Harry Potter and the

Half-Blood Prince

By muggle1311

Chapter 1

The Short and Lonely Summer

The chilly winds of summer blew across the grass, bringing with it some leaves and flowers. A very skinny boy sitting on the garden bench of Number Four, Privet Drive watched the wind whip through the grass as if the grass were not there. He felt it as it rustled his already messy black hair. Looking around him he saw the perfect gardens and their beautiful flowers. The perfectly straight white picket fences. And of course, the perfect houses. But according to the neighbors, Privet Drive had one imperfection. That was the him.

Harry Potter was a skinny, bespectacled boy who preferred to keep to himself these days. His clothes were about five sizes to large for him, considering that they had been hand-me-downs of none other than Dudley Dursley, the fattest and stupidest teenager in all of Surrey.

He lived with his Aunt Petunia and his Uncle Vernon and of course their oversized son, Dudley. But Harry didn't seem to fit with them. Harry, indeed, did not fit with them at all, nor with any other occupant of Privet Drive, save his owl, Hedwig. Harry was a wizard, and he had just come home from his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The past year had been by far, his worst year ever, to say nothing of his most recent adventure.

As Harry watched, another breeze swept through the grass and he sighed, wishing that he had a normal life. Even for a wizard Harry had a very peculiar life. Just three days ago he had learned that he would have to end up murderer or victim. He would either have to kill or be killed by the most powerful Dark Wizard in centuries, Lord Voldemort.

But that was not what depressed Harry at this moment. The fact was that Harry had just lost the closest thing that he had ever had to a parent. His godfather, Sirius Black, had died trying to save him from Voldemort. Of course, Harry blamed himself.

"Why didn't I just use the mirror? Why? Why did this have to happen?" he wondered aloud. "It's all my fault. If I had just used the mirror then everything would be fine."

"What would be fine?" asked the dull, unwelcome voice of his cousin.

Harry had not sensed his approach so he jumped at the sudden interruption. "N-Nothing," he replied, quickly wiping away the tears that had formed in his eyes. Thinking about that night was still very painful.

"Then why are you crying. Is little Harry frightened and all alone," Dudley said in a fake baby voice.

The way that Dudley talked in that baby voice suddenly reminded Harry of something, and he hopped off the garden bench quickly, pulling out his wand in a flash. "Don't you ever talk to me like that again! EVER! Never talk like that again!" he roared, waving his wand threateningly.

Dudley stood frozen to the spot; not daring to move for fear that Harry would curse him.

"Get away!" Harry shouted. Dudley turned on his heel and ran for the house. But this summer, the neighborhood gang leader did not go screaming to his parents, for he knew that people were checking up on Harry on a regular basis and would come punish him if he did anything wrong to Harry. Harry knew this too, but would have been glad to get some punishment to keep his mind off of that horrible night in the Department of Mysteries. Harry quickly tucked his wand back into his pocket. The Dursleys may have been scared of Harry's friends, but their fear may not be so strong that they would risk their reputation being tarnished by him and his "abnormality".

Harry dashed up to his room, slammed the door behind him and flopped down on his bed, tears coming to his eyes. Belatrix Lestrange had used that same baby voice with Harry in the Ministry just after she had killed Sirius. No. She didn't kill Sirius. Harry had killed Sirius. It was entirely his fault.

Harry cried into his pillow for what seemed like hours. He couldn't hear anything besides his own muffled sobs.

His sadness soon turned into rage and he began punching his pillow. First it was the face of Sirius's murderer. Then it became Voldemort. Then it became Albus Dumbledore. "No," said Harry. "It wasn't Dumbledore's fault. It was mine."

These thoughts of Dumbledore soon turned into other thoughts. On entering his room at Privet Drive after coming from the train station, he had found a letter lying on his bed. He had ripped is open immediately.

It had been from none other than Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Thinking of the letter now, Harry got up from his bed and shuffled over to his desk. He picked up the heavy letter with the Hogwarts seal on the back. He slid the letter out and began to read it for the umpteenth time in the past three days.

Dear Harry,

You should receive this letter on your return to Privet Drive. Please do not leave your Aunt and Uncle's house. You now know why. I wish to remind you not to do any magic during your short stay at Privet Drive, seeing as you shouldn't be in any true danger anyway.

Members of the Order are still watching you, as you may have guessed. Please, Harry, do not attempt to communicate with them, as no one but you, myself, and they know that they are there.

We will take you away from the Dursley's as soon as things are settled here at headquarters. Your friends and a few others are here already, eagerly awaiting your arrival. I've instructed them not to write letters. I'm only thinking of your safety Harry. Please don't be upset. You will see them soon enough.

Also, please don't forget to write everyday. Don't mention names. We have a fear that any of these letters could be intercepted. Again, I mention that we will collect you as soon as possible, so please do not become to aggravated.

Best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry soon became tired of reading the letter and pondering about things he couldn't change, so he turned on the TV. The Dursleys had gotten it for him right after his return to Privet Drive. Harry had demanded that they buy him the TV so that he would not have to be annoyed by the their rude comments about his TV watching habits. Come to think of it, he didn't even know how much this TV might have cost them. Not really caring, Harry turned his attention from his thoughts to what was present on the screen.

"There has been a mysterious incident in London late last night. At around ten o'clock, what seemed to be some sort of a green skull-shaped pyrotechnic," Harry became instantly alert at this and dropped the letter from Dumbledore to the ground, "appeared between two apartment buildings. The residents numbers 11 and 13 Hedgings Lane, London," Harry's heart sank horribly, "phoned the police about a mysterious firework that appeared between their buildings.

At that moment, something small and brown flew through Harry's bedroom window. Harry's stomach did flips as he figured out that this was Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon. He could hardly untie the knot that held the letter into place. Pig was still trying to fly around the room and Harry's fingers were shaking badly. He finally managed to get the letter untied and didn't bother to read the sloppy address. It was from Ron!

Harry

Don't know if you've heard yet. Headquarters is destroyed. Everyone made it out safe. We're all fine. Don't worry. See you soon. Ron

Harry was definitely reassured by this. He sank onto his bed and turned his attention to the TV. It now showed the Dark Mark hovering eerily in the air between numbers 11 and 13. Soon the film camera took to scanning the crowd that had gathered around the sidewalk.

Harry watched eagerly for any sign of his friends. Instead, he soon found himself staring right into the dark red eyes of someone in the crowd. His scar began to throb painfully and he put his hand to it. Only when he fell to his knees from the pain, did it register that he was looking straight into the eyes of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt another jolt of pain and passed out in a heap on his bedroom floor.