"Talking/Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

Writing/Text

Tom/Diary

Hello, my name is Tom Riddle.

Harry simply stared down at the parchment, never had it crossed his mind that the diary would respond to the words he had written down. He stayed on his knees while he wrapped his head around what had happened before dipping the quill in the ink once again.

'Could it actually talk back?' He thought, wanting to find out.

Are you able to respond to me?

Yes, I can.

Tell me Harry James Potter, do you belong to the House of Potter?

'Well, there's my answer.' Not only had it answered his question, it had asked its own, which Harry replied with a simple 'yes'. The second question did give him pause, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. Potter was his surname but the way the question was worded made it seem as if it meant more than that. Also, based off on how 'Tom', Harry was choosing to refer to it by the name it had given, had framed the question gave him the impression that it was important how he responded. First, he needed to find out what 'Tom' had meant.

What do you mean Potter Family?

The Potters, a Pure-Blood family capable of tracing its lineage as far back as the 12th Century.

That can't be right, surely? His mother was a muggle-born! So maybe 'Tom' was referring to a different family that had the name Potter, and Harry was about to write down how he had no belonging to any House or to any family that was pure-blooded before stopping himself. Family. Isn't that what he had wanted to be a part of for so long, a family that he could call his own? He thought back to his first year at Hogwarts, to the late nights slipping away under his invisibility cloak, returning to the same abandoned room. Harry's eyes grew downcast at what had the room contained, what it had allowed him so see, if only for a moment, what he could have had. The Mirror of Erised had shown him his greatest and most deepest desire of having his parents, of having a family. He couldn't bring himself to write down the word 'no' and he was not sure enough that he could confirm to 'Tom' that he did belong, so he closed the diary before hiding it once again underneath his robes.

Rising slowly from where he had been, knees aching as he did so, Harry resolved to find an answer as soon as he could. He laid back on his bed absentmindedly, allowing himself just the smallest flicker of hope that he could have a family which he could call his own. It was with that thought that finally fell to sleep.

Harry wasn't surprised when he woke up feeling sluggish and groggy, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. Looking out the window he saw the sun just barely rising over the horizon, peeling back the darkness bit by bit.

Swing his legs to hang over the side of the bed, he slipped each foot to their respective slipper before walking out the door and down the stairs. He descended as quietly as he could knowing not everyone was an early riser.

It wasn't until he reached the ground floor of the home that he took notice of the conversation happening at the kitchen table.

"-think it's a good idea to head towards the Ministry, no doubt gossiping about that scuffle between you and Malfoy." Mrs. Weasley said, concern evident in her voice as she fussed over Mr. Weasley. Her back was to towards Harry, who had inched deeper into the living room, curious about what was being said.

At the head of the kitchen table sat the Weasley patriarch, who shrugged at his wife's words before commenting.

"Would you have me give the image that I'm scared of Lucius? No, I need to go."

Harry made sure the next steps he took were a bit louder so they took notice of his presence. At the sound of it, both adults turned to him, gentle smiles replacing the previous looks on their faces, one worried and the other determined.

"Hello there Harry, slept well did you?" Mr. Weasley asked, and Harry's face might have given away just exactly how much rest he got during the night as the older male noticed the slight bags under his eyes, not well hidden with his pale skin tone.

"The ghoul's clattering up in the attic kept you up, didn't it?"

"...Ron's snoring wasn't enough to drown it out." Harry couldn't help but add, producing a small chuckle from Mr. Weasley. His wife turned to him; amusement clear on her face as she pointed a single finger at him.

"He gets the snoring from you, y'know." Mrs. Weasley pointed out, causing a sheepish look to form on her husband's face having nothing to say against it. He stood up and kissed her on the cheek.

"Right, I'm off." Mr. Weasley announced before walking into the living room past him, patting Harry on the shoulder as he did. Grabbing hold of his briefcase in one hand in front of the fireplace that was burning away, he reached for the Floo powder before tossing it in, voicing his destination to the 'Ministry of Magic'.

Harry watched as he stepped in through the green flames, recalling his first experience with the Floo and wondering if all forms of magical travel were as troublesome. It was the voice of Mrs. Weasley that snapped him out of thoughts.

"Why don't you sit down on the couch there Harry, while I get started on cooking breakfast. Shouldn't take long, I'll bring it out to the table once it's ready." She offered him. Harry turned to look at her before he answered her.

"Could…could I watch as you cook…I can help if you need me too!" His voiced started hesitant, almost afraid of daring to ask a question before he forced himself to finish. Mrs. Weasley was about to wave it off by the middle of it before she caught sight of his face by the end of it. She must have noticed a hint of aching in his features, as her face softened before agreeing.

They both walked into the kitchen, with the older woman taking the lead as she started casting charms to boiling some water, muttering to herself about preparing smashed potatoes and some sausages. Neither spoke a word a for a while, one content to go about her preparation while the other mustered up the courage to speak.

"Were the Potters pure blood?" Harry blurted out, cringing a little of the way he asked the question. Mrs. Weasley had turned her head to meet his eyes, processing his words and his face before lowering the heat on the sausages with a wave of her wand. She regarded him for another couple of seconds, taking the time to get her thoughts in order.

"Where did this question come from exactly?" She asked him.

He hesitated at her own question, not wanting to divulge the existence of the diary for some reason, finally coming up with a reasonable story in a second.

"At Flourish and Blotts…I found this passage in a book I was just glancing…it referenced families that were considered 'pure' and I saw my name in it and I was wondering…" Harry finished, speaking in a low tone by the end of it.

"Well, to put it simply, yes they were pure-blood." Mrs. Weasley confirm to him before continuing. "That trend was broken when your father married your mother." She finished, looking for an indication to what he was feeling. Walking towards where he stood, she guided him towards the chairs around the table, having him sit down before taking a seat herself next to him.

"But from what I can remember, they did not look down on muggles and muggle-borns, as was the case with other families." Harry looked at her, the next question he had easier to ask now that he saw she was taking him seriously.

"So…they weren't bad people, like the Malfoys?"

"No, nothing like that family, Harry." She seemed at war with herself, weighing if she could tell the boy, a 12-year-old boy yes, but still a boy in her eyes, the answers he looked for and all that came with it.

"Just because a family is pure-blood does not make the members bad, each person is their own, do you understand Harry?" Mrs. Weasley waited for him to accept those words for what they meant before continuing. "The Weasleys are pure-blood, the Prewetts, where I come from, are also pure-blooded. Does that make us bad?"

"No, of course not!" Harry shook his head, not wanting to give the impression that he thought them bad people. They've treated him kindly, better than the Dursleys even!

"And if a person are a pure-blood and were born into a house with a bad reputation, that still doesn't make the person themselves bad, take the woman my uncle, Ignatius Prewett, married."

She took a moment to gather herself, her eyes growing slightly misty. Harry could tell that whoever these people were meant a lot to older woman.

"Her name was Lucretia, my aunt, and she was born into the Black family. A kinder woman…a more loving woman you would be hard pressed to find."

Her voice wavered almost on the verge of tears as she spoke, and an urge to do something, anything, for the woman rose within Harry, but he didn't know what he could do. So, he settled for placing a hand on top of hers that were on the table. She reacted to the touch instantly, taking his hand into both her own and holding it tightly, like a lifeline. Mrs. Weasley looked at him, staring so intently at him that heat rose to his cheeks at the focus in her eyes.

"You…are the spitting image of James, save for your eyes…" She gave him a small smile. "But more like Lily you could not be."

Harry felt a swell of emotion at her words, before dipping his head down to stare at his feet, not knowing what to say or do. He felt fingers touch his chin, gently guiding his head back up to stare at the eyes of the Weasley matriarch.

"That's something to be proud of, don't you think so?"

She didn't wait for a response, sensing that he was to caught up with what he was feeling to respond, or at least with words.

Mrs. Weasley took another deep breath, continuing where she had left off.

"Her maiden name was Black, and the Blacks are a family that very much believed in the superiority of wizards over muggles, especially those whose blood was pure and could trace their history many generations before. A family who had a very dark reputation, unafraid of delving into questionable forms of magic, pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable."

"As black as their name, huh" Harry muttered, earning a snort of amusement from the lady in front.

"Yet the house still had decent people, good people like my Aunt Lucretia, and your grandmother as well." He stiffened in his seat, not having expected that. He looked toward her with an open mouth, eyes wide, still processing what she had said.

"My…my grandmother?" Harry spoke in a whisper. It dawned on him that if he had a mother and a father, then he must have a set of grandparents from either parent!

"Her name…what was her name?" Harry looked at her pleadingly.

Mrs. Weasley gained a look of understanding at his words, and a look of slight pity crossed her face, passing in the blink of an eye.

"Dorea. Her name was Dorea Black, Potter after she married your grandfather, Charlus."

'Grandparents.' He thought to himself. He had grandparents. Not too long ago he was a kid with no parents, with relatives that considered his mere existence a burden, and now he had something to tie himself too. A name that he belonged too, before realizing in what tense they were spoken in. The past tense.

He would never meet them.

Harry felt tears start welling up in his eyes despite his best efforts in keeping them in before dripping down his cheeks against his wishes. In a hurry, he started wiping at them with the sleeve of his shirt, not wanting to be seen as a weak little boy. He felt himself stiffen when he felt arms wrap around him, before relaxing as he realized Mrs. Weasley had taken it upon herself to provide him with a measure of comfort by giving him a hug.

"It's okay to cry, Harry." She whispered into his ear, and whatever weak hold he had on his tears broke at her words, as wept at for the family he could have had. He wept for the father and mother that gave their life in exchange for his. He wept for the grandparents he never got the chance to meet.

Mrs. Weasley held him as he let it out, rubbing his back soothingly. Harry gathered himself after a while, returning the embrace before whispering a quiet 'thank you'. She squeezed in in response before pulling back, before giving him a sad smile.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much about your grandparents. "She told him, continuing to speak before he had the chance to respond." But I can send a letter to someone who might be able to tell you about your grandmother."

Harry smiled thankfully at her before the smile turned shy.

"Umm…could you tell me about your Aunt Lucretia? He asked her, and the smile that lit up her Mrs. Weasley's face was all the answer he needed.

"I would love too! Perhaps I could even tell you about all the mischief my brothers were up to that were drive her spare." Her eyes carried fondness in them as she spoke, before widening in alarm, turning on the spot towards the stove.

"The Breakfast!"

Harry simply laughed.

Breakfast was saved thankfully, and just in time, as the rest of the Weasleys filtered into the kitchen for the morning meal. Harry took it upon himself to serve the plates for each person despite Mrs. Weasleys protests that he needn't have to do so, caving at his pleading look, commenting about bright green eyes and how difficult it was to say no to them.

Unfortunately, Fred and George heard the comment made, and told him his greens eyes would make any girl at Hogwarts swoon at the sight of them when Harry was older, before adding that they already knew of one such girl. Ginny, who had been in the middle of drinking her orange juice, started coughing up a storm at the comment, blushing a fair bit as Harry turned towards her in concern.

The rest of the day past in a blur, as after breakfast the Mrs. Weasley set them to work on de-gnoming the garden, quelling any protest before they began with a single look. She made them understand that under no uncertain terms that they would be allowed to get their brooms and go for a fly unless they finished to her satisfaction.

The task set before them was a long and frustrating made harsher under the unrelenting heat of the sun, occasional breezes offering small reprieve from the heat. It was well into the afternoon that they managed to finish, racing towards the broom shed once the got the go-ahead nod.

Throughout the day, the happenings of the morning, brought on by the diary, lingered in the back of Harry's mind. Yet, as soon as his Nimbus 2000 lifted off the ground and into the air, his head was no longer trouble by his thoughts, at peace while he darted around in the air. Ascending as far as he dared to go, before pitching forward into a steep slope, pushing the broom to its limits.

The speed. The acceleration. The thrill. The joy.

Harry found flying to be a rush of adrenaline he couldn't get enough of, something so intoxicating that he wanted to experience it for as long as he could.

It was a tired but freshly showered Harry that stepped out of the bathroom, walking up two flights of stairs to get to the 5th floor of the Burrow. Knocking twice before opening the door, he caught sight of Ron laying down on his bed, the freckled boy sitting up at the sight of him.

"You done already?" Ron asked him.

"Don't like taking long showers, unlike you." Harry responded with a grin. What he didn't mention was the fact that the Dursleys made sure he didn't take long.

Ron stood up from the bed, grabbing the clean set of clothes he had set aside on the top of his trunk, before making his way towards the door.

"'Least I'm last, can take all the time I want now." Ron said, ruffling his wet hair as he walked past him, laughing as he swatted the offending arm away.

Harry closed the door after a moment, and in the quiet of the room, he allowed himself to think back to what he had learned in the morning, all due to a diary. The diary. One that apparently knew how to talk back and had knowledge within. How did that work? Was there a limit to how much it knew, of how much the creator put inside its covers, or was it more than that? Some sort of complex piece of magic that the upper years learned at Hogwarts.

Green eyes turned to look at his trunk, as if they could look directly at the object of his thoughts.

'I could ask the source, find out how much it knows and how it works.'

Walking towards his trunk, he lifted the lid up with one hand and started rummaging through his robes with his other. Grabbing hold of it, Harry paused, debating whether he should or shouldn't.

'Ron takes a while and Hedwig is out for her nightly hunt.' Harry reasoned in his mind, trying to justify what he wanted to do. 'But I could get caught.' A part of his mind, one accustomed in avoiding attention after years of practice, tried to talk himself out of it. He looked towards the door before nodding to himself, coming to a decision.

Harry pulled out the diary and set it aside, before reaching back in for his potion textbook, which he placed on top of the diary, its larger dimensions hiding it from view. Grabbing a quill and ink, he made his way towards the desk beside his bed, the one Mr. Weasley had levitated from Bill's room, so that he could work on his summer assignments.

'If Ron walks in, then I'll just hide it under the potion's textbook. I doubt Ron will want to think about schoolwork if he doesn't want to, not when there is so much time left in the summer break.' With the plan set, Harry placed the diary to the left of the textbook as he sat down, scooting slightly closer, his head hovering over its cover. Coating the tip of the quill in ink, he opened the diary and began writing, not wanting to waste any more time.

Hello, Tom.

It's Harry Potter, from the House of Potter.

Hello, Harry Potter. It is a pleasure to meet someone from such an illustrious family.

I have a pair of questions to ask you.

Then please, ask them, and I will do my best to answer.

You're a diary, one that seems to know about certain things. Is there a limit to how much you know, only knowing about things that were placed in you? Or are you some sort of advanced piece of magic?

Am I correct in assuming you attend Hogwarts?

I do.

Then surely you have encountered the portraits that dominate the castle walls? Holding within its frames people that once lived, images captured in time. The diary is similar in concept.

'That does make sense, I suppose.' Harry thought to himself, still coming to grips with the fact that he was conversing with a diary. He asked another question, wondering if the diary shared another characteristic like a portrait.

So, you're a real person.

…

I was a real person.

Was?

Tom Riddle is no longer amongst the living.

Oh

I'm sorry…

Harry allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He was speaking to someone who had seemingly already passed away.

How much of what you learned as a person, is in this diary?

Everything I learned, up until I made the diary, is in it.

And you know about my family?

I made it a mission of mine to research all the important families in the magical world.

If that's the case, could tell me what you know of my family?

I could.

And in exchange you can tell me about yourself.

Now that confused him. Why would it want to know about him? Harry wrote the question, wanting an answer.

Myself? Why?

Well, I'm a diary. And the purpose of the diary is to be where the owner confides in, is it not? I want only to help the owner, which ever way that might be.

What would you even want to know about me?

Everything. Your wants in life, your aspirations, the happenings in your life and in the world around you.

Why would a diary need to know all this?

To help the owner of the diary.

Harry pondered over the diary's words. So, the purpose was just to help whoever held owned diary? And if that was the case, why did the elder Malfoy look to hand it off to Ginny, to help her?

'If he's anything like Draco, then he isn't helping out of the goodness of his heart.' He thought back to that time in the bookstore at Diagon Alley, trying to remember detail of the altercation, trying to unravel a motive. The room was silent without the scratching of the quill. Harry took a quick glance towards the door, making sure it was still closed, before focused once more on pulling the memory to the forefront of his mind.

'Did he have the diary when he walked into the shop? Or did he pick it off one the many shelfs inside, and for what reason?' Harry let out a huff of frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose, as he struggled to come up with a why?

'What does he have against Ginny, she's only the youngest child of the Weasleys, its impossible for her to have done something to make him angry…so it can't be about her…' His eyes widened as he followed that train of thought. Of course!

When he had ended up hiding inside the cabinet at that dingy shop, Borgin and Burkes, Lucius Malfoy had mentioned something about an act to protect muggles that Mr. Weasley was pushing to pass. So, now that he had the 'why', the how was easier to figure out. If the Weasleys, specifically Ginny, were caught trying to steal a book, people were less likely to want to have anything to do with them.

Anger coursed through Harry as he thought of the lies that could have been spread about the family, one that had been nothing but kind to him. It reminded him his relatives, who made sure to let their neighbors know how much of a good-for-nothing boy he was.

His right hand, which rested on the parchment of the open diary, curled into a fist, almost snapping the quill in two halves. Harry wanted to get back at them, at both Draco, who never missed an opportunity to belittle either him or his friends, and at Draco's father for what he had attempted to do. He wanted to teach them a lesson.

The crack of the quill breaking in half snapped him out of his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Harry willed himself to calm down, until his anger abated to a manageable degree.

'I started to sound like Vernon.' Harry thought in revulsion, a frown forming on his face at the thought. 'Yet, I still want to do something to them.' The frown deepened into a harsh glare, his disgust at acting like Vernon clashing with his sense of justice.

'If I plan to do something, I need to know as much as possible about them.' Harry eyed the diary with determination, grabbing the bottom half of the broken quill before submerging the tip in ink again. Knowing that Ron was due back at any moment, he quickly wrote down his agreement to the terms.

Alright, I'll tell you about myself and whatever else you feel you need to know. In exchange, you'll tell me what you know.

I agree to your terms.

We'll start at another time but the next time I talk to you, I want to learn all you know about my family and the Malfoys.

I look forward to it.

A faint feeling of satisfaction seemed to come from the diary, that passed in a split second, that had Harry feeling he had imagined it. Passing it off as nothing, he gathered the items on the table before taking them to his trunk. As he placed the diary at the bottom of his trunk, Ron walked into the room.

"That was refreshing!" Ron told him before catching sight of the textbook in his hand, the relaxed smile he had morphing into one of horror.

"What's that doin' outside your trunk?!" He questioned Harry.

Harry just shrugged, placing the potions textbook back into his trunk, under his robes, before closing the lid.

"Had nothing better to do, so I decided to review some of the material. It's a lot easier to focus when you don't have Snape looming over you." Harry gave his reasoning to Ron, standing up and walking towards him.

"Come on, I think your mom is done making dinner. Knowing your appetite, I bet you're starving more than me." He told him with a grin. His smile widened further as Ron's face lit up at the mention of food, turning around in an instant, giving Harry a small shove in the back to get him out the door.

"Get on move on then, I don't want to be the last one there! I need to eat!"

Harry laughed at that as he started heading down the stairs, in front of Ron. A devious look crossed his face, unseen by Ron, who let out a groan of frustration as the bespectacled slowed to a snail's pace.

To Ron's dismay, they were the last ones to the dinner table.

A/N: I have a general idea of what I want to do and where I want to take this story. Still figuring it out as I go.