Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.

Chapter 1 I'm Harry Potter

McGonagall was no Snape, Harry thought as he packed his bags to head off to his final year of Hogwarts. She certainly wasn't favoring the Gryffindors this year. After everything that had happened, he wanted to return to the one place that truly felt like home.

There was an attachment to this year's Hogwarts' letters, the headmistress's stipulation to the returning students who were involved in the War.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Given the postwar tensions, Hogwarts staff and school governors have found it prudent to make efforts to return the castle to a state of peace it has not seen in years. Along with added security, we strive to end the tensions between the students who stood alongside the Order of the Phoenix and those who allied themselves with the Death Eaters.

Enclosed is a journal which you will use to communicate at least once a week with a student who was entrapped in the Dark. Neither student will know of each other's identity unless the student decides to reveal his or her information. Refusal to participate will bar selected students from admittance.

Sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

"Rubbish," Harry muttered. Although he found it interesting that she did not mention him or Voldemort in the letter. Was it courtesy? Or was she trying to distance Voldemort from the Death Eaters?

"Tell me about it mate," Ron said as he snapped his trunk shut. "Hermione thinks it's good, but…"

"There are some things you can't fix," Harry said bitterly.

Ron nodded in agreement. "I'm writing one liners every week. I'm good. Or the chicken at the feast tonight could've been better. That's it."

Harry sighed and stared at the journal for a moment before throwing it in his trunk. He would just have to look at it as an extra homework assignment. That is all.

Friday night. His first "entry" was due, and Harry nearly forgot. He was half asleep when his journal lit up. When he opened the stupid book, he raised his eyebrows at the first entry.

Hey. My name's Harry. Harry Potter.

As he grabbed his quill, he almost smiled. Almost.

Yeah. Right.

How do you know?

Harry rubbed his eyes and straightened his glasses. He made contact. He could leave it at that. Surely McGonagall wouldn't confront him about it. The bloody wizarding world was safe, thanks to him, he thought somewhat bitterly. Still…

Because I wasn't a Death Eater. So that means you were.

There was a pause. Such a long pause that Harry started to doze again. Then, letters started to light up the pages again.

No, I wasn't.

Right…

The person didn't answer for the rest of the week.

"My person likes to watch paint dry," Ron said as he shoveled breakfast in his mouth. Harry vaguely wondered if his best friend even knew what he was eating, or if he was just mindlessly stuffing himself.

Hermione looked up from her Transfiguration notes. "So they are just as interesting as you are?" she said dryly. "How's it going for you, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. It was Friday again, so he supposed he should write something. The person seemed friendly enough. "Whoever it is, they got mad when I said they were a Death Eater."

Ron snorted but Hermione looked absolutely aghast. "Why would you make a first impression like that?"

"Well…" He was just stating the obvious! "They tried to introduce themselves as Harry Potter!"

Hermione shook her head like it was his fault. "So you say, No, you aren't. You're a Death Eater."

Harry stared for a moment. "Well, yes."

"Boys!" Hermione spent the rest of the day giving him dirty looks.

Harry didn't feel guilty, but he wasn't about to get a warning from McGonagall because he hurt some Death Eater's feelings. So he decided to play a little joke himself.

Look, I know you're not Harry Potter because I'm Harry Potter.

An hour went by. Well, he made contact, so there was nothing else he could do.

Ha, ha, ha.

Harry rolled his eyes and laughed at his own joke. He was tempted to tell Sirius, who had been appointed to head of Hogwarts' security. However, the man was unfortunately starting to get as paranoid as Mad Eye.

Fine, Harry. You can call me… Lily. The handwriting was a little shaky compared to last time, but Harry didn't think much of it. Maybe the person was half asleep like he was the other night.

No.

Hermione?

So you're a girl?

No. I have an eighteen inch long throbbing cock.

Wow.

I may be a little tipsy…

A little?

Call me Trixie.

Trixie?

No answer.

"It smells like fish," Kamelia Malfoy announced as she walked by Hermione as Potions class begun. Her older brother forced himself to smile but said nothing.

That was the main downside to returning. They were with students who were a year younger, meaning he had a few classes with Kamelia.

Most of the Slytherins were quiet, despondent, and honestly, defeated. Not Kamelia. Or her best friend Pansy Parkinson. Hermione, who had too much dignity for her own good, ignored her as Kamelia sauntered next to her seat with Theodore Nott.

Pansy cackled and sat next to Draco, snaking her arm around his. Neither Malfoy seemed very interested in their partners. Kamelia stared straight at the board when Nott, her boyfriend, put a hand on her thigh. Draco just looked as miserable as ever as Pansy whispered in his ear.

"She's such a fat cow," Pansy whispered loudly in the Common Room. She's talking about Astoria. She's always talking about Astoria.

Because Draco never looks at you like he looks at Astoria, Kamelia thought. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she curled up on the leather sofa and took a sip of her wine. Pansy was her best friend after all. Astoria was studying and pretending not to listen.

"No wonder she's never had a boyfriend," Pansy went on.

Kamelia wouldn't consider Pansy slender either. Her best friend wasn't really fat. She just… With a bored sigh, Kamelia picked up the bottle of wine and retreated to her room. She wasn't even in the mood to make up an excuse. Pansy was sure to tell Draco, who would go on and on about his latest theory for what's been plaguing her.

"You're a stupid cow," Kamelia muttered as soon as her door was shut. Now that she was alone, she gave up on the wine glass and went straight for the bottle. She thought she had a little gin somewhere…

After stumbling around her room a bit, she spotted that bloody journal. She had yet to write to "Harry Potter". But it was Tuesday, so there was no need to.

Do you ever hate your friends?

Kamelia found the bottle of gin, but there was only a swallow left. She supposed it was better than nothing…

No.

Bloody Gryffindors

What makes you think I'm in Gryffindor?

Because Ravenclaws were neutral, and no Hufflepuff would have the balls to call me a Death Eater.

Now who's making assumptions…

Kamelia smiled slightly and for once, put the wine bottle down when it was still half full. Draco would be proud. The git.

Ravenclaws are capable of hating their friends, and Hufflepuffs have no friends, she went on. She wondered what would happen if she filled the book. The wine was making her sleepy, and her thoughts were fleeting. Dinner had ended half an hour ago, and her eyes were already starting to droop.

I've been angry with my friends, but I can't say that I've hated them. There have been times I haven't spoken to either of them, but deep down, I didn't hate them.

Ron and Hermione? The wine made her laugh in a very unlady like way at her own joke. Mother would have scolded her and passive aggressively complained about it for days.

There was a slight pause. Of course. I'm Harry Potter, aren't I?

Kamelia wondered who she was talking to. The halfblood Seamus Finnigan? Neville Longbottom? Or maybe it was a woman. She supposed she would never know.

Well I hate her. She's insecure but somehow full of herself. She's embarrassing. She's shallow. She's… I can't even describe it.

So, not your friend?

Kamelia slammed the journal shut. Stupid Gryffindors.

It was Halloween. The first Halloween where he could just have a solemn evening with Remus and Sirius, or so he thought.

They were in a pub, what Sirius said was Dad's favorite pub, when the reporters swarmed in. He should have known better than to go out in public. Usually, he wore some sort of disguise or didn't go out at all. No reporter dared cross McGonagall, so being at school gave him a false sense of security.

"Mr. Potter! Did you know that this is the anniversary of your parents' death?"

"Is it true that you saw your parents' ghosts the night you defeated You-Know-Who?"

"What did they say?"

"Mr. Potter!"

"Mr. Potter!"

Normally, Sirius would be the one to do something stupid, but Harry, who barely had more than a sip of firewhiskey before tonight, was the first to make a fool of himself. The whole two glasses of brandy made him slur loudly, "Leave."

A few glasses and candles shook, reminding Harry of when he was a kid, but surprise, surprise, none of them left. Remus yanked Sirius back in his seat but wasn't used to having to keep Harry in line too.

"I said LEAVE!" Flipping a table is one way to sober up…

Harry secluded himself in his dorm room the morning after that. Even Ron had the emotional capacity to know that he needed to be alone. He didn't know what he thought life would be like after Voldemort, but he never thought that going out in public would be an issue. He thought his life could just go on or finally start.

His parents' favorite pub, where they got married… There was so much he still didn't know about them, and he was hoping that last night would be a time when he could get some of that information from Remus and Sirius. He wondered what their laughs sounded like…

Instead of leaving and doing just that at Sirius's new house, he flipped a table, which was caught on camera at least half a dozen times. He didn't leave quietly either. Embarrassment and residual anger made him leave with a flurry of swears and threats. It was so unlike him. He didn't need Remus to tell him that. There was so much he had been holding in over the past few months, and it started to bubble up last night. Harry wasn't willing to admit that just the tip of the iceberg revealed itself last night.

He glared at the journal when it lit up. The handwriting was shaky, so "Trixie" must've been drinking last night too. Her handwriting was shaky half the time they wrote back and forth, although Harry was one to talk, considering last night. He doubted he would be drinking for a long time. Harry was tempted to ignore her, and he should have. The message had no substance anyway.

Write my Arthimancy essay for me, Harry. The hang over potions have been hidden from me!

A picture of a crying face accompanied it. Harry should have shut the book and taken a nap. Instead he wrote, I'm not in that class. Leave me alone. I'm not in the mood.

Harry raised his eyebrows when a red wine colored stain dripped on the paper. Sorry! But this is the best cure for a hangover I've got! What's the matter, Harry?

Never mind. Harry rubbed at his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep, but he couldn't. After about twenty minutes, he wrote. I made a fool of myself last night.

Welcome to the club.

"Idiot," Harry muttered. How could he explain that he was a "hero" that had his every move scrutinized? Then, she'd know it was him and any entry he posted could end up in the paper. He quickly wrote, I have to be a role model.

Do you want to be?

Harry frowned. Good question. He found himself telling the truth. I don't know.

After that, he started to write about more personal subjects. Harry realized that since everything was anonymous, so he had nothing to lose when writing to "Trixie." There would be no pitying looks like Ron and Hermione would give. She wouldn't be worried like Remus or Sirius. And since she didn't believe he was actually Harry Potter, she wouldn't leak anything he wrote to the press.

Do you have a girlfriend, Harry? Sober Trixie. Interesting.

Does my hand count? Like he said, he has nothing to lose. He imagined her laughing. She was the one who claimed she had "an eighteen inch throbbing cock."

No.

Trouble in paradise?

No.

Really?

I have a date. With Not My Hand.

Congrats?

Are you a pureblood?

Harry frowned. She had never wondered about his identity until now, and of course her curiosity had do with blood status. No.

He waited for a snide comment, for her not to be so friendly and full of jokes. He expected her to ask if he was a "mudblood." Instead she replied, Lucky.

It was so unexpected that Harry wasn't sure how to respond.

His hand was on the small of her back. Kamelia tried not to react. Her parents were here. So was his father. Her favorite restaurant was rented out. Mother had tears in her eyes, and Draco was making more effort than usual to pretend to not be repulsed by Pansy. Kamelia needed a drink.

But she couldn't have one. Draco made sure to remind her of it this morning. She was tempted to tell him that everyone could see he no longer loved Pansy, even Pansy herself. But she felt too sick to concentrate today. She knew this was coming. She knew it.

It didn't make it any less horrible when Theo got down on one knee and said, "Will you marry me?"

Kamelia hesitated for a second too long. His smile started to falter. Mother's face started to wrinkle with worry, and Father's disgusted, disappointed gaze began to increase in intensity. Draco's eyebrows raised, but the rest of his expression was as unreadable as ever. There was only one answer. She owed this to her family. "Yes."

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