[A/N Thank you for reading! Although I was a little disappointed at the number of reviews that I had gotten for the last chapter coughtwocough. Which is really surprising, because I could've swore that at least five people had added this story to their Story Alert.( I'm still confident! I guess beggers can't be choosers, eh?) SORRY I'M OFF SUBJECT. Anyways- I would just like to note that Dumbledore, nor Sirius or anyone else that could affect any story is STILL ALIVE. Just thought I'd note that for future reference. I hope the story is not too confusing. I guarantee that it WILL make sense, even if this chapter doesn't. Love, Tori. [/

Chapter 3

Hermione walked down into the Common Room, surprised when she saw nearly all of Gryffindor rolling in from the Portrait Hole, arriving from the train.

"Did you have a happy Christmas, Ginny?" Hermione greeted her redheaded friend as she passed.

"Yeah! Fred and George decided that they wanted to sneak some Puking Pastilles into my butterbeer on Christmas Eve, and I hexed them both. Mum didn't really appreciate that they both had pig snouts and beaver tails on Christmas morning, but you should've seen the look on Dad's face!" she laughed to herself and walked into the Girl's dormitory.

It was nearing time for bed, and Hermione was starting to feel her eyes getting tired. She had been with Ron and Harry all morning down at Hagrid's, visiting Grawp.

She yawned at the thought of sleeping.

Though, she knew, that there would be no sleeping tonight because of the return of all of the other girls.

X

"So, Hermione," Mackenzie Ross, a girl that Hermione had 'minor disagreements' with (which were more like gigantic arguments that could lead to a potential girl fight) almost regularly, said, giving Hermione an evil smile. "Is the rumor true?"

Hermione looked over from her conversation with Ginny and glared at Mackenzie, confused. "What rumor?"

Mackenzie stood up to face her. "Oh, you know…the one that defines that you're secretly sneaking off to the bathroom during classes to have a little-" Mackenzie smirked. "Extra study hall with Potter?"

Hermione was infuriated as if someone had just sucker punched her, and stared at Ross with hatred.

"Oh, I see I've hit a nerve!" Mackenzie smiled and gave a hint of sneer in her voice.

"Listen," Hermione stood up. She had enough. "If you think that that rumor is true, you're definitely a lot more thick then I'd have guessed. But then again," she paused. "Maybe I should've known, seeing as how your hair is so matted with grease that it's preventing anything to get to your head."

Mackenzie, apart from half of the girls in the room that were staring at Hermione with amazement and smiles, looked, at last, outwitted and defeated.

Hermione gave a grin, pleased with herself, and made a take-that 'humph' and walked back over to her bed.

Eyes still on her and silence still in the room, Hermione grabbed the Diary from her schoolbag and trotted her way out of the dormitory, hearing people agreeing with her on her way out, and took the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower.

She arrived at the top of the Tower and sat down on the cold, stone ground, looking out the window that kept her separated from the night sky.

Opening the Diary to write in it again, she noticed a spilled ink spot on the cover.

She knew, for a fact, that she had not dripped any ink on the cover. (For if she did,m she would've cleaned it up immediately.

Settling that she must've done it accidentally (how else could it have gotten there?), she turned to the page she had written on.

Horror struck her in a heartbeat when she registered that the handwriting in her Diary did not match her own.

I don't know how this writing thing works, dammnit. Is it supposed to help sort of thoughts? I honestly wouldn't care if I knew anyways.

The entry continued and it filled the page.

Hermione stared at it, on the verge of either screaming or throwing it, because she knew, for absolute sure, that she had not, repeat not, written those words.

Forcing herself to read it, she read aloud to herself.

"Father isn't drinking anymore, but I suppose he'll go straight to demanding the house elf to bring him a 'firewhiskey, heavy on the whiskey" as soon as he hears that I'm back at school. Ever since he got out of that place with Aunt Bell, I could swear on Merlin's left buttocks that he's Imperiused. For bloody hell's sake, can't he just be normal again…"

Her eyes wide and stricken, she went back a page to see the cover to make sure it was her Diary.

Sure enough, it said in gold lettering, Hermione Granger.

This is not my writing. These are not my words. Where's my entry? Because this certainly is not mine! I did not write of 'father drinking' and I did not, I know, write that first sentence. Hermione's mind raced.

The Diary was still the exact Diary she wrote in the night before, but it did not have the entry that she had written.

That's it; she thought and sighed, Its another mind-controlling journal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco lurked lazily to the green armchair in the Slytherin common room. He was the only one up, seeing as how it was nearly the early morning hours.

In desperate attempt to lure himself into finding something to make him sleepier, he sat down on the chair, holding the Diary in his hands.

Taking out his quill from his pocket of his silk green pajamas, he opened the Diary to the page he had written in last.

He raised an eyebrow and stared at it in befuddlement when he saw the first few sentences.

Dear Diary,

I'm not quite sure where to begin. I found you in the hall, and after complete thinking, I've decided to write in you after all.

Draco was quite sure that that was not his handwriting (it was much too curvy) and he definitely knew that he did not use the words 'Dear Diary'.

He closed it and opened it back up again, peering at the title. He could've decided that it was not his Diary, but was confused when he saw that the Diary did indeed belong to him.

Why the bloody hell is this not what I wrote? He asked himself.

He continued to read it, not because of interest, but to try and figure out why he was not looking at what he had wrote the night before.

I'm not in love with him, but I mean seriously. Every moment he's not snogging her, he considers it a waste. Some things I just don't understand about that boy, Diary.

Even more confused then he was before, he closed the cover and stood up, determined that the Diary was not worthy of all of the thinking that he was starting to put into it.

Review? Anyone? PWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE?