Harry Potter And The Half Blood Prince 哈利波特与混血王子（2.8完结）_派派后花园

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[Novel] Harry Potter And The Half Blood Prince 哈利波特与混血王子（2.8完结）

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等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 十夜凉
你笑起来真好看  像夏天的阳光
举报 只看该作者 20楼  发表于: 2014-01-24 0

第10章 冈特老宅

这星期后来几节魔药课上，每次混血王子对利巴修·波拉奇的课本提出异议，哈利就按混血王子的建议去做，结果在上第四节魔药课时，斯拉格霍恩对哈利的能力赞不绝口，说他很少教过这么有天分的学生。罗恩和赫敏对此都不太高兴。尽管哈利把他的书拿出来与他俩共享，但罗恩不能像哈利那么熟练地辨认那些字迹，又不能总是叫哈利念出声来给他听，免得惹人怀疑。赫敏呢，她毫不动摇地按照她所说的“正式”指南去操作，结果熬制出的魔药远不如按照王子的那些说明去操作的令人满意，所以她的脾气越来越坏。

　　哈利暗暗猜测这位混血王子到底是什么人。由于家庭作业太多，他还没能把那本《高级魔药制作》仔细研读一遍，但他已经从头到尾大致翻了翻，发现王子几乎在每一页上都添加了笔记，而且那些笔记并不都与魔药制作有关。有一些说明看上去像是王子自己编的咒语。

　　“说不定那是个女人呢，”一个星期六的晚上，赫敏在公共休息室里听哈利把那些咒语说给罗恩听的时候，不耐烦地说，“也可能是个女生。我觉得那笔记不像男生的，更像女生的。”

　　“他叫‘混血王子’。”哈利说，“有多少女生管自己叫王子？”

　　赫敏似乎无言以对。她只是皱起眉头，一把抽走了她写的那篇题目叫《幽灵显形的原理》的文章，罗恩正倒着偷看呢。

　　哈利看了看表，急忙把他那本《高级魔药制作》旧课本塞进了书包。

　　“八点差五分了，我得赶紧走，到邓布利多那儿要迟到了。”

　　“哟！”赫敏吃了一惊，立刻抬起头来，“祝你好运！我们会一直等你回来。我们想听听他会教你什么。”

　　“希望一切顺利。”罗恩说，然后他们俩目送哈利从肖像洞口离开了。

　　哈利快步穿过空无一人的走廊，突然，他看见特里劳妮教授转过拐角，手里洗着一副脏兮兮的扑克牌，一边读着牌上的点数，一边自言自语，哈利赶紧闪身躲到一座雕像后面。

　　“黑桃2：冲突；”她走过哈利躲藏的地方时，嘴里念念有词地说，“黑桃7：凶兆；黑桃10：暴力；黑桃杰克：一个黑头发的年轻人，很可能心烦意乱，不愿意别人审问他——”

　　她停住脚，就站在哈利藏身的那座雕像的另一边。

　　“唉，这肯定不对。”她烦恼地说，哈利听见她一边起劲地重新洗牌，一边又往前走去，只在身后留下一股雪利料酒的气味。哈利一直等到确信她已经走远，才赶紧拔腿离开雕像，一直走到八楼走廊里有只单独的石头怪兽的地方。

　　“酸味汽水。”哈利说。石头怪兽跳到一旁，它身后的墙壁裂成了两半，露出后面的一道活动的螺旋型楼梯。哈利跨了上去，随着楼梯一圈圈地旋转，越升越高，最后来到了那扇带有黄铜门环的邓布利多办公室门前。

　　哈利敲了敲门。

　　“请进。”是邓布利多的声音。

　　“晚上好，先生。”哈利说着走进了校长办公室。

　　“啊，晚上好，哈利。坐下吧，”邓布利多笑眯眯地说，“我想，开学第一个星期你过得很愉快吧？”

　　“是的，先生，谢谢。”哈利说。

　　“你一定很忙啊，已经吃了一个禁闭了！”

　　“嗯……”哈利不知道该说什么，不过邓布利多的表情并不是很严厉。

　　“我已经跟斯内普说好了，你下个星期六再去关禁闭。”

　　“好的。”哈利说，他脑子里装着更要紧的事情，顾不上去想斯内普的禁闭。他偷偷打量着四周，想猜出邓布利多这个晚上叫他来做什么。这间圆形办公室看上去还和往常一样：细长腿的桌子上摆着许多精致的银器，它们旋转着，喷出一小股一小股的烟雾。那些男男女女老校长们的肖像都在各自的相框里打着瞌睡。邓布利多那只气派非凡的凤凰福克斯站在门后的栖枝上，兴趣盎然地注视着哈利。看样子，邓布利多并没有腾出一个练习格斗的地方。

　　“我想，哈利，”邓布利多用一本正经的口吻说，“你肯定在纳闷，我打算怎么给你——没有更好的说法——上课？”

　　“是的，先生。”

　　“是这样，既然你已经知道十五年前是什么促使伏地魔对你下毒手的，我认为现在应该让你了解一些情况了。”

　　片刻的停顿。

　　“上学期结束时，你就说要把一切都告诉我的。”哈利说。他很难消除自己话里所带的一点儿责怪口气。“先生。”他又找补道。

　　“我是那么做了。”邓布利多心平气和地说，“我把我所知道的一切都告诉了你。从现在起，我们就要离开坚实的事实基础，共同穿越昏暗模糊的记忆沼泽，进入错综复杂的大胆猜测了。在这一点上，哈利，我可能会像汉弗莱·贝尔切一样犯下可悲的错误，他竟然相信可以用干酪做坩埚。”

　　“但是你认为你是正确的？”哈利说。

　　“我自然这样以为，但是，正如我已经向你证实的，我也像普通人一样会犯错误。事实上，由于我——请原谅——由于我比大多数人聪明得多，我的错误也就相应地会更严重。”

　　“先生，”哈利试探地说，“你要跟我说的事情，是不是跟那个预言有关？是不是为了帮助我……活下来？”

　　“它跟那个预言很有关系。”邓布利多说，语气是那样随便，就好像哈利是在问他明天天气如何，“我当然希望它能帮助你活下来。”

　　邓布利多站起来，绕过桌子，从哈利旁边走过去。哈利在椅子上热切地转过身，注视着邓布利多在门旁的那个柜子前俯下身去。当邓布利多直起腰时，手里端着一个哈利熟悉的浅底石盆，盆口刻着一圈古怪的符号。他把冥想盆放在哈利面前的桌子上。

　　“你看上去很担心。”

　　确实，哈利是以担忧害怕的目光打量着冥想盆的。对于这个储藏和展现思想和记忆的古怪器物，他以前有过的几次经历虽然颇有启发性，但是都很不舒服。比如，他上次擅自闯进去时，就看到了许多他不愿意看到的东西。不过，邓布利多脸上带着微笑。

　　“这一次，你跟我一起进入冥想盆……而且，更不同寻常的是，你是获得准许的。”

　　“我们去哪儿呢，先生？”

　　“到鲍勃·奥格登的记忆小路上走一走。”邓布利多说着从口袋里掏出一个水晶瓶，里面盛着一种旋转飘浮的银白色东西。

　　“鲍勃·奥格登是谁？”

　　“他当年在魔法法律执行司工作。”邓布利多说，“他死了有一些日子了。不过在他死之前，我想方设法找到了他，并说服他把这些记忆告诉了我。现在，我们要陪他一起到他执行任务时去过的一个地方。哈利，你站起来……”

　　可是邓布利多拔不出水晶瓶的木塞子：他那只受伤的手似乎很疼，不听使唤。

　　“我——我来好吗，先生？”

　　“没关系，哈利——”

　　邓布利多用魔杖指了指瓶子，塞子立刻跳了出来。

　　“先生——你的手是怎么受伤的？”哈利既嫌恶又同情地看着那些焦黑的手指，又问了一遍。

　　“现在不是说这件事的时候，哈利。还不到时候。我们跟鲍勃·奥格登有个约会呢。”

　　邓布利多把瓶子里的银色物质倒进了冥想盆，它们在盆里慢慢地旋转起来，发出淡淡的微光，既不像液体，也不像气体。

　　“你先进去。”邓布利多指了指冥想盆，说道。

　　哈利往前探着身子，深深吸了一口气，一头扎进了银色的物质中。他感觉他的双脚离开了办公室的地面。他穿过不断旋转的黑暗，往下坠落，坠落，突然，强烈的阳光刺得他闭上了眼睛。没等他的眼睛适应过来，邓布利多在他旁边降落了。

　　他们站在一条乡间小路上，两边都是高高的、枝叶纠结的灌木树篱，头顶上是夏日的天空，像勿忘我花一样清澈、湛蓝。在他们前面大约十步远的地方，站着一个矮矮胖胖的男人，他戴着一副镜片特别厚的眼镜，两只眼睛被缩小成了两个点，像鼹鼠的眼睛一样。他在阅读从小路左边的荆棘丛里伸出来的一根木头路标。哈利知道这一定就是奥格登了，因为四下里看不见别人，而且他跟那些想打扮成麻瓜模样、却又经验不足的巫师一样，穿着一身古里古怪的衣服：一件带条纹的游泳衣外面披了一件礼服大衣，脚上还套着鞋罩。哈利刚打量完他古怪的模样，奥格登就顺着小路快步走去了。

　　邓布利多和哈利跟了上去。经过那根木头路标时，哈利抬头看了看它的两个指示箭头。指着他们来路的那个写着：大汉格顿，5英里。指着奥格登所去的方向写着：小汉格顿，1英里。

　　他们走了一会儿，周围看不见别的，只看到两边高高的灌木树篱、头顶上湛蓝辽阔的夏日天空和前面那个穿着礼服大衣、沙沙行走的身影。接着，小路向左一拐，顺着山坡陡直而下，于是，他们突然意外地发现一座山谷，一览无遗地呈现在他们面前。哈利看见了一个村庄，那无疑便是小汉格顿了，坐落在两座陡峭的山坡之间，教堂和墓地都清晰可见。山谷对面的山坡上，有一座非常气派的大宅子，周围是大片绿茵茵的草地。

　　由于下坡的路太陡，奥格登不由自主地小跑起来。邓布利多把步子迈得更大，哈利也加快脚步跟在后面。他以为小汉格顿肯定是他们最终的目的地，所以，他就像他们去找斯拉格霍恩的那天夜里一样，心里纳闷为什么要从这么远的距离走过去。很快他就发现自己弄错了，他们并不是要去那个村庄。小路往右一拐，等他们转过那个弯道，只见奥格登礼服大衣的衣摆一闪，他在篱笆中的一个豁口处不见了。

　　邓布利多和哈利跟着他来到一条狭窄的土路上，两边的灌木树篱比刚才他们经过的那些更加高大茂密。土路弯弯曲曲，坑坑洼洼，布满乱石，像刚才那条小路一样陡直向下，似乎通向下面一小片漆黑的树林。果然，没走多远，土路就接上了那片矮树林，奥格登停下脚步，拔出魔杖，邓布利多和哈利也在他身后停了下来。

　　尽管天空晴朗无云，但头顶上那些古树投下了凉飕飕的黑暗浓密的阴影，过了几秒钟，哈利的眼睛才看见一座在盘根错节的树丛中半隐半现的房子。他觉得挑这个地方造房子真是有些奇怪，或者说，让那些大树长在房子旁边真是个古怪的决定，树木挡住了所有的光线，也挡住了下面的山谷。他琢磨着这个地方是不是有人居住：墙上布满苔藓，房顶上的许多瓦片都掉了，这里或那里露出了里面的椽木。房子周围长着茂密的荨麻，高高的荨麻一直齐到窗口，那些窗户非常小，积满了厚厚的陈年污垢。哈利正要断定不会有人住在里面，突然，咔哒一声，一扇窗户打开了，从里面冒出一股细细的蒸气或青烟，似乎有人正在烧饭。

　　奥格登悄悄地向前走去，哈利觉得他的动作非常谨慎。等黑糊糊的树影从他身上滑落下来，他又停下了脚步，两眼直直地望着房子的前门，什么人把一条死蛇钉在了门上。

　　就在这时，一阵沙沙声响起，紧接着又是咔嚓一声，一个穿着破衣烂衫的男人从近旁的一棵树上跳了下来，恰好落在奥格登的面前。奥格登赶紧后退，结果踩在自己大衣的后摆上，差点儿摔倒。

　　“你不受欢迎。”

　　站在他们面前的这个男人，浓密的头发里缠结着厚厚的污垢，已经辨不出原来的颜色。他嘴里掉了几颗牙，两只黑溜溜的小眼睛瞪着两个相反的方向。他本来看上去应该挺滑稽，然而事实上不是这样。他的模样很吓人，哈利心想，难怪奥格登又往后退了几步才开口说话。

　　“呃——上午好。我是魔法部——”

　　“你不受欢迎。”

　　“呃——对不起——我听不懂你的话。”奥格登不安地说。

　　哈利认为奥格登真是迟钝到了极点。在哈利看来，陌生人已经把他的意思表达得很清楚了，特别是他一只手里挥着一根魔杖，另一只手里握着一把看上去血淋淋的短刀。

　　“我想，你肯定能听得懂他的话吧，哈利？”邓布利多轻声问道。

　　“是啊，那还用说。”哈利有点不解地说，“为什么奥格登听不——”

　　接着，他的眼睛又看到了门上的那条死蛇，他突然明白了。

　　“他说的是蛇佬腔？”

　　“很好。”邓布利多点点头，微笑着说。

　　这时，那个穿着破衣烂衫的人一手握刀，一手挥着魔杖，正一步步朝奥格登逼近。

　　“喂，你别——”奥格登刚想说话，可已经迟了：砰的一声巨响，奥格登倒在地上，用手捏着鼻子，一股令人恶心的黄兮兮、黏糊糊的东西从他指缝间涌了出来。

　　“莫芬！”一个声音大喊道。

　　一位上了年纪的男人匆匆地从木房子里跑了出来，重重地带上身后的门，那条死蛇可怜巴巴地左右摇摆着。这个男人比刚才那个略矮一些，身材怪模怪样的，长得不成比例：肩膀太宽，手臂过长，再加上一双亮晶晶的褐色眼睛、一头又短又硬的头发和一张皱巴巴的面孔，看上去活像一只凶猛的老猴子。他走过去站在那个拿刀的男人旁边，拿刀的男人看到奥格登倒在地上，开心得嘎嘎大笑起来。

　　“部里来的，嗯？”年长一些的男人低头看着奥格登，问道。

　　“正是！”奥格登一边擦着脸一边生气地说，“我想，你就是冈特先生吧？”

　　“没错。”冈特说，“他打中了你的脸，是吗？”

　　“是的！”奥格登没好气地说。

　　“你来这里应该先通知我们，是不是？”冈特盛气凌人地说，“这是私人领地。你这么大摇大摆地走进来，我儿子能不采取自卫行动吗？”

　　“他有什么要自卫的？”奥格登挣扎着爬起来，说道。

　　“爱管闲事的人。闯私宅的强盗。麻瓜和垃圾。”

　　奥格登的鼻子仍在大量流着黄脓状的东西，他用魔杖指了自己一下，它们立刻就止住了。冈特先生撇着嘴对莫芬说：

　　“进屋去。不许废话。”

　　这次哈利有了思想准备，听出了他的蛇佬腔。他听懂了话的意思，同时也分辨出奥格登所能听见的那种奇怪的嘶嘶声。莫芬似乎还想辩解几句，但他父亲朝他狠狠地瞪了一眼，他便改变了主意，迈着古怪的、摇摇晃晃的脚步，慢吞吞地朝木房子走去，进去后又重重地关上门，那条蛇又可怜巴巴地摇摆起来。

　　“我来是想见见你的儿子，冈特先生，”奥格登说，一边擦去衣襟上的最后一点黄脓，“刚才那就是莫芬吧？”

　　“啊，那就是莫芬。”老人漫不经心地说，“你是纯血统吗？”他问，态度突然变得如此咄咄逼人。

　　“两边都不是。”奥格登冷冷地说，哈利顿时对他肃然起敬。

　　但冈特显然不以为然。他眯起眼睛盯着奥格登的脸，用一种显然是故意冒犯的口吻嘟囔道：“现在我回过头来想想，确实在村子里见过你那样的鼻子。”

　　“对此我毫不怀疑，既然你儿子这样随意地攻击它们，”奥格登说，“也许我们可以进屋里去谈？”

　　“进屋？”

　　“是的，冈特先生。我已经告诉过你。我是为了莫芬的事来的。我们派了一只猫头鹰——”

　　“猫头鹰对我没有用。”冈特说，“我从来不看信。”

　　“那你就不能抱怨说不知道有人要来了。”奥格登尖刻地说，“我来这里，是为了处理今天凌晨发生的一件严重违反巫师法律的事情——”

　　“好吧，好吧，好吧！”冈特吼道，“就到该死的房子里去吧，那样你会舒服得多！”

　　这座房子似乎共有三间小屋子，中间的大屋子兼作厨房和客厅，另有两扇门通向别的屋子。莫芬坐在黑烟滚滚的火炉旁的一把肮脏的扶手椅上，粗大的手指间摆弄着一条活的小毒蛇，嘴里轻轻地用蛇佬腔哼唱着：

　　嘶嘶，嘶嘶，蛇宝宝，
　　快快在地上爬过来，
　　你要对莫芬特别好，
　　不然就把你钉在大门外。

　　那扇敞开的窗户旁的墙角里传来慢吞吞的脚步声，哈利这才发现屋里还有另外一个人，是一个姑娘，她身上穿的那件破破烂烂的灰色衣裙简直跟她身后肮脏的石墙一个颜色。她站在积满烟灰的炉子上一只冒着热气的炖锅旁，正在炉子上方搁架上的一堆肮脏的盆盆罐罐里找着什么。她平直的头发毫无光泽，脸色苍白，相貌平平，神情显得很愁闷。她的眼睛和她弟弟的一样，朝两个相反的方向瞪着。她看上去比那两个男人干净一些，但哈利觉得他从没见过比她更没精打采的人了。

　　“我女儿，梅洛普。”冈特看见奥格登询问地望着那姑娘，便满不情愿地介绍说。

　　“上午好。”奥格登说。

　　姑娘没有回答，惊慌地看了父亲一眼，就赶紧背转身，继续摆弄搁架上的那些盆盆罐罐。

　　“好吧，冈特先生，”奥格登说，“我们开门见山地说吧，我们有理由相信你的儿子莫芬昨天深夜在一个麻瓜面前施了魔法。”

　　咣当一声，震耳欲聋。梅洛普把一只罐子碰掉在地上。

　　“捡起来！”冈特朝她吼道，“怎么，像一个肮脏的麻瓜那样趴到地上去找？你的魔杖是干什么用的，你这个废物大草包？”

　　“冈特先生，请不要这样！”奥格登用惊愕的口气说，这时梅洛普已经把罐子捡了起来，可突然之间，她的脸涨得红一块白一块的。她的手一松，罐子又掉在了地上。她战战兢兢地从口袋里掏出魔杖，指着罐子，慌里慌张地轻声念了一句什么咒语，罐子噌地从她脚下贴着地面飞了出去，撞在对面的墙上，裂成了两半。

　　莫芬发出一阵疯狂的嘎嘎大笑。冈特尖声大叫起来：“修好它，你这个没用的傻大个儿，修好它！”

　　梅洛普跌跌撞撞地走到屋子那头，但没等她举起魔杖，奥格登已经用自己的魔杖指了过去，沉着地说了一句：“恢复如初！”罐子立刻自动修好了。

　　有那么一会儿，冈特似乎想冲奥格登嚷嚷一通，但又似乎改变了主意。他讥笑着对他女儿说：“幸好有魔法部的这位大好人在这儿，是不是？说不定他会把你从我手里弄走，说不定他不讨厌龌龊的哑炮……”

　　梅洛普对谁也没看一眼，也没对奥格登道声感谢，只是捡起罐子，用颤抖的双手把它重新放到搁板上。然后，她一动不动地站在那里，后背贴在肮脏的窗户和炉子之间的墙壁上，似乎一心只希望自己能陷进石墙里，彻底消失。

　　“冈特先生，”奥格登先生又开口道，“正如我刚才说的，我此行的原因是——”

　　“我第一次就听明白了！”冈特怒气冲冲地说，“那又怎么样？莫芬随手教训了一个麻瓜——那又怎么样呢？”

　　“莫芬违反了巫师法。”奥格登严肃地说。

　　“莫芬违反了巫师法，”冈特模仿着奥格登的声音，并故意拖腔拖调的，透着一股子傲慢。莫芬又嘎嘎大笑起来。“他给了一个肮脏的麻瓜一点颜色瞧瞧，怎么，如今这算非法的了？”

　　“对，”奥格登说，“恐怕是这样。”

　　他从大衣内侧的口袋里掏出一小卷羊皮纸，展了开来。

　　“这是什么，给他的判决？”冈特气愤地提高了嗓音。

　　“传唤他到魔法部接受审讯——”

　　“传唤！传唤？你以为你是谁呀，竟敢传唤我的儿子？”

　　“我是魔法法律执行队的队长。”奥格登说。

　　“你以为我们是下三滥啊？”冈特尖叫着说，一边逼近奥格登，一边用发黄的肮脏的手指戳着他的胸口，“魔法部一声召唤，我们就得颠儿颠儿地跑去？你知道你在跟谁说话吗，你这个龌龊的小泥巴种，嗯？”

　　“我记得我好像是在跟冈特先生说话。”奥格登显得很警惕，但毫不退缩。

　　“没错！”冈特吼道。哈利一时以为冈特是在做一个下流的手势，接着他才发现，冈特是在给奥格登看他中指上戴着的那枚丑陋的黑宝石戒指。他把戒指在奥格登面前晃来晃去。“看见这个了吗？看见这个了吗？知道这是什么吗？知道这是从哪儿来的吗？它在我们家传了好几个世纪了，我们家族的历史就有那么久，而且一直是纯血统！知道有人想出多大的价钱把它从我手里买走吗？宝石上刻着佩弗利尔的纹章呢！”

　　“我确实不知道，”奥格登说，那戒指在他鼻子前一英寸的地方晃过，他眨了眨眼睛，“而且它跟这件事没有关系，冈特先生。你儿子犯了——”

　　冈特愤怒地大吼一声，冲向他的女儿，一只手直伸向女儿的喉咙，一时间，哈利还以为他要把她掐死呢。接着，他拽着女儿脖子上的一条金链子，把她拉到了奥格登面前。

　　“看见这个了吗？”他朝奥格登咆哮道，一边冲他摇晃着那上面的一个沉甸甸的金挂坠盒，梅洛普憋得连连咳嗽，连气都喘不过来了。

　　“我看见了，我看见了！”奥格登急忙说。

　　“斯莱特林的！”冈特嚷道，“萨拉查·斯莱特林的！我们是他最后一支活着的传人，对此你有什么话说，嗯？”

　　“冈特先生，你的女儿！”奥格登惊慌地说，但冈特已经把梅洛普放开了。她跌跌撞撞地离开了他，回到原来那个角落里，一边揉着脖子，一边使劲地喘着气。

　　“怎么样！”冈特得意地说，似乎他刚把一个复杂的问题证明得清清楚楚，不会再有任何争议了，“所以别用那副口气跟我们说话，别把我们当成你鞋底上的泥巴！我们祖祖辈辈都是纯血统，都是巫师——我相信，你没有这些可炫耀吧！”

　　他朝奥格登脚下吐了一口唾沫，莫芬又嘎嘎大笑起来。梅洛普蜷缩在窗户边，垂着脑袋，一声不吭，直直的头发遮住了她的面庞。

　　“冈特先生，”奥格登固执地说，“恐怕无论你我的祖先都跟眼下这件事情毫无关系。我到这里来是为了莫芬，还有昨天深夜他招惹的那个麻瓜。我们得到情报，”他低头看了看那卷羊皮纸，“说莫芬对那个麻瓜念了一个恶咒，或施了一个魔法，使他全身长出了剧痛无比的荨麻疹。”

　　莫芬咯咯地笑了。

　　“闭嘴，小子！”冈特用蛇佬腔喝道，莫芬立刻不吭声了。

　　“就算他这么做了，那又怎么样？”冈特挑衅地对奥格登说，“我想，你们一定替那个麻瓜把肮脏的脸擦干净了，还把他的记忆——”

　　“问题不在这里，对吗，冈特先生？”奥格登说，“这是一起无缘无故袭击一个毫无防备的——”

　　“哈，刚才我一看见你，就知道你是一个喜欢麻瓜的人。”冈特讥笑着说，又往地上吐了一口唾沫。

　　“这种谈话不会有任何结果。”奥格登义正词严地说，“从你儿子的态度来看，他显然对他的所作所为没有一丝懊悔。”他又扫了一眼那卷羊皮纸。“莫芬将于九月十四日接受审讯，对他在一位麻瓜面前使用魔法、并给那位麻瓜造成伤害和痛苦的指控做出答辩——”

　　奥格登突然停住了。丁丁的铃铛声、的马蹄声，还有响亮的说笑声从敞开的窗户外面飘了进来。显然，通向村庄的那条羊肠小道离这座房子所在的矮树林非常近。冈特愣住了，他侧耳倾听，眼睛瞪得大大的。莫芬的嘴里嘶嘶作响，他转眼望着声音传来的地方，一脸贪婪的表情。梅洛普抬起头。哈利看到她的脸色白得吓人。

　　“天哪，多么煞风景的东西！”一个姑娘清脆的声音从敞开的窗口飘了进来，他们听得清清楚楚，好像她就站在屋子里，站在他们身边似的，“汤姆，你父亲就不能把那间小破棚子拆掉吗？”

　　“那不是我们的。”一个年轻人的声音说道，“山谷另一边的东西都属于我们家，但那座小木屋属于一个名叫冈特的老流浪汉和他的孩子们。那儿子疯疯癫癫的，你真该听听村里的人是怎么议论他的——”

　　姑娘笑了起来。丁丁的铃铛声、的马蹄声越来越响。莫芬想从扶手椅上跳起来。

　　“坐好了别动！”他父亲用蛇佬腔警告他。

　　“汤姆，”姑娘的声音又响了起来，现在离得更近了，显然他们就在房子旁边，“我不会看错吧——难道有人在那扇门上钉了一条蛇？”

　　“对啊，你没有看错！”那个男人的声音说，“肯定是那儿子干的，我对你说过他脑子不大正常。别看它了，塞西利娅，亲爱的。”

　　丁丁的铃铛声的马蹄声又渐渐地远去了。

　　“‘亲爱的，’”莫芬望着他姐姐，用蛇佬腔小声说道，“他管她叫‘亲爱的’，看来他是不会要你了。”

　　梅洛普脸色煞白，哈利觉得她肯定要晕倒了。

　　“怎么回事？”冈特厉声问道，用的也是蛇佬腔，眼睛看看儿子，又看看女儿，“你说什么，莫芬？”

　　“她喜欢看那个麻瓜，”莫芬说着盯住他姐姐，脸上露出恶毒的表情，梅洛普则显得非常惊恐，“每次那个麻瓜经过，她都在花园里隔着篱笆看他，是不是？昨天夜里——”

　　梅洛普哀求地使劲摇着头，但是莫芬毫不留情地说了下去：“她在窗户外面徘徊，等着看那麻瓜骑马回家，是不是？”

　　“在窗户外面徘徊，等着看一个麻瓜？”冈特小声问。

　　冈特家的三个人似乎都忘记了奥格登的存在。奥格登面对这新一轮爆发的不可理解的嘶嘶声和粗吼声，显得既迷惑又恼怒。

　　“这是真的吗？”冈特用阴沉沉的声音问，一边朝那个惊恐万状的姑娘逼近了一两步，“我的女儿——萨拉查·斯莱特林纯血统的后裔——竟然追求一个肮脏的、下三滥的麻瓜？”

　　梅洛普疯狂地摇着头，拼命把身体挤缩在墙角里，显然一句话也说不出来。

　　“可是我教训了那家伙，爸爸！”莫芬嘎嘎地笑着说，“他走过时，我教训了他，他满头满脸的荨麻疹，看上去就不那么漂亮了，是不是，梅洛普？”

　　“你这个可恶的小哑炮，你这个龌龊的小败类！”冈特吼道，他失去了控制，两只手扼住了女儿的喉咙。

　　“不！”哈利和奥格登同时叫道。奥格登举起魔杖，喊了一句：“力松劲泄！”冈特被击得连连后退，丢下了他女儿。他被椅子绊了一下，仰面摔倒在地。莫芬怒吼一声，从椅子上一跃而起，冲向奥格登，一边挥舞着那把血淋淋的刀子，并从魔杖里射出一大堆乱七八糟的恶咒。

　　奥格登夺路而逃。邓布利多示意他们也跟上去。哈利跟了出去，梅洛普的尖叫声还在他耳畔回响。

　　奥格登用手臂护着脑袋，冲上土路，又飞快地拐上主路，撞上了那匹油亮亮的枣红马。骑马的是一位非常英俊的黑头发年轻人，他和身边那位骑一匹灰马的漂亮姑娘看到奥格登的模样，都被逗得开怀大笑。奥格登从枣红马的身上弹了出去，立刻撒腿又跑，顺着小路落荒而逃，他从头到脚都沾满了灰尘，礼服大衣在他身后飘摆着。

　　“我认为差不多了，哈利。”邓布利多说。他握住哈利的胳膊肘，轻轻一拽。一转眼间，他们俩就失重般地在黑暗中越飞越高，最后稳稳地落回到邓布利多的办公室里，这时窗外已经是一片夜色。

　　“小木屋里的那个姑娘怎么样了？”哈利立刻问道，邓布利多一挥魔杖，又点亮了几盏灯，“就是那个叫梅洛普什么的？”

　　“噢，她活下来了。”邓布利多说着在桌子后面重新坐定，并示意哈利也坐下来，“奥格登幻影移形到了部里，十五分钟后带着增援回来了。莫芬和他父亲负隅顽抗，但两个人都被制服了，被押出了小木屋，后来威森加摩判了他们的罪。莫芬已经有过攻击麻瓜的前科，被判在阿兹卡班服刑三年。马沃罗除了伤害奥格登之外，还伤害了魔法部的另外几名官员，被判六个月有期徒刑。”

　　“马沃罗？”哈利疑惑地重复道。

　　“对，”邓布利多说，露出了赞许的微笑，“我很高兴你跟上了我的思路。”

　　“那个老人就是——？”

　　“伏地魔的外祖父，是的。”邓布利多说，“马沃罗、他儿子莫芬、女儿梅洛普是冈特家族最后的传人，那是一个非常古老的巫师家族，以不安分和暴力而出名，由于他们习惯于近亲结婚，这种性格特点一代比一代更加显著。他们缺乏理性，再加上特别喜欢豪华的排场，所以，早在马沃罗的好几辈人之前，家族的财产就被挥霍殆尽。你刚才也看到了，马沃罗最后落得穷困潦倒，脾气坏得吓人，却又狂傲、自负得不可理喻，他手里还有两样祖传的遗物，他把它们看得像他儿子一样珍贵，看得比他女儿珍贵得多。”

　　“那么，梅洛普，”哈利在椅子上探身向前，盯着邓布利多说道，“梅洛普就是……先生，这是不是意味着，她就是……伏地魔的母亲？”

　　“没错，”邓布利多说，“我们碰巧还看了一眼伏地魔的父亲。不知道你有没有注意？”

　　“就是莫芬袭击的那个麻瓜？那个骑马的男人？”

　　“非常正确，”邓布利多笑眯眯地说，“是啊，那就是老汤姆·里德尔，一位相貌英俊的麻瓜，常常骑马经过冈特家的小木屋，梅洛普·冈特痴痴地暗恋着他。”

　　“他们后来真的结婚了？”哈利不敢相信地问，他不能想象这两个毫不相干的人会相爱。

　　“我认为你大概忘记了，”邓布利多说，“梅洛普是个女巫。我想，当她受到父亲的高压恐怖统治时，她的魔法力量似乎不能完全发挥出来。一旦马沃罗和莫芬都被关进了阿兹卡班，一旦她第一次独自一人、可以随心所欲时，我相信，她就可以充分施展她的才能，策划逃离她过了十八年的那种水深火热的生活了。

　　“你能不能设想一下，梅洛普会采取什么措施，让汤姆·里德尔忘记他那位麻瓜情侣而爱上她呢？”

　　“夺魂咒？”哈利猜测道，“或者迷情剂？”

　　“很好。我个人倾向于她使用了迷情剂。我相信她会觉得那样更加浪漫，而且操作起来也不太困难。某个炎热的日子，里德尔独自骑马过来，梅洛普劝他喝了一杯水。总之，在刚才我们目睹的那一幕的几个月后，小汉格顿村爆出了一个惊人的丑闻。你可以想象，当人们听说乡绅的儿子跟流浪汉的女儿梅洛普一起私奔的消息后，会怎样议论纷纷啊。

　　“可是跟马沃罗感到的震惊相比，村民们的惊讶就不算什么了。马沃罗从阿兹卡班回来时，本以为会看到女儿乖乖地等着他，桌上摆着热气腾腾的饭菜。他没想到屋里的灰尘积了一寸多厚，女儿留了一张诀别的纸条，上面写了她所干的事情。

　　“从我所能发掘的情况来看，从那以后，他再也没有提到过女儿的名字，或提到过女儿的存在。女儿弃家出走给他带来的震惊，大概是他过早去世的一个原因——或者，他大概一直没有学会怎么弄饭给自己吃。阿兹卡班搞垮了马沃罗的身体，他没有活着看到莫芬回到那座小木屋。”

　　“那么梅洛普呢？她……她死了，是不是？伏地魔不是在孤儿院长大的吗？”

　　“是啊，没错，”邓布利多说，“这里我们必须做一些猜测，不过我认为不难推断出后来发生的事情。是这样，他们私奔结婚的几个月之后，汤姆·里德尔又回到了小汉格顿的大宅子里，但身边并没有带着他的妻子。邻居们纷纷传言，说他一口咬定自己是被‘欺骗’和被‘蒙蔽’了。我想，他的意思一定是说他中了魔法，现在魔法已经解除了，但我相信他肯定不敢使用这样的字眼，以免别人把他看成疯子。不过，村民们听了他的话，都猜想是梅洛普对汤姆·里德尔撒了谎，假装说她就要为他生孩子了，逼得他只好娶了她。”

　　“可是她确实生了他的孩子呀。”

　　“是啊，但那是他们结婚一年之后了。汤姆·里德尔离开她时，她正怀着身孕。”

　　“出什么事了？”哈利问道，“迷情剂失效了吗？”

　　“这又只能凭猜测了。”邓布利多说，“我认为，梅洛普深深地爱着她的丈夫，她不能忍受继续靠魔法手段把他控制在手心里。我想，她做出了一个决定，不再给他服用迷情剂。也许，她是由于自己爱得太痴迷，便相信丈夫也会反过来爱上她。也许，她以为丈夫会为了孩子的缘故留下来。如果真是这样，她的这两个打算都落空了。汤姆·里德尔离开了她，从此再也没有见过她，也没有费心去打听他的儿子怎么样了。”

　　外面的天空已经墨黑墨黑，邓布利多办公室的灯光似乎比以前更亮了。

　　“哈利，我看今天晚上就到这儿吧。”片刻之后邓布利多说道。

　　“好的，先生。”哈利说。

　　他站了起来，但没有马上离开。

　　“先生……了解伏地魔过去的这些事情很重要吗？”

　　“我认为非常重要。”邓布利多说。

　　“那么……它跟那个预言有关系吗？”

　　“跟那个预言很有关系。”

　　“好的。”哈利说，虽然还有些困惑，但心中的疑虑被打消了。

　　他转身准备离去，突然又想起了另一个问题，便又转回身。

　　“先生，我可以把你对我说的一切告诉罗恩和赫敏吗？”

　　邓布利多打量了他一会儿，然后说道：“可以，我认为韦斯莱先生和格兰杰小姐已经证明自己是值得信任的。可是，哈利，我要求你不许他们再把这些事情告诉任何人。如果消息传出去，让人知道我了解或察觉到伏地魔的多少秘密，恐怕就不妙了。”

　　“不会的，先生，我保证只让罗恩和赫敏两个人知道。晚安。”

　　他又转身准备离去，快走到门口时，他看见了一个东西。在一张放着许多精致银器的细长腿小桌子上，有一枚丑陋的金戒指，中间镶着一块大大的、有裂纹的黑宝石。

　　“先生，”哈利瞪着它，问道，“那枚戒指——”

　　“怎么？”邓布利多说。

　　“那天晚上我们去拜访斯拉格霍恩教授时，你就戴着它。”

　　“没错。”邓布利多承认。

　　“但它不是……先生，它不是马沃罗·冈特给奥格登看的那枚戒指吗？”

　　邓布利多微微点了点头。

　　“正是那一枚。”

　　“可是怎么会——？它一直在你这儿吗？”

　　“不，我是最近才弄到的，”邓布利多说，“实际上，就在我到你姨妈姨父家去接你的几天之前。”

　　“你的手就是在那个时候受伤的吗，先生？”

　　“差不多就在那个时候，没错，哈利。”

　　哈利迟疑着。邓布利多面带微笑。

　　“先生，究竟是怎么——？”

　　“太晚了，哈利！下次再给你讲这个故事吧。晚安。”

　　“晚安，先生。”
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Chapter 11 Hermione's Helping Hand

As Hermione had predicted, the sixth-years’ free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.
Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.
One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing non-verbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.
“We've got to go and explain,” said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.
“We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!” said Ron. “And we're supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?”
“We didn't hate it!” said Hermione.
“Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts,” said Ron darkly. “And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother — we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed.”
“I hate not talking to Hagrid,” said Hermione, looking upset.
“We'll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden.”
“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable.”
Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.
“Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you ‘the Chosen One'—well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?”
Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.
“And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway...”
“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.
“And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.
“I'm tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.
The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.
“Ha!” said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.
“Oh good,” said Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”
“Are you mad?” said Harry. “I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out —”
He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, “Diffindo!” The cover fell off. He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, “Reparo!”
There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly second-hand.
“I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons.”
Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying that day's copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.
“Anyone we know dead?” asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.
“No, but there have been more dementor attacks,” said Hermione. “And an arrest.”
“Excellent, who?” said Harry, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Stan Shunpike,” said Hermione.
“What?” said Harry, startled.
”‘Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home...’”
“Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?” said Harry, remembering the spotty youth he had first met three years before. “No way!”
“He might have been put under the Imperius Curse,” said Ron reasonably. “You never can tell.”
“It doesn't look like it,” said Hermione, who was still reading. “It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub.” She looked up with a troubled expression on her face. “If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?”
“It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did,” said Ron. “Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of Magic when he was trying to chat up those Veela?”
“Yeah, that's him,” said Harry. “I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously.”
“They probably want to look as though they're doing something,” said Hermione, frowning. “People are terrified—you know the Patil twins’ parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night.”
“What!” said Ron, goggling at Hermione. “But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!”
“I don't think we've got him all the time,” said Hermione very quietly, glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. “Haven't you noticed? His seat's been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week.”
Harry and Ron looked up at the staff table. The Headmaster's chair was indeed empty. Now Harry came to think of it, he had not seen Dumbledore since their private lesson a week ago.
“I think he's left the school to do something with the Order,” said Hermione in a low voice. “I mean... it's all looking serious, isn't it?”
Harry and Ron did not answer, but Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since.
When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins’ parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Harry was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken Harry's nose; Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.
As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy Harry recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.
“We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment,” he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. “Cormac McLaggen, Keeper.”
“You didn't try out last year, did you?” asked Harry, taking note of the breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without even moving.
“I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials,” said McLaggen, with something of a swagger. “Ate a pound of Doxy eggs for a bet.”
“Right,” said Harry. “Well... if you wait over there ...”
He pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face and wondered whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they were both “old Sluggy's” favorites.
Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: the first ten was made up of first years, and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.
The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.
The third group had a pile-up halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.
“If there's anyone else here who's not from Gryffindor,” roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, “leave now, please!”
There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.
After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; a new find called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot. Pleased though he was with his choices, Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.
“That's my final decision and if you don't get out of the way of the Keepers I'll hex you,” he bellowed.
Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George, but he was still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie, Demelza, and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.
Harry had deliberately left the trial of the Keepers until last, hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, however, all the rejected players and a number of people who had come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast had joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever. As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Harry had hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron was a delicate shade of green.
None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To Harry's great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong direction; the crowd laughed and booed and McLaggen returned to the ground grinding his teeth.
Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.
“Good luck!” cried a voice from the stands. Harry looked around, expecting to see Hermione, but it was Lavender Brown. He would have quite liked to have hidden his face in his hands, as she did a moment later, but thought that as the Captain he ought to show slightly more grit, and so turned to watch Ron do his trial.
Yet he need not have worried: Ron saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheers of the crowd with difficulty, Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen's red face inches from his own. He stepped back hastily.
“His sister didn't really try,” said McLaggen menacingly. There was a vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often admired in Uncle Vernon's. “She gave him an easy save.”
“Rubbish,” said Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed.”
McLaggen took a step nearer Harry, who stood his ground this time.
“Give me another go.”
“No,” said Harry. “You've had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way.”
He thought for a moment that McLaggen might punch him, but he contented himself with an ugly grimace and stormed away, growling what sounded like threats to thin air.
Harry turned around to find his new team beaming at him.
“Well done,” he croaked. “You flew really well —”
“You did brilliantly, Ron!”
This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.
After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione bade goodbye to the rest of the team and headed off toward Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds now and it had stopped drizzling at last. Harry felt extremely hungry; he hoped there would be something to eat at Hagrid's.
“I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty,” Ron was saying happily. “Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of spin on it —”
“Yes, yes, you were magnificent,” said Hermione, looking amused.
“I was better than that McLaggen anyway,” said Ron in a highly satisfied voice. “Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded. ...”
To Harry's surprise, Hermione turned a very deep shade of pink at these words. Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail.
The great gray hippogriff, Buckbeak, was tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge head toward them.
“Oh dear,” said Hermione nervously. “He's still a bit scary, isn't he?”
“Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you?” said Ron. Harry stepped forward and bowed low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact or blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sank into a bow too.
“How are you?” Harry asked him in a low voice, moving forward to stroke the feathery head. “Missing him? But you're okay here with Hagrid, aren't you?”
“Oi!” said a loud voice.
Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.
“Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers—oh. It's yeh lot.”
Fang was jumping up at Hermione and Ron, attempting to lick their ears. Hagrid stood and looked at them all for a split second, then turned and strode into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
“Oh dear!” said Hermione, looking stricken.
“Don't worry about it,” said Harry grimly. He walked over to the door and knocked loudly.
“Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!”
There was no sound from within.
“If you don't open the door, we'll blast it open!” Harry said, pulling out his wand.
“Harry!” said Hermione, sounding shocked. “You can't possibly —”
“Yeah, I can!” said Harry. “Stand back —”
But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.
“I'm a teacher!” he roared at Harry. “A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!”
“I'm sorry, sir,” said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes.
Hagrid looked stunned. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir'?”
“Since when have you called me ‘Potter'?”
“Oh, very clever,” growled Hagrid. “Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted, innit? All righ', come in then, yeh ungrateful little...”
Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Hermione scurried in after Harry, looking rather frightened.
“Well?” said Hagrid grumpily, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon Harry's knee and drooling all over his robes. “What's this? Feelin’ sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?”
“No,” said Harry at once. “We wanted to see you.”
“We've missed you!” said Hermione tremulously.
“Missed me, have yeh?” snorted Hagrid. “Yeah. Righ'.”
He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally he slammed down three bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.
“Hagrid,” said Hermione timidly, when he joined them at the table and started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong, “we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know.” Hagrid gave another great snort. Harry rather thought some bogeys landed on the potatoes, and was inwardly thankful that they were not staying for dinner.
“We did!” said Hermione. “But none of us could fit it into our schedules!”
“Yeah. Righ',” said Hagrid again.
There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around: Hermione let out a tiny shriek, and Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they had only just noticed. It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing.
“What are they, Hagrid?” asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.
“Jus’ giant grubs,” said Hagrid.
“And they grow into...?” said Ron, looking apprehensive.
“They won’ grow inter nuthin',” said Hagrid. “I got ‘em ter feed ter Aragog.”
And without warning, he burst into tears.
“Hagrid!” cried Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. “What is it?”
“It's... him...” gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. “It's... Aragog... I think he's dyin'... He got ill over the summer an’ he's not gettin’ better... I don’ know what I'll do if he... if he... We've bin tergether so long...”
Hermione patted Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. Harry knew how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster fancies: the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwelled deep in the Forbidden Forest and which he and Ron had only narrowly escaped four years previously.
“Is there—is there anything we can do?” Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.
“I don’ think there is, Hermione,” choked Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of his tears. “See, the rest o’ the tribe ... Aragog's family... they're gettin’ a bit funny now he's ill... bit restive ...”
“Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them,” said Ron in an undertone.
“... I don’ reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo',” Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. “But thanks fer offerin', Hermione... It means a lot.”
After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.
“Ar, I always knew yeh'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables,” he said gruffly, pouring them more tea. “Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners —”
“We couldn't have done,” said Hermione. “We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily Prophet.”
“Ar, well then,” said Hagrid. “There's no way yeh could've done it... I'm sorry I've bin—yeh know—I've jus’ bin worried about Aragog ... an I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin’ yeh —”
At which all three of them stated categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had substituted for Hagrid a few times, was a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved them off the premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.
“I'm starving,” said Harry, once the door had closed behind them and they were hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds; he had abandoned the rock cake after an ominous cracking noise from one of his back teeth. “And I've got that detention with Snape tonight, I haven't got much time for dinner.”
As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione's arm and held her back.
“What?” said Hermione defensively.
“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.”
Hermione blushed.
“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in—you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team.”

“No,” said Harry. “No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?”
“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, as he smirked.
“What are you two doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.
“Nothing,” said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry's stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.
“Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!” he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly, “I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin—I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries—and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too.”
Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.
“I can't come, Professor,” said Harry at once. “I've got a detention with Professor Snape.”
“Oh dear!” said Slughorn, his face falling comically. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!”
He bustled away out of the Hall.
“He's got no chance of persuading Snape,” said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. “This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else.”
“Oh, I wish you could come, I don't want to go on my own!” said Hermione anxiously; Harry knew that she was thinking about McLaggen.
“I doubt you'll be alone, Ginny'll probably be invited,” snapped Ron, who did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn.
After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.
“Anything new?” said Harry.
“Not really...” Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning the inside pages. “Oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron—he's all right!” she added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. “It just says he's been to visit the Malfoys’ house. ‘This second search of the Death Eaters residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off.’”
“Yeah, mine!” said Harry. “I told him at Kings Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him—”
“But how can he have done, Harry?” said Hermione, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. “We were all searched when we arrived, weren't we?”
“Were you?” said Harry, taken aback. “I wasn't!”
“Oh no, of course you weren't, I forgot you were late. Well, Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So you see, Malfoy can't have brought in anything dangerous!”
Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.
“Someone's sent it to him by owl, then,” he said. “His mother or someone.”
“All the owls are being checked too,” said Hermione. “Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach.”
Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. There did not seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object into the school. He looked hopefully at Ron, who was sitting with his arms folded, staring over at Lavender Brown.
“Can you think of any way Malfoy — ?”
“Oh, drop it, Harry,” said Ron.
“Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid party, neither of us wanted to go, you know!” said Harry, firing up.
“Well, as I'm not invited to any parties,” said Ron, getting to his feet again, “I think I'll go to bed.”
He stomped off toward the door to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Harry and Hermione staring after him.
“Harry?” said the new Chaser, Demelza Robins, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. “I've got a message for you.”
“From Professor Slughorn?” asked Harry, sitting up hopefully.
“No ... from Professor Snape,” said Demelza. Harry's heart sank. “He says you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention—er—no matter how many party invitations you've received. And he wanted you to know you'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions and—and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves.”
“Right,” said Harry grimly. “Thanks a lot, Demelza.”
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第11章 赫敏出手相助

正如赫敏所预言的，六年级没有课的那些时间，根本不像罗恩期待的那样可以尽情地放松休息，而是必须用来努力完成老师布置的大量家庭作业。他们不仅像每天都要应付考试似的拼命用功，而且功课本身也比以前难多了。这些日子麦格教授所教的东西，哈利差不多有一半听不懂，就连赫敏也不得不让麦格教授把讲的内容重复一两遍才能明白。令人不敢相信的是，哈利最拿手的科目突然变成了魔药学，这多亏了那位混血王子，也使赫敏越来越感到愤愤不平。

　　现在要求他们使用无声咒了，不仅黑魔法防御术课，而且魔咒课和变形课也这样要求。哈利在公共休息室或者在吃饭的时候，经常看见他的同班同学脸憋得通红，暗暗跟自己较着劲儿，像是服用了过量的便秘仁。但他知道，他们实际上是在苦苦练习不把咒语念出声来而让魔法生效的本领。只有来到外面的暖房里时，大家才算松了口气。现在草药课上对付的植物比过去更危险了，但是当曼德拉草的毒触手猝不及防地从后面抓住他们时，他们至少还可以大声地念咒。

　　由于功课繁重，没日没夜地练习无声咒，哈利、罗恩和赫敏一直没能有时间去看望海格。海格已经不来教工餐桌吃饭了，这是一个不祥的兆头，而且有几次他们在走廊里或外面操场上遇到他，他竟然假装没看见他们，也没听见他们跟他打招呼，这真是太奇怪了。

　　“我们一定要去解释一下。”星期六吃早饭时，赫敏抬头望着教工餐桌上海格的那张空空的大座位，说道。

　　“今天上午有魁地奇选拔赛呢！”罗恩说，“而且还要练习弗立维布置的清水如泉咒！再说了，有什么可解释的？我们总不能跟他说我们讨厌他那门愚蠢的课程吧!”

　　“我们不讨厌它！”赫敏说。

　　“那是你自己这么说，我可没忘记那些炸尾螺。”罗恩愁眉苦脸地说，“现在我告诉你吧，我们能逃脱真是够侥幸的。你没听见他怎么谈他那个傻瓜弟弟——如果我们留下来继续上课，现在可能在教格洛普怎么系鞋带呢。”

　　“我不愿意跟海格不说话。”赫敏说，显得很难过。

　　“那我们就等魁地奇选拔赛结束以后再去。”哈利安慰她道。他也很想念海格，不过他和罗恩一样，也觉得最好一辈子别跟格洛普打交道。“有这么多人提出申请，选拔赛可能要进行一个上午呢。”想到就要面对他当队长后的第一个障碍，他感到有点儿紧张。“不知道为什么球队突然变得这么受欢迎了。”

　　“哦，得了吧，哈利，”赫敏突然不耐烦起来，说道，“受欢迎的不是魁地奇，而是你！你从来没像现在这样让人感兴趣过，坦白地说吧，你从来没像现在这样招人喜欢。”

　　罗恩被嘴里的一大块腌鲑鱼呛住了。赫敏朝他鄙夷地瞪了一眼，又转向哈利。

　　“现在大家都知道你说的是实话了，对不对？整个巫师界都不得不承认，你说的伏地魔卷土重来的消息是正确的，而且你在过去两年里真的跟他较量过两次，两次都死里逃生。现在他们管你叫‘救世之星’——怎么样，现在你还不明白人们为什么对你着迷吗？”

　　哈利突然觉得礼堂里热得难受，尽管天花板看上去仍然阴雨蒙蒙的。

　　“还有啊，你遭受了魔法部对你的那些迫害，他们拼命想把你说成是一个反复无常的人，一个说谎专家。那个恶毒的女人逼你用自己的鲜血写出的印迹，现在还能看得出来，可是你仍然坚持自己的说法……”

　　“在部里那些家伙抓我时留下的痕迹，现在也能看得出来，你看。”罗恩说着把衣袖往上抖了抖。

　　“还有，你暑假里长高了差不多一英寸，这也让人刮目相看。”赫敏没有理睬罗恩，兀自把话说下去。

　　“我个子也高了。”罗恩没头没脑地来了这么一句。

　　送信的猫头鹰来了，俯冲着穿过溅满雨水的窗户，把雨滴洒在礼堂里每个人的头上和身上。大多数人的邮件都比平常多。忧心忡忡的家长都急着想知道自己孩子的消息，反过来又告诉孩子他们在家一切都好。哈利自从开学以来就没有收到过信。惟一一个经常给他写信的人已经死了，他曾暗暗希望卢平偶尔会给他写写信，但这个期盼也落空了。因此，当他在那些褐色和灰色的猫头鹰中看到海德薇雪白的身影时，不禁大感意外。海德薇带着一个四四方方的大包裹落在哈利面前。片刻之后，罗恩面前也掉下来一个一模一样的包裹，他那身材娇小的猫头鹰小猪被压在下面，已经累得喘不过气来了。

　　“哈！”哈利说着拆开了包裹，露出一本崭新的《高级魔药制作》，是丽痕书店刚刚寄来的。

　　“哦，太好了，”赫敏高兴地说，“现在你可以把那本被乱涂乱画得一团糟的课本还回去了。”

　　“你疯了吗？”哈利说，“我要留着它！看，我早就想好了——”

　　他从书包里抽出那本旧的《高级魔药制作》课本，用魔杖敲了敲封面，念了一句：“四分五裂！”封面立刻脱落了下来。他又对着那本新书如法炮制（赫敏一副震惊的样子）。然后，哈利把两个封面互相交换过来，再挨个儿敲了敲，说道：“恢复如初！”

　　于是，王子的那一本被伪装成了新书，而丽痕书店刚寄来的那本新书则显得破破烂烂，完全像个二手货了。

　　“我把新书还给斯拉格霍恩。他没什么可抱怨的，这花了我九个加隆呢。”

　　赫敏抿着嘴唇，满脸的愤怒和不满。就在这时，第三只猫头鹰带着当天的《预言家日报》落在她面前，转移了她的注意力。她急忙打开报纸，扫了几眼第一版。

　　“有我们认识的人死了吗？”罗恩用假装随便的口气问。每次赫敏打开报纸，他都要提出这个问题。

　　“没有，但是又有摄魂怪袭击的报道，”赫敏说，“还有一个人被捕了。”

　　“太棒了，谁？”哈利说，心里想到了贝拉特里克斯·莱斯特兰奇。

　　“斯坦·桑帕克。”赫敏说。

　　“什么？”哈利大吃一惊。

　　斯坦·桑帕克，巫师界著名的骑士公共汽车售票员，因涉嫌从事食死徒活动而被捕。桑帕克先生现年二十一岁，警方昨夜在突袭搜查其在克拉彭区的住所后将其拘捕……

　　“斯坦·桑帕克，是个食死徒？”哈利想起了他三年前第一次遇到的那个脸上长着青春痘的小伙子，“不可能！”

　　“他大概是中了夺魂咒吧，”罗恩合理地分析道，“这可是说不准的事儿。”

　　“看来不像。”赫敏仍然在看报纸，说道，“这上面说，是有人听见他在一家酒馆里谈论食死徒的秘密计划之后才逮捕他的。”她抬起头，脸上带着苦恼的表情。“如果他中了夺魂咒，就不可能到处跟人议论他们的计划，是不是？”

　　“看样子他是想炫耀自己知道许多东西。”罗恩说，“当年他想跟那些媚娃套近乎时，不是还吹牛说他就要当魔法部长了吗？”

　　“是啊，就是他。”哈利说，“真不明白他们在搞什么名堂，竟然把斯坦的话当真。”

　　“大概是想让大家看到他们在做事吧。”赫敏皱着眉头说，“现在人心惶惶——你知道吗，双胞胎佩蒂尔的父母要把她们接回家了。爱洛伊丝·米德根已经退学，她父亲昨天晚上来接她的。”

　　“什么！”罗恩瞪大眼睛看着赫敏说，“可是霍格沃茨比他们家里安全呀，这是毫无疑问的！我们有傲罗，又新增了那么多防护咒，还有邓布利多！”

　　“我认为他其实并不一直在我们身边。”赫敏压低声音说，她的目光从《预言家日报》上朝教工餐桌扫了一眼，“你们没有注意到吗？最近这个星期，他的座位经常像海格的一样空着。”

　　哈利和罗恩抬头看了看教工餐桌。果然，校长的座位上没有人。哈利仔细一想，自从一个星期前邓布利多给他单独上课之后，他就再也没有看见他。

　　“我想，他离开学校是去做跟凤凰社有关的事情，”赫敏低声说，“我是说……现在形势显得很严峻，是不是？”

　　哈利和罗恩没有回答，但哈利知道他们脑子里都想到了同一件事。前一天出了一起可怕的事故，汉娜·艾博在草药课上被叫了出去，被告知她母亲已遇害身亡。从那之后，他们就再也没有看见汉娜。

　　五分钟后，当他们离开了格兰芬多餐桌，朝魁地奇球场走去时，迎面看见了拉文德·布朗和帕瓦蒂·佩蒂尔。哈利想起了赫敏说过佩蒂尔孪生姐妹的父母想要她们离开霍格沃茨的事，所以，他看到这两个好朋友在那里窃窃私语，神情忧伤，就不感到奇怪了。让他感到吃惊的是，当罗恩走过她们旁边时，帕瓦蒂突然用胳膊肘捅了捅拉文德，拉文德回过头来，送给罗恩一个灿烂的微笑。罗恩朝她眨巴眨巴眼睛，也迟疑不决地笑了笑。他走路的姿势立刻变得大摇大摆，架子十足起来。哈利看了想笑，但赶紧忍住了，他想起马尔福踩破自己鼻子时，罗恩也没有笑话自己。赫敏则显得傲慢、冷漠，她穿过冷飕飕、雾蒙蒙的毛毛细雨，走向下面的球场，然后，也没向罗恩道一声好运，就径自到看台上找座位去了。

　　正如哈利早就料到的，选拔赛进行了差不多一个上午。格兰芬多学院从一年级到七年级的半数同学都来了。一年级同学紧张地攥着从学校仓库里挑出的几把破破烂烂的旧扫帚，七年级同学则显得高高大大，鹤立鸡群，气势怪吓人的。七年级同学里有一个头发又粗又硬的大个子，哈利一眼就认出他是霍格沃茨特快列车上的那个男生。

　　“我们在火车上见过，在老鼻涕虫的车厢里。”他信心十足地说着从人群里走了出来，要跟哈利握手，“考迈克·麦克拉根，守门员。”

　　“你去年没有参加选拔，是吗？”哈利注意到麦克拉根长得膀大腰圆，他想，即使他站在那里不动，大概也能把三个球门封堵得严严实实。

　　“去年他们搞选拔时，我还住在医院里呢。”麦克拉根带着点儿吹牛的口气说，“我跟人打赌，吃了一磅狐媚子蛋。”

　　“噢，”哈利说，“好吧……你就在那儿等着吧……”

　　他指了指球场边缘靠近赫敏坐的地方。他仿佛看见麦克拉根脸上闪过一丝懊恼的表情，他想，莫非麦克拉根以为他们俩都是老鼻涕虫的宠儿，他就能得到特殊的待遇？

　　哈利决定先进行一个基本测试，他叫所有申请加入球队的人分成十个人一组，绕着球场飞一圈。这真是一个明智的决定。第一组的十个人全是一年级新生，显然，他们以前根本就没有飞过。只有一个男孩在空中待了几秒钟，他自己也吃惊得要命，结果很快就撞到了球门柱子上。

　　第二组是十个女生，哈利从没碰见过这么傻的姑娘，他一吹哨子，她们就叽叽咕咕地笑得直不起腰，互相抱作一团。罗米达·万尼也在她们中间。当哈利叫她们离开球场时，她们高高兴兴地走了，然后坐在看台上七嘴八舌地互相指责着。

　　第三组绕球场飞到一半时摔成了一堆。第四组的大多数人没带扫帚就来了。第五组竟然都是赫奇帕奇的学生。

　　“这里还有谁不是格兰芬多学院的，”哈利吼道，他心里真的恼火了，“请马上离开！”

　　停顿片刻后，两个拉文克劳的低年级学生扑哧一声大笑着奔出了球场。

　　两个小时后，听了满耳朵牢骚，看了好几次他人发脾气，其中一个人还砸烂了一把彗星２６０，又有人打掉了几颗牙齿，哈利终于给自己挑选了三名追球手：凯蒂·贝尔，她表现出色，重新归队；一位名叫德米尔扎·罗宾斯的新秀，他躲避游走球特别敏捷；还有金妮·韦斯莱，她飞得比所有选手都快，并且投中了十七个球。哈利对他选出的这几个人很满意，但因为不停地冲许多发牢骚的人嚷嚷，他的嗓子都哑了，此刻又要对付那些落选的击球手们的抱怨。

　　“就这么定了，如果不赶快滚开让守门员进来，我就给你们施恶咒。”他吼道。

　　他挑选的两位击球手都不如弗雷德和乔治那么出类拔萃，但还算让人满意：吉米·珀克斯，一位宽胸膛、矮个子的三年级同学，他大力击出的游走球将哈利的后脑勺撞出了一个鸡蛋那么大的鼓包；里切·古特，看上去弱不禁风，但瞄得很准。他们俩现在跟凯蒂、德米尔扎和金妮一起坐在看台上，观看哈利挑选他们的最后一名队员。

　　哈利故意把守门员的选拔赛放在最后，希望这时候球场上的人会少一些，这样给参赛选手的压力也会小一些。不幸的是，所有那些落选的球员，还有许多拖拖拉拉刚吃完早饭的人现在又都加入到观众当中，看台上的人比刚才更多了。每位守门员飞向球门时，观众都爆发出同样热烈的欢呼声和讥笑声。哈利扫了一眼罗恩，罗恩总是有怯场的毛病。哈利本来希望他们上学期最后一场比赛大获全胜，大概可以治好他这个毛病，然而看起来没有。罗恩的脸色微微有些发绿。

　　前面五位选手都最多只救起了两个球。让哈利大为失望的是，考迈克·麦克拉根竟然一连救起了五个球中的四个。不过，在救最后一个球时，他朝着完全相反的方向扑去。观众们哄堂大笑，给他喝倒彩，麦克拉根咬着牙回到了球场上。

　　罗恩骑上他那把横扫11时，看上去随时都会晕倒。

　　“祝你好运！”看台上一个声音喊道。哈利扭过头，以为看见的会是赫敏，没想到却是拉文德·布朗。片刻之后，哈利也巴不得能像她那样用两只手把脸捂住，但他觉得自己身为队长，应该表现得更有勇气一些，便转脸注视着罗恩参选。

　　其实他用不着担心：罗恩一连救起了一个、两个、三个、四个、五个罚球。哈利高兴得心花怒放，他拼命克制住自己，没有跟着观众一起欢呼喝彩。他转向麦克拉根，准备告诉他：很不幸，罗恩击败了他。没想到他一扭头，麦克拉根那张通红的脸就在眼前，近在咫尺。哈利赶紧退后几步。

　　“他妹妹根本就没认真发球。”麦克拉根恶狠狠地说。他太阳穴上的一根血管突突直跳，这景象是哈利经常在弗农姨父身上看到并暗自称奇的。“她给他的球很容易救起来。”

　　“胡说，”哈利冷冷地说，“就是那个球，他差一点儿就失手了。”

　　麦克拉根朝哈利逼近了一步，哈利这次没有退缩。

　　“让我再试一次。”

　　“不行，”哈利说，“你已经试过了。你救起了四个，罗恩救起了五个。罗恩是守门员，他赢得光明正大。你快给我滚开。”

　　一时间，他以为麦克拉根会出拳揍他，但麦克拉根只是做了一个难看的鬼脸，便嗵嗵嗵地走开了，一边对着空气叫嚷着一些威胁的话。

　　哈利转过脸，发现他的新队员们都在笑眯眯地看着他。

　　“干得漂亮，”他哑着嗓子说，“你们飞得真不错——”

　　“你太棒了，罗恩！”

　　这次真的是赫敏从看台上朝他们跑来了。哈利看见拉文德跟帕瓦蒂手挽着手走出了球场，脸上一副气呼呼的样子。罗恩似乎对自己满意极了，他看着队员和赫敏，傻呵呵地直笑，个头显得比平常更高了。

　　定好第一次全队训练的时间是下个星期二，哈利、罗恩和赫敏便向其他队员说了声再见，朝海格的小屋走去。这时，一轮水汪汪的太阳正拼命从云彩里探出头来，毛毛雨终于停了。哈利觉得饿极了。他希望海格的小屋里能有点吃的东西。

　　“我还以为第四个球我救不起来呢。”罗恩眉飞色舞地说，“德米尔扎的那个球真刁，带着点儿旋转——”

　　“是啊，是啊，你真出色。”赫敏似乎感到很有趣。

　　“我反正比那个麦克拉根强。”罗恩用非常得意的口气说，“你看见他救第五个球时，竟然笨头笨脑地扑错了方向吗？就好像中了混淆咒似的……”

　　听了这话，赫敏的脸色突然变得通红，哈利看了觉得很吃惊。罗恩什么也没注意到，他只顾在那里津津乐道地描述他是怎么救起另外几个球的。

　　巴克比克，那只庞大的、灰色的鹰头马身有翼兽就拴在海格小屋的门前。它看见他们走近时，咔哒咔哒地咂了咂刀片般锋利的尖嘴，把大脑袋朝他们转了过来。

　　“哦，天哪，”赫敏紧张地说，“它仍然有点儿吓人，是不是？”

　　“得了吧，你还骑过它呢，不是吗？”罗恩说。

　　哈利走上前，与鹰头马身有翼兽的目光对视着，眼睛一眨不眨地朝它深深地鞠了一躬。过了几秒钟，巴克比克也弯下身去。

　　“你好吗？”哈利低声问，一边上前轻轻抚摸着它那覆盖着羽毛的脑袋，“想他了？但你待在海格这里也蛮开心的，是不是？”

　　“喂！”一个响亮的声音说。

　　海格从小屋后面转了过来，他系着一条印花的大围裙，拎着一口袋土豆。他那条大猎狗牙牙跟在他脚边。牙牙低吼一声，朝哈利他们扑了过来。

　　“别去惹它！它会咬掉你的手指——噢，是你们几个。”

　　牙牙冲着赫敏和罗恩上蹿下跳，想去舔他们的耳朵。海格停住脚，看了他们三个一眼，便转身大步走进小屋，重重地把门关上了。

　　“哦，天哪！”赫敏说，显得难过极了。

　　“别担心。”哈利板着脸说。他走到小屋前使劲地敲门。

　　“海格！快开门，我们想跟你谈谈！”

　　里面没有声音。

　　“如果你不开门，我们就把门炸开！”哈利说着抽出了魔杖。

　　“哈利！”赫敏用惊恐的声音说，“你绝不能——”

　　“怎么不能！”哈利说，“往后站站——”

　　可是，没等他再说话，小屋的门突然打开了——这是哈利早就料到的，海格站在那里气冲冲地瞪着他，他虽然系着印花围裙，但那样子还是挺吓人的。

　　“我是个老师！”他冲哈利吼道，“老师，波特！你怎么敢威胁我说要炸坏我的门！”

　　“对不起，先生。”哈利说，故意把最后两个字咬得很重，一边把魔杖插进了长袍里。

　　海格似乎惊呆了。

　　“你从什么时候开始叫我‘先生’了？”

　　“你从什么时候开始叫我‘波特’了？”

　　“嗬，够机灵，”海格咆哮着说，“够有趣的。把我给绕进去了，是不？好吧，进来吧，你们这些忘恩负义的……”

　　他气呼呼地嘟囔着，往后一闪给他们让出了门。赫敏紧跟着哈利进了小屋，显出非常害怕的样子。

　　“怎么啦？”海格说，这时哈利、罗恩和赫敏在他那张大木桌旁坐了下来，牙牙立刻把脑袋搁在哈利的膝盖上，口水哩哩啦啦地滴在他的袍子上。“这是怎么啦？觉得我可怜？以为我很孤独什么的？”

　　“不是，”哈利立刻说道，“我们只是想来看看你。”

　　“我们很想你！”赫敏战战兢兢地说。

　　“想我，是吗？”海格轻蔑地哼了一声说，“是啊，没错。”

　　他跺着脚走来走去，用那把巨大的铜茶壶沏上了茶，嘴里一边不停地嘟囔着什么。最后，他把三只小桶那么大的茶杯重重地放在他们面前，里面茶水的颜色深得像红木一样，他还端来了一盘他自制的岩皮饼。哈利饿极了，顾不上挑剔海格的烹调手艺，立刻伸手拿了一块。

　　“海格，”赫敏怯生生地说，这时海格跟他们一起坐在桌子旁，开始削土豆皮，他用的劲儿那么狠，似乎每个土豆都跟他有着深仇大恨，“其实，我们真的想继续上保护神奇生物课来着。”

　　海格的鼻子里使劲哼了一声。哈利简直怀疑有几块鼻子牛儿落进了土豆里，他暗自庆幸他们不会留下来吃午饭。

　　“真的！”赫敏说，“可是我们的课程表都排不过来了！”

　　“是啊，没错！”海格又这么说。

　　这时，突然传来一种古怪的嘎吱嘎吱的声音，他们都转过头去。赫敏轻轻地尖叫了一声，罗恩忽地从座位上跳起来，绕到桌子那头，躲开了他们刚刚注意到的那只放在墙角的大桶。桶里装满了一尺来长的蛆一般的东西，黏糊糊、白生生的，不停地扭动着。

　　“这是什么呀，海格？”哈利问，尽量使自己的语气听上去感觉是好奇而不是厌恶，但还是赶紧放下了手里的岩皮饼。

　　“巨蛴螬嘛。”海格说。

　　“它们长大后会变成……？”罗恩神色惶恐地问。

　　“不会变成什么的。”海格说，“我养它们是为了喂阿拉戈克。”

　　毫无来由地，他突然哭了起来。

　　“海格！”赫敏叫了一声，跳起来匆匆绕过桌子——为了避开那桶巨蛴螬，她特意从远的那端绕了过去。她用胳膊搂住海格颤抖的肩膀。“怎么啦？”

　　“是……是它……”海格抽泣着说，泪水从他黑亮的小眼睛里流淌下来，他用围裙擦着脸，“是……阿拉戈克……我觉得它快死了……它病了一个夏天，一直不见好……我不知道，如果它……如果它……我该怎么办……我们在一起这么长时间了……”

　　赫敏拍着海格的肩膀，完全不知道该说什么才好。哈利明白她的感觉。他知道海格曾经把一只玩具熊送给一头凶恶的小火龙，还看见海格给那些长着吸盘和螫刺的大蝎子轻轻地哼歌儿，并试图跟他那个同母异父的弟弟、那个残暴的巨人讲道理，但是，在海格喜欢过的所有这些庞然大物中，要数这个最难让人理解了：阿拉戈克，一只会说话的巨型蜘蛛，居住在禁林深处，四年前，哈利和罗恩差点儿在它那里送了命。

　　“我们——我们能做点什么吗？”赫敏没理睬使劲冲他做鬼脸、摇头的罗恩，问道。

　　“恐怕没办法了，赫敏，”海格抽抽搭搭地说，拼命忍住汹涌而下的泪水，“知道吗，在部落里……在阿拉戈克家族里……它们看到它病了，表现得很奇怪……有点儿不好控制了……”

　　“没错，我们当时就看出它们有那种倾向。”罗恩低声说。

　　“……我想，眼下除了我，不管谁走近那片地方都不安全。”海格说完，在围裙上使劲擤了擤鼻子，抬起了头，“不过谢谢你这么说，赫敏……这对我来说太重要了……”

　　在那之后，气氛就变得轻松多了，尽管哈利和罗恩都没有表示出愿意拿巨蛴螬去喂一只凶狠残暴、体格庞大的蜘蛛，但海格似乎想当然地认为他们有这个意思，于是，他立刻恢复了常态。

　　“嗬，我早就知道你们会觉得很难把我塞进你们的课程表，”他粗声粗气地说，又给他们倒了些茶，“即使你们用上了时间转换器——”

　　“我们用不上了。”赫敏说，“夏天我们在魔法部时，把部里库存的时间转换器都砸碎了。《预言家日报》上写着呢。”

　　“嗬，所以呀，”海格说，“你们就没有办法了……对不起，我刚才——你们知道——我只是在为阿拉戈克担心……不过我确实有点怀疑，既然格拉普兰教授给你们上过课——”

　　他们三个听了这话，立刻言不由衷地声讨起了曾给海格代过几次课的格拉普兰教授，一口咬定她是一个特别糟糕的老师。结果，当黄昏降临，海格站在屋外同他们挥手告别时，他显得情绪高昂多了。

　　“我饿坏了。”小屋的门一关上，他们匆匆走在昏暗的、空无一人的场地上时，哈利便说道。刚才他在吃岩皮饼时，一颗后槽牙不祥地嘎巴响了一下，他便赶紧把饼放下了。“我今天晚上还要到斯内普那里去关禁闭呢，没有多少时间吃晚饭了……”

　　他们进了城堡，正好看见考迈克·麦克拉根走进大礼堂。他走了两次才穿过那道门，第一次撞到门框上弹了回来。罗恩幸灾乐祸地大笑起来，跟在他后面大摇大摆地走进了礼堂，哈利一把抓住赫敏的胳膊，把她拉了回来。

　　“怎么啦？”赫敏警觉地问。

　　“据我看，”哈利小声说，“麦克拉根像是中了混淆咒，而他当时就站在你的座位前面。”

　　赫敏脸红了。

　　“噢，好吧，是我干的，”她小声说，“但是你真应该听听他是怎么议论罗恩和金妮的！而且，他的脾气坏透了，你看见他落选后是个什么反应——你肯定不希望球队里有这么一个家伙。”

　　“对，”哈利说，“对，我想确实是这样。但那不是作弊吗，赫敏？我是说，你还是个级长呢，是不是？”

　　“哦，你小声点儿！”赫敏断喝道，哈利暗暗地笑了。

　　“你们俩在做什么？”罗恩问，他又回到礼堂的门口，脸上露出怀疑的神色。

　　“没什么。”哈利和赫敏同时说道，然后便匆匆跟着罗恩走了进去。烤牛排的香味使哈利的肚子饿得更难受了，可是，他们刚朝格兰芬多的餐桌走了两三步，斯拉格霍恩教授就出现在他们面前，挡住了他们的路。

　　“哈利，哈利，正是我希望见到的人！”他热情地大声说，手指玩弄着海象胡须尖，鼓着大肚子，“我就希望在吃饭前堵住你！今天晚上到我那里去吃一顿便饭如何？我们有一个小小的晚会，只请了几位冉冉升起的新星。我邀请了麦克拉根、沙比尼，还有迷人的梅林达·波宾——不知道你是不是认识她，她家里开着大型的连锁药店——还有，当然啦，我非常希望格兰杰小姐也能赏光。”

　　斯拉格霍恩说到最后，朝赫敏微微鞠了一躬，就好像罗恩根本不存在似的，看也没看他一眼。

　　“我不能来，教授，”哈利赶紧说道，“我要到斯内普教授那里去关禁闭。”

　　“哦，天哪！”斯拉格霍恩说着脸一下子就拉长了，显得很滑稽，“天哪，天哪，我可就指望着你呢，哈利！好吧，我这就去找西弗勒斯谈谈，把情况解释一下，我相信我能说服他推迟你的禁闭。好，待会儿见，你们俩！”

　　他匆匆忙忙地走出了礼堂。

　　“他根本就不可能说服斯内普，”哈利等到斯拉格霍恩走得听不见了，便说道，“这个禁闭已经被推迟了一次。斯内普上回是看在邓布利多的面子上，他绝不会再为任何人推迟了。”

　　“哦，我真希望你能来，我一个人可不想去！”赫敏焦虑地说。哈利知道她想起了麦克拉根。

　　“你恐怕不会一个人去的，金妮大概也受到了邀请。”罗恩没好气地说，斯拉格霍恩对他的忽视似乎让他耿耿于怀。

　　晚饭后，他们回到格兰芬多塔楼。这时候大部分同学都已经吃过晚饭，公共休息室里非常拥挤，但他们总算找到一张空桌子坐了下来。自从他们跟斯拉格霍恩碰过面后，罗恩就一直闷闷不乐。他抱着双臂，皱着眉头，望着天花板。赫敏伸手拿来了别人扔在一把椅子上的一份《预言家晚报》。

　　“有什么新消息？”哈利问。

　　“没有什么……”赫敏已经打开报纸，浏览着上面的内容。“噢，罗恩，快看，这里有你爸爸——他没事！”罗恩惊慌地转过头来，赫敏赶紧加了一句，“报上只是说他去了马尔福家。‘对于这位食死徒住所的第二次搜查似乎没有任何收获。伪劣防御咒及防护用品侦察收缴办公室的亚瑟·韦斯莱说，他的小组是在得到某人暗中透露的情报后才采取行动的。’”

　　“对啊，那就是我！”哈利说，“我在国王十字车站跟他说了马尔福的事，还有马尔福想要博金替他修理的那件东西！嗯，既然不在他们家，他肯定把那东西带到了霍格沃茨——”

　　“他怎么可能办到呢，哈利？”赫敏说着放下报纸，脸上露出一副惊讶的表情，“我们进校时都被检查过的呀。”

　　“什么？”哈利吃惊地说，“我可没有！”

　　“噢，对了，你当然没有，我忘记你迟到了……唉，我们进入门厅时，费尔奇用探密器在我们全身上下扫了个遍。凡是黑魔法的物品都会被搜出来的，我就知道克拉布有一个干枯的人头被没收了。所以你看，马尔福不可能把危险的东西带进来！”

　　哈利暂时无话可说，他注视着金妮·韦斯莱逗弄那只侏儒蒲阿囡，过了一会儿才想出了一句反驳的话。

　　“有人可以通过猫头鹰把东西寄给他，”他说，“他妈妈或其他什么人。”

　　“所有的猫头鹰也要受到检查。”赫敏说，“费尔奇用探密器到处乱捅时这么告诉我们的。”

　　哈利这次败下阵来，彻底无话可说了。看来，马尔福确实没有办法把危险的或黑魔法物品带进学校。他期待地看了看罗恩，但罗恩抱着双臂坐在那里，看着那边的拉文德·布朗。

　　“你能想出马尔福用什么办法——？”

　　“哦，别提这件事了，哈利。”罗恩说。

　　“听着，斯拉格霍恩邀请赫敏和我去参加他那愚蠢的晚会，这不是我的错，我们俩都不想去，你知道的！”哈利一下子火了，冲口说道。

　　“好吧，既然没有人邀请我去参加晚会，”罗恩说着站了起来，“我还是上床睡觉吧。

　　他嗵嗵嗵地朝男生宿舍的门口走去，哈利和赫敏呆呆地望着他的背影。

　　“哈利？”新任追球手德米尔扎·罗宾斯突然出现在他身边，“我有一个口信带给你。”

　　“斯拉格霍恩教授的？”哈利满怀希望地坐起身。

　　“不……是斯内普教授的，”德米尔扎说，哈利的心往下一沉，“他说你必须在今晚八点半到他办公室去关禁闭——嗯——不管有多少人邀请你去参加晚会都没用。他还叫我通知你，你的任务是把腐烂的弗洛伯毛虫从好的里面挑出来，魔药课上要用——他还说你不用带防护手套。”

　　“好的，”哈利沉着脸说，“非常感谢，德米尔扎。”
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Chapter 12 Silver and Opals

Where was Dumbledore, and what was he doing? Harry caught sight of the Headmaster only twice over the next few weeks. He rarely appeared at meals anymore, and Harry was
sure Hermione was right in thinking that he was leaving the school for days at a time. Had Dumbledore forgotten the lessons he was supposed to be giving Harry?
Dumbledore had said that the lessons were leading to something to do with the prophecy; Harry had felt bolstered, comforted, and now he felt slightly abandoned.
Halfway through October came their first trip of the term to Hogsmeade. Harry had wondered whether these trips would still be allowed, given the increasingly tight
security measures around the school, but was pleased to know that they were going ahead; it was always good to get out of the castle grounds for a few hours.
Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did
not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behavior, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Harry
felt, however, that the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how
much was in there, not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little
jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.
Harry had already attempted a few of the Prince's self-invented spells. There had been a hex that caused toenails to grow alarmingly fast (he had tried this on Crabbe
in the corridor, with very entertaining results); a jinx that glued the tongue to the roof of the mouth (which he had twice used, to general applause, on an
unsuspecting Argus Filch); and, perhaps most useful of all, Muffliato, a spell that filled the ears of anyone nearby with an unidentifiable buzzing, so that lengthy
conversations could be held in class with out being overheard. The only person who did not find these charms amusing was Hermione, who maintained a rigidly disapproving
expression throughout and refused to talk at all if Harry had used the Muffliato spell on anyone in the vicinity.
Sitting up in bed, Harry turned the book sideways so as to examine more closely the scribbled instructions for a spell that seemed to have caused the Prince some
trouble. There were many crossings-out and alterations, but finally, crammed into a corner of the page, the scribble:
Levicorpus (n-vbl)
While the wind and sleet pounded relentlessly on the windows, and Neville snored loudly, Harry stared at the letters in brackets. N-vbl... that had to mean “non-
verbal.” Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with non-verbal spells, something Snape had been
quick to comment on in every D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far.
Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head.
“Aaaaaaaargh!”
There was a flash of light and the room was full of voices: everyone had woken up as Ron had let out a yell. Harry sent Advanced Potion-Making flying in panic; Ron was
dangling upside-down in midair as though an invisible hook had hoisted him up by the ankle.
“Sorry!” yelled Harry, as Dean and Seamus roared with laughter, and Neville picked himself up from the floor, having fallen out of bed. “Hang on—I'll let you down—
”
He groped for the potion book and riffled through it in a panic, trying to find the right page; at last he located it and deciphered the cramped word underneath the
spell: praying that this was the counter-jinx, Harry thought Liberacorpus! with all his might. There was another flash of light, and Ron fell in a heap onto his
mattress.
“Sorry,” repeated Harry weakly, while Dean and Seamus continued to roar with laughter.
“Tomorrow,” said Ron in a muffled voice, “I'd rather you set the alarm clock.”
By the time they had got dressed, padding themselves out with several of Mrs. Weasley's hand-knitted sweaters and carrying cloaks, scarves, and gloves, Ron's shock had
subsided and he had decided that Harry's new spell was highly amusing; so amusing, in fact, that he lost no time in regaling Hermione with the story as they sat down
for breakfast.
“... and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!” Ron grinned, helping himself to sausages.
Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.
“Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?” she asked.
Harry frowned at her.
“Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?”
“Was it?”
“Well... yeah, it was, but so what?”
“So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?”
“Why does it matter if it's handwritten?” said Harry, preferring not to answer the rest of the question.
“Because it's probably not Ministry of Magic approved,” said Hermione. “And also,” she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, “because I'm starting to think
this Prince character was a bit dodgy.”
Both Harry and Ron shouted her down at once.
“It was a laugh!” said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. “Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!”
“Dangling people upside down by the ankle?” said Hermione. “Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?”
“Fred and George,” said Ron, shrugging, “it's their kind of thing. And, er—”
“My dad,” said Harry. He had only just remembered.
“What?” said Ron and Hermione together.
“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I—Lupin told me.”
This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the
Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be—?
“Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,” said Hermione, “but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people
in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.”
Harry stared at her. With a sinking feeling, he too remembered the behavior of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to his aid.
“That was different,” he said robustly. “They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione,” he added, pointing
a sausage at her sternly, “because he's better than you at Potions —”
“It's got nothing to do with that!” said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. “I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know
what they're for, and stop talking about ‘the Prince’ as if it's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very nice person
to me!”
“I don't see where you get that from,” said Harry heatedly. “If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being ‘half-blood,’ would he?
”
Even as he said it, Harry remembered that his father had been pure-blood, but he pushed the thought out of his mind; he would worry about that later.
“The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left,” said Hermione stubbornly. “I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending
to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up.”
“There is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!” said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie
Macmillan on the head. “My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!”
“And they'd love to have me,” said Harry sarcastically. “We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in.”
This made Ron laugh; even Hermione gave a grudging smile, and a distraction arrived in the shape of Ginny.
“Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this.”
It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.
“Thanks, Ginny... It's Dumbledore's next lesson!” Harry told Ron and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. “Monday evening!” He
felt suddenly light and happy. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asked.
“I'm going with Dean—might see you there,” she replied, waving at them as she left.
Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal
as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.
“What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?” demanded Ron, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. “Surely you ought to be checking what
we bring back IN?”
His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and he was still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet.
The walk into Hogsmeade was not enjoyable. Harry wrapped his scarf over his lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb. The road to the village was full
of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once Harry wondered whether they might not have had a better time in the warm common room, and when they
finally reached Hogsmeade and saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up, Harry took it as confirmation that this trip was not destined to be fun. Ron pointed, with
a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Harry and Hermione staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.
“Thank God,” shivered Ron as they were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. “Let's stay here all afternoon.”
“Harry, m'boy!” said a booming voice from behind them.
“Oh no,” muttered Harry. The three of them turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching
a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.
“Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!” said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. “It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss
Granger loves them, don't you?”
“Yes,” said Hermione helplessly, “they're really —”
“So why don't you come along, Harry?” demanded Slughorn.
“Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor,” said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned
invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.
“Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all the hard work!” said Slughorn. “But a little recreation never hurt any body. Now, how about Monday
night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather....”
“I can't, Professor, I've got — er—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”
“Unlucky again!” cried Slughorn dramatically. “Ah, well... you can't evade me forever, Harry!”
And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.
“I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “They're not that bad, you know... they're even quite fun sometimes...” But
then she caught sight of Ron's expression. “Oh, look—they've got Deluxe Sugar Quills—those would last hours!”
Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Harry showed much more interest in the new extra-large Sugar Quills than he would normally have done, but Ron continued to
look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.
“Let's go to the Three Broomsticks,” said Harry. “It'll be warm.”
They bundled their scarves back over their faces and left the sweetshop. The bitter wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The
street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just
outside the Three Broomsticks. One was very tall and thin; squinting through his rain-washed glasses Harry recognized the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub,
the Hog's Head. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with
something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when Harry realized who the man was.
“Mundungus!”
The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumped and dropped an ancient suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of
a junk shop window.
“Oh, ‘ello, ‘Arry,” said Mundungus Fletcher, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness. “Well, don't let me keep ya.”
And he began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone.
“Are you selling this stuff?” asked Harry, watching Mundungus grab an assortment of grubby-looking objects from the ground.
“Oh, well, gotta scrape a living,” said Mundungus. “Gimme that!”
Ron had stooped down and picked up something silver.
“Hang on,” Ron said slowly. “This looks familiar —”
“Thank you!” said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron's hand and stuffing it back into the case. “Well, I'll see you all—OUCH!”
Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand.
“Harry!” squealed Hermione.
“You took that from Sinus's house,” said Harry, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus and was breathing in an unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. “That
had the Black family crest on it.”
“I—no—what—?” spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple.
“What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?” snarled Harry.
“I—no—”
“Give it to me!”
“Harry, you mustn't!” shrieked Hermione, as Mundungus started to turn blue.
There was a bang, and Harry felt his hands fly off Mundungus's throat. Gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seized his fallen case, then—CRACK— he Disapparated.
Harry swore at the top of his voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone.
“COME BACK, YOU THIEVING — !”
“There's no point, Harry.” Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet.
“Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling.”
“He's nicked Sirius's stuff! Nicked it!”
“Yes, but still,” said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. “You should get out of the cold.”
She watched them go through the door of the Three Broomsticks. The moment he was inside, Harry burst out, “He was nicking Sirius's stuff!”
“I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring,” whispered Hermione. “Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink.”
Harry was still fuming when Hermione returned to their table a few minutes later holding three bottles of Butterbeer.
“Can't the Order control Mundungus?” Harry demanded of the other two in a furious whisper. “Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down
when he's at headquarters?”
“Shh!” said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with
great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away. “Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's your things he's stealing—”
Harry gagged on his Butterbeer; he had momentarily forgotten that he owned number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
“Yeah, it's my stuff!” he said. “No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus.”
“Good idea,” whispered Hermione, clearly pleased that Harry was calming down. “Ron, what are you staring at?”
“Nothing,” said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, but Harry knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he
had long nursed a soft spot.
“I expect ‘nothing's’ in the back getting more firewhisky,” said Hermione waspishly.
Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Harry was thinking about Sirius, and how he had hated those silver
goblets anyway. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar. The moment Harry drained the last drops in his bottle she said,
“Shall we call it a day and go back to school, then?”
The other two nodded; it had not been a fun trip and the weather was getting worse the longer they stayed. Once again they drew their cloaks tightly around them,
rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street. Harry's thoughts strayed to Ginny as
they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush. They had not met up with her, undoubtedly, thought Harry, because she and Dean were cozily closeted in
Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, that haunt of happy couples. Scowling, he bowed his head against the swirling sleet and trudged on.
It was a little while before Harry became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back to him on the wind, had become shriller and
louder. Harry squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand.
“It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!” Harry heard Katie say.
They rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast, blurring Harry's glasses. Just as he raised a gloved hand to wipe them, Leanne made to grab hold of the
package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.
At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Ron had done, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet
there was something wrong, something eerie... Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.
Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her
terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could
hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.
Harry looked around; the landscape seemed deserted.
“Stay there!” he shouted at the others over the howling wind. “I'm going for help!”
He began to sprint toward the school; he had never seen anyone behave as Katie had just behaved and could not think what had caused it; he hurtled around a bend in the
lane and collided with what seemed to be an enormous bear on its hind legs.
“Hagrid!” he panted, disentangling himself from the hedgerow into which he had fallen.
“Harry!” said Hagrid, who had sleet trapped in his eyebrows and beard, and was wearing his great, shaggy beaverskin coat. “Jus’ bin visitin’ Grawp, he's comin’ on
so well yeh wouldn’ —”
“Hagrid, someone's hurt back there, or cursed, or something —”
“Wha ?” said Hagrid, bending lower to hear what Harry was saying over the raging wind.
“Someone's been cursed!” bellowed Harry.
“Cursed? Who's bin cursed—not Ron? Hermione?”
“No, it's not them, it's Katie Bell—this way...”
Together they ran back along the lane. It took them no time to find the little group of people around Katie, who was still writhing and screaming on the ground; Ron,
Hermione, and Leanne were all trying to quiet her.
“Get back!” shouted Hagrid. “Lemme see her!”
“Something's happened to her!” sobbed Leanne. “I don't know what —”
Hagrid stared at Katie for a second, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing
screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.
Hermione hurried over to Katie's wailing friend and put an arm around her.
“It's Leanne, isn't it?”
The girl nodded.
“Did it just happen all of a sudden, or—?”
“It was when that package tore,” sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron
bent down, his hand outstretched, but Harry seized his arm and pulled him back.
“Don't touch it!”
He crouched down. An ornate opal necklace was visible, poking out of the paper.
“I've seen that before,” said Harry, staring at the thing. “It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched
it.” He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. “How did Katie get hold of this?”
“Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to
deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it... Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!”
Leanne shook with renewed sobs. Hermione patted her shoulder gently.
“She didn't say who'd given it to her, Leanne?”
“No... she wouldn't tell me... and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn't listen and... and then I tried to grab it from
her... and — and —”
Leanne let out a wail of despair.
“We'd better get up to school,” said Hermione, her arm still around Leanne. “We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on...”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his face and, ignoring Ron's gasp, carefully covered the necklace in it and picked it up.
“We'll need to show this to Madam Pomfrey,” he said.
As they followed Hermione and Leanne up the road, Harry was thinking furiously. They had just entered the grounds when he spoke, unable to keep his thoughts to himself
any longer.
“Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad.
This is what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!”
“I—I dunno, Harry,” said Ron hesitantly. “Loads of people go to Borgin and Burke... and didn't that girl say Katie got it in the girls’ bathroom?”
“She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn't necessarily get it in the bathroom itself—”
“McGonagall!” said Ron warningly.
Harry looked up. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet them.
“Hagrid says you four saw what happened to Katie Bell—upstairs to my office at once, please! What's that you're holding, Potter?”
“It's the thing she touched,” said Harry.
“Good Lord,” said Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she took the necklace from Harry. “No, no, Filch, they're with me!” she added hastily, as Filch came
shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. “Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it
wrapped in the scarf!”
Harry and the others followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly
despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne.
“Well?” she said sharply. “What happened?”
Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks
and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the
argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.
“All right,” said Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, “go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock.”
When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?”
“She rose up in the air,” said Harry, before either Ron or Hermione could speak, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore,
please?”
“The Headmaster is away until Monday, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, looking surprised.
“Away?” Harry repeated angrily.
“Yes, Potter, away!” said Professor McGonagall tartly. “But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!”
For a split second, Harry hesitated. Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences; Dumbledore, though in many ways more intimidating, still seemed less likely to
scorn a theory, however wild. This was a life-and-death matter, though, and no moment to worry about being laughed at.
“I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor.”
On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between
herself and Harry.
“That is a very serious accusation, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. “Do you have any proof?”
“No,” said Harry, “but...” and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had overheard between him and Mr. Borgin.
When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused.
“Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?”
“No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is that he bought something at
the same time, and I think it was that necklace —”
“You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?”
“No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him —”
“But Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no —”
“Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!” said Harry angrily.
“What he actually said was, ‘How would I look carrying that down the street?'” said Hermione.
“Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace,” interjected Ron.
“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione despairingly, “it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I
think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street—and in any case,”
she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, “I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked
him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything —”
“Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you—anyway, Malfoy could've sent
off for it since —”
“That's enough!” said Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking furious. “Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point
the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people —”
“— that's what I said —” muttered Ron.
“— and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our
knowledge —”
“But —”
“— and what is more,” said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.”
Harry gaped at her, deflating.
“How do you know, Professor?”
“Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions,
Potter,” she said as she marched past them, “but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all.”
She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.
Harry was angry with the other two for siding with McGonagall; nevertheless, he felt compelled to join in once they started discussing what had happened.
“So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?” asked Ron, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.
“Goodness only knows,” said Hermione. “But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace.”
“It could've been meant for loads of people,” said Harry. “Dumbledore—the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or
Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or —”
“Or you,” said Hermione, looking troubled.
“Couldn't have been,” said Harry, “or Katie would've just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn't she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three
Broomsticks. It would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told
her to take it into the castle?”
“Harry, Malfoy wasn't in Hogsmeade!” said Hermione, actually stamping her foot in frustration.
“He must have used an accomplice, then,” said Harry. “Crabbe or Goyle—or, come to think of it, another Death Eater, he'll have loads better cronies than Crabbe and
Goyle now he's joined up —”
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that plainly said, “There's no point arguing with him.”
“Dilligrout,” said Hermione firmly as they reached the Fat Lady.
The portrait swung open to admit them to the common room. It was quite full and smelled of damp clothing; many people seemed to have returned from Hogsmeade early
because of the bad weather. There was no buzz of fear or speculation, however: clearly, the news of Katie's fate had not yet spread.
“It wasn't a very slick attack, really, when you stop and think about it,” said Ron, casually turfing a first year out of one of the good armchairs by the fire so
that he could sit down. “The curse didn't even make it into the castle. Not what you'd call foolproof.”
“You're right,” said Hermione, prodding Ron out of the chair with her foot and offering it to the first year again. “It wasn't very well thought-out at all.”
“But since when has Malfoy been one of the world's great thinkers?” asked Harry.
Neither Ron nor Hermione answered him.
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第12章 银器和蛋白石

邓布利多去了哪儿?他在做什么？在接下来的几个星期里，哈利只见过校长两次。他很少在吃饭的时候露面，看来赫敏认为校长一次离开好几天的说法是对的。难道邓布利多忘记了他应该给哈利单独上课吗？邓布利多说过，那些课最终跟那个预言有关。哈利曾经觉得很受鼓舞，心里很踏实，现在却有点儿被遗弃的感觉。

　　十月中旬，他们第一次去霍格莫德村。由于学校周围的防范措施越来越严密，哈利本来以为不会允许他们去霍格莫德村了。现在知道还是要去，他心里很高兴。离开城堡散散心，哪怕只有几个小时也是愉快的。

　　去霍格莫德村的那天早晨，外面刮起了狂风，哈利醒得很早，他翻看着那本《高级魔药制作》消磨早饭前的时间。平常他是不躺在床上看课本的，罗恩说得对，除了赫敏，这种行为放在任何人身上都是不雅观的，而赫敏那么做只是显得有些怪异而已。不过哈利觉得，混血王子的那本《高级魔药制作》根本不能算作课本。哈利越仔细研读那本书，越觉得里面内容丰富，不仅有容易操作的提示和快捷方法——正是这些让哈利赢得了斯拉格霍恩的热烈称赞，而且书的空白处还胡乱记着许多很有创意的小恶咒和小魔法，

　　从那些涂涂改改的笔迹上看，哈利断定这些东西都是王子自己发明的。

　　哈利已经尝试过王子发明的几个咒语。有一个恶咒是让人的脚趾噌噌地疯长（他在走廊上拿克拉布做了一个试验，效果有趣极了）；还有一个咒语是把人的舌头粘在上腭上（他在阿格斯·费尔奇身上用了两次，赢得了大家的热烈喝彩，而费尔奇还蒙在鼓里，毫无察觉）；最有用的要数闭耳塞听咒了，这个咒语能让周围每个人的耳朵里充满一种无法辨别的嗡嗡声，这样，在课堂上就能随心所欲地聊天，不怕被别人听见了。惟一觉得这些魔法不好玩的就是赫敏，她始终板着脸，一副不以为然的样子，如果哈利对近旁的什么人施了闭耳塞听咒，她就干脆一句话也不说。

　　哈利坐在床上，把课本侧过来仔细研读那潦草的笔迹写出的一个咒语，王子似乎在这个咒语上费了不少脑筋。经过无数次的涂涂改改，最后在那一页的角落上挤挤挨挨地写着这么几个字：

　　倒挂金钟（无声）

　　狂风裹着雨夹雪，无情地打在窗户上，纳威很响地打着呼噜，哈利盯着括号里的那两个字。无声……肯定是指无声咒。哈利不知道自己能不能练成功这个特殊的咒语。他对于无声咒仍然不能得心应手，斯内普在黑魔法防御术课上动不动拿这件事说三道四。其实，王子教给哈利的东西比斯内普要多得多。

　　哈利用魔杖随便指着一个地方，轻轻往上一抖，脑子里默念道：倒挂金钟！

　　“啊啊啊啊啊！”

　　一道强光闪过，房间里乱成一团。罗恩发出一声惨叫，把大家都惊醒了。哈利惊慌地扔掉了《高级魔药制作》。罗恩头朝下悬在空中，似有一只无形的钩子钩住他的脚脖子，把他倒挂了起来。

　　“对不起！”哈利喊道，迪安和西莫放声大笑，纳威刚才摔到了地上，现在正慢慢地爬起来，“等等——我这就把你放下来——”

　　他摸到了那本魔药书，慌乱地翻找着刚才那一页。最后总算找到了，他在那个咒语下面辨认出挤成一团的几个字：哈利暗自祈祷这就是破解咒，然后集中意念，在脑子里念道：金钟落地！

　　又是一道强光闪烁，罗恩掉在床上，摔成一堆。

　　“对不起。”哈利又轻声说了一遍，迪安和西莫还在那里放声大笑。

　　“我希望你明天还是上闹钟吧。”罗恩声音闷闷地说。

　　他们穿好衣服，在身上鼓鼓囊囊地套了几件韦斯莱夫人织的毛衣，拿上了斗篷、围巾和手套。罗恩已经从刚才的惊吓中缓过劲来，认为哈利的新咒语非常好玩。实际上，他觉得这个咒语太好玩了，他们刚坐下来吃早饭，他就迫不及待地把这件事讲给赫敏听。

　　“……然后又闪过一道亮光，我就掉回到床上了！”罗恩笑嘻嘻地说，一边动手给自己拿香肠。

　　赫敏听着，脸上没有一丝笑容，她板着冷冰冰的脸，不满地转向哈利。

　　“或许，这个咒语又是你那本魔药书里的吧？”她问。

　　哈利朝她皱起眉头。

　　“你总是一下子就得出最坏的结论，是吗？”

　　“到底是不是？”

　　“好吧……没错，是又怎么样？”

　　“你竟然决定拿一个手写的陌生咒语来做试验，看看会发生什么事？”

　　“手写的又怎么样？”哈利说，故意避重就轻，不回答其他问题。

　　“因为这可能是魔法部禁止使用的。”赫敏说，“而且，”她看到哈利和罗恩翻了翻眼珠，便又说道，“因为我开始觉得这个叫王子的家伙有点儿不可靠。”

　　哈利和罗恩同时喊她住口。

　　“那是闹着玩的！”罗恩把一瓶番茄酱倒过来浇在他的香肠上，说道，“只是闹着玩，赫敏，没什么大不了的！”

　　“钩住脚脖子把人倒挂起来？”赫敏问，“谁会花时间和精力编出这样的咒语呢？”

　　“弗雷德和乔治，”罗恩耸了耸肩膀说，“他们就爱搞那些玩意儿。还有，嗯——”

　　“我爸爸。”哈利说。他是刚刚想起来的。

　　“什么？”罗恩和赫敏同时说道。

　　“我爸爸使用过那个咒语。”哈利说，“我——卢平告诉我的。”

　　最后这句不是实话。实际上，哈利是亲眼看见他父亲给斯内普施了这个魔法，但他一直没有把他在冥想盆里的那段经历告诉罗恩和赫敏。不过，眼下他突然想起一种很奇妙的可能性。混血王子会不会就是——？

　　“或许你爸爸使用过它，哈利，”赫敏说，“但使用过它的不止你爸爸一个人。我们看见过一大堆人都在使用它，也许你已经忘记了。把人悬在半空，让他们昏昏沉沉、无能为力地在上面飘浮。”

　　哈利呆呆地望着她。他也想起了食死徒在魁地奇世界杯赛上的所作所为，不由得心往下一沉。罗恩出来给他解了围。

　　“那是两码事。”他大大咧咧地说，“他们是在滥用这个魔法。哈利和他爸爸只是闹着玩儿。赫敏，你不喜欢王子，”他严肃地用香肠指着赫敏说道，“是因为他的魔药课学得比你好——”

　　“跟那个毫无关系！”赫敏说，面颊一下子变得通红，“我只是认为，还不了解一种魔法是做什么用的就随便拿来使用，这是非常不负责任的。还有，别再一口一个‘王子’的，就好像那是他的头衔似的，我敢说那只是一个愚蠢的外号，而且他给我的感觉不像是个正经人！”

　　“我不知道你这是从哪儿得到的印象。”哈利激动地说，“如果他是一个未成年的食死徒，他就不会口口声声地说自己是‘混血’的了，是不是？”

　　哈利嘴里这么说着，心里却想起他父亲是纯血统的，但他把这个念头从脑海里赶走了，以后再去考虑……

　　“食死徒不可能都是纯血统的，现在已经没有多少纯血统的巫师了。”赫敏固执地说，“我猜想他们大多数都是混血，却假装自己是纯血统。他们仇恨的只是麻瓜出身的人，他们肯定很愿意让你和罗恩入伙。”

　　“他们休想让我成为食死徒！”罗恩气愤地说，他朝赫敏挥舞着手里的叉子，结果叉子上的一小片香肠飞了出去，砸在厄尼·麦克米兰的脑袋上，“我们全家都背叛了自己的血统！在食死徒看来，这跟麻瓜出身一样糟糕！”

　　“他们倒是很愿意要我。”哈利讥讽地说，“要不是他们总想干掉我，说不定我跟他们还会成为铁哥儿们呢。”

　　罗恩笑了起来，就连赫敏也勉强露出了笑容，这时金妮出现了，转移了他们的注意力。

　　“喂，哈利，我把这个交给你。”

　　是一卷羊皮纸，上面是那种熟悉的细细长长、歪向一边的字体，写着哈利的名字。

　　“谢谢你，金妮……邓布利多又要给我上课了！”哈利又对罗恩和赫敏说，一边展开羊皮纸，飞快地扫了一遍上面的内容。“星期一晚上！”他觉得心情一下子轻松、愉快了。“你跟我们一起去霍格莫德吗，金妮？”他问。

　　“我和迪安一起去——也许会在那儿见到你们。”她说完便朝他们挥挥手走了。

　　费尔奇和往常一样站在橡木大门口，一个个核对获准去霍格莫德村的同学的名字。这个时间比以往更加漫长，因为费尔奇用他的探密器在每个人身上反复地测来测去。

　　“就算我们把黑魔法物品偷带出去又有什么关系？”罗恩忐忑不安地盯着那根细细长长的探密器，问道，“你恐怕应该检查我们带进来的东西吧？”

　　他出言不逊，结果被探密器额外多戳了几下，当他们走到外面的狂风和雨雪中时，他还疼得龇牙咧嘴呢。

　　步行去霍格莫德村的一路上很不舒服。哈利用围巾裹住脸的下半部，暴露在外的部分很快就被冻得生疼生疼的，后来都发麻了。在通往村口的路上，到处可见弯着腰顶风前进的学生。哈利不止一次地怀疑，他们待在暖融融的公共休息室里可能会更愉快。当他们终于走到霍格莫德村时，却看见佐科笑话店被木板封死了，哈利认为这更证实了这趟旅行注定是毫无乐趣的。罗恩用戴着厚手套的手指着蜜蜂公爵糖果店，谢天谢地，那里还开着门，哈利和赫敏便跟着罗恩摇摇晃晃地朝那家拥挤的小店走去。

　　“感谢上帝，”弥漫着乳脂糖香味的温暖气息扑面而来，罗恩瑟瑟发抖地说，“我们就在这里待一个下午吧。”

　　“哈利，孩子！”他们身后一个洪钟般的声音说。

　　“哦，糟糕。”哈利嘟囔道。他们三个一回头，看见了斯拉格霍恩教授，他戴了一顶硕大无比的毛绒帽子，身上是一件带有配套毛绒领子的大衣，手里攥着一大袋菠萝蜜饯，他至少占据了这个小店四分之一的空间。

　　“哈利，你已经错过我的三次小型晚餐会了！”斯拉格霍恩亲热地捅了捅哈利的胸口，“这可不行，孩子，我是铁了心要你来的！格兰杰小姐很喜欢这些晚会，是不是？”

　　“是的，”赫敏无奈地说，“它们确实——”

　　“那你为什么不来呢，哈利？”斯拉格霍恩责问道。

　　“嗯，我要参加魁地奇训练呢，教授。”哈利说。确实，每次斯拉格霍恩给他送来一张小小的系着紫色绸带的请柬时，他就故意安排球队训练。这个策略能保证不把罗恩一个人撇下。他们还经常和金妮一道想象赫敏与麦克拉根、沙比尼被关在一起的情景，乐得哈哈大笑。

　　“好啊，训练得这么刻苦，你们的第一场比赛肯定能赢！”斯拉格霍恩说，“不过偶尔来点儿娱乐是没有害处的。那么，星期一晚上怎么样，这种天气你们不可能训练的……”

　　“不行，教授，我——我——我那天晚上跟邓布利多教授约好了。”

　　“又是不巧！”斯拉格霍恩夸张地大叫了一声，“啊，好吧……你不可能永远躲着我，哈利！”

　　他架子十足地挥了挥手，大摇大摆地走出了糖果店，几乎没有注意到罗恩，就好像他只是店里陈列的一个蟑螂堆。

　　“真不敢相信，居然又让你躲过了一次。”赫敏摇着头说，“其实并没有那么糟糕……有时候还蛮好玩的……”她突然看见罗恩脸上的表情。“哦，看——他们有高级棒糖羽毛笔——可以吮好几个小时呢！”

　　哈利庆幸赫敏改变了话题，他假装对这种新的超大型棒糖羽毛笔特别感兴趣，但罗恩还是显得闷闷不乐，当赫敏问他接下来想去哪里时，他只是耸了耸肩膀。

　　“我们去三把扫帚吧，”哈利说，“那里肯定暖和。”

　　他们重新用围巾把脸裹住，离开了糖果店。刚从暖融融、甜丝丝的蜜蜂公爵店里出来，凛冽的寒风刮在他们脸上，像刀子一样。街上比较冷清，没有人停下来闲聊天，大家都在匆匆赶路，直奔他们要去的地方。惟一例外的是他们前面的两个人。他们就站在三把扫帚的外面，其中一个很高很瘦，哈利眯起眼睛，透过被雨水打湿的眼镜认出他是霍格莫德村另一家酒吧——猪头酒吧里的男招待。哈利、罗恩和赫敏走近时，那男招待用斗篷裹紧脖子，转身走开了，只留下那个矮个子在摸索着怀里的什么东西。他们离那男人不到一步远了，哈利突然认出了他。

　　“蒙顿格斯！”

　　那个两腿外八字、留着一头乱糟糟的姜黄色长发的男人吓了一跳，怀里一只古色古香的小提箱掉在地上弹了开来，里面的东西五花八门，像是一家古董店整个橱窗里的内容。

　　“噢，你好，哈利，”蒙顿格斯·弗莱奇说，装出非常轻快的样子，却装得一点儿也不像，“别让我耽误了你的时间。”

　　他蹲在地上摸索着捡起箱子里的东西，一副巴不得马上离开的样子。

　　“你在卖这些东西？”哈利看着蒙顿格斯从地上抓起一堆各式各样、破破烂烂的东西，问道。

　　“唉，没办法，总得想办法口啊。”蒙顿格斯说，“把那个给我！”

　　罗恩正蹲下身捡起一个银器。

　　“等等，”罗恩慢悠悠地说，“这个看着眼熟——”

　　“谢谢！”蒙顿格斯说着一把从罗恩手里夺过那只高脚酒杯，塞进了箱子，“好了，咱们以后再见——哎哟！”

　　哈利掐住蒙顿格斯的脖子，把他顶在酒吧外面的墙上。他一只手紧紧地掐着他，另一只手拔出了魔杖。

　　“哈利！”赫敏惊叫道。

　　“这玩意儿你是从小天狼星家里偷出来的，”哈利说。他与蒙顿格斯几乎鼻子碰鼻子，闻到了一股臭烘烘的烟草和烈酒的气味，“上面有布莱克家族的纹章。”

　　“我——没有——什么？”蒙顿格斯结结巴巴地说，脸色慢慢涨成了猪肝色。

　　“你干了什么？在他死的那天夜里，你去把那个地方洗劫了一空？”哈利吼道。

　　“我——没有——”

　　“把它给我！”

　　“哈利，你不能！”赫敏尖叫着说，蒙顿格斯的脸已经发青了。

　　砰的一声巨响，哈利觉得自己双手从蒙顿格斯的脖子上弹开了。蒙顿格斯呼哧呼哧地喘着气，抓起掉在地上的箱子，然后——啪——他幻影移形了。

　　哈利扯着嗓子叫骂，原地转着圈儿看蒙顿格斯跑到哪儿去了。

　　“回来，你这个贼——！”

　　“没有用了，哈利。”

　　唐克斯不知从哪儿冒了出来，她那灰褐色的头发被雨雪淋得湿漉漉的。

　　“蒙顿格斯这会儿大概已经到了伦敦。再嚷嚷也没有用了。”

　　“他偷了小天狼星的东西！他偷东西！”

　　“是啊，不过，”唐克斯说，她似乎对这个消息完全无动于衷，“你们不应该待在这儿受冻。”

　　她看着他们进了三把扫帚酒吧的门。哈利一进酒吧就吼了起来：“他在偷小天狼星的东西！”

　　“我知道，哈利，可是请你别再嚷嚷了，别人都在看你呢。”赫敏小声说，“快去坐下来，我给你端饮料。”

　　几分钟后，赫敏端着三瓶黄油啤酒回到他们的桌子旁，哈利还在那里气呼呼地发脾气。

　　“社里就不能管管蒙顿格斯吗？”哈利气愤地小声责问他们两个，“他在总部的时候，他们就不能管着他点儿？至少别让他把搬得走的东西都偷光啊!”

　　“嘘！”赫敏焦急地说，一边看看周围有没有人在偷听。坐在近旁的两个男巫怀着极大的兴趣盯着哈利，沙比尼懒洋洋地靠在不远处的一根柱子上。“哈利，换了我也会很生气的，我知道他偷的是你的东西——”

　　哈利被黄油啤酒呛了一口。他一时忘记了他已经是格里莫广场12号的主人。

　　“对啊，是我的东西！”他说，“怪不得他看见我那么心虚呢！哼，我要把这件事告诉邓布利多，蒙顿格斯就害怕他一个人。”

　　“好主意。”赫敏小声说，她显然很高兴看到哈利终于平静下来，“罗恩，你在盯着什么呢？”

　　“没什么。”罗恩说着慌忙把目光从吧台那儿挪开了，哈利知道他是想引起那位妩媚动人的老板娘——罗斯默塔夫人的注意，罗恩已经暗暗喜欢她好长时间了。

　　“我想，你的那位‘没什么’正在后面拿更多的火焰威士忌吧？”赫敏尖刻地说。

　　罗恩没理会这句嘲讽的话，一言不发地慢慢喝着黄油啤酒，显然以为自己那副派头很高贵、很深沉。哈利在想着小天狼星，他想起小天狼星当时是多么仇恨那些银制的高脚酒杯。赫敏用手指敲着桌子，眼睛忽而望望罗恩，忽而望望吧台。

　　哈利刚把瓶里的啤酒喝完，赫敏就说：“今天就到这里，我们回学校吧？”

　　另外两个人点了点头。这趟旅行没有什么乐趣，再待下去，天气只会越来越糟糕。于是，他们又一次把斗篷裹得紧紧的，用围巾把脸挡住，戴上手套，跟在凯蒂·贝尔和一位朋友的后面出了酒吧，顺着大路往回走。他们步履艰难地踩着路上被冻得硬邦邦的雪泥，朝霍格沃茨的方向走去，哈利没来由地想起了金妮。他们没有碰见她，哈利心想，她肯定和迪安一起舒舒服服地待在帕笛芙夫人的茶馆里呢，那是快乐的情侣们最爱去的地方。哈利皱起双眉，埋头顶着随风飞舞的雨雪，一步步艰难地往前走着。

　　过了一会儿哈利才意识到，被风刮到他耳朵里的凯蒂·贝尔和她朋友的声音变得越来越响、越来越尖利了。哈利眯起眼睛打量着她们模糊的身影。两个女孩正为凯蒂手里拿的什么东西在争吵。

　　“这跟你没有关系，利妮！”哈利听见凯蒂说。

　　他们在小路上拐了一个弯，雨雪下得更密更急了，把哈利的眼镜弄得一片模糊。他用戴着手套的手擦拭着镜片，就在这时，利妮突然伸手去夺凯蒂手里的那包东西。凯蒂使劲往回一拽，那包东西掉在了地上。

　　一下子，凯蒂就升到了空中，她不像罗恩那样被可笑地钩住脚脖子倒挂起来，她的姿态非常优雅，双臂平伸着，像是要飞起来似的。然而，她身上有一些怪异，有一些不对劲儿的地方……她的头发被猛烈的狂风吹得四下飘舞，但是她的眼睛紧闭着，脸上一点儿表情也没有。哈利、罗恩、赫敏和利妮都停住了脚步，呆呆地看着她。

　　然后，在离地面六英尺高的地方，凯蒂突然发出一声恐怖的尖叫。她的眼睛猛地睁开了，而她所能看见或感觉到的东西显然给她带来了可怕的痛苦。她一声接一声地尖叫。利妮也跟着叫了起来，她拽住凯蒂的脚脖子，拼命想把她拖回到地面上。哈利、罗恩和赫敏也冲过去帮忙。就在他们抓住凯蒂的双腿时，她一下子落到他们身上。哈利和罗恩总算把她抱住了，但她扭动得太厉害了，他们简直控制不住她。于是，他们就把她放到了地面上。她剧烈地扭动着，失声惨叫，显然认不出他们中的任何一个了。

　　哈利看看周围，四下里一个人也没有。

　　“你们待在这儿！”他在呼啸的狂风中对另外几个人喊道，“我去叫人来帮忙！”

　　哈利撒腿朝学校的方向跑去。他以前从没见过有谁像凯蒂这样，他想不出这究竟是怎么回事。他飞快地拐过一个弯道，却跟一个庞然大物撞了个满怀，那家伙像是一头靠后腿站立的大熊。

　　“海格！”哈利摔进了一片树篱中，他喘着气，挣扎着钻出来叫道。

　　“哈利！”海格说，他的眉毛和胡子上都沾着雨雪，身上穿着那件巨大无比、邋里邋遢的海狸皮大衣，“我去看格洛普了，他进步可快了，你都——”

　　“海格，那边有人受伤了，也许是中了魔咒什么的——”

　　“什么？”海格俯下身听哈利说话，狂风的声音太响了。

　　“有人中了魔咒！”哈利扯开嗓子喊道。

　　“中了魔咒？谁中了魔咒——不是罗恩？赫敏？”

　　“不，不是他们，是凯蒂·贝尔——在这边……”

　　他们一起顺着小路往回跑，很快就看见那一小群人围在凯蒂身边。凯蒂仍然躺在地上扭动、惨叫，罗恩、赫敏和利妮都在想办法使她安静下来。

　　“闪开！”海格喊道，“让我看看！”

　　“她出事了！”利妮哭泣着说，“我不知道是怎么——”

　　海格盯着凯蒂看了一秒钟，然后一言不发地弯下腰把她抱起来，转身就朝城堡的方向跑去。几秒钟后，凯蒂的尖叫声就听不见了，四下里只有狂风的阵阵呼啸。

　　赫敏匆匆走到凯蒂那位号啕大哭的朋友身边，伸出胳膊搂住了她。

　　“你是利妮，是吗？”

　　那姑娘点了点头。

　　“这件事是突然发生的，还是——？”

　　“那个包裹一撕开就出事了。”利妮抽抽搭搭地说，指着地上那个已经湿透的牛皮纸包。纸包裂开了，里面有什么东西发出绿莹莹的光。罗恩弯下腰伸出手去，哈利一把抓住他的胳膊，把他拉了回来。

　　“别碰它！”

　　哈利俯下身。他看见纸包里露出一条华丽的蛋白石项链。

　　“我以前见过它，”哈利注视着那东西说，“它很久以前陈列在博金－博克店里。商标上说它带着魔咒。凯蒂肯定是碰到它了。”他抬头看着利妮，利妮这会儿已经全身抖得无法控制了。“凯蒂是怎么弄到这东西的？”

　　“唉，我们刚才就为这个争吵着。她从三把扫帚的厕所里出来时，手里就拿着它，说那是送给霍格沃茨什么人的礼物，由她转交。她说话的时候表情很奇怪……哦，不，哦，不，她肯定是中了夺魂咒了，我当时没有意识到！”

　　利妮又哭得浑身发抖。赫敏轻轻拍着她的肩膀。

　　“她没有说是谁给她的吗，利妮？”

　　“没有……她不肯告诉我……我说她昏了头，绝不能把这东西拿到学校去，可她就是不听，后来……后来我想把东西从她手里抢过来……后来——后来——”利妮发出一声绝望的尖叫。

　　“我们最好赶紧回学校去，”赫敏仍然搂着利妮说，“这样就能弄清她现在怎么样了。走吧……”

　　哈利迟疑了一会儿，把脸上裹的围巾解了下来，他没有理会罗恩的惊叫，小心翼翼地用围巾裹住那条项链，把它捡了起来。

　　“我们需要把这个拿给庞弗雷夫人看看。”他说。

　　他们跟着赫敏和利妮往前走，哈利心里紧张地思索着。他们刚走进学校的场地，他就忍不住把自己的想法说了出来。

　　“马尔福知道这条项链。它四年前就在博金－博克店的一只匣子里，当时我藏在店里，躲避马尔福和他爸爸，我看见马尔福仔细打量过它。我们跟踪他的那天，他想买的就是这个东西！他没有忘记它，就想回去把它买下来！”

　　“我——我说不清，哈利，”罗恩犹豫不决地说，“去博金－博克店的人多着呢……而且，那女生不是说凯蒂是在女厕所里拿到项链的吗？”

　　“她说凯蒂从厕所回来时手里拿着项链，并没说是在厕所里拿到的——”

　　“麦格！”罗恩警告说。

　　哈利抬头一看，果然，麦格教授冒着随风飞旋的雨雪匆匆走下石头台阶来迎他们了。

　　“海格说你们四个人看见了凯蒂·贝尔出事的经过——请立刻到楼上我的办公室来一趟！你手里拿的什么，波特？”

　　“就是凯蒂碰的那个东西。”哈利说。

　　“天哪，”麦格教授说着从哈利手里接过项链，神色显得十分紧张，“不，不，费尔奇，他们是跟我在一起的！”她看见费尔奇举着探密器，兴致勃勃、踢踏踢踏地从门厅走来，便赶紧对他说，“立刻把这条项链拿去给斯内普教授，千万不要碰它，就让它一直包在围巾里！”

　　哈利和其他几个人跟着麦格教授上楼走进了她的办公室。溅满雨雪的窗玻璃在窗框里咔咔作响，尽管炉栅里噼噼啪啪地燃着旺火，屋里还是很冷。麦格教授关上门，快步绕到桌子后面，看着哈利、罗恩、赫敏和仍然哭个不停的利妮。

　　“说吧，”她严厉地说，“怎么回事？”

　　利妮结结巴巴地说开了，因为哭得控制不住，中间停顿了好几次。她告诉麦格教授，凯蒂怎么在三把扫帚酒吧去了一趟厕所，回来时怎么显得有点怪怪的，手里拿着那个没有任何标记的包裹；她们俩怎么争吵，因为她认为凯蒂不应该答应转交一件不知名的东西；争吵到最激烈的时候，两人便开始抢夺那个包裹，结果包裹被扯开了。说到这里，利妮情绪完全崩溃了，再也说不出一个字来。

　　“好了，”麦格教授不失温柔地说，“利妮，你到校医院去，让庞弗雷夫人给你点儿药压压惊。”

　　利妮走后，麦格夫人转向哈利、罗恩和赫敏。

　　“凯蒂碰了那条项链后发生了什么？”

　　“她升到了空中，”哈利抢在罗恩和赫敏前面说，“然后开始尖叫，接着便掉了下来。教授，请问我能见见邓布利多教授吗？”

　　“校长出去了，要到星期一才回来，波特。”麦格教授显得很惊讶，说道。

　　“出去了？”哈利气恼地重复了一遍。

　　“是的，波特，出去了！”麦格教授尖刻地说，“但是我认为，关于这件可怕的事情，你有什么要说的都可以跟我说！”

　　一刹那间，哈利有些犹豫。他好像很难对麦格教授推心置腹。而邓布利多尽管在许多方面令人生畏，却似乎不太可能对某个想法嗤之以鼻，不管这个想法多么荒唐离奇。然而，这是一个生死攸关的问题，没有工夫考虑是否会遭到嘲笑了。

　　“我认为是德拉科·马尔福给了凯蒂那条项链，教授。”

　　站在他一侧的罗恩尴尬地揉着鼻子；站在他另一侧的赫敏把脚在地上滑来滑去，似乎巴不得跟哈利保持一定的距离。

　　“这是一个很严重的指控，哈利，”麦格教授惊愕地停顿了一下，说道，“你有证据吗？”

　　“没有，”哈利说，“但是……”他把那天他们跟踪马尔福到博金－博克店，偷听到他和博金之间的那段对话告诉了麦格教授。

　　他说完后，麦格教授显得有点儿迷惑。

　　“马尔福把一件东西拿到博金－博克店去修理？”

　　“不，教授，他只是要博金告诉他怎么修理一件东西，并没有把它带去。但问题不在这里，问题是他同时还买了一件东西，我认为就是那条项链——”

　　“你看见马尔福离开商店时拿着那样一个包裹？”

　　“不，教授，他叫博金替他保存在店里——”

　　“可是，哈利，”赫敏打断了他的话，“博金问他是不是想把东西拿走，马尔福说‘不’——”

　　“因为他不想碰那东西，那还用说吗！”哈利生气地说。

　　“他的原话是：‘我拿着它走在街上像什么话？’”赫敏说。

　　“是啊，他拿着一条项链确实会显得很傻。”罗恩插嘴说。

　　“哦，罗恩，”赫敏绝望地说，“项链肯定是包起来的，他用不着碰到它，而且很容易藏在斗篷里面的口袋里，没有人会看得见！我认为他保存在博金－博克店里的那件东西要么体积很大，要么会发出很大的响动，他知道如果带着那东西在街上走，肯定会引起别人的注意——而且，”她不让哈利有机会打断她，只顾大声地往下说，“我向博金打听过那条项链，记得吗？当时我走进店里，想弄清马尔福要他保存什么，我看见项链还在那儿。博金告诉了我项链的价钱，他并没有说它已经卖出去了——”

　　“嘿，你做得太显眼了，他五秒钟内就发现了你想干什么，自然不会告诉你啦——而且，马尔福可以通过邮购的方式——”

　　“够了！”赫敏刚想张嘴反驳，麦格教授就气呼呼地说道，“波特，感谢你告诉我这些，但我们不能因为马尔福先生光顾过那家可能卖出这条项链的商店，就随随便便地指责他。去过那家商店的可能有好几百人——”

　　“——我也是这么说的——”罗恩嘟囔道。

　　“——而且，今年我们加强了严密的安全防范措施，我不相信那条项链会在我们不知道的情况下进入这所学校——”

　　“可是——”

　　“——还有一点，”麦格教授以一种斩钉截铁的口气说，“马尔福先生今天没有去霍格莫德村。”

　　哈利呆呆地望着她，顿时泄了气。

　　“你怎么知道的，教授？”

　　“因为他在我这里关禁闭呢。他已经接连两次没有完成变形课的家庭作业。好了，波特，感谢你把你的怀疑告诉了我，”她大步从他们身边走过，“但是我现在要去医院看看凯蒂·贝尔。祝你们愉快。”

　　她打开办公室的门。他们别无选择，只好一言不发地挨个儿从她身边走了出去。

　　哈利很生罗恩和赫敏的气，因为他们跟麦格站在一边。不过，当他们开始谈论刚才发生的事情时，他还是不由自主地加入了进去。

　　“那么，你们认为凯蒂要把那条项链交给谁呢？”他们上楼去公共休息室时，罗恩问道。

　　“那只有天知道了，”赫敏说，“不过，不管那个人是谁都逃不过去。只要打开那个包裹，就肯定会碰到项链。”

　　“许多人都有可能，”哈利说，“邓布利多——食死徒巴不得摆脱他呢，他肯定是他们的首选目标。或者斯拉格霍恩——邓布利多认为伏地魔很想把他拉过去，现在他们看到他站到了邓布利多一边，肯定很不高兴。或者——”

　　“或者是你。”赫敏很焦虑地说。

　　“不可能，”哈利说，“要是那样的话，凯蒂只要在路上转个身，直接交给我就行了，不是吗？从三把扫帚出来以后，我就一直走在她后面。费尔奇对每个进出霍格沃茨的人都要搜查一番，凯蒂在校外把包裹交给我不是要明智得多吗？我不明白马尔福为什么要叫她把项链拿进城堡。”

　　“哈利，马尔福不在霍格莫德村！”赫敏说，她无奈地跺着脚。

　　“那他肯定还有一个同谋，”哈利说，“克拉布或高尔——对了，说不定是另一个食死徒呢，现在他肯定有一大堆比克拉布和高尔更像样的哥儿们了，因为他已经加入——”

　　罗恩和赫敏交换了一个目光，显然是说“跟他争论没用”。

　　“茴香麦片！”赫敏果断地说，这时他们已经来到了胖夫人跟前。

　　肖像向前旋开，放他们进了公共休息室。休息室里挤满了人，弥漫着湿衣服的气味。由于天气恶劣，似乎许多人都提早从霍格莫德村回来了。不过，人们并没有惊慌地窃窃私语，做出各种猜测，看来凯蒂惨遭厄运的消息还没有传开。

　　“仔细想想，这次下手其实安排得并不巧妙。”罗恩大大咧咧地把一个一年级同学从火边一把好椅子上赶开，自己坐了下来，“那个魔咒连城堡的大门都没能进入。这种安排可不能算万无一失。”

　　“你说得对，”赫敏说着用脚把罗恩从椅子上赶开，让那个一年级同学重新坐了下来，“这确实不是一个很周密的计划。”

　　“马尔福什么时候算得上是世界一流的思想家了？”哈利问。

　　罗恩和赫敏都没有理睬他。
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Chapter 13 The Secret Riddle

Katie was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the
school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.
“Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course,” said Harry to Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death
-Eater theory.
Harry had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's lesson, but having had no word to the contrary, he presented
himself outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter. There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired; his hand was as black and burned as
ever, but he smiled when he gestured to Harry to sit down. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk again, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.
“You have had a busy time while I have been away,” Dumbledore said. “I believe you witnessed Katie's accident.”
“Yes, sir. How is she?”
“Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin; there was a tiny hole in her
glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a
rapid spread of the curse —”
“Why him?” asked Harry quickly. “Why not Madam Pomfrey?”
“Impertinent,” said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms
where he had appeared to be sleeping. “I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day.”
“Yes, thank you, Phineas,” said Dumbledore quellingly. “Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff
are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time.”
“Where were you this weekend, sir?” Harry asked, disregarding a strong feeling that he might be pushing his luck, a feeling apparently shared by Phineas Nigellus, who
hissed softly.
“I would rather not say just now,” said Dumbledore. “However, I shall tell you in due course.”
“You will?” said Harry, startled.
“Yes, I expect so,” said Dumbledore, withdrawing a fresh bottle of silver memories from inside his robes and uncorking it with a prod of his wand.
“Sir,” said Harry tentatively, “I met Mundungus in Hogsmeade.”
“Ah yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt,” said Dumbledore, frowning a little. “He has gone to
ground since you accosted him outside the Three Broomsticks; I rather think he dreads facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of
Sirius's old possessions.”
“That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?” said Phineas Nigellus, incensed; and he stalked out of his frame, undoubtedly to visit his portrait in
number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
“Professor,” said Harry, after a short pause, “did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?”
“She told me of your suspicions, yes,” said Dumbledore.
“And do you—?”
“I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident,” said Dumbledore. “But what concerns me now, Harry, is
our lesson.”
Harry felt slightly resentful at this: if their lessons were so very important, why had there been such a long gap between the first and second? However, he said no
more about Draco Malfoy, but watched as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered
hands.
“You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife,
Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort.”
“How do you know she was in London, sir?”
“Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke,” said Dumbledore, “who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just
been discussing.”
He swilled the contents of the Pensieve as Harry had seen him swill them before, much as a gold prospector sifts for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a
little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.
“Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly,
well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along... going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of
story all the time, ‘Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,’ but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to
tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain
we ever made!”
Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.
“He only gave her ten Galleons?” said Harry indignantly.
“Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity,” said Dumbledore. “So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate
need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms.”
“But she could do magic!” said Harry impatiently. “She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?”
“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “perhaps she could. But it is my belief—I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right—that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped
using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of
her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life.”
“She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
“Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?”
“No,” said Harry quickly, “but she had a choice, didn't she, not like my mother —”
“Your mother had a choice too,” said Dumbledore gently. “Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry.
She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand ...”
“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined him at the front of the desk.
“This time,” said Dumbledore, “we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry ...”
Harry bent over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface of the memory and then he was falling through darkness again... Seconds later, his feet hit firm ground;
he opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.
“There I am,” said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.
This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances
due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.
“Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through
a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door
and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?”
“Oh,” said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. “Um... just a mo... MRS. COLE!” she bellowed over her shoulder.
Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore.
“Come in, she's on ‘er way.”
Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front
door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she
was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
“... and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets—chicken pox on top of everything
else,” she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just
crossed her threshold.
“Good afternoon,” said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.
Mrs. Cole simply gaped.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today.”
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, “Oh yes. Well—well then—you'd better come into my room. Yes.”
She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited
Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
“I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,” said Dumbledore.
“Are you family?” asked Mrs. Cole.
“No, I am a teacher,” said Dumbledore. “I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.”
“What school's this, then?”
“It is called Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.
“And how come you're interested in Tom?”
“We believe he has qualities we are looking for.”
“You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one.”
“Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —”
“Who registered him? His parents?”
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his
velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.
“Here,” said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, “I think this will make everything clear.”
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.
“That seems perfectly in order,” she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few
seconds before.
“Er—may I offer you a glass of gin?” she said in an extra-refined voice.
“Thank you very much,” said Dumbledore, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking
her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
“I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?”
“That's right,” said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. “I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold,
snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her
in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour.”
Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.
“Did she say anything before she died?” asked Dumbledore. “Anything about the boy's father, for instance?”
“Now, as it happens, she did,” said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. “I
remember she said to me, ‘I hope he looks like his papa,’ and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty—and then she told me he was to be
named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father—yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus—and she said the boy's surname
was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.
“Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any
family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since.”
Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absent-mindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, “He's a funny
boy.”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I thought he might be.”
“He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was... odd.”
“Odd in what way?” asked Dumbledore gently.
“Well, he —”
But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.
“He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?”
“Definitely,” said Dumbledore.
“And nothing I say can change that?”
“Nothing,” said Dumbledore.
“You'll be taking him away, whatever?”
“Whatever,” repeated Dumbledore gravely.
She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, “He scares the other children.
”
“You mean he is a bully?” asked Dumbledore.
“I think he must be,” said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, “but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents... nasty things ...”
Dumbledore did not press her, though Harry could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still.
“Billy Stubbs's rabbit... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?”
“I shouldn't think so, no,” said Dumbledore quietly.
“But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then—"Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping
a little over her chin this time, “on the summer outing—we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside—well, Amy Benson and Dennis
Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but
something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things...”
She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady.
“I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him.”
“You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?” said Dumbledore. “He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer.”
“Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker,” said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, and Harry was impressed to see that
she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. “I suppose you'd like to see him?”
“Very much,” said Dumbledore, rising too.
She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Harry saw, were all
wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.
“Here we are,” said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.
“Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton—sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you—well, I'll let him do it.”
Harry and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron
bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.
There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: he was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired,
and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.
“How do you do, Tom?” said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.
The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital
patient and visitor.
“I am Professor Dumbledore.”
“'Professor'?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like ‘doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”
He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
“No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.
“I don't believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!”
He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had
widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if
anything, warier still.
“Who are you?”
“I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school—your new school, if you would
like to come.”
Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.
“You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course—well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the
asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!
“I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would
rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —”
“I'd like to see them try,” sneered Riddle.
“Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, “is a school for people with special abilities —”
“I'm not mad!”
“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”
There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one
of them lying.
“Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.
“That's right,” said Dumbledore.
“It's... it's magic, what I can do?”
“What is it that you can do?”
“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching them.
I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”
His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.
“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”
“Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. “You are a wizard.”
Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his
finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.
“Are you a wizard too?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, “Tell the truth.”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts—”
“Of course I am!”
“Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.'”
Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, “I'm sorry, sir. I meant—please, Professor, could you
show me—?”
Harry was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were
currently in a building full of Muggles and must therefore be cautious. To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit
jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.
The wardrobe burst into flames.
Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on
Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.
Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. “Where can I get one of them?”
“All in good time,” said Dumbledore. “I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.”
And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.
“Open the door,” said Dumbledore.
Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking
and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.
“Take it out,” said Dumbledore.
Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.
“Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” asked Dumbledore.
Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. “Yes, I suppose so, sir,” he said finally, in an expressionless voice.
“Open it,” said Dumbledore.
Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small,
everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin
blankets.
“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. “I shall know whether it has been done.
And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”
Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, “Yes, sir.”
“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure—been using your powers in a way that
is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that
Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic—yes, there is a Ministry—will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in
entering our world, they abide by our laws.”
“Yes, sir,” said Riddle again.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had
finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, “I haven't got any money.”
“That is easily remedied,” said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. “There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books
and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —”
“Where do you buy spellbooks?” interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.
“In Diagon Alley,” said Dumbledore. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —”
“You're coming with me?” asked Riddle, looking up.
“Certainly, if you —”
“I don't need you,” said Riddle. “I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley—sir?” he
added, catching Dumbledore's eye.
Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of
equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you—
non-magical people, that is—will not. Ask for Tom the barman—easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —”
Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.
“You dislike the name ‘Tom'?”
“There are a lot of Toms,” muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, “Was my
father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me.”
“I'm afraid I don't know,” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.
“My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died,” said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. “It must've been him. So—when I've got all my stuff—
when do I come to this Hogwarts?”
“All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There
is a train ticket in there too.”
Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, “I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on
trips—they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?”
Harry could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress.
“It is unusual,” said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, “but not unheard of.”
His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken;
Dumbledore was at the door.
“Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts.”
“I think that will do,” said the white-haired Dumbledore at Harry's side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing
squarely in the present-day office.
“Sit down,” said Dumbledore, landing beside Harry.
Harry obeyed, his mind still full of what he had just seen.
“He believed it much quicker than I did—I mean, when you told him he was a wizard,” said Harry. “I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me.”
“Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was—to use his word—'special,'” said Dumbledore.
“Did you know—then?” asked Harry.
“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I
was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and
friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others’ sake as much as his.
“His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and—most interestingly and ominously of all—he had already discovered that he had
some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards: he was already
using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were
most suggestive... I can make them hurt if I want to...”
“And he was a Parselmouth,” interjected Harry.
“Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact,
his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination.
“Time is making fools of us again,” said Dumbledore, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. “But before we part, I want to draw your attention to certain
features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings.
“Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, ‘Tom'?”
Harry nodded.
“There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious.
He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of ‘Lord Voldemort’ behind which he has been hidden for so long.
“I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless? He did not want help or companionship on his
trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence,
that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.
“And lastly... I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Harry—the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had
hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-
like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.
“And now, it really is time for bed.”
Harry got to his feet. As he walked across the room, his eyes fell upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last time, but the ring was no longer
there.
“Yes, Harry?” said Dumbledore, for Harry had come to a halt.
“The ring's gone,” said Harry, looking around. “But I thought I you might have the mouth organ or something.”
Dumbledore beamed at him, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
“Very astute, Harry, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ.”
And on that enigmatic note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed.
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第13章 神秘的里德尔

凯蒂第二天就转到圣芒戈魔法伤病医院去了，这时候，她中了魔咒的消息已经在学校里传遍了，不过具体细节大家并不清楚，除了哈利、罗恩、赫敏和利妮，似乎谁也不知道凯蒂本人并不是那条项链预期的攻击目标。

　　“噢，马尔福当然也知道。”哈利对罗恩和赫敏说，他们俩每次听见哈利提到“马尔福是食死徒”的想法，都只好继续装聋作哑。

　　邓布利多不知道去了哪里，哈利甚至怀疑他星期一晚上能不能赶回来给他上课。不过既然没有收到取消上课的通知，他还是在晚上八点钟准时出现在邓布利多办公室外面。他轻轻敲了敲门，里面有声音请他进去。邓布利多坐在那里，显得特别疲惫，那只手还像以前一样焦黑干枯，但是他脸上带着微笑，示意哈利坐下。冥想盆又一次放在桌上，将星星点点的银色光斑投射在天花板上。

　　“我出去的这段时间，你很忙碌啊，”邓布利多说，“你亲眼看见了凯蒂出事的情景。”

　　“是的，先生。她怎么样了？”

　　“情况还很不好，不过她还算比较幸运。她似乎只是一小块皮肤碰到了项链：她的手套上有一个小洞。如果她把项链戴在脖子上，或只是用不戴手套的手拿起项链，她都会死去，也许当场就毙命了。幸好斯内普教授很有办法，阻止了魔咒的快速传播——”

　　“为什么是他？”哈利立刻问道，“为什么不是庞弗雷夫人？”

　　“没礼貌。”墙上一幅肖像里传出一个轻轻的声音，菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯·布莱克——小天狼星的曾曾祖父，刚才趴在胳膊上似乎睡着了，这会儿正好抬起头来，“想当年，我可不允许一位学生对霍格沃茨的管理方式提出异议。”

　　“是的，谢谢你，菲尼亚斯。”邓布利多息事宁人地说，“哈利，斯内普在黑魔法方面的知识比庞弗雷夫人丰富得多。而且，圣芒戈魔法伤病医院的工作人员每小时都在向我汇报情况，我相信凯蒂很快就有希望完全恢复的。”

　　“你这个周末去哪儿了，先生？”哈利问，他知道自己有点得寸进尺，但他豁出去了，菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯显然也觉得哈利太过分了，轻轻地发出了嘘声。

　　“目前我还不想说，”邓布利多说，“不过，以后在适当的时候我会告诉你的。”

　　“会吗？”哈利惊异地问。

　　“会，我想会的。”邓布利多说着从长袍里面掏出一只装着银白色记忆的新瓶子，用魔杖一捅，拔出了木塞。

　　“先生，”哈利犹豫不决地说，“我在霍格莫德村看见蒙顿格斯了。”

　　“啊，是的，我已经发现蒙顿格斯不把你继承的遗产当回事，经常顺手牵羊。”邓布利多微微皱着眉头说，“自从你在三把扫帚酒吧外面跟他说过话之后，他就藏起来了。我想他是不敢见我了吧。不过你放心，他再也不会把小天狼星留下的东西偷走了。”

　　“那个卑鄙的老杂种竟敢偷布莱克家的祖传遗物？”菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯恼火地说，然后便大步走出了相框，无疑是去拜访他在格里莫广场12号的那幅肖像了。

　　“教授，”哈利在短暂的停顿之后说，“麦格教授有没有把我在凯蒂受伤后对她说的话告诉你？就是关于德拉科·马尔福的？”

　　“是的，她对我说了你的怀疑。”邓布利多说。

　　“那么你——？”

　　“凡是在凯蒂事故中有嫌疑的人，我都要对其进行深入细致的调查。”邓布利多说，“可是，哈利，我现在关心的是我们的课。”

　　哈利听了这话感到有点恼火。既然他们的课这么重要，为什么第一堂课和第二堂课之间隔了这么长时间？不过，他没有就德拉科·马尔福的事再说什么，而是注视着邓布利多把那些新的记忆倒进冥想盆中，然后用细长的双手端起石盆轻轻转动。

　　“关于伏地魔的早期经历，我想你一定还记得，我们上次说到那位英俊的麻瓜——汤姆·里德尔抛弃了他的女巫妻子梅洛普，回到了他在小汉格顿村的老家。梅洛普独自待在伦敦，肚子里怀着那个日后将成为伏地魔的孩子。”

　　“你怎么知道她在伦敦呢，先生？”

　　“因为有卡拉克塔库斯·博克提供的证据。”邓布利多说，“说来真是无巧不成书，他当年协助创办的一家商店，正是出售我们所说的那条项链的店铺。”

　　他晃动着冥想盆里的东西，就像淘金者筛金子一样，哈利以前看见他这么做过。那些不断旋转的银白色物体中浮现出一个小老头儿的身影，他在冥想盆里慢慢地旋转，苍白得像幽灵一样，但比幽灵更有质感，他的头发非常浓密，把眼睛完全遮住了。

　　“是的，我们是在很特殊的情况下得到它的。是一位年轻的女巫在圣诞节前拿来的，说起来已经是很多年前的事了。她说她急需要钱，是啊，那是再明显不过的。她衣衫褴褛，面容憔悴……还怀着身孕。她说那个挂坠盒以前是斯莱特林的。咳，我们成天听到这样的鬼话：‘喔，这是梅林的东西，真的，是他最喜欢的茶壶。’可是我仔细一看，挂坠盒上果然有斯莱特林的标记，我又念了几个简单的咒语就弄清了真相。当然啦，那东西简直就是价值连城。那女人似乎根本不知道它有多么值钱，只卖了十个加隆就心满意足了。那是我们做的最划算的一笔买卖！”

　　邓布利多格外用力地晃了晃冥想盆，卡拉克塔库斯又重新回到他刚才出现的地方，沉入了旋转的记忆之中。

　　“他只给了她十个加隆？”哈利愤愤不平地说。

　　“卡拉克塔库斯·博克不是一个慷慨大方的人。”邓布利多说，“这样我们便知道，梅洛普在怀孕后期，独自一个人待在伦敦，迫切地需要钱，不得不卖掉她身上惟一值钱的东西——那个挂坠盒，也是马沃罗非常珍惜的一件传家宝。”

　　“但是她会施魔法呀！”哈利性急地说，“她可以通过魔法给自己弄到食物和所有的东西，不是吗？”

　　“嗬，”邓布利多说，“也许她可以。不过我认为——我这又是在猜测，但我相信我是对的——我认为梅洛普在被丈夫抛弃之后，就不再使用魔法了。她大概不想再做一个女巫了。当然啦，也有另一种可能，她那得不到回报的爱情以及由此带来的绝望大大削弱了她的力量。那样的事情是会发生的。总之，你待会儿就会看到，梅洛普甚至不肯举起魔杖拯救自己的性命。”

　　“她甚至不愿意为了她的儿子活下来吗？”

　　邓布利多扬起了眉毛。

　　“莫非你竟然对伏地魔产生了同情？”

　　“不，”哈利急忙说道，“但是梅洛普是可以选择的，不是吗，不像我妈妈——”

　　“你妈妈也是可以选择的。”邓布利多温和地说，“是的，梅洛普·里德尔选择了死亡，尽管有一个需要她的儿子，但是不要对她求全责备吧，哈利。长期的痛苦折磨使她变得十分脆弱，而且她一向没有你妈妈那样的勇气。好了，现在请你站起来……”

　　“我们去哪儿？”哈利问，这时邓布利多走过来和他一起站在桌前。

　　“这次，”邓布利多说，“我们要进入我的记忆。我想，你会发现它不仅细节生动，而且准确无误。你先来，哈利……”

　　哈利朝冥想盆俯下身，他的脸扎入了盆中冰冷的记忆，然后他又一次在黑暗中坠落……几秒钟后，他的双脚踩到了坚实的地面，他睁开眼睛，发现他和邓布利多站在伦敦一条繁忙的老式街道上。

　　“那就是我。”邓布利多指着前面一个高个子的身影欢快地说，那人正在一辆马拉的牛奶车前面横穿马路。

　　这位年轻的阿不思·邓布利多的长头发和长胡子都是赤褐色的。他来到马路这一边，顺着人行道大步流星地往前走去，他身上那件考究的紫红色天鹅绒西服吸引了许多好奇的目光。

　　“好漂亮的衣服，先生。”哈利不假思索地脱口说道，邓布利多只是轻声笑了笑。他们不远不近地跟着年轻的邓布利多，最后穿过一道大铁门，走进了一片光秃秃的院子。

　　院子后面是一座四四方方、阴森古板的楼房，四周围着高高的栏杆。他走上通向前门的几级台阶，敲了一下门。过了片刻，一个系着围裙的邋里邋遢的姑娘把门打开了。

　　“下午好，我跟一位科尔夫人约好了，我想，她是这里的总管吧？”

　　“哦，”那个姑娘满脸困惑地说，一边用锐利的目光打量着邓布利多那一身古怪的行头，“嗯……等一等……科尔夫人！”她扭头大声叫道。

　　哈利听见远处有个声音大喊着回答了她。那姑娘又转向了邓布利多。

　　“进来吧，她马上就来。”

　　邓布利多走进一间铺着黑白瓷砖的门厅。整个房间显得很破旧，但是非常整洁，一尘不染。哈利和老邓布利多跟了进去。大门还没在他们身后关上，就有一个瘦骨嶙峋、神色疲惫的女人快步朝他们走来。她的面部轮廓分明，看上去与其说是凶恶，倒不如说是焦虑。她一边朝邓布利多走来，一边扭头吩咐另一个系着围裙的帮手。

　　“……把碘酒拿上楼给玛莎，比利·斯塔布斯把他的痂都抓破了，埃里克·华莱的血把床单都弄脏了——真倒霉，竟染上了水痘！”她像是对着空气说话，这时她的目光落在了邓布利多身上。她猛地刹住脚步，一脸惊愕，仿佛看见一头长颈鹿迈过了她的门槛。

　　“下午好。”邓布利多说着伸出了手。

　　科尔夫人目瞪口呆地看着他。

　　“我叫阿不思·邓布利多。我给您写过一封信，请求您约见我，您非常仁慈地邀请我今天过来。”

　　科尔夫人眨了眨眼睛。她似乎这才认定邓布利多不是她的幻觉，便强打起精神说道：“噢，对了。好——好吧——你最好到我的房间里来。是的。”

　　她领着邓布利多走进了一间好像半是客厅半是办公室的小屋。这里和门厅一样简陋寒酸，家具都很陈旧，而且不配套。她请邓布利多坐在一把摇摇晃晃的椅子上，她自己则坐到了一张杂乱不堪的桌子后面，紧张地打量着他。

　　“我信上已经对您说了，我来这里，是想跟您商量商量汤姆·里德尔的事，给他安排一个前程。”邓布利多说。

　　“你是他的亲人？”科尔夫人问。

　　“不，我是一位教师，”邓布利多说，“我来请汤姆到我们学校去念书。”

　　“那么，这是一所什么学校呢？”

　　“校名是霍格沃茨。”邓布利多说。

　　“你们怎么会对汤姆感兴趣呢？”

　　“我们认为他具有我们寻找的一些素质。”

　　“你是说他赢得了一份奖学金？这怎么会呢？他从来没有报名申请啊。”

　　“噢，他一出生，我们学校就把他的名字记录在案——”

　　“谁替他注册的呢？他的父母？”

　　毫无疑问，科尔夫人是一个非常精明、让人感到有些头疼的女人。邓布利多显然也是这么认为的，哈利看见他从天鹅绒西服的口袋里抽出了魔杖，同时又从科尔夫人的桌面上拿起一张完全空白的纸。

　　“给。”邓布利多说着把那张纸递给了她，一边挥了一下魔杖，“我想，您看一看这个就全清楚了。”

　　科尔夫人的眼神飘忽了一下，随即又专注起来，她对着那张空白的纸认真地看了一会儿。

　　“看来是完全符合程序的。”她平静地说，把纸还给了邓布利多。然后她的目光落在一瓶杜松子酒和两只玻璃杯上，那些东西几秒钟前肯定不在那儿。

　　“嗯——我可以请你喝一杯杜松子酒吗？”她用一种特别温文尔雅的声音说。

　　“非常感谢。”邓布利多笑眯眯地说。

　　很明显，科尔夫人喝起杜松子酒来可不是个新手。她把两个人的杯子斟得满满的，一口就把自己那杯喝得精光。她不加掩饰地咂巴咂巴嘴，第一次朝邓布利多露出了微笑，邓布利多立刻趁热打铁。

　　“不知道你是不是可以跟我说说汤姆·里德尔的身世？他好像是在这个孤儿院里出生的？”

　　“没错，”科尔夫人说着又给自己倒了一些杜松子酒，“那件事我记得清清楚楚，因为我当时刚来这里工作。那是一个除夕之夜，外面下着雪，冷得要命。一个天气恶劣的夜晚。那个姑娘，年纪比我当时大不了多少，踉踉跄跄地走上前门的台阶。咳，这种事儿我们经历得多了。我们把她搀了进来，不到一小时她就生下了孩子。又过了不到一小时，她就死了。”

　　科尔夫人意味深长地点了点头，又喝了一大口杜松子酒。

　　“她临死之前说过什么话没有？”邓布利多问，“比如，关于那男孩的父亲？”

　　“是啊，她说过。”科尔夫人手里端着杜松子酒，面前是一位热心的听众，这显然使她来了兴致。

　　“我记得她对我说：‘我希望他长得像他爸爸。’说老实话，她这么希望是对的，因为她本人长得并不怎么样——然后，她告诉我，孩子随他父亲叫汤姆，中间的名字随她自己的父亲叫马沃罗——是啊，我知道，这名字真古怪，对吧？我们怀疑她是不是马戏团里的人——她又说那男孩的姓是里德尔。然后她就没再说什么，很快就死了。

　　“后来，我们就按照她说的给孩子起了名字，那可怜的姑娘似乎把这看得很重要，可是从来没有什么汤姆、马沃罗或里德尔家的人来找他，也不见他有任何亲戚，所以他就留在了孤儿院里，一直到今天。”

　　科尔夫人几乎是心不在焉地又给自己倒了满满一杯杜松子酒。她的颧骨上泛起两团红晕。然后她说：“他是个古怪的孩子。”

　　“是啊，”邓布利多说，“我也猜到了。”

　　“他还是婴儿的时候就很古怪，几乎从来不哭。后来，他长大了一些，就变得很……怪异。”

　　“怪异，哪方面怪异呢？”邓布利多温和地问。

　　“是这样，他——”

　　科尔夫人突然顿住口，她越过杜松子酒杯朝邓布利多投去询问的目光，那目光一点儿也不恍惚或糊涂。

　　“他肯定可以到你们学校去念书，是吗？”

　　“肯定。”邓布利多说。

　　“不管我说什么，都不会改变这一点？”

　　“不会。”邓布利多说。

　　“不管怎样，你都会把他带走？”

　　“不管怎样。”邓布利多严肃地重复道。

　　科尔夫人眯起眼睛看着他，似乎在判断要不要相信他。最后她显然认为他是可以相信的，于是突然脱口说道：“他让别的孩子感到害怕。”

　　“你是说他喜欢欺负人？”邓布利多问。

　　“我想肯定是这样，”科尔夫人微微皱着眉头说，“但是很难当场抓住他。出过一些事故……一些恶性事件……”

　　邓布利多没有催她，但哈利可以看出他很感兴趣。科尔夫人又喝了一大口杜松子酒，面颊上的红晕更深了。

　　“比利·斯塔布斯的兔子……是啊，汤姆说不是他干的，我也认为他不可能办得到，可说是这么说，那兔子总不会自己吊在房梁上吧？”

　　“是啊，我也认为不会。”邓布利多轻声说。

　　“但是我死活也弄不清他是怎么爬到那上面去干这事儿的。我只知道他和比利前一天吵过一架。还有后来——”科尔夫人又痛饮了一口杜松子酒，这次洒了一些流到下巴上，“夏天出去郊游——你知道的，每年一次。我们带他们到郊外或者海边——从那以后，艾米·本森和丹尼斯·毕肖普就一直不大对劲儿，我们问起来，他们只说是跟汤姆·里德尔一起进过一个山洞。汤姆发誓说他们是去探险，可是在那里面肯定发生了一些什么事。我可以肯定。此外还有许多许多的事情，稀奇古怪……”

　　她又看着邓布利多，她虽然面颊酡红，目光却很沉着。

　　“我想，许多人看见他离开这儿都会拍手称快的。”

　　“我相信您肯定明白，我们不会一直让他待在学校里，”邓布利多说，“至少每年暑假他还会回到这儿。”

　　“噢，没问题，那也比被人用生锈的拨火棍抽鼻子强。”科尔夫人轻轻打着酒嗝说。她站了起来，哈利惊异地发现，尽管瓶里的杜松子酒已经少了三分之二，她的腿脚仍然很稳当。“我猜你一定很想见见他吧？”

　　“确实很想。”邓布利多说着也站了起来。

　　科尔夫人领着他出了办公室，走上石头楼梯，一边走一边大声地吩咐和指责她的帮手和孩子们。哈利看到那些孤儿都穿着清一色的灰色束腰袍子。他们看上去都得到了合理的精心照顾，但是毫无疑问，在这个地方长大，气氛是很阴沉压抑的。

　　“我们到了。”科尔夫人说，他们在三楼的楼梯平台上拐了一个弯，在一条长长走廊的第一个房间门口停住了。她敲了两下门，走了进去。

　　“汤姆？有人来看你了。这位是邓布顿先生——对不起，是邓德波先生。他来告诉你——唉，还是让他自己跟你说吧。”

哈利和两个邓布利多一起走进房间，科尔夫人在他们身后关上了门。这是一间空荡荡的、没有任何装饰的小屋，只有一个旧衣柜和一张铁床。一个男孩坐在灰色的毛毯上，两条长长的腿伸在前面，手里拿着一本书在读。

　　汤姆·里德尔的脸上看不到一点儿冈特家族的影子。梅洛普的遗言变成了现实：他简直就是他那位英俊的父亲的缩小版。对十一岁的孩子来说，他的个子算是高的，黑黑的头发、脸色苍白。他微微眯起眼睛，打量着邓布利多怪异的模样和装扮。一时间没有人说话。

　　“你好，汤姆。”邓布利多说着走上前伸出了手。

　　男孩迟疑了一下，然后伸出手去握了握。邓布利多把一张硬邦邦的木头椅子拉到里德尔身边，这样一来，他们俩看上去就像是一位住院病人和一位探视者。

　　“我是邓布利多教授。”

　　“‘教授’？”里德尔重复了一句，他露出很警觉的神情。“是不是就像‘医生’一样？你来这里做什么？是不是她叫你来给我检查检查的？”

　　他指着刚才科尔夫人离开的房门。

　　“不，不是。”邓布利多微笑着说。

　　“我不相信你。”里德尔说，“她想让人来给我看看病，是不是？说实话！”

　　最后三个字他说得凶狠响亮，气势吓人。这是一句命令，看来他以前曾经多次下过这种命令。他突然睁大了眼睛，狠狠地盯着邓布利多，而邓布利多没有回答，只是继续和蔼地微笑着。过了几秒钟，里德尔的目光松弛下来，但他看上去似乎更警觉了。

　　“你是谁？”

　　“我已经告诉你了。我是邓布利多教授，我在一所名叫霍格沃茨的学校里工作。我来邀请你到我的学校——你的新学校去念书，如果你愿意的话。”

　　听了这话，里德尔的反应大大出人意外。他腾地从床上跳起来，后退着离开了邓布利多，神情极为恼怒。

　　“你骗不了我！你是从疯人院里来的，是不是？‘教授’，哼，没错——告诉你吧，我不会去的，明白吗？那个该死的老妖婆才应该去疯人院呢。我根本没把小艾米·本森和丹尼斯·毕肖普怎么样，你可以自己去问他们，他们会告诉你的！”

　　“我不是从疯人院来的，”邓布利多耐心地说，“我是个老师，如果你能心平气和地坐下来，我就跟你说说霍格沃茨的事儿。当然啦，如果你不愿意去那个学校，也没有人会强迫你——”

　　“我倒想看看谁敢！”里德尔轻蔑地说。

　　“霍格沃茨，”邓布利多继续说道，似乎没有听见里德尔的最后那句话，“是一所专门为具有特殊才能的人开办的学校——”

　　“我没有疯！”

　　“我知道你没有疯。霍格沃茨不是一所疯子的学校，而是一所魔法学校。”

　　沉默。里德尔呆住了，脸上毫无表情，但他的目光快速地轮番扫视着邓布利多的两只眼睛，似乎想从其中一只看出他在撒谎。

　　“魔法？”他轻声重复道。

　　“不错。”邓布利多说。

　　“我的那些本领，是……是魔法？”

　　“你有些什么本领呢？”

　　“各种各样。”里德尔压低声音说，兴奋的红晕从他的脖子向凹陷的双颊迅速蔓延。他显得很亢奋。“我不用手碰就能让东西动起来。我不用训练就能让动物听我的吩咐。谁惹我生气，我就能让谁倒霉。我只要愿意就能让他们受伤。”

　　他的双腿在颤抖。他跌跌撞撞地走上前，重新坐在床上，垂下了脑袋，盯着自己的两只手，像在祈祷一样。

　　“我早就知道我与众不同。”他对着自己颤抖的双手说，“我早就知道我很特别。我早就知道这里头有点什么。”

　　“对，你的想法没有错。”邓布利多说，他收敛笑容，目光专注地看着里德尔，“你是一个巫师。”

　　里德尔抬起头。他的面孔一下子变了：透出一种狂热的欣喜。然而不知怎的，这并没有使他显得更好看些，反而使他精致的五官突然变得粗糙了，那神情简直像野兽一样。

　　“你也是个巫师？”

　　“是的。”

　　“证明给我看。”里德尔立刻说道，口气和刚才那句“说实话”一样盛气凌人。

　　邓布利多扬起眉毛。

　　“如果，按我的理解，你同意到霍格沃茨去念书——”

　　“我当然同意！”

　　“那你就要称我为‘教授’或‘先生’。”

　　里德尔的表情僵了一刹那，接着他突然以一种判若两人的彬彬有礼的口气说：“对不起，先生。我是说——教授，您能不能让我看看——？”

　　哈利以为邓布利多一定会拒绝，他以为邓布利多会对里德尔说，以后在霍格沃茨有的是时间做具体示范，并说他们眼下是在一座住满麻瓜的楼房里，必须谨慎从事。然而令他大为惊讶的是，邓布利多从西服上装的内袋里抽出魔杖，指着墙角那个破旧的衣柜，漫不经心地一挥。

　　衣柜立刻着起火来。

　　里德尔腾地跳了起来。哈利不能责怪他发出惊恐和愤怒的吼叫，他的所有财产大概都在那个衣柜里。可是，里德尔刚要向邓布利多兴师问罪，火焰突然消失了，衣柜完好无损。

　　里德尔看看衣柜，又看看邓布利多，然后，他指着那根魔杖，表情变得很贪婪。

　　“我从哪儿可以得到一根？”

　　“到时候会有的。”邓布利多说，“你那衣柜里好像有什么东西想要钻出来。”

　　果然，衣柜里传出微弱的咔哒咔哒声。里德尔第一次露出了惊慌的神情。

　　“把门打开。”邓布利多说。

　　里德尔迟疑了一下，然后走过去猛地打开了衣柜的门。挂衣杆上挂着几件破旧的衣服，上面最高一层的搁板上有一只小小的硬纸板箱，正在不停地晃动，发出咔哒咔哒的响声，里面似乎关着几只疯狂的老鼠。

　　“把它拿出来。”邓布利多说。

　　里德尔把那只晃动的箱子搬下来。他显得不知所措。

　　“那箱子里是不是有一些你不该有的东西？”邓布利多问。

　　里德尔用清晰、审慎的目光深深地看了邓布利多一眼。

　　“是的，我想是的，先生。”他最后用一种干巴巴的声音说。

　　“打开。”邓布利多说。

　　里德尔打开盖子，看也没看地把里面的东西倒在了他的床上。哈利本来以为里面会有更加令人兴奋的东西，却只看见一堆平平常常的玩意儿，其中有一个游游拉线盘、一只银顶针、一把失去光泽的口琴。它们一离开箱子就不再颤抖了，乖乖地躺在薄薄的毯子上，一动不动了。

　　“你要把这些东西还给它们的主人，并且向他们道歉。”邓布利多平静地说，一边把魔杖插进了上衣口袋里，“我会知道你有没有做。我还要警告你：霍格沃茨是不能容忍偷窃行为的。”

　　里德尔脸上没有丝毫的羞愧。他仍然冷冷地盯着邓布利多，似乎在掂量他。最后，他用一种干巴巴的声音说：“知道了，先生。”

　　“在霍格沃茨，”邓布利多继续说道，“我们不仅教你使用魔法，还教你控制魔法。你过去用那种方式使用你的魔法，我相信是出于无意，但这是我们学校绝不会传授、也绝不能容忍的。让自己的魔法失去控制，你不是第一个，也不会是最后一个。但是你应该知道，霍格沃茨是可以开除学生的，而且魔法部——没错，有一个魔法部——会以更严厉的方式惩罚违法者。每一位新来的巫师都必须接受：一旦进入我们的世界，就要服从我们的法律。”

　　“知道了，先生。”里德尔又说道。

　　很难知道他脑子里在想什么。他把那一小堆偷来的赃物放回硬纸箱时，脸上还是那样毫无表情。收拾完后，他转过身来，毫不客气地对邓布利多说：“我没有钱。”

　　“那很容易解决。”邓布利多说着就从口袋里掏出一只皮钱袋，“霍格沃茨有一笔基金，专门提供给那些需要资助购买课本和校袍的人。你的有些魔法书恐怕只能买二手货，不过——”

　　“在哪儿买魔法书？”里德尔打断了邓布利多的话，谢也没谢一声就把钱袋拿了过去，正在仔细端详一枚厚厚的金加隆。

　　“在对角巷。”邓布利多说，“我带来了你的书目和学校用品清单。我可以帮你把东西买齐——”

　　“你要陪我去？”里德尔抬起头来问道。

　　“那当然，如果你——”

　　“我用不着你，”里德尔说，“我习惯自己做事，我总是一个人在伦敦跑来跑去。那么，到这个对角巷怎么走呢——先生？”他碰到了邓布利多的目光，便补上了最后两个字。

　　哈利以为邓布利多会坚持陪着里德尔，但事情又一次出乎他的意料。邓布利多把装着购物清单的信封递给了里德尔，又告诉了里德尔从孤儿院到破釜酒吧的具体路线，然后说道：“你准能看见它，尽管你周围的麻瓜——也就是不懂魔法的人——是看不见的。打听一下酒吧老板汤姆——很容易记，名字跟你一样——”

　　里德尔恼怒地抽搐了一下，好像要赶走一只讨厌的苍蝇。

　　“你不喜欢‘汤姆’这个名字？”

　　“叫‘汤姆’的人太多了。”里德尔嘟囔道。然后他似乎是如鲠在喉，不吐不快，又似乎是脱口而出：“我父亲是巫师吗？他们告诉我他也叫汤姆·里德尔。”

　　“对不起，我不知道。”邓布利多说，声音很温和。

　　“我母亲不可能会魔法，不然她不会死。”里德尔不像是在对邓布利多说话，而更像是自言自语，“肯定是我父亲。那么——我把东西买齐了之后——什么时候到这所霍格沃茨学校去呢？”

　　“所有的细节都写在信封里的第二张羊皮纸上。”邓布利多说，“你九月一日从国王十字车站出发。信封里还有一张火车票。”

　　里德尔点了点头。邓布利多站起身，又一次伸出了手。里德尔一边握手一边说：“我可以跟蛇说话。我们到郊外远足的时候我发现的——它们找到我，小声对我说话。这对于一个巫师来说是正常的吗？”

　　哈利看得出来，他是故意拖到最后一刻才提到这个最奇特的本事，一心想把邓布利多镇住。

　　“很少见，”邓布利多迟疑了一下，说道，“但并非没有听说过。”

　　他的语气很随便，但他的目光却好奇地打量着里德尔的脸。两人站了片刻，男人和男孩，互相凝视着。然后两人松开了手，邓布利多走到了门边。

　　“再见，汤姆。我们在霍格沃茨见。”

　　“我看差不多了。”哈利身边那位满头白发的邓布利多说。几秒钟后，他们又一次轻飘飘地在黑暗中飞翔着，然后稳稳地落在现实中的办公室里。

　　“坐下吧。”邓布利多落在哈利身边，说道。

　　哈利坐了下来，脑子里仍然想着刚才看见的一切。

　　“他相信这件事的速度比我快得多——我是说，当你对他说他是一个巫师的时候。”哈利说，“海格最初告诉我时，我可不相信。”

　　“是啊，里德尔巴不得相信他是——用他自己的话说——是‘与众不同’的。”邓布利多说。

　　“那个时候——你就知道？”哈利问。

　　“我就知道我刚才看见的那个人是有史以来最危险的黑魔法巫师？”邓布利多说，“不，我根本不知道他会成为现在这样的人。不过我确实对他很感兴趣。我回到霍格沃茨后就打算密切关注他，其实我本来就应该这么做的，因为他独自一个人，没有朋友，但是，我当时就觉得我这么做不仅是为了他，也是为了别人。

　　“你刚才也听见了，对于这样一个年轻巫师来说，他的能力是惊人地完善和成熟——而最有趣、也最不祥的一点是——他已经发现他可以在某种程度上控制这些能力，并开始有意识地使用它们。正如你看见的，他不像一般的年轻巫师那样毫无章法地胡乱做些实验。他已经在用魔法对付别人，用魔法去恐吓、惩罚和控制别人。那只被吊死的兔子，还有被他骗进山洞的那一男一女两个孩子的故事就很能说明问题……我只要愿意就能让他们受伤……”

　　“他还是个蛇佬腔。”哈利插嘴道。

　　“是啊，一种罕见的能力，据说跟黑魔法有关，不过我们知道，在伟大和善良的巫师中间也有蛇佬腔。事实上，他与蛇对话的能力并没有使我感到很不安，令我担心的是他明显表现出来的那种残酷、诡秘和霸道的天性。

　　“时间又在捉弄我们了，”邓布利多指了指窗外漆黑的天空说道，“不过在我们分手之前，我想请你注意一下我们刚才目睹的那一幕中的某些东西，它们跟我们将来要一起讨论的问题密切相关。

　　“首先，我想你肯定注意到了，当我提到有人的名字跟他一样，也叫‘汤姆’时，里德尔是什么反应吧？”

　　哈利点了点头。

　　“这显示出，他蔑视任何把他跟别人拴在一起的东西，蔑视任何使他显得平凡无奇的东西。即使在那个时候，他就希望自己与众不同，孤傲独立，声名远扬。你也知道，在那次对话的短短几年之后，他就抛弃自己的名字，打造出‘伏地魔’这样一个面具，并在它后面蛰伏了那么长时间。

　　“我相信你同样也注意到了，汤姆·里德尔当时已经极为自信，讳莫如深，而且显然没有一个朋友。他自己去对角巷，不需要别人的帮助和陪同。他什么都愿意自己做。成年后的伏地魔也是这样。你会听见许多食死徒声称他们得到了他的信任，并声称只有他们才能够接近他甚至理解他。其实他们都受了愚弄。伏地魔从来没有一个朋友，而且我认为他从来都不需要朋友。

　　“最后——我希望你没有因为犯困而忽视这一点，哈利——年轻的汤姆·里德尔喜欢收集战利品。你看见他藏在房间里的那一箱赃物了吧。它们都是从那些被他欺侮过的孩子们那里拿来的，可以说它们是某些特别可恶的魔法伎俩的纪念品。你记住他这种像喜鹊一样喜欢收集东西的嗜好，这对于将来格外重要。

　　“好了，哈利，真的该睡觉了。”

　　哈利站了起来。他朝门口走去时，目光落在上次放着马沃罗·冈特那枚戒指的小桌上，可是戒指已经不在那儿了。

　　“怎么了，哈利？”邓布利多看到哈利停住脚步，问道。

　　“戒指不见了，”哈利左右张望着说，“不过我以为你这里还会有一把口琴什么的。”

　　邓布利多笑了，眼睛从半月形的镜片上方望着他。

　　“眼光很敏锐，哈利，但口琴只是一把口琴而已。”

　　说完这句令人费解的话，他朝哈利挥了挥手，哈利明白自己应该离开了。
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Chapter 14 Felix Felicis

Harry had Herbology first thing the following morning. He had been unable to tell Ron and Hermione about his lesson with Dumbledore over breakfast for fear of being
overheard, but he filled them in as they walked across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses. The weekend's brutal wind had died out at last; the weird mist had
returned and it took them a little longer than usual to find the correct greenhouse.
“Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who,” said Ron quietly, as they took their places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps that formed this term's project,
and began pulling on their protective gloves. “But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's
the point?”
“Dunno,” said Harry, inserting a gum shield. “But he says its all important and it'll help me survive.”
“I think it's fascinating,” said Hermione earnestly. “It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?
”
“So how was Slughorn's latest party?” Harry asked her thickly through the gum shield.
“Oh, it was quite fun, really,” said Hermione, now putting on protective goggles. “I mean, he drones on about famous exploits a bit, and he absolutely fawns on
McLaggen because he's so well connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones.”
“Gwenog Jones?” said Ron, his eyes widening under his own goggles. “The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?”
“That's right,” said Hermione. “Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but —”
“Quite enough chat over here!” said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. “You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's
already got his first pod!”
They looked around; sure enough, there sat Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but clutching an unpleasantly pulsating
green object about the size of a grapefruit.
“Okay, Professor, we're starting now!” said Ron, adding quietly, when she had turned away again, “Should've used Muffliato, Harry.”
“No, we shouldn't!” said Hermione at once, looking, as she always did, intensely cross at the thought of the Half-Blood Prince and his spells. “Well, come on ...
we'd better get going...”
She gave the other two an apprehensive look; they all took deep breaths and then dived at the gnarled stump between them.
It sprang to life at once; long, prickly, bramble-like vines flew out of the top and whipped through the air. One tangled itself in Hermione's hair, and Ron beat it
back with a pair of secateurs; Harry succeeded in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; a hole opened in the middle of all the tentacle-like branches;
Hermione plunged her arm bravely into this hole, which closed like a trap around her elbow; Harry and Ron tugged and wrenched at the vines, forcing the hole to open
again, and Hermione snatched her arm free, clutching in her fingers a pod just like Neville's. At once, the prickly vines shot back inside, and the gnarled stump sat
there looking like an innocently dead lump of wood.
“You know, I don't think I'll be having any of these in my garden when I've got my own place,” said Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat
from his face.
“Pass me a bowl,” said Hermione, holding the pulsating pod at arm's length; Harry handed one over and she dropped the pod into it with a look of disgust on her face.
“Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out, they're best when they're fresh!” called Professor Sprout.
“Anyway,” said Hermione, continuing their interrupted conversation as though a lump of wood had not just attacked them, “Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party,
Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night
you can come.”
Harry groaned. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, said
angrily, “And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?”
“Just for the Slug Club, yes,” said Hermione.
The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the green house glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat.
Harry went to retrieve the pod; when he got back, Hermione was saying, “Look, I didn't make up the name ‘Slug Club’ —”
“'Slug Club,'” repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. “It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then
Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug —”
“We're allowed to bring guests,” said Hermione, who for some reason had turned a bright, boiling scarlet, “and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's
that stupid then I won't bother!”
Harry suddenly wished the pod had flown a little farther, so that he need not have been sitting here with the pair of them. Unnoticed by either, he seized the bowl that
contained the pod and began to try and open it by the noisiest and most energetic means he could think of; unfortunately, he could still hear every word of their
conversation.
“You were going to ask me?” asked Ron, in a completely different voice.
“Yes,” said Hermione angrily. “But obviously if you'd rather I hooked up with McLaggen...”
There was a pause while Harry continued to pound the resilient pod with a trowel.
“No, I wouldn't,” said Ron, in a very quiet voice.
Harry missed the pod, hit the bowl, and shattered it.
“Reparo,” he said hastily, poking the pieces with his wand, and the bowl sprang back together again. The crash, however, appeared to have awoken Ron and Hermione to
Harry's presence. Hermione looked flustered and immediately started fussing about for her copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World to find out the correct way to juice
Snargaluff pods; Ron, on the other hand, looked sheepish but also rather pleased with himself.
“Hand that over, Harry,” said Hermione hurriedly. “It says we're supposed to puncture them with something sharp...”
Harry passed her the pod in the bowl; he and Ron both snapped their goggles back over their eyes and dived, once more, for the stump.
It was not as though he was really surprised, thought Harry, as he wrestled with a thorny vine intent upon throttling him; he had had an inkling that this might happen
sooner or later. But he was not sure how he felt about it... He and Cho were now too embarrassed to look at each other, let alone talk to each other; what if Ron and
Hermione started going out together, then split up? Could their friendship survive it? Harry remembered the few weeks when they had not been talking to each other in
the third year; he had not enjoyed trying to bridge the distance between them. And then, what if they didn't split up? What if they became like Bill and Fleur, and it
became excruciatingly embarrassing to be in their presence, so that he was shut out for good?
“Gotcha!” yelled Ron, pulling a second pod from the stump just as Hermione managed to burst the first one open, so that the bowl was full of tubers wriggling like
pale green worms.
The rest of the lesson passed without further mention of Slughorn's party. Although Harry watched his two friends more closely over the next few days, Ron and Hermione
did not seem any different except that they were a little politer to each other than usual. Harry supposed he would just have to wait to see what happened under the
influence of Butterbeer in Slughorn's dimly lit room on the night of the party. In the meantime, however, he had more pressing worries.
Katie Bell was still in St. Mungo's Hospital with no prospect of leaving, which meant that the promising Gryffindor team Harry had been training so carefully since
September was one Chaser short. He kept putting off replacing Katie in the hope that she would return, but their opening match against Slytherin was looming, and he
finally had to accept that she would not be back in time to play.
Harry did not think he could stand another full-House tryout. With a sinking feeling that had little to do with Quidditch, he cornered Dean Thomas after Transfiguration
one day. Most of the class had already left, although several twittering yellow birds were still zooming around the room, all of Hermione's creation; nobody else had
succeeded in conjuring so much as a feather from thin air.
“Are you still interested in playing Chaser?”
“Why... yeah, of course!” said Dean excitedly. Over Dean's shoulder, Harry saw Seamus Finnegan slamming his books into his bag, looking sour. One of the reasons why
Harry would have preferred not to have to ask Dean to play was that he knew Seamus would not like it. On the other hand, he had to do what was best for the team, and
Dean had outflown Seamus at the tryouts.
“Well then, you're in,” said Harry. “There's a practice tonight, seven o'clock.”
“Right,” said Dean. “Cheers, Harry! Blimey, I can't wait to tell Ginny!”
He sprinted out of the room, leaving Harry and Seamus alone together, an uncomfortable moment made no easier when a bird dropping landed on Seamus's head as one of
Hermione's canaries whizzed over them.
Seamus was not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie's substitute. There was much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry had now chosen two
of his classmates for the team. As Harry had endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he was not particularly bothered, but all the same, the
pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Harry knew that the whole House would forget that they had
criticized him and swear that they had always known it was a great team. If they lost... well, Harry thought wryly, he had still endured worse mutterings...
Harry had no reason to regret his choice once he saw Dean fly that evening; he worked well with Ginny and Demelza. The Beaters, Peakes and Coote, were getting better
all the time. The only problem was Ron.
Harry had known all along that Ron was an inconsistent player who suffered from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening
game of the season seemed to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Ginny, his technique became wilder
and wilder, until he finally punched an oncoming Demelza Robins in the mouth.
“It was an accident, I'm sorry, Demelza, really sorry!” Ron shouted after her as she zigzagged back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. “I just —”
“Panicked,” Ginny said angrily, landing next to Demelza and examining her fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”
“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don't call Ron a prat, you're
not the Captain of this team—”
“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should—”
Harry forced himself not to laugh.
“In the air, everyone, let's go...”
Overall it was one of the worst practices they had had all term, though Harry did not feel that honesty was the best policy when they were this close to the match.
“Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin,” he said bracingly, and the Chasers and Beaters left the changing room looking reasonably happy with
themselves.
“I played like a sack of dragon dung,” said Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swung shut behind Ginny.
“No, you didn't,” said Harry firmly. “You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves.”
He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful.
When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a
close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.
It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry's stomach, clawing at his insides: hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was
extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron's voice as though from a great distance away.
“Oi!”
Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around.
“What?” said Ginny.
“I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!”
“This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” said Ginny.
Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roaring for Dean's instant dismissal from the
team.
“Er... c'mon, Ginny,” said Dean, “let's go back to the common room...”
“You go!” said Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!”
Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.
“Right,” said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go
out with or what I do with them, Ron—”
“Yeah, it is!” said Ron, just as angrily. “D’ you think I want people saying my sister's a —”
“A what?” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?”
“He doesn't mean anything, Ginny —” said Harry automatically, though the monster was roaring its approval of Ron's words.
“Oh yes he does!” she said, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie
Muriel —”
“Shut your mouth!” bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.
“No, I will not!” yelled Ginny, beside herself. “I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went
out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!”
Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.
“You don't know what you're talking about!” Ron roared, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Harry, who was now standing in front of her with his arms
outstretched. “Just because I don't do it in public—!”
Ginny screamed with derisive laughter, trying to push Harry out of the way.
“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?” You —
A streak of orange light flew under Harry's left arm and missed Ginny by inches; Harry pushed Ron up against the wall.
“Don't be stupid —”
“Harry's snogged Cho Chang!” shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. “And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting,
Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!”
And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breathing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Rich's
cat, appeared around the corner, which broke the tension.
“C'mon,” said Harry, as the sound of Filch's shuffling feet reached their ears.
They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. “Oi, out of the way!” Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toad-
spawn.
Harry hardly noticed the sound of shattering glass; he felt disoriented, dizzy; being struck by a lightning bolt must be something like this. It's just because she's
Ron's sister, he told himself. You just didn't like seeing her kissing Dean because she's Ron's sister...
But unbidden into his mind came an image of that same deserted corridor with himself kissing Ginny instead... the monster in his chest purred... but then he saw Ron
ripping open the tapestry curtain and drawing his wand on Harry, shouting things like “betrayal of trust"... “supposed to be my friend"...
“D'you think Hermione did snog Krum?” Ron asked abruptly, as they approached the Fat Lady. Harry gave a guilty start and wrenched his imagination away from a corridor
in which no Ron intruded, in which he and Ginny were quite alone—
“What?” he said confusedly. “Oh ... er ...”
The honest answer was “yes,” but he did not want to give it. However, Ron seemed to gather the worst from the look on Harry's face.
“Dilligrout,” he said darkly to the Fat Lady, and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.
Neither of them mentioned Ginny or Hermione again; indeed, they barely spoke to each other that evening and got into bed in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts.
Harry lay awake for a long time, looking up at the canopy of his four-poster and trying to convince himself that his feelings for Ginny were entirely elder-brotherly.
They had lived, had they not, like brother and sister all summer, playing Quidditch, teasing Ron, and having a laugh about Bill and Phlegm? He had known Ginny for years
now... it was natural that he should feel protective... natural that he should want to look out for her... want to rip Dean limb from limb for kissing her... no... he
would have to control that particular brotherly feeling...
Ron gave a great grunting snore.
She's Ron's sister, Harry told himself firmly. Ron's sister. She's out-of-bounds. He would not risk his friendship with Ron for anything. He punched his pillow into a
more comfortable shape and waited for sleep to come, trying his utmost not to allow his thoughts to stray anywhere near Ginny.
Harry awoke next morning feeling slightly dazed and confused by a series of dreams in which Ron had chased him with a Beater's bat, but by midday he would have happily
exchanged the dream Ron for the real one, who was not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering
indifference. What was more, Ron seemed to have become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry spent the day attempting to
keep the peace between Ron and Hermione with no success; finally, Hermione departed for bed in high dudgeon, and Ron stalked off to the boys’ dormitory after swearing
angrily at several frightened first-years for looking at him.
To Harry's dismay, Ron's new aggression did not wear off over the next few days. Worse still, it coincided with an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which made him
still more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice before Saturday's match, he failed to save every single goal the Chasers aimed at him, but bellowed
at everybody so much that he reduced Demelza Robins to tears.
“You shut up and leave her alone!” shouted Peakes, who was about two-thirds Ron's height, though admittedly carrying a heavy bat.
“ENOUGH!” bellowed Harry, who had seen Ginny glowering in Ron's direction and, remembering her reputation as an accomplished caster of the Bat-Bogey Hex, soared over
to intervene before things got out of hand. “Peakes, go and pack up the Bludgers. Demelza, pull yourself together, you played really well today. Ron...” he waited
until the rest of the team were out of earshot before saying it, “you're my best mate, but carry on treating the rest of them like this and I'm going to kick you off
the team.”
He really thought for a moment that Ron might hit him, but then something much worse happened: Ron seemed to sag on his broom. all the fight went out of him and he
said, “I resign. I'm pathetic.”
“You're not pathetic and you're not resigning!” said Harry fiercely, seizing Ron by the front of his robes. “You can save anything when you're on form, it's a mental
problem you've got!”
“You calling me mental?”
“Yeah, maybe I am!”
They glared at each other for a moment, then Ron shook his head wearily.
“I know you haven't got any time to find another Keeper, so I'll play tomorrow, but if we lose, and we will, I'm taking myself off the team.”
Nothing Harry said made any difference. He tried boosting Ron's confidence all through dinner, but Ron was too busy being grumpy and surly with Hermione to notice.
Harry persisted in the common room that evening, but his assertion that the whole team would be devastated if Ron left was somewhat undermined by the fact that the rest
of the team was sitting in a huddle in a distant corner, clearly muttering about Ron and casting him nasty looks. Finally Harry tried getting angry again in the hope of
provoking Ron into a defiant, and hopefully goal-saving, attitude, but this strategy did not appear to work any better than encouragement; Ron went to bed as dejected
and hopeless as ever.
Harry lay awake for a very long time in the darkness. He did not want to lose the upcoming match; not only was it his first as Captain, but he was determined to beat
Draco Malfoy at Quidditch even if he could not yet prove his suspicions about him. Yet if Ron played as he had done in the last few practices, their chances of winning
were very slim...
If only there was something he could do to make Ron pull himself together... make him play at the top of his form... something that would ensure that Ron had a really
good day...
And the answer came to Harry in one, sudden, glorious stroke of inspiration.
Breakfast was the usual excitable affair next morning; the Slytherins hissed and booed loudly as every member of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall. Harry
glanced at the ceiling and saw a clear, pale blue sky: a good omen.
The Gryffindor table, a solid mass of red and gold, cheered as Harry and Ron approached. Harry grinned and waved; Ron grimaced weakly and shook his head.
“Cheer up, Ron!” called Lavender. “I know you'll be brilliant!”
Ron ignored her.
“Tea?” Harry asked him. “Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”
“Anything,” said Ron glumly, taking a moody bite of toast.
A few minutes later Hermione, who had become so tired of Ron's recent unpleasant behavior that she had not come down to breakfast with them, paused on her way up the
table.
“How are you both feeling?” she asked tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron's head.
“Fine,” said Harry, who was concentrating on handing Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. “There you go, Ron. Drink up.”
Ron had just raised the glass to his lips when Hermione spoke sharply.
“Don't drink that, Ron!”
Both Harry and Ron looked up at her.
“Why not?” said Ron.
Hermione was now staring at Harry as though she could not believe her eyes.
“You just put something in that drink.”
“Excuse me?” said Harry.
“You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!”
“I dont know what you're talking about,” said Harry, stowing the little bottle hastily in his pocket.
“Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!” Hermione said again, alarmed, but Ron picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said, “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”
She looked scandalized. Bending low so that only Harry could hear her, she hissed, “You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!”
“Look who's talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”
She stormed up the table away from them. Harry watched her go without regret. Hermione had never really understood what a serious business Quidditch was. He then looked
around at Ron, who was smacking his lips.
“Nearly time,” said Harry blithely.
The frosty grass crunched underfoot as they strode down to the stadium.
“Pretty lucky the weathers this good, eh?” Harry asked Ron.
“Yeah,” said Ron, who was pale and sick-looking.
Ginny and Demelza were already wearing their Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing room.
“Conditions look ideal,” said Ginny, ignoring Ron. “And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice,
and he's too sore to play! And even better than that—Malfoy's gone off sick too!”
“What?” said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. “He's ill? What's wrong with him?”
“No idea, but it's great for us,” said Ginny brightly. “They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot.”
Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch. Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on
that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better. Why was he now happy to let a substitute go on? Was he
really ill, or was he faking?
“Fishy, isn't it?” he said in an undertone to Ron. “Malfoy not playing?”
“Lucky, I call it,” said Ron, looking slightly more animated. “And Vaisey off too, he's their best goal scorer, I didn't fancy—hey!” he said suddenly, freezing
halfway through pulling on his Keepers gloves and staring at Harry.
“What?”
“I... you...” Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. “My drink ... my pumpkin juice ... you didn't...?”
Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, “We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on.”
They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and
Ravenclaws had taken sides too: amidst all the yelling and clapping Harry could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's famous lion-topped hat.
Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate.
“Captains shake hands,” she said, and Harry had his hand crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. “Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two... one...
”
The whistle sounded, Harry and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were away.
Harry soared around the perimeter of the grounds, looking around for the Snitch and keeping one eye on Harper, who was zigzagging far below him. Then a voice that was
jarringly different to the usual commentator's started up.
“Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as
Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help...”
These words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. Harry craned around on his broom to look toward the commentator's podium. A call,
skinny blond buy with an upturned nose was standing there, talking into the magical megaphone that had once been Lee Jordan's; Harry recognized Zacharias Smith, a
Hufflepuff player whom he heartily disliked.
“Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal, it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —”
Harry's stomach turned over.
“— Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose...”
“That's right, Smith, he is,” muttered Harry, grinning to himself, as he dived amongst the Chasers with his eyes searching all around for some hint of the elusive
Snitch.
With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor were leading sixty points to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and
Ginny having scored four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys were only there because Harry liked
them, and he started on Peakes and Coote instead.
“Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater,” said Zacharias loftily, “they've generally got a bit more muscle —”
“Hit a Bludger at him!” Harry called to Coote as he zoomed past, but Coote, grinning broadly, chose to aim the next Bludger at Harper instead, who was just passing
Harry in the opposite direction. Harry was pleased to hear the dull thunk that meant the Bludger had found its mark.
It seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease.
He was actually smiling now, and when the crowd greeted a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favorite “Weasley Is Our King,” he pretended to
conduct them from on high.
“Thinks he's something special today, doesn't he?” said a snide voice, and Harry was nearly knocked off his broom as Harper collided with him hard and deliberately.
“Your blood-traitor pal...”
Madam Hooch's back was turned, and though Gryffindors below shouted in anger, by the time she looked around, Harper had already sped off. His shoulder aching, Harry
raced after him, determined to ram him back...
“And I think Harper of Slytherin's seen the Snitch!” said Zacharias Smith through his megaphone. “Yes, he's certainly seen something Potter hasn't!”
Smith really was an idiot, thought Harry, hadn't he noticed them collide? But next moment, his stomach seemed to drop out of the sky—Smith was right and Harry was
wrong: Harper had not sped upward at random; he had spotted what Harry had not: the Snitch was speeding along high above them, glinting brightly against the clear blue
sky.
Harry accelerated; the wind was whistling in his ears so that it drowned all sound of Smith's commentary or the crowd, but Harper was still ahead of him, and Gryffindor
was only a hundred points up; if Harper got there first Gryffindor had lost... and now Harper was feet from it, his hand outstretched...
“Oi, Harper!” yelled Harry in desperation. “How much did Malfoy pay you to come on instead of him?”
He did not know what made him say it, but Harper did a double-take; he fumbled the Snitch, let it slip through his fingers, and shot right past it. Harry made a great
swipe for the tiny, fluttering ball and caught it.
“YES!” Hairy yelled: wheeling around, he hurtled back toward the ground, the Snitch held high in his hand. As the crowd realized what had happened, a great shout went
up that almost drowned the sound of the whistle that signaled the end of the game.
“Ginny, where're you going?” yelled Harry, who had found himself trapped in the midst of a mass midair hug with the rest of the team, but Ginny sped right on past
them until, with an almighty crash, she collided with the commentator's podium. As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of
wood under which Zacharias was feebly stirring, Harry heard Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, “Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry.”
Laughing, Harry broke free of the rest of the team and hugged Ginny, but let go very quickly. Avoiding her gaze, he clapped cheering Ron on the back instead as, all
enmity forgotten, the Gryffindor team left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air and waving to their supporters.
The atmosphere in the changing room was jubilant. “Party up in the common room, Seamus said!” yelled Dean exuberantly. “C'mon, Ginny, Demelza!”
Ron and Harry were the last two in the changing room. They were just about to leave when Hermione entered. She was twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looked
upset but determined.
“I want a word with you, Harry.” She took a deep breath. “You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal.”
“What are you going to do, turn us in?” demanded Ron.
“What are you two talking about?” asked Harry, turning away to hang up his robes so that neither of them would see him grinning.
“You know perfectly well what we're talking about!” said Hermione shrilly. “You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!”
“No, I didn't,” said Harry, turning back to face them both.
“Yes you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!”
“I didn't put it in!” said Harry, grinning broadly. He slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out the tiny bottle that Hermione had seen in his hand that
morning. It was full of golden potion and the cork was still tightly sealed with wax. “I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking.”
He looked at Ron. “You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself.”
He pocketed the potion again.
“There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?” Ron said, astounded. “But the weather's good... and Vaisey couldn't play... I honestly haven't been given lucky
potion?”
Harry shook his head. Ron gaped at him for a moment, then rounded on Hermione, imitating her voice.
“You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!”
“I never said you couldn't — Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!”
But Ron had already strode past her out of the door with his broomstick over his shoulder.
“Er,” said Harry into the sudden silence; he had not expected his plan to backfire like this, “shall... shall we go up to the party, then?”
“You go!” said Hermione, blinking back tears. “I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done...”
And she stormed out of the changing room too.
Harry walked slowly back up the grounds toward the castle through the crowd, many of whom shouted congratulations at him, but he felt a great sense of let-down; he had
been sure that if Ron won the match, he and Hermione would be friends again immediately. He did not see how he could possibly explain to Hermione that what she had done
to offend Ron was kiss Viktor Krum, not when the offense had occurred so long ago.
Harry could not see Hermione at the Gryffindor celebration party, which was in full swing when he arrived. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted his appearance, and he
was soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating him. What with trying to shake off the Creevey brothers, who wanted a blow-by-blow match analysis, and the large
group of girls that encircled him, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids, it was some time before he could try and find Ron. At last, he
extricated himself from Romilda Vane, who was hinting heavily that she would like to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with him. As he was ducking toward the drinks
table, he walked straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.
“Looking for Ron?” she asked, smirking. “He's over there, the filthy hypocrite.”
Harry looked into the corner she was indicating. There, in full view of the whole room, stood Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose
hands were whose.
“It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?” said Ginny dispassionately. “But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry.”
She patted him on the arm; Harry felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, but then she walked off to help herself to more Butterbeer. Crookshanks trotted after her,
his yellow eyes fixed upon Arnold.
Harry turned away from Ron, who did not look like he would be surfacing soon, just as the portrait hole was closing. With a sinking feeling, he thought he saw a mane of
bushy brown hair whipping out of sight.
He darted forward, sidestepped Romilda Vane again, and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside, seemed to be deserted.
“Hermione?”
He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher's desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her
head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Harry could not help admiring her spell-work at a time like this.
“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said in a brittle voice. “I was just practicing.”
“Yeah... they're—er — really good...” said Harry.
He had no idea what to say to her. He was just wondering whether there was any chance that she had not noticed Ron, that she had merely left the room because the party
was a little too rowdy, when she said, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, “Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations.”
“Er... does he?” said Harry.
“Don't pretend you didn't see him,” said Hermione. “He wasn't exactly hiding it, was—?”
The door behind them burst open. To Harry's horror, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.
“Oh,” he said, drawing up short at the sight of Harry and Hermione.
“Oops!” said Lavender, and she backed out of the room, giggling. The door swung shut behind her.
There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron, who refused to look at her, but said with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness,
“Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!”
Hermione slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the
solar system.
“You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside,” she said quietly. “She'll wonder where you've gone.”
She walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking relieved that nothing worse had happened.
“Oppugno!” came a shriek from the doorway.
Harry spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: the little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron,
who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.
“Gerremoffme!” he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before
it slammed.
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第14章 福灵剂

第二天上午，哈利的第一节课是草药课。吃早饭的时候，他因为怕别人听见，没能把邓布利多给他上课的内容告诉罗恩和赫敏。当他们穿过一片片菜地朝暖房走去时，他才把事情的经过一五一十地告诉了他们。周末的凶狠狂风终于平息了，但是那种怪异的浓雾又回来了，他们用了比平常更多的时间才找到上课的那座暖房。

　　“哇，多么恐怖啊，少年时期的神秘人。”罗恩轻声说，这时他们正围在一棵布满节疤的疙瘩藤的残根旁，开始戴防护手套。疙瘩藤是他们这学期所学课程的一部分。“但是我仍然不明白，邓布利多为什么要让你看这些呢？我是说，有趣倒是挺有趣的，但是有什么用呢？”

　　“不知道，”哈利说着戴上了一只防树胶的面罩，“但他说非常重要，会帮助我活下来。”

　　“我认为这很吸引人。”赫敏认真地说，“尽量了解伏地魔这个人是绝对有意义的，不然你怎么能发现他的弱点呢？”

　　“对了，斯拉格霍恩最近的那次晚会怎么样？”哈利隔着树胶防护罩闷声闷气地问赫敏。

　　“哦，其实挺好玩的，”赫敏一边戴上防护眼镜一边说道，“我是说，他虽然没完没了地唠叨他以前那些学生多么出名，而且明显是在讨好麦克拉根，因为麦克拉根认识许多头面人物，不过，他给我们吃了一些很美味的东西，还介绍我们认识了格韦诺格·琼斯。”

　　“格韦诺格·琼斯？”罗恩说，防护眼镜后面的眼睛一下子睁得老大，“是那个格韦诺格·琼斯吗？霍利黑德哈比队的队长？”

　　“没错，”赫敏说，“我个人认为她有点儿以自我为忠心，不过——”

　　“这里不许再说话了！”斯普劳特教授厉声说话，她匆匆走了过来，神色很严厉，“你们落后了，别的同学都动手了，纳威已经弄到一颗荚果了！”

　　他们转脸望去，果然，纳威坐在那里，嘴唇滴着血，半边脸上被挠出了几道血痕，惨不忍睹，可是他手里抓着一个扑扑跳动的令人恶心的东西，有一个葡萄柚那么大。

　　“好的，教授，我们这就动手！”罗恩看到老师转过身去了，又低声补充道，“我们应该用闭耳塞听咒的，哈利。”

　　“不，绝对不行！”赫敏立刻反对，她跟平常一样，一想到混血王子和他那些魔咒就气不打一处来，“好了，快点儿吧……我们最好赶紧……”

　　她担忧地看了两个伙伴一眼，他们深吸了几口气，便埋头去对付他们中间的那个疙里疙瘩的残根了。

　　残根立刻活了起来，长长的刺藤从顶上蹿出来，在空中甩来甩去。其中一根缠住了赫敏的头发上，罗恩赶紧用一把整枝剪刀把它打了回去。哈利总算抓住了两根藤蔓，挽在一起打了个结。这些解手般的枝条中间露出了一个小洞。赫敏勇敢地把手臂插进洞里，洞口立刻像捕鼠夹一样咬住了她的肘部。哈利和罗恩拼命地拖拽、扭动那些藤蔓，让洞口重新张开了，赫敏总算把胳膊从里面挣脱出来，手里抓着一个像纳威弄到的那种荚果。顿时，那些刺藤全部缩了进去，布满节疤的残根静静地躺在那里，像一截毫无生气的死木头。

　　“咳，等我将来有了自己的房子，我可不想在花园里种这些玩意儿。”罗恩说着把防护眼镜推到额头上，擦了擦脸上的汗水。

　　“把碗递给我。”赫敏说，她把手里那颗扑扑跳动的荚果举得远远的。哈利把一只碗递了过去，赫敏把荚果扔进碗里，脸上是一种厌恶的表情。

　　“别缩手缩脚的，快把汁挤出来，趁着新鲜，质量最好！”斯普劳特教授喊道。

　　“反正，”赫敏继续着刚才被打断的谈话，就好像没有遭到树桩袭击似的，“斯拉格霍恩还要举办一个圣诞舞会，哈利，这次你可没有办法逃脱了，因为他特意叫我看看你哪一天晚上有空，这样他就肯定能把晚会安排在一个你能来的晚上。”

　　哈利叫苦不迭。罗恩正在用两只手按着荚果，想把它的汁液挤进碗里，听了这话，他猛地站起来，使出吃奶的劲儿挤压荚果，一边气呼呼地说：“这个晚会又是专门招待斯拉格霍恩的那些宠儿的吧？”

　　“对，专门为鼻涕虫俱乐部举办的。”赫敏说。

　　荚果从罗恩的手里飞了出去，撞在暖房玻璃上，又弹回来砸在斯普劳特教授的后脑勺上，把她那顶打着补丁的旧帽子打掉了。哈利去捡荚果，回来时听见赫敏在说：“喏，‘鼻涕虫俱乐部’这个名字可不是我发明的——”

　　“‘鼻涕虫俱乐部’，”罗恩用马尔福特有的那种讥讽口吻说，“真难听。喂，我希望你在晚会上玩得开心。你为什么不跟麦克拉根交朋友呢，这样斯拉格霍恩就能把你们封为鼻涕虫国王和王后——”

　　“我们还允许带客人去呢，”赫敏说，她的脸不知怎的突然涨得通红，“我正准备邀请你去呢，既然你认为晚会那么无聊，我就不费这个事了！”

　　哈利突然希望那颗荚果刚才飞得更远一点儿，这样他就用不着跟他们俩坐在一起了。罗恩和赫敏都没有注意到他，他抓起盛荚果的碗，尽量用他所能想出来的最大声音、以最卖力气的方式折腾着荚果。不幸的是，他仍然能听清他们俩说的每一个字。

　　“你本来准备邀请我的？”罗恩问，他的声音完全变了。

　　“对，”赫敏气冲冲地说，“但是，如果你情愿让我跟麦克拉根交朋友……”

　　停顿，哈利继续用一把小铲子敲打着那颗有弹性的荚果。

　　“不，我不情愿。”罗恩用很轻很轻的声音说。

　　哈利一铲子下去没敲中荚果，把碗砸碎了。

　　“恢复如初！”他赶紧用魔杖捅捅碎片，念了一句咒语，碗立刻自动粘合，恢复了原来的样子。但是，碗被砸碎的声音似乎惊醒了罗恩和赫敏，他们这才意识到哈利的存在。赫敏显得很慌乱，立刻开始在她那本《食肉树大全》里查找给疙瘩藤的荚果挤汁的正确方法。罗恩有点不好意思，但似乎心里美滋滋的。

　　“把那个递过来，哈利，”赫敏急急地说，“这上面说，我们应该用尖东西把它们刺破……”

　　哈利把碗里的荚果递给了赫敏，他和罗恩一起重新戴好防护眼镜，再一次埋头对付着那棵疙瘩藤。

　　他其实并不怎么吃惊，哈利一边跟想要掐住他脖子的刺藤扭打着，一边转开了心思。他早就模模糊糊地知道这件事早晚会发生。但是他不清楚自己对此会有什么感觉……如今他和秋·张尴尬得看都不敢看对方一眼，更不用说互相交谈了。如果罗恩和赫敏开始谈恋爱，然后又闹分手，那可怎么办呢？他们的友谊能经得起这番折腾吗？哈利想起三年级时罗恩和赫敏有几个星期互相不说话，他不得不两边周旋，给他们调解，搞得苦不堪言。还有，如果他们最后没有分手呢？如果他们变得像比尔和芙蓉那样，别人在他们面前都会感到尴尬、难以忍受，结果他就只好永远被排斥在外呢？

　　“抓住啦！”罗恩大喊一声，从残根里拽出了第二颗荚果。这时候赫敏正好把第一个弄开了，顿时，碗里满是蠕动的、像浅绿色毛毛虫一样的小疙瘩。

　　这节课剩下来的时间里，他们没有再提到斯拉格霍恩的晚会。随后的几天，哈利更加密切地注意着他的两位朋友，但罗恩和赫敏似乎没有什么异样，只是相互间比过去客气了一些，哈利想，他只能等到晚会举办的那天晚上，在斯拉格霍恩房间朦胧的灯光下，在黄油啤酒的作用下，看看会出现什么情况了。眼下，他还有更加紧迫的事情需要考虑。

　　凯蒂·贝尔还住在圣芒戈魔法伤病医院里，短期内不会出院，这就意味着，九月份以来哈利精心调教的那支很有希望的格兰芬多魁地奇球队缺少了一名追球手。他迟迟不肯找人替换凯蒂，希望她能回来，可是眼看他们对斯莱特林的第一场比赛就要临近，他终于不得不承认凯蒂赶不回来打比赛了。

　　哈利觉得他再也不能忍受搞一场全院选拔赛了。一天变形课后，他堵住了迪安·托马斯，他心里有一种跟魁地奇无关的沉甸甸的感觉。班上大多数同学都走了，只有几只叽叽喳喳的小黄鸟还在教室时飞来飞去，它们都是赫敏的作品。其他同学连一根羽毛都没有变出来。

　　“你对打追球手还有兴趣吗？”

　　“什——？有啊，当然有！”迪安兴奋地说。哈利看见迪安身后的西莫·斐尼甘重重地把课本塞进了书包，脸色很难看。哈利之所以不愿意让迪安参加比赛，就是因为他知道西莫肯定会不高兴。然而，他必须把球队的利益放在第一位，而迪安在选拔赛上飞得比西莫快。

　　“好吧，你可以加入了。”哈利说，“今天晚上训练，七点钟。”

　　“好，”迪安说，“太棒了，哈利！哎呀，我要马上把这消息告诉金妮！”

　　他飞快地跑走了，教室里只剩下了哈利和西莫两个人，这真是令人尴尬的一刻，赫敏的一只金丝雀正好从他们头顶上飞过，把一滴鸟粪拉在西莫的头上，气氛变得更加尴尬了。

　　哈利选迪安接替凯蒂，对此感到不满的并不止西莫一个人。公共休息室里对于哈利挑选两名同班同学入队的事议论纷纷。哈利上学以来已忍受过比这糟糕得多的议论，所以倒并不特别往心里去，但是，他们的压力越来越大，必须保证在即将到来的对斯莱特林的比赛中取胜。如果格兰芬多赢了，哈利知道整个学院的人都会忘记他们曾经批评过他，并且会声称他们早就知道这是一支了不起的球队。可一旦输了……管它呢，哈利苦笑着想，比这更难听的议论他都忍受过来了……

　　那天晚上，哈利一看到迪安飞起来，就觉得没有理由后悔自己的选择了。迪安跟金妮、德米尔扎配合得十分默契。击球手珀克斯和古特的表现也越来越好。惟一有麻烦的是罗恩。

　　哈利一向知道罗恩的状态不稳定，他怯场，缺乏自信，不幸的是，本赛季即将到来的第一场比赛似乎把他过去的这些心理问题全都诱发出来了。他一连漏掉了六个球，其中大多数都是金妮打来的，然后他的技术变得越来越没有章法，竟然一拳打中了迎面飞来的德米尔扎·罗宾斯的嘴巴。

　　“怪我不小心，对不起，德米尔扎，太对不起了！”罗恩冲着她的背影喊道，德米尔扎歪歪斜斜地飞回地面，鲜血滴得到处都是，“我只是——”

　　“太紧张了，”金妮气愤地说，她落在德米尔扎身边，检查她肿得老高的嘴唇，“你这个草包，罗恩，你看看她现在的样子！”

　　“我可以修补好。”哈利落在两个姑娘身边说，他用魔杖指着德米尔扎的嘴，念了一声“愈合如初”。“还有，金妮，不许你管罗恩叫草包，这个球队的队长不是你——”

　　“噢，你似乎太忙了，没工夫管他叫草包，我认为应该有人——”

　　哈利强忍着没笑出来。

　　“全体队员，升到空中，我们再来……”

　　总的来说，这是他们这学期以来最糟糕的一次训练。眼看比赛就要临近了，哈利认为实话实说并不是最佳的策略。

　　“干得不错，诸位，我认为我们准能把斯莱特林打扁了。”他给大家鼓劲儿，因为，追球手和找球手们离开更衣室时情绪似乎都还不错。

　　“我表现得像一堆臭大粪。”门在金妮身后关上后，罗恩用空洞的声音说。

　　“不，不是，”哈利毫不含糊地说，“你是我选拔出来的最棒的守门员，罗恩。你惟一的问题就是心理紧张。”

　　在他们返回城堡的路上，哈利不断地说着一些鼓励的话，最后当他们走到三楼时，罗恩的情绪总算好了一点儿。哈利推开那幅挂毯，想走他们平常走的那条近路去格兰芬多塔楼，却发现迪安和金妮在他们眼前搂抱在一起，如漆似胶地热烈亲吻着。

　　似乎有个全身长鳞的大家伙在哈利心头突然活了起来，并用爪子抓挠着他的五脏六腑，热血一下子冲上了他的脑袋，所有的理性都被压制住了，取而代之的是一股强烈的冲去，只想用恶咒把迪安变成一堆果子冻。他与这种突如其来的疯狂念头搏斗着，听见罗恩的声音像是从很远的地方传来。

　　“喂！”

　　迪安和金妮一下子分开了，扭头张望着。

　　“怎么啦？”金妮说。

　　“我不愿意看见我的亲妹妹在大庭广众之下跟别人搂搂抱抱的！”

　　“这个走廊本来就没有人，是你自己闯进来的！”金妮说。

　　迪安显得很尴尬。他躲躲闪闪地朝哈利笑了一下，哈利没有理他，因为他内心里那个刚刚诞生的怪兽正在大吼着要把迪安立刻从球队里开除出去。

　　“嗯……走吧，金妮，”迪安说，“我们回公共休息室去……”

　　“你走你的！”金妮说，“我要跟我亲爱的哥哥说几句话！”

　　迪安走了，他似乎巴不得赶紧离开这个地方。

　　“好，”金妮说着甩去脸上长长的红头发，怒冲冲地瞪着罗恩，“让我们一下子把话都说清楚。罗恩，我跟谁好，我跟他们做什么，跟你没有任何关系——”

　　“是啊，没错！”罗恩同样怒气冲冲地说，“你以为我愿意别人说我的妹妹是——”

　　“是什么？”金妮大喊一声，拔出了魔杖，“是什么，你说清楚！”

　　“他只是随便说说的，金妮——”哈利下意识地说，而他内心那头怪兽正在吼叫着赞同罗恩的话。

　　“哼，他就是这么想的！”她突然朝哈利发起火来，“就因为他这辈子从来没有跟别人搂搂抱抱过，就因为他从小到大只被我们的穆丽尔姨妈吻过——”

　　“你闭嘴！”罗恩吼道，脸色从红变成了酱紫。

　　“不，我就不闭嘴！”金妮疯狂般地说，“我看见过你跟黏痰在一起，你每次看见她都眼巴巴地盼着她能吻他的脸，真是可怜！如果你自己也跟别人来点儿搂搂抱抱，就不会这么在乎别人在做什么了！”

　　罗恩也抽出了魔杖。哈利赶紧挡在他俩中间。

　　“你知不知道你在胡说些什么！”罗恩嚷道，哈利伸着胳膊挡在金妮前面，罗恩想绕过哈利结结实实地给金妮一下子，“就因为我没有在大庭广众——！”

　　金妮发出刺耳的嘲笑，使劲想把哈利推开。

　　“你在亲吻小猪吗，还是在枕头底下藏了一张穆丽尔姨妈的照片？”

　　“你——”

　　哈利的左胳膊底下射出一道橘黄色的光，差几寸就击中了金妮了。哈利把罗恩顶到了墙上。

　　“别干傻事——”

　　“哈利跟秋·张亲热过！”金妮还在嚷嚷，声音里已经带着哭腔，“赫敏跟威克多尔·克鲁姆亲热过，只有你，罗恩，把这看成一件令人恶心的事儿，那是因为你的经验还不如一个十二岁的毛孩子！”

　　说完，她就气冲冲地走了。哈利赶紧放开罗恩。罗恩脸上的表情像是要杀人。他们俩站在那儿，呼哧呼哧地喘着粗气，后来，费尔奇的猫洛丽丝夫人出现在墙角，才打破了这紧张的气氛。

　　“走吧。”哈利说，他们已经听见费尔奇踢踢踏踏的脚步声了。

　　他们匆匆上了楼，顺着八楼的一道走廊往前走去。“喂，滚开！”罗恩朝一个小女生吼道，那女生吓了一大跳，手里的一瓶蟾蜍卵掉在了地上。

　　哈利几乎没有听到玻璃摔碎的声音。他只觉得脑子晕乎乎的，找不到方向。被闪电击中的感觉肯定就像这样。这只是因为她是罗恩的妹妹，他对自己说，因为他是罗恩的妹妹，所以你才不愿意看见她跟迪安接吻……

　　可是他脑海里自动浮现出一幅画面：在那条空无一人的走廊里，是他自己在亲吻金妮……他心里的那头怪兽快乐得直哼哼……但紧接着他看见罗恩扯开挂毯帘子，拔出魔杖对准了哈利，嘴里吼着一些话，什么“背信弃义”……什么“还说是我的朋友呢”……

　　“你说，赫敏真的跟克鲁姆亲热过吗？”罗恩突然问道，这时他们已经快要走到胖夫人肖像跟前了。哈利心虚地吃了一惊，赶紧把他的思绪从那条走廊上扯了回来：走廊里没有突然闯入的罗恩，只有他和金妮单独在一起——

　　“什么？”他慌乱地说，“哦……嗯……”

　　如果照实回答，应该是“真的”，但哈利不愿意这么说。不过，罗恩似乎从哈利的脸上得出了最坏的结论。

　　“茴香麦片。”他阴沉着脸对胖夫人说，两人爬过肖像洞口，进入了公共休息室。

　　他们谁也没有再提金妮或赫敏，事实上，那天晚上他们几乎没怎么说话，各自想着心事，默默地上床睡觉了。

　　哈利很长时间都没有睡着，他盯着四柱床的帐顶，努力想使自己相信他对金妮的感情完全是哥哥一样的。整个夏天，他们不是像兄妹一般生活，一起打魁地奇，一起奚落罗恩，一起嘲笑比尔和黏痰吗？他认识金妮已经好几年了……他自己觉得自己有责任保护她……他自然想要照看她……想要把迪安撕成碎片，因为他竟然敢吻她……不……他必须控制这种特殊的兄长之情……

　　罗恩发出了呼噜呼噜的响亮鼾声。

　　她是罗恩的妹妹，哈利坚决地对自己说，罗恩的妹妹，我不能对她有非分之想。无论如何还能拿他和罗恩的友谊去冒险。他把枕头拍打成一个更加舒适的形状，等着睡意来临，他用全部的力量控制着自己，不让思绪游移到金妮那儿去。

　　第二天早晨，哈利醒来时觉得脑子有点昏沉，晕晕乎乎的，因为他夜里做了一连串的怪梦，都是罗恩拿着一根击球手的球棒在追他。可是到了中午，他倒情愿让梦里的那个罗恩来取代这个真正的罗恩。罗恩不仅对金妮和迪安阴沉着脸，而且对赫敏也铁着脸，连嘲带讽，弄得赫敏又委屈又迷惑不解。更糟糕的是，罗恩似乎一夜之间变得像炸尾螺一样敏感易怒，一碰就炸。哈利花了一整天时间在罗恩和赫敏之间调停，都没有奏效。最后，赫敏非常愤怒地回去睡觉了罗恩气势汹汹地痛骂了几个盯着他看的一年级学生一顿，把他们吓得够呛，然后他自己昂首阔步地回男生宿命去了。

　　在随后的几天里，罗恩这种火暴脾气并没有缓解，这使哈利感到很沮丧。更糟糕的是，随之而来的是罗恩的守门技术一落千丈，这使他的脾气变得更加暴躁。在星期六比赛前的最后一次魁地奇训练中，追球手打来的球他一个也没有救起，反而朝每个人大吼大叫，还把德米尔扎·罗宾斯给气哭了。

　　“你闭嘴，别惹她！”珀克斯说，他虽然手里拿着一根沉甸甸的球棒，但个头只有罗恩的三分之二。

　　“够了！”哈利吼道，他看见金妮气冲冲地瞪着罗恩那边，想起她在施蝙蝠精魔咒方面是公认的一把好手，便急忙飞过去，赶在事态失控之前及时调停。“珀克斯，快去把游走球收拾起来。德米尔扎，打起精神来，你今天表现真不错。罗恩……”他等到其他队员都走远听不见了才说道，“你是我最好的朋友，但如果你继续这样对待别人，我就把你从队里踢出去。”

　　他本以为罗恩会扑上来揍他，没想到接下来的情况更加糟糕：骑在扫帚上的罗恩似乎完全泄了气，彻底丧失了斗志，他说：“我退出。我糟透了。”

　　“你没有糟透，你不许退出！”哈利揪住罗恩长袍的衣襟，发着狠劲儿说，“你状态好的时候什么球都能救起，你只是精神问题！”

　　“你说我有精神问题？”

　　“对，可能我就是这个意思！”

　　他们互相怒目而视，然后罗恩疲惫地摇了摇头。

　　“我知道你来不及再找一名守门员了，所以我明天还是参加比赛，但如果我们输了——你们肯定会输的，我就自动离开球队。”

　　不管哈利再说什么都无济于事。吃饭的时候，他一直在给罗恩打气，可是罗恩只顾对着横眉瞪眼，根本没有注意听。那天晚上在公共休息室里，哈利继续鼓励他，一再强调说如果罗恩离开的话，整个球队就完蛋了。可是，其他队员就聚在那边的墙角窃窃私语，显然是在议论罗恩，还不时地朝罗恩投来不满的目光，这使哈利的劝解效果大打折扣。最后，哈利想再发一次脾气，希望用激将法让罗恩进入那种不服输的、频频救球的状态，可是看样子这种策略和给他打气一样没有多少作用。罗恩上床睡觉时还是那样情绪低落，灰心绝望。

　　哈利在黑暗中躺了很长时间。他不想输掉即将到来的这场比赛。这不仅是他担任队长以来的第一场比赛，而且，他虽然还没能证明自己对德拉科·马尔福的怀疑，但一心想在魁地奇赛场上打败他。可是，如果罗恩的表现还跟最近这几次训练一样，那他们获胜的希望就太渺茫了……

　　但愿能想出一个办法让罗恩振作起来……让他以最佳状态参加比赛……想个办法让罗恩那一天事事顺利……

　　突然，哈利脑子里灵光一现，有了答案。

　　第二天早晨，早饭还像平常一样热闹。格兰芬多队的每个队员走进礼堂时，斯莱特林们就大声地喝倒彩，发嘘声。哈利扫了一眼天花板，看见一片清澈、瓦蓝的天空：这是一个好兆头。

　　格兰芬多的餐桌上是红彤彤金灿灿，哈利和罗恩走过来时，同学们热烈欢呼。哈利笑着挥挥手，罗恩勉强做了个鬼脸，摇了摇头。

　　“打起精神来，罗恩！”拉文德喊道，“我知道你肯定很棒！”

　　罗恩没有理睬她。

　　“茶？”哈利问罗恩，“咖啡？南瓜汁？”

　　“随便。”罗恩愁眉苦脸地说，郁闷地咬了一口面包。

　　几分钟后，赫敏来了，她因为受够了罗恩最近的古怪别扭，没有跟他们一起下楼来吃早饭。她快走到桌边时停住了脚步。

　　“你们俩感觉怎么样？”她试探地问，眼睛望着罗恩的后脑勺。

　　“不错。”哈利说，他正忙着把一杯南瓜汁递给罗恩，“给，罗恩，喝了吧。”

　　罗恩刚把杯子举到嘴边，赫敏突然厉声说道。

　　“别喝，罗恩！”

　　哈利和罗恩都抬头望着她。

　　“为什么？”罗恩说。

　　赫敏呆呆地瞪着哈利，似乎不敢相信自己的眼睛。

　　“你刚才往那杯饮料里放东西了。”

　　“你说什么？”哈利说。

　　“你听见我说什么了。我都看见了。你刚才把什么东西倒进了罗恩的饮料。现在那瓶子还在你手里攥着呢！”

　　“真听不懂你在说什么。”哈利一边说一边赶紧把一个小瓶子塞进口袋里。

　　“罗恩，我警告你，别喝！”赫敏惊慌地又说了一遍，可是罗恩端起杯子，一口喝了个精光，然后说，“你少对我指手画脚的，赫敏。”

　　赫敏看上去又震惊又愤怒。她弯下腰压低了声音，为的是不让别人听见，“你会因为这件事被开除的。我真不敢相信你会干出这种事，哈利！”

　　“是谁在说话呀？”哈利低声说道，“是谁最近给人念了混淆咒呀？”

　　赫敏气冲冲地走到桌子那头去了。哈利望着她的背影，心里并不感到懊悔。赫敏始终不明白魁地奇是一件多么重要的事情。哈利转过脸来看着罗恩，罗恩正在那里咂着嘴。

　　“时间快到了。”哈利轻松愉快地说。

　　他们大步朝体育场走去，霜冻的草踩在脚下，发出嘎吱嘎吱的响声。

　　“天气这么好，运气真不错，是不是？”哈利问罗恩。

　　“是啊。”罗恩脸色苍白，好像身体很虚弱的样子。

　　金妮和德米尔扎已经换上了魁地奇球袍，正在更衣室里等着。

　　“条件看来很理想，”金妮睬也不睬罗恩，只管说道，“你猜怎么着？斯莱特林的追球手瓦赛——他昨天训练时被一只游走球击中脑袋，疼得不能参加比赛了！更妙的是——马尔福也请了病假！”

　　“什么？”哈利转过身来盯着她，“他病了？什么病？”

　　“不知道，但对我们来说太棒了。”金妮兴高采烈地说，“现在他们换上了哈珀。他跟我同级，是个大傻瓜。”

　　哈利淡淡地笑了笑，可是当他套上深红色的球袍时，他的思路却游移到了魁地奇以外的事情上。马尔福以前也有一次声称自己受伤了，不能参加比赛，但那次他是为了改变整个比赛的日程，换一个对斯莱特林更加有利的日子。他这次怎么这样痛快就让替补队员上场呢？他是真的病了，还是装病呢？

　　“真可疑，是不是？”他压低声音对罗恩说，“马尔福竟然不参加比赛！”

　　“这是我们运气好。”罗恩说，似乎有了一些活力，“瓦赛也不来了，他是他们队最好的得分手啊，真没想到——嘿！”他突然叫了一声，呆呆地望着哈利，守门员手套戴到一半停住了。

　　“怎么啦？”

　　“我……你……”罗恩放低声音，显得既害怕又兴奋，“我那杯饮料……我的南瓜汁……你没有……？”

　　哈利扬起眉毛，只说了一句：“五分钟后比赛就开始了，你最好赶紧穿上靴子。”

　　他们来到外面人声鼎沸的球场上。看台一边是一片红彤彤金灿灿的人海，另一边则是一片绿色和银色的汪洋。许多赫奇帕奇和拉文克劳也各有自己支持的球队。在所有这些尖叫声、鼓掌声中，哈利清清楚楚地听见了卢娜·洛夫古德那顶著名的狮子帽的咆哮声。

　　哈利走到裁判霍琦夫人面前，霍琦夫人站在那里正准备把球从箱子里放出来。

　　“双方队长握手，”她说，哈利的手几乎被斯莱特林队长厄克特捏碎了。“骑上扫帚。听我的哨声……三……二……一……”

　　哨声一响，哈利和其他队员使劲一蹬冻得硬邦邦的地面，升上了空中。

　　哈利绕着球场周围盘旋，寻找金色飞贼，同时警惕地提防着在他下面绕来绕去的哈珀。这时，一个跟以往的解说员截然不同的声音响了起来。

　　“好，现在他们出发了。我想，看到波特这学期拼凑起来的这支球队，大家都会感到吃惊的。许多人以为，守门员罗恩·韦斯莱上学期表现时好时坏，大概不会再待在球队了，但是他跟队长私人关系密切，这无疑帮了他的忙……”

　　这番话赢得了球场那端斯莱特林们的讥笑和喝彩。哈利在扫帚上伸长脖子朝解说员的台子看去。一个瘦瘦高高、黄头发、塌鼻子的男生正站在那儿，对着那只曾经属于李·乔丹的魔法麦克风滔滔不绝。哈利认出来了，是扎卡赖斯·史密斯——他非常讨厌的一名赫奇帕奇队员。

　　“哦，斯莱特林队第一次向球门发起进攻，是厄克特快速飞过球场——”

　　哈利的心都揪起来了。

　　“——韦斯莱把球救起，是啊，我想他偶尔也会交点儿好运……”

　　“没错，史密斯，说得对。”哈利低声嘟囔着，暗暗地笑了。他从一群追球手中间俯冲下去，眼睛四处寻找着那只捉摸不定的金色飞贼的踪影。

　　比赛进行了半个小时，格兰芬多六十比零领先，罗恩身手不凡，很漂亮地救起了一些险球，有几个球他甚至是用手套尖扑出去的。在格兰芬多投中的六个球中，金妮就占了四个。这一下扎卡赖斯收敛多了，不再大声念叨韦斯莱兄妹是因为哈利偏心才进入球队的。他改变目标，开始编派起珀克斯和古特来。

　　“当然啦，古特并不具备一般击球手那样的体格，”扎卡赖斯傲慢地说，“击球手总的来说肌肉都比较发达——”

　　“给他一记游走球！”哈利飞过古特身边时朝他喊了一声，古特脸上露出灿烂的笑容，却将那只游走球瞄准了正迎面朝哈利飞来的哈珀。哈利听见砰的一声闷响，知道那只球击中了目标，心头暗暗高兴。

　　格兰芬多队似乎怎么打都顺手。他们一次次进球得分，而在球场的另一端，罗恩轻松地救起了一个又一个球，简直是手到擒来。他现在脸上　居然也有了笑容。当他特别漂亮地救起一个险球、观众齐声高唱那道最受欢迎的老歌“韦斯莱是我们的王”时，他还假装从高处给他们当指挥呢。

　　“他还觉得自个儿今天是个人物呢，嗯？”一个阴险的声音说，随即哈珀故意狠狠地撞了过来，把哈利撞得差点儿从扫帚上摔下去，“你那个败类哥儿们……”

　　霍琦夫人背对着他们，下面的格兰芬多们气愤地大声喊叫起来，可是当她转过身来时，哈珀已经迅速飞走了。哈利肩膀生疼，立刻朝他追了过去，打定主意也要撞他一下……

　　“我认为斯莱特林队的哈珀已经看见飞贼了！”扎卡赖斯·史密斯对着魔法麦克风说，“没错，他肯定看见了什么，波特没看见！”

　　史密斯真是个白痴，哈利想，他难道没有看见他撞自己吗？紧接着哈利的心忽悠一下，简直要从空中沉向地面了——史密斯说得对，哈利判断错了。哈珀刚才突然上升不是无缘无故的，他确实看见了哈利没有看见的东西：金色飞贼在他们的高处疾飞，在明朗的蓝天衬托下闪着耀眼的光芒。

　　哈利立刻加速，风在他耳边呼呼地掠过，史密斯的解说声、观众的喧闹声都听不见了，可是哈珀还是在他前面。格兰芬多只领先一百分，如果哈珀先飞到那儿，格兰芬多就输了……现在哈利离飞贼只有几英尺远了，他的手向前伸着……

　　“喂，哈珀！”哈利孤注一掷地喊道，“马尔福给了你多少钱让你来替他打比赛？”

　　他不知道自己为什么要说这话，可是哈珀吃了一惊，一下子没有抓牢飞贼，球从他手指间滑脱，他的身子嗖地飞了过去。哈利朝那只扑扇着翅膀的小球猛冲过去，把它抓住了。

　　“有了！”哈利喊道，他车转身飞快地冲向地面，手里高高地举着那只飞贼。当观众们意识到是怎么回事时，立刻爆发出一阵震耳欲聋的喧闹，把比赛结束的哨声都淹没了。

　　“金妮，你去哪儿？”哈利大喊，队员们在空中热烈拥抱，他发现自己被他们挤在了最中间，可是金妮径直从他们旁边飞过，然后哗啦一声，撞上了解说员的台子。随着观众们的尖叫声和哄笑声，格兰芬多的队员们降落在那堆被撞得乱七八糟的木板旁，扎卡赖斯在木板下面有气无力地挣扎着。哈利听见金妮轻快地对愤怒的麦格教授说：“忘记刹车了，教授，抱歉。”

　　哈利哈哈大笑地挣脱其他队员，冲过去搂抱着金妮，但又赶紧放开了。他躲着金妮的目光，转而去拍打欢呼雀跃的罗恩的后背。格兰芬多的队员们忘记了前嫌，手挽着手走出球场，一边朝空中挥舞着拳头，向支持他们的观众挥手致意。

　　更衣室里一片欢腾的气氛。

　　“楼上的公共休息室里在开晚会，西莫说的！”迪安兴高采烈地喊道，“快走，金妮、德米尔扎！”

　　更衣室里只剩下哈利和罗恩了。他们正要离开，赫敏突然闯了进来，她两只手里攥着她那条格兰芬多的围巾，一副心烦意乱、但决心已定的样子。

　　“我想跟你谈谈，哈利。”她深深吸了一口气，“你不应该这么做。你听见斯拉格霍恩怎么说的，这是不合法的。”

　　“你准备怎么办，揭发我们？”罗恩问道。

　　“你们俩在说些什么呀？”哈利问，一边转身去挂他的球袍，这样他们俩就看不见他脸上得意的笑容了。

　　“你完全清楚我们在说什么！”赫敏声音尖利地说，“你早饭的时候往罗恩的南瓜汁里搀了幸运药水！福灵剂！”

　　“不，我没有。”哈利说着转过去面对着他们俩。。

　　“你就是馋了，哈利，所以一切才这么顺利，斯莱特林怎么投都不中，罗恩每个球都能救起来！”

　　“我没有把它搀进去！”哈利说着，忍不住绽开了笑容。他把手伸进外衣的口袋，掏出赫敏早上看见他拿在手里的那个小瓶。满满一瓶金黄色的药水，塞子仍然用蜡封得死死的。“我想让罗恩以为我搀了药水，所以，我知道你在旁边看着，就假装这么做了。”他看着罗恩。“你每个球都能救起来，是因为你自己感觉运气好。你是靠自己的能力做到的。”

　　他把药水又放回了口袋。

　　“我的南瓜汁真的什么也没有？”罗恩大为震惊地说，“可是天气这么好……瓦赛不能来比赛……你真的没有给我喝幸运药水？”

　　哈利摇了摇头。罗恩呆呆地望了他片刻，然后猛地转向赫敏，模仿她的声音说：

　　“你今天早晨在罗恩的南瓜汁里搀了福灵剂，所以他才能救起那么多球！看见了吗！我不用帮助也能把球救起来，赫敏！”

　　“我从来没说过你不能——罗恩，你自己也以为喝了药水！”

　　可是罗恩已经扛着扫帚，大摇大摆地从赫敏身边走出了更衣室。

　　“嗯，”哈利打破突然出现的沉默说道，真没想到他的计划竟然这样事与愿违，“我们……我们上去参加晚会吧？”

　　“你自己去吧！”赫敏说，她眨眨眼皮忍住了泪水，“眼下我对罗恩感到腻烦了，真不明白我到底做错了什么……”

　　说完，她也一头冲出了更衣室。

　　哈利穿过拥挤的人群，走过场地，返回城堡，许多人都大喊大叫地祝贺他，但是他觉得内心沮丧极了。他本来以为只要罗恩赢了这场比赛，罗恩和赫敏肯定就会立刻重退于好。他不知道他怎么才能跟赫敏解释得清，是因为她吻了威克多尔·克鲁姆才得罪了罗恩，事情已经过去那么久了，这叫他怎么说呢？

　　哈利在格兰芬多的庆祝晚会上没有看见赫敏。他赶到时，晚会正在热烈地进行着。人们看到他进来，又爆发出一片掌声和欢呼声，祝贺的人群很快就把他团团围住了。他没有能够马上去找罗恩。克里维兄弟俩想写一篇极为详细的比赛分析，他好不容易才摆脱了他们。接着一大群女生又把他围在中间，不管他说什么没趣儿的话，她们都放声大笑，还一个劲儿地冲他挤眉弄眼，他费了好大工夫才脱了身。最后，他总算甩掉了罗米达·万尼——她强烈地暗示希望跟哈利一起去参加斯拉格霍恩的圣诞晚会。哈利躲闪着朝饮料桌走去时，迎面撞上了金妮，侏儒蒲阿囡趴在她的肩膀上，克鲁克山眼巴巴地跟在她脚边喵喵地叫着。

　　“在找罗恩？”她问，然后嘲笑地说，“他在那儿呢，这个卑鄙的伪君子。”

　　哈利朝她手指的那个墙角望去。果然，罗恩和拉文德·布朗当着整个休息室的人紧紧地搂抱在一起，难解难分，简直分不清哪只手是谁的。

　　“他好像在啃她的脸，是不是？”金妮冷静地说，“我想他需要提高一下技术。比赛打得不错，哈利。”

　　她拍了拍他的胳膊。哈利感到他的心陡然往下一沉，可是接着她就走过去给自己倒黄油啤酒了。克鲁克山颠儿颠儿地跟在她后面，一双黄眼睛死死地盯着阿囡。

　　看来罗恩一时半会儿清醒不过来，哈利便转回身，却正好看到肖像洞口合上了。他心知不妙，因为他好像瞥见一蓬乱糟糟的褐色头发从那里一闪而过。

　　他赶紧再次避开罗米达·万尼冲了过去，一把推开胖夫人的肖像。外面的走廊里似乎空无一人。

　　“赫敏？”

　　他试着推开了第一间没上锁的教室，果然看见了赫敏。她独自一人坐在讲台上，一群叽叽喳喳的小黄鸟绕着她的头顶飞来飞去，显然是她刚才凭空变出来的。即便在这样的时刻，哈利也忍不住赞叹她的魔法技艺实在高超。

　　“噢，你好，哈利，”她用一种冷漠的声音说，“我正在练习呢。”

　　“是啊……它们——嗯……真不错……”哈利说。

　　他不知道该对她说些什么。他正猜想她是不是并没有注意到罗恩，她是不是因为晚会太吵了才离开休息室的，可是，紧接着便听见她用不自然的尖细声音说：“罗恩好像在庆祝会上玩得蛮开心的。”

　　“嗯……是吗？”哈利说。

　　“你别假装没有看见他。”赫敏说，“他可没有刻意躲起来，不是吗——”

　　他们身后的门突然被撞开了。哈利惊恐地看见罗恩拽着拉文德的手，嘻嘻哈哈地走了进来。

　　“噢。”他看见了哈利和赫敏，便一下子停住了。

　　“哎哟！”拉文德咯咯笑着退出了教室。门在她身后关上了。

　　教室里一片可怕的、酝酿着惊涛骇浪的沉默。赫敏盯着罗恩，罗恩没去看她，却用一种尴尬的、虚张声势的古怪腔调说：“嘿，哈利！我还纳闷你跑哪儿去了呢！”

　　赫敏从讲台上滑了下来。那群金黄色的小鸟继续围着她的脑袋叽叽喳喳地飞着，这使她看上去像一个奇怪的、长着羽毛的太阳系模型。

　　“你不应该让拉文德在外面等你。”她平静地说，“她会纳闷你跟哪儿去了。”

　　她昂着头，很慢很慢地朝门口走去。哈利看了一眼罗恩，罗恩似乎因为没出现更糟的局面而松了口气。

　　“万弹齐发！”门口传来一声尖叫。

　　哈利猛地转身，看见赫敏正用魔杖指着罗恩，脸上的表情十分激动。那群小鸟像一片沉甸甸的金色子弹一齐朝罗恩射去，罗恩惨叫着用手捂着脸，可是小鸟来势凶猛，在它们够得着的每片皮肤上又啄又挠。

　　“让它们滚！”他大叫，可是赫敏脸上带着最后一点复仇的怒火，猛地拧开门走了出去。在门砰然关上时，哈利仿佛听见了一声抽泣。
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Chapter 15 The Unbreakable Vow

Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already singlehandedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees to the
Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and
great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry
went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; fortunately, however, Harry's frequent nighttime wanderings had given him an unusually good knowledge of the
castle's secret passageways, so that he was often, without too much difficulty, to navigate mistletoe-free routes between classes.
Ron, who might once have found the necessity of these detours excuse for jealousy rather than hilarity, simply roared with laughter about it all. Although Harry much
preferred this new laughing, joking Ron to the moody, aggressive model he had been enduring for the last few weeks, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly,
Harry had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Harry
found himself once more the best friend of two people who seemed unlikely ever to speak to each other again.
Ron, whose hands and forearms still bore scratches and cuts from Hermione's bird attack, was taking a defensive and resentful tone.
“She can't complain,” he told Harry. “She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong.”
Harry did not answer, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Quest). Determined as he was
to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, he was spending a lot of time with his mouth shut tight.
“I never promised Hermione anything,” Ron mumbled. “I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said... just as
friends... I'm a free agent...”
Harry turned a page of Quintessence, aware that Ron was watching him. Ron's voice trailed away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though
Harry thought he caught the words “Krum” and “Can't complain” again.
Hermione's schedule was so full that Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was, in any case, so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did
not notice what Harry was doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their
conversations were held in whispers.
“He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes,” said Hermione, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. “I really couldn't care less.
”
She raised her quill and dotted an ‘i’ so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry said nothing. He thought his voice might soon vanish from the
lack of use. He bent a little lower over Advanced Potion-Making and continued to make notes on Everlasting Elixirs, occasionally pausing to decipher the Prince's useful
additions to Libatius Borage's text.
“And incidentally,” said Hermione, after a few moments, “you need to be careful.”
“For the last time,” said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse tone after three-quarters of an hour's silence, “I am not giving back this book. I've learned more
from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in—”
“I'm not talking about your stupid so-called Prince,” said Hermione, giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude to her. “I'm talking about earlier. I
went into the girls’ bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a
love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and thay all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm
afraid to say probably work—”
“Why didn't you confiscate them then?” demanded Harry, it seemed extraordinary that Hermione's mania for upholding the rules could have abandoned her at this crucial
juncture.
“They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom,” said Hermione scornfully, “They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt the Half-Blood Prince,” she gave
the book another scornful look, “could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I'd just invite someone to go with you, that'll stop all the
others thinking they've still got a chance. It's tomorrow night, they're getting desperate.”
“There isn't anyone I want to invite,” mumbled Harry, who was still not trying to think about Ginny any more than he could help, despite the fact the fact that she
kept cropping up in his dreams in ways that made him devoutly thankful that Ron could not perform Legilimency.
“Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business.” said Hermione grimly.
She hitched up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Arithmancy essay and continued to scratch away with her quill. Harry watched her with his mind a
long way away.
“Hang on a moment,” he said slowly. “I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?”
“And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?” asked Hermione, still concentrating on her essay.
“But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into the school?”
“Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions,” said Hermione. “It's part of their Owl Order Service.”
“You know a lot about it.”
Hermione gave him the kind of nasty look she had just given his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.
“It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer,” she said coldly, “I don't go around putting potions in people's drinks... or
pretending too either, which is just as bad...”
“Yeah, well, never mind that,” said Harry quickly. “The point is, Filch is being fooled isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as
something else! So why couldn't Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school—?”
“Oh, Harry... not that again...”
“Come on, why not?” demanded Harry.
“Look,” sighed Hermione, “Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they? They're used to find dark magic and dark objects. They'd have
picked up a powerful curse, like the one in the necklace, within seconds. But something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register—and anyway love
potions aren't dark or dangerous—”
“Easy for you to say,” muttered Harry, thinking of Romilda Vane.
“—so it would be down to Filch to realise it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from—”
Hermione stopped dead; Harry had heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited, and a moment later the vulture-like
countenance of Madam Pince appeared around the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she
was carrying.
“The library is now closed,” she said, “Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct—what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?”
“It isn't the library's, it's mine!” said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand.
“Despoiled!” she hissed. “Desecrated, befouled!”
“It's just a book that's been written on!” said Harry, tugging it out of her grip.
She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who had hastily packed her things, grabbed Harry by the arm and frogmarched him away.
“She'll ban you from the library if you're not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?”
“It's not my fault she's barking mad, Hermione. Or d'you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I've always thought there might be something between them...”
“Oh, ha ha..”
Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing whether or not Filch
and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.
“Baubles,” said Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password.
“Same to you,” said the fat lady with a roguish grin, and she swung forward to admit them.
“Hi, Harry!” said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. “Fancy a Gillywater?”
Hermione gave him a “What-did-I-tell-you?” look over her shoulder.
“No thanks,” said Harry quickly. “I don't like it much.”
“Well, take these anyway,” said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. “Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't
like them.”
“Oh—right—thanks a lot.” said Harry, who could not think what else to say. “Er—I'm just going over here with ...”
He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly.
“Told you,” said Hermione succinctly, “Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll all leave you alone and you can—”
But her face suddnly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender, who were intertwined in the same armchair.
“Well, goodnight, Harry,” said Hermione, though it was only seven o'clock in the evening, and she left for the girls’ dormitory without another word.
Harry went to bed comforting himself that there was only one more day of lessons to struggle through, plus Slughorn's party, after which he and Ron would depart
together for the Burrow. It now seemed impossible that Ron and Hermione would make up with each other before the holidays began, but perhaps, somehow, the break would
give them time to calm down, think better of their behavior...
But his hopes were not high, and they sank still lower after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. They had just embarked upon the immensely
difficult topic of human transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, they were supposed to be changing the color of their own eyebrows. Hermione laughed unkindly at
Ron's disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate
impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which
reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry, deciding that her need was greater than
Ron's just now, scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her.
He finally tracked her down as she emerged from a girl's bathroom on the floor below. She was accompanied by Luna Lovegood, who was patting her vaguely on the back.
“Oh, hello, Harry,” said Luna. “Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?”
“Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff...”
He held out her books.
“Oh, yes,” said Hermione in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact she was wiping her eyes with her pencil case. “Thank you,
Harry. Well, I'd better get going...”
And she hurried off, without ever giving Harry any time to offer words of comfort, though admittedly he could not think of any.
“She's a bit upset,” said Luna. “I thought at first it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione. She said something about Ron Weasley...”
“Yeah, they've had a row,” said Harry.
“He says funny things sometimes, doesn't he?” said Luna as they set off down the corridor together. “But he can be a bit unkind. I noticed that last year.”
“I s'pose,” said Harry. Luna was demonstrating her usual knack of speaking uncomfortable truths; he had never met anyone quite like her. “So have you had a good
term?”
“Oh, it's been all right,” said Luna. “A bit lonely without the D.A. Ginny's been nice, though. She stopped two boys in our Transfiguration class calling me ‘Loony
’ the other day —”
“How would you like to come to Slughorn's party with me tonight?”
The words were out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them; he heard himself say them as though it were a stranger speaking.
Luna turned her protuberant eyes to him in surprise.
“Slughorn's party? With you?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “We're supposed to bring guests, so I thought you might like.. I mean...” He was keen to make his intentions perfectly clear. “I mean, just as
friends, you know. But if you don't want to...”
He was already half-hoping that she didn't want to.
“Oh no, I'd love to go with you as friends!” said Luna, beaming as he had never seen her beam before. “Nobody's ever asked me to a party before, as a friend! Is that
why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine too?”
“No,” said Harry firmly, “That was a mistake. I'll get Hermione to put it right for me. So I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall at eight o'clock then.”
“AHA!” screamed a voice from overhead and both of them jumped; unnoticed by either of them, they had just passed underneath Peeves, who was hanging upside down from a
chandelier and grinning maliciously at them.
“Potty asked Loony to go to the party. Potty lurves Loony! Potty luuuuuurves Looooony!”
And he zoomed away cackling and shrieking, “Potty loves Loony!”
“Nice to keep these things private,” said Harry. And sure enough, in no time at all the whole school seemed to know that Harry Potter was taking Luna Lovegood to
Slughorn's party.
“You could've taken anyone!” said Ron in disbelief over dinner. “Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”
“Don't call her that, Ron!” snapped Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. “I'm really glad you're taking her Harry, she's so excited.”
And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean. Harry tried to feel pleased that Ginny was glad he was taking Luna to the party but could not quite manage it. A long
way along the table Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry noticed Ron looking at her furtively.
“You could say sorry,” suggested Harry bluntly.
“What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?” muttered Ron.
“What did you have to imitate her for?”
“She laughed at my mustache!”
“So did I, it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen.”
But Ron did not seem to have heard; Lavender had just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flung her arms around Ron's neck.
“Hi, Harry,” said Parvati who, like Harry, looked faintly embarrassed and bored by the behavior of their two friends.
“Hi,” said Harry, “How're you? You're staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave.”
“I managed to talk them out of it for the time being,” said Parvati. “That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn't been anything since... Oh, hi,
Hermione!”
Parvati positively beamed. Harry could tell that she was feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione in Transfiguration. He looked around and saw that Hermione was
beaming back, if possible even more brightly. Girls were very strange sometimes.
“Hi, Parvati!” said Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. “Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?”
“No invite,” said Parvati gloomily. “I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good... you're going, aren't you?”
“Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're—”
There was a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink and Ron surfaced. Hermione acted as though she had not seen or heard anything.
“—we're going up to the party together.”
“Cormac?” said Parvati. “Cormac McLaggen, you mean?”
“That's right,” said Hermione sweetly. “The one who almost,” she put a great deal of emphasis on the word, “became Gryffindor Keeper.”
“Are you going out with him, then?” asked Parvati, wide-eyed.
“Oh—yes—didn't you know?” said Harmione, with a most un-Hermione-ish giggle.
“No!” said Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip. “Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen.”
“I like really good Quidditch players,” Hermione corrected her, still smiling. “Well, see you... got to go and get ready for the party...”
She left. At once Lavender and Parvati put their heads together to discuss this new development, with everything they had ever heard about McLaggen, and all they had
ever guessed about Hermione. Ron looked strangely blank and said nothing. Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.
When he arrived in the Entrance Hall at eight o'clock that night, he found an unusually large number of girls lurking there, all of whom seemed to be staring at him
resentfully as he approached Luna. She was wearing a set of spangled silver robes that were attracting a certain amount of giggles from the onlookers, but otherwise she
looked quite nice. Harry was glad, in any case, that she had left off her radish earrings, her Butterbeer-cork necklace, and her Spectrespecs.
“Hi,” he said. “Shall we get going then?”
“Oh yes,” she said happily. “Where is the party?”
“Slughorn's office,” said Harry, leading her up the marble staircase away from all the staring and muttering. “Did you hear, there's supposed to be a vampire coming?
”
“Rufus Scrimgeour?” asked Luna.
“I—what?” said Harry, disconcerted. “You mean the Minister of Magic?”
“Yes, he's a vampire,” said Luna matter-of-factly. “Father wrote a very long article about it when Scrimgeour first took over from Cornelius Fudge, but he was forced
not to publish by somebody from the Ministry. Obviously, they didn't want the truth to get out!”
Harry, who thought it most unlikely that Rufus Scrimgeour was a vampire, but who was used to Luna repeating her father's bizarre views as though they were fact, did not
reply; they were already approaching Slughorn's office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.
Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling
and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and
bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light.
Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and
a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they
looked like little roving tables.
“Harry, m'boy!” boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Harry and Luna had squeezed in through the door. “Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!”
Slughorn was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket. Gripping Harry's arm so tightly he might have been hoping to Disapparate with him, Slughorn led
him purposefully into the party; Harry seized Luna's hand and dragged her along with him.
“Harry, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires—and, of course, his friend Sanguini.”
Worple, who was a small, stout, bespectacled man, grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows
under his eyes, merely nodded. He looked rather bored. A gaggle of girls was standing close to him, looking curious and excited.
“Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!” said Worple, peering short-sightedly up into Harry's face. “I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, Where is
the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?”
“Er,” said Harry, “were you?”
“Just as modest as Horace described!” said Worple. “But seriously—” his manner changed; it became suddenly business-like, “I would be delighted to write it myself
— people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could
have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you—ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite — Sanguini, stay here!” added
Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. “Here, have a pasty,” said Worple, seizing
one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry.
“My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea —”
“I'm definitely not interested,” said Harry firmly, “and I've just seen a friend of mine, sorry.”
He pulled Luna after him into the crowd; he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappear between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters.
“Hermione! Hermione!”
“Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna !”
“What's happened to you?” asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.
“Oh, I've just escaped—I mean, I've just left Cormac,” she said. “Under the mistletoe,” she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.
“Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.
“I thought he'd annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”
“You considered Smith?” said Harry, revolted.
“Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall...”
The three of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realizing too late that Professor Trelawney was standing
there alone.
“Hello,” said Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.
“Good evening, my dear,” said Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. Harry could smell cooking sherry again. “I haven't seen you in my classes
lately...”
“No, I've got Firenze this year,” said Luna.
“Oh, of course,” said Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. “Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now I
am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no... we share classes... It's an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know...”
Professor Trelawney seemed too tipsy to have recognized Harry. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry drew closer to Hermione and said, “Let me get
something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
“Do you really think I'd stoop that low?”
Harry looked at her shrewdly.
“Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen—”
“There's a difference,” said Hermione with dignity. “I've got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts.”
“Good,” said Harry fervently. “Because he'll just fall apart again, and we'll lose the next match —”
“Quidditch!” said Hermione angrily. “Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to A Hundred
Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen non-stop ever since—oh no, here he comes!”
She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.
“Seen Hermione?” asked McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.
“No, sorry,” said Harry, and he turned quickly to join in Luna's conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she was talking.
“Harry Potter!” said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.
“Oh, hello,” said Harry unenthusiastically.
“My dear boy!” she said in a very carrying whisper. “The rumors! The stories! The Chosen One! Of course, I have known for a very long time... the omens were never
good, Harry... but why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!”
“Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!” said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney's other side, his face very red, his velvet
hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. “But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at Potions!” said Slughorn,
regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. “Instinctive, you know—like his mother! I've only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that,
Sybill—why even Severus —”
And to Harry's horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them.
“Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!” hiccuped Slughorn happily. “I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of
course, you taught him for five years!”
Trapped, with Slughorn's arm around his shoulders, Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowed.
“Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all.”
“Well, then, it's natural ability!” shouted Slughorn. “You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death—never had a student produce finer
on a first attempt, I don't think even you, Severus —”
“Really?” said Snape quietly, his eyes still boring into Harry, who felt a certain disquiet. The last thing he wanted was for Snape to start investigating the source
of his newfound brilliance at Potions.
“Remind me what other subjects you're taking, Harry?” asked Slughorn .
“Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology...”
“All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror ,” said Snape with the faintest sneer.
“Yeah, well, that's what I'd like to do,” said Harry defiantly.
“And a great one you'll make too!” boomed Slughorn.
“I don't think you should be an Auror, Harry,” said Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looked at her. “The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone
knew that. They're planning to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease.”
Harry inhaled half his mead up his nose as he started to laugh. Really, it had been worth bringing Luna just for this. Emerging, from his goblet, coughing, sopping wet
but still grinning, he saw something calculated to raise his spirits even higher: Draco Malfoy... being dragged by the ear toward them by Argus Filch.
“Professor Slughorn,” wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, “I discovered this boy lurking in an
upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?”
Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch's grip, looking furious.
“All right, I wasn't invited!” he said angrily. “I was trying to gatecrash, happy?”
“No, I'm not!” said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. “You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the Headmaster say that night-time prowling is
out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?”
“That's all right, Argus, that's all right,” said Slughorn, waving a hand. “It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll
forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco.”
Filich's expression of outraged disappointment was perfectly predictable; but why, Harry wondered, watching him, did Malfoy look almost equally unhappy? And why was
Snape looking at Malfoy as though both angry and... was it possible? ... a little afraid?
But almost before Harry had registered what he had seen, Filch had turned and shuffled away, muttering under his breath; Malfoy had composed his face into a smile and
was thanking Slughorn for his generosity, and Snape's face was smoothly inscrutable again.
“It's nothing, nothing,” said Slughorn, waving away Malfoy's thanks. “I did know your grandfather, after all....”
“He always spoke very highly of you, sir,” said Malfoy quickly. “Said you were the best potion-maker he'd ever known...”
Harry stared at Malfoy. It was not the sucking-up that intrigued him; he had watched Malfoy do that to Snape for a long time. It was the fact that Malfoy did, after
all, look a little ill. This was the first time he had seen Malfoy close up for ages; he now saw that Malfoy had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish
tinge to his skin.
“I'd like a word with you, Draco,” said Snape suddenly.
“Now, Severus,” said Slughorn, hiccuping again, “it's Christmas, don't be too hard—”
“I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be,” said Snape curtly. “Follow me, Draco.”
They left, Snape leading the way, Malfoy looking resentful. Harry stood there for a moment, irresolute, then said, “I'll be back in a bit, Luna—er—bathroom.”
“All right,” she said cheerfully, and he thought he heard her, as he hurried off into the crowd, resume the subject of the Rotfang Conspiracy with Professor
Trelawney, who seemed sincerely interested.
It was easy, once out of the party, to pull his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throw it over himself, for the corridor was quite deserted. What was more
difficult was finding Snape and Malfoy. Harry ran down the corridor, the noise of his feet masked by the music and loud talk still issuing from Slughorn's office behind
him. Perhaps Snape had taken Malfoy to his office in the dungeons ... or perhaps he was escorting him back to the Slytherin common room... Harry pressed his ear against
door after door as he dashed down the corridor until, with a great jolt of excitement, he crouched down to the keyhole of the last classroom in the corridor and heard
voices.
“... cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled —”
“I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?”
“I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it.”
“Who suspects me?” said Malfoy angrily. “For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy no one knows about—don't look at me like that!
I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't work—I can stop you!”
There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, “Ah... Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master,
Draco?”
“I'm not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don't want you butting in!”
Harry pressed his ear still more closely against the keyhole... what had happened to make Malfoy speak to Snape like this—Snape, toward whom he had always shown
respect, even liking?
“So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told
them repeatedly to be there, Draco—”
“So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!” jeered Malfoy.
There was another pause. Then Snape said, “You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things.”
“You'd better stop telling me to come to your office then!”
“Listen to me,” said Snape, his voice so low now that Harry had to push his ear very hard against the keyhole to hear. “I am trying to help you. I swore to your
mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco—”
“Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection! It's my job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it, I've got a plan and it's going to
work, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!”
“What is your plan ?”
“It's none of your business!”
“If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you ...”
“I have all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!”
“You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes—”
“I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!”
“Keep your voice down!” spat Snape, for Malfoy's voice had risen excitedly. “If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts
O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres—”
“What does it matter?” said Malfoy. “Defense Against the Dark Arts—it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts—”
“It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!” said Snape. “Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me!
You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle—”
“They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!”
“Then why not confide in me, and I can—”
“I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!”
There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, “You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but—”
Harry had barely a second's warning; he heard Malfoy's footsteps on the other side of the door and flung himself out of the way just as it burst open. Malfoy was
striding away down the corridor, past the open door of Slughorn's office, around the distant corner, and out of sight.
Hardly daring to breathe, Harry remained crouched down as Snape emerged slowly from the classroom. His expression unfathomable, he returned to the party. Harry remained
on the floor, hidden beneath the Cloak, his mind racing.
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第15章 破不可破的誓言

雪花又在窗外旋舞，扑打着结冰的窗棂，圣诞节转眼将至。海格已经独自一人把礼堂里每年少不了的十二棵圣诞树搬来了；楼梯栏杆上都缠上了冬青和金属箔；甲胄的头盔里闪烁着长明蜡烛，走廊里每隔一段都挂上了一大束一大束的槲寄生。每次哈利从走廊上走过时，总会有一堆堆的女孩聚在槲寄生下面，造成交通堵塞。幸好哈利频繁的夜游使他对城堡中的秘密通道摸得透熟，能够不太困难地在课间绕过有槲寄生的路线。

　　这种绕道以前会让罗恩感到嫉妒而不是开心，现在他却只是哈哈大笑。虽然哈利觉得这个嘻嘻哈哈的新罗恩比前几星期那个郁闷、好斗的罗恩好得多，可这改变却也代价高昂。首先，哈利不得不经常看到拉文德·布朗，这女孩似乎把不亲吻罗恩的每一刻都当做浪费；第二，哈利再次成了两个似乎要永远不跟对方说话的人的好朋友。

　　罗恩的手上和胳膊上还带着赫敏的小黄雀袭击留下的伤疤，他一副自卫和怨恨的口气。

　　“她没什么可抱怨的，”他对哈利说，“她亲了克鲁姆，结果发现也有人想亲我。嘿嘿，自由国家嘛，我没做错什么。”

　　哈利没有回答，假装专心在看明天上午魔咒课前要读完的那本书（《第五元素：探索》）。他虽然决心继续做这两个人的朋友，但现在很多时候都闭着嘴巴。

　　“我从没对赫敏承诺过什么，”罗恩嘟囔道，“我要是跟她一起去参加斯拉格霍恩的圣诞晚会，可她从来没说……只是朋友……我是自由人……”

　　哈利把《第五元素：探索》翻过一页，知道罗恩在看着他。罗恩的声音低了下去，在炉火在噼啪声中几乎听不见了，但哈利好像又听到了“克鲁姆”和“没啥可抱怨的”之类的话。

　　赫敏的时间表太满，哈利到晚上才能跟她正经说上话，反正这时罗恩被拉文德缠得紧紧的，顾不到哈利在干什么。只要有罗恩在，赫敏就不肯坐在公共休息室里，所以哈利一般到图书馆去找她，这意味着谈话要悄悄地进行。

　　“他爱亲谁就亲谁好了，”赫敏说，图书馆管理员平斯夫人正在后面的书架间巡视着，“我才不在乎呢。”

　　她举起鹅毛笔，给正在写的字母i狠狠地点上一点，结果把羊皮纸戳了个窟窿。哈利没吱声，他觉得他的嗓子一直不用都快要失声了。他把头埋得更低了一点儿，继续在《高级魔药制作》“长生不老药”一节上做着笔记，有时会停下来辨认一番王子对利巴修·波拉奇加的有用补充。

　　“顺便说一句，”过了一会儿赫敏说，“你要小心点儿。”

　　“跟你说最后一遍，”哈利悄悄地说，这是他闷了四十五分钟后第一次开口，声音有点哑，“这书我不还了，我从混血王子这儿学到的比斯内普和斯拉格霍恩——”

　　“我不是说你那个愚蠢的所谓王子，”赫敏凶巴巴地瞪了他的书一眼，好像它惹了她似的，“我是说刚才，到这儿来之前，我去盥洗室，那儿有一打女孩子，包括罗米达·万尼，都在讨论怎么能让你喝下迷情剂。她们都希望能被你带去参加斯拉格霍恩的晚会，而且好像都买了弗雷德和乔治的迷情剂——”

　　“你怎么没把那些东西没收了呢？”哈利问，对赫敏维护规章制度的癖好在这节骨眼上松懈下来似乎觉得不可思议。

　　“她们没把药水带进盥洗室，”赫敏轻蔑地说，“只是在讨论计策。我怀疑就连混血王子，”她又凶巴巴地瞪了那本书一眼，“也想不出法子同时弄出一打不同的迷情剂的解药来，换了我就赶快邀请一个人——这样别人就不会觉得还有机会了。就是明天晚上嘛，她们急眼了。”

　　“没有一个我想邀请的人。”哈利嘟嚷道，他还是尽量不去想金妮，虽然她总是在他梦中出现，并且出现的方式让他衷心庆幸罗恩不会摄神取念。

　　“好吧，那喝东西你可得当心，罗米达·万尼看上去可是认真的。”赫敏阴沉地说。

　　她把那卷长长的羊皮纸朝上拉了拉，刷刷地接着写她那篇算术占卜课的论文。哈利看着她，思绪在很远的地方。

　　“等一等，”他慢吞吞地说，“费尔奇不是把韦斯莱魔法把戏坊买的东西都禁止了吗？”

　　“谁在乎过费尔奇禁止什么？”赫敏随口说道，一边还在专心写文章。

　　“不是所有的猫头鹰都要被检查吗？那些女孩子怎么能把迷情剂带进学校呢？”

　　“弗雷德和乔治把它们当香水和咳嗽药水送来的，这是猫头鹰订单服务的一部分。”

　　“你知道的真多。”

　　赫敏凶巴巴地瞪了他一眼，像瞪《高级魔药制作》一样。

　　“这些都在他们暑假里给我和金妮看的瓶子背后写着呢。”她冷冷地说，“我可不会在别人饮料里下药……或假装下药，那也一样恶劣……”

　　“是，好了，别介意，”哈利忙着，“问题是费尔奇给耍了，是不是？这些女孩子把东西伪装一下就可以带进学校！那马尔福为什么不能带项链——”

　　“哦，哈利……别又提那个……”

　　“啊，为什么？”哈利追问道。

　　“你看，”赫敏叹了一口气，说道，“控密器能发现霉运咒和隐藏咒，是吧？它们是被用来探测黑魔法和黑魔法用品的，能在几秒钟之内探测到一个威力强大的咒语，比如项链上的那个。但是装错瓶子的东西就检测不出来了——再说，迷情剂不是黑魔法，又不危险——”

　　“你说得倒轻巧。”哈利嘟嚷道，一边想到了罗米达·万尼。

　　“——所以就要靠费尔奇来发现它不是咳嗽药水了，可他并不是很高明的巫师，我怀疑他能不能区分——”

　　赫敏突然打住，哈利也听到了，身后阴暗的书架间有人走近。他们等了一会儿，平斯夫人那秃鹫般的面孔从拐角露了出来，凹陷的面颊、羊皮纸似的皮肤和长长的鹰钩鼻被她手里提的灯照得格外分明。

　　“图书馆该关门了，”她说，“把借的书放回原——你对那本书干了什么？你这邪恶的孩子！”

　　“这不是图书馆的，是我自己的！”哈利赶紧说，一边从桌上抄起那本《高级魔药制作》，可平斯夫人鹰爪般的手已经抓了过去。

　　“抢劫！”她嘶声说，“亵渎！玷污！”

　　“不过是书上写了点字！”哈利辩解着把书从她手里拽了回去。

　　她看上去就像要发心脏病，赫敏匆匆收拾好东西，抓住哈利的胳膊把他拖走了。

　　“你要是不小心点儿，她会禁止你进图书馆的。你干吗非得带那本愚蠢的书？”

　　“她乱叫乱嚷又不是我的错，赫敏。你说她会不会听到你说费尔奇的坏话？我总觉得他们之间有点什么……”

　　“哦，哈哈……”

　　他们很高兴又能正常说话了，于是他们一边沿着亮着灯的空荡荡的走廊往公共休息室走，一边争论着费尔奇和平斯夫人是否有秘密恋情。

　　“一文不值。”哈利对胖夫人说，这是节日的新口令。

　　“你也一样。”胖夫人调皮地笑着，一边向前旋开把他们让了进去。

　　“嘿，哈利！”哈利刚钻出肖像洞口，罗米达·万尼就说，“要喝一杯峡谷水吗？”

　　赫敏回头向他丢下了一个“我说什么来着？”的眼色。

　　“谢谢，不用了，”哈利忙说，“我不大爱喝。”

　　“那，拿上这个吧，”罗米达把一个盒子塞到他手里，“巧克力坩埚，里面有火焰威士忌。我奶奶寄给我的，可是我不喜欢……”

　　“这——好吧——多谢了，”哈利说，他想不出别的词，“哦——我是跟……”

　　他匆匆跟着赫敏走开了，声音渐渐微弱下去。

　　“跟你说了，”赫敏简明地说，“趁早邀请一个人，她们就不会来烦你了——”

　　她脸上突然变得一片木然，因为她看到罗恩和拉文德正纠缠在一起，挤在一张扶手椅上。

　　“晚安，哈利。”赫敏说，其实这时才七点钟，她没再说别的，径自回女生宿舍了。

　　哈利上床时安慰自己：还有一天的课和斯拉格霍恩的晚会要对付，然后就可以跟罗恩一起去罗恩一起去陋居了。看来罗恩与赫敏不可能在节前和好，但假期也许能让两人冷静下来，反省一下自己的行为。

　　但希望不是太大，第二天他跟他们俩一起上了变形课之后，觉得希望更渺茫了。他们已经上到人体变形这个特别难的课题。这节课要求对着镜子使自己的眉毛变色。赫敏刻薄地嘲笑着罗恩灾难性的第一次尝试——他让自己长出了两撇惹眼的八字胡。罗恩以牙还牙，每次麦格教授提问时他都惟妙惟肖地模仿赫敏在座位上跳起坐下，拉文德和帕瓦蒂觉得好笑极了，赫敏又差点哭了出来。下课铃一响她就冲出教室，一半的东西都没拿。哈利觉得此刻她比罗恩更需要安慰，便收拾起她的东西追了出去。

　　终于追到了。赫敏刚从楼下盥洗室出来，旁边是卢娜·洛夫古德，正在胡乱地拍着她的后背。

　　“哦，你好，哈利，”卢娜说，“你知道你有一根眉毛是金黄的吗？”

　　“嘿，卢娜。赫敏，你东西没拿。”

　　哈利把她的书递了过去。

　　“哦，对了，”赫敏哽咽地说，一边接过自己的东西，又迅速扭过头去，掩饰她在用文具袋抹眼泪，“谢谢你，哈利。我得走了……”

　　她匆匆离去，没有给哈利说安慰话的机会，虽然老实讲他也想不出合适的话来。

　　“她有点儿不高兴，”卢娜说，“起先我还以为是哭泣的桃金娘呢，结果是赫敏。她提到了罗恩·韦斯莱……”

　　“是啊，他们吵架了。”

　　“罗恩有的时候说话很有趣，是不是？”两人一起走在走廊上，卢娜说，“可是也会有点刻薄，我去年就发现了。”

　　“是啊。”哈利说。卢娜又显示出她的特殊才能——一语道破不愉快的真相，他还真没见过像她这样的人，“你这学期过得好吗？”

　　“哦，还行。D.A.没有了，有点孤单，但金妮很好。那天她在变形课上制止了两个男生叫我‘疯姑娘’——”

　　“你今晚愿意跟我去参加斯拉格霍恩的晚会吗？”

　　这句话脱口而出，哈利已来不及阻止，他觉得好像是一个陌生人在说话。

　　卢娜那双向外突出的眼睛惊讶地转向了他。

　　“斯拉格霍恩的晚会？跟你？”

　　“对，”哈利说，“我们都要带客人，所以我想你也许……我的意思是……”他急于澄清自己的意图，“我的意思是，只是作为朋友，你明白。但如果你不想……”

　　他已经有点儿希望她不想去了。

　　“啊，不，我愿意作为朋友跟你去！”卢娜笑逐颜开，哈利从没见过她这么灿烂的笑容，“没人邀请过我参加晚会，作为朋友！你是不是为这个还染了眉毛？我也要染吗？”

　　“不用，”哈利坚决地说，“那是个错误。我要请赫敏帮我变回来。那，我八点在门厅等你。”

　　“啊哈！”头上一个声音怪叫道，两人都吓了一跳。他们没注意，刚才正好从皮皮鬼的下面走过，他倒挂在一个枝形烛台上，正朝他们龇牙咧嘴地坏笑着。

　　“傻宝宝请疯姑娘去参加晚会！傻宝宝爱上了疯姑娘！傻宝宝爱——上了疯姑——娘！”

　　他嗖地飞走了，一边咯咯地笑着，一边尖叫着：“傻宝宝爱上了疯姑娘！”

　　“这些事最好不要张扬。”哈利说。当然，一转眼好像全校都知道了哈利·波特邀请卢娜·洛夫古德去参加斯拉格霍恩的晚会。

　　“你可以带任何人！”吃饭时罗恩不敢相信地说，“任何人！可你选了疯姑娘洛夫古德？”

　　“别那么说她，罗恩。”金妮责备道，她刚好从哈利身后路过，到她朋友那边去，“我真高兴你要带她去，哈利，她可兴奋了。”

　　她走过去跟迪安坐在了一起。哈利试图为金妮赞同他带卢娜去参加晚会而感到快乐，可是他做不到。赫敏一个人坐得远远的，拨弄着她的炖菜。哈利注意到罗恩正在偷偷地看她。

　　“你可以去道歉啊。”哈利直率地提议说。

　　“什么？再让一群小鸟来啄我？”罗恩嘟囔道。

　　“你干吗要模仿她？”

　　“她笑我的胡子！”

　　“我也笑了，这是我见过的最傻的事。”

　　但罗恩好像没听见，拉文德跟帕瓦蒂刚刚进来。拉文德挤到罗恩和哈利中间，伸出胳膊搂住了罗恩的脖子。

　　“嘿，哈利。”帕瓦蒂说，她好像跟哈利一样，对两位朋友的行为感到有点儿难堪和厌烦。

　　“嘿，”哈利说，“你好吗？你要留在霍格沃茨？我听说你父母想让你回去。”

　　“我暂时说服了他们。凯蒂的事着实把他们吓坏了，但因为后来一直没事……哦，嘿，赫敏！”

　　帕瓦蒂满脸带笑，哈利看得出她在为变形课上笑了赫敏感到内疚。他扭头一看，见赫敏也是一副笑容，如果可能的话，甚至可以说是灿烂的笑容。女孩子有时真是很奇怪。

　　“嘿，帕瓦蒂！”赫敏说，全然不理会罗恩和拉文德，“你今晚去参加斯拉格霍恩的晚会吗？”

　　“没人邀请我，”帕瓦蒂沮丧地说，“但是我很想去，听起来很棒……你会去的吧？”

　　“嗯，我八点跟考迈克见面，我们——”

　　好像皮搋子从堵塞的水池里拔出来的声音，罗恩浮出了水面。赫敏好像什么也没听见，什么也没看见。

　　“——我们一起去。”

　　“考迈克？”帕瓦蒂问，“你是说考迈克·麦克拉根？”

　　“对，”赫敏甜甜地说，“就是差一点儿——”她格外强调了这个词“——当上格兰芬多守门员的那个。”

　　“那你在跟他约会了？”帕瓦蒂瞪大了眼睛问。

　　“哦——是啊——你不知道吗？”赫敏说着，非常不像赫敏地咯咯笑起来。

　　“不会吧！”帕瓦蒂看上去对这个消息大为兴奋，“哇，你真是喜欢魁地奇球员，是不是？先是克鲁姆，然后是麦克拉根……”

　　“我喜欢真正出色的魁地奇球员，”赫敏纠正地说，仍旧面带微笑，“好了，以后再聊……得去准备参加晚会了……”

　　她走了。拉文德和帕瓦蒂马上把脑袋凑在一起议论着这个新情况，包括她们对麦克拉根的一切耳闻，以及她们对赫敏的一切猜测。罗恩表情异常麻木，一言不发。哈利留在那儿，思考着女孩子为了报复可以陷得有多深。

　　晚上八点，他来到门厅，发现有异常多的女孩子在那儿游荡。当他走向卢娜时，她们似乎都在怨恨地盯着他。卢娜穿着一套镶着银色亮片的袍子，这引起一些窃笑，但其他方面她看上去还是挺好的。哈利很高兴她没戴萝卜耳环、黄油啤酒瓶塞项链和她的防妖眼镜。

　　“嘿！我们走吧？”

　　“哦，好啊，”她愉快地说，“晚会在哪儿？”

　　“斯拉格霍恩的办公室。”哈利带着她登上大理石台阶，离开了那些眼光和嘀咕声，“你听说了吗，有吸血鬼要去呢。”

　　“鲁弗斯·斯克林杰？”卢娜问。

　　“我——什么？”哈利吃了一惊，问道：“你是说魔法部长？”

　　“对，他是个吸血鬼。”卢娜十分肯定地说，“斯克林杰刚刚接替康奈利·福吉的时候，我爸爸写了一篇很长的文章，可是部里有人不让他发表。显然，他们不想泄漏真相！”

　　哈利觉得说鲁弗斯·斯克林杰是吸血鬼太荒唐了，但他习惯了卢娜把她父亲的怪念头当真事儿讲，便没有说话。他们已经走近斯拉格霍恩的办公室，笑声、音乐声和响亮的说话声随着他们的脚步而增强。

　　不知道是本来如此，还是因为施了魔法，斯拉格霍恩的办公室比一般教师的房间大得多。天花板和墙壁上挂着翠绿、深红和金色的帷幔，看上去像在一个大帐篷里。房间里拥挤闷热，被天花板中央挂着的一盏金色华灯照得红彤彤的。灯里有真的小精灵在闪烁，每个小精灵都是一个明亮的光点。远处一个角落传来响亮的、听起来像用曼陀铃伴奏的歌声；几个谈兴正浓的老男巫头上笼罩着烟斗的青雾；一些家养小精灵在小腿的丛林中吱吱穿行，托着沉甸甸的银盘，把它们的身体都遮住了，看上去就像漫游的小桌子。

　　“哈利，我的孩子！”哈利和卢娜一挤进门，斯拉格霍恩便声如洪钟地叫道，“进来，进来，有这么多人都要让你见见呢！”

　　斯拉格霍恩戴着一顶带缨穗的天鹅绒帽子，与他的吸烟衫很匹配。他不由分说地领着哈利走进人群，把哈利的胳膊抓得紧紧的，好像要带他幻影移形似的。哈利拉住卢娜的手，拽着她一起走。

　　“哈利，我想让你见见埃尔德·沃普尔，我以前的学生，《血亲兄弟：我在吸血鬼中生活》的作者——当然，还有他的朋友血尼。”

　　沃普尔是个戴着眼镜的小个子男人，他抓住哈利的手热切地握着。吸血鬼血尼又高又瘦，眼睛下有黑圈，一副厌倦的样子，一群女孩站在他旁边，好奇而兴奋。

　　“哈利·波特，我太高兴了！”沃普尔说，一边瞪着近视的双眼仰望着哈利的面孔，“我那天还跟斯拉格霍恩教授说呢，我们大家拭目以待的《哈利·波特传》在哪儿呢？”

　　“呃，”哈利说，“是吗？”

　　“果然像霍拉斯说的那么谦虚！”沃普尔说，“但说真格的——”他态度一变，突然像谈起了生意，“我很愿意写这本书——人们渴望更多地了解你，亲爱的孩子，渴望！如果你能接受我的几次采访，每次四五个小时，那样，几个月就能成书。不会费你什么事，我保证——问问血尼是不是——血尼，别走！”沃普尔突然变得神色严厉起来，因为吸血鬼朝旁边那群女子蹭了过去，眼里带着饥饿的光。“给你，吃块馅饼。”沃普尔说着从一个托盘的小精灵那儿抓过一块塞到血尼手中，然后又把注意力转到哈利身上。

　　“亲爱的孩子，你能赚多少钱啊，你想象不到——”

　　“我实在不感兴趣。”哈利坚决地说，“我看到了一个朋友，对不起。”

　　他拖着卢娜挤进人群；他确实看到了一头棕色的长发，好像消失在了两个古怪姐妹演唱组之间。

　　“赫敏！赫敏！”

　　“哈利！你在这儿，太好了！嘿，卢娜！”

　　“你怎么了？”哈利问，赫敏看上去凌乱不堪，好像刚从魔鬼网中挣脱出来。

　　“哦，我刚刚逃脱——我是说，我刚刚离开了考迈克。”她说，见哈利还在询问地看着她，又解释地加了一句，“在槲寄生底下。”

　　“谁让你跟他来的。”哈利严厉地说。

　　“我想他最能惹罗恩生气，”赫敏冷静地说，“我考虑过扎卡赖斯·史密斯，但是我想，总体上——”

　　“你考虑过史密斯？”哈利反感地问道。

　　“是啊，我现在希望选择的是他，跟麦克拉根一比，格洛普都显得像绅士。我们到那边去，可以看到他过来，他那么高……”

　　三人向房间那头挤去，一边抓过几只装着蜂蜜酒的高脚杯，等到发现特里劳妮教授一个人站在那儿时，已经太晚了。

　　“您好。”卢娜礼貌地说。

　　“晚上好，亲爱的。”特里劳妮教授费了点劲才看清了卢娜。哈利又闻到了雪利料酒的气味。“最近我课上没见到你……”

　　“嗯，我今年选了费伦泽的课。”卢娜说。

　　“哦，当然，”特里劳妮教授带着怒气醉醺醺地干笑一声，说道，“我喜欢叫他驽马。你们可能以为，我回来了，邓布利多教授会把那匹马打发走吧？可是没有……我们还要分摊上课……这是侮辱，说真的，侮辱。你知道……”

　　特里劳妮教授似乎醉得没有认出哈利。趁着她在激烈抨击费伦泽，哈利凑近赫敏说：“我们现在说清楚，你打算告诉罗恩你干预了守门员选拔赛吗？”

　　赫敏扬起了眉毛。

　　“你真以为我做得出那种事？”

　　哈利精明地看着她。

　　“赫敏，如果你能邀请麦克拉根——”

　　“那不一样，”赫敏傲然道，“我没打算告诉罗恩守门员选拔赛上本来会发生什么，或不会发生什么。”

　　“那就好，”哈利热切地说，“不然他又会崩溃，我们下一场又完了——”

　　“魁地奇！”赫敏气呼呼地说，“男孩子就只关心这个吗？考迈克没问过一个关于我本人的问题，一直给我大讲特讲考迈克·麦克拉根的一百个惊险救球——哎呀，他来了！”

　　她动作快得像幻影移形，前一秒还在这儿，下一秒就从两个大笑的女巫中间钻过去消失了。

　　“看到赫敏了吗？”一分钟后麦克拉根从人堆里挤过来问道。

　　“没有，对不起。”哈利说完，赶紧转身加入卢娜的谈话，一时竟忘记了她面前的人是谁。

　　“哈利·波特！”特里劳妮教授用那带着回响的深沉声音叫了起来，第一次注意到了哈利。

　　“啊，您好。”哈利冷漠地说。

　　“我亲爱的孩子！”她说，声音很小，但传得很远，“那些谣传！那些做事！救世之星！当然，我早就知道了……兆头总是不好，哈利……可是你为什么不来上占卜课了呢？对你来说，这门课尤为重要啊！”

　　“啊，西比尔，我们都觉得自己的课最重要！”一个洪亮的声音说，斯拉格霍恩出现在特里劳妮教授的另一边，他面色通红，天鹅绒帽子有点歪，一手端着蜂蜜酒，一手举着一块巨大的百果馅饼，“可是我想我从没见过这样一个魔药方面的天才！”他用宠爱的，虽然有些充血的眼睛看着哈利，“有天赋——像你妈妈！我只教过几个天资这么高的学生，我可以告诉你，西比尔——就连西弗勒斯——”

　　哈利惊恐地看到斯拉格霍恩伸出一只胳膊，像是从空气中把斯内普钩了出来。

　　“别偷偷摸摸的，来跟我们聊聊，西弗勒斯！”斯拉格霍恩快活地打着饱嗝说，“我正谈到哈利在魔药学上的特殊才能！当然也有你的功劳，你教了他五年！”

　　斯内普被斯拉格霍恩的胳膊箍住了肩膀，动弹不得，他的目光顺着鹰钩鼻子落到哈利身上，黑眼睛眯缝着。

　　“有趣，我从没觉得我教会过波特任何东西。”

　　“哦，那就是天才！”斯拉格霍恩叫道，“你没看见他第一节课交给我的活地狱汤剂呢——没见过哪个学生第一次能做得比他更好，我想就连你，西弗勒斯——”

　　“是吗？”斯内普平静地说，眼睛像钻子似的盯着哈利。哈利有点不安，惟恐斯内普追究起他在魔药学上新才华的来源。

　　“提醒我一下，你还修了什么课，哈利？”斯拉格霍恩问。

　　“黑魔法防御术，魔咒课，变形课，草药课……”

　　“一句话，当傲罗需要学的所有课程。”斯内普说，带着微微一丝冷笑。

　　“是的，我就是想当傲罗。”哈利挑战地说。

　　“你会是一名优秀的傲罗的！”斯拉格霍恩声音洪亮地说。

　　“我觉得你不应该当傲罗，哈利。”卢娜出乎意料地说，大家都看着她，“傲罗是腐牙阴谋的一部分。我以为大家都知道呢。他们要利用黑魔法和牙龈病从内部搞垮魔法部。”

　　哈利噗噗一笑，把一半蜂蜜酒吸到鼻腔里。真的，光为这个带卢娜来也值了。他从杯子上抬起头，咳嗽着，脸上湿漉漉的，还带着笑，却又看到一件像是有意要让他兴致更高的事情：德拉科·马尔福被费尔奇揪着耳朵朝这边走了过来。

　　“斯拉格霍恩教授，”费尔奇呼哧呼哧地说，下巴上的肉抖动着，金鱼眼中闪着抓到学生调皮捣蛋时的那种疯狂的光，“我发现这个男孩躲在楼上走廊里，你给他发请柬了吗？”

　　马尔福挣脱了费尔奇的手，看上去气急败坏。

　　“行了，没邀请我，”他愤愤地说，“我想闯进来，高兴了吧？”

　　“不，我不高兴！”费尔奇说，这话与他脸上的得意全然不符，“你有麻烦了！校长不是说未经允许晚上不许乱走吗？嗯？”

　　“不要紧，阿格斯，不要紧，”斯拉格霍恩挥了挥手说，“圣诞节嘛，想参加晚会又不是罪过。这次就算了吧，下不为例。德拉科，你可以留下。”

　　费尔奇那愤慨和失望的表情自然是意料之中的。但令哈利纳闷的是，马尔福为什么几乎同样不高兴呢？斯内普看着马尔福的眼神为什么既愤怒又……这可能吗？……有点害怕？

　　可是哈利几乎还没来得及记住眼前所见，费尔奇已经转身拖着步子，一边小声嘟嚷着走开了，马尔福也已经整理出一副笑脸感谢斯拉格霍恩的宽大，斯内普的表情又平静得深不可测了。

　　“没什么，没什么，”斯拉格霍恩一摆手，说道，“毕竟，我认识你的祖父……”

　　“他一向对您称赞有加，先生，”马尔福马上说，“说您是他知道的最好的魔药专家……”

　　哈利瞪着马尔福，不是为这马屁而惊奇（他见马尔福拍过斯内普好多回了），而是马尔福看上去确实有点病态。很久以来他第一次这么近地观察马尔福。他发现马尔福的眼睛下面有黑圈，皮肤明显有些发灰。

　　“我有话跟你说，德拉科。”斯内普突然说。

　　“哎呀，西弗勒斯，”斯拉格霍恩说，又打了一个饱嗝，“圣诞节，别太严厉——”

　　“我是他的院长，严厉不严厉应由我决定。”斯内普简短地说，“跟我来，德拉科。”

　　两人走了，斯内普在前，马尔福气呼呼地后面跟着。哈利犹豫地站了片刻，然后说：“我去去就来，卢娜——哦——上厕所。”

　　“好的。”卢娜愉快地说。哈利匆匆钻进人群时，似乎听到她又对特里劳妮教授讲起腐牙阴谋，特里劳妮教授好像还真感兴趣。

　　出来之后，哈利从兜里抽出隐形衣披到身上，这样做很容易，因为走廊上很空，难的是找到斯内普和马尔福。哈利跑了起来，斯拉格霍恩办公室里仍在传出的音乐与谈话声掩盖了他的脚步声，也许斯内普把马尔福带到他的地下办公室去了……也许正在把他送回斯莱特林的公共休息室……哈利还是把耳朵贴到一扇门上。当他凑到走廊上最后一间教室的钥匙孔上时，顿觉一阵狂喜，他听到了说话声。

　　“……不能再出纰漏，德拉科，要是你被开除——”

　　“那事跟我无关，知道吗？”

　　“我希望你说的是真话，因为那事拙劣而又愚蠢，你已经受到怀疑了。”

　　“谁怀疑我？”马尔福生气地问，“再说最后一遍，不是我干的，知道吗？那个叫凯蒂的女孩准是有个没人知道的仇人——别那样看着我！我知道你在干什么，我又不傻，可是没用——我能阻止你！”

　　停了一阵子，斯内普轻声说：“呃……贝拉特里克斯姨妈教过你大脑封闭术。你有什么念头想瞒着你的主人，德拉科？”

　　“我没想瞒着他，我只是不要你插在里面。”

　　哈利把耳朵贴得更紧了一些……是什么使马尔福开始这样对斯内普说话的呢？斯内普，马尔福以前可是好像一直挺尊敬，甚至挺喜欢他的啊？

　　“所以你这学期躲着我？你怕我干涉？你要知道，德拉科，如果换了别人，我多次叫他来我办公室而他不来——”

　　“关禁闭！报告邓布利多！”马尔福讥笑道。

　　又停了一阵子，斯内普说：“你很清楚我不想做这些事。”

　　“那你最好别再叫我去你的办公室。”

　　“听我说，”斯内普的声音压得太低了，哈利把耳朵使劲贴在钥匙孔上才能听到，“我想帮助你。我对你母亲发过誓要保护你。我立了牢不可破的誓言，德拉科——”

　　“看来你必须打破了，因为我不需要你的保护。这是我的工作，他给我的，我正在做。我有一个计划，会成功的，只是时间比我预计的要长些！”

　　“你的计划是什么？”

　　“你管不着！”

　　“如果你告诉我，我可以帮你——”

　　“我已经有足够的帮手，谢谢，我不是一个人！”

　　“你今晚无疑是一个人，这是极其愚蠢的，在走廊里游荡，没有岗哨也没有后援。这些是低级错误——”

　　“本来有克拉布和高尔跟着我，可是你关了他们的禁闭！”

　　“小点儿声！”斯内普警告道，因为马尔福这时激动得提高了嗓门，“你的朋友克拉布和高尔这次要想通过黑魔法防御术的O.W.Ls考试，还得多下点儿功夫——”

　　“通过不了有什么关系？黑魔法防御术——只是一个笑话，一场戏，对不对？好像我们中间有谁需要黑魔法防御——”

　　“这是一场对成功非常关键的戏，德拉科！”斯内普说，“如果我不会演戏，你想我这些年会在哪儿？听我说！你现在很不谨慎，夜里到处乱走，被人当场抓住，还有，如果你依赖克拉布和高尔这样的助手——”

　　“不是只有他们，我身边还有别人，更强的人！”

　　“为什么不能告诉我，我可以——”

　　“我知道你在打什么主意！你想抢我的功！”

　　又停了一阵子，斯内普冷冷地说道：“你说话像个小孩子。我很理解你父亲入狱令你心烦意乱，但——”

　　哈利几乎连一秒钟的思想准备都没有，就听到马尔福的脚步声在门那边响起。他赶紧闪到一边，门已砰地打开了，马尔福大步朝走廊那头走去，经过斯拉格霍恩办公室敞开的门口，转过拐角不见了。

　　哈利大气不敢出，继续蹲伏着，斯内普慢慢走出教室，表情深不可测，回去参加晚会了。哈利蹲在隐形衣下，脑子飞快地转动着。
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Chapter 16 A Very Frosty Christmas

“So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?”
“If you ask. that once more,” said Harry, “I'm going to stick this sprout—”
“I'm only checking!” said Ron. They were standing alone at the Burrow's kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Mrs. Weasley. Snow was drifting past the
window in front of them.
“Yes, Snape was offering to help him!” said Harry. “He said he'd promised Malfoy's mother to protect him, that he'd made an Unbreakable Oath or something—”
“An Unbreakable Vow?” said Ron, looking stunned. “Nah, he can't have... Are you sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure,” said Harry. “Why, what does it mean?”
“Well, you can't break an Unbreakable Vow...”
“I'd worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. What happens if you break it, then?”
“You die,” said Ron simply. “Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when
Dad found us. He went mental,” said Ron, with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. “Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as Mum, Fred reckons his left buttock has never
been the same since.”
“Yeah, well, passing over Fred's left buttock—”
“I beg your pardon?” said Fred's voice as the twins entered the kitchen.
“Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them.”
“I'll be seventeen in two and a bit months’ time,” said Ron grumpily, “and then I'll be able to do it by magic!”
“But meanwhile,” said George, sitting down at the kitchen table and putting his feet up on it, “we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a — whoops
-a-daisy!”
“You made me do that!” said Ron angrily, sucking his cut thumb. “You wait, when I'm seventeen—”
“I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills,” yawned Fred.
“And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald,” said George, “what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called—unless our information is
faulty—Lavender Brown?”
Ron turned a little pink, but did not look displeased as he turned back to the sprouts. “Mind your own business.”
“What a snappy retort,” said Fred. “I really don't know how you think of them. No, what we wanted to know was... how did it happen?”
“What d'you mean?”
“Did she have an accident or something?”
“What?”
“Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Careful, now!”
Mrs. Weasley entered the room just in time to see Ron throw the sprout knife at Fred, who had turned it into a paper airplane with one lazy flick of his wand.
“Ron!” she said furiously. “Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!”
“I won't,” said Ron, “let you see,” he added under his breath, as he turned back to the sprout mountain.
“Fred, George, I'm sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will have to squeeze in with you two.”
“No problem,” said George.
“Then, as Charlie isn't coming home, that just leaves Harry and Ron in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny—”
“—that'll make Ginny's Christmas—” muttered Fred.
“—everyone should be comfortable. Well, they'll have a bed, anyway,” said Mrs. Weasley, sounding slightly harassed.
“Percy definitely not showing his ugly face, then?” asked Fred.
Mrs. Weasley turned away before she answered.
“No, he's busy, I expect, at the Ministry.”
“Or he's the world's biggest prat,” said Fred, as Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen. “One of the two. Well, let's get going, then, George.”
“What are you two up to?” asked Ron. “Cant you help us with these sprouts? You could just use your wand and then we'll be free too!”
“No, I don't think we can do that,” said Fred seriously. “It's very character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic, makes you appreciate how
difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs—”
“—and if you want people to help you, Ron,” added George, throwing the paper airplane at him, “I wouldn't chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We're off to the
village, there's a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my card tricks are something marvelous... almost like real magic...”
“Gits,” said Ron darkly, watching Fred and George setting off across the snowy yard. “Would've only taken them ten seconds and then we could've gone too.”
“I couldn't,” said Harry. “I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't wander off while I'm staying here.”
“Oh yeah,” said Ron. He peeled a few more sprouts and then said, “Are you going to tell Dumbledore what you heard Snape and Malfoy saying to each other?”
“Yep,” said Harry. “I'm going to tell anyone who can put a stop to it, and Dumbledore's top of the list. I might have another word with your dad, too.”
“Pity you didn't hear what Malfoy's actually doing, though.”
“I couldn't have done, could I? That was the whole point, he was refusing to tell Snape.”
There was silence for a moment or two, then Ron said, “Course, you know what they'll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them? They'll say Snape isn't really trying
to help Malfoy, he was just trying to find out what Malfoy's up to.”
“They didn't hear him,” said Harry flatly. “No one's that good an actor, not even Snape.”
“Yeah... I'm just saying, though,” said Ron.
Harry turned to face him, frowning.
“You think I'm right, though?”
“Yeah, I do!” said Ron hastily. “Seriously, I do! But they're all convinced Snape's in the Order, aren't they?”
Harry said nothing. It had already occurred to him that this would be the most likely objection to his new evidence; he could hear Hermione now:
“Obviously, Harry, he was pretending to offer help so he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing...”
This was pure imagination, however, as he had had no opportunity to tell Hermione what he had overheard. She had disappeared from Slughorn's party before he returned to
it, or so he had been informed by an irate McLaggen, and she had already gone to bed by the time he returned to the common room. As he and Ron had left for the Burrow
early the next day, he had barely had time to wish her a happy Christmas and to tell her that he had some very important news when they got back from the holidays. He
was not entirely sure that she had heard him, though; Ron and Lavender had been saying a thoroughly non-verbal goodbye just behind him at the time.
Still, even Hermione would not be able to deny one thing: Malfoy was definitely up to something, and Snape knew it, so Harry felt fully justified in saying “I told you
so,” which he had done several times to Ron already.
Harry did not get the chance to speak to Mr. Weasley, who was working very long hours at the Ministry, until Christmas Eve night. The Weasleys and their guests were
sitting in the living room, which Ginny had decorated so lavishly that it was rather like sitting in a paper-chain explosion. Fred, George, Harry, and Ron were the only
ones who knew that the angel on top of the tree was actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied,
painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to his back, it glowered down at them all, the ugliest angel Harry had ever seen, with a large
bald head like a potato and rather hairy feet.
They were all supposed to be listening to a Christmas broadcast by Mrs. Weasley's favorite singer, Celestina Warbeck, whose voice was warbling out of the large wooden
wireless set. Fleur, who seemed to find Celestina very dull, was talking so loudly in the corner that a scowling Mrs. Weasley kept pointing her wand at the volume
control, so that Celestina grew louder and louder. Under cover of a particularly jazzy number called “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” Fred and George started a
game of Exploding Snap with Ginny. Ron kept shooting Bill and Fleur covert looks, as though hoping to pick up tips. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin, who was thinner and more
ragged-looking than ever, was sitting beside the fire, staring into its depths as though he could not hear Celestina's voice.
“Oh, come and stir my cauldron,
And if you do it right
I'll boil you up some hot, strong love
To keep you warm tonight.”
“We danced to this when we were eighteen!” said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her eyes on her knitting. “Do you remember, Arthur?”
“Mphf?” said Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the satsuma he was peeling. “Oh yes ... marvelous tune...”
With an effort, he sat up a little straighter and looked around at Harry, who was sitting next to him.
“Sorry about this,” he said, jerking his head toward the wireless as Celestina broke into the chorus. “Be over soon.”
“No problem,” said Harry, grinning. “Has it been busy at the Ministry?”
“Very,” said Mr. Weasley. “I wouldn't mind if we were getting anywhere, but of the three arrests we've made in the last couple of months, I doubt that one of them is
a genuine Death Eater—only don't repeat that, Harry,” he added quickly, looking much more awake all of a sudden.
“They're not still holding Stan Shunpike, are they?” asked Harry.
“I'm afraid so,” said Mr. Weasley. “I know Dumbledore's tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan... I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees
that he's about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma... but the top levels want to look as though they're making some progress, and ‘three arrests’ sounds better
than ‘three mistaken arrests and releases'... but again, this is all top secret...”
“I won't say anything,” said Harry. He hesitated for a moment, wondering how best to embark on what he wanted to say; as he marshaled his thoughts, Celestina Warbeck
began a ballad called “You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me.”
“Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?”
“I checked, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley at once. “I went and searched the Malfoys’ house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there.”
“Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked... but this is something different... well, something more ...”
And he told Mr. Weasley everything he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape. As Harry spoke, he saw Lupin's head turn a little toward him, taking in every word. When
he had finished, there was silence, except for Celestina's crooning.
Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?
It's left me for a spell...
“Has it occurred to you, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, “that Snape was simply pretending—?”
“Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?” said Harry quickly. “Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?”
“It isn't our business to know,” said Lupin unexpectedly. He had turned his back on the fire now and faced Harry across Mr. Weasley. “It's Dumbledore's business.
Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us.”
“But,” said Harry, “just say—just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape —”
“People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus.”
“But Dumbledore can make mistakes,” argued Harry. “He says it himself. And you—”
He looked Lupin straight in the eye.
“—do you honestly like Snape?”
“I neither like nor dislike Severus,” said Lupin. “No, Harry, I am speaking the truth,” he added, as Harry pulled a skeptical expression. “We shall never be bosom
friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at
Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.”
“But he ‘accidentally’ let it slip that you're a werewolf, so you had to leave!” said Harry angrily.
Lupin shrugged.
“The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me
healthy. I must be grateful.”
“Maybe he didn't dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!” said Harry.
“You are determined to hate him, Harry,” said Lupin with a faint smile. “And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have
inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect
him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore's orders that Severus questioned Draco.”
... and now you've torn it quite apart
I'll thank you to give back my heart!
Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issued out of the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in with enthusiastically.
“Eez eet over?” said Fleur loudly. “Thank goodness, what an ‘orrible —”
“Shall we have a nightcap, then?” asked Mr. Weasley loudly, leaping to his feet. “Who wants eggnog?”
“What have you been up to lately?” Harry asked Lupin, as Mr, Weasley bustled off to fetch the eggnog, and everybody else stretched and broke into conversation.
“Oh, I've been underground,” said Lupin. “Almost literally. That's why I haven't been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been something of a
give-away.”
“What do you mean?”
“I've been living among my fellows, my equals,” said Lupin. “Werewolves,” he added, at Harry's look of incomprehension. “Nearly all of them are on Voldemort's
side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was... ready-made.”
He sounded a little bitter, and perhaps realized it, for he smiled more warmly as he went on, “I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who can do it better than
I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal
society and live on the margins, stealing—and sometimes killing—to eat.”
“How come they like Voldemort?”
“They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life,” said Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there...”
“Who's Greyback?”
“You haven't heard of him?” Lupin's hands closed convulsively in his lap. “Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his
mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in
return for his services. Greyback specializes in children... bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards.
Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.”
Lupin paused and then said, “It was Greyback who bit me.”
“What?” said Harry, astonished. “When—when you were a kid, you mean?”
“Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he
had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he
is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned
argument is making much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people.”
“But you are normal!” said Harry fiercely. “You've just got a—a problem—”
Lupin burst out laughing.
“Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my ‘furry little problem’ in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved
rabbit.”
He accepted a glass of eggnog from Mr. Weasley with a word of thanks, looking slightly more cheerful. Harry, meanwhile, felt a rush of excitement: this last mention of
his father had reminded him that there was something he had been looking forward to asking Lupin.
“Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?”
“The Half-Blood what?”
“Prince,” said Harry, watching him closely for signs of recognition.
“There are no Wizarding princes,” said Lupin, now smiling. “Is this a title you're thinking of adopting? I should have thought being the ‘Chosen One’ would be
enough.”
“It's nothing to do with me!” said Harry indignantly. “The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I've got his old Potions book. He wrote spells
all over it, spells he invented. One of them was Levicorpus—”
“Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts,” said Lupin reminiscently. “There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn't move for being
hoisted into the air by your ankle.”
“My dad used it,” said Harry. “I saw him in the Pensieve, he used it on Snape.”
He tried to sound casual, as though this was a throwaway comment of no real importance, but he was not sure he had achieved the right effect; Lupin's smile was a little
too understanding.
“Yes,” he said, “but he wasn't the only one. As I say, it was very popular... You know how these spells come and go...”
“But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school,” Harry persisted.
“Not necessarily,” said Lupin. “Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else.” He looked into Harry's face and then said quietly, “James was a pure-blood,
Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him ‘Prince.'”
Abandoning pretense, Harry said, “And it wasn't Sirius? Or you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Oh.” Harry stared into the fire. “I just thought—well, he's helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has.”
“How old is this book, Harry?”
“I dunno, I've never checked.”
“Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts,” said Lupin.
Shortly after this, Fleur decided to imitate Celestina singing “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” which was taken by everyone, once they had glimpsed Mrs.
Weasley's expression, to be the cue to go to bed. Harry and Ron climbed all the way up to Ron's attic bedroom, where a camp bed had been added for Harry.
Ron fell asleep almost immediately, but Harry delved into his trunk and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed. There he turned its
pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the book, the date that it had been published. It was nearly fifty years old. Neither his father, nor his
father's friends, had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago. Feeling disappointed, Harry threw the book back into his trunk, turned off the lamp, and rolled over, thinking
of werewolves and Snape, Stan Shunpike and the Half-Blood Prince, and finally falling into an uneasy sleep full of creeping shadows and the cries of bitten children...
“She's got to be joking...”
Harry woke with a start to find a bulging stocking lying over the end of his bed. He put on his glasses and looked around; the tiny window was almost completely
obscured with snow and, in front of it, Ron was sitting bolt upright in bed and examining what appeared to be a thick gold chain.
“What's that?” asked Harry.
“It's from Lavender,” said Ron, sounding revolted. “She can't honestly think I'd wear ...”
Harry looked more closely and let out a shout of laughter. Dangling from the chain in large gold letters were the words: “My Sweetheart”
“Nice,” he said. “Classy. You should definitely wear it in front of Fred and George.”
“If you tell them,” said Ron, shoving the necklace out of sight under his pillow, “I—I—I'll—”
“Stutter at me?” said Harry, grinning. “Come on, would I?”
“How could she think I'd like something like that, though?” Ron demanded of thin air, looking rather shocked.
“Well, think back,” said Harry. “Have you ever let it slip that you'd like to go out in public with the words ‘My Sweetheart’ round your neck?”
“Well... we don't really talk much,” said Ron. “It's mainly...”
“Snogging,” said Harry.
“Well, yeah,” said Ron. He hesitated a moment, then said, “Is Hermione really going out with McLaggen?”
“I dunno,” said Harry. “They were at Slughorn's party together, but I don't think it went that well.”
Ron looked slightly more cheerful as he delved deeper into his stocking.
Harry's presents included a sweater with a large Golden Snitch worked onto the front, hand-knitted by Mrs. Weasley, a large box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products
from the twins, and a slightly damp, moldy-smelling package that came with a label reading “To Master, From Kreacher".
Harry stared at it. “D'you reckon this is safe to open?” he asked.
“Can't be anything dangerous, all our mail's still being searched at the Ministry,” replied Ron, though he was eyeing the parcel suspiciously.
“I didn't think of giving Kreacher anything. Do people usually give their house-elves Christmas presents?” asked Harry, prodding the parcel cautiously.
“Hermione would,” said Ron. “But let's wait and see what it is before you start feeling guilty.”
A moment later, Harry had given a loud yell and leapt out of his camp bed; the package contained a large number of maggots.
“Nice,” said Ron, roaring with laughter. “Very thoughtful.”
“I'd rather have them than that necklace,” said Harry, which sobered Ron up at once.
Everybody was wearing new sweaters when they all sat down for Christmas lunch, everyone except Fleur (on whom, it appeared, Mrs. Weasley had not wanted to waste one)
and Mrs. Weasley herself, who was sporting a brand-new midnight blue witch's hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden
necklace.
“Fred and George gave them to me! Aren't they beautiful?”
“Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we're washing our own socks,” said George, waving an airy hand. “Parsnips, Remus?”
“Harry, you've got a maggot in your hair,” said Ginny cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out; Harry felt goose bumps erupt up his neck that had nothing
to do with the maggot.
“'Ow ‘orrible,” said Fleur, with an affected little shudder.
“Yes, isn't it?” said Ron. “Gravy, Fleur?”
. In his eagerness to help her, he knocked the gravy boat flying; Bill waved his wand and the gravy soared up in the air and returned meekly to the boat.
“You are as bad as zat Tonks,” said Fleur to Ron, when she had finished kissing Bill in thanks. “She is always knocking —”
“I invited dear Tonks to come along today,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. “But she wouldn't come. Have you
spoken to her lately, Remus?”
“No, I haven't been in contact with anybody very much,” said Lupin. “But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn't she?”
“Hmmm,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually.”
She gave Lupin an annoyed look, as though it was all his fault she was getting Fleur for a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks, but Harry, glancing across at Fleur, who
was now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork, thought that Mrs. Weasley was fighting a long-lost battle. He was, however, reminded of a question he had with
regard to Tonks, and who better to ask than Lupin, the man who knew all about Patronuses?
“Tonks's Patronus has changed its form,” he told him. “Snape said so anyway. I didn't know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?”
Lupin took his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying slowly, “Sometimes ... a great shock ... an emotional upheaval ...”
“It looked big, and it had four legs,” said Harry, struck by a sudden thought and lowering his voice. “Hey ... it couldn't be—?”
“Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley suddenly. She had risen from her chair; her hand was pressed over her heart and she was staring out of the kitchen window. “Arthur—it's
Percy!”
“What?”
Mr. Weasley looked around. Everybody looked quickly at the window; Ginny stood up for a better look. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy
yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He was not, however, alone.
“Arthur, he's—he's with the Minister!”
And sure enough, the man Harry had seen in the Daily Prophet was following along in Percy's wake, limping slightly, his mane of graying hair and his black cloak flecked
with snow. Before any of them could say anything, before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opened and there stood Percy.
There was a moment's painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, “Merry Christmas, Mother.”
“Oh, Percy!” said Mrs. Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms.
Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.
“You must forgive this intrusion,” he said, when Mrs. Weasley looked around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. “Percy and I were in the vicinity—working, you know
— and he couldn't resist dropping in and seeing you all.”
But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else's heads. Mr.
Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing him, stony-faced.
“Please, come in, sit down, Minister!” fluttered Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. “Have a little purkey, or some tooding... I mean —”
“No, no, my dear Molly,” said Scrimgeour. Harry guessed that he had checked her name with Percy before they entered the house. “I don't want to intrude, wouldn't be
here at all if Percy hadn't wanted to see you all so badly...”
“Oh, Perce!” said Mrs. Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.
“... we've only looked in for five minutes, so I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in! Well, if
anybody cared to show me your charming garden... ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?”
The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Everybody looked from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour's pretense that he did not know Harry's
name convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur, and George also had clean plates.
“Yeah, all right,” said Harry into the silence.
He was not fooled; for all Scrimgeour's talk that they had just been in the area, that Percy wanted to look up his family, this must be the real reason that they had
come, so that Scrimgeour could speak to Harry alone.
“It's fine,” he said quietly, as he passed Lupin, who had half risen from his chair. “Fine,” he added, as Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak.
“Wonderful!” said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry pass through the door ahead of him. “We'll just take a turn around the garden, and Percy and I'll be off.
Carry on, everyone!”
Harry walked across the yard toward the Weasleys’ overgrown, snow-covered garden, Scrimgeour limping slightly at his side. He had, Harry knew, been Head of the Auror
office; he looked tough and battle-scarred, very different from portly Fudge in his bowler hat.
“Charming,” said Scrimgeour, stopping at the garden fence and looking out over the snowy lawn and the indistinguishable plants. “Charming.”
Harry said nothing. He could tell that Scrimgeour was watching him.
“I've wanted to meet you for a very long time,” said Scrimgeour, after a few moments. “Did you know that?”
“No,” said Harry truthfully.
“Oh yes, for a very long time. But Dumbledore has been very protective of you,” said Scrimgeour. “Natural, of course, natural, after what you've been through...
especially what happened at the Ministry ...”
He waited for Harry to say something, but Harry did not oblige, so he went on, “I have been hoping for an occasion to talk to you ever since I gained office, but
Dumbledore has—most understandably, as I say—prevented this.”
Still, Harry said nothing, waiting.
“The rumors that have flown around!” said Scrimgeour. “Well, of course, we both know how these stories get distorted... all these whispers of a prophecy... of you
being ‘the Chosen One'...”
They were getting near it now, Harry thought, the reason Scrimgeour was here.
“... I assume that Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?”
Harry deliberated, wondering whether he ought to lie or not. He looked at the little gnome prints all around the flowerbeds, and the scuffed-up patch that marked the
spot where Fred had caught the gnome now wearing the tutu at the top of the Christmas tree. Finally, he decided on the truth ... or a bit of it.
“Yeah, we've discussed it.”
“Have you, have you...” said Scrimgeour. Harry could see, out of the corner of his eye, Scrimgeour squinting at him, so he pretended to be very interested in a gnome
that had just poked its head out from underneath a frozen rhododendron. “And what has Dumbledore told you, Harry?”
“Sorry, but that's between us,” said Harry.
He kept his voice as pleasant as he could, and Scrimgeour's tone, too, was light and friendly as he said, “Oh, of course, if it's a question of confidences, I wouldn't
want you to divulge... no, no ... and in any case, does it really matter whether you are the Chosen One or not?”
Harry had to mull that one over for a few seconds before responding.
“I don't really know what you mean, Minister.”
“Well, of course, to you it will matter enormously,” said Scrimgeour with a laugh. “But to the wizarding community at large... it's all perception, isn't it? It's
what people believe that's important.”
Harry said nothing. He thought he saw, dimly, where they were heading, but he was not going to help Scrimgeour get there. The gnome under the rhododendron was now
digging for worms at its roots, and Harry kept his eyes fixed upon it.
“People believe you are the Chosen One, you see,” said Scrimgeour. “They think you quite the hero—which, of course, you arc, Harry, chosen or not! How many times
have you faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now? Well, anyway,” he pressed on, without waiting for a reply, “the point is, you are a symbol of hope for many, Harry. The
idea that there is somebody out there who might be able, who might even be destined, to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—well, naturally, it gives people a lift. And I
can't help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it, well, almost a duty, to stand alongside the Ministry, and give everyone a boost.”
The gnome had just managed to get hold of a worm. It was now tugging very hard on it, trying to get it out of the frozen ground. Harry was silent so long that
Scrimgeour said, looking from Harry to the gnome, “Funny little chaps, aren't they? But what say you, Harry?”
“I don't exactly understand what you want,” said Harry slowly. “'Stand alongside the Ministry'... What does that mean?”
“Oh, well, nothing at all onerous, I assure you,” said Scrimgeour. “If you were to be seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for instance, that
would give the right impression. And of course, while you were there, you would have ample opportunity to speak to Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror
office. Dolores Umbridge has told me that you cherish an ambition to become an Auror. Well, that could be arranged very easily...”
Harry felt anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach: so Dolores Umbridge was still at the Ministry, was she?
“So basically,” he said, as though he just wanted to clarify a few points, “you'd like to give the impression that I'm working for the Ministry?”
“It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved, Harry,” said Scrimgeour, sounding relieved that Harry had cottoned on so quickly. “'The Chosen One,’
you know... it's all about giving people hope, the feeling that exciting things are happening...”
“But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry,” said Harry, still endeavoring to keep his voice friendly, “won't that seem as though I approve of what the
Ministry's up to?”
“Well,” said Scrimgeour, frowning slightly, “well, yes, that's partly why we'd like —”
“No, I don't think that'll work,” said Harry pleasantly. “You see, I don't like some of the things the Ministry's doing. Locking up Stan Shunpike, for instance.”
Scrimgeour did not speak for a moment but his expression hardened instantly.
“I would not expect you to understand,” he said, and he was not as successful at keeping anger out of his voice as Harry had been. “These are dangerous times, and
certain measures need to be taken. You are sixteen years old —”
“Dumbledore's a lot older than sixteen, and he doesn't think Stan should be in Azkaban either,” said Harry. “You're making Stan a scapegoat, just like you want to
make me a mascot.”
They looked at each other, long and hard. Finally Scrimgeour said, with no pretense at warmth, “I see. You prefer—like your hero, Dumbledore—to disassociate yourself
from the Ministry?”
“I don't want to be used,” said Harry.
“Some would say it's your duty to be used by the Ministry!”
“Yeah, and others might say it's your duty to check that people really are Death Eaters before you chuck them in prison,” said Harry, his temper rising now. “You're
doing what Barty Crouch did. You never get it right, you people, do you? Either we've got Fudge, pretending everything's lovely while people get murdered right under
his nose, or we've got you, chucking the wrong people into jail and trying to pretend you've got the Chosen One working for you!”
“So you're not the Chosen One?” said Scrimgeour.
“I thought you said it didn't matter either way?” said Harry, with a bitter laugh. “Not to you anyway.”
“I shouldn't have said that,” said Scrimgeour quickly. “It was tactless —”
“No, it was honest,” said Harry. “One of the only honest things you've said to me. You don't care whether I live or die, but you do care that I help you convince
everyone you're winning the war against Voldemort. I haven't forgotten, Minister....”
He raised his right fist. There, shining white on the back of his cold hand, were the scars which Dolores Umbridge had forced him to carve into his own flesh: I must
not tell lies.
“I don't remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to tell everyone Voldemort was back. The Ministry wasn't so keen to be pals last year.”
They stood in silence as icy as the ground beneath their feet. The gnome had finally managed to extricate his worm and was now sucking on it happily, leaning against
the bottom-most branches of the rhododendron bush.
“What is Dumbledore up to?” said Scrimgeour brusquely. “Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?”
“No idea,” said Harry.
“And you wouldn't tell me if you knew,” said Scrimgeour, “would you?”
“No, I wouldn't,” said Harry.
“Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means.”
“You can try,” said Harry indifferently. “But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at
Hogwarts. You might have noticed he's not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still Headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you.”
There was a long pause.
“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses, “Dumbledore's man through
and through, aren't you, Potter?”
“Yeah, I am,” said Harry. “Glad we straightened that out.”
And turning his back on the Minister of Magic, he strode back toward the house.
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第16章 冰霜圣诞节

“斯内普说要帮他？他真的说要帮他？”

　　“如果你再问一遍，”哈利说，“我说把这甘蓝塞到——”

　　“我只是核实一下！”罗恩说。他们站在陋居的厨房水池前，为韦斯莱夫人削一堆小山似的球芽甘蓝。雪花在他们前面的窗户外飘飘荡荡地飞舞。

　　“是，斯内普说要帮他！”哈利说，“他说答应过马尔福的妈妈要保护他，而且他还立过一个牢不可破的誓言什么的——”

　　“牢不可破的誓言？”罗恩目瞪口呆，“不，他不可能……确定？”

　　“是啊，我确定。”哈利说，“但是这意味着什么呢？”

　　“牢不可破的誓言是不能违背的……”

　　“这个我也估计出来了，很有趣。那么，要是违背了会怎么样呢？”

　　“死。”罗恩简单地说，“我五岁的时候，弗雷德和乔治想让我立一个，我差点儿就立了，已经跟弗雷德握手什么的，被爸爸发现了，他气疯了，”罗恩眼里闪动着回忆的光芒，“这是我惟一一次看到爸爸像妈妈那样发火。弗雷德说他左半拉屁股从此不一样了。”

　　“好了，先不说弗雷德和左半拉屁股——”

　　“说什么哪？”弗雷德的声音说，双胞胎兄弟走进了厨房。

　　“啊，乔治，看看，他们在用小刀呢。上帝保佑他们。”

　　“我还有两个月多一点儿就十七岁了，”罗恩暴躁地说，“到时候就能用魔法了！”

　　“但在此之前，”乔治说着坐到厨房的桌前，把脚跷到了桌上，“我们可以欣赏欣赏你示范怎样正确使用——哎哟。”

　　“都是你搞的！”罗恩恼火地说，一边吮着割破的拇指，“你等着，我满了十七岁——”

　　“我相信你会用迄今没人想到的魔法把我们镇住。”弗雷德打着哈欠说。

　　“说到迄今没人想到的魔法，罗恩，”乔治说，“我们听金妮说，你和一个小姑娘有情况，如果我们的情报没错的话，那小姑娘叫拉文德·布朗。这是怎么回事？”

　　罗恩有点脸红，转身削起了甘蓝，但似乎并没有不高兴。

　　“别多管闲事。”

　　“好刺人的回答，”弗雷德说，“我真不知道你是怎么想的，我们想知道的是……怎么会呢？”

　　“什么意思？”

　　“那女孩是不是出了车祸什么的？”

　　“什么？”

　　“她怎么会这样大面积脑损伤啊？小心！”

　　韦斯莱夫人走进来时，刚好看到罗恩把削甘蓝的小刀向弗雷德掷了过去。弗雷德懒洋洋地一挥魔杖，把小刀变成了一架纸飞机。

　　“罗恩！”她勃然大怒，“别让我再看见你扔刀子！”

　　“我不会，”罗恩说着，回身转向甘蓝山时，小声加了一句：“——让你看见的。”

　　“弗雷德，乔治，对不起，莱姆斯今天晚上来，比尔只能跟你们两个挤一挤了！”

　　“没问题。”乔治说。

　　“查理不回来，所以罗恩正好住阁楼，如果芙蓉跟金妮住——”

　　“——那金妮的圣诞节就——”弗雷德嘟嚷道。

　　“——每个人应该都挺舒服，至少都有张床。”韦斯莱夫人的语气有些烦躁。

　　“珀西那张丑脸肯定不会出现吧？”弗雷德问。

　　韦斯莱夫人转过身去，然后答道：

　　“不会，我想他忙吧，在部里。”

　　“或者他是世界上最大的蠢货，”韦斯莱夫人离开厨房时弗雷德说，“二者必居其一。我们走吧，乔治。”

　　“你们干什么去？”罗恩问，“不能帮我们削甘蓝吗？你们可以用一下魔杖，我们就解放了。”

　　“我想不能，”弗雷德一本正经地说，“这是非常磨炼性格的，学习不用魔法削甘蓝，能让你体会到麻瓜和哑炮是多么不容易——”

　　“——如果你想要人帮忙，罗恩，”乔治接着说，一边把纸飞机掷回给他，“就不会朝他们扔刀子。一点儿忠告。我们到村里去，那儿的纸店有一个很漂亮的女孩，她觉得我的纸牌戏法神奇极了，几乎像真正的魔法……”

　　“饭桶，”罗恩阴沉地说，看着弗雷德和乔治从落满积雪的院子里走了出去，“只要花他们十秒钟，我们俩就也能去了。”

　　“我不行，”哈利说，“我向邓布利多保证过在这儿不会跑出去。”

　　“哦，对了。”罗恩又削了几个甘蓝，然后说，“你要把斯内普和马尔福的对话告诉邓布利多吗？”

　　“嗯，我要告诉所有能制止他们的人，邓布利多是第一位。我也许还要跟你爸爸谈谈。”

　　“可惜你没听到马尔福到底在干什么。”

　　“我没法听到，是不是？这是关键的地方，他都不肯告诉斯内普。”

　　沉默了一会儿，罗恩说：“当然，你知道他们会怎么说。我爸爸、邓布利多和所有的人，他们会说斯内普不是真的想帮助马尔福，他只是为了探出马尔福在干什么。”

　　“他们没听到他的口气，”哈利断然说道，“没人能演得那么像，即使是斯内普。”

　　“是啊……我只是说说。”罗恩说。

　　哈利转身看着，皱起了眉头。

　　“你相信我吧？”

　　“我相信！”罗恩忙说，“真的，我相信！可是他们都相信斯内普是凤凰社的，对不对？”

　　哈利没说话，他已经想到这将是他的新证据最可能遭到的反驳。他甚至都能听见赫敏在说：

　　“显然，哈利，他是在假装帮忙，骗马尔福对他说实话……”

　　但这只是想象，因为他还没找到机会跟赫敏说他听到的事情。他回去之前她就从斯拉格霍恩的晚会上消失了，至少气愤的麦克拉根是这么说的。等他回到公共休息室，她已经睡觉去了。他第二天一大早就跟罗恩出发到陋居来了，只来得及说了句祝她圣诞快乐，并说放假回来后有非常重要的消息要告诉她。但他不太确定赫敏有没有听见，罗恩和拉文德正在他的后面用不说话的方式进行着告别。

　　但是，就连赫敏也无法否认一个事实：马尔福肯定在干着什么勾当，并且斯内普是知道的。所以哈利觉得有充分理由说“我告诉过你”，这句话他已经跟罗恩说了好几遍。

　　哈利没找到机会跟韦斯莱先生谈，他每天都在部里工作得很晚，直到圣诞前夜。韦斯莱一家和客人们坐在客厅里，金妮把这间屋子装饰得五彩缤纷，花团锦簇，简直像发生过一块纸拉花的爆炸。只有弗雷德、乔治、哈利和罗恩知道圣诞树顶上的小天使其实是一个花园小地精。弗雷德在拔圣诞晚餐用的胡萝卜时被这个小地精咬了脚踝，于是它被施了昏迷咒，涂成了金色，塞进了一件小芭蕾舞裙，背上粘了对小翅膀，在树顶上对他们怒目而视。这是哈利见过的最丑的天使，长着土豆似的大秃脑袋，脚上还有毛。

　　他们都得听韦斯莱夫人最喜欢的歌手塞蒂娜·沃贝克的圣诞广播，她的歌声从木头的大收音机中婉转流出。芙蓉似乎觉得塞蒂娜非常乏味，她在角落里大声说着话，韦斯莱夫人皱着眉头不停地用魔杖调整音量开头，使塞蒂娜唱得越来越响。在一首爵士味特别浓的曲子《一锅火热的爱》的掩护下，弗雷德、乔治跟金妮玩起了噼啪爆炸牌。罗恩的眼睛老是偷瞟比尔和芙蓉，好像想学点什么技巧。卢平显得特别憔悴，他坐在壁炉边，盯着炉火深处，仿佛听不见塞蒂娜的声音。

　　哦，来搅搅我的这锅汤。

　　如果你做得很恰当，

　　我会熬出火热的爱，

　　陪伴你今夜暖洋洋。

　　“我们十八岁时跟着这音乐跳过舞！”韦斯莱夫人用手里织的毛线擦了擦眼睛，“你还记得吗，亚瑟？”

　　“唔？”剥着小蜜橘打起了瞌睡的韦斯莱先生说，“哦，是啊……多棒的曲子……”

　　他努力坐直了一点儿，扭头看着坐在旁边的哈利。

　　“对不起啊，”他把脑袋朝收音机那边一摆，塞蒂娜已经唱起了叠句，“就快完了。”

　　“没事的。”哈利咧嘴一笑，说道，“部里忙吗？”

　　“非常忙，要是有进展也就罢了，可是这两个月逮捕的三个人里，我怀疑没有一个是真正的食死徒——不过别说出去，哈利。”他马上加了一句，看上去一下子清醒了许多。

　　“他们不会还关着桑帕克吧？”哈利问。

　　“恐怕还关着，我知道邓布利多曾想为桑帕克直接向斯克林杰上诉……所有跟他谈过话的人都认为他像这小蜜橘一样不可能是食死徒……可是上面想显得有进展，‘逮捕三人’听起来比‘误捕三人’听起来比‘误铺三人，后释放’好听多了……不过，这都是高度机密。”

　　“我不会说的。”哈利说。他犹豫了一下，不知道怎么切入他想讲的话题。当他整理思绪时，塞蒂娜已开始唱一首《你用魔法钩走了我的心》。

　　“韦斯莱先生，你还记得我去学校之前在车站告诉你的事吗？”

　　“我查过了，哈利。”韦斯莱先生马上说，“我去搜查了马尔福的家，没发现不该有的东西，无论是碎的还是整的。”

　　“嗯，我知道，我在《预言家日报》上看到你去搜查了……可这次不一样……更加……”

　　他对韦斯莱先生讲了马尔福与斯内普的密谈。在他们说话的时候，他看到卢平的脑袋稍稍偏向了他们，聆听着每一句话。他说完后一片沉默，只听到塞蒂娜的低吟：

　　哦，我可怜的心，它去了哪里？

　　它离开了我，被魔法钩去……

　　“你有没有想过，哈利，”韦斯莱先生说，“只是假装——”

　　“假装要帮忙，以便发现马尔福在干什么？”哈利立刻说，“是啊，我想你会这么说的，可是我们怎么知道呢？”

　　“这不是我们的事。”卢平出人意料地说。他现在背对着炉火，隔着韦斯莱先生面对着哈利。“是邓布利多的事。邓布利多信任西弗勒斯，对我们来说这应该就够了。”

　　“可是，”哈利说，“假如——假如邓布利多看错了斯内普——”

　　“有人这么说过，许多次了。说到底是你相不相信邓布利多的判断。我相信，所以，我信任西弗勒斯。”

　　“可是邓布利多也会犯错，”哈利争辩道，“他自己说过。你——”

　　他盯着卢平的眼睛。

　　“——你真喜欢斯内普？”

　　“我既不喜欢也不讨厌西弗勒斯。”卢平答道，见哈利显出怀疑的表情，他又说，“哈利，我说的是真话。也许我们永远不会成为知心好友；在詹姆、小天狼星和西弗勒斯之间的那些事情以后，积怨太多。但我不会忘记我在霍格沃茨任教的那年，斯内普每个月帮我配狼毒药剂，配得非常好，使我在满月时不用像过去那么痛苦。”

　　“可是他‘无意中’走漏了你是狼人的消息，结果你只好离开！”哈利愤然道。

　　卢平耸了耸肩膀。

　　“这件事总会泄漏的。我们都知道他想要我的职位，但他只要在药里做点手脚，就可以把我害得更惨。他让我保持健康，我应该感激。”

　　“也许有邓布利多监视，他不敢在药里下手？”

　　“你是决心要恨他，哈利，”卢平无力地一笑，“我理解，詹姆是你父亲，小天狼星是你教父，你继承了一种成见。你当然可以把你对亚瑟和我说的话告诉邓布利多，但别指望他跟你看法一致，甚至别指望他会吃惊。也许西弗勒斯是奉了邓布利多的命令去问德拉科的。”

　　……而今你已把它撕破

　　请把我的心还给我！

　　塞蒂娜以一个长长的的高音结束了她的演唱，收音机里传出响亮的掌声，韦斯莱夫人也兴奋地鼓着掌。

　　“完了？”芙蓉大声说，“谢天谢地，好难听——”

　　“睡觉前喝点饮料怎么样？”韦斯莱先生跳起来高声问道，“谁要蛋酒？”

　　“你最近在干什么？”哈利问卢平，韦斯莱先生跑去拿蛋酒，其他人都舒展着身体，聊起了天。

　　“哦，我在地下工作，”卢平说，“几乎真是地下。所以我没能写信，哈利。寄信给你会暴露的。”

　　“你说什么？”

　　“我生活在我的人当中，我的同类。”卢平说，“狼人，”他见哈利有些不解，又补充道，“他们几乎全都是伏地魔一边的。邓布利多需要一个间谍，我正好是……现成的。”

　　听起来他有点像发牢骚，可能自己也察觉了，便又笑得更热情了一些，说道：“我不是抱怨，这是必要的工作，谁能比我更胜任这份工作呢？只不过，取得他们信任很难。我带着曾经在巫师中生活过的明显印记，而他们向来避开正常的社会，生活在边缘地带，偷东西吃——有时杀人。”

　　“他们怎么会喜欢伏地魔呢？”

　　“大概觉得在他的统治下，他们会过得更好。跟格雷伯克辩论是一件很困难……”

　　“格雷伯克是谁？”

　　“你没听说过他吗？”卢平的双手在膝上痉挛地握紧了。“芬里尔·格雷伯克或许是当今世上最凶残的狼人。他以咬伤和传染尽可能多的人为己任，想造出大批狼人来打败巫师。伏地魔允诺给他一些猎物作为酬劳。格雷伯克专攻小孩……他说趁小时候咬，然后把他们从父母身边带走，培养他们仇恨巫师。伏地魔威胁要把格雷伯克放出去咬人家的小孩，这威胁通常很有效。”

　　卢平停了一会儿，又说：“是格雷伯克咬的我。”

　　“什么？”哈利吃了一惊，“你是说在——在你小时候？”

　　“对。我父亲冒犯了他。我有很长时间一直不知道袭击我的狼人是谁。我甚至怜悯他，以为他是控制不住，那时我已经知道一个人变成狼是什么滋味。但格雷伯克并不是那样。满月时他靠近猎物，确保袭击得手。他完全是有预谋的。他就是伏地魔用来召集狼人的人。格雷伯克坚持认为我们狼人应该吸血，应该对正常人进行报复，我不敢说我那种理智的辩论对他有多少效果。”

　　“可你是正常的！”哈利激烈地说，“你只是有一个——一个问题——”

　　卢平笑了起来。

　　“有时你让我想起了詹姆的很多事。他当着人就说这是我的‘毛茸茸的小问题’。许多人以为我养了一只不听话的兔子。”

　　他从韦斯莱先生手里接过一杯蛋酒，道了一声谢，看上去稍稍快活了一些。哈利听卢平提到他父亲，感到一阵激动，想起来有件事一直想要问卢平。

　　“你听说过有个叫混血王子的人吗？”

　　“混血什么？”

　　“王子。”哈利密切注视着他有没有想起来的迹象。

　　“巫师没有王子。”卢平微笑着说道，“你想用这个称号吗？我以为‘救世之星’已经够了。”

　　“这跟我无关！”哈利抗议道，“混血王子是以前在霍格沃茨待过的人。我拿了他使用过的魔药课本。他在上面写满了咒语，他发明的咒语。有一个是倒挂金钟——”

　　“哦，这个咒语在我上霍格沃茨的时候很流行。”卢平怀旧地说，“我五年级的时候有几个月，经常有人被提着脚踝倒吊在空中，没法动弹。”

　　“我爸爸用过它。”哈利说，“我在冥想盆里看到的，他对斯内普用过。”

　　他想用不经意的口气，好像只是随口提到，但不知是否取得了这种效果。卢平的笑容里包含着太多的理解。

　　“是啊，”他说，“但不只他一个人用过。我说过，它非常流行……你知道这些魔咒都是一阵一阵的……”

　　“可听起来像是在你上学的那个时候发明的。”哈利坚持道。

　　“不一定。魔咒和其他东西一样，都有流行和不流行的时候。”他注视着哈利的面孔，然后平静地说，“詹姆是纯血统，哈利，我向你保证，他从来没让我们叫过他‘王子’。”

　　哈利放弃了掩饰，问道：“也不是小天狼星？或者你？”

　　“肯定不是。”

　　“哦，”哈利望着炉火，“我还以为——他在魔药课上帮了我很大的忙，那个王子。”

　　“那本书是什么时候的，哈利？”

　　“不知道，我从来没查过。”

　　“也许这能帮助你了解到王子在霍格沃茨的时间。”卢平说。

　　没过多久，芙蓉决定模仿塞蒂娜唱《一锅火热的爱》，看到韦斯莱夫人的表情之后，大家都把这当做了上床睡觉的信号。哈利和罗恩一直爬到阁楼上罗恩的卧室里，那儿为哈利搭了一张行军床。

　　罗恩几乎一沾枕头就睡着了。哈利上床前从旅行箱里找出《高级魔药制作》翻了翻，终于在前面找到了出版时间。将近五十年了。五十年前他父亲及其朋友们都不在霍格沃茨。哈利失望地把书扔回了箱子里，关上灯，翻了一个身，想着狼人和斯内普，桑帕克和混血王子，终于迷迷糊糊地睡着了，梦里尽是鬼魅的阴影和被咬孩子的哭声……

　　“她一定是在开玩笑……”

　　哈利一下子惊醒了，发现床脚放着一只鼓鼓囊囊的长袜。他戴上眼镜环顾着四周，小窗几乎完全被雪遮住了，罗恩笔直地坐在窗前的床上，在看一个东西，好像是一条挺粗的金链子。

　　“那是什么？”哈利问。

　　“拉文德送的，”罗恩厌恶地说，“她不会真的以为我会戴吧……”

　　哈利凑近些一看，哑然失笑，链子上挂着几个大大的金字：

　　我的甜心

　　“不错，漂亮。你一定要在弗雷德和乔治面前戴上。”

　　“如果你告诉他们，”罗恩说着把项链塞到了枕头底下，“我——我——我就——”

　　“跟我结巴上了？”哈利笑着说，“行了吧，我会吗？”

　　“她怎么会以为我喜欢这种东西呢？”罗恩对着空气问，一副很震惊的样子。

　　“回想一下，”哈利说，“你有没有流露过喜欢脖子上挂着‘我的甜心’出去招摇的想法？”

　　“嗯……我们没说多少话，”罗恩说，“主要是……”

　　“亲嘴。”

　　“是啊。”罗恩犹豫了一会儿，又说，“赫敏真的跟麦克拉根好上了？”

　　“不知道，斯拉格霍恩的晚会上他们在一起来着，可是我看没有那么好。”

　　罗恩心情似乎稍微好了一些，又到袜子里头去掏礼物。

　　哈利的礼物包括一件胸前有金色飞贼的毛衣，是韦斯莱夫人亲手织的，双胞胎兄弟送的一大盒韦斯莱魔法把戏坊的产品，还有一个有点潮湿、带着霉味的包裹，标签上写着：

　　“致主人，克利切”。

　　哈利瞪着它。“你说打开它安全吗？”

　　“不可能是危险品，我们的邮件仍然都是经过魔法部检查的。”罗恩答道，尽管他怀疑地打量着那个包裹。

　　“我没想到给克利切送东西！人们一般会给家养小精灵送圣诞礼物吗？”哈利问，一边小心地捅着包裹。

　　“赫敏会。还是先看看是什么再内疚吧。”

　　片刻之后，哈利大叫一声，从行军床上跳了下来，包裹里是一大堆蛆。

　　“不错，”罗恩哈哈大笑，“想得很周到。”

　　“我宁可要这个也不要那条项链。”哈利说，罗恩立刻冷静下来。

　　坐下吃圣诞午餐时，每个人都穿着新毛衣，除了芙蓉（韦斯莱夫人似乎不愿在她身上浪费一件）和韦斯莱夫人自己。韦斯莱夫人戴着一顶崭新的女巫帽，夜空一样的深蓝色上闪烁着小星星般的钻石，还有一串夺目的金项链。

　　“弗雷德和乔治送给我的！漂亮吧？”

　　“我们越来越感激你了，妈妈，现在我们自己洗袜子了。”乔治说，一边潇洒地一挥手，“要防风草根吧，莱姆斯？”

　　“哈利，你头上有一条蛆。”金妮快活地说，隔着桌子欠身帮他拿掉了。哈利感到脖子上起了鸡皮疙瘩，但与那条蛆无关。

　　“哦，好恶心。”芙蓉说，做作地哆嗦了一下。

　　“可不，”罗恩说，“要肉卤吗，芙蓉？”

　　他急于献殷勤，把肉卤盘碰飞了。比尔一挥魔杖，肉卤升到空中，顺从地落回到盘里。

　　“你跟那个唐克斯一样笨，”芙蓉亲了一下比尔之后对罗恩说，“她总是打翻——”

　　“我邀请了亲爱的唐克斯，”韦斯莱夫人重重地放下胡萝卜，瞪着芙蓉说，“可她不肯来。你最近跟她谈过吗，莱姆斯？”

　　“没有，我跟谁都没多少联系。但唐克斯要回她自己的家，是不是？”

　　“嗯，”韦斯莱夫人说，“也许吧。我感觉她是打算一个人过圣诞节。”

　　她恼火地看了卢平一眼，好像她摊到芙蓉而不是唐克斯当儿媳全是他的错。哈利望望正用她自己的叉子喂比尔吃火鸡的芙蓉，感到韦斯莱夫人早就输定了。但他想起了关于唐克斯的一个问题，问卢平不是最合适吗？他对守护神无所不知。

　　“唐克斯的守护神变了，斯内普说的。我不知道会有这种事。守护神为什么会变呢？”

　　卢平不慌不忙地嚼着火鸡，咽下之后缓缓地说道：“有时……大的打击……感情剧变……”

　　“它看上去很大，有四条腿，”哈利说，突然他闪过一个念头，压低声音说，“嘿……不会是——？”

　　“亚瑟！”韦斯莱夫人突然叫道。她从椅子上站了起来，手捂着心口，瞪着厨房窗外。“亚瑟——是珀西！”

　　“什么？”

　　韦斯莱先生回过头，大家都立刻望着窗外，金妮站了起来看着外面。果然是珀西·韦斯莱，他正踏着院中的积雪大步走来，玳瑁框的眼镜在阳光下一闪一闪的。然而他并不是一个人。

　　“亚瑟，他——他是跟部长一起来的！”

　　果然不错，哈利在《预言家日报》上见过的那人正跟在珀西后面，他有一点儿破，长而厚密的灰发和黑斗篷上落了片片白雪。大家谁也没来得及说话，韦斯莱夫妇刚交换了一个吃惊的眼神，后门就开了，珀西站在了门口。

　　一阵难堪的沉默，珀西生硬地说：“圣诞快乐，妈妈。”

　　“哦，珀西！”韦斯莱夫人叫着扑到他的怀里。

　　鲁弗斯·斯克林杰在门口停了下来，他拄着拐杖，微笑地看着这感人的一幕。

　　“打扰了，请原谅，”他说，这时韦斯莱夫人已转向他，笑吟吟地擦着眼睛。“珀西和我在附近——办事，您知道——他忍不住要来看看你们。”

　　但珀西没有想跟其他人打招呼的意思。他直挺挺地站在那儿，显得很不自然，目光越过众人的头顶。韦斯莱先生、弗雷德和乔治都板着面孔看着他。

　　“请进，坐吧，部长！”韦斯莱夫人慌乱地说着，一边扶正了自己的帽子，“吃一点窝鸡，或补丁【韦斯莱夫人因为激动把“火鸡”和“布丁”都说得走了样。】……我是说——”

　　“不用，不用，亲爱的莫丽。”斯克林杰说。哈利猜想他在进屋前向珀西打听了她的名字。“我不想打扰，要不是珀西这么想见你们，我也不会来……”

　　“哦，珀西！”韦斯莱夫人含泪叫道，踮起脚尖去亲他。

　　“……我们刚来了五分钟，我到院子里走走，你们跟珀西多聊一会儿。不不，我真的不想打扰你们！嗯，如果有人愿意带我参观一下你们可爱的花园……啊，那个小伙子吃完了，你陪我散散步可以吗？”

　　餐桌旁的气氛明显变了，大家的目光从斯克林杰转移到了哈利身上。似乎没人相信斯克林杰不知道哈利的名字，也没人觉得他被选中陪部长到花园散步很自然，因为金妮、芙蓉和乔治的盘子也都空了。

　　“好啊。”哈利打破沉默，说道。

　　他没有上当，尽管斯克林杰说是在附近办事，珀西想来看看家人，但这才是他们来的真正原因：为了斯克林杰能跟哈利单独谈话。

　　“没事。”经过卢平身边时他小声说，因为他看到卢平正要从椅子上站起来。“没事。”看到韦斯莱先生张嘴要说话，他又加了一句。

　　“太好了！”斯克林杰向后退去，让哈利先走出门外，“我们就在花园里转转，然后珀西和我就走。继续吧，各位！”

　　哈利穿过院子朝杂草丛生、覆盖着白雪的韦斯莱家花园走去，斯克林杰一跛一跛地走在旁边。哈利知道他曾是傲罗办公室主任。他看上去很结实，带着战伤，跟戴着圆礼帽、大腹便便的福吉大不一样。

　　“很漂亮，”斯克林杰说，他在花园篱笆前停了下来，望着落满积雪的草坪和辨认不出的植物，“很漂亮。”

　　哈利没说话。他感觉到斯克林杰在观察他。

　　“我早就想见见你了，”过了一会儿斯克林杰说，“你知道吗？”

　　“不知道。”哈利诚实地说。

　　“哦，是的，早就想了。但邓布利多似乎很保护你。”斯克林杰说，“当然，这很自然，很自然，在你经历了那些之后……尤其是部里发生的事……”

　　他想等哈利说些什么，但哈利没有理睬，于是他又说道：“我上任之后一直希望有机会跟你谈谈，但邓布利多阻止了。我说过——这是完全可以理解的。”

　　哈利还是一言不发，等待着。

　　“传闻沸沸扬扬！”斯克林杰说，“当然，我们都知道这些故事是多么走样……传说有一个预言……说你是‘救世之星’……”

　　哈利想，话题现在接近斯克林杰来的本意了。

　　“……我想邓布利多跟你谈过这些事情吧？”

　　哈利犹豫着，不知该不该说谎。他望着花坛四周的小地精脚印，还有那块翻开的地皮，就是弗雷德抓住那个现在穿着芭蕾舞裙站在圣诞树顶的小地精的地方。最后他决定说实话……或说一点儿实话。

　　“对，我们谈过。”

　　“你们有没有，有没有……”哈利用眼角的余光看到斯克林杰正在注视着他，便假装对一个从结冰的杜鹃花丛下探出脑袋的小地精很感兴趣，“邓布利多跟你说了什么，哈利？”

　　“对不起，这是我们之间的事。”哈利说。

　　他尽可能地让声音听上去很愉快，斯克林杰的语气也轻松而友好：“哦，当然，如果是秘密，我不想让你泄露……不，不……再说，你是不是救世之星真的要紧吗？”

　　哈利琢磨了几秒钟后做出了回答。

　　“我不大懂您你意思，部长。”

　　“当然，对你很重要，”斯克林杰说着大笑起来，“然而对巫师界……这都是观念，是不是？人们相信什么才是重要的。”

　　哈利没答腔。他觉得隐约看到了谈话会导向哪里，但他不想帮斯克林杰达到目的。杜鹃花丛底下的小地精在树根附近挖起了虫子，哈利的眼睛一直盯着它。

　　“人们相信你是救世之星。你知道，”斯克林杰说，“他们认为你是英雄——你是的，哈利，不管是不是救世之星！你已多少次面对那个连名字都不能提的大魔头了？总之，”他不等哈利回答，继续说了下去，“要紧的是，你在许多人的心目中是希望的象征，哈利。知道有人能，甚至注定能摧毁那个大魔头——这很自然会让人们感到鼓舞。我不禁感到，一旦你认识到这一点，这也许就会觉得，你几乎有义务跟魔法部合作，给大家信心。”

　　小地精刚刚捉住一条虫子，正在使劲拉扯，想把它从冻硬的地里拽出来。哈利沉默了很久，斯克林杰看看他又看看小地精，说道：“有趣的小家伙，是不是？可是你怎么想呢，哈利？”

　　“我不大明白你想要听什么。”哈利缓缓地说，“‘跟魔法部合作’……是什么意思？”

　　“哦，一点也不麻烦，我向你保证。比方说，如果你能时不时地出入魔法部，那就会给人一个有利的印象。当然，在那儿的时候，你有许多机会和加德文·罗巴兹，即接替我的傲罗办公室主任多谈谈。多洛雷斯·乌姆里奇跟我说过你有志当一句傲罗。这很容易安排……”

　　哈利感到妒火中烧：这么说乌姆里奇还在魔法部？

　　“所以基本上，”他说，好像只想澄清几点事实，“你希望造成我为魔法部效力的印象？”

　　“看到有你更多地参与，大家会受到鼓舞的，哈利，”斯克林杰说，他似乎对哈利这么快就领悟了他的话感到很欣慰，“救世之星，你明白……就是要给人希望，让人感到激动人心的事情在发生……”

　　“可如果我出入魔法部，”哈利说，仍然努力保持友好的语气，“不会让人觉得我赞成部里的做法吗？”

　　“呃，”斯克林杰说道，微微皱了皱眉头，“是的，也是因为这个，我们希望——”

　　“不，我想不行，”哈利彬彬有礼地说，“您知道，我不喜欢魔法部做的某些事情，比如关押斯坦·桑帕克。”

　　斯克林杰一时没说话，但脸色马上沉了下来。

　　“我不指望你理解，”他说，但没能像哈利那样做到话语中不流露怒气，“现在形势危险，某些措施是必要的。你才十六岁——”

　　“邓布利多可远远不止十六岁，他也不赞成把斯坦·桑帕克关在阿兹卡班。”哈利说，“你把斯坦·桑帕克当成替罪羊，就像你想把我当成福神一样。”

　　两人互相瞪视了许久，最后斯克林杰不再伪装友善了，说道：“我看得出，你希望——像你心目中的英雄邓布利多一样——脱离魔法部？”

　　“我不想被利用。”

　　“有人会说为魔法部效力是你的义务！”

　　“是，有人会说在把人关进监牢前先查明他是不是食死徒是你的义务。”哈利说，他的火气上来了，“你所做的跟巴蒂·克劳奇一样。你们从来都没做对过，是不是？要么是福吉，人在他眼皮底下被杀了还假装天下太平；要么就是你，关押无辜，还假装有救世之星为你工作！”

　　“你不是救世之星？”斯克林杰问。

　　“你不是说这不重要吗？”哈利说，讽刺地笑了一声，“至少对你不重要。”

　　“我不该那么说，”斯克林杰立刻说，“措词不当——”

　　“不，这很诚实，”哈利说，“是你对我说过的少数实话之一。你不关心我的死活，但你关心要我帮你使大家相信你在战胜伏地魔。我没忘记，部长……”

　　他举起右拳，冰冷的手背上那道伤痕发着白光，那是乌姆里奇逼他刻下的字迹：我不可能说谎。

　　“当我告诉大家伏地魔回来了的时候，并没看见你冲出来帮助我，魔法部去年可没这么热心交朋友。”

　　两人僵立在那儿，气氛像他们脚下的土地一样冰冷。小地精终于把虫子拽了出来，靠在杜鹃花丛最低的枝条上开心地吮吸着。

　　“邓布利多在干什么？”斯克林杰唐突地问，“他不在霍格沃茨的时候会去哪儿？”

　　“不知道。”

　　“就是知道你也不会告诉我，是不是？”

　　“是，不会。”

　　“好吧，我只有看看能不能用其他办法搞清楚了。”

　　“你可以试试，”哈利冷漠地说，“不过你看上去比福吉聪明，所以我以为你会吸取他的教训。他企图干涉霍格沃茨，你也许注意到他已经不是部长了，但邓布利多还是校长。如果我是你，就不去干涉邓布利多。”

　　一阵长时间的沉默。

　　“我看出他在你身上做得很成功，”斯克林杰说，金丝边眼镜后的眼睛冷漠而严厉，“彻头彻尾是邓布利多的人，对不对？波特？”

　　“对，我是，”哈利说，“很高兴我们说清了这一点。”

　　他转身丢下魔法部长，大步朝屋里走去。
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你笑起来真好看  像夏天的阳光
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Chapter 17 A Sluggish Memory

Late in the afternoon, a few days after New Year, Harry, Ron, and Ginny lined up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry had arranged this one-off
connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school. Only Mrs. Weasley was there to say good-bye, as Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Bill, and
Fleur were all at work. Mrs. Weasley dissolved into tears at the moment of parting. Admittedly, it took very little to set her off lately; she had been crying on and
off ever since Percy had stormed from the house on Christmas Day with his glasses splattered with mashed parsnip (for which Fred, George, and Ginny all claimed credit).
“Don't cry, Mum,” said Ginny, patting her on the back as Mrs. Weasley sobbed into her shoulder. “It's okay...”
“Yeah, don't worry about us,” said Ron, permitting his mother to plant a very wet kiss on his cheek, “or about Percy. He's such a prat, it's not really a loss, is
it?”
Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever as she enfolded Harry in her arms.
“Promise me you'll look after yourself... stay out of trouble...”
“I always do, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry. “I like a quiet life, you know me.”
She gave a watery chuckle and stood back.
“Be good, then, all of you...”
Harry stepped into the emerald fire and shouted “Hogwarts!” He had one last fleeting view of the Weasleys’ kitchen and Mrs. Weasley's tearful face before the flames
engulfed him; spinning very fast, he caught blurred glimpses of other Wizarding rooms, which were whipped out of sight before he could get a proper look; then he was
slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office. She barely glanced up from her work as he clambered out over the grate.
“Evening, Potter. Try not to get too much ash on the carpet.”
“No, Professor.”
Harry straightened his glasses and flattened his hair as Ron came spinning into view. When Ginny had arrived, all three of them trooped out of McGonagall's office and
off toward Gryffindor Tower. Harry glanced out of the corridor windows as they passed; the sun was already sinking over grounds carpeted in deeper snow than had lain
over the Burrow garden. In the distance, he could see Hagrid feeding Buckbeak in front of his cabin.
“Baubles,” said Ron confidently, when they reached the Fat Lady, who was looking rather paler than usual and winced at his loud voice.
“No,” she said.
“What d'you mean, ‘no’ ?”
“There is a new password,” she said. “And please don't shout.”
“But we've been away, how're we supposed to—?”
“Harry! Ginny!”
Hermione was hurrying toward them, very pink-faced and wearing a cloak, hat, and gloves.
“I got back a couple of hours ago, I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck—I mean Witherwings,” she said breathlessly. “Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Yeah,” said Ron at once, “pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim —”
“I've got something for you, Harry,” said Hermione, neither looking at Ron nor giving any sign that she had heard him. “Oh, hang on—password. Abstinence.”
“Precisely,” said the Fat Lady in a feeble voice, and swung forward to reveal the portrait hole.
“What's up with her?” asked Harry.
“Overindulged over Christmas, apparently,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes as she led the way into the packed common room. “She and her friend Violet drank their way
through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks down by the Charms corridor. Anyway...”
She rummaged in her pocket for a moment, then pulled out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore's writing on it.
“Great,” said Harry, unrolling it at once to discover that his next lesson with Dumbledore was scheduled for the following night. “I've got loads to tell him—and
you. Let's sit down —”
But at that moment there was a loud squeal of “Won-Won!” and Lavender Brown came hurtling out of nowhere and flung herself into Ron's arms. Several onlookers
sniggered; Hermione gave a tinkling laugh and said, “There's a table over here... coming. Ginny?”
“No, thanks, I said I'd meet Dean,” said Ginny, though Harry could not help noticing that she did not sound very enthusiastic. Leaving Ron and Lavender locked in a
kind of vertical wrestling, match, Harry led Hermione over to the spare table.
“So how was your Christmas?”
“Oh, fine,” she shrugged. “Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won's?”
“I'll tell you in a minute,” said Harry. “Look, Hermione, can't you —”
“No, I can't,” she said flatly. “So don't even ask.”
“I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas —”
“It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five-hundred-year-old wine, Harry, not me. So what was this important news you wanted to tell me?”
She looked too fierce to argue with at that moment, so Harry dropped the subject of Ron and recounted all that he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape.
When he had finished, Hermione sat in thought for a moment and then said, “Don't you think—?”
“— he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing?”
“Well, yes,” said Hermione.
“Ron's dad and Lupin think so,” Harry said grudgingly. “But this definitely proves Malfoy's planning something, you can't deny that.”
“No, I can't,” she answered slowly.
“And he's acting on Voldemort's orders, just like I said!”
“Hmm... did either of them actually mention Voldemort's name?”
Harry frowned, trying to remember.
“I'm not sure... Snape definitely said ‘your master,’ and who else would that be?”
“I don't know,” said Hermione, biting her lip. “Maybe his father?”
She stared across the room, apparently lost in thought, not even noticing Lavender tickling Ron. “How's Lupin?”
“Not great,” said Harry, and he told her all about Lupin's mission among the werewolves and the difficulties he was facing. “Have you heard of this Fenrir Greyback?
”
“Yes, I have!” said Hermione, sounding startled. “And so have you, Harry!”
“When, History of Magic? You know full well I never listened ...”
“No, no, not History of Magic — Malfoy threatened Borgin with him!” said Hermione. “Back in Knockturn Alley, don't you remember? He told Borgin that Greyback was an
old family friend and that he'd be checking up on Borgin's progress!”
Harry gaped at her. “I forgot! But this proves Malfoy is a Death Eater, how else could he be in contact with Greyback and telling him what to do?”
“It is pretty suspicious,” breathed Hermione. “Unless...”
“Oh, come on,” said Harry in exasperation, “you can't get round this one!”
“Well... there is the possibility it was an empty threat.”
“You're unbelievable, you are,” said Harry, shaking his head. “We'll see who's right... You'll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry. Oh yeah, I had
a row with Rufus Scrimgeour as well...”
And the rest of the evening passed amicably with both of them abusing the Minister of Magic, for Hermione, like Ron, thought that after all the Ministry had put Harry
through the previous year, they had a great deal of nerve asking him for help now.
The new term started next morning with a pleasant surprise for the sixth-years: a large sign had been pinned to the common room notice boards overnight.
APPARITION LESSONS
If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a
Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor.
Please sign below if you would like to participate.
Cost: 12 Galleons.
Harry and Ron joined the crowd that was jostling around the notice and taking it in turns to write their names at the bottom. Ron was just taking out his quill to sign
after Hermione when Lavender crept up behind him, slipped her hands over his eyes, and trilled, “Guess who, Won-Won?” Harry turned to see Hermione stalking off; he
caught up with her, having no wish to stay behind with Ron and Lavender, but to his surprise, Ron caught up with them only a little way beyond the portrait hole, his
ears bright red and his expression disgruntled. Without a word, Hermione sped up to walk with Neville.
“So—Apparition,” said Ron, his tone making it perfectly plain that Harry was not to mention what had just happened. “Should be a laugh, eh?”
“I dunno,” said Harry. “Maybe it's better when you do it yourself, I didn't enjoy it much when Dumbledore took me along for the ride.”
“I forgot you'd already done it... I'd better pass my test first time,” said Ron, looking anxious. “Fred and George did,”
“Charlie failed, though, didn't he?”
“Yeah, but Charlie's bigger than me,” Ron held his arms out from his body as though he was a gorilla, “so Fred and George didn't go on about it much... not to his
face anyway...”
“When can we take the actual test?”
“Soon as we're seventeen. That's only March for me!”
“Yeah, but you wouldn't be able to Apparate in here, not in the castle...”
“Not the point, is it? Everyone would know I could Apparate if I wanted.”
Ron was not the only one to be excited at the prospect of Apparition. All that day there was much talk about the forthcoming lessons; a great deal of store was set by
being able to vanish and reappear at will.
“How cool will it be when we can just —” Seamus clicked his ringers to indicate disappearance. “Me cousin Fergus does it just to annoy me, you wait till I can do it
back... he'll never have another peaceful moment...”
Lost in visions of this happy prospect, he flicked his wand a little too enthusiastically, so that instead of producing the fountain of pure water that was the object
of today's Charms lesson, he let out a hoselike jet that ricocheted off the ceiling and knocked Professor Flitwick flat on his face.
“Harry's already Apparated,” Ron told a slightly abashed Seamus, after Professor Flitwick had dried himself off with a wave of his wand and set Seamus lines (“I am a
wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick.”) “Dum—er—someone took him. Side-Along-Apparition, you know.”
“Whoa!” whispered Seamus, and he, Dean, and Neville put their heads a little closer to hear what Apparition felt like. For the rest of the day, Harry was besieged
with requests from the other sixth years to describe the sensation of Apparition. All of them seemed awed, rather than put off, when he told them how uncomfortable it
was, and he was still answering detailed questions at ten to eight that evening, when he was forced to lie and say that he needed to return a book to the library, so as
to escape in time for his lesson with Dumbledore.
The lamps in Dumbledore's office were lit, the portraits of previous headmasters were snoring gently in their frames, and the Pensieve was ready upon the desk once
more. Dumbledore's hands lay on either side of it, the right one as blackened and burnt-looking as ever. It did not seem to have healed at all and Harry wondered, for
perhaps the hundredth time, what had caused such a distinctive injury, but did not ask; Dumbledore had said that he would know eventually and there was, in any case,
another subject he wanted to discuss. But before Harry could say anything about Snape and Malfoy, Dumbledore spoke.
“I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “He's not very happy with me.”
“No,” sighed Dumbledore. “He is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on.”
Harry grinned.
“He wanted me to tell the wizarding community that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job.”
Dumbledore smiled.
“It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you, hoping
that you would give him your support —”
“After everything Fudge did last year?” said Harry angrily. “After Umbridge?”
“I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I
arrange a meeting with you —”
“So that's why you argued!” Harry blurted out. “It was in the Daily Prophet.”
“The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally,” said Dumbledore, “if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way
to corner you at last.”
“He accused me of being ‘Dumbledore's man through and through'.”
“How very rude of him.”
“I told him I was.”
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Behind Harry, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. To Harry's intense embarrassment, he
suddenly realized that Dumbledore's bright blue eyes looked rather watery, and stared hastily at his own knees. When Dumbledore spoke, however, his voice was quite
steady.
“I am very touched, Harry.”
“Scrimgeour wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, still looking fixedly at his knees.
“Yes, he is very nosy about that,” said Dumbledore, now sounding cheerful, and Harry thought it safe to look up again. “He has even attempted to have me followed.
Amusing, really. He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once; I did it again with the greatest regret.”
“So they still don't know where you go?” asked Harry, hoping for more information on this intriguing subject, but Dumbledore merely smiled over the top of his half-
moon spectacles.
“No, they don't, and the time is not quite right for you to know either. Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else—?”
“There is, actually, sir,” said Harry. “It's about Malfoy and Snape.”
“Professor Snape, Harry.”
“Yes, sir. I overheard them during Professor Slughorn's party... well, I followed them, actually...”
Dumbledore listened to Harry's story with an impassive face. When Harry had finished he did not speak for a few moments, then said, “Thank you for telling me this,
Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance.”
“Not of great importance?” repeated Harry incredulously. “Professor, did you understand—?”
“Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me,” said Dumbledore, a little sharply. “I think you might even consider
the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that
causes me disquiet.”
Harry sat in seething silence, glaring at Dumbledore. What was going on? Did this mean that Dumbledore had indeed ordered Snape to find out what Malfoy was doing, in
which case he had already heard everything Harry had just told him from Snape? Or was he really worried by what he had heard, but pretending not to be?
“So, sir,” said Harry, in what he hoped was a polite, calm voice, “you definitely still trust — ?”
“I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already,” said Dumbledore, but he did not sound very tolerant anymore. “My answer has not changed.”
“I should think not,” said a snide voice; Phineas Nigellus was evidently only pretending to be asleep. Dumbledore ignored him.
“And now, Harry, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening.”
Harry sat there feeling mutinous. How would it be if he refused to permit the change of subject, if he insisted upon arguing the case against Malfoy? As though he had
read Harry's mind, Dumbledore shook his head.
“Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might
have to contribute!”
“I don't think what you've got to say is unimportant, sir,” said Harry stiffly.
“Well, you are quite right, because it is not,” said Dumbledore briskly. “I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty,
and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected.”
Harry did not say anything to this; he still felt angry at the reception his confidences had received, but could not see what was to be gained by arguing further.
“So,” said Dumbledore, in a ringing voice, “we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at
Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him
against continued thievery when he arrived at school.
“Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his second-hand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He
was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head,” continued Dumbledore, waving his blackened hand toward the shelf over his head
where the Sorting Hat sat, ancient and unmoving. “How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the House could talk to snakes, I do not know — perhaps that very
evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-importance.
“However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign
of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from
the moment of his arrival. He seemed police, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him.”
“Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?” asked Harry.
“No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I
chose to give him that chance.”
Dumbledore paused and looked inquiringly at Harry, who had opened his mouth to speak. Here, again, was Dumbledore's tendency to trust people in spite of overwhelming
evidence that they did not deserve it! But then Harry remembered something...
“But you didn't really trust him, sir, did you? He told me... the Riddle who came out of that diary said, ‘Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other
teachers did'.”
“Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy,” said Dumbledore. “I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him,
and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of
discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his
excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues.
“As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated,
Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak
seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other
words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts.
“Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrong-doing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which
they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you
know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.
“I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore, placing his withered hand on the Pensieve. “Few who knew him then are prepared
to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be
tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike.
“Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and
naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists
of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe
that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family—
the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.
“All he had to go upon was the single name ‘Marvolo,’ which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his mother's father's name. Finally, after painstaking
research, through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage
to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, Harry, if you will stand ...”
Dumbledore rose, and Harry saw that he was again holding a small crystal bottle filled with swirling, pearly memory.
“I was very lucky to collect this,” he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. “As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?”
Harry stepped up to the stone basin and bowed obediently until his face sank through the surface of the memory; he felt the familiar sensation of falling through
nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness.
It took him several seconds to recognize the place, by which time Dumbledore had landed beside him. The Gaunts’ house was now more indescribably filthy than anywhere
Harry had ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only
light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Harry could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an
armchair by the fire, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his
right hand and a short knife in his left.
The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood a boy Harry recognized at once: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome—the teenage
Voldemort.
Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the
many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.
“YOU!” he bellowed. “YOU!”
And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.
“Stop.”
Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they
contemplated each other. The man broke it.
”You speak it?”
”Yes, I speak it,” said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Harry could not help but feel a resentful admiration for
Voldemort's complete lack of fear. His race merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.
”Where is Marvolo?” he asked.
”Dead,” said the other. ”Died years ago, didn't he?”
Riddle frowned.
”Who are you, then?”
”I'm Morfin, ain't I?”
”Marvolo's son?”
”‘Course I am, then...”
Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand.
”I thought you was that Muggle,” whispered Morfin. ”You look mighty like that Muggle.”
”What Muggle?” said Riddle sharply.
”That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way,” said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them.
”You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n ‘e? He's older'n you, now I think on it...”
Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support.
”He come back, see,” he added stupidly.
Voldemort was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, ”Riddle came back?”
”Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!” said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. ”Robbed us, mind, before she ran off. Where's the locket, eh,
where's Slytherin's locket?”
Voldemort did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, ”Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you,
coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... it's over...”
He looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Voldemort's lamp and Morfin's candle,
extinguishing everything... Dumbledore's fingers closed tightly around Harry's arm and they were soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in
Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Harry's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.
“Is that all?” said Harry at once. “Why did it go dark, what happened?”
“Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward,” said Dumbledore, gesturing Harry back into his seat. “When he awoke next morning, he was lying
on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone.
“Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big
house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father.
“The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra Curse does not usually leave any
sign of damage... the exception sits before me,” Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. “The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's
murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking
one of the murdered people.
“So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only
the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at
once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his fathers ring
had disappeared. ‘He'll kill me for losing it,’ he told his captors over and over again. ‘He'll kill me for losing his ring.’ And that, apparently, was all he ever
said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor
souls who have expired within its walls.”
“So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?” said Harry, sitting up straight.
“That's right,” said Dumbledore. “We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand,
and proceeded across the valley to ‘the big house over the way.’ There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his
Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt
hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient
ring he wore, and departed.”
“And Morfin never realized he hadn't done it?”
“Never,” said Dumbledore. “He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession.”
“But he had this real memory in him all the time!”
“Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him,” said Dumbledore, “and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had
already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I
could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban.
Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died.”
“But how come the Ministry didn't realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?” Harry asked angrily. “He was underage at the time, wasn't he? I thought they
could detect underage magic!”
“You are quite right—they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: you will remember that you were blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact,
cast by —”
“Dobby,” growled Harry; this injustice still rankled. “So if you're underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard's house, the Ministry won't know?”
“They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic,” said Dumbledore, smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on Harry's face. “They rely on
witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls.”
“Well, that's rubbish,” snapped Harry. “Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!”
“I agree,” said Dumbledore. “Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want
you to see this other memory before we part...”
Dumbledore took from an inside pocket another crystal phial and Harry fell silent at once, remembering that Dumbledore had said it was the most important one he had
collected. Harry noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go bad?
“This will not take long,” said Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. “We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then...”
And Harry fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man he recognized at once.
It was a much younger Horace Slughorn. Harry was so used to him bald that he found the sight of Slughorn with thick, shiny, straw-colored hair quite disconcerting; it
looked as though he had had his head thatched, though there was already a shiny Galleon-sized bald patch on his crown. His mustache, less massive than it was these
days, was gingery-blond. He was not quite as rotund as the Slughorn Harry knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount
of strain. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other
searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.
Harry looked around as Dumbledore appeared beside him and saw that they were standing in Slughorn's office. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on
harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Harry recognized Voldemort at once. His was the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the
boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Harry saw that he was wearing Marvolo's gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his
father.
“Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?” he asked.
“Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you,” said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. “I must
say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy; more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are.”
Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.
“What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter—thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite
right, it is my favorite—”
As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Harry could see nothing but the face of
Dumbledore, who was standing beside him. Then Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly: “—you'll go wrong, boy, mark my words.”
The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened. Bewildered,
Harry looked around as a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock.
“Good gracious, is it that time already?” said Slughorn. “You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's
detention. Same goes for you, Avery.”
Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Voldemort, however, stayed behind. Harry could tell he
had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn.
“Look sharp, Tom,” said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. “You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect...”
“Sir, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away....”
“Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?”
And it happened all over again: the dense fog filled the room so that Harry could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside him.
Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.
“I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!”
“Well, that's that,” said Dumbledore placidly beside Harry. “Time to go.”
And Harry's feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.
“That's all there is?” said Harry blankly.
Dumbledore had said that this was the most important memory of all, but he could not see what was so significant about it. Admittedly the fog, and the fact that nobody
seemed to have noticed it, was odd, but other than that nothing seemed to have happened except that Voldemort had asked a question and failed to get an answer.
“As you might have noticed,” said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk, “that memory has been tampered with.”
“Tampered with?” repeated Harry, sitting back down too.
“Certainly,” said Dumbledore. “Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections.”
“But why would he do that?”
“Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers,” said Dumbledore. “He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those
parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still
there beneath the alterations.
“And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be
our most crucial piece of information of all.”
Harry stared at him.
“But surely, sir,” he said, keeping his voice as respectful as possible, “you don't need me—you could use Legilimency ... or Veritaserum...”
“Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both,” said Dumbledore. “He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and
I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection.
“No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave
Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that you are the one person who might be able to penetrate his defenses. It is most
important that we secure the true memory, Harry... how important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing. So, good luck... and goodnight.”
A little taken aback by the abrupt dismissal, Harry got to his feet quickly. “Good night, sir.”
As he closed the study door behind him, he distinctly heard Phineas Nigellus say, “I can't see why the boy should be able to do it better than you, Dumbledore.”
“I wouldn't expect you to, Phineas,” replied Dumbledore, and Fawkes gave another low, musical cry.
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第17章 混沌的记忆

过完新年几天后的一个傍晚，哈利、罗恩和金妮在厨房火炉边排着队准备返回霍格沃茨。魔法部安排了这个一次性的飞路网连接，好让学生能快速安全地返校。只有韦斯莱夫人为他们送行，韦斯莱先生、弗雷德、乔治、比尔和芙蓉都要上班。韦斯莱夫人在说再见时流泪了。诚然，近来一丁点儿小事都会引起她的伤感。自从圣诞节那天珀西眼镜上被泼了防风草根酱（弗雷德、乔治和金妮都有功劳），冲出家门之后，她就时不时地会哭起来。

　　“别哭，妈妈，”金妮拍着她的背说，韦斯莱夫人这时正伏在她的肩头抽泣着，“没事的……”

　　“就是，别为我们担心，”罗恩说，让母亲在他面颊上印下一个湿漉漉的吻，“也别为珀西担心，他是这么个蠢猪，不是什么损失，是不是？”

　　韦斯莱夫人搂住哈利，抽泣得更厉害了。

　　“答应我要照顾好自己……别惹麻烦……”

　　“我一直是这样的，韦斯莱夫人，”哈利说，“我喜欢安静的生活，你知道。”

　　她含着眼泪笑了，退到了后面。

　　“那么，要好好的，你们每一个……”

　　哈利走进碧绿的炉火，喊了一声“霍格沃茨！”最后瞥了一眼韦斯莱家的厨房和韦斯莱夫人的泪容，就被火焰包围了。在高速旋转中他模糊地看见一些巫师的房间，都是没等看清就一闪而过了。然后他转得慢下来，端端正正地停在麦格教授的壁炉里。他爬出来时，正在工作的教授几乎连头都没抬。

　　“晚上好，波特。别把地毯搞上太多的灰。”

　　“没有，教授。”

　　哈利戴正眼镜，抹平头发，罗恩也旋转着出现了。金妮到了之后，三人一起走出麦格教授的办公室，朝格兰芬多塔楼走去。哈利望了望走廊窗户外面，太阳已经落到地平线上，场地上的积雪比陋居花园里还要深。远处可以看到海格在他的小屋前喂巴克比克。

　　“一文不值。”罗恩走到胖夫人跟前，自信地说。胖夫人看上去比平时更加苍白，听到他的大嗓门后畏缩了一下。

　　“不对。”她说。

　　“什么，‘不对’？”

　　“换口令了。请不要嚷嚷。”

　　“可是我们离校了，怎么知道——”

　　“哈利！金妮！”

　　赫敏翰他们奔了过来，脸红通通的，穿着斗篷，戴着帽子和手套。

　　“我两小时前回来的。刚才去看了海格和巴克——我是说蔫翼。”她上气不接下气地说，“你们圣诞节过得好吗？”

　　“嗯，”罗恩马上说，“事儿挺多的，鲁弗斯·斯克林杰——”

　　“哈利，我有个东西要给你，”赫敏没看罗恩，好像一点儿也没有听到他说话，“哦，等待——口令，戒酒。”

　　“正确。”胖夫人有气无力地说，旋开身体，露出了肖像洞口。

　　“她怎么了？”哈利问。

　　“显然是圣诞节玩得太疯了。”赫敏翻了翻眼睛，带头走进了拥挤的公共休息室，“她跟她的朋友维奥莱特把魔咒课教室走廊那幅画着几个醉修士的图里的酒全喝光了。总之……”

　　她在口袋里掏了一会儿，抽出一卷有邓布利多笔迹的羊皮纸。

　　“太好了，”哈利立刻展开它，发现他接下来跟邓布利多上课的时间就在明天晚上，“我有好多事要告诉他——还有你。我们坐下来吧——”

　　就在这时，他们忽然听见了一声响亮的尖叫：“罗－罗！”拉文德不知从哪儿冲了出来，扑进罗恩的怀里。旁边有几个人吃吃地笑着。赫敏银铃般地笑了一声，说道：“那边有张桌子……过去吗，金妮？”

　　“不，谢谢，我说好要去见迪安的。”金妮说。哈利不禁注意到她不是很热心。罗恩和拉文德纠缠在一种直立式摔跤中，哈利就带着赫敏走到了那张空桌子前。

　　“你圣诞节过得怎么样？”

　　“哦，挺好的，”她耸了耸肩膀，“没什么特别的，罗－罗家呢？”

　　“待会儿告诉你。”哈利说，“喂，赫敏，你就不能——？”

　　“不能，”她坚决地说，“所以问都别问。”

　　“我想也许，过了圣诞节——”

　　“是胖夫人喝了一大桶五百年的陈酒，不是我，哈利。你要告诉的重要消息是什么呢？”

　　这会儿她看上去脾气不好，没法跟她争，哈利丢开罗恩这个话题，讲了他听到的马尔福与斯内普的对话。

　　赫敏坐在那儿沉思了一会儿，说道：“你不觉得——？”

　　“——他是假装帮忙，骗马尔福跟他说实话？”

　　“嗯，是。”赫敏说。

　　“罗恩的爸爸和卢平也这么想，”哈利不甘心地说，“但这肯定证明马尔福在密谋什么事情，你不能否认。”

　　“我不否认。”她缓缓地答道。

　　“他在执行伏地魔的命令，像我说的那样！”

　　“嗯……他们哪个提过伏地魔的名字吗？”

　　哈利皱起眉头，努力回忆着。

　　“我不能确定……斯内普肯定说过‘你的主人’，那还能是谁？”

　　“我不知道，”赫敏咬着嘴唇说，“也许是他爸爸？”

　　她望着屋子那头，显然陷入了沉思，甚至没注意到拉文德在胳肢罗恩。“卢平好吗？”

　　“不大好，”哈利跟她讲了卢平在狼人中的使命以及他面临的困境，“你听说过芬里尔·格雷伯克吗？”

　　“听说过！”赫敏显得很吃惊，“你也听说过呀，哈利！”

　　“什么时候，魔法史课上？你明知道我从来不听……”

　　“不不，不是魔法史课上——马尔福用他威胁过博金！”赫敏说，“在翻倒巷，你不记得了？他对博金说格雷伯克是他家的老朋友，会来检查博金的进展！”

　　哈利愣愣地看着她。“我忘了！但这恰恰证明马尔福是食死徒，不然他怎么能接触格雷伯克，并叫他做事呢？”

　　“是很可疑，”赫敏轻声道，“除非……”

　　“哦，得了吧，”哈利恼火地说，“你回避不了这个事实！”

　　“嗯……有可能只是空头威胁。”

　　“你的话让人难以置信，真是。”哈利摇了摇头，说道，“我们以后会看到谁是谁非的……你会收回你的话的，赫敏，像魔法部一样。哦，对了，我还跟鲁弗斯·斯克林杰吵了一架。”

　　晚上剩下的时间是在友好的气氛中度过的，两人共同批判了魔法部长。赫敏跟罗恩一样认为，魔法部去年让哈利吃了那么多苦头，现在又来找他帮忙，脸皮真够厚的。

　　第二天早上新学期开始，六年级学生得到一个惊喜：公共休息室的布告牌上前一天晚上钉出了一张大告示。

　　幻影显形课

　　如果你已经年满十七岁或到八月三十一日年满十七岁，便可参加由魔法部幻影显形教员教授，为期十二周的幻影显形课程。

　　愿意参加者请在下面签名。

　　学费：十二加隆。

　　哈利和罗恩加入到挤在告示前依次签名的学生中。罗恩刚拿出鹅毛笔要在赫敏后面签名，拉文德悄悄走到他身后，用手蒙住了他的眼睛，嗲声嗲气地说：“猜猜是谁，罗－罗？”哈利转身看到赫敏高傲地走开了，就追了上去，他也不想留在罗恩和拉文德旁边。但令他惊讶的是，罗恩在刚过肖像洞口不远处就追上了他们，耳朵通红，好像不大高兴。赫敏一句话没说，加快脚步跟纳威一起走了。

　　“这个——幻影显形，”罗恩的语气明显告诉哈利不可提刚才的事情，“应该挺好玩的吧？”

　　“不知道，”哈利说，“也许自己做会好一点儿，邓布利多带我的那次可不大舒服。”

　　“我忘了你已经做过……我最好一次通过，罗恩说，显得有点儿担心，“弗雷德和乔治都通过了。”

　　“但查理没通过，是吧？”

　　“是，可查理比我块头大，”罗恩伸长双臂，好像大猩猩那样，“所以弗雷德和乔治没有围绕着这事多唠叨……至少没当着他的而……”

　　“我们什么时候可以参加考试？”

　　“一满十七岁，我是三月！”

　　“噢，可你没法在这儿幻影显形，在这城堡里……”

　　“这不要紧，对不对？人人都知道我会幻影显形，如果我想的话。”

　　罗恩不是惟一一个为能学习幻影显形而兴奋的人。那一整天都有人在议论要开的这门课程，非常向往能够随意地消失和显形。

　　“多带劲啊，要是能——”西莫打了个响指代表消失，“我表哥菲戈故意用这招来气我，等我学会了……他就别想有一刻安生……”

　　他沉浸在憧憬中，魔杖挥得劲太足了点儿，把那天魔咒课作业要变的一股清泉变成了一道水龙，射到天花板上反弹下来，正打在弗立维教授的脸上。

　　“哈利幻影显形过，”在弗立维教授挥动魔杖把自己弄干，并责罚西莫抄写句子“我是个巫师，不是乱挥棍子的狒狒”之后，罗恩对有点儿羞惭的西莫说，“邓——呃——有人带他，随从显形过，知道吧。”

　　“哇！”西莫小声叫道，他、迪安和纳威把脑袋凑在一起，都想听听幻影显形是什么感觉。这一天里，哈利都被要他讲述幻影显形的六年级学生包围着。当他说那感觉很不舒服时，他们都面露敬畏而不是失去兴趣。晚上八点差十分，他们还在要求他回答细节问题，哈利只好谎称要去图书馆还书，才抽身出来赶到邓布利多那儿去上课。

　　邓布利多办公室的灯亮着，历任校长的肖像在相框里轻轻打着鼾。冥想盆又摆在了桌上，邓布利多双手扶着盆沿，右手仍是焦黑色，似乎一点没有好转。哈利第一百次地纳闷是什么造成了这么明显的损伤，但他没有问。邓布利多说过他以后会知道的，况且他还有另一件事要说。但还没等哈利提起斯内普和马尔福，邓布利多就先开口了。

　　“我听说圣诞节你见过魔法部长？”

　　“是，他对我不大满意。”

　　“是啊，”邓布利多叹道，“他对我也不大满意。我们尽量不要因痛苦而消沉，哈利，继续奋斗。”

　　哈利笑了。

　　“他要我告诉巫师界说魔法部干得很出色。”

　　邓布利多笑了起来。

　　“这原是福吉的主意。他在任的最后那些天，拼命要保住职位，曾经想要见你，希望你能支持他——”

　　“在福吉去年干了那一切之后？”哈利愤怒地问，“在乌姆里奇之后？”

　　“我告诉福吉不可能，但他离职后这个主意并没有死。斯克林杰被任命几小时后我们见了一面，他要求我安排和你面谈——”

　　“你们就为这个发生了争执？”哈利脱口而出，“《预言家日报》上登了。”

　　“《预言家日报》的确偶尔会报道一些真相，”邓布利多说，“虽然可能是无意的。对，我们就是为此发生了争执。看来鲁弗斯终于还是设法堵到了你。”

　　“他指责我‘彻头彻尾是邓布利多的人’。”

　　“他真无礼。”

　　“我说我是的。”

　　邓布利多张嘴想说话，但又闭上了。在哈利身后，凤凰福克斯发出一声轻柔、悦耳的低鸣。哈利突然发现邓布利多那双明亮的蓝眼睛有些湿润，他大为窘迫，忙低头看着自己的膝盖。但邓布利多说话时，声音却相当平静。

　　“我很感动，哈利。”

　　“斯克林杰想知道你不在霍格沃茨的时候会去哪儿。”哈利仍然盯着膝盖。

　　“是啊，他很爱打听这个。”邓布利多的声音愉快起来，哈利感到可以抬头了。“他甚至企图盯我的梢，真是有趣。他派德力士跟踪我，这可不大好，我已经被迫对德力士用过魔咒，非常遗憾地又用了一次。”

　　“所以他们还不知道你去哪儿？”哈利问，希望就这个他很好奇的问题获得更多信息，但邓布利多只是从半月形眼镜片的上方望着他笑了笑。

　　“是啊，他们不知道，现在告诉你也还为时过早。现在，我建议我们继续上课，除非有别的事——？”

　　“有，先生，”哈利说，“是关于马尔福和斯内普的。”

　　“斯内普教授，哈利。”

　　“是的，先生。我听到他们在斯拉格霍恩教授的晚会上……嗯，实际上我跟踪了他们……”

　　邓布利多不动声色地听着。哈利讲完后他沉默了一会儿，然后说道：“谢谢你告诉我，哈利，但我建议你别把它放在心上。我认为这不是很重要。”

　　“不是很重要？”哈利不相信地说，“教授，你理解——？”

　　“是的，哈利，感谢上天赐予我非凡的智力，我理解你对我讲的一切。”邓布利多有点尖锐地说，“我想你甚至可以相信我比你更理解。我很高兴你能告诉我，但让我向你保证，你没有说到令我不安的事情。”

　　哈利坐在那儿瞪着邓布利多，心里像开了锅。这到底是怎么回事？难道邓布利多真的授意过斯内普去探明马尔福的动向，他已从斯内普口中听过哈利所说的情况？还是他实际上很担忧，只是装出一副若无其事的样子？

　　“那么，先生，”哈利用他希望是礼貌、平静的声音说，“你还是信任——”

　　“我已经够宽容地回答了这个问题，”邓布利多说，但语气不再宽容，“我的回答没有变。”

　　“我想也没有。”一个讥讽的声音说。菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯显然只是假装睡着了。邓布利多没有理他。

　　“现在，哈利，我必须坚持继续上课了。今晚我有更更要的事要跟你讨论。”

　　哈利不服气地坐在那儿，如果他拒绝转换话题呢，如果他坚持争论马尔福的问题呢？邓布利多摇了摇头，仿佛看透了哈利的心思。

　　“啊，哈利，这是多么常见的事情，即使在最好的朋友之间！我们都相信自己要说的比对方的重要得多！”

　　“我不认为你要说的不重要，先生。”哈利语气生硬地说。

　　“嗯，你说对了，它是很重要。”邓布利多轻快地说，“我今晚要给你看两个回忆，它们都来之不易，我想第二个是我收集到的所有回忆中最重要的一个。”

　　哈利没有说话，还在为他的报告遭受冷遇而生气，但他也看出再争下去没有什么好处。

　　“所以，”邓布利多朗声说道，“我们今晚要继续汤姆·里德尔的故事，上节课讲到他正要跨入霍格沃茨的门槛。你大概还记得他听说自己是巫师时是多么兴奋，还有他拒绝让我陪他去对角巷，我也警告过他进校后不得继续偷窃。”

　　“新学年开始了，带来了汤姆·里德尔，一个穿着二手袍子的安静男孩，跟其他新生一起排队参加分院仪式。分院帽几乎是一碰到他的脑袋，就把他分到了斯莱特林学院。”邓布利多继续说着，焦黑的手朝身后一挥，指了指那顶待在他头顶架子上一动不动的古老陈旧的分院帽，“我不知道里德尔什么时候了解到该学院著名的创始人会蛇佬腔——也许就在那天晚上。这个消息想必令他十分兴奋，并增加了他的自负。”

　　“或许他在公共休息室里用蛇佬腔吓唬过斯莱特林的同学或让他们佩服起他来，然而，这些一点也没有传到教员们那里。他外表没有露出丝毫的傲慢或侵略性。作为一个资质超常又十分英俊的孤儿，他自然地几乎一到校就吸引了教员们的注意和同情。他看上去有礼貌、安静、对知识如饥似渴。几乎所有的人都对他印象很好。”

　　“你没告诉他们你在孤儿院见到他时，他是什么样子？”

　　“没有。尽管他未曾表示过忏悔，但也许他对以前的行为有所自责，决心重新做人，我选择了给他这个机会。”

　　邓布利多停了下来，询问地望着哈利。哈利张嘴想说话，因为这又一次证明邓布利多过于信任别人，尽管有压倒性的语气表明那些人不值得信任。但哈利想起了什么……

　　“但您并不真正相信他，是不是？他告诉我……日记里出来的那个里德尔说：‘邓布利多似乎从来不像其他教师那样喜欢我’。”

　　“这么说吧，我不是无条件地认为他值得信任。”邓布利多说，“前面已经提过，我决定密切观察他，我确实这么做了。我不能说从一开始的观察中就发现了很多。他对我很戒备。我相信他是感觉到了，他在发现自己真实身份时的那阵激动中对我说得太多了一点。他小心地注意不再暴露那么多。但他无法收回那些他在兴奋中说漏的话，也无法收回科尔夫人对我吐露的那些。然而，他很明智，没有企图像迷惑我的那么多同事一样来迷惑我。”

　　“在学校的几年里，他在身边笼络了一群死心塌地的朋友，我这么说是因为没有更好的词，但我已经提过，里德尔无疑对他们毫无感情。这帮人在城堡里形成一种黑暗势力，他们成份复杂，弱者为寻求庇护，野心家想沾些威风，还有生性残忍者，被一个能教他们更高形式残忍的领袖所吸引。换句话说，他们是食死徒的前身，有的在离开霍格沃茨后真的成了第一批食死徒。”

　　“里德尔对他们控制得很严，这帮人从未被发现公开干坏事，虽然他们在校那七年霍格沃茨发生过多起恶性事件，但都未能确凿地与他们联系起来。最严重的一起当然是密室的开启，造成一名女生死亡。你知道，海格为此案受了冤枉。”

　　“我在霍格沃茨没找到多少关于里德尔的记忆，”邓布利多说着把他那枯皱的手放在冥想盆上，“没有几个当时认识他的人愿意谈他，他们太害怕了。我现在知道的，是在他离开霍格沃茨后，费了许多的劲儿，寻访那些能够被引出话来的人，查找旧记录，询问了麻瓜和巫师之后才了解到的。”

　　“那些肯对我回忆的人告诉我，里德尔对他的出身很着迷。当然这可以理解，他在孤儿院长大，自然想知道他是怎么到那儿的。看来他曾在奖品室、在学校旧记录的级长名单中，甚至在魔法史书里搜寻过老汤姆·里德尔的踪迹，但一无所获，最后他被迫承认他父亲从未进过霍格沃茨。我相信就是在那时他抛弃了这个名字，改称伏地魔的，并开始调查以前被他轻视的他母亲的家史——你应该记得，他认为那个女人既然屈从于死亡这一人类的可耻弱点，就不可能是巫师。”

　　“他惟一的线索只有‘马沃罗’这个名字，他从孤儿院管理人员那里得知这是他外祖父的名字。经过在旧书和巫师家庭中一番艰苦的查询，他终于发现了斯莱特林家族残存的一支。十六岁的夏天，他离开了每年要回去的孤儿院，去寻找他冈特家的亲戚。现在，哈利，请站起来……”

　　邓布利多站了起来，哈利看到他又拿着一个小水晶瓶，里面盛满了打着旋的、珍珠色的回忆。

　　“我能收集到这个非常幸运。”他一边说一边把那亮晶晶的东西倒进了冥想盆，“等我们经历了之后，你就会理解了。可以了吗？”

　　哈利走近石盆，顺从地俯下身子，将面孔浸入了回忆中。他又体验到那种熟悉的在虚空中坠落的感觉，然后落在一块肮脏的石头地上，周围几乎一片漆黑。

　　过了几秒钟他才认出了这个地方，这时邓布利多也落在了他身旁。冈特家污秽得无法形容，比哈利见过的任何地方都脏。天花板上结着厚厚的蛛网，地面黑糊糊的，桌上搁着霉烂的食物和一堆生了锈的锅。惟一的光线来自一个男人脚边那根摇摇欲灭的蜡烛。那人头发胡子已经长得遮住了眼睛和嘴巴。有那么一刻，哈利甚至猜测他是不是死了，但忽然响起的重重敲门声，使那人浑身一震，醒了过来，他右手举起魔杖，左手拿起一把短刀。

　　门吱呀一声开了，门口站着一个男孩，提着一盏老式的油灯。哈利立刻认了出来：高个儿，黑头发，脸色苍白，相貌英俊——少年伏地魔。

　　伏地魔的目光在脏屋子中缓缓移动着，发现了扶手椅上的那个人。他们对视了几秒钟，那人摇摇晃晃地站起来，脚边的许多酒瓶乒乒乓乓，丁丁当当地滚动着。

　　“你！”他吼道，“你！”

　　他醉醺醺地扑向里德尔，高举着魔杖和短刀。

　　“住手！”

　　里德尔用蛇佬腔说。那人刹不住脚撞到了桌子上，发了霉的锈锅摔落在地上。他瞪着里德尔，他们久久地相互打量着，那人先打破了沉默。

　　“你会说那种话？”

　　“对，我会说。”里德尔走进房间，门在他身后关上了。哈利不禁为伏地魔的毫无畏惧感到一种恼火的钦佩。他的脸上显出厌恶，也许还有失望。

　　“马沃罗在哪儿？”他问。

　　“死了，”对方说，“死了好多年了，不是吗？”

　　里德尔皱了皱眉。

　　“那你是谁？”

　　“我是莫芬，不是吗？”

　　“马沃罗的儿子？”

　　“当然是了，那……”

　　莫芬推开脏脸上的头发，好看清里德尔。哈利看出他右手上戴着马沃罗的黑宝石戒指。

　　“我以为你是那个麻瓜，”莫芬小声说，“你看上去特像那个麻瓜。”

　　“哪个麻瓜？”里德尔厉声问。

　　“我姐姐迷上的那个麻瓜，住在对面大宅子里的那个麻瓜。”莫芬说着，出人意料地朝两人之间的地上啐了一口，“你看上去就像他。里德尔。但他现在年纪大了，是不是？他比你大，我想起来了……”

　　莫芬似乎有点儿晕，他摇晃了一下，但扔扶着桌边。

　　“他回来了，知道吧。”他傻乎乎地加了一句。

　　伏地魔盯着莫芬，仿佛在估计他的潜能。现在他走近了一些，说道：“里德尔回来了？”

　　“啊，他抛弃了我姐姐，我姐姐活该，嫁给了垃圾！”莫芬又朝地上碎了一口，“还抢我们的东西，在她逃跑之前！挂坠盒呢，哼，斯莱特林的挂坠盒哪儿去了？”

　　伏地魔没有说话。莫芬又愤怒起来，挥舞着短刀大叫道：“丢了我们的脸，她，那个小荡妇！你是谁？到这儿来问这些问题？都过去了，不是吗……都过去了……”

　　他移开了目光，身子微微摇晃着。伏地魔走上前。这时一片异常的黑暗袭来，吞没了伏地魔的油灯和莫芬的蜡烛，吞没了一切……

　　邓布利多的手紧紧抓着哈利的胳膊，两人腾空飞回到了现实。在经历了那穿不透的黑暗之后，邓布利多办公室那柔和的金黄色灯光令哈利觉得有些刺眼。

　　“就这些？”哈利马上问，“为什么一下子黑了，发生了什么事？”

　　“因为莫芬想不起此后的事了。”邓布利多招手让哈利坐下，“他第二天早上醒来时是一个人躺在地上，马沃罗的戒指不见了。”

　　“与此同时，在小汉格顿村，一个女仆在大街上尖叫着狂奔着，说大宅子的客厅里有三具尸体：老汤姆·里德尔和他的父母。”

　　“麻瓜当局一筹莫展。据我所知，他们至今仍不知道里德尔一家是怎么死的，因为阿瓦达索命咒一般都不留任何伤痕……惟一的例外正坐在我面前。”邓布利多朝哈利的伤疤点了一下头，接着说道：“可魔法部立刻就知道是巫师下的毒手。他们还知道一个素来憎恨麻瓜的人住在里德尔家对面，并且此人曾因袭击此案中的一个被害人而进过监狱。”

　　“于是魔法部找到莫芬，都没用怎么审问，没有吐真剂或摄神取念，他当即供认不讳，提供了只有凶手才知道的细节，并说他为杀了那些麻瓜而自豪，说他多年来一直在等着这个机会。他交出的魔杖立刻被证明是杀害里德尔一家的凶器。他没有抵抗，乖乖地被带进了阿兹卡班。惟一令他不安的是他父亲的戒指不见了。‘他会杀了我的。’他反复对逮捕他的人说，‘我丢了他的戒指，他会杀了我的。’那似乎是他接下来所有的话。他在阿兹卡班度过了余生，哀悼着马沃罗最后一件传家宝的丢失，最后被葬在监狱旁边，与其他那些死在狱中的可怜人葬在了一起。”

　　“伏地魔偷了莫芬的魔杖，用它杀了人？”哈利说着坐直了身体。

　　“不错，”邓布利多说，“没有回忆证明这一点，但我想我们可以相当确定。伏地魔击昏了他的舅舅，拿了他的魔杖，穿过山谷到‘对面的大宅子’去了，杀死了那个抛弃他那巫师母亲的麻瓜，顺带杀掉了他的麻瓜祖父母，抹去了不争气的里德尔家族，也报复了从来不想要他的生父。然后他回到冈特家，施了那点儿复杂的魔法，把假记忆植入他舅舅的脑子里，又将魔杖放在它昏迷的主人身旁，拿了那枚古老的戒指扬长而去。”

　　“莫芬从没想到是他干的？”

　　“没有。我说过，他供认不讳，并且到处炫耀。”

　　“但他一直保留着这段真实的记忆？”

　　“是的，但需要大量高技巧的摄神取念才能把它引出来。莫芬已经认罪，谁还会去挖他的思想呢？但我在他在世的最后几个星期里去探过监，那时我正努力设法了解伏地魔的过去。我好不容易提取了这段回忆，看到这些内容后，我试图争取把莫芬放出阿兹卡班。但魔法部还没做出决定，莫芬就去世了。”

　　“可魔法部怎么没想到伏地魔对莫芬做了什么呢？”哈利愤然道，“他当时还未成年，对吧？我以为他们能测出未成年人施的魔法呢！”

　　“你说得很对——他们能测出魔法，但测不出施魔法者：你还记得魔法部指控你施了悬停魔咒，而实际上是——”

　　“多比干的。”哈利低吼道，那次冤枉还让他愤愤不平，“所以如果你未成年，你在成年巫师的家里施魔法，魔法部不会知道？”

　　“他们肯定搞不清是谁施了魔法。”邓布利多说，对哈利大为愤慨的表情微微一笑，“他们靠巫师父母来监督孩子在家中的行为。”

　　“那是废话。”哈利激动地说，“看看发生了什么，看看莫芬！”

　　“我同意，”邓布利多说，“不管莫芬是什么人，他不应该那样屈死在狱中，顶着一个他没有犯过的谋杀罪名。但时间已晚，我想在结束前再给你看一段记忆……”

　　邓布利多从里面的口袋里摸出一个小水晶瓶，哈利顿时安静下来，想起邓布利多说这是他收集的记忆中最重要的一个。哈利注意到瓶里的东西不太容易倒进冥想盆，好像有点凝结，难道记忆也会变质吗？

　　“这个不长，”终于倒空小瓶后，邓布利多说，“我们一会儿就回来。好了，再次进入冥想盆吧……”

　　哈利再次感到掉进了那银色的表层，这次正落在一个人面前，他立刻认了出来。

　　这是年轻得多的霍拉斯·思拉格霍恩，哈利习惯了他的秃顶，看到斯拉格霍恩一头浓密光泽的黄色头发，觉得不大舒服，就好像他在头上盖了茅草，虽然头顶已有一块亮亮的、金加隆那么大的秃斑。他的胡子没有现在多，是姜黄色的，身体也不像哈利认识的斯拉格霍恩那样滚圆，不过那绣花马甲的金纽扣已经绷得相当紧了。他一双小脚搁在一个天鹅绒的大坐垫上，半躺在一张舒适的带翼的扶手椅上，手里握着一小杯葡萄酒，另一只手在一盒菠萝蜜饯里挑拣着。

　　邓布利多出现在身边，哈利环顾着四周，发现他们站在斯拉格霍恩的办公室里。六七个男孩围坐在斯拉格霍恩旁边，都是十五六岁，椅子都比他的硬或矮。哈利立刻认出了里德尔。他面孔最英俊，也是看上去最放松的一个，右手漫不经心地搭在椅子扶手上。哈利心中一震，看到他戴着马沃罗的黑宝石戒指，这么说这时他已经杀了他的父亲。

　　“先生，梅乐思教授要退休了吗？”里德尔问。

　　“汤姆，汤姆，我知道也不能告诉你。”斯拉格霍恩责备地对他摇晃着一根沾满糖霜的手指，但又眨眨眼睛使这效果略微受到了破坏，“我不得不说，我想知道你的消息是从哪儿得来的，孩子。你比一半的教员知道得都多。”

　　里德尔微微一笑，其他男孩也笑了起来，向他投去钦佩的目光。

　　“你这个鬼灵精，能知道不该知道的事，又会小心讨好重要的人——顺便谢谢你的菠萝，你猜中了，这是我最喜欢的——”

　　几个男孩窃笑时，一件怪事发生了。整个房间突然被白色的浓雾笼罩着，哈利只能看到身边邓布利多的脸。斯拉格霍恩的声音在屋里响起，响亮得很不自然：“——你会犯错误的，孩子，记住我的话。”

　　雾散了，跟来的时候一样突然，但是没人提到它，从他们脸上也看不出刚刚发生过什么异常的事情。哈利困惑地环顾着四周，斯拉格霍恩书桌上的金色小钟敲响了十一点。

　　“老天，已经到时间了？”斯拉格霍恩说，“该走啦，孩子们，不然我们就麻烦了。莱斯特兰奇，明天交论文，不然就关禁闭。你也一样，埃弗里。”

　　斯拉格霍恩从椅子上爬了起来，把空杯子拿到桌前，男孩们鱼贯而出。但里德尔落在后面。哈利看得出他在故意磨蹭，希望单独跟斯拉格霍恩留在屋里。

　　“快点儿，汤姆，”斯拉格霍恩转身发现他还在，说道，“你不想被人抓到你熄灯时间还在外面吧，你是级长……”

　　“先生，我想问您一点事儿。”

　　“那就快问，孩子，快问……”

　　“先生，我想问您知不知道……魂器。”

　　又来了：屋里浓雾弥漫，哈利既看不见斯拉格霍恩也看不见里德尔了，只有邓布利多在他身边安详地微笑着。然后斯拉格霍恩的声音再次洪亮地响起，跟刚才一样。

　　“我对魂器一无所知，即使知道也不会告诉你！马上出去，不要让我再听到你提这个！”

　　“嗯，就这样。”邓布利多在哈利旁边平静地说，“该走了。”

　　哈利双脚离开了地面，几秒钟后落回到邓布利多书桌前的地毯上。

　　“就这些？”哈利茫然地问道。

　　邓布利多说过这是最重要的记忆，可他看不出重要在哪里。当然，那突如其来的白雾，并且似乎没人注意到它，是很奇怪，但除此之外好像没发生什么，只是里德尔问了一个问题，没得到回答。

　　“你可能注意到了，”邓布利多坐回了桌子后面，说道，“这段记忆被篡改过了。”

　　“篡改过？”哈利重复道，也坐了下来。

　　“当然，”邓布利多说，“斯拉格霍恩教授篡改了他自己的记忆。”

　　“可他为什么要那么做呢？”

　　“因为，我想，他对这段记忆感到羞愧，所以就把它篡改了，使自己体面一些，抹去了他不想让我看到的部分。你也看到了，篡改得很拙劣，这倒是好事，说明真实的记忆还在底下。”

　　“所以，我第一次要给你布置作业了，哈利。你要设法使斯拉格霍恩教授暴露出真实的记忆，这无疑将是我们最关键的资料。”

　　哈利瞪圆了眼望着他。

　　“可是，先生，”他说，尽是保持着语气的恭敬，“您不需要——您可以用摄神取念……或吐真剂……”

　　“斯拉格霍恩教授是个非常有能耐的巫师，会防到这两招的。他大脑封闭的功夫比可怜的莫芬高多了。自从我逼他交给我这个失真的记忆之后，他不随身带着吐真剂的解药才怪呢。”

　　“我想，企图强行从斯拉格霍恩教授那儿获取真相是愚蠢的，弊大于利。我不希望他离开霍格沃茨。不过，他像我们大家一样有自己的弱点，我相信你是能够突破他防线的人。拿到真实的记忆非常重要，哈利……具体有多重要，只有在看了真东西之后才知道。所以，祝你好运……晚安。”

　　哈利虽然对自己突然被打发走有些吃惊，但还是马上站了起来。

　　“晚安，先生。”

　　带上书房的门时，他清楚地听到菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯说：“我看不出那男孩怎么能比你更合适，邓布利多。”

　　“我也不指望你能看出来，菲尼亚斯。”邓布利多答道。福克斯又发出一声悦耳的低鸣。
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Chapter 18 Birthday Surprises

The next day Harry confided in both Ron and Hermione the task that Dumbledore had set him, though separately, for Hermione still refused to remain in Ron's presence
longer than it took to give him a contemptuous look.
Ron thought that Harry was unlikely to have any trouble with Slughorn at all.
“He loves you,” he said over breakfast, waving an airy forkful of fried egg. “Won't refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after
class this afternoon and ask him.”
Hermione, however, took a gloomier view.
“He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him,” she said in a low voice, as they stood in the deserted, snowy courtyard
at break. “Horcruxes ... Horcruxes ... I've never even heard of them ...”
“You haven't?”
Harry was disappointed; he had hoped that Hermione might have been able to give him a clue as to what Horcruxes were.
“They must be really advanced Dark magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get the information, Harry,
you'll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy ...”
“Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon ...”
“Oh, well, if Won-Won thinks that, you'd better do it,” she said, flaring up at once. “After all, when has Won-Won‘s judgement ever been faulty?”
“Hermione, can't you —”
“No!” she said angrily, and stormed away, leaving Harry alone and ankle-deep in snow.
Potions lessons were uncomfortable enough these days, seeing as Harry, Ron and Hermione had to share a desk. Today, Hermione moved her cauldron around the table so that
she was close to Ernie, and ignored both Harry and Ron.
“What've you done?” Ron muttered to Harry, looking at Hermione's haughty profile.
But before Harry could answer, Slughorn was calling for silence from the front of the room.
“Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law ... who can tell me—? But Miss Granger can, of
course!”
Hermione recited at top speed: “Golpalott's-Third-Law-states-that-the-antidote-for-a-blended-poison-will-be-equal-to-more-than-the-sum-of-the-antidotes-for-each-of-
the-separale-components.”
“Precisely!” beamed Slughorn. “Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott's Third Law as true...”
Harry was going to have to take Slughorn's word for it that Golpalott's Third Law was true, because he had not understood any of it. Nobody apart from Hermione seemed
to be following what Slughorn said next, either.
“... which means, of course, that assuming we have achieved correct identification of the potion's ingredients by Scarpin's Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the
relatively simple one of selecting antidotes to those ingredients in and of themselves, but to find that added component which will, by an almost alchemical process,
transform these disparate elements—”
Ron was sitting beside Harry with his mouth half-open, doodling absently on his new copy of Advanced Potion-Making. Ron kept forgetting that he could no longer rely on
Hermione to help him out of trouble when he failed to grasp what was going on.
“... and so,” finished Slughorn, “I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before
the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!”
Hermione had left her stool and was halfway towards Siughorn's desk before the rest of the class had realised it was time to move, and by the time Harry, Ron and Ernie
returned to the table, she had already tipped the contents of her phial into her cauldron and was kindling a fire underneath it.
“It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry,” she said brightly as she straightened up. “You have to understand the principles
involved this time. No short cuts or cheats!”
Annoyed, Harry uncorked the poison he had taken from Siughorn's desk, which was a garish shade of pink, tipped it into his cauldron and lit a fire underneath it. He did
not have the faintest idea what he was supposed to do next. He glanced at Ron, who was now standing there looking rather gormless, having copied everything Harry had
done.
“You sure the Prince hasn't got any tips?” Ron muttered to Harry.
Harry pulled out his trusty copy of Advanced Potion-Making and turned to the chapter on Antidotes. There was Golpalott's Third Law, stated word for word as Hermione had
recited it, but not a single illuminating note in the Prince's hand to explain what it meant. Apparently the Prince, like Hermione, had had no difficulty understanding
it.
“Nothing,” said Harry gloomily.
Hermione was now waving her wand enthusiastically over her cauldron. Unfortunately, they could not copy the spell she was doing because she was now so good at non-
verbal incantations that she did not need to say the words aloud. Ernie Macmillan, however, was muttering, ’Specialis revelio!’ over his cauldron, which sounded
impressive, so Harry and Ron hastened to imitate him.
It took Harry only five minutes to realise that his reputation as the best potion-maker in the class was crashing around his ears. Slughorn had peered hopefully into
his cauldron on his first circuit of the dungeon, preparing to exclaim in delight as he usually did, and instead had withdrawn his head hastily, coughing, as the smell
of bad eggs overwhelmed him. Hermione's expression could not have been any smugger; she had loathed being out-performed in every Potions class. She was now decanting
the mysteriously separated ingredients of her poison into ten different crystal phials. More to avoid watching this irritating sight than anything else, Harry bent over
the Half-Blood Prince's book and turned a few pages with unnecessary force.
And there it was, scrawled right across a long list of antidotes.
Just shove a bezoar down their throats.
Harry stared at these words for a moment. Hadn't he once, long ago, heard of bezoars? Hadn't Snape mentioned them in their first ever Potions lesson? ‘A stone taken
from the stomach of a goat, which will protect from most poisons.’
It was not an answer to the Golpalott problem, and had Snape still been their teacher, Harry would not have dared do it, but this was a moment for desperate measures.
He hastened towards the store cupboard and rummaged within it, pushing aside unicorn horns and tangles of dried herbs until he found, at the very back, a small card box
on which had been scribbled the word ‘Bezoars'.
He opened the box just as Slughorn called, “Two minutes left, everyone!” Inside were half a dozen shrivelled brown objects, looking more like dried-up kidneys than
real stones. Harry seized one, put the box back in the cupboard and hurried back to his cauldron.
“Time's ... UP!” called Slughorn genially. “Well, let's see how you've done! Blaise ... what have you got for me?”
Slowly, Slughorn moved around the room, examining the various antidotes. Nobody had finished the task, although Hermione was trying to cram a few more ingredients into
her bottle before Slughorn reached her. Ron had given up completely, and was merely trying to avoid breathing in the putrid fumes issuing from his cauldron. Harry stood
there waiting, the bezoar clutched in a slightly sweaty hand.
Slughorn reached their table last. He sniffed Ernie's potion and passed on to Ron's with a grimace. He did not linger over Ron's cauldron, but backed away swiftly,
retching slightly.
“And you, Harry,” he said. “What have you got to show me?”
Harry held out his hand, the bezoar sitting on his palm.
Slughorn looked down at it for a full ten seconds. Harry wondered, for a moment, whether he was going to shout at him. Then he threw back his head and roared with
laughter.
“You've got a nerve, boy!” he boomed, taking the bezoar and holding it up so that the class could see it. “Oh, you're like your mother ... well, I can't fault you
... a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!”
Hermione, who was sweaty-faced and had soot on her nose, looked livid. Her half-finished antidote, comprising fifty-two ingredients including a chunk of her own hair,
bubbled sluggishly behind Slughorn, who had eyes for nobody but Harry.
“And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you, Harry” she asked through gritted teeth.
“That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!” said Slughorn happily, before Harry could reply. “Just like his mother, she had the same intuitive grasp of
potion-making, it's undoubtedly from Lily he gets it ... yes, Harry, yes, if you've got a bezoar to hand, of course that would do the trick ... although as they don't
work on everything, and are pretty rare, it's still worth knowing how to mix antidotes ...”
The only person in the room looking angrier than Hermione was Malfoy, who, Harry was pleased to see, had spilled something that looked like cat sick over himself.
Before either of them could express their fury that Harry had come top of the class by not doing any work, however, the bell rang.
“Time to pack up!” said Slughorn. “And an extra ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek!”
Still chuckling, he waddled back to his desk at the front of the dungeon.
Harry dawdled behind, taking an inordinate amount of time to do up his bag. Neither Ron nor Hermione wished him luck as they left; both looked rather annoyed. At last
Harry and Slughorn were the only two left in the room.
“Come on, now, Harry, you'll be late for your next lesson,” said Slughorn affably, snapping the gold clasps shut on his dragonskin briefcase.
“Sir,” said Harry, reminding himself irresistibly of Voldemort, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Ask away, then, my dear boy, ask away ...”
“Sir, I wondered what you know about... about Horcruxes?”
Slughorn froze. His round face seemed to sink in upon itself. He licked his lips and said hoarsely, “What did you say?”
“I asked whether you know anything about Horcruxes, sir. You see—”
“Dumbledore put you up to this,” whispered Slughorn.
His voice had changed completely. It was not genial any more, but shocked, terrified. He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping his
sweating brow.
“Dumbledore's shown you that—that memory,” said Slughorn. “Well? Hasn't he?”
“Yes,” said Harry, deciding on the spot that it was best not to lie.
“Yes, of course,” said Slughorn quietly, still dabbing at his white face. “Of course ... well, if you've seen that memory, Harry, you'll know that I don't know
anything—anything—” he repeated the word forcefully “—about Horcruxes.”
He seized his dragonskin briefcase, stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and marched to the dungeon door.
“Sir,” said Harry desperately, “I just thought there might be a bit more to the memory—”
“Did you?” said Slughorn. “Then you were wrong, weren't you? WRONG!”
He bellowed the last word and, before Harry could say another word, slammed the dungeon door behind him.
Neither Ron nor Hermione was at all sympathetic when Harry told them of this disastrous interview. Hermione was still seething at the way Harry had triumphed without
doing the work properly. Ron was resentful that Harry hadn't slipped him a bezoar, too.
“It would've just looked stupid if we'd both done it!” said Harry irritably. “Look, I had to try and soften him up so I could ask him about Voldemort, didn't I? Oh,
will you get a grip!” he added in exasperation, as Ron winced at the sound of the name.
Infuriated by his failure and by Ron and Hermione's attitudes, Harry brooded for the next few days over what to do next about Slughorn. He decided that, for the time
being, he would let Slughorn think that he had forgotten all about Horcruxes; it was surely best to lull him into a false sense of security before returning to the
attack.
When Harry did not question Slughorn again, the Potions master reverted to his usual affectionate treatment of him, and appeared to have put the matter from his mind.
Harry awaited an invitation to one of his little evening parties, determined to accept this time, even if he had to reschedule Quidditch practice. Unfortunately,
however, no such invitation arrived. Harry checked with Hermione and Ginny: neither of them had received an invitation and nor, as far as they knew, had anybody else.
Harry could not help wondering whether this meant that Slughorn was not quite as forgetful as he appeared, simply determined to give Harry no additional opportunities
to question him.
Meanwhile, the Hogwarts library had failed Hermione for the first time in living memory. She was so shocked, she even forgot that she was annoyed at Harry for his trick
with the bezoar.
“I haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!” she told him. “Not a single one! I've been right through the restricted section and even in the most
horrible books, where they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions—nothing! All I could find was this, in the introduction to Magick Most Evil—listen—"of the
Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction” ... I mean, why mention it, then?” she said impatiently, slamming the old book shut;
it let out a ghostly wail. “Oh, shut up,” she snapped, stuffing it back into her bag.
The snow melted around the school as February arrived, to be replaced by cold, dreary wetness. Purplish-grey clouds hung low over the castle and a constant fall of
chilly rain made the lawns slippery and muddy. The upshot of this was that the sixth-years’ first Apparition lesson, which was scheduled for a Saturday morning so that
no normal lessons would be missed, took place in the Great Hall instead of in the grounds.
When Harry and Hermione arrived in the Hall (Ron had come down with Lavender) they found that the tables had disappeared. Rain lashed against the high windows and the
enchanted ceiling swirled darkly above them as they assembled in front of Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout—the Heads of House—and a small wizard whom
Harry took to be the Apparition Instructor from the Ministry. He was oddly colourless, with transparent eyelashes, wispy hair and an insubstantial air, as though a
single gust of wind might blow him away. Harry wondered whether constant disappearances and reappearances had somehow diminished his substance, or whether this frail
build was ideal for anyone wishing to vanish.
“Good morning,” said the Ministry wizard, when all the students had arrived and the Heads of House had called for quiet. “My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be
your Ministry-Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition test in this time—”
“Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!” barked Professor McGonagall.
Everybody looked round. Malfoy had flushed a dull pink; he looked furious as he stepped away from Crabbe, with whom he appeared to have been having a whispered
argument. Harry glanced quickly at Snape, who also looked annoyed, though Harry strongly suspected that this was less because of Malfoy's rudeness than the fact that
McGonagall had reprimanded one of his house.
“—by which time, many of you may be ready to take your test,” Twycross continued, as though there had been no interruption.
“As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for
one hour, so as to enable you to practise. May I emphasise that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try.
“I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you.”
There was a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banged into each other, and ordered others out of their space. The Heads of House moved among the
students, marshalling them into position and breaking up arguments.
“Harry, where are you going?” demanded Hermione.
But Harry did not answer; he was moving quickly through the crowd, past the place where Professor Flitwick was making squeaky attempts to position a few Ravenclaws, all
of whom wanted to be near the front, past Professor Sprout, who was chivvying the Hufflepuffs into line, until, by dodging around Ernie Macmillan, he managed to
position himself right at the back of the crowd, directly behind Malfoy, who was taking advantage of the general upheaval to continue his argument with Crabbe, standing
five feet away and looking mutinous.
“I don't know how much longer, all right?” Malfoy shot at him, oblivious to Harry standing right behind him. “It's taking longer than I thought it would.”
Crabbe opened his mouth, but Malfoy appeared to second-guess what he was going to say.
“Look, it's none of your business what I'm doing, Crabbe, you and Goyle just do as you're told and keep a lookout!”
“! tell my friends what I'm up to, if I want them to keep a lookout for me,” Harry said, just loud enough for Malfoy to hear him.
Malfoy spun round on the spot, his hand flying to his wand, but at thai precise moment the four Heads of House shouted, “Quiet!” and silence fell again. Malfoy turned
slowly to face the front.
“Thank you,” said Twycross. “Now then...”
He waved his wand. Old-fashioned wooden hoops instantly appeared on the floor in from of every student.
“The important things to remember when Apparating are the three Ds!” said Twycross. “Destination, Determination, Deliberation!
“Step one: fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination,” said Twycross. “In this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now.
”
Everybody looked around furtively, to check that everyone else was staring into their hoop, then hastily did as they were told. Harry gazed at the circular patch of
dusty floor enclosed by his hoop and tried hard to think of nothing else. This proved impossible, as he couldn't stop puzzling over what Malfoy was doing that needed
lookouts.
“Step two,” said Twycross, “focus your determination to occupy the visualised space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your
body!”
Harry glanced around surreptitiously. A little way to his left, Ernie Macmillan was contemplating his hoop so hard that his face had turned pink; it looked as though he
was straining to lay a Quaffle-sized egg. Harry bit back a laugh and hastily returned his gaze to his own hoop.
“Step three,” called Twycross, “and only when I give the command ... turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation. On my command,
now ... one—”
Harry glanced around again; lots of people were looking positively alarmed at being asked to Apparate so quickly.
“—two—”
Harry tried to fix his thoughts on his hoop again; he had already forgotten what the three Ds stood for.
“—THREE!”
Harry spun on the spot, lost his balance and nearly fell over. He was not the only one. The whole Hall was suddenly full of staggering people; Neville was flat on his
back; Ernie Macmillan, on the other hand, had done a kind of pirouetting leap into his hoop and looked momentarily thrilled, until he caught sight of Dean Thomas
roaring with laughter at him.
“Never mind, never mind,” said Twycross dryly, who did not seem to have expected anything better. “Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions ...
”
The second attempt was no better than the first. The third was just as bad. Not until the fourth did anything exciting happen. There was a horrible screech of pain and
everybody looked around, terrified, to see Susan Bones of Hufflepuff wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away where she had started.
The Heads of House converged on her; there was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke, which cleared to reveal Susan sobbing, reunited with her leg but looking
horrified.
“Splinching, or the separation of random body parts,” said Wilkie Twycross dispassionately, “occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate
continually upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation ... thus.”
Twycross stepped forwards, turned gracefully on the spot with his arms outstretched and vanished in a swirl of robes, reappearing at the back of the Hall. ‘Remember
the three Ds,’ he said, “and try again ... one—two—three—”
But an hour later, Susan's Splinching was still the most interesting thing that had happened. Twycross did not seem discouraged. Fastening his cloak at his neck, he
merely said, “Until next Saturday, everybody, and do not forget: Destination. Determination. Deliberation.”
With that, he waved his wand, Vanishing the hoops, and walked out of the Hall accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Talk broke out at once as people began moving towards
the Entrance Hall.
“How did you do?” asked Ron, hurrying towards Harry. “I think I felt something the last time I tried—a kind of tingling in my feet.”
“I expect your trainers are too small, Won-Won,” said a voice behind them, and Hermione stalked past, smirking.
“I didn't feel anything,” said Harry, ignoring this interruption. “But I don't care about that now—”
“What d'you mean, you don't care ... don't you want to learn to Apparate?” said Ron incredulously.
“I'm not fussed, really. I prefer flying,” said Harry, glancing over his shoulder to see where Malfoy was, and speeding up as they came into the Entrance Hall.
“Look, hurry up, will you, there's something I want to do ...”
Perplexed, Ron followed Harry back to Gryffindor Tower at a run. They were temporarily detained by Peeves, who had jammed a door on the fourth floor shut and was
refusing to let anyone pass until they set fire to their own pants, but Harry and Ron simply turned back and took one of their trusted short cuts. Within five minutes,
they were climbing through the portrait hole.
“Are you going to tell me what we're doing, then?” asked Ron, panting slightly.
“Up here,” said Harry, and he crossed the common room and led the way through the door to the boys’ staircase.
Their dormitory was, as Harry had hoped, empty. He flung open his trunk and began to rummage in it, while Ron watched impatiently.
“Harry ...”
“Malfoy's using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts. He was arguing with Crabbe just now. I want to know ... aha.”
He had found it, a folded square of apparently blank parchment, which he now smoothed out and tapped with the tip of his wand.
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good ... or Malfoy is, anyway.”
At once, the Marauder's Map appeared on the parchment's surface. Here was a detailed plan of every one of the castle's floors and, moving around it, the tiny, labelled
black dots that signified each of the castle's occupants.
“Help me find Malfoy,” said Harry urgently.
He laid the map upon his bed and he and Ron leaned over it, searching.
“There!” said Ron, after a minute or so. “He's in the Slytherin common room, look ... with Parkinson and Zabini and Crabbe and Goyle ...”
Harry looked down at the map, disappointed, but rallied almost at once.
“Well, I'm keeping an eye on him from now on,” he said firmly. “And the moment I see him lurking somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle keeping watch outside, it'll be on
with the old Invisibility Cloak and off to find out what he's—”
He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.
Despite his determination to catch Malfoy out, Harry had no luck at all over the next couple of weeks. Although he consulted the map as often as he could, sometimes
making unnecessary visits to the bathroom between lessons to search it, he did not once see Malfoy anywhere suspicious. Admittedly, he spotted Crabbe and Goyle moving
around the castle on their own more often than usual, sometimes remaining stationary in deserted corridors, but at these times Malfoy was not only nowhere near them,
but impossible to locate on the map at all. This was most mysterious. Harry toyed with the possibility that Malfoy was actually leaving the school grounds, but could
not see how he could be doing it, given the very high leve! of security now operating within the castle. He could only suppose ihat he was missing Malfoy amongst the
hundreds of tiny black dots upon the map. As for the fact that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle appeared to be going their different ways when they were usually inseparable,
these things happened as people got older—Ron and Hermione, Harry reflected sadly, were living proof.
February moved towards March with no change in the weather except that it became windy as well as wet. To general indignation, a sign went up on all common-room
noticeboards that the next trip into Hogsmeade had been cancelled. Ron was furious.
“It was on my birthday!” he said, “I was looking forward to that!”
“Not a big surprise, though, is it?” said Harry. “Not after what happened to Katie.”
She had still not returned from St. Mungo's. What was more, further disappearances had been reported in the Daily Prophet, including several relatives of students at
Hogwarts.
“But now all I've got to look forward to is stupid Apparition!” said Ron grumpily. “Big birthday treat ...”
Three lessons on, Apparition was proving as difficult as ever, though a few more people had managed to Splinch themselves. Frustration was running high and there was a
certain amount of ill-feeling towards Wilkie Twycross and his three Ds, which had inspired a number of nicknames for him, the politest of which were Dog-breath and
Dung-head.
“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 trunk 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, but 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 at 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 pui 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.
“Okay,” said Harry, walking up to Ron to get a better look at the glazed eyes and the pallid complexion, “okay ... 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, okay?”
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 wildly.
“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 late, 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 firsi 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.
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第18章 生日的意外

第二天，哈利把邓布利多给他布置的作业告诉了罗恩和赫敏，是分别说的，因为赫敏在罗恩面前仍然不肯久待，最多只是轻蔑地白他一眼。

　　罗恩认为哈利在斯拉格霍恩那里不可能会遇到什么麻烦。

　　“他喜欢你，”吃早饭时，罗恩轻松地挥着一叉子煎鸡蛋说，“不会拒绝你任何事的，是不是？你是他的魔药小王子。今天下午课后留下来问他好了。”

　　赫敏则悲观一些。

　　“他一定是决心隐瞒真相了，如果连邓布利多都拿不到的话。”她低声说，这时是课间休息，他们站在积满白雪、冷冷清清的院子里，“魂器……魂器……我都没听说过……”

　　“你没听说过？”

　　哈利很失望，他还指望赫敏能提供一些线索呢。

　　“准是很高级的魔法，不然伏地魔为什么想知道？我觉得要搞到这个情报很困难，哈利，你必须非常谨慎，怎么接近斯拉格霍恩，要想个计策。”

　　“罗恩说只要我今天魔药课后留下来……”

　　“哦，如果罗－罗说了，你最好照办，”她顿时火冒三丈，“罗－罗的判断什么时候错过啊？”

　　“赫敏，你就不能——”

　　“不能！”她怒气冲冲地甩了一句，转身就走，把哈利一个人丢在齐踝深的雪地里。

　　这些天的魔药课已经够不自在的了，因为哈利、罗恩和赫敏坐在一张桌子上。今天赫敏把她的坩埚挪到了一边，和厄尼挨着坐，对哈利和罗恩两个人都不理了。

　　“你怎么得罪她了？”罗恩看着赫敏高傲的侧影，小声问哈利。

　　哈利还没来得及答话，斯拉格霍恩就在前面叫大家安静了。

　　“请静一静，静一静！快点儿，今天下午有很多事要做！戈巴洛特第三定律……谁能给我讲讲——？当然是格兰杰小姐啦！”

　　赫敏用最快的速度背道：“戈巴洛特第三定律称，混合毒药之解药大于每种单独成份之解药之总和。”

　　“完全正确！”斯拉格霍恩微笑道，“格兰芬多加十分！现在，如果我们承认戈巴洛特第三定律成立……”

　　哈利只能按斯拉格霍恩的话相信戈巴洛特第三定律成立，因为他压根儿没听懂。除了赫敏之外，似乎谁也没听懂斯拉格霍恩下面的话：

　　“……当然，这意味着，假使我们已用斯卡平的现形咒正确分析出魔药的成份，我们的首要目标不是简单地选择每种个体成份的解药，而是找到附加成份，它能通过近乎于炼金术的程序，把各种互不相干的成份变形——”

　　罗恩半张着嘴坐在哈利旁边，心不在焉地在他那本崭新的《高级魔药制作》上乱画着。罗恩总是忘记他现在听不懂课已经不能再靠赫敏救他了。

　　“……所以，”斯拉格霍恩最后说，“我要你们每人来我的讲台上拿一个小瓶子，在下课前必须配出瓶中之物的解药。祝你们好运，别忘了戴防护手套！”

　　赫敏马上离开凳子朝讲台走去，她都走到一半了，其他人才意识到要行动。等哈利、罗恩和厄尼回到桌前，她已经把瓶里的东西倒进了坩埚，在下面点起了火。

　　“可惜那个王子这次也帮不上你了，哈利，”她直起腰，愉快地说，“你必须理解其中的原理，没法投机取巧！”

　　哈利恼火地拔出瓶塞，把那鲜艳的粉红色毒药倒进坩埚，点着了火，一点儿也不知道下面该干什么了。他看看罗恩，罗恩傻头傻脑地站在那儿，只是依样做完了哈利所做的事。

　　“王子真的没有提示吗？”罗恩小声问哈利。

　　哈利抽出他那本宝贝的《高级魔药制作》，翻到解药那一章。有戈巴洛特第三定律，跟赫敏背的一字不差，但没有王子写的注释。显然王子跟赫敏一样毫不费力就理解了。

　　“没有。”哈利沮丧地说。

　　赫敏劲头十足地在坩埚上方挥舞着魔杖，可惜他们模仿不了她的魔法，因为她现在已经擅长无声咒，不用说出咒语。这时厄尼正对着他的坩埚念叨着“原形立现！”听起来挺像回事，哈利和罗恩赶紧效仿。

　　只过了五分钟，哈利就意识到他那班上第一魔药师的名声将要毁于一旦。斯拉格霍恩第一次巡视时期待地朝他的坩埚里看了看，正准备像往常那样兴奋地欢呼，可是他又立即缩回了头，被臭鸡蛋味熏得连连咳嗽。赫敏的表情得意到极点，她受够了每次魔药课上自己都被人超过。现在她正把那些神秘分离的成份小心地注入到十个不同的小水晶瓶里。哈利为了避免看到这恼人的情形，只好埋头去看混血王子的书，他猛地翻了几页。

　　有了，在那一长串解药名字的右边潦草地写着：

　　只需在嗓子里塞入一块粪石

　　哈利盯着这行字看了一会儿。粪石他不是听说过吗，很久以前，斯内普在第一堂魔药课上就提到：“山羊胃中的结石，可抵御多种毒药。”

　　这不是戈巴洛特问题的答案，如果这课还是斯内普教，哈利也不敢这么做，但此刻他顾不得了。他冲向储藏柜，推开独角兽角和一堆堆干草药，在里面胡乱地翻找着，终于在最里面找到了一个小硬纸盒，上面潦草地写着“粪石”。

　　斯拉格霍恩叫道：“还有两分钟，各位！”哈利打开盒子，看到了六块皱缩的褐色物体，与其说像石头，不如说像干腰子。他拿了一块，把盒子放回柜中，快步走回坩埚旁。

　　“时间……到！”斯拉格霍恩愉快地说，“看看你们做得怎么样！布雷司……你有些什么？”

　　斯拉格霍恩在教室中缓缓地巡视，检查那些五花八门的解药。谁都没有做完，赫敏正争取在斯拉格霍恩过来之前往她的瓶里再塞入几样成份。罗恩彻底放弃了，只是在努力避免吸入他坩埚发出的腐臭气。哈利站在那儿等着，粪石攥在有点汗津津的手里。

　　斯拉格霍恩最后踱到了他们桌前，闻了闻厄尼的解药，皱着眉朝罗恩走去。他在罗恩的坩埚前没有多待，迅速退开了，有一点作呕。

　　“你呢，哈利，”他说，“你要给我看什么？”

　　哈利伸出手，掌心里躺着那块粪石。

　　斯拉格霍恩低头看了足足十秒钟，哈利都担心他要吼起来了，但他扬起头，放声大笑。

　　“你真有胆量，孩子！”他捏起粪石，高高地举起来让全班同学看，“哦，真像你母亲……我不能判你错……粪石当然能解所有这些魔药！”

　　赫敏满脸是汗，鼻子上粘着灰，面色铁青。她那没做完的解药在斯拉格霍恩身后慢吞吞地冒着泡，其中含有五十二种成份，包括一团她自己的头发。可斯拉格霍恩眼中只有哈利。

　　“你是自己想到粪石的，是不是，哈利？”赫敏咬着牙问。

　　“这就是真正的魔药师需要的独立精神！”哈利还没答话，斯拉格霍恩高兴地说，“正像他母亲，对魔药有着天生的悟性，他无疑是得了莉莉的遗传……对，哈利，对，如果你有粪石，那当然管用……不过，因为它不是什么毒都能解，而且它很稀少，所以了解怎样配制解药还是有用的……”

　　全班惟一比赫敏更恼火的人是马尔福。哈利开心地看到他身上洒了猫屎似的东西。但他们还没来得及对哈利什么也没做就得了全班第一表示愤慨，下课铃就响了。

　　“收拾东西！”斯拉格霍恩说，“格兰芬多敢于冒险，加十分！”

　　他呵呵地笑着，摇摇摆摆地走回了讲台前。

　　哈利有意落后，磨磨蹭蹭地收拾着书包。罗恩跟赫敏走时都没祝他好运。两人都气鼓鼓的。最后教室里只剩下了哈利和斯拉格霍恩两个人。

　　“快点儿吧，哈利，你下节课要迟到了。”斯拉格霍恩亲切地说，一边扣上了他那火龙皮公文包的金搭扣。

　　“先生，我想问你一点儿事。”哈利说，不禁想起了伏地魔。

　　“那就快问，亲爱的孩子，快问……”

　　“先生，我想问你知不知道……魂器。”

　　斯拉格霍恩僵住了，他的圆脸似乎凹陷下去。他舔舔嘴唇，沙哑地问：“你说什么？”

　　“我问你知不知道魂器，先生。”

　　“邓布利多让你来的？”斯拉格霍恩低声问。

　　他的语气完全变了，不再亲切，而是充满了震惊和恐惧。他在胸前的口袋里摸了一会儿，抽出一条手巾擦了擦冒汗的额头。

　　“邓布利多给你看了那个——那个记忆，是不是？”

　　“是的。”哈利临时决定最好不要撒谎。

　　“当然啦，”斯拉格霍恩轻声说，一边还在擦拭着苍白的面孔，“当然……如果你看了记忆，哈利，你就会知道我对魂器一无所知——一无所知。”他用力重复着这几个字。

　　然后他抓起火龙皮公文包，把手帕塞回口袋里，朝地下教室外走去。

　　“先生，”哈利急切地说，“我只是想，记忆里可能还有一点儿东西——”

　　“是吗？那你就错了，是不是？错了！”

　　他吼出最后一个词，不等哈利说话，就砰地带上门走了。

　　听哈利讲述完这次灾难性的谈话，罗恩跟赫敏都毫不同情。赫敏还在为哈利没好好做功课就取胜而愤愤不平，罗恩则怨恨哈利没有塞给他一块粪石。

　　“如果我们两个人都那么做只会显得很愚蠢！”哈利暴躁地说，“你看，我必须设法软化他，才能问他伏地魔的事，是吧？唉，你能不能振作点儿？”见罗恩听到那个名字畏缩了一下，哈利恼怒地说。

　　哈利对自己的失败以及罗恩、赫敏对自己的态度感到窝火，在以后的几天中，他一直在寻思着下一步该拿斯拉格霍恩怎么办，最后他决定暂时让斯拉格霍恩以为他已忘掉了魂器。显然，最好先让对方产生一种安全感，再攻其不备。

　　哈利没再去问斯拉格霍恩，魔药教师便对他又恢复了平日的宠爱，似乎把那件事忘到了脑后。哈利等着再接到他那种小聚会的邀请，打定主意这次聚会就是跟魁地奇训练冲突他也要参加。可是他没有等到。他问了赫敏和金妮，她们俩也没接到邀请，并且据她们所知，别人也没有接到。哈利不禁想到也许斯拉格霍恩并非真的那么健忘，也许他是决心不让哈利有机会来问他了。

　　与此同时，霍格沃茨的图书馆破天荒的第一次令赫敏失望了。她大为震惊，甚至忘了自己还在为哈利用粪石投机取巧而生气。

　　“我没找到一条关于魂器用途的资料！”她对哈利说，“一条都没有！我翻遍了禁书区，甚至看了最可怕的书，教你怎么熬制最恐怖的魔药的那些——都没有！我只在《至毒魔法》的序言中找到了这个，你听——‘关于魂器这一最邪恶的魔法发明，在此不加论述，亦不予指导’……那干吗要提啊？”赫敏恼火地合上那本旧书，旧书发出幽灵般的哀号。“闭嘴！”她没好气地说，一边把它塞进了书包。

　　进入二月，学校周围的积雪融化了，取而代之的是凄冷的阴湿。灰紫色的云块低低地压在城堡上空，连绵的寒雨使得草坪变得湿滑、泥泞。结果六年级学生的第一节幻影显形课就从操场移到了大礼堂里，这门课被安排在星期六上午，以免耽误常规课程。

　　哈利和赫敏来到大礼堂时（罗恩和拉文德一起走了），发现桌子都不见了。雨水敲打着高高的窗户，施了魔法的天花板在头顶上昏暗地旋转着。他们集合在麦格、斯内普、弗立维和斯普劳特教授（四位院长）和一个小个子巫师的面前。哈利猜想那位应该就是魔法部来的幻影显形课指导教师。他苍白得出奇，睫毛透明，头发纤细，有一种不真实感，好像一阵风就会把他吹走。哈利想，或许是因为经常移形和显形削弱了他的体质，或是这种纤弱的体形最适于消失。

　　“上午好，”当学生们到齐了、院长们叫大家安静下来之后，魔法部的巫师说，“我叫威基·泰克罗斯，在接下来的十二周中将担任你们的幻影显形课指导教师，希望能帮你们为这次幻影显形考试做好准备——”

　　“马尔福，安静听讲！”麦格教授厉声说。

　　大家转过头，马尔福脸色暗红，满面怒容地从克拉布身边走开了，他们刚才似乎正在小声争吵。哈利瞥了一眼斯内普，他好像也很恼火，不过哈利怀疑这更多的是因为麦格教授批评了他学院的学生，而不是因为马尔福不守纪律。

　　“——到那时，许多同学也许已有能力参加考试。”泰克罗斯继续说，仿佛没有被打断似的。

　　“大家也许知道，在霍格沃茨校内一般无法幻影显形和移形。校长特地撤销了魔法，将这一限制解除一小时，仅仅在大礼堂里，让大家可以练习。我强调一下，不可幻影显形到礼堂的墙外，谁要是尝试谁就是不明智的。”

　　“现在我希望大家各自站好，在身前留够五英尺的空间。”

　　礼堂里一片混乱，学生们开始散开，撞到一起，叫别人走出自己的领地。院长们在学生中走来走去，帮他们排好位置，调解纠纷。

　　“哈利，你去哪儿？”赫敏问。

　　哈利没有回答；他迅速穿过人群，从正在尖叫着给几个都靠前站的拉文克劳学生找位子的弗立维教授面前走了过去，又从正在轰赶赫奇帕奇学生站队的斯普劳特教授面前走了过去，随后又躲开了厄尼·麦克米兰，钻到了人群的末尾，站在正趁乱继续跟克拉布争吵的马尔福身后。克拉布站在五英尺外，看上去挺不服气。

　　“我不知道还要多久，知道吗？”马尔福凶狠地说，没注意哈利就在后头，“时间比我想的要长。”

　　克拉布张开嘴巴，但马尔福似乎猜到了他要说什么。

　　“听着，我在干什么不关你的事，克拉布，你和高尔只管执行命令和放哨！”

　　“我要是想让朋友为我放哨，就会告诉他们我在干什么。”哈利用刚好能让马尔福听见的声音说。

　　马尔福猛然转身，一只手疾速抓向魔杖，但此时四位院长正在高喊“安静！”礼堂里静了下来，他慢慢地转过身去。

　　“谢谢，”泰克罗斯说，“现在……”

　　他一挥魔杖。每个学生面前的地上立刻出现了一个老式的木圈。

　　“幻影显形时最重要的是要记住三个D！”泰克罗斯说，“当前，就是你们面前的木圈里面。现在请把注意力集中到你们的目标上。”

　　每个人都在偷偷看着周围，看大家是否都在盯着木圈，然后赶紧按要求做。哈利凝视着他的木圈里那块灰扑扑的圆形地面，努力不去想其他事情。结果发现这不可能，因为他忍不住总是在想马尔福到底在做什么事，会需要有人替他放哨。

　　“第二步：”泰克罗斯说，“决心去占据你所想的那个空间！让想要进去的渴望淹没你们全身每个最小的部位！”

　　哈利偷眼看了看四周，左边稍远了一点的地方，厄尼正铆足劲儿盯着他的木圈，脸都涨红了，仿佛正努力下一个鬼飞球大小的蛋。哈利咬住嘴唇没敢笑，赶紧把视线转回到自己的木圈中。

　　“第三步：”泰克罗斯喊道，“等我下令之后……原地旋转，让自己进入虚空状态，动作要从容！现在听我的口令……一——”

　　哈利又朝周围看了看；许多人似乎都对这么快就要他们幻影显形感到吃惊。

　　“——二——”

　　哈利努力重新把注意力集中到他的木圈上；他已经忘记了三个D是什么。

　　“——三！”

　　哈利原地旋转起来，一下子失去了平衡，差点儿摔倒。不止是他一个，礼堂中突然到处是摇摇晃晃的人。纳威仰面躺在地上，厄尼以芭蕾舞似的动作跳到了木圈里，兴奋了片刻，直到看到迪安在冲着他哈哈大笑。

　　“没关系，没关系，”泰克罗斯干巴巴地说，似乎他也没指望有更好的结果，“摆好木圈，站回原位……”

　　第二次尝试并不比第一次好，第三次也一样糟糕。直到第四次时才出现了一点刺激。有人发出一声可怕的尖叫，大家惊恐地转过身，只见赫奇帕奇的苏珊·博恩斯正在木圈中摇摇晃晃，可左腿还留在五英尺外的原地。

　　院长们聚到她身边，砰的一声巨响，一阵紫色的烟雾散尽后，大家看到苏珊抽泣着，腿被安上了，但她仍面带恐惧。

　　“分体，即身体某部分的分离，”威基·泰克罗斯淡淡地说，“发生在决心不够坚定的时候。必须始终把注意力集中在目标上，不要慌，要从容……像这样。”

　　泰克罗斯走向前，张开双臂，优雅地原地旋转起来，在袍子的飘旋中消失了，随后出现在礼堂的后面。

　　“记住三个D，”他说，“再来一次……一——二——三——”

　　可是一个小时过后，苏珊的分体还是这节课上最有趣的事件。泰克罗斯似乎并不气馁。他系上斗篷，只是说：“下星期六再见，各位，不要忘记：目标，决心，从容。”

　　他一挥魔杖消去木圈，然后跟麦格教授一起走出了礼堂。

　　“你做得怎么样？”罗恩急忙跑向哈利，问道，“我最后一次好像有点儿感觉了——脚底麻酥酥的。”

　　“我想是你的运动鞋太小了吧，罗－罗。”后面一个声音说，赫敏得意地走了过来。

　　“我没感觉，”哈利说，没理会赫敏的打岔，“可现在我不关心了——”

　　“你说什么，不关心……你不想学幻影显形？”罗恩不相信地问。

　　“我真的不大起劲，我更喜欢飞行。”哈利说，一边转头想看看马尔福在哪儿。走进门厅后，他加快了脚步。“快点好吗，我有点事……”

　　罗恩纳闷地跟着哈利跑回格兰芬多塔楼，他们被皮皮鬼耽搁了一小会儿。皮皮鬼堵上了五楼的一扇门，非要每人把自己裤子烧着才让过去，但哈利和罗恩掉头走了一条可靠的近道。五分钟后，两人爬进了肖像洞口。

　　“能告诉我我们去干什么吗？”罗恩问，微微有点气喘。

　　“上去。”哈利说着穿过公共休息室，走进通往男生宿舍楼梯的门。

　　正如他希望的那样，宿舍里没人。他打开箱子翻找起来，罗恩不耐烦地看着。

　　“哈利……”

　　“马尔福让克拉布和高尔放哨，他刚才和克拉布吵起来了。我想知道……啊哈！”

　　哈利找到了——一张折成方形、看似空白的羊皮纸。他把它展开来，用魔杖尖敲了敲。

　　“我庄严宣誓我不干好事……或马尔福不干好事。”

　　羊皮纸上立刻现出活点地图，绘着城堡每一层的详细平面图，许多带标记的小黑点正在上面移动，代表着城堡里的每个人。

　　“帮我找马尔福。”哈利急切地说。

　　他把地图摊在床上，两人趴在上面找了起来。

　　“这儿！”一两分钟后罗恩叫道，“他在斯莱特林的公共休息室里，看……跟帕金森、沙比尼、克拉布和高尔在一起……”

　　哈利看着地图，显得有点失望，但立刻又振作起来。

　　“从现在起我要监视他，”他坚决地说，“只要一看到他在什么地方，克拉布和高尔在外面放哨，我就披上隐形衣，去搞清他在——”

　　他突然打住了，纳威带着一股很重的焦糊味走了进来，径直到他箱子里找裤子。

　　虽然哈利决心要抓到马尔福在干什么，但他后两个星期的运气实在不佳。他尽可能频繁地查看着地图，有时在课间不必要地去上盥洗室，可是一次都没在可疑地点发现马尔福。他倒是看到克拉布和高尔单独在城堡里活动的时间比平时多，有时停在空走廊上一动不动，但那时马尔福不仅不在附近，而且在地图上都找不到他。这太神秘了，哈利想过他会不会出了学校，但城堡中安全措施这么严，他想不出马尔福怎么会出得去。他只能猜想马尔福是混在图上那几百个黑点之中。原来形影不离的马尔福、克拉布和高尔分开了，也许人长大了就会这样吧——罗恩跟赫敏就是活生生的例子，哈利悲哀地想。

　　由二月进入三月，天气没什么变化，只是潮湿又加上了多风。所有公共休息室布告牌上都贴出一张告示，说这次去霍格莫德的旅行取消了，大家都很不满，罗恩怨气冲天。

　　“是我的生日啊！我一直盼着呢！”

　　“并不特别意外，是不是？”哈利说，“在凯蒂出事之后。”

　　凯蒂还没从圣芒戈魔法伤病医院回来。而且《预言家日报》又报道了新的失踪事件，包括几位霍格沃茨学生的亲戚。

　　“现在我能盼的只有无聊的幻影显形了！”罗恩丧气地说。

　　三节课下来，幻影显形还是那么困难，只是又有几个人做得分了身。挫折感在增强，学生中对威基·泰克罗斯以及他那三个D有不少抵触情绪，因此给他起了好些绰号，最礼貌的是狗臭屁和粪脑袋。

　　“生日快乐，罗恩，”三月一日早上，他们被去吃早饭的西莫和迪安吵醒后，哈利说，“送你一件礼物。”

　　他把纸包扔到罗恩床上，落在一小堆包裹中间，哈利猜想那些包裹是家养小精灵夜里送来的。

　　“同喜同喜。”罗恩迷迷糊糊地说。

　　在罗恩撕开纸包时，哈利下了床，打开箱子找活点地图，他每次用完都把它藏在箱子里。哈利翻出了半箱东西，才在一堆卷好的袜子底下找到了地图，那里还藏着他那瓶幸运药水，福灵剂。

　　“好了，”他把地图拿到床上，轻轻敲了敲，小声念道：“我庄严宣誓我不干好事。”以免从床脚走过的纳威听见。

　　“太棒了，哈利！”罗恩兴奋地叫了起来，挥舞着哈利送给他的魁地奇守门员手套。

　　“小意思。”哈利心不在焉地说，一边在斯莱特林的宿舍里仔细寻找马尔福，“嘿……我想他不在床上……”

　　罗恩没回答，正忙着拆礼物，不时发出开心的大叫。

　　“今年真是大丰收！”他宣布说，一边举起一块沉甸甸的金表，那表的边缘有奇特的符号，指针是用移动的小星星做的，“看，爸妈送给我什么了？嘿，我打算明年还要成年一次……”

　　“酷。”哈利抬眼看了一下罗恩的手表，嘟囔了一声，又更加仔细地查看着地图。马尔福在哪儿？他好像不在礼堂中斯莱特林的餐桌旁吃早饭……不在坐在书房中的斯内普旁边……也不在盥洗室和校医院……

　　“要吗？”罗恩举着一盒巧克力坩埚含混地问。

　　“不了，谢谢。”哈利抬头看了一眼，说道，“马尔福又不见了！”

　　“不可能。”罗恩把第二块巧克力坩埚塞进嘴里，从床上溜下来开始穿衣，“好啦，再不快一点儿，你就只好空着肚子幻影显形了……也许倒容易些，我想……”

　　罗恩若有所思地看着那盒巧克力坩埚，然后耸耸肩，拿起了第三块。

　　哈利用魔杖敲了敲地图，念道：“恶作剧完毕！”（虽然并未完毕）。他一边穿衣一边苦苦思索：马尔福的不时失踪肯定有原因，但他就是想不出这原因是什么。最好的办法是盯他的梢，但即使有隐形衣这也是不切实际的，因为要上课，还有魁地奇训练、作业和幻影显形，若是整天在学校里跟踪马尔福，不可能不被人注意到。

　　“好了吗？”他问罗恩。

　　快走到宿舍门口时，他发现罗恩还没动身，而是倚在床柱上，凝视着被雨水洗刷的窗户，脸上带着一种古怪的茫然表情。

　　“罗恩，吃早饭。”

　　“我不饿。”

　　哈利瞪着他。

　　“你刚才不是说——？”

　　“唉，好吧，我跟你下去，”罗恩叹了口气，“可我不想吃。”

　　哈利怀疑地打量着他。

　　“你刚才吃了半盒巧克力坩埚，是不是？”

　　“不是这么回事，”罗恩又叹了口气，“你……你不懂。”

　　“算了吧。”哈利说着转身去开门，虽然心中疑惑。

　　“哈利！”罗恩突然叫道。

　　“什么？”

　　“哈利，我受不了了！”

　　“你受不了什么了？”哈利问，不禁吃了一惊，他看到罗恩脸色很苍白，好像要生病的样子。

　　“我没法不想她！”罗恩沙哑地说。

　　哈利目瞪口呆，他没有料到，也拿不准自己想不想听到这个。虽然他们是朋友，但如果罗恩开始叫拉文德“拉－拉”，他将不得不采取强硬立场。

　　“那也不妨碍你吃早饭吧？”哈利问，试图在这件事中注入一点正常思维。

　　“我想她不知道我的存在。”罗恩说着绝望地一摆手。

　　“她当然知道你的存在，”哈利被搞糊涂了，“她不是老吻你吗？”

　　罗恩吃惊地眨了眨眼睛。

　　“你说的是谁啊？”

　　“你说的是谁啊？”哈利说，越来越感到这谈话已经完全失去了理智。

　　“罗米达·万尼，”罗恩柔声道，整个面孔都亮了，好像被一道最纯净的阳光照透了。

　　两人对视了近一分钟，哈利才说，“这个玩笑，对吧？你在开玩笑。”

　　“我想……哈利，我想我爱她。”罗恩用奇怪的声音说。

　　“好，”哈利说着走近了罗恩，细细地打量着他那呆滞的眼睛和苍白的脸色，“好……严肃地再说一遍。”

　　“我爱她，”罗恩屏息道，“你看到她的秀发了吗，又黑又亮，缎子似的……还有她的眼睛？她那双乌黑的大眼睛？还有她的——”

　　“真好笑，”哈利不耐烦地说，“可是玩笑结果了，好吗？别闹了。”

　　他转身离开了，刚走出两步，他的右耳上重重挨了一击。他摇晃了两下，回过头去，罗恩刚把拳头收回去，脸都气歪了，正要再打。

　　哈利本能地拔出魔杖，想都没想咒语就跳入了脑中：倒挂金钟！

　　罗恩大叫一声，脚跟又被猛然拽起。他无助地倒挂在空中，袍子翻垂下来。

　　“这是为什么？”哈利吼道。

　　“你侮辱了她，哈利！你说是个玩笑！”罗恩大声说，他的血涌到了头部，脸渐渐地变紫了。

　　“真是荒唐！”哈利说，“你中了什么——”

　　他忽然注意到了罗恩床上那个打开的盒子，心头像被狂奔的巨怪撞了一下。

　　“这巧克力坩埚是哪儿来的？”

　　“是生日礼物！”罗恩叫道。他吊在那儿缓缓转动着，竭力想挣脱。“我不是还给了你一块吗？”

　　“你从地上捡的，是不是？”

　　“是我床上掉下去的。好了吧？放我下来！”

　　“不是从你床上掉下去的，你这笨蛋，你不明白吗？这是我的，我找地图时从箱子里扔出来的。这是罗米达·万尼圣诞节前送给我的巧克力坩埚，里面加了迷情剂！”

　　但罗恩似乎只听进去了一个词。

　　“罗米达！你刚才说罗米达？哈利——你认识她？能给我介绍介绍吗？”

　　哈利瞪着倒挂着的罗恩，瞪着那张现在带着无限渴望的面孔，忍住一阵强烈的笑意。他的一部分——最靠近灼痛的右耳的那部分——很想把罗恩放下来，看他去发疯，一直到药力消失。可另一方面，他们还是朋友，罗恩打他时是神志失常的。哈利想，如果你让罗恩去向罗米达·万尼表达不朽的爱情，他就真该再挨一拳。

　　“行，我给你介绍。”哈利脑筋一转，说道，“我这就放你下来，好吗？”

　　他让罗恩摔在地上（他的耳朵真的很疼），但罗恩马上跳了起来，眉开眼笑。

　　“她在斯拉格霍恩的办公室。”哈利蛮有把握地说，一边带着他朝门口走去。

　　“她为什么在那儿？”罗恩赶紧跟上，着急地问。

　　“哦，她跟他上魔药课。”哈利信口胡诌道。

　　“也许我可以申请跟她一起上？”罗恩热切地说。

　　“好主意。”哈利说道。

　　拉文德等在肖像洞口旁边，这是哈利没料到的。

　　“你迟到了，罗－罗！”她撅着嘴说，“我给你带了件生日——”

　　“走开，”罗恩不耐烦地说，“哈利要把我介绍给罗米达·万尼。”

　　他没再跟她说话，径自挤出了肖像洞口。哈利想对拉文德做个抱歉的表情，但可能显出的只是愉快，因为当胖夫人在他们身后旋上时，拉文德看上去已经气急败坏。

　　哈利担心斯拉格霍恩在吃早饭，但才敲了一声门就开了。他穿着一件绿天鹅绒的晨衣，戴着一顶一样颜色的睡帽，还是睡眼惺忪的。

　　“哈利，”他嘟囔道，“太早了吧……我星期六一般起得晚……”

　　“教授，很抱歉打搅您，”哈利尽量轻声说，罗恩踮着脚尖，企图越过斯拉格霍恩朝房间里看，“可是我的朋友罗恩误服了迷情剂，您能不能给他配点解药？我本想带他去找庞弗雷夫人，但我们不可以买韦斯莱魔法把戏坊的东西，所以，您知道……问起来会很尴尬……”

　　“我以为你已经给他弄出了解药呢，哈利，你不是个魔药专家吗？”斯拉格霍恩问。

　　“呃，”哈利有点分神，因为罗恩用胳膊肘在捅他的肋骨，想要挤进屋去，“我从没配过迷情剂的解药，先生，等我配出来，罗恩可以已经做出了什么严重的——”

　　罗恩帮忙似的恰好在这时哀呼起来：“我看不到她，哈利——他把她藏起来了吗？”

　　“药水没过期吧？”斯拉格霍恩开始带着职业的兴趣打量着罗恩，“你知道，放的时间越长药劲会越强。”

　　“怪不得呢。”哈利气喘吁吁地说，他现在简直是在跟罗恩搏斗，以免他把斯拉格霍恩撞倒，“今天是他的生日，教授。”他哀求道。

　　“哦，好吧，进来吧，进来，”斯拉格霍恩发了慈悲，“我包里有必需品，这个解药不难……”

　　罗恩冲进斯拉格霍恩那热烘烘的拥挤的书房，被一个带穗的脚凳绊了一下，赶紧抱住哈利的脖子才恢复了平衡。他小声说：“她没看见，没看见吧？”

　　“她还没来呢。”哈利说，一边看着斯拉格霍恩打开配药包，往一个小水晶瓶里加点儿这个又加点儿那个。

　　“那就好，”罗恩热切地说，“我看上去怎么样？”

　　“非常英俊，”斯拉格霍恩递给罗恩一杯澄清的液体，“把它喝了，这是滋补神经的，能让你在她来时保持镇静。”

　　“太棒了。”罗恩迫不及待地说，咕嘟一声喝下了解药。

　　哈利和斯拉格霍恩观察着他。有那么一刻，罗恩笑嘻嘻地望着他们，然后，他的笑容很慢很慢地消失了，变成了极度的恐惧。

　　“恢复正常了？”哈利笑着问，斯拉格霍恩呵呵地笑了。

　　“非常感谢您，教授。”

　　“不客气，孩子，不客气。”斯拉格霍恩说，罗恩跌坐到旁边的扶手椅上，像霜打了一般。“提提精神，这是他现在需要的。”斯拉格霍恩继续说，一边急忙走到一个摆满饮料的桌子前，“我有黄油啤酒、葡萄酒，还有最后一瓶橡木陈酿的蜂蜜酒……嗯……我们为什么不打开它，庆祝一下韦斯莱先生的生日呢？要驱散爱情幻灭的痛苦，莫过于一杯好酒……”

　　他又大笑起来，哈利也笑了。这是自上回灾难性的试探之后，他算是第一次单独跟斯拉格霍恩在一起。也许，只要让斯拉格霍恩保持好心情……让他喝够橡木陈酿的蜂蜜酒……

　　“来吧，”斯拉格霍恩递给哈利和罗恩每人一杯蜂蜜酒，举着杯子说，“生日快乐，拉尔弗——”

　　“——罗恩——”哈利小声说。

　　可罗恩似乎没听到祝酒，已经把酒倒进嘴里，咽了下去。

　　有那么一秒钟，几乎只是一下心跳的时间，哈利感到出了可怕的问题，而斯拉格霍恩似乎没有发觉。

　　“——祝你有更多——”

　　“罗恩！”

　　罗恩掉了杯子，想从椅子上站起来，但却倒了下去。他四肢剧烈的痉挛着，口吐白沫，眼珠凸了出来。

　　“教授！”哈利大叫，“快想想办法！”

　　可是斯拉格霍恩好像吓呆了。罗恩抽搐着，呼吸困难，皮肤开始变青。

　　“怎么——可是——”斯拉格霍恩结结巴巴地说。

　　哈利路过一张矮桌，冲向斯拉格霍恩打开的配药包，抽出瓶瓶罐罐。罗恩那可怕的咕噜咕噜的呼吸声充满了房间。终于找到了——斯拉格霍恩在魔药课上收去的那块腰子状的石头。

　　他奔回罗恩身边，撬开他的嘴巴，把粪石进了他嘴里。罗恩剧烈地哆嗦了一下，咕噜噜倒吸了一口气，身体瘫软不动了。
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Chapter 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...”
There 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 that 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 I known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself.”
“Er-my-nee,” croaked Ron unexpectedly from between them
They all fell silent, watching him anxiously, but after muttering incomprehensibly for a moment he merely started snoring.
The dormitory doors flew open, making them all jump: Hagrid came striding toward them, his hair rain-flecked, his bearskin coat flapping behind him, a crossbow in his
hand, leaving a trail of muddy dolphin-sized footprints all over the floor.
“Bin in the forest all day!” he panted. “Aragog's worse, I bin readin’ to him—didn’ get up ter dinner till jus’ now an’ then Professor Sprout told me abou’
Ron! How is he?”
“Not bad,” said Harry. “They say he'll be okay.”
“No more than six visitors at a time!” said Madam Pomfrey, hurrying out of her office.
“Hagrid makes six,” George pointed out.
“O... yes...” said Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to have been counting Hagrid as several people due to his vastness. To cover her confusion, she hurried off to clear up
his muddy foot prints with her wand.
“I don’ believe this,” said Hagrid hoarsely, shaking his great shaggy head as he stared down at Ron. “Jus’ don’ believe it... look at him lyin’ there... who'd
want ter hurt him, eh?”
“That's just what we were discussing,” said Harry. “We don't know.”
“Someone couldn’ have a grudge against the Gryfinndor Quidditch team, could they?” said Hagrid anxiously. “Firs’ Katie, now Ron...”
“I can't see anyone trying to bump off a Quidditch team,” said George.
“Wood might've done the Slytherins if he could've got away with it,” said Fred fairly.
“Well, I don't think it's Quidditch, but I think there's a connection between the attacks,” said Hermione quietly.
“How d'you work that out?” asked Fred.
“Well, for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and weren't, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have
reached the person who was supposed to be killed. Of course,” she added broodingly, “that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they
don't seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim.”
Before anybody could respond to this ominous pronouncement, the dormitory doors opened again and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried up the ward. They had done no more than
satisfy themselves that Ron would make a full recovery on their last visit to the ward; now Mrs. Weasley seized hold of Harry and hugged him very tighty.
“Dumbledore's told us how you saved him with the bezoar,” she sobbed. “Oh, Harry, what can we say? You saved Ginny... you saved Arthur... now you've saved Ron...”
“Don't be ... I didn't...” muttered Harry awkwardly.
“Half our family does seem to owe you their lives, now I stop and think about it,” Mr. Weasley said in a constricted voice. “Well, all I can say is that it was a
lucky day for the Weasleys when Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry.”
Harry could not think of any reply to this and was almost glad when Madam Pomfrey reminded them that there were only supposed to be six visitors around Ron's bed; he
and Hermione rose at once to leave and Hagrid decided to go with them, leaving Ron with his family.
“It's terrible,” growled Hagrid into his beard, as the three of them walked back along the corridor to the marble staircase. “All this new security, an’ kids are
still gettin’ hurt... Dumbledore's worried sick... He don’ say much, but I can tell...”
“Hasn't he got any ideas, Hagrid?” asked Hermione desperately.
“I spect he's got hundreds of ideas, brain like his,” said Hagrid. “But he doesn’ know who sent that necklace nor put poison in that wine, or they'd've bin caught,
wouldn’ they? Wha’ worries me,” said Hagrid, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder (Harry, for good measure, checked the ceiling for Peeves), “is how
long Hogwarts can stay open if kids are bein’ attacked. Chamber o’ Secrets all over again, isn’ it? There'll be panic, more parents takin their kids outta school, an
nex’ thing yeh know the board o’ governors ...”
Hagrid stopped talking as the ghost of a long-haired woman drifted serenely past, then resumed in a hoarse whisper, “... the board o’ governors'll be talkin about
shuttin’ us up fer good.”
“Surely not?” said Hermione, looking worried.
“Gotta see it from their point o’ view,” said Hagrid heavily. “I mean, it's always bin a bit of a risk sendin’ a kid ter Hogwarts, hasn’ it? Yer expect accidents,
don’ yeh, with hundreds of underage wizards all locked up tergether, but attempted murder, tha's diff'rent. ‘S no wonder Dumbledore's angry with Sn —”
Hagrid stopped in his tracks, a familiar, guilty expression on what was visible of his face above his tangled black beard.
“What?” said Harry quickly. “Dumbledore's angry with Snape?”
“I never said tha',” said Hagrid, though his look of panic could not have been a bigger giveaway. “Look at the time, it's gettin’ on fer midnight, I need ter —”
“Hagrid, why is Dumbledore angry with Snape?” Harry asked loudly.
“Shhhh!” said Hagrid, looking both nervous and angry. “Don’ shout stuff like that, Harry, d'yeh wan’ me ter lose me job? Mind, I don’ suppose yeh'd care, would
yeh, not now yeh've given up Care of Mag—”
“Don't try and make me feel guilty, it won't work!” said Harry forcefully. “What's Snape done?”
“I dunno, Harry, I shouldn'ta heard it at all... well, I was comin’ outta the forest the other evenin’ an’ I overheard ‘em talking— well, arguin'. Didn't like ter
draw attention to meself, so I sorta skulked an tried not ter listen, but it was... well, a heated discussion an’ it wasn’ easy ter block it out.”
“Well?” Harry urged him, as Hagrid shuffled his enormous feet uneasily.
“Well... I jus’ heard Snape sayin’ Dumbledore took too much fer granted an maybe he—Snape—didn’ wan’ ter do it any more —”
“Do what?”
“I dunno, Harry, it sounded like Snape was feelin’ a bit overworked, tha's all—anyway, Dumbledore told him flat out he'd agreed ter do it an’ that was all there was
to it. Pretty firm with him. An’ then he said summat abou’ Snape makin’ investigations in his House, in Slytherin. Well, there's nothin’ strange abou’ that!”
Hagrid added hastily, as Harry and Hermione exchanged looks full of meaning. “All the Heads o’ Houses were asked ter look inter that necklace business —”
“Yeah, but Dumbledore's not having rows with the rest of them, is he?” said Harry.
“Look,” Hagrid twisted his crossbow uncomfortably in his hands; there was a loud splintering sound and it snapped in two. “I know what yeh're like abou’ Snape,
Harry, an’ I don’ want yeh ter go readin’ more inter this than there is.”
“Look out,” said Hermione tersely.
They turned just in time to see the shadow of Argus Filch looming over the wall behind them before the man himself turned the corner, hunchbacked, his jowls aquiver.
“Oho!” he wheezed. “Out of bed so late, this'll mean detention!”
“No it won', Filch,” said Hagrid shortly. “They're with me, aren’ they?”
“And what difference does that make?” asked Filch obnoxiously.
“I'm a ruddy teacher, aren’ I, yeh sneakin’ Squib!” said Hagrid, firing up at once.
There was a nasty hissing noise as Filch swelled with fury; Mrs. Norris had arrived, unseen, and was twisting herself sinuously around Filch's skinny ankles.
“Get goin',” said Hagrid out of the corner of his mouth.
Harry did not need telling twice; he and Hermione both hurried off; Hagrid's and Filch's raised voices echoed behind them as they ran. They passed Peeves near the
turning into Gryffindor Tower, but he was streaking happily toward the source of the yelling, cackling and calling,
When there's strife and when there's trouble
Call on Peevsie, he'll make double!
The Fat Lady was snoozing and not pleased to be woken, but swung forward grumpily to allow them to clamber into the mercifully peaceful and empty common room. It did
not seem that people knew about Ron yet; Harry was very relieved: he had been interrogated enough that day. Hermione bade him good night and set off for the girls’
dormitory. Harry, however, remained behind, taking a seat beside the fire and looking down into the dying embers.
So Dumbledore had argued with Snape. In spite of all he had told Harry, in spite of his insistence that he trusted Snape completely, he had lost his temper with him...
he did not think that Snape had tried hard enough to investigate the Slytherins ... or, perhaps, to investigate a single Slytherin: Malfoy?
Was it because Dumbledore did not want Harry to do anything foolish, to take matters into his own hands, that he had pretended there was nothing in Harry's suspicions?
That seemed likely. It might even be that Dumbledore did not want anything to distract Harry from their lessons, or from procuring that memory from Slughorn. Perhaps
Dumbledore did not think it right to confide suspicions about his staff to sixteen-year-olds...
“There you are, Potter!”
Harry jumped to his feet in shock, his wand at the ready. He had been quite convinced that the common room was empty; he had not been at all prepared for a hulking
figure to rise suddenly out of a distant chair. A closer look showed him that it was Cormac McLaggen.
“I've been waiting for you to come back,” said McLaggen, disregarding Harry's drawn wand. “Must've fallen asleep. Look, I saw them taking Weasley up to the hospital
wing earlier. Didn't look like he'll be fit for next week's match.”
It took Harry a few moments to realize what McLaggen was talking about.
“Oh... right... Quidditch,” he said, putting his wand back into the belt of his jeans and running a hand wearily through his hair. “Yeah ... he might not make it.”
“Well, then, I'll be playing Keeper, won't I?” said McLaggen.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah, I suppose so...”
He could not think of an argument against it; after all, McLaggen had certainly performed second-best in the trials.
“Excellent,” said McLaggen in a satisfied voice. “So when's practice?”
“What? Oh... there's one tomorrow evening.”
“Good. Listen, Potter, we should have a talk beforehand. I've got some ideas on strategy you might find useful.”
“Right,” said Harry unenthusiastically. “Well, I'll hear them tomorrow, then. I'm pretty tired now ... see you...”
The news that Ron had been poisoned spread quickly next day, but it did not cause the sensation that Katie's attack had done. People seemed to think that it might have
been an accident, given that he had been in the Potions master's room at the time, and that as he had been given an antidote immediately there was no real harm done. In
fact, the Gryffindors were generally much more interested in the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, for many of them wanted to see Zacharias Smith, who played
Chaser on the Hufflepuff team, punished soundly for his commentary during the opening match against Slytherin.
Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Still checking the Marauder's Map whenever he got a
chance, he sometimes made detours to wherever Malfoy happened to be, but had not yet detected him doing anything out of the ordinary. And still there were those
inexplicable times when Malfoy simply vanished from the map...
But Harry did not get a lot of time to consider the problem, what with Quidditch practice, homework, and the fact that he was now being dogged wherever he went by
Cormac McLaggen and Lavender Brown.
He could not decide which of them was more annoying. McLaggen kept up a constant stream of hints that he would make a better permanent Keeper for the team than Ron, and
that now that Harry was seeing him play regularly he would surely come around to this way of thinking too; he was also keen to criticize the other players and provide
Harry with detailed training schemes, so that more than once Harry was forced to remind him who was Captain.
Meanwhile, Lavender kept sidling up to Harry to discuss Ron, which Harry found almost more wearing than McLaggen's Quidditch lectures. At first, Lavender had been very
annoyed that nobody had thought to tell her that Ron was in the hospital wing—"I mean, I am his girlfriend!"—but unfortunately she had now decided to forgive Harry
this lapse of memory and was keen to have lots of in-depth chats with him about Ron's feelings, a most uncomfortable experience that Harry would have happily forgone.
“Look, why don't you talk to Ron about all this?” Harry asked, after a particularly long interrogation from Lavender that took in everything from precisely what Ron
had said about her new dress robes to whether or not Harry thought that Ron considered his relationship with Lavender to be “serious.”
“Well, I would, but he's always asleep when I go and see him!” said Lavender fretfully.
“Is he?” said Harry, surprised, for he had found Ron perfectly alert every time he had been up to the hospital wing, both highly interested in the news of Dumbledore
and Snape's row and keen to abuse McLaggen as much as possible.
“Is Hermione Granger still visiting him?” Lavender demanded suddenly.
“Yeah, I think so. Well, they're friends, aren't they?” said Harry uncomfortably.
“Friends, don't make me laugh,” said Lavender scornfully. “She didn't talk to him for weeks after he started going out with me! But I suppose she wants to make up
with him now he's all interesting...”
“Would you call getting poisoned being interesting?” asked Harry. “Anyway—sorry, got to go—there's McLaggen coming for a talk about Quidditch,” said Harry
hurriedly, and he dashed sideways through a door pretending to be solid wall and sprinted down the shortcut that would take him off to Potions where, thankfully,
neither Lavender nor McLaggen could follow him.
On the morning of the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Harry dropped in on the hospital wing before heading down to the pitch. Ron was very agitated; Madam Pomfrey
would not let him go down to watch the match, feeling it would overexcite him.
“So how's McLaggen shaping up?” he asked Harry nervously, apparently forgetting that he had already asked the same question twice.
“I've told you,” said Harry patiently, “he could be world-class and I wouldn't want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play
every position better than the rest of us. I can't wait to be shot of him. And speaking of getting shot of people,” Harry added, getting to his feet and picking up his
Firebolt, “will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She's driving me mad as well.”
“Oh,” said Ron, looking sheepish. “Yeah. All right.”
“If you don't want to go out with her anymore, just tell her,” said Harry.
“Yeah... well... it's not that easy, is it?” said Ron. He paused. “Hermione going to look in before the match?” he added casually.
“No, she's already gone down to the pitch with Ginny.”
“Oh,” said Ron, looking rather glum. “Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag—I mean Smith.”
“I'll try,” said Harry, shouldering his broom. “See you after the match.”
He hurried down through the deserted corridors; the whole school was outside, either already seated in the stadium or heading down toward it. He was looking out of the
windows he passed, trying to gauge how much wind they were facing, when a noise ahead made him glance up and he saw Malfoy walking toward him, accompanied by two girls,
both of whom looked sulky and resentful.
Malfoy stopped short at the sight of Harry, then gave a short, humorless laugh and continued walking.
“Where're you going?” Harry demanded.
“Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Potter,” sneered Malfoy. “You'd better hurry up, they'll be waiting for the Chosen Captain—the Boy
Who Scored—whatever they call you these days.”
One of the girls gave an unwilling giggle. Harry stared at her. She blushed. Malfoy pushed past Harry and she and her friend followed at a trot, turning the corner and
vanishing from view.
Harry stood rooted on the spot and watched them disappear. This was infuriating; he was already cutting it fine to get to the match on time and yet there was Malfoy,
skulking off while the rest of the school was absent: Harry's best chance yet of discovering what Malfoy was up to. The silent seconds trickled past, and Harry remained
where he was, frozen, gazing at the place where Malfoy had vanished...
“Where have you been?” demanded Ginny, as Harry sprinted into the changing rooms. The whole team was changed and ready; Coote and Peakes, the Beaters, were both
hitting their clubs nervously against their legs.
“I met Malfoy,” Harry told her quietly, as he pulled his scarlet robes over his head.
“So?”
“So I wanted to know how come he's up at the castle with a couple of girlfriends while everyone else is down here...”
“Does it matter right now?”
“Well, I'm not likely to find out, am I?” said Harry, seizing his Firebolt and pushing his glasses straight. “Come on then!”
And without another word, he marched out onto the pitch to deafening cheers and boos.
There was little wind; the clouds were patchy; every now and then there were dazzling flashes of bright sunlight.
“Tricky conditions!” McLaggen said bracingly to the team. “Coote, Peakes, you'll want to fly out of the sun, so they don't see you coming —”
“I'm the Captain, McLaggen, shut up giving them instructions,” said Harry angrily. “Just get up by the goal posts!”
Once McLaggen had marched off, Harry turned to Coote and Peakes.
“Make sure you do fly out of the sun,” he told them grudgingly.
He shook hands with the Hufflepuff Captain, and then, on Madam Hooch's whistle, kicked off and rose into the air, higher than the rest of his team, streaking around the
pitch in search of the Snitch. If he could catch it good and early, there might be a chance he could get back up to the castle, seize the Marauder's Map, and find out
what Malfoy was doing...
“And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle,” said a dreamy voice, echoing over the grounds. “He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew
into him, I think probably on purpose—it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he's playing them—oh, look, he's
lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she's very nice...”
Harry stared down at the commentator's podium. Surely nobody in their right mind would have let Luna Lovegood commentate? But even from above there was no mistaking
that long, dirty-blonde hair, nor the necklace of Butterbeer corks... Beside Luna, Professor McGonagall was looking slightly uncomfortable, as though she was indeed
having second thoughts about this appointment.
“... but now that big Hufflepuff player's got the Quaffle from her, I can't remember his name, it's something like Bibble—no, Buggins —”
“It's Cadwallader!” said Professor McGonagall loudly from beside Luna. The crowd laughed.
Harry stared around for the Snitch; there was no sign of it. Moments later, Cadwallader scored. McLaggen had been shouting criticism at Ginny for allowing the Quaffle
out of her possession, with the result that he had not noticed the large red ball soaring past his right ear.
“McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you're supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!” bellowed Harry, wheeling around to face his Keeper.
“You're not setting a great example!” McLaggen shouted back, red-faced and furious.
“And Harry Potter's now having an argument with his Keeper,” said Luna serenely, while both Hufflepuffs and Slytherins below in the crowd cheered and jeered. “I
don't think that'll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse...”
Swearing angrily, Harry spun round and set off around the pitch again, scanning the skies for some sign of the tiny, winged golden ball.
Ginny and Demelza scored a goal apiece, giving the red-and-gold-clad supporters below something to cheer about. Then Cadwallader scored again, making things level, but
Luna did not seem to have noticed; she appeared singularly uninterested in such mundane things as the score, and kept attempting to draw the crowd's attention to such
things as interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that Zacharias Smith, who had so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a minute,
was suffering from something called “Loser's Lurgy.”
“Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!” barked Professor McGonagall into Luna's megaphone.
“Is it, already?” said Luna vaguely. “Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats.”
Harry spun around in midair. Sure enough, McLaggen, for reasons best known to himself, had pulled Peakes's bat from him and appeared to be demonstrating how to hit a
Bludger toward an oncoming Cadwallader.
“Will you give him back his bat and get back to the goalposts!” roared Harry, pelting toward McLaggen just as McLaggen took a ferocious swipe at the Bludger and
mishit it.
A blinding, sickening pain ... a flash of light... a distant scream... and the sensation of falling down a long tunnel...
And the next thing Harry knew, he was lying in a remarkably warm and comfortable bed and looking up at a lamp that was throwing a circle of golden light onto a shadowy
ceiling. He raised his head awkwardly. There on his left was a familiar-looking, freckly, red-haired person.
“Nice of you to drop in,” said Ron, grinning.
Harry blinked and looked around. Of course: he was in the hospital wing. The sky outside was indigo streaked with crimson. The match must have finished hours ago ... as
had any hope of cornering Malfoy. Harry's head felt strangely heavy; he raised a hand and felt a stiff turban of bandages.
“What happened?”
“Cracked skull,” said Madam Pomfrey, bustling up and pushing him back against his pillows. “Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I'm keeping you in
overnight. You shouldn't overexert yourself for a few hours.”
“I don't want to stay here overnight,” said Harry angrily, sitting up and throwing back his covers. “I want to find McLaggen and kill him.”
“I'm afraid that would come under the heading of ‘overexertion,'” said Madam Pomfrey, pushing him firmly back onto the bed and raising her wand in a threatening
manner. “You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster.”
She bustled back into her office, and Harry sank back into his pillows, fuming.
“D'you know how much we lost by?” he asked Ron through clenched teeth.
“Well, yeah I do,” said Ron apologetically. “Final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty.”
“Brilliant,” said Harry savagely. “Really brilliant! When I get hold of McLaggen —”
“You don't want to get hold of him, he's the size of a troll,” said Ron reasonably. “Personally, I think there's a lot to be said for hexing him with that toenail
thing of the Prince's. Anyway, the rest of the team might've dealt with him before you get out of here, they're not happy...”
There was a note of badly suppressed glee in Ron's voice; Harry could tell he was nothing short of thrilled that McLaggen had messed up so badly. Harry lay there,
staring up at the patch of light on the ceiling, his recently mended skull not hurting, precisely, but feeling slightly tender underneath all the bandaging.
“I could hear the match commentary from here,” said Ron, his voice now shaking with laughter. “I hope Luna always commentates from now on... Loser's Lurgy ...”
But Harry was still too angry to see much humor in the situation, and after a while Ron's snorts subsided.
“Ginny came in to visit while you were unconscious,” he said, after a long pause, and Harry's imagination zoomed into overdrive, rapidly constructing a scene in which
Ginny, weeping over his lifeless form, confessed her feelings of deep attraction to him while Ron gave them his blessing..."She reckons you only just arrived on time
for the match. How come? You left here early enough.”
“Oh...” said Harry, as the scene in his mind's eye imploded. “Yeah... well, I saw Malfoy sneaking off with a couple of girls who didn't look like they wanted to be
with him, and that's the second time he's made sure he isn't down on the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school; he skipped the last match too, remember?” Harry
sighed. “Wish I'd followed him now, the match was such a fiasco...”
“Don't be stupid,” said Ron sharply. “You couldn't have missed a Quidditch match just to follow Malfoy, you're the Captain!”
“I want to know what he's up to,” said Harry. “And don't tell me its all in my head, not after what I overheard between him and Snape —”
“I never said it was all in your head,” said Ron, hoisting himself up on an elbow in turn and frowning at Harry, “but there's no rule saying only one person at a
time can be plotting anything in this place! You're getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him ...”
“I want to catch him at it!” said Harry in frustration. “I mean, where's he going when he disappears off the map?”
“I dunno... Hogsmeade?” suggested Ron, yawning.
“I've never seen him going along any of the secret passageway on the map. I thought they were being watched now anyway?”
“Well then, I dunno,” said Ron.
Silence fell between them. Harry stared up at the circle of lamp light above him, thinking...
If only he had Rufus Scrimgeour's power, he would have been able to set a tail upon Malfoy, but unfortunately Harry did not have an office full of Aurors at his
command... He thought fleetingly of trying to set something up with the D.A., but there again was the problem that people would be missed from lessons; most of them,
after all, still had full schedules...
There was a low, rumbling snore from Ron's bed. After a while Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, this time wearing a thick dressing gown. It was easiest to feign
sleep; Harry rolled over onto his side and listened to all the curtains closing themselves as she waved her wand. The lamps dimmed, and she returned to her office; he
heard the door click behind her and knew that she was off to bed.
This was, Harry reflected in the darkness, the third time that he had been brought to the hospital wing because of a Quidditch injury. Last time he had fallen off his
broom due to the presence of dementors around the pitch, and the time before that, all the bones had been removed from his arm by the incurably inept Professor
Lockhart... That had been his most painful injury by far ... he remembered the agony of regrowing an armful of bones in one night, a discomfort not eased by the arrival
of an unexpected visitor in the middle of the —
Harry sat bolt upright, his heart pounding, his bandage turban askew. He had the solution at last: there was a way to have Malfoy followed—how could he have forgotten,
why hadn't he thought of it before?
But the question was, how to call him? What did you do? Quietly, tentatively, Harry spoke into the darkness.
“Kreacher?”
There was a very loud crack, and the sounds of scuffling and squeaks filled the silent room. Ron awoke with a yelp.
“What's going—?”
Harry pointed his wand hastily at the door of Madam Pomfrey's office and muttered, “Muffliato!” so that she would not come running. Then he scrambled to the end of
his bed for a better look at what was going on.
Two house-elves were rolling around on the floor in the middle of the dormitory, one wearing a shrunken maroon jumper and several woolly hats, the other, a filthy old
rag strung over his hips like a loincloth. Then there was another loud bang, and Peeves the Poltergeist appeared in midair above the wrestling elves.
“I was watching that, Potty!” he told Harry indignantly, pointing at the fight below, before letting out a loud cackle. “Look at the ickle creatures squabbling,
bitey bitey, punchy punchy —”
“Kreacher will not insult Harry Potter in front of Dobby, no he won't, or Dobby will shut Kreacher's mouth for him!” cried Dobby in a high-pitched voice.
“— kicky, scratchy!” cried Peeves happily, now pelting bits of chalk at the elves to enrage them further. “Tweaky, pokey!”
“Kreacher will say what he likes about his master, oh yes, and what a master he is, filthy friend of Mudbloods, oh, what would poor Kreacher's mistress say—?”
Exactly what Kreacher's mistress would have said they did not find out, for at that moment Dobby sank his knobbly little fist into Kreacher's mouth and knocked out half
of his teeth. Harry and Ron both leapt out of their beds and wrenched the two elves apart, though they continued to try and kick and punch each other, egged on by
Peeves, who swooped around the lamp squealing, “Stick your fingers up his nosey, draw his cork and pull his earsies —”
Harry aimed his wand at Peeves and said, “Langlock!” Peeves clutched at his throat, gulped, then swooped from the room making obscene gestures but unable to speak,
owing to the fact that his tongue had just glued itself to the roof of his mouth.
“Nice one,” said Ron appreciatively, lifting Dobby into the air so that his flailing limbs no longer made contact with Kreacher. “That was another Prince hex, wasn't
it?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, twisting Kreacher's wizened arm into a half nelson. “Right—I'm forbidding you to fight each other! Well, Kreacher, you're forbidden to fight
Dobby. Dobby, I know I'm not allowed to give you orders —”
“Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes and Dobby will do whatever Harry Potter wants him to do!” said Dobby, tears now streaming down his
shriveled little face onto his jumper.
“Okay then,” said Harry, and he and Ron both released the elves, who fell to the floor but did not continue fighting.
“Master called me?” croaked Kreacher, sinking into a bow even as he gave Harry a look that plainly wished him a painful death.
“Yeah, I did,” said Harry, glancing toward Madam Pomfrey's office door to check that the Muffliato spell was still working; there was no sign that she had heard any
of the commotion. “I've got a job for you.”
“Kreacher will do whatever Master wants,” said Kreacher, sinking so low that his lips almost touched his gnarled toes, “because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher
is ashamed to have such a master, yes —”
“Dobby will do it, Harry Potter!” squeaked Dobby, his tennis-ball-sized eyes still swimming in tears. “Dobby would be honored to help Harry Potter!”
“Come to think of it, it would be good to have both of you,” said Harry. “Okay then ... I want you to tail Draco Malfoy.”
Ignoring the look of mingled surprise and exasperation on Ron's face, Harry went on, “I want to know where he's going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want
you to follow him around the clock.”
“Yes, Harry Potter!” said Dobby at once, his great eyes shining with excitement. “And if Dobby does it wrong, Dobby will throw himself off the topmost tower, Harry
Potter!”
“There won't be any need for that,” said Harry hastily.
“Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?” croaked Kreacher. “Master wants me to spy upon the pure-blood great-nephew of my old mistress?”
“That's the one,” said Harry, foreseeing a great danger and determining to prevent it immediately. “And you're forbidden to tip him off, Kreacher, or to show him
what you're up to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or ... or to contact him in any way. Got it?”
He thought he could see Kreacher struggling to see a loophole in the instructions he had just been given and waited. After a moment or two, and to Harry's great
satisfaction, Kreacher bowed deeply again and said, with bitter resentment, “Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey him even though Kreacher would much
rather be the servant of the Malfoy boy, oh yes...”
“That's settled, then,” said Harry. “I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not surrounded by people when you turn up. Ron and Hermione are okay. And don't
tell anyone what you're doing. Just stick to Malfoy like a couple of wart plasters.”
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第19章 小精灵尾巴

“所以，总而言之，罗恩这个生日过得不咋样。”弗雷德说。

　　晚上，校医院很安静，拉着窗帘，亮着灯。只有罗恩这张病床上住了人。哈利、赫敏和金妮都坐在他身边。他们在门外等了一整天，每当有人进去或出来时便努力朝里面张望着。庞弗雷夫人八点钟才让他们进去。弗雷德和乔治是八点十分赶到的。

　　“我们没想到会是这样送礼物。”乔治阴郁地说着，一边把一个大礼包放在罗恩床头的柜子上，然后在金妮身边坐下来。

　　“就是，在我们想象的情景中，他是清醒的。”弗雷德说。

　　“我们还在霍格莫德，等着给他个惊喜——”乔治说。

　　“你们在霍格莫德？”金妮抬起头向。

　　“我们想买下佐科的店面，”弗雷德垂头丧气地说，“搞个霍格莫德分店。可是如果你们周末不能过去买东西，那个店还有个鬼用啊……不过现在不说它了。”

　　他拉了张椅子坐在哈利旁边，看着罗恩苍白的面孔。

　　“这事儿到底是怎么发生的，哈利？”

　　哈利又复述起他已经向邓布利多、麦格、庞弗雷夫人、赫敏、金妮等人说了好像有一百遍的故事。

　　“……然后我把粪石塞进了他的嗓子里，他的呼吸通畅了一些，斯拉格霍恩跑去叫人，麦格和庞弗雷夫人来了，把罗恩抬到了这里。他们认为他会好的。庞弗雷夫人说他还要在这儿待一两周……继续服用芸香精。”

　　“老天，多亏你想到了粪石。”乔治低声说。

　　“幸好屋里有一块。”哈利说，想到要是没找着那块小石头的后果，他不禁感到浑身冰冷。

　　赫敏发出一声几乎听不见的抽泣。她这一整天特别安静。刚才她脸色煞白地冲到校医院门口，询问哈利是怎么回事，之后，她几乎没有参加哈利和金妮关于罗恩是怎样中毒的反复讨论，只是咬着牙，神情恐惧地站在旁边，直到终于允许他们进去看他。

　　“爸爸妈妈知道吗？”弗雷德问金妮。

　　“他们已经看过他了，一小时前来的——这会儿在邓布利多的办公室呢，但很快就会回来……”

　　停了一会儿，大家看着罗恩在昏睡中小声嘟囔。

　　“毒药在酒里？”弗雷德轻声问。

　　“是。”哈利马上说。他现在没法想别的，很高兴有机会重新讨论这个话题。“斯拉格霍恩把它从——”

　　“他会不会趁你不注意时往罗恩杯子里放了什么东西？”

　　“有可能，可斯拉格霍恩为什么要对罗恩下毒呢？”

　　“不知道，”弗雷德皱起眉头，“你觉得他有没有可能把杯子搞混了？本来是想害你的？”

　　“斯拉格霍恩为什么要对哈利下毒？”金妮问。

　　“我不知道，”弗雷德说，“不过肯定有好多人想对哈利下毒，是不是？救世之星嘛。”

　　“你认为斯拉格霍恩是食死徒？”金妮说。

　　“什么都有可能。”弗雷德阴沉地说。

　　“他可能中了夺魂咒。”乔治插嘴道。

　　“他也可能是无辜的。”金妮说，“毒药可能下在酒瓶里，这样对象就可能是斯拉格霍恩本人。”

　　“谁会想杀斯拉格霍恩呢？”

　　“邓布利多认为伏地魔想把斯拉格霍恩拉过去，”哈利说，“斯拉格霍恩在来霍格沃茨之前已经躲了一年。而且……”他想到了邓布利多还没从斯拉格霍恩那里获得的那段回忆，“也许伏地魔想除掉他，觉得他可能对邓布利多很有价值。”

　　“可你说斯拉格霍恩打算把那瓶酒送给邓布利多做圣诞礼物，”金妮提醒他，“所以投毒者也可能是针对邓布利多的。”

　　“那么投毒者不大了解斯拉格霍恩。”赫敏这么多小时里第一次开口，听上去像得了重伤风，“了解斯拉格霍恩的人都知道，他很可能把好吃的东西都自己留着。”

　　“呃－敏－恩。”罗恩突然嘶哑地叫道。

　　大家沉默下来，担心地看着他，但他嘟囔了几声人们听不懂的话之后又打起鼾来。

　　病房门猛然打开了，他们都吓了一跳，海格大步走进来，头发上带着雨水，熊皮大衣在身后拍打着，手里拿着弩弓，在地上踏出海豚一般大的泥脚印。

　　“一天都在林子里！”他喘着气说，“阿拉戈克病得更重了，我念东西给它听——刚刚才上来吃晚饭，斯普劳特教授跟我讲了罗恩的事！他怎么样？”

　　“还好，”哈利说，“他们说他会好的。”

　　“一次探视不能超过六人！”庞弗雷夫人急忙从办公室里跑了过来。

　　“加上海格是六个。”乔治指出说。

　　“哦……对……”庞弗雷夫人似乎把庞大的海格当成了好几个人，为了掩饰她的错误，她赶紧去用魔杖清除他的泥脚印。

　　“我不相信，”海格俯视着罗恩，摇摇他那乱蓬蓬的大脑袋，粗声粗气地说，“就是不相信……看他躺在那儿……谁会想伤害他呢？”

　　“这正是我们讨论的问题，”哈利说，“我们也不知道。”

　　“不会是有人跟格兰芬多魁地奇球队过不去吧？”海格担心地说，“先是凯蒂，现在是罗恩……”

　　“我看不出有谁想干掉一支魁地奇球队。”乔治说。

　　“如果不会受处罚的话，伍德可能会对斯莱特林这么干。”弗雷德比较公正。

　　“我想不是为了魁地奇，但两次事件之间有联系。”赫敏轻声说。

　　“何以见得？”弗雷德问。

　　“第一，两次本来都该致命的，却没有致命，尽管这纯粹是运气。第二，毒药和项链似乎都没害到原定要害的人。当然，”她沉吟地说，“这样看来幕后那个人更加阴险，因为他们为了袭击真正的目标似乎不在乎干掉多少人。”

　　还没有人对这个不祥的预言做出回答，病房的门又开了，韦斯莱夫妇匆匆走向病床。他们上次探视只是确定罗恩能完全康复。现在韦斯莱夫人抓住哈利，紧紧地拥抱着他。

　　“邓布利多告诉我们你用粪石救了他。”她抽泣道，“哦，哈利，我们说什么好呢？你救过金妮……救过亚瑟……现在又救了罗恩……”

　　“不用……我没有……”哈利局促地说。

　　“还真是，现在想起来，我们家好像有一半人的命都是你救的。”韦斯莱先生说，他的嗓子眼有些发紧，“我只能说，罗恩在霍格沃茨特快列车上决定坐在你的车厢里，那真是幸运的一天，哈利。”

　　哈利不知道怎么回答，当庞弗雷夫人又提醒他们罗恩床边只能有六位探视者时，他几乎有些庆幸。哈利和赫敏立刻起身离去，海格决定跟他们一起走，让罗恩跟他的家人待在一起。

　　“真可怕，”海格吹着他的大胡子哆嗦道，三人沿着走廊往大理石台阶走去，“采取了这么多新的保安措施，还是继续有孩子受伤……邓布利多担心坏了……他不大说，但我看得出……”

　　“他没有什么主意吗，海格？”赫敏急切地说。

　　“我想他有几百个主意，他那样的脑子，”海格忠诚地说，“可他不知道是谁送的项链，谁在酒里下的毒，要不然早就抓住他们了，是不是？我担心的是，”海格压低嗓门，回头看了看（哈利则帮着看天花板上有没有皮皮鬼），“像这样接连有孩子出事，霍格沃茨还能办多久。这不又像密室事件了吗？会搞得人心惶惶，家长把孩子接出学校，然后董事会……”

　　一个长发女郎的幽灵恬静地飘过，海格停了下来，然后沙哑地小声说：“……董事会就会讨论把我们关掉。”

　　“不会的吧？”赫敏担心地问。

　　“你得从他们的观点来看，”海格语气沉重地说，“把孩子送进霍格沃茨总会有一些风险，是不是？几百个未成年的巫师关在一起，难免会有事故，是不是？可是谋杀事件性质不同啊，难怪邓布利多那么生斯内……”

　　海格突然刹住了，蓬乱的黑胡子间露出的那块面孔带着熟悉的心虚表情。

　　“什么？”哈利马上问，“邓布利多生斯内普的气？”

　　“我没那么说。”海格否认道，但他那惶恐的样子是最有力的揭发，“看看时间，快十二点了，我得——”

　　“海格，邓布利多为什么生斯内普的气？”哈利大声问。

　　“嘘！”海格说，看上去既紧张又恼火，“别嚷嚷那种话，你想让我丢掉工作吗？哦，我想你不在乎，是不是，反正你已经放弃了保护神奇——”

　　“别想让我觉得内疚，那没用！”哈利激烈地说，“斯内普干了什么？”

　　“我不知道，哈利，我根本不该听到的！我——唉，那天我从林子里出来，听到他们在说话——在吵架。我不喜欢引人注意，就偷偷走在后面，努力不听，可那是一场——激烈的讨论，想不听也不容易。”

　　“说呀？”哈利催促道，海格那双大脚不安地动了动。

　　“嗯——我听到斯内普说邓布利多太想当然，也许他——斯内普——不想再干了——”

　　“再干什么？”

　　“我不知道，哈利，听起来好像斯内普觉得工作太重了，就是这样——但是，邓布利多直截了当地说是斯内普同意干的，没什么可说的。对他挺强硬的。然后又说到要斯内普调查他的学院，斯莱特林。咳，这没什么奇怪的！”海格见哈利和赫敏意味深长地对视了一下，急忙说，“所有学院的院长都要调查项链的事——”

　　“对，可是邓布利多没跟其他人争吵，是不是？”哈利说。

　　“听着，”海格说，一边局促地扳着弩弓，嘎嘣一声，弩弓折成了两半，“我知道你对斯内普是怎么想的，哈利，我不希望你去猜疑本来没有的事情。”

　　“小心！”赫敏急促地说。

　　他们回过头，看见阿格斯·费尔奇的阴影正投到他们身后的墙上，然后他本人从一个拐角走了出来，他佝偻着背，下巴的垂肉抖动着。

　　“哦嗬！”他呼哧呼哧地说，“这么晚了还不睡觉，关禁闭！”

　　“不，费尔奇，”海格马上说，“他们跟我在一起，是吧？”

　　“那有什么区别？”费尔奇可憎地问。

　　“我是教师，不是吗？你这鬼鬼祟祟的哑炮！”海格登时火了。

　　费尔奇勃然大怒，发出可怕的嘶嘶声，洛丽丝夫人不知什么时候来了，蛇一样绕在费尔奇的瘦脚踝上。

　　“走。”海格从牙缝中挤出声音说。

　　哈利不需要再提醒，他跟赫敏匆匆逃走了，海格和费尔奇的高嗓门在身后回响着。在即将拐进格兰芬多塔楼时，他们碰到了皮皮鬼，他正快活地朝着吵嚷声的方向冲去，咯咯地笑着叫道：

　　哪儿有打架，哪儿有麻烦，

　　就叫皮皮鬼，他会去添乱！

　　胖夫人正在打瞌睡，被吵醒了不大高兴，拉长了脸，但还是旋开了，让他们爬了进去，幸好公共休息室里一片清静，空无一人。大家似乎还不知道罗恩的事，哈利大大地松了口气，他今天已经被问得很多了。赫敏跟他道了晚安，回女生宿舍了。哈利留了下来，坐在壁炉旁凝视着那些即将燃尽的炉灰。

　　邓布利多跟斯内普吵架了，尽管他对哈利口口声声坚持说他完全信任斯内普，他还是跟斯内普发脾气了……觉得斯内普没有尽力调查斯莱特林……或调查某一个斯莱特林的学生——马尔福？

　　是否因为邓布利多不希望哈利做傻事，害怕哈利自己插手去管，才假装说哈利怀疑的事情是无中生有？有可能。甚至可能是他不希望哈利上课分心或耽误了从斯拉格霍恩那里搞到真实的记忆。也可能邓布利多觉得不该对一个十六岁学生说他对教员的怀疑……

　　“你在这儿，波特！”

　　哈利惊得跳了起来，拿起了魔杖。他本来以为休息室里没人，完全没想到会突然从远处座位上冒出一个庞大的身影。哈利定睛一看，是考迈克·麦克拉根。

　　“我一直在等你回来，”麦克拉根说，没理会哈利拔出的魔杖，“准是打了个盹儿。我看到他们把韦斯莱抬到校医院去了，看样子他不能参加下星期的比赛了。”

　　哈利过了一会儿才明白过来他在说什么。

　　“哦……对了……魁地奇，”他把魔杖插回牛仔裤的腰带中，疲惫地捋了一下头发，“是啊……他可能去不了啦。”

　　“那就该我当守门员了，是不是？”麦克拉根问。

　　“啊，”哈利说，“啊，我想是……”

　　哈利想不出反驳的理由，毕竟，麦克拉根在选拔赛上名列第二。

　　“太好了，”麦克拉根用满意的口气说，“什么时候训练？”

　　“什么？哦……明天晚上有一次。”

　　“好，听我说，波特，我们应该事先谈一谈。我有一些战略想法，可能对你有用。”

　　“行，”哈利不太热情地说，“我明天再听吧，现在挺累的……再见……”

　　罗恩中毒的事第二天就迅速传开了，但没有像凯蒂受伤那么轰动，大家似乎认为这也许是个意外，因为他当时在魔药老师的屋里，而且立刻服了解药，没什么大碍。实际上，格兰芬多的学生普遍更关心的是对赫奇帕奇的魁地奇比赛，很多人都想看到该队追球手扎卡赖斯·史密斯受到惩罚，因为他在对斯莱特林的开场赛中解说得那么恶劣。

　　哈利对魁地奇的兴趣却是从未像现在这样低过，他的心思迅速被德拉科·马尔福占满了，还是一有机会就查看活点地图，有时还会绕到马尔福所在的地方，但仍未发现他有异常行为。然而，还是有些神秘的时刻，马尔福会完全从地图上消失……

　　但哈利没有很多时间想这个问题，要参加魁地奇训练，要做作业，还有走到哪里都会遭到麦克拉根和拉文德的纠缠。

　　哈利不能确定这两个人哪个更讨厌。麦克拉根不断暗示他当守门员会比罗恩更好，认为现在哈利经常看到他的训练，一定会得出同样的结论。他还喜欢批评其他球员，向哈利提供详细的训练方案，哈利好几次不得不提醒他谁是队长。

　　与此同时，拉文德经常凑上来讨论罗恩，哈利觉得这比麦克拉根的魁地奇讲座更令人厌烦。一开始，拉文德很生气没人想到告诉她罗恩进了医院——“我是他的女朋友！”不幸的是，她现在决定原谅哈利的失忆，很喜欢跟他就罗恩的感情做一次次深谈，这种极不舒服的经历哈利宁可没有。

　　“听我说，你为什么不跟罗恩谈这些呢？”哈利问。

　　在一次特别长的问话里，拉文德无所不谈，从罗恩对她的新袍子到底发表了什么评论，一直问到哈利是否觉得罗恩对她是“认真的”。

　　“唉，我是想问啊，可我去看他的时候，他总是在睡觉。”拉文德烦恼地说。

　　“是吗？”哈利很惊讶，因为每次他去校医院，罗恩都很清醒，对邓布利多和斯内普吵架的消息很感兴趣，骂起麦克拉根也积极起劲。

　　“赫敏·格兰杰还去看他吗？”拉文德突然问。

　　“嗯，我想是的。他们是朋友嘛，是不是？”哈利尴尬地答道。

　　“朋友？别逗我了。”拉文德轻蔑地说，“罗恩跟我好了之后，她几星期都没跟他说话！可是我估计她想跟他和好，因为现在他那么有趣……”

　　“你是说中毒有趣？算了——对不起，我该走了——麦克拉根要过来谈魁地奇了。”哈利急忙说，然后冲进旁边一扇伪装成墙壁的门中，抄近路逃去上魔药课了，幸好拉文德和麦克拉根不能跟去。

　　在对赫奇帕奇比赛的那天早上，哈利去球场前到校医院看了看。罗恩焦躁不安，庞弗雷夫人不让他去观看比赛，怕他兴奋过度。

　　“麦克拉根表现得怎么样？”他紧张地问哈利，好像不记得已经问过两遍了。

　　“我跟你说了，”哈利耐心地说，“他就是世界一流我也不想留他。他老是教训别人，觉得他在哪个位置都能比我们其他人更好。我巴不得早点儿摆脱他。说到摆脱，”哈利站起来，拿起他的火弩箭，“你能不能在拉文德来看你时不假装睡觉？她也要让我发疯了。”

　　“哦，”罗恩难为情地说，“是，好的。”

　　“如果你不想再跟她处下去，就告诉她。”

　　“嗯……这……不那么容易，是不是？”罗恩停了一会儿，又不经意地加了一句，“赫敏比赛前会来吗？”

　　“不，她已经跟金妮去球场了。”

　　“哦，”罗恩显得有些沮丧，“好吧，祝你们好运，希望你痛揍麦克拉根——我是说史密斯。”

　　“我尽量。”哈利说着扛起飞天扫帚，“赛后再见。”

　　他匆匆穿过无人的走廊。全校人都出去了，不是已坐在体育场里就是正往那儿走。哈利边看窗外，判断风力多大。听到前方有响动，他抬起目光，看到马尔福朝他走来，旁边有两个女孩，其中一个面有愠色。

　　看到哈利，马尔福突然停住了，然后短促地干笑一声，继续往前走。

　　“你去哪儿？”哈利问。

　　“啊，我正要告诉你呢，因为这是你的事，波特，”马尔福讥笑道，“你最好快点儿，他们在等‘救世队长’——‘得分之星’——谁知道他们现在叫你什么呢。”

　　一个女孩勉强地笑了一声，哈利盯着她，她的脸红了。马尔福从哈利身旁挤了过去，那女孩跟她的朋友小跑着跟上，转过拐角不见了。

　　哈利定在原地，眼睁睁地看着他们消失了。真够气人的，他已经是卡着时间去赛场，可却发现马尔福趁全校人都去看球赛的时候在偷偷行动：到现在为止，这是搞清楚马尔福在干什么的最好机会。时间一秒一秒无声地过去，哈利还站在那儿，望着马尔福消失的地方……

　　“你去哪儿了？”哈利冲进更衣室时金妮问。全队都已换好衣服，准备上场了。击球手古特和珀克斯紧张地用球棍敲着小腿。

　　“我碰到马尔福了。”哈利小声告诉她，一边把红色的球袍套到头上。

　　“噢？”

　　“我想知道，所有的人都在这儿，他怎么会带着两个女孩在城堡里……”

　　“这个时候这件事很要紧吗？”

　　“咳，我不可能搞清楚，是不是？”哈利抓起火弩箭，戴好眼镜，“走吧！”

　　他没再说话，大步走到球场上，迎来震耳欲聋的欢呼和嘘声。没有什么风，白云朵朵，时而有耀眼的阳光射出。

　　“麻烦的天气！”麦克拉根给队员们打气说，“古特、珀克斯，你们要在阳光照不到的地方飞，让对方看不到你们过来——”

　　“我是队长，麦克拉根，不要再指导他们了，”哈利恼火地说，“到球门那儿去。”

　　麦克拉根走了之后，哈利转向了古特和珀克斯。

　　“记着要在阳光照不到的地方飞。”他不情愿地叮嘱道。

　　他跟赫奇帕奇的队长握了手，然后在霍琦夫人的哨声中腾空而起，升得比其他队员都高，围绕球场疾驰，寻找飞贼。如果能早点儿抓到它，也许还有机会返回城堡拿上活点地图，去搞清马尔福在干什么……

　　“赫奇帕奇的史密斯拿到了鬼飞球，”一个梦幻般的声音在球场上空回响，“当然，上次是他做的解说。金妮·韦斯莱撞到了他，我想可能是故意的——看上去很像。史密斯上次对格兰芬多出言不逊。我想他现在后悔了——哦，快看，他丢掉了鬼飞球，金妮抢了过去，我喜欢她，她人很好……”

　　哈利朝解说台看去，哪个头脑正常的人会让卢娜做解说呢？可就是在高空也不会看错，那淡金色的长发，黄油啤酒瓶塞做的项链……她旁边的麦格教授显得有点不自在，好像确实对这一任命感到有些后悔。

　　“……可现在那个赫奇帕奇的大个子球员把鬼飞球从她手里夺走了，我不记得他的名字，好像是毕勃——不，巴金思——”

　　“是卡德瓦拉德！”麦格教授在卢娜旁边高声说道，观众哄堂大笑。

　　哈利举目四望寻找飞贼，却不见它的踪影。过了一会儿，卡德瓦拉德进了一球。麦克拉根在那儿大声指责金妮丢掉了鬼飞球，结果没注意大红球从他左耳边飞了过去。

　　“麦克拉根，请专心干你该干的事，不要干涉别人！”哈利转过身冲着他的守门员吼道。

　　“你也没做个好榜样！”麦克拉根也吼道，面孔通红，怒气冲冲。

　　“哈利·波特在和他的守门员争吵，”卢娜平静地说，下面赫奇帕奇和斯莱特林的观众都喝起了倒彩，“我不认为那有助于他找到飞贼，但这也许是个巧妙的幌子……”

　　哈利愤怒地诅咒了一声，转身继续绕场疾驰，在天空中搜寻那个带翅膀的小金球的影子。

　　金妮和德米尔扎各进一球，让下面穿着红金双色服装的观众有了一点可以欢呼的东西。然后卡德瓦拉德又进了一球，把比分扳平，但卢娜好像没注意到。她似乎对比分这种庸俗的东西特别不感兴趣，总是把观众的注意力引到别处，如奇形怪状的云彩，还有扎卡赖斯·史密斯开场后把鬼飞球拿在手里都没超过一分钟，是不是得了“丢球症”，等等。

　　“赫奇帕奇队七十比四十领先！”麦格教授朝卢娜的麦克风中喊道。

　　“是吗，已经这样了？”卢娜茫然地说，“哦，看哪！格兰芬多的守门员抓住了一个击球手的球棍。”

　　哈利在空中急忙转过身，果然，麦克拉根出于只有他自己才知道的原因，从珀克斯手里夺过了球棍，好像在示范怎么向飞来的卡德瓦拉德打游走球。

　　“把球棍还给他，回球门里去！”哈利咆哮着朝麦克拉根冲了过去，麦克拉根朝游走球狠抽一棍，球打飞了。

　　一阵头晕目眩的剧痛……一道亮光……远处的尖叫声……然后像在长长的隧道里坠落……

　　哈利知道的下一件事，就是发现自己躺在一张异常温暖舒适的床上，看着一盏在朦胧的天花板上投下金色光圈的吊灯。他艰难地抬起头，看到左边有一个很眼熟的雀斑脸的红头发的人。

　　“谢谢你来陪我。”罗恩笑嘻嘻地说。

　　哈利眨眨眼睛，环顾着四周。没错，他在校医院里。外面的天空靛蓝中夹着深红的条纹。比赛一定早结束了……抓住马尔福的希望也落空了。哈利觉得脑袋沉得出奇，他举起手，摸到了一大圈硬硬的绷带，像阿拉伯人的缠头巾。

　　“怎么回事？”

　　“头骨碎裂，”庞弗雷夫人急忙走来，把他按回枕头上，“不用担心，我立刻就缝合了，但你要住一晚上，几小时之内不可用力过度。”

　　“我不想在这儿过夜，”哈利愤怒地说，一边掀开被单坐了起来，“我想找到麦克拉根，把他杀了。”

　　“这恐怕属于‘用力过度’，”庞弗雷夫人坚决地把他推回床上，威胁他举起魔杖，“你要住到我让你出院为止，波特，不然我就要叫校长了。”

　　她匆匆走回办公室，哈利倒回枕头上，怒不可遏。

　　“你知道我们输了多少？”他咬着牙问罗恩。

　　“嗯，我知道，”罗恩抱歉地说，“最后比分是三百二十比六十。”

　　“精彩，”哈利说，气得眼睛都红了，“真精彩！等我抓住麦克拉根——”

　　“别抓他，他的块头像巨怪。”罗恩理智地说，“我个人认为完全可以用王子那个让脚趾疯长的咒语教训他一下。不过，在你出院前可能其他队员已经整过他了，他们都不痛快……”

　　罗恩的语气中有抑制不住的开心。哈利看得出他为麦克拉根捅了这么大的娄子而暗暗高兴。哈利躺在那儿，盯着天花板上的光圈，新缝合的头骨不是很疼，只是在绷带下隐隐作痛。

　　“在这儿能听到解说，”罗恩说，他笑得声音都抖了，“我希望以为都由卢娜解说……丢球症！……”

　　但哈利还在盛怒中，看不出这里面有多少幽默。过了一会儿，罗恩的笑声低了下去。

　　“你昏迷的时候金妮来过。”停了好长时间，他说。哈利的想象立刻超速运转起来，飞快构思出一幕画面：金妮对着他没有知觉的身体抽泣，表白着她对他深深的爱恋，罗恩为他们俩祝福……“她说你去的时候刚刚赶上比赛，怎么会呢？你走得挺早的啊。”

　　“哦……”哈利说，脑海中幻想的那一幕坍塌了，“是……我看到马尔福跟两个女孩走了，她们好像不想跟他走，这是他第二次没跟全校师生一起待在魁地奇球场。他上次比赛也溜了，记得吗？”哈利叹了口气。“当时要跟踪他就好了，比赛输得这么惨……”

　　“别傻了，”罗恩劈头说，“你不能为跟踪马尔福而错过魁地奇比赛，你是队长！”

　　“我想知道他在干什么。别跟我说这都是我的想象，我听到他和斯内普——”

　　“我从来没说这都是你的想象，”罗恩用胳膊肘支起身子，皱着眉头对哈利说道，“可是没有哪条规定说这地方每次只能有一个人搞阴谋啊！你对马尔福有点着魔了，哈利，竟然想为了跟踪他而放弃比赛……”

　　“我想抓到他！”哈利沮丧地说，“我的意思是，他从地图上消失的时候都到哪儿去了？”

　　“不知道……霍格莫德？”罗恩打着哈欠说。

　　“我在地图上没见他走过秘密通道。再说我想通道也受到监视了，是不是？”

　　“那我就不知道了。”

　　两人沉默下来。哈利盯着天花板上的光圈，思索着……

　　要是他有鲁弗斯·斯克林杰的权力，就可以派人盯马尔福的梢。可惜哈利没有一批傲罗听他调遣……他想到利用D.A.，可仍然有缺课的问题，大部分人的日程还是挺满的……

　　罗恩的床上响起了低沉的呼噜声。稍后庞弗雷夫人走了出来，这次她穿上件厚厚的睡衣。装睡最容易不过了，哈利翻了个身，听到她挥动魔杖拉上了所有的窗帘。灯暗下来，她走回办公室，哈利听到门咔哒一声着上了，知道她去睡觉了。

　　哈利在黑暗中回忆着，这是他第三次在魁地奇赛场上受伤而被送进校医院。上次是因为球场周围有摄魂怪，他从扫帚上摔了下来。再上次是因为不可救药的洛哈特教授把他手臂内的骨头变没了……那是他最痛的一次……他想起了一夜长出手臂里全部骨头的那种剧痛，还有的午夜来访——

　　哈利腾地坐了起来，心嗵嗵地跳着，绷带歪到了一边。他终于有了一个办法可以跟踪马尔福——他怎么会忘了呢？为什么先前没想起来呢？

　　问题是，怎么去叫他？怎么做呢？

　　哈利轻声试探着向黑暗中呼唤。

　　“克利切？”

　　噼啪一声巨响，扭打声和尖叫声随即充满了原本寂静的病房。

　　罗恩惊醒了，叫道：“出了什么——”

　　哈利急忙用魔杖指着庞弗雷夫人的房门念道：“闭耳塞听！”免得她冲过来。然后他爬到床脚，细看发生了什么。

　　两个家养小精灵在病房中央地地板上打着滚，一个穿着件缩水的栗色套头衫，戴着几顶绒线帽，另一个屁股上裹着声脏兮兮的破布。然后又是一声巨响，皮皮鬼这个恶作剧专家出现在扭成一团的小精灵上空。

　　“我在看他们呢，傻宝宝波特！”他指着下面气愤地告诉哈利，然后高声尖笑道，“看那两个小东西吵架，咬呀咬，打呀打。”

　　“不许克利切在多比面前侮辱哈利·波特，不许！不然多比就帮克利切闭上嘴巴！”多比尖叫道。

　　“——踢呀踢，抓呀抓！”皮皮鬼兴奋地喊道，一边朝小精灵扔着粉笔头，给他们火上浇油，“掐呀掐，戳呀戳！”

　　“克利切对他主人想说什么就说什么，没错。什么主人呀，龌龊的泥巴种的朋友，哦，克利切的女主人会怎么说——？”

　　克利切的女主人到底会说什么，他们没听到，因为这时多比把他那疙疙瘩瘩的小拳头杵进了克利切的嘴里，打掉了他的半口牙齿。哈利和罗恩一齐从床上跳了起来，拉开了两个小精灵，但他们还在企图踢打对方。皮皮鬼在旁边怂恿着，一边绕着吊灯飞舞，一边尖叫道，“用手指捅他鼻孔，打他的鼻子，揪他的耳朵——”

　　哈利用魔杖朝皮皮鬼一指，“锁舌封喉！”皮皮鬼抓着喉咙，噎住了，从窗口飞了出去，一边做着下流的手势，但说不出话来，因为他的舌头跟上颚粘到了一起。

　　“漂亮，”罗恩欣赏地说着，把多比举到空中，他乱舞的四肢再也碰不到克利切，“又是王子的魔法吧？”

　　“对，”哈利扭着克利切枯瘦的胳膊，扼住他的脖子，“——我禁止你们再打架！噢，克利切，禁止你再打多比。多比，我知道我不能再命令你——”

　　“多比是自由的家养小精灵，可以服从他喜欢的任何人，多比会做哈利·波特要他做的任何事情！”多比说，泪水顺着他皱巴巴的小脸淌到套头衫上。

　　“那好。”哈利说。他和罗恩放开了小精灵，他们落到地上，但没再打架。

　　“主人叫我？”克利切嘶哑地问，鞠了一躬，尽管他那眼神显然希望哈利不得好死。

　　“是，我叫你。”哈利看看庞弗雷夫人的房门，确定闭耳塞听咒还有效，看不出她有听到吵闹声的迹象。“我要给你一个任务。”

　　“克利切听凭主人吩咐，”克利切腰弯得那么深，嘴几乎碰到了他那疙疙瘩瘩的脚趾，“因为克利切别无选择，但克利切为有这样一个主人而羞耻，没错——”

　　“多比愿意做，哈利·波特！”多比尖叫道，他那网球大的眼睛中仍然盈满泪水，“能为哈利·波特效劳是多比的荣幸！”

　　“细想起来，有你们两个在一起倒不错。”哈利说，“好吧，那么……我希望你们跟踪德拉科·马尔福。”

　　他不顾罗恩脸上那又惊又恼的表情，接着说：“我想知道他去哪儿，见谁，干什么。我要你们全天盯着他。”

　　“是，哈利·波特！”多比马上说，大圆眼睛闪着兴奋的光芒，“要是多比做错了，多比就从最高层楼跳下去，哈利·波特！”

　　“那可不必。”哈利忙说。

　　“主人要我跟踪马尔福家最小的公子？”克利切嘶声道，“主人要我监视我旧主人的纯血统外孙？”

　　“正是他，”哈利看到一个很大的危险，决定立刻防止，“禁止你向他告密，克利切，禁止让他知道你在干什么，禁止跟他说话，给他写信，或……或用任何方式跟他联系。听到了吗？”

　　他看出克利切正努力在刚才的命令里寻找漏洞，就停那儿等待着。过了一会儿，克利切又深鞠一躬，恨恨地说：“主人把一切都想到了，克利切必须服从他，尽管克利切宁可当马尔福少爷的仆人，没错……”

　　“那就这么定了，”哈利说，“我要你们定期汇报，但要看准我周围没人时再来，罗恩跟赫敏在没关系。别告诉其他任何人你们在干什么。只要像两张膏药一样粘着马尔福。”
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Chapter 20 Lord Voldemort's Request

Harry and Ron left the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which was that Hermione was friends with Ron again. Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her the news that Ginny had argued with Dean. The drowsing creature in Harry's chest suddenly raised its head, sniffing the air hopefully.
“What did they row about?” he asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.
“It's all right!” said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. “Here ...”
She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, “Reparo.” The girl did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of sight; Ron glanced back at her.
“I swear they're getting smaller,” he said.
“Never mind her,” said Harry, a little impatiently. “What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?”
“Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you,” said Hermione.
“It must've looked funny,” said Ron reasonably.
“It didn't look funny at all!” said Hermione hotly. “It looked terrible and if Coote and Peakes hadn't caught Harry he could have been very badly hurt!”
“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?”
“Yes, they are—but why are you so interested?” asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.
“I just don't want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them called, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her.
“Oh, hi, Luna.”
“I went to the hospital wing to find you,” said Luna, rummaging in her bag. “But they said you'd left...”
She thrust what appeared to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what looked like cat litter into Ron's hands, finally pulling out a rather grubby scroll of parchment that she handed to Harry.
“... I've been told to give you this.”
It was a small roll of parchment, which Harry recognized at once as another invitation to a lesson with Dumbledore.
“Tonight,” he told Ron and Hermione, once he had unrolled it.
“Nice commentary last match!” said Ron to Luna as she took back the green onion, the toadstool, and the cat litter. Luna smiled vaguely.
“You're making fun of me, aren't you?” she said. “Everyone says I was dreadful.”
“No, I'm serious!” said Ron earnestly. “I can't remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?” he added, holding the onionlike object up to eye level.
“Oh, it's a Gurdyroot,” she said, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into her bag. “You can keep it if you like, I've got a few of them. They're really excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies.”
And she walked away, leaving Ron chortling, still clutching the Gurdyroot.
“You know, she's grown on me, Luna,” he said, as they set off again for the Great Hall. “I know she's insane, but it's in a good —”
He stopped talking very suddenly. Lavender Brown was standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous.
“Hi,” said Ron nervously.
“C'mon,” Harry muttered to Hermione, and they sped past, though not before they had heard Lavender say, “Why didn't you tell me you were getting out today? And why was she with you?”
Ron looked both sulky and annoyed when he appeared at breakfast half an hour later, and though he sat with Lavender, Harry did not see them exchange a word all the time they were together. Hermione was acting as though she was quite oblivious to all of this, but once or twice Harry saw an inexplicable smirk cross her face. All that day she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, and that evening in the common room she even consented to look over (in other words, finish writing) Harry's Herbology essay, something she had been resolutely refusing to do up to this point, because she had known that Harry would then let Ron copy his work.
“Thanks a lot, Hermione,” said Harry, giving her a hasty pat on the back as he checked his watch and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. “Listen, I've got to hurry or I'll be late for Dumbledore...”
She did not answer, but merely crossed out a few of his feebler sentences in a weary sort of way. Grinning, Harry hurried out through the portrait hole and off to the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle leapt aside at the mention of toffee eclairs, and Harry took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, knocking on the door just as a clock within chimed eight.
“Enter,” called Dumbledore, but as Harry put out a hand to push the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Trelawney.
“Aha!” she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry as she blinked at him through her magnifying spectacles.
“So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!”
“My dear Sybill,” said Dumbledore in a slightly exasperated voice, “there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —”
“Very well,” said Professor Trelawney, in a deeply wounded voice. “If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it... perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated...”
She pushed past Harry and disappeared down the spiral staircase; they heard her stumble halfway down, and Harry guessed that she had tripped over one of her trailing shawls.
“Please close the door and sit down, Harry,” said Dumbledore, sounding rather tired.
Harry obeyed, noticing as he took his usual seat in front of Dumbledore's desk that the Pensieve lay between them once more, as did two more tiny crystal bottles full of swirling memory.
“Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?” Harry asked.
“No,” said Dumbledore, “Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know—and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her—that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see.”
Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, “But never mind my staffing problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly—have you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?”
“Ah,” said Harry, brought up short. What with Apparition lessons and Quidditch and Ron being poisoned and getting his skull cracked and his determination to find out what Draco Malfoy was up to, Harry had almost forgotten about the memory Dumbledore had asked him to extract from Professor Slughorn. “Well, I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me.”
There was a little silence.
“I see,” said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Harry the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. “And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?”
“Well,” Harry stalled, at a loss for what to say next. His single attempt to get hold of the memory suddenly seemed embarrassingly feeble. “Well... the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood —”
“And did that work?” asked Dumbledore.
“Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned —”
“— which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it.”
A hot, prickly feeling of shame spread from the top of Harry's head all the way down his body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but Harry would have preferred him to yell; this cold disappointment was worse than anything.
“Sir,” he said, a little desperately, “it isn't that I wasn't bothered or anything, I've just had other—other thing...”
“Other things on your mind,” Dumbledore finished the sentence for him. “I see.”
Silence fell between them again, the most uncomfortable silence Harry had ever experienced with Dumbledore; it seemed to go on and on, punctuated only by the little grunting snores of the portrait of Armando Dippet over Dumbledore's head. Harry felt strangely diminished, as though he had shrunk a little since he had entered the room.
When he could stand it no longer he said, “Professor Dumbledore, I'm really sorry. I should have done more... I should have realized you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important.”
“Thank you for saying that, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory.”
“I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him,” he said earnestly.
“Then we shall say no more about it just now,” said Dumbledore more kindly, “but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?”
“Yes, sir,” said Harry quickly. “Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked ... he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes,” he mumbled shamefacedly.
“Very good,” said Dumbledore. “Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?”
“Yes, sir".
“Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?”
Harry nodded.
“But now, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you.” Dumbledore indicated the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve. “I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely.”
The idea that Dumbledore valued his opinion this highly made Harry feel even more deeply ashamed that he had failed in the task of retrieving the Horcrux memory, and he shifted guiltily in his seat as Dumbledore raised the first of the two bottles to the light and examined it.
“I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections, these two,” he said. “This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts.
“He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he join the Ministry of Magic, offered to set up appointments, put him in touch with useful contacts. He refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, Voldemort was working at Borgin and Burkes.”
“At Borgin and Burkes?” Harry repeated, stunned.
“At Borgin and Burkes,” repeated Dumbledore calmly. “I think you will see what attractions the place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time... as one of the few in whom the then Headmaster confided—but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher.”
“He wanted to stay here? Why?” asked Harry, more amazed still.
“I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet,” said Dumbledore. “Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home.”
Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts too.
“Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap.
“And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential a role a teacher can play. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army.”
“But he didn't get the job, sir?”
“No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach.”
“How did you feel about that, sir?” asked Harry hesitantly.
“Deeply uneasy,” said Dumbledore. “I had advised Armando against the appointment—I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort back at this school, and especially not in a position of power.”
“Which job did he want, sir? What subject did he want to teach?”
Somehow, Harry knew the answer even before Dumbledore gave it.
“Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years.
“So Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specializes, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this.”
“I'll bet he was,” said Harry, unable to contain himself.
“Well, quite,” said Dumbledore, with a faint smile. “And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith.”
Dumbledore tapped a bottle with his wand, the cork flew out, and he tipped the swirling memory into the Pensieve, saying as he did so, “After you, Harry.”
Harry got to his feet and bent once more over the rippling silver contents of the stone basin until his face touched them. He tumbled through dark nothingness and landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Harry had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
“Hurry up, Hokey!” said Hepzibah imperiously. “He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!”
She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
“How do I look?” said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
“Lovely, madam,” squeaked Hokey.
Harry could only assume that it was down in Hokey's contract that she must lie through her teeth when asked this question, because Hepzibah Smith looked a long way from lovely in his opinion.
A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped.
“Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!” cried Hepzibah and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things: there were cabinets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. In fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Harry had no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing as Voldemort. He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.
“I brought you flowers,” he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
“You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!” squealed old Hepzibah, though Harry noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table. “You do spoil this old lady, Tom... sit down, sit down... where's Hokey... ah ...”
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.
“Help yourself, Tom,” said Hepzibah, “I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times...”
Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.
“Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?” she asked, batting her lashes.
“Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor,” said Voldemort. “Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair —”
“Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!” pouted Hepzibah.
“I am ordered here because of them,” said Voldemort quietly. “I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire —”
“Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!” said Hepzibah, waving a little hand. “I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it.”
“I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me,” said Voldemort quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.
“I had Hokey bring it out for me... Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure... In fact, bring both, while you're at it...”
“Here, madam,” squeaked the house-elf, and Harry saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, pouffes, and footstools.
“Now,” said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, “I think you'll like this, Tom... oh, if my family knew I was showing you... They can't wait to get their hands on this!”
She opened the lid. Harry edged forward a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.
“I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!” whispered Hepzibah, and Voldemort stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Harry thought he saw a red gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah's face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Voldemort's handsome features.
“A badger,” murmured Voldemort, examining the engraving upon the cup. “Then this was...?”
“Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!” said Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. “Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here...”
She hooked the cup back off Voldemort's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face as the cup was taken away.
“Now then,” said Hepzibah happily, “where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are—take that away now, Hokey.”
The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap.
“I think you'll like this even more, Tom,” she whispered. “Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see... of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone...”
She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket.
Voldemort reached out his hand, without invitation this time, and held it up to the light, staring at it.
“Slytherin's mark,” he said quietly, as the light played upon an ornate, serpentine S.
“That's right!” said Hepzibah, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Voldemort gazing at her locket, transfixed. “I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value —”
There was no mistaking it this time: Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet at the words, and Harry saw his knuckles whiten on the locket's chain.
“— I daresay Burke paid her a pittance but there you are... pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe...”
She reached out to take the locket back. For a moment, Harry thought Voldemort was not going to let go of it, but then it had slid through his fingers and was back in its red velvet cushion.
“So there you are, Tom, clear, and I hope you enjoyed that!”
She looked him full in the face and for the first time, Harry saw her foolish smile falter.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“Oh yes,” said Voldemort quietly. “Yes, I'm very well...”
“I thought—but a trick of the light, I suppose —” said Hepzibah, looking unnerved, and Harry guessed that she too had seen the momentary red gleam in Voldemort's eyes. “Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again... the usual enchantments...”
“Time to leave, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly, and as the little elf bobbed away bearing the boxes, Dumbledore grasped Harry once again above the elbow and together they rose up through oblivion and back to Dumbledore's office.
“Hepzibah Smith died two days after that little scene,” said Dumbledore, resuming his seat and indicating that Harry should do the same. “Hokey the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident.”
“No way!” said Harry angrily.
“I see we are of one mind,” said Dumbledore. “Certainly, then are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death —”
“Hokey confessed?”
“She remembered putting something in her mistress's cocoa that turned out not to be sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison,” said Dumbledore. “It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but being old and confused —”
“Voldemort modified her memory, just like he did with Morfin!”
“Yes, that is my conclusion too,” said Dumbledore. “And, just as with Morfin, the Ministry was predisposed to suspect Hokey —”
“— because she was a house-elf,” said Harry. He had rarely felt more in sympathy with the society Hermione had set up, S.P.E.W.
“Precisely,” said Dumbledore. “She was old, she admitted to having tampered with the drink, and nobody at the Ministry bothered to inquire further. As in the case of Morfin, by the time I traced her and managed to extract this memory, her life was almost over — but her memory, of course, proves nothing except that Voldemort knew of the existence of the cup and the locket.
“By the time Hokey was convicted, Hepzibah's family had realized that two of her greatest treasures were missing. It took them a while to be sure of this, for she had many hiding places, having always guarded her collection most jealously. But before they were sure beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes, the young man who had visited Hepzibah so regularly and charmed her so well, had resigned his post and vanished. His superiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at his disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time.
“Now,” said Dumbledore, “if you don't mind, Harry, I want to pause once more to draw your attention to certain points of our story. Voldemort had committed another murder; whether it was his first since he killed the Riddles, I do not know, but I think it was. This time, as you will have seen, he killed not for revenge, but for gain. He wanted the two fabulous trophies that poor, besotted, old woman showed him. Just as he had once robbed the other children at his orphanage, just as he had stolen his Uncle Morfin's ring, so he ran off now with Hepzibah's cup and locket.”
“But,” said Harry, frowning, “it seems mad... risking everything, throwing away his job, just for those...”
“Mad to you, perhaps, but not to Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “I hope you will understand in due course exactly what those objects meant to him, Harry, but you must admit that it is not difficult to imagine that he saw the locket, at least, as rightfully his.”
“The locket maybe,” said Harry, “but why take the cup as well?”
“It had belonged to another of Hogwarts's founders,” said Dumbledore. “I think he still felt a great pull toward the school and that he could not resist an object so steeped in Hogwarts’ history. There were other reasons, I think... I hope to be able to demonstrate them to you in due course.
“And now for the very last recollection I have to show you, at least until you manage to retrieve Professor Slughorn's memory for us. Ten years separates Hokey's memory and this one, ten years during which we can only guess at what Lord Voldemort was doing...”
Harry got to his feet once more as Dumbledore emptied the last memory into the Pensieve.
“Whose memory is it?” he asked.
“Mine,” said Dumbledore.
And Harry dived after Dumbledore through the shifting silver mass, landing in the very office he had just left. There was Fawkes slumbering happily on his perch, and there behind the desk was Dumbledore, who looked very similar to the Dumbledore standing beside Harry, though both hands were whole and undamaged and his face was, perhaps, a little less lined. The one difference between the present-day office and this one was that it was snowing in the past; bluish flecks were drifting past the window in the dark and building up on the outside ledge.
The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something, and sure enough, moments after their arrival, there was a knock on the door and he said, “Enter.”
Harry let out a hastily stifled gasp. Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Harry had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ago: they were not as snake-like, the eyes were not yet scarlet, the face not yet masklike, and yet he was no longer handsome Tom Riddle. It was as though his features had been burned and blurred; they were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look, though the pupils were not yet the slits that Harry knew they would become. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was as pale as the snow glistening on his shoulders.
The Dumbledore behind the desk showed no sign of surprise. Evidently this visit had been made by appointment.
“Good evening, Tom,” said Dumbledore easily. “Won't you sit down?”
“Thank you,” said Voldemort, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured—the very seat, by the looks of it, that Harry had just vacated in the present. “I heard that you had become Headmaster,” he said, and his voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been. “A worthy choice.”
“I am glad you approve,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “May I offer you a drink?”
“That would be welcome,” said Voldemort. “I have come a long way.”
Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where he now kept the Pensieve, but which then was full of bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk.
“So, Tom ... to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine.
“They do not call me ‘Tom’ anymore,” he said. “These days, I am known as —”
“I know what you are known as,” said Dumbledore, smiling, pleasantly. “But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges’ youthful beginnings.”
He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Harry could tell that Voldemort took it as such.
“I am surprised you have remained here so long,” said Voldemort after a short pause. “I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school.”
“Well,” said Dumbledore, still smiling, “to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too.”
“I see it still,” said Voldemort. “I merely wondered why you—who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister —”
“Three times at the last count, actually,” said Dumbledore. “But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think.”
Voldemort inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with a look of pleasant expectancy, for Voldemort to talk first.
“I have returned,” he said, after a little while, “later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected... but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard.”
Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking.
“Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us,” he said quietly. “Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them.”
Voldemort's expression remained impassive as he said, “Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore.”
“You call it ‘greatness,’ what you have been doing, do you?” asked Dumbledore delicately.
“Certainly,” said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. “I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed —”
“Of some kinds of magic,” Dumbledore corrected him quietly. “Of some. Of others, you remain... forgive me... woefully ignorant.”
For the first time, Voldemort smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.
“The old argument,” he said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”
“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.
“Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?” said Voldemort. “Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command.”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves—or so rumor has it—the Death Eaters?”
Harry could tell that Voldemort had not expected Dumbledore to know this name; he saw Voldemort's eyes flash red again and the slitlike nostrils flare.
“My friends,” he said, after a moment's pause, “will carry on without me, I am sure.”
“I am glad to hear that you consider them friends,” said Dumbledore. “I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants.”
“You are mistaken,” said Voldemort.
“Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them—Nott, Rosier, Muldber, Dolohov—awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post.”
There could be no doubt that Dumbledore's detailed knowledge of those with whom he was traveling was even less welcome to Voldemort; however, he rallied almost at once.
“You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore.”
“Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen,” said Dumbledore lightly. “Now, Tom...”
Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture.
“... let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?”
Voldemort looked coldly surprised. “A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much.”
“Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?”
Voldemort sneered.
“If you do not want to give me a job —”
“Of course I don't,” said Dumbledore. “And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose.”
Voldemort stood up. He looked less like Tom Riddle than ever, his features thick with rage.
“This is your final word?”
“It is,” said Dumbledore, also standing.
“Then we have nothing more to say to each other.”
“No, nothing,” said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. “The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom... I wish I could...”
For a second, Harry was on the verge of shouting a pointless warning: He was sure that Voldemort's hand had twitched toward his pocket and his wand; but then the moment had passed, Voldemort had turned away, the door was closing, and he was gone.
Harry felt Dumbledore's hand close over his arm again and moments later, they were standing together on almost the same spot, but there was no snow building on the window ledge, and Dumbledore's hand was blackened and dead-looking once more.
“Why?” said Harry at once, looking up into Dumbledore's face. “Why did he come back? Did you ever find out?”
“I have ideas,” said Dumbledore, “but no more than that.”
“What ideas, sir?”
“I shall tell you, Harry, when you have retrieved that memory from Professor Slughorn,” said Dumbledore.
“When you have that last piece of the jigsaw, everything will, I hope, be clear ... to both of us.”
Harry was still burning with curiosity and even though Dumbledore had walked to the door and was holding it open for him, he did not move at once.
“Was he after the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again, sir? He didn't say...”
“Oh, he definitely wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job,” said Dumbledore. “The aftermath of our little meeting proved that. You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort.”
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