Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Setting: This story starts in the summer before Harry's sixth year.

In HBP, it seemed as if Harry got over Sirius' death pretty quickly. But what if he didn't? This story shows what might have happened.

Author's Note: Harry, not Snape, is the "half blood" mentioned in the title.

The Worst Summer Ever

He saw Sirius fall through the veil, and the world started to spin. "NOOO!"

Harry woke in a cold sweat, breathing deeply. His old nightmares were back this summer, only instead of hearing his mom's screams and Voldemort's maniacal laughter followed by a green light, now he heard Bellatrix Lestrange's taunts and saw Sirius dying right in front of him.

He hadn't gotten much sleep since that fateful day. He hadn't done much of anything except sit in his room with the lights off, doing nothing, and only leaving to grab an occasional snack or beer from the refrigerator.

He was just getting sick of it all. Sick of his boring life at the Dursley's house, where he was forced to spend his summers. Sick of battling Voldemort at the end of every year at Hogwarts. Sick of dealing with all the stares at school and his not-always-good popularity in the wizarding world. He wished desperately for a normal life, but he knew that it was something he would never have.

His whole life had been filled with heartbreak, and he'd had to overcome countless obstacles just to survive. His parents had been killed when he was a baby, and he'd been sent to live with relatives who hated his guts and treated him like shit for 11 years. When he thought he had finally found happiness when he was accepted into Hogwarts, all he found was more of the same, or sometimes much worse. He was the center of attention everywhere he went and had to deal with students and teachers who hated him. Not to mention his meetings with Voldmort. That he was also partly responsible for the death of his godfather, the adult figure closest to him, was just the icing on the cake. For the first time in his life,thoughts of suicide were creeping into his head.

He tried to find things to be grateful for. Of course, there were his two best friends, Ron and Hermione. They had been with him through all his troubles for the past 5 years. Yes, they had their share of arguments, but in the end they were always there for him. He thought of the few adults who had tried to help, like Dumbledore and Lupin, who actually cared about him. And of course there was Sirius and his parents, who had sacrificed their lives for him. He definitely did not want to do anything that would have disappointed them.

However, the more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that he wasn't meant for this world. The cons of living ultimately outweighed the pros. After he came to realize that, he pushed all doubts out of his mind and devoted his time to thinking of ways to get his revenge.

If he was going, then he was going to take someone out with him. After some thought, he decided that his target would be his longtime nemesis and tormentor, and the son of a death eater, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had been a thorn in his side ever since the first day of Hogwarts.

The only question now was how he was going to go about killing him. He dismissed use of magic immediately. Magic had made his life worse, and he wanted nothing more to do with it.

The best way to do it was to bring a gun to Hogwarts. Harry was sure that the school didn't have any barriers preventing guns, as they had never needed to. He would catch them with their pants down, that's for sure. But where would he get a gun? He couldn't do anything, couldn't even start making a plan if he didn't have a gun. The legal age for purchasing a firearm was 18, and he wasn't about to wait that long.

At 16 years old, Harry was slightly tall for his age, and at 6 feet, 150 lbs, he was no longer a skinny little kid with the dorky glasses. The depressed, dark look that had become a permanent fixture on his face made him even more intimidating. The muggles living with him were treating him differently. Aunt Petunia no longer scowled at him and sometimes even asked timidly if he wanted dinner if he had skipped it that particular day. Dudley no longer bothered him, and would quickly waddle out of sight if Harry came downstairs. EvenUncle Vernon was slightly uncomfortable in Harry's presence. When he spoke to Harry, it was not with scorn anymore, but in a normal voice.

However, Harry rarely came downstairs these days, which suited the Dursleys just fine. That's why they looked up in shock as Harrywalked into the kitchenthe next morning in the middle of breakfast.

"Hey Unk, remember that shotgun you got a few years ago when you tried to prevent me from getting my letters?"

Uncle Vernon twitched nervously. "Uh yeah…yeah, I seem to recall that." He muttered something about letting bygones be bygones.

"Give it to me."

Now nervous, Vernon stalled. "Uh…why-why do you need it?"

"None of your business, hand it over."

Vernon's face had gone red, his mouth open. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already shaking in their seats, fearing the worst.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pants. "I'm not gonna ask again."

"Y-you can't use magic, I know that…"

"Yeah, I may get in trouble," Harry interrupted, "…but not before hurting you and your family." He pointed his wand at Dudley. "Now get it."

Blanching, Vernon went upstairs to get the gun while Harry held Dudley and Petunia hostage in the kitchen.

He returned in a few minutes. "Ok ok, here it is, and here are the bullets. Now you let them go."

"I remember Hagrid bending this thing pretty badly…but it's fixed now. How?" He looked at Dursley.

"Yeah, er, I thought I'd get it repaired…you can't be too careful nowadays…" he trailed off feebly.

"Fine," Harry said, pocketing his wand. This might be easier than he thought. He paused for a second. "Ya know, you used this against me a long time ago. I guess I should thank you now for being so fucking cruel. Funny the way things turned out, right?" Harry smirked and, carrying the gun in one hand and the bullets in the other, he walked up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

One Week Later:

Harry looked at the Beretta shotgun with disdain. He had tested it on Dudley's pet ferret, somewhat, and found that it was not exactly the optimal weapon for his task. It was kind of big and unwieldy, and you had to reload after every shot. A machine gun would be much better, he thought. He could do more damage, and do it faster. Besides that, he only had 5 bullets. He would have to be accurate. But he had no choice. It was all he could get. At least it would fit in his trunk. That was the important thing.

A few days ago, Harry had gotten a letter from Dumbledore, saying he'd pick him up tonight. Harry had been annoyed. This would make things harder. But nothing that he couldn't handle.

All he'd have to do was act perfectly normal while Dumbledore was with him. Give the impression that he was fine and all that bullshit. He hated to deceive Dumbledore, but he really had no choice. Dumbledore was good at reading emotions. One slip-up could bring the cat out of the bag, and if the gun was discovered on him, everything would go to shit.

He wrapped the gun in his invisibility cloak, and put it gently at the bottom of his trunk. He would pack the rest later, when Dumbledore came for him. 11 PM. Just a few hours to go. Nothing to do but wait now. He pulled a chair up to his bedroom window and sat down.

He rehearsed the plan in his mind one more time…Malfoy would go down, and Harry would finish by putting the shotgun in his own mouth and blowing his brains out. That would be the end of it.

His friends would surely never forgive him for this, though, maybe even hate him for it. He sighed. They would never understand. But he couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret as he remembered all the good times they had together. He shook his head and quickly pushed it out of his mind. It was too late to turn back now, and he would be better off if he didn't second guess himself again. The plan was perfect. If he did everything he had gone over, there was no way he could fail.

Harry re-read the letter one last time. Then, he sat back in the chair, letter in hand, and waited. A smile spread on his face as he drifted off to sleep.

TBC

A/N: What do you guys think? Give me reviews.