The Half-Blood Prince

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘No!’ shouted Harry, who had stood to refill the goblet again; instead he dropped the cup into the basin, flung himself down beside Dumbledore and heaved him over on to his back; Dumbledore’s glasses were askew, his mouth agape, his eyes closed. ‘No,’ said Harry, shaking Dumbledore, ‘no, you’re not dead, you said it wasn’t poison, wake up, wake up – Rennervate!’ he cried, his wand pointing at Dumbledore’s chest; there was a flash of red light but nothing happened. ‘Rennervate – sir – please –’

  Dumbledore’s eyelids flickered; Harry’s heart leapt.

  ‘Sir, are you –?’

  ‘Water,’ croaked Dumbledore.

  ‘Water,’ panted Harry, ‘– yes –’

  He leapt to his feet and seized the goblet he had dropped in the basin; he barely registered the golden locket lying curled beneath it.

  ‘Aguamenti!’ he shouted, jabbing the goblet with his wand.

  The goblet filled with clear water; Harry dropped to his knees beside Dumbledore, raised his head and brought the glass to his lips – but it was empty. Dumbledore groaned and began to pant.

  ‘But I had some – wait – Aguamenti!’ said Harry again, pointing his wand at the goblet. Once more, for a second, clear water gleamed within it, but as he approached Dumbledore’s mouth, the water vanished again.

  ‘Sir, I’m trying, I’m trying!’ said Harry desperately, but he did not think that Dumbledore could hear him; he had rolled on to his side and was drawing great, rattling breaths that sounded agonising. ‘Aguamenti – Aguamenti – AGUAMENTI!’

  The goblet filled and emptied once more. And now Dumbledore’s breathing was fading. His brain whirling in panic, Harry knew, instinctively, the only way left to get water, because Voldemort had planned it so …

  He flung himself over to the edge of the rock and plunged the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish.

  ‘Sir – here!’ Harry yelled, and lunging forwards he tipped the water clumsily over Dumbledore’s face.

  It was the best he could do, for the icy feeling on his arm not holding the cup was not the lingering chill of the water. A slimy white hand had gripped his wrist, and the creature to whom it belonged was pulling him, slowly, backwards across the rock. The surface of the lake was no longer mirror-smooth; it was churning, and everywhere Harry looked, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water, men and women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving towards the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water.

  ‘Petrificus Totalus!’ yelled Harry, struggling to cling on to the smooth, soaked surface of the island as he pointed his wand at the Inferius that had his arm: it released him, falling backwards into the water with a splash. He scrambled to his feet; but many more Inferi were already climbing on to the rock, their bony hands clawing at its slippery surface, their blank, frosted eyes upon him, trailing waterlogged rags, sunken faces leering.

  ‘Petrificus Totalus!’ Harry bellowed again, backing away as he swiped his wand through the air; six or seven of them crumpled, but more were coming towards him. ‘Impedimenta! Incarcerous!’

  A few of them stumbled, one or two of them bound in ropes, but those climbing on to the rock behind them merely stepped over or on the fallen bodies. Still slashing at the air with his wand, Harry yelled, ‘Sectumsempra! SECTUMSEMPRA!’

  But though gashes appeared in their sodden rags and their icy skin, they had no blood to spill: they walked on, unfeeling, their shrunken hands outstretched towards him, and as he backed away still further he felt arms enclose him from behind, thin, fleshless arms cold as death, and his feet left the ground as they lifted him and began to carry him, slowly and surely, back to the water, and he knew there would be no release, that he would be drowned, and become one more dead guardian of a fragment of Voldemort’s shattered soul …

  But then, through the darkness, fire erupted: crimson and gold, a ring of fire that surrounded the rock so that the Inferi holding Harry so tightly stumbled and faltered; they did not dare pass through the flames to get to the water. They dropped Harry; he hit the ground, slipped on the rock and fell, grazing his arms, but scrambled back up, raising his wand and staring around.

  Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any, too, the fire dancing in his eyes; his wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth.

  The Inferi bumped into each other, attempting, blindly, to escape the fire in which they were enclosed …

  Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes. Wordlessly, he gestured to Harry to come to his side. Distracted by the flames, the Inferi seemed unaware that their quarry was leaving as Dumbledore led Harry back to the boat, the ring of fire moving with them, around them, the bewildered Inferi accompanying them to the water’s edge, where they slipped gratefully back into their dark waters.

  Harry, who was shaking all over, thought for a moment that Dumbledore might not be able to climb into the boat; he staggered a little as he attempted it; all his efforts seemed to be going into maintaining the ring of protective flame around them. Harry seized him and helped him back to his seat. Once they were both safely jammed inside again, the boat began to move back across the black water, away from the rock, still encircled by that ring of fire, and it seemed that the Inferi swarming below them did not dare resurface.

  ‘Sir,’ panted Harry, ‘sir, I forgot – about fire – they were coming at me and I panicked –’

  ‘Quite understandable,’ murmured Dumbledore. Harry was alarmed to hear how faint his voice was.

  They reached the bank with a little bump and Harry leapt out, then turned quickly to help Dumbledore. The moment that Dumbledore reached the bank he let his wand hand fall; the ring of fire vanished, but the Inferi did not emerge again from the water. The little boat sank into the water once more; clanking and tinkling, its chain slithered back into the lake, too. Dumbledore gave a great sigh and leaned against the cavern wall.

  ‘I am weak …’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ said Harry at once, anxious about Dumbledore’s extreme pallor and his air of exhaustion. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get us back … lean on me, sir …’

  And pulling Dumbledore’s uninjured arm around his shoulders, Harry guided his headmaster back around the lake, bearing most of his weight.

  ‘The protection was … after all … well designed,’ said Dumbledore faintly. ‘One alone could not have done it … you did well, very well, Harry …’

  ‘Don’t talk now,’ said Harry, fearing how slurred Dumbledore’s voice had become, how much his feet dragged, ‘save your energy, sir … we’ll soon be out of here …’

  ‘The archway will have sealed again … my knife …’

  ‘There’s no need, I got cut on the rock,’ said Harry firmly, ‘just tell me where …’

  ‘Here …’

  Harry wiped his grazed forearm upon the stone: having received its tribute of blood the archway reopened instantly. They crossed the outer cave and Harry helped Dumbledore back into the icy sea water that filled the crevice in the cliff.

  ‘It’s going to be all right, sir,’ Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore’s silence than he had been by his weakened voice. ‘We’re nearly there … I can Apparate us both back … don’t worry …’

  ‘I am not worried, Harry,’ said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. ‘I am with you.’

  — CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN —

  The Lightning-Struck Tower

  Once back under the starry sky, Harry heaved Dumbledore on to the top of the nearest boulder and then to his feet. Sodden and shivering, Dumbledore’s weight still upon him, Harry concentrated harder than he had ever done upon his destination: Hogsmeade. Closing his eyes, gripping Dumbledore’s arm as tightly as he could, he stepped forwards into that feeling of horrible
compression.

  He knew it had worked before he opened his eyes: the smell of salt, the sea breeze had gone. He and Dumbledore were shivering and dripping in the middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade. For one horrible moment Harry’s imagination showed him more Inferi creeping towards him around the sides of shops, but he blinked and saw that nothing was stirring; all was still, the darkness complete but for a few streetlamps and lit upper windows.

  ‘We did it, Professor!’ Harry whispered with difficulty; he suddenly realised that he had a searing stitch in his chest. ‘We did it! We got the Horcrux!’

  Dumbledore staggered against him. For a moment, Harry thought that his inexpert Apparition had thrown Dumbledore off-balance; then he saw his face, paler and damper than ever in the distant light of a streetlamp.

  ‘Sir, are you all right?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ said Dumbledore weakly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. ‘That potion … was no health drink …’

  And to Harry’s horror, Dumbledore sank on to the ground.

  ‘Sir – it’s OK, sir, you’re going to be all right, don’t worry –’

  He looked around desperately for help, but there was nobody to be seen and all he could think was that he must somehow get Dumbledore quickly to the hospital wing.

  ‘We need to get you up to the school, sir … Madam Pomfrey …’

  ‘No,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It is … Professor Snape whom I need … but I do not think … I can walk very far just yet …’

  ‘Right – sir, listen – I’m going to knock on a door, find a place you can stay – then I can run and get Madam –’

  ‘Severus,’ said Dumbledore clearly. ‘I need Severus …’

  ‘All right then, Snape – but I’m going to have to leave you for a moment so I can –’

  Before Harry could make a move, however, he heard running footsteps. His heart leapt: somebody had seen, somebody knew they needed help – and looking around he saw Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street towards them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing-gown embroidered with dragons.

  ‘I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn’t think what to – but what’s wrong with Albus?’

  She came to a halt, panting, and stared down, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore.

  ‘He’s hurt,’ said Harry. ‘Madam Rosmerta, can he come into the Three Broomsticks while I go up to the school and get help for him?’

  ‘You can’t go up there alone! Don’t you realise – haven’t you seen –?’

  ‘If you help me support him,’ said Harry, not listening to her, ‘I think we can get him inside –’

  ‘What has happened?’ asked Dumbledore. ‘Rosmerta, what’s wrong?’

  ‘The – the Dark Mark, Albus.’

  And she pointed into the sky, in the direction of Hogwarts. Dread flooded Harry at the sound of the words … he turned and looked.

  There it was, hanging in the sky above the school: the blazing green skull with a serpent tongue, the mark Death Eaters left behind whenever they had entered a building … wherever they had murdered …

  ‘When did it appear?’ asked Dumbledore, and his hand clenched painfully upon Harry’s shoulder as he struggled to his feet.

  ‘Must have been minutes ago, it wasn’t there when I put the cat out, but when I got upstairs –’

  ‘We need to return to the castle at once,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Rosmerta,’ and though he staggered a little, he seemed wholly in command of the situation, ‘we need transport – brooms –’

  ‘I’ve got a couple behind the bar,’ she said, looking very frightened. ‘Shall I run and fetch –?’

  ‘No, Harry can do it.’

  Harry raised his wand at once.

  ‘Accio Rosmerta’s brooms.’

  A second later they heard a loud bang as the front door of the pub burst open; two brooms had shot out into the street and were racing each other to Harry’s side, where they stopped dead, quivering slightly, at waist height.

  ‘Rosmerta, please send a message to the Ministry,’ said Dumbledore, as he mounted the broom nearest him. ‘It might be that nobody within Hogwarts has yet realised anything is wrong … Harry, put on your Invisibility Cloak.’

  Harry pulled his Cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself before mounting his broom; Madam Rosmerta was already tottering back towards her pub as Harry and Dumbledore kicked off from the ground and rose up into the air. As they sped towards the castle, Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, ready to grab him should he fall, but the sight of the Dark Mark seemed to have acted upon Dumbledore like a stimulant: he was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed upon the Mark, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air. And Harry, too, looked ahead at the skull, and fear swelled inside him like a venomous bubble, compressing his lungs, driving all other discomfort from his mind …

  How long had they been away? Had Ron, Hermione and Ginny’s luck run out by now? Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the DA? And if it was … he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds … would he be responsible, again, for the death of a friend?

  As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so that they could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle. Did that mean the death had occurred there?

  Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts and was dismounting; Harry landed next to him seconds later and looked around.

  The ramparts were deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a fight to the death, of a body.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Harry asked Dumbledore, looking up at the green skull with its serpent’s tongue glinting evilly above them. ‘Is it the real Mark? Has someone definitely been – Professor?’

  In the dim green glow from the Mark Harry saw Dumbledore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.

  ‘Go and wake Severus,’ said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. ‘Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘You swore to obey me, Harry – go!’

  Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked round at Dumbledore, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so.

  The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted: ‘Expelliarmus!’

  Harry’s body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the Tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak. He could not understand how it had happened – Expelliarmus was not a Freezing Charm –

  Then, by the light of the Mark, he saw Dumbledore’s wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood … Dumbledore had wordlessly immobilised Harry, and the second he had taken to perform the spell had cost him the chance of defending himself.

  Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, ‘Good evening, Draco.’

  Malfoy stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that he and Dumbledore were alone. His eyes fell upon the second broom.

  ‘Who else is here?’

  ‘A question I might ask you. Or are you
acting alone?’

  Harry saw Malfoy’s pale eyes shift back to Dumbledore in the greenish glare of the Mark.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got back-up. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Dumbledore, as though Malfoy was showing him an ambitious homework project. ‘Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Malfoy, who was panting. ‘Right under your nose and you never realised!’

  ‘Ingenious,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Yet … forgive me … where are they now? You seem unsupported.’

  ‘They met some of your guard. They’re having a fight down below. They won’t be long … I came on ahead. I – I’ve got a job to do.’

  ‘Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy,’ said Dumbledore softly.

  There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralysed body, staring at the two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters’ distant fight, and in front of him, Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled.

  ‘Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Malfoy at once.

  He seemed to realise how childish the words had sounded; Harry saw him flush in the Mark’s greenish light.

  ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of,’ said Malfoy more forcefully, ‘you don’t know what I’ve done!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts … so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it …’

  ‘It has been in it!’ said Malfoy vehemently. ‘I’ve been working on it all year, and tonight –’

  Somewhere in the depths of the castle below Harry heard a muffled yell. Malfoy stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘Somebody is putting up a good fight,’ said Dumbledore conversationally. ‘But you were saying … yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible … how did you do it?’