**Yeah, yeah yeah, I know, I've been ages. I've been working on my new RPG forum – please go to my bio for the link if you want to join. Everyone's invited – I seriously need members.

Plus, this chapter was really hard to write. Sorry it's so short, but hey, I have a life. Joking, joking. I know, my life should involve nothing but this story. Well, anyway, here it is, for your reviewing pleasure. You are going to hate me when you finish reading it but that's your problem, you don't know where I live. (-:

Dedicated to Anya Wood – who begged incessantly for the events in this chapter to take place. **

"I hate him." Malfoy clenched and unclenched his fists. "I. Hate. Him."

"Calm down, Draco," said Pansy Parkinson, who was looking as though she would rather be anywhere else other than sitting beside Malfoy's hospital bed, trying to ignore Angelina Johnson lying unconscious in the opposite bed. "It was a dirty trick he played on you…"

"Don't compliment him! It was a perfectly legitimate trick! Mr. Play-By-The-Rules is going to get it, you'll see! And that girl," he snarled. "She's for it too – turning up out of the blue, she's not even second year yet!"

"Yes, Draco."

"There's got to be something…"

"Yes, Draco."

"They seemed pretty close, didn't they, Potter and the girl?"

"I suppose so..."

Malfoy smiled. He had it made.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Harry laughed as Fred and George popped open a bottle of Butterbeer, totally showering him.

Most of the Gryffindors were now singing uproariously about he had single handily crushed Malfoy and won the game in the space of forty seconds.

Sarah Pordell was also covered in Butterbeer, as were Kate de'Leur and Katie Bell. Alicia had somehow escaped into a corner of the room, but Fred and George caught her and soaked her too.

Oliver's voice was hoarse from cheering, but that didn't stop him singing along with the Gryffindor students long into the night. "Wronski Feint!" he kept yelling. "What a Wronski Feint!"

"I wish he wouldn't keep repeating it," said Harry, after drying himself with a flick of one hand and sitting down next to Ron.

"I thought it was marvellous," said Ron, grinning.

"I didn't even get to see," said Hermione for the fifth time. "He put his hands over my eyes."

"I wonder what gave him that idea," said Harry, also grinning.

Sarah came over. "Harry – I just wanted to say thanks. For letting me play."

"Sarah – you saved the day!" Harry said. "I'm the one who should be thanking you!"

She blushed. "Well, um… I'm going to bed now. But… thanks."

She left.

"Harry – you don't think you killed Malfoy, do you?"

"Probably not," said Ron. "We'd have heard about it by now, wouldn't we? Shame."

"He deserved it," said Harry.

"He didn't say anything horrid to you, did he?" asked Hermione."

"Only the usual. 'You'd better watch out, Potter,' that sort of thing."

Hermione still looked worried. "Come on, Hermione," said Ron, grabbing a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "What can he do?"

"Plenty of things, if he's writing to his father," said Hermione."

"Oh come on," said Ron. "It's bad enough him going on about his father the whole time without you starting."

"Ron – Lucius Malfoy's a Death Eater," Hermione reminded him. "He nearly killed Harry twice."

"He can't do anything at Hogwarts," Ron said confidently. "He's not a governor anymore."

"What about Christmas?" asked Hermione.

"I'll stay here," said Harry, quickly.

"I'd ask you over," said Ron. "But I'm staying here too. I am not going to Romania again. I very nearly got fried by dragon fire six times before."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sarah sat on the bed, staring hopelessly at the parchment in her hands.

Sarah,

Look, I know you like me. I mean, you'd have to, what with my incredible skills at Quidditch and the fact that I am famous and everything. But we aren't meant to be, right? I mean, I'm rich and famous and you're a titchy little orphan four years younger than me and not nearly as good at Quidditch. What can you do? So I think it's better if you just stay away from me. But we can still be friends.

Harry Potter.

It was some kind of a joke – it had to be. Just lying there on her pillow when she got in. Tears started to fall.

He was right of course. She was a titchy little orphan, and he was much better at Quidditch than she was.

Maybe she should just leave him alone. She must have annoyed him a lot, coming in when he was changing and then wanting to play Quidditch with him. He must really hate her.

Someone came into the room. "Sarah? That you?" It was Anneka.

Sarah lay back and pretended to be asleep, praying her cousin wouldn't see her like this.

"Sez? You been crying?" a finger touched her wet cheek, and then grabbed the parchment.

"No!" Sarah sat up, very nearly banging heads with Anneka. "Don't – it's mine! It's personal…"

"And not very nice, if it made you cry," Anneka pointed out. She read it, and as she read her eyes grew wide. She screwed the paper up in one fist. "I can't believe this. We can still be friends… what cheek! And I liked him!"

Sarah burst into tears, and Anneka held her, rocking her gently as she sobbed.

"I'll set it straight," said her cousin. "I'll sort it out – don't worry."

"She was right," Sarah sobbed into her top. "She was right…"

"Who was right?"

"G – Ginny!" Sarah wailed. "She t-told me to stay away from him, and I d-didn't listen, and –"

"That's it," said Anneka, and left the room.

"No – don't!"

The door slammed.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"HARRY POTTER!" the angry voice came down from the girl's staircase.

Harry sat up. The room fell silent.

Anneka was storming down the stairs, her face red and her hands balled into fists. "How DARE you?" she demanded, coming within three feet of Harry, Ron and Hermione. "How DARE you?"

"What?" asked Harry.

"WHAT? YOU KNOW PERFECTLY WELL WHAT I MEAN, YOU SELF-CENTRED –"

Harry was completely nonplussed. "Anneka –"

"I OUGHT TO GIVE YOU A HIDING RIGHT HERE AND NOW –"

Hiding… give you a hiding… I ought to –

"Annie?" Oliver asked tentatively, bravely coming within his girlfriend's reach. "Annie – what's –"

"You stay out of this, Oliver!" Anneka screamed at him. Harry stood up to face her, trying to free all thoughts of the Dursleys from his mind.

"Anneka – I really don't know what you're talking about –"

"Oh, don't you?" she spat, brandishing a piece of parchment in front of his face. Harry saw enough to notice that it was in his handwriting before it was waved out of his reach. "THIS! This is what I'm talking about Potter, you self-absorbed, egotistical boy!"

Boy… it's no wonder you're so small if this is all you can do… I ought to give you a hiding right now…

Stop it, Harry demanded at the voices in his head. Stop it, please…

~Harry? Harry what is she talking about? ~

Not you Ron – "

"Yes, Ginny was right about you – just being near you is a danger, do you make it a habit to break girl's hearts? All these people look up to you, you know! But really, you're just a big-minded hero in your own little world – you don't even think about other people's feelings…"

What about your aunt's feelings? We raised you, fed you, clothed you –

Stop it!

"I don't know who you think you are –"

JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BOY?

"STOP IT!!!"

Anneka stopped, one hand half raised in the air, still clutching the parchment. Hermione stood up and took it from her in the silence, lowering her eyes to scan it. They widened as she read.

"Oh – Harry – you didn't – you can't have done…"

"What did I do?" Harry asked her, exasperated, at the same time that Anneka said, "Oh yes he did – the evidence, right there – in front of you…"

Hermione wordlessly passed him the note. Harry read it.

"I never wrote this," he said, handing it back, trying to control his anger. Ron didn't need to read it – he already had done, through Harry's eyes.

~It was in your handwriting, ~ he pointed out, silently.

"I know it was in my handwriting!" Harry shouted, out loud. The room stared at him.

Zedik and Sleeve, sensing his anger and fearing an attack, came out of their hiding places and slid onto the floor, hissing menacingly. Within seconds there was a very wide, empty circle around Harry.

"Where is Sarah?" Harry asked.

"Upstairs," said Anneka, eyeing the snakes. "But I doubt she'll want to talk to you."

"Malfoy," Ron said, standing up. "I bet Malfoy did this. The rubbish in that letter sounds just like him."

"It's possible," said Hermione, "If he had a sample of your handwriting."

"Come on – surely Malfoy wouldn't stoop this low?"

"Of course he would," said Ron. "Especially since you knocked him off his broom earlier."

"Oh yeah…"

"Look – what's going on here?" demanded Oliver. Anneka tossed him the letter and slowly it was passed around the room.

"Ron's right!" Fred suddenly yelled. "Harry would never have written this – I know him!"

"Me too!" said George. Others joined them as a murmur of assent swept across the common room.

"Yeah, Harry's a good guy!"

"Malfoy's the git we're after!"

"Yeah, he hates all Gryffindors, poor little Sarah didn't stand a chance!"

"Get the slimy ferret!"

The last comment caused a slight moment of humour before dying away again into the crowd.

"But –" said Anneka, trying to prove her case. "How would Malfoy get a copy of your handwriting?"

There was silence.

"Remember last week when we lost twenty points because you couldn't find your potions essay?" Ron suddenly suggested.

"Yes," said Harry. "And I got detention too. Horrible old greasy –"

"You've got it, Ron!" said Hermione.

"What?" said Harry.

"Malfoy must have nicked your essay!" Ron laughed. "I knew it was him! Anyway, he must have kept it for some obscure reason – and he used it to forge a letter!"

"What, just by copying my handwriting?"

"There are magical methods of forging," Hermione said, knowingly. "Trust Malfoy to know spells like that – they're quite obviously illegal…"

"That's it then," said Harry. "There's your answer."

"Right," said Fred. "Malfoy's dead."

"Yeah, he'd better watch out from now on," said George, menacingly, balling on hand into a fist and smacking it into the opposite palm.

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," she said, "You could get in trouble… and I'd have to report you…"

"Hey, I'm a Prefect too," said Harry, tapping his badge. "And I hereby give Fred and George permission to prank Malfoy into oblivion. And if Dumbledore doesn't like it, well, he can take away my badge. What the hell."

"Here here!" said one of the older prefects from across the room, and then the others joined in. "Death to Malfoy!"

The door to the common room burst open and closed, revealing Angelina Johnson with one arm in a sling and wearing hospital pyjamas.

"Angelina?" asked Harry incredulously. "You should be in bed!"

"Harry! I had to come and tell you – it's Malfoy, he's going to play a horrible trick on you – "

She stopped suddenly at the amused expression on everyone's faces. "I'm too late, aren't I?"

"Yep," said Ron. "But there – we have a witness, it WAS Malfoy!"

"DEATH TO MALFOY! DEATH TO MAL-"

The door to the common room opened, revealing a disgruntled Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Weasley?"

"Which Weasley?" someone called from the back. There was much giggling and slapping of hands.

McGonagall looked pointedly at Ron. "The Headmaster would like to see you." She caught sight of Angelina and tutted. "Miss. Johnson, I'm surprised at you. Back to the hospital wing, young lady."

Ron got up, looking puzzled, and made to follow her, but at the last minute she turned and said. "Team? Good game."

Hearty cheers followed her, Angelina and Ron out of the common room.

"I'm sorry Harry," said Anneka, when they had died down and the party had recommenced. "I guess I misjudged you." She sat down; looking at the forged letter, then ripped it up into shreds. "Little bastard."

"Tell me about it," said Harry. "Don't worry about it, really. I wonder why Dumbledore wanted Ron? I was sure for a moment that she was coming to see me."

"It's not all about you, you know," said Hermione, punching him. He grinned back at her.

"Er… Harry?" said Anneka, bushing a little as Oliver came to sit beside her, obviously preparing for 'a long talk'. "I don't suppose you could explain – to Sarah, I mean – I mean –"

"Yeah, ok," said Harry. Hermione looked like she was going to reply scathingly to Anneka, but Harry stopped her.

Noticing the charms on the staircase, he removed them with a barely noticeable tap on the banister before ascending.

The door to the first year's dormitory was open, and Harry heard hurried footsteps running away from the door. He smiled and knocked before pushing the door open.

Sarah was sitting on the bed, red-eyed and fearful. To put her at ease, he did not close the door behind him but sat on the opposite bed.

"There was a lot of shouting." Sarah said, not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah," said Harry, grinning. "Your cousin can't half yell."

"You didn't write it." It wasn't a question.

"No."

"I knew you hadn't."

Harry looked up at her tear-stained face. "Really?"

She blushed. "Well – maybe for a minute I thought you had. But only a really little one."

Harry laughed. "A really little minute, eh?"

She giggled.

"Hey – Sarah…"

"Sez."

"Ok, Sez, listen – great flying today."

"Thank you."

"No, I mean it. You're going to hear it from hundreds of people tomorrow but not one of them will mean it as much as me, see?"

"Really?"

"Honest and truly."

She smiled. It lit up her face and Harry grinned back.

"Thanks. Honest and truly."

……….

Hermione, left alone, wandered over to the far side of the party, where Ginny was picking half-heartedly at a bowl of crisps.

"Hi," said Hermione, sitting down beside her.

"What? Oh, er, hi, Hermione."

They sat in silence for a minute, until Hermione said, "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Everyone else may have missed it, but I know what I heard."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Then let me explain it to you. Anneka said that you'd said that being around Harry is a danger."

Ginny did not answer.

"If you believe all that rubbish the Ministry are spouting…"

"Of course I don't!"

"Well then."

Ginny hesitated before answering. "Cedric wouldn't have died without Harry."

Hermione stood up, her chair crashing to the floor behind her. "How dare you?" she hissed, her hair standing on end. "How dare you?"

"Easily enough," said Ginny, standing up and tossing her hair over her shoulders. Her pale cheeks were flushed with pink. "You're hair's a mess, by the way."

She walked up the staircase and went into her own dormitory, slamming the door.

"I'm watching you," whispered Hermione to herself. "You can be sure of that."

…

Ron was confused. Sitting in front of him were Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Sitting on the desk in front of Dumbledore was a familiar looking book.

Dumbledore lifted it with one hand. "Do you know what this is?"

"No," Ron lied.

"This is Harry's diary from over the summer. I don't know why he decided to keep a diary over the summer, nor why it was hidden in his room, but –"

"How do you know it's a diary?" Ron asked, a little too quickly.

Dumbledore smiled and opened the book to the first page. There, in florid English was: Harry Potter's Journal.

He'd forgotten about that. When he'd lived Harry's life over those few hours so long ago, only the important events had stuck in his mind. But he remembered that diary, all right.

Dumbledore opened it to the second page. There was the untidy, spiky writing he knew so well, spiralling out from the centre instead of reading from left to right.

"Ron, do you know what language this is written in?"

"No," Ron lied again.

Dumbledore's eyes hardened. "As Harry's Blood Brother you will have seen Harry's whole life. Surely you can tell me about this book."

"I don't remember enough about Harry's life to understand that writing. Besides, that's Harry's. It's personal. I wouldn't tell you even if I could."

"Ron," said Sirius' voice, and it was pleading. "If you can read this – we have to know. It's all we've got to convict the Dursley's – it's all we've got to get Harry off that stupid Special Notice in Social Services."

Ron's thoughts conflicted violently. Harry hated being on that Notice – he could feel the hatred even from here if he searched hard enough. But he also did not want people to know what had happened at the Dursleys'; otherwise he would have done this himself.

"What'll happen?" he croaked, then cursed himself for saying it as Remus' eyes suddenly lit up with hope. Now they knew that he could read the Diary.

"We'll send a report to the department that's monitoring Harry's case. There'll be another trial and I will stand as witness," said Dumbledore. "No one need ever know your part in this."

Ron sat down, knowing he had lost. "You're asking me to betray my Blood Brother," he growled.

"No," said Remus. "We're asking you to help him."

Dumbledore wordlessly handed him the book.

"It's Parseltongue," said Ron. "No one's ever written anything in it before, but Harry just wrote the sounds that came out of his mouth in that spiral. You could say he's invented a written language."

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Said a voice inside his head. It wasn't Harry. It was his conscience.  Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

He's going to be so mad at me.

He doesn't have to know.

Taking a deep breath, Ron began to read.

"Dear Journal. I've been thinking about something recently – I know it's weird but then so is my life right now. Would you rather freeze to death…?"

**Ah, I so enjoy being evil. Muahahahaha! **Ducks anvil** Hey! Who threw that? **