Throughout the two and a half weeks I was away for Christmas break, I made sure to keep in constant communication with Harry. We were sending each other around a letter a day: Blumiere would rush off to Hogwarts in the morning, and Hedwig would visit my family's house at night, and vice versa again. I wrote so many letters and heard the windows tap so many times that Robbie began teasing me, asking what my 'boyfriend' had to say in our latest letter.

"It's not like that, Robbie," I groaned each time, my eyes flying towards the ceiling. "Harry's my best friend, and there's a lot going on in Hogwarts right now."

That was enough to sober my brother up. With a serious look, he replied, "So I've heard from a few parents at the Ministry. Is everything all right with you and your friends?"

Even though I wanted nothing more than to ask for Robbie's opinion on… well, everything: the voice Harry heard, his being a Parselmouth, how most people in Hogwarts thought that he was the Heir of Slytherin… I didn't say anything at all. Most of those things weren't my secret to tell.

Robbie seemed to know I was holding back, but to his credit, he did not pry. He only nodded and said, "Well, you know how to reach me if you ever need to talk."

About halfway through Christmas break, Harry sent me a letter with both some illuminating and disastrous news: the good news was that he and Ron had been able to sneak into the Slytherin common room and interrogate Malfoy about the Heir of Slytherin business. Unfortunately, Draco was just as confused about the whole ordeal as we were—and he seemed quite certain that his sister was not the culprit, seeing as she spent more time playing pranks on Fred and George than she did anything else. She had also been with Draco the entire night of the Halloween feast, which meant she couldn't have attacked Mrs. Norris, either.

The bad news was that Hermione's dose of Polyjuice Potion had been horribly botched. She had accidentally selected cat hair from Millicent Bulstrode's robes instead of regular human hair—and now she was going to be stuck in the hospital wing for a while, as the potion was only made for human transformations. Apparently, she even had a tail.

I made sure to write to Hermione and send her a few wintertime roses to try and make her feel better.

Outside of worrying about my three friends at Hogwarts, I was enjoying my time at home with Robbie. For the second half of break, we decided on a spontaneous trip to Bulgaria—the holidays were nice as just the two of us, but these weeks were supposed to be time spent with family, and our extended family was all we had left. So it was that we took Floo powder directly to Viktor's house, a couple small trunks at our sides.

Those seven days were some of the most fun I'd had in recent memory. My cousins Viktor, Ivanka, and Pyotr were very happy to see the 'British' part of the family; most of our days were spent flying around the wintry countryside upon our broomsticks, although we also spent generous portions of time inside the kitchens, stuffing ourselves with sarmi, baklava, and other dishes I hadn't had since the last time we visited. Robbie was extremely happy, which made me smile—he had always loved talking to Pyotr about magical discoveries and such.

When I told Viktor that I had made the Hogwarts Quidditch team, he was overjoyed. Despite me screaming, "Don't you dare, Vik!" he immediately filled out an order-form for a new broomstick… the Nimbus 2000, no less.

"Vik," I groaned, watching his eagle fly off with the form. "You really didn't have to do that… even with the 2001 model released, the Nimbus brand is so expensive!"

But Viktor just smiled at me and ruffled my hair. "You need the best," he said insistently. "Maybe you'll take after me a little and pursue Quidditch as a career. You're skilled enough to do so."

The only bothersome thing about remaining in Bulgaria was how I had to cease contact with Harry, seeing as the journey was quite long between my cousins's house and Hogwarts. Our owls would never forgive us if we insisted on sending letters every day—but Harry, most fortunately, seemed to understand.

I'm really glad you get to see your family, Belle, he wrote. I'm doing well in the castle here in the meantime. Let me know what baklava tastes like. It sounds great. I'll have to find some sometime.

Seeing all of our extended family was a blast; Ivanka showed me dresses that she'd made for her wizarding fashion line, Pyotr and Robbie were drinking butterbeers on the daily and relaxing with one another, and Viktor and I were constantly training on their makeshift Quidditch pitch. Vik even ended up teaching me a few new strategies that he'd picked up when first becoming a substitute for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team.

"That ought to impress your Quidditch Captain," he said with a complacent grin, hands on his hips.

I laughed with this and replied, "He's already impressed. Oliver is the only one who knows that I'm related to you—and you should've seen him, Vik, I think he was on the verge of having a stroke, he was so excited."

Viktor seemed quite gratified with that.

Eventually, however, the holidays had to end. Only two days before I was supposed to return to the castle, Robbie and I returned home: it was a bittersweet goodbye, for while I wanted to see my friends at Hogwarts again, it was nice to remember what being among family was like… especially since we didn't see them too often at all.

"We'll visit again soon," promised Robbie, when we were once again standing in our living room. He must've seen the despondent look that had been on my face while looking towards the fireplace. "I promise you that."

It was three weeks to the day since Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sir Nicholas had been attacked that I returned to Hogwarts castle. I ended up taking Floo Powder straight into Professor McGonagall's office; thanks to the trip to Bulgaria, I'd recuperated from the ill-effects of my little side-trip to Knockturn Alley.

After coughing the spare bit of ash from my throat, I looked up to see my Head of House smiling thinly at me. "Have a good holiday, Miss Skylar?"

"It was a blast, Professor," I said, grinning widely. "And yours?"

"Mine was peaceful. What a grand change that has been, considering the events from earlier in the year." Professor McGonagall adjusted the spectacles upon her nose and gazed at me almost expectantly.

Knowing this was the only chance I'd get to ask, I said in hushed whispers, "So… everything's been all right since the last attack?"

Professor McGonagall studied me warily, as though searching for any hint of guiltiness upon my face. I hadn't been brought to the Headmaster's office at all, I hadn't been given Professor Dumbledore's express clearance…

At last, she smiled again and nodded. "That is correct. Everyone has appeared to be well and whole since you left."

This was a small sort of relief, but one that was appreciated. With another smile, I exited her office and made way for the common room.

The Gryffindor common room was still decorated in the last vestiges of the holidays; banners of holly hung from the ceiling, a few pinecone wreaths decorated the hearth, and bowls of cookies sat on the common table.

Sitting upon our usual couch, clearly waiting for me, was Harry. There was more light to his face than I'd seen upon my departure, which was enough to make me feel a surge of relief welling up in my stomach.

"How are things?" I asked, setting myself down next to him. "And where's Ron?"

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Fred and George just nailed him with a cream pie, he's gone to wash up. He complains about those homemade sweaters their mum makes them, but he still likes them. He'll just never admit it."

I laughed lightly. "Sounds like Ron. I just talked to Professor McGonagall; she says nothing new has happened around the castle. Things have been good?"

"Oh, yeah, they've been grand," said Harry, and his words were, most surprisingly, not laced with any sort of sarcasm. He could be quite sassy when he wanted to be. "But the last time Ron and I went into the girls' bathroom on the first floor, we found this."

With these last words, he retrieved a small notebook from his other side. It was rather unremarkable; made of black leather, with no distinctive features to distinguish it from any other notebook. When Harry flipped swiftly through the yellowed pages, there was nothing written at all… save for on the very last page, upon which the words Property of Tom M. Riddle were written.

My fingers reached out to trace the name. Whoever this Tom Riddle was, their penmanship was elegant indeed: cursive letters and fine loops. Professor Binns would've loved grading their papers—he was always harping about legible handwriting. "Any idea who this Tom Riddle is?"

"Could be an older student, but I doubt it," replied Harry. Now, a light frown was upon his face. "Look at the pages… the cover's immaculate, but these pages are yellow, like this notebook has been around for some time. It's old; older than I think it is."

I nodded absently and scanned the pages… there was something at the bottom page, something smudged. "Look at that, there. What does that say?"

Harry blinked and looked towards the place I'd pointed at before retrieving his wand and pointing its tip towards the pages. "Lumos!"

The white light helped to illuminate what was written. After a fair bit of squinting and putting our heads together, we were able to see it wasn't a word, but a date.

1943.

"Over fifty years old," I whispered, gazing towards Harry with wide eyes. "How did this diary come back here?"

My friend sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Dunno… but we were given it by Moaning Myrtle. According to her, someone threw it at her in the toilet—soared straight through her stomach."

"Poor Myrtle," I sighed. I hadn't forgotten how Peeves had bullied her during Nick's deathday party.

Harry made an unintelligible noise from the back of his throat. "I think she's started taking a liking to me. It's a bit weird. Ron won't let me hear the end of it."

"Of course she has," I replied breezily, waving a dismissive hand. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Quite fanciable, and all that."

He glared at me and the smirk I'd plastered on my face—and then nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. "Oh, shut up, Belle. I've already got Ron on my case, and that's bad enough."

I laughed and shoved him sideways. "Face it, Potter: that's what friends are for."

"Wonderful," he grumbled.

The following number of days were uneventful… and then those days turned into weeks, and those weeks bled into the following month. January was simple, if a bit more brutal than the previous year's winter, but there were no attacks, no crazy happenings like bathrooms flooding. Just students and professors in classrooms, attending practices and club meetings as normal.

Early February came to pass—Hermione was finally let out of the hospital wing, which was a relief. She had grown tired of being cooped up in that tiny bed; even my visits with new books from the library and paints weren't enough to keep her occupied. Of course she had retained top-grades due to all of her diligent studying, but it was obvious she was relieved to be back in the Gryffindor common room again, too.

"No more tail, Hermione?" asked Ron. His voice was pleasant enough, but there was a wicked grin on his face upon speaking.

Hermione just shot him a withering glare and stuck her tongue out at him.

The next thing of note happened upon Valentine's Day. On that morning, we rose as we normally did, tired and groggy since we'd stayed up far too late playing Exploding Snap, met up in the common room, and began trudging down to the Great Hall…

Only to stop dead in our tracks, because the Great Hall looked nothing like the place we usually ate breakfast in.

Giant pink flowers were placed in vases all along the tables. A pink sunrise was cascading over the room due to the enchanted ceiling; heart-shaped confetti rained down from the ceiling, falling into everyone's hair. And at the Head Table, throwing horrid fuchsia glitter, was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, who was wearing robes of the frilliest magenta known to mankind.

Harry, Ron, and I exchanged nauseous looks as we took all of this in. Unsurprisingly, Hermione was giggling next to us.

"Do we turn around and leave?" I asked the boys, my lips pursed.

Ron's stomach grumbled; then he groaned. "Even though I want to, I think I'll explode if I don't get anything to eat for breakfast. I'm starved."

Left with little to no other choice, Harry and I followed him over to the Gryffindor table, doing everything that was within our power to ignore the horrendously overdone decoration.

The moment that we sat in our chairs, the culprit behind the madness began shouting, a cheery grin upon his face, "Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn't end here!" He clapped his hands; out appeared some angry-looking dwarves from the kitchens, each of them wearing pink cone hats and cheap wings upon their backs. Each of them were carrying a golden lyre.

I leaned in close to Harry and muttered, "Figures. Full-tilt diva, this one."

Harry snorted.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" cried Lockhart, still overcome with the holiday spirit. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop there! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a love potion? And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

When I glanced towards these two aforementioned professors, however, it became quite obvious that they were as frustrated by Lockhart's tomfoolery as we were; they each wore steely gazes, their lips pressed thin. Their expressions were enough to state that they didn't care to acquiesce to such requests, and might actually, in fact, disperse the largest number of detentions known yet to a Hogwarts student if they were to be asked.

"Huh," muttered Ron, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd agree with Snape on something, but even pigs can be enchanted to fly sometimes…"

Breakfast, unfortunately, was only the beginning of the Valentine's chaos. The day was filled with dwarves bursting into classrooms to deliver cards, annoying teachers and students alike. The four of us managed to escape the attention of receiving a card… or, we had until we were walking up the Charms corridor for our first afternoon class.

"Oi, you! 'Arry Potter!" shouted a gruff voice.

Harry turned wildly on the spot and saw the dwarf. He immediately whirled back around, searching for a way to escape the attention being brought to him.

"Go. Quick. Give me your bag," I said, my eyes wide.

But the dwarf was fast—very fast. He moved through the crowd by kicking people in the shins; before Harry could even take two steps, the dwarf was right next to us. "I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person."

"Not here," hissed Harry, who was attempting to leave. He locked eyes with me and was about to toss his schoolbag in my direction, but the dwarf grabbed onto it just before he could, and then they were fighting for possession of it—

There was a loud RRRIIIPPP! and then Harry's bag split in two, his books, quills, and bottles of ink flying everywhere. A few other students close to us shrieked to get away from the newfound mess, but Harry and I dove to the ground to begin grabbing all the loose belongings before he could begin delivering the message.

"What's going on here?" asked a self-important voice. I had to restrain a sigh; out of all the people to show up, it had to be Draco Malfoy.

At that point, Harry flat-out attempted to sprint away—but the dwarf seized him around the legs and pulled him down to the ground. Harry hit the floor with an, "Oomph!" While Ron struggled to get him to his feet, I was still frantically seizing his belongings and trying to fix his bag with a charm.

"Right. Here is your singing valentine," said the dwarf, and then, true enough, he began to sing:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard,

I wish he was mine, he's really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.

Trying to look as dignified as humanly possible, Harry laughed with all of the others. I was finally able to collect all of his things in his bags and seal it with a simple mending charm, and then began to hand it back to him. There was no mistaking the humiliation burning in Harry's face; feeling quite sorry for him, I took his hand and squeezed it once, murmuring, "Just ignore it all, will you? It'll blow over in a week at most."

"Great," muttered Harry. "Just what I need. More attention."

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" sneered Draco's voice.

I whirled around at his exclamation and looked towards what he held in his hand; it was Tom Riddle's diary, which had flown further away from the rest of his school supplies. Draco was waving it tauntingly in the air, making a show of opening the cover and flipping amongst the pages.

Harry glared in Malfoy's direction, green eyes spitting flames. "Give that back, Malfoy."

"When I've had a look," smirked Draco. He resumed rifling the pages—

"Expelliarmus!"

The diary flew out of Draco's hands and spiraled once, twice, through the air. Then is landed squarely in Harry's palm once again.

"Harry!" scolded a voice; Percy had arrived just in time to witness the event. As if the day couldn't have gotten any worse. "No magic in the corridors! I'll have to report this, you know!"

But it didn't seem as though Harry cared. He turned away from Draco and Percy alike and began marching away, Charms class be damned.

I didn't bother attempting to stop him; he had already had a bad enough day as it was. Certainly Hermione and I could catch him up on everything that he had missed… but as I turned aside to walk into Professor Flitwick's classroom, I saw something that caught my eye.

Standing on the outskirts of the crowd, looking pale and horrified, was Ginny Weasley. Her eyes were trailing hopelessly after Harry, who continued to hold Tom Riddle's diary in a tightly clutched hand.

As we walked into the classroom, I leaned close to Ron and murmured, "Oi. Ron. Is Ginny doing all right?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Can only suppose she is, haven't heard of anything bad going on. We don't talk all that much, though. She's got a few of her first-year friends to keep her company. You know, normal stuff."

I nodded at his words. While I couldn't expect Ron to know everything that was going on in his sibling's life, there was something about that haunted look upon Ginny's face that told me there was something deeper, something darker, going on with her…

Harry was working on Transfiguration homework in the common room when Ron, Hermione, and I came back from class. The tips of his ears were still red, revealing that he was still embarrassed from the scene that had occurred in the Charms corridor.

"You really shouldn't have skipped out on class, you know," said Hermione, shooting him a reproachful look. "Professor Flitwick was wondering where you'd gone."

"Not now, Hermione," sighed Harry. "I've got enough to deal with as it is."

Hermione's lips twisted, as though she was hurt; I pat her consolingly on the back and replied, "Don't be angry at her, Harry. She's just looking out for you in her own way."

Harry was about to respond, but just before he could do so, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, and two voices were beginning to sing, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad," in two-part harmony. Of course it was none other than Fred and George, who were notoriously known for dragging out comedic happenings around Hogwarts—but Harry just scowled, muttered, "I can't work like this," and began to scoop up all of his belongings off the table.

As he moved to grab his parchment off the table, I placed a hand upon it, preventing him from taking it. Only when Harry's eyes met my own did I say, "Hey… Harry, come on. A lot worse has happened."

"Thanks, Belle, that makes me feel loads better."

"I didn't mean it like that," I began, but he stopped me with a light smirk.

"I know. Sorry. I just… you know what I want to say."

This was true; I did know. Harry's sarcasm was, more often than not, a defense mechanism… or a way to get underneath a rival's skin. I took my hand off of the parchment containing his Transfiguration essay, allowing him to stuff it back in his knapsack.

While Ron and Hermione remained behind to work on our Astronomy charts, I decided to accompany Harry up to the dorms. It had been a long, frustrating day, and the last thing I wanted to focus on was homework.

As we stepped up the stairs and reached the spiral staircases that separated the boys' dorms from the girls', I said, "We'll have a better day tomorrow, huh?"

Harry sighed. "Can only get better from here, to be honest."

"Well, until then… Happy Valentine's Day."

There was no telling what possessed me, what sort of strange courage I felt in that moment. But I leaned forward and placed a quick kiss upon Harry's cheek; not because I thought it would make his day better, or because I harbored an intense, burning crush for him. I just did it because… it was nice.

Harry blinked once and looked at me with some surprise—then something changed in his face, fleeting enough that I couldn't quite read what it was. "You didn't send me that singing valentine, did you?"

"Egads, no," I laughed, shaking my head. "What kind of person do you take me for, Potter?"

He grinned at my enthusiastic response and shrugged. "Well, good. Cause if you did, I'd question your taste."

"Should've made you some baklava," I murmured, my grin persisting. "One day I'll get some for you to try."

I didn't even allow him a response; my courage had faded, and now a thin veil of pink was threatening to creep up my neck and into my face. So it was that I just smiled, turned aside, and began my way up the dormitory, Harry's eyes following me all the way.