Quick explanation...

Since I wrote Harry Potter and the Heir Prophecy before HBP, it was totally different…obviously. But just so as not to complicate, some things that happened in HBP actually happened in my fanfic…No there is no logic, just…don't ask question. Don't try and figure it out, it just happened.

Things that have happened;

-Bill becoming half a werewolf and marrying Fluer

-Snape joining Voldemort

-Rufus Scrimegeor is Prime Minister

-Tonks and Lupin together (-)

-Dumbledore dying

Things that haven't happened;

-Harry dating Ginny, ugh.

-Ron dating Lavender

I'll think of more, this is just the basic. If you have questions or suggestions, e-mail me Willpost chapters soon. Also, this fanfic will be…um, weird. Weirder. Ahem…

I don't believe Snape is evil…

Once again, I don't believe he truly died.

Chapter 1

Prologue

The dark, doorless room was unwelcoming and cold, even though the fireplace blared thick flames that licked the marble border. Memories of centuries gone by littered the tiled floors, the navy painted walls and the slanted gray ceiling. Portraits of the long deceased covered up scratched paint or holes and a small square carpet offered the only warmth for feet, though it was bristle and hard. An unlit chandelier hung from the ceiling, baring its metal teeth at the inhabitant. A chest of drawers stood near at the opposite end, full of dusty clothes owned by women who now snored in the portraits. Atop the chest sat various items, including a hairbrush, a rusty lock and a pencil. One item certainly caught the eye as it stood against the wall and the glitter danced with the flames. The black mask was old and bent but still a work of art. It covered the eyes and the bridge of the nose and two horns spiraled up above the head, meeting as an arch at the top.

A mobile of parrots rotated in front of a small window. The wooden birds were perched on gold hoops but one was missing, leaving its five brothers to twirl endlessly. The window had years of grime in it so it was just about possible to tell whether it was night or day, but didn't allow the inhabitant to gaze at the acre outside her room. The field was empty, not showing one bit of life except for the few plants and saplings, but it would have still been a nice sight for the girl who sat on the bed. The bed was quite large with four purple satin pillows and a thick goose-feather duvet. The sheet underneath was rough and itchy, so sleeping was uncomfortable. But only the portraits slept for more than five hours at a time. Lack of sleep showed clearly underneath the girl's eyes, representing itself as purple marks, extenuating her high cheekbones. Her skin had not seen the light of day for three weeks so the few freckles that had adorned it were disappearing. Black hair hung in a limp ponytail, as if given up all hope on a wash. It was greasy so it looked constantly wet and added years of age on the bearer.

The girl was in the same position she had been in for the past two hours. Sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the flames with her shoulder hunched and her back bent. A pillow was being pressed against her chest by both her arms in a bear-like clutch. She wore a plain gray dress that may have been white a few months ago. It reached her ankles where girly frills, ripped and torn, were sown on. The sleeves were clearly too long and covered her pale hands, also adorned with frills that looked like that had been chewed.

What was not visible, however, was the dinner knife held in her right hand behind the maroon pillow. Though it was made of stainless steel and blunt, she held it like someone would a sword, or a wand. And still she stared at the fire, as if waiting for something to come out of it…

In another room, miles and miles away from the girl with her knife, sat another person about her age, and like her, looked far older. Though slim, nearly on the border of underweight, the boy looked like he had fought in a war and survived. His hair was black and messy, and stayed just as unkempt even as he pulled a t-shirt over his head and ran his hand through his hair. On his cheek was a bruise that looked like it had once been big and painful, but it was fading now and just underneath his eye was a small scar that would eventually disappear as well. The room he dwelled in had indeed changed over the past few years, and yet stayed the same. The gray walls had been painted a soft tan and the windows had been scrubbed but still they did not leave in enough light to give the room a cheery effect. The walls seemed reluctant to let go of their precious memories of the former owners and even the cleaning or new items to spruce it up could not persuade them to let go and move on. The whole house was like this, apart from the kitchen, which made anyone happy with the smell of Mrs Weasley's delicious dinners and scrumptious puddings wafting about. Every other room had memories in it that didn't even have anything to do with the house.

Harry Potter's dark eyebrows furrowed as he pulled on a pair of socks, his jade green eyes staring almost angrily at his feet. Three weeks had gone by since the departure from Hogwarts and everyday had been mental anguish. Everyday he blamed himself for the kidnapping of Roxanne and everyday he swore he would find her, but everyday he was not allowed out and everyday he felt hope creeping away, leaving him in a pit of despair and darkness. What had made it worse was when he had arrived at Number Twelve Gimmauld Place yesterday, he had been told off for leaving Roxanne at King's Cross, thus leaving her vulnerable. What Moody had said still echoed through his head. 'I thought you'd have more sense than leaving her, Potter!' And as Harry thought back, he wondered why he hadn't have. Roxanne had said she'd be ok on her own and the Dursley's had kept pestering him…

But he couldn't blame them. He'd tried that way out before and he had realized it wasn't their fault. How were they to know Roxanne was wanted by Voldemort? The news of Roxanne's disappearance had not reached the wizarding world until a week later for two reasons. The first was that only muggles had seen her been apparated out of King's Cross and even when they reported it the police thought they were mad. The second reason was that Roxanne's aunty and uncle never came for Roxanne, and so never reported her missing. Harry had only found out when he had arrived that Aurors had gone into the Winters' house and found Miranda Winters locked in a bathroom while Allen Winters lay dead in the kitchen. After some serious investigating, they found out Mrs Winters had murdered her husband using the Unforgivable Curse, locked herself in the bathroom and flushed her wand down the toilet. She was spending time in Azkaban and is still confused about the whole ordeal. The Order of the Phoenix, however, knew better. When Miranda had gone out to collect Roxanne on her own, she had evidently been put under the Imperius curse and had murdered her husband. Allen was a dangerous man to his brother and Voldemort and only his wife ever came into the house, so she was the perfect tool.

Harry dreaded to think how Roxanne would take this, but what he feared more was what she was doing at this precise moment. She was alive; he knew that much, but was she safe? At least Malfoy was locked away. If he were out… well lets just say Harry had the urge to smash something whenever he thought about what Malfoy may do to Roxanne. He was heavily guarded though. The Ministry knew about the prophecy that foretold Roxanne and Malfoy were to wed and become heirs so they were doing everything in their power to prevent it. Draco Malfoy was guarded by much more than dementors and bars.

But still this did not ease Harry's restless sleep. Already he had endangered all of his friends and finally one had been captured and still remained so. Hermione was trying to forget her time in the mansion's dungeons and was practicing being a Mage. Her ability to use magic without a wand didn't seem to want to show itself, which put her in a stressful mood quite often. Her and Ron were also not talking as often as Harry had expected them to, but secretly, he liked this. He found it awkward even when they just hugged and pecked each other on the cheek goodnight. He didn't understand why, but another thing he would not say was that he doubted they would stay together. From what Tonks had said, Ron loved the attention he received in Diagon Alley when they had gone there, and was surrounded by girls of all ages. Harry doubted Ron's loyalty to Hermione, especially since now she had something better than he did, that wasn't just her brains. Ron didn't like the fact that Hermione was now the smartest in their year and a Mage; he had said this to Harry. It put him down. He wanted a girlfriend who wasn't as good as him, so she would look up to Ron and not the other way round. Harry hadn't replied with encouragement. Though he knew it was mean, he thought they'd be better going their separate ways. They were two very different people and even as a couple they argued and disagreed on mostly everything. For instance, as Harry opened his door and peered out, Ron was complaining about a book that Hermione had magicked to fly about the room but had only flung itself into Ron's stomach, winding him and knocking him back into his armchair.

"It's not my fault, Ron. I'm trying to get this right as best as a I can and you sitting there criticizing me isn't helping!"

"I'm not criticizing, I'm giving you points-"

"But you don't know what you're giving points on, because you're not a –"

"-Mage, yeah yeah I know," grumbled Ron, and without another word he stomped past Harry's door and down the stairs.

Hermione appeared out of the doorway and looked at Harry with an exasperated expression on her face. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun (most likely because she had singed some of it off two days ago) and her brown eyes glared at Ron's back.

"Why is he being so immature about this, Harry?" she asked.

Harry emerged, rather reluctantly, and shrugged; though he knew the answer. She scowled and went back into the room, closing the door behind her. Downstairs, Ron joined the large majority of his family around the kitchen table. Ginny Weasley was seated next to Fluer Delacour and were deep in conversation about the wedding, which was in two days time. Fluer had grown on Ginny, and they were often seen talking together while doing each other's hair. Every so often Fluer would put Ginny's wavy red hair in some sort of extravagant style while Ginny would do the same to Fluer's silvery blonde hair. Bill sat next to Fluer, talking to his father. His face was etched with deep scars and cuts that had not yet healed, his long red hair was cut short and spiky and his ear remained pierced, all of these giving him quite a sinister appearance. His smile, just like Moody's was lopsided, and showed more teeth than usual as he grinned at Harry, who smiled back. Mrs Weasley was fussing over Tonks, who had tripped over Ebony, who had been chasing Ivory, who had been scared off by Crookshanks. Along with Kreachers mutterings of mudbloods and blood traitors and the wireless singing a pop tune, the kitchen was very much alive and a nice place to be to get away from the rest of the macabre house.