"Look at this army of owls," chuckled Ginny as she pointed towards the window. "I wonder who is their victim."

Harry smiled at her; it was nice to see what was growing out of Ginny. From a small, insecure and awed girl, who could barely look at his eyes, she became a good friend. Because of his Quidditch ban he now saw her less, both since he wasn't present in the practices and because Angelina had tyrannized their free time almost as rough as Wood did.

He missed her, and all of his past teammates – well, maybe excluding Ron. However, most of all, he missed flying; it was his addiction, hovering above the towers of the castle, almost reaching the clouds. Breathing the refreshed air, tears rolling down his face freely as he dives into Wronski Feint and the gale hits his face.

His passion for flying and longing for his teammates were just another reason to begin working on Ron and Hermione's idea, a rebellion against Umbridge. Harry was sure that none of the players, especially the ginger girl, would stand aside.

The warm smile was erased from his face as he raised his gaze and saw the three owls assembled in a V form, soaring decisively towards the Gryffindor table. "Never say such thing next to Harry again." Ron remarked with faked horror as the group quarreled above the poor boy's seat about who will land first.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, and without anticipation waited patiently to see which twisted surprise god had prepared for him today. Due to his closed eyelids, he caught another glimpse of the corridors of the Department of Mysteries which were fresh on his mind. This night Harry tried to made sure he'll sleep well – he really did!  Yet, between dreams about Cedric and visions of slithering into the Department, his fragmented sleep had left him even more tired than usual. It seemed like his occlumency lessons won't be sequenced in the near future.

The smallest of the three had finally landed in front of Harry. He took the letter, grinning at the familiar writing. It was Sirius! He folded the letter neatly and tucked it into his pocket, despite the torn edge which indicated that Umbridge hadn't missed this note.

His eyes wandered to her face and there she was, looking as if she had swallowed a very tasty insect, leaning backwards casually. What an awful woman. He scanned the table. Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore were missing from breakfast and despite Harry's argument with Snape yesterday, he still wondered where were they. Perhaps it had something to do with the Department of Mysteries?

"That bitch." Ginny verbalized his previous thoughts and Ron spluttered.   

"Ginny, please don't tell mum who had taught you this word." Her brother begged, and Ginny smirked on the sly. "Don't worry, Weasley. I'm waiting since I'm five to this opportunity; I won't waste it."

Sometimes, Harry really wonders if all of the Weasleys were such Gryffindors as he believed, or some of them were given a choice by the hat.

Harry handed the small ball of feathers a piece of a dry toast and picked the letters from the other two owls, whom offered their legs obediently. When he finished, they took off, not even waiting for a treat.

"I think that the worst is yet to come." Ron referred darkly to Umbridge's pleased stance.  

Harry began opening the first letter but Ginny laid her hand on his. "Don't give her the satisfaction." She gently ushered Harry towards the exit from the great hall, Ron following them.

"Let's go to the library." He suggested. "Hermione is probably there."

"Did you just abandon your food for me?" Harry teased, receiving a friendly cuff on his nape. "Twat."

They all chuckled and Harry felt something warm forming inside his chest. No matter what the fates has planned for him nor Trelawny's horrifying forecasts, he could cope with anything as long as his friends were by his side.

In the way they've met Luna and after a very serious conversation about the conspiracy of the sphynx breeders, Ginny had willingly agreed to walk with the other girl and keep her company while she eats. Ron and Harry continued their journey to the library alone.

Predictably, the two of them discovered Hermione leaning on her favorite desk over there, absorbed in a big and heavy book. Wrinkles of musings had crossed her forehead. Surprisingly, Neville was sitting in the other edge of the table, writing vigorously something that seemed like an overdue assignment.

"Hermione," Harry whispered and she looked up, her face brightening. "Harry! Just in the moment I wanted to speak to you."

"Same over here, I guess." Harry answered while Ron muttered "Thanks for the warm welcome," scowling as they sat down. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued. "It's about the Half Blood Prince."

"What is it?" Harry had asked and Ron forgot his irritated façade, his curiosity winning over him.

"Look!" She pointed proudly at the book, which turned out as a genealogy guide. "There's a family whom surname is Prince!"

Ron didn't look very impressed. "Well, duh. It's clear that they exist. They're one of the ancient families."

If glares could've killed, Ron was dead by now. "Do you want to tell me," Hermione hissed, somewhat alike Snape, "That I've spent an hour in the library just because you didn't bother to tell me about the Prince family?"

Ron blinked, dumbfounded. "Er, you didn't ask?"

Obviously, it was the wrong answer, since Hermione stood up. "Ronald Weasly, you are impossible!" She cried out and smacked the book closed, exiting the library so agitated that she had forgotten her belongings.

"I'll bring it to her." Harry mumbled, beginning to gather her things. However, Ron didn't seem too upset. "I don't even know what's her problem." He grunted. "Anyway, the Prince family are pureblooded. And in case she had forgotten, our prince isn't…" He remarked loudly.

Neville cleared his throat, joining the conversation for the first time. "Actually, Ron, there's a chance that Hermione is right. One of the females is considered as a blood traitor, although I'm not quite sure what for. My grandfather was supposed to marry her and there was a huge fiasco over it. I can try to ask Grandma, if you'd like."

Harry forced himself to smile at Neville. "Thanks, Neville, but we would like to keep it quiet, if you know what I mean."

The boy grinned back kindly. "Anytime, Harr – " "I would like to keep it quiet, too! Get out of here!" Madam Pince cried out, shooing them away. Luckily, they were kicked out just in time to arrive to Charms with their last breath, panting after they've ran through half of the castle, Harry carrying two bags. Flitwick eyed him curiously but didn't comment as Harry took the place next to Hermione, who nodded at him gratefully (yet somewhat rigidly).

"Thanks, Hermione." He told her sincerely, nonetheless his instincts told him that the answer won't come from a book. Because, after all, he doesn't need to agree with her methods in order to appreciate her concern.

"You're welcome," she answered, her tensed stance visibly melting.

Due to the mess, the letters were forgotten inside his inner pocket until much later.

Ron wasn't waiting for Harry and seemed out of sight in the breaks between the lessons since Harry had chosen to sit with Hermione. Harry and Hermione walked together to Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration (in which McGonagall hadn't pointed even one question at him, probably because she saw his worn-out eyes). Even in Divination he skived off without telling Harry, but it was okay; if he wanted to play like it, it was fine by Harry.

He was enjoying the time he spent sitting next to Neville in Divination. The poor boy turned out as a refurbished target to Trelawny's death predictions (since he sat next to Harry, of course). Neville and him talked quietly and Harry wondered when did the scared boy who dropped the china in his third year had matured enough to skip effortlessly between pretending to see grims inside steaming tea mugs and teaching Harry some facts about the Potter family.

"I didn't know them personally, of course." Neville made a disclaimer. "But as a part of my education Grandma insisted that I must remember the pureblooded dynasties." Harry had learned that his grandfather and grandmother (Fleamont and Euphemia Potter) invented the most common shampoo in the wizarding world and that the Potter house is a descendent of the Peverell line.

"The truth is," Neville smiled gloomily, "Even your forefathers were famous. Rumor says they had the Deathly Hallows. I never believed that notion, though your cloak is... disturbing."

"Deathly what?" Harry asked, inquisitive. Neville glanced at him with surprise.

"You don't know that tale about the Deathly Hallows?" Harry shook his head and the other boy told him the tale.

Harry's forehead wrinkled. The cloak really did sound similar to his, and Ron did say that his cloak was very rare, but he just couldn't believe in some myth about hiding from Death, even while sitting in Trelawny's misty class.

Yet, a small voice whispered inside his head, Trelawny's prophecy last year came true…

Harry shook this voice off. Definitely the mists.

When they had left the class, Harry heard somebody calling him. He wearily turned around, tired of the new conversation before it had even began, and found once again Tracey Davis. She came closer. "Longbottom, may you dismiss yourself?" She asked bluntly.

Neville glanced at the girl, and – "No. Everything you trust me with you can also trust with him." Harry declared confidently, surprising the three of them.

Davis bit her lower lip, but didn't show other signs of worrying. "As you wish." She pulled out a small, half-full vial. "Catch."

Harry caught the curved throw with such an elegancy that only a seeker could have. "What is it?"

Davis was already walking away. "You'll figure it out, Potter. And if you don't, you don't deserve it. I've covered my debt!" She called backwards and almost clashed with Hermione, who was walking towards them, ready to eat dinner.

The Gryffindor boys exchanged looks and Harry told Hermione what had just happened. She took the bottle by her hand, shaking it. "Transparent, not thick. Could be Veritaserum."

"Perhaps the antidote?" Neville suggested and she shrugged. "I haven't read anything about it so far. It's a pretty complicated potion. I think it was added to the seventh years' curriculum for the first time ever, actually."

Harry grinned. "I know exactly which pair of seventh years will be glad to enlighten us. Let's go."

She eyed him strangely. "Aren't you hungry?" He shook his head in response. Only the thought of eating something was filling him with nausea.

"Well…" she scrunched up her face. "As long as you ate breakfast or lunch it's okay."

Harry made an unclear, noncommitting small noise and Hermione glared at him.

"Harry – " she began in her mothering tone, but Harry had enough of people trying to mother him. First Snape with his sleeping disorders, and now this...

"Leave me alone, Hermione!" he snapped. "That's none of your business!"

"Fine!" Hermione cried back, marching alone towards the great hall. Harry stood with Neville, watching her back. The other boy cleared his throat awkwardly. "You shouldn't have snapped, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I know." He stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling miserable, when he suddenly fumbled the letters from before. How could he forget about them?

His curiosity took a hold of him and he couldn't wait. Deliberately, he retrieved the two letters which weren't from Sirius; he was pretty sure that telling Neville about the incriminated ex-prisoned criminal wasn't a good idea. Harry read the first letter, his face darkening with each word. Neville gazed silently at the portraits nearby until Harry suddenly crushed down to the floor, pale, his hand still clutching the letters, his eyes reading them repeatedly as if refusing to believe what's in front of them. Neville mumbled something about getting a Professor.

Harry Potter,

There is no easy way to say it. Dudders is sick and needs a blood donation once in a week. The doctor said that his blood type is very rare – Rhnull. The ten known living donors in the UK had already donated too much blood. However, I happen to know that my sister has had this blood type.

It's your time to pay your debt for us. The clothes, the education, the money we've invested for putting food in your mouth. Don't abandon your family in hour of need. Don't be like her.

Come immediately.

Petunia Dursley.

The second letter was shorter, yet worse:

P.S. If you need an encouragement, remember the blood wards. I promise you that if something happens to our precious Dudley you won't lay a foot in this house ever again, no matter what Dumbledore says.

The world became black and Harry succumbed to the unknown darkness, wondering in the back of his mind if that's what occlumency is supposed to be like, just as a big, bat-alike shadow blocked the view of the prying portraits.