Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 5: Challenging a Legend

Harry lay awake the next morning, thinking about the ‘conversation’ he had had with the diary. Tom was interesting, and seemed to be quite like himself. He seemed to have an understanding of exactly what Harry had gone through. It seemed the boy had been even more unlucky than Harry in some areas. At least Harry had been raised by a woman who deeply loved him. Tom had grown up in an orphanage.

Harry pulled himself out from under the covers and unlocked the curtains with a sleepy “Andromeda.” He showered, changed into his robes, and headed downstairs. The sight that met him was hardly surprising, but perhaps he had simply hoped it wouldn't happen, that Ginny might have made a few friends already. Alas, that was not to be....

Sure enough, Ginny Weasley was sitting alone in the empty common room, staring into the fire, her face tracked with tears. Her hair was disheveled, and she was still in her robes from the previous night. Harry checked his watch to see that it was 6:30. He silently crept down and then plunked down in the chair next to hers. Ginny started violently, jumping almost a foot in the air.

“Harry!” she gasped, turning a furious crimson and ducking her face in shame. Harry reached out and grabbed her shoulder, gently pulling her back up so that she was eye to eye with him. Her lip was trembling, and Harry could see the dark bags under her eyes. If Harry had been a scarless, red-headed girl, it would have been impossible to tell his reflection from before Halloween the previous year and Ginny’s current appearance apart.

“This looks familiar,” he said sadly. Ginny frowned.

“What?”

“I was just thinking that if I had your features, it would have been impossible to tell what I looked like before I met Hermione, just before Halloween, and yourself apart.”

“Huh?”

“Ginny, what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be ashamed of how you are reacting. Because I did the same thing.”

“You…you cried yourself to sleep? Thought everyone hated you? Wished it was all…a bad dream.” Harry nodded.

“Oh…”

“Ginny, it’s not that bad. I like you, I think you are a bright girl. (She turned a deeper crimson, which Harry ignored) I think Hermione feels the same way. Do you know that Lovegood girl?” Harry asked, trying to find positives to cheer up the young redhead.

“Well…I knew her before her mother died. But she’s so…so…strange now. She was just babbling on about non-existent things.”

“How about Grunitch?” Harry asked. He remembered how the girl had helped Ginny up to the Dormitory.

“Anne…I don’t really know her…”

“Ginny, you’ll be alright. They aren’t mad at you anyway. It’s hardly your fault! Ron’s the only one mad about anything, and he’s mad at me!” Harry exclaimed, trying to make the girl see sense.

“I just wonder about my parents…”

“What? You think they’ll disown you or something? Ginny, that’s ridiculous.”

“I know it is. But still…”

“Then write to them,” Harry said. “And write to anyone else that you know and trust.”

“Well,” Ginny admitted. “Bill’s my oldest brother, and the coolest…he’d probably know what to do.”

Harry grinned. “And you can tell him you are friends with Harry Potter.”

Ginny blushed fiercely. “Ginny, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ll help you get through this because I don’t want to see you go through what I did. You have people here for you.”

“I…thanks Harry. Thanks so much!” she cried, a smile lighting her features. Harry thought her childish glee was rather cute. He only hoped that her good mood would last.

“Go upstairs and take a shower, get dressed. You are a mess, you know.”

“I know,” she said embarrassedly.

“Ginny, remember, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t want you to base all of your judgments of people off of me, but I never cried before like I did last year. I’ve always had good control of my emotions. Finding Hermione was the best thing that ever happened to me…well, maybe Daphne taking me away, letting me grow up normally. I didn’t even know what I’d done until I was ten. It was best that way, I think.”

“Wow.”

“Ginny, go get cleaned up. I’ll wait for you.”

Without another word, Ginny jumped off the chair and bounded up the stairs. Harry shook his head and slumped into the chair.

“Are you sure you don’t have a thing for her?”

“Are you aware that eavesdropping is considered rude, Zabini?” Harry answered without glancing back.

“Yes, but I do it anyway. Excellent blackmail material.”

“You don’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you leak what you heard to Malfoy. I’ll probably be expelled.”

“Sorry, Harry. I respect your privacy, and Weasley’s. I won’t say anything. Sounds like you had it rough though.”

“I’m not talking about it.”

“Fine. See you at breakfast, Potter.”

He left. Twenty minutes later, a tired looking, but perfectly groomed Draco Malfoy, flanked by his half-asleep bodyguards. He grinned nastily at Harry at he approached.

“Drove off your girl, Potter? Bit young for you, don’t you think?”

“I’m not going to justify that with a response,” Harry said without looking up.

“Oh, so you did drive off your girlfriend.” The tone with which he said this sounded suspiciously targeted, and he turned around. Ginny was on the opposite staircase, bright red. Harry sent a vicious glare at Malfoy, withdrawing his wand from it’s holster.

“I’ll give you five seconds. One…two…three…”

That was all it took as the three children of Death Eaters bolted from the room. They’d seen the power of Harry’s hexes the previous year. They were in no mind to repeat the experience.

Ginny was standing, shaking slightly. Harry sighed. “Come down, Ginny. I don’t think of you that way, and you know it, as much as a part of you wants it.”

She blushed a deeper crimson, slowly wandering down the stairs. “That…doesn’t…help..” she ground out. “I’m trying to forget about that.”

“It won’t be that easy, Ginny. Just remember the boy you have a crush on has never existed. What you see is what you get: a slightly bitter Slytherin with above average power and skill, who can be a right arse when he’s in the mind to.”

“But…you helped me. You aren’t like that at all!”

“Ginny, I’m not perfect. Just remember that.”

“I know…we should get down to Breakfast,” she said, looking anxiously towards the door. Obviously, she still wasn’t that comfortable in her crush’s presence. She ran off.

Harry was going to stamp her crush out if it was the last thing he did. He couldn’t help but feel a connection to the girl, just as he felt a connection to Tom. But he couldn’t have a friendship with her if she had a crush on a part of him that didn’t exist.

Harry exited the Slytherin Common Room, but didn’t see Ginny. He walked up through the dungeons, and when he entered the Entrance Hall, he saw Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom standing there, obviously waiting for him.

Harry sighed. “Let’s get this over with, Weasley.”

“Over here, Potter,” he said, indicating an empty classroom in the corridor leading to the Great Hall. Harry entered the room and walked to the other side, slumping lazily against the stone.

“How may I serve you, Weasley?” he drawled in his best imitation of Draco Malfoy.

“Cut the crap, Potter,” Weasley snapped impatiently. “What did you do to my sister?”

“What? Besides comforting her when you rejected her, you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” he barked, turning bright red. Harry chuckled, which seemed to annoy him even more. He balled his fingers into a fist and began to draw it back.

Harry prepared to dodge, but didn’t visibly flinch. “That’s a bad idea, Weasley. And you know it.”

“SO WHAT! YOU…YOU CORRUPTED MY SISTER! MADE HER A BLOODY SLYTHERIN!”

“Hermione was riding in the car too,” Harry pointed out. “I simply showed her that she needed to have an open mind.”

“Open mind my arse! You…Bastard!” Weasley drew back his fist.

“Percutio!” Harry cast, his wand sliding out from his wrist holster. The purple light hit Weasley in the midsection and sent him crashing to the opposite side of the room. Harry stood there, his eyes flashing dangerously. Dean and Neville looked on in fear.

“You’re the bastard, Weasley,” he snarled, a red glint momentarily flickering in his eyes. “You’re the one who’s abandoned your sister, your own flesh and blood.” He clenched his teeth. “I’d die to have a family like yours, Ron. Because as much as I love Daphne and care about Hermione, she isn’t my mother, and she isn’t my sister. Cherish what you have Ronald. You never know when it will be taken from you.”

He spun around on his heel and marched out of the room, trying to calm his raging temper. And trying to figure out why he was reacting so strongly. “Stay away from her, Potter!” Ron yelled as Harry left. But there was a tremor in his voice. Harry ignored him.

“Morning Terry.”

The black-haired boy looked up. “Morning Harry. Did you sleep well?”

“Alright…” Harry attention was distracted by the last person Harry had expected to see at the Head Table. Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in bright yellow robes, was chatting cheerfully with Severus Snape, who looked murderous. “When the hell did that dandy become a teacher?”

“Huh?” Terry replied. He followed Harry’s gaze. “Lockhart? It was announced at the Feast. Weren’t you paying any attention?”

“I guess not. I was trying to help Ginny.”

“Why’d you call him a dandy? I think he’s a great wizard, if a bit full of himself.”

“He’s a blood fraud,” Harry said. Terry looked shocked.

“What?”

The voice didn’t come from Terry though. It came from Hermione.

“How can you call him a fraud? Did you even read the books?” she demanded angrily, her cheeks tinted with pink. Yup, she’s got a crush on him.

“Because Daphne knew him at Hogwarts. And said that he couldn’t hold a wand straight, much less defeat a thousand trolls or whatever the hell he claims to do. All his lies kind of ran together as I was reading them.”

“So, because Daphne says so, that means she’s right? Is she ever wrong?”

“She’d destroy him in a duel,” Harry growled through his teeth. “Why don’t you get it? He’s a bloody fake!”

“Life isn’t all about duels, Harry,” she snapped back. “Maybe my parents were right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, his tone dangerous. “What’s that supposed to mean, Hermione?”

“It means…I don’t know…” she said. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. But I don’t believe you, and I think you have too much faith in your aunt at times.”

“You think you know better? I’m good at reading people Hermione, and I learned everything I know from her.”

“Harry, stop it,” Ginny said, speaking up in defense of her fellow female. “This is getting you nowhere. Why don’t you wait for an actual class before judging him.” Suddenly, she turned red, as if remembering who she was speaking to.

“None of that, Ginny. He doesn’t exist.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Harry’s trying to obliterate my crush by both constantly reminding me of it and showing me how messed up he is.”

Hermione stared. “Well…that’s one approach…”

Harry began attacking his food. “Someone’s hungry,” Terry commented.

He looked up at him. “Someone didn’t have full use of his hands during dinner last night.” It was the wrong thing to say, as Ginny blushed fiercely, ducking her head in shame.

“Harry!” Lisa scolded. She put an arm around the redhead and glared at him.

Harry did his best to look ashamed, for Ginny’s benefit. That had been a rather stupid thing to say. “I’m sorry, Ginny.”

“It’s…okay,” she said, wiping away a couple of small tears. She smiled through them. “I guess I did kind of treat you like my mum.”

“I figured it was something like that,” Harry said aloud. Hermione beamed at him.

“Well, that was nice of you, Harry.”

“It was nothing…” he said, trying not to reveal the real reason he had tolerated it. He really didn’t like to talk about his early-year problems, even with Hermione. Especially not when the entire Ravenclaw table was listening. The bell rang.

“What do you have first, Ginny?” Harry asked. The redhead checked her time table.

“Transfiguration. With McGonagall. I’ve heard she’s really strict.”

“She’s not that bad,” Hermione said. “Just follow directions and you’ll get along fine.”

“She wasn’t that fond of me,” Harry said, remembering how the Head of Gryffindor hadn’t given him a friendly look until she found him gazing mindlessly into the Mirror of Erised.

“She warmed up to you in the end. She knew your parents and Daphne, and was just surprised that you weren’t Sorted into Gryffindor.”

They got up from the table, and Harry waited until Ginny was gone until he started talking again. He waved Terry, Lisa, and Mandy on, and Terry nodded his head in understanding.

“Hermione, I didn’t do anything to earn her ire. For disappointment, she seemed damned bitter. Remember that first class? When I matched you on the needle? She tried to ignore my progress, and then grudgingly rewarded me. She didn’t even give me any help or sympathy when it was clear I was crying out for some. Didn’t she ever wonder why she never saw me with anyone? Why I was always alone?”

“Harry,” she said, tears glazing her eyes. “A lot of people made mistakes in judging you, myself included. You can’t hold it against them.”

“Oh really?” he asked darkly. An image of a dead McGonagall and Weasley, their bodies pale and lifeless on the castle floor, their eyes gaping black holes, suddenly appeared in his mind. He blinked.

“Harry?”

“I…I’m fine,” he said, his voice quavering. What was that?

Revenge.

“So what class do we have anyway?” Harry asked as the walked up a few staircases. The strange vision of his dead teacher and rival had unnerved him. “I assume we’re going together. If we aren’t, I’m in big trouble.”

“Defense, of course. Slytherins with Gryffindors, not sure whose bright idea that was. Didn’t you read your time table?”

“I didn’t get one,” Harry said. “I’ll stop by McGonagall’s office to pick it up later.”

“I thought you didn’t like her,” Hermione replied, confused.

“She’s civil enough. I like her better than say…Snape.”

“Oh, that’s a high standard…Well, we’re here.”

They had indeed arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry pushed the door open. The room was quite different from the dark, garlic and other vampire-repulsive item-filled classroom that Quirrell had preferred. Harry knew that the fear of vampires had been entirely manufactured as part of Quirrell’s nervous act, but nonetheless, the change to a bright, sunny room, the walls covered by numerous pictures of Gilderoy Lockhart in all of his disgusting glory.

The original was standing in front of the class, his blond so shiny it looked polished, his teeth glinting in the sunlight, and his eyes sparkling mischievously. Harry heard a sigh from behind him, and stomped on Hermione’s foot.

“OW! What was that-“ Harry gave her a knowing look, and she turned red. Yup, she had it bad…

“Hello class! Please, take a seat,” the blond fraud said in an over dramatic tone, gesturing to a couple of seats close to him. Harry shot him an incredulous look, and the fool seemed to remember he was addressing the ward of the woman who had pointed her wand at his jugular.

Harry dragged Hermione to where Zabini and Greengrass were sitting. Nott was absent, and Harry inquired as to why.

“Ate something that disagreed with him. Pomfrey’s got him laid up in the Hospital Wing. You just going to stand there until the grass grows?” the Greengrass heiress drawled. Hermione looked offended, but Harry was used to it. He took a seat next to Zabini, and Hermione sat next to him.

Lockhart walked up to the front of the class, then pointed at himself. “Me. Author, Famed Wizard. Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League-“ Harry snorted.

“Is something amusing, Mr. Potter?” he said in a rather cold voice, his façade vanishing.

“That you pride yourself in being a member of an organization made up primarily of people that failed to qualify for the Aurors,” Harry replied evenly. Something dangerous flashed in Lockhart’s blue eyes. Harry didn’t flinch, giving him a triumphant smirk. This guy was a Slytherin alright.

His smile replaced, Lockhart sought to salvage the situation. It was difficult, because most of the boys in the class were looking at Harry in awe and admiration, while the girls, including Hermione and excluding Greengrass, who looked as uncaring as ever, were sending him death glares.

“-Ah, yes, but still, great wizards such as Joseph Englemore were founding members-“ Harry gaped at him, shaking his head.

“Is there something you would like to say, Mr. Potter?” Lockhart replied with false cheer. Harry abruptly realized how much he could do in this situation. As famous as Lockhart was, he was nothing to the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Grey Maiden, for that matter. Harry had a great deal of sway over the class, the school, the wizarding world even, and Lockhart didn’t know how to deal with that. His behavior only confirmed what Harry had known. His fear of being found out confirmed what Harry had known: he was a complete fraud.

“Yes, actually. Englemore was a Death Eater. A Death Eater that my guardian put in Azkaban. He died there.” There were several gasps at that statement. Lockhart looked rather irritated, his pleasant façade completely gone. He ground on.

“-Five-Time Winner of Witch-Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. Order of Merlin, Second Class-“

Harry coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “Bollucks!” Hermione fixed him with her own death glare, while Zabini sniggered, grinning at his Housemate. Even Greengrass gave him a smirk.

Lockhart gave up trying to play himself up, realizing that Harry had torn his reputation to shreds. He plastered another false smile upon his disgustingly bright face, and began handing out ‘quizzes,’ to make sure that had read their textbooks, which read more like bad romance novels than anything else. Daphne wasn’t a bookworm, but saying she had nearly burnt a book meant something.

Harry began reading the quiz.

1.In your opinion, what is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest accomplishment to date?

Harry smirked, he’d asked for it. Fooling the wizarding world into believing you know how to hold a wand straight.

He continued to fill out the exercise in ego-gratification, inserting smart remarks whenever he could. He knew that he’d unnerved the idiot considerably. Putting his knowledge in writing could only serve to increase that fear. And that would give Harry leverage.

Harry hadn’t had the chance to truly explore his Slytherin quantities, but he found himself quite cunning and devious indeed. This was just one example. He couldn’t wait to get some huge dirt on Weasley.

An image of Ron screaming as a Dementor drew close filled his mind. Harry jerked back in surprise. What was wrong with him?

Shaking it off as his mind on overdrive, he filled out the remainder of the quiz (correctly, of course; he’d forced himself to read the garbage so that his marks wouldn’t suffer.)

Once everyone had filled out the quiz and handed it in, grumbling at how ridiculous it was, Lockhart announced to the class that Hermione, of course, had answered all 54 questions correctly. Harry sighed. Lockhart paled a bit as he also announced that Harry had been beaten by only one. The first one. Harry sent Lockhart a look clearing saying that he was the one who was right, and Gilderoy knew it.

“Well, after that little exercise, we’ve got the rest of a double period to fill up! I’m going to give you a bit of a challenge.”

He walked over to his desk, where a cage covered by a green cloth was sitting, and brought it to his table in front of the room. “Be quiet now, you might provoke them!” he cried dramatically, yanking the cover off the cage, to reveal a cage full of…pixies.

Seamus Finnegan snorted. “Pixies!”

“Ah, Mr. Finnegan…freshly caught Cornish Pixies. Trick little blighters they are.”

Harry wasn’t sure where this was going. Knowing this idiot, he probably let them out to trash the classroom and leave his class to handle them.

Harry was too smart for his own good sometimes.

“See what you make of them,” he said, opening the cage. The results were predictable.

Freed of their containment, the magical household pests began causing all manner of mayhem. They flew it a neat stack of Lockhart books and began tearing them to shreds. Others began grabbing random objects and throwing them out the window. Lockhart dove under his desk after a pitiful attempt at an advanced creature control spell that only the best trained handlers could execute. He was quickly deprived of his wand. Students began swatting at the pixies with textbooks, rolls of parchment, anything they could get their hands on.

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were being a bit more efficient in dealing with the pests. Harry was picking them off with individual low-power stunners, while Hermione was using Freezing Charms to stop them in midair. One flew at Harry and clawed at his face, and after it flew away, Harry angrily blew it to pieces with a Blasting Hex. A few screams broke out at the pixie blew apart.

The two were joined by Zabini and Greengrass, both of whom knew enough spells to bring them down. Harry and Hermione stuffed them roughly into the cage. Harry walked over to where Lockhart was cowering.

“You can come out now, Gilderoy,” Harry whispered. “The pixies have been dealt with, and your incompetence revealed for all to see.” Lockhart glared daggers at the twelve-year old.

“I ought to put in detention for a month for your insolence, young man,” he began pompously.

“But you won’t. Because if you do, then I win. You can’t win this, Professor.”

Lockhart glared at him. “Get out!”

“As you wish, fraud.” Harry spun on his heel in a manner reminiscent of Daphne, and left the room, meeting a bewildered Hermione.

“Harry, what were you doing in there?” she all but screamed at him. Harry flinched.

“I don’t…I wanted to put him in his place, but…I don’t know…”

“Well, look, I believe you that he’s a fraud now. That he couldn’t handle of bunch of pixies is evidence of that, and I must admit, it’s suspicious that all of his successes were outside of the country. He’s never done anything in front of anyone who’s willing to give eyewitness accounts. But what you did in there was dangerous!”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. He needed to write to Tom, he was all messed today.

“Seriously, Harry, do you honestly believe that if he’s really a fraud, that no one has ever suspected him? How do you think he dealt with them? Honestly, I know you Slytherins are all into this game of one-upmanship, but you can’t do that with a teacher! You could get suspended!” What she was saying suddenly started to make sink in.

“I know,” he said weakly. “I don’t know what came over me, Hermione. Let’s get to class, my mind’s a mess today, I keep getting these weird flashes and images.”

“What kind of images?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Nothing to worry about,” Harry lied. She seemed to be skeptical.

“Should you see Madam Pomfrey?” she asked, “Because I don’t know, you did take four Cruciatus Curses as an eleven-year old.”

Harry stopped. “You’re saying I’m mentally unbalanced?”

“NO!” Hermione cried, a bit too loudly. “I’m just worried about you, Harry. I mean, you’ve come through the whole thing a bit too well. I’m just wondering if you are hiding lingering damage.”

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry ground out. “Stop worrying.”

Predictably, Weasley and Thomas were the first to arrive, despite the fact that third member of the trio, Neville Longbottom, had arrived ten minutes prior. Today’s was a strange lesson, to say the least. Their task was to Transform rodents, mostly mice, into water goblets. It was a very difficult spell, though transforming animals into inanimate objects was far simpler than making cross-species Transfiguration, a topic not taught for quite some time.

Harry and Hermione, as usual, had the most luck. While little to none of his mother’s charms talent had been transferred to her son, Harry had inherited some of his father’s talent with Transfiguration. Of course, Harry’s strongest area was something that he picked up from Daphne: skill and use of combat curses and hexes. Weasley created a crime against nature: a furry goblet with a head and tail. McGonagall had to try several times to fix the poor thing, which ran away as soon as it was able.

After class, they headed to lunch, and Ginny told them about her first day of classes. Luna did too, but she was so vague that it was difficult to determine anything other than the fact that she had Transfiguration and Charms. Ginny also mentioned a boy who seemed rather fond of Harry and tried to latch onto her like a leach. It surprised Harry to find out it was Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor.

As for the classes themselves, it’d mostly been introductory work, and Ginny hadn’t made any progress with the matchstick, something that seemed to have discouraged her. Harry told her he’d help her with her technique that night.

After lunch, Harry bid Hermione farewell and headed down to Herbology. He caught up with Zabini and Greengrass on the way there. Nott was still absent. It turned out to be probably the most interesting class in the subject he’d had so far with the Hufflepuffs.

After they had entered the greenhouse, they had been given earmuffs, something that had been a bit confusing to Harry. Professor Spout had then explained that they would be repotting Mandrakes today, and explained about the fatal cry of the plants. Harry knew most of it already. Mandrakes had been one plant that had really fascinated Trish. Ironically, another had been the Devil’s Snare, the plant that had nearly killed Harry the previous year.

Harry ended up pairing with a Hufflepuff he didn’t know, who turned out to be Justin Finch-Fletchely. He was as disgusted with the hideous babies as Harry was. They grimaced and managed to pot all of their assigned mandrakes before the period ended.

He practically ran into his dormitory after wishing Ginny and Hermione a rather short goodbye and unlocked his trunk. Locking the curtains, he pulled out a quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.

Hello Tom.

Hello Harry. How was your first day of school?

Interesting.

How so?

Well, our DADA teacher is a complete fraud, and I had a hell of a time convincing my friend of the fact. His name’s Gilderoy Lockhart, and he’s published dozens of books talking about his ‘adventures.’ It’s all garbage.

Interesting, I can say I felt a number of my teachers were incompetent, but this reaches a new low. What Headmaster allowed this?

Albus Dumbledore. I don’t like him that much, he’s far too biased towards the Gryffindors and a bit manipulative, but even this seems improbable for him.

Dumbledore, eh? He was my Transfiguration teacher.

Really? When did you go to school?

The 1940s. It is 1992 now, correct?

Yes. September 2nd, 1992.

Ah, thank you. I haven’t been written in for so long, it’s difficult to keep time.

Speaking of which, do you have any idea where you came from?

I do not know. I am not aware of the world around me.

Oh, that’s too bad. I’m not saying I regret it or anything, but I’d like to know why you mysteriously appeared in my trunk.

Does it really matter?

Well, I’d like to know where you came from. Plus, Daphne wouldn’t like me to trust something that I don’t know about.

I’ll never surrender your secrets, Harry. It’s just very nice to have someone to talk to. Never mind someone who understands me so well.

The feeling’s mutual.

So how was the rest of your day.

Well, I was having this argument with Hermione, my best friend. And I well, saw these images.

Go on.

They were rather disturbing, actually. There is this kid, Ron Weasley, who I really don’t like.

Why exactly?

He made my life hell last year. He was bitter that I wasn’t Sorted into Gryffindor like him, and spread all of these awful rumors. I threatened him a couple of times, which seemed to spurn him on. I was very lonely last year, until Hermione finally got to know me.

I understand. In my day, being a half-blooded Slytherin was very looked down upon. No one wanted to associate with this penniless orphan. I didn’t have any friends for quite some time. I occupied my time trying to excel in classes and learn as much as I could.

Sounds familiar. At least I had Daphne to write.

Do not feel sorry for me, Harry. I became a great wizard by the time I wrote this. I’m afraid I don’t know what became of me after that. Still, I am eternally grateful to you for giving me something to do. I may be a diary, but my creator gifted me with the intelligence that you are speaking with. An intelligence capable of independent thought. That should tell you how much my creator achieved.

I’d say so.

Quite. Now, tell me more about this Daphne. She seems to mean quite a bit to you.

She does. She took me from the ruins of my house after my parents were killed. She gave me a home, a mother, and a life outside of all the “Boy-Who-Lived” nonsense.

“Boy-Who-Lived ?”

If I tell you, promise not to treat me differently.

I promise, Harry.

Well, when I was a year old, Voldemort came for my parents and me. After he killed dad, he tried to get my mother to give me up. He killed mum, and somehow, it created a type of ancient magic that used her own magic to protect me, a protection that exists to this day.

Go on.

The short form is that Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at me, and I survived. The curse rebounded onto him, and destroyed his body. Somehow, he also survived, but was so weak that the war was basically over. The whole wizarding world celebrated the downfall of the Dark Lord, but Daphne whisked me away, to give me a chance at a normal childhood.

That was very intelligent of her. Children are very impressionable. It’s best to grow up normally if possible.

Yes. She finally told me ‘who’ I was when I was ten. I’m glad she waited.

You love her very much, don’t you?

Of course. She’s an amazing witch, and a living legend. Her nickname is the Grey Maiden, and she’s known everywhere for things such as killing Evan Rosier.

She seems like quite the celebrity.

What’s ironic is that I’m more famous, and I’ve done much less.

People are very stupid sometimes. They judge without thinking.

Yes, they do. I love Daphne though. She was my mum’s best friend, and would do anything to protect me. She’s very strange sometimes, and has a rather Dark Past. But she’d never do anything to hurt me.

Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure!

Alright, I’m sorry Harry. Forgive me, but if something happened to you, I don’t fancy waiting another fifty years for human contact. Perhaps you ought to get some rest.

That sounds like a good idea. Goodnight Tom.

Goodnight, Harry.

Inside the diary, Tom Marvolo Riddle began to attempt to process the veritable gold mine of information that he had received from his victim. It appeared that the compulsions and suggestions he’d implanted were working well. He was still frustrated by his ability to access the majority of the boy’s memories.

He’d discovered something crucial. This twelve-year old child had been his downfall. He’d somehow overlooked Old Magic, and in his haste, he had lost everything. It sounded like he’d been damn close to taking over.

So Dumbledore still was at the school, and Headmaster no doubt. Perhaps he’d been a bit aggressive in affecting Harry’s behavior. It wouldn’t do for this Granger girl to report him. A thorough Legillimency scan would detect his presence. He’d have to hide deep within the boy’s barriers, but first, he’d have to make Harry trust him more than he already did.

His suggestions to that effect were working beautifully, taking advantage of the boy’s lonliness and desire for male companionship. Boys sometime needed other boys to talk to, no matter how interesting and understanding their female friend were at times.

This Dressler was intriguing. She’d killed his second-in-command, Evan Rosier. At least, Tom imagined at the time that Evan was. Evan was a year below him, but at the time of the creation of the diary, was his most trusted confidant. She seemed to be a legend among the Aurors, powerful, skilled, and intelligent. He’d have to tread lightly around her indeed. He also suspected that she had been the one probing him on occasion from a young age, creating the mental shields that had only recently matured enough to block a casual scan, and make deep intrusion difficult.

So, he’d discovered one thing. His plan of draining the boy’s life force wasn’t going to work. If he was correct, he’d likely obliterate the both of them if he attempted to take the energies of a person protected against him specifically by Old Magic. Protection so powerful it had blocked an unblockable curse. Thus, he’d need another victim. He needed a plan.

In the meantime, he need to build his relationship with Harry, and implant more of himself into the boy. He needed to make his mind trust him, so that he could take over when the time was right. He would indeed proceed with his plan of attacking mudbloods until an opportunity presented itself to return to body. He hoped it would be only a week or so before he could begin the process of re-opening the Chamber of Secrets. He’d need to kill all the roosters (he couldn’t comprehend how such a mighty beast could be felled by a sound), and then open the Chamber itself. All of this without arousing suspicion from Harry, Dumbledore, or any of the students.

A challenge indeed.