TW: Please don't read if you are triggered by Dobby and Molly hate. You've had your warning.

*****

As much as I love returning to my cousin, I do not love being back at the mercy of my evil aunt and uncle.

There are now bars on my bedroom window, making it feel even more like a prison than the cupboard under the stairs. I am locked all day in my room, with the key kept firmly on Uncle Vernon so that Dudley can no longer visit me at night.

Every night, I cry myself to sleep, wondering if I had dreamt the entirety of the last year. No one writes, no one even cares.

But I do have Hedwig, even though her cage is padlocked thanks to my uncle. So she hates me too, thinking I am doing this on purpose.

"We're both locked up," I whisper as she turns her back on me yet again, "it's not just you."

My thirteenth birthday comes and goes without any celebration. The only indication that it is a special day is when I hear Dudley knock softly on my door.

"Happy birthday, Harri," he whispers. I cry.

It hasn't been this way all summer. At first, it was fine - just the usual amount of being ignored as though I don't exist. I still had a bit of freedom. And my cousin.

But then one hot July night, I had a visitor. A visitor who screwed everything up for me.

Fucking Dobby.

*****

In a strange move, I am saved by Ron and his twin brothers in a flying car.

I do not get a very warm greeting from his mother, though.

Molly eyes me with disdain, muttering that my parents will be rolling in their graves about having a Slytherin child. Bitch.

"But she has no where else to go!" Ron pleads on my behalf. "They had locked her up!"

"That's what Muggles do with their houses!" Molly spits. "It's a basic security measure to ensure they don't get burgled!"

She reluctantly lets me stay for some breakfast. I do wonder if she thinks of me as a stuck up prejudiced git like Draco, but I can't see how. She knows I was raised by Muggles, and she knows that my parents were both Gryffindors. Does having a Slytherin in her house really affect her that much?

"Well, you may as well come with us to Diagon Alley," Molly mutters as she passes me a flowerpot full of dirt. "Guests first."

I look from the flowerpot to Molly, then back to the flowerpot, feeling perplexed.

Suddenly Fred or George is by my side, reaching into the flowerpot to grab a handful of dirt.

"She's been brought up by Muggles, Mum," he sighs before turning back to me with a kind smile upon his lips. "This is called Floo Powder. Watch."

Going over to the fireplace, he throws the handful of powder into the flames and then steps into them!

"Diagon Alley!" He yells, instead of screaming in agony. And then he is gone.

Brilliant. I can do that, easy peasy lemon squeezy.

"Diagonelly!"

Bugger.

*****

I find myself in a shop full of cool artefacts.

As I'm the only one here, I decide to take a look around whilst I wait for someone to inevitably come and rescue me.

And here he is now! I move away from the pretty necklace that I was about to pick up to go and greet Draco who I can see approaching the shop from outside.

But then I freeze when I see he is not alone. For behind him is a grown up version of him, a man who can only be his father.

Panicking, I jump inside a nearby cabinet, swiftly closing the door just as Draco and his father enter the shop. My heart thuds so loudly, I am sure they will hear.

I don't know why I am so afraid to meet Draco's father, but all my instincts tell me to avoid at all costs. I really like Draco, but it stirs something unpleasant in me when he talks about his so called ideals - which can only come from his parents.

I watch through a crack in the door, and observe as Draco goes straight for a withered hand. But before he can reach it, his father digs the top of his cane into his son's shoulder.

"Touch nothing, Draco."

"I thought you were going to buy me a present?"

"I said I would buy you a racing broom."

"What's the good of that if I'm not in the house team? Harri Potter probably won't be either, she's not that good a flier."

Cheers, Draco.

"Fifteen times I wrote to her over the summer," Draco continues to whine as he walks amongst the displays, "and not once did she write back."

Well you can thank bloody Dobby for that.

"I expect she was too busy writing to Weasleby-"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," his father snaps, giving his son a quelling look, "and will you quit with this fan behaviour? You're embarrassing the Malfoy name!"

"But you told me to make friends with Harri, and I did, didn't I? But despite that she still chooses Weasley over me! I bet she's with him right now, having a right old laugh about me!"

I am right here Draco you nimwit.

"Well, no one likes a clinger-on, Draco," his father says. "Have some pride, will you? Ah, Mr Borgin."

A stooping man appears behind the counter smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

"Lucius Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again."

With Draco's father's attention now on shop talk, Draco continues to browse the shelves muttering moodily under his breath.

"Harri Potter and her perfect hair... Bloody Weasleby..."

Well, this whole eavesdropping experience has certainly been enlightening, I might do it more often.

So, Draco only chose to be friends with me because his father made him so? But despite that, it seems he has spent the entire summer writing to me and talking about me?

I don't know whether to feel angry or flattered.

Finally, they leave the shop, and I am free to escape.

However, when I walk out into the street, I realise that I'm not in Diagon Alley at all! Ah crap.

Luckily, I spy Hagrid who drags me out of the place, tutting at me as though I have found myself here on purpose.

Eventually I am reunited with the Weasleys in Diagon Alley who are now joined by Hermione and her parents (strange... Hagrid told me that Dudley couldn't come with us that first time because of him being a Muggle...).

Hermione looks at me in disgust. Bit rude. But when Arthur Weasley also looks at me and says, "Dear, oh dear," I know I must look a state.

"Did you have a fight with a fireplace?" Arthur chuckles as he takes my glasses off my face and fixes them. I hadn't even realised they were broken.

"Why are you covered in soot?" Ron asks, scratching his head as though he hadn't just literally witnessed me stepping into his fireplace.

We enter Flourish and Blotts to purchase our books where I immediately get accosted by some pervert.

"Nice big smile, Harriet. Together, you and I are worth the front page."

I am blinded by a series of flashing lights which I try to step away from, but Lockhart has got his arm around me, tightly clamping me to his side.

"Let me have your attention," he says loudly to the crowded shop, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time! When young Harriet here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, she only wanted to buy my autobiography - which I shall be happy to present her now, free of charge-" the crowd applaud, "-she had no idea," Lockhart continues, giving me a little shake that makes my glasses slip to the end of my nose, "that she would shortly be getting much more than my book, Magical Me. She and her school fellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

He finally lets go of me as the crowd clap and cheer. I stagger away, desperate to get distance, when I find myself walking into someone.

Draco immediately reaches out to steady me, his grey eyes containing a twinkle as a ghost of smirk flickers on his lips.

"Enjoy that?" He drawls softly, his hands still upon my arms as the crowd jostles around us. "I see you can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Tell me about it," I laugh, smiling up at him, "but if I don't get out of here now, I fear I may end up on newsnight."

"Come on," he smirks, letting go of me to relieve me of Lockhart's book. "Let's go and-"

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend, Draco?"

I freeze at the voice I have already heard earlier today. Cold grey eyes pierce mine as Lucius Malfoy steps up behind him and I try and swallow, but somehow forget how.

And I know I'm not imagining it, but I sense Draco freeze too, his face going pale, all trace of his smirk gone.

Draco's father continues to look me up and down, the sneer on his lip curling deeper as his eyes rest on my scar.

"So, you must be the famous Harriet Potter? Well, Draco has certainly told me lots about you."

I glance at Draco whose cheeks now sport a pink tinge.

"I must say," Lucius drawls lazily, "it's a pity about your parents. Such a loss."

His tone is so insincere that I find myself rolling my eyes before I can stop myself.

"Well I never knew them," I retort, "so I'll take your word for it."

His eyes instantly narrow. "Yes, I can see you take after that insufferable father of yours."

Charming.

Before I can call him a pig, Draco quickly tugs at my arm and interrupts. "I was just about to go and show Harri the racing broom you promised to buy me. Is that alright, Father?"

We are dismissed with a nod.

"Wow, is your father always that friendly?" I scoff once we are safely outside.

Draco doesn't respond, and when I glance at him, I see he is looking down at the ground as though concentrating very hard on his feet.

"Draco?"

"Well, you've met him now," he says, his shoulders giving a heavy lift as though they bear the weight of the world. "That's Lucius, that's my father."

I don't tell him I already knew who he was thanks to my unexpected excursion earlier.

"Come on," I say, gently nudging his arm, "show me this racing broom then."

But Draco just stares at me, a challenge in his eyes. "How was your summer? Busy, were you?"

I cannot help but notice the accusation in his tone. This is no pleasantry.

Of course, I know what this is about, but I can't let on without giving away the fact that I was eavesdropping on him. So I choose my words carefully.

"Not great," I admit. "A house-elf intercepted all my post and dropped a trifle on the head of an important dinner party guest. Then my aunt and uncle locked me up in my bedroom and wouldn't let me use Hedwig to send for help."

Relief floods his face as I knew it would.

"Oh- that's a shame," he says, clearly trying hard not to smile, "I did write once or twice, and - thinking about it now - I realise I didn't hear back from you. Not that I noticed or anything."

Bless him.

After that, he happily leads the way to the broomstick shop, proudly waxing lyrical about all the credentials of his new broom as I pretend to listen with interest.

*****