One dreary December evening, the normally-empty Room of Requirement creaked open for the first time in months. Harry Potter stood in solitude, gazing at the practice dummies and other Defense Against the Dark Arts paraphernalia that he'd summoned from the room by sheer force of habit. Those things weren't why he was here now; Dumbledore's Army had been last year. This year…what even was this year? He sat in a comfortable chair that materialized right behind him, looked again at the piece of parchment in his hands and wondered why. Why, even though he no longer needed to run a secret club that illegally practiced defensive magic while a madwoman tried to turn the entire school into an arm of the Ministry of Magic, even though he was no longer dreaming about the Department of Mysteries every night, even though Dumbledore was talking to him again…even given all of that, why did did this year feel so much more complicated than the last one?

Well,for one thing, Dumbledore was talking to him again. Dumbledore had in fact recruited him to be his personal spy. Few things in the world vexed Harry than being someone's errand boy, even if the old man's methods were much kinder and softer than those of say, the Dursleys. Apparently, the headmaster had some dirt on the 'new' Potions Master, and Harry's first task was to strike up a friendship of sorts with Professor Slughorn.

As it turned out, getting chummy with Horace Slughorn wasn't as difficult as Harry had expected. When Harry and Ron reported to Potions for the first time that term, the jolly old man directed them to the back shelves to borrow a couple of copies of advanced potioning textbooks. Ron's copy looked practically as new as the day it was printed, while Harry's was full of creases and dog-eared pages.

When Harry flipped the weathered pages to brew a Draught of Living Death, he had found various notes and shortcuts scribbled along the margins, which clarified or simplified some of the more ambiguous steps. As Harry followed the scrawled notes, he found that they were far easier to follow than the actual printed steps, and by the time class was over, he had brewed a virtually perfect batch, thoroughly impressing Slughorn.

"Well done, m'boy," the Potions Master declared with a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Just like your mother – she was one of my finest pupils. Seems like you've inherited her gift…" He dug into his vest pocket, and produced a small teardrop-shaped vial and handed it to Harry. "Liquid Luck," he whispered to the lad. "Not an easy potion to brew – Polyjuice might as well be brewed overnight in comparison!"

As Harry packed his things and made his way toward the exit, he heard a bitter-sounding whisper directed toward him. "You're never this good at Potions," spat Hermione. "You cheated, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "How so? All I did was follow directions…"

"Bollocks," Hermione snapped. "I've known you for five years and even on your good days, you've never come close to brewing anything at an O-level."

"Or maybe Professor Slughorn just likes me," Harry replied coolly. "For the first time since I stepped foot on campus, I'm finding Potions rather interesting! Maybe his more relaxed demeanor provides the environment I need to thrive. Merlin knows we all have to walk on eggshells with Snape…"

"I'll be blunt - your marks under Snape were duly earned and not out of spite," groaned Hermione with a massive eyeroll. "I s'pose I'll be seeing you." She then picked up her pace and quickly disappeared from Harry's view. Harry turned around, and waved an arm several times to get his ginger-haired friend to pick up the pace.

"Oi!" Ron called out, who had just caught the end of the exchange. "What bug crawled up her bum?"

"I'unno, mate," Harry sighed. "If I didn't know any better, I think she might be jealous. Usually her potions are among the best, if not the best, in our class. She didn't take it very well today… not very well at all…"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Ron offered. "You know how she competitive she gets."

"Speaking of competitive, there's going to be some pretty stiff competition for quidditch tryouts," Harry advised. "You're a capable keeper, but I can't just declare you keeper without letting someone else compete for the role… you need to earn it like everyone else." Ron gave Harry a playful chuck on the forearm, as they made their way to their next class.

As Harry was already appointed Gryffindor Captain, he had the final say as to who would comprise the starting lineup for the 1996-97 school year. On a particularly blustery mid September afternoon, he had called all those who tried out to join him on the practice field so he could reveal the final roster. A smug seventh-year student, Cormac McLaggen, stood front and center, with a particularly haughty look on his face. "No hard feelings, Weas," he told Ron with a smirk. "There's room for only one keeper – but hey, look on the bright side. You've got the right build for equipment manager!" Ron glared at Cormac, before turning his attention back to Harry.

Harry stood on top of of a footlocker, and cast a voice amplification charmso as to drown out the wind gusts. "Thank you all for coming," he announced. "The lot of you had something to offer this term, but unfortunately there's just room for seven starters. Before anyone says that I've made biased selections, I've already run my final selections by Professor McGonagall, who had approved the roster just this morning."

He dug into his crimson robes and produced a parchment from his pocket. "As you already know, I fulfill both captain and seeker duties, so we'll just get to the six that are up for grabs. For chaser, our starters shall be Katie Bell, Felicity Rankin, and Ginny Weasley." A round of applause erupted. Katie got plenty of handshakes and shoulder pats as she had spent five of her previous six terms as a starting Chaser. Both Ginny and Felicity were relatively new faces; Ginny had made the team for the first time last year as a fourth-year, and Felicity was a third-year student who made it on just her second attempt.

Harry continued. "Our starting beaters are going to be Ritchie Coote and Cormac McLaggen." Again, more applause rang out, though Cormac mouthed "what the hell" to himself, as he had expected to make the team as keeper and not beater. He raised both an eyebrow and a hand. "'Scuse me, Potter," he trilled. "Surely there's been some mistake. I've auditioned specifically for the keeper position, and not beater. Are you sure that roster is correct?"

Harry nodded curtly before double-checking the roster. "This is the finalized roster, Cormac," he confirmed. "I understand you tried out for Keeper, but our house head and I have determined there's greater need for you at beater."

Cormac bared his teeth. "Fine, Potter. Then pray tell, who's our keeper?"

Harry didn't even have to look at the parchment. "Ron Weasley." A huge chorus of cheers erupted from the stands; Ron's face turned nearly as purple as an eggplant.

"That's unfair," grumbled Cormac. "He was only selected because he's been your loyal lapdog for five years. He doesn't have my athleticism or reflexes… you know it to be true."

Harry shook his head. "Ron won the position fair and square. If you're that adamant that you should have been named keeper, then you're free to take it up with Old McGonagall. Remember, she has the final authority on the team's makeup. And you should be grateful that you're a starting member at all – there are several players who won't be starting this term that would gladly take your place." He then lifted his head to address the gathering at large. "For those of you who did not get a starting spot – it was not meant to be a slight against your capabilities. We still have need of your services. If you so wish, we can place you on standby, so if one of our starters misses a game due to injury, illness, or for disciplinary reasons, it's possible that you may be asked to fill in on an emergency basis."

Several weeks later, Gryffindor was about to face off against their archrival, Slytherin. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Great Hall trying to enjoy a peaceful breakfast, but Ron barely touched his porridge.

"What's wrong, mate?" Harry asked his friend. "We play in just a couple of hours – we can't have you wig out on us!"

Ron shrugged. "I'unno, Harry," he moaned. "I mean I'm glad I'm keeper and all, but what if maybe Cormac might actually be a little bit better than me? He really is good at it…"

Harry smiled at Ron. "Look at me, Ron. You might be one of my best mates, but I appointed you keeper because you really are the best we've got. Cormac's good, yes… but I've seen what you can do in practice. You've got a nose for the quaffle that he doesn't - he can let the quaffle get past him every once in a while. When you're in your groove, nothing can get past you." He then reached inside his robe pocket, and opened up a small clear glass container, and poured a small amount of liquid in Ron's pumpkin juice and winked. "Bottom's up, Ronnie."

Ron just looked at Harry in shock, before looking back into his mug. "Is that…"

"Felix felicis," finished Hermione. "Liquid luck… I wouldn't drink that if I were you, Ronald."

"Why not?" Harry and Ron asked at the same time.

Hermione balled her hands into fists, and bonked both her friends on top of their heads. "Because it's banned, you gits. You could both get into some serious trouble… you for knowingly possessing it, Harry, and you for willingly taking it, Ronald. You could be in detention for the remainder of the term… even expulsion is a possibility."

"It was a gift from Professor Slughorn," Harry replied indignantly. "It's mine to use as I see fit."

Hermione gave Harry a sharp glare. "A gift you hardly deserved. Professor Slughorn had no business brewing it, much less offering it to a student." She lowered her voice to an ominous growl. "Ever since you've started taking Slughorn's class, he's taken a suspicious amount of interest in you. You know bloody well that you're a very average potioneer, yet you're getting the highest marks in class. His personality is far more pleasant than Snape, but his actual teaching method isn't radically different. Now, fess up and tell me what's really going on."

Harry closed his eyes, and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I… I can't."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I just can't," Harry repeated. "Not here, at least… perhaps I can tell you later." Meanwhile, Ron downed his juice, and sat back with a massive grin on his face. "Ronald!" Hermione yelped. "I can't believe you just did that… aaargh!" She rolled her eyes so dramatically that if they weren't held in place, they could have fallen out. She quickly gathered her things and left Harry and Ron to themselves at the table.

A supremely-confident Ron marched out on to the quidditch pitch a few hours later, and no matter what Slytherin tried to do, Ron was there to deny their chasers any opportunity to let the quaffle get past him. Much of the Gryffindor student section erupted in massive cheers every time Ron deflected the quaffle, particularly from Lavender Brown, who found herself quickly enamored with the Gryffindor keeper.

Unbeknownst to either Harry or Ron, Hermione was a no-show, instead choosing to spend her time studying in a mostly-empty library while nearly all of her housemates were in the stands. When the final whistle sounded, Gryffindor had beaten Slytherin soundly, by a final score of 370-60, easily the Serpents' most humiliating defeats in several years.

As Harry and Ron made their way back to the Gryffindor common room to change and then celebrate the victory with their housemates, Ron couldn't help but express some gratitude to his friend for the pick-me-up. "Thanks for the boost, mate. Made all the difference."

Harry shook his head. "No, Ron. It was you… it was you all along."

Ron shook his head, confused. "Whaddya mean?"

Harry grinned, and reached back into his pocket, and produced two glass vials that upon first glance, looked identical. "I know better than to give you the real stuff."

"You mean… you mean, the stuff you put in my juice was fake liquid luck?" Ron just stood in disbelief, not fully able to process what had just happened. "You mean… my performance was real?"

Harry's smile broadened. "Exactly… and the way you performed out there was quite real. That's the Ron Weasley I selected as keeper."

"You better tell Hermione that," Ron urged, as Harry nodded in agreement.

When the pair returned to the Gryffindor common room to celebrate, they noticed that Hermione was missing – the two searched the room high-and-low, but she was nowhere to be found. Harry then spotted Ginny, and looked at her with a somewhat panicked expression. "Hey Ginny," he panted, "have you seen Hermione? I thought she'd be here… there's something important I gotta tell her."

Ginny shook her head slowly. "Sorry, Harry, I haven't… I can check the girls' dormitories really quick if you'd like."

Harry nodded appreciatively. "Please do, Ginny… thank you so much."

"Of course," Ginny replied with a friendly smile.

Meanwhile, the resident fashionista Lavender Brown finally spotted Ron. "Hey stud," she cooed, hoping to get his attention. "Best performance I've seen by a keeper since I've been watching quidditch. Let me show you my… appreciation for your efforts today." She grabbed Ron by the collar of his sweater and lunged at his lips as she thrust him downward on the seat next to her.

When Ginny returned, the first thing she was was Lavender and Ron snogging. She covered her mouth with a hand, temporarily forgetting her main purpose of telling Harry that she was unsuccessful in finding Hermione.

Harry found Ginny in a daze, and snapped his fingers a few inches in front of her nose. "Earth to Ginny," he murmured. "Any luck with Hermione?"

"Oh!" Ginny gasped. "Sorry… erm, no, I haven't seen her. This isn't like her, just up and disappearing without telling anyone…"

"I know," sighed Harry with disappointment in his voice. "She seems to be rather upset with your brother and me today for some reason."

"Speaking of," Ginny continued, "you might not want to tell Hermione what Ron's up to right now…"

"Huh?" Harry went, before Ginny pointed her head toward the love seat where Ron and Lavender were busy snogging. "Oh… yeah, I think that'll be between just us."

"Since when were Ron and Lavender an item?" asked Ginny.

"You're his sister," Harry replied in an equally-confused tone. "You're usually privy to that sort of thing even before I am! I've never seen them together before…"

"And you're his best friend," countered Ginny. "You're privy to things before I am for other things, so it goes both ways."

"Touché," Harry replied. "Well, if you see Hermione, please let me know I'm looking for her, and that I have something to show her."

"I will," Ginny assured Harry. "See you!"

Later that evening, Harry found a distraught Hermione in the common room. She was sitting by herself in the corner, sobbing hysterically. "Hey, Hermione," Harry said in a soothing tone. "I've been looking for you today. I was starting to get a little worried."

Hermione was uncharacteristically unkempt – it looked as if she had been pulling at her hair, and snot and tear stains were visible on her sleeves. "Oh my God," Harry breathed. "Hermione, you're clearly not okay. I'm here if you want to talk… I only want to help. You're one of my two best friends…"

The only answer Harry got were jagged breaths. "If it means anything, Ron didn't cheat today," Harry elaborated. He then produced both vials of elixir. "I gave him a few drops of distilled water – a placebo. I knew better than to give him the real stuff… it was all Ron today. I'm very proud of him."

Again, Hermione just sobbed. "That… that's not the reason I'm upset," she wailed. "I saw Ron… snogging Lavender this afternoon. He's only doing it to get back at me for what happened during fourth year… I thought I meant more than that to him."

"No," Harry said. "Ron snogging Lavender has nothing to do with you… Lavender is a very opportunistic girl… she's always wanted to be part of the in-crowd, and with how Ron played today, well… he's probably the most popular guy in Gryffindor right now. He's not the type that would do things out of spite, especially since what happened at the Yule Ball was two years ago. Ron's not that petty."

"He's ignored me ever since I came back this afternoon," Hermione said. "Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but it's incredibly hurtful. He has never ignored me before… at least not because he was interested in another girl."

Harry nodded in understanding. "It's not in Ron's nature to just ignore you - you mean way too much to him. Lavender can't make him happy the way you can."

Several tears of shame leaked from Hermione's eyes as she nodded. "That's not the only reason… I still can't wrap my head around the fact that you're suddenly the next Potions prodigy when you've rarely shown the skill or even interest until just this year. I know I'm a competitive person in the classroom, but what boggles my mind is that my best effort's always given me top marks, but you're just making concoctions like it's second nature, and now my best efforts can't compare to yours. It's that book, isn't it?"

Harry sighed; he knew the jig was up. "It is," he admitted. "I don't know who left their notes in it, but I want to find them, and thank them if they're still alive. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually starting to enjoy potions this term…"

"Let me see it," Hermione asked. "Maybe I can help you figure that out."

Harry nodded, and went to his room to retrieve the book. A minute or so later, he returned to the common room and handed it to Hermione, who flipped through the text, looking for any clue she could find to deduce the identity of the previous owner. "It doesn't specifically say," she murmured, "though on the back cover of the book, it's got some sort of moniker on it – 'Half-Blood Prince'. I don't rightly know who or what that refers to, but that would probably be a good starting point."

"Half-Blood Prince," Harry repeated softly. "I guess I've got some researching to do…"

The next day, Harry paid the library a visit, hoping to find any leads on the so-called "Half-Blood Prince". He scoured the shelves for any historical volumes which would contain any references. After picking up a half-dozen tomes, he found a dimly-lit nook in the rear of the library, and began scanning the pages. About an hour into his research, he saw a mysterious hand thrusting a slim mahogany wand directly in the middle of the opened book before him.

The voice that followed was also strange to him; it was simultaneously haunting yet beautiful. It was slightly lower-pitched than Hermione's, though the accent was virtually identical. The hand clasping the wand was far more delicate than Hermione's – this girl's skin was utterly flawless – no ugly cut marks or moles to mar it. "If you're looking for the Half-Blood Prince, Potter, you won't find him here."

Harry spun around to meet the gaze of the girl. She was familiar – Harry had seen her in some of his classes, but to his recollection she sported the Ravenclaw blue, and was not able to accurately place a name to the face. She was of average height and slim build – maybe a centimeter or so taller than Hermione, and though her hair was of a similar shade of russet brown, she often wore hers in an intricate halo-style braid instead of hanging down in a wild jungle.

Her nose was quite distinct, with a noticeably concave curvature, and her eyes were an icy blue. Her lips were red and full, with a small dark mole just above them. Harry had to admit that she was quite beautiful – one of the loveliest girls in his year, perhaps rivalled only by Slytherin heiress Daphne Greengrass. Her expression was neither warm nor haughty – in fact, Harry wasn't sure if she was there to help or mock him.

Harry found himself in a trance, before realizing that he was just staring at this girl. "Sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean to stare. I know I've seen you, but I don't think we've been formally introduced." He offered his hand to her. "Harry Potter."

The girl didn't budge; her expression remained impassive. "I know who you are, Potter," she said softly. She took a single step toward him. "You and I both know you're a fraud in Potions. You're a shade better than the likes of Weasley and Longbottom, but that's not saying much."

"Professor Slughorn seems to like me," Harry offered. "I might not be as good as he thinks I am, but I do want to maintain the goodwill that we do have. For the first time, well, ever, I'm starting to like Potions."

The other girl nodded. "You're a textbook Gryffindor – brash and stupid, but honorable. Merlin knows how much Granger has enabled you; she's helped you study but she doesn't actually teach you how to study. She's intelligent, but not particularly crafty – there's a reason she's not a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? You seem to be awfully judgemental… you clearly know a fair bit about me, but I don't even know your name."

"I have my gifts, but unlike Granger I choose not to flaunt them." the girl admitted. "As far as my name, it's because I haven't given it to you."

"Just… stop with the games already," Harry grumbled. "If you're going to help me, then help me; if not, then please be on your way."

The girl nodded curtly. "The only thing you need to continue your research is that old borrowed potions book. You won't find any references to the 'Half-Blood Prince' in the library because it was a nickname who belonged to a very private person." And with that, she turned around and left Harry to his devices.

Harry found himself being summoned to the headmaster's office with increasing frequency. While Harry appreciated the brevity of the meetings, he also couldn't put his finger as to why Dumbledore had become so dependent on him this term. Although Harry had his suspicions, the old man had never been completely up-front with Harry as to the purpose of these visits.

"Harry, I need to show you something," Dumbledore murmured to the lad. "This is a memory, though it appears to have been partially modified." He instructed Harry to place his head in a specially-prepared bowl, and observe the flashback. What Harry witnessed was some sort of soiree. When most of the guests were dismissed, only one stayed behind, intent on asking his host a question. The boy was perhaps fifteen years old, Harry thought, and based on his features and Slytherin green uniform, he deduced the young teen to be Tom Riddle. The host looked familiar – like Professor Slughorn, though much younger and thinner. Tom seemed persistent about knowing more about forbidden magic, as he had appeared to have more trust in Slughorn than the other professors, but Slughorn curtly denied him any details and angrily escorted him out of his office.

"That memory is only part of the story," explained Dumbledore. "If we're going to defeat Voldemort, we need to know precisely what kind of dark magic Horace denied young Master Riddle; though in truth, he must have unwittingly led Tom down a rabbit hole. I fear that Horace blames himself for Tom's descent to darkness, but I do not think ill of him for it." He smiled sadly at the boy. "In retrospect, I believe it was always Tom's destiny to epitomize black magic; but back then, we only knew him to be inquisitive, studious, and charming. Not one of us would have taken him to be the monstrosity that he is today – not even myself."

"He's the heir of Salazar Slytherin," Harry replied. "He idolized Slytherin and his ideals, didn't he?"

Dumbledore again gave Harry the same, wistful smile. "That he did. But again, none of us made the connection fifty-odd years ago." He let out an airy sigh. "This is important, Harry. We need the memory – in full – and only Professor Slughorn can give that to you. I'm afraid he's too guilt-ridden to just give it to you, so you may need to think rather like a Slytherin to get him to reveal the original memory… you may have to get crafty, perhaps even a little underhanded… it may take you some time to get it, but I cannot over-emphasize the importance of your success… the fate of the Wizarding World depends on it!"

It was mid-November, and every last leaf had fallen. Even the daytime highs rarely strayed more than a few degrees above freezing, and the haunting sounds of the Arctic winds whooshed about without relent. Over the past few weeks, Harry had found himself drifting away from both Ron and Hermione. Ron was spending most of his free time snogging Lavender, while Hermione had become increasingly withdrawn and neurotic.

The only time Harry saw Ron was late in the evenings before lights-out, and whenever Harry tried to bring up the subject of Hermione, Ron either ignored him or tried to change the subject, even though Harry had mentioned how terrible Hermione had looked as of late… she had lost weight and dark, heavy bags formed under her eyes. This was not the pretty, perky girl the boys have known for the past five years. Additionally, Ron's ostensible indifference to Hermione's worsening condition both worried and frustrated Harry to no end.

After a particularly exhausting quidditch practice one late fall afternoon, Harry again found Hermione cooped up in a corner in the common room, huddled under a blanket. "Holy shit," Harry breathed after noticing her gaunt appearance. "Hermione, we have to talk." He plopped down next to her in the corner, doing everything in his power to ge her to open up.

Hermione barely looked up, before returning to her book.

"This is not you," Harry continued. "You've been hiding from me ever since the first match of the season. You can't tell me with a straight face that nothing's wrong, because the girl I see is not the Hermione Granger I know. Please, talk to me…"

Hermione took a sip from her mug of tea and tearfully looked at Harry. "Harry, I… I'm sick."

Harry nodded. "What kind of sickness? Is it physical, or is it more emotional?" When he got no response, he slowly reached out and held Hermione's hand. "It's okay - I'm your best friend. You're sick - if you're not comfortable telling me what's going on, then please see Professor McGonagall. Madam Pomfrey. Someone… you can't continue to battle this alone."

"What the hell do you know, Harry?" snapped Hermione, jerking her hand away from Harry's grasp.

Harry reeled at the unexpected reaction. "I… I'm sorry, Hermione," he stammered, unsure of what went wrong exactly. He then paused - when Hermione released her hand from Harry's, were those… cut marks on her wrist and forearm? His jaw dropped at this revelation. "Oh Merlin," he murmured. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

"Mind your own fucking business, Potter," Hermione snarled with uncharacteristic contempt. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my classwork."

Harry could only blink in disbelief before getting up and leaving for his own room. He quickly wrote a note to his house head expressing his concerns about Hermione, and fled to the owlery for immediate delivery.

Several days later during breakfast, Harry had gotten a response from McGonagall via owl. He swallowed hard as he read its contents:

"Dear Mister Potter,

Thank you for reaching out to me. I'm afraid I cannot elaborate, but as of this morning, Miss Granger's maladies are being evaluated in the infirmary. I will let you know when you're able to visit her.

Sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall"

As Harry folded the parchment up, he heard a strange coughing sound from behind him. Harry whirled around and saw the same Ravenclaw girl he met in the library from a couple weeks prior.

"Hi, Potter," she said in a gentle tone. "I'm very sorry to hear about Granger. I may not know her as well as you, but she and I do study together on occasion. She's usually so upbeat and vivacious."

"You," Harry replied with utter surprise. "What are you doing here?" He narrowed his eyes. "Were you reading over my shoulder?" he asked in an accusatory manner.

The girl shook her head 'no'. "That letter's none of my business, but I can put two and two together. I came to check up on your progress. Have you deduced their identity yet?"

Harry tilted his head. "What the… no! I haven't had time to do any detective work. I've had more pressing things, such as making sure Hermione got the help she needed…"

"There's no need to get so defensive," the girl replied, unfazed. "I merely asked a simple question."

"You'll have to forgive me, but the timing of it makes it just a little insensitive," Harry quipped. "And I still don't know your name."

The girl sighed. "My name is Cherrywine."

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "What kind of name is that? Is that your first name, or last name?"

Cherrywine remained perfectly impassive. "It's the name you may call me until we get to know each other better, Potter."

"I s'pose it's better than nothing," groaned Harry. "Nice to finally make your acquaintance, Cherrywine."

Cherrywine nodded. "Likewise."

As the end of November approached, Harry had begun to feel despondent as Lavender Brown and depression had deprived him of both of his best friends. Sure, he had other friends like Neville, Ginny, and Luna, but they weren't the same. They didn't share all of the same adventures or experiences that he did with Ron and Hermione.

After Charms class ended on a cold Tuesday morning, Cherrywine silently dropped a sheet of paper on Harry's desk as he was getting up to head to his next class. It wasn't just any sheet of paper – it appeared to be a folded parchment. As he read the note, the handwriting looked strangely familiar. Much of it had been scratched out – likely on purpose – but there were two sentences that she apparently wanted Harry to pay attention to in particular:

"Miss Cherrywine,

I shall reluctantly allow you to borrow my personal copy of Advanced Potions on the condition you do not share this with anyone else – not even faculty. I want it directly returned upon the conclusion of your OWLs in the exact same condition as you borrowed it."

The handwriting in the note was not the same as the writing in the book as it was written in distinct block lettering, but it gave Harry something to think about at the very least. It's most likely not a student, reasoned Harry, so for the next several days he began to pay attention to how each of his instructors wrote. He began to rule out candidates, one-by-one, and by Friday afternoon, he was confident that he had it narrowed down to just two.

After school had dismissed for the day, Harry returned to the library and looked up genealogy books. His first target was Professor Slughorn, but Harry looked at the family tree, he realized that the aging Potions Master was actually of pureblooded stock, so it would not have made much sense to label himself he 'Half-Blood Prince'.

As he closed the book and placed it back on the shelf, he heard the voice of Cherrywine from behind him.

"Hello there, Potter."

Harry turned around and forced a smirk. "Oh, hi there, Cherrywine."

Cherrywine just frowned. "I thought I told you that you didn't need to go to the library to do your research..."

"On the contrary," Harry replied. "I needed to know the family history of some of our faculty members… it was a process of elimination, you see. I think I know who the Half-Blood Prince is."

Cherrywine folded her arms across her chest, with a look on her face indicating that she wasn't convinced. "Oh?"

Harry looked into her ice blue eyes and held her gaze before continuing. "It's Snape, isn't it?"

Cherrywine nodded. "And what led you to that conclusion?"

"I compared the note you left on my desk to the way our professors write," Harry replied, "and while I was able to eliminate the pool of candidates one-by-one, there were a couple that I was torn on, so I decided to go to the genealogy route, and since Old Slughorn is a pureblood, that automatically rules him out."

"Impressive, Potter," murmured Cherrywine. "You're not as dense as you look."

"Thanks, I think," Harry grumbled.

Cherrywine put a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. "I'm just messing with you, mate." She uncovered her mouth and continued. "I suppose you can call me Anastasia now, if you'd like."

This time, Harry suppressed a laugh. "Anastasia, as in the so-called lost Russian princess?"

This time, Cherrywine made no attempt to suppress her giggles. "It isn't a Russian name, it's actually Greek for 'resurrection'."

"I guess I learn something new every day," Harry said with a shrug. "And the revelation that Snape's the Half-Blood Prince… it's a little, erm, unsettling."

"I know you two don't necessarily see eye to eye," Cherrywine admitted, "but even if you don't like him much as a person, you need to respect his prowess as a mage. He's one of the most skilled in all of Magical Britain."

"I don't doubt it," murmured Harry. "Not all his notes were Potions-related. I actually found quite a few useful spells in there…"

"And he'll probably vomit knowing you've unwittingly become privy to some of them," Cherrywine said with another round of laughter. The smile on her face evaporated as she addressed Harry again. "You really should stop using that book, Harry. In a way, it's almost like reading someone's diary – you've basically invaded his privacy."

"I know," Harry whispered. "I'll give it back to Professor Slughorn on Monday – he was the one who let me borrow it. I s'pose I could share with Ron…"

Another smile dared to tug on Cherrywine's lips. "No, Harry. You need to keep up appearances – you're right, the ol' Slug seems quite fond of you. I'll share with you for the rest of the term, if you find such an arrangement agreeable."

Harry again thrust his hand out. "I think… I think you've got a deal, Anastasia. Thanks."

Anastasia shook Harry's hand firmly. "Don't mention it, Harry. I'll see you in class."

It was finally the first day of December, and a light dusting of snow had finally hit Hogwarts. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get the students excited, as it meant that the holiday break was soon upon them. That morning, Harry was sitting by Ron, who was staring lovingly at Lavender for seemingly the ten thousandth straight morning. When the school owl arrived to deliver post, Harry was surprised to receive not one, but two notes. As Harry read each note, his heart filled with joy, as the first letter was from Professor McGonagall, who said that Hermione was finally on the mend, and was able to receive visitors. The second was from Professor Slughorn, who had personally invited Harry to join him for a Slug Club party for the Christmas break – along with one guest of his choosing.

As usual, the space between Ron and Lavender was so tight that it could practically have created a vacuum. Harry waved a hand in front of his friend's face.

"Oi! What's up, Harry?" yelped Ron.

"It's Hermione… she's been in the infirmary about a week, and Professor McGonagall says she's finally stable enough to receive visitors. I think seeing her after class would do her some good."

"I might be able to spare a couple of minutes," Ron replied with indifference, just before Lavender turned his face toward hers for a quick snog.

Harry rolled his eyes before returning to his meal. Even Neville, who had been sitting on the other side of Harry, could only shake his head in exasperation.

Later that day, during their free period, Harry addressed Ron in their dorm room as it was one of the few times that Lavender wasn't attached to his hip. "We need to talk, mate," he said in a serious yet gentle tone. "About Hermione."

"Okay," sighed Ron. "What about her?"

Harry shook his head, flabbergasted. "Are you flippin' kidding me? Hermione was literally dying before our very eyes until I owled McGonagall to step in and get her the help she needed." He let out a sigh. "Ron, don't take this the wrong way, but you need to rethink your priorities. Lavender is pretty, but she's a diva. She flirts with whoever's popular - it's you right now, but if Cormac takes out half the Hufflepuff team next game, she'll dump you for him faster than a Firebolt. "

Ron looked at Harry indignantly. "Jealous much, Harry? Last I checked, you're not the one scoring with a hot girl…"

Harry felt the temptation to lash out at Ron, but managed to keep his nerves in check. "Listen to me, Ron. Having a girlfriend is one thing, but there are other people that need you, too. As I said- Hermione was - and still is - very sick. She could have DIED if I didn't step up and say something. While I should shoulder some of the blame, it was YOU that was flat-out ignoring her this whole time. This is the girl that's been at your side for five ruddy years, and you're pissing away a treasure you might not ever find again. Hermione isn't just any girl, Ron. She isn't interested in money or popularity - she likes you for you."

Harry choked back tears before continuing in a soft voice. "She's been starving herself, Ron. She hasn't been sleeping well. She's been cutting herself… healthy people don't do things like that."

Ron hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry, mate… I was a right git. I'll meet you at the infirmary after dinner this evening, all right?" He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, as Harry nodded his approval.

A few minutes after seven, Harry Potter waited in front of the infirmary. Ron should have been up here by now, he thought to himself. He let out an impatient groan, but just as he was about to turn around and knock on the door to enter the infirmary by himself, he heard voices in the corridor - but they were loud and harsh-sounding, rather like an argument.

"Why in Merlin's name are you bringing me up here?"

"I'unno, because maybe you'd want to be there for someone who means a lot to me?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the sight of Ron and Lavender bickering - he'd never seen them argue before, but he had to admit that he was pleased that he seemed to have finally gotten through to Ron.

Lavender balked at Ron's statement. "She doesn't seem to be that important to you - you haven't been her friend since the start of term!"

Ron stopped and blinked. "You're right… I haven't been a very good friend to her this term. But Hermione and I have been through a lot together - I'd be stupid to just throw something special away, because she is special. Why can't you see that?"

"For starters," countered Lavender, "we'd only be getting in the way. I mean, she's dating Harry…"

"Are you ruddy kidding?" Ron roared back. "Harry and Hermione aren't an item! He's not her type, and I don't think Harry feels that way about her anyway…"

Lavender gave Ron a hard eye roll. "How would you know? It's not like you've spent much time with Harry lately - there's been plenty of opportunity for them to hook up!"

Ron paused. He looked at Lavender, then took a breath. He looked at Harry and acknowledged him with a nod, before looking back at Lavender. "I know, because I've spent five of the best years of my life with two awesome people that I've taken for granted lately. Look, I've had fun with you this term, but I've also had fun with Harry and Hermione. I've also grown with them - part of what makes us a trio is experiencing both the good and the bad. You need to understand that these two people are special to me, because they're more than friends. They're more than family. They're a part of who I am, and nobody can take that away. Not even you."

Harry smirked at Ron before nodding with firm conviction. He then turned to Lavender. "Lavender… I think it's best that you go."

Lavender glared at Harry. "Fine, Harry. That's what I was about to suggest anyway. Let's go, Ronnie…"

Ron shook his head sadly at Lavender. "I'm sorry, Lavender, but I'm staying with Harry."

Lavender threw her hands up in the air in annoyance and let out a dramatic groan, before turning around and leaving the boys by themselves.

When Madam Pomfrey let the boys in, Ron rushed to Hermione's bedside. He could barely recognize the poor girl, as she had become so thin and her marred skin had only begun to heal. Hermione had been asleep, but the sound of sniffling and moaning had stirred her to a state of semi consciousness. She opened her eyes and turned very slightly to see the sight of a repentant Ron sobbing next to her.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he began. "I didn't mean for you to end up like this… it's all my fault. I have acted ruddy rotten all term, and I was too stupid to see it. I know I don't deserve it, but could you ever forgive me for being a total git?" He slowly took her hand and just held it; neither of them said anything for what seemed an eternity. Ron blinked away a tear before looking at Hermione. "I've missed you."

Hermione's lips curved into a faint smile. "I've missed you too, you prat," she whispered.

Harry approached Hermione and smiled broadly at her. "Hey, Hermione. How are you feeling?"

"Other than the dehydration, occasional urge to vomit, and my whole body is incredibly sore? I feel bloody fantastic," replied Hermione with a shrug. She then let out a bit of a giggle.

"Is there any chance you'll be out before the holidays?" asked Harry.

"Fifty-fifty," Hermione whispered. "I want to eat again, but what they call 'food' in the infirmary is practically inedible - it's hard to regain the weight I've lost because it's that awful!"

Ron winced. "We'll sneak a meat pie or two as soon as we can, courtesy of my mum," he promised.

Hermione flashed a smile that hinted at her old self. "I'd love that."

Harry looked at the piece of parchment in his hands again as he sat in his very comfortable chair.

"Dear Harry,

Meet me in the Room of Requirement at exactly 8:45 this evening, and come alone."

The grandfather clock in the corner said 8:47. Harry frowned slightly. He hadn't been too suspicious of the note when he'd received it. It was functionally impossible to set a trap in the Room of Requirement; it would just obligingly disarm itself when the intended target came inside. However, it would be just like this year, he thought, if it had been a prank that had called him here.

The door to the Room of Requirement creaked open for the second time in months. The steady sound of footsteps jarred Harry from his daze. To his surprise, the figure approaching him had swapped the familiar blue-accented sweater vest, starched white collared shirt and pleated skirt in favor of a flattering black cocktail dress and matching pumps.

"Sorry I'm late," said Anastasia Cherrywine.

Harry grinned bemusedly, relaxing. "This was a pretty cryptic way to…what, invite me to the Slug Club Christmas Party?"

She laughed. "You know, I hadn't actually thought about that." As she lightly stepped over to his chair, it extended sideways into a small couch. Wasn't there a name for small couches? Oh yes, they were called lo- "I had something else on my mind, Harry Potter."

She was sitting beside him now. When had that happened?

"You." Her eyelids fluttered. "I had you on my mind." She casually ran her fingers through her light brown hair, which cascaded in gentle waves several inches past her shoulders.

"I…me?"

"Yes, you. Harry. Potter." Flutter. She waited. She continued waiting.

"That, well, that is what they call me. Well, that and 'The Chosen One', haha!" Why was he such an idiot? Why was- was that a hint of hibiscus he detected?

Her lips were on his. She pressed herself against him. He was so taken by surprise that when she pulled away–pulled only her lips away, every other part of her that was touching him stayed right where she had put it–only then did he remember to breathe.

Her ice-blue eyes burned.

"That remains to be seen, Harry Potter."

Perhaps this year wasn't so complicated after all.