HP 6 - A different Half-Blood...

The Box

Ron and Hermione looked stunned when Harry sat down next to them without their encouragement. Ron eagerly passed some food to him. He was not sure exactly what to say, but he knew where to start. He was about to take a bite of his sandwich, but put it down.

"Sorry, I've been avoiding you guys. I know it hasn't been easy dealing with it. I just needed some time alone," he said, carefully.

"It's alright, Harry. We've just been worried about you," Hermione said, trying not to show how happy she was.

"Yeah, so, when's next practice?" Harry said and spent the entire afternoon talking about new Quidditch moves with Ron. Hermione was shaking her head the whole time, muttering Quidditch.

The next few weeks were uplifting, since the holidays were almost here. Harry started spending day with Ron and Hermione. Quidditch was beginning to be as exciting as before and Harry's mood was better. He enjoyed being with Ron again. Occasionally, he drifted back into his depressing mood, but he stayed with his friends.

The downside was that Hermione insisted that they do their homework. His grades began to slightly improve, but he still was not showing any interest in his classes. He kept to himself and did not really try hard. Ron and Hermione had not mentioned Sirius or his dreams, yet. He was still trying to figure out how to open his mother's box, which he carried with him in case he got inspired. However, it never happened. Whenever they went to the library, Harry would look through the books and avoiding questions as to what he was looking for. He did not have much progress, and he noticed Malfoy sulking around in there one time, but he ignored it.

When they visited Hogsmeade the last weekend before break, they went to the Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer, and Ron finally decided to ask him about Christmas. Usually, they stayed at school, because he didn't want to go back to the Dursleys'. Last year, they had gone to Grimmauld Place, Sirius's house.

"So, do you want to come back to my house for Christmas?" Ron asked, still acting cautiously around Harry.

"I don't know, maybe I should stay here," Harry said, though immediately expecting an argument.

"Why?" Hermione said, a little cross and less wary than Ron asked.

Harry did not know what to say, but he remembered how cheerful Sirius had gotten when they came to visit at Christmas. He didn't really want to fake enthusiasm by going back to the Burrow. However, Ron either got encouraged by Hermione's attitude or feared it, because he took the offensive.

"Well, mum says she'll come up to the school to get you, if you don't come. Come on, mate. Hermione's coming," Ron said, with a little force.

"Why are you going to be there?" Harry asked Hermione, trying to sidetrack them.

"I... decided to spend some time... with... you guys..." Hermione said, turning slightly red, and glancing at Ron and then back at Harry.

"What about your parents?" he asked.

"If I wasn't going to Ron's, I would have just stayed here, but this isn't about me. Are you going to come or not?" Hermione asked, shortly.

"Come on, Harry! It'll be fun! Fred and George will be there and Bill and Charlie will probably stop by, too. And...." Ron said, eagerly.

"Alright! I'll come. Ok. Calm down," he said grudgingly, not completely regretting his decision. Maybe it would do him some good.

"Ok, I'll tell mum," Ron said, grinning.

"Great, Harry. It'll be fun," Hermione said, supportively.

"Yeah, can't wait till she sees me," he said, sarcastically as he was still very thin and had a slight limp, too.

* * * * *

There were two weeks left until the holidays. Harry woke up the same way he did every morning. Sirius had fallen through the veil again, but Snape was the one who stopped him from rescuing Sirius. He hated Snape for it. He wanted to blame him, but he could not. Snape was the reason Voldemort did not have the prophecy, and none of his friends died, instead of just Sirius. He went downstairs to the common room and sat by the ashy remains of the fire.

Snape. He taunted Sirius. He made him want to leave the house and still shows no regret for what happened. He takes pleasure in tormenting me. Harry thought vengefully. He knew he should not be thinking about it, especially since he had Snape first thing this morning. Nevertheless, when he got to Potions, his feelings toward Snape had not changed. Snape set a difficult antidote to the poison they made last class. Harry's was awful. Nothing Hermione could say would help it. By the end of class, his potion was mucky brown instead of green. Snape came over and Vanished the contents.

"Potter, I want you to write up the correct composition of this potion and explain the effects of every step in detail on my desk next class! And it had better be right!" Snape sneered with a kind of pleasure.

Harry looked at him, rage burning. He knew he had to control himself. He sat on at his desk and before he could stop himself....

"Yeah, whatever..." he mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

He knew the second he said it there was going to be hell to pay as the stunned class stopped what they were doing and looked over. Snape looked almost happy at the site of him losing control.

"Detention Potter, and stay after class," he said, triumphantly.

The rest of the class started putting their stuff away and left the class quickly to avoid being caught up in Snape's wrath. Before Hermione left, she told him to keep his temper, but he was not listening.

Snape came around to his desk and said, "Follow me, Potter."

Harry followed him into his office.

"This is going to stop! I don't know how your other professors deal with you, but I will not tolerate this behavior! I can and will remove you from my class if you do not improve!" Snape shouted. "Not trying because it's too easy? You have got a lot to learn. You are just like your father, so arrogant...."

"I am not!" Harry shouted. He did not care if Snape gave him a week's worth of detentions. He was not going to take it from him anymore.

"DON'T TALK LIKE THAT TO ME!" Snape roared.

"WHY NOT!?! You finally got what you wanted, didn't you?" Harry yelled angrily, though his voice was cracking with emotion.

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSE TO MEAN, POTTER!?!" Snape demanded, surveying Harry thoroughly.

"Don't you get it? You won! James is dead. Sirius is dead. My mudblood mother is dead! You got your revenge! Or do I need to pay for what they did to you, too?" Harry snarled, and noticed that he had unconsciously pulled out his wand.

Snape did not say anything. He just stared, as though thinking about what Harry said. It might have been Harry's imagination, but his face fell slightly. Harry, however, was too angry to care.

"May I go, now? Sir?" Harry asked and tried to stop shaking in anger.

Snape just nodded. Harry went quickly upstairs to lunch. He was still fuming. The next few classes Snape did not say a word to him or give him a detention. Harry was not stupid enough to ask about it.

As Christmas got closer, the teachers found it harder to keep the attention of the students. They gave most of the students a break. The fifth and seventh years, however, had mountains of papers to do. Ginny never had time to hang around them, unless it was Quidditch practice or they helped her with her homework. One night, Ron and Hermione let Ginny and Colin study while they helped the other prefects put up decorations before the train left. Harry had stayed with Ginny by the fire, while she studied. When it got late, Ginny decided that she had enough studying and went to bed. Harry watched her leave, and for reasons he could not explain, he wanted her to stay, but he went back to staring at the fire. Neville came up and unexpectedly sat in the chair next to Harry.

"Hi," Neville said and Harry looked at him. "Sorry if I'm disturbing you."

Harry shook his head indifferently and looked back at the fire.

"You know we've all been worried about you. You came back all beat up and thin. You don't sleep and you have dreams about.... You talk in your sleep sometimes, you know," he said quietly.

Harry's throat seized up, but Neville continued, "I know you haven't talked to Ron and Hermione about what happened. Last time they asked you, you stopped hanging around them... again. Harry, there was nothing you could have done. I was there. If they hadn't come, we'd both be dead, or worse...."

Harry looked at him. Both Neville's parents were tortured until they were insane. They did not even recognize their own son. It was something that Harry was sure had tormented Neville his whole life. It was easier to talk to Neville. He knew what the loss meant. He grew up without his parents.

"No one would have been killed if I didn't go there," Harry said, quietly.

"Voldemort doesn't wait till it's convenient to kill people," Neville said, clearly.

Harry looked at him. He had never dreamed he would hear Neville say Voldemort.

Neville sighed, "My whole life everyone has always had to help me. I-I used to think that my parents just wouldn't tell... them... what they knew... that they did it to protect me or be some kind of heroes. I hated them for that. I didn't understand then that it didn't matter if they knew or not. The Death Eaters are evil and they like to cause pain and suffering... and they are winning, Harry. You are letting them win. He wants you to suffer."

Harry stared silently into the flames, trying to understand exactly what Neville was saying.

"When I first came here, I didn't really want to do magic. I didn't want to be like my parents, but then I met you. I liked it here, but I still was bad at doing magic. I never really was motivated to do better. Then he came back and I wanted to fight him like my parents did and you showed me how. You don't know how much you have done for me," he paused for a second and looked at Harry. "You were going to give them the prophecy, weren't you?"

Harry nodded, slowly.

Neville looked into the fire, lost in his own thoughts, "I guess I found out what the Cruciatus Curse feels like... I wonder how long they did it...."

Harry broke his silence out of sympathy, "Neville, you shouldn't think about that...."

"Why?" he said, looking back up at Harry. "It's what you are doing. I never told anyone about my parents, and the people that know don't bring it up... so that I would be ok... so that it wouldn't hurt? I've had to keep it inside me since I can remember. Harry, you have to talk to someone, don't hold it in. Believe me, I know...."

Tears were forming around his eyes, and without another word, he got up and walked out the portrait hole. Harry just stared at the exit. Everyone was worried about him and he had been ignoring them the whole time. He had already thought about it before, but the threat of the prophecy had overcome it. When the time comes, Hermione would bring it up soon....

* * * * *

It was almost the holidays, when Harry noticed something peculiar. It might have been because he started to spend more time in the Great Hall, or maybe from Gryffindors' performance in the last Quidditch match, or possibly, because Harry cursed those two Slytherin boys, but the fact remained that the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin had reached a new pinnacle. Many students from both Houses were sent to the hospital wing after several altercations.

The Slytherin team was also relentlessly training and booked the pitch every day. They always changed their times to Ron's schedule, but Ron did not think anything of it. He decided just to show up randomly to train. The Slytherin team did not like it, and tried to adjust by posting lookouts.

Amazingly, Malfoy was not among the Slytherin conspirators. He had retreated into solitude and Crabbe and Goyle abandoned him for Nott, who had become "enemy number one" in the Gryffindors' books. The Slytherins would not forget Malfoy's current indigence. Some even refused to be in company with him. Nott was not as popular, because his dad was also arrested, but he was so outgoing that the Slytherins had to side with him. Crabbe and Goyle's parents were also wanted by the Ministry of Magic, based on Harry's identification, but never were prominent students in the first place.

Nott was not as bad as Malfoy had gotten over the years, but still caused problems. Only Harry, Ron and Hermione still looked at Malfoy as a threat. It might have been because of all the confrontations they had had over the years, but they believed that he was just waiting for the right moment to strike.

It was a week until the holiday break, when Ron had just returned from the hospital wing. The new Slytherin Captain Adrian Pucey had hexed him, and Ron developed a large boil on his arm when he put it up to block the spell. Pucey was going to hex him again, but Ron Stunned him.

Snape, who somehow showed up right after it happened, tried to give Ron a week's worth of detentions, but Professor McGonagall saved Ron by announcing she had seen the whole thing and awarded Gryffindor twenty points. Ron said the boil was worth twenty points and a chance to Stun Pucey, who had gotten as bad as Montague was in the previous years. Montague should have been captain again, but he had not fully recovered after Fred and George threw him into a Vanishing cabinet last year.

"Yeah, that bloke Pucey woke up to McGonagall yelling at him. It was great. You should have been there," Ron said, that night in the common room.

"Potions was about to start, we couldn't have been there," Hermione said sternly.

"I know. Snape wasn't happy," Ron said.

"I bet. He doesn't like missing an opportunity to put you in detention," Harry piped in, enjoying the small victory over the Slytherins and Snape.

"I still can't see why Dumbledore trusts him. He's a Death Eater. He's even got the mark. I wouldn't trust anybody who..." he said, starting his "Snape rant" again.

"Ron! We've been over this a thousand times. Dumbledore trusts him. He hasn't done anything to us, but show favoritism and that does not make him a Death Eater!" Hermione insisted.

"Well, what about what he used to be like, when You-Know-Who was around the first time?" Ron asked.

"We don't know anything! You are just guessing!" Hermione half-shouted.

They went on until well after eleven. Harry toned them out. The common room was almost empty before then. Most of the Gryffindors knew Hermione's temper enough to get away. Others did not want to be around the noise, so the rest cleared out fast.

"Oh, really? How can you think that? If you could just stop being so ignorant! Don't you realize that Dumbledore knows what he's doing! Snape is giving our side valuable information!" Hermione said, angrily.

"I'm not ignorant! And you think you're always right! What kind of information is Snape giving You-Know-Who!?!" Ron shouted, his face was completely red.

"Voldemort, Ron!" she snapped. "Stop calling him You-Know-Who! And you have no idea wh-"

"Enough! You guys have been going at it for over an hour now. Please stop!" Harry shouted over them.

Ron looked disgruntled and said, "Sorry, mate."

Hermione mumbled an apology, too. Harry let out a breath of exhaustion. Crookshanks had crawled up into his lap when Ron and Hermione had started their row. He sat perched up and watched them bicker back and forth as if it was a show, but he was now curled up sleeping in Harry's lap. Ron sat down on the couch next to him and then Hermione pulled up a seat in front of Harry. They had trapped him and he knew what was coming.

"Harry, please don't storm off," Hermione said, tentatively.

"Yeah, I think we should talk," Ron said, forcefully.

"You haven't let anyone talk to you about it," Hermione said.

"Mate, it isn't good to keep it all bottled up. We're worried about you," Ron said, overly confident.

"You were going off alone and not talking to anyone..." Hermione asserted.

"...not showing up for Quidditch..." Ron said, quickly.

"...and not doing your homework," Hermione cut in, eyeing Ron irritably. "Harry, don't you think you should talk about it?"

He smirked slightly. This was not the first time he thought they had rehearsed a conversation, but the reality of talking about Sirius sunk in. His eyes rested on the attractive fire and his heart was thumping in his ear. He could not get out, now, if he wanted to. But did he? Hermione saw his hesitation and knew she had been in this position twice now. She choose her words carefully and decided to say his name.

"Sirius loved you and was willing to risk death for you. He made that decision. He wanted to fight them. It was a tragedy that he died, but he chose it," she paused, waiting to see if Harry would say anything.

He looked at the floor and put his hand on his forehead. He was on the verge of tears. The moment she said Sirius's name, his back tensed up and his throat was so tight that he felt like someone was choking him.

"Harry, it's not your fault..." Hermione began.

"Yes it is," Harry said roughly, still staring at the floor.

Hermione, though relieved that she actually got him to talk, now faced the difficult task of trying to make him understand.

"Harry, don't..." Hermione said compassionately.

"Hermione," Harry looked up into her eyes, his voice as even as he could make it, "you tried to tell me, didn't you! You said it was a trap! I didn't want to listen. I led you all down there! I got Sirius killed. I-I almost got both of you killed!"

He glanced up at Ron, who turned white and was shaking with emotion, but Harry could not look at him anymore. He buried his face in his hands. He could feel tears coming on. Hermione was trembling, too, and her eyes were full of sympathy.

"H-Harry y-you left out an important part. You tried to check for him.... Y-You did. You couldn't tell Kreacher was lying. You can't blame yourself for that. And as far as we go, Harry, we knew what we were getting into. We were expecting a fight, after all V-Voldemort is a very powerful wizard. You didn't want everyone to come. We made you take us..." Hermione said, quietly.

Harry never looked at it that way. He put his hands down, but still watched the floor. His eyes were full of tears. He was shaking.

"Yeah, but I had to go play the hero," he managed to articulate, because his voice was hoarse from his extremely dry throat.

"Harry, 'playing the hero' as you put it, isn't a bad thing. It's what makes you a good person. It makes you who you are. It makes people like the Neville, Ron, me, Ginny, Hagrid, Colin, Luna, Fred, George, Sirius and all your other friends want to be with you and would gladly fight with you, even at the risk of our lives. Harry, you saved me. You saved Dobby. You saved Neville. You saved Ginny. You saved Sirius. You kept the school from closing. You taught the DA. You won't let danger come to even strangers. Fleur didn't think you were thick. She thanked you for rescuing her sister.

"And you did it all without reward and great risk to your life. Think of how many times you have almost died. You can't save everyone. It isn't your fault that Voldemort wants to come after you. You didn't ask for all this, but you do it anyway and look how you suffer because of it," she finished, her lip was trembling and her eyes were full of tears.

Harry looked up into her eyes. He had taken what she said to heart. The prophecy was not even a thought. All he could think about was Sirius. He missed him. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. He leaned back and tried to choke back the tears.

"He was just... the-the closest... person... I had... to a-a..." Harry faltered.

He could not say it. The pain overwhelmed him. He wanted some relief, some happiness, but he could not find any. He shook more, his eyes watered, and without warning Hermione left her seat and wrapped her arms around him. He just broke down. Everything that he was feeling, losing Sirius, what Hermione had said... just came out.

She tried to comfort him, and eventually he choked back the rest of his tears and leaned back. He was taking short breaths, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Hermione and Ron just stared at him. He did not know what to say. He felt slightly ashamed that he broke down like that and wanted to leave.

"I-I think I'll go to-to bed..." he managed to say.

He stood up and set Crookshanks down on the floor.

"Err... thanks... see you in the morning..." he said, uncertainly.

"Ok, Harry," she said, wiping the tears off her face and Ron just nodded.

Harry grabbed his bag and walked slowly upstairs. Neville, Dean and Seamus were playing cards in the safety of the dorm room. He shielded his red, puffy eyes from them.

"Hey, Harry. Did they finally quit down there?" Neville asked, curiously.

Harry nodded, as he walked to his bed.

"Are you going to sleep?" Neville asked, still watching him.

"Yeah," he said, trying to make his voice sound normal.

"Ok, let's finish the game down there," Neville said.

"We could just finish it tomorrow," said Seamus, who was watching Harry.

"Nah, I'm awake, let's finish it, now," Neville insisted with some resolve, and Dean nodded.

After Dean and Seamus left, Neville said quietly, "You alright, Harry?"

"Yeah, thanks..." Harry mumbled.

His voice was cracking, but Neville said nothing else and left. Harry tossed his bag on the bed to look for his pajamas and, as it landed, the top spilt open. Harry took no heed and changed very slowly. When he went to put his bag into his trunk, his mother's box fell out the top. He rounded the bed and picked it up. He wondered if he would ever get it to open.

Harry sat down on his bed and held the box tightly in his lap. "I know you will grow up to be an extraordinary person." Was he? He thought of all things Hermione had said about him. Was it enough to make his mother proud, enough for her sacrifice? Would Sirius be proud? he thought.

Tears started to form in his eyes again. He had not cried since the beginning of summer. It was as if a heavy weight was lifted off him, and a single solitary tear streaked down his face and stopped at his chin. Before he could wipe it, it fell straight down onto the box.

He would not have thought anything of it, but the box started glowing orange and then back to brown. It began to get very warm. Harry brought the box closer to his eyes and watched with amazement as fiery letters burned themselves into the top of the box. The words were still bright orange like fire when Harry read the loopy letters:

Lily Evans Potter

That was not all. A bright yellow light emerged around the edges. Harry had to shield his eyes from the brightness. When it had gone, Harry looked. It was not glowing like the letters, but he could see a gap in the edges all the way around the outside. The letters on the top became black, as though they were burned into the wood. Harry was in shock, but after a minute, he felt around the edges and pulled the top off.

There was no note. There was only a wand laying diagonally, in a fitted layer for it. He looked with amazement. He reached to touch it, but could not do it. It had no writing on it, but it was made of willow. It was his mother's wand. She had left her wand for him. But why? He did not know.

He thought of how long he searched to get this box open and thought it would answer all his questions. Actually, it was quite the opposite. It caused a flood of questions to his head, but he did not care. It was something from his mother. He gathered up some courage and picked it up with his right hand. He gripped it and a sudden warmth came to his fingers like when he first held his wand. This wand picked him. He waved it around, and it felt so natural, just like his wand.

He held on to it for a while, but then he heard movement coming up the stairs. Harry gently put the wand back into its box. He was worried it would seal, again, but it did not. He stored it in his bag and pulled the covers. He grabbed his wand that was on nightstand and turned the lights off. All four of them came up at once. They quickly got changed and got in bed.

He thought about the box for a long time. It opened when he needed it, and now he had two wands. It should come in handy one day. He figured he could carry it as a backup. If someone disarmed him, he would be defenseless. This way he would be prepared, because lucky for him, Voldemort likes to goad over his enemies' predicaments. It was the reason Harry escaped him so many times.

He also decided he wanted to keep it to himself. A secret that he wanted to have, not one he had to keep out of fear or necessity. He rolled over and dreamt a good dream, for the first time since he could remember.