Thanks to all my gentle reviewers: Weasleylover35753, weirdlyyours, firewolfalpha, fifespice, DCoD, and Eternally-Blackrose-Yours.

Alas for Harry! His buddy ole pal Malfoy knows the truth about his "herbology lesson." Will Malfoy get to the truth? Will Harry reveal all? Join us next time on 'The Young and the Wizardous."

Or you could just read this chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter Seventeen: No One Special

The truth was, Harry thought that same night as he returned to the dungeons after dinner, Malfoy was not behaving too unreasonably. Well, he was behaving too unreasonably, but not completely. Harry had been meeting Granger quite frequently these past few weeks. It had been fruitless, he knew bitterly, and now he was convinced that he was done with the girl. Spells and magical objects wouldn't help with this damn diary.

Not only had Granger been no help, but his secret had also succeeded in putting a rift between his best friend and himself. Harry groaned with frustration as he remembered how distant they'd become in less than a month.

And Malfoy hadn't been at dinner. This was Malfoy, his best friend, who enjoyed lavishing himself every chance possible and would never skip a feast.

Unless, Harry thought as he said the password to the cold wall, Malfoy was angry with him. More likely than not.

He found the boy sitting in bed against the headboard as if he'd been waiting for him. "Hello, Potter," Malfoy said coolly. "Enjoy your dinner?"

Harry nodded uncertainly.

Malfoy smirked. "Needed to fill that hungry belly after so much Herbology work, I reckon." The boy leaned back and put his hands against his head. "Strange thing about me," he said nonchalantly towards the ceiling, "I prefer having my Herbology lessons outside. Separates me from the common man, I s'pose."

Harry, who had up till now been watching him uneasily, sighed. "Look, I know this sounds weak, but it really isn't—"

"—What it looks like? You're right, that is pretty weak."

"Malfoy, we're not meeting up and snogging or anything, and even if we were, why should it matter to you?"

Malfoy sat up quickly and said, "Because you're not s'posed to keep that sort of thing from your best friend! What are you playing at, sneaking around behind my back and doing who knows what!" He stopped and took a breath. "And if you're not snogging, then what the bloody hell else can you be up to!" Malfoy cried in exasperation.

Harry sighed and sat beside him on the bed. "It's stupid. You'll think I'm mad…" He looked at Malfoy, but his expression was only curious. Harry plowed on then, "It's the diary. All right? No bloody snogging, no Herbology work either—just the diary."

Malfoy looked confused and somehow apathetic at the same time. Harry nearly laughed—only Malfoy could pull this expression. "The diary? That raggedy thing dad sent me?"

Harry nodded. "There's just something about it…I mean, your dad sending it out of nowhere was weird in itself, and…" He paused, a little embarrassed. "You remember when we wrote in it, er, that night we had those Cheering—"

Malfoy cut him off. "I remember. What about it?"

"I checked it afterward, and there was nothing in it."

Malfoy's face paled a little. "What?"

"You heard me," Harry said sharply. "Nothing. No babble about lilac bloomers or how handsome Harry Potter is. Nothing."

A bit of the color drained out of Malfoy's face, but he asked rationally, "So? It…it could just have some absorption charm on it or something. It could—"

"Draco, listen to me!" Harry cried with an edge in his voice. "If that were all, do you think I'd be so stuck on it?" Malfoy snorted, but Harry continued, "I might have been really tired or something, but I could have—I could have sworn that it…it wrote back to me, Draco. And, well, when your father owns something a little weird, I don't expect it to be of the cute pink bunny land variety of weird, if you catch my drift."

Malfoy didn't comment on the violation of the surname rule or the crack on his father as he usually would, but only looked at Harry a little nervously.

"Are you sure?' he asked. Harry nodded. "Right. Let me get this straight, then. You've been using this unwitting Granger person to further your own ends?" Malfoy asked him.

Harry nodded.

Malfoy laughed and threw his arm around Harry. "Carried out like a true Slytherin!" he proclaimed slyly. And Harry felt the awkward tension that had haunted the pair the past few weeks burn away.

"So, go on. Did you learn anything?" Malfoy asked conspiratorially.

"No. It wasn't invisible ink, and it wasn't hidden by a spell. Who knows, maybe I just imagined the whole thing…"

"Come on, Potter, haven't you got anything else to go by? Like where it's from or who owned it…rather rough with it, weren't they?" Malfoy suggested with amusement.

Harry grinned, then replied soberly, "All I know is it was written by this bloke Tom Riddle." He glanced at Malfoy. "Your father ever talk about him?"

Malfoy stretched out on the bed and thought for a few moments. Then he turned to Harry and said, "Nah. Never heard of him before. You think he was important?"

"I dunno…he got an award for services for the school, I know that much. But beyond that…" Harry sighed.

Malfoy got up from the bed and brushed himself off. "Look, you need to stop thinking about this sodding diary for a while and just relax. Riddle's probably no one special, just a sad and pathetic man who had nothing better to do than make odd books. Think about the more important things, smell the roses, paint your toenails," he drawled. "You've been really off lately."

"I know, I know. Oh, and speaking of more important things, I brought you some food down from the Great Hall. Here." Harry dumped a treacle tart and a chicken leg into Malfoy's lap. "Eat up, sunshine," he said, smirking. "I can't believe you were so miffed at me you skipped dinner."

"I know," Malfoy said through stuffed cheeks. "Very unlike a Malfoy, isn't it?" The blonde boy swallowed contentedly and turned to Harry once more with a sober expression. "Listen, Potter, if you really can't stop thinking about this thing, why don't you just write in it?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You're advising me to do something potentially dangerous and risky instead of burying myself in research?"

Malfoy shot him a look that plainly said, "What did you expect?" and Harry felt a comforting familiarity return to the room they occupied. That was, until Vincent Crabbe burst into it with Gregory Goyle in a headlock and the rest of the fifth year Slytherin boys trailed the two, jeering and laughing their heads off.

Malfoy patted Harry's elbow as the dormitory filled with din and Theodore Nott bumped the bedside cabinet into his shoulder. "Don't worry, Potter, I give it three months before I can mooch enough money out of father to add some sort of extension. Hell, we might even build our own tower, eh?"

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