Saturday, 3rd July

Tom was standing on a damp, black rock, staring at the algae-covered wall in front of him. He could smell salt and hear rushing waves; a light, chilly breeze ruffled his hair as he looked around at the bleak, harsh view surrounding him.

It had been a long time since he'd last been here.

The cave had been one of his more ingenious enchantments, he had to say. He'd successfully managed to implement numerous grievous charms and traps that would prevent anyone from getting in - and, in the incredibly unlikely occurrence that someone did get in, they would soon be prevented from getting back out.

He'd designed the defences in such a way that only two or more people could enter the cave, yet if two or more people attempted to cross the lake, the Inferi would swiftly rise up and drown all but one. The cave, naturally, had an Anti-Apparition charm and an Anti-Disapparition jinx, and a blood sacrifice was needed at the door - which would allow him to identify whoever had been foolish enough to break in.

The boat that crossed the lake he made invisible, just for kicks, and any attempt of summoning the Horcrux would result in the Inferi blocking the spell and then attempting to drown the caster. They could only be repelled by light or fire, but anyone trying to use such charms would soon realise that the entire area was warded with something not unlike Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, which would severely reduce the strength and effect of any light- or fire-related spell.

If an intruder did manage, against all odds, to reach the centre of the lake, then they would be forced to drink a glowing green potion of his own design, which he lovingly referred to as the Drink of Despair. It could not be touched, vanished, transfigured, or charmed in any way, but the drinking of it would result in an experience not unlike the combined efforts of the Cruciatus and a dementor attack, followed swiftly by an intense thirst that would lead them to the lake where they would either be drowned by the Inferi or killed by extreme dehydration.

The Inferi really were rather fond of drowning people.

So yes, Tom decided, this really had been one of his greatest achievements to date - and he was almost, almost sad that he wouldn't have to go through any of those enchantments and defences himself.

Oh well, he mused, waving Quirrell's wand in a complicated pattern to allow him to bypass the cave's protective measures entirely, perhaps he could send Lucius here sometime instead, as punishment for losing his diary. Merlin knew it was the least that the man deserved.

Apparating to the edge of the lake's island, he strode confidently towards the basin in the middle of it, ignoring the unhappy sparks coming from his borrowed wand. He hated not having his own, but he knew he'd hate any replacement even more. It wasn't as if he needed a wand on a day-to-day basis, after all; his wandless magic was strong enough for that, but he still felt… unsteady, as such, without it.

Wormtail, the rat, was still evading him, and all other avenues of inquiry had turned up empty too. If Pettigrew didn't have his wand, then no one did, so the sooner he found the traitor, the better - which meant the sooner he found and reabsorbed most of his Horcruxes, the better.

Approaching the basin, he-

Stopped.

Tom frowned, his head tilting to the side.

When he'd entered the Gaunt shack, he'd felt his Horcrux call out to him immediately; a dark, tantalising pull of magic that had drawn him to its exact location, wards be damned. But now, here, standing only a mere two feet from the basin that held his fifth and final Horcrux, he felt… nothing.

The green potion in the basin still shimmered with an unnatural glow, and he could see the locket lay within, just as he had left it.

But he couldn't feel anything.

Taking a deep breath, Tom raised Quirrell's wand once more and cast the necessary counter-curse that would vanquish the Drink of Despair - another spell of his own creation that he was the only knower of. The green potion disappeared almost immediately, leaving the familiar locket behind, sitting harmlessly in the bottom of the basin.

He reached for it with trembling hands, and as soon as his skin made contact, he knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

To the Dark Lord.

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Tom stared down at the note in his hands, his vision blurred with rage, his mind a whirlwind of fury and confusion.

R.A.B.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

The boy had been one of his most devout followers, a young man with potential, ambition, and the powerful magic that Lord Voldemort had so valued. How had it come to this? How had he found the Horcrux? How had he managed to steal it? Why had he stolen it? Why had his loyal follower betrayed him like this?

He crumpled the note in his hand, feeling a surge of guilt mixed with his anger. It was a novel feeling. Had he really lost his mind so much at the end of the last war that the perfect pure-blooded son of a Dark family thought putting an end to his rule was worth dying for?

Regulus had betrayed him, yes, but it was a betrayal born of desperation, of seeing what his master had become. Tom's heart thudded in his chest as he realised the truth: he had strayed so far from his original goals, from his vision of a new world order, that even his most dedicated followers had lost faith in him. Regulus' act was not just a betrayal; it was a testament to Lord Voldemort's failure. He had lost sight of his purpose, his drive, his very essence. The Horcruxes had fragmented not just his soul but his sanity, pushing him further into darkness and madness.

He had become the very monster he once sought to rise above.

Tom had to grudgingly respect the boy's bravery. Regulus had been… what? seventeen? eighteen? when he had died. He'd been marked only a year or two before his disappearance - a disappearance that everyone had blamed him for, and he'd been too insane, too power-hungry, too delusional at the time to correct their assumptions.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen indeed.

The fake locket, the mockery that the boy had left behind, was admittedly a rather convincing forgery. It was the right size, the right shape, the right weight, even. The gold was inlaid with fine minute details, and the serpentine S on the front glittered with green inlaid stones.

If Tom didn't know any better, if he hadn't been able to feel the emptiness of the locket, if it hadn't been for Regulus's bitter note, then he could have fallen for the trap and believed this to be another Horcrux.

Which left the question - where was the real Horcrux?

The boy had planned to destroy it, but Tom didn't think he'd managed to succeed. For one, Regulus had apparently died in this cave, most likely drowned by the Inferi after drinking the green potion. The destruction of a Horcrux was also incredibly rare knowledge to have, and he couldn't think of anything that the Black family owned that would be strong enough to do so - and Regulus had said he would face death and that he intended to destroy the locket, which surely meant that he hadn't the first idea on how to do so.

So where was the original locket now?

The location of the cave was a closely guarded secret. In fact, only two creatures on this planet knew of the enchantments he'd placed here. The first was himself, and the other was…

The Black family house-elf.

Perhaps it was him who had returned to Regulus and told him about what he'd seen. Tom was starting to realise more and more just how foolish his previous self had been, too confident, too arrogant to believe that anyone could actually get the best of him. And yet…

If the Black house-elf had told Regulus about his Horcrux, and the boy had ordered him to bring him to the cave and had then died here, then that meant that the house-elf was the last creature to hold his locket.

At the time of his downfall, the Black family had still resided in Grimmauld Place, but the townhouse was old and rich in magic and would no doubt be under numerous protection wards that would prevent anyone without Black blood from reopening it. He knew that Walburga had passed away only a few years after himself, which just left the heir, Sirius - except he was currently locked away in Azkaban and had apparently been disowned as a teenager. The only other people Tom knew with any claim to the house were either dead, also in Azkaban, or… Narcissa.

Frowning, he idly shot an Incendio at an Inferius that was crawling just that little bit too close.

He had hoped to wait a while before bringing the Malfoys back into the fold, still too angry at Lucius not to potentially strike the man down where he stood and his no-murder spree really was going quite splendidly at the moment and it would be such a shame if he broke it for that spineless worm.

On the other hand, he could always speak to Narcissa alone but-

No.

She wouldn't keep something like this from her husband. For all the man's faults, she did appear to genuinely love Lucius and would refuse to lie to him no matter what he ordered her to do. Making her swear an Unbreakable Vow wouldn't do him any favours in regaining her loyalty, and he wasn't arrogant enough - anymore - to believe that the cunning woman wouldn't find some clever loophole in the oath anyway.

Tom clenched his fists, the note crumpling further in his grasp. He would simply have to wait, then, until an opportunity to get into Grimmauld Place arose or until such a time he could safely reveal himself to the Malfoys once more.

Which meant that now, not only did he have to figure out a way of safely retrieving his diary and diadem from Hogwarts, but he also had to work out how to reclaim Slytherin's locket, too. At least he'd successfully reabsorbed his ring, and that meant that only Hufflepuff's cup remained.

Carefully smoothening back out the note, he safely stored it along with the fake Horcrux in his pocket - It would serve as a good reminder of just how fallible he once was. He had grown too arrogant, too sure of his invincibility. But now, with his mind clearer and his goals more focused, he would not be making the same mistake again.

Saturday, 10th July

Ginny sat on her bed in the Burrow, absentmindedly twirling a strand of vibrant red hair around her finger. The summer sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on her room, but she couldn't shake the gnawing worry that had taken root in her mind.

It had been a few months since she abandoned the diary, and the rest of her first year at Hogwarts had gone wonderfully. She'd felt more like herself again, happy and carefree. She'd even made friends with another girl in her year, Luna Lovegood, who was in Ravenclaw and also a little weird, but Ginny loved her for it. She was quirky and imaginative, always talking about fantastic creatures and conspiracies, and she found herself laughing more often than not - even Percy had commented on it.

But now… now that the school year was over and she had more time to think, she couldn't help but worry.

The diary hadn't been flushed, after all. Instead, it had flooded the bathroom which had kept it out of order for the rest of the term. But what if the Headmaster sent someone in to fix it over the summer holidays? What if they found the diary and started writing in it? What if, even worse, some other student next year found the diary and Tom possessed them instead?

She knew she had to tell someone, but the thought of confessing everything filled her with dread… but the fear of someone else going through what she had scared her even more.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny stood up and made her way downstairs. She knew that Ron had gone to Neville's for the day, Percy was in his room studying, like always, and the twins were outside trying to hit each other with beater bats.

They'd all be leaving for Egypt in a few days time - Dad had won the Daily Prophet Draw and it had been ages since they'd seen Bill - and she knew that if she left it any later to say something, then she wouldn't get a moment alone with her parents to do so.

She found them in the kitchen, preparing lunch. Molly hummed as she chopped vegetables, and Arthur was fiddling with a small Muggle device that looked like a broken radio.

"Mum, Dad" Ginny began, her voice trembling slightly, "Can I… Can I talk to you?"

Molly looked up, her face lighting up with a warm smile. "Of course you can, dear. What is it?"

She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding.

"I... I need to tell you something. It's about what happened at school. You know, the- the attacks last year?"

Arthur put down the device and turned his full attention to her, concern etching lines on his face.

"Go on, Ginny. We're listening".

She took another deep breath, feeling the words catch in her throat.

"I… I found a diary at the beginning of the year. It was inside one of the books you got me so- so I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it. I… I started w-writing in it and- and it started w-writing back".

"Ginny!" Arthur exclaimed, flabbergasted, "Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain! Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark magic-"

"I d-didn't know!" she replied, as her eyes welled with tears, "I just- I started w-writing in it and- and it was a b-boy who wrote back called Tom Riddle and he… he possessed me. I did terrible things, Mum. I opened the- the Chamber of Secrets. I h-hurt people!"

Molly's face turned pale, and she dropped the knife she was holding.

"Oh, Ginny" she whispered, rushing forward to pull her daughter into a tight embrace, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

She let out a sob and buried her face against her mother's chest.

"I was s-scared! I didn't know what it was making me do, at first. B-But then, in January I realised what was happening so- so I got rid of it, b-but now I'm worried that- that someone else might find the d-diary and release him again".

Arthur stood up, wrapping his arms around both of them.

"It's alright, Ginny, you're safe now… But we need to make sure that the diary is destroyed for good, so I'm going to floo Professor Dumbledore, alright?"

"What? No!" She panicked, struggling to get out of their grip. "He- He'll expel me! He'll kick me out of- of Hogwarts! You can't tell him!"

"Oh, sweetheart…" Molly gave her an unbearingly sad look. "We'll talk to him, alright? You should have told someone, anyone, sooner but… I'm sure he won't expel you. But Professor Dumbledore needs to know about this, you understand that, right?"

Her tears flowed freely now, her fear of expulsion warring with the relief of finally sharing her burden. She nodded, sniffling against her mother's shoulder. If anyone was able to destroy the diary, then surely it would be Dumbledore - and wasn't that worth the possibility of not returning to Hogwarts again?

"Okay" she whispered, her voice small and shaky, "I understand".

Arthur gave her a reassuring squeeze before stepping over to the fireplace. He took a pinch of Floo powder from the mantle and threw it into the flames, which roared to life with a bright green hue. Molly gently stroked Ginny's hair, murmuring soothing words.

"It's going to be alright, dear. You're so brave for telling us. We're going to make sure this never happens again".

Arthur returned a few minutes later, looking grave. "Professor Dumbledore will see us immediately. Come on, love. Let's go".

Together, they stepped into the fireplace, the green flames engulfing them in a whirlwind. In an instant, they were deposited into the familiar, eccentric warmth of Dumbledore's office. Ginny was surprised - she hadn't thought that the Headmaster stayed at Hogwarts during the summer, but then again, she supposed it was the best place to have this conversation and finding out where Dumbledore lived would've just been weird.

The man in question sat behind his desk, the usual twinkle in his eyes replaced by a serious, concerned gaze.

"Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley, and Miss Weasley" he greeted them, "Please, have a seat".

Ginny felt her heart hammering in her chest as she sat down between her parents, her hands clenched in her lap. Dumbledore's presence was both intimidating and comforting, a paradox that only added to her anxiety.

"Miss Weasley" he began, his eyes fixed on her with a piercing intensity that seemed to look right through her, "Your father has told me a bit about what you've been through. I'd like to hear it from you if you're able".

She swallowed hard and nodded, her voice trembling as she recounted everything once more. She told Dumbledore about finding the diary, her interactions with Tom Riddle, and the horrifying realisation that she had been possessed. She described how she'd woken up missing hours of the previous day, covered in feathers or paint or- other things. She explained how she had flushed the diary in a panic, only to realise now that it might still be out there, waiting to be found.

Dumbledore listened attentively, his expression grave. When Ginny finished, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.

"Thank you for telling me" he said gently, "You were very brave to come forward with this. I understand how difficult it must have been for you".

She sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Am I… Am I going to be expelled, Professor?"

His eyes softened.

"No, Ginny, you will not be expelled. You were under the influence of a powerful Dark artefact. You were not acting of your own volition. However, it is imperative that we find this diary and destroy it once and for all". He turned to face her parents. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I assure you that I will locate this diary and ensure that it poses no further threat".

Arthur nodded, his relief palpable. "Thank you, Professor".

Standing up, Dumbledore walked around the desk, crouching down and placing a comforting hand on Ginny's shoulder.

"Miss Weasley, you are a remarkable young witch. You have endured something truly terrible, but you have shown great courage in coming forward. I want you to know that you have my full support. If you ever need to talk about what happened, my door is always open".

Ginny managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, sir".

He nodded, his eyes twinkling once more. "Now, why don't you go home and enjoy the rest of your summer? I assure you, the adults will handle this matter. You don't need to worry about Tom Riddle ever again".

As the Weasleys left the office, Dumbledore could almost see the weight of fear and guilt lift off the young girl's shoulders. He couldn't help but feel that it was landing on him, instead.

Perhaps he should have told them just who Tom Riddle grew up to be… but no, he decided, the poor child was traumatised enough without that extra bit of knowledge, and it would do nothing but panic her parents. They couldn't do anything about it now, after all.

But he could.

Sighing heavily, he turned and left his office, making his way to the third-floor girls' lavatory. He vaguely remembered when the room had flooded all those months before, as well as the tirade Argus had gone on, complaining about the length of time it was going to take him to mop up all the water. He couldn't recall anything about a diary, however…

Pushing open the door, he found the bathroom dark and gloomy, an echoing drip drip drip of water giving it a somewhat ghostly ambience.

Which reminded him-

"Miss Myrtle?" he called softly, his voice reverberating in the empty space, "May I have a quick word with you?"

There was a moment of silence before a pale girl emerged from one of the cubicles, her ghostly form shimmering in the dim light. She floated towards Dumbledore, her expression a mix of curiosity and melancholy.

"Professor" she greeted, her eyes brimming with tears, "What brings you here?"

"I've come to ask you about a certain diary that was flushed down one of these toilets" he explained, "I believe it caused quite the flood?"

"Oh, so now you care, do you?" She huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "You didn't care at the time!"

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I wasn't made aware of the event until just now. I hope it didn't upset you too much?"

"Of course not! Because who would get upset about having something thrown at them?! There I was, minding my own business, and someone thought it was funny to throw a book at me!"

"Did you happen to see who threw it?" Dumbledore asked, already knowing the answer of course, but also knowing that in situations such as these, a… delicate touch was often required.

"I don't know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head" Myrtle replied, glaring at him, "It was over there; it got washed out".

He followed her gaze to the tiles underneath the sink where she was pointing. There was nothing there.

"I'm sure it was an awful experience; I'm sorry you had to go through that" he said sympathetically, "Do you know where the book is now?"

"That- That caretaker or whatever took it when he was mopping the floors. I've seen him take away other things too, sometimes, but I don't know where he brings them".

Dumbledore gave her a kind smile. "Thank you, Miss Myrtle, you have been a great help".

Her scowl lessened slightly.

"Does that mean you caught whoever flooded my bathroom then?"

"It does. And I assure you, my dear, they will not go unpunished for it".

With a final nod, Dumbledore made his way to Mr Filch's office. He hadn't lied, after all - being possessed by a teenage Lord Voldemort was undoubtedly punishment enough for anyone.

Argus lived on the second floor in a small, simple room with a single oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was empty, of course, given that the rest of the staff also had summer holidays, but being the Headmaster had its perks, and the wooden door opened for him without a fuss.

He knew that Myrtle had likely meant the lost and found when she'd told him that Argus had taken the diary, and so, walking over to the stack of filing cabinets in the corner, he pulled out his wand and said, "Accio Tom Riddle's diary".

At once, the second shelf in the final cabinet rattled, and he reached forward to open it, a thin black notebook flying out and falling into his hands as he did so. The black cover was unremarkable, worn and faded, and he felt no trace of magic from it at all. Evidently, the diary knew when to keep itself quiet.

So this had been the cause of so much terror and destruction…

He felt grimly relieved that one of his darker theories had been correct. If what the young Miss Weasley had said was true - and he had no doubt that it was - then he was holding a living memory, a shard of Tom Riddle, a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul. He'd long since wondered if Tom had dabbled in illegal soul magic in order to achieve immortality, and this, this right here, seemed to be the proof that he'd been looking for.

He couldn't risk anyone else finding it, and although he had nothing personal against squibs, it was a simple fact that Argus wouldn't be able to protect the diary as well as he could himself. His mind raced through potential ways to neutralise such dark magic, but without knowing exactly what he was dealing with, he hesitated to act rashly - which meant he needed to put it under lock and key indefinitely.

Returning to his office, he opened the top drawer of his desk and carefully placed the book inside. Drawing his wand, he cast a series of powerful locking charms and protective spells, layering them meticulously to create a near-impenetrable barrier. The desk drawer glowed faintly as the wards took effect before fading once more.

It wasn't an ideal solution in the long run - he wasn't going to be Headmaster forever, after all - but it would do for the current moment.

Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

The diary was secure for now, and that was simply the best that he could hope for.

Saturday, 24th July

Harry sat on his narrow bed surrounded by newspapers. Rowle, true to his word, had been bringing him old copies of The Daily Prophet all year which meant that now he had quite the collection - and he seriously needed to organise it.

The window in his room was barred so that it only opened about two inches, supposedly to stop the boys from sneaking out, and the dull, humid July air was making his clothes stick to him. He didn't dare open his bedroom door, however. There were only so many Disillusionment and Muggle-Repelling charms that he could cast wandlessly, after all, and he didn't want to risk anyone walking in on a bunch of papers that had moving pictures.

Merlin, he still couldn't get over the fact that there were moving pictures!

Rowle always laughed at him when he went on one of his excitement-filled rants, but to be quite honest, he felt sad that the older boy didn't get the same joy from magic as he did. It probably had something to do with him growing up with it, whereas for Harry, every single new scrap of magic that he got was like finding out he was a wizard all over again.

Not that it was all fun and games, though - case in point being the Prophet article nearest to him from last November.

'THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED' - SHOULD HOGWARTS BE CLOSED?

Rowle had eagerly filled in the gaps where the newspaper left off. The older boy was fascinated by the whole ordeal, comparing it to a grand mystery novel. He recounted the whispers and rumours he'd heard from his mother, who still kept tabs on the wizarding world despite her estrangement. They spoke of a hidden chamber, created by Salazar Slytherin himself, and a monster that only his true heir could control. The Prophet, of course, was less well-informed but still provided enough details to keep Harry's mind racing.

Animals, ghosts, and students all being petrified by an unknown assailant who still hadn't been caught.

It was almost - almost - a good thing that he hadn't gone to Hogwarts if this was the sort of danger he'd have to deal with. He didn't understand how any school could be so unsafe, especially one renowned for its magic and protection.

And as for the heir of Slytherin - well, there was only one heir of Slytherin, and Harry had supposedly killed the guy.

It infuriated him, in one sense, to have the wizarding world's number one newspaper speculate about the assailants' possible identity. Couldn't they have simply done their job and researched it? Ask a single member of any old family who had a genealogy book like Rowle? Found out just how tiny the Slytherin line had become in the past three hundred years and realised that there was only one true Slytherin left?

But no.

Instead, they speculated and guessed and sensationalised what was truly a tragic, traumatic event that had affected multiple children and families until suddenly, the attacks had stopped. A more recent newspaper from just a few weeks back told the dramatic, heroic, and undoubtedly fake story from Gilderoy Lockhart's point of view, a man who claimed to be the sole reason for the culprits' demise and who had since left Hogwarts to teach in some school in the States.

Rowle had only needed to lend Harry one book of Lockhart's for him to realise just what a fraud he was.

He wondered who had opened the Chamber. In reality, it could only have been Lord Voldemort, but the man was supposedly dead which meant… what? That he wasn't actually dead? That he'd survived that Halloween night? But then why would he have stayed hidden all this time? And why would he choose something so tiny and strange as petrifying a cat, a ghost, and two first-years to be his debut back into the wizarding world?

It just didn't make sense.

A knock on the door broke Harry's reverie. He quickly jumped up and threw a blanket over the pile of newspapers before turning to face the door as it creaked open.

"Hey kid" Rowle greeted him, slipping inside with a bundle of books under his arm. His blond hair was tousled, and he had a smirk on his face that Harry had come to associate with their deal.

"Hey" he replied, smiling, "You leaving?"

"Yeah, my mother's waiting outside, but I've got to give you your summer reading, now don't I?"

He held out the stack of books and Harry eagerly grabbed them to read the titles. He still found it strange that he owed his knowledge of the magical world to a delinquent half-blood at a muggle secure centre for boys. In a way, it was almost comical - The Boy Who Lived, a young offender with no wand and a ton of maths homework.

"You're going through my defence collection pretty quick" Rowle said, regaining his attention, "Two of those books are what I just finished myself, so I've no idea what I'm going to lend you next year. There's another charms book there as well, one about water plants, and that transfiguration book I told you about… Think that'll keep you busy enough?"

Harry grinned, placing his summer reading plan on his desk before pulling back the blanket on his bed with a flourish.

"Well, if they don't, then this will. I've still got to put some sort of order to this lot".

Rowle grimaced, not one for reading or organisation.

"Alright, well, have fun I guess". He shrugged. "You got any specific requests for next year?"

He did - and he also knew that Rowle was going to be insufferable about it.

"I don't know if there actually are any books about it" he started carefully, "But if you happen to have something about the Dark Lord? His original goals, plans, something like that?"

"Ooh, convinced you to come to the dark side, have I?"

"Yes, Rowle, you have, because a fourteen-year-old idiot who can't add has a better sales pitch than Lord Voldemort himself".

The blond immediately winced. "Evans, what have I told you about saying his name?!"

"... Not to?"

"Not to!"

"So, let me get this straight, you can't say the bloke's name, but you can make a muggle joke about him?"

Rowle's scowl deepened. "Well he doesn't know that I'm referring to Star Wars, does he!"

"Not yet…"

"And just what's that supposed to mean?!"

"Oh, nothing" Harry replied airily, his gaze drifting to the newspaper published last November, "But shouldn't you be going already? I thought your mum was waiting outside".

"She is". Dark eyes searched his for a moment before Rowle decided him a lost cause and he turned, heading back toward the door. "Enjoy the books; I'll see what I can find for you for next year. And don't get into trouble, you hear me? I know you've been secretly practising Dark curses behind my back!"

The younger boy gave him his most innocent, beguiling expression.

"Dark curses? Who? Me? Never!"

The older boy's look became even more pointed and he reached down to grab a stray sock from the floor, tossing it at his head. Laughing, Harry cast a quick Impedimenta that stopped it in its tracks.

"Don't worry about me, Rowle" he said, still grinning, "I mean, come on! I'm essentially in a prison cell; what's the worst that could happen?"

Friday, 30th July

Some five hundred miles away, a large black dog slipped out of a prison cell.