[Thank you to who all reviewed! I love you::ahem:: Sorry for the long wait. I had written this chapter before and I didn't like the way it felt so I wrote it over. (You'll be happy though; this is a long one.) Anyways- here's the next chapter. Hopefully it isn't too confusing. It was a rather difficult one to write. Just another reminder- Dumbledore's not dead. And, for this chapter, you have to just try and go with the flow.

This is Hermione's writing

This is Draco's writing.

The following morning, Hermione walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted when she sat down between her two best friends. "You look particularly disinterested, today!" she rolled her eyes sarcastically at his tired look.

"Good morning, Hermione," Ron started mockingly. "You look particularly know-it-ally today!"

She glared at him, and picked up a biscuit.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oh, Draco, you look absolutely pitiful this morning!"

"Well, gee thanks, Pans, I think that's the best compliment I've ever received!" Draco answered (sarcastically) crankily. He had hardly slept the entire night after he discovered that the entry in the Diary belonged to someone else. The idea, clearly, made him uncomfortable with thinking that the Diary naturally switched writers.

"Well, if you're going to be bloody snobby about it, I think I'll just sit beside Jessica instead." She humphed and stood up to switch places with Goyle.

Draco didn't mind this. On the contrary, he could care less what his girlfriend did. Their relationship was not, as everyone describes it, fully functional.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione had carried the Diary along with her, not because she planned on writing in it but because she wanted to see if it had any Dark magic placed upon it.

Her first thought was to ask someone that had had experience with this such as mind-controlling-self-souled Diaries, so she trotted her way up to Dumbledore's office after her classes.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked. She had never been inside of his office before. It was small, but round and high ceilinged. Moving pictures of Headmasters of the past lined the walls.

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger. I'm up here." He answered from above her head. He was peering out the window of the second story of his office, watching the Quidditch practice.

"Professor, I was wondering if you could help me." She walked up the spiral stairs and came to a stop when she arrived in front of her old but wise Headmaster.

"I'm glad to help such a wonderful student! What do you need?"

"Well," she continued. "I have recently found this Diary, and I wrote in it the other night." She watched him nod his head in understanding.

"But last night when I went to write in it again, I…the entry that I had made…it was gone and it was replaced with a different entry."

She could she that he was thinking about it, and she could also tell that he was ruling out the idea of it being Dark.

"May I see it?" he asked politely, holding his hand out gesturing towards her journal.

"Oh, yes, certainly." She handed the leather book to him, and he took it in his hands gently.

Dumbledore flipped through the pages and looked at the inside cover.

"Oh, my, Miss Granger! It seems that you have come across a rather rare Diary!" he seemed pleased with his discovery. "This is, I am sure, a Two-Way Diary. It has a connection with another Diary, a connection to a Diary at which it feels that it's owner is connected. It is no remake of Riddle's Diary, which I expect that you have already thought about. No, no. This is a great wonder of discovery!"

Hermione stood bewildered. She could have sworn on it, that it was cursed with a Dark connection.

"So…It's safe?"

"Yes. Yes, Miss Granger. There is nothing about this that is evident that it could be under any Dark spells."

Relieved, she took the Diary as he handed it back to her. "Thank you, Professor. I am glad to hear that it is not dangerous."

"It is my pleasure. Now, if you please excuse me, I am late for a meeting with Professor McGonnagal."

Hermione walked down the steps and opened the door.

"Thank you again, Professor. Have a good evening!" she stepped out the door and closed it behind her, please but amazed.

X

Hermione sat in an armchair with the Diary. She looked around the Common Room, where she was sitting. Only a few girls were there too, but giggling in the corner by the radio.

Here goes nothing, she thought, opening the Diary to the next blank page. She took out her quill and started writing.

Dear whoever is reading this,

Seeing as how this is a Two-Way Diary (I asked Dumbledore), I am now attempting to write in this thing again.

I had written an entry, and apparently, whoever is reading this now, got it.

I don't know who you are, or even if you go to my school, but I thought maybe if you weren't totally freaked about it, we could keep writing.

Merlin knows I need some excitement.

Sincerely yours.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been far after classes and the breach of sunset was beginning to come when Draco Malfoy had managed to get away from his group.

They were always by his side, and as much as he felt more secure and more powerful with his followers, he came to find that the more he would hang out with them constantly, the more he was relieved when he was alone without them. His friends, or his followers, were also pureblood, rich and wealthy goody-two-shoes, and were influenced by Draco. He made them who they are, or rather, he liked to believe that without him, they would not be popular and they wouldn't have the pleasure of getting away with things.

Never in his life had he regretted being with his posse, but more than most of the time, he would feel like he had spent the last five and a half years being someone he knew he wasn't.

The realization came when his father pointed out that he was to become a Follower and get the Mark soon, and at that moment, Draco truly felt as though his friends couldn't get him out of it. He couldn't run and hide, he couldn't stand up to his father or the Dark Lord. He couldn't speak his true feelings.

His true feelings, he had not dared to speak out loud, for if he did, it would lead everyone to call him a liar and a cheat, and a traitor. If he spoke his true feelings, his family would most likely disown him, kill him, or anything of those lines.

Everyday, every second, ever moment he spent alive these days, he was ruled by one thing. That thing would keep him from doing anything he wanted to do, and it would haunt him to no end. Every movement, every action, everything he did he had to think it over. Not a minute went by without his thoughts going back to fear of the enemy that was eating away his insides and deteriorating every inch of insanity he had left.

The enemy that was regularly and constantly making his life a living hell was self-consciousness; paranoia.

Draco sat beside the lake under a tree, thinking about the things that he longed to become, the things that he longed to make appearance. If he had it his way, he'd dump his friends, quit school, disown his family and make a living on his own. But he knew that he could never do those things. For if he had even spoke of them, his family would never let him do anything. He couldn't do those things even if he didn't care about his family. His father was a Death Eater, and a very close one at that. Draco couldn't turn his back on the way his family was lead out to live, not now that he had agreed under the power of the Dark Lord, to become a Death Eater in his father's shadow. Once you're in with the Dark Lord's debt, you're never leaving. It's either keeping your promises or being killed. And as for Draco, he was the youngest in his family. He wasn't going to be responsible for not keeping pureblood in the name.

He would be forced to live a life of Following, a life of living death. A fate, to which Draco had always compared to, that was an honor just as much as a Cruciatus curse was enjoyable.

Biting his lip to hold back tears just incase someone would spot him, he reached inside his robes and pulled the Diary.

He had not even thought of it since he spotted that insolent entry that had replaced the one that he had written. Taking out his expensive self-inking quill, he looked around cautiously to see if anyone was watching.

He saw nothing but the Whomping Willow shedding its leaves entirely and an orange cat (that looked more like a wad of cotton with legs) running around.

He opened the Diary and looked at the first few pages.

Seeing a new message on the following page, he realized that whoever had written the replaced entry had written again.

Dear whoever is reading this,

Seeing as how this is a Two-Way Diary (I asked Dumbledore), I am now attempting to write in this thing again.

Relieved but still curious, he finished reading the message.

Huh. He thought to himself. A Two-Way Diary.

He turned the page and was now looking at a blank one. Thinking of what to write for only a few seconds, he pressed his quill to the page and began writing.

So, a Two- Way Diary, eh? Bloody weird, if you ask me.

So, I suppose whatever I wrote before, you saw, and assuming that you don't know me, I'm not worried if you know.

I am glad to know that apparently this diary thing is not cursed.

Believe me, I've had enough of Dark magic for a lifetime.

And assuming that you don't know who I am, I feel no shame in telling you just about everything. You'll have to earn my trust if you still want to write, you know. To make sure you're worth it.

What school, do you go to, anyway?

Satisfied with himself, he made his way back up to castle, still as paranoid and self- conscience as always.

So? How's THAT for an update?