Harry Potter 06 - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

table. Fang, who had been skulking in his basket during the burial, now came padding softly across to them and put his heavy head into Harry’s lap as usual. Slughorn uncorked one of the bottles of wine he had brought.
    ‘I have had it all tested for poison,’ he assured Harry, pouring most of the first bottle into one of Hagrid’s bucket-sized mugs and handing it to Hagrid. ‘Had a house-elf taste every bottle after what happened to your poor friend Rupert.’
    Harry saw, in his mind’s eye, the expression on Hermione’s face if she ever heard about this abuse of house-elves, and decided never to mention it to her.
    ‘One for Harry …’ said Slughorn, dividing a second bottle between two mugs, ‘… and one for me. Well,’ he raised his mug high, ‘to Aragog.’
    ‘Aragog,’ said Harry and Hagrid together.
    Both Slughorn and Hagrid drank deeply. Harry, however, with the way ahead illuminated for him by Felix Felicis, knew that he must not drink, so he merely pretended to take a gulp and then set the mug back on the table before him.
    ‘I had him from an egg, yeh know,’ said Hagrid morosely. ‘Tiny little thing he was when he hatched. ’Bout the size of a Pekinese.’
    ‘Sweet,’ said Slughorn.
    ‘Used ter keep him in a cupboard up at the school until … well …’
    Hagrid’s face darkened and Harry knew why: Tom Riddle had contrived to have Hagrid thrown out of school, blamed for opening the Chamber of Secrets. Slughorn, however, did not seem to be listening; he was looking up at the ceiling, from which a number of brass pots hung, and also a long, silky skein of bright white hair.
    ‘That’s never unicorn hair, Hagrid?’
    ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Hagrid indifferently. ‘Gets pulled out of their tails, they catch it on branches an’ stuff in the Forest, yeh know …’
    ‘But my dear chap, do you know how much that’s worth ?’
    ‘I use it fer bindin’ on bandages an’ stuff if a creature gets injured,’ said Hagrid, shrugging. ‘It’s dead useful … very strong, see.’
    Slughorn took another deep draught from his mug, his eyes moving carefully around the cabin now, looking, Harry knew, for more treasures that he might be able to convert into a plentiful supply of oak-matured mead, crystallised pineapple and velvet smoking jackets. He refilled Hagrid’s mug and his own, and questioned him about the creatures that lived in the Forest these days and how Hagrid was able to look after them all. Hagrid, becoming expansive under the influence of the drink and Slughorn’s flattering interest, stopped mopping his eyes and entered happily into a long explanation of Bowtruckle husbandry.
    The Felix Felicis gave Harry a little nudge at this point and he noticed that the supply of drink that Slughorn had brought was running out fast. Harry had not yet managed to bring off the Refilling Charm without saying the incantation aloud, but the idea that he might not be able to do it tonight was laughable: indeed, Harry grinned to himself as, unnoticed by either Hagrid or Slughorn (now swapping tales of the illegal trade in dragon eggs), he pointed his wand under the table at the emptying bottles and they immediately began to refill.
    After an hour or so, Hagrid and Slughorn began making extravagant toasts: to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine and to –
    ‘Harry Potter!’ bellowed Hagrid, slopping some of his fourteenth bucket of wine down his chin as he drained it.
    ‘Yes, indeed,’ cried Slughorn a little thickly, ‘Parry Otter, the Chosen Boy Who – well – something of that sort,’ he mumbled, and drained his mug, too.
    Not long after this, Hagrid became tearful again and pressed the whole unicorn tail upon Slughorn, who pocketed it with cries of, ‘To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!’
    And for a while after that, Hagrid and Slughorn were sitting side by side, arms around each other, singing a slow sad song about a dying wizard called Odo.
    ‘Aaargh, the good die young,’ muttered Hagrid, slumping low on to the table, a little cross-eyed, while Slughorn continued to warble the refrain. ‘Me dad was no age ter go … nor were your mum an’ dad, Harry …’
    Great fat tears oozed out of the corners of Hagrid’s crinkled eyes again; he grasped Harry’s arm and shook it.
    ‘… bes’ wiz and witchard o’ their age I never knew … terrible thing … terrible thing …’
    Slughorn sang plaintively:
     
    ‘And Odo the hero, they bore him back