Chapter six: The Half-Blood Prince

A/N: Okay, so I have decided that I WILL publish the story (once I have written it, and I'm not sure when that will happen) where I go to Hogwarts. Just thought I would let you guys know.

Also, I just wanted to say that there may be some parts in this story that are not in the same order as in the book, I know, so please don't kill me :P

"How did you get your potion to look like that so quickly?" I asked Harry during one potions lesson. His Draught of Living Death was perfectly colorless, exactly as it described in my copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

"You crush the Sopophorous Bean using a silver dagger. Here," he replied, passing me a knife.

I was actually quite impressed with his potion-making skills. It seemed as though he didn't inherit that quality from his father, who was currently attempting to give his potion some impression of being anything other than a stinking black tar-like look it had going on. I took Harry's advice, and, using the dagger, crushed the small, wrinkled bean, astonished at how much juice came out. I added it to the potion, stirring it, adding one clockwise turn every seven counter-clockwise turns (a little trick I picked up from Severus before we went our separate ways), and it soon became nearly identical to Harry's, although with a slightly purplish tinge. A minute later, Slughorn came around, shocked to find that we both achieved such good results.

"I must say! I am quite impressed!" He exclaimed, delighted to find three of his students (Hermione had done fairly well) had excelled at making this potion. "Three of you! Rarely have I had a class so talented, although I think Mister Potter, here, did the best."

Slughorn then handed Harry the small bottle of golden liquid luck, or, Felix Felicis that he had promised to the student with the best results at the beginning of the class. Just as Harry reached over, however, I saw that his potions book was covered in neat, tight handwriting. I recognized that from somewhere, but knew it wasn't Harry's, since I sometimes studied with him, Ron and Hermione, and his calligraphy was not exactly the best. Where could I have seen that writing before…?

After classes for the day were over, I was going to go talk to Harry about the potions book, only to see that Ron, Hermione and Ginny had beaten me to it. It seemed as though they were quite upset with the fact that Harry was, to use Ginny's words; "taking orders from a book."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but what is, exactly, the big deal with Harry listening to what someone wrote in the margins of a textbook?" I felt this overwhelming urge to defend Harry, although I'm not sure why. It almost felt as though I was responsible for him, which was odd. I had barely known him a month!

My inquiry seemed to work as a distraction, and all heads turned to me.

"I'll explain," said Ginny. "I know the story best.

"When I was in my first year, I found a diary, one that, when I wrote in it, my words would disappear and others would take their place, the words of someone else. I thought it was all in good fun at first, but then I started having gaps in my memory. It tuned out that, in the diary, You-Know-Who had stored a piece of himself and used the diary to control me.

"Under his control, I did terrible things. I wrote threatening messages on the walls in my own blood, I killed Hagrid's roosters; I even opened the Chamber of Secrets, thereby unleashing the Basilisk, a giant snake that would kill anyone upon eye contact. All without the slightest clue as to what was going on, especially since I was only eleven.

"I don't remember what happened exactly, I was out cold, trapped in the Chamber, but Harry and Ron came down and killed the snake and destroying the diary, saving my life.

"Because of this, I really don't think it's safe for Harry to go around listening to a book."

I was astonished, and that was an understatement. These kids had gone though all that at the ages of eleven and twelve and survived? Was that even possible? What shocked me more was that it was the son of James Potter, of all people, who did this. Either James became a much better wizard as he grew older, he already was that great and I didn't realise, or he married someone extraordinarily talented.

"Wow, I can't believe you went through all that, especially at such a young age," I expressed my admiration. "And I do think that that is a perfectly valid reason to mistrust a book, although I have an idea to prove whether or not this particular novel should be destroyed."

Before Harry noticed what I was doing, I snatched the book from his grasp and handed it to Ginny.

"Speciails revelio!" she recited the incantation. Nothing happened.

"See? I told you all it was perfectly fine," Harry snapped irritably.

The only thing was, when he took it back, he let the book fall from his grasp. Once it hit the floor, the back cover opened up, revealing more of the neat handwriting.

This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince

I had heard that name before. I was fairly sure it was safe, but I had no idea what the owner of the nickname had become, or what he was when he wrote those notes. When we were in school together, he had shown me some of what he had written, even creating a couple of spells and writing them down there. I knew I had to leave the room immediately. I might let something slip. This was a bit of a shock to me, that his book was still at the school. I needed to contemplate whether or not to tell Harry, since I had no idea if any of the book's contents could be dangerous to other people or himself.

I left quickly, mumbling some excuse I don't quite remember and headed up to my dormitory, shutting the curtains around my four-poster bed.

Harry Potter was in possession of the book of the Half-Blood Prince, a name we used to use as a sort of joke when we wrote to each other. I was Flower Petal. I remember it as if it was yesterday, even though we stopped with the pennames in our fourth year. A Potter having this particular book in his control could not result in anything good, that I knew from past experience. But how could I tell him? I couldn't just tell him who the Prince was without letting him know who I, and by extension, James, really was.

Now, this may not seem like such a big deal, but that boy I used to be friends with (now a man) had changed a lot. No longer was he so innocent, but rather became obsessed with the Dark Arts ever so slowly.

The Half-Blood Prince is none other than Severus Snape.

After a few more minutes of solitary thought, the rest of the sixth year girls entered and fell asleep quickly. I wish I had been so fortunate, rather ending up lying awake in the dark, thinking over my situation for several hours until I, too, fell into a dreamless sleep.

A/N: So, this chapter was shorter than I wanted it to be, but oh, well. You can't have everything, I guess. Thank you to everybody who has read this story, it has gotten over 900 views so far! I honestly can't believe it. Please leave a review if you can!