Disclaimer: All familiar characters, locations, and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and affiliates.
Author's Note: This can hardly be called a "re-write" of Half-Blood Prince. I believe J.K.R's story is inimitable, and I only aspire to use some concepts of the sixth instalment to flesh out my version of Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts.
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The constant drone of rain hitting earth echoed around the large, square houses of Privet Drive; lawns that were parched and brown all of the previous summer lay emerald green and flooded. Sullen, depressed and angry inhabitants of the prestigious street cursed the unrelenting weather for disrupting their normally nosy ways of life and trapping them within the confines of their perfectly kept homes. It had not once ceased to rain since Harry Potter's return from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was now July 30th, the day before his sixteenth birthday.
If the neighbours were angry and depressed, no words could describe the thin, black-haired teenage wizard's current state as he lay upon his mattress watching but not truly seeing the raindrops pelt his window. Ever since the disastrous end of Harry's fifth year, time seemed to move at an unrealistically slow pace. He often found himself spending entire days in the small capacity of his room, not moving from his place on the bed as he silently relived the past year and wondered what was in store for him this upcoming term.
Fortunately for Harry, although he'd never admit it out loud, the Dursleys provided some semblance of relief from his own mind. Vernon and Dudley Dursley went about their business in the same manner they had every day of their existence, and the sheer normalcy of it all was an odd comfort for the troubled boy. Petunia Dursley, however, seemed to pay closer attention to Harry since his return in June; and while she didn't directly address him, he did note the strange expressions that occasionally crossed her bony face when she noticed him sulking around the house.
Harry rolled onto his back and caught sight of a stack of unopened letters on his untidy desk. Sighing, he stood, rearranged his glasses, and stalked over to the pile while stretching his arms. He scowled at the handwriting on the first envelope of the pile; the silver ink and graceful loops of the letters indicated who this note was from, and Harry was not interested in anything Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had to say. A quick scan of the remaining parchment envelopes revealed one from Remus Lupin, and one from Ron Weasley, his best friend. Harry frowned when he didn't see any letters from Hermione, his other best friend, but his downcast expression disappeared immediately when a dishevelled Hedwig tapped his window.
"Hedwig, you're back!" Harry exclaimed as he hastily opened the latch to allow the soaking wet owl into the room. An icy blast of wind and rain met his face before he could close the window and he swore under his breath as Hedwig perched herself on the edge of the desk. "Have you brought me anything, then?" The snowy owl ruffled her feathers and stuck out a leg where Harry saw a tightly rolled piece of parchment was carefully attached. He quickly untied the letter and felt his stomach give an unnatural leap when he recognized the neat handwriting of Hermione Granger.
Dear Harry,
I'm so sorry for not writing to you sooner, but my parents and I have been on holiday in Spain (a fascinating country, really, loads of wizarding history) and I've had no means of sending you any post. I've just arrived at Ron's to find Hedwig waiting in Ginny's bedroom as if she knew I'd be there.
To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not quite sure what to write. This is now the third letter I've written; every time I try to say what's on my mind it comes out sounding completely crass. I can only hope you're all right at the moment and that I'll see you soon. I'd rather talk in person; that way you won't be subjected to my poor attempts to write you a decent letter.
Happy birthday, Harry, in case I don't see or hear from you by then. I have your present with me; I wouldn't trust any owl with it in the current weather.
Love from,
Hermione
Harry reread the letter before placing it on top of the other papers and immediately opening his desk drawer in search of parchment and a quill. Once he had both in hand, he cleared a small space and sat down in preparation to draft a reply. However, when he found himself poised to write, nothing came to mind. He could tell Hermione that he was fine and everything was well, but his stomach lurched unpleasantly when he even thought of telling her such a big lie; hardly anything was fine in his life at the moment. How could things be all right when he had just lost his godfather and come close to losing his friends? Harry's stomach faltered yet again and he swallowed a lump in his throat as the image of Sirius' body slowly falling through the black veil played for the thousandth time in his mind. The familiar guilt and pain swelled and he soon found himself holding his head in his hands as he valiantly fought off the overwhelming grief. It was during moments like this that Harry most longed to be alone yet craved company at the same time. He rubbed his tired eyes and cast one last lingering look at Hermione's letter before leaning over his own blank piece of parchment and lowering his quill to the paper.
It took Harry nearly a full hour to write one of the shortest letters he'd ever sent to Hermione. Once he threw down his quill and leant back in his chair, he understood how she felt when she wrote about how hard it was to find the right words. He looked over the finished product as he absentmindedly cracked his knuckles.
Hermione,
Don't worry about not writing sooner; you shouldn't have to bother with owl post when you're on holiday. I hope you had an all right time in Spain; I'm sure the weather there was much nicer than England's.
Maybe I'll see you soon and we can talk then.
Thank you for your letter,
Harry
"D'you reckon you're ready to head out again, girl?" he asked Hedwig. She hooted her reply and flew over to his chair from her perch. Harry attached the small piece of parchment to the owl's leg and was about to send her off when he noticed Ron's unopened letter. "One second," he muttered and reached for the envelope. He tore it open and hurriedly read through Ron's untidy scrawl.
Harry -
Hope everything's all right with you at the Muggles' place; Fred and George have been making all kinds of threats, so if anything's wrong, I'll let them have at it. Hermione will be arriving tomorrow; she was on holiday in Spain with her family. I haven't heard from her all summer, though, have you? She's probably been off at some famous historical site learning about the Spanish wizarding population's uses for dragon blood or whatever.
I'm really sorry about what happened in June, mate, but I don't reckon a letter is the best way to talk about it. Actually, knowing you, we'll probably never talk about it so I guess I should make it clear in here that I'm sorry (again) and I hope you're okay.
Keep your chin up,
Ron
Harry smiled slightly at Ron's most likely accurate description of Hermione's trip and scribbled a quick reply thanking him and telling him that he had indeed heard from Hermione, even though Ron would already be with her by the time he got his letter. His smile faded into a slight frown and his jaw clenched as he thought of the two of them together without him, but a shrill hoot from Hedwig caused Harry to jump and forget about that for the time being. He attached the second letter to the owl's leg and carried her to the window where he quickly let her out before the cold wind could reach his face. Harry made to lie down on his bed once again but the piercing voice of Aunt Petunia interrupted his plans.
"Time for dinner!" she called from downstairs. Harry usually passed on meals with the Dursleys and snuck into the kitchen at night for a snack, but his stomach gave a mighty growl right then. He glanced into the stormy sky once again before he slowly made his way to the kitchen.
He was met with the unsightly picture of Vernon and Dudley shovelling food into their mouths at an almost inhuman speed as they watched television with expressionless eyes. Even Petunia looked disgusted and pained, as if she was trying - and failing - to ignore her husband and son's eating. She looked up just as Harry moved forward toward his chair and raised an eyebrow when she took in his appearance.
He had never been one to care about how he looked, but Harry supposed he was taking this attitude a bit too far. Dudley's old clothes were filthy from overuse. His hair was an absolute nightmare and he had gotten, if possible, even paler from spending over a month indoors. Harry scowled at his Aunt in response to her look and dropped into one of the kitchen table's chairs. He was about to reach for a plate when Uncle Vernon startled him.
"Clean yourself up once in awhile, boy!" he barked with a full mouth of food. "He needs a haircut, Petunia, there's no way around it this time. It's a rat's nest!" Harry didn't even look at him as he absently nodded his assent and filled up his plate with dinner. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Petunia staring at him with her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. He raised his eyes to meet hers but she merely shook her head and returned to her plate. Harry bolted down his food and left the kitchen in order to return to his room, but he was only half way up the stairs when Petunia's shrill voice called out to him.
"I'll be doing the laundry tonight; have your clothes in the utility room by seven, they're filthy." She paused to eye him with her usual look of contempt before continuing, "I need to run to the store for groceries tomorrow as well; you'll come with me and we'll make a short stop at the barber's."
"Fine," Harry deadpanned before he turned and continued scaling the stairs. He figured a haircut was a better birthday present than anything the Dursleys would consciously give him.
"I know what happened," she said, her voice lowered to a near whisper. Harry froze but did not turn to look at her. He had no idea how it was possible she could be talking about the events of last June; he'd hardly spoken to anyone in the household since his return. "Your headmaster sent me a letter last month about Sirius Black." At this he spun around so quickly that he almost lost his balance and toppled down the stairs.
"What?" Harry spluttered as he stared at her incredulously. She walked around the banister to stand at the foot of the staircase.
"You heard me," she impatiently snapped, "He told me how you and your friends from that school rushed into some department in a misguided attempt to save him. I had no idea what he was going on about, as usual, but he mentioned…" she trailed off and looked uneasy as she glanced about the living room.
"Voldemort?" offered Harry. His knuckles were white from gripping the railing so tightly and he felt decidedly off-balanced, as if he would fall over at any given moment.
"He mentioned something about a connection." Harry was shocked by how much Aunt Petunia actually knew about him and Voldemort, but what surprised him the most was that she was actually speaking about it. He opened his mouth to say just as much but she cut him off.
"I don't pretend to understand or know what it is you do there, but I feel obligated to tell you to - to be careful. Don't get yourself blown up." Harry wondered if he'd unknowingly fallen asleep in his bedroom and was currently immersed in a truly strange dream. Aunt Petunia had never shown one ounce of interest in his life at Hogwarts, and now she was talking about Sirius, Voldemort, and warning him to be careful and not die.
"What - did Dumbledore ask - why are you telling me this?" Not the most polite thing he could have said, but Harry needed to know what caused her to speak so civilly. She met his eyes for a brief moment before she cast a dark look at his scar.
"Too many Potters have died." And with that she turned and walked back into the kitchen leaving a stunned Harry standing in the middle of the staircase.
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Hours later, when darkness had completely fallen and the starless sky still leaked rain, Harry was shocked to find midnight had already come and gone as he glanced at the small clock. He silently wished himself a not-so-happy birthday and dropped to his knees on the floor in order to wrench open the loose floorboard in search of food. Harry was half way under his bed reaching for the board when the loud doorbell rang. He jumped and smashed his head on the bed frame with a dull thud. With a mixture of anger and panic, he scrambled to his feet and dove for his wand before he whipped around and found himself face to face with a frighteningly pale, pyjama-clad Petunia.
"They're here for you," she whispered and spun around to look into the hall before turning back to Harry and continuing, "Vernon hasn't woken and I daresay you had better hope he doesn't. Get your belongings and go downstairs. Your clothes." She hastily dropped a pile of his clean clothes onto his desk and stepped back into the doorframe.
"But how - how do you know it's for me?" Harry asked, his wand still pointed at Aunt Petunia and his eyes trained on the hallway over her shoulder.
His aunt rolled her eyes and replied in the same terse whisper, "The letter said they'd come for you on your birthday. I didn't know they literally meant the moment you turned sixteen."
"And you didn't think to tell me?" Harry angrily countered, but he felt his indignation ebb away as the anticipation of leaving Privet Drive took over.
"You should be grateful I didn't wake your uncle up for this little reunion," she spat but quickly resumed her composure. "I'll let them inside; now pack your belongings and hurry. A group of your kind ringing the doorbell in the middle of the night is not my idea of a tea party." Aunt Petunia turned on her heel and glided noiselessly down the staircase.
Harry stood and listened to the sound of the door opening and the low murmur of voices in the hall before he too turned and began to rapidly gather his possessions and pack them into his trunk while making as little noise possible. He grabbed Hedwig's empty cage and made his way downstairs, making a lot more noise than Aunt Petunia had minutes ago. He tensed as he heard Vernon's snoring falter but continued onward and quickly reached the bottom of the staircase without any more close calls. Harry deposited his belongings in the hall and silently made his way to the kitchen.
The door swung open to reveal a very uncomfortable-looking Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks seated at the kitchen table while Petunia stood by the stove, her arms crossed protectively. A solitary light lit the otherwise pitch-black kitchen, and the sounds of the storm outside were unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. Lupin jumped to his feet when he caught sight of Harry standing in the doorway.
"Harry," he croaked, "good to see you again." He sounded ill and his grip felt weak as he shook Harry's hand.
"You too," he politely replied. "Are you feeling all right?"
Lupin nodded and replied, "Full moon in a few days; this is nothing." Harry saw Aunt Petunia's eyes widen and comprehension - along with mild horror - dawn across her face at Lupin's words.
"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted him from her seat at the table.
"Hi, Tonks," he said. An uncomfortable silence followed his words. For the first time in two months, as he stared at Lupin's sunken features, Harry realised he was not the only one mourning Sirius' death.
"Well, then," Tonks stated, breaking the silence, "If Harry's ready, we should be leaving." Lupin seemed to come out of a reverie at Tonks' words; he shook his head slightly and walked over to where Harry was standing.
"We're returning to The Burrow via the Floo Network; Dumbledore has already made the necessary arrangements. Tonks will go first to make sure everything is secure, and she'll report back to us before you leave. I'll close the Floo connection before I Apparate behind you." Harry nodded and walked through the Dursleys' living room to the hall, where he gathered his trunk and Hedwig's cage. When he returned to the living room, Tonks, Lupin and Petunia were waiting for him. Lupin was bent over the fireplace, removing the fake appliance.
"Fascinating," Tonks muttered as she examined the fake fire once it was on the floor. Petunia raised an eyebrow at the woman, who in turn cleared her throat and walked purposefully over to Lupin.
"Incendio," came Lupin's clear incantation and flames immediately burst into life. He removed a small pouch from his pocket and handed it to Tonks, who took a pinch and threw it into the fire before stepping in.
"The Burrow!" she cried and disappeared within seconds.
"She'll contact us soon if everything is safe," said Lupin in a quiet voice.
"Is there a chance it won't be safe?" asked a worried Harry. In his mind, The Burrow always contained an impenetrable air of safety and comfort. The idea that it may be compromised was one he'd never before considered. He felt both selfish and stupid for not remembering the war raging outside his grief-stricken shell.
"There's always a chance, Harry," Lupin replied, his answer non-committal and hardly reassuring. In search of a distraction from the bubble of fear growing in his mind, Harry glanced at Aunt Petunia and noted the way she continually turned toward the stairs, as if worried Vernon may come barrelling into the room.
They did not wait long for Tonks' signal; her head popped into the fire and she gave a quick thumbs up before disappearing again. "All right, go on, Harry," Remus said and held out the pouch. Harry dragged his trunk and Hedwig's cage across the room, took a pinch of the powder and threw it into the fire. He followed Tonks' example and stepped into the flames, dragging his luggage in along with him. He was about to speak when Aunt Petunia's voice interrupted.
"Don't forget what I said," she called, stepping closer to the fire with a wary glance at the roaring flames.
He nodded and answered, "I'll be careful." Petunia moved away and leant back against the staircase, watching Harry with a guarded expression. He inclined his head toward Lupin before he exclaimed, "The Burrow!" Harry shut his eyes tightly as he spun around and the familiar dizzy sensation overcame him before he felt himself slowing down. A few moments later, the spinning ended entirely and he opened his eyes as he stepped into the Weasley kitchen.
A loud cry and hurried footsteps echoed around the bright room; Harry turned and suddenly found himself staring into a very familiar pair of brown eyes.
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