The Half-Blood Prince

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘“One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side-effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.” You know,’ said Hermione, looking up at Harry, ‘that really is extraordinary magic!’

  ‘For that, Hermione,’ said a voice behind them, ‘you can have one for free.’

  A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.

  ‘How are you, Harry?’ They shook hands. ‘And what’s happened to your eye, Hermione?’

  ‘Your punching telescope,’ she said ruefully.

  ‘Oh, blimey, I forgot about those,’ said Fred. ‘Here –’

  He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her; she unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.

  ‘Just dab it on, that bruise’ll be gone within the hour,’ said Fred. ‘We had to find a decent bruise-remover, we’re testing most of our products on ourselves.’

  Hermione looked nervous. ‘It is safe, isn’t it?’

  ‘Course it is,’ said Fred bracingly. ‘Come on, Harry, I’ll give you a tour.’

  Harry left Hermione dabbing her black eye with paste and followed Fred towards the back of the shop, where he saw a stand of card and rope tricks.

  ‘Muggle magic tricks!’ said Fred happily, pointing them out. ‘For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It’s not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they’re great novelties … oh, here’s George …’

  Fred’s twin shook Harry’s hand energetically.

  ‘Giving him the tour? Come through to the back, Harry, that’s where we’re making the real money – pocket anything, you, and you’ll pay in more than Galleons!’ he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labelled: Edible Dark Marks – They’ll Make Anyone Sick!

  George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and Harry saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

  ‘We’ve just developed this more serious line,’ said Fred. ‘Funny how it happened …’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can’t do a decent Shield Charm,’ said George. ‘Course, they didn’t have you teaching them, Harry.’

  ‘That’s right … well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh. You know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we’re still getting massive orders!’

  ‘So we’ve expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves …’

  ‘… I mean, they wouldn’t help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes …’

  ‘And then we thought we’d get into the whole area of Defence Against the Dark Arts, because it’s such a money-spinner,’ continued George enthusiastically. ‘This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we’re importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape.’

  ‘And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look,’ said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black hooter-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. ‘You just drop one surreptitiously and it’ll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one.’

  ‘Handy,’ said Harry, impressed.

  ‘Here,’ said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry.

  A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head round the curtain; Harry saw that she too was wearing magenta staff robes.

  ‘There’s a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley,’ she said.

  Harry found it very odd to hear Fred and George called ‘Mr Weasley’, but they took it in their stride.

  ‘Right you are, Verity, I’m coming,’ said George promptly. ‘Harry, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge.’

  ‘I can’t do that!’ said Harry, who had already pulled out his money-bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators.

  ‘You don’t pay here,’ said Fred firmly, waving away Harry’s gold.

  ‘But –’

  ‘You gave us our start-up loan, we haven’t forgotten,’ said George sternly. ‘Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask.’

  George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers and Fred led Harry back into the main part of the shop to find Hermione and Ginny still poring over the Patented Daydream Charms.

  ‘Haven’t you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?’ asked Fred. ‘Follow me, ladies …’

  Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.

  ‘There you go,’ said Fred proudly. ‘Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.’

  Ginny raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘Do they work?’

  ‘Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question –’

  ‘– and the attractiveness of the girl,’ said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. ‘But we’re not selling them to our sister,’ he added, becoming suddenly stern, ‘not when she’s already got about five boys on the go from what we’ve –’

  ‘Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,’ said Ginny calmly, leaning forwards to take a small pink pot off the shelf. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher,’ said Fred. ‘Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don’t change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said Ginny. ‘And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?’

  She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

  ‘Pygmy Puffs,’ said George. ‘Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?’

  ‘I dumped him, he was a bad loser,’ said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. ‘They’re really cute!’

  ‘They’re fairly cuddly, yes,’ conceded Fred. ‘But you’re moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren’t you?’

  Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn’t recoil.

  ‘It’s none of your business. And I’ll thank you,’ she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George’s elbow, laden with merchandise, ‘not to tell tales about me to these two!’

  ‘That’s three Galleons, nine Sickles and a Knut,’ said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron’s arms. ‘Cough up.’

  ‘I’m your brother!’

  ‘And that’s our stuff you’re nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I’ll knock off the Knut.’

  ‘But I haven’t got three Galleons, nine Sickles!’

  ‘You’d better put it all back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves.’

  Ron dropped several boxes, swore and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.

  ‘If I see you do that again I’ll jinx your fingers together,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?’ said Ginny at once.

  ‘A what?’ said Mrs Weasley warily.

  ‘Look, they’re so sweet …’

  Mrs Weasley moved aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and Harry, Ron and Hermione momentarily had an unimpeded view out of the window. Draco Malfoy was hurrying up the street alone. As he passed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheez
es, he glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moved beyond the scope of the window and they lost sight of him.

  ‘Wonder where his mummy is?’ said Harry, frowning.

  ‘Given her the slip by the looks of it,’ said Ron.

  ‘Why, though?’ said Hermione.

  Harry said nothing; he was thinking too hard. Narcissa Malfoy would not have let her precious son out of her sight willingly; Malfoy must have made a real effort to free himself from her clutches. Harry, knowing and loathing Malfoy, was sure the reason could not be innocent.

  He glanced around. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were bending over the Pygmy Puffs. Mr Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.

  ‘Get under here, quick,’ said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

  ‘Oh – I don’t know, Harry,’ said Hermione, looking uncertainly towards Mrs Weasley.

  ‘Come on!’ said Ron.

  She hesitated for a second longer, then ducked under the Cloak with Harry and Ron. Nobody noticed them vanish; they were all too interested in Fred and George’s products. Harry, Ron and Hermione squeezed their way out of the door as quickly as they could, but by the time they gained the street, Malfoy had disappeared just as successfully as they had.

  ‘He was going in that direction,’ murmured Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid would not hear them. ‘C’mon.’

  They scurried along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione pointed ahead.

  ‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘Turning left?’

  ‘Big surprise,’ whispered Ron.

  For Malfoy had glanced round, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.

  ‘Quick, or we’ll lose him,’ said Harry, speeding up.

  ‘Our feet’ll be seen!’ said Hermione anxiously, as the Cloak flapped a little around their ankles; it was much more difficult hiding all three of them under it nowadays.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Harry impatiently, ‘just hurry!’

  But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looked completely deserted. They peered into windows as they passed, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all. Harry supposed it was a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artefacts – or at least, to be seen buying them.

  Hermione gave his arm a hard pinch.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Shh! Look! He’s in there!’ she breathed in Harry’s ear.

  They had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited: Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Draco Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same large black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden to avoid Malfoy and his father. Judging by the movements of Malfoy’s hands he was talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood facing Malfoy. He was wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.

  ‘If only we could hear what they’re saying!’ said Hermione.

  ‘We can!’ said Ron excitedly. ‘Hang on – damn –’

  He dropped a couple more of the boxes he was still clutching as he fumbled with the largest.

  ‘Extendable Ears, look!’

  ‘Fantastic!’ said Hermione, as Ron unravelled the long, flesh-coloured strings and began to feed them towards the bottom of the door. ‘Oh, I hope the door isn’t Imperturbable –’

  ‘No!’ said Ron gleefully. ‘Listen!’

  They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy’s voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

  ‘… you know how to fix it?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. ‘I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Malfoy. ‘It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.’

  Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.

  ‘Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.’

  ‘No?’ said Malfoy and Harry knew, just by his tone, that Malfoy was sneering. ‘Perhaps this will make you more confident.’

  He moved towards Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

  ‘Tell anyone,’ said Malfoy, ‘and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend, he’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.’

  ‘There will be no need for –’

  ‘I’ll decide that,’ said Malfoy. ‘Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to take it now?’

  ‘No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.’

  ‘Of course not … sir.’

  Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

  ‘Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?’

  ‘Naturally, naturally,’ murmured Borgin, bowing again.

  Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passed so close to Harry, Ron and Hermione that they felt the Cloak flutter around their knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; he looked worried.

  ‘What was that about?’ whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Harry, thinking hard. ‘He wants something mended … and he wants to reserve something in there … could you see what he pointed at when he said “that one”?’

  ‘No, he was behind that cabinet –’

  ‘You two stay here,’ whispered Hermione.

  ‘What are you –?’

  But Hermione had already ducked out from under the Cloak. She checked her hair in the reflection in the glass, then marched into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. Ron hastily fed the Extendable Ears back under the door and passed one of the strings to Harry.

  ‘Hello, horrible morning, isn’t it?’ Hermione said brightly to Borgin, who did not answer, but cast her a suspicious look. Humming cheerily, Hermione strolled through the jumble of objects on display.

  ‘Is this necklace for sale?’ she asked, pausing beside a glass-fronted case.

  ‘If you’ve got one and a half thousand Galleons,’ said Borgin coldly.

  ‘Oh – er – no, I haven’t got quite that much,’ said Hermione, walking on. ‘And … what about this lovely – um – skull?’

  ‘Sixteen Galleons.’

  ‘So it’s for sale, then? It isn’t being … kept for anyone?’

  Borgin squinted at her. Harry had the nasty feeling he knew exactly what Hermione was up to. Apparently Hermione felt she had been rumbled, too, because she suddenly threw caution to the winds.

  ‘The thing is, that – er – boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he’s a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he’s already reserved anything I obviously don’t want to get him the same thing, so … um …’

  It was a pretty lame story in Harry’s opinion, and apparently Borgin thought so too.

  ‘Out,’ he said sharply. ‘Get out!’

  Hermione did not wait to be asked twice, but hurried to the door with Borgin at her heels. As the bell tinkled again, Borgin slammed the door behind her and put up the ‘Closed’ sign.

  ‘Ah
well,’ said Ron, throwing the Cloak back over Hermione. ‘Worth a try, but you were a bit obvious –’

  ‘Well, next time you can show me how it’s done, Master of Mystery!’ she snapped.

  Ron and Hermione bickered all the way back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, where they were forced to stop so that they could dodge undetected around a very anxious-looking Mrs Weasley and Hagrid, who had clearly noticed their absence. Once in the shop, Harry whipped off the Invisibility Cloak, hid it in his bag, and joined in with the other two when they insisted, in answer to Mrs Weasley’s accusations, that they had been in the back room all along, and that she could not have looked properly.

  — CHAPTER SEVEN —

  The Slug Club

  Harry spent a lot of the last week of the holidays pondering the meaning of Malfoy’s behaviour in Knockturn Alley. What disturbed him most was the satisfied look on Malfoy’s face as he had left the shop. Nothing that made Malfoy look that happy could be good news. To his slight annoyance, however, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed quite as curious about Malfoy’s activities as he was; or at least, they seemed to get bored of discussing it after a few days.

  ‘Yes, I’ve already agreed it was fishy, Harry,’ said Hermione a little impatiently. She was sitting on the window-sill in Fred and George’s room with her feet up on one of the cardboard boxes and had only grudgingly looked up from her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation. ‘But haven’t we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?’

  ‘Maybe he’s broken his Hand of Glory,’ said Ron vaguely, as he attempted to straighten his broomstick’s bent tail twigs. ‘Remember that shrivelled-up arm Malfoy had?’

  ‘But what about when he said “Don’t forget to keep that one safe”?’ asked Harry for the umpteenth time. ‘That sounded to me like Borgin’s got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both.’

  ‘You reckon?’ said Ron, now trying to scrape some dirt off his broom handle.

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ said Harry. When neither Ron nor Hermione answered, he said, ‘Malfoy’s father’s in Azkaban. Don’t you think Malfoy’d like revenge?’