The Half-Blood Prince

by J. K. Rowling

  They finished their breakfast in silence. Hermione set off immediately for Ancient Runes, Ron for the common room, where he still had to finish his conclusion on Snape’s Dementor essay, and Harry for the corridor on the seventh floor and the stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet.

  Harry slipped on his Invisibility Cloak once he had found an empty passage, but he need not have bothered. When he reached his destination he found it deserted. Harry was not sure whether his chances of getting inside the Room were better with Malfoy inside it or out, but at least his first attempt was not going to be complicated by the presence of Crabbe or Goyle pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl.

  He closed his eyes as he approached the place where the Room of Requirement’s door was concealed. He knew what he had to do; he had become most accomplished at it last year. Concentrating with all his might he thought, I need to see what Malfoy’s doing in here … I need to see what Malfoy’s doing in here … I need to see what Malfoy’s doing in here …

  Three times he walked past the door, then, his heart pounding with excitement, he opened his eyes and faced it – but he was still looking at a stretch of mundanely blank wall.

  He moved forwards and gave it an experimental push. The stone remained solid and unyielding.

  ‘OK,’ said Harry aloud. ‘OK … I thought the wrong thing …’

  He pondered for a moment, then set off again, eyes closed, concentrating as hard as he could.

  I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly … I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly …

  After three walks past, he opened his eyes expectantly.

  There was no door.

  ‘Oh, come off it,’ he told the wall irritably. ‘That was a clear instruction … fine …’

  He thought hard for several minutes before striding off once more.

  I need you to become the place you become for Draco Malfoy …

  He did not immediately open his eyes when he had finished his patrolling; he was listening hard, as though he might hear the door pop into existence. He heard nothing, however, except the distant twittering of birds outside. He opened his eyes.

  There was still no door.

  Harry swore. Someone screamed. He looked around to see a gaggle of first-years running back round the corner, apparently under the impression that they had just encountered a particularly foul-mouthed ghost.

  Harry tried every variation of ‘I need to see what Draco Malfoy is doing inside you’ that he could think of for a whole hour, at the end of which he was forced to concede that Hermione might have had a point: the Room simply did not want to open for him. Frustrated and annoyed, he set off for Defence Against the Dark Arts, pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his bag as he went.

  ‘Late again, Potter,’ said Snape coldly, as Harry hurried into the candlelit classroom. ‘Ten points from Gryffindor.’

  Harry scowled at Snape as he flung himself into the seat beside Ron; half the class was still on its feet, taking out books and organising its things; he could not be much later than any of them.

  ‘Before we start, I want your Dementor essays,’ said Snape, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-five scrolls of parchment soared into the air and landed in a neat pile on his desk. ‘And I hope for your sakes they are better than the tripe I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now, if you will all open your books at page – what is it, Mr Finnigan?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Seamus, ‘I’ve been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the Prophet about an Inferius –’

  ‘No, there wasn’t,’ said Snape in a bored voice.

  ‘But sir, I heard people talking –’

  ‘If you had actually read the article in question, Mr Finnigan, you would have known that the so-called Inferius was nothing but a smelly sneak-thief by the name of Mundungus Fletcher.’

  ‘I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side?’ muttered Harry to Ron and Hermione. ‘Shouldn’t he be upset Mundungus has been arrest—?’

  ‘But Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject,’ said Snape, pointing suddenly at the back of the room, his black eyes fixed on Harry. ‘Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost.’

  The whole class looked round at Harry, who hastily tried to recall what Dumbledore had told him the night that they had gone to visit Slughorn.

  ‘Er – well – ghosts are transparent –’ he said.

  ‘Oh, very good,’ interrupted Snape, his lip curling. ‘Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. Ghosts are transparent.’

  Pansy Parkinson let out a high-pitched giggle. Several other people were smirking. Harry took a deep breath and continued calmly, though his insides were boiling, ‘Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren’t they? So they’d be solid –’

  ‘A five-year-old could have told us as much,’ sneered Snape. ‘The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard’s spells. It is not alive, it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard’s bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth … and of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent.’

  ‘Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we’re trying to tell them apart!’ said Ron. ‘When we come face to face with one down a dark alley we’re going to be having a shufti to see if it’s solid, aren’t we, we’re not going to be asking, “Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?”’

  There was a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gave the class.

  ‘Another ten points from Gryffindor,’ said Snape. ‘I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room.’

  ‘No!’ whispered Hermione, grabbing Harry’s arm as he opened his mouth furiously. ‘There’s no point, you’ll just end up in detention again, leave it!’

  ‘Now open your books at page two hundred and thirteen,’ said Snape, smirking a little, ‘and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse …’

  Ron was very subdued all through the class. When the bell sounded at the end of the lesson, Lavender caught up with Ron and Harry (Hermione mysteriously melted out of sight as she approached) and abused Snape hotly for his jibe about Ron’s Apparition, but this seemed merely to irritate Ron, and he shook her off by making a detour into the boys’ bathroom with Harry.

  ‘Snape’s right, though, isn’t he?’ said Ron, after staring into a cracked mirror for a minute or two. ‘I dunno whether it’s worth me taking the test. I just can’t get the hang of Apparition.’

  ‘You might as well do the extra practice sessions in Hogsmeade and see where they get you,’ said Harry reasonably. ‘It’ll be more interesting than trying to get into a stupid hoop, anyway. Then, if you’re still not – you know – as good as you’d like to be, you can postpone the test, do it with me over the summ— Myrtle, this is the boys’ bathroom!’

  The ghost of a girl had risen out of the toilet in a cubicle behind them and was now floating in midair, staring at them through thick, white, round glasses.

  ‘Oh,’ she said glumly. ‘It’s you two.’

  ‘Who were you expecting?’ said Ron, looking at her in the mirror.

  ‘Nobody,’ said Myrtle, picking moodily at a spot on her chin. ‘He said he’d come back and see me, but then you said you’d pop in and visit me, too …’ she gave Harry a reproachful look ‘… and I haven’t seen you for months and months. I’ve learned not to expect too much from boys.’

  ‘I thought you lived in that girls’ bathroom?’ said Harry, who had been careful to give the place a wide berth for some years now.

  ‘I do,’ she said, with a sulky little shrug, ‘but that doesn’t mean I can’t v
isit other places. I came and saw you in your bath once, remember?’

  ‘Vividly,’ said Harry.

  ‘But I thought he liked me,’ she said plaintively. ‘Maybe if you two left, he’d come back again … we had lots in common … I’m sure he felt it …’

  And she looked hopefully towards the door.

  ‘When you say you had lots in common,’ said Ron, sounding rather amused now, ‘d’you mean he lives in an S-bend, too?’

  ‘No,’ said Myrtle defiantly, her voice echoing loudly around the old tiled bathroom. ‘I mean he’s sensitive, people bully him, too, and he feels lonely and hasn’t got anybody to talk to, and he’s not afraid to show his feelings and cry!’

  ‘There’s been a boy in here crying?’ said Harry curiously. ‘A young boy?’

  ‘Never you mind!’ said Myrtle, her small, leaky eyes fixed on Ron, who was now definitely grinning. ‘I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone and I’ll take his secret to the –’

  ‘– not the grave, surely?’ said Ron with a snort. ‘The sewers, maybe …’

  Myrtle gave a howl of rage and dived back into the toilet, causing water to slop over the sides and on to the floor. Goading Myrtle seemed to have put fresh heart into Ron.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, swinging his schoolbag back over his shoulder, ‘I’ll do the practice sessions in Hogsmeade before I decide about taking the test.’

  And so the following weekend, Ron joined Hermione and the rest of the sixth-years who would turn seventeen in time to take the test in a fortnight. Harry felt rather jealous watching them all get ready to go into the village; he missed making trips there, and it was a particularly fine spring day, one of the first clear skies they had seen in a long time. However, he had decided to use the time to attempt another assault on the Room of Requirement.

  ‘You’d do better,’ said Hermione, when he confided this plan to Ron and her in the Entrance Hall, ‘to go straight to Slughorn’s office and try and get that memory from him.’

  ‘I’ve been trying!’ said Harry crossly, which was perfectly true. He had lagged behind after every Potions lesson that week in an attempt to corner Slughorn, but the Potions master always left the dungeon so fast that Harry had not been able to catch him. Twice, Harry had gone to his office and knocked, but received no reply, though on the second occasion he was sure he had heard the quickly stifled sounds of an old gramophone.

  ‘He doesn’t want to talk to me, Hermione! He can tell I’ve been trying to get him on his own again and he’s not going to let it happen!’

  ‘Well, you’ve just got to keep at it, haven’t you?’

  The short queue of people waiting to file past Filch, who was doing his usual prodding act with the Secrecy Sensor, moved forwards a few steps and Harry did not answer in case he was overheard by the caretaker. He wished Ron and Hermione luck, then turned and climbed the marble staircase again, determined, whatever Hermione said, to devote an hour or two to the Room of Requirement.

  Once out of sight of the Entrance Hall, Harry pulled out the Marauder’s Map and his Invisibility Cloak from his bag. Having concealed himself, he tapped the map, murmured, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,’ and scanned it carefully.

  As it was Sunday morning, nearly all the students were inside their various common rooms, the Gryffindors in one tower, the Ravenclaws in another, the Slytherins in the dungeons and the Hufflepuffs in the basement near the kitchens. Here and there a stray person meandered around the library or up a corridor … there were a few people out in the grounds … and there, alone in the seventh-floor corridor, was Gregory Goyle. There was no sign of the Room of Requirement, but Harry was not worried about that; if Goyle was standing guard outside it, the Room was open, whether the map was aware of it or not. He therefore sprinted up the stairs, slowing down only when he reached the corner into the corridor, when he began to creep, very slowly, towards the very same little girl, clutching her heavy brass scales, that Hermione had so kindly helped a fortnight before. He waited until he was right behind her before bending very low and whispering, ‘Hello … you’re very pretty, aren’t you?’

  Goyle gave a high-pitched scream of terror, threw the scales up into the air and sprinted away, vanishing from sight long before the sound of the scales smashing had stopped echoing around the corridor. Laughing, Harry turned to contemplate the blank wall behind which, he was sure, Draco Malfoy was now standing frozen, aware that someone unwelcome was out there, but not daring to make an appearance. It gave Harry a most agreeable feeling of power as he tried to remember what form of words he had not yet tried.

  Yet this hopeful mood did not last long. Half an hour later, having tried many more variations of his request to see what Malfoy was up to, the wall was just as doorless as ever. Harry felt frustrated beyond belief; Malfoy might be just feet away from him, and there was still not the tiniest shred of evidence as to what he was doing in there. Losing his patience completely, Harry ran at the wall and kicked it.

  ‘OUCH!’

  He thought he might have broken his toe; as he clutched it and hopped on one foot, the Invisibility Cloak slipped off him.

  ‘Harry?’

  He spun round, one-legged, and toppled over. There, to his utter astonishment, was Tonks, walking towards him as though she frequently strolled up this corridor.

  ‘What’re you doing here?’ he said, scrambling to his feet again; why did she always have to find him lying on the floor?

  ‘I came to see Dumbledore,’ said Tonks.

  Harry thought she looked terrible; thinner than usual, her mouse-coloured hair lank.

  ‘His office isn’t here,’ said Harry, ‘it’s round the other side of the castle, behind the gargoyle –’

  ‘I know,’ said Tonks. ‘He’s not there. Apparently he’s gone away again.’

  ‘Has he?’ said Harry, putting his bruised foot gingerly back on the floor. ‘Hey – you don’t know where he goes, I suppose?’

  ‘No,’ said Tonks.

  ‘What did you want to see him about?’

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ said Tonks, picking, apparently unconsciously, at the sleeve of her robe. ‘I just thought he might know what’s going on … I’ve heard rumours … people getting hurt …’

  ‘Yeah, I know, it’s all been in the papers,’ said Harry. ‘That little kid trying to kill his –’

  ‘The Prophet’s often behind the times,’ said Tonks, who didn’t seem to be listening to him. ‘You haven’t had any letters from anyone in the Order recently?’

  ‘No one from the Order writes to me any more,’ said Harry, ‘not since Sirius –’

  He saw that her eyes had filled with tears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered awkwardly. ‘I mean … I miss him, as well …’

  ‘What?’ said Tonks blankly, as though she had not heard him. ‘Well … I’ll see you around, Harry …’

  And she turned abruptly and walked back down the corridor, leaving Harry to stare after her. After a minute or so, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak on again and resumed his efforts to get into the Room of Requirement, but his heart was not in it. Finally, a hollow feeling in his stomach and the knowledge that Ron and Hermione would soon be back for lunch made him abandon the attempt and leave the corridor to Malfoy who, hopefully, would be too afraid to leave for some hours to come.

  He found Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, already halfway through an early lunch.

  ‘I did it – well, kind of!’ Ron told Harry enthusiastically when he caught sight of him. ‘I was supposed to be Apparating to outside Madam Puddifoot’s teashop and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshaft’s, but at least I moved!’

  ‘Good one,’ said Harry. ‘How’d you do, Hermione?’

  ‘Oh, she was perfect, obviously,’ said Ron, before Hermione could answer. ‘Perfect deliberation, divination and desperation, or whatever the hell it is – we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should’ve heard Twycross going on a
bout her – I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t pop the question soon –’

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Hermione, ignoring Ron. ‘Have you been up at the Room of Requirement all this time?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Harry. ‘And guess who I ran into up there? Tonks!’

  ‘Tonks?’ repeated Ron and Hermione together, looking surprised.

  ‘Yeah, she said she’d come to visit Dumbledore …’

  ‘If you ask me,’ said Ron once Harry had finished describing his conversation with Tonks, ‘she’s cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry.’

  ‘It’s a bit odd,’ said Hermione, who for some reason looked very concerned. ‘She’s supposed to be guarding the school, why’s she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he’s not even here?’

  ‘I had a thought,’ said Harry tentatively. He felt strange about voicing it; this was much more Hermione’s territory than his. ‘You don’t think she can have been … you know … in love with Sirius?’

  Hermione stared at him.

  ‘What on earth makes you say that?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Harry, shrugging, ‘but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name … and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now … I wondered whether it hadn’t become … you know … him.’

  ‘It’s a thought,’ said Hermione slowly. ‘But I still don’t know why she’d be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that’s really why she was here …’

  ‘Goes back to what I said, doesn’t it?’ said Ron, who was now shovelling mashed potato into his mouth. ‘She’s gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women,’ he said wisely to Harry. ‘They’re easily upset.’

  ‘And yet,’ said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, ‘I doubt you’d find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn’t laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.’

  Ron scowled.

  — CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO —