Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince hp-6

by J. K. Rowling

  “How’s she going to manage that?” asked Harry.

  “She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she’s hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I’d much rather have her in the family.”

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” said Ron sarcastically. “Listen, no bloke in his right mind’s going to fancy Tonks when Fleur’s around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she isn’t doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but…”

  “She’s a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,” said Ginny.

  “And she’s more intelligent, she’s an Auror!” said Hermione from the corner.

  “Fleur’s not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,” said Harry.

  “Not you as well!” said Hermione bitterly.

  “I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ‘’Arry,’ do you?” asked Ginny scornfully.

  “No,” said Harry, wishing he hadn’t spoken, “I was just saying, Phlegm… I mean, Fleur…”

  “I’d much rather have Tonks in the family,” said Ginny. “At least she’s a laugh.”

  “She hasn’t been much of a laugh lately,” said Ron. “Every time I’ve seen her she’s looked more like Moaning Myrtle.”

  “That’s not fair,” snapped Hermione. “She still hasn’t got over what happened… you know… I mean, he was her cousin!”

  Harry’s heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. He picked up a fork and began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, hoping to deflect any invitation to join in this part of the conversation.

  “Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!” said Ron. “Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met—”

  “That’s not the point,” said Hermione. “She thinks it was her limit he died!”

  “How does she work that one out?” asked Harry, in spite of himself.

  “Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn’t she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn’t have killed Sirius.”

  “That’s stupid,” said Ron.

  “It’s survivor’s guilt,” said Hermione. “I know Lupin’s tried to talk her round, but she’s still really down. She’s actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!”

  “With her…?”

  “She can’t change her appearance like she used to,” explained Hermione. “I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something.”

  “I didn’t know that could happen,” said Harry.

  “Nor did I,” said Hermione, “but I suppose if you’re really depressed…”

  The door opened again and Mrs. Weasley popped her head in. “Ginny,” she whispered, “come downstairs and help me with the lunch.”

  “I’m talking to this lot!” said Ginny, outraged.

  “Now!” said Mrs. Weasley, and withdrew.

  “She only wants me there so she doesn’t have to be alone with Phlegm!” said Ginny crossly. She swung her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

  “You lot had better come down quickly too,” she said as she left.

  Harry took advantage of the temporary silence to eat more breakfast. Hermione was peering into Fred and George’s boxes, though every now and then she cast sideways looks at Harry. Ron, who was now helping himself to Harry’s toast, was still gazing dreamily at the door.

  “What’s this?” Hermione asked eventually, holding up what looked like a small telescope.

  “Dunno,” said Ron, “but if Fred and George left it here, it’s probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful.”

  “Your mum said the shop’s going well,” said Harry. “Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business.”

  “That’s an understatement,” said Ron. “They’re raking in the Galleons! I can’t wait to see the place, we haven’t been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum says Dad’s got to be there for extra security and he’s been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent.”

  “And what about Percy?” asked Harry; the third-eldest Weasley brother had fallen out with the rest of the family. “Is he talking to your mum and dad again?”

  “Nope,” said Ron.

  “But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back…”

  “Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right,” said Hermione. “I heard him telling your mum, Ron.”

  “Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say,” said Ron.

  “He’s going to be giving me private lessons this year,” said Harry conversationally.

  Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

  “You kept that quiet!” said Ron.

  “I only just remembered,” said Harry honestly. “He told me last night in your broom shed.”

  “Blimey… private lessons with Dumbledore!” said Ron, looking impressed. “I wonder why he’s…?”

  His voice tailed away. Harry saw him and Hermione exchange looks. Harry laid down his knife and fork, his heart beating rather fast considering that all he was doing was sitting in bed. Dumbledore had said to do it… Why not now? He fixed his eyes on his fork, which was gleaming in the sunlight streaming into his lap, and said, “I don’t know exactly why he’s going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy.”

  Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke. Harry had the impression that both had frozen. He continued, still speaking to his fork, “You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry.”

  “Nobody knows what it said, though,” said Hermione quickly. “It got smashed.”

  “Although the Prophet says…” began Ron, but Hermione said, “Shh!”

  “The Prophet’s got it right,” said Harry, looking up at them both with a great effort: Hermione seemed frightened and Ron amazed. “That glass ball that smashed wasn’t the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore’s office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said,” Harry took a deep breath, “it looks like I’m the one who’s got to finish off Voldemort… At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives.”

  The three of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment. Then there was a loud bang and Hermione vanished behind a puff of black smoke.

  “Hermione!” shouted Harry and Ron; the breakfast tray slid to the floor with a crash.

  Hermione emerged, coughing, out of the smoke, clutching the telescope and sporting a brilliantly purple black eye.

  “I squeezed it and it… it punched me!” she gasped.

  And sure enough, they now saw a tiny fist on a long spring protruding from the end of the telescope.

  “Don’t worry,” said Ron, who was plainly trying not to laugh, “Mum’ll fix that, she’s good at healing minor injuries…”

  “Oh well, never mind that now!” said Hermione hastily. “Harry, oh, Harry…”

  She sat down on the edge of his bed again.

  “We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry… Obviously, we didn’t want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this… Oh, Harry…” She stared at him, then whispered, “Are you scared?”

  “Not as much as I was,” said Harry. “When I first heard it, I was… but now, it seems as though I always knew I’d have to face him in the end…”

  “When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy,” said Ron eagerly. “And we were kind of right, weren’t we? He wouldn’t be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn’t waste his time… he must think you’ve got a chance!”

  “That’s true,” said Hermione. “I wonder what he’ll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably… powerfu
l countercurses… anti-jinxes…”

  Harry did not really listen. A warmth was spreading through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight; a tight obstruction in his chest seemed to be dissolving. He knew that Ron and Hermione were more shocked than they were letting on, but the mere fact that they were still there on either side of him, speaking bracing words of comfort, not shrinking from him as though he were contaminated or dangerous, was worth more than he could ever tell them.

  “…and evasive enchantments generally,” concluded Hermione. “Well, at least you know one lesson you’ll be having this year, that’s one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our O.W.L. results will come?”

  “Cant be long now, it’s been a month,” said Ron.

  “Hang on,” said Harry, as another part of last night’s conversation came back to him. “I think Dumbledore said our O.W.L. results would be arriving today!”

  “Today?” shrieked Hermione. “Today? But why didn’t you… oh my God… you should have said…”

  She leapt to her feet.

  “I’m going to see whether any owls have come…”

  But when Harry arrived downstairs ten minutes later, fully dressed and carrying his empty breakfast tray, it was to find Hermione sitting at the kitchen table in great agitation, while Mrs. Weasley tried to lessen her resemblance to half a panda.

  “It just won’t budge,” Mrs. Weasley was saying anxiously, standing over Hermione with her wand in her hand and a copy of The Healer’s Helpmate open at ‘Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions.’ “This has always worked before, I just can’t understand it.”

  “It’ll be Fred and George’s idea of a funny joke, making sure it can’t come off,” said Ginny.

  “But it’s got to come off!” squeaked Hermione. “I can’t go around looking like this forever!”

  “You won’t, dear, we’ll find an antidote, don’t worry,” said Mrs. Weasley soothingly.

  “Bill told me Fred and George are very amusing!” said Fleur, smiling serenely.

  “Yes, I can hardly breathe for laughing,” snapped Hermione.

  She jumped up and started walking round and round the kitchen, twisting her fingers together.

  “Mrs. Weasley, you’re quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?”

  “Yes, dear, I’d have noticed,” said Mrs. Weasley patiently. “But it’s barely nine, there’s still plenty of time…”

  “I know I messed up Ancient Runes,” muttered Hermione feverishly, “I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back…”

  “Hermione, will you shut up, you’re not the only one who’s nervous!” barked Ron. “And when you’ve got your eleven ‘Outstanding O.W.L.s…’”

  “Don’t, don’t, don’t!” said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. “I know I’ve failed everything!”

  “What happens if we fail?” Harry asked the room at large, but it was again Hermione who answered.

  “We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term.”

  Harry’s stomach squirmed. He wished he had eaten less breakfast.

  “At Beauxbatons,” said Fleur complacently, “we ’ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then…”

  Fleur’s words were drowned in a scream. Hermione was pointing through the kitchen window. Three black specks were clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

  “They’re definitely owls,” said Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join Hermione at the window.

  “And there are three of them,” said Harry, hastening to her other side.

  “One for each of us,” said Hermione in a terrified whisper. “Oh no… oh no… oh no…”

  She gripped both Harry and Ron tightly around the elbows.

  The owls were flying directly at the Burrow, three handsome tawnies, each of which, it became clear as they flew lower over the path leading up to the house, was carrying a large square envelope.

  “Oh no!” squealed Hermione.

  Mrs. Weasley squeezed past them and opened the kitchen window. One, two, three, the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line. All three of them lifted their right legs.

  Harry moved forward. The letter addressed to him was tied to the leg of the owl in the middle. He untied it with fumbling fingers. To his left, Ron was trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione’s hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble.

  Nobody in the kitchen spoke. At last, Harry managed to detach the envelope. He slit it open quickly and unfolded the parchment inside.

  Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

  Pass Grades:

  Outstanding (O)

  Exceeds Expectations (E)

  Acceptable (A)

  Fail Grades:

  Poor (P)

  Dreadful (D)

  Troll (T)

  Harry James Potter has achieved:

  Astronomy A

  Care of Magical Creatures E

  Charms E

  Defense Against the Dark Arts O

  Divination P

  Herbology E

  History of Magic D

  Potions E

  Transfiguration E

  Harry read the parchment through several times, his breathing becoming easier with each reading. It was all right: He had always known that he would fail Divination, and he had had no chance of passing History of Magic, given that he had collapsed halfway through the examination, but he had passed everything else! He ran his finger down the grades… he had passed well in Transfiguration and Herbology, he had even exceeded expectations at Potions! And best of all, he had achieved “Outstanding” at Defense Against the Dark Arts!

  He looked around. Hermione had her back to him and her head bent, but Ron was looking delighted.

  “Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?” he said happily to Harry. “Here… swap…”

  Harry glanced down Ron’s grades: There were no “Outstandings” there…

  “Knew you’d be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Ron, punching Harry on the shoulder. “We’ve done all right, haven’t we?”

  “Well done!” said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron’s hair. “Seven O.W.L.s, that’s more than Fred and George got together!”

  “Hermione?” said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn’t turned around. “How did you do?”

  “I—not bad,” said Hermione in a small voice.

  “Oh, come off it,” said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. “Yep… ten ‘Outstandings’ and one ‘Exceeds Expectations’ at Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re actually disappointed, aren’t you?”

  Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.

  “Well, we’re N.E.W.T. students now!” grinned Ron. “Mum, are there any more sausages?”

  Harry looked back down at his results. They were as good as he could have hoped for. He felt just one tiny twinge of regret… This was the end of his ambition to become an Auror. He had not secured the required Potions grade. He had known all along that he wouldn’t, but he still felt a sinking in his stomach as he looked again at that small black E.

  It was odd, really, seeing that it had been a Death Eater in disguise who had first told Harry he would make a good Auror, but somehow the idea had taken hold of him, and he couldn’t really think of anything else he would like to be. Moreover, it had seemed the right destiny for him since he had heard the prophecy a few weeks ago… Neither can live while the other survives… Wouldn’t he be living up to the prophecy, and giving himself the best chance of survival, if he joined those highly trained wizards whose job it was to find and kill Voldemort?

  6. DRACO’S DETOUR
/>   Harry remained within the confines of the Burrow’s garden over the next few weeks. He spent most of his days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys’ orchard (he and Hermione against Ron and Ginny; Hermione was dreadful and Ginny good, so they were reasonably well matched) and his evenings eating triple helpings of everything Mrs. Weasley put in front of him.

  It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stones of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Mr. Weasley brought home news before it even reached the paper. To Mrs. Weasley’s displeasure, Harry’s sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who was looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with gray, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.

  “There have been another couple of Dementor attacks,” he announced, as Mrs. Weasley passed him a large slice of birthday cake. “And they’ve found Igor Karkaroff’s body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it… well, frankly, I’m surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius’s brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember.”

  “Yes, well,” said Mrs. Weasley, frowning, “perhaps we should talk about something diff…”

  “Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?” asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur. “The man who ran…”

  “—the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?” Harry interrupted, with an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. “He used to give me free ice creams. What’s happened to him?”

  “Dragged off, by the look of his place.”

  “Why?” asked Ron, while Mrs. Weasley pointedly glared at Bill.

  “Who knows? He must’ve upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean.”

  “Talking of Diagon Alley,” said Mr. Weasley, “looks like Ollivander’s gone too.”

  “The wandmaker?” said Ginny, looking startled.

  “That’s the one. Shop’s empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped.”