"To think I only got the best grades in just under half our classes. Honestly I'm thrilled with the challenge, but I expected the best grades in at least four of our classes not only three. And you." A finger was waved at in his direction, from his peripheral vision "Have you even looked at your grades?"

Green eyes turned away from the countryside to blink at the frazzled Gryffindor seated across from him.

"Umm, no?" The was screeching noises from beside him, so he looked back at the chess game he was supposed to be playing with Ron, moving a random pawn merely to appease his annoyed chess pieces.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Here I was thinking boys are supposed to be competitive."

"Come on Hermione, does it even matter? You got the best overall grade in the year." Ron gleefully defended his best mate, obviously quite amused that Hermione hadn't topped every class.

Harry glanced across at Neville. The round faced boy grinned, rolling his eyes.

"But I want to make sure it was Harry who beat me in Transfiguration. Our own head of house teaches the subject! What if it was a random Ravenclaw? What if it was someone like Boot?" Hermione seemed very perturbed by the concept.

"Hey now, Boot's not that bad." Harry defended, just to see Hermione scrunch up her nose.

Ron chortled and even Neville gave a chuckle but Hermione looked to be on the edge of getting genuinely upset so Harry decided it was best to placate her. He reached up into the luggage compartment and withdrew his unopened envelope, tossing it diagonally across to the surprised girl.

"Here then." Hermione arched a single eyebrow at him but looked mollified.

There was silence in the compartment for a little while as Hermione read his results. He winced as Ron took his remaining knight. "You are worse than usual mate." The redhead commented.

Harry just groaned.

"You were first in Transfiguration and Defence, third in Charms, forth in Potions and ninth in Herbology. But then your Astronomy and History of Magic scores are just average. " Hermione piped up, sounding pleased with him until she reached the words 'just average'.

Considering the migraines he had suffered through exam week those grades were unexpectedly positive, yet surprisingly Harry found himself disgruntled he was third in Charms. He knew he was the best at the practical work, his theoretical must have been lacklustre. He had never been one to act competitive before, always dumbing himself down to make sure his grades were worse than Dudley's in primary school. Yet unexpectedly, he found himself wanting to improve next year.

Aiming for the top grade in Charms sounded like a good challenge. Oh, and Potions. The look on Snape's face would be priceless.

"Nice job." congratulated Neville.

Harry flashed him a smile.

"It bothers me how you say average like it's a bad thing 'Mione." Ron complained.

"Agreed." Neville grinned. "We can't all be as smart as you, Hermione."

Hermione turned a little pink, and changed the subject. "What are you all planning to do over the holidays?"

Ron perked up. "Right. I've been meaning to talk to you guys about the holidays actually. You should all in the second half of the break. I'll send owls."

Harry carefully controlled himself, to make sure he wouldn't seem too eager. How perfect, away from the Dursleys while still playing goody two-shoes for the headmaster. "I'd really like that Ron."

"I probably won't be able to. I know Gran wants to travel for most of the holidays. We should meet up to grab school supplies before term though."

A mention of Neville's grandmother reminded him. "You should get a new wand over the holidays Neville." Harry said. "Each wand has its own wizard. Having your father's wand is just putting you behind."

"You've been using your father wand? I've read that using the wrong wand when you are first learning magic can severely hold back your magical growth." Hermione said her part in concern, and Harry looked gratefully at her.

Neville seemed conflicted. "I'll try, but I'm not sure what Gran will think."

"Tell her its holding back your magic." The Longbottom's were a pureblood line. And from what little To- what little Riddle had told him about Purebloods, it would be seen as a shocking crime to interrupt a child's magical growth.

He looked back out the window, hands clenched together tightly in his lap. Why couldn't he get through a single conversation without thinking about him?

The dark ruggedly wilderness changed to charming English countryside as Harry devised.

He bid the other Gryffindor first year's farewell as soon as they reached platform nine and three-quarters. He could only act 'normal' for brief stretches, before reminders of Riddle got the best of him. It would be a trying break. People jostled him as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some fellow students called out.

"Bye, Harry!"

"See you, Potter!"

Green eyes flashed behind glasses, but he at least his face held indifference. How many of them had turned their back on him after he 'lost' all the Gryffindor house points? It was a rhetorical question, Harry bet all of them had.

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.

Fear which would only last as long as they didn't know he couldn't do magic outside of Hogwarts. He would be walking on thin ice this summer.

A few hours later he watched as all spellbooks, wandholster, robes, cauldron, and nimbus two thousand were placed in the cupboard under the stairs, seconds after he had walked into four Privet Drive. Harry balled his fists, hunched his shoulders and used every taunt thrown at him over his time at Hogwarts, every prank or cruel remark, all fuelled into one mask of disinterest as Uncle Vernon chucked his life into the cupboard like it was junk.

He considered mentioning his homework, but it wasn't worth the risk. Hopefully Ron held through on his promise of having him over for part of the holidays and he could do it then.

"And the wand, boy."

Harry grasped the wand in his pocket, loathing himself for the minuscule trembles than racked his frame. If he didn't give up the wand without a fight they may realise that it was how he channelled all his magic. That it was his only true defence.

This summer and two more, at most. Then he would never see this place or his 'family' ever again.

"Freak, the wand. Now."

Harry handed it over and it was tossed into the cupboard, he momentarily shut his eyes as he heard it clatter to the floor, but somehow retained his blank face. Never again, would he hand over his wand and feel so powerless, the eleven year old vowed to himself. It was essential his plans this summer came to fruition. There was no point thinking further forward for now.

Uncle Vernon looked mighty pleased with his actions as he locked the cupboard. Then, his dear uncle produced a lock and moments later padlocked Hedwig inside her cage looking even more delighted.

And yet, it was not just his uncle that Harry hated in that instant, but Albus Dumbledore equally as much.

Slowly dragging his sneakers up the stairs to the second bedroom covered in dust, he released Hedwig's cage to the table, taking no notice of her squawk in outrage. In sullen interest he approached the dirty body-length mirror.

Gangly arms producing from baggy Dudley clothes, a pale face, green eyes, a lightning bolt scar and messy dark hair. All he was, really, when you took his wand away.

Pathetic.

His body looked defeated, the way he was unconsciously hunching forward slightly in a throwaway effort to defend himself, adopted as soon as his wand had clattered to the ground within the cupboard. It was like he had never left, never discovered magic, never become more than a tiny undernourished ten year old with a wish.

He stepped closer, until all he could see was his face. He analysed it critically, and was a tad appeased to find it clear of emotions. Green eyes burned back out of the mirror, and he offered himself a smile, because although the rest of him was useless and weak, his eyes guarded a promise, to himself alone.

There was betrayal, hurt, sadness, loss and enough anger to fill a lake in regards to Tom Riddle, however the diary, or whatever actually Tom was, had taught the Boy-Who-Lived a few invaluable lessons.

Harry relished pulling out the last weed in the side garden bed on Tuesday morning, four days since the holidays started. Squeezing his eyes almost completely shut, he tilted his head up and considered the sun to gage the time. Probably about midday, even better than expected.

He washed the dirt off under the garden tap before heading inside for a glass of water and to steal a piece of fruit. Thankfully Dudley had his eyes glued to the TV screen and Aunt Petunia was nowhere in sight, making the chance of more chores outside extremely unlikely.

The most enjoyable part of this holidays had been that apart from cooking and outside tasks, the Dursleys had been completely content to leave him alone, as long as he stayed out of sight. More than two meals a day would be pleasant, but a bit too idealistic.

He scrawled a note letting his aunt know he would be back in time for dinner, relishing the use of a pen. Honestly, wizards could be so backwards sometimes. Green eyes considered the pen for a moment, it would do. He trudged down to the abandoned football field, thankfully nobody was crazy enough to be out in the heat at this time of day apart from him.

Sitting down beside a shady oak tree to the side of the fields Harry brought out the pen and placed it a few feet directly in front of his crossed legs.

Who knew a pen could seem formidable.

But this was his only option. The only loophole he could conceive to get around the traces on his wand and four Privet drive. The best part was, he could always say it was accidental magic if he used it in defence. Still an infraction of the laws, but he wouldn't be kicked out of Hogwarts.

Which he almost certainly would be, if he grabbed his wand and chucked an Everte Statum at Vernon Dursley.

Not that he could grab his wand, even if he wanted to, Harry retold himself. But, well, that was exactly why he was doing this. So he wouldn't ever be this weak again.

The book had been dreadfully vague about how to get started. In fact, it had seemed to enjoy illustrating how unlikely success was, more than anything else. It had clearly stated only five percent of the adult magical population ever learnt any form of wandless magic. You were required to have a large magical core, which Riddle had told him he owned and you had to possess outstanding control over your magic. Harry didn't even know what that precisely meant, truth be told.

Those who experience a large amount of accidental magic as child have a better likelihood to possess a higher aptitude for wandless magic. Harry reminded himself optimistically with a quote.

From what Harry had gathered, before he had to leave the restricted section at 3 o'clock when his eyes began to droop, wandless magic was purely about want and will in the end, but you needed to begin by comparing it to a spell and wand magic. Pick a well-practiced straightforward easy spell with a simple concept, visualise and will.

Well, it was worth a try.

Harry focused on the pen, feeling absolutely ridiculous as he pointed his right arm down at it remembering the rush he felt performing magic, the power flowing through his hand into his wand, the levitation of the troll's club.

"Wingardium Leviosa." He swished and flicked his hand.

The pen, predictably, didn't move.

Harry made it back to the oak tree the next day.

He had turned hair blue, vanished glass and apparated without a wand before. Surely he could levitate a pen.

Right?

He took a deep breath and gathered all his will, concentrated completely on the pencil and spoke clearly, waving his hand with a swish and a flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The pen looked entirely unimpressed by his display and did not move a millimetre.

This was going to take a while, he acknowledged despondently.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Harry intoned, on Friday afternoon, exactly a week and four days since he started his attempts.

The pen lay unmoved by his spectacle.

Harry sighed and got up, it was nearly time to cook dinner. If he hurried 'home' he would have time to respond to Hermione's most recent mail.

Mercifully, Hermione used the muggle post so Harry had time to write out proper replies, whereas when Neville or Ron sent owls, he had to quickly write out a response and send the birds back out the window before the Dursleys noticed stray owls in his room.

But life was life, and the ordeal that was enlightening wizards to the muggle postal system was a horrifying trial that muggle-raised students only tried once, just once, before promptly assenting it was better for everyone involved if the subject was never raised again.

Hermione's mistake had been Ron, Harry's had been Neville. They had bonded over it later.

"I explained it slowly for the fifth time, then he nodded and said 'Okay, so I write the person's name, house name and then put numbers in the little boxes. Sounds easy enough.'" Hermione waved her hands expressively. "House name- not number, house name. Wizarding houses only have names."

"Postal stamps." Harry commiserated, "Don't even get me started on Neville's questions about stamps."

There were some things the wizarding world may never be ready for.

"You know," Harry struck up a conversation on Tuesday, three weeks after starting his practice "this all would be a lot easier if we could work out an agreement. How about we meet halfway? Let's say- you hover, and I promise not to melt you in a fireplace and let you live out your days as a writing utensil in peace?"

The pen did not seem impressed with his bargaining skills. He had managed to get it to twitch occasionally, but it was always random.

Harry flopped down onto his back, staring up at the swaying branches of the oak tree. After all he had gone through, all the accidental magic he had performed, it was all useless. Three weeks and he wasn't getting anywhere.

How… How had he used accidental magic before?

When he was desperate. When he was afraid.

Oh, duh. Harry pushed his hands against the dirt, propelling himself upright and looked down at the pen. Harry hunting, days without food in the cupboard, trolls, hanging from his shuddering nimbus two thousand with one hand, Neville lying before the giant stone queen chess piece its massive hand raised to strike down.

"Wingardium Leviosa." He swished and flicked his hand.

A shiver, a warmth down his arm.

It was miniscule, almost non-existent, but the pen rolled over.

Tap.

He groaned and rolled over.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap.

Bloody owls.

He shoved his covers off and stumbled over to his window letting Errol into the room, praying Hedwig would stay silent for once. Uncle Vernon had already gotten mad at him three times in the last week over Hedwig's racket. He frowned, noting there was three letters and a package attached to the poor old owl's leg.

Quickly releasing the Errol of his burden Harry turned his attention to the letters making out Hermione, Ron and Neville's handwriting.

An hour later he was munching on a chocolate frog, part of a joint birthday present which couldn't be more needed. He had lost quite a bit of weight since returning to his relatives.

But, he admitted to himself, he was torn. Overjoyed by his first ever birthday present and wishes. But… How long would they be his friends? Were they even his friends? Ron in particular, he had mainly just 'forgiven' because it was easier and fit the golden-boy. But now he was planning to go stay with Ron... If the last year had taught him anything between Ronald Weasley and Tom Riddle, friends were flighty and unreliable. Who knew, in a year they could all be long gone, just like the diary.

Harry was caught by melancholy. Tom.

The room became blurry as he hastily blinked away the water in his eyes. No, he was not going to reflect about Riddle again, the new twelve year old grew furious with himself. So feeble, he didn't need friends.

He didn't need anyone.

And yet, he delicately placed his first ever birthday letters in a hole under the floorboards.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The pen jumped and rolled sideways, but didn't make any attempt to, you know, levitate.

Hell it had been four weeks.

Harry stared at the pen. Projecting his emotions had helped a little, but there seemed to be this barrier that didn't let him pour out enough magic to hover the pen. He didn't even need the emotions anymore, he could bring out a sliver of magic without memories of desperation of fear.

Perhaps... It wasn't strong enough. It was quite possible he didn't have enough power, didn't have a large enough magical core. However, it could also be the fact the hardest part of wandless magic was doing it the first time, because your channels weren't used to luring magic out without a conductor. He... needed a stronger emotion he was feeling in this instant to bring out his magic. Not just memories.

What was he feeling now? What did he feel strongly enough about to bring out his magic? He was hungry, irritated and tired, not anything prevailing.

Then, he gave a chortle to the empty sports field. Merlin he was an idiot. He had forgotten the emotion he always had these days. The anger usually tightly repressed surged forth as he visualized the pen rising and lifted his hand and he could feel the magic race down his arm.

"Wingardium…" The boy-who-lived trailed off, stared uncomprehending at the bare ground. Where had the pen gone?

Harry scrambled to his feet looking around the abandoned edge of the football fields. It was nowhere to be seen. Harry groaned and collapsed back into on the soccer pitch, had he in his temper vanished the pen?

Harry lay himself down and looked up at the cloudy sky. Damn he actually started to like that pe- that wasn't a bug dropping towards him.

The pen hit him on the forehead.

His lips stretched into their first genuine grin for a long while. Well, it was a start.

With a clatter the trunk was chucked onto the pavement and without a word the waddling man turned around. Hedwig hooted from the cage in reproach and Harry saw the silver gleam of the lock still in place on her cage. He could see her dirty feathers, no longer snowy white, unable to be properly cleaned. She had been trapped for over a month in the unbearable contraption.

"Uncle Vernon may I have the key for the padlock?" Harry strained himself, asking politely.

His uncle turned around, his grin malicious. "Should have kept the ruddy bird quiet. The freaks you are staying with can deal with it." The wide man turned around and walked back towards the door of number four. Aunt Petunia and Dudley peering through the living room window smiling in delight at the sight of him on the curb.

Before rational thought kicked in his wand was gripped in his hand under his shirt. Anger burning through his veins as he watched his uncle's retreating back.

He turned away, releasing the wand and sucking air in through his nostrils. Damn, he really needed to get his temper in order.

Hedwig hooted again and he knelt down. "Don't worry. Soon girl. I'm so sorry this won't ever happen again I promise."

"Harry is that you?"

He looked up to see a short plump faced woman approaching him with orange hair, kindly looking down at him hunched next to Hedwig's cage.

"Hello love, I'm Molly Weasley. Ron said I should be picking you up. Judging by your trunk he was actually right about what time and date– a miracle, he has been despondent for the last few days. The Chudley Cannons lost you see- not a rare occurrence, but he gets down about these things all the same."

Harry blinked, trying to process the warm smile, the first kind expression he had seen in over a month.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh dear it's just Molly. Now, we must go a few streets away to apparate ourselves-"

Living with the Weasleys was weird.

The most normal aspect was the Burrow itself, a house that ignored the concept of gravity itself and remained standing. The most foreign aspect was, after spending a month at the Dursleys, spending time with people that seemed to like him. Molly Weasley always pilling second helpings on his plate, Arthur Weasley asking him about muggle inventions, playing Quidditch with Fred and George, studying with Percy in a rush to finish all his homework and spending his days with Ron. Ginny… Well he couldn't understand if Ginny disliked him or just thought he was a hero. Ginny was a mystery- puzzling and quiet.

Harry acknowledged his jealously of Ron, growing up with his family and found it very hilarious that Ron had ever been jealous of the famous Harry Potter.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the Wednesday following his arrival. They made their way via floo to Diagon alley and meet Hermione, her parents, Neville and his Grandmother at Gringotts. Neville proudly displayed his new wand and Hermione instantly told him about a fantastic book he must read. As they headed for Flourish and Blotts they discovered they were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was clarified by a large banner stretched across the upper windows proclaiming the Gilderoy Lockhart would be doing a signing.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. The four second years squeezed past the line, each grabbing a copy of 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2' and Harry left the other three as they made their way to the line and he delved further into the bookshop away from the signing.

He grabbed a few more postal service leaflets off a shelf. He had taken a few from Hermione before the holidays started, placed in his trunk as he planned on ordering books over the holidays. Of course Uncle Vernon had discovered them as soon as he walked into the house and burnt in front of him the next day. Not that it they had been useful anyway, considering Hedwig had been locked in her cage.

Crossing to the Potions section, he swiftly collected '101 quick tips to help your brewing' before browsing the shelves. He was determined to get a better grade in potions this year, just to spite Snape. Charms should be fairly easy to improve on without any books in particular – Professor Flitwick didn't resent his existence and would happily answer any questions he had. After spending some time in the Potions section he located a shelf of Duelling books, picking up a few beginner texts.

There was a young male shop assistant nearby in the transfiguration zone, probably hiding away from the signing.

"Excuse me."

The weary looking attendant looked down at him. "Yes?"

"I was just wondering if you have any books on wandless magic."

The teenager didn't hide his disbelieving look. "Wandless magic? You sure kid?"

Harry suppressed a scowl, wondering if his scar was showing, how different that response may be.

"Quite sure."

The older teenager shrugged with a 'whatever' expression and led him to a corner with two books before wandering off.

He picked up both of them, bracing against the weight of seven books and meandered back to the signing area, trying to ignore all the enticing books along the way. Seven extracurricular books was enough for now, he still needed to purchase a frankly ridiculous number of books by Gilderoy Lockhart.

The scene that greeted him was unforeseen to say the least as he watched Arthur Weasley and what he could only assume to be Draco Malfoy's father standoff in the line, as he walked up to hang in the background. The elder Malfoy was very familiar. They truly had a habit of running into eachother in Flourish and Blotts.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," said a deeply red Arthur Weasley.

Harry slid up next to Neville and Hermione, unnoticed amongst the spectacle.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying past Augusta Longbottom to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower."

Harry noted that Mr. Weasley, the kind, naïve but kind man that had welcomed Harry under his roof and away from the Dursleys for the past week was about to jump the other man. The one time he was practically invisible and he was going to intervene. Morgana, he was such a Gryffindor.

"I had wondered since last year Mr. Malfoy, what you did in bookstores when you were not crouched behind bookshelves." He commented innocently, blinking. What seemed like the entire store turned to gaze at the Boy-Who-Lived including the Malfoys. He ignored the public's stares with practiced ease after a year at Hogwarts and as bright green eyes met the tall daunting man's grey eyes, he stopped the childlike blinking, meeting the gaze head on.

Thankfully, according to a worn out old magical hat he was also a Slytherin.

They surveyed each other for a moment as the entire room watched on in confusion. Harry purposely waited for the blond man to open his mouth before beginning.

"Oh sorry, my mistake. Who knows, what you might do with your time when you aren't… Well, accidently misplacing books." Harry moved his lips up and crinkled his face into an guileless smile. "You should be careful what you leave around Mr. Malfoy, I couldn't find you last year to return it."

Harry took great pleasure in seeing a flash of… was that distress make its way across the previously haughty fact? Bingo. So he had been correct. How, fascinating. The Gryffindor barely managed to not curl his lip up into a smirk as Mr. Malfoy subtly stumbled into speechlessness.

"What are you-" Draco Malfoy cut in, confusion evident as he stared at his father.

"Have we met before Mr. Potter? I'm sure I would have recalled meeting the savior of the wizarding world." Mr. Malfoy saved himself admirably, enquiring in apparent boredom. Then, Harry remembered a small detail he knew about Malfoy from overhearing Slytherin gossip.

"Golly, how forgetful of you." He manipulated his features into shock, eyes wide. "Oh dear, aren't you a Lord? How concerning, a head of a great house having a lapse in their memory." He shook his head made a display of looking around to the room, concern evident, delighting in all the eyes and ears taking in their conversation.

Godric, he hated the attention, but it could not have been more beneficial.

"Terrible." Arthur Weasley cut in grinning foolishly.

There was a cold glint in grey eyes and this was no game anymore. However as Lord Malfoy turned from cold to dangerous and Harry felt unfamiliar magic crawl over his skin all he felt was a rush of adrenaline. He hadn't had this much fun in months. Before Lord Malfoy could speak however, he was cut off for a second time in as many minutes.

"Now now, what is the fuss over here? Wait, it can't be- Harry Potter?" A man in forget-me-not blue robes practically shouted, and suddenly he was yanked forward through the crowd losing sight of the Malfoys, Weasleys and everyone else as he was dragged to the front of the room.

The room instantly turned around and burst into applause. The Boy-Who-Lived and Gilderoy Lockhart smiled for the Daily Prophet's camera as calculating green eyes traced the Malfoys most dignified exit from Flourish and Blotts. He was a brash idiot, but what was life without simple pleasures?

Grasping his backpack Harry left Ron to his own last minute packing for their journey back to Hogwarts. Ducking out the back door he walked a decent distance away from The Burrow before sitting. Fishing around blindly in his bag a hand found cold metal and grasped it, dropping it in his lap.

Harry concentrated on the locked padlock. It was a small inanimate object, yet he despised it. This piece of metal had been locking Hedwig in her cage for over a month when he had been stuck at the Dursleys.

"Alohomora"

It clicked open.

Harry instantly felt exhausted as the warmth left his arms, as he always did, but the gratification was worth it.

It would take time and yet, little moments like this reminded him his long term plans were possible. He could actually maybe, just maybe, pull this all off. He probably shouldn't have let his temper get the best of him at the bookshop a week before, but hopefully it wouldn't come back to bite him. Only Mr. Malfoy and he really knew what had transpired, he had quickly convinced the Weasleys and everyone else it was simply standing up for Mr. Weasley and taunting the rude man- a very Gryffindor action, nothing out of place.

Harry had decided he quite enjoyed being underestimated.

A/N: Yay second longest chapter yet! A bit of determination, a bit of anger, and some fun. I should warn that this year is going to go past even faster than first year. I'm sure some of you will be pleased to hear that, others, not so. Check out the poll on my profile (you have to be on the desktop site).

Also there have been many questions about when Tom returns and Harry's response. I can't spoil it, but I'm really looking forward to it. It will be something new, something I haven't seen done before, so hopefully by that token - original. I've already written it. But it's a while off, so I'm sorry for leaving you a bit baited. :P

Thank you for all the lovely reviews, nothing more motivating! Shout out to Fanfictionlurker1 for always inspiring me with kind words and thought-provoking questions. :)