Soulfelt

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HARRY POTTER And The Half-Blood Prince

Chapter One: The Birthday Party

It was July.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Had Lived, was for once happy to be in the Dursleys' company. He sat in Uncle Vernon's shiny company car, resisting the urge to kick his heels against the brand new upholstery. It was interesting watching his uncle get angry nowadays. First, Uncle Vernon would swell impressively, a gesture that always forcibly reminded Harry of an officious bullfrog. Then he would turn an interesting shade of violet, and the vein in his forehead would start sticking out and pulsing ominously. His mouth would open in anticipation of angry words pouring forth like a little waterfall...before snapping shut like a mousetrap as he glanced fearfully over his shoulder.

Harry hated being watched over by the Order of the Phoenix, but he had to admit that the Order did have its uses. For example, last week, when Uncle Vernon had forgotten himself and tried to beat up Harry with his belt after Hedwig had flown in through the wrong window and dropped a dead mouse on Aunt Petunia, who until then had been sleeping peacefully and woke with a blood-curdling scream that awoke the whole house and likely half the neighbors. Instantly, a "Petrificus Totalus!" sounded from one of Aunt Petunia's bushes where a member of the Order was standing guard (maybe Tonks, Harry couldn't imagine conservative Lupin doing such a thing) and Uncle Vernon had fallen onto his pudgy face, stiff as a board, onto the floor. That had been one of Harry's not-to-be-forgotten-moments and he wished fervently for a camera.

Now, at the request of the Order, Uncle Vernon was driving Harry to Diagon Alley so he could celebrate his birthday with his friends, Hermione and the whole of the Weasley family, except for Bill and Charlie, who were still away in foreign countries. Percy, disillusioned by the discovery that Voldemort was really back last year, had come back into the fold and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had welcomed him back with open arms. Though Harry suspected from Ron's letters that not all of the Weasley family were so willing to forgive and forget.

Harry couldn't see the Order anywhere, though he was willing to bet that they were lurking somewhere about, as usual. He settled back into the seat, enjoying Uncle Vernon's pained expression in the rearview mirror. After making Harry's life hell for so many years, Harry was immensely pleased to make Uncle Vernon suffer in return. He lifted a foot to rub a shoe against the seat cover, but feeling merciful, decided against tormenting Uncle Vernon so much.

"Here we are," Uncle Vernon grunted, shooting Harry a decidedly evil look out of the corners of his eyes, but not daring to do any more than that in case the wrong person might be listening in. Harry put his hand on the door handle and hopped out. Before releasing it, however, he poked his head back in and asked, "So will you be picking me up?"

Uncle Vernon looked as though he might have loved to say, "Walk home yourself, and hopefully you might get lost and starve to death." Harry could almost hear him thinking it, but he didn't have the nerve to say it aloud. Instead he snarled, "Just call when you're done." With that extremely loving farewell, he drove away as quickly as possible.

Harry, dismissing Uncle Vernon from his mind (not even his magic-fearing guardians were going to spoil this special occasion) entered the alley, where he was confronted with a blank wall. Looking surreptitiously around for loitering Muggles, he discreetly tapped the brick with his wand. It squirmed and gave way beneath his probe. Within seconds Diagon Alley was open to him.

He found the Leaky Cauldron easily enough, being extremely familiar with Diagon Alley by now (except for Knockturn Alley, which he avoided at all costs after his run-in with Draco Malfoy during second year.) He opened the door to walk straight into a multitude of shrieks and cries of "Harry Birthday, Harry!" (To his chagrin, the twins had never let this rest after Dobby had described his Christmas decorations to them in the fifth year.) The once drab pub was now draped with eye-hurting bright colors that covered the whole spectrum, streamers that waved despite the fact that there wasn't a breath of wind in the room, balloons that constantly popped and swelled again by themselves, and confetti that fell down from the ceiling from a mysterious source. And right smack in the middle was a sagging wooden table that creaked under the weight of a huge cake on the table. It was, predictably, chocolate, with sixteen candles perched haphazardly all over the cake, which was sprinkled with chocolate rice. Three sugary mice stood on the topmost layer of the cake, squeaking the birthday song continuously.

"Wow," was all Harry could say, as he stared at the cake.

"Great, isn't it?" Ron asked, appearing at Harry's side. The other boy continued to stare as though possessed, still dazzled by the sheer size of the cake. "Hermione enchanted those mice to sing and Mum baked the cake. Fred and George supplied all the decorations. They're doing quite well, you know, and Mum doesn't know whether to be upset that they aren't going to be ministers someday or happy that they're earning a good income for the household."

"Wow," Harry said again. "Thanks, so much. I really appreciate this."

Ginny and the twins came down the staircase, laden with presents, followed by Hermione, who carried a stack of books in her arms. Harry wondered if she had brought it down for revision or if she was giving the whole lot to him. He was relieved when she plopped herself down on a chair, set her books neatly on the table, and started to flip through it. "Hello, Harry," she said cheerfully, "Happy Birthday. My present's somewhere inside that pile over there." She nodded towards the three Weasley siblings, who were carefully putting down all the gaily wrapped gifts next to a table.

"Herm, this is a holiday!" Ron sighed in mock exasperation. "What's with the books? You're here to celebrate Harry's birthday!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm aware of that, Ron. I just came back from Flourish and Blots, which is selling a new series of Arithmancy and Astronomy guides that might prove invaluable during our OWLs."

"Surprise, surprise," Ron joked. "Herm, I believe you must spend three quarters of your life burying your nose in books."

Harry was about break into his two friends' bickering when he noticed something gold glint on Hermione's neck, reflected by the fire in the hearth. "Since when have you started wearing jewelry, Herm?" he asked, reaching out to touch the fine gold chain.

Hermione jerked away and tucked the chain back into the collar of her T-shirt. "That's none of your business," she declared.

"Oh!" Ron teased. "Do you have a secret admirer or something?"

"Ha ha," Hermione scoffed at the notion.

"Come on, confess your true love," Ron persisted.

Hermione glared, prepared to say something truly scathing, but before she could, Mrs. Weasley finished icing the cake with pictures of hippogriffs with her wand and hurried over to Harry's side, enveloping him in a motherly hug. Harry wished for the hundredth time that he could just go live with Ron and say good riddance to the Dursleys' doorstep. But of course that was impossible.

"Sweet sixteen, dear. Harry, you look really handsome today," she smiled. "How does it feel to be one year older?"

Harry, knowing full well that Mrs. Weasley would still praise his looks even if he was dressed in a burlap sack, nevertheless felt a glow of pleasure from her words. He shrugged and replied, "I feel the same as ever."

"As scrawny, "Fred (or was it George?) quipped from across the room, where he and his other twin were warming their ankles at the fireplace. Both wore their trademark dragonhide jackets and boots, and their hair had darkened somewhat to auburn last year. Their freckles, too, no longer stood out so much after they had gotten the tan in Egypt, and the twins looked quite dashing now.

"As sadly underfed."

"As skinny."

"As underdeveloped."

"I know it's going to be hard to know, Harry," one of the twins said in false consolating tones. "But it's true."

The other twin smirked. "You need to develop some muscle tone, Harry. The girls can't pine after a skinny hero."

"It's not as though Harry isn't good-looking," Hermione pointed out in a distracted tone as she returned to A Wizard's/Witch's Must-Have Guide to the Stars!

The twins goggled at her.

"Golly, she's noticed," one said.

"Ohhhhhh," both said together in an understanding tone.

Hermione's head whipped up and she scowled at them. "Get your heads out of the gutter, you jerks. I should know what Harry looks like after being friends with him for so long."

"Really," one twin said. "So you should be able to answer this question."

"What is it?" Hermione groaned.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you grade Harry's looks?"

Hermione pulled a quill out of her pocket and threw it at Fred and George. They both ducked and the quill flew into the fire, where it disintegrated into ash.

"Wonderful," Hermione muttered. "That was my best quill. Now I'll have to get a new one."

"Not my problem, darling," a twin drawled.

"Go hang yourself," Hermione said, aiming a steely look in his direction. He just grinned, unfazed by what Harry and Ron had gotten to call 'The Glare' and slicked his hair back.

"Boys," she sniffed in response.

"Hey! What are we, jackals?" Ron demanded, somehow managing to look pious and extremely insulted at the same time.

"Oh, shut up," Ginny said, coming to Hermione's defense. She walked past a weird looking trumpet hanging from the ceiling, and as she did so one of the twins flicked his wand at the trumpet, which blared "Harry Birthday!" raucously in Ginny's ear, making her squeal and jump in shock. Her eyes narrowed and she spun around, pointing an accusing finger at the culprit, who was staring at the ceiling and whistling, trying to appear as innocent as possible. Alas, it was beyond the abilities of the ex-Troublemakers-in-Chief to look innocent, and Ginny pinpointed the guilty party at once. She went over and whacked her elder brother on his mop of red hair. "You are so going to pay, Fred Weasley," she growled. (How each Weasley managed to tell the twins apart was a mystery beyond human comprehension.)

"With what?" Fred mocked, twirling his wand expertly between his fingers and rolling his eyes. "With your wand? I fear not, Ginny dear. You're still underage and I'm sure you won't want to expel yourself from Hogwarts for a little matter like revenge."

"I'll find a way," Ginny vowed, flouncing off.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will," George said cheerfully to her back.

"Go f--" she began, but then Mrs. Weasley swooped in, clucking her tongue, and Ginny stopped immediately, causing the twins to burst out laughing.

"Honestly, you two," Hermione stated from behind her book, "Can't you even be serious for a moment?"

"I don't know," George said thoughtfully. "We've never tried before."

"First time for everything," his twin answered. "Let's try."

They went silent and looked solemnly at each other for about a quarter of a second before screeching with mirth again. Ginny sighed. "Silence," she said flatly, "has never been so golden."

"Have you ever gotten the feeling that we're the only sane people in the family?" Ron asked dryly, addressing Ginny.

"All the time," his sister muttered darkly.

At that moment, a crisp knocking sounded on the door. Mrs. Weasley murmured, "Oh, they've come at last," and hurried to open it.

"Who's they?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Who else? Your bodyguards," Ron said with a slight quirk of his brow.

Indeed, standing outside were the following persons: Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, looking as gaunt and forbidding as ever, the effect enhanced by the wild, uncoordinated movement of his magical, cobalt blue eye; Remus Lupin, tired and pale (was the full moon coming? Or had it just passed?), his robes shabby and patched as usual; Tonks, her bright smile and equally bright hair (it was lime green this time) lighting up the atmosphere, and none other than Mr. Weasley himself, looking exhausted, but he smiled in greeting as his eyes fell upon the birthday boy.

"Morning," Moody grunted in his usual moody fashion (it is NOT a pun, mind you) as he trudged in, throwing his cloak onto a hook behind the door. The other Order members followed suit and made themselves comfortable, making friendly small talk among each other. Mrs. Weasley bustled around and gave each a steaming cup of hot chocolate except Moody, who declined and as normal drank only from his private hip-flask.

"Nice to see you again, Harry," Tonks said cheerily, fishing out a small (badly) wrapped box from her pocket. It was slightly squashed, probably sat on. Harry thanked her, and perched it carefully on top of all his presents.

"You see Harry every week," Lupin pointed out with a faint smile, referring to the fact that every member of the Order took turns to guard Harry from danger.

"That doesn't count," Tonks retorted. "I meant, face to face."

Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile was talking to her husband. "I'm so glad Cornelius let you tale leave from the office, dear, to celebrate Harry's birthday. After his attitude last year, I'm surprised that he's so lenient."

"Well, Harry is in his good books again, isn't he?" Mr. Weasley said. "Not to mention there are only two of us in my department after all. I personally feel that Cornelius should take Muggle artifacts more seriously; they're fascinating."

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, pecking him on the cheek.

After the reminisces and little conversations had ended, everyone gathered around the enormous cake, and sung Harry a birthday song (the sugar mice joined in too, very enthusiastically), and the twins, as usual, substituted 'Happy' for 'Harry' to annoy him. In Harry's opinion, that joke was getting old, very fast. When they were done, everybody waited expectantly for him to blow out the candles.

Harry managed to blow out the first ten candles with a single puff while the twins stood at the side and snapped him with a camera. (Harry was sure he overheard Fred telling George that they would sell the pictures as postcards with some 'amusing' modifications to wizard tourists for one galleon each.) Unfortunately, as the cake towered high above his head, he found himself facing a dilemma as the last few candles were on the topmost layer and no amount of tip-toeing ewould bring his head to that level.

"Need a lift, Harry?" one of the twins smirked.

"Too short, Harry. What a pity. You'll find something that will remedy that in our present, though," the other one assured Harry with mock sympathy.

At last the problem was solved when the sugar mice most helpfully blew out two candles each, bowing deeply when they were finished. Mrs. Weasley directed a knife with a wand, and soon all the arrivals were sitting down balancing their chunks of chocolate on their knees and talking animatedly. Even Moody had grudgingly accepted a slice, which was to Harry nothing short of a miracle. Everyone was feeling full and sleepy after their third or fourth piece of cake, especially Harry, who had never felt so contented and comfortable in his life.

"Did you make a birthday wish?" Hermione asked. She had actually put her book away and was now neatly wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. She cast a disapproving glance at Ron, who was licking the edges of his mouth for the last traces of chocolate. She stroked Crookshank's fur, and the cat purred loudly. He looked much better than the last time Harry had seen him. The feline's ginger fur was better groomed and sleeker and he had also gained some weight.

"I know what I would have wished for," Ron piped up. "Galleons!"

"I wasn't asking you," Hermione shot back.

"I dunno," Harry said, the warmth inside his heart slowly freezing in the black void that had been there ever since the events last year. "I mean, I've got everything I want, right here. And I can't wish that problem with Voldemort away, because it's my responsibility, isn't it?"

What he didn't tell them was, as the mice had extinguished the last candle, he had in his heart of hearts, longed to see his godfather's face again. He missed Sirius so much it was an almost physical sensation, and it didn't seem as though the burden of guilt and hate he had carried since Sirius' death would ever fade. He hoped it wouldn't. He wanted to fight Voldemort carrying that burden, so that it would spur him on during the battle. He wanted Voldemort to look into his eyes and see the hate, see the misery he had inflicted on the lives of his victims and their families. Sometimes, in the night, Harry could almost believe that Sirius was watching him form above and smiling or frowning alternatively depending on his actions, or other times he thought he could hear his godfather's beloved voice calling his name, and would half turn about, expecting to see, at any moment, the great black dog or the man come bounding up, the light in his heart shining in his dark, expressive eyes...

He had turned, and seen nothing, only shadows. He had listened, and heard only the wind whispering in the leaves.

He had believed, so much, then, the disappointment was a crushing weight that pinned him to the ground so hard that he cried out with the terrible pain, like a fist closing on his heart...

He banished those memories, to the night when he would relieve the pain all over again, and committed himself fully to this moment of happiness, not wanting his shadows to ruin his birthday. He wanted it to be perfect. If he wasn't happy, his friends weren't happy. He would relish his normalcy as long as possible (as normal as a wizard boy could be) until the time came when he stood before his adversary once more to challenge the darkness, the darkness that had been given him on the night of the Dark Lord's downfall and sometimes whispered so powerfully and seductively to him when Voldemort was near and his presence encouraged those whispers. But Harry did not heed, would not heed. He had only to think of his parents, of Cedric, who had been snatched up be events he had no part in, Sirius, his friends, all those who had died or suffered for him and because of him and the darkness would lose their allure.

But enough of this. Now was a time for light to dominate, and he willingly let his shadows shrink back into their corners.

The time taken for all these thoughts to flash through Harry's mind took only about a second, and now Ron spoke.

"I thought you would have wished for S..." Ron faltered at the suddenly frozen look on Harry's face. Hermione glared at Ron, annoyed, and getting the message he shut up obligingly.

"Let's not talk about this now," she said warningly, her eyes dark with concern, resting on Harry's face.

"Right," Harry said hollowly. The perfect feeling was gone, and in its wake was the black cold abyss that seemed to be systematically devouring his heart from the inside.

"Tell you what, Harry," Ron put in quickly, anxious to make amends. "Let's go open your presents. It might...cheer you up," he finished lamely.

"Okay," Harry replied, more to convince his friends and himself that nothing was wrong more than anything else and the three of them got up and went to Harry's heap of presents. All the Order members too had contributed, and it was now in danger of collapsing.

"I know mine will be your favorite!" Ron declared exuberantly. Rubbing his hands, he looked eagerly at the multitude of shiny, sparkling foil and gilt-covered ribbons that effectively made the contents of each present a mystery that begged to be solved. "Which one do you want to attack first?"

Harry grabbed a random one, which turned out to be from Fred and George, wrapped in gift paper covered with tiny snitches that flew around the paper unimpeded with golden, fluttering wings. Harry tried not to tear it; he liked the design and appreciated the twins' thoughtfulness in making such a choice, no matter how annoying they had been lately. Underneath lay a simple black cardboard box with a bolt of lightning in the center that lit up whenever Harry touched it.

"Be careful," Ron warned, peering over Harry's shoulder and poised to make a run for it in case something nasty came out. "They weren't the Troublemakers-in-Chief for nothing, you know."

Regardless, Harry opened it, prepared to suffer the consequences. He stared as he saw the contents of the box. So did Hermione and Ron.

"Jokers," Ron said with a wry grin.

Harry lifted the pair of bright red spiked heels (six inches) out of the box and screwed his face up incredulously. From a table, a twin sniggered and called out, "Told you it would cure your height problem effectively!"

"Ah, don't tease the poor lad, Fred," George said. "Can't you see how confused he looks?"

"Oh, sorry, Harry," Fred said, not sounding sorry at all. "Okay, the real present is really pasted onto the gift wrap. Look carefully and you'll find it. You can keep the heels if you want."

Harry tossed one at Fred indignantly, who ducked under the table and hit his head on the wood. The shoe sailed by and hit George right smack on the nose. "Ouch!" he yelped. "Harry, if I had wanted a bleeding nose I could have eaten one of my own nougats."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said in the exact same tone of voice Fred had used. "Aimed wrongly."

The twins turned to look at one another.

"He's learning," Fred said.

"That's good," George said.

They both looked at Harry. "Hey," George said. "After you graduate from Hogwarts, you're welcome to drop by at the Wheezes anytime. We'll be happy to make you our apprentice."

"We'll make a real mischief maker of you yet," Fred chimed in.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Harry declined. "Fighting Voldemort is a full time job."

A few of the adults flinched when he said the name, then looked embarrassed.

"He's too responsible to be converted," Fred remarked to his twin, as though Harry wasn't there.

"Sad. So much potential, wasted."

"At least Lee Jordan's agreed to work for us."

"Hey," Ron said, having found the thin gold card Spellotaped to the gift paper. He removed it and raised his eyebrows. "A discount voucher at the Wheezes?"

"In case Harry needs to fireball anyone who pisses him off," George replied.

Harry continued to open the rest of his presents, aided by Ron and Hermione. He got a rather nice hippogriff figurine (from Tonks), a sweater, bottle green like Harry's eyes with the Hogwarts crest on it (from Mrs. Weasley), dragonhide boots (from Charlie, who had sent the gift by owl post), a dashing looking black cloak that gleamed with all the colors of the rainbow underneath bright light (from Bill, also via an owl), a book called Strange Facts You Had No Idea Existed Until Now: Quidditch (from Hermione), a silver necklace with a lion's head hanging from it (from Ginny), A Guide To The Care of Owls (from Hagrid), AA size batteries (from Mr. Weasley), a Foe-glass (from Moody), a globe containing a miniature of the planets slowly revolving around the Sun (from all the other members of the Order, along with a singing card), a Chudley Cannons poster accompanied by a mini model of the latest broomstick, the Thundercloud (from Ron), a dreamcatcher from Percy, and lastly, a book entitled 'Strategies and Schemes To Beat Your Opponents on the Field' (from Oliver Wood). By the time he had opened everything, it was late and he was yawning hugely. Ron and Hermione helped him to bring his assortment of presents up the stairs and they were shown to their respective rooms by Tom, the grinning barkeeper.

"Good night, Harry," Hermione and Ron chorused, having finished stacking Harry's presents at the foot of his bed. Harry yawned again; he was extremely sleepy, and managed only a soft 'good night' in return. They backed out and left him to his sleep.

Now that they were gone, Harry suddenly became aware of how silent it was, how loud the sounds of the mundane now were. The beating of his heart, the ticking of the clock, the whisper of moth's wings. He was loath to blow out the flickering candle beside him all of a sudden, unexplainably afraid to be left alone with the noise.

"You are a fool, Harry Potter," he told himself, trying to calm his racing heart. He took a deep breath and exhaled the air in his lungs in a rush, blowing out the candle.

In an instant the room was in darkness. With the departure of light, Harry's shadows came to life, springing from their distant corners to cavort in his head and around him. After a while, he gained enough respite from their capering to fall into blessed slumber, but the brief period of rest did not last long, for the shadows still haunted his dreams, and he could not tell what was delusion and what was reality.

And all the time, the darkness called to him, insistently, pleadingly, demandingly, within the bleak, godforsaken plain of his dreaming mind.

Darkness calling to the darkness that ,he knew, existed somewhere deep within. Voldemort's legacy; his curse., his blessing.

END OF CHAPTER ONE