J.K.Rowling owns all the characters and locations! I did not create them.

Harry Potter and the Half blood Prince

Chapter 1-Letters to nobody

At number 4, privet drive, it was a glorious summer morning. The birds sung their celestial tunes, the butterflies pirouetted through the air, and the sun slid upon the lush green leaves of the trees causing a green glow to illuminate the surroundings. The local inhabitants of little whinging, and in fact nature itself, were celebrating the first burst of summer sunshine. Yet Harry Potter remaining cooped up in his bedroom, slumped upon his bed, staring into space.

The summer has not been it best for Harry Potter. Distraught over the death of his Godfather, he had spent his days shut away from the outside world. The teenage boy closed his eyes wearily, hoping that blessed sleep that he so desperately needed would fall upon him. But it was not so. Harry had barely any sleep through out the first few days of his stay at privet drive, and the precious sleep he did get was only to be interrupted by visions of a shadowy figure behind a billowing veil.

Harry's eyes snapped over as something collided with the window and caused a soft 'thud'. Harry saw, to his relief, that is was only an owl that had caused the disturbance. Harry's memory briefly flickered back to his fourth year, where beautiful and highly exotic birds used to arrive at his window, signalling to Harry he would soon be reading an amusing letter from Sirius. Harry found himself once again holding back tears, as he had done so many times that summer. As the flapped its wings against the window impatiently Harry was brought sharply back to reality. He made his way to the window, feeling more drained of energy than ever, and flipped the latch carelessly, allowing the owl to swoop in and drop a tattered copy of the daily prophet unceremoniously upon his bedspread.

Harry lurched towards the paper and quickly found the information he craved to know, yet the information he knew he would do best without knowing. Recent deaths. But before his tired emerald eyes had time to scan the most recent deaths, he found the tawny plumage of the delivery owl blocking his view. The bird flung out its leg, and Harry hurriedly placed 5 knuts into the little leather pouch that was strapped to the creature. Harry had decided to re-subscribe to the prophet since no other than his past professor, Remus Lupin, had been given the post of Minister for Magic. His vision soon fell upon the recent deaths and he felt his stomach lurch. Once again the location of the latest destruction was circling little whinging, getting closer and close with each paper.

Harry felt physically and emotionally sickened. Voldemort's mind games would meet no ends, Harry knew that. He tried not to let the gruesome stories of the latest deaths throw him, yet when he read of innocent muggle babies dying at the hands of death eaters, and pictures of the dark mark soaring above local villages, he couldn't help but feel guilt weighing him down.

If I wasn't here…none of this would have happened

No, Harry told himself sharply, he mustn't think that way. Yet the thought kept coming back to him, and on recalling the prophecy Harry couldn't help but think it was a lost cause. How was a teenage boy supposed to compare to a dark wizard at the height of his power? The feeling of hopelessness he had been feeling over the past few months was returning to him. Nobody, Harry thought, truly understood the meaning of 'the weight of the world on your shoulders'.

"Get a grip Harry…" he found himself muttering under his breath, trying to ignore the sharp stabbing pains in his scar that he kept experiencing.

Harry's eyes then scrolled to the main headline of the paper, it read:

New Minister seeks alliance with Muggle prime minister

Harry wasn't shocked in the least when he discovered Fudge had resigned from his post; though Fudge claimed he was 'at the end of his career' Harry knew full well it was the shame of not recognising Voldemort had returned. But what Harry didn't understand was why Lupin had been given the job. Harry could think of no-one more considerate or caring for the roll, yet the decision still shocked him, as Lupin wasn't exactly the most popular person within the public, due to the fact he's a werewolf.

It was then that Harry discovered why, his eyes scanned across a picture of the great Hogwarts headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who was gesturing to an audience and clearly giving some sort of speech. A small caption below the picture read:

Albus Dumbledore giving a speech to the public turning down the position of Minister of Magic.

Harry scanned the article quickly; it explained that Dumbledore himself had turned down the position though he had much support behind him. It also said that Dumbledore then proceeded to give a list of people he thought appropriate for the job, Lupin being top of the list. Harry felt sadness creep up upon him again as he read that there had been many revolts since Lupin was assigned the position, and that many ministry members had resigned in protest.

Why, Harry wondered to himself, did people react in this way, merely because a werewolf was their new minister? Many people despised Voldemort on the grounds that he was against anyone without a "pure" ancestry, yet they won't accept a werewolf? Harry shook his head, angry at himself to find angry tears streaming down his cheeks. He slid up the loose floorboard beneath his bed and surveyed the many crammed together issues of the prophet, he forced the most recent issue on the top of the pile then slumped down upon his bed.

Soon Harry felt the desire to go downstairs, as his room only brought back painful memories. Before heading down stairs he pulled open his wardrobe door and peered anxiously at his reflection. His physically appearance had certainly altered dramatically over the past few weeks, his once colourful complexion was now a permanent shade of white, and his sleep deprivation was certainly beginning to show around his eyes. He shut the cupboard and slumped against it, feeling thoroughly miserable with himself. Soon he was making his way down the stairs, adjusting his belt so it was tighter still, for his appetite had evaporated into almost nothing recently.

He noticed, somewhat apprehensively that there was a lot of noise coming from the living room. He crept to the doorway, his hand clenched on his wand ,only to find Dudley and his gang drinking what looked suspiciously like beer, slumped on the sofa that was creaking ominously with all their weight. Each of them was ranting individually, none of them paying the slightest attention to what any of the others were saying.

At that moment Harry's aunt stepped timidly into the room and silence fell. Piers hastily tried to hide his can of beer, slopping it down his front in the process.

"H-having fun boys?" Petunia asked apprehensively.

Harry knew perfectly well they weren't having fun. Dudley and his friend's prospects for the summer had taken a turn for the worst with all the suspicious deaths going on, they had all been banned from going outdoors by their over protective mothers and subjected to going round each others houses instead of hanging out on street corners. Aunt Petunia had been particularly anxious, as she was the only one who knew the truth as to why the deaths were happening.

A while later, after Harry had spent a restless day watching the news, he walked past the kitchen on his way to the stairs, to find his aunt, uncle and cousin all sat at the table preparing to eat. Harry tried to slip away unnoticed, but before he had the opportunity his aunt beckoned him and said to him, averting her eyes:

"Would you like some dinner?"

Harry was unsure why, but a simple question like that brought a frog in his throat, and he knew that if he spoke he would surely end up in tears. He could not remember a point in his life where he felt so emotionally fragile. Harry shook his head hastily, and took one last look at his red-faced uncle before returning to his bedroom. He distinctly heard his uncle say:

"-don't know what's wrong with the boy."

Harry spent hours in a stupor, laying on his bed in suspended misery, not even the prospect of letters from his best friends could take his mind off things, as there wasn't much point in writing to him, as they couldn't tell him any news on Dumbledore's orders. Occasionally he saw a flash of green light, not really sure if it was coming from nearby, or if it was merely his imagination. It was only after Hedwig came back from her night's hunt, a dead frog clutched in her beak, that he rose from his bed and drifted over to his desk. He sat on the half-broken chair, that Dudley had once kicked at in one of his tantrums, and found warm tears sting the bottom of his eyelids as he saw the many letters from Sirius that littered the desk. He rifled around and soon found a spare piece of parchment, dipped his eagle feather quill into the ink, and began to write. His hand shook so hard that the words were barely recognisable, and his tears splattered the page. As he finished he picked up the letter with a quivering hand and read:

Dear Sirius,

I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for it to turn out this way. It my fault that you died, I know it, no matter how much people try to pretend, that's the truth.

It's so tough…first I never grew up with a mum and dad, but then you came along and everything felt right again. As stupid as it sounds I had a kind of…y'know, father figure. You. And once again it's my fault you're gone. Sometimes I just wish I didn't exist, and then the world would be much better off.

Do you hate me Sirius? I'd give anything to be with you right now. Everything's empty without you.

Write back, please.

Harry.

Shakily he wrote on the front of the yellowing envelope:

Beyond the veil.

"T-take this…to Sirius." Harry said, beckoning his snowy owl, his voice not at all like it usually sounded.

Hedwig looked reproachfully at him, this wasn't the first time he had asked her to deliver a letter to Sirius, and she had searched fruitlessly for him, yet she never found him. He looked at her with tearful eyes, and she allowed him to tie the letter to her leg, resigned to her fate.

Harry say at his desk for quite some time after Hedwig departed, waiting for the moment she returned. Wondering vaguely where she left the letters, because she never had the heart to return the unopened letters back to him.

Next chapter: Harry's birthday.

A/N: Dedicated to Mr.Gomez ;), who wished me to attack snape with trash cans xD