The Traitor's Blood

CHAPTER ONE

One cool and wet summers evening in a little house on Wisteria Walk, a small old lady and a skinny teenage boy were bustling around the kitchen. The old lady was dishing out potatoes and chops onto two china dinner plates, while the teenage boy poured them both glasses of bright orange pumpkin juice.

Harry Potter would appear to most everyday people as a normal everyday teenage boy. Most people would not realise that this tall, skinny sixteen year old boy with jet back, unkempt hair, was more than he first appeared.

Harry was a wizard. He had learned this for himself at the tender age of eleven. In that same summer he had also learned that his parents had been murdered by one of the darkest wizards there ever was, when Harry was only a baby. Most wizards could not bear to speak, or even hear the name of this dark and evil wizard. But Harry had survived the attack which had killed his parents, becoming famous in the wizarding world for something he could barely remember. This encounter had destroyed Lord Voldemort's powers and reduced him to almost nothing, whilst Harry had been left with only a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead as a constant reminder of his link with the Dark Lord.

Since becoming a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry, along with his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, had managed to escape the almost powerless Lord Voldemort several times. But in their fourth year, Harry alone had witnessed Voldemort's return to power and had narrowly escaped death yet again. But he had spent most of his fifth year trying to convince the Ministry of Magic of what he had seen. Finally, during another encounter just weeks ago, the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, saw Lord Voldemort with his own eyes.

It was such a relief to Harry that he was finally believed. But it had come at a price. During this last encounter Harry had witnessed the death of his godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius had become a good friend to Harry and the closest thing to a father Harry had ever known.

It was with a heavy heart that Harry now sat down to dinner with Mrs Figg. He had known the batty old woman for most of his life. Harry had been brought up by his Muggle (non-magic) aunt and uncle, the Dursleys, in nearby Privet Drive. Mrs Figg had always looked after Harry whenever Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia decided to take their spoiled, overweight son, Dudley, to the movies, or to dinner, or to a football match, or to anywhere else he wanted to go.

But it was only last summer that Harry had discovered Mrs Figg to be a Squib - a person of wizard parentage who did not have the ability to perform magic. This revelation had somewhat changed Harry's opinion of Mrs Figg. He no longer saw her as an annoying old lady with more cats than brains, but as a companion, someone who understood him in some small way.

"Aren't you hungry, dear?" Mrs Figg mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"No, not really," Harry replied quietly, whilst absent-mindedly picking at his own potatoes with a fork, "Sorry, Mrs Figg, I'm just a bit ... tired. Maybe I should be getting home."

He put down his fork and started to rise from the table, knocking Mr Tibbles off his lap. The cat let out a sound of annoyance and streaked out of the kitchen.

"Oh before you go, I was meant to give you something," Mrs Figg got up from her chair, knocking another disgruntled cat to the floor, and shuffled across to the kitchen counter, "Dumbledore asked me to pass on a message ... now where did I put it? I know I wrote it down somewhere."

"Dumbledore was here?" Harry asked. He felt slightly disappointed to hear that his headmaster had been in Little Whinging and not bothered to visit him.

"Yes, well, he popped in for tea yesterday," replied Mrs Figg while still rummaging through the papers on the worktop, "Didn't stay long, but I guess he must be fairly busy these days."

Albus Dumbledore had been one of the few people to believe Harry's story about Voldemort's return. Dumbledore has consequently suffered much grief from the Ministry of Magic. Since the turn of events four weeks ago, the Ministry had been relying on Dumbledore more than ever before.

"Ah, here we go."

Mrs Figg handed Harry a small piece of parchment which looked as though it had been torn from a used envelope. The writing was very messy and hard to read, but it simply said:

The Leaky Cauldron, Thursday, 5 o'clock.

"Does this mean Dumbledore wants to meet with me?" Harry asked Mrs Figg, who was now rummaging through a kitchen drawer.

"Um, yes, I think so," replied Mrs Figg distractedly, "Can't remember what he said exactly, but I wrote down the time and place so I wouldn't forget it. And I haven't forgotten something else, happy birthday Harry."

Mrs Figg handed Harry an envelope with his name on. He opened it to find a small note card with a picture of a cat on it. Inside was written in the same messy handwriting as the message from Dumbledore:

Happy 16th Birthday, from Arabella Figg xx

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling a broad smile stretch across his face, "I was beginning to think no one would remember."

Harry walked back towards Privet Drive feeling slightly happier than he had done all summer. He could feel the cool drops of light rain starting to fall on his face. The weather this summer had been the complete opposite of last year, which had been very hot and dry. This colder, wetter weather seemed to be reflecting the way Harry felt now that his godfather was gone.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry was surprised when he realised he had already arrived back at number four, Privet Drive. He opened the door quietly and crept upstairs to his bedroom. He could hear the sound of the television in the living room and every now and then his uncle's hearty laugh boomed up through the floor.

Harry lay quietly on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, which had become common practice for him over the last four weeks. He did not seem to have the energy to read or do his homework, and there was no point writing a letter to his friends because he never had anything remotely interesting to write about. He had received a couple of letters from Ron and Hermione, but they just said the usual:

Quite a lot has happened here ... We can't say much in a letter ... I expect we'll see you soon ...

But Harry had no intention of going to Grimmauld Place, the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix - a group of witches and wizards dedicated to fighting the Dark Lord.

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, in London had belonged to Sirius Black. Sirius had no descendants to pass the house on to, so everyone had naturally assumed that Sirius would have wanted Harry to take it. But Harry had declined to accept. He told the Order that they could continue to use the house as they wished, but that he, Harry, had no intention of ever living there.

As the sun set over Little Whinging, Harry became consumed by darkness. Eventually the only light was the glowing orange of the street lamp outside, which streaked across the ceiling of Harry's room.

A large black shadow penetrated the orange glow, and Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, swooped in through the open window. She landed lightly beside Harry and dropped several letters onto his chest, before taking off again and flying straight back out of the window. Hedwig did not spend much time around Harry these days, maybe because all he did was ignore her.

Harry sat up and opened the first letter. He squinted at it in the darkness but did not bother to turn on the light. The letter was written in Hermione's tidy handwriting:

Dear Harry,

Have you had your results yet? I got O's for everything. I'm so pleased! Ron did great as well. He got mostly E's and A's, and a P for Divination, but he did get an O for Defence Against the Dark Arts (all thanks to you!) and surprisingly and O for Potions! He's still shocked about that one.

Please let us know how you did. But I bet you did brilliantly ...

Harry had forgotten all about the OWL exam results. They had taken their Ordinary Wizarding Level exams in June, and had been told to expect the results some time in July. Harry shuffled through the other envelopes and found the one he was looking for - it was sealed with the Wizarding Exam Authority crest. He ripped it open with a mixture of anxiety and dread:

Mr Harry James Potter,

We are pleased to award you with the following Ordinary Wizarding Level examination results:

Astronomy - Acceptable,

Care of magical Creatures - Exceeds Expectations,

Charms - Outstanding,

Defence Against the Dark Arts - Outstanding,

Divination - Poor,

Herbology - Exceeds Expectations,

History of Magic - Acceptable,

Transfiguration - Exceeds Expectations,

Potions - Exceeds Expectations.

Yours Sincerely,

Griselda Marchbanks

Wizarding Examinations Authority.

It could have been worse, Harry thought to himself, he could have failed them all. He was not at all surprised that he had failed Divination. The only grade he was disappointed in was his Potions grade. He knew that the Potions Master, Severus Snape, refused to accept people into his NEWT class unless they had achieved an O in their OWL exam. Harry needed a NEWT, Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test, in Potions in order to become an Auror.

Like all his other dreams, Harry's career as an Auror, a dark wizard catcher, seemed to be disappearing before his very eyes. He could see it now, Ron and Hermione becoming Aurors without him, while he sat in his room at the Dursleys' for the rest of his life, rotting away.

Harry angrily stuffed the letter back inside its envelope and threw it on the floor. He then reluctantly returned to reading the letter from his friends:

We really hope you change your mind about coming here this summer. You wouldn't recognise the place anymore. Mrs Weasley's done an amazing job with the cleaning. It looks like a new house.

I expect you already know this, but Dumbledore has arranged a meeting with us this week. We thought we would take the opportunity to go to Diagon Alley and buy our books for school and we were hoping you would meet with us. Please write straight back and let us know.

From Hermione and Ron.

P.S. Happy Birthday Harry! Sorry we haven't sent you anything, but we haven't had a chance to get out. We'll treat you on Thursday. Please say you'll come!

So, they had been invited to meet with Dumbledore as well, Harry thought savagely. Why would Dumbledore want to speak with them? He had selfishly assumed the meeting was to involve just himself and Dumbledore. It was he, Harry, who had been alienated from the wizarding world this summer.

Harry reluctantly turned the piece of parchment over and scribbled on the back:

OK, I'll see you on Thursday. How are you getting there and what time should I meet you?

He folded the piece of parchment and placed it next to Hedwig's cage. He would get Hedwig to take it back as soon as she returned from hunting.

He then turned to the next envelope. In side was a folded piece of tattered parchment with the number sixteen scribbled on the front. Harry unfolded the parchment to reveal his Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid's, scribbled handwriting. Harry tossed the hand made card onto the floor and turned to the final envelope, which looked familiarly like the usual letter from Hogwarts. He opened it and read the usual information from the Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration teacher, Minerva McGonagall. The letter told him that school would start on the first of September and there was a list of books required for next year.

Harry threw the letter onto the floor with the others, and lay back down on the bed. He resolved to staring at the ceiling again until he slowly drifted into a deep and troubled sleep.