Neville found Harry a few days later huddled over a table in the library, staring at his study notes with a terrifying blank gaze. With dim light from an overcast day seeping palely through the windows, it was the wall sconces that cast a flicker of light and shadow over Harry's very vacant face.

"Harry?" Neville asked, concerned. "Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry himself had other things on his mind and didn't respond, not even a twitch.

Neville furrowed his brows and leaned forward, hesitantly tapping Harry on the shoulder. When that didn't work, he shook Harry gently.

"Harry?"

Harry's head wobbled a little with the force, but he still didn't even blink.

Neville shook a bit harder. "Harry? Oi, Harry? Should I get someone? Would Hermione help?"

As if he was rousing from a deep sleep, Harry's face twitched and came alive again. He eyelashes fluttered and slowly he began to recollect his bearings. Finally his gaze landed on Neville. After a moment, recognition dawned in his face and he jerked more alert.

"Nev! Hi, what's up?"

Somewhat reassured about Harry's state, Neville slid cautiously into a chair opposite Harry. "Are you okay, mate? You were looking awfully blank just now."

Harry huffed another deep sigh. "Dobby."

"…What?"

"Oh." Harry remembered that he hadn't told Neville much about his secrets. "I have a secret admirer, I suppose you could say."

Neville nodded thoughtfully. "I would have thought you'd had a few, at the rate you're going."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't get me started. Besides, that's half the problem. With all these people stopping me in the corridors, asking for autographs, talking me between classes, all the owl post and presents…" he trailed off. "I'd completely forgotten that I've got a bunch of other stuff going on!"

Neville's confused brown eyes moved from Harry's face to his study notes and back again. "Exams are a long time away, Harry."

Harry shrivelled up a little on the inside. "I know. That's a part of it too, honestly. I've got plans for next year, and they hinge on exams so the pressure's already getting to me. But the people are distractions – and so I'd forgotten I had something important to do this week!"

Finding and eliminating Tom Riddle's diary had to happen before he killed the Basilisk, in the end. That was vital.

But even if he found the diary, fixing the Basilisk had to wait until he'd solved the issue with Dobby, because if something was magicked up to 'protect' Harry that he wasn't expecting, then everything could be over before it began.

Which was also very worrying, because Harry had forgotten his problems might be caused by Dobby in the first place, and he'd also forgotten about the diary under the overwhelming pressure of his momentary fame.

"My memory's like a sieve," Harry complained. Defeatedly, he took off his glasses and polished them on a corner of his robe. His whole time-travel plan was in jeopardy because of his thoughtless ways. "I can't afford to forget things, Neville!"

Neville, not privy to Harry's internal monologue, asked cautiously, "Lovegood's new club?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he replaced his glasses. "That's been hard going too, actually. All the people are following me around and poor Luna's been ignored even worse than usual. Did you know we tried to audition for the choir on Monday? It was terrible. People kept ignoring Flitwick to talk to me instead."

Neville grimaced sympathetically.

Harry continued his tirade. "I can't go anywhere without people noticing me! Our classmates haven't been too bad, actually – I guess they've had the chance to see me around. But all these older students – and some of the first-years, goodness but they're eager – they've realised that I'm not handing out autographs so they're coming at me with cameras and I have things to do and plans to make and people to see – Hermione says I have to write thank you notes for the presents – and I can't seem to remember the important things so everything's going wrong and I'm really tired, Neville!"

Poor Neville looked quite concerned as Harry's voice rose.

"Lockhart's been horrible," Harry admitted, head in hands. "He keeps trying to take me aside for 'advice' or 'words of wisdom', or whatever he wants to call it. He'd like to teach me to 'manage my fame'," Harry sighed, "as if I don't already have too much. He actually owled a reporter to give a 'double interview - just the two of us', you know?"

Neville shuddered.

"And I couldn't turn it down because I need the press on my side, but I'm horrible at interviews and I felt like a fraud! I had to stand there and smile and pretend it was all such an honour. I have strong opinions about Rita Skeeter, you know? I have things to do – important things, Nev! And I'm running really tight on time and I don't want anyone to get hurt but there's all these things to think about and I didn't expect to get so famous just by playing quidditch like I usually do – I can't believe I actually forgot about Dobby so at least the bludgers have been helpful that way, but there's other stuff I need to be focussing on and people are getting in the way and I can't even slip away because everyone keeps coming to find me." Harry finished with a little wail.

Neville clasped his hands together, grabbed the table, rubbed his hands on his knees. "Right, well I can't help you with all of that mate; it sounds like you've got a lot of stuff going on. But what needs to be done first?"

Harry cradled his head in his hands and muttered to the table. "I don't know, let me think."

There was a pause while Harry wracked his brains. Neville, bless his heart, sat patiently waiting for Harry without uttering a sound.

"Dobby?" Harry finally ventured tentatively. "Stopping the stalking would free me up a bit to move around, and," he thought for a moment more, "the diary, probably? Because that might still take me a bit of time."

Neville stood up from the table like something had been accomplished. "Awesome then. Great job. I'll leave you to sort those things out then Harry, yeah? It sounds like you're getting things under control."

Nodding his slowly at first, and then more rapidly, Harry began gathering up his study materials and packing his satchel. "Thanks, Nev. I'll send a message to Dobby now. I think I know how to do it." House elves seemed to communicate between residences somehow, Harry had noticed. How else would Dobby think positively of him, and of Dumbledore? How else was Dobby planning to 'tell the other house elves of his greatness'? He'd talk to Pookey, that would work. "I'll sort that out now," Harry continued muttering. "I'll tell him, tell him…something. That Hogwarts is safe. That'll do it. Yup."

Neville watched Harry mutter and nod, not quite catching what Harry said.

"You do that then, mate. Good luck, eh?"

"Thanks," Harry glanced up. "I needed that pep talk, Nev. Thanks for catching me."

He strode off.

Finally Harry's mind seemed to surface from the whirling thoughts that had dragged him down. If he stopped Dobby from stalking him now, that would free him up to do other things – he'd have to figure out how to free Dobby at a later time. His plan for the Basilisk was also coming along. He'd talk to Pookey about that too, Harry decided.

He still had things under control. He was coping. Things would be alright.

That night over dinner it was announced that Marietta Edgecombe had been petrified in the girls' bathrooms on the fifth floor.

"She was caught trying to reapply her makeup," Hermione told him over breakfast the next morning. "No one seems to know who did it, or how. They're doing an extensive range of diagnostics today; I saw the specialists come into school. They think she was focused on the mirror and missed someone come up behind her."

Harry nodded silently. It was ironic that Marietta was the victim of petrification, but despite his remaining grudge against the girl, he didn't actually want anyone hurt. Now his deadline was even tighter than before. Not everyone would be as vain as Edgecombe, or spend as much time looking into mirrors.

The diary, Harry knew, had to be sorted out as soon as he could make it. He knew what he needed to focus on.

His most easily eliminated suspects excluded, Harry knew he needed to begin trying to corner Fred or George to ask them about the diary.

It was with a feeling of triumph and worry that he noticed on Tuesday and then Wednesday that they were avoiding him.

And everybody.

Indeed, the twin terrors Fred and George – possibly with the dubious support of Lee Jordan – had been the most obvious suspects who might sneak into Harry's pockets and steal an empty diary. It was only that Percy had been easier to eliminate that caused him to approach the prefect first. Harry had thought that the twins had lagged behind him that day in Diagon Alley, sneaking off to buy pranks or something, but it was possible that they had seen him shake out Ginny's school book and stolen the diary for themselves.

Although how they had managed to avoid being noticed, especially since he had been so careful with it all, he did not know.

He had thought that they were old enough to know not to trust anything magical without knowing where it kept its brain, that if one twin started acting strangely the other would pick up on it, but perhaps there were extenuating circumstances.

Harry tried to talk to them at quidditch practice, but couldn't get them alone, being blasted as they were by a very frustrated Oliver Wood.

Their teamwork was a mess, Wood was complaining. Their game had been off for ages, and it was only Harry's brilliant flying – Harry blushed and shuffled awkwardly, and tried not to think about the fallout from those bludgers – that allowed the Gryffindor team to win.

Harry hovered around them in the common room when he could, but they would break off their furious whispers whenever they saw him coming. Lee was also walking around with a frown on his face.

Harry tried to talk to them openly the day before he and Luna visited the Art Club – it was not a horrible experience, but instead of insulting Luna, people just ignored her, and it turned out that Harry couldn't do art to save his life.

He tried to talk to them the day after too, but Lee intercepted him and rushed Harry aside for some asinine conversation about quidditch commentating. When he escaped, the twins had disappeared. They stayed out of his sight all of that weekend, and Harry cursed the Marauders Map, just a little.

On Tuesday morning, almost three weeks after the quidditch game, Harry saw the terrible trio arrive at the breakfast table in an unusual manner.

Normally cheerful morning types, that morning all three troublemakers walked silently towards their regular seats, a strange distance between them. Lee Jordan strode dispiritedly between the two of them, and occasionally made little glances to the left or the right.

Harry noticed with concern that the two red-heads were grudgingly willing to share a comment or two with their mutual friend, but were consistently avoiding eye contact or conversation with each other.

Harry eyed them closely all breakfast and shadowed them back to the tower and half-way to first period. Without missing an opportunity to keep a close eye on them, Harry noticed with a shiver that the spiders were once again abandoning the castle. He renewed his attentions to the suspects at hand.

At lunch and dinner his suspicions were confirmed, and even Ron agreed, at his query, that his brothers were acting strange.

"It's probably a prank, though," Ron added through a mouthful of lamb casserole. "They used to do it to Mum, when they would pretend they weren't speaking. It gives them a right good chance to separate and do something sneaky. Do you think they did the graffiti thing?... They wouldn't have been involved in your bludger problem, would they?"

"Not at all," Harry hastened to reassure Ron. "I'm sure it's just another plan they've got to prank someone. You know what they're like."

With Harry's reassuring lies and the lure of seconds for breakfast, Ron easily dismissed their attitudes from his mind, more interested in discussing what Professor Binns had reported about the Chamber of Secrets in their earlier History of Magic class.

Harry resigned himself to keeping the twins under close observation.

He approached George later that night in the common room, on the grounds that Lee Jordan was spending slightly more time speaking to him than to Fred.

George was also, Harry was careful to notice, sitting alone in the corner usually occupied by the cheerful trio.

"Hi," said Harry, as he slunk into the chair that was usually occupied by the rowdier twin. "What's up?"

"Hi, Harry," replied George suspiciously. "You've been around a bit recently. What do you want?"

Harry paused for a moment in consternation. "Well, that was blunt. Mind if I return the favour?"

"Whatever," George said sullenly. "Not like I've any better place to be."

"I noticed," Harry began delicately, "that something is wrong with you and your brother. Is everything..." He trailed off leadingly.

"Percy?" George batted his eyes innocently, "No weirder than normal. Why?"

"With Fred, you prat," Harry responded. "Don't hide it. Even Ron's noticed."

"Ugh," George twitched his head. "We're good, thanks mate. No problems. Lee's working with him now." He began to shuffle his clutter together on the desk before him. "In fact, I should go too. No worries, Harry." He balanced everything precariously in his arms, and stood to leave.

Harry's arm shot out and grabbed his shoulder. If emotional support was not going to work, Harry thought with a mental sigh, he would have to try guilt.

"I only ask because I've recently lost something important myself," he began with a soulful look. "A very important diary of mine has gone missing. I figured that you might be troubled by a related problem."

George froze at his words. Harry only noticed as his hand was still on the red-head's shoulder.

"A diary, you say? Have you looked everywhere?" George tried.

Harry smirked knowingly. "Yes. I found a similar-looking book, black cover and all, but it was missing certain enchantments and is clearly a second-rate fake. Perhaps you could help me?"

George allowed himself to be drawn back into his seat.

"Perhaps," he offered, slightly flustered, "you dropped it somewhere on Diagon Alley?"

"What makes you suggest Diagon Alley? You're not functioning at your best now, are you?" Harry released his hand in triumph. His playful demeanour turned serious. "I mean it, George. I need it back, or your trouble's going to get worse."

"What do you know about our trouble?" George demanded.

Harry sat back with a sigh. "Let me guess. Does your problem with Fred have something to do with him keeping secrets from you? Possibly related to his disappearance at the Hallowe'en feast? Whatever he's telling you about where he went, you think he's lying? He's looking pale? There are times when he almost tells you something, but he's refusing to come out with it?"

"What do you know about that?" George snapped. "You weren't at the feast either."

"I asked around, you git," Harry snarked back. "I'm right, aren't I. You guys filched the diary off me, and now it's giving you problems."

George, with a flustered glance at the nearby tables, lowered his voice but spoke directly. "You've got no proof," he blustered.

"I know far more about the diary than you," Harry shot back. "I'm telling you, that's what's causing everything. Aren't you worried about your brother?"

Reluctantly, George settled back in the chair.

"You took it from Ginny," he muttered with a scowl. "We only took it back."

Harry raked his hands through his hair, then craned his head to rub his sore neck carefully. He fought back a frustrated sigh.

"I took it away from her because it was stuck there by Lucius Malfoy!" He snarled. "Would you trust a man like that with your little sister's best interests?"

George jerked at Harry's words, and cast his mind back over his memory of the day. Harry watched as he remembered that Malfoy senior had been there, acting strange with Mr Weasley and weirdly polite. He reluctantly allowed Harry to argue him down, and shortly thereafter rose and brought back Lee Jordan to listen to Harry's argument too. Unsurprisingly, Lee had not been with Fred, but doing his own thing with some homework.

Eventually, they both agreed to return the diary.

"But I don't necessarily believe you," George dissembled. "It's only that I think since you've figured out our prank you probably deserve it back."

"Uh huh," Harry was unconvinced, but willing to let it slide with the return of the diary. "Will Fred agree to give it back too?"

He watched in bemusement as George and Lee plotted out their approach, and followed them up to the fourth-year boy's dorm,

"How'd you do it, anyway?" Harry inquired curiously as they climbed the stairs of the tower. "That fake you gave me was a pretty good one, but if you did it before we got back to the Burrow – you did, didn't you? – then you must have done it in no time at all."

George and Lee smirked at each other. "It's a little-known fact, Harrikins," George explained somewhat pompously and somehow bearing an alarming resemblance to Percy, "that that infamous Ministry Trace is totally confused by the close presence of an adult wizard or high levels of ambient magic."

Harry nodded. He knew that; Percy had researched it too. He supposed that it didn't come as a surprise that the twins had figured something out as well.

Indeed, he had been prepared to use that fact to his advantage ever since he first came back to redo the timeline.

George glanced up. "You already knew? Huh. Well, anyway, Diagon Alley is bustling. No problems at all as long as no one notices you whip out a wand. We use magic at home all through the holidays too, making all of our prank stuff."

Harry was startled, then nodded again in understanding. Knowing their deviousness, it made sense they were making more than simple potions explosions up in their bedroom.

"I thought that was why you do potions?" Harry wrinkled his eyebrows. "Since potions are also not covered by the Trace?"

"A false front," George admitted. "So no one realises we also do spell-work. We have to do something suspicious over the holidays or Mum'll realise we're hiding something. And we can't be seen to do spell-work, or she'll take our wands."

Then they reached the dormitory, and Harry stood back to listen while George and Lee argued the reluctant Fred down.

"Fine, fine," Fred finally threw up his hands. "You all win." He turned around and practically climbed inside his battered school trunk, head and shoulders deep under the lid.

Huffing somewhat, he popped his head back up and turned around to Harry, the familiar diary clutched in his hands. "Here you go." The book was crushed lightly against Harry's chest. "You win, good job proving it was us." Fred ruffled Harry's hair and backed off.

Harry grabbed it delicately between his fingers, still using his robe hem as skin protection, and drew his wand from inside his mokeskin pouch.

"Finite," Harry tapped the cover of the book and watched without surprise at it faded into nothingness in his hand. "The real one, please," he asked Fred. "I guess that's how you got me in Diagon Alley, right? Although I'm surprised you knew that spell. Geminio is well beyond fourth year, isn't it? And you just did it silently?"

"We took it as a personal challenge," George replied, shooting a strange glance at his twin. "Being gemini – or twins – ourselves. What were you doing, Fred?"

His sullen brother reluctantly pulled out another diary from within his school robes and watched as Harry attempted the finite incantation again, this time without success.

Harry, feeling the need for further confirmation of the diary, immediately set it on fire.

"Oi!" three voices cried, as then subsided in amazement as the fire fizzled out immediately.

Fred continued to bluster. "What d'you think you're trying to do, eh?"

"Just checking." Harry quirked an eyebrow at Fred, who shuffled a little in embarrassment. He closed the book and looked up. "What were you doing with it, anyway?"

Fred looked at Harry as if he was offended, and even George and Lee drew themselves up. "We were trying to discover its secrets, of course!" Fred replied. "You see, we have this...uh..." he subsided in confusion as his brother and friend shot him angry glances, but Harry had already followed the logic.

"Oh," he said, suddenly understanding everything. Harry looked carefully around the dorm room, just to make sure that there were no other four-years hidden behind bed curtains or furniture. The cluttered, slightly musty room was empty except for Harry and the three older boys he was speaking to.

"Of course. Listen," he offered the other boys as he turned to leave the room. "Moony, Padfoot and Prongs are totally different to Tom Riddle. The map is fine, mostly harmless," Harry smiled in nostalgia, "I'll even help you make a new one if you'd like. I know a guy who knows someone. But do me a favour and research Tom Riddle, and then you'll understand why you should stay well away from him."

Harry clutched the diary Horcrux tightly in his hand as turned to take two steps away. Then he turned back. "Ah…Wormtail, I can't tell you too much about him," Harry admitted. "He might be listening. Just be careful what you speak in front of, okay?"

Then he left them standing in stunned silence as he rapidly clattered down the stairs and climbed straight into the security of the third compartment of his trunk.

Harry sat on the floor of his compartment, the one he was beginning to think of as his secret headquarters.

It was where he kept everything relating to his plans, after all.

It had filled up recently: a pile of presents from fans in the corner. The unwrapped ones he'd sent thank you notes for. There were only about twenty or more to go through. He'd been getting good practice with Mr Weasley's curse-breaking spells while he was at it, although the Occuluseo spell didn't work that well in Hogwarts or his trunk compartment. Fortunately, almost nothing had been spelled against him.

The Vanishing Cabinet had been joined by its fellow too, which Harry had wrestled into his trunk late one night. If there was a security breach, he had realised, he had to fix that post-haste.

The innocuous-looking diary Horcrux lay alone in the middle of his now-cluttered space, and Harry ran through a checklist of things he needed before moving on with his plan.

Wand. Always.

Broomstick. Check.

Horcrux. Check.

Invisibility Cloak? Check.

Weapons against the Basilisk? Harry had some ideas about that, and he would talk it over with Pookey. He'd sort that out tonight. And Lavender Brown, Harry realised.

That would sort things out, he thought.

But when to go?

Harry sat cross-legged, chin in hand as he pondered the last timeline the best that he could remember. It was so long ago, and things were so fuzzy his mind regardless of the Occlumency.

He had the diary, Harry reasoned, so theoretically any petrifications would stop since Fred wasn't under its control anymore. So he could wait until Christmas to go down to kill the beast.

He clambered to his feet with alacrity. Waiting for the castle to empty would be safer for the kids, they'd be less people around to keep an eye on him.

He'd sign the sheet for the Christmas holiday stayers, and sort things out at the end of term.