Christmas, New years, and lack of inspiration caused delays, but here at last is year six. Thanks again to AFC and all the comments left by people here. I appreciate you taking the time to leave me feedback.
Year Six
The weak ringing of the mostly repaired alarm clock was enough to rouse Harry from his habitually light slumber. It was ten minutes to eleven o'clock, and Professor Dumbledore was due to arrive soon.
The smallest bedroom of number four Privet drive once again appeared as empty as it did whenever Harry arrived each summer. Everything remotely magical, or anything that even indicated Harry lived there in fact, was packed away in his magical trunk.
Not that it was a whole lot to begin with.
Professor Dumbledore's letter indicated he would be picking Harry up at eleven, so Harry made sure he was ready, despite having some serious doubts about the headmaster's arrival so early into the holidays.
Still, Harry's life had taught him to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. Being packed and awake, should the professor follow through on his promise of early retrieval, was hardly a chore, and despite his misgivings at seeing the headmaster again, every second less spent in the oppressive house, the better.
Harry just hoped Dumbledore didn't want to spend a whole lot of time talking, not after their last confrontation, but he was half expecting it, of course
That's how things usually worked out for him.
"Kreacher, shut up!"
It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his grimy hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.
"Well, that simplifies matters," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It means that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."
"Do I — do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, us Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.
"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."
Harry sat silently for a few moments, thinking about the filth covered elf, and his lack of respect for Sirius.
"Nope, that's not going to cut it," he said. "Kreacher, behave yourself and stop that tantrum, right now."
The surly elf stopped thrashing and climbed sullenly to its feet. Hatred gleamed in its eyes as it glared at its new master. Harry was undaunted of course, having spent much of his life with people constantly looking at him like that; people currently seated in the room, in fact.
"I need to keep you somewhere safe and secure, somewhere that none of Voldemort's people will be able to get to you, and where you won't be able to pick up any information to pass on, so Hogwarts and Headquarters are out. Luckily, there is one other place where Voldemort's reach can't extend."
"You should be smiling, Kreacher, because you have a new family to serve, for a while, at least. You will have to work hard to get along, but I am sure you are a perfect match for them. You can even have your own cupboard to live in that I can personally vouch for. Isn't that great?"
The meaning of Harry's words and evil grin sank in, and Petunia took the only appropriate action she could.
She fainted.
"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time... he must think you've got a chance!"
"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you? Really advanced defensive magic, probably... powerful countercurses... anti-jinxes..."
Her voice faded off as she suddenly realised what she was saying.
"Somehow, Hermione, I doubt very much if that is his plan," laughed Harry.
Harry opened his envelope with unexpected trepidation. Never before had his grades ever mattered to him, except that it usually meant another round of the Dursley's crying 'foul' when Dudley invariably got worse ones. This time it was different though, this time he had actually tried, although not nearly as much as he probably should have.
Harry James Potter has achieved:
Astronomy O
Care of Magical Creatures E
Charms A
Defence Against the Dark Arts E
Muggle Studies O
Herbology E
History of Magic E
Potions E
Transfiguration A
They were good, better than good in fact; they were great. While it was disappointing to see proof that his lack of magical ability prevented him from reaching the highest scores in two of the wand based subjects, he had not failed a single subject, and gained top marks in Astronomy and Muggle studies.
Best yet, he had received an E in Defence, something almost everybody had considered impossible, given his inability to make the most advanced spells work well.
It was, without a doubt, the best results he had ever received from any school, and went a long way towards making him feel validated - It was proof magical strength wasn't everything.
Now he just had to convince Hermione that her sole non-O result, the E in Defence, wasn't the end of the world for the witch.
Harry eagerly entered the Twin's shop, even though he had been in constant communication with them, and knew most of their products inside and out.
"Here we are," said Fred, as George joined them. "Shield Hats, Shield Gloves, Shield Cloaks, Shield Boots, and any other piece of clothing we can get at a decent price, including some rather impressive sets of knickers, bloomers, and various other underthings."
"Though we don't want to know if you choose to wear those particular items," said George.
"Just like we told you," finished Fred. "Won't do much for the unforgivables, but they'll stop or seriously weaken anything up to a moderate curse."
"Brilliant," said Harry picking up a brightly coloured hat. "I'll take a few complete sets for me, Ron, and Hermione, a half a dozen spare sets to share around, and two of everything else you have in the store. Also I insist on paying at least cost," said Harry, knowing they would not let him pay full retail.
"What are you going to do if we don't let you?" smirked George. "Return the goods?"
"No, I'll not give you my suggested product list," said Harry, holding up a notebook. "Two weeks locked in a room without much else to think about except my Marauder father and Godfather – I'm pretty sure you can imagine how many ideas I came up with for your 'special' product lines."
The twins' eyes lit up, and Harry knew he had won this argument.
Harry, darted after Zabini. Though he was as close as he could get without touching him, he was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door. For a second he considered ripping the door open and stepping inside, but common sense prevailed and he let the boy close the door unhindered.
Barely a second later, a flesh-coloured extendable ear slipped under its edge. Harry took up a position outside, grateful that nobody was likely to try walking past him this close to the castle.
It wasn't as good as being inside the compartment as he had first intended, especially since the ears didn't work very well for him, but he was considerably less likely to be detected this way, and that made it worthwhile.
He could only imagine what a disaster getting caught inside the compartment would have been.
"Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!" said Hagrid, starting to turn away.
"Actually, Hagrid," called Harry. "I'm not taking care of magical creatures this year."
Hagrid looked shocked, and a bit hurt. "Why not?"
"Hagrid, I'm never going to go into a profession where it's needed," he said. "This year is going to be hard enough without taking extra subjects. You know, with the war and all."
Hagrid still looked sad, but not angry.
"And what about you two?" he asked, looking at Ron and Hermione.
Their embarrassed looks told Harry that they had not signed up either.
"Really, Hagrid," said Harry, quickly stepping into the awkward silence. "It's not that we didn't enjoy your classes or anything, it's just that none of us wants to work with animals like you do."
Harry knew intimately what it felt like to be abandoned by people he thought were his friends. Before Hogwarts, Dudley had chased off every single person Harry had ever made even the slightest head-roads into befriending. There was no way he was going to let Hagrid feel that way.
"Honestly. Hagrid," he said. "It's nothing personal, and we'll still come and visit, if you'll have us?"
Ron and Hermione hastily made affirming sounds. Hagrid looked thoughtful for a few moments, but then beamed an enormous smile at the trio.
"'Course yeh can," he said. "Don't matter to me if yeh're not taking me class, just as long as yeh don't forget yeh old friends."
"Never, Hagrid. Never in a million years."
"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here -- let me show you-"
He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he kicked out, connecting solidly with the surly professor's crutch.
The silent spell smashed into the floor next to Harry, barely missing Blaise Zabini who let out a girlish shriek, and Snape doubled over. Harry's reflex, Dudley-style follow up punch caught the unprepared man in the temple, spinning him half way around.
Snape's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a heap.
Total silence enfolded the room as everybody stared at the downed man and his victorious opponent standing over him, fists still clenched and chest heaving.
"I reckon you might have just gained a bit of detention there, Harry," said Dean Thomas, overcoming the shock first.
"Why?" laughed Ron, earning a scathing glare from Hermione. "After all, I didn't hear him cast a spell, so it was a totally silent defence, just like Snape told us to!"
"We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death," said Professor Slughorn. "I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"
Harry successfully brewed this potion before, to coat his crossbow bolts once his pre-made, bought supply ran out, but it always took him much longer than an hour. While the professor said it would be the best attempt that won, Harry knew Hermione was likely to come very close to finishing it – she was simply that good.
A short time later, he gave up trying to read or remember the original instructions and followed the scribbled directions of the battered potions book's previous owner instead.
After all, with Hermione sure to deny the prize to Malfoy, what did he have to lose?
"Look, Hermione," said Harry irritably snatching back his potions book after her spell failed to reveal anything unusual about it. "It's like Ron said, I am taking a chance following somebody else's notes, but I've been doing that ever since you started helping with our homework, haven't I?"
"That's entirely different and you know it," dismissed Hermione.
"No it's not, and you know it," said Harry. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll let you copy from it, and you can figure out why the changes work, but don't expect me to stop using every advantage I can get."
"Or me," agreed Ron. "I need the help just to pass!"
"Harry," said Ginny. "If it's just a text book, that's okay, but if it starts doing anything unusual, like writing back to you, I got dibs on seeing how well it can survive getting stuck through the middle with a dirty great fang, all right?"
Harry grinned. "Deal," he said, then turned to Hermione and waved the book slowly and tantalisingly in the air between them. "Well? Can you resist the temptation of knowing a better way to do things?"
The war between conflicting desire's going on in the girl's head was evident on her face, but Harry already thought he knew which would win.
"Okay," she said, with a huge sigh. "But I am not going to use any shortcuts in class unless I completely understand them."
"Fine by me," said Harry.
Harry left the headmaster's office in a mixed state of mind.
On one hand, he really appreciated Dumbledore sharing Voldemort's history. There was no doubt the lessons were all planned out with a specific line of reasoning in mind, and the important information was better arrived at piecemeal, rather than just dumping the lot on him.
On the other hand, he really wished the lessons included something a bit more practical in the art of surviving a fight with the powerful, evil wizard. The headmaster, obviously concerned by Harry's lack of magical power, was trying to help in the way he thought best.
Being almost a squib made Harry acutely aware that Magic wasn't the solution to every problem, and growing up with the Dursley's gave him a slightly more cynical point of view about exactly how valuable a weapon Love was.
Harry sighed and patted the pocket with his improved crossbow in it. As usual, he was going to have to take some matters into his own hands.
"Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. "It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"
"Yes," said Hermione helplessly, "they're really —"
"So why don't you come along, Harry?" demanded Slughorn
Harry sighed. It was probably only the second time in his life that he found himself in the position of trying to dissuade somebody from being friendly to him. Dudley made sure Harry gained very little experience in that area. With a flash of insight, inspired by his thoughts of Dudley, Harry saw a way out.
"Professor, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I think I need to be straight with you; you deserve that at least," said Harry. "I have been purposely avoiding you, outside of class."
"Why?" asked Slughorn, slightly angrily.
"Sir," said Harry seriously. "I am sure many people would be very interested to know that we are more than just passing acquaintances."
Professor Slughorn's face changed from the slightly angry expression he had at the start of Harry's explanation, to a confused one, then to realisation, until finally settling on fear.
"Oh," he said. "Oh, yes, of course. Very well then, er goodbye," he said, turning and almost sprinting away.
"That was rather mean," said Hermione. "They're really not that bad. They're even quite fun sometimes, and I doubt the Death Eaters would care much about a teacher like Slughorn being friends with you."
"Don't care," said Harry. "I just wish I'd thought of telling him that sooner."
The Snargaluff plant looked completely innocent, as if it had not just attacked the trio as they stole one of the pods from inside of it. All three of them had bruises and scratches from its vigorous defence, but now only a few stray tentacles waved gently, as if in a slight breeze.
"I'm not doing that again," thought Harry.
While Ron and Hermione continued talking about Slughorn's Christmas party, Harry dug around inside his book bag to find his charms notebook.
Unfortunately, Professor Slughorn's reputation seemed to require that Harry attend the function, and there was very little chance of him getting out of it, but, at the moment, Harry was more interested in figuring out a way to complete their work without sustaining injury.
"So who are you going to take then, Harry?" asked Ron.
"What? Oh, I was thinking about asking Luna," answered Harry, not surprised to see both his friends' astounded expressions. "I think she could be a right laugh, and at least I don't have to worry about anybody spending too much time bothering me while I am with her."
"Good point," admitted Ron.
Hermione did not look at all pleased and Harry wondered if it was due to his reasoning for asking the Ravenclaw, or the realisation she would also have to listen to the girl's strange theories.
"Ha! Got it," said Harry pulling out his wand. "Immobilus!"
Immediately the few visible tentacles stopped moving, frozen like Neville with a Petrificus cast on him. Harry smiled and walked up to the trunk, easily prying apart the opening and retrieving several of the large seedpods.
"What?" he asked in response to the shocked expressions both Ron and Hermione gave him when he returned to the workbench with the cargo. "Just because magic doesn't work that well for me, you don't think I'm not going to use it when I can, do you?"
Neither had an answer to that.
Surprisingly, Harry was having a great time at the fussy professor's party. Luna seemed to be going out of her way to entertain him with wildly fantastic stories.
Listening to the blonde girl thoroughly enthralling the rather batty looking Divination professor nearly gave Harry a stitch as he forced himself not to burst out laughing. Finally, he had to walk away for a breather, or risk collapsing with mirth.
Discovering Professor Snape dragging Draco off to have a private discussion was just too good an opportunity to miss, even if it was just to hear a good scolding.
Slipping an Extendable ear under the door, Harry strained listen to Draco astoundingly rude rejection of his mentor's offers of help and demands of obedience. Once Draco stormed from the room, with Professor Snape following, Harry almost chose to retire from the party to go over what he had heard.
Realising neither Ron nor Hermione was likely to agree with his interpretation of the conversation, Harry decided to go back and see if the vampire would appreciate some of the blood-pops from his ever present stash of sweets.
Making a friend of a vampire was not an opportunity anybody should turn away from lightly. A friend like that could come on handy one day.
Or more likely, one night.
Harry stood next to Ron at the Burrow's kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Mrs. Weasley. They were once again discussing the over-heard conversation, when Ron's twin brothers interrupted.
"Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them."
Ron's incredibly dull retort did little to perturb the twins as they settled down in chairs to watch the boys demonstrate the correct way to handle a knife. Harry took a different tactic.
"How much?" he asked.
"Now, now, Harrikins," said Fred. "We are wealthy businessmen, we can't be simply bribed with Galleons to go against Mum's wishes. Character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic."
"Okay, what then?"
"We need somebody to test a couple of our products," said Fred, slipping into a less jovial and more serious business attitude.
"Somebody who won't mind being a bit, er, incapacitated for an hour," said George.
"Or more, maybe," added Fred.
"No way," spluttered Ron. "I'm not doing that again."
"How many?" asked Harry, ignoring Ron. "What's the product and what's the trial aimed at?"
"Five," said Fred. "Bladder-Busters."
"We are having an issue with the delay before the effects start. We need data for various ages and body sizes."
"Are you mad, Harry?" said Ron. "It's not worth it. You might not make it to the toilet in time if you don't know when it is going to hit!"
"Done," said Harry, holding out his hand.
George dropped five brightly coloured lollies into Harry's hand while Fred waved his wand at the sprouts.
Mrs Weasley walked in just in time to see the last sprout magically fall into the cleaned pile.
"Boys, it's wonderful you want to help you brother and Harry, but they really should have done it themselves," she scolded lightly.
"It's no bother, Mum," said Fred, while Ron grumbled quietly.
"Just because they can't use magic, doesn't mean we should let them suffer," added George, trying to sound magnanimous.
Harry stayed silent until the issue of who was staying in whose room came up.
"What about the tent we used at the world cup?" he asked. "Can Mr Weasley still get a hold of it?"
"It's far too cold outside for camping," dismissed Mrs Weasley.
"Who said you had to set it up outside?" asked Harry.
The silence following his statement had him thinking he must have said something silly, until Ron broke the silence.
"Sometimes, Harry, I wonder why you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw," he said.
Uncharacteristically, Harry found himself blushing.
"I just don't get it, Remus," said Harry. "If the Greyback is such a problem, why doesn't somebody just do him in?"
"Harry!" said Remus, apparently shocked at the cold-blooded suggestion. "We can't just solve our problems by killing everybody who disagrees with us. That would make us as bad as the Death Eaters."
Harry shrugged.
Years of trying to convince people he wasn't the person the Dursleys portrayed him as taught Harry some harsh lessons about the futility of reversing opinions with logic alone. People wanted to believe the worst they were being told. Some seemed practically addicted to the most horrid rumours and gossip around, but if you could remove the source of those lies, even for a little while, things usually got significantly better.
"It's the law," he said. "He bit you, so he already has a death sentence. Instead of trying to argue with him, you should be finding ways to eliminate him altogether. Just makes sense really."
Harry felt uncomfortable under the look his former professor gave him, but he knew that he would not hesitate to bring justice to a creature famous for attacking defenceless children.
Harry watched the Minister of Magic as he stumbled away from the Burrow, Percy Weasley struggling to help the man, who was apparently in a great deal of pain.
"What happened?" asked Ron, coming with Ginny and the twins to stand beside him in the garden watching the two men hastily depart.
"He asked me to be a poster boy," answered Harry bitterly. "He wanted me to tell everybody how the Ministry is doing a great job."
"Tell him to sod off, didn't you?" laughed Ron.
"No, actually," said Harry, causing his friend to almost choke. "I said I would be interested, but there needs to be something more in it for me."
"You did what?" spluttered Ron. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I am," said Harry. "I told him I'd be happy to show my support for the Ministry, once they showed their support for me. I said I wanted them to exclude me and my friends from underage magic laws, force every person formerly accused of being a Death Eater to a Veritaserum questioning, release every innocent person they currently hold, seize all assets of convicted Death Eaters and redistribute them to the victims of war, make blood purity prejudice illegal, and then pay me a thousand Galleons for each photo I appear in or visit I make to the Ministry.
"Oh, and also provide safe houses and free Wolfsbane to all werewolves, with Umbridge having to clean up the rooms in the morning."
"Blimey. What did he say to that?"
"Well, I was hoping he would start bargaining, you know, make a ridiculous counter offer so I would lowered my demands and meet somewhere in the middle. Instead, he starts shooting off about how I owe it to the people and rot like that. He seemed to actually think it was my responsibility to prop up his government's image."
"What'd you do to him?" asked Ginny, already grinning in anticipation.
"I gave him a Bladder-Buster lolly," said Harry, grinning back. "Two actually, since he stuck around blathering on for so long. Told him it was a bad habit I picked up from Dumbledore.
It took several minutes before they stopped laughing enough to re-enter the kitchen and repeat the story for the others.
"Well I didn't say I was going to test them on myself!" said Harry, once the laughing died done. "I just hope Hermione doesn't find out I sent the rest to Kreacher for Christmas with strict instructions about eating them."
Harry dawdled behind, taking an inordinate amount of time to do up his bag. Neither Ron nor Hermione wished him luck as they left; both looked rather annoyed.
Like using the Bezoar, Harry was trying a desperate, almost cheeky gamble.
"Come on, now, Harry, you'll be late for your next lesson," said Slughorn affably, snapping shut his briefcase.
"Sir," said Harry. "I need your, er, discrete help, and possibly a favour."
Slughorn looked positively shocked, then delighted as he seemed to realise the implications of what Harry just said.
"Professor Dumbledore has given me a task, something he seems to think I will be able to do that he can't," said Harry. "Sir, he has tasked me with getting from you the true, unaltered memory of Tom Riddle asking about Horcruxes."
Slughorn's face changed rapidly, cycling from delight and curiosity to fear and anger in the blink of an eye. Harry sighed, knowing that, this time, his gamble had failed.
Still, it was only his first attempt.
Dear Mr Potter,
Unfortunately, while our researchers we have discretely discovered the titles and suspected locations of several rare tomes possibly containing information on the subject you have enquired about, Ministry law prohibits possession or dissemination of their content in this country. In the interests of fulfilling your request as best as possible, please find enclosed the list of volumes, their suspected locations, and all available references we have found on the subject matter.
We here at Kwickspell would like to take this opportunity to once again thank you for your continued patronage and more than generous donation to our annual Christmas party. We hope your holiday season was as enjoyable as our own.
Harry smiled after reading the letter. Unlike his previous correspondence with the company still supplementing his Hogwarts education, this letter came from a senior manager and contained much more information than expected. Then again, a few hundred Galleons was not a small investment, but at least this portion of it was paying off.
He wished there was some way he could let Vernon Dursley know that one of his undoubtedly exaggerated bragging claims about 'greasing the wheels' had actually helped Harry.
It would be such a sweet revenge.
The ring he was trying to Apparate into lay empty on the floor in front of Harry, silently mocking him. The potential of unlimited freedom offered by the ability to cross any distance in the blink of an eye, was tantalisingly out of reach, just feet away.
Apparating was difficult, often resulting in painful and even deadly Splinching, should it not go right, but fear was not holding Harry back. It was his magical strength, or lack of it, that was sure to keep this skill impossible for Harry to obtain.
There was no trick, no precise wand movement or clarity of thought that could boost his meagre power enough to move him even the few feet to where the taunting ring lay. He travelled side-along with Professor Dumbledore, and knew exactly what the magic felt like, but the ability was forever beyond his reach, no matter how long he practiced or how determined he was.
Only a few of the spells from the margins of the Half Blood Prince's book even began to approach the power of a normal wizard when caste by Harry, surprising him as much as Ron when he friend was wrenched to the ceiling one morning by the only non-verbal spell Harry had ever cast.
No firmly fixed destination, no finely focussed determination, and no deliberate movement would move Harry even a centimetre, if he didn't walk it by the power of his own two legs.
"Maybe making Port-keys would be easier?" he thought, just as Susan Bones spectacularly separated her leg from the rest of her body.
Draco Malfoy's regular absences finally engaged Harry's attention, as much as a way to distract himself from Ron and Lavender as anything else. His best friend's girlfriend was absurdly annoying, and their constant spit swapping drove both Harry and Hermione away from the red-headed boy in disgust.
"Kreacher," called Harry.
There was a loud crack and two fighting elves appeared on the floor in front of Harry, apparently trying to beat each other senseless.
Before Harry could sort out exactly was going on, another crack signalled the arrival of Peeves, the resident Poltergeist.
"I was watching that, Potty!" he told Harry indignantly.
"Dobby will shut Kreacher's mouth for insulting Harry Potter!" cried Dobby in a high-pitched voice.
Harry watched the two fighting for a second, stunned by the ferocity. Since Dobby seemed to be getting in the better blows, Harry wasn't motivated to stop the brawl just yet. Peeves excitedly pelted the pair with bits of chalk, his aim unerringly accurate, and giving Harry a new idea.
Dudley's miniscule imagination often plotted relatively devious attacks on Harry, and while most of them were easy enough to avoid, far too many had succeeded because Harry did not take the initiative. This proved to Harry that a good defence wasn't the best way to survive; sometimes you had to strike first.
"Peeves," he said, taking a small Stinksap filled water pistol and a handful of Dungbombs from his pocket. "You know who Draco Malfoy is, don't you?"
Having Draco followed by Kreacher, and possibly Dobby as well, was still a good plan that he would follow, but nobody could get in somebody's face the way the Poltergeist would. That would cause Draco more problems than Harry could possibly manage, assuming the creature took bribes.
The best bit was that Draco was unlikely to run off and get help from a teacher, and Peeves was unlikely to let up while Harry continued to supply him.
Harry took a carefully measured gulp of the little bottle of liquid luck. Slowly, a wonderful feeling of exhilaration flooded every corner of his being.
"Right," he said, standing up. "I'm off to the library."
"You've got to go and see Slughorn, remember?" said Hermione.
"Nope," said Harry confidently. "Slughorn's memory can't be that important. I am going to go to the library and see if I can find something that will defeat old Voldy, or at least makes the odds against him just a bit more even.
"Let's see just how lucky I can get, eh?"
Harry staggered towards the castle, swaying so wildly along the path that he left it completely several times and once ended up face down in a bush. Luckily, it wasn't a long a walk from Hagrid's hut, although crawling definitely took more time.
"Luck," Harry snorted. "Fat load of good luck is."
The strange coincidences and occurrences driving him to witness Aragog's funeral, with the half-giant and the potion master, were nothing short of ridiculously contrived. Instead of finding a secret or hidden magic in the library that would give him a way to combat the evil wizard that was his nemesis, Harry now had the bottled memory Professor Dumbledore was so keen for him to obtain.
Like the old man himself couldn't spurge on a couple of bottles of Rosemerta's finest to get 'Sluggy', as he insisted Harry now call him, well and truly liquored up enough to divulge the secret.
"Old bugger probably can't handle a drink," slurred Harry snidely, as he once again dragged himself upright.
Of course, disguising himself and sneaking off, to buy a lottery ticket and place a few Hippogriff racing bets, probably wasn't the wisest thing to do. Nor was celebrating his windfall with a few drinks before trying to sneak back into the school, but deciding to stop by Hagrid's place for a few consolatory gallons of wine had gone horribly wrong.
Not only did Slughorn catch him out of bounds, but poor timing meant having to watch the whole morbid funeral of something that once tried to feed him to its offspring, while trying to look sorry. Luckily, his recently purchased stocks of wines and liquors were enough to tempt both of the professors into an extended bout of 'sampling'.
Sirius taught Harry the value of a fine wine and its various uses as a 'social lubricant', a welcomed gift, and the sign of a good host. Vernon and Marge showed Harry the ugly side of alcohol. Now Slughorn and Hagrid proved there was more than one way to skin a dragon, once mind altering substances were introduced.
"Luck be damned," mumbled Harry.
It was planning for contingencies that made sure Harry had a good supply of various products on him, cunning that kept him drinking anywhere near as much as the other two, and determination that finally dragged the memory from the reluctant Slughorn - not luck.
If the potion was good for anything, except manoeuvring Harry into a situation he could take advantage of, it would get him to his dorm intact, and make sure he didn't suffer any debilitating after-effects of over indulgence in the morning
Tunelessly humming an inappropriate ditty learned in the previous few hours, Harry resumed his shaky progress towards the castle.
At least ol' Dumbles should be happy.
The twisted and broken body of Draco Malfoy lay on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding copiously from a gaping wound in his side. Harry fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood.
Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"
Next to him, Harry's crossbow lay discarded, the tip of the automatically loaded bolt glistening with the potion he had found in the Prince's diary.
Not knowing if a gun would work in a magical area like Hogwarts, or even where he could get one to begin with, Harry brewed the improved blasting potion and used the extraordinarily potent mixture in place of the Draught of Living Death he normally used to enhance his bolts.
The idea was sound, and testing showed it worked, exploding on impact after being fired from the crossbow, but the reality of Malfoy's mutilated body shocked him beyond anything he had ever felt before. Nothing could prepare him for seeing a real person half blown to bits. The knowledge that he did it to stop Malfoy hitting him with the Cruciatus curse was no comfort.
The door banged open as Snape burst into the room, his face livid.
It was the first and only time Harry was actually glad to see the man.
Harry sat copying out the faded and worn detention cards, a smile never far from his face. While the actual work was boring and useless, the shear number of pranks and misdeeds his father and his friends were caught doing threatened to make Harry laugh aloud, despite having Snape sitting silently in the same room.
Reading between the lines, Harry couldn't help be amazed and delighted by the pranks and jinxes involved in many of the instances recorded in sometimes meticulous, almost anal, detail by the caretaker. Many of the cards related directly to stories Sirius and Remus enthralled Harry with; the memories of hearing the tales mixing with the actual stories themselves to make this the best detention Harry had ever served.
He took particular pleasure in imagining the frequent ones that involved his snarky professor as the recipient.
The number of ideas for Weasley products that just a single detention provided made Harry almost grateful for the opportunity, although he knew Snape intended the punishment to embarrass or disturb him. If he had been able to do it without Snape seeing, he would take notes more studiously than in any class.
Still, while the hardest part of the detention was not laughing aloud, Harry would much preferred to have been out with the rest of the school watching Ginny and Cho vie for the Snitch and the cup.
Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height.
"I will take you with me to retrieve this Horcrux on one condition: that you obey any command I might give you at once, and without question."
"What? No way."
"Then I am afraid I cannot risk having you along," said Dumbledore sadly.
"Hang on, hang on," said Harry quickly. "I didn't say I wouldn't do what you ordered, just that I would do it without question."
Dumbledore did not smile.
"Harry, it is imperative that you trust my judgement. This is the only condition that I am asking of you. If I should order you to run, to hide, or to save yourself, you must obey without hesitation."
Harry felt his temper rising again.
"Tell me, Headmaster, do you think so little of my own judgement then, that you do not trust me to be anything more than a House-elf to you?" snapped Harry. "I trust you, and if you order me to do something, I will do my outmost best to comply, but I won't promise that I will obey your every command without at least taking a second to decide for myself if it is the right thing to do – Only Voldemort and Death Eaters have that sort of arrangement.
"I am almost a squib, not almost an idiot."
Several of the portraits yelled their outrage at Harry's impertinence. Phineas was actually trying to cast hexes at Harry, waving his wand and screaming curses.
"Harry, you put me in a very difficult position," sighed the Headmaster, showing no shock at Harry's words. "I am reluctant to take you into danger, knowing that if we encounter difficulties, you may endanger your own life in a futile attempt to save mine."
"Sir, if something happened, and I did nothing to try and save you when I could have, just how do you think I would be able to live with myself after that?"
Harry held Dumbledore's penetrating gaze for a few moments, almost challenging him to withdraw the invitation and renege on his promise.
When the old man sighed and looked away, Harry managed to resist crowing in triumph – barely.
"Professor," Harry suddenly asked as they made their way towards the Hog's Head Tavern. "Will we be Apparating?"
"Yes," said the Headmaster. "I will of course be assisting you."
Harry nodded and stayed silent until another thought crossed his mind.
"Sir, why don't you just take a Portkey from your office? That way nobody would know you left the castle."
Dumbledore smiled, his beard twitching in the bright moonlight.
"A wonderful suggestion, Harry, that I will endeavour to make use of next time. However, we have almost arrived where I intend to leave from, so let us continue as I planned."
A warm glow of pride at the compliment replaced the nervousness he had been feeling since discovering Dumbledore's plans to include him in the Horcrux retrieval;
Momentarily.
"Hang on," said Harry. "Are you suggesting we climb down this very dangerous cliff using just those slippery little handholds, then swim over that patch of water that we know nothing about, into a cave that we have no idea of what's inside."
"You can of course stay behind, should you choose to," said Dumbledore. "I will think no less of you for it."
"No, no," Harry said quickly. "It just that I don't know how to swim, and your plan doesn't sound particularly well thought out, or safe, sir. I mean there could be undertows or sharks or anything!"
"What would you suggest?"
"Well ropes and hook things for starters, like the mountain climbers use so that we can't just fall off, and a little boat at the bottom, a canoe or something, so we don't have to swim. Or maybe even just life jackets or at least rubber rings or something.
"Better yet, what about conjuring a boat here and then just levitating us both down to the water in it?"
"I am very glad that I brought you along, Harry," said the Headmaster, waving his wand in a complicated matter to make a narrow boat spring into existence out of nowhere. "I sometimes tend to forget that I am no longer as sprightly as I once used to be."
Harry smiled and climbed into the boat, very happy that he was going along and had insisted on having some say in how they tackled the challenges they faced. He could only imagine how much trouble the Headmaster would get himself into otherwise.
The ripples of whatever had leaped out of the lake inside the cavern, to drag Dumbledore's conjured boat under the surface, disappeared unnaturally fast, sending chills of fear up Harry's spine.
"Good thing you decided to try that without us in it first, sir," said Harry sincerely.
"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore.
"There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. Once again, he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."
Harry paused; he did not want to argue, but he found the idea of a creature leaping out of the water and dragging him to a horrible, watery death, unnerving, to say the least.
"But one of them jumped," he said, trying to make his voice as calm as Dumbledore's. "It dragged your empty boat under."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I am sure that once we take the Horcrux, we shall find them less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry," Dumbledore added with a smile.
"Right," said Harry, putting the crossbow back into his pocket and removing a Flaming-throwing-flare instead.
He really hoped he did not have to test the twin's claims that the fire would burn underwater, but for some reason, he was expecting it.
"Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. Do you understand?"
Their eyes met over the basin, each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry did not speak. Was this why he was invited, to force-feed Dumbledore a potion that might cause him unendurable pain?
Dumbledore moved, about to lower the conjured crystal goblet into the potion.
"Wait!" said Harry. "Just give me a second."
Surprisingly, the Headmaster withheld his hand.
"Sir, just how big a goblet can you fit into the basin?" asked Harry. "Can you make one big enough to scoop all of it out in one go?"
"Perhaps, Harry, but I fear the Horcrux will not appear unless the potion has been consumed," answered Dumbledore.
A smile suddenly spread over Harry's face.
"Sir, have you ever heard of Bulimia?"
Who could have guessed Petunia's obsession with skeletal super models and skinny movie stars would ever teach Harry something useful?
Dumbledore, his retching of the potion over, suddenly pushed Harry away and staggered to the water's edge. Before Harry could stop him, he cupped water from the lake into his hands and drank it.
The surface of the lake started churning as white heads and hands emerged from the dark water: an army of the dead rose from the black water, heading for the island.
Harry fumbled in his pocket for the flare he had put away, as a Dumbledore struggled weakly with an Inferi attempting to drag him into the water. With a yell, Harry ducked under the pale hands trying to grapple him and tore the flare from his pocket, hitting the igniter with his other hand.
Instantly, a blinding, five-foot long flame erupted from one end, incinerating the Inferi holding the professor. In mere seconds, Harry cleared the island of the undead, but more were trying to get out of the water, and the flare was starting to splutter.
Then Dumbledore was on his feet, a massive whip of crimson and gold flame flying from his wand to surround the island and keep the creatures back.
Harry sighed with relief as his flare gave one final belch and died completely.
"Sir, if I set fire to the water, will it keep them from attacking us?" he asked the Headmaster.
"I believe it may," said Professor Dumbledore in a weak and croaky voice.
Harry nodded and rummaged in his pockets for a magically enlarged jar of a substance he learned about from one of Dudley's graphic war movies. He wasn't sure if the wizarding world had an equivalent to Napalm, but brewing the Muggle concoction had been ridiculously simple, even with his limited magical abilities.
It was dangerous stuff, but so were animated corpses.
Dumbledore leaned heavily on Harry as they left the lake chamber. Although he had vomited the majority of the potion, what little he had absorbed was still more than enough to sicken him. Harry didn't want to think about how bad it would have been if Dumbledore was forced to drink the whole basin.
"Professor, are you going to be able to Apparate?"
The headmaster didn't reply for a moment, and Harry felt his heart tighten in his chest. He really wanted to get the headmaster to a healer as soon as possible.
"I may require a few moments to regain some strength," said the professor.
"What about making a Portkey?" asked Harry. "We should go directly to Saint Mungos."
"An excellent idea, but I require the services of Professor Snape. I shall create a Portkey to the school, although my accuracy may suffer slightly, in my current debilitated state."
"Okay," said Harry, a bit surprised and annoyed that Dumbledore wanted Snape rather than professional healers. "If you think that's best."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore, waving his wand at a rock and intoning the incantation. "Let us go home."
For some reason, Harry wasn't feeling very relieved at the prospect.
"No, Draco," said Dumbledore quietly to the trembling boy. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."
Malfoy did not speak. His mouth was open, his wand hand still shaking. Suddenly, just as his wand began to lower, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground unconscious.
"Harry?" asked a very surprised Dumbledore. "How did you escape my spell?"
"Your spell?" asked Harry. "Something hit me, but it was stopped by the twins' shield clothing. Why did you try to spell me?"
Dumbledore looked completely dumfounded. "I wanted to give Mr Malfoy a chance to turn his back on the Dark Lord."
"I figured you weren't just stalling for time, otherwise I would have coshed him sooner. Now, let's get you to the infirmary."
"No, Harry, I am afraid that my strength has fled. Please go directly to Professor Snape and tell him what has occurred then bring him to me here."
Suddenly, Harry wished he had a broom and a slightly better flying ability. It would only have a taken a minute to dash over to the infirmary. Shaking his head to clear it of pointless speculation, Harry ran to the door leading down.
He would get Snape, and Pomfrey – to do anything else made no sense.
The fight at the bottom of the stairs caught Harry up. He was pinned down by all the spell fire, unable to break free and get to the infirmary.
Snape ran past him in the opposite direction going towards Dumbledore almost as soon as Harry made it into the tower, so at least something had gone right. He didn't know how Snape knew he was needed, but at least the headmaster would be getting some help.
So far, his crossbow accounted for two Death Eaters, and the shielded clothes he and his friends wore was keeping them safe and in the fight, but precious minutes had gone by and he still couldn't get clear of the battle.
"It's over, time to go!" shouted Snape, somehow dragging an Evenerated Draco passed the fight and around the corner at the far end of the corridor.
For a moment, Harry didn't understand. The Death Eaters were still there, fighting him and the others. What did Snape mean it was over?
The large blonde Death Eater he was trying to stick with a crossbow suddenly cast a massive blasting spell, almost bringing the ceiling down, then turned and ran after Snape, with the last two Death Eaters following quickly behind.
Cold terror and panic gripped Harry's stomach as he ignored his friends' calls. He ran back up the stairs to where he had left Dumbledore. Outside, he found what he feared.
Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the world, was dead.
Harry fired another weak Stupefy from his wand, and watched angrily as the vile man batted it aside with a negligent flick of his wand.
"At least you have decided to fight like a wizard, Potter, but you don't have the nerve or ability to combat me," sneered Snape.
Harry didn't wait for Snape to finish, but fired his crossbow directly him. Snape, caught by surprise, nearly didn't knock the bolt aside in time. It exploded spectacularly mere feet from him.
"You dare use my own creations against me?" shouted Snape, firing spell after spell at Harry, battering him mercilessly. "That's right! I am the Half Blood Prince; it is my potions book you have been stealing credit for all year."
The shield spells on his clothing were wearing out, and Harry knew he was going to be in trouble very soon. Concentrating as he had never done before, Harry raised his wand and fired the strongest spell he could manage: a Reducto. At the same time, he fired his crossbow, aiming at a rock a few feet to the side of Snape.
Snape again battered the spell aside easily, but either ignored or missed the crossbow bolt. It was a mistake.
"Pathet-" Snape began, but never finished as the bolt hit the ground and exploded, spraying him with shards of stone, cutting his face and side in several places.
Harry smiled evilly, pleased to see his gambit worked, and fired another bolt, this one on target to leave a large hole in his former professor's chest. Just as he pulled the trigger, Snape recovered enough to hit him with another spell, spoiling his aim.
There was loud bang and Harry flew through the air to land painfully several feet away; the last of his shields finally having given way. Looking up from his prone position, he saw Snape running full pelt towards the edge of the school boundaries.
"COWARD," Harry yelled. "COME BACK YOU GUTLESS CHICKEN."
He was surprised to see Snape hesitate at his words, before apparently changing his mind and Apparating away. Harry rose and turned to see Hagrid stumbling from his hut, his massive dog cradled in his arms in front of him, like a baby.
Deep in his pockets, Harry had a Muggle Chemical fire extinguisher. Bought and magically modified to ensure any accidents involving fire could easily be brought under control, it would help save at least some of the Grounds keeper's house.
Relief at seeing the man who rescued him from the Durlsey's home pushed back the grief Harry knew was waiting for a weak moment to pounce, but, for the moment, Harry forced himself to feel only the joy.
The rest would come later.
With the end of Professor Dumbledore's funeral, and the unpleasant confrontation with the minister, Harry was unsurprised, but immensely grateful, to find his friends supporting him.
"We're with you whatever happens," said Ron. "But, mate, you're going to have to come round my mum and dad's house before we do anything else, even Godric's Hollow."
"Why?"
"Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"
Harry didn't know whether he should laugh or cry. The thought of putting his quest on hold to attend a wedding was too surrealistic to contemplate properly.
"Okay," he said. "But there's something we need to do even before that. There's a certain portrait we need to talk to, and it had better have some answers, or I am going to get that tin of paint remover I have and see if it really is as strong as the store keeper promised me."