Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter
Hermione Granger never knew what to make of Harry Potter. He was a genuine enigma that she just could not work out.
When she arrived at Hogwarts, she was determined to be the best of the best. She wanted to prove to everyone that even a plain girl with no magical background could be the better of those who were. When she was sorted into Gryffindor, at her own behest, she felt closer to her goal as she was in the old House of people such as Albus Dumbledore.
She had entered her first lessons with restrained professionalism, knowing that she would be superior – she had practised so hard and studied so much. She was shaken, however, when her housemate, Harry Potter, had outshone her in nearly all subjects.
The boy kept up with her academically, but she could not compare to his skill in practical magics.
No matter, she kept her best foot forward and went about trying to be better than him, and in some ways, it was working. She was starting to leave him in the dust, but he would latch on to her progress and surpass her. What was the most galling was his almost apathy involved with his magical skill! She had to try so hard to succeed and this interloper who could not possibly try as hard as her, just strolled in and took her rightful space at the top!
She could not even relish in her bettering at Potions, for even she realised the unfairness of their Professor. Then came the Quidditch fiasco. How could he be so skilled at that too? Then the professional league, and now the national team?
He even had friends! And not some hanger-on like Ron, or the like-friendship she shared with Parvati and Lavender. He had true, real friends. Hermione could cry at the unfairness. He seemed to have it all. Fame, friends, skill. A perfect life.
Yet she could not come to despise him. She was perceptive and saw him put the effort in, even if she wanted to pretend like it didn't exist. She saw how he was on a broomstick, and even she was awestruck at how natural it seemed for him to be in the sky. Then there was the way that people treated him. The comparisons between those close to him and those not was a clear as night and day. Not to say anything about Harry in general.
His body was small and frail. He was pale, and the lightning bolt scar on his face was an ever present reminder of why he was famous in the first place. The additional scar that took up his left hand, which he was always rubbing idly, was proof that maybe everything wasn't great in the wonderful world of Harry Potter.
Then there was the way he acted. It was so innocent that she could only stare sometimes when no one was watching. His wonder at the world surrounding him was blatant for even Ronald to view.
Hermione Granger did not know what to make of Harry Potter. Was he this infamous Heir of Slytherin that gained in popularity as a theory by the day?
Harry Potter was an enigma, and Hermione Granger felt that there was more to his story than people realised.
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The second school match of the school year was upon them, and Harry was grinning from ear to ear; he felt incredibly confident that he would win the match. The training he was undertaking beyond the House team and into the international level had increased his natural skill to a more experienced evolution.
His enthusiasm was reflected on his fellow team members. Hufflepuff was considered to be the 'worst' team out of the four Houses, but that did not mean that they could become complacent. Harry knew better than most that an underdog can succeed just as well as the favoured.
As he took off, kicking smoothly at the ground, he allowed the cold breeze to envelop him as the pure bliss of Quidditch overtook him. 'I can definitely do this forever,' he thought elatedly.
Cedric sat, balanced tautly on his own broom, the latest Cleansweep model, and gave a shaky smile followed by a thumbs up. It seemed as if he wanted to say something to him, but the roar of the crowd drowned out whatever noise came with the moving of his lips. The opposing Seeker simply shook his head and clearly mouthed 'good game' to him, which was swiftly repeated.
Hooch blew on the starting whistle and Harry relaxed. Having felt the pressure for the League matches, this was almost nothing to him. Katie had said to him once that she believed him to be part bird. The way he took to the sky was almost mesmerising to those watching, let alone the boy in question.
But Harry wanted, no, he needed, to win. Beyond any other emotion, the desire to prove himself to not only his own psyche but also the expectations of others overrode all other feelings.
He was not going to take it easy on Cedric though. He would not disrespect someone he believed highly of; indeed he respected the older boy. He was friendly and sociable, and whenever they interacted there a natural fit in the silences between dialogues. Harry would have gone all out no matter the opponent, but the difference in playstyle against Cedric Diggory would be completely different from a Seeker such as Malfoy.
As such, Harry was running circles against a tiring Cedric, who was quickly coming to realise that the sharp turns and extravagant movements weren't just a form of showboating. He smirked dryly when the understanding of how he was being played hit him. Harry wanted to tire him out so he wouldn't be an issue when the Snitch chase began.
The issue he was having was that it was working too well. By the time Harry inevitably caught the Snitch, Cedric was sweating more than he had in his whole life.
"That was a brilliant game, Potter. You had me from the first minute."
"I couldn't risk you getting near the Snitch, you're a good Seeker, Cedric. And call me Harry," he replied demurely.
Cedric laughed, putting his arm across Harry's shoulder. He frowned when he felt the boy's body become stiff, and he could clearly see the whites of his eyes the way they had widened. Cedric did not like the way he had responded but decided to let it go when Harry slowly calmed down.
Cedric and Harry left the pitch amiably, though Cedric wished the glare being sent his way by the Bell girl could lessen up a bit.
The month of January continued with little issue. Snape and Malfoy continued to be annoyances, but no more than usual and so Harry could easily deal with their problems. Especially with the support of those closest to him.
His academic progress was developing nicely too. He was consistently attaining high marks in all subjects apart from Potions, and his skill and proficiency during the practical placements of magic was developing at a fast pace. Though he still found it a struggle to increase the casting time of his spells.
The school at large had petered out in its obsession to locate a perpetrator of the two petrification attacks; Harry's name was being spoken less each debate as to his potential as the Heir, and he was incredibly grateful for it.
His relationships within his Circle maintained their closeness too, and Harry could easily state with clarity that he had never felt such constant happiness. In the back of his mind, he was aware that these halcyon days could, and most certainly would, not last and therefore was going to enjoy every moment. He even developed a friendship with Cedric that was at the same level as his own with Wood, much to the consternation of Katie which he could not quite understand.
"He touched you without asking, Harry. I know you don't like it," she had mumbled when he asked her.
"He didn't mean anything bad by it though."
He understood her trepidation of it. He still feared that he would one day wake up from this dream, but the rational side of his brain knew she was just looking after him. Secretly he enjoyed the protectiveness of the Circle, but would never deem it profitable to speak such out loud.
With his continued successes of Quidditch, both in and out of school, Lockhart was becoming more and more insufferable in his apparent quest to outdo the last Potter. Angelina had choked on her morning tea one day at the Daily Prophet's sports section. Lockhart had been coaching Harry for years in the hope that he would become Quidditch's next big thing.
Harry had felt an ugly emotion when he read the words, and as he spotted the shining white teeth of the preening man, he could see the barely hidden fury of McGonagall and Flitwick as they too read the paper.
The next morning's issue had a formal apology inside for 'Words taken out of context' in response to Harry's skill, as well as a formal demand for an apology from Gilderoy Lockhart for his libellous words. The sour glare Harry received could be weathered easily as he breathed a sigh of relief. Dumbledore raised his hand when Harry's wanderings took his sight to the rest of the staff table, causing Harry to exhale quickly from his nostrils at the hilarity of his Headmaster forcing the most popular newspaper to rescind false information.
It turned out that Harry was considerably more popular that Lockhart, even if he could not understand why.
"Harry, you better let us come watch."
"She's right, Harrikins, you can't just jump onto the England team and not have your incredibly amazing friends not come cheer you on."
Fred and Fay had cornered him one morning, both somehow awake much earlier than they normally were. Katie stood beside him, features dancing in amusement.
"I can't just get tickets out of the blue like that. Anyway, I'm not playing yet. There's a qualifier in June, that's the first time." He wanted to have them come to watch but did not think that the team would appreciate him handing out free tickets to his collection of friends at every game. "The only person who's coming to watch that one is Professor McGonagall. Even then it's at the suggestion of Professor Dumbledore because we're playing Scotland and he thought it'd be funny."
He supposed he should have anticipated the Headmaster to be a connoisseur of humour, but Harry felt bad for laughing at the plight of his Transfiguration teacher when Dumbledore told him about the plan. He was almost a big kid in reality.
Harry could never be more thankful that these people had fallen into his life. He could not quite categorise the varying levels of closeness he had with each one of those precious to him but took each one as a boon to his lifted spirits.
The two of them playfully hounded him to the Great Hall where breakfast awaited them.
A wide-eyed McGonagall greeted them at the entrance with a sense of astonishment. "Mr Weasley, Miss Dunbar, are the two of you well? Do you need Poppy's assistance this morning? It is most unlike the two of you to be awake this early in the morning."
Their lively responses had Harry and Katie tittering as they made their way up the slightly chilly room to begin their day.
"Mr Potter I daresay you should keep your entourage at a more easily controllable level if you wouldn't mind."
He ignored the half-hearted protests from his 'groupies' as they sometimes referred to themselves as and responded with a completely straight face. "Of course professor. I may have been too lenient with them. They're already acting out."
"Maybe we need a leash for them," Katie provided.
"If you wouldn't mind, Miss Bell, I'm sure it would be much appreciated by the public at large."
This was how most days went in Harry's life now. The commonality that was shared between them all was positively influencing Harry in such a way that he even noticed his cursed scars were less painful. He could bear with each day to a far greater standard than he could ever have anticipated as well. His confidence had grown leaps and bounds, and his feelings of self-worth had advanced to higher levels.
He was beginning to act like a normal boy his age... barring the extended fame of his now international sporting career, his immense magical capabilities, as well as his apparent trouble with attracting varying levels of misfortune.
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Harry, Neville, and Fay were on their way back to their common room after another failure of a Defence lesson when Fay asked to stop by the toilet quickly.
Fay had a stormy look when she saw the wet floor in the corridor, but she desperately needed to go so she bit the bullet.
"I won't be long."
"It's okay, we're not going anywhere special," Neville replied, backed up by a single nod from Harry.
Fay did a little hop and shot through the door.
"I told her it would be a bad idea to bring a flagon of pumpkin juice to class," said an exasperated Neville.
Harry simply hummed and leaned on the wall. His wand was out now and he was idly flicking it about to make sparks. He altered the spell slightly and began using it like a sparkler, with the shapes remaining for longer than usual.
"What's taking so long?" he murmured. There was a loud bang coming from the bathroom, which caused the two boys to share a confused look. "Um, that didn't sound normal, Nev."
Neville coughed into his hand. "Er, Fay?" he shouted into the gap left into the toilets. "Everything okay in there?"
A high pitched shriek floated out of the room and Neville darted inside. "Fay? What's wrong?"
Harry stepped hesitantly in after him and collided into Neville's back. "Ow. Nev why'd you stop?"
He picked himself off the wet floor, wishing he knew a competent drying charm, having to resort to a self-taught weak one to try to remove the disgusting feeling of toilet water soaking through his clothes.
The source of the screeching did not come from Fay, it appeared, instead, there was a teenaged ghost making laps of the central sinks.
"I'm telling you, you crazy woman, I didn't throw a stupid book at you!"
"Lies! Lies! Lies! I know it was you. You all come here to make fun of 'poor Moaning Myrtle.' You think it's funny to just toss things at me, knowing it'll just go through me. Well, just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don't have feelings!"
Fay flapped her arms in frustration. "Guys, tell this crazy bint I just needed the toilet. Tell her damn it!"
Harry stepped forward, arms out minutely with his palms raised to show he was no threat. "She's right, Fay would never do something like that. Trust me."
The ghost just started bawling, her screams like nails down a chalkboard. The three living souls covered their ears and were thankful when the girl vanished down one of the toilets.
"Fay," started Neville. "What the hell just happened?"
"It must be hard to be a ghost."
"Quiet, Harry, she's just a crazy girl who likes to ruin everything." Harry knew she didn't mean that; Fay's hair was soaked and frazzled, while her clothes seemed worse than his own. "That was Moaning Myrtle. Girl died in school years ago and likes to take it out on every girl who just needs to use the loo."
Harry didn't say a word as he spotted the offending book that allegedly was thrown at the ghost. He walked over to it and bent down to peer at the bronze inlay on the cover.
'T. M. Riddle ' it said.
His two friends both had looks of disgust at the diary he had brought with him.
"Guys, it's completely dry. If the water didn't get onto it, it means it's magical. "
"Yeah, but Harry," Neville said, "It was in a toilet. That's just disgusting."
Fay was in agreement. "I get it. Magical diary and all, but c'mon Harry, it's rank."
Harry was just interested in the whole concept of the diary – he wondered if it had any further properties. The Sorting Hat did question putting him in Ravenclaw, and his fascination with what spell it was charmed with, drew him in.
When they returned to the common room, the aura of the place was sombre. The Fat Lady had an odd look, and the faces of each student seemed slightly off.
"Harry!" He barely had time to brace himself when Katie cannonballed into him. "Oh, I was so worried about you!"
"Why? What's up, Katie?"
Angelina came up to his side, pulling him into her own tight hug. "You had us all in a bit of a worry, Harry. If I hadn't sat on her, Katie was going to run right 'round the castle to get you."
Neville and Fay were talking heatedly with the other second years off in their own grouping, shock, and fear coursing over their faces.
"Angie, Katie... what happened? Another attack?" The two winced. His eyes hardened. "It was a Gryffindor again wasn't it?"
"And a Hufflepuff," Katie croaked out. "Finch-something."
"Fletchley" he responded automatically.
Katie hadn't let go of him. Her arms were quaking, and he could feel her sobs reverberate on his torso. "It got Alicia."
He shut down. His friend had been attacked by the Heir of Slytherin.
"Is she..."
"Petrified, like Creevey and the cat." His arms slowly, hesitantly, came up to rest on Katie's. Angelina carried on, a haunted visage reflecting the sorrow she was feeling inside. "They were found together. Near each other, I mean. I don't get it though. She's not a muggleborn. The Hufflepuff was, but she wasn't. I mean, both her parents are, but she's classified as a half-blood. She should have been safe!"
Harry could see Fred and George in the alcove by the smallest window on the level. He knew the two were close, and many a joke had been said at the expense of Fred being more than interested in the girl. He did not think he had ever seen the boy cry before.
Katie was trembling intermittently still. This was more than just a prank gone wrong now. A second house member had been attacked by this thing. Absently he noted the grim stares pointed directly at him by a few poorly concealed grimaces. 'Do they think this proves I'm the Heir? Angelina and Katie don't think that...'
"They've cancelled lessons for the rest of the week," Neville said as he walked over. "Apparently the professors are putting in a curfew. They're hunting the Heir." Fay came over from where Fred and George were sat and pulled Angelina into a tight hug. Neville and Harry glanced over the room, taking in the frightened appearances of all years.
Harry couldn't process what was going on.
All good things do seem to come to an end.
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They were not permitted to leave the common room unless escorted in groups by Prefects or teachers from that time on. Harry was still to be escorted to the outside Quidditch practices, but his heart was not in the game.
Another match came and went, though it was a more tight game than previous ones. A sympathetic Sprout was his chaperone to this latest one, and in order to try and lift his mood, she introduced him to the entrance to the kitchens.
Days went by, and Harry had near nothing to do while cooped in his dormitory. Oft times Angelina would be with Fred and George so as to comfort each other, while Neville and Fay kept a small distance from he and Katie; the two of them were friends with Alicia, but not as close knit as Harry, and definitely not as much as Katie and Angelina were.
That night, Ron, Seamus, and Dean were embarrassed to have a pyjama clad Katie sit facing Harry on his bed as they enjoyed each other's company. Ron was most vocal about it, but Neville dragged him to the other side of the room when his complaints brought Katie to an emotional outburst.
"Over here you ginger idiot!"
They ended up waking early in the morning, both backs against his headboard, his head laying on her shoulder. He froze immediately, but the weak whimper that she released could only cause him distress, superseding any feeling of embarrassment. His friend needed him, and he needed her with him. Alicia was their friend, and they had to cope with it in their own way.
Katie had been there for him throughout everything. A powerful sense of determination flooded his body, and he knew he had to return the favour. He never asked him for anything whenever she was there to comfort him. To make him feel better. So he would be there for her in this time of need. It may not have been considered healthy for a 12 year old to compartmentalize in such a manner, but his past caused him to work differently than most.
Katie needed him, and he was going to be that comfort blanket that was necessary.
Harry was wide awake now. Katie's arm was curved around his waist, pulling him into her body. Though he initially blushed at the contact, he steadied his heartbeat and extracted himself so as not to wake her up.
He searched through his trunk, wand lit dimly to guide his way, and found the book he was after. He opened it to the marked page and began to write inside it. The quill was ever present on his bedside table, with the inkpot placed there next to it. Many a time a joke had been made by Seamus and Neville as to him looking best in blue and bronze instead of red and gold.
The words sped onto the pages as he wrote.
Well, he may as well get his homework done while he could. When Katie and the rest were awake, he didn't think he would get a chance to do so, and he wanted Lockhart's work out of the way for a reason.
It was also a welcome distraction from the previous day's events. He wanted to spend as little time as possible thinking about it as he could.
Riddle's Diary resided in his book bag, untouched and unopened.
Author's Notes
Just a quick chapter. Not too much advancement of the plot, but a nice insight into Harry's life. Made a few changes to my release schedule, which means that at the time of writing this, I should be frequently releasing the chapters of books 1 and 2 in quick succession.
It will slow again when book 3 begins, however.
I can guarantee that some people are a little annoyed at the constant reflections on Harry's emotional state, but it's simply to show you how far he's coming along as a person. He's slowly developing into the mentality of what someone in his position should be, but he needs healing. It is Hurt/Comfort after all.
Harry, my version anyway, doesn't want to go looking for trouble. The Hat wanted to place him in any house, and the intelligence that defines Ravenclaw is also there, so he won't do stupid things without thinking, such as write in a magical diary that he discovered on the same day as an attack. He also does not want to go looking for trouble. He's had enough trouble to last a lifetime and simply wants to enjoy his school years while he can, and learn everything he can about magic on the way. He's not going to be searching for the Heir but there will still be a conclusion to this part of the tale. It just won't be developing in the same way as canon.
Review response - Well, I appreciate your opinion and hope your stories will be written how others want them to be.
Next Chapter: Valentines