AN: Hi all! So I've sworn I would never again post another WIP story, but here I am breaking that rule. I have the first five chapters written, but I need to know there is interest before I continue. So I'm posting the first chapter today and I will plan on posting one chapter a week if enough people are reading. You can let me know by leaving a review or following the story.

This story will have a little bit of mystery, some drama, some romance, and a whole lot of taking a chance and finding out who you really are.

Disclaimer – I do not own HP or the characters. Those are JKR's. The storyline, however, is mine.

Rating – The Journal is rated M for language, violence, and sex. There will also be mentions of dub/con. Be warned now, if that kind of thing bothers you, please don't read. Also, if you are under 18 go play minecraft or something. This story isn't for you.

Characters – This is a Dramione story. Ron and Harry fans might want to go away now.

Reviews – I love reviews, but I understand why readers don't leave them. I read all my reviews, but will probably only reply if you ask me a direct question.

I am posting this first chapter without a beta, so I apologize for any errors. If you see any, let me know and I'll fix them. :)

Thank you all for reading!

The Journal

Chapter One

Hermione returned home to an empty flat after another long day at work. Her friends simply could not understand how she could spend twelve to fourteen hours a day working all alone in her small lab. They didn't understand how close she was to a breakthrough. Hell, she was pretty sure they didn't even know what she was working on or why it was so important to her. She simply had to find the solution soon. She was running out of time, and so she spent as many hours a day as she could in her lab. When she wasn't in her lab, she was home sleeping. Or working. Until she could return to her lab and continue her research.

Today was an ordinary day, a Tuesday if it really mattered to anyone. To Hermione, who worked seven days a week, it was just another day. It was nearing nine o'clock by the time she stepped out of her floo and into her living room. The room was sparsely furnished, as was the rest of the flat. A couch and an end table sat against the wall. Stacks of books lined the remaining walls. There were no pictures, no decorations, nothing to make the living space feel like a home. She had only moved in a few weeks earlier and had been spending so much time at work that she hadn't taken the time to really move in properly. Many of her belongings were still in boxes stacked in the spare room.

She had eaten take out at the lab earlier, so rather than stop by her kitchen for food, she headed straight to the bedroom where she stripped out of her robes before stepping into a steaming hot shower. Thirty minutes later she emerged from the steam, finally relaxed after another long day.

She took her time combing through her hair. The brown curls hung past her shoulders, the ends curling up over her breasts. The frizzy mass that followed her throughout her youth had smoothed out nicely as she matured. Although she wore it up most of the time to keep it out of her eyes and off her notes while she researched, at home she always let it hang loose.

She slipped into a pair of black sleep shorts and a bright pink tank top. Her damp hair felt cool against her skin and she savored the feeling for a long moment, just moving her head back and forth and letting her hair slide across her bare shoulders.

Her plan was to go straight to bed after her shower, and she was well on her way. She had the covers pulled down and her fan turned on. All she had to do was lie down and extinguish the light. It was when she turned around to sit down on her bed that she saw it, though.

There. Sitting on her night stand.

It was her journal. Of course, it was no ordinary journal. It was one of a pair of journals, a set that she had created specifically for herself and Ron. That was back when their relationship was still new, just after the war ended. She went on to trade school to specialize in potions and charms, and Ron went to Auror training with Harry.

The journals worked like a protean charm. When she wrote in hers, Ron would be able to read what she had written and respond back to her. She figured they could use the journals to keep in touch rather than depending on owls.

For months after she had given him the journal she had checked it every day. Occasionally she would write in it to try to get a response, but a message never came through for her. Eventually she had stopped checking it all together. She told herself that the charm she used hadn't worked, that was why he never wrote to her. She knew in her heart, though, that her charm was perfect as always. Ron simply didn't want to write to her. She tried not to take it personally, because really Ron didn't like to write at all, but it was hard not to feel a little slighted.

Tonight, though, as she turned to get into bed, the journal on her night stand caught her eye. It was merely dumb luck that it was sitting there, right next to her lamp. She had accidentally picked it up three days ago when she wanted something light to read. Rather than put it back on her bookshelf, she had laid it on the nightstand and left it there.

That's not why it caught her eye, though. No. The reason it caught her eye was because the silver lettering on the leather cover was glowing a soft blue color. A clear indication that she had an unread message waiting inside the journal.

She stared at the unassuming book for a long moment before she reached over and picked it up. Her fingers drifted across the lettering gently. She sat on the bed slowly and took a deep breath before opening the cover reading the words written inside.

"I've debated with myself every day since I received this book, trying to decide whether or not I should write to you. I've opened the cover and sat with quill in hand for many long moments nearly every day, simply trying to decide what to say. There are so many different things, you see. Things that I would like to say to you, if ever given the chance. For years I have thought that I would never get that chance. Then fate intervened. The Powers That Be delivered to me this beautifully crafted journal and with it the opportunity to say all the things that I've wanted...no, needed to say for far too long now.

Even so, it has been weeks, more than weeks actually, it has been nearly two months since the journal came to my possession and still I delayed in contacting you, in establishing the connection. Because I had no idea what to say.

I saw you today at the Ministry. You were having lunch with your friends. I doubt that you noticed I was there. You never looked at me, and you would have no reason to.

I noticed you, though. I noticed that you barely ate any of your lunch. I noticed that you practically flinched every time your boyfriend touched you. I noticed that you worked on arithmancy formulas while your friends discussed a Quidditch match. I noticed that you worked late again tonight.

Your friends, they think you are just a workaholic. I know better. You aren't a workaholic. You are obsessed. I haven't figured out why yet, but I will. Whatever project you are working on has become more than a puzzle to you, it has become personal.

I decided that today was the day that I had to write to you. I had to let you know that you aren't alone. I notice you. I see you. And I am here if ever you want to talk."

Her fingers drifted over the words written in such a beautiful script. Tears streamed down her face as she read. Whoever was writing these beautiful words saw her like no one else did. It was more than a little disconcerting to know that out there somewhere there was a man? A woman? Someone that could know her so well, better than her closest friends even.

She had a million questions forming in her mind. Who had written the letter? How did they get hold of the journal? How long had they been watching her? Should she write back? What should she say?

She read the words again, and summoned a quill. She had to respond. She had to curious of a nature not too. She held the quill over the parchment for a long moment trying to put her thought in order.

"You seem to know so much about me. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or creeped out, honestly. I would like to know how you came to be in possession of my journal, and how you knew that I, specifically, have the counterpart. Do I know you? Are we friends? I would guess not. Why not?

I appreciate the concern. Let me assure you, though, I am not obsessed with my work. I work a lot. The project I'm on is important. When I find the right formula, I will be able to help a lot of people that are suffering needlessly. I am so close, too. I can feel it. Any day now I will have a breakthrough. I just have to keep at it while I still can."

As soon as she wrote the words she knew she had said too much. She wanted to erase them from the parchment, but they vanished on their own far too quickly, only to appear in the other journal, in the hands of some unknown entity that already knew far too much about her.

Frustrated with herself, she slammed the book shut and dropped it on the night stand. She stood and started pacing back and forth in a small path along the side of her bed. After several minutes she had finally talked herself into forgetting about it and going to bed. So she had given away to much information. At this point the only thing she could do was hope that whoever had the other journal would not use that information maliciously. With a deep sigh she lay down on her bed and pulled the covers over her bare legs. With a flick of her wand the light turned off and the room filled with darkness. Who knows, maybe he wouldn't even catch her little slip up.

Her eyes were drifting shut, ready to surrender to sleep when a soft blue glowing light invaded her conscious and her brown eyes snapped open, drawn once again to the indicator light on the journal.

He was writing to her, responding to her message. She swallowed thickly, wondering if she wanted to know what he had to say. In the end, her curious nature won out. She knew she'd never be able to sleep not knowing what it said. With another deep sigh, she flipped the light back on and picked up the book.

"We know each other, though not well. No, we have never been friends. As for 'why not', well, if you knew who I was, you would know exactly why not. That's why I'd like to stay anonymous for the time being. Besides, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you.

I'll tell you how I came by the journal, but I don't think you'll like it. A friend of mine found a box full of books near the rubbish bin behind his flat. There were several high quality books that were practically brand new. The latest version of Quidditch, Through the Ages, a complete Wizarding Geneology, and a first edition of the Quidditch Player's Guidebook. Nestled in between was this journal. My friend wouldn't part with the genealogy or the guidebook, but he didn't see the point in keeping a journal. Of course, he never opened it like I did. Inside the cover was a card that explained how the journal worked. That's how I knew you had the companion book. From the note you had written to the intended recipient.

There is a fine line between dedication and obsession. I must say I'm intrigued by your passion for your work. I would love to know what the project is that you are working so hard on. I am rather skilled in potions myself. Perhaps I could offer my assistance?"

She barely hesitated this time before picking up her quill and responding.

"I have no idea who you are. In fact all you've told me is that I know you and we aren't friends. I don't even know if you are a witch or a wizard! And yet you expect me to divulge my research to you? Sorry, but that is not going to happen. For all I know, you are trying to sabotage my research! Or you could be some crazy stalker or something!"

She chose not to respond to his story of how he came across the journal. That was a matter she would take up with Ron. All the books that were mentioned were books she had given to him over the years for holiday or birthday presents. And he had thrown them away, along with the journal. Yes, she would deal with him later. For now she wanted to find out who her mystery writer was, and why he could possibly be interested in her research. Her own boyfriend didn't even care about her research. Why would a complete stranger?

As her thought started to run away with her, she watched as his words appeared on the page.

"Merlin, are you always so paranoid? I'm a wizard. We went to school together. You beat my scores in every class. That narrows down the field, doesn't it?

We weren't friends. Things have changed since school. People have changed. Views have changed. I've changed. You've changed.

I don't want to sabotage you. I only want a chance to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me, too. I find it interesting that your first thought was to protect your research, and your own personal safety was just an afterthought."

"Being paranoid has saved my life many times. As a general rule, I don't trust people.

You were in Slytherin, weren't you?"

She sat back against her headboard with her knees pulled up in front of her and the journal resting against them. Slytherin wasn't just a guess. She was sure of it. Why else would he point out that views had changed? Oddly, knowing that small fact actually made her feel better, more relaxed about the whole situation.

"You trust Potter and Weasel."

She read the statement over and over again. His assumption didn't sit well with her. If felt like a lie. It was a lie. Should she set him straight, or let him keep believing it? She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. Who was this guy? Why did she want him to know the truth rather than what everyone saw? This was a truth that she barely even acknowledged to herself.

"I trust myself. Harry and Ron are my friends. We've been through a lot together. I know what I can trust them with, and more importantly what I can't."

She wondered if that was too big of a confession. She settled back and waited for his reply. Her teeth worried her bottom lip and her fingers absentmindedly twirled a stray lock of hair. A smile pulled at her lips when he responded.

"Interesting. I would think you Gryffindors trusted each other implicitly."

She laughed. Surely he didn't believe that? Leave it to a Slytherin to think Gryffindors were so naive.

"Hardly. It is getting very late and I need an early start tomorrow. Good night, mystery Slytherin."

"Sleep well. Perhaps we can talk again some time?"

She smiled to herself as she read his words.

"I would like that."

She closed the journal and put it on the night stand. She was still smiling when she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Her dreams were filled with a mysterious stranger that swept her off her feet and changed her entire world.

AN: Okay...so what did you think? Let me know if I should continue. :) - mezy