The Half-Blood Prince

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘The very best of evenings to you!’ he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

  ‘What happened to his hand?’ gasped Hermione.

  She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore’s right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harry from the Dursleys’. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple and gold sleeve over his injury.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said airily. ‘Now … to our new students, welcome; to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you …’

  ‘His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer,’ Harry whispered to Hermione. ‘I thought he’d have cured it by now, though … or Madam Pomfrey would’ve done.’

  ‘It looks as if it’s died,’ said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. ‘But there are some injuries you can’t cure … old curses … and there are poisons without antidotes …’

  ‘… and Mr Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

  ‘Those wishing to play for their house Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

  ‘We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn,’ Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table below into shadow, ‘is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master.’

  ‘Potions?’

  ‘Potions?’

  The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.

  ‘Potions?’ said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare at Harry. ‘But you said –’

  ‘Professor Snape, meanwhile,’ said Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, ‘will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.’

  ‘No!’ said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. He did not care; he was staring up at the staff table, incensed. How could Snape be given the Defence Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn’t it been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust him to do it?

  ‘But, Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!’ said Hermione.

  ‘I thought he was!’ said Harry, racking his brains to remember when Dumbledore had told him this, but now that he came to think of it, he was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling him what Slughorn would be teaching.

  Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore’s right, did not stand up at the mention of his name, merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgement of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Harry was sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

  ‘Well, there’s one good thing,’ he said savagely. ‘Snape’ll be gone by the end of the year.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Ron.

  ‘That job’s jinxed. No one’s lasted more than a year … Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I’m going to keep my fingers crossed for another death …’

  ‘Harry!’ said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

  ‘He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year,’ said Ron reasonably. ‘That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term, Moody didn’t.’

  Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart’s desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.

  ‘Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.’

  The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the Headmaster’s words unworthy of his attention.

  ‘I cannot emphasise strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them – in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and each other’s safety.’

  Dumbledore’s blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.

  ‘But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say goodnight. Pip pip!’

  With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches were moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall towards their dormitories. Harry, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping crowd, nor to get near enough to Malfoy to allow him to retell the story of the nose-stamping, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on his trainer, allowing most of the Gryffindors to draw ahead of him. Hermione had darted ahead to fulfil her prefect’s duty of shepherding the first-years, but Ron remained with Harry.

  ‘What really happened to your nose?’ he asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else.

  Harry told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh.

  ‘I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose,’ he said darkly.

  ‘Yeah, well, never mind that,’ said Harry bitterly. ‘Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there …’

  Harry had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoy’s boasts. With what Harry considered pure pigheadedness, however, Ron was unimpressed.

  ‘Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson … what kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?’

  ‘How d’you know Voldemort doesn’t need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn’t be the first –’

  ‘I wish yeh’d stop sayin’ tha’ name, Harry,’ said a reproachful voice behind them. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Hagrid shaking his head.

  ‘Dumbledore uses that name,’ said Harry stubbornly.

  ‘Yeah, well, tha’s Dumbledore, innit?’ said Hagrid mysteriously. ‘So how come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried.’

  ‘Got held up on the train,’ said Harry. ‘Why were you late?’

  ‘I was with Grawp,’ said Hagrid happily. ‘Los’ track o’ the time. He’s got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it – nice big cave. He’s much happier than he was in the Forest. We were havin’ a good chat.’

  ‘Really?’ said Harry, taking care not to catch Ron’s eye; the last time he had met Hagrid’s half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up trees by the roots, his vocabulary had comprised five words, two of which he was unable to pronounce properly.

  ‘Oh yeah, he’s really come on,’ said Hagrid proudly. ‘Yeh’ll be amazed. I’m thinkin’ o’ trainin’ him up as me assistant.’

  Ron snorted loudly, but managed to pass it off as a violent sneeze. They were now standing beside the oak front doors.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll see yeh tomorrow, firs’ lesson’s straight after lunch. Come early an’ yeh can say hell
o ter Buck— I mean, Witherwings!’

  Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the front doors into the darkness.

  Harry and Ron looked at each other. Harry could tell that Ron was experiencing the same sinking feeling as himself.

  ‘You’re not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?’

  Ron shook his head.

  ‘And you’re not either, are you?’

  Harry shook his head, too.

  ‘And Hermione,’ said Ron, ‘she’s not, is she?’

  Harry shook his head again. Exactly what Hagrid would say when he realised his three favourite students had given up his subject, he did not like to think.

  — CHAPTER NINE —

  The Half-Blood Prince

  Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning. Hoping for some support for his theory, Harry lost no time in telling Hermione what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

  ‘But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn’t he?’ interjected Ron quickly, before Hermione could say anything.

  ‘Well,’ she said uncertainly, ‘I don’t know … it would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is … but that’s a big lie to tell …’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Harry, but he could not press the point, because so many people were trying to listen in to his conversation, not to mention staring at him and whispering behind their hands.

  ‘It’s rude to point,’ Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggered.

  ‘I love being a sixth-year. And we’re going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax.’

  ‘We’re going to need that time for studying, Ron!’ said Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.

  ‘Yeah, but not today,’ said Ron, ‘today’s going to be a real doss, I reckon.’

  ‘Hold it!’ said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth-year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disc clutched tightly in his hand. ‘Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over,’ she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under Hermione’s arm and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione’s grip.

  ‘Excellent, I’ve always wanted one of these.’

  Hermione’s remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron’s remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

  The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron told Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

  ‘But he can’t really think we’d continue Care of Magical Creatures!’ she said, looking distressed. ‘I mean, when has any of us expressed … you know … any enthusiasm?’

  ‘That’s it, though, innit?’ said Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. ‘We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the stupid subject. D’you reckon anyone’s going to go on to N.E.W.T.?’

  Neither Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. They avoided Hagrid’s eye and returned his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later.

  After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall’s descent from the staff table. The distribution of timetables was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

  Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions, and shot off to a first-period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L. results.

  ‘Herbology, fine,’ she said. ‘Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an “Outstanding” O.W.L. And you qualify for Defence Against the Dark Arts with “Exceeds Expectations”. But the problem is Transfiguration. I’m sorry, Longbottom, but an “Acceptable” really isn’t good enough to continue to N.E.W.T. level, I just don’t think you’d be able to cope with the coursework.’

  Neville hung his head. Professor McGonagall peered at him through her square spectacles.

  ‘Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I’ve never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it.’

  Neville looked miserable and muttered something about ‘my grandmother wants’.

  ‘Humph,’ snorted Professor McGonagall. ‘It’s high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she’s got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have – particularly after what happened at the Ministry.’

  Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.

  ‘I’m sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an “Exceeds Expectations” in Charms, however – why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?’ ‘My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,’ mumbled Neville.

  ‘Take Charms,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.’ Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville’s face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank timetable with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.

  Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.

  ‘He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year,’ said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. ‘The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney.’

  Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.

  ‘So, Potter, Potter …’ said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry. ‘Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration … all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven’t you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?’

  ‘It was, but you told me I had to get an “Outstanding” in my O.W.L., Professor.’

  ‘And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with “Exceeds Expectations” at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘but I didn’t buy the books or any ingredients or anything –’

  ‘I’m sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Very well, Potter, here is your timetable. Oh, by the way – twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure.’

  A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry, and the two of them left the table together.

  ‘Look,’ said Ron delightedly, gazing at his timetable, ‘we’ve got a free period now … and a free period after break … and after lunch … excellent!’

  They returned to the common
room, which was empty apart from half a dozen seventh-years including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

  ‘I thought you’d get that, well done,’ she called over, pointing at the Captain’s badge on Harry’s chest. ‘Tell me when you call trials!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Harry, ‘you don’t need to try out, I’ve watched you play for five years …’

  ‘You mustn’t start off like that,’ she said warningly. ‘For all you know, there’s someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends …’

  Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks’s yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

  An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.

  ‘We got so much homework for Runes,’ she said anxiously, when Harry and Ron joined her. ‘A fifteen-inch essay, two translations and I’ve got to read these by Wednesday!’

  ‘Shame,’ yawned Ron.

  ‘You wait,’ she said resentfully. ‘I bet Snape gives us loads.’

  The classroom door opened as she spoke and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

  ‘Inside,’ he said.

  Harry looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.