Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.

Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling

Chapter 1: Reminiscence

Three more days…Three more, long, dry days till he could be free of the daily insults and berating he received at her hands. He'd already survived the first four days of her stay, albeit not without some bruising – he shuddered involuntarily as the memories of those days played back in his mind – so he figured another three days couldn't possibly hurt any more.

After all, he'd already survived a drawn-out fight with a giant, poisonous fifty foot basilisk at school at the end of last year. Another three days with Aunt Marge should be a piece of cake.

Harry Potter heaved a long, drawn-out sigh – one that spoke of resentment, anger, and unwilling resignation at his situation – and resumed cleaning up the clutter of items on his bed. Books with pictures that moved as though they were alive, a bunch of feathers whose tips were stained with ink, pieces of parchment strewn about on his bed and under the loose floorboard beneath his bed, and what looked suspiciously like a book with fanged teeth along its edges and a belt buckled tightly around it; it gave a low growl in Harry's direction as he reached for a sleek black leather case, with the words Broomstick Servicing Kit stamped across it in flowing silver letters.

The first three days with Aunt Marge in the house had been nothing short of terrible for Harry. While the Dursleys' encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, Aunt Marge constantly insisted on his presence at all times; she took great delight in pointing out Dudley's 'admirable' qualities as opposed to the never-ending list of Harry's faults. Harry had forced himself to remember his deal with Uncle Vernon for getting his permission slip for Hogsmeade signed whenever Aunt Marge went on one of her rants, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep his cool at those times.

It had almost come to a head on the third day – the day before yesterday – of Aunt Marge's stay at Number Four. While Aunt Marge had insisted that she usually had a 'very firm grip', which had led to her wine glass exploding in her hand, Harry knew – just knew – that he'd lost his control and shattered the glass. It wasn't something he'd planned though – he'd been so angry at her insults towards his mum – but his record of doing magic outside of Hogwarts wasn't exactly clean either. He had no intention of repeating last summer's performance of magic – despite the fact that it was Dobby the house-elf who was responsible. He'd been warned that any more magic outside of school would effectively end his education at Hogwarts.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, he thought wryly.

Hence, the Broomstick Servicing Kit.

Or at least, what was inside the kit. Harry had to hand it to Hermione: his bushy-haired best friend was as interested in flying and Quidditch as he was in a History of Magic class, but she definitely knew the perfect birthday present for him. He missed flying and playing Quidditch at Hogwarts so badly it was like a constant ache in his chest. The Kit might have added to the melancholy feeling inside him – especially considering how he had been forced to act like a Muggle for the duration of Aunt Marge's visit – but he knew Hermione always had his best interests at heart.

After almost eleven years of being told by the Dursleys' that he was a waste of space and utterly worthless, and after Dudley made sure that he had no friends at primary school, the fact that he now had not one, but two best friends who cared deeply for him was taking him a good deal of time to accept.

Scratch that – he almost definitely had a third, but he wasn't sure if the feeling was mutual – yet.

Harry shook his head to clear his morbid thoughts, instead focussing on going through the Handbook of Do-it-Yourself Broomcare once more. A mere fifty pages long, the Handbook had become a life-saver in his bid to gain some semblance of control whenever Aunt Marge started on him. Apart from the dead useful text, it was filled, like all wizarding books, with illustrations that moved; the page he was reading right now had a picture of a short, lumpy wizard attempting to fix the braking mechanism on his Cleansweep Nine.

Wave your wand in an arcing manner over the broom while saying the words 'Sufflameno'. This will help you identify the exact location of the braking charm on the broom, as well as the problems with it. Some of the more common problems with the braking charm, along with their fixes, have been given below…

He of course couldn't practice at Privet Drive what the Handbook was instructing him to do – he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school except in extenuating, life-threatening circumstances. Harry was quite sure that fixing his broom of any braking charm faults hardly qualified as 'life-threatening circumstances', as much as Ron might have tried to argue otherwise.

He had also been forced to pretend to live like a Muggle for the duration of Aunt Marge's stay – a task which had its disadvantages: he had been forced to send Hedwig, his snowy-white owl and faithful companion, away from Privet Drive so that she wouldn't cause any distractions or unwanted questions; his presents and birthday cards had been shoved into the loose floorboard; but most important of all, he'd been forced to finish his homework and any magic-related reading in the dead of the night.

He'd been sorely tempted to just read his books during the day, but the image of a signed Hogsmeade form would then swarm into his mind's eye, effectively banishing his rebellious thoughts.

Today, however, the Dursleys had taken Aunt Marge out for 'who-knows-what' for the entire day, leaving the house empty, and him in solitude. He didn't mind it however – the forced confinement at Privet Drive was driving him stark crazy; even if he did step out, he was either followed – or worse, pursued – by that blasted bulldog of Aunt Marge, or chased by Dudley and his cronies in what they termed as their favourite sport – Harry Hunting. The warning from the Ministry last year had snuffed out any chance of him threatening Dudley with magic, something which his great whale of a cousin took advantage of quite gleefully. Not that Harry gave him or his gang a chance to do so, of course.

No, if anything, this alone time at Number Four, Privet Drive was a godsend. It gave him the glorious chance to perhaps nick some food from the fridge, watch TV for a while (without being interrupted by Dudley), or most importantly, complete his homework and reading before he returned to Hogwarts.

The fact that he was actually reading something extra – and not just what was required for his summer homework – was a direct result of two major reasons, all of which could very well be attributed to the events of his second year at Hogwarts.

The first reason he had pinpointed was that his two previous Defence Against the Dark Arts professors were completely and utterly useless and incompetent. His first year professor, Professor Quirrell, had been a bundle of nerves – he had constantly stammered and stuttered during Harry's class, which meant that Harry had barely learnt anything that could have been said to be basic Defence knowledge for a first-year student. Harry's opinion of him took a major plunge when, at the end of his first year, he stopped Quirrell, who had been possessed by the wraith of Lord Voldemort, from stealing the Philosophers' Stone from Hogwarts.

His second year teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, was thankfully, not possessed by Voldemort in any form; he was, however, an extremely incompetent teacher and a fraud who, as Harry found out at the end of last year, extensively used the Memory Charm to falsely claim credit for all the work he'd described in his publications.

Still perusing the Handbook (he was now reading about A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers), Harry chuckled softly as the memory of Ron's remark on Lockhart's competence, or lack thereof, rose clear as day in his mind…

The three of them, together with their fellow Gryffindors Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, Fay Dunbar, Christine Maxwell, and Parvati Patil, were sitting in the Gryffindor common room during the Easter holidays, poring over the lists of new subjects as they pondered over the choice of their subjects for their third year. Hermione, typically, had insisted that they take this matter extremely seriously.

'It could affect our whole future,' she told Harry and Ron, who had groaned when she'd dragged them to the corner in the common room to finalize their choices. Their classmates were already sprawled out on the chairs and tables around them; the other girls were discussing their choices quite vigorously with a lot of hand gestures and intermittent squealing, while the boys were individually perusing their lists, their faces screwed up in concentration. Poor Neville was surrounded by letters from all his magical relatives, all of them giving him different advice on what he should choose. His face was a portrait of confusion and worry as he alternated between going through the subject lists and re-reading the letters of advice.

Harry saw Dean look up from his list and grin at him when he noticed them being dragged by Hermione to the corner. Harry responded with a roll of his eyes, and grinned back.

'D'you think Arithmancy would be easier? Or Ancient Runes?' Neville's timid question floated over to the rest of them.

'Don't know about that Nev, you should probably ask some of the older students,' Seamus responded, his eyes fixed to his subject lists.

'I just want to give up Potions,' stated Harry gloomily as he sat down next to Hermione.

'We can't,' said Ron resignedly. 'We keep all of our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Hermione looked scandalized. 'But that's a very important subject!'

'Not the way Lockhart teaches it,' replied Ron. 'I haven't learned anything from him this year except not to set Cornish Pixies loose.'

A chorus of 'Hear, hear!' came from Dean and Seamus in response to Ron's remark, while the other girls giggled. Hermione, who had scowled at the mention of Lockhart's apparent incompetence, gave an indignant huff before returning to her list.

It seemed to be poetic justice that Lockhart had had his entire memory completely wiped out by a Memory Charm that had backfired from Ron's broken wand, down in the Chamber of Secrets.

His realization of the fact that he knew next to nothing about proper Defence – a few days after the Chamber incident – was decidedly unnerving, and he promised to make sure it wouldn't be the case from then on. So, as soon as he'd managed to get a set of writing materials from his trunk while Uncle Vernon was showing off his new company car, he immediately shot off a letter with Hedwig to Flourish and Blotts, asking them for a catalogue of sorts regarding the books that were available. He'd overheard Percy Weasley talking about the 'really useful mail-order services of Flourish and Blotts', and decided to give it a go.

And useful it was: within a span of three days, Harry had received his entire order of fifteen books; poor Hedwig had had to be assisted by two other owls to deliver the enormous, bulky package from Diagon Alley to Surrey. Harry had given the owls an extra-large offering of owl treats and some food nicked from the fridge as a reward.

His choice of fifteen books was not limited to Defence: he'd expanded his reading repertoire to include books on Transfiguration and Charms, another book titled 'A Student's Guide to History of Magic – Years 1 to 5', and what Harry found extremely useful – 'Potions and Potioneering – A Beginner's Friendly Guide.' The last one contained explanation of the concepts and reasoning behind certain instructions and the choice of ingredients in every potion that neither Hermione nor even Professor Snape had been able to explain in over two years. He knew he wouldn't become a Potions prodigy overnight, but he was sure he wouldn't be as clueless in Potions as he used to be. He'd also made a mental note to get a similar book for Neville – his friend was atrocious in Potions.

A faint chime from the grandfather clock in the parlour below echoed through the house. Harry, temporarily torn from his musings, glanced up from the Handbook to the clock that rested on his bedside table – it was almost dinner time, and he wanted to have a decent meal before the Dursleys and Aunt Marge returned. Reluctantly putting away the Handbook back in the Servicing Kit and replacing it under the loose floorboard, he stretched languidly before making his way down to the kitchen. More out of sheer habit than anything else, he quietly opened the fridge and took out the half-eaten sandwich – Dudley had complained that it didn't have enough mayonnaise – and the unopened packet of orange juice. He was careful enough not to spill any crumbs or juice, lest his Aunt Petunia found out he'd been stealing food again.

Harry carried the sandwich and the juice packet back to his room; setting it on his relatively clean table, save for a few parchments that had survived his earlier purge of all magical items in the room. Despite his inner voice – that somehow sounded remarkably like Dumbledore, though for the life of him Harry couldn't figure out why – telling him that he should hide the letters as soon as possible, somehow he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. The parchments – the signatures at the bottom revealing them to be letters when a slight summer breeze ruffled them – were proof that he had friends – people who cared about him and his well-being – a concept that still seemed a bit foreign to him.

The sandwich and the juice packet lay forgotten as, for what like seemed like the fiftieth time that summer, he read through the letters he'd received from his friends – letters from Ron and Hermione, one from Mrs Weasley who'd also managed to send a dozen Pumpkin Pasties along with her missive, birthday wishes from Hagrid and surprisingly, a letter from Professor Dumbledore. Harry removed the small piece of parchment from the pile and read through the slanted writing of his headmaster, who'd used what looked like an exotic tropical bird to deliver his letter, the day after his birthday.

Dear Harry,

I wish you a very happy birthday. I hope you are enjoying your summer holidays. Try not to stray too far from Privet Drive, if you do choose to go out.

I look forward to seeing you at the Opening Feast at Hogwarts.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

It was that last sentence in the first paragraph of the letter that had spiked Harry's curiosity: as far as he knew, Professor Dumbledore had never sent letters to any of his students unless absolutely necessary, so he had treated that last line – which sounded like a subtle warning – with a certain amount of trepidation.

Harry couldn't imagine what might have prompted Albus Dumbledore to give Harry a warning about not going too far from Number Four. It wasn't like there was someone who was out there to kill him – although that had become quite a recurring feature of his past two years at Hogwarts. His mind strayed to the news he'd heard on TV about the deranged, escaped mass murderer, Sirius Black, and wondered if Dumbledore was worried about Harry being attacked by Black. He immediately dismissed that notion: Sirius was a Muggle, and was as likely to know about Harry Potter as the Queen of England was.

He passed it off as another example of Dumbledore's odd eccentricities – Harry had often wondered if the man was a little…mad, ever since he'd addressed the school at the Opening Feast in Harry's first year:

'Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'

Even though he'd brushed it off, he couldn't help but feel a bit of apprehension whenever he heard of Sirius Black; Muggle newspapers and television news channels had been blaring about him for the last three days. He knew it couldn't be possible, but he had a horrible suspicion that he'd heard that name somewhere before…

Harry forcibly pushed down a slight sense of paranoia before he placed Dumbledore's letter at the top of the pile. The fading sunlight illuminated part of the moving photograph in the middle of the pile; Harry grinned as he looked at the image of the Weasleys posing for the picture in front of a rather large pyramid. Mr Weasley had won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw a few weeks earlier, and had spent a major chunk of the seven hundred galleons on a trip to Egypt, where their eldest son, Bill Weasley, worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts.

There was Ron, tall and gangly, with Scabbers the rat perched upon his shoulder; Fred and George stood on either side of him, one arm thrown over the other's shoulder and silently roaring with laughter at something; Percy stood a little further away from this group, his expression alternating between a disapproving scowl at the twins' direction, and a smug look to the camera, with his chest thrown out to emphasize his Hogwarts' Head Boy badge.

Mr and Mrs Weasley, smiling widely at the camera, stood on the other side of Percy, next to who Harry assumed was Bill Weasley – the only Weasley he didn't recognize on first sight from the photograph. Bill's hands were on the shoulders of the Weasleys' youngest child and only daughter – Ginny Weasley.

Harry felt a mixture of sympathy and admiration for Ginny Weasley; sympathy for the way Tom Riddle had manipulated and controlled her in order to finish what he'd started fifty years ago; admiration, however, for the fact that she was able to fight him off for a whole year, and emerge unscathed from the entire ordeal.

Well, almost unscathed.

Harry picked up the letter he'd received from Ginny sometime in the middle of July – the first of many letters that flew back and forth between them up till their trip to Egypt. He was genuinely surprised when he'd received her letter; he recalled the rather uncomfortable way she used to act around him. He never expected her to be this…eloquent.

Dear Harry,

I know we barely spoke to each other during last year, and I've never written to you, but I wanted to say something that's long overdue. I couldn't say it after…you know, because my brothers were always around me, and, well…to be honest, I wasn't sure I could properly string two sentences together if I spoke to you.

Harry had agreed with this assessment. He'd actually wondered how she'd managed to tell all of them on the train back from Hogwarts that Percy had a girlfriend.

I want to thank you, Harry, for rescuing me from the Chamber. I don't know what else I should say, to be honest – there isn't a guidebook for what one should tell their childhood hero after he actually rescues you from a life-or-death situation…

Harry had chuckled at that remark, even though she'd referred to him as her 'childhood hero'.

…and I'm not sure how I can express my gratitude that you came for me. I wanted to tell you so badly during the year, but he threatened me. Said that he'd ensure everyone I loved would die, and that it'd be my fault. I couldn't do it, Harry, I'm so sorry…

Ginny's script had become a little shaky by this point, and there were large splotches on the parchment where her tears must have fallen. Harry couldn't honestly say that he could relate to what she was telling him, but he sympathised with her nonetheless. Having someone control you was horrible enough; having a sadistic sixteen-year-old future Lord Voldemort control you would have been…Harry couldn't think of an appropriate word to describe it.

I'm having nightmares about the entire thing, Harry. Killing the roosters, writing on the walls, releasing that – that giant snake of his…And no one else understands – they all think it's just a matter of time before it goes away, but if anything, it seems to be getting worse. And it always ends with you being killed by either Riddle or the snake – and I have to remind myself every time that it was just a nightmare, and that you're alive and he didn't kill you, and we're both okay.

More teardrops had fallen here at this point; the ink was smudged in several places.

I'm sorry, I'm such a blubbering mess – I'm not usually like this. I just thought that, maybe, if I told someone other than family, they would understand… I realize I'm probably asking a bit too much of you, but…

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you (although I know it will never be enough). I hope we could be friends from now on – I promise not to embarrass you once again!

Your friend(?)

Ginny

The letter had evoked a mix of emotions inside Harry: sympathy for Ginny's ordeal and what she had to go through – and was still going through, actually; admiration for her courage and bravery in handling Tom Riddle for a whole year; disgust at the acts that she'd been forced to do – killing the roosters, petrifying those people – all without her even knowing about it; and most of all, a fierce mixture of anger towards Lord Voldemort and what he'd done to her, and determination that he wouldn't let anything like this ever happen to any of his friends again.

For Ginny Weasley was indeed a friend – if not immediately after the letter in which she'd bared a part of her soul and fears, then definitely after the number of letters they'd exchanged over the summer. Harry had, in his reply, reassured her that he didn't blame her in the slightest for what had transpired; that she didn't need to thank him, since he knew she would have done the same for him; that she definitely wasn't asking too much from him – he knew how it felt to be alone, with no one to understand and tell him that everything would be alright; and that they would of course be friends – not out of pity and sympathy for her, but for the genuine desire to get to know the real Ginny Weasley.

And what a person she was – Harry had never met a more vivacious and charming girl. Ginny was easily a mixture of Ron and Hermione – Ron for his support and loyalty, and Hermione for her intelligence and acceptance. He felt incredibly at ease while writing to Ginny – she had an unusual way of cheering him up whenever he felt a little under the weather at the Dursleys. In return, she told him about her nightmares, and how they'd been slowly, but surely, reducing every day, now that she had someone to speak with about them.

Harry had been glad to hear that – he knew the consequences of living with nightmares only too well, and while his were of the Dursleys and their actions against him – quite tame compared to Lord Voldemort – he would never wish a similar fate of loneliness upon anyone.

Ginny hadn't sent him a present for his birthday – she had been in Egypt along with her family – minus Charlie – but she assured him he would get it when they next met. Harry wouldn't admit it, but he was eagerly looking forward to what she would get for him as his first-ever birthday present.

His stomach rumbled loudly in the stillness of the room, so he put away the letters and quickly wolfed down the sandwich and the orange juice. After he'd finished his meal and washed up – making sure he left no traces behind – he returned to his room, intent on reading a few more pages of either the Handbook or 'Potions and Potioneering'.

It seemed, however, that that evening would be reserved for his mind to reminisce – he would later term it as the first of many sessions of introspections that he put himself through. His eyes were on the pages of 'Potions and Potioneering', but his mind was currently resuming his musing from where he'd last left off – the reasons for why he'd began reading something other than what was necessary for his summer homework.

His second reason directly stemmed from the aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets debacle: he realized he was extremely reliant on Hermione for probably everything related to schoolwork and exams. While the exceptional circumstances of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets had indeed occupied everyone's mind, he, however, had been grossly underprepared for any semblance of what one might have termed as exams. He was extremely sure that, had Dumbledore not cancelled the end-of-year examinations last year as a school treat, he would have failed spectacularly.

And it wasn't that he was a bad student either. His initial marks at primary school had been quite impressive – he had been a bit ahead of his fellow students even at that age. The Dursleys, however, stoutly refused to accept the fact that their good-for-nothing nephew was better at anything than their 'precious, little Dudley'. Two weeks in his cupboard with a bruised, aching body finally got him to figure out a work-around to this predicament – he would have to pretend to do badly in his classes so that he wasn't better than Dudley.

The fact that Dudley barely managed to earn a passing grade in his classes was conveniently ignored by the Dursleys, in their quest to stamp out the 'abnormality' from young Harry.

This charade became so common that not performing to his fullest potential ultimately became quite ingrained into him – something he was extremely determined to fix over the summer and during his remaining years in Hogwarts. No longer would he be over-dependent on Hermione for his doubts or questions – he'd solve them on his own.

Hence the additional reading material in all his subjects. He chuckled softly to himself – Hermione wouldn't know what hit her when they got back to classes for third year.

The realization of his over-dependence on Hermione, a few days after his miraculous victory down in the Chamber, had forced him to evaluate just why he behaved like that. Harry remembered the day like it had been just yesterday…

He hadn't wanted to burden her or Ron with his musings, especially when she'd just been un-Petrified, so he had slipped out of the Gryffindor common room after telling them he was going for a walk, and would join them at dinner.

The corridors of Hogwarts Castle a half hour before dinner were bustling with students milling about here and there. The euphoria over the end of the Chamber of Secrets incidents had slightly dampened over the last few days, but it was more than made up by the decorations that spread throughout the castle – save the dungeons. Harry grinned as he took in the extravagant hangings that Fred, George and Lee had managed to put in almost every corridor of the school – they had really outdone themselves with this. Of course, Professor Snape had seemed to think otherwise – he'd shouted himself hoarse, awarded them both detention for the rest of the school year, and deducted forty points from each of them for this stunt.

Harry had never seen the three of them looking so pleased with themselves despite the punishment – clearly they thought it was worth all the trouble they went through. And it really didn't matter much – the two hundred points apiece he and Ron had been awarded by Dumbledore more than covered this deficit. The fact that Professors Flitwick and – surprisingly – McGonagall had expressed their admiration for their work was just an added, welcome bonus.

He made his way down the second floor corridor before turning left into a hidden tapestry that would deposit him right at the top of the marble staircase. The Entrance Hall was half full with hungry students waiting for the Great Hall to open; Harry noticed the crowd going momentarily silent when they saw him, before their chattering resumed almost instantaneously. He mentally shook his head – clearly their fear of him being the Heir of Slytherin still hadn't fizzled out.

His thoughts about pretending to do badly at school because of Dudley and his relatives went straight out of the window as he proceeded to the great oak doors of Hogwarts. Summer evenings at Hogwarts always had a bit of melancholic feel for Harry personally – it reminded him of the beauty that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with its towering turrets, great, green grounds, the sumptuous feasts in the Great Hall, sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room…but summer meant that the school year was almost over, and that he'd have to return to the Dursleys for two months.

Shivering slightly at that thought, Harry made his way out of the castle into the warm summer evening. Students were out here as well, enjoying the last few days at the castle before they headed back home for the holidays. Many of them were lounging about in groups across the lawns of Hogwarts – Harry could make out Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan lying on the grass, surrounded by a group of Hufflepuffs. Over to their left, closer to the Black Lake, Lavender Brown and the Patil twins were chattering away while seated on a large blanket. They waved at him when he approached – he intended on taking a round along the banks of the Lake before heading back for dinner.

He'd just reached a point across from which the Weasley twins stood, tickling the tentacles of the giant squid, when he heard his name being called.

'Harry!'

He looked around; a couple of girls Harry recognized from the Hufflepuff group he'd seen earlier were striding towards him. Through the fading glow of the setting sun, Harry could make out the blonde pigtails of Hannah Abbott, and the red hair of – Susan, was it? Harry couldn't place a last name to her.

'Hi,' he said. 'Hannah, isn't it?' The blonde girl nodded. 'And you must be…' He turned to the red-headed girl.

'Susan Bones,' she said. 'We're in your year, but in Hufflepuff. You must have seen us in Herbology.'

'Erm, I can't say that I have, sorry.' His face flushed with embarrassment. He wasn't lying, however: he'd barely paid attention to any of his fellow classmates unless he was actually spoken to. He chalked it up as another unwanted consequence of living with the Dursleys – and promptly made a mental note to correct that soon.

'Oh.' Susan's face fell slightly, and her gaze shifted.

There was an awkward pause.

'Did you need something?' asked Harry. The sun had finally set, and he was feeling a little chilly despite the warm air permeating the grounds. He mentally berated himself for not bringing his cloak or jacket out for the walk.

Hannah shifted uneasily, her friendly face morphing into expressions of…guilt? Harry couldn't imagine why she'd be guilty of anything at that time.

'We –' Susan elbowed her in the ribs, '– I mean, I wanted to apologize to you,' said Hannah quietly. She was staring at a spot on the ground just a few paces away from Harry, while Susan gazed in the direction of the castle, its many lighted windows glittering in the rapidly darkening sky.

Harry was nonplussed. 'Excuse me?'

Hannah raised her head to look at him; he was shocked to see that her eyes were filled with unshed tears. Susan had shifted her focus onto Harry now; he noticed that she had dark blue eyes, slightly high cheekbones, and a kind, friendly and joyful face. Now, however, she had an expression that could almost said to be that of…boredom?

'What we did this year was extremely unfair to you, Harry,' continued Hannah. 'When the incident with Justin and the snake happened, Ernie kept telling us that you were the culprit, and, well…I believed him. I'm so sorry; I didn't stop to think if it made sense, I just…' She trailed off rather uncertainly.

Harry didn't know what to say at the moment; he could sense that she was yet to finish, so he nodded silently.

Hannah took a deep breath. 'I was a prat. An idiot who believed a rumour without verifying it properly. So much for Hufflepuff loyalty.' She gave a very awkward, forced laugh. 'I hope you can forgive me for this, I'll understand if you don't want to, I mean, I know I wouldn't forgive myself if I was in your place –'

'Hannah, stop,' he interrupted her rambling. She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him.

Another awkward pause; the only sounds they could hear right now were of the wind rustling the leaves of trees of the Forbidden Forest, and that of the water of the Lake as the giant squid sank back into its depths.

Harry looked away into the distance before speaking; Hannah's unwavering gaze was slightly disconcerting. 'I don't blame you – well, not entirely anyway,' he said quietly. 'I don't think I would have done anything different if I were in your place at that time, but I won't pretend and say it was easy for me, especially when I knew I didn't do anything with that snake and Justin.'

Hannah nodded vigorously; Harry was slightly relieved to see that she had almost blinked away the tears in her eyes by now. Susan was still staring at him, with that almost-bored expression still on her face.

'I do forgive you for this – Merlin knows we all need to stop holding grudges against each other, but it'll take me some time before I can trust you fully, Hannah.' He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile at the end, and was glad to see it returned, albeit shakily. He wasn't fibbing this time either: numerous incidents at primary school and with the Dursleys had resulted in him having some serious trust issues. He had no intention of having a repeat of that here at Hogwarts – Surrey had been more than enough for all that drama.

He stretched out a hand for her to shake, which she tentatively took – it was almost like she was expecting him to pull back and turn the entire thing into a colossal prank. Harry half-heartedly considered doing just that, before dismissing that idea altogether: he could tell she was quite sincere with her apology, and didn't want to ruin it for her.

Besides, along with his musings about Dudley and his reliance on Hermione, he'd realised that he needed some new friends. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in its mouth.

'And of course, we'll be friends.'

Hannah gave him a genuine smile this time, and it made a world of difference to her demeanour and expression; Harry could hardly believe that this blonde girl with an extremely pretty smile had looked so depressed and forlorn not two minutes ago. He grinned back at her, watching as she let go of the handshake, then stepped back and made her way to the castle.

He felt oddly relieved, and exhilarated. Justin and Ernie had apologized, and they had begun some sort of friendship, but he had a feeling his friendship with Hannah would prove to be a lot different from the others.

'I warned her, you know.'

Harry whirled around, so lost was he in his musings that he hadn't noticed that Susan hadn't left. She was still standing in the same spot, still staring at him, but the intensity of her gaze had softened considerably. It didn't look like she was trying to evaluate him, or figure him out.

He also noticed her voice – it was soft, not as high-pitched as Hannah's, but it had a ring of confidence to it. Like she was used to being right, and woe betide anyone who thought otherwise.

'Sorry?'

'I warned her,' she repeated. 'I told her you couldn't be the Heir of Slytherin. I mean, your mother was Muggle-born, your best friend is Muggle-born, you would have no motive for going around and petrifying all those Muggle-born students.'

Harry was surprised; he honestly hadn't thought of it from that angle at all. Now that Susan had brought it up, it did seem to be an extremely good reason – he wouldn't have had any motive for pushing off all those poor Muggle-born students.

'So…you didn't think I was the Heir of Slytherin then?'

'No, of course not!' she exclaimed. 'Like I said, you had no motive for doing so, and, well…it just didn't feel right.'

'Feel right?' he questioned.

'Nothing important,' she brushed it off with a wave of her hand. 'I'll tell you about it sometime soon, I suppose, only if…'

'Only if what?'

'Only if you would consent to being friends with me as well,' she grinned at him; in a way, it was almost a mischievous smirk. He couldn't help it: he grinned back as he shook her proffered hand.

'Oh yes, Miss Bones, most definitely.'

And with a laugh, they walked back to the confines of the castle.

Harry smiled to himself as the memory finished replaying in his mind. Since that day, Susan and Hannah had joined him, Ron and Hermione while they were outside on the school grounds. Hannah was a bit uncomfortable at first, but she too became friendly with everyone by the time school rolled around to a close. They had also joined them on the train ride back to King's Cross, laughing heartily when Ginny had announced the news of Percy's girlfriend. Harry was glad to see that the two Hufflepuffs – who were then joined by Justin and Ernie – had immediately forgiven Ginny for her part in the opening of the Chamber; he noticed that Ginny's shoulders lifted ever so slightly with their acceptance.

For some reason, Susan had forcefully demanded that he write to her over the summer – something which he immediately acquiesced to with a chuckle at her antics. Hannah was a little less authoritative, but he promised her that he would write to her as well, nonetheless. His correspondence over the summer had been exciting as a result – never before had he had so many friends to write to and receive letters from. His conversations with Susan, in particular, were extremely refreshing: Harry couldn't place it, but he always looked forward to her letters, even more than he did for Ron and Hermione's letters.

He gazed fondly at the pile of letters – whatever anyone or anything said, he was never going to hide these away.

The sound of a car engine being killed brought him back to his harsh reality. He looked around to the calendar that he'd hung up in his room – he now had twenty-eight days left before he returned to Hogwarts for his third year.

Three days of insults, followed by twenty-five days of loneliness and being ignored left to go...

And as the front door opened, he only hoped that he would be in the right state of mind at the end of Aunt Marge's visit, so that Uncle Vernon would sign his permission form for him to visit Hogsmeade.

August 6, 1993 couldn't come soon enough for Harry Potter.