Harry_Potter_and_the_Knowledge_of_a

Every parent leaves something behind for their children to remember them by. Lily Evans didn�t know, when she left her diary behind, that it would help her son into knowing her, and himself�or did she?

Disclaimer: Okay, it�s a widely known fact that everything but the plot, the Diggorinta (which won�t be showing up anymore), the diary, the crazy fangirls, Kevin Creevy, and the possessed Cicciobello (and Cicciobello IS an existing doll), are not mine, but the very talented J.K.Rowling. So you can�t sue, and, even if you did, you wouldn�t even get my professional markers because, just yesterday, they had just seemed to suck each other dry, so I don�t even have those anymore. Oh, well, thank god for fanfiction.

Warning: My computer did not agree with me, so it might not be up to my standard of grammatical perfection (since my spellchecker broke down and I don�t have a beta), also, I was in a lousy mood, and also in a hurry, when writing so the scenes that were meant to be funny and witty won�t be (I�m sure), and that will lower the whole standard of the chapter because this is basically all introspection and thoughts. Once I finish the whole story I will one day go back and re-edit, but for now, I�m in a hurry to move on ahead so that I will soon reach the better parts. You have been warned.

And now: on with the fic:

Harry Potter and the Knowledge of a Mother

Chapter 2: The Diary

That morning Harry awoke late.

He�d fallen asleep shortly before sunrise (the sky was already lightening outside the window before he nodded off to dreamland) and now he was late for breakfast.

He�d dressed in a hurry and run down to the Common Room, expecting it to be empty.

Well, maybe Hermione will be there, but no-one else, he thought to himself.

Boy, was he wrong.

As a matter of fact, the second he took the last five-step jump, with which he�d cleared the whole landing in only six strides, a young, female, and, very likely, insane, voice shouted: "There he is!" Therefore snapping Harry�s eyes and attention upon herself.

Oh, crap! He, very eloquently, thought.

Before he even realized what was going on, a thick mob of celebrity obsessed teenagers had tackled him with squeals. Since he had been pushed with his stomach on the ground, he really couldn�t see much, but he felt the weight of at least four girls sprawled across his body, a pair of hands was strangling him trying to get his tie off his neck, two others were trying to take his robe while the other four were still on top of him, making the task hard, and he�d even felt someone trying to rip off his belt despite the fact that the belt buckle was on the front of his pants, and, therefore, unreachable.

Then, two, very heavy, feet, stepped close to him, one on each side of his head (actually one was standing on his nose, the other on his hair). The feet were apparently covered in very punk, black leather boots completely covered in spikes, with a pair of scary looking stirrups on the back. He hoped the owner wouldn�t step closer because a couple of the spikes were very close to his eyes (he dimly realized that he didn�t have his glasses on anymore).

And then he heard the still undeveloped voice of the speaker (trying his hardest to sound gruff) speak to the raging, out of control sea of adolescent hormones.

He graoned to himself, as best he could with that heavy boot standing on his nose anyway, and hoped this was just a bad dream.

The sea of raging, out of control adolescent hormones wasn�t enough. Kevin Creevy, had been waiting there as well, probably thinking that his main job as a self proclaimed bodyguard was to defend him from the aformantioned sea.

His nose was telling Harry that Kevin wasn�t doing a very good job, so far.

"Yo! Get off!" He heard the boy shout.Yes, Kevin, that�ll do it! He thought sarcastically.

And, as expected, the girls didn�t get off.

"GET OFF PEOPLE!" He hollered, this time, managing to sound menacing. For a second it seemed to work, for, even if for a very brief moment, the girls stopped their unearthly squealing, and, Harry guessed, looked at the young boy.

Please, let them be scared of him! Please, let them be scared of him! Harry chanted, over and over in his mind. He remembered how in the train, all it took was the sight of Hermione�s wand to get them to retreat, but that was different. Hermione was famous. Back in forth year, Rita Skeeter had written many awful things about her (for which she received not less than one howler), and, since it was becoming very disturbing for the entire school, Dumbledore had asked Harry himself to write a short article about her to post in the Daily Prophet. He didn�t think it would do much, but apparently it did. After that, Hermione had gone from being the worst witch that had ever walked the Hogwarts grounds, to the heroine that she deserved to be known as.

But Kevin wasn�t Hermione. He wasn�t famous, or a spectacular wizard, and, more than being scary was ridiculous.

Obviously, the crazy stalkers thought so too.

After a, very brief, sizing of him on the girls� part, they simply went back to their defiling of Harry�s person.

Harry, who�d been struggling to get free, decided that, if he held no resistance, maybe it would make their defiling of him quicker and get the whole thing over with.

Kevin didn�t agree. He stepped off of his nose and hair (Oh, thank you!) and walked over to grab the girl that was still trying to strangle Harry. He put his arms around her waist, hefted her (rather effortlessly) off of him, and threw her on the oversized sofa in front of the hearth. Many outraged squeals followed, and, after having trampled all over Harry�s poor abused body, the girls went to attack Kevin, who was shouting at Harry: "Run, Potter, I�ll keep �em busy till you�re out of reach."

No, Harry thought convinced. He is definitely NOT doing a good job so far!

Off to the side, Harry heard Hermione�s familiar sigh of resignation, and a mumbled "Oh, for goodness sake!" He turned his head (or what was left of it) to look at her, as best he could without his glasses on, just in time to see her raise her wand and let out a tired, "Immobilus!"

And, finally, everything went quiet.

His savior walked over to him, and helped him lift himself up. He slighly wobbled on his legs while she did a quick clean up spell on him, setting his clothes back to the way they were, and removing the footprints stains off of him. "Dangs," he mumbled, rubbing his abused nose, and trying to pronounce the words as best he could, still trying to fully grasp what had happened. He looked over to see the full stalker squad from the Hogwarts Express (with a few new additions, he noted grumly) attacking poor Kevin, who, being the only one facing him, blinked blankly at him, and then at the girls. Two pairs of hands were blocked in a rather thorough wringing motion around his neck, two pairs of arms were holding each one of his for three girls to bite his left arm, while two others were trying to rip off the right one. The rest of the mob still hadn�t reached the boy. "Uhm...maybe we should free him," he thought out loud. After all he DID make an effort, he finished in his mind.

"Oh la la! A good, vresh ganvaz," a new voice added from somewhere above their heads. Harry and Hermione looked up to see who the high-pitched voice with the cheap, fake, french accent belonged to.

Again, upon recognizing him, Hermione sighed in resignation.

"Cicciobello, what--?" Harry began.

"Don�t vurry, bvodah, Shishiobelloh iz he-ah," he reassured, in a rather non reassuring manner, and, as he flew down, Harry noticed that he was now wearing a berret of the kind that usually french painters were represented with, and a large paint stained overall suit.

In his hands were a paint pallet and a very scary looking paintbrush which was longer than Harry himself in height.

"Uhm...what do you plan to do with them?" Harry asked apprehensively. He didn�t know Cicciobello all that well yet, after all, he�d come out of the time capsule only the day before, and had disappeared shortly after the "Dada-Brother" thing. Still, from the little that people had told him of the little possessed creature, he tought he had the right to ask.

"Tuvn dem into a mastahpeice!" Cicciobello replied with a great flourish.

"Harry, I think it best for us to leave for breakfast," Hermione suggested, and, looking at Cicciobello, Harry realized that it would have been the only thing to do, for the doll seemed set in his decision to turn the eleven year olds into what he thought was a �masterpiece�. He just hoped it wasn�t as bad as it sounded when he walked through the portrait hole with Hermione following closely.

However, as he took in all the portraits on the stairway, and their apparently unscheduled modifications, he was sure it was far worse than whatever he could possibly come up with.

"Let�s hope they survive," Hermione mumbled, and Harry was sure that telling what he thought at that moment wouldn�t have been the best thing, so he kept it to himself. However, the thought stayed in his mind.

Of course, Cicciobello wouldn�t kill them, and for a very simple reason. After that, he wouldn�t be able to use them for fun anymore if he killed them off right away.

Certainly, however, his victims would wish for death everyday of their Hogwarts career until Cicciobello disappeared.

Would he ever?

�*�

They reached the breakfast table a short time later, to find that, thankfully, people were still only about halfway through it. Hermione had given his glasses back to him repaired right before coming into the Great Hall, so now, mercifully, he could see.

And he saw very clearly that Ron got up the very second they had walked in, leaving his breakfast nearly untouched, and stalked off without talking to them, and very openly avoiding him.

Harry found himself staring at the Great Hall entrance.

"Hermione, I�m not hungry, you go ahead," he told her, his eyes still glued to the thick doors. Not even waiting for her response, he took off in much the same manner the redhead had done.

"Ron!" He called out to his friend, who was only a few paces ahead of him, and, therefore had to have heard him.

But no answer came.

"RON!" He called out again, louder this time, with some insistance under his tone.

Even Ron realized that he couldn�t ignore a shout that loud. He stopped in his tracks, without bothering to look back at Harry.

"Yeah?" There was no expression in his voice, but his stiff posture told Harry that his friend was upset about something.

"Uhm...well...I was just...uhm..." now what could he say? He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to ask. What could get Ron�s attention? "Quidditch!" He exclaimed triumphantly, if there was something that could make Ron feel better about anything, it was Quidditch. "Want to go practice with me in The Garden?" He asked hopefully.

Ron still didn�t turn toward him. "No," he answered with the same flat voice from earlier, "didn�t sleep last night," and with that took off in one of the many hallways, leaving a baffled Harry behind.

Something was wrong if he didn�t even want to practice, and persuing him would only make him more upset. But what could have possibly made his friend so cold all of a sudden. As far as Harry knew, Ron was having a rather happy period. He was Captain of the team, his grades were all very good (thanks to Hermione), he was having a blast coming up with things to put in the time capsule, and now, they had a secluded field in which they could practice every waking moment that wouldn�t be occupied by class.

To top it off, his relationship with Hermione was better than ever.

Actually, Harry thought bitterly, his life is perfect right now.

Ron�s life was what Harry wanted. Not because of Quidditch or grades, but because, instead of having insane eleven year olds chasing him all over the grounds, Ron had Hermione.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, staring at the spot in the hall that Ron had just vacated, that he registered too late the soft footsteps that made their way up to him. When a soft hand touched his shoulder, Harry nearly jerked out of his skin.

He quickly spun around to see Hermione there, one hand outstretched toward him, and a delicious smelling bundle wrapped in a napkin in the other.

She jumped back too at his reaction. "I�I�m sorry...I didn�t mean to startle you," she stuttered quietly. She wasn�t used to Harry being this jumpy toward her. Ever since fourth year, he�d been really uncomfortable when people touched him, but, with her he�d never minded. She always liked to think that somehow her touch soothed him. Obviously it doesn�t, she thought bitterly at his overtly frightened and disgusted reaction.

Harry could see that he�d upset her.

Oh, bloody hell! He didn�t want this. Ron was avoiding him, and now, he was doing a fantastic job at involuntarily pushing away everyone that was close to him. What a wonderful day this prospected to be.

"No," Harry spoke frantically and nervously. Hermione had stepped away from him, and he hated that. "No, I just...didn�t hear you coming," he tried reassuring her. It didn�t seem to work. "I was just thinking a lot, and I didn�t expect it. That�s all," he tried again. Groaning inwardly, he took a step toward her, placed his hand on her shoulder the same way she had to him, and tried again. "I just wasn�t expecting it, Hermione, really," and giving her his toothy grin, he added, "so long as it�s you, you can startle me everytime you feel like it...but...just give me a little warning first."

That got a laugh out of her.

"If I were to give you a warning, it wouldn�t startle you, now, would it?" She asked impishly.

He grinned. "No, I guess not."

For a second, they both stood there wearing their goofy smirks, simply glad to be in front of each other. But then, Hermione had to ask. "Harry, what was wrong with Ron, did you two fight?" She asked as her eyebrows knit.

Great, her thoughts are always on Ron, his mind told him bitterly. He didn�t answer her, and it seemed like she could read the self righteous loathing on his face at the moment, for she didn�t press him right there in the hall. After all, that wasn�t really the place for heart to hearts.

"Uhm...I took some food for us from the table, want to have breakfast with me outside?" She asked, changing conversation, and beginning to walk toward the exit to the courtyard. It was so much like her to try and put him at ease, that his foul thoughts had to melt away to give way to his genuine smile. He could be happy with this. He could be happy with just being her friend. No matter how much he wanted them to be more, he knew that he couldn�t live without her caring, and if having more meant losing her, well, he�d settle for this.

And Ron was good.

If it had been anyone else, he would have fought for her, tried to get her to change her mind, but Ron was good, and he would make her happy.

So he agreed to breaking his fast in the courtyard with her, even though he knew that she would only try to find out what was wrong with Ron.

As much as he wished for more, he would be happy with this.

And besides, he thought again, she deserves so much better than me, and Ron�s better. Much better.

�*�

Ron hadn�t made it much further, when he heard Hermione�s voice mixing with Harry�s, so he eavesdropped again. Harry would have felt bad about it, but he�d grown up in a family of seven, tormented by Fred and George, so, to him, it was completely natural. It was always good to have an edge over the enemy.

He didn�t know exactly when, over the night, Harry had become �the enemy�. He just had. And as unfair as that was toward the green eyed boy, he couldn�t help himself.

Harry had it all.

The fame, the fortune, youngest Quidditch player in a century, people adored him, and he didn�t even try. He managed all of it by simply existing.

Of course, Ron had always loved him, dispite the fact that his perfection always did put a real strain on his self confidence, but he always managed that. Well...maybe not in fourth, but since, he�d always ignored the nagging jealousy that would bite him from time to time.

But now, Ron realized, he had Hermione, too.

Hermione had been his friend just as long as Harry�s. Well, ok, so maybe in the beginning he�d thought she was a stuck up know-it-all, and if it hadn�t been for Harry, he and Hermione might have never spoken to each other without malice...and maybe if it weren�t for Harry, Hermione might not have survived the whole troll in the bathroom incident, but still, he�d been Hermione�s friend for a very long time.

In the first years, their friendship had seemed like three equal parts of a triangle, but he�d begun to realize that things might have been different in third, when he�d been told of what had happened to the two as they had saved Sirius Black without him. Then he�d felt left out. He�d felt like Harry and Hermione had gotten closer, and he had found himself distanced without even knowing it. He felt like they could have done perfectly without him.

And in forth it had been worse.

When he hadn�t spoken to Harry until the first trial had been over, while, in the meantime, Hermione had gone back and forth between the two, trying to sew back together their bond. And she�d only done it for Harry, because at the time, the only one that had been nice to him was her. She�d wanted him to have a companion.

And he knew very well that the only reason he�d been placed in the lake for Harry was because Hermione was there for Krum. If it hadn�t been for that, he would have stood on the sidelines, waiting for Harry to emerge with their bookworm friend in his arms.

Now, he felt as though he was totally useless, and he hated it.

And, most of all, he hated what Harry had with Hermione, because he could never have that.

"It�s not nice to listen in on other people�s conversations, you know," a sweet feminine voice called out from behind him, startling him out of his thoughts, and making him turn around in a way that made him seem like the thief that had been caught with his hands in the safe.

"Krista," he called out breathlessly when recognizing the pale, blond beauty in front of him. "Why aren�t you at breakfast?" He asked trying to get her mind off the fact that she�d just caught him listening in on his �friends� conversation.

Krista Perril was a lovely girl from Ravenclaw, not very tall, only around 1,65cm, with soft baby blue eyes, long, straight blond hair, and full peach colored lips that always seemed to be hinting at a smile. He�d met her the year before after a game against Ravenclaw. He�d been in the hospital wing, occupying the bed next to that of her boyfriend (that had gotten him into that bed in the first place), and had apologized on behalf of the violent boy. Since then, they�d spoken to each other off and on, and they�d come to something somewhat resembling friendship.

He�d remembered hearing that she�d broken up with Seth, her Quidditch playing boyfriend, shortly after that game.

And, of course, he�d only paid attention to that bit of gossip simply because such a nice girl deserved someone better. Nothing more.

"Don�t try to change the subject Mr. Weasley," she said, walking up to him, looking at him from down her nose, and managing to look quite emposing despite the fact that she was a good 35cm difference between the two. "If Harry and Hermione�s friendship bothers you so much, then you should talk to them, instead of avoiding them, and clear everything with them. Especially Harry, you shouldn�t be mad at him for something petty, and don�t look at me like that, I know you well enough to be aware that your sudden animosity toward him is due to something very petty, probably regarding Hermione. His friendship really means a lot to him," she finished quietly, pointing a finger at his chest.

He felt the blood boiling in his veins. How dare she? "And how would you know?" He asked, standing as tall as he could, slightly bending over to try and intimidate her. How dare she know exactly how he felt?

Her eyes snapped heatedly at him. She was angry, he could tell, and the constant smile that usually played on her lips seemed to melt away in a matter of seconds. "I happen to know because I�ve been watching since you all started here at Hogwarts. And, upsetting as it may be to you that those two might actually care about each other, they are your friends. I don�t think you noticed how lonely Harry felt when you left him completely alone in forth. Yes, he cares for Hermione, even I�ve noticed that, although I don�t think anyone else has, but he also needs you, so I�d advise you, my dear Mr. Weasley, that you think back for a little while of the last few years, and figure out which, of the three of you, has been the truly selfish one in your relationship, because even if this bit of information might have conflicting effects on you, the reason why the two of them are still only friends, is because of you!" She spat out in the end, jabbing her finger into his chest making him stumble backwards, and, without paying any heed to the, very similar to a goldfish, expression that he was wearing, turned on her heels and walked back toward the Great Hall.

What? He thought to himself as he stood the way she�d left him, with his mouth gaping open, his eyes popping out in surprise, and his finger lifted in midair as if to ask a question. What had just gone on? How could she know all those things? How could she know that Harry and Hermione had feelings for each other? Nobody but him had noticed, and how could she know about their very thorough avoiding of each other in forth? Okay, maybe he�d been the one avoiding, but that was beside the point. And how could she say that he�d been selfish in their friendship?

Harry had been the one that had dragged him into countless amounts of dangerous adventures, making him risk his life for his personal fight against You-Know-Who! He�d never asked him if he actually wanted to come or not! ...Well...maybe once or twice he did ask...and maybe in a couple of occasions he�d even used them to show off, but even that was besides the point.

Ron had never been selfish in their friendship, and his friends secret relationship with each other was as selfish as anything could come.

Well...they didn�t actually have a secret relationship, but they might as well. He pushed the little voice in the back of his mind as far away as he could when he realized that it was telling him, like Krista had, that they weren�t having that relationship simply because of him. Of course they weren�t having it because of him, they felt guilty!

That was truly selfish! Wasn�t it?

No, he hadn�t been selfish at all. Hadn�t he?

Oh, how he hated Krista at the moment. It had been so simple to hate his friends before she came and put those useless doubts in his mind. She shouldn�t have said those things, and, most of all, she shouldn�t have known those things. He�d always felt that their almost friendship was safe, because they could be civil to each other and enjoy each others company without many complications, because, after all, they weren�t all that good of friends.

But were they? How could she know him like that? No one knew him that well besides...well, Harry.

God, how he hated her at the moment. And most of all he hated the fact that she knew him so well, and, over her, he didn�t hold any advantage at all, because, in truth, he�d never bothered to find out anything about her.

He hated this.

�*�

Harry was worried.

Ron hadn�t come to lunch, and nobody had seen him since he flew off at breakfast. He hadn�t been in his room, or flying over the Gryffindor Memory Garden, or goofing off with his friends, or anywhere else where he would usually be. In a desperate attempt, Harry and Hermione had even tried to find him in the library.

That truly showed how desperate they were because they both knew that Ron would never go in the library unless dragged there by force with the excuse of an impending important exam, and, since they didn�t have any of those coming up, and they hadn�t even started classes yet...well, it really was a desperate attempt.

So now they were heading off to the Great Hall for dinner, both wearing deep furrows between their eyebrows in concern for the red head that had been acting strange since the beginning of the day.

But, apparantly, they had worried for nothing.

There he was, Ronald Weasley, sitting in his usual spot, with two empty seats next to him (left for the two of them) as always, eating like the pig Hermione said he was, as always, talking with his mouth full, as always, and splattering his food as he spoke all over poor Colin, as always.

Everything seemed to be normal.

Of course, Harry and Hermione had often been subjected to Ron�s foul moods, so they knew that something was wrong when he pulled himself so quickly out of one. After all, they usually lasted no less then three weeks at a time, and this was...well...scary.

They exchanged a worried glance and, both raising an eyebrow at each other, made to walk over.

They saw Ron look their way, so they knew he had seen them, but this time, he didn�t make any move to leave. They both let a releaved breath that they hadn�t realized they�d been holding, and made their way next to him, one on each side of him.

They said their usual greeting to him, and he answered in kind, spitting food all over them as usual.

"Okay, this is freaky," Hermione mumbled. Harry nodded his head, and Ron looked between the two of them confused for a second.

"watafyoofawfinfafout?" He asked with his mouth full of four biscuits.

But Hermione was used to this and, translating in her mind that he�d asked what they were talking about answered exhasperated, "I mean your good mood, Ron. This morning you looked like you hated Harry and I worse than...Malfoy even, and now, you�re only...you again," she said waving her hands as though the question had been stupid and the answer obvious, which, actually, it was.

Ron, for once, actually swallowed his food before answering. With a shrug he said, "Well, now I�m mad at someone else," and continued to eat as nothing was, but neither of them missed the dagger filled glare that he sent at the Ravenclaw table, where a pretty blond was returning his look full fledged.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Krista Perril?" She asked indignantly. "Why exactly would you be mad at her? She�s a lovely person! And besides, why were you mad at us in the first place? Last I recall, we were all the big happy family we were yesterday," she asked, a slight screech of disbelieving anger in her voice.

"Yeah, well, this morning I didn�t think we were that happy of a family, and I didn�t feel like talking to you! If you can�t figure out why, that�s your problem!" He exclaimed, upset again, this time at her rather than at Harry. How could she not understand what she had done? And how dare Krista say that his reason to be upset was petty? And with that he turned to glare daggers at the blond, his anger toward Hermione completely forgotten. "I hate her!" He hissed.

Hermione exchanged another worried glance with Harry. "Listen, Ron," she began, and her tone made Ron turn to look at her. "We�re starting to get really worried here," she continued. "Tell us what�s bothering you," she pleaded. Seeing Ron like this scared her. She�d always thought of him as the irresponsible brother that had to be protected, and, since she was looking intently at him, she didn�t notice Harry flinch at the soft, caring voice that she�d been using.

However, when the voice of Lavender and Parvati were heard saying "Aww..." in a dreamy sigh, Hermione turned her eyes from Ron�s onto them, along with Ron, who was just as confused as she.

Harry just stared at his plate, picking at his food.

"�Aww� what?" They asked in unison.

"You guys are so cute together," Lavender said, still using the annoying drawl that had been used for the �aww�. Ron�s eyes lit up, yet Hermione turned her face into a mask that seemed to scream "Yeah, right!"

"Yeah, but your hair colors clash," Parvati said, a little more seriously than her counterpart. Ron�s happy grin was instantly smothered, and Hermione seemed to be asking herself what the two had been smoking locked up in that Divination tower all day long. "But you�re still real cute together," Parvati continued, and, for some reason, the whole Gryffindor table seemed to have heard.

"What? You�re a couple?"

"Ron, you sly dog!"

"How�d you get such a good catch Hermione?"

"I want to be invited to the wedding!"

"Wedding? When are you getting married?"

"You�re getting married? Is Harry going to be best man?"

At the last Harry�s head made a loud �thonk� sound as it loudly, and rather painfully, hit the surface of the wood. Hermione�s eyes bugged as she feared like she�d never feared before, that Harry might actually believe that she was getting married to Ron. Well, he won�t believe that, but what if he thinks that I like Ron? Oh, no! She had to do something. So she began to deny. Vehemently. Like she�d never denied anything in her entire life. "No, we�re not together. There�s no way we�d ever get married, we�re just friends, nothing more! We�ve never liked each other that way!" And on and on like that.

"Yes, but why are you two always touching each other?" She didn�t even know who was confronting her. Her head was swimming, and it felt like every Gryffindor in school was in front of her questioning her all at once.

"Well, because we�re friends, and we�re comfortable with each other," that was the truth, and they should believe it, but she knew very well that those scoop hungry mad teenagers wouldn�t.

"Then why don�t you touch Harry like that?" Who dare ask that?

"Because they�re different!" And they were! When Harry touched her it was special. Like the night before, when all she did was scratch his scalp, and all he did was rest his head against her knee (well, that wasn�t all he did, she reminded herself as she thought of the slow lingering kiss he�d pressed to her forehead). Yes, Harry�s touches were special, they weren�t like the completely casual and meaningless slaps, and hugs, and such that she shared with Ron. Those were...brotherly. But she couldn�t very well tell that to the whole of Gryffindor now could she? Not when Harry would be two seats over listening, ready to bolt when she would admit that his touches were the most special things that she would ever experience.

"Yes, they�re different, because you love Ron," someone else put in with a very annoying leer. She wanted to slap that leer away...if only her head stopped swimming long enough to figure out who�d said it.

"Oh, please!" She exclaimed indignantly. But they didn�t give up, and she�d found herself drowning in the accusations (for that�s what they felt like, she felt like she was being accused of not loving Harry, of now showing that she loved Harry, and, to the last, she had to admit she was guilty. For the duration of the dinner, she was unable to look at Harry, no matter how much she wanted to. She wanted to see him, know that he didn�t believe what their so called friends were insisting was the the truth, make sure that he believed her.

But she knew he wouldn�t. Not because he didn�t trust her, but because he knew her. He knew that whenever she�d liked a boy, she�d never openly admitted it, or even showed it. Krum was just an example of that. She�d kept completely secret that she would be going to the Yule Ball with him, and she�d never breathed more than two words on their relationship to either of her friends. And it had been that way with every boy that had followed.

And, of course, there was the fact that Harry had the lowest self-esteem of all of Hogwarts. He was, by far, the most wonderful person that had walked those grounds, he�d saved the Wizarding (and probably the Muggle) World time and time again, helped his friends through thick and thin, risked his life for their own countless times, but he still believed himself to be of little importance to anything. She knew very well that this was the reason for which their�Ron and Hermione�s�friendships meant so much to him.

They made him feel real, and loved, and worthy of existing. Ron was poor, and she was a Muggle born. To the higher born, they were as low as people could come, but to Harry, they were real. They weren�t around him for his fame, or for his scar, or for his money, but simply for the fact that he was Harry. Sweet, lovable, wonderful, selfless Harry.

The Harry she loved.

If only she could tell him that, know that she was good enough for him, maybe now she wouldn�t be in such trouble, but, as life was, she couldn�t tell him, because she knew that he would turn her down. And he had every right to. After all, she was definitely not worth what he was. He was an emerald, pure, dark, and clear. She was nothing but a dark pebble.

A pebble could never belong with an emerald.

Even in all her dark thoughts, she couldn�t help but notice that in the whole exchange, Ron looked triumphantly over in Krista Perril�s direction, while the girl answered him with looks that would have petrified a ghost (and done far worse to who was living). Ron seemed to be reveling in them.

What Harry might have looked like at that moment, she would never know, for she wasn�t worthy of looking at him.

�*�

Harry sat quietly in front of the lit fireplace again, just as he had the night before, slumped over, clutching the diary quietly in his hand, staring at the flames licking the bricks of the hearth, seeing them, but not noticing them at all. The only difference was that tonight, he was sitting on the corner of the overstuffed couch, his eyes even duller than they had been the previous evening.

He�d been sitting like that for hours now, still waiting for Hermione to come back from her round of the castle, wallowing in self pity, and nothing had been able to pull him out of it. Not the sight of the Stalker Squad completely covered in obscene squiggles (obviously Cicciobello�s handywork) along with Kevin, or their frightened screeches as they ran off complaining about having been seen like that by the �Boy who lived�. Not the scene played by Neville as he tried to turn a pillow into a bunny with the help of Cicciobello and only managed to get a human sized saber toothed rabbit that had begun to chase him around the castle, closely followed by a hysterical giggling Cicciobello. Not even the horrified screams of the first year victims yelling that the paint had been charmed and wouldn�t come off, had been able to snap him out of his thoughts, or even managed to get him to look away from the flames in the hearth.

The only thing that his mind kept on playing over and over for him, had been the scene at dinner. When Lavender and Parvati had first �awwed� at his two best friends, he�d only stared at the plate, telling himself that he knew all along that they were in love. Well, when someone had asked if he was going to be best man at their wedding, Harry had slammed his head against the hard wooden surface of the table to justify the stinging behind his eyes. Yes, he�d always thought of the possibility. That, of course, didn�t change the fact that, until someone had vocalized the fact out loud, it could always have been his own impression, and he could always hope that maybe he was wrong.

That had killed even his hoping.

As he shut his eyes he pictured himself looking on from the sidelines as his best friends looked disgustingly happily at each other professing eternal love at their own wedding while he handed them the rings with shaking fingers and a shattered heart. He knew it would one day come to that, but, until nobody said anything, it could be ignored. Now, he didn�t even have that.

Ron had looked so disgustingly happy when they�d said he looked cute with her!

And Hermione...well, her persistant denial of any kind of relationship with Ron, at first, had given him the most inappropriate glimmer of hope. Maybe she didn�t love him! Maybe she really did just think of him as a friend, as she�d vehemently insisted the whole night. Maybe...maybe...maybe she loved him.

Oh, but who was he trying to fool?! She�d sounded just like he had when Krum had confronted him about having any feeling toward Hermione before the second trial. He�d denied, said she was just a friend, said he was interested in someone else...and he was convinced he was. But his heart had almost leapt out of its cage when Krum had said that she spoke constantly of him. He�d convinced himself that he liked Cho Chang, and had insisted on thinking that all he felt toward Hermione had been nothing but friendship, that, to him, she was nothing but a kindred spirit. But then he�d understood that he�d just been avoiding the truth.

And that night, Hermione had sounded just like him.

She�d been denying the truth, or, simply, she hadn�t figured it out yet.

That was most likely it.

But now that someone had helped her realize it (mainly the entire Gryffindor population for which, at the moment, he nursed the grandest sort of loathing), it would only be a matter of time before she came to realize it too. And then it would be wedding bells, and best man, and wedding rings, and shattered heart for Harry.

Well, he just needed to get used to the idea. Then, he would be able to put up the happy front until they went off on their honeymoon. Oh, god, honeymoon! Well, during those weeks in which they would be gone, he could lock himself up somewhere isolated and try to tape the shards of his heart back together with Spell-o-tape. He was sure he wouldn�t manage much, but it would give him time to get used to the idea. And, if he prepared himself for it now, well, then, it probably wouldn�t hurt as much when they would make the announcement.

And then, the portrait hole opened and let in the object of his turmoils and affections. Hermione Granger.

"Oh, good, you�re still here," she called out cheerfully, but even to her own ears it sounded forced. In all honesty, she was worried. What if he believed what the other Gryffindors had said at dinner? And, worse yet, what if he didn�t care? But...he was there! He�d waited for her all this time! That had to mean something! No stupid, she chided herself, he�s just been waiting for you so you could read the diary to him! Yet, she was truly glad that he�d waited so late into the night for her return, and she couldn�t help but nourish a little hope that he might have been waiting for her and not her voice.

Her smile, though, faltered under his intense scrutiny. They hadn�t looked directly at each other since she�d asked Ron if he was alright, and now, well, he seemed upset with her. He seemed to be screaming at her that she shouldn�t have kept it secret from her. But I didn�t! She screamed in her mind.

"Harry," she whispered his name, as she felt her knees go weak from the accusation that she found in the emerald pools that were his eyes. Please, don�t look at me like that!

He stared wordlessly for another second, then sighed and took his eyes away from her and looked at the diary. It hadn�t been like he thought. She was aware that she loved Ron, she just wasn�t ready to admit it, and this, her denial and the delay that she was putting to what should be between her and Ron, would kill him. The sooner they get together, the better. And with that thought in mind, he spoke, his eyes still on the red leather binding of his mother�s diary. "Will Ron be alright with this?"

That wasn�t what she�d been expecting. "What?" All her confusion transpired through that one word.

"..." He stared at her for another moment, and then, "I wish you would have told me," the words were a whisper, but the steel edge that was behind them felt like a knife in the gut.

"What?" This time her voice cracked under the emotion. Oh, Harry, please don�t believe what they said, she pleaded inwardly.

"That you�re with Ron," he stated as clearly as he could, trying to hide every bit of pain that was behind the words that he�d spoken.

Oh, god! He believed them! She screamed in her mind, angry at the Gryffindors for having said it, angry at Harry for having believed it, and angry at herself for not being able to tell him the truth because of her fear of rejection. "I...I�m not, Harry," she finally managed to phrase. Please, believe ME! "They were just kidding at dinner, you know that," she tried to reassure with a weak smile, but they both knew that the whole of Gryffindor was convinced of the upcoming marriage between herself and Ron Weasley.

"Maybe," he allowed her that at least, "but you still love him." It was a statement, not a question, and it seemed to leave no room for buts.

And yet, she had to try and make him believe her. "Not like that, Harry," she whispered, and her eyes were pleading with his, screaming her innocence (for it seemed a crime to her that he was accusing her of loving anyone but him), and for a second he seemed to believe her.

But then he said, "It�s ok, you don�t have to lie with me." Now, that hurt!

"I�m not," she pleaded again.

But this time, he didn�t even bother doubting it. What was the point? It would only make it more painful when she�d come out with it. He only mumbled a not very convincing, "Sure."

Hermione knew that at this point arguing would be a lost cause. Unless she told him the truth, the whole truth, he would never believe her. And telling him the truth didn�t seem appealing to her. Sighing in a resignated manner, she walked over to the couch and sat next to him, not close, but close enough for their shoulders to touch. Wordlessly, he handed her the diary, and, deflated as she was, once she began to read the words aloud, she began to forget her own troubles, and got lost in what was the life of one Lily Evans. Turns out that her life had been interesting (much like their own had) from the very first day. At Hogwarts, of course.

     September 1,

     Today, I started my journey as a witch. And what a journey this is promising to be! Just King�s Cross was an adventure! Once we got there we started asking around for tranck 9 and � (that was what was written on the ticket that was in the letter!), and, after having been called pranksters, idiots, and all around insane we were almost about to give up. And then, dad leaned against the inside of one of the arches of the train station to rest a little, and...passed right through it! He disappeared into it! Petunia was screaming her head off. Again.

     Then, off to the side, I heard a girl about my age say, "Muggles", like if it was something bad. I had already heard that word in the Leaky Cauldron.

     "What does that mean?" I asked her. Nobody had told me yet. She looked at me (she was sizing me up, I could tell), and looked at my cart, with the couldrons, books, Rajah (agitated in her cage), and then at the wand that was sticking out of my pocket.

     "You�re going to Hogwarts, too, right?" She asked. When I nodded she smiled. I started to like her right away. "Muggle means someone who�s not magic," she explained. "And don�t worry about your dad," she reassured me. "He�s already on track 9 and �."

     It took me a second to understand what she meant.

     "The track is on the other side?!" This...was rather insane. But...she nodded. The track was REALLY on the other side of the bricks! Petunia looked ready to faint. I looked toward mom. She�s always been the kind to believe that nobody�s truly bad, and therefore, didn�t believe that this girl was pulling our legs. I didn�t think she was either, she seemed really nice. So mom walked up to the wall and lifted her hand as if to touch it.

     "My parents told me that the first time is easier if we run through," she explained, and I noticed she was nervous. It must have been her first time, too.

     Mom did as she was told. She ran through and ended up on the other side leaving the spot empty. Knowing that if I went before Petunia, she would have never budged from her spot, I pulled her in front of the bricks (where she started to shake) and pushed her through. I know it�s mean to say this, but...it was kind of funny hearing her scream the way she did.

     The girl next to me looked at me as if to say: "What�s wrong with her?" But she was nice enough not to ask.

      She went before me, pushing her cart in front of her. I gave her a few seconds, not knowing if I was going to end up slamming into her if I went to soon, and then followed.

     I said goodbye to mom and dad quickly since the train was about to leave already, and I even hugged Petunia. Even though we don�t get along at all, she�s still my sister, and I won�t see her until Christmas break comes around. I gave my things over to someone who helped me store it away, and followed the girl up into one of the empty cabins.

     Then I stuck my head out of the window for the last goodbyes. Actually, I did it more to really look at the track then anything else (since we�d been in such a hurry, I didn�t get a very good look at it). I like that place. It�s just like Diagon Alley, full of people with weird clothes, a few of them see through (in �Hogwarts: A History� I read that there are ghosts, so I�m guessing they were like that), and it smelt of magic everywhere. Well, I don�t know if magic has a smell, but to me it feels like it.

     Anyway, I became friends with my fellow witch (whose name is Jenna Hannisons, by the way) almost on the spot, and we started talking about everything. Turns out her parents had been at Hogwarts, too, and they�d made her go on her own the first time because they thought it was better that way. I could sense from her that she had been scared, but she was brave, and she hid it well. Besides, as scared as we were, we were both almost too exited to notice. And the fact that we�d found a good friend right away only made it better.

     I felt so comfortable with her that I even told her about Petunia, and I generally don�t do that. I told her that my sister was scared of me because of my powers, and that she hated anything that WASN�T normal (which, of course, I personified), and that my detachment from her was a form of self defence. My sister and I were, and are, far too capable of hurting each other.

     Jenna doesn�t have brothers and sisters, so she told me that she couldn�t really understand what it feels like, but she said that being an only child with working parents made her feel lonely a lot. But I don�t think either one of us is going to feel lonely at Hogwarts, and I told her as much. I actually told her of my premonitions, too. I still can�t believe I did that.

     I never told anyone but my parents in my whole life, and, not even half an hour after I met her, I told her. But I knew I could trust her. She was surprised, but not disgusted. She said that not many people, especially among the Muggle born (that�s what she said I was), had this ability. She also told me that I�m probably strong in them, because I�m so young, and I can already be sure of so much. She said I shouldn�t tell too many people, because it could be used against me, and she�s right. I know that already.

     Anyway, while we were talking about our parents jobs two boys came in our cabin. They were both good looking, good natured, and fun spirited (well, that�s what my instinct said). One had longish black hair, pale skin, and dark eyes, the other, slightly thin, and smaller, had REALLY messy black hair, glasses, and brown eyes. They both had the cheekiest smiles I�ve ever seen.

     They are going to be fun to be around, I�m sure.

     "Hello," the one with the glasses said, "you haven�t by any chance see an insanely rude baby doll by the name of Cicciobello flying around, have you?" The question sounded insane, and Jenna thought they were making fun of her, but I knew they were serious.

      "I don�t know what a Cicciobello looks like, but we haven�t seen any flying dolls, sorry," I told them. The boy with the black hair turned toward the outside of the cabin and started yelling: "Ciccio! Come back to us!" He seemed desperate.

     "Don�t mind him, he just really likes that doll," the boy with the glasses said. It seemed rather strange that a ten year old boy should be so attached to a DOLL, but then again, I�m not all that familiar with the magical world. Maybe here it�s normal. However, the look on Jenna�s face didn�t seem to agree.

      Then I saw someone else coming up to us, holding what looked like a baby blue blanket, all struggling and shaking in his hands, keeping it as far away from his person as he could. "Is this what you�re looking for?" He asked, and then I noticed that he had a big brown stain on his shirt that looked like earth�s biggest cow had left its droppings there. I�d guessed that the cow must have been that crazy blanket he was holding.

     Then the guy that had been calling out �Ciccio!� threw his arms wide and called, again, "Ciccio!"

     And the blanket called, "Papi!" and threw itself at him.

     This...was definitely very strange.

     Anyway, it turns out that the two boys that had come into the cabin (James Potter, the one with the glasses, and Sirius Black�what kind of a name is �Sirius��the doll lover) were the owners of the doll (it turns out that it wasn�t a blanket, but a doll, a pretty one two that looks just like a human, six-month old baby). Actually, the owner of the doll was James�s sister, who�d gotten it from Muggle Italy during their summer vacation, and the boys had decided to experiment some spells on it once they found out they were going to Hogwarts. Well, their experimenting had been the birth of Cicciobello.

     James had said that his sister had given it to him to bring to Hogwarts so that he would have something of hers while he was away, but I figured that the kid only gave it to him to get rid of it.

     This became a certainty when Cicciobello took a dump on Jenna, the other boy (who was blond, pale, slight sickly looking and went by the name of Remus Lupin), and myself. Remus had been dumped on twice since he got on the train, and I don�t think he likes the doll much.

     Thankfully, after having brought the doll to life, James and Sirius had learned several good spells that got rid of any trace of the dumping we received (and it�s a good thing they did, or I would have gotten very mad at them).

     The boys sat with us throughout the ride, and we hit it off quite well. Actually, by the time the train reached its destination, Cicciobello became quite attached to the rest of us and promised not to dump on us anymore.

      For some reason, I think everyone in school will hate us for this.

      Anyhow, the school...is a CASTLE! It�s HUGE! It�s got a lake (with a GIANT SQUID in it!), a forest (that the headmaster said was forbidden), and MOVING STAIRS! Of course, I read about this already (and of the talking paintings, and the ghosts, and the magic ceiling of the Great Hall that�s been enchanted to look like a starry sky), but seeing it with my own eyes was something else.

      Of course, I already knew all this from reading �Hogwarts: A History� (and, to tell the truth, I actually played a bit the know-it-all by telling others about things I knew), but, when I read the book, I thought most of it was fiction! And, instead, it was ALL real!

      I�m already in love with this place.

      First, McGonagall, whose vice-principal and one of the teacher (Tranfiguration, they said...I think I�ll find out what that is eventually), told us that we were all to sit on the stool and put a REALLY old, kind of gross looking hat on our heads and IT would call out the house that we would be in. Yes, because the school has four houses that the students get put into. Gryffindor, who is supposedly very brave, Ravenclaw, smart, Hufflepuff, loyal, and Slytherin, ambitious...actually to me it sounds more evil than anything (and looking at their table I was pretty sure of it). I really hope I don�t get stuck there.

      I think I almost had a stroke when McGonagall read my name off the list. Sirius had been already sorted into Gryffindor, and I was hoping I would end there, too. I felt really warm when I looked at that table. When the hat was on my head it felt...weird. For one thing...it moved, while ON TOP of my head! And it whispered strange things in my ear. "Ah, a seer!" It would say. "How many qualities I see here, yes. Courage, strength, loyalty. Very good, a sharp mind, yes, ah...yes," and with that it went quiet.

      I thought my heart was going to thunder out of its cage. And then...

      "GRYFFINDOR!"

      Oh, god, yes, thank you!

      And I ran over to the table that I had wanted to be in since the beginning.

      Jenna, Remus, and James, also were sorted into Gryffindor. I think my stay here will be even more enjoyable thanks to them. Right after James, another boy, Peter Pettigrew, was sorted into Gryffindor as well, he was shy, and quiet, and he idolized both James and Sirius (Jenna had told me that not only do they both come from very important wizarding families, but they�re also very famous pranksters, and that�s saying a lot considering that they�re only eleven). Before the feast (and I DO mean FEAST!) was over, he was already part of the group.

      The only thing that worried me though, was another boy, Severus Snape, pale with greasy looking black hair, that got sorted into Slytherin. I don�t know what it is. Even from my seat I could feel the indecision in the sorting hat, and I�m afraid it made a terrible mistake. That boy�s future is very unstable, he could turn toward the light the same way he could turn to the shadows, and I really do feel that Slytherin was not the right choice for him.

       But as it is, I really can�t do anything about that.

       Now, I�m sitting in my dorm room (that I share with Jenna, and I�m really glad of it, and two other girls, Arabella Figg, and Mandella Williams), and I really like it in here. We all have our very own four poster bed, and it�s all decorated with the Gryffindor colors (gold and red), like the common room (which is going to become my favorite part of the Gryffindor tower).

      Lessons don�t start for a few days, so I have all the time in the world to explore this and report everything calmly, and I honestly can�t wait.

      Still, that Severus Snape worries me.

      Goodnight

      Lily

Hermione knew that she should have gone on to the next page, but decided against it. Instead, she turned to Harry, and told him, "Your mother must have been a very powerful witch, you know that Harry?"

He looked surprised for a second. He hadn�t expected her to comment on anything until they were further into his mother�s life. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she began, "for one thing, there are her premonitions. I think she�s a seer, even the sorting hat said something like that," she explained.

"I thought you didn�t believe in seers," he said confused.

"I don�t believe in Trelawny being a seer," she corrected. "I can�t deny that what your mother felt and saw in her dreams was real. I mean, even at this point, like what she said about Snape, it�s already too much proof for me to deny," she replied in her, always, logical tone. Harry nodded in understanding. "Besides, it takes a great deal of power to control this diary, and she could do it perfectly already from the first time she used it at the age of ten," she added.

"What do you mean? What�s so special abou this diary?" and as he asked those questions he scooted closer to her so that their whole sides were molded together and he was leaning over the book as though trying to figure out its secrets with a glance. He ignored the warmth that seeped through where their bodies met, and scolded himself, telling his mind that she loved someone else.

Calm down! Hermione yelled at her heart, that was beating far too fast. Don�t get your hopes up! It took her a second, but she was sure that her voice wouldn�t crack and so, flipping to the page where Lily had written her name pointed out to him. "See this seal?" She pointed to a celtic looking design inside a red perfect circle (with the diameter of about 2cm) that he�d manage to perfectly ignore until that moment. He nodded. "Well, to write in this kind of diary," she continued, "you don�t write out every word like we do for our assignments or letters and such. You place your quill here, and...just think of what you want to put in the diary. Your thoughts and feelings automatically write themselves out," she explained.

"To be able to control it the way Lily did, you have to have absolute certainty in your feelings of everything that you�re thinking about, and a clarity in your thought that most ten year olds just don�t have," at Harry�s knit eyebrows she clarified this concept more. "You have to think exclusively of what you want to write about or the sentences are jumbled. For example, you can�t write about the difficulty you have with a potion if, at the same time, your worried about turning in your Transfiguration homework. The sentence wouldn�t make sense," she exclaimed.

"I get it," Harry reassured, allowing her to go on.

"You see, Harry, your mom didn�t only keep her train of thought like no ten year old could, but she also managed to write her thoughts in perfectly structured english sentences! That takes a lot of control! I don�t know, maybe it�s her seer ability, but...she has amazing control. And confidence! Without that, the quill hardly moves at all!" She finished.

Harry nodded again. "Do you have one?" He asked. Hermione always knew about everything, but she seemed to know a particularly hefty amount of information on this particular topic.

Damn him for being so sharp! She cursed to herself. Okay, Hermione, deep breaths... "I do..." she confessed. "But I don�t use it."

Harry knit his eyebrows at this. "Why not?"

She simply looked at him. "Because...I�m not ready to face what my heart writes. See, Harry, it�s your heart that spells the words out for you, that tells your mind what you want to write about. Even if your mind wanders and it can be hard to control it, it�s your heart that leads, and my mind wasn�t ready to admit to what the heart kept on trying to write," she told him enigmatically.

"What do you mean?" He was truly confused.

"When I was with Viktor..." should she continue this and tell him? "It wrote about someone else," she finished.

Harry had a feeling he knew who it would write about. "And now?" He asked, knowing full well that it was like turning the knife in the open wound, and, just for safety, spilling salt on it, too. Maybe I have masochistic tendancies, he thought to himself.

Tell him, stupid! She screamed at herself. She opened her mouth to tell him, but only heard herself saying: "It�s time to keep reading." No! You stupid git! You had your chance!

But Harry was an understanding fellow. Even too much for his own good. He let the matter drop knowing that she was uncomfortable with it.

And so Hermione didn�t try to redeem her possibility, and went on to read the entire month of September.

Ron, who�d been the whole time eavesdropping (he seemed to be trying to get a degree in it) from one of the steps that couldn�t be seen from the sofa, didn�t feel like listening anymore. He�d heard enough. Quietly, as to not make his presence known, he made his way to his dorm room, and, with a blank expression on his face, tried to fall asleep, to little avail.

He didn�t know what to think anymore.

Author�s notes: To Erenriel the Elven Canuck: I hope this slightly explains where the Cicciobello came from. It is actually a doll that has been made and sold in Italy for DECADES without changing (my great-aunt even owned one when she was a kid) and it has never changed. I always wondered why they kept on selling the damn things when kids could have just taken their parents� doll, and (through a disturbingly twisting, winding train of thoughts) I came up with the idea of the possessed Cicciobello, which, to my own opinion, is much more fun then the real ones. Anyway, if you liked it, hated it, had any opinion or constructive critisism on it, or just want to plainly flame me, go ahead and email me at [email protected] or review. Go ahead, I like BBQs.

Thanks

Pearl