Following a rather quick lunch, Harry joins Pansy, Sally-Anne, Millicent, and Daphne in the library to begin working through Snape's extensive homework. Since it's Arithmancy at half past one, Tracey and Hermione opt to study their prerequisite readings for the remainder of lunch hour. They are soon joined by Su Li and Morag MacDougal of Ravenclaw while Malfoy and Nott isolate themselves in a far corner of the library. The remaining Arithmancy student, Zacharias Smith, barely cares for socialising as he reads through his textbook at a lone table in the rear section of the library.

"Man, they weren't kidding about sixth-year being killer!" whispers Daphne, as she battles through her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay while seated around a table with the rest.

"Why are you even rushing?" asks Millicent. "It's not like any of us besides Harry and Pansy Potter have Potions at three. So, that means we're free to get Professor Snape's work done even if it takes all afternoon."

"'Pansy Potter' has such a nice ring to it, I must admit," says an amused Sally-Anne. "Alright, enough chitchat!"

At twenty past one, the Arithmancy group of seven stand up and head for class while their peers continue with Snape's assignments.

"How funny that they're a group of seven," says Pansy, although her expression quickly saddens. "My late cousin used to do Arithmancy, and she once said seven's supposedly a notable number... Okay, let's carry on and not talk about the deceased."

Harry eventually stands up and leads the way down a familiar path towards their Potions classroom, where roughly a dozen students have progressed to N.E.W.T. level.

"Always knew you'd be here this year, Harry," says Ernie Macmillan as everyone enters the class. "Nice show in Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning. Can't believe you had the bottle to give such cheek to Professor Snape, though."

Before Harry can respond, he sees a most genial Professor Slughorn entering the class; Harry therefore takes his seat with Pansy, Hermione, and Ron at a table for four. They greet their new (or rather old) Potions Master with much enthusiasm before noticing his many cauldrons of potions put on display.

Although the room may smell of many scents, Harry sits nearest a gold-coloured cauldron which piques his interest. In fact, he's fairly distracted from Slughorn's speech while sniffing the woody smell of a broomstick handle, whatever furniture polish is used at Grimmauld Place, then a strange mix of citrus, bergamot and rose, as well as some overly expensive French perfume. It's only when Pansy and Ron exit their seats that Harry shakes out of his olfactory stupor.

"Wha—"

Hermione sniggers beside him. "Amortentia, Harry; you're so caught up in it that it's quite hilarious. What do you smell?" She listens as he describes the various scents. "Good to know you've got your priorities straight."

"And what do you smell?" asks Harry.

"If you were actually listening, you'd have heard me describing some of them to Professor Slughorn, who's very impressed with me." Hermione sighs and observes Harry with an amused expression. "Freshly mowed grass, new parchment, and the smell of a certain sweaty Quidditch player."

"Great, it's Krum in the bum again..."

"Really now, Harry?" Hermione suddenly nudges him and gestures towards the book cupboard. "Look at those two!"

While Slughorn continues to walk around and explain his lesson, a soft scuffle breaks out at the cupboard.

"No way am I losing to you again!" whispers Ron, while trying to barge aside a scowling Pansy. "Let it go, Parkinson; you already got that new Herbology textbook over me."

Pansy punches Ron's shoulder with each word as he blocks the cupboard. "Get—out—my—way!" But she eventually loses out as Ron holds out his left arm while swiping the newer textbook with his right.

"Hahaha! Revenge is so sweet; enjoy your battered old book, Parkinson."

"Stupid Weasel King, argh!" Pansy swipes up an old Advanced Potion-Making textbook as well as retrieving a tarnished scale to weigh her ingredients. Now she returns to sit beside a grinning Harry. "Don't you laugh at my decrepit textbook, boy. What did I miss?"

"We're supposed to brew a Draught of Living Death," says Hermione, leaning forward to speak across Harry. "Whoever brews it most effectively will earn themselves a bottle of liquid luck."

"...well then, off you go and best of luck to all!" says Slughorn. "Harry, m'boy, are you alright? You seemed awfully distracted for the past few minutes."

"The Amortentia basically ensnared his senses, Professor," says Hermione.

"What did you smell, Potter boy?" asks Pansy, to which Harry mentions all except for Sirius' place. "Good."

"Oho!" says Slughorn, shaking his finger at Harry. "Don't let the ladies distract you too much from your academics, young man."

Soon, the classroom fills with the sounds of scales clunked, pages being turned, and ingredients hastily prepared as many students get their brewing underway. Within ten minutes, the entire room is permeated with bluish steam arising from a dozen simmering cauldrons. Students crane their necks to assess their competitors' efforts, of which Hermione furiously battles with Harry beside her.

"Gone are your days of having Professor Snape favouring his students," mutters a wickedly grinning Hermione. Her efforts at brewing are so intense that her hair seems even bushier than usual. "Professor Slughorn's far more impartial and willing to actually acknowledge my brewing skills."

Harry viciously slices his Sopophorous Bean and glares at Hermione. "Your potion's a slight shade off the required smooth, blackcurrant-coloured liquid, Granger."

"Keep your eyes on your own work, Potter!" Hermione slices her own Sopophorous Bean and tosses it into the mix. "Or better yet, worry over Pansy who seems to be doing her own thing."

Indeed, Harry looks to his right and sees a smirking Pansy crushing her Sopophorous Bean instead of slicing it. "What in hell are you doing, girl? Don't you wanna win little Felix over there?"

"Thanks for your help, Harry, it's much appreciated." Pansy giggles and tosses in her remarkably oozing Bean which turns her mix a shade of lilac.

Both Harry and Hermione simply gawk at her.

"What the— How... huh?" Harry remains gaping at the grinning girl.

"It's simple, really," says Pansy, quickly moving her book out of sight. "Your ingenuity is definitely helping me here, Mister Half-Blood Prince."

"You're making no sense!"

Pansy pats him on the shoulder and whispers. "This book's got some crazy ingenious changes scribbled about, and it's the property of someone called the Half-Blood Prince. Don't worry, after I win my lucky liquid then I'll return the book to you, okay? Have patience, sweetheart."

Both Harry and Hermione's potions remain distinctly purple as their textbooks suggest. Ron, meanwhile, barely gets anything above a liquorice-coloured mess (although it's only a tad worse than Zabini's at the table behind him). On the other hand, Pansy's brew glows a remarkably pale pink which catches Hermione's attention.

"How did you do that?"

"Mwahaha! The great Granger has finally been beaten!" says a smug Pansy. "Add a clockwise stir, darling."

"That's not what the textbook says! Harry, what exactly is she catching on over there?"

"We'll explain later," he mutters, gesturing for the livid Hermione to shush. "Calm that sweet bosom of yours."

"Shit!" cusses Ron under his breath. "Oh well, must be beginner's un-luck for me in N.E.W.T. year."

"And... time's up! Stop stirring, please," says Slughorn. "Let's have a look at your efforts..." He saunters between the three tables to peer into, stir, or sniff at many a concoction on display. For Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, and Terry Boot, Slughorn gives no comment. Then he moves to Padma, Michael Corner, Ernie Macmillan, and Anthony Goldstein whose efforts are acceptable, at best. Lastly, Slughorn eagerly approaches the third table where Ron gets a rueful smile from the Potions Master. "Improvements can be made, Mr. Weasley, but fair play nonetheless. Now then, let's see... Ah! Excellent, Miss Granger; but are you absolutely sure you're not related to Hector Dagworth-Granger?"

"No, sir," says a chuckling Hermione. "I already said that I'm a Muggleborn."

Just as Zabini makes a disparaging cough, Harry gestures a middle finger at him from behind Slughorn's back.

"What have you got for me, Harry? Oho! This one's a tad better than even Granger's! I ought to—" Slughorn pauses right as he's about to hand over the Felix Felicis. "Goodness, is that your cauldron, Miss Parkinson?"

"Yes indeed, Professor." Pansy gives Harry a most mischievous grin before adding: "I tried to convince him to take all the glory but, alas, Harry's helped me to brew this mix. Is it okay?"

Slughorn glances from Harry to Pansy and back. "Merlin's Beard, Miss Parkinson, it's perfect. I daresay one gulp would land us all in the Hospital Wing! Well, Harry, I must admit it was mighty thoughtful of you to help your fellow student like this. However, rules are rules and the clear winner has to be Miss Parkinson." He holds out the bottle of liquid luck to Pansy. "Here we go, one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. Use it well!"

Seconds later sees a beaming Harry applauding one of his dearest friends. Most of the room, however, hardly shares this enthusiasm as Pansy smugly tucks away her bottle of golden liquid. She remains fiercely protective over her shirt pocket throughout the group's journey to an almost empty Entrance Hall.

Once they're out of earshot from most of the crowd, Pansy stands beside the marble staircase to explain all about her battered old book.

"I could've had that!" says a groaning Ron. "How is this fair at all?"

Leaning over the railing above, Ginny whistles at the group. "Hey, what did I hear just now? Is someone taking orders from a book?"

"None of your business, Weasley!" says Pansy, looking up at an alarmed Ginny. "What's it to you anyway?"

"Um, never mind." Ginny descends the marble staircase. "Perhaps we'll talk in private about this, Harry."

Pansy checks to see that nobody's strolling about in the Entrance Hall before speaking to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. "Right, so my theory is this: The Half-Blood Prince is obviously Harry himself. Therefore, Harry grows up to be a Potions genius, buys an old textbook to make it look like it's from the past, scribbles the real way of doing things, then travels years back in time to plant his book and start the cycle. Ta-da! We've now got our hands on a piece of futuristic history!"

Hermione's mouth falls open in bewilderment while Ron roars with laughter.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say, Pansy. Absolutely, completely, confoundedly, amazingly... stupid!"

Pansy tilts her nose haughtily. "If I'm stupid, but still won the day, then what does that make you, huh, Granger?"

Harry, however, simply places his head on Pansy's shoulder and laughs. "You've really been watching too much television or films, eh? You do realise that Time Turners only go back up to five hours, and I already destroyed all of them."

"No way they're all gone," says Pansy. "Prove it."

"All the Time Turners were stated to have been returned by the time I blasted them to uselessness," says Harry. "There were allocated notches, on the shelf, which were all filled that night."

"Okay, but what if they invent better Time Turners in the future? You could've, or still could, use one to go all the way back and plant this book for younger you," says Pansy, to which Hermione groans.

"And why would Harry do something like that when, assuming your wild speculations even have a shred of possibility to them, he could rather go back and kill Voldemort? Besides, you actually have to live out the reversed time. So, are you implying that we've got an older Harry going about somewhere these days? Is future Harry actually crazy enough to wait out decades on end to get back to his point of using the Time Turner?"

"All this time talk is driving me mad!" says Ron. "Forget it and let's have dinner; I'm starving."

The quartet make their way into the Great Hall where Pansy scowls upon seeing quite a few heads turned her way. From the looks of things, their eyes are locked at her chest level (where the bulge from her Felix Felicis can be seen beneath her robes) which elicits a scoff from Pansy. "Are they staring at my tits or liquid luck?"

Harry grins. "What's the difference?"

"Seriously?"

"Blimey, mate!"

A red-faced Ron and Hermione laugh while headed for their seats at the Gryffindor table far ahead. This leaves Harry and a giggling Pansy to strut towards their seats at the distant end of the Slytherin table.

"We heard the news," says Tracey, whom Pansy sits beside. "Actually, almost everyone's heard it by now, lucky girl."

"You'd better keep that bottle safe and secure even in our dormitory," warns Sally-Anne. "Nasty things can happen when people get jealous, and you should know some of our House well enough already."

Pansy stabs most viciously at a potato, until it becomes almost mashed, on her plate. "That'll happen to anyone stupid enough to steal my golden prize. Don't mess with a Parkinson."

"Yeah," says Harry, "even Voldemort, before he got his current body back, got hit by a spell from a Parkinson."

"And you're gonna pick up where my cousin left off someday," says Pansy. "Wreck that disgrace to our House until he never ever comes back again, hmph!"

"Just how did you brew such a perfect Draught of Living Death, Pansy?" asks Millicent. "I mean, you're a fairly good Potions buddy but, no offense, not exceptionally superb."

"None taken." Pansy mentions that she'll explain later tonight (in the privacy of their dormitory) and takes to finishing her dinner. Eventually, it's time for Harry and her to return to the dungeons where they spend the rest of their evening battling through Snape's assigned homework for next week. And sure enough, Pansy's speculations on the Half-Blood Prince has Daphne, Sally-Anne, Millicent, and Tracey in fits of giggles as they recline on their respective beds.

"No, Pansy!" laughs Daphne. "That is the most outlandish bunch of rubbish I've ever heard! Harry would never call himself that boring nickname when he's the Chosen One or King of Slytherin or whatever."

"Well, I believe it and that's all that matters!" says a resolute Pansy, before suddenly glancing in Harry's direction. "Prince, I think it's time for bed."

"Don't call me anything to do with the Half-Blood Prince!" says Harry. "Okay, perhaps in private, yeah, but keep that book a complete secret out there. You just never know who might've been, or currently is, acquainted with this Prince character. They certainly wouldn't want us cheating with what is likely an old, forgotten book left behind by Mister Half-Blood Prince."

"Harry's got a point," says Sally-Anne. "Hogwarts is the only school serving the whole of Britain; so if the Prince was here, and that book looks decades old, then we can't be too sure they don't have friends or descendants wandering around our castle up till today. Oh damn, what if the Prince is one of the many ghosts floating about the castle? Aaaaa! I hate all this uncertainty!"

Pansy tucks away her completed homework and blows a kiss to Harry. "Goodnight, my Half-Blood Prince. I think it'd be a good idea to at least replace the cover of that old book."

"Sweet dreams, Princess Parkinson," says Harry (to which Pansy beams). "And to the rest of you ladies, yeah."

Tuesday morning sees Harry heading to the Owlery on the castle's fourth floor. Here, he completes an order form and adds nine Galleons for a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making. With everything set, Harry sends a delighted Hedwig on her way before it's time for breakfast. The post owls soon arrive, and one bird almost steals the show with its remarkable speed.

"Whoa, Harry!" says a gasping Daphne as she pokes his shoulder. "There's a bird diving straight for you, look!"

Indeed, Harry looks up just in time to spot a multi-coloured bird swiftly landing before his plate. "The heck? Anyone know who's bird this is? It doesn't exactly look like an owl, does it?"

Shrugs, and shakes of the head, come from his girls as neither recognise this well-behaved bird. The latter stands patiently awaiting a treat, which Tracey provides, as Harry unties and opens an envelope securely attached to its leg.

To my dearest Harry,

I do trust that everything went well for your first day back at school? For me, things are going okay with my Magical Law Enforcement assisting duties here around Diagon Alley.

It's quite empty, as one will expect during these hectic bad times of Voldemort. There is no need for you to worry about me, though, as I'm never alone on my duties. Plus, the Weasley twins usually keep an eye out when I pass by their store. In exchange, I try to get them some more customers, yes.

I want you to know that the Ministry has made inquiries into someone tampering with the Diagon Alley Quidditch store's equipment. They don't know who did it, but over a dozen Beater's bats were found to contain Dark magic which would make the bats attack their holder. Not a very funny scenario, eh? And I must warn you: those magics were very well hidden within those bats indeed.

Added to this are the many Bludgers which were also found to contain hidden tampering, similar to the bats. I don't know if this is even Death Eater related or just wannabes trying to gain bad attention, but it's still a danger nonetheless. It is like the delinquency has gotten worse by the month since the newspapers exposed Voldemort's return.

But don't let this letter get you down. We are doing our best out here in the big bad world beyond Hogwarts. So, you keep well and shine like the darling student you are.

With much affection,

Fleur.

PS: My bird's name is Zipper, because she's very fast, yes? Also, she's what they call a Peregrine Falcon. Very, very, very expensive to train and quite rare to obtain from the shop.

"How cute," says Daphne, stroking the obedient falcon. "Why does she make me think of our old Beater again?"

"I'm pretty sure Derrick's first name was Peregrine," replies Millicent. "Better than Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle in the air, for sure."

Harry, meanwhile, gets out his parchment, ink bottle, and quill to write out a warm and loving reply which he securely attaches to Zipper's leg. The falcon then immediately zips off at a remarkable speed out the Great Hall.

First on Harry's schedule for today is Herbology, in which he spots Susan Bones, Michael Corner, Fay Dunbar, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Seamus Finnigan, Hermione, Wayne Hopkins (of Hufflepuff), Neville (as expected), Ernie Macmillan, Roger Malone, Lily Moon, Dean Thomas, and Ron. Overall, their Herbology class totals fourteen; a comfortable amount of students sharing the greenhouses this year.

"What happened to your Slytherin friends, Harry?" asks Neville. Although his demeanour doesn't seem hostile, it still annoys Harry to no end.

"They opted to join me in Hagrid's class rather than here."

Hermione smiles. "Good on them to stick with you even through such a tumultuous curriculum. But you do understand why Ron and I, and nearly every other sixth-year, refused to continue Hagrid's lessons, right?" Her statement elicits a nod from Harry as the latter withdraws his Herbology textbook, Flesh-Eating Trees of the World.

"The heck's going on in here?" asks Dean.

Suddenly, the greenhouse is darkened by a Charm cast over its roof which extinguishes most light from outside. This causes the students to draw their wands in order to cast Wand-Lighting Charms.

"Put those out," says Professor Sprout, carrying two filled bags as she enters the greenhouse. "Bright light and fire are strictly forbidden from our next four weeks of lessons, as are panicking and frantic movements under stress. Anyone care to guess what plant we'll be starting this year with?"

Hermione's hand shoots into the air as Professor Sprout provides a minimal source of light around the group. "Based on all those precautions, I'd say it's Devil's Snare, ma'am."

"Yes, you would know all about that, Miss Granger." Professor Sprout's grin can be seen in the dim light. "Who was it that corrected you on getting out of my trap in first year?"

"Ronald and I, ma'am," says Harry, retelling their admonishment of Hermione when she noted that there wasn't any wood to light back then. Naturally, Hermione blushes in embarrassment at momentarily having overlooked her wand and magical abilities.

"And that, people, is why it's dangerous to panic and resort to simple-minded decisions," says Professor Sprout. "Good thinking back there, you two boys." She soon deposits her samples of Devil's Snare across various tables and advises everyone to stand back. By doing so, they also come into the light of the surrounding lamps. "Now, you ought to be turning to page 21 for a quick review of today's plant. It might not strictly be carnivorous, as the title of your textbook implies, but was still deemed suitable for inclusion here. Don't drop your guard around that plant, and in case anyone needs a recent reminder, think of the late Boderick Bode who lost his life to a cleverly disguised Devil's Snare."

Neville, who's already read these chapters numerous times over, raises his hand to speak. "I think it was unprofessional of Miriam Strout to not have thoroughly inspected Mr. Bode's plant. Honestly, the Devil's Snare doesn't totally resemble a Flitterbloom, and a Healer attending to such a high-value patient should've known better."

"Take three points to Gryffindor for that comment, Mister Longbottom," says Professor Sprout, and Neville therefore grins in delight.

You won't be so smug when I defend my big bad Bella someday, will you? Harry sneers discreetly from his position between Hermione and Ron. For a few seconds, the scenario of Neville yelling in shock from Harry defending Bellatrix once again plays out in the former's mind.

"Gosh, Neville's certainly come out his shell since we first heard of that mass Azkaban breakout, eh?" whispers Hermione. "Are you jealous, Chosen One?"

Harry snorts and carries on with today's introductory lesson to the Devil's Snare. Then, by half past ten, he's off to the library during the usual mid-morning break.

"How was Herbology, Prince?" asks Pansy, to which she's kicked beneath her study table.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that!" mutters Harry through clenched teeth.

"Oh okay; how was Herbology, Your Majesty Prince of Slytherin?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry speaks in hushed tones while discussing the Devil's Snare and Neville Longbottom. Then, just as Pansy's about to reassure Harry on him being the high-and-mighty Half-Blood Prince, Professor Snape enters the library and spots the pair.

"This better be an academic, and not romantic, meeting in the library, Potter."

"Yes, sir! In fact, Pansy and I have already completed our assignments for next week." Harry wonders if he should hand it in or forgo giving Snape more work at the moment.

"I'd prefer to mark the early hand-ins all together, which you should inform the rest of your friends about." Snape resumes his walk to who knows where in the depths of the library.

"I reckon he knows that Hermione and us have already finished our stuff," says Harry. "Now, if we could just find my darling Granger and get her to come hand it in..."

Eleven o'clock brings a sizable class of Charms where Professor Flitwick appears absolutely delighted at his group. "Splendid! Twenty folks makes us the second biggest group behind Professor Snape. Well then, roll call it is... Bones, Boot, Brown, Bulstrode, Corner, Dunbar, Finch-Fletchley, Finnigan, Goldstein, Granger, Greengrass, Longbottom, Malone, Parkinson, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Perks, Potter, Thomas, and Weasley."

Harry leans back in his desk as Flitwick begins his lecture on non-verbal spellcasting.

"Firstly, if there's anyone with dogwood as their wand wood then please raise your hand. No? How about pine?"

Susan Bones raises her hand.

"Ah, then that means your wand will be quite sensitive to non-verbal magic, Miss Bones. Let's hear what everyone's wand wood and core are, but don't worry about mentioning the lengths and flexibility." Flitwick waves his wand to list the names of today's class in alphabetical order.

"Alright," says Susan, "like I said, my wood's pine. And as for the core, it's phoenix feather, yep."

Harry grins but is otherwise unfazed by another student having such a rare wand core. After all, it's only himself and Voldemort who share the exact same donor: Fawkes.

"Cedar and dragon heartstring," says Terry Boot.

"Cypress and unicorn hair for me," says Lavender.

"Spruce and dragon heartstring here," adds Millicent.

Michael Corner's up next. "Willow and dragon heartstring."

Now it's Fay Dunbar's turn to speak. "Chestnut and dragon heartstring."

For Justin Finch-Fletchley and Seamus Finnigan, their wands comprise elm and unicorn hair as well as blackthorn and unicorn hair respectively.

"Apple and unicorn hair for my wand," says Anthony Goldstein, before Hermione mentions her wand having vine with dragon heartstring.

"My wand's got walnut wood and dragon heartstring core," says Daphne, to which Harry whispers:

"The same as Bellatrix Lestrange."

Daphne gasps and grins. "Really? Well, at least she's known to be a formidable foe. Okay, shhhh; let's hear what everyone else's wand happens to be."

For Neville, his wand's made of cherry wood with unicorn hair at its core, and for Roger Malone it's cedar with unicorn hair too.

"I've got ebony and dragon heartstring," says a proud Pansy. "Next?"

"Cherry and dragon heartstring for me," adds Padma.

"And as for me, it's elm with a core of phoenix feather," says Parvati.

"My wand's got alder wood with a core of unicorn corn hair," says Sally-Anne, to which Flitwick goes 'Aha!'

"Huh? Oh, my wand is made of yew with a phoenix feather at its core," says a grinning Harry. "It also pretty much resembles the wand used by Lord Voldemort himself"—He rolls his eyes at the response to the name—"in both looks and composition."

"Really?" asks Flitwick, picking himself up after tumbling off his books. "So, our Chosen One shares a similar wand to You-Know-Who? What a bizarre coincidence... and this is your second wand, correct?"

Harry nods. "Yep, it probably chose me to destroy the Dark Lord someday."

Neville politely speaks. "I don't mean to be rude, Harry, but my gran once said yew is a bad omen. A lot of those wands end up doing the wrong things in the wrong hands, V-Voldemort included."

Shut the fuck up, bitch. Harry smiles at Neville and gestures for Dean to carry on.

"Right-o, my one's ash with unicorn hair inside." Dean slaps Ron on the back. "You're up last, mate."

"Willow and unicorn hair for me. And by the way, Neville, my sister's got a yew wand and she ain't evil."

Flitwick brandishes his wand and smiles. "What an extensive list, eh? You're all probably wondering why I've requested the composition of each of your wands? Well, it doesn't take a wandmaker to know that each one is unique, and that different types possess an affinity towards certain areas of magic. Take, for instance, the dogwood type wand; non-verbal magic is simply a no-go there as it refuses to comply."

Hermione raises her hand. "Professor, what would happen to a sixth-year student with a dogwood wand? Surely they wouldn't be exempt from the entire non-verbal aspect of our curriculum?"

"An interesting question indeed," says Flitwick. "We haven't had a dogwood student at N.E.W.T. level for quite some time. Most of them tend to leave after fifth year to pursue other activities. But for those that stay, well, we can fund them to purchase a second wand for the sake of getting through these years."

"What if they really don't want to use a spare wand?" asks Terry Boot. "Or what if they have a terribly tough time being chosen by another one?"

Flitwick sighs and shakes his head. "There's only so much support and guidance we can offer. In those cases, especially the former, said student will have to forgo getting their N.E.W.T.s."

"Sucks to love your dogwood wand too much then," says Roger Malone.

"Anyway, with regards to Miss Bones, pine wood will either be of superb help or detriment depending on her level of non-verbal practice. Regarding Miss Perks, however, alder is quite possibly the best suited wand wood for non-verbal magic."

Sally-Anne beams in absolute delight.

"However, you should never underestimate any wand's ability in the right hands. For example, my wand contains unicorn hair in its core, and I've beaten many dragon heartstring owners in the past. At the end of the day, a wand is merely the tool for a wizard to channel their magic..."

Following a hectic dose of theory and homework, the sixth-years exit Charms in sighs and groans. Harry, however, finds a different matter to complain about en route to Transfiguration after lunch hour.

"Could you believe that guy? My gran once said yew is a bad omen. Where's he now in Transfiguration, huh? Can't cope with the coursework, Duelling Group Toadboy Leader."

Pansy shrieks with laughter as she walks between Harry and Hermione across an icy Middle Courtyard.

"I'm going to tell Neville what you said," says Hermione.

"If you care about your Housemate's dignity, then don't," warns Pansy. "Because Harry would own him in any form of confrontation, right?"

Harry scratches the back of his head. "Well, uh, Neville has gotten a bit more 'meaty' since years back. I'm not so keen on getting into a Muggle scuffle with him..."

"If he so much as lays a finger on you..." Pansy whips out her wand and nearly hits Hermione in the face. "Whoops! You alright there, Granger?"

"Don't worry about me when there's Transfiguration coming up; I hear Professor McGonagall's going to be even harder this year than ever before."

True enough, their first class ends up being a nightmare of theoretical models and complex explanations indeed. All thirteen students soon gawk at their textbooks throughout Professor McGonagall's lecture on what is expected from here on out. But even worse, for most, is the non-verbal spellcasting stipulated by this subject as well.

"...I hope you will all come to realise the sense of urgency that is needed to get through the next two years," says McGonagall while standing at her blackboard. "If you fail to maintain a sufficient pace by January, then perhaps you might end up reconsidering your presence in my class."

"Damn, she sounds as bad as Snape!"

"I heard that, Miss Brown; two points from Gryffindor for lack of respect."

Lavender blushes and looks at her fidgeting fingers. "Sorry, Professor."

Alchemy follows Transfiguration, which leaves Harry free to complete McGonagall's immense homework in the chilly library. Meanwhile, Pansy joins Millicent and Sally-Anne at their table which leaves Harry alone with Hermione at the back of the library.

"It's so cold in here," says a shivering Harry, grinning mischievously as Hermione sighs.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" She withdraws an empty jam jar before conjuring and inserting her familiar bluebell flames. "Here you go, my darling."

"Where'd you get that from?" asks Harry, eyeing the jar once it's placed beside him on the desk. "Don't tell me you're stealing Hogwarts' kitchen items?"

"Ever heard of Transfiguration? Oh, and by the way: thought you were funny retelling that Devil's Snare incident from first year, hmm?" Hermione puts on a haughty expression. "Now let me ask: are you a witch or not?"

"Hilarious, Hermione."

They plough through their homework in frantic silence over the next two hours until heading for dinner. Next on the agenda: Prefect patrol until around midnight, after which Harry and Hermione return to their respective dormitories and plonk themselves to sleep. But given that neither has continued Astronomy nor History of Magic, they reunite once more in the library on Wednesday morning.

"Good to see you're putting your free time to constructive use, Harry."

"Oh, I dunno; there was this idea about sitting in the bathtub and working—"

"Okay, sure; sounds fascinating indeed." Hermione ends up dominating over half their shared table while getting through McGonagall's homework. However, Harry soon responds by spreading out his books and leaning against her while writing. But what starts as a feisty retaliation soon ends up with Harry resting his head on Hermione's shoulder while working.

"How long until your schedule snatches you away from me?"

"I'll always try to make time for you, Harry. Quite frankly, I'm more concerned over that Potions book of Pansy's... or rather, yours now." Hermione glares at Harry. "I cannot believe what I saw you doing at breakfast this morning! Switching covers, seriously? Have you no shame, cheater?"

"Don't be jealous; I've always been decent at Potions so it's not actually cheating, is it? Besides, maybe Pansy's right about that whole time travelling business. I am the Half-Blood Prince, yeah."

The look on Hermione's face speaks volumes. "My birthday's coming up in just over two weeks' time. Therefore, you can throw that book away as a gift to me, 'Prince'."

"In your dreams, Miss Granger." Harry catches her off guard with a swift kiss on the lips. "There we go; a nice, early birthday present before you come of age."

"Just think how lovely it'll be when I can finally do magic at home! Without the Trace, there'd be no stopping me from showing mum and dad what I can really do! Ahem, safely and within reasonable limits, of course." She quickly looks down as her cheeks blush a slight bit. "Um, don't tell Neville I said this, but I'd really prefer that you end up being Head Boy next year."

Harry sits up straight in his chair. "Is Neville actually trying to usurp that position from me?"

"Well, his grandmother has started pep talking him which is why he started this whole Duelling Group. In addition, everyone's been noticing the change in Neville, Harry. He's actually maturing like your dad did, unintentionally and in a different manner, though."

"But I'm the Chosen One; I've got to be Head Boy as well!" Harry almost slams his fist on the table. "Professor Snape would absolutely berate me for failing to represent Slytherin next year! Shit, man, the Half-Blood Prince can't disappoint his own Head of House."

"Then pull up your socks, quit cheating, and work harder, Harry James Half-Blood Prince Potter."

'Work harder' is exactly what Harry aims to do later on. After lunch, six Slytherins make their way down the icy slopes towards Hagrid's cabin where they knock and wait.

Harry peers into the window and gasps. "Nobody's home? But it's our Care of Magical Creatures period!"

"I bloody knew something like this would happen!" scolds Tracey, kicking up a bit of ice. "Your big heart has blocked you from seeing just how unprofessional your big friend happens to be, Harry."

"No wonder we're the only damn ones stupid enough to continue with this stupid subject," says Millicent. "It's only day one; still plenty of time to switch to maybe Herbology or something."

"No one talks trash about Hagrid." Harry glares and frowns. "Not even you girls."

"Everyone shut the heck up and sit on a barrel or something!" says a groaning Daphne. "Maybe our gamekeeper has a very good reason for being late?"

"Like what, exactly?" asks Sally-Anne. "I could've used this time more effectively than wait out here in the freezing wind."

"Half-Blood Prince, you convinced us to haul arse to this class; so, do something!" says Pansy, visibly shivering. "I'm not lifting a finger for a spell, because we're not even supposed to be taking this class."

Harry prepares a makeshift campfire as the group of six sit outside Hagrid's cabin for minutes on end. Ten... twenty... thirty... and, eventually, forty minutes pass by with the group studying other work in the meantime out here. Finally, as the clock strikes 3:40pm, Hagrid comes racing out the forest with Fang at his side.

"Blimey! I'm... I'm sorry! Almost forgot tha' anyone bothered to take me class this year!"

Harry gives such a livid glance at his girls that they opt to withhold their criticism. "It's okay, Hagrid; but did you honestly think I'd ditch your class?"

"Well, um... yeah." Hagrid suddenly bursts into tears while standing at his garden fence.

"What the heck's wrong with this man?" asks a gaping Tracey. "Your pal's a nutter, Harry."

"Wow, I guess Harry's presence means a lot more to Hagrid than we thought," says Millicent, before Hagrid dries himself off with a handkerchief.

"He's dyin'! After all these years, he's really dyin'; the good old lad!"

Pansy shoots Harry an alarmed look. "Oh my God, Harry? Are you hiding something from us?"

"What?" Harry doesn't know what to think at this point as Hagrid continues:

"I don' know what I'll do if he dies... we've bin tergether fer so long! I remember when he was such a wee little lad, oh no..."

Daphne races forward to embrace Harry in a hug. "No! You can't leave us so soon!"

"But we're supposed to get married someday," says Pansy, shoving Daphne aside to squeeze a bewildered Harry into a hug.

"What the f— I'm not dying!"

"He always looked so healthy," says a sobbing Hagrid. "I can' believe it... so sudden, and now he's gonna be leaving! Wha... Wha' are yeh lot doin' over there?" He glances tearfully confused at the handful of girls reassuring Harry of his survival. "Oi! Was none of yeh listenin'?"

"We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey on the double!" says a tearful Pansy, ushering Harry towards the slopes. "I wanna see my little Parkinson-Potters running about someday; I wanna give one daughter the middle name of Alyssa. You're not dying on me now, Harry Potter!"

"Oi!" yells a half-tearful, half-gawking Hagrid. "It's not Harry's that's dying, yeh silly bunch... it's Aragog!"

"Who the hell is Aragog?" asks Tracey.

It takes a few seconds for Harry to remind them of his Forbidden Forest trip with Ron, minus Harry's first ever Killing Curse attempt.

"Oh, that Aragog," says Millicent. "Well, er, our condolences, I suppose?"

"Have a little heart, Millicent!" scolds Harry. "That Aragog is the poor creature who got used as a scapegoat by bloody Voldemort which got Hagrid expelled from school!"

"WHA'?"

"Oh shit," mutters Harry, "I shouldn't have said that; I really shouldn't have said that..."

"Yeh mean ter tell me..." Hagrid kicks down his own fence (startling the girls). "Tha' ruddy no good, lyin', backstabbin', snobbish, hateful git was, or is, You-Know-Who?"

"Hasn't Professor Dumbledore ever told you about"—Harry pauses for a moment and considers withholding Voldemort's name from his girls—"that Prefect prat who ended up becoming the Dark Lord?"

"Wait a minute..." Hagrid looks highly embarrassed as he stares ahead. "I think he had mentioned it long ago bu' I musta fergotten. Been too long ter be of any importance, yeh see? Still, um, thanks for reminding me about all tha'. No, really, I'm not bein' sarcastic. Yer girls oughta take a lesson from my experience with—"

"Don't say Voldemort's name, Hagrid! If one of my pals lets it slip, and Voldemort finds out, they'd be dead and unable to even be buried," warns Harry. "Maybe when I kill him someday, then I'll tell you girls all about Voldemort back at school."

"But we wanna hear about him now," says Daphne. "Come on, don't be so stingy. How do you even know all about him as a student?"

"Will someone please get this dog away from me?!" yelps Sally-Anne, who's had Fang at her side for the past few minutes.

"Oi, get inside the house, yeh ruddy dog," says Hagrid, ushering Fang inside. "How could Harry not know anythin' about You-Know-Who? That man basically ruined Harry's entire childhood, of course. Gotta know yeh enemy well ter beat the waste of space."

"Um, Hagrid, about Aragog..." Harry looks up at the tearful Professor.

"Oh, how I wish yeh could all come with ter say 'hi'. It won' stop the inevitable, but it'd still be a nice enough thing ter do for the old man."

Millicent and Sally-Anne swiftly protest the decision as the latter speaks. "Even if we wanted to come with, we can't! It's already ten minutes to four and we've got Ancient Studies at half past four."

"Yes," says Millicent. "Perhaps some other time? But we really need to prepare for our upcoming class later. Um, Professor Hagrid, are we even doing any work today? There's nothing prepared at all."

"Go then," says Harry to whoever doesn't wish to stay. "But I'm going into that forest for some real Care of Magical Creatures."

"This is a true lad! More than anyone can ask fer!" Hagrid grabs Harry into a near crushing hug before letting go. "Ahem, make sure yeh're well prepared and stuff. The rest of the horde are gettin' a bit riled up now that Aragog's about ter leave 'em fer good. If it comes ter violence, then do what's necessary ter defend yerselves."

"Violence?" Pansy grins. "Count me in, Professor! Anyone else? Daphne? Tracey?"

"Um..."

"Well..." Tracey makes a pleading gesture. "Maybe some other time, really. Daphne and I have got a lot of Alchemy readings to review for our next lesson."

"I promise we're not making excuses and/or lying," adds Daphne, before Hagrid excuses the class.

"Ah well, just make sure yeh don' draw too much attention ter yehselves fer havin' no work today."

"You're the best, Professor Hagrid!" Daphne leads the way as she, Tracey, Millicent and Sally-Anne stealthily return up the slopes.

"Alrigh', yeh two, follow me and don' do anything stupid, understand?"

Harry and Pansy nod in unison as they head off into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid leading the way.