Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince hp-6 Read online

  “Happy birthday, Ron,” said Harry, when they were woken on the first of March by Seamus and Dean leaving noisily for breakfast. “Have a present.”

  He threw the package across on to Ron’s bed, where it joined a small pile of them that must, Harry assumed, have been delivered by house-elves in the night.

  “Cheers,” said Ron drowsily, and as he ripped off the paper Harry got out of bed, opened his own crunk and began rummaging in it for the Marauder’s Map, which he hid after every use. He turfed out half the contents of his trunk before he found it hiding beneath the rolled-up socks in which he was still keeping his bottle of lucky potion, Felix Felicis.

  “Right,” he murmured, taking it back to bed with him, tapping it quietly and murmuring, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” so that Neville, who was passing the foot of his bed at the time, would not hear.

  “Nice one, Harry!” said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper’s gloves Harry had given him.

  “No problem,” said Harry absent-mindedly, as he searched the Slytherin dormitory closely for Malfoy. “Hey… I don’t think he’s in his bed…”

  Ron did not answer; he was too busy unwrapping presents, every now and then letting out an exclamation of pleasure.

  “Seriously good haul this year!” he announced, holding up a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. “See what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I’ll come of age next year too…”

  “Cool,” muttered Harry, sparing the watch a glance before peering more closely at the map. Where was Malfoy? He did not seem to be at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, eating breakfast… he was nowhere near Snape, who was sitting in his study… he wasn’t in any of the bathrooms or in the hospital wing…

  “Want one?” said Ron thickly, holding out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.

  “No thanks,” said Harry, looking up. “Malfoy’s gone again!”

  “Can’t have done,” said Ron, stuffing a second Cauldron into his mouth as he slid out of bed to get dressed. “Come on. If you don’t hurry up you’ll have to Apparate on an empty-stomach… might make it easier, I suppose…”

  Ron looked thoughtfully at the box of Chocolate Cauldrons, then shrugged and helped himself to a third.

  Harry tapped the map with his wand, muttered, “Mischief managed,” though it hadn’t been, and got dressed, thinking hard. There had to be an explanation for Malfoy’s periodic disappearances, but he simply could not think what it could be. The best way of finding out would be to tail him, bur even with the Invisibility Cloak this was an impractical idea; he had lessons, Quidditch practice, homework and Apparition; he could not follow Malfoy around school all day wilhout his absence being remarked upon.

  “Ready?” he said to Ron.

  He was halfway to the dormitory door when he realised that Ron had not moved, but was leaning on his bedpost, staring out of the rain-washed window with a strangely unfocused look on his face.

  “Ron? Breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Harry stared ai him.

  “I thought you just said—?”

  “—Well, all right, I’ll come down with you,” sighed Ron, “but I don’t want to eat.”

  Harry scrutinised him suspiciously.

  “You’ve just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven’t you?”

  “It’s not that,” Ron sighed again. “You… you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Fair enough,” said Harry, albeit puzzled, as he turned to open the door.

  “Harry!” said Ron suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Harry, I can’t stand it!”

  “You can’t stand what?” asked Harry, now starling to feel definitely alarmed. Ron was rather pale and looked as though he was about to be sick.

  “I can’t stop thinking about her!” said Ron hoarsely.

  Harry gaped at him. He had not expected this and was not sure he wanted to hear it. Friends they might be, but if Ron started calling Lavender “Lav-Lav”, he would have to put his foot down.

  “Why does that stop you having breakfast?” Harry asked, trying to inject a note of common sense into the proceedings.

  “I don’t think she knows I exist,” said Ron with a desperate gesture.

  “She definitely knows you exist,” said Harry, bewildered. “She keeps snogging you, doesn’t she?”

  Ron blinked.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Who are you talking about?” said Harry, with an increasing sense that all reason had dropped out of the conversation.

  “Romilda Vane,” said Ron softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight. They stared at each other for almost a whole minute, before Harry said, “This is a joke, right? You’re joking.”

  “I think… Harry, I think I love her,” said Ron in a strangled voice.

  “OK,” said Harry, walking up to Ron to get a better look at the glazed eyes and the pallid complexion, “OK… say that again with a straight face.”

  “I love her,” repeated Ron breathlessly. “Have you seen her hair, it’s all black and shiny and silky… and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her—”

  “This is really funny and everything,” said Harry impatiently, “but joke’s over, all right? Drop it.”

  He turned to leave; he had got two steps towards the door when a crashing blow hit him on the right ear. Staggering, he looked round. Ron’s fist was drawn right back, his face was contorted with rage; he was about to strike again.

  Harry reacted instinctively; his wand was out of his pocket and the incantation sprang to mind without conscious thought: Levicorpus!

  Ron yelled as his heel was wrenched upwards once more; he dangled helplessly, upside-down, his robes hanging off him.

  “What was that for?” Harry bellowed.

  “You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!” shouted Ron, who was slowly turning purple in the face as all the blood rushed to his head.

  “This is insane!” said Harry. “What’s got into—?”

  And then he saw the box lying open on Ron’s bed and the truth hit him with the force of a stampeding troll.

  “Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?”

  “They were a birthday present!” shouted Ron, revolving slowly in midair as he struggled to get free. “I offered you one, didn’t I?”

  “You just picked them up off the floor, didn’t you?”

  “They’d fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!”

  “They didn’t fall off your bed, you prat, don’t you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was looking for the map. They’re the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and they’re all spiked with love potion!”

  But only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron.

  “Romilda?” he repeated. “Did you say Romilda? Harry—do you know her? Can you introduce me?”

  Harry stared at the dangling Ron, whose face now looked tremendously hopeful, and fought a strong desire to laugh. A part of him—the part closest to his throbbing right ear—was quite keen on the idea of letting Ron down and watching him run amok until the effects of the potion wore off… but on the other hand, they were supposed to be friends, Ron had not been himself when he had attacked, and Harry thought that he would deserve another punching if he permitted Ron to declare undying love for Romilda Vane.

  “Yeah, I’ll introduce you,” said Harry, thinking fast. “I’m going to let you down now, OK?”

  He sent Ron crashing back to the floor (his ear did hurt quite a lot), but Ron simply bounded to his feet again, grinning.

  “She’ll be in Slughorn’s office,” said Harry confidently, leading the way to the door.

  “Why will she be in there?” asked Ron anxiously, hurrying to keep up.

  “Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him,” said Harry, inventing wild
ly.

  “Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?” said Ron eagerly.

  “Great idea,” said Harry. Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, a complication Harry had not foreseen.

  “You’re lace, Won-Won!” she pouted. “I’ve got you a birthday—”

  “Leave me alone,” said Ron impatiently, “Harry’s going to introduce me to Romilda Vane.”

  And without another word to her, he pushed his way out of the portrait hole. Harry tried to make an apologetic face to Lavender, but it might have turned out simply amused, because she looked more offended than ever as the Fat Lady swung shut behind them.

  Harry had been slightly worried that Slughorn might be at breakfast, but he answered his office door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing-gown and matching nightcap and looking rather bleary-eyed.

  “Harry,” he mumbled. “This is very early for a call… I generally sleep late on a Saturday…”

  “Professor, I’m really sorry to disturb you,” said Harry as quietly as possible, while Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into his room, “but my friend Ron’s swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn’t make him an antidote, could you? I’d take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we’re not supposed to have anything from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and, you know… awkward questions…”

  “I’d have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, Harry, an expert potioneer like you?” asked Slughorn.

  “Er,” said Harry, somewhat distracted by the fact that Ron was now elbowing him in the ribs in an attempt to force his way into the room, “well, I’ve never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir, and by the time I get it right Ron might’ve done something serious—”

  Helpfully, Ron chose this moment to moan, “I can’t see her. Harry—is he hiding her?”

  “Was this potion within date?” asked Slughorn, now eyeing Ron with professional interest. “They can strengthen, you know, the longer they’re kept.”

  “That would explain a lot,” panted Harry, now positively wrestling with Ron to keep him from knocking Slughorn over. “It’s his birthday, Professor,” he added imploringly.

  “Oh, all right, come in, then, come in,” said Slughorn, relenting. “I’ve got the necessary here in my bag, it’s not a difficult antidote…”

  Ron burst through the door into Slughorn’s overheated, crowded study, tripped over a tasselled footstool, regained his balance by seizing Harry around the neck and muttered, “She didn’t see that, did she?”

  “She’s not here yet,” said Harry, watching Slughorn opening his potion kit and adding a few pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle.

  “That’s good,” said Ron fervently. “How do I look?”

  “Very handsome,” said Slughorn smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. “Now drink that up, it’s a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know.”

  “Brilliant,” said Ron eagerly, and he gulped the antidote down noisily.

  Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

  “Back to normal, then?” said Harry, grinning. Slughorn chuckled. “Thanks a lot, Professor.”

  “Don’t mention it, m’boy, don’t mention it,” said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. “Pick-me-up, that’s what he needs,” Slughorn continued, now-bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. “I’ve got Butterbeer, I’ve got wine, I’ve got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead… hmm… meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas… ah well…” he shrugged “…he can’t miss what he’s never had! Why don’t we open it now and celebrate Mr. Weasley’s birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love…”

  He chortled again and Harry joined in. This was the first time he had found himself almost alone with Slughorn since his disastrous first attempt to extract the true memory from him. Perhaps, if he could just keep Slughorn in a good mood… perhaps if they got through enough of the oak-matured mead…

  “There you are, then,” said Slughorn, handing Harry and Ron a glass of mead each, before raising his own. “Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph—”

  “—Ron—” whispered Harry.

  But Ron, who did not appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it.

  There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, did not.

  “—and may you have many more—”

  “Ron!”

  Ron had dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair and then crumpled, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth and his eyes were bulging from their sockets.

  “Professor!” Harry bellowed. “Do something!”

  But Slughorn seemed paralysed by shock. Ron twitched and choked: his skin was turning blue.

  “What—but—” spluttered Slughorn.

  Harry leapt over a low table and sprinted towards Slughorn’s open potion kit, pulling out jars and pouches, while the terrible sound of Ron’s gargling breath filled the room. Then he found it—the shrivelled kidney-like stone Slughorn had taken from him in Potions.

  He hurtled back to Ron’s side, wrenched open his jaw and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp and his body became limp and still.

  19. ELF TAILS

  “So, all in all, not one of Ron’s better birthdays?” said Fred.

  It was evening; the hospital wing was quiet, the windows curtained, the lamps lit. Ron’s was the only occupied bed. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around him; they had spent all day waiting outside the double doors, trying to see inside whenever somebody went in or out. Madam Pomfrey had only let them enter at eight o’clock. Fred and George had arrived at ten past.

  “This isn’t how we imagined handing over our present,” said George grimly, putting down a large wrapped gift on Ron’s bedside cabinet and sitting beside Ginny.

  “Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious,” said Fred.

  “There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him—” said George.

  “You were in Hogsmeade?” asked Ginny, looking up.

  “We were thinking of buying Zonko’s,” said Fred gloomily. “A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it’ll do us if you lot aren’t allowed out at weekends to buy our stuff anymore… But never mind that now.”

  He drew up a chair beside Harry and looked at Ron’s pale face.

  “How exactly did it happen, Harry?”

  Harry retold the story he had already recounted, it felt like a hundred times to Dumbledore, to McGonagall, to Madam Pomfrey, to Hermione, and to Ginny.

  “…and then I got the bezoar down his throat and his breathing eased up a bit, Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron up here. They reckon he’ll be all right. Madam Pomfrey says he’ll have to stay here a week or so… keep taking essence of rue…”

  “Blimey, it was lucky you thought of a bezoar,” said George in a low voice.

  “Lucky there was one in the room,” said Harry, who kept turning cold at the thought of what would have happened if he had not been able to lay hands on the little stone.

  Hermione gave an almost inaudible sniff. She had been exceptionally quiet all day. Having hurtled, white-faced, up to Harry outside the hospital wing and demanded to know what had happened, she had taken almost no part in Harry and Ginny’s obsessive discussion about how Ron had been poisoned, but merely stood beside them, clench-jawed and frightened-looking, until at last they had been allowed in to see him.

  “Do Mum and Dad know?” Fred asked Ginny.

  “They’ve already seen him, they arrived an hour ago—they’re in Dumbledore’s office now, but they’ll be back soon…”

  Th
ere was a pause while they all watched Ron mumble a little in his sleep.

  “So the poison was in the drink?” said Fred quietly.

  “Yes,” said Harry at once; he could think of nothing else and was glad for the opportunity to start discussing it again. “Slughorn poured it out—”

  “Would he have been able to slip something into Ron’s glass without you seeing?”

  “Probably,” said Harry, “but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron?”

  “No idea,” said Fred, frowning. “You don’t think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?”

  “Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?” asked Ginny.

  “I dunno,” said Fred, “but there must be loads of people who’d like to poison Harry, mustn’t there? ‘The Chosen One’ and all that?”

  “So you think Slughorn’s a Death Eater?” said Ginny.

  “Anything’s possible,” said Fred darkly.

  “He could be under the Imperius Curse,” said George.

  “Or he could be innocent,” said Ginny. “The poison could have been in the bottle, in which case it was probably meant for Slughorn himself.”

  “Who’d want to kill Slughorn?”

  “Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side,” said Harry. “Slughorn was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And…” He thought of the memory Dumbledore had not yet been able to extract from Slughorn. “And maybe Voldemort wants him out of the way, maybe he thinks he could be valuable to Dumbledore.”

  “But you said Slughorn had been planning to give the bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas,” Ginny reminded him. “So the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore.”

  “Then the poisoner didn’t know Slughorn very well,” said Hermione, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding as though she had a bad head cold. “Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he’d keep something that tasty for himself.”