Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Reading Suggestion: ¾ width.

A/N: As with my other stories, this is the revamped version of Connecting the Dots. Many ideas will be the same, but some of the writing may not. It's great to be back and I hope I can do you proud once more.

Summary: the people we are with the and the things around us have a great influence on us. Surely a girl and a journal couldn't be that powerful… right? Think again. When Harry sees sense at the start of his third year, his respect and admiration for Hermione Granger and his appreciation for a good book make big waves in the wizarding world. Join Harry as he uses the logic buried inside him to figure problems out before it's too late. Semi AU after CoS.

CHAPTER 1: THE JOURNAL THAT STARTED IT ALL

Harry smiled widely, a sense of victory filling him. No one his age could imagine outsmarting the Minister of Magic, yet here he was with a signed permission slip for Hogsmeade Village in his hand. Usually, it required a parent or guardian's signature, but he'd convinced the minister that he would stay within Diagon Alley if he signed on the dotted line.

Some might say it was rather Slytherin of him, and in this case, he wouldn't be offended. He'd come to realise what few had – every house had its good qualities.

The next two and a half weeks were filled with ice cream, wandering the alley and hearing stories of a time before his birth. Florean Fortescue, the old wizard who ran the ice cream parlor, was a fount of knowledge and always had a memory to share. He'd often allow Harry to sit and read a book at one of his tables and would bring extra ice cream, believing that Harry needed 'fattening up.' Harry developed a taste for the cookies and cream flavour, accompanied by Florean's own blend of caramel knut crunch (which was caramel flavoured ice cream with biscuits that were in the shape of knuts). Many wizards and witches would walk by as they fluttered here and there, some stopping to greet a friend or chat to Harry.

The sixteenth of August was a thrilling day for many quidditch fans, as the newest broomstick – the Firebolt – was displayed proudly in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry himself was among the throng who gazed at it in wonder. It possessed wonderful features such as an unbreakable braking charm, superb balance, goblin made iron work for power and stability, and the ability to reach speeds of at least one hundred and fifty miles per hour. He convinced himself not to get one, since he already had a nimbus two thousand but for the rest of his days in the alley, he returned the store front to see it.

On the 25th, the Weasley family arrived, having been in Egypt. It was a rather exciting tale in itself – Mr Weasley had won 700 galleons in a Daily Prophet draw and he'd decided to take his entire family to see their eldest son, Bill, who worked as a curse breaker in the tombs. Harry was engulfed in a hug by Mrs Weasley the moment she'd seen him. It was sure nice to have someone that liked him around.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron quipped. Ginny sniggered.

Harry shrugged. "I think she's arriving in a day or two. Why?"

Ron's cheeks gained a slight redness. He cleared his throat. "No reason. Good to see you, mate."

"You too mate. Get a new wand yet?"

Fred and George piped up, "could give Percy a run for his money with his gloating."

Harry looked inquisitively between Ron and the twins. Ron cleared his throat. "Percy's been showing everyone his Head Boy badge."

"Oh, you've been made Head Boy, Percy? Congratulations."

"Thank you," Percy replied pompously.

Mr Weasley tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Might I have a word, son?"

Harry's heart swelled and then dropped. Mr Weasley was calling him son, but his tone wasn't particularly inviting. What did he have to tell him? Was he in trouble again? Had the minister changed his mind? He pushed past the fear. "Of course, sir."

"Oh, call me Arthur," Mr Weasley replied as he led him to a quiet corner. Once he was sure they were alone he whispered, "Harry there are some in the Ministry who would strongly discourage me from telling this, but I think you need to know the facts. You are in danger. Grave danger."

Harry frowned. "Has this got anything to do with Sirius Black?"

Arthur nodded. "What do you know about Black, Harry?"

"Only that he's escaped from a place called Azkaban, whatever that is."

"Azkaban is the wizarding prison," Arthur said quietly. "Now, do you know why? Thirteen years ago, when you stopped –"

"Voldemort."

"Don't say his name," Arthur shuddered.

"Sorry."

The man waved him off. "When you stopped you-know-who, Black lost everything. But to this day, he's a faithful servant. Harry, you are the only thing that stands in the way of you-know-who returning to power. And why he escaped from Azkaban. To find you…"

"And supposedly kill me."

"Take away the supposedly. Harry, I want you to swear to me that whatever you might hear, you won't go looking for Black."

"Why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?"

"Right. Well, anyway, that was it. Let's go join the others."

CTD CTD CTD

Hermione arrived with little fanfare on the last day of August. Her trunk was already packed, and from what she'd told them, she'd had a quiet summer travelling with her parents, who were dentists – a concept that fascinated Mr Weasley to no end, despite having met them the previous year. After breakfast, Molly gathered everyone, sharing rules and telling her children that should they put a toe out of line, there would be dire consequences. With that said, they dashed into the alley, stopping first at Gringotts. Harry didn't need to withdraw anything, having done it on his first day there but the Weasley's needed to gather some galleons for their annual school supplies. With five children, it wasn't as bad as it had been, but it was still costly.

Harry and Hermione stayed in the lobby, chatting about their summers. Hermione was torn between horror and amusement at the story of his aunt Marge floating through the skies of Surrey. She reached into her bag and pulled out a gift – something small and rectangular, and wrapped in brown paper. He opened it to find a book and a packet of muggle pens. He smiled.

"It's for your thoughts," Hermione murmured quietly, red slowly creeping up her cheeks. She stared at her shoes.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said back just as quietly. He reached a hand toward her shoulder and then pulled away, unsure of what she thought of his gesture. The Dursley's hadn't exactly done the best job in teaching him social customs.

The return of the Weasley family brought them out of the moment and back to reality.

Harry already had his supplies, so he happily followed along. Things changed slightly in the bookstore though. Harry and Hermione split off while the others shopped, and Mr Flourish beckoned for Harry to come to the counter. He reluctantly did so, wondering what on earth the man wanted with him.

"Hello, Sir."

"Nice to see you again, young man. The other day I was sorting stock in my back room, and I came across a couple of books that may be of use to you."

Harry and Hermione shared a look. Hermione was practically drooling at the mention of books and was hanging on to Mr Flourish's every word. "Oh, really?"

He nodded. "Yes, this first one is a guide to the Lords and Ladies of the wizarding world. You may find chapter three to be of particular interest. And the second is a diary of a very special young lady I knew. She left it with me when the first war was at the height of destruction and asked that I give it to, and I quote, "a young man with eyes like emeralds".

Harry's interest was heightened at this. He took them carefully, asking "how much do I owe?"

A sadness appeared in the man's eyes. "Nothing. She was a very special girl – I see a lot of her in you."

Hermione dragged Harry towards the waiting Weasley's and hardly let go until they were done shopping. When everyone had gone upstairs to have time to themselves, she hissed. "Open it, see who it belongs to."

Harry sat down on the bed and opened the cover of the diary. He blinked away tears. This diary belongs to Lily Evans, Gryffindor House. He thumbed through it and turned to a page.

19 March 1979

My parents are dead. My beautiful parents. I took James with me to meet them and when we arrived, there was a trail of destruction through our garden and that dreaded glowing mark – Voldemort's sign. People are so afraid to even speak his name, but Headmaster Dumbledore said that fear of name only increases the fear of the thing itself. Now, I'm sitting in the common room, nestled against James' shoulder. The fire is going, and Sirius is playing gobstones with Remus and Peter (I really don't like that boy). I never imagined this would be our reality, but ever since Snivellus, excuse me, Severus, tried to attack me on the train, James has been different. He's still cocky and runs his hand through his hair at every possible moment but he's protective, and barely leaves my side.

"Do you think she knew she would die?" Hermione asked, reading over his shoulder. Harry shrugged and closed the book softly. Putting it aside on the small table beside him, he lay down, back to his best female friend and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, Hermione's delicate frame nestled against Harry's back. She leaned into his shoulder lightly before closing her own eyes and drifting off, thinking oh, if only you knew how much I like you, Harry Potter.

What neither of them saw was the horrified look of Molly Weasley, who was checking in on each of her children, as she glanced in and saw the two teens clinging to one another like there was no tomorrow.

A/N: And there is the first chapter. Not a particularly long one, and probably quite different to my original but a solid attempt nonetheless. Next chapter will start on the train.