Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
Potter47 Three
The Half Blood Princess

As you undoubtedly know, by reading the first and second chapters of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, this tale revolves around purple polka-dotted tablecloths.

No? Well, I suppose you do know best. The story can, if you insist, revolve around Harry Potter and whoever turns out to be the Half Blood Prince.

Now, unless you are a very naughty person who does not read chapter titles, you already know the surprise twist that this chapter will contain. The Half Blood Princess. Hmmm. That sounds interesting. I wonder who she could be?

Ah, but that's where you may well be mistaken! You see, I am quite sure that you have assumed, by my stating 'you already know the surprise twist that this chapter will contain' that you do in fact know the surprise twist that this chapter will contain. You do not.

Unless, of course, you are a very naughty person and have already scrolled down to the bottom of this story and read the ending, therefore actually knowing the surprise twist. As a lesson for all of you naughty, naughty people, we are going to have a group scroll, okay? On the count of three, you are going to grasp your mouse, click on the bar towards the right of your screen, and drag it all the way to the bottom. Then you are going to read the entire last screen's-height of this story, and come right back up. Okay?

One...two...two-and-a-half...two-and-four-sevenths...three!

Back? See? That's the lesson: for those of you that cheat, and look at the end of a story before the beginning, something wicked this way comes. Well, either that, or a whole lot of repetitive Shakespeare....

And so the tale begins....

As everyone in the world knows, after reading Po Turforti-Seén, and The Half Blood Pince, there is absolutely no way to get the Half Blood Prince to help defeat Voldemort if a prophecy was not made, saying that he would be defeated on Halloween, during Harry's sixth year.

Which just goes to show that everyone in the world can be wrong.

For it was now the thirty-first of March, during Harry Potter's sixth year, and Voldemort was still alive and kicking. That is, if the Dark Lord did not prefer punching. No one ever asked, as he usually did not use either method...oh, I know. The Dark Lord was still alive and cursing.

"Damn! Damn! Damn! I stubbed my bloody toe! Damn!" he often said, among other expletives.

More relevantly, no prophecy had been made about the Half Blood Prince. A prophecy would be made, but it had not yet been made, so ha.

"The Half Blood Prince will come, tomorrow at three-fifty-seven, like a great lion, swooshing down from the clouds in the sky. Of course, this lion would have to have wings, but the Half Blood Prince will not.... From the great dungeons of Hogwarts, the Prince will emerge, thus dreadfully contradicting the lion simile, and it will find itself on the field of battle, where a war will be waged between green and red, though the Half Blood Prince will be colour-blind, so that doesn't really matter.... the Prince will, figuratively, of course, bite off the great thumb that controls the Dark Lord's wand.... and the previously mentioned 'one with the power' will finally have a chance to strike," said Professor Trelawney eerily. Unfortunately, she had locked herself in her tower beforehand, and had been drinking quite a bit, so not only did no other person hear her new prophecy, but she didn't either.

So the day passed as if it were just an ordinary day. Which it was not. Snape did not take a single point from Gryffindor. Hermione did not raise her hand once in Transfiguration. Neville did not blow one thing up. Filch didn't catch a single student out of bounds. Dumbledore said nothing delightfully eccentric. Luna didn't act distinctly dotty (okay, maybe a bit...).

And as such, the day was not ordinary. But no one, not even Hermione, who usually knew when things were not exactly normal, had the slightest inkling of what unusualness was really going on. And for all the unusualness of the thirty-first of March, no-one had a clue what was in store for tomorrow...

At breakfast, Harry Potter felt that all was not exactly normal. The reason for this was, of course, the owl that he received. The letter it brought gave him unpleasant news:

All is not exactly normal

it said in a curly script that Harry recognised at once as Dumbledore's. Hmmm, thought Harry. That's odd. Why do I always recognise things 'at once?' Why not 'immediately?' Is there anything wrong with 'straight away' or 'right away?' How 'bout 'instantaneously' or 'without more ado'?

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts by another owl, which delivered more unpleasant news:

I'm going to kill you today. Regards, V.

this one said, in a sharp handwriting that was not writing at all, but printing. Apparently, Voldemort did not like cursive.

But, it seemed, the sadness would never stop. A third owl arrived just as this previous one was departing.

Millicent Bulstrode fancies you. She wants to marry you. Mrs. Millicent Potter... Mr. Harry Bulstrode...

this one said, to the utter horror of poor Harry. He would never forget the misery he felt that day. Never.

The day only got worse. For, you see, Voldemort (V. for short, because "Voldie" sounds more like someone who could get better with a bit of therapy and some love) was not lying when he said that he was going to kill Harry today. At least, he would try.

Everywhere the poor boy went, it seemed, objects would mysteriously fall very near to him. Statues with very sharp edges; suits of armour with axes; ferocious white rabbits would chase him through the corridors, thus making him late for Potions; and Hermione made him carry a very large stack of books back from the library, hurting his arms. Well, the last one wasn't particularly Voldemort related, but it still hurt.

It did not help things to have a group of giggling Slytherin girls following him around everywhere. The scary part, however, was that he was not entirely sure that they all were girls. Ugh.

Dodging a flying pocket-knife, Harry made his way to the Gryffindor Table at Lunch. Hey, wait a minute, he thought, 'table' shouldn't be capitalised... and neither should 'lunch!' This puzzled Harry all the way to his Seat, next to Ginny, and across from Ron and Hermione.

"Hey," he said by way of greeting.

"Hello," said Hermione, looking up briefly from her book, Love Potions? Then This is the Book for You!

"Hullo," said Ron. "What time is it?" he asked Hermione.

"Three-forty."

"Thanks."

"I was wondering something, Harry," said Ginny. "Why do I sit here? It seems that everyone always puts me right next to you. Shouldn't I sit with my friends? Like I did at the beginning of your fifth year?"

"Oh no...," said Harry. "Not another illogical-assumption-that-has-already-been-proved-wrong-in-canon...."

Boom!

"LOOK OUT!" cried Ginny from her seat next to Harry, as if she didn't have to look out just as much as he.

A great, spiralling cannonball had been fired from somewhere in the direction of the Slytherin table. It must have been a defective cannon, though, if it was 'spiralling'.

Ginny jumped out of the way, heroically pulling Harry with her. The hard, bludger-like cannon ball just missed Harry's leg by inches... and unfortunately, hit his foot.

"OW!" Harry cried in pain. But wait; was he crying? Or did he simply shout 'ow?' Aha! You cannot tell, can you, reader, for the '!' and use of 'Harry' before 'cried' disguises the truth. Is "OW!" Harry cried in pain one sentence? Or two? Does it really matter? Not in the least. Just felt like pointing it out. Back to the tale:

"You saved my life, Ginny!" exclaimed Harry thankfully. This occasion made him realise something. A connection that he should have made years ago. Looking at Ginny's worried, bright brown eyes, he realised that he had forgotten to thank the Dursley's for his used envelope Christmas present, years ago... They're probably heart broken...I better get to the Owlery right now, and thank them....

"That was close!" said Ron. Hermione made a sound that seemed to indicate agreement, though she hadn't looked up from her book since Harry had first sat down.

"Yeah...," said Harry distractedly. "I need to go to the Owlery..." he said, before dashing away.

Arriving at the librairy, which actually only has one 'i', though it is a common spelling mistake, Harry noticed the complete silence within the room, but for the ruffling of feathers. Of course, this was completely run of the mill, as there never really is much talking going on in the library, among humans at least. In fact, the only reason that Harry did notice the complete silence was to provide contrast for what happened next:

Crack!

Harry whirled round, sure that this was another attempt by the Dark Lord to claim his life. But when he did whirl round, he saw that it was only Mrs Norris.

Hmm

... thought Harry for no particular reason, I wonder what time it is? Let me check my watch...ah. Three-fifty-seven.

This previous thought by Harry, though he thought it had no particular reason, in fact had a very specific, particular, and similar synonyms reason. In fact, it even had a name.

It is what writers call a "plot device," you see, and it can be of great use.

Three-fifty-seven? That seems familiar for some reason...

Of course, it was not familiar, as no-one was in the room when that particular time made its relevance known.

"Princess?" called Filch from outside the Owlery. "Where'd you wander off to?"

Pop!

"Ahh!" cried Filch. "Somebody Apparating! I hate it when people Apparate! I can't Apparate! I want my Princess! Where'd she go? Is the nasty Apparator going to hurt my precious Princess? My precioussss...princessss...."

But no, the Apparator. which is spelt/spelled with an 'o', was not going to hurt Mrs Norris.

"I'm not going to hurt Mrs Norris," said the Apparator.

"Meow!" said Mrs Norris, which probably meant "I don't believe you, you big, mean, two-legged snake."

"Really, I'm not," said the big, mean, two-legged snake, who liked to be called "Lord Voldemort." "But that doesn't mean I won't hurt the Boy Who's Been Silent For This Entire Scene."

"Who, me?" said Harry politely. "Oh, you don't have to hurt me. I'm just sending a thank you letter to my generous relatives."

"Meow!" said Mrs Norris again, though this time it meant "But that doesn't mean I won't hurt you!"

And so it was. As Voldemort raised his want to obliterate (which is very different from Obliviate) the Boy Who Was Sending A Thank You Letter To His Generous Relatives, Mrs Norris made her move. With a "Hiss!" which meant "That thumb looks delicious!" Mrs Norris attacked the yummy-looking thumb.

"AAAHHH!" aaahhhed Voldemort painfully. "That bloody cat bit off my bloody thumb! Look! It is bloody!" As you can see, Voldemort was still alive and cursing.

"Meow!" said Mrs Norris impatiently, which meant "Kill him you stupid boy! He can't use his wand!"

"Oh, right," said Harry, who could suddenly understand cat language, making him a Purrrrrseltongue.

"Avada Catavra!" he said, and Voldemort plopped to the ground, dead. In fact, he was the first Dark Lord in history ever to plop. But, on the bright side, he landed on his feet. Which is entirely illogical, but that doesn't really matter.

"Meow!" said Mrs Norris, which meant "And now I'll have a nice big snack, while I explain to you the odd confluence of events, which must not escape you."

"Okay," said Harry, sitting down cross-legged next to the cat, who merrily licked her lips, though cats do not have lips, so she really licked her face, which cats do very often.

"AAAHHH!" aaahhhed Filch excitedly. "My cat is devouring the Dark Lord! Come see!"

Mrs Norris and Harry ignored him however. They were deep in conversation.

"Meow," said Mrs Norris sensibly, which meant "You see, I am a descendant of Godric Gryffindor."

"Really? Everyone always thinks I am!" said Harry.

"Meow," said Mrs Norris, which meant "This, for some odd reason that has been developed by the fans, makes me royalty. I am a Half Blood Princess, because my father was a Maine Coon and my Mum was a...well, I don't know. She was more like me, however. Much more."

"Of course," said Harry.

"You're right!" exclaimed Dumbledore, arriving. "She is devouring the Dark Lord! How delightful!"

"Meow," said Mrs Norris, ignoring him, which meant "And last night, Professor Trelawney made a prophecy about the Half Blood Prince's coming. I knew at once that she meant me."

"Hang on," said Harry. "But you said you were a--"

"Meow?" which meant, of course, "Princess?"

"Yes."

"Meow," she explained, meaning "Yes, but Trelawney was drunk at the time. She got some of her facts wrong."

"Ah."

And so, not only was the Dark Lord defeated--on April Fools Day, no less--but Harry made a very good pal. He and Mrs Norris would have chats until he left school, in the middle of seventh year, for unknown reasons that may or may not have had to do with silencing a writer named Jo Rowling, who had leaked precious information to the Muggle world.

~ Finis ~

Author's Note:

According to J. K. Rowling, the Half Blood Prince is not Tom Riddle, Voldemort, or Harry.

This, of course, is of no relevance as there are a sufficient number of characters that do not happen to be Tom Riddle, Voldemort of Harry. That means that there are many, many, more H.B.P.P.s to write, and many more times I will be dreadfully and completely wrong.

Of course, I may actually be right about one of these!

Or not.

Stick around. There are many more to come.

And remember that advice from The Half Blood Pince about computer screens. I recently had a run-in with a particularly bad-tasting one in northern Canada. At least remember to pack salt!

Be off now, in search of more logical and possible fanfiction. There must be something out there that will not harm your brain as much as the though of who might be next in this series will.

Review. Please. 'Tis the only thing that keeps me going, while walking through the freezing cold of northern Canada, clinging for my computer for warmth. After all, if I freeze to death, the true identity of the Half Blood Prince may well be left unknown forever!

Or until the real book six comes out. Well, anyway...

Of you get.