Biting his lip, Harry walked hesitantly through the dim, nearly-empty corridor toward the Great Hall.  At only about fifty feet away, Harry could hear the muffled, jumbled chatter and the scraping of utensils on plates from inside the dining area.  Mostly everyone was eating dinner.

But if Harry knew his friends…

“Oh…there he is!  Harry!” Hermione exclaimed breathily as she darted around a corner and ran towards him. 

I knew it.

Ron was following quickly, only a few steps behind Hermione.  His pale hands were shoved deeply in to his trousers pockets and his face was pinched. 

Oh, no…Harry thought.  He stopped where he stood and crumpled the edges of his sleeves into his fists as he waited for the inevitable. 

Hermione slowed as she reached Harry, taking a deep, important breath in preparation for what could only be one of her infamous inquiries.  Her bushy hair had been pulled back, but Harry could tell by the stray, floating curls that Hermione had made herself sick with worry over the past eighty-five minutes. 

“You were gone a long time, Harry.  Are you all right?” Hermione asked, placing a hand lightly on his forearm.  Her eyes flickered up and down his face, obviously searching for tear tracks and puffy eyes. 

Harry felt his cheeks warm in awkward embarrassment. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the boy assured his friend, averting his gaze as Ron sauntered forward, his ginger head bowed ever so slightly.

Here we go… 

But as he held his breath, Harry noticed that, strangely, Ron’s expression wasn’t clouded with fury the way it had been before their argument last week. 

Ron glanced up at Harry with round eyes and an odd, serious expression.  “He clobbered you, didn’t he, mate…” he stated in a grave, throaty voice. 

Suddenly Hermione’s hand shot out as she clouted Ron right in the arm, glaring at him dangerously.

“Ow!...” Ron complained, whipping around towards the girl.  He frowned as he rubbed his arm, “Bloody hell, Hermione…”

Even though Harry already figured Hermione would have informed Ron of Harry’s situation after the two had been ordered away by Snape, Harry didn’t spare his friend an irritated look as Hermione turned back around to face him. 

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry, but when we saw Draco run to his dorm and…and you didn’t come back, we were worried that Snape had dragged you off again…”

“He did,” Harry whispered, now twisting the wrinkled material of his sleeves in both hands, “But he didn’t—“

“And of course,” Ron broke in, removing his hands from his pockets and throwing them up wildly, “the stupid git just let Malfoy go back to his dorm even though he’s the one who started it.”

“It wasn’t like that—“ Harry began, but was cut off again.

“I’m gonna kill the slimy bastard…” Ron growled, shaking his head.  Harry wasn’t sure if Ron was referring to Snape or Malfoy…  Harry opened his mouth to try and explain again.

“Ronald, just be quiet and let Harry tell you what happened!” Hermione scolded, glancing between the two boys before her stormy eyes rested on Harry.  She nodded.  “Go ahead Harry.”  Ron scowled but clamped his mouth shut.

However, now that Harry had gained the full attention of his friends, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.  He’d been running over the words in his mind ever since he left the dungeons.  But now that Ron was obviously somewhat knowledgeable of the type of authority Snape had acquired over Harry, the boy’s brain scrambled furiously to think of something else to say.

The air in the corridor seemed stuffy and hot.

“I didn’t get in trouble for the note or for Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, his hands tightened in a death-grip around his robes, “I mean, I didn’t really even do anything to him…”

“But then why—“

“Snape did hear me shout at him though...” Harry trailed off.  His neck and shoulders were suddenly sweaty underneath his robes.

Hermione’s eyes widened.  “And?” the girl prompted.

“He…erm…put soap in my mouth,” Harry said as he looked away, completely mortified. 

Hermione gasped.  But after a few seconds, to Harry’s surprise, Ron snorted.

“He did what?!” Ron cried, causing Harry and Hermione to snap their heads in his direction, “Of all the things Snape could do to you, he washes your mouth out?” 

“It was disgusting…” Harry retorted defensively.  Merlin’s pants, Ron was unpredictable. 

“And you let him?”

“Shut up, Ron!” Hermione said through gritted teeth, her hand at the ready to smack the redhead again if needed.  Ron pulled his arm back.  Hermione rolled her eyes, “He’s a professor…what should Harry have done?  Besides, your mother’s given you soap before,” the girl continued haughtily. 

Ron blushed crimson.  “Says who?!”

“Your sister,” Hermione said with a satisfied smirk.

And ignoring Ron’s expression of degradation, the girl faced Harry again and fixed him with a sympathetic look.  “Well, that couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes,” she exclaimed thoughtfully, “Did he have you clean cauldrons before dinner or something?”

Harry shook his head, keeping a watchful eye on Ron, whose face was stuck between irritation and curiosity, “No.  He taught me a spell that amplifies sound.  I heard the voice again…on the second floor—“

“Wait,” Ron interrupted, “Snape gags you with soap and then decides to teach you a spell that actually makes the voice louder?”  But before Harry could answer, Ron’s eyes grew large. “Wait a minute…you told him you were hearing voices?!”

“Well…yeah…” Harry shrugged, relying heavily on his act of nonchalance.  His friends didn’t need to know that the confession was delivered among pathetic blubbering and heaving.  “And he believes me,” Harry continued, suddenly annoyed, “So just save it, Ron.”

“I didn’t say anything—“

Harry didn’t let him finish. “You’ve got your mum and dad…and Fred and George and Percy and Charlie and whoever else you want to teach you spells...or tell you whether or not it’s normal to hear voices if you’re a wizard.  I don’t.” 

Ron looked down at his fingers which were twisted into an odd sort of clasp.  “I know, mate,” the boy replied quietly. 

“No, you don’t,” Harry muttered, leaning back heavily against the stone wall, studying his thumbs in the same manner as Ron. 

After a moment, Harry felt a hand on his arm again.  He looked up slowly into Hermione’s shiny eyes; she was looking at him in a way that made his stomach ache.  “You’ve got us, Harry.  And I know it doesn’t seem like much sometimes, but we care about you.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley care about you too.”  Hermione glanced fleetingly at Ron who was still staring at his toes. “So does Dumbledore…and Hagrid…” 

“I know,” Harry said quietly, feeling the guilt prick at his stomach.  What Harry really wanted to say was ‘It’s not the same’.  But he didn’t quite know what he meant by that.  Harry wasn’t even really sure what he was referring to. 

And he was too tired and hungry right now to figure it out. 

“Listen,” Harry continued, glancing up into the pained faces of his friends, “Snape’s just teaching me some Defense, and you have to be really disciplined when you learn it.  He’s not being cruel or anything.”

 Where the hell is this coming from? 

“But why Snape?” Ron questioned quietly.

“Because Lockhart’s a sodding git.  We’re not learning anything from him…”

“Harry!” Hermione admonished, “He is not!”

Ron looked for a moment as if he was going to laugh, but he didn’t.  “Why you?  I mean, Snape’s always had it in for you, hasn’t he?”

Harry thought for a moment.  Besides the fact that he was the only one who could hear the voice, he honestly had no idea why things had turned out the way they did.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged, pushing himself away from the wall.   And he left it at that. 

The bells chimed once to indicate the half-hour. 

“It’s five-thirty,” Hermione spoke up, “We need to go before we miss dinner.”

Harry nodded and moved forward a few steps.  However, Ron didn’t say anything.  He simply stuffed his hands back into his pockets and fell in line beside his friends.  Harry knew that Ron wanted to—and very well could have—asked thousand other questions.   But for once, Harry was a bit glad that the redhead was at a loss for words. 

“He gave me a book on Defense,” Harry said to Ron after a few seconds of silence between the two of them, “It’s brilliant.  I’ll show it to you when we get back into the common room.”

Ron barely nodded as they entered the Great Hall, which was flooded with the warmth of rumbling voices and the rich scent of roast beef.  As usual, the three of them sat down together—Harry across from Ron and Hermione. 

It was awkwardly quiet as they loaded up their plates with meat and vegetables.  But after a few moments of silence, Hermione sighed heavily and looked determinedly at Harry.  “We learn some things in Professor Lockhart’s class,” she claimed. 

Harry gave her a funny look.  Out of everything they’d covered in the past ten minutes, Hermione was thinking about that?  But before Harry could retort, Ron spoke up. 

“What’s that Hermione?” Ron mumbled through his mashed potatoes, “How to chase a banshee away with an award-winning smile?”

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

Hermione glared at Ron who had plastered a look of innocence on his face. 

“What?” he asked, “He’s a brilliant teacher.  Probably the best we’ve had.”  Ron shoved another forkful of roast beef.

“Oh…be quiet, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, returning to her carrots. 

Ron glanced at Harry and gave him a subtle smile—as much as was possible with his mouth full of food.

Harry returned the grin before taking another gulp of juice. 

Yeah…he’ll get over it…

*****************

As Harry padded down the stone steps to the Gryffindor common room, shivers ran up and down his back as the cool air that hovered among the staircase drifted across his bare feet.  It was late—after midnight—and he’d accidentally left his shoulder bag next to his favorite armchair by the fireplace.

Moving quickly, Harry entered the common room, starting slightly when he noticed Ginny huddled in one of the armchairs, furiously writing in a book filled with yellow parchment.  Trying not to disturb her, Harry slowed down when he came close.  As he gingerly leaned down to grab the handle of his shoulder bag, he saw, without really meaning to, a few words, wet with black ink, in Ginny’s Diary:

  Dear Tom,

 I think I’m losing my memory.  There are—  

All of a sudden, Ginny jerked back, clutching her journal to her chest.  Harry jumped and nearly cried out in surprise.  His heart thudded in his ears as Ginny stared at him in horror.  Her face was white.  Her small, pale fingers covered part of a name stamped in gold lettering at the top of the small book:  TOM MARVOLO R   was all Harry could make out.

Who’s that?

“Ginny…” Harry began, the word cracking in his dry throat.

But as soon as Harry spoke, the terrified girl hastily scrambled out of her chair and ran up the steps that led to the girls’ dormitory. 

Harry listened to the soles of her feet slap against the stone.  Her quill lay unmoving on the small carpet next to the fireplace.  Harry stared for a moment at the glimmering ink on the sharp point of the quill. 

What is wrong with her? Harry thought, gazing at the empty, silent staircase.  He shivered again as he stood in confusion, his shoulder bag lying forgotten on the floor.

****************

Exactly one half hour remained in Potions on Friday afternoon, and Harry planned on using all thirty minutes of it to brew his Hair Raising Potion correctly the first time.  Harry had told Ron and Hermione about Ginny and the strange diary over breakfast the next day, but neither of them had a clue who Tom Marvolo was.  Hermione had tried to talk to Ginny but received little response.  Thinking about it had made Harry uneasy all week.  But right now, Harry knew he needed to concentrate.  He didn’t want to spend a second of his Defense lesson making up this assignment, especially since the weekend was so near. 

As Harry added his two pickled rat tails and stirred, he suddenly felt something poking him at the elbow.  Glancing over his shoulder to identify the annoyance, Harry saw that it was a piece of parchment that had been folded up angularly into a note.

Not again… Harry thought crossly. 

The note had been folded in the exact same manner as the last one Draco had passed him; however, this one was floating on its own as it continued to stab at his elbow. 

Harry reached around with his other hand and swatted the note away.  There was no way he would let Malfoy get to him this time. 

But a few seconds later, the poking continued.  Harry looked over at Snape.  The man’s attention was completely dedicated to Millicent Bulstrode’s bubbling cauldron. 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Harry whispered, knocking the note a few feet backwards as he slammed it with his fist. 

Harry felt Hermione nudge his shoulder absently—a silent gesture that told Harry to get back to work.  But she was too engrossed in her potion to pay further attention to whatever was going on next to her. 

“What, Potter?” Malfoy sneered in a soft voice, “Afraid you’ll have to stand with your nose against the wall again?”

Feeling his cheeks flame hotly, Harry spun around and glared hatefully at the smirking Slytherin. 

“No, but I bet your hand is still sore after those seven-hundred lines…”

It was Draco’s turn to blush. 

However, before either of them could say anything else, Snape straightened up and glanced over to his left.  Harry spun around quickly and stared hard at his cauldron.  As Snape sauntered slowly over in his direction, Harry’s stomach clenched.  He squinted at the blackboard, as if he were focusing on what to add next.  As the professor passed, he stilled next to Harry’s desk.  Pressing his lips together, Harry shifted only his eyes up toward the potions master, who in turn gave Harry a stern look and pointed firmly at the boy’s cauldron.

As the professor continued to survey the classroom, Harry bent over his cauldron and forced himself to concentrate. 

But, again, he felt the corner of the note pricking the back of his arm.  Harry felt like screaming…or picking up his simmering cauldron and dumping the entire concoction on Malfoy’s head.  However, knowing that a stunt like that would only earn Harry a zero for the day and probably a sore behind later, the boy finally threw down his stirrer.

Swearing under his breath, Harry reached around and snatched up the note. 

Glancing briefly at Snape’s back, Harry quickly unfolded the note.   Immediately, Harry’s face began to burn; the words seemed to blur on the page as he read:

  I’ve seen house elves that look better than your filthy blood-traitor girlfriend.  Bet you’d love to know what’s going on there wouldn’t you Potter?  

Harry felt as if a spike had been driven through his chest.  His hands had become so instantly sweaty that they wilted the parchment as he held it. 

“Harry…” Hermione whispered, leaning over, “Harry, what is it?”

Weakly, Harry folded the note between his fingers and moved his hand underneath the desk.  Thankfully, Ron was sitting with Dean Thomas at the table in front of them.  However, Harry didn’t want Hermione to see either.  For the first time, Harry didn’t know how to react.  Aside from the almost stinging heat that radiated through his cheeks, Harry felt numb all over. 

Strangely, Harry sensed, rather than saw the looming presence next to his table.  A gentle tug, and the note slipped from between his fingers.  But Harry barely acknowledged it.  Stiffly, Harry pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead as he leaned on his elbow.  He could hear the crinkling of the paper as the note was unfolded. 

A whirlwind of emotions swirled through Harry.  He hated Malfoy.  And he ached for Ginny and whatever it was that was bothering her.  But mostly, Harry scorned himself for lacking the drive to turn around and knock the Slytherin’s teeth out. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said in his softest, silkiest voice, drawing Harry out of his thoughts, “Accompany me to the corridor, if you would.”

There was no anger in the man’s voice.  However, the quiet, dangerously familiar tone was exactly what caused Harry to turn his head slightly and glance back at the scene.  Hermione had turned as well.  Only a few surrounding students were engaged.  The rest were still bent over their cauldrons, working diligently as the remaining twenty minutes diminished rapidly.

But despite the placidness in Snape’s request, Malfoy had paled.  The boy slowly complied, following several steps behind the potions master as they made their way toward the classroom exit. 

Ron spun around and fixed Harry with a confused look but was immediately pulled back into a heated, yet whispered conversation with Dean involving the Chudley Cannons versus the Tutshill Tornadoes.

Briefly, Harry thought about putting the amplification spell to use.  But at that moment, the boy realized that he didn’t really care if Snape hexed Malfoy into the oblivion.  He didn’t even feel angry.  Rather, Harry was disgusted.  There was something...smug…and cruel in Malfoy’s words…as if he was reveling in the girl’s misery.  Did Malfoy know something?

“What was that all about?” Hermione whispered, nudging Harry in the arm, “Harry, you look funny.  Are you all right?  What did Malfoy give you?”

Harry stared meaningfully into her face, which was pinched into a frown.  However, before Harry could begin to explain, the door to the classroom swung open, emitting a subdued and pink-cheeked Malfoy.  Snape followed closely behind.  But the man’s face was unreadable.  However, the young Slytherin glared at Harry as he trudged back to his desk, discreetly giving him the finger as he passed. 

“You have precisely fifteen minutes,” Snape informed the class woodenly as he strolled over to his desk, sweeping his robes along briskly as he moved, “I will not hesitate to hand out zeros for incomplete assignments.  Weasley…”

Ron jumped.

“Get to work.”

Mumbling a quick yes, sir, Ron immediately hunched over his ingredients.

For a fleeting second, Snape’s eyes met Harry’s; however, before the boy could begin to analyze the intent behind the dark pupils, Snape looked away.  He strolled briskly over to the Slytherins.

***************

The classroom was empty.  Harry sat slumped over on his stool, resting his chin on his folded arms as he waited for Snape to finish putting away two of the borrowed cauldrons. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to think.  He was almost positive that Snape had said something to Malfoy about the note.  But Harry couldn’t be sure.  Malfoy was a Slytherin, after all. 

However, the boy also felt slightly embarrassed by the fact that Snape had taken action before Harry.  For some reason, Harry hadn’t been expecting something so hurtful.  The last note had insulted the Weasleys as a whole, and Malfoy had probably known that a note like that would bother Harry more than anyone else.  But this was different—it cut Harry deep.  Still, he couldn’t help feeling like a pathetic baby. 

“All right, Potter, enough sulking,” Snape said suddenly from behind the boy. 

Sulking?!

Harry sat up quickly, staring hard at Snape as the man came closer and pulled up a nearby stool. 

“I’m not sulking.”

Snape merely raised an eyebrow, barely cracking the stone-like pretense, supporting himself lightly by the forearm that rested on Harry’s table. 

“To whom was the note referring?” Snape inquired softly, passing by the small-talk, as usual, and cutting directly to the point.  However, by the look on the man’s face, Harry had a feeling that perhaps Snape already knew what it was about.  Even if Malfoy hadn’t told him, the professor had Ginny in class.  

“You let Malfoy get away with everything,” Harry mumbled, ignoring the inquiry for a moment as he stared at a streak on the desktop.  He figured he might as well stick up for himself now to make up for his feeble lack of reaction. 

“I asked you a question, Potter.  You will do well to answer it.”

A moment of silence. 

Still focusing on the black top of the desk, Harry shrugged.

“Perhaps instead of a Defense lesson, you should simply go back to your dorm and nap for the afternoon,” Snape exclaimed, working hard to level the exasperation in his tone.  “I refuse to waste my time while you pout like a child…”

“I’m twelve,” Harry said irritably, “I don’t take naps.  And I’m not pouting.”

“Keep it up, Potter,” the man growled threateningly.

A bloody nap…he’s got to be joking.

But it was hard to hold even an ounce of defiance among Snape’s relentless glare.  Finally, Harry sighed in resignation.  “He was talking about Ginny Weasley.”

“I see,” Snape replied almost immediately.  The man lifted his hand up and placed a few weathered knuckles against his lips as he thought.

Harry waited.

“Tell me, Potter, what would incline Mr. Malfoy to mention the Weasley girl?”

Harry stared at his hands that now rested in his lap.  “She’s not having a very good year,” the boy nearly whispered. 

“Elaborate,” Snape prompted in a low voice. 

Harry staved off another shrug but continued to focus on his folded hands as he spoke.  “She’s just really sad all the time.  I mean, I know she’s probably just homesick, but…I dunno.”  Harry suddenly glanced up at Snape.  “Professor?”

“What is it, Potter?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip.  “Do you know somebody named Tom Marvolo?”

A shadow passed over the man’s face.  Harry thought he saw the skin on Snape’s face whiten, but with the professor’s pale complexion, it was difficult to tell.  Snape tilted his head as he sat up.  His eyes darkened considerably. 

Harry swallowed roughly.

“Where did you hear of that name?” Snape questioned.  The edge in Snape’s voice was almost cutting. 

“He’s…I mean it was on,” Harry stammered, licking his dry lips, “The name was stamped on this diary that Ginny writes in.  Tom Marvolo…and then an ‘R’ was all I could make out before she ran—“

“A diary?” the man clarified.  His movements were rigid. 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, lowering his eyebrows in confusion.

What’s wrong with him?...

Without warning, Snape pushed back his stool and stood up, turning slightly away from Harry and running an awkward hand through his hair. 

“Mr. Potter, you need to go back to your dormitory,” Snape ordered gruffly.

“But our lesson—“

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Snape exclaimed with a nod, “As of now, I need to speak with the headmaster.”

“Are we going to tell him about Ginny?” Harry asked, scooting back his stool and sliding off slowly as he watched his professor.

Snape spun around suddenly.  “We, Potter, are going to do nothing of the sort,” he informed sternly, “Go start on your homework.”

“It’s Friday,” Harry retorted, “I don’t have any.”  The boy began packing his books into his shoulder bag as he spoke.  “Why can’t I go?  I need to talk to him anyway…about what I’ve been hearing.”

Actually, this was the first time Harry had considered actually going to Dumbledore about the whole problem, but at the moment, it sounded like a good argument. 

Snape moved forward quickly, grasping the boy’s shoulders.  Harry shrunk back in surprise.  However, the grip wasn’t painful.  Snape simply crouched down and looked at Harry severely.

“I do not intend to make a habit of repeating myself.”  The man gave Harry’s shoulders a firm, brief shake as he scolded.  “And I have just given you an order that I expect you to obey.”

Harry gazed at Snape pleadingly, squirming slightly in the man’s hold.

“No, Potter, “ Snape continued, disregarding the boy’s expression.  He shook his head resolutely.  “This is a matter that I need to discuss with Professor Dumbledore alone.  I need not explain myself.  Now do as I say.”

“But professor…”

“Harry,” Snape nearly barked, shaking his shoulders again. 

The boy froze, startled by the harsh way Snape had delivered his name…his name.

“Do as I say.” 

Snape released him.

Heart thudding from the stern rebuke, Harry simply nodded solemnly. 

Bowing his head curtly in satisfaction, Snape swept to the door, indicating for Harry to follow.  He held the door open and gestured toward the corridor. 

“Tomorrow, Mr. Potter,” the man said quietly.  “You may come after lunch.”

Again, at a loss for words, Harry simply shifted his shoulder bag and nodded.

“Go on.”

And without another word, the door closed solidly behind him.

*****************

As Harry made his way down the corridor in stunned, pensive silence, he suddenly felt a sharp pain erupt in the back of his head. 

A small stone clattered to the floor.

Whipping around angrily, Harry subconsciously tore his wand away from the pocket inside of his robes. 

“Going to cry, are you, Potter?” Malfoy drawled from the other side of the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room.

Gritting his teeth, Harry breathed feverishly as he clutched his wand. 

Suddenly, Harry stalked forward—every Defense mechanism he’d read about the past week floated to the surface.  And he didn’t care anymore. 

Now we’ll see who’s the coward, Harry thought.

Harry told himself that he wouldn’t really use any of the spells he read about.  He wouldn’t.  But there was no reason that Malfoy had to know that…