Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince hp-6

by J. K. Rowling

  “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 toward 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 Felix Felicis… He suddenly wished he had said a better good-bye 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 center of the lake.

  “Careful not to touch the water,” said Dumbledore again as Harry climbed 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 toward 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 flexible 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 absentmindedly, 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 to immediately 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 defenses 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 paralyze 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, refil
led it, and drank once more.

  In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward 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 was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forward 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 recognize, 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 toward 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 goblet ful 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.

  “Its 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, its 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 forward, 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; then 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 onto his face.

  “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 onto 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 Dumbledores chest; there was a flash of red light but nothing happened. “Rennervate—sir—please—”

  Dumbledores 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 onto his side and was drawing great, rattling breaths that sounded agonizing. “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 forward, 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, backward 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 toward the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water.

  “Petrificus Totalus!” yelled Harry, struggling to cling to the smooth, soaked surface of the island as he pointed his wand at the Inferius that had his arm. It released him, falling backward into the water with a splash; he scrambled to his feet, but many more Inferi were already climbing onto 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 toward him. “Impedimenta! Incarcerous!”

  A few of them stumbled, one or two of them bound in ropes, but those climbing onto 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 toward him, and as he backed away still farther, he felt arms enclose him from behind, thin, fleshless arms cold as death, and his fee
t left the ground as they lifted him and began to carry him, slowly and surely, back to the water, till 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, then 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—”