Advanced Potion Making

The book was placed on the shelf that day at Flourish and Blotts, new, shiny and pristine. Just sitting there waiting for someone to come pick it up, to make it happy, for it have a purpose.

A young woman walked into the store that day, laughing and chatting with her group of friends. She picked up the book, inspected it and placed it on the counter. Round silver coins and small bronze knuts were exchanged as the book passed into new ownership.

Tossed into a trunk, the book sat waiting for when it would be in use. Picked up once to look at and then placed back in the trunk. The trunk rattled and travelled and arrived in a castle.

On the first day, the book was taken out and written in. "This book is property of Eileen Prince." The writing said. And the book was happy.

The book aided Eileen all through that year, receiving stains as potions were spilled. Becoming dog-eared as it was left in the bottom of the bag. But the book was serving its purpose, aiding a very able-bodied potion maker. The book shined that year, and all through the next.

It shined until the book was left in a trunk of old, forgotten school things. The book was moved to a new house, in a new place. The book heard the quietness of muggle life, the sweetness of the family and the newborn baby boy.

But the book was forgotten, left alone along with all of that "magic nonsense" as the man Tobias said. The years passed, as the book was left waiting, waiting to be of use once more.

The book heard it all, took it all in. It heard as the boy's magic began to appear. Heard as the father, scared of something he didn't understand, forbade him from doing magic.

It watched as the father screamed "You're both freaks!" and the mother cried and pleaded with him while their son silently escaped. The book saw how the father, the unforgiving, not understanding man took up drinking. The book heard the bottles clinking, heard the incoherent mumblings, heard the slaps and the cries of mother and son.

The book watched as the mother started to care less, was at the house less and how the boy was gone for long periods of time. The book could tell from the dripping water in the basement that the family was running out of money and of how the boy would soon need school supplies.

When the light turned on, that day in the basement, the book was used once more. Eileen thrust it in her son's hand with a "here, take it" and the boy took it. The black-haired boy, the intelligent one with the hook nose and sad sallow eyes.

The book experienced the same rattling noise, the same travelling sensation and found itself to be in the same castle, in the same dormitory as before.

The book was so happy to be of use once more as the black-haired boy took it to his potions class. Eileen's name was wiped off, vanished. And a new identity was born.

"This book is property of the half-blood prince." It was written in scrunched, hurried writing. And more was written on it. And more. And more. Until the book was covered in writing.

The book didn't mind. It was being useful again and was being used by a master potioneer. The book travelled with the boy, in his bookbag. It was with him all the time, while the boy studied, plotted with his friends and was picked on by a different black-haired boy.

The book was there with the boy as he stared wistfully at the girl with the green eyes. The girl who never seemed to give him the light of day. The girl with the fiery hair.

The book became almost like a diary to the prince, as annotations were made and new incantations created. And the boy was brilliant.

But the book was once again left, lost and forgotten in the back of a cupboard.

The book was a spare. And as the years past yet again, the book was opened up sporadically at best. It was only used when a student forgot their book, or they needed a new book. It was an inbetween.

Most ignored the tiny cramped writing that the book was filled with. Until one day a boy with familiar black hair and familiar green eyes came across it.

It wasn't really his, he was only borrowing it. But he used it, he followed the directions written by the half-blood prince a couple decades before and the boy decided to keep it.

The book got a new cover, it was switched. The old beaten-down cover was removed and a shiny new one returned. Inside the new cover "Harry Potter" was written. The books new owner.

The book was poured over, read cover to cover. It was taken to bed with Harry and old spells were in use once again.

The book was happy to be used for most of that year. Until one day, it was taken hurriedly out of its dormitory, rushed along the castle. It's owner soaked in water and blood. It was taken to a room, a room filled with thousands and thousands of magical objects.

It was left there, under a statue and a tiara. There the book remained. And it watched people come and go for around a year, although time moved differently where it was. Students came to hide objects they shouldn't be holding, a girl with a potion, a boy with a shrunken head and a lady wrapped in shawls hiding glass bottles.

And then on the last day, three people came in, followed by three more. One of them casted a spell and waved his wand. And then;

Heat. Smoke. And the book was no more.