddo." Then I sauntered off to join the rest of the herd leaving the train in droves.

I thought I glimpsed Draco among the first years but Hagrid led them away quickly. And something else stole my attention: Thestrals pulling the carriage up for us to board. There were no roofs since it wasn't raining. But I still stared, transfixed as I reached out to pat one.

"Sal, what's the holdup for?" It was Adrian: he nudged my arm, a quizzical look thrown in my direction, as he climbed onboard.

The Thestral neighed – a screechy, high sound not common among ordinary horses – and leaned into my touch, cantering. I gave it one last pat before joining Adrian, Rosier and Montague on the carriage. I looked and saw Cedric greeting the rest of his friends from Hufflepuff.

"You can't see it, can you?"

"See what?" asked Rosier, bemused.

I pointed at the Thestral pulling us to Hogwarts that was visible even in the distance. "Only people who's seen death and accepted its reality can see the horses."

"We're not pulled by magic?" Montague blinked hard in disbelief.

"Thestrals, look it up if you want," I said offhandedly.

"Who did you see die?" Adrian inquired shrewdly.

"Me," I grinned at the irony of it all. Adrian knew better than to question me. He rolled his eyes, chalked it up as Lestrange's strangeness, and turned to the other boys to ask about their summer; he definitely did not want to know about my Muggle holiday.

Eventually, as with all boys' conversations in Hogwarts, the talk turned to Quidditch.

"—trying out for Seeker," said Adrian.

Too bad Harry was going to make him eat dirt in Seeking, I thought privately.

"Any interest, Lestrange?"

"Quidditch is not my forte," I said simply, "I'm more interested in furthering my studies in the Dark Arts – and the Defense against it. If you want a duel, I welcome your invitations, just not Quidditch." Gotta throw out Dark hints to keep up the image, sometimes. Besides, I wasn't lying.

"You planning on becoming an Auror?" Rosier sneered, condescendingly so. Rosier was fair-haired, his eyes a rosy pink, and quite girlish looking. I'd never taken note of it before. Rosier hated Aurors because his father Rosier Sr. had been killed by Aurors.

"I don't think so," I demurred lightly. I doubted I had a choice in my career; not when my job had been picked out for me ever since I was born to Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. "You?" I asked, just to deflect the attention on me.

"A wizard barrister maybe," Rosier murmured just as vaguely. A wizard barrister was, as it sounded, someone who defended Dark wizards and witches in court if they were ever caught: it wasn't a popular job. I figured Rosier's motivation was, once again, due to his family's allegiance with the Dark Arts and how his family members were used to being arrested by the Ministry for misconduct and dabbling with Dark Magic.

"Good luck with that," snorted Montague who did not have a high opinion of Rosier's intelligence.

"What about you?"

I tuned them out once it was clear I'd lost their interest. My thoughts were with Draco and Riddle's diary. Worry gnawed at me, causing me to roll my lower lip in between my teeth, right up until I was seated at the Slytherin table.

The Sorting commenced the moment McGonagall set out the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on it.

As everyone craned their necks to see Harry Potter, I was no exception. I cursed the fact that the procession of first years were between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff so my view was limited in the surge of Ravenclaws blocking my sight.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

When the Hat roared Hufflepuff as the girl's new House, I saw Cedric roaring his approval too. I dimly noted, not for the first time, that Dora wouldn't be here anymore. Sadly, the impact she'd left upon my reputation would not fade as swiftly as she'd graduated.

Inevitably, "Granger, Hermione!"

"I'm hungry," groaned Marcus Flint, a senior of mine.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"… Huh?" I whirled around to see Hermione walking away – it was her Sorting, wasn't it?

I tugged urgently on Adrian's arm; he turned to look at me, mildly bemused. "That girl – she was Sorted into Raven—?" Hermione Granger had resumed a seat reserved for first years at the table next to ours: her reserved Housemates welcomed her most warmly. "Never mind," I muttered, releasing Adrian who immediately turned back to the Sorting.

Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe became Slytherins, making me cringe: they were anything but Slytherin-worthy and it shamed me to the core to be lumped with them in such a category but the Hat also took in the wants of the students.

I was relieved there was Adrian and Rosier between me and the first years.

Draco, still gripping the diary under his robes like it might disappear if he didn't hold onto it, sauntered over to the Slytherin table not long after.

The rest of the Sorting proceeded smoothly – everyone but Hermione and Padma Patil had exchanged Houses – and though I snuck several glances at Hermione Granger, I still enjoyed the feast immensely, and after, only dully taking note of Dumbledore's speech.

I kept one eye on Draco, as Aunt Cissa would've wanted me to, but he looked and acted like a normal boy instead of a Riddle-possessed murderer. But the difference in his conduct ever since he had acquired the diary was immense: I bade him goodnight and he ignored me, turning his nose up.

Adrian had to drag me down the hallway and back to our dormitory.

"That's the cousin you complain about?" asked Rosier, joining us in our room, and placing his trunk down. He arched a doubtful brow. "He doesn't seem as clingy as you make him out to be."

"You make that Malfoy heir sound like he's about three or something," added Montague dubiously.

"Time changes people," I demurred.

"In one summer," Rosier snorted.

I decided not to mention how I'd gone off to Tonks' Muggle suburban for summer vacation; they'd treat me like I'd have the plague if I did. And I wasn't in the mood to look for enemies.

As I crawled under my sheets, feeling at home and warmth washing over me, I had one resolution: get that damned diary back and keep Quirrell away.

~{VI}~

Convincing Draco to give it away was clearly not going to work. He positively ran away from me when I tried to approach him after breakfast.

How much influence did the diary have over him?

I was in shock as I pondered this; my morning classes passed in a blur and I was still nowhere close to forming a plan to procure the diary again. I got so distracted that Fawley managed to grope me. After realizing it was a girl who was stuck to my side, I shrieked, shoved her and tumbled down the stairs as a result.

In front of Draco. Right, there goes any chance of intimidating him. There was nothing remotely scary about a boy who was scared of girls and had cracked his skull going down the stairs.

"What's wrong with you today?" demanded Adrian, bewildered as he handed me notes from History of Magic's class that I had missed – a fact that I was not sorry about. "You're disoriented and out-of-it. Did… something happened?" I wondered if I'd imagined the tone of concern in his voice.

"My insufferable cousin took my diary," I informed him as honestly as possible.

Amusement became clear on Adrian's face; his mouth twitched into a smirk. "I never took you to be the diary type."

I held up a hand to indicate silence, straining my ears to listen hard. I fished for my wand either way, and murmured, "Muffliato." Then I turned to Adrian, expression serious. "That diary was something my uncle got me. Now you know that I'm the one who's going to be benefitting form the Black family's fortune—?"

"Lucius Malfoy wants to kill you." A pause. Adrian's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "The diary is cursed?"

"Yes, I'm glad you cotton on so quick—"

Adrian couldn't help the snort from escaping his mouth. "It's going to be bloody ironic. He gave the diary to you with the intention to kill you, but it ends up in his son's hands! Can you imagine the look on his face if his son's the one who died?" He laughed nastily.

I smacked him to silence him. "I've got to get that diary back," I hissed at him, eyes flashing. "Draco's annoying but he's still a kid, my cousin – I can't let it harm him."

Adrian sobered instantly. "'Course I'll help." I blinked, eyes softening. "Dragging an innocent bystander is not my style. What do you need? Say the word."

"You're … willing to take my lead?" I asked for confirmation.

Adrian smirked. "I think you're – attractive – when you glare and go all Dark Lord on us."

"A-A-Attractive? Dark Lord? Me!?"

"Not now though," laughed Adrian, a trace of apologetic embarrassment in his voice. "Catch you later." Then he loped off before I could snag his sleeve and outright demand he explain himself.

"It was just a couple of hexes!" I hollered at his back. "How is that Dark Lord-worthy?"

No one answered.

(Though I suspect a diary can give me the answers I need)

~{VI}~

My meeting with Harry Potter was a complete shock.

"Hey, that – that's your Housemate right, Draco? Excuse me!"

I had already turned at the familiar name. Without a doubt, it was my cousin striding after a boy his age – his classmate Harry Potter. There was no mistaking the disheveled hair and bright green eyes behind full-moon glasses. I nearly had a heart-attack.

Since when did Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy walk to classes together?

"Y-Yeah?" I spluttered, nearly losing my grip on my binder.

"Can you please direct us to the Charms classroom?"

"Us? You two are – friends?" I just had to ask. Had this world tilted sideways? I was confounded.

"Of course we are," inserted Draco haughtily, jaw jutted out. "You thought I'm not worthy to befriend Potter?"

"Oh, no – I thought the other way around," I quickly regained my bearings. Apparently, Draco would want to talk when it was to rub something in my face – I made sure to not show how rattled I was by this. I turned to Harry. "You'll find that Draco is an insufferable bigot who thinks Muggles and Muggle-borns are scum. If you don't want your reputation to suffer, I strongly advise you stop associating with the likes of us."

Draco's mouth fell open in outrage, his visage pasty white. "You—"

"The Charms corridor is down that hallway. Then remember to turn right, walk ahead and make another right turn. First class on the left."

"…Thank you…?"

I hurried away to my first class of Tuesday – DADA. Lord Voldemort, behind Quirrell's head. Perfect. I resumed my usual seat beside Adrian and aside from a polite nod, his face impassive, he showed no outward reaction to the conversation yesterday in the Infirmary.

Attractive? Me?

(I was flattered though I'll be damned before I admit it)

"Quirrell's a mess," muttered Adrian abruptly, startling me enough to make me twitch sideways. "Heard he tangled with vampires and banshees in the Dark Forest." Clearly, he wanted my opinion on the matter.

"Vampires, definitely vampires that traumatized him," I murmured in turn, deciding to play ignorant like he was about what transpired yesterday. My nose twitched at the repugnant smell of garlic even though Quirrell hadn't moved from his spot behind the desk; apparently, he was afraid of us. A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand to request permission to use the ladies and he positively cowered away from her when she walked past his desk.

In a few months' time, he was going to die.

Knowing he was going to croak and not doing anything about it … morbid. Absolutely morbid.

"… t-terrifying, honestly!" Quirrell squeaked away. "W-When f-faced with such an a-adversary," his lower lip quivered, "y-you s-should—"

"Can you hear what's he saying?" Adrian groaned, not bothering to keep his voice down.

I kicked him but Quirrell wouldn't have reprimanded him anyway. Not when a hair-raising, toe-curling shriek rent the air: every student in class started. Quirrell flinched into his desk.

Adrian's eyes were wide, he was breathless with excitement: our eyes met and in silent agreement, we bolted out of our seats and out of the classroom, heading the rest of the class. Quirrell did not stop us; if he had tried, then his attempts had been too quiet to be heard.

"What – do you – think happened?" gasped Adrian, clutching a stitch in his chest – I had a whole lot more stamina than any of my classmates did – as we hurtled towards the source of the voice. Classes we passed by joined the stream of curious students.

"Dunno – came from the Transfiguration –!"

Shouts took up among the crowd; a solid wall of sixth-years had converged before the scene. I elbowed my way through, stumbling forward.

"Blimey! No!"

A boy – red-haired and freckle-faced – was crouching beside another redheaded boy. I'd only seen him in passing but I knew who he was: Percy Weasley. And the first-year must be Ron Weasley, I realized.

Horror knotted my intestines in my gut as I approached them. Percy Weasley was ashen-faced, eyes widened in horror, and – I touched his arm – he was stiff as marble. He had been Petrified – by a Basilisk's glare. No doubt about it.

Who had a grudge against the Weasleys? The Malfoys! This was Draco's ploy to get revenge. And to impress his father, no doubt, to be able to parade around the fact that he was the Heir of Slytherin in the Common Room and to pure-blood social gatherings.

I gritted my teeth as I pushed Ron away from smothering his unconscious, unaware elder brother. "Stand back, we've got to move him." I flicked my wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The prone form rose off the polished, reflective surface with ease: hovering a few feet off the air, Percy parted the crowd easily as I maneuvered him in the direction of the Infirmary.

"What's going on here?" shouted a familiar voice. I nearly dropped Weasley. The younger brother – Ron – was following me rather fearfully, face blanched white. "Lestrange!" barked McGonagall, livid with anger and concern. "What have you—?"

"I was about to move Weasley to the Infirmary!" I protested. "The whole crowd can tell you I did nothing to him!"

"It's true, Professor," Montague stepped to my defense. I exhaled slightly in relief. "The crowd was gaping before we came."

McGonagall nodded absentmindedly, dismissing suspicions in favor of checking on her student. She was stunned to discover his condition. "His eyes are open but … Rennervate!" Percy remained unmoved. She pointed her wand at his body. "Carry on, Lestrange." She rounded to the ogling crowd. "Back to classes, all of you – inform the professors in class about what has happened and act accordingly! Go! Fawcett, inform my class that Transfiguration class today is self-study time."

Murmurs and fierce theories were rippling even as the crowd dispersed in groups of twos and threes. Adrian caught my eye, nodding slightly, before walking off with Montague and Rosier – my usual crowd.

"Lestrange, Weasley – explanation please?"

"I – when I came to see the commotion," spluttered Ron Weasley, speaking at last, "He was already like that!"

McGonagall exhaled through her nostrils. "Weasley, I implore you to find the Headmaster."

"But I don't know wh—"

"Contact your twin brothers," ordered McGonagall calmly, "They have seen the Headmaster enough times to know where his office is. They might also want to know that their elder brother has been attacked." Ron nodded vigorously before speeding off.

McGonagall turned to me. "Lestrange …"

"It wasn't me," I insisted, lower lip finding its way out into a pout. I wanted to hex my mouth off for the instinctive reaction. I mean, McGonagall seriously reminded me of my grandmother from my previous life – and the fact that I'd always been the apple in her eye meant a pout could've gotten me out of any and every trouble.

"What matters now is to get Mr. Weasley to a medical expert," said McGonagall. "We will discuss this later."

Even though I did nothing but help?

Pushing away the resentful thought, I followed McGonagall at a brisk pace to the Infirmary. Luckily, the spell held even though I was preoccupied.

"Ten points for helpfulness – and that Charmwork was well done, Filius would've been proud." McGonagall's sudden praise and awarding of points surprised me enough to draw me back to reality. Her mouth twitched into what might've been a smile. "Off to your Common Room. Listen to your Head of House for further instruction."

"Yes, ma'am."

I couldn't have returned to the Common Room quickly enough. Before I could jump Draco – who was amidst a throng of Slytherins – Adrian popped up at my side, grim-faced. "You won't believe—"

"Save it." I shushed him. He backed off surprisingly quickly, trailing a few feet behind. I stopped before Draco, eyes falling to the diary in his lap. "Give it to me. I'm not into using the hard way but I swear, Draco—"

"You can't push me around anymore!" cried Draco in a shrill, high voice that was uncharacteristic of him. His cheeks that would've been flushed with emotion were pale, drained of blood. His platinum blonde hair was not as slickly combed as usual. He looked like he'd been the victim of a vampire instead of Professor Quirrell. "You're not as better than me as you think you are, Lestrange!"

Wow, I've been debunked to a last-name basis. This was a first time for me. And it was much more insulting than I'd originally thought – to be shouted down by a first-year in front of everyone?

(no, such weakness was to not be tolerated in the House of Serpents)

"Step up your game," hissed Adrian behind me.

My wand hit my palm before Draco could even twitch towards his. I ignored the scene I was making

(and did I mention I have a knack for drawing unwanted attention?)

and channeled my hot anger – magic – into the tip of my wand. Even though the wand movement that accompanied this spell was just a jab at my target, I was not looking to only cursing one of them. I knew how to work my magic, I knew how dangerous this curse was.

A wide area of affect generally meant a lesser extent of the effect. That was the first rule of Charmwork we learned in class as first-years though Flitwick had doubted we could significantly alter spells at our current level.

Take, for example, the Killing Curse: you could spread it but it would not kill anyone, it would knock someone out perhaps, but not kill.

And now: "Expulso!" Blue blasted the throng of Slytherins apart, lighting the Common Room an unnatural bright laser-blue hue and hurling furniture around.

Screams, shouts and thuds of heavy things hitting solid surfaces mixed into the din. I sent a silent apology to the innocent bystanders as the light died, still leaving black spots in my eyes. Draco was scrambling on the stone floor for the diary that had fell from his lap.

Levicorpus!

Draco yelped; regret stung me as he was hoisted into the air but it was for his own good – prolonged contact with the diary was begging for death. His current state already worried me.

I reached the diary first and I snatched it, jabbing my wand at Draco a third time: Liberacorpus!

I darted to my dormitory, locking it behind me, heart thudding harshly against its confines as I fumbled with the diary. "Merlin damn you," I breathed to the inanimate object, sliding to the ground. "You hurt one hair on Draco's head and I'll … I'll…"

("Sal!" A cheerful, adoring pointed pale face of a three-year-old grinned down at me, as I was splayed listlessly on the grassy lawn behind the Malfoy Manor. "Play wit' me!")

The emotion that had clenched my heart in its unrelenting grip ever since I found out that Draco had this diary: worry, frustration, and fear for my little cousin, loosened. Finally. The diary was here, unable to harm Draco.

I held it to my chest.

Not Draco, not him. He's the most annoying little shit ever but if he's gone— I couldn't finish the train of thought.

..

.

"That was awesome man!" cheered Montague later at dinner in the Great Hall, clapping my shoulder before removing contact hastily: he seemed mildly nervous, as if I'd turn a curse his way if he accidentally crossed a line he was unaware of. "I've never seen a curse so powerful."

"It wasn't," I sighed. "The real effect is blasting something into pieces. Is everyone mad at me?"

"Intimidated is more like it," said Rosier, plopping down beside me. Montague claimed the seat next to Adrian. I noticed that the Slytherins were rather subdued, likewise with the professors' table; whispers on the furthest end of the table, far away from me, but I couldn't eavesdrop a single thing. "What made you lose your temper?"

"I needed the diary," I said shortly, pointedly not looking at where Draco and his fellows were sitting together, huddled together furthest away from me.

"Dirty secrets in there?" jeered Rosier.

"Maybe," I sniffed, exchanging significant looks with Adrian who inclined his head in acknowledgement. "What did Professor Snape say? He came in later on, didn't he?"

"No one ratted you out, they didn't dare in case you cursed them again." Rosier assured me. Lowering his voice, he said, "But Snape gave us some interesting bit of information." His mouth was curved into a cruelly amused smirk. "Apparently, the Chamber of Secrets has been opened – the writing on the wall down the Gryffindor Tower says so."

"Chamber of—?"

"Yeah," Rosier nodded, misinterpreting my expression, "I always thought it was a legend. A bedtime story perhaps. That's what my mother told me anyway." He hesitated, a flicker of uneasiness danced across his face. "Percy Weasley was pure-blood, you don't think—?"

"I bet the Heir of Slytherin knew he was a blood-traitor," interrupted Montague. "So he was attacked. The next will be Muggle-borns, or more blood-traitors." He smiled a satisfied smile. "That's good for us. Let's just keep our heads low and keep a look out for the Heir."

They were eyeing me extremely pointedly when they spoke.

"…What?"

Adrian, Montague and Rosier looked at one another, engaged in a deep glaring contest that Adrian apparently lost. So he was the one to answer me after a long moment's pause.

"Well," began Adrian with an air of forced nonchalance, waving his fork idly, "Before you entered the Common Room, Malfoy was boasting about being … y'know. That's why there's such a crowd gathered around him; people were wheedling him for the truth, wondering if he's lying." Here, he dared not continue further.

So Rosier, the boldest and nosiest among us four, spoke, "I thought that's why you're so angry – and everyone thinks the same."

Oh no, don't tell me—

"Malfoy took credit for what you did," whispered Montague, leaning closer towards me to lessen the chance of being overheard, dark eyes searching my expression for a hint of complacency – anything to convict me as the Heir of Slytherin. "That's why you're so miffed that you tried to blast us into pieces. Blimey, Sal! We would've believed you – I mean, how can that snot-nosed brat be Slytherin's heir? You look more like the part – Adrian agrees with me, don't you, Ad?"

Adrian's eyes bore into mine, unreadable. "Yes, of course."

I scowled until he turned his cheek the other way.

~{VI}~

Clearly, thinking things would go smoothly was too optimistic and foolish.

I didn't have a good grasp on time but judging from the snores and even breathing from the other beds, it was well past midnight.

So who in Salazar's name was sitting on my bed, straddling me?

Smoldering black eyes, black hair, pale complexion that was stark in contrast with my adjusting vision. I blinked and recoiled: my wand was at my throat, a steel-grip at the back of my neck prevented me from jerking away any more than I had.

"Don't scream," he hissed, eyes flashing darkly in warning.

I stared for he was none other than – "Riddle," I choked out.

~{VI}~


A considerably speedy update, in comparison to my past record. And this is longer than the previous chapter! XD Treat it as a reward for the review count last chapter- the most since this story's inception.

So they meet, how do you think the encounter will go?

AN: TMR/Rasalas takes the cake judging from the previous chapter's response. Now as we all know, TMR was born without an important component due to the circumstances of his birth so he can't exactly love as we normally can. This chapter, however, already presents a solution to that. Can anyone guess?

Whoever guesses right and request a drabble - TMR/Rasalas oriented drabble!

R&R