The Half-Blood Prince

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘Oh no … I think the Horcrux is in the middle.’

  And Dumbledore pointed towards the misty green light in the centre of the lake.

  ‘So we’re going to have to cross the lake to get to it?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Harry did not say anything. His thoughts were all of water-monsters, of giant serpents, of demons, kelpies and sprites …

  ‘Aha,’ said Dumbledore and he stopped again; this time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water and Dumbledore’s uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. ‘So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I have found the place.’

  Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant; this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other bit as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected something special about it. This time he was running his hand not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something invisible.

  ‘Oho,’ said Dumbledore happily, seconds later. His hand had closed in midair upon something Harry could not see. Dumbledore moved closer to the water; Harry watched nervously as the tips of Dumbledore’s buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the other and tapped his fist with the point.

  Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore’s clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain, which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple, towards the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.

  ‘How did you know that was there?’ Harry asked in astonishment.

  ‘Magic always leaves traces,’ said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, ‘sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style.’

  ‘Is … is this boat safe?’

  ‘Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it, in case he ever wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux.’

  ‘So the things in the water won’t do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort’s boat?’

  ‘I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realise we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed us to raise the boat.’

  ‘But why have they let us?’ asked Harry, who could not shake off the vision of tentacles rising out of the dark water the moment they were out of sight of the bank.

  ‘Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I think he would have been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he is right.’

  Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small.

  ‘It doesn’t look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?’

  Dumbledore chuckled.

  ‘Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.’

  ‘But then –?’

  ‘I do not think you will count, Harry: you are under age and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.’

  These words did nothing to raise Harry’s morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, ‘Voldemort’s mistake, Harry, Voldemort’s mistake … age is foolish and forgetful when it underestimates youth … now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water.’

  Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. Dumbledore stepped in, too, coiling the chain on to the floor. They were crammed in together; Harry could not comfortably sit, but crouched, his knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which began to move at once. There was no sound other than the silken rustle of the boat’s prow cleaving the water; it moved without their help, as though an invisible rope were pulling it onwards towards the light in the centre. Soon they could no longer see the walls of the cavern; they might have been at sea except that there were no waves.

  Harry looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wand-light sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror …

  And then Harry saw it, marble-white, floating inches below the surface.

  ‘Professor!’ he said, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘I think I saw a hand in the water – a human hand!’

  ‘Yes, I am sure you did,’ said Dumbledore calmly.

  Harry stared down into the water, looking for the vanished hand, and a sick feeling rose in his throat.

  ‘So that thing that jumped out of the water –?’

  But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wand-light had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed him, this time, a dead man lying face up inches beneath the surface: his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.

  ‘There are bodies in here!’ said Harry, and his voice sounded much higher than usual and most unlike his own.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore placidly, ‘but we do not need to worry about them at the moment.’

  ‘At the moment?’ Harry repeated, tearing his gaze from the water to look at Dumbledore.

  ‘Not while they are merely drifting peacefully below us,’ said Dumbledore. ‘There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.’

  Harry said nothing; he did not want to argue, but he found the idea that there were bodies floating around them and beneath them horrible, and what was more, he did not believe that they were not dangerous.

  ‘But one of them jumped,’ he said, trying to make his voice as level and calm as Dumbledore’s. ‘When I tried to Summon the Horcrux, a body leapt out of the lake.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I am sure that once we take the Horcrux, we shall find them less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry,’ Dumbledore added with a smile, in response to Harry’s bewildered expression.

  ‘Oh … right …’ said Harry quickly. He turned his head to look at the greenish glow towards which the boat was still inexorably sailing. He could not pretend, now, that he was not scared. The great black lake, teeming with the dead … it seemed hours and hours ago that he had met Professor Trelawney, that he had given Ron and Hermione the Felix Felicis … he suddenly wished he had said a better goodbye to them … and he hadn’t seen Ginny at all …

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Dumbledore cheerfully.

  Sure enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within minutes, the boat had come to a halt, bumping gently into something that Harry could not see at first, but when he raised his illuminated wand he saw that they had reached a small island of smooth rock in the centre of the lake.

  ‘Careful not to touch the water,’ said Dumbledore again as Harry clim
bed out of the boat.

  The island was no larger than Dumbledore’s office: an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much brighter when viewed close to. Harry squinted at it; at first he thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then he saw that the light was coming from a stone basin rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal.

  Dumbledore approached the basin and Harry followed. Side by side they looked down into it. The basin was full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Harry quietly.

  ‘I am not sure,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however.’

  Dumbledore pushed back the sleeve of his robe over his blackened hand, and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers towards the surface of the potion.

  ‘Sir, no, don’t touch –!’

  ‘I cannot touch,’ said Dumbledore, smiling faintly. ‘See? I cannot approach any nearer than this. You try.’

  Staring, Harry put his hand into the basin and attempted to touch the potion. He met an invisible barrier that prevented him coming within an inch of it. No matter how hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but what seemed to be solid and inflexible air.

  ‘Out of the way, please, Harry,’ said Dumbledore.

  He raised his wand and made complicated movements over the surface of the potion, murmuring soundlessly. Nothing happened, except perhaps that the potion glowed a little brighter. Harry remained silent while Dumbledore worked, but after a while Dumbledore withdrew his wand and Harry felt it was safe to talk again.

  ‘You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Dumbledore peered more closely into the basin. Harry saw his face reflected, upside-down, in the smooth surface of the green potion. ‘But how to reach it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand, Vanished, parted, scooped up or siphoned away, nor can it be Transfigured, Charmed or otherwise made to change its nature.’

  Almost absent-mindedly, Dumbledore raised his wand again, twirled it once in midair and then caught the crystal goblet that he had conjured out of nowhere.

  ‘I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk.’

  ‘What?’ said Harry. ‘No!’

  ‘Yes, I think so: only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths.’

  ‘But what if – what if it kills you?’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that it would work like that,’ said Dumbledore easily. ‘Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island.’

  Harry couldn’t believe it. Was this more of Dumbledore’s insane determination to see good in everyone?

  ‘Sir,’ said Harry, trying to keep his voice reasonable, ‘sir, this is Voldemort we’re –’

  ‘I’m sorry, Harry; I should have said, he would not want immediately to kill the person who reached this island,’ Dumbledore corrected himself. ‘He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defences and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes.’

  Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ he said finally, ‘this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyse me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?’

  Their eyes met over the basin; each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry did not speak. Was this why he had been invited along – so that he could force-feed Dumbledore a potion that might cause him unendurable pain?

  ‘You remember,’ said Dumbledore, ‘the condition on which I brought you with me?’

  Harry hesitated, looking into the blue eyes that had turned green in the reflected light of the basin.

  ‘But what if –?’

  ‘You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘but –’

  ‘Well, then,’ said Dumbledore, shaking back his sleeves once more and raising the empty goblet, ‘you have my orders.’

  ‘Why can’t I drink the potion instead?’ asked Harry desperately.

  ‘Because I am much older, much cleverer, and much less valuable,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?’

  ‘Couldn’t –?’

  ‘Do I have it?’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Your word, Harry.’

  ‘I – all right, but –’

  Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.

  ‘Your good health, Harry.’

  And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, terrified, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips were numb.

  ‘Professor?’ he said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. ‘How do you feel?’

  Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more.

  In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletfuls of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forwards against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.

  ‘Professor Dumbledore?’ said Harry, his voice strained. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he were deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forwards and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.

  ‘Professor, can you hear me?’ he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.

  Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognise, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this.

  ‘I don’t want … don’t make me …’

  Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do.

  ‘… don’t like … want to stop …’ moaned Dumbledore.

  ‘You … you can’t stop, Professor,’ said Harry. ‘You’ve got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here …’

  Hating himself, repulsed by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back towards Dumbledore’s mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the potion inside.

  ‘No …’ he groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. ‘I don’t want to … I don’t want to … let me go …’

  ‘It’s all right, Professor,’ said Harry, his hand shaking. ‘It’s all right, I’m here –’

  ‘Make it stop, make it stop,’ moaned Dumbledore.

  ‘Yes … yes, this’ll make it stop,’ lied Harry. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore’s open mouth.

  Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.

  ‘No, no, no … no … I can’t … I can’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to …’

  ‘It’s all right, Professor, it’s all right!’ said Harry loudly, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth gobletful of potion; the basin was now half-empty. ‘Nothing’
s happening to you, you’re safe, it isn’t real, I swear it isn’t real – take this, now, take this …’

  And obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote Harry offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.

  ‘It’s all my fault, all my fault,’ he sobbed, ‘please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh, please make it stop and I’ll never, never again …’

  ‘This will make it stop, Professor,’ Harry said, his voice cracking as he tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore’s mouth.

  Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry’s trembling hands as he moaned, ‘Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them, please, please, it’s my fault, hurt me instead …’

  ‘Here, drink this, drink this, you’ll be all right,’ said Harry desperately, and once again Dumbledore obeyed him, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot.

  And now he fell forwards, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while Harry filled the ninth goblet.

  ‘Please, please, please, no … not that, not that, I’ll do anything …’

  ‘Just drink, Professor, just drink …’

  Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though his insides were on fire.

  ‘No more, please, no more …’

  Harry scooped up a tenth gobletful of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin.

  ‘We’re nearly there, Professor, drink this, drink it …’

  He supported Dumbledore’s shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass; Harry was on his feet once more, refilling the goblet as Dumbledore began to scream in more anguish than ever, ‘I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!’

  ‘Drink this, Professor, drink this …’

  Dumbledore drank, and no sooner had he finished than he yelled, ‘KILL ME!’

  ‘This – this one will!’ gasped Harry. ‘Just drink this … it’ll be over … all over!’

  Dumbledore gulped at the goblet, drained every last drop and then, with a great, rattling gasp, rolled over on to his face.