Harry's summer was much better than his school year. Now that he was with the Weasleys, free of any house separation, Ron would actually speak to him. His older brothers, too, were far more accepting at home than they were at school. Harry accepted this summer friendship tentatively—he thought that it was a little two-faced to like someone out of school but detest them in school, yet he decided that they were friends anyway and beggars could not be choosers.
Harry also enjoyed hanging out with his little sister. She didn't seem a bit disturbed that her parents had not returned for a year. She was always bright and happy and cheerful. Harry really loved and admired her for her strength. He would often sit outside by the lake while Ginny and Rose would show him their latest dance routine. Harry thought that they were both very cute little girls and it was very funny because the two of them looked so immensely alike that they could almost be twins. He cherished those Saturday mornings out by the lake.
He could still accept the love of a family, and that was something that showed Harry that he was not heartless. Indeed, he was not yet heartless. He still had a soul, still had a heart. Although he was terribly stoic most of the time, he would still laugh and smile with his dysfunctional new family. Then something terrible happened—his parents were to have an official funeral.
The Order of the Phoenix had suddenly given up all hope. After several failed rescue attempts they declared the two Potters dead. Their funeral was to be held on a dreary Monday morning. Harry awoke at six that morning and went into Ginny and Rose's shared bedroom. He knocked gently on the door.
"Come in," Rose said groggily. Harry noticed that she was still in her pajamas while he was fully dressed in a suit and tie.
"Why aren't you ready yet, you goof?" Harry asked, shaking his head. Rose peered up at him in confusion. Harry just shook his head and rummaged through her trunk. He pulled out her nicest black dress, white stockings and little black shoes. "Get dressed. I'll be back up in ten minutes." Harry left the room, Rose looking after him.
Harry realized later why Rose had been so confused earlier that morning—she hadn't wanted to admit where she was going or why. They were at the little chapel back in Godric's Hollow for their parent's funeral. Rose sobbed as silently as she could on Harry's shoulder while Harry remained emotionless through the entire ceremony. So what if they were dead? What did it matter anyway? They had already been gone for a year. He was already used to living without them. Harry remained deadpan through the entire ceremony. He even showed no emotion when Sirius came up to him, embraced him and whispered in his ear, "It's okay to cry, Harry." Harry just shrugged. He was ashamed to cry, that was true, but the thing was that he had no emotions to stimulate the tears. So they were dead. Heck, what did it matter, he'd see them again when he died, so what was the big deal? It was after the funeral that Harry reflected upon his thoughts. It was then that Harry realized with an icy grip on his heart that he was perhaps no longer human.
The rest of that summer passed quickly. Before he knew it, they had taken a trip to Diagon Alley.
"Come on, Harry, let's go look in Quality Quidditch Supplies," Ron said, tugging him toward a store with brooms in the window. Harry rolled his eyes. Quidditch? How juvenile! Sighing impatiently he went with Ron into the store. Several boys were gawking at the new Nimbus 2001, Draco Malfoy included. His father was over at the check out counter. He sauntered up to Harry and Ron.
"Potty. Weasel," Draco acknowledged. The tips of Ron's ears turned a bright, angry red. "I see you've come to admire my new broom? I'm going to make the Quidditch team this year—not like either of you could know anything about Quidditch," he said, trying to taunt them. Ron was lapping up the bait like a dog, but Harry just rolled his eyes.
"Why would we care?" asked Harry. "Just because some people need to play a game that requires no brains to make themselves feel better about how they suck at school doesn't mean that we do." Harry was bored with Malfoy's antics. "Let's go, Ron. I don't know about you, but this place and these people bore me." With that, Harry left the shop, both Malfoy and Ron gaping after him dumbly.
The cool fall air felt good against Harry's skin, though he did not acknowledge it. He just kept walking—he was trying to find a shop that perhaps interested him, yet there was nothing. He walked and walked until he hit a dark little bookshop. Harry looked around him—the streets were more empty, the sky seemed darker, even the cobblestone street had changed color. Was he even still in Diagon Alley? Harry shrugged—what did it matter? He'd finally found an interesting store. Harry walked in. He was the only person in the store it seemed. He wound up through the different aisles of tomes. 'Curses and Hexes of the Dark Ages', 'Potions, Poisons, and Other Nasty Deaths', 'How to Own and Control XXXXX Creatures', 'The Rise of the New Dark Ages' and other titles lined the shelves of the little bookstore. Harry was running his fingers along the spine of one, when someone barked behind him,
"You! Who are you?" It was a little old man. He had a nasty look on his face that could only mean trouble. Harry didn't even blink an eyelash.
"No one of great interest," he said. The bookshop owner eyed his suspiciously for a moment and then looked at the title of the book he had picked out, 'Advanced Spells, Charms and Curses for the Ambitious Young Wizard'.
"You're a Slytherin then, up at that school," the old wizard said gruffly. "Aye, you'll like that one. Follow me." The little old man went across the aisle to another group of shelves. He plucked some books off the shelves. "You'll like these, too." Harry looked at the titles and agreed with the man—he probably would find these books of interest. He paid a hefty price for the stack of books and then, shoving them into his bag with the rest of his school supplies, he left the little store.
"Harry! What d'yeh think yer doin' down here?" Harry turned to see the half-giant, Hagrid, standing over him.
"I was lost," Harry lied easily. "I can't find my way out. Where are we?" Hagrid didn't answer his question, only took him by the scruff of his neck and led him out. He was muttering,
"Skulkin' around in Knockturn Alley, I dunno—dodgy place, Harry—don' want no one ter see yeh down there," he said.
"I told you, I was lost," Harry said impatiently. He made a mental note of the rundown little alley's name. "What were you doing down there?" He countered.
"Lookin' fer a flesh-eatin' slug repellent," Hagrid growled. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages." Harry didn't feel the need to respond, especially as moments later he saw Rose waving to him.
"Harry! Harry, over here!" Rose said. She ran up to Harry, Ginny not far behind her. Harry smiled. He knew that Rose was terribly excited to go to Hogwarts this coming year, and her excitement had only increased when they had come to Diagon Alley for school supplies. "Harry look, I got my wand!" she shrieked with excitement.
"Me too!" said Ginny. Both girls were positively ecstatic as they showed him the sparks that they could shoot with their wands.
"Where've you been, Harry?" asked Rose curiously once their excitement dimmed slightly.
"Oh, around," Harry said. Rose looked at him curiously for a moment, but just then Mrs. Weasley bustled forth.
"Oh there you are dearies! Come, come, it's time we met up with your brothers at Flourish and Botts… Oh, Harry! I thought you were with Ron? Oh, well, come come," she said quickly and herded them like sheep to Flourish and Botts. There was a book signing going on, apparently there was some really famous wizard there named Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry paid no heed to him and went about getting his books—he found that oddly enough all of their defense books were by this Lockhart guy. He snorted as he looked at the blonde man—he didn't look like he had enough brains to keep breathing. He shook his head. That was what the theory of Natural Selection was for—to keep guys like him from wasting space.
"I've got my books," Harry told Ron when he was finished. He was talking with that Granger girl from school—Hermione was her name. They stopped talking.
"Oh, right, erm, would you mind grabbing mine, too?" Ron asked sheepishly. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said. Hermione looked confused. He could hear them whispering as he went to find copies of the books for Ron.
"Isn't that Harry Potter? That quiet boy from Slytherin?" asked Hermione.
"Yeah. He was orphaned last year, him and his little sister, Rose. They've been living with us," Ron explained reluctantly.
"Oh. Is he nice?" Hermione wanted to know.
"You mean, does he act like an arrogant Slytherin git? Well, he's arrogant, I'll give you that. He's not mean though, and he keeps his nose out of other people's business. He's fun to hang around with sometimes," Ron said. Harry could sense the discomfort in his voice. He felt annoyance rise within himself. So, he was just the poor little orphan boy that his family had to take in. Well, at least he knew now why the Weasleys were so nice to him. It wasn't because he was fun to be around or because he was cool, or even just because he was nice—it was because they felt sorry for him. Harry came close to slamming his books down hard onto the ground, but thought better of it. Fine. If the world had turned its back on him already, then he'd turn his back on the world. He'd show them all that they had absolutely nothing to feel sorry for.
The last two weeks of summer Harry spent very secluded—it wasn't that hard either, as the Weasley boys were rushing to do the homework they'd been assigned over the summer. Harry had already had it all done in the first week of summer, so he had his own time. Since Harry longed for privacy and seclusion yet he had no room of his own, he found privacy by other means—namely, the dead tree. There was a slight forest that surrounded the Weasley's Qudditch Pitch so that the muggles wouldn't see them playing. In the thick of this forest was an old, dead tree that had yet to be cut down. Harry found that this tree offered the perfect seclusion from the world, and therefore he spent those two weeks up in that tree, reading his books from the little bookshop in Knockturn Alley. Harry had discovered quickly why these books had cost him so much—many of the spells it contained were dark, illegal magic. The better half of him cried out not to read them, but Harry had stomped on that half long ago.
Harry enjoyed reading the books, and soon he longed to practice the forbidden magic within. However, he knew he would get a notice for doing underage magic, and therefore withdrew—he would simply go to the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts to practice. Harry had his favorite books from the dark collection, but the most curious one was a blank book. It was small and thin with a black leather cover. It seemed slightly worn, but Harry didn't mind. The only filled out page said T. M. Riddle on it. Harry supposed that this person had been it's former owner. Harry didn't know what he would do with it—perhaps he would use it to take notes about forbidden spells—but he kept it anyway.
Not soon enough, they were on the Hogwarts Express and hurtling towards the school at full speed. Harry was glad—he'd finally be able to do magic again. The lack of doing magic had damaged him, he was so sure. They arrived at Hogwarts and went to the Great Hall where the feast was traditionally held. Harry waited patiently at the Slytherin table for everyone to file in. He knew that soon after everyone was in order the first years would come in. Harry hoped desperately that his little sister would be in his house—yet, he knew very well that she was too good to be a Slytherin. She would be a Gryffindor, hands down. The rest of his Slytherin housemates sat down.
"Enjoyed your summer with the Weasels, did you?" Malfoy sneered.
"Fudge off, Malfoy," Harry snarled right back, only he didn't say 'fudge'. The profane word, however, did not deter Malfoy, as he went on idly insulting him, his parents, the Weasley's and even his sister as if discussing no more than the weather. Harry ignored him just as he had always done. Finally Malfoy shut up when the sorting had begun. It sang a song similar to the year before only slightly varied. 'Pamela Abbathy' 'Hufflepuff' 'James Aberforth' 'Gryffindor'. Harry waited patiently as the names were called. They were down to P's and then his little sister was called up.
"Rose Potter," McGonagall spoke in her clear, concise voice. Rose got up and confidently walked up to the hat and placed it on her head. It didn't take long for the hat to shout out "Gryffindor". Harry could guess what the hat had been debating about, and he was pretty darn sure it wasn't between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Rose's face glowed as she took a seat next to the Weasleys, her new older brothers, Harry thought bitterly. A Slytherin may have taken his parents, but a group of Gryffindors had taken his sister, and Harry found that to be the greater sin. Harry barely listened when all the other names were called. He didn't listen even as all the Weasleys cheered as their little sister made it into Gryffindor. They were cheering because their entire family had made it into one house. Wasn't that just what the Slytherins did? Harry was suddenly finding his house not quite so evil.
Their Professor of Defense that year was an absolute moron. He was that egocentric celebrity from Flourish and Botts and Harry wasn't at all happy to see him teaching possibly the most important subject in school. Since he already knew everything that the idiot could possibly teach him, he often spent that class period with a book on his lap about more advanced dark arts. All he had to do was slip the cover of one of the buffoon's books onto whichever book he felt like reading and the oaf bought it. Only once did he ask Harry to show the class what he was reading. When he did, of course, the class started laughing, accused him of being homosexual and that babbling imbecile just flashed him a smile (a 'Witch Weekly's' five times winning smile, at that) and never bothered him again, which suited Harry just fine. Let the other kids think what they wanted to—perhaps they would leave him alone more if they thought he was even more of a freak. Not that anyone didn't think he was a freak or didn't leave him alone anyway.
Perhaps the only thing interesting that happened to Harry during that class was the day when he decided to use his notebook—or rather, the one that he had gotten for free at the shabby little bookstore. He was just writing down some notes about an excellent little curse—Sectumsempra, it was called—when he realized that the book was sucking in the ink and writing back to him.
'Ah, Secumsempra. A fabulous little curse, if I do say so myself,' the book read. Harry knew that he had not written that line. Quickly, when he was sure that the "professor" wasn't looking, he scrawled,
'What magic is this?' It took a moment for the book to reply.
'A special kind of magic. I could teach it to you, if you'd like.' Harry looked around once again to make sure no one was looking. Some one was looking at him this time—it was that stupid Granger girl. No doubt she was trying to figure out if he'd be willing to compare notes after class or not. He paid her no heed and wrote back anyway.
'Who are you?' The book paused, then wrote back.
'My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. What's yours?'
'Harry,' Harry scrawled. 'Harry James Potter.' It was right then that the bell rang. Harry stood and was going to go straight to the library and skip lunch when that annoying, bushy-haired girl came up to him. He noticed that her friends, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville were all waiting for her and watching after with awe. Was she bonkers? Who in their right mind would talk to a Slytherin—let alone Lone Wolf Potter, as he had come to be known as.
"Hi, I don't know if you know me but I'm--," Hermione began, Harry cut her off with a laugh.
"Hermione Granger. Of course. It's hard for one not to notice you—you're always sticking your hand up as high as it will go in class. What do you want?" Harry said curtly. Hermione was taken aback by his forward approach.
"I, well, I saw that you're the only other person in class besides me who was taking notes, and I was wondering if we could--," Hermione tried again, but Harry again interrupted.
"Compare. I wasn't taking any damn notes, and what I was doing, quite frankly, isn't any of your business, Granger," Harry said, and stalked off to the library, leaving a stricken Hermione and her equally shocked comrades behind.
Harry found himself learning much from the talking diary over the next couple of weeks. Tom was someone who he could talk to. Tom was someone who understood him because he was much like Harry himself. He taught Harry different Dark spells and how to execute the ones he already knew how to do properly.
'If only I could come out and show you myself,' Tom would muse sometimes. Harry would smile at that.
'I wish,' he'd write back.
It was on Halloween that an intriguing event occurred. Harry had near refused to go to the Halloween feast and even took a nap beforehand on the off-chance that no one would wake him to make him go. Much to his dismay, someone woke him up all right. Harry got his wish though—he hadn't wanted to go to the feast, and now he didn't have to, for in a corridor on the way there was Filch's dead cat. Harry didn't think that this would hold up the feast entirely under normal circumstances, but written above the cat (which was hung by it's tail on a lit torch) was writing in blood that very distinctly said,
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
'Well, that's queer,' Harry thought to himself while a ton of fuss was being made over the stupidest thing—the fact that the Gryfindor second years, or rather just Ron, Hermione and Dean, were there before anyone else. Harry rolled his eyes. Like they would even be possible candidates for doing such a thing. Harry knew that the Granger girl loved cats, Dean was squeamish, and Ron hated spiders. Not one of these qualities indicated the capability to kill a cat. Not only that, but not one of them had a spot of blood on them. Harry on the other hand, saw that his finger was slightly dripping with blood. He looked at it for a moment, 'humphed', said, "Curious." and walked away.