Disclaimer: I've tried to extol the virtues of altruism to JK Rowling in regards to her copyright of Harry Potter, but my argument was ruined when she realized that, if given the chance, her legacy would be driven into the ground by fanfic authors like me.

Note: a couple reviewers pointed out how awful of a cliché Dumbledore sounded like at the end of the last chapter. That wasn't my intention (Dumbledore does not believe that Voldemort can be redeemed), so I changed the last line. Check it out, if you like.

Harry Silvertongue

Lesson Five: Reflections

"Every once in a long while my father sobers up. It's always an accident, and maybe one time out of ten, he doesn't blame me for hiding his booze. So maybe once a year or so, he's actually a somewhat decent human being, and he'll talk about my mother without being drunk off his ass. I learned very quickly not to mess those times up."

Harry absently watched the bright green countryside as it rolled past the window of his compartment, pondering the year's events. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione sitting across from him doing the same. He had coaxed her back in to see Martin with sincere apologies and assurances that no more boggarts would be involved in the Life Debt experiments, but they had not found any usable or even detectable link between the two. Of course she refused to try to attack Harry, so even that piece of lore went untested. Still, she had proven to be a valuable friend, even if she had become a little overbearing about revising for year-end exams. He found the irony amusing: the one among them who least needed to study was the same one who did the most of it.

Tracey, though, had not found it amusing at all. Harry glanced over to see her leaning against Daphne's shoulder, snoring softly. Apparently the most talkative Slytherin of the three had gotten tired of talking about their plans for the summer and trying to coax Harry's out of him. He mentally grimaced at the thought. He'd gained some measure of self-confidence over the year, but he'd have to revert to hiding it well. The dread he felt as the end of the term approached helped, and he didn't correct his friends when they mistook it for anxiety over the exams. He probably should have, though, since it was yet another point of tension between her and Hermione.

Daphne took her impromptu occupation as a pillow in stride, the only sound from her direction coming from the turn of a page of her book. She, at least, seemed to get on well enough with the polarizing Gryffindor...or perhaps merely felt resigned to her presence. Despite being well behind her in terms of overall rankings, as the second highest in their little group and a fellow voracious reader, Daphne had been able to stave off redundant library sessions by promising to make her fellow Slytherins revise appropriately once back in their common room. Before their nap she had engaged Neville in what was for him a rather awkward conversation about his Gran, though her face twitched in what Harry recognized as annoyance when the nervous boy knew very little about her role in the Wizengamot and the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

Neville was, perhaps unsurprisingly, as quiet in his slumber as he was when awake. What was surprising was that he felt comfortable enough to sleep in their present company. He was a steadfast friend, but Daphne and Tracey seemed to delight in reducing him to stutters and blushes. It might have been mean-spirited at first, but his low self-esteem 'took all the fun out of it,' Tracey claimed. Harry smiled at the memory of the time he turned the tables on her, causing her to blush when he sincerely claimed that she was nicer to him than most of the people in his own House. Martin had mentioned the history between the Potters and Longbottoms, but Neville actually knew quite a bit about it. They were even distantly related, it seemed, sharing a common ancestor in the former Hogwarts Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry had been amazed and hopeful at that revelation, and immediately began hatching a plan to ingratiate himself with the formidable-sounding Gran, at least until Neville further explained that Harry was actually much more closely related to Draco Malfoy. Suddenly the idea of moving in with his nearest magical cousin hadn't seemed like such a good idea.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, wrenching him out of his reminiscence. Daphne looked up as well, though Neville and Tracey continued sleeping. "You will...you will write this summer, won't you?" Daphne rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

He smiled at her. "I said I would, didn't I? I told Hedwig to stay out of sight so she won't be locked up with me all summer. She'll be happy to carry letters for us, I'm sure."

"I know," she said uncertainly, "but I wasn't very nice to you after...you tried to help figure out what was going on with us."

"Ah," Harry said, fighting embarrassment, "if I'd known he was going to bring a boggart..."

"But hey, we learned a spell we wouldn't have otherwise learned, didn't we?" Hermione countered with a forced smile. Harry was thankful she left out the fact that they didn't learn it until much later...once she had finally forgiven Martin for making her live through an imitation of a very angry Professor McGonagall loudly dispensing rather unfavorable judgments of the studious Gryffindor's intelligence and work ethic before expelling her. "And besides," she continued, "I wasn't very nice to you after the troll incident, either."

"So we both made mistakes, right? I mean, I know all of my other friends are perfect—" he began.

"You got that right," Daphne interjected in a shamelessly smug voice.

"—but I'm pretty sure we can stay friends despite that," he finished. After the words came out of his mouth, he reflected on the fact that he still felt rather good about his friendship with Hermione now, even though she actually avoided him for a good portion of the year, and he'd been confused and hurt because of it. Well, he'd been confused at her behavior until it was his fault, anyway.

In contrast, he felt like something had changed in his memory of Will. His advice had at first seemed like some absolute, unassailable wisdom. But Harry had found himself disagreeing with it on occasion and relying on it less and less these days. Then it hit him: Will had been trying to share observations and conclusions based his own experience, but that didn't mean Harry's would be the same. Will never had the opportunity to leave his entire world behind. Sure, Harry had faced a different set of challenges with his sudden fame, but the change had been overwhelmingly positive.

Harry was having the worst summer ever. Okay, it only seemed that way in comparison to the school year, he admitted to himself. He should have been used to it, but after a week, then two without hearing from Hermione, he knew something was wrong. By the time his twelfth birthday rolled around, he thought it might be his memory that was wrong. Hedwig grew increasingly agitated when she'd return empty-handed – or empty-clawed, rather – so Harry quit writing. He received no indication that his friends expected differently.

His relatives had largely left him to his own devices. It seemed he didn't have to try very hard to follow Tracey's parting suggestion on the platform at King's Cross: letting his relatives believe he could use magic at home. The corner of his mouth drew upward as he recalled how Neville gasped, Tracey stuck her tongue out at Hermione's dirty look, Daphne laughed...

Harry sighed, forcing the thoughts of the people he had considered his friends out of his mind and went back to his weeding. The effort to do it correctly wasn't little enough that he could let his mind wander, so he tried to imagine he was just in Herbology, listening to Professor Sprout's instructions. Lightly dig down to the root, grasp firmly but not sharply, pull slowly and steadily.

It didn't work. He didn't care for Herbology anyway.

"You missed one," Aunt Petunia said just when he'd finished.

Her voice wasn't annoyed or angry, so Harry said nothing. He quickly pulled the one her thin, bony finger pointed out and added it to the garbage bag, then looked up for his next task. He was surprised to see her dressed in sort of a fancy, bright, flowery dress and matching sun hat.

"Go clean up," she said, "then meet me in Dud—the spare bedroom."

Harry's eyebrows raised at the fact that she changed her mind when she started to call it Dudley's second bedroom, but he dashed off into the house before she could change her mind again.

"Your uncle has a very important business meeting tonight," she said after he'd quickly showered and dressed. "So you are to stay here, and stay quiet. If this goes well, you may stay in this room for the remainder of the summer."

He nodded and kept his eyes downcast, not daring to show his surprise or excitement. It could have been a trick, Harry thought, if she wasn't acting so bizarrely. Surely her anxiety over this meeting couldn't be the only reason for actually providing a reasonably-sized bedroom for the first time. Sure, it was filled with broken toys and electronics, but already he was trying to figure out what he might do with so much space.

Just then the doorbell rang, and without a word she turned on her heel and left the room. No sooner had she closed the door when a small, reedy, pointy-eared creature materialized on Harry's bed, peering at him with large green eyes. His skin was tinted slightly redder than normal human skin, as if his entire body had a light sunburn.

Harry jumped in surprise and only barely held back a yelp. Was this creature why Aunt Petunia was acting so odd? "What—who are you?" Harry took a step back with his right foot and turned to the side to mask the fact that his hand was inching toward his wand. He never let it out of his sight, after all, even in the shower.

"Dobby is a House Elf, Harry Potter, sir—"

"How do you know my name?" The question must have come out harsher than Harry intended, because the fragile-looking thing cowered pathetically.

"Everybody is knowing Harry Potter's name, sir! Dobby is just—"

"Okay, okay," Harry said, cutting off the creature's squeaking, "just keep it down, will you?"

"Yes, yes!" Dobby said, still squeaking loudly. "Dobby just came to warn Harry Potter...Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts. He must stay where he is safe! If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

Harry blinked at that. "What mortal danger?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter," Dobby said uncertainly. "A plot to—"

"You'll need to be more specific than that, Dobby," Harry said impatiently, but Dobby only started making loud choking sounds, then started bashing his head on the bedpost. "No, no, stop, stop," Harry said frantically. After the sounds subsided he strained to hear any indication that they'd heard downstairs, but he heard nothing. He sighed in relief. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Harry Potter must not go to Hogwarts—"

"Yeah, I got that part," Harry said wryly. "So, I just give you my word and you'll be happy?"

Dobby's eyes widened. "Yes! Yes, Harry Potter gives his word, and Dobby gives Harry Potter his birthday presents and other letters from his friends, and Dobby will be very happy indeed!"

It took a moment for Harry to recover from the shock, but a spike of red-hot fury made him grip his wand so hard that his knuckles turned white. With some difficulty he fought down the urge to hex this creature into oblivion; it helped that he had no inkling of the creature's abilities. "Very well," Harry ground out, then coughed to cover up the anger that had seeped into his voice. "I give you my word. May I have the letters, now?"

Dobby beamed, apparently unaware of the close call. "Of course, Harry Potter, sir!" He snapped his fingers and a bundle of letters appeared in his hand, along with a number of small packages wrapped like birthday presents strewn about the bed. "Thank you for—"

Harry tuned the little creature out at the feeling of elation rising in his chest. He hadn't imagined the previous year after all! He barely even noticed Dobby snap his fingers and fade away as he tore into the pile of letters, presents nearly forgotten on his new bed.

"Harry, it's so good to see you!" Hermione said, wrapping Harry in a solid hug right there in the driveway at Privet Drive, right in front of her parents and probably the Dursleys as well. He felt relieved enough to see a friendly face that it didn't occur to him right away to be embarrassed by that. "Sorry we're early, Mum and Dad thought they might have a chat with your relatives before we left, swap stories about finding out about the – about our world that is, and seeing Diagon Alley and...where are your robes? I suppose you don't need them quite yet, but of course I've had mine on since this morning, and..."

"Hello, Hermione," he said with a laugh, his voice brighter than he intended despite the shudder-inducing thought of the Grangers bringing up the m-word in front of the Dursleys. He felt his face heat at the amused smiles her parents wore upon witnessing the reunion. Hermione's father was a very kind-looking man with thick, mostly gray hair, sharp, light brown eyes, a slightly turned-up nose, and a small but bright white smile – just like Harry would expect from a dentist. The gray hair didn't make him look old; the skin around his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, but other than that he looked...refined, Harry supposed.

The resemblance between Hermione and her father was mostly limited to the eyes and nose, but looking at her mother was like a glimpse into the future. She had the same brown hair, though hers was actually done up prettily, as opposed to her daughter's usual bushy tangle. Their faces were shaped the same and shared many of the same features, and they both had thin but fairly wide-shouldered builds. Mrs. Granger's eyes may have been a darker brown, but they held the same soft and friendly gaze.

Harry also thought Hermione looked different in the nearly three months since he'd seen her. She was more tan, of course, but other than that he couldn't really place it. She smiled just as brightly as usual as Harry shook hands with her father and her mother. "Well, shall we go meet your relatives?" She glanced toward the house meaningfully.

"I...er, don't think that's a good idea," Harry said slowly, trying to avoid showing how avidly he did not want that to happen. "They're...busy," he added. "Sorry, I should have mentioned that earlier."

"Aren't your relatives even going to see you off?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Harry almost snorted. "No," he said instead, but he realized that probably sounded rude. "They already said their goodbyes. Sorry..."

"Oh, no need to apologize, Harry," Mr. Granger said, sharing a look with his wife and then directing it toward the house. They'd shut off their rather nice-looking sedan, and Harry felt bad since he felt like he was being rude, but he consoled himself that it would be much worse if he subjected them to the Dursleys' idea of hospitality for anything related to magic. Hermione's father turned back and smiled genially. "Right, shall we away, then?"

Harry picked up his fraying, faded blue, hand-me-down backpack containing his robes and nodded eagerly, not wanting his uncle to come out and change his mind. His relatives had actually been in a good mood for the past week; apparently Vernon's meeting had been a success since they'd gone out to eat a number of times since then, leaving Harry alone at home. He'd even cooked dinner for himself once, making one of the best meals he had ever eaten at Privet Drive. Vernon had barely even batted an eyelash when Harry asked if he could go get his school supplies with his friend and her 'normal' parents. Of course he didn't mention that they would be meeting up with Neville and his Gran at the Leaky Cauldron. He had arranged it like that to minimize his relatives' objections, and because Tracey and Daphne had already made plans...not to mention the latter had sent him a somewhat unfriendly letter when he never replied to her first two, which he quickly attempted to rectify with profuse apologies.

Hermione chattered excitedly almost nonstop in the car. Of course, she'd done all her homework months ago, and she heaped on gushing praise when Harry lied about finishing his as well. He was close enough that it wasn't that serious of a lie...all he had to do was say he put his History of Magic essay out of his mind as soon as he'd finished it, when in reality he hadn't even started. Then he simply distracted her by talking about his favorite subject: Transfiguration. With stern taskmaster Professor McGonagall in charge, it wasn't his favorite class, but he could easily see that it was the most useful subject in the curriculum.

On the contrary, Hermione thought that Charms deserved that title. The debate lasted all the way to the Granger's doorstep, much to the amusement of Hermione's parents.

"Hermione," Mr. Granger interrupted finally, "would you like to give Harry a tour while we wait? We aren't supposed to meet the Longbottoms for nearly two hours."

Harry shuddered at the thought of these kind, unassuming people spending that much time with the Dursleys. They seemed perfectly content to let Hermione talk the entire way home, not even bothering to ask him questions about himself. For a moment he wondered why, until he realized that, at this rate, Hermione could have reenacted every conversation she had with Harry over the past year. They probably knew as much about him as she did.

"Of course, daddy," she replied, then her eyes lit up. "Come on, Harry, I'll show you my room!"

"A boy in your room at twelve, Hermione?" Her mother smiled mischievously, and Harry had to reevaluate his previous thought about them looking so much alike. He'd never seen that expression on Hermione's face! "Well, I never!"

Hermione sputtered and blushed heavily at her parents' laughter, and Harry couldn't help but laugh along even if it came out a bit nervously. "Mother," she whined.

"I'm just teasing, honey," she said, still smiling widely. "Do you two want some sandwiches while we wait?"

The contrast between this and the Dursleys couldn't be more drastic, Harry thought. He smile faded as he felt a familiar, uncomfortable burning sensation behind his eyes as he realized it was the first bit of food in months that someone else was going to prepare for him. "That would be brilliant, thank you," he said, quickly turning away so they wouldn't see.

"—Harry?"

Only at the sound of his name did Harry realize that Hermione had been speaking to him. He'd been engrossed in his book: what Hermione called a short high fantasy novel entitled The Book of Three, which she'd recommended as a 'nice, quick' read – though Harry raised an eyebrow after finding it had just over two hundred pages – after a quick tour of the Granger home. Harry thought their house was about the same size as the Dursleys except for the extra bedroom-turned-office where Harry had changed into his robes and a separate formal dining room in addition to the smaller kitchen table. Hermione had explained during the tour that her parents considered having more children, but they were worried by the accidental magic. Harry thought it was quite unfair that the Grangers had to wait so long to find out about accidental magic. "Hmm?"

"I said," Hermione began with mock exasperation, "sorry, this must be terribly boring—"

"Not at all," Harry interjected. He really was enjoying the book; he'd been startled to realize he never finished his sandwich and he was already on page eighty. Eilonwy had just freed Taran and they'd just stumbled out of the underground passage with a magical sword from some old lord's barrow underneath Spiral Castle. It made Harry wonder what secrets lay under Hogwarts.

Hermione gave him an embarrassed smile. "Still, I should have asked if you wanted to play chess or...whatever those card games are that Neville sometimes plays with Dean and Seamus. We don't have the wizarding versions or anything, but..."

Harry laughed. "Really, Hermione, I don't mind this at all. Daphne and I do this all the time in the common room. Well, not reading stuff like this, of course," he said, holding up the book, "and it only lasts until Tracey makes us do something more social together. But I like it."

She smiled brightly and opened her mouth to respond, but a call from downstairs interrupted her. Then she gasped lightly as she glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. "I didn't realize we'd been up here so long! Ready to go?"

"Sure!" He stood, stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth when she had her back turned, and followed her out.

Harry and the Grangers piled back into the car, and Harry was grateful that they didn't tease him and Hermione any further. In fact, they just beamed at him in much the same way their daughter did earlier. The drive to Charing Cross Road was a short one, but filled with a same one-sided conversation as the trip to the Grangers. Harry inwardly chuckled at whatever Hermione's odd, apparent personality quirk was that made her want to talk while traveling. Perhaps she got motion sickness if she didn't distract herself with words.

"Neville!" Hermione called, drawing the eye of every patron in the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't seem to notice, however, she just dashed over to their table near the door and pulled the hapless boy into a quick hug. "Sorry we're a bit late, Harry and I were over at my house and we lost track of time reading, and then my father had such a horrid time finding a place to park—"

Neville's grandmother cleared her throat loudly, at which time Hermione promptly cut off her breathless monologue and flushed with embarrassment.

Neville stood and cleared his throat then, and it seemed like he had sprouted a bit over the summer, Harry noted with a small pang of jealousy. "Gran, these are my friends Hermione Granger and...Harry Potter," Neville said formally, adding the last quietly, for which Harry was grateful. "Harry, Hermione, my grandmother, Madam Augusta Longbottom."

"Pleased to meet you, Madam Longbottom," Harry said with a small bow, trying to match the formality of the situation. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, but at least the heat from the Longbottom Matriarch's gaze no longer seared him. Poor Hermione, on the other hand, was beet red. She spluttered out a similar introduction for her parents, who themselves looked embarrassed to be meeting Neville's Gran. Anxious to be away from the awkwardness, Harry quickly said, "I'm curious to see what the deal is with all these Lockhart books; anybody up for Flourish and Blotts?"

Relieved for the interruption, Hermione quickly took to the idea and made her escape with Harry, tugging he and Neville along with her toward the back door and leaving the adults to follow. Unfortunately, they only made it as far as the entrance to Diagon Alley just out the back door before they hit their first snag: opening it.

"I know the pattern, but I don't know if it will violate the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery," Hermione said.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, though he should have known. He'd been through this way once, but he certainly couldn't remember which bricks Hagrid had tapped over a year earlier. "Well, I say you give it a try," Harry said with a grin.

His grin turned into a laugh as her face went through a range of emotions, from anxiety to a sort of sneaky consideration and back. "No," she finally decided, "we had better wait for Madam Longbottom to catch up."

"Yeah, you don't want Gran angry at you," Neville said quietly, glancing back at the door to make sure said woman wasn't with them yet. Harry noted the shudders his companions gave. Madam Longbottom made Professor McGonagall's disposition seem downright sunny by comparison. The adults emerged from the Leaky Cauldron, and the students fell silent as they made their way to Flourish & Blotts.

No sooner had they entered when they ran into a big crowd of people blocking any path into the stacks. Hermione whimpered softly, causing Harry to chuckle. His amusement was short-lived, however, when she grabbed Harry's and Neville's hands and started weaving through even the smallest gaps. Neville's face turned as beet red as his own as they started stammering out a rapid string of apologies for jostling everybody in their attempts to keep up.

"It can't be...Harry Potter!" Harry froze at the deep, theatrical voice and then felt himself jerked in a new direction. "Ladies and Gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is..." Harry froze at being the center of so much attention, barely hearing the pompous man who eventually revealed himself to be the very same Gilderoy Lockhart that wrote all of their Defense textbooks for the year...all of which were promptly shoved into Harry's arms just as the man proclaimed, "yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

That must have been Harry's cue to slip away, because he was quickly nudged out of the way as Lockhart waved his arms to his adoring crowd. A gap opened up close to where Harry had lost his friends, so he was able to escape unscathed. Once he reached the edge of the crowd, however, neither Hermione nor Neville were in sight, and neither were their guardians. As the crowd pinched together to form lines to get their books signed, a pair of redheads stumbled into view and froze when they saw Harry.

Harry nodded at Ron and then looked at what must have been his little sister, trying to remember her name from when he told Harry on the train almost a year earlier.

At Ron's continued silence, his sister elbowed him in the ribs. Harry almost chuckled at the mutual glare and silent conversation, which Ron apparently lost. "Er, hi P—Harry?" It came out as a half-question, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to call Harry by his first name.

"Ron," Harry said, nodding once again.

"Right," he said, gulping audibly. "Er, this is my sister, Ginny, you remember me telling you about her?"

"I do," Harry said, giving Ginny a smile, at which she blushed crimson. "Starting Hogwarts this year, aren't you?"

"Y-yes," she stammered, then opened her mouth to say something else.

"Famous Harry Potter," a familiar voice drawled, "can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page, can you?"

"Perhaps you've forgotten, Malfoy," Harry said with a small smile, deliberately not nodding to him, "but I recall going quite unnoticed in Madam Malkin's last year."

Draco's face reddened at that, and Ginny giggled. "What's this, Potter? Got yourself a girlfriend?" He looked her up and down with visible distaste. "Obviously a Weasley...well, there's no accounting for taste."

Both Weasleys flushed red with anger instead of embarrassment, and Ron dropped his books in Ginny's cauldron and started toward the obnoxious Slytherin.

"Ron, there you are," an older man with thinning red hair pushed through the crowd with Fred and George in tow. "It's a bit crowded in here, what say we let your mother finish up in here and go outside?"

Before he could answer, yet another voice drawled from the other direction. "Well, well, well, if it isn't...Arthur Weasley." Harry turned to find an aged reflection of Draco with longer platinum blonde hair – obviously Draco's father – staring down his nose at the other man.

"Lucius," Arthur said, eyes narrowed.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Lucius said, "I do hope they're paying you overtime?" He bent over and picked up an old, battered copy of what Harry recognized as their Transfiguration textbook. "Obviously not," the long, blonde-haired man muttered. "What's the point in being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Arthur flushed in anger as well, which made Lucius smirk slightly. Harry wondered if every relationship in Hogwarts simply continued from the behavior of the students' parents. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he retorted. At the clever inflection and carefully chosen words, Harry's eyebrows went up along with his estimation of Mr. Weasley.

"Clearly," said Lucius, his eyes drawn toward Hermione and Neville, who were now approaching with her parents. Luckily his Gran was nowhere in sight; she probably stuck near the entrance to direct her disappointed stare at all of the people gathered for autographs. Arthur saw them as well, and took in the clearly Muggle clothing of the Grangers. "The company you keep, Weasley...and I thought your family could sink no lower."

Harry stumbled back into Ginny and dropped his newly acquired Lockhart books as Arthur launched himself at Lucius, shoving him roughly back toward the bookshelves behind, which promptly collapsed and sent a cascade of heavy tomes down on their heads. Harry's estimation of Mr. Weasley fell back down, though he tried to allow for the fact that there must be quite a bit of history between these two. Still, to allow yourself to be goaded like that...

"All righ', break it up there, gents, break it up!" Hagrid joined the fray and picked each wizard up with one massive hand and set them apart. Draco quickly rushed to his father's side with a glare toward Arthur, while most of the Weasley clan were congratulating their father.

Lucius brushed off his shoulders and smoothed his hair, trying to act like he hadn't just been brawling like a child. "Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you..."

Harry immediately spotted the bulge in the middle of the book as Lucius approached him and Ginny to shove it into her cauldron. Harry quickly intercepted it and held it up so hopefully nobody else saw the smaller book inside. A little leverage over Draco and his father would do quite nicely. "What's this?" He raised an eyebrow at the obvious spike of fear before Lucius affected the same forced indifference his son used on multiple occasions with Harry.

"A ratty, old second-hand book, just as one would expect to find in the hands of a Weasley," Lucius said haughtily. "Come, Draco, before their kind further defile us with their presence."

Harry watched, frowning in confusion, as the older man dragged his son quickly out of the bookshop without any books of their own.

For once, Harry hadn't terribly dreaded his return to Privet Drive. Some part of him wished Hermione had pushed a little harder to get her parents to agree with her invitation to stay the night – he would hardly pass up a chance to escape his relatives – but he was also anxious for this.

He sat on his bed and stared at the small black book he'd removed from Ginny's copy of the Transfiguration textbook, trying to figure out why Lucius Malfoy, a grown wizard, was so frightened of it. Harry's finger had accidentally brushed it as it fell into his pocket, so he knew it wasn't dangerous to touch. He couldn't use his wand to poke and prod at it, but he didn't have the first idea what spells he might use on it anyway. Only the gold-embossed name of T. M. Riddle adorned the cover, and all the pages were blank.

Still, despite its appearance as an empty diary, he didn't like the feeling he got from it. Obviously Malfoy was scared of it, so that must have been the source of Harry's own unease about it. This sort of thing was so far out of his realm of experience that he couldn't think of a single piece of Will's advice that might apply. He took a deep breath and dug a quill and ink out of last year's school supplies. Hello, he scratched out, my name is Harry Potter.

He paused, thinking how he might use the diary, but before he could come up with a plan, he started as the ink started to fade from the page. Then, suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed him right behind the eyes, sending him crashing to the floor in surprise and fright. Taking a few moments to try to massage his headache away without success, he quickly stood, kicked the diary shut, then buried it as deep in his school trunk as he could. No amount of massaging chased the away the pain.

And no amount of pain chased away the desire to write in it again.

A/N:

This one fought me quite a bit, and the distraction of my other projects didn't help on that front. Hopefully it didn't come out too boring. I still like Will's chapterly insights, but you'll note that Harry doesn't actively think about that advice this time (though here it applies to Petunia not being horrible for once). For now I'm thinking that this compromise will continue in future chapters.

I've been reading Lloyd Alexander's The Chronicles of Prydain as a kind of research for some original urban fantasy fiction stuff I'm writing. The first book in that series, The Book of Three, is nice and short, and I think I was even younger than Harry is here the last time I read it. So it seemed like a pretty good recommendation for him. There aren't many obvious parallels between Hogwarts and Spiral Castle except for the secret chambers under both of them, so I had to have Harry read far enough to get to that part.

Lucius Malfoy is not described in canon as having long blonde hair, but Jason Isaacs (the actor who played the part) suggested it and they ran with it. Now I have trouble picturing him any other way.

Let me know what you think!