Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

Chapter One - Aunt Petunia's Secret

"Boy! Get up! The garden needs to be weeded, the dishes need to be washed, and the living room needs vaccuuming!"

Harry Potter lay still in his bed, wondering if Aunt Petunia might leave him alone if she thought he was asleep. Next moment, bony fingers had clasped around his ear and brought his head up from his pillow. "Up! Now!" she said shrilly. Well, at least he didn't have to wonder anymore.

"Don't touch me," Harry warned her, giving her a glare. She backed up, swallowed, then regained composure by narrowing her beady eyes at him. "I'll be down in a minute."

Aunt Petunia turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door; most likely in hopes that Harry would be startled into jumping or making any sort of movement at all, but he didn't even blink.

All of the happiness he had felt only a week ago at King's Cross station, bidding his friends good-bye, had quickly evaporated. The second he had stepped through the threshold of 4 Privet Drive, he had been yelled at by Uncle Vernon. The beefy man had been seriously affronted by Mad-Eye Moody's threats and had blamed it all on Harry.

"What exactly did you tell them about your living here? For some reason, they think we're monsters!" he yelled directly into Harry's face, spraying him with spit. Harry was only able to stare incredulously at him. "Those...people are the monsters! Did you see that brute's eye? And your parents, boy, they were monsters!" Harry felt a knot form in his stomach, knowing that while his parents, namely his father James, hadn't been the best of people, they were not monsters.

"Shut up!" Harry said angrily, shoving past Uncle Vernon and dashing up to his bedroom. He locked the door and flung himself on his bed.

And he had remained there since. Harry knew that it was unhealthy for him to stay in bed, not showering, not eating, but he didn't care. He was fed up of everything. He was angry at having to stay at Privet Drive again, sick of being treated like he was something you found on the bottom of your shoe, and tired of being isolated from the Wizarding World.

It was true that Hermione had sent him an owl not even five minutes after he had arrived back - he didn't want to say home - here, so as not to repeat last year's row when seeing Harry after a summer of not being informed about anything pertaining to Voldemort. Twenty minutes after that, a letter from Ron had arrived.

In addition to the frequent letters from his friends, he was required to write letters to the Order, so they would know that he was all right. Harry hadn't known who to send his letters to, so he had sent them unadressed, but Hedwig never came back with them, so he knew the Order had been receiving them.

In the letters, Harry had said he was fine, but in reality, he was depressed. The death of his godfather, Sirius Black, plagued his thoughts. It had been he, Harry's fault, that Sirius had gone to the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort had tricked Harry cleverly into coming to the Ministry, and he had taken the bait.

He was depressed over the fact that a prophecy had made about him, a prophecy that stated he would have to kill or be killed by Voldemort, the darkest Wizard in the world. Harry was depressed because his parents weren't perfect, depressed that he didn't have a family...depressed about everything, really.

His appearance showed it. He was skinnier than usual, because he hadn't eaten anything (Aunt Petunia had even been kind enough to slide food through the slot in the door); his messy black hair was sticking up absolutely everywhere, knotted and clumpy because he hadn't bathed; his eyes had bags under them; his skin was pale; and he smelled of sweat, from when he had had nightmares.

"Boy! Get down here, now!" yelled Aunt Petunia.

"Hold your horses," mumbled Harry into his pillow, then he snorted with laughter, because a horse was exactly what Aunt Petunia looked like. He laughed so hard his sides hurt - laughed so hard that he had to roll over in his bed, and in doing so, fell out of it onto the floor. THUMP!

Harry was a bit stunned by this, but then he started laughing again. "What the devil is he doing up there?" he could hear Uncle Vernon say loudly from downstairs. Then, his door opened and his uncle was staring at him like he was a loony. Of course, he did have every right to think this, as Harry was laughing so hard tears were rolling down his face, and he was rolling around on the floor, tangled in bedcovers.

"Cut it out, boy!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

"Vernon, what's going on?" demanded Aunt Petunia, now at her husband's side.

This sent Harry into another fit of giggles, until Uncle Vernon retreated to the bathroom and then brought in a large glass of water and dumped it all over Harry's body. "Hey!" said Harry, sitting up abruptly, thinking nothing was funny anymore.

"Get...up," said Uncle Vernon, reaching out to grab Harry's arm, but Harry yelled, "Don't touch me! Stay away from me!"

Uncle Vernon tensed visibly, and a vein started throbbing in his neck, but he did as Harry said. His eyes darted around fearfully and Harry guessed he was trying to figure out where his wand was.

Through gritted teeth, Harry said, "I'll be down in a minute." His aunt and uncle gave him odd looks and left the room, once more leaving Harry alone.

As soon as Harry rid himself of the blankets, he threw them onto the bed, put on his trainers, and then made his way out of the room.

In the kitchen, Harry's fat whale of a cousin, Dudley, was watching television with his friend Piers Polkiss. Harry noticed the two of them had a plates of cake in front of them. He merely shook his head. Those boys, especially Dudley, really didn't need anymore weight.

"Ah, look who it is, Big D," Piers said, pointing Harry out to Dudley. Harry pretended not to hear them as he started to unload the dishwasher.

"Finally got your lazy arse out bed?" said Dudley incredulousy. "I was hoping you'd stay there the whole summer."

Harry, without looking away from the dishes, said, "Yeah, I was too, that way the dementors can get you this time."

"What are those?" asked Piers.

Harry slammed the cupboard, making them jump. "Dementors?" he said calmly. "They suck out your soul."

"Stop it!" Dudley grunted, glaring at Harry as though he would like nothing more than to pound him.

"Anything for you, Big D," said Harry wearily, really not in the mood to taunt Dudley. He was too tired.

Aunt Petunia walked into the kitchen that very moment. "What smells?" she said, wrinkling her pointed nose. "Oh, dear heavens boy, take a bath!" she said. "Here, go away. I'll do the dishes."

"I thought you wanted me to do chores."

"Do the garden...outside," she added, pointing to the door. Dudley and Piers broke into laughter as Harry walked out of the house.

Gardening was never a fun task for Harry, but today it was especially difficult. As he had been in bed for an entire week, his muscles were limp, and weeding seemed to stretch them to the limit. But, he had to admit that he was grateful for a distraction from only his thoughts.

He was halfway through the weeding when he decided to take a break. His feet immediately seemed to take him to the trash bins, to check for anything in the news. Perhaps an attack...Harry knew that the Ministry was aware Voldemort was back, but he doubted the public knew.

There weren't any newspapers in the bins. Harry kicked the bin irritably. "Harry!" called Aunt Petunia's voice. Harry sighed, knowing he was in for it. Kicking a bin was an offense that called for prison, according to his aunt.

"What?" he grumbled.

"Mrs. Figg called. She wants you to help her paint her living room."

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked as quickly as possible to Mrs. Figg's house. He had found out only last year that she was a Squib, a person born into a wizarding family with little magic powers. Surely she would know what was happening in the wizarding world...?

He raised his hand to knock on her door, but it swung open. There Mrs. Figg stood, wearing a tartan dress, slippers, and an odd expression. "Hello, Potter," she said briskly, allowing him to step inside her home, which smelled like cats.

"How have you been? You smell," she plowed on, as she shooed the cats away from Harry.

"I know that," said Harry testily. Was everyone going to say that?

"Well, step this way. I won't have you smelling like that in my house. Look at your neck, it's filthy."

Harry followed her into a small bathroom. "Towels are under the sink. You can wear some of my Christopher's clothes." Harry gave her a curious look, hoping to God that Christopher was not a cat. "My nephew. He's dead now. His clothes will probably fit you."

Stepping under the scalding hot water was the best thing that had happened to Harry since leaving King's Cross. He scrubbed and scrubbed his body, watching the dirt and muck and grime that seemed to have gathered on his skin wash down the drain. It was invigorating, and Harry, while not feeling 100% better, felt good enough.

Mrs. Figg had left clothes on the toilet seat, and surprisingly, they fit well. Harry wandered out into the hall. "Mrs. Figg?" he said.

"In the living room," she said. Indeed, she was sitting in a rocking chair with the television on, and a picture in her hand. "Harry, would you come here and look at this?"

Great, he thought, I have to endure looking at photos of her stupid cats. He trudged over to her and she held up the photo to him. He took it, prepared to mutter something like, "That's nice" but his breath hitched in his throat.

The picture wasn't of a cat at all. It was of Sirius Black. A young Sirius, of about sixteen, who waved up at him from the photograph. He was grinning handsomedly, eyes alight with happiness.

Why was she showing him this? Didn't she know that he didn't want to think about his godfather?

"It's the only picture I have of him. D'you want it?"

Harry shook his head numbly. "No." He shoved the picture back into her hands, feeling the knot inside his stomach swell a bit.

"They're going to have his funeral after they've picked you up," said Mrs. Figg. Harry knew 'they' meant the Order, but he really didn't want to talk about this. "We can preserve bodies, you know, so he won't be decaying."

He cast his mind around for a change of subject. "Mrs. Figg, why didn't you tell me you were a Squib? I was over here all those times..."

"I wasn't supposed to. Besides, if you had known I came from the wizarding world, you would have expected me to treat you nicely and we couldn't have that. What would your aunt and uncle say if they found out I was treating you decently? The only thing I was supposed to do was monitor your growing up."

Harry blinked. He hadn't expected such an answer. He had expected her to deny that she had any obligation to tell him anything. But here she was, this batty old woman, treating him like he wished he had been treated for a long time. She was treating him like an adult.

"Mrs. Figg, thanks for everything."

She gave Harry a small smile and then they both jumped when the telephone rang. "Damn thing...yes...I'll send him back, yes...good-bye now. Your aunt wants you back over at the house."

Harry suddenly didn't want to leave. Mrs. Figg may be bad company most of the time, but she was really all right. "Okay," he said awkwardly. "Bye."

"Close the door on your way out."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

On the morning of Harry's sixteenth birthday, his snowy white owl Hedwig was to be seen looking exhausted, carrying a load of packages and letters his way. He opened his window to allow her entrance and she landed on his desk, dropping the letters from her mouth at once while Harry set to work on relieving her of the packages.

Harry reached for the first letter he saw, which, as he was able to examine the handwriting closer, was from Ron.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday, mate! Sorry we can't be there with you or you over here with us. I don't know why you can't just come straight here. Anyway, we're all at you-know-where now, and I all ready miss the Burrow. This place gives me the creeps.

Bill is still around, giving Fleur English lessons. Hermione still doesn't like her. Charlie's still in Romania, but he's recruited some new people for the Order. Percy's still a git, and hasn't spoken to us. Mum passed him when she was shopping for grocieries the other day and he walked by with his nose in the air.

Fred and George are still doing well with their joke shop. They're making lots of money, and bought themselves a flat right above the shop. Mum is a bit angry about that because she went over to check on them, and Fred had Angelina in his bedroom. I reckon you can figure out what they were doing.

Ginny's going out with Dean, which isn't...right. I wish she would choose someone more suitable, you know...someone braver than him. I mean, he's a Gryffindor, but you've seen him during Exploding Snap. Never takes any risks. Not that I want him taking any risks with my sister...oh bloody hell.

I have to go. Hermione's nagging again. Happy birthday, your present's wicked cool. I got one for myself, too.

Ron

P.S. Mum sent you cakes again.

Harry grinned. Reading about the Weasley family was always interesting and a bit heartwarming, and as he looked over at the packages, he could see Mrs. Weasley's hurried scrawl. He reached over to pick up the small package that had FROM RON scrawled in huge letters across it. He unwrapped it to find what looked like a black leather ball. He opened the ball - and then a familiar Golden snitch was flying around Harry's room.

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry, reaching upward and grabbing the snitch. He could feel its wings fluttering in his hand. He let it go, and it flew around the room once more, Hedwig watching warily.

Harry looked for Hermione's letter next.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! I hope you're doing well. I hope your aunt and uncle are treating you well.

I just arrived you-know-where. My parents are keen on my spending time with them now. Dumbledore felt the need to inform them of what happened in the Department of Mysteries and of my injury, so they don't like letting me out of their sight now! It's rather annoying. I was upset that Dumbledore had told them at first (it's something I can do on my own!) because I haven't told them ANYTHING about what we get into at Hogwarts. Now they know everything.

Harry, I know you must tire of me asking, but how are you doing? Really? Every time I bring up Sirius in letters, you don't answer. Ron and I want to be there for you, but we can't if you don't TELL us anything.

I suppose I'll see you at the funeral or perhaps sometime before. We don't know when the Order are picking you up.

Anyhow, I hope you have a happy birthday.

Love from,

Hermione

A tiny flare of anger welled up inside of Harry. Why couldn't she see that he didn't want to talk about Sirius? Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Ron didn't pester him about Sirius.

He threw her letter aside and reached for her present. A wave of guilt washed over him momentarily. She was only looking out for his best interests - no, he didn't want to talk about Sirius and that was that. Being his best friend, she should be able to understand that.

Quickly, he opened the present she had bought him. Not surprisingly, it was a book. The book was large with the title 'A History of Dark Wizards' splashed across the front. Obviously, Hermione wanted him to catch up on his knowledge of Voldemort.

Knowing that he probably wouldn't ever be in the mood to read up on Voldemort killing people, he pushed the book underneath his bed and reached out for the next letter.

Overall, Harry was pleased with everything he received. Tonks had sent a short note, saying the gift she sent was from both her and Lupin; they had gotten him a Weird Sister shirt, a pack of Drooble's Best Bubblegum, and another shirt that said 'Quidditch Baddie' on it. Harry had the suspicion that Tonks had picked out all the presents.

Hagrid had sent a note telling Harry that most of his wounds from the year before had all healed. He had given Harry the normal rock cakes, and a model of a dragon that he had apparently sculptured himself. It was lumpy and badly shaped, actually resembling a kangaroo.

Harry had received his first ever letters from Neville and Luna; Neville said he had spotted a vampire when he and his gran visited Paris and gave Harry a book on plants, while Luna told Harry all about her trip to Sweden to find a Crumple Horned Snorkack, which was most unfortunately, unsuccessful. She had given him a signed edition of the Quibbler.

Harry sat back, feeling a lot happier. Just as he was about to leave to go eat lunch, another owl soared through his window, flying directly into Hedwig, who screeched and pecked him irritably with her beak. Harry smiled weakly as he rescued Pigwideon from the disgruntled Hedwig.

A letter and a small package was attached to the owl's leg. Harry opened the letter to see it was written in an unfamiliar, but pleasant hand.

Dear Harry,

Sorry about the late delivery! Ron, the idiot, sent Hedwig off without my stuff. I don't really blame him though, but HE doesn't know that.

So, what's been up with you? I suppose it's boring being by yourself, only doing chores and things (Hermione told me, and I have to say, that's really rotten). But I have a funny story to tell you.

Yesterday, I was hanging around with Fred and George in the joke shop, helping customers. Well, guess who came in? Draco Malfoy! Fred and George wanted to pound him immediately, (and actually, so did I after what happened in Umbridge's office) but I told them that if they hurt a customer, it would be bad for business. Surprisingly they listened and went up to their flat for a while, waiting for Malfoy to leave.

Well, when Malfoy saw me, I pretended I was a customer in the shop. He said, "What are you doing in here, Weasley? I hear this is supposed to be a first rate joke shop and I find it hard to believe you can afford any of the things in here."

And then he picks up a piece of candy from the shelf and starts taking off the wrapper! Normally, I would have been angry for his theft, but I just smiled at him and he asked me why I was grinning.

Harry, the particular type of candy that he was holding turns into an animal right before you put it in your mouth! And, just as Malfoy was about to pop it in his mouth it turned into A FERRET! I wasn't actually there when Moody turned him into one, but you know it was all over Hogwarts.

He dropped the ferret with a yell and then walked out of the store, his head held high. And then I shouted after him that Fred and George, mere Weasleys, owned and founded this high class store.

Oh, it was hilarious. I couldn't stop laughing.

Hope that cheered you up a bit.

Your friend,

Ginny

P.S. Let me know if the Muggles are being horrible. I'll show you how to do my Bat-Bogey hex.

Harry read the letter again. He laughed once more. He wished he could have been there. It seemed priceless.

He opened Ginny's present and looked at it in puzzlement before realizing the meaning behind it. An ugly, glass green toad was looking at him. There was a short note attached to him. Reminded me of you. And yes, it's freshly pickled. Lol. was all it said. Harry felt his cheeks grow red with flattery as he remembered the poem she had written for him in her second year. Eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad.

Harry set it on his desk and then his chest of drawers, seeing where it looked better.

It had been a very happy birthday, indeed.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a week later when the unthinkable happened. It was a miracle, actually. Dudley announced that he had a girlfriend.

"Ooh, my ickle diddy Duddiekins! He's finally growing up, Vernon!" Aunt Petunia actually had to walk out of the room to compose herself.

"That's right, son. We knew that boxing title would help you in some way," said Uncle Vernon, clapping his son on the back.

Dudley himself was rather smug looking. "It was nothing," he said. "In fact, she came up to me. Said she'd been admiring me for a long time. She also let it slip that I have a fantastic body."

Harry had been smirking up until this point. Now, he half-choked, half-laughed on his water, and it sprayed everything on the table. Saying Dudley had a fantastic body was like saying Molly Weasley was a sexy, porn star. That thought sent him over the edge and he began to laugh. Uncle Vernon glared at him while Dudley cracked his knuckles in what Harry assumed he thought was a threatening way.

"What's so funny? Have you got yourself a bird, then? Well, have you?" Dudley said, standing up, his fat wobbling.

"No," said Harry standing up. "Now...er...I think I'll go on upstairs," and Harry dashed away as fast as he could, choking on his laughter. The first thing he did was write Ron a long, detailed letter.

Two nights later, Harry learned that Aunt Petunia had invited Dudley's girlfriend to dinner. Aunt Petunia wanted everything to be perfect for the arrival of ("Ooh, is her name just darling?" "Her name's Fiona, mother.") Fiona. Harry was told to clean the entire house and he went about doing so with hardly any complaint.

However, when he learned that he would not be eating dinner with them, he got irritated. Normally, he would love to skip a meal in which the Dursleys were his company, but he had just cleaned everything - Aunt Petunia was making a special meal - and in addition, Harry wanted to witness this historical event. He had the feeling this girl might be Dudley's only girlfriend and he didn't want to miss it. He was going to hold this over Dudley's head forever.

"Fine," he said to Uncle Vernon. "I don't have to come to dinner. Let me just go write this quick letter to Moody - "

"Moody?" grunted his uncle. "Who's that?"

"Oh - him? He's the nice fellow with the magical eye. You met him at the train station, remember?"

Apparently Uncle Vernon did remember, judging from the way his whole face seemed to turn purple all at once. "You can come if you behave yourself," he said hastily as Harry started toward the staircase.

Harry was all ready sitting at the kitchen table when Fiona arrived. He could see Dudley wiping his meaty hands on his suit to rid them of sweat and open the door. Then he heard Fiona's high pitched giggle. "This way, doll," said Dudley huskily, leading Fiona into the kitchen.

Fiona was a tall girl, albeit a pretty one. She had dark brown hair and was wearing a peach colored dress and pearls. Harry frankly didn't know why someone so pretty would want to date Dudley. It certainly wasn't for his personality. Maybe he had bribed her. Yes, that must be it.

Fiona saw Harry sitting there, wearing his own suit (which Mrs. Figg had let him borrow), his hair sticking up (it never did lay flat) and a grin on his face. "Hello!" she said brightly, bringing him out of his musings. "Who are you?"

"Harry," he said, extending his hand for her to shake. "I'm Dudley's cousin."

"Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," he responded immediately.

"Enough chit chat," Uncle Vernon said roughly, giving Harry a pointed look. "Fiona, would you like something to drink?"

During dinner, Harry started to get bored. There was nothing out of place about Fiona, and Dudley was acting like a perfect gentleman. What was interesting was that he seemed sincere.

The phone rang.

"Harry would you get that?" said Aunt Petunia, giving him a false smile.

Harry got up and picked up the telephone. "Hello?"

"Harry?" said a rather loud voice in his ear.

"Ron?" he said, surprised. When Uncle Vernon stared at him angrily he knew he had been too loud.

"Yeah, it's me! Can you hear me?"

Harry held the phone away from his ear. "Ron, I can hear you fine. Don't shout."

"I'm not shouting!" he continued loudly.

"Look, Ron," said Harry as Uncle Vernon raised his fat finger and drew it across his throat in a very clear gesture, "you've called at a bad time. Dudley's got his girlfriend over..."

"What's she like?"

Uncle Vernon stood up. "Bye, Ron!" Harry slammed down the receiver. "Er, wrong number," he said. Fiona gave Harry and Uncle Vernon curious looks as they sat back down.

The moment she left, Uncle Vernon rounded on Harry. "What the bleeding hell was that about?!? What did I tell you the LAST TIME ONE OF YOUR FREAKY FRIENDS CALLED THIS HOUSE?"

Harry leveled his uncle's glare. "How is this my fault?"

"Because Fiona could have found you out!" Dudley said angrily, smacking the table for emphasis. Aunt Petunia flinched. "She could have found out about your ABNORMALNESS!" Harry didn't even have the time to register just how much Dudley was turning into his father.

"My abnormalness has saved your life, Dudders, don't forget," he said heatedly. His good mood was gone. He mentally cursed Ron for causing this.

Dudley shuddered visibly thinking about the Dementors. "YOU BROUGHT THEM HERE!" he shouted.

Harry couldn't deny that fact, but he was starting to get really angry. He had gotten a phone call. Why did a phone call warrant all this yelling? But no matter how angry he was, he didn't feel like lashing out at anyone. All he wanted to do was lock himself in his bedroom and wait until the Order came to pick him up. He sighed and took a step out of the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him around to face him. "WE'RE STILL TALKING TO YOU, BOY!"

"Let go of me," Harry said in a voice of deathly calm.

"Don't tell my father what to do!" said Dudley, his chins wobbling. He stepped toward Harry and next moment, his glasses had been knocked over by Dudley's punch.

In a rage, Harry lunged at his cousin, tackling him to the floor. Dudley smacked him in the face - Harry hit him back -

Something shattered. Then Aunt Petunia was yelling. "Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!"

Harry, who had never seen Aunt Petunia this way, bewilderedly let go of Dudley's shirt collar. Dudley of course, found this the opportune moment to hit Harry in the stomach. Harry gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. He was vaguely able to register two loud CRACKs as he panted heavily.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Mad-Eye Moody had arrived. He was holding back Dudley. Kingsley Shacklebolt had his wand to Uncle Vernon - a pink haired Tonks had hers gripped firmly in her hand.

"What's going on here?" said Tonks nonchalantly, popping a piece of bubble gum. An owl soared through the window and dropped a letter onto the table, right onto the shards of glass. "Read it," she ordered Aunt Petunia, flicking her wand so that sparks came out of the tip. Aunt Petunia let out a tiny squeak.

Harry sat up against the wall, the pain in his stomach still present.

"Dear Mr. Potter," read Aunt Petunia in a shaky voice, "We have received word that you have used underage magic at two minutes past eight this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area in the presence of Muggles..."

Oh God, not again, thought Harry miserably.

"Stop," said Tonks. Aunt Petunia looked at her fearfully, and folded the letter. "Harry, did you use magic?"

"No," said Dudley loudly. "He was using his fists! That's why he couldn't beat me up!"

"Shut up, Dudley," murmured Harry. "No, I didn't use magic. I'm telling the truth."

There was another CRACK. Mr. Weasley was looking serious. "I came as soon as I heard. Harry, I would've thought that after last year -"

Harry shook his head irritably. "It wasn't me who used magic - "

"All right. Enough small talk," said Moody. "Which one of you did this?" He pointed his wand at the pile of broken glass on the table.

There was silence.

Then Aunt Petunia let out a little squeak.

"I - I think it was me," she said, swallowing hard.