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

against hope that Snape had not seen what he feared, but –
    ‘Bring me your schoolbag,’ said Snape softly, ‘and all of your school books. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!’
    There was no point arguing. Harry turned at once and splashed out of the bathroom. Once in the corridor, he broke into a run towards Gryffindor Tower. Most people were walking the other way; they gaped at him drenched in water and blood, but he answered none of the questions fired at him as he ran past.
    He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage. What had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn – Harry’s stomach churned – how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much … the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen … he could not …
    ‘Where’ve you –? Why are you soaking –? Is that blood ?’
    Ron was standing at the top of the stairs, looking bewildered at the sight of Harry.
    ‘I need your book,’ Harry panted. ‘Your Potions book. Quick … give it to me …’
    ‘But what about the Half-Blood –?’
    ‘I’ll explain later!’
    Ron pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and handed it over; Harry sprinted off past him and back to the common room. Here, he seized his schoolbag, ignoring the amazed looks of several people who had already finished their dinner, threw himself back out of the portrait hole and hurtled off along the seventh-floor corridor.
    He skidded to a halt beside the tapestry of dancing trolls, closed his eyes and began to walk.
    I need a place to hide my book … I need a place to hide my book … I need a place to hide my book …
    Three times he walked up and down in front of the stretch of blank wall. When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room of Requirement. Harry wrenched it open, flung himself inside and slammed it shut.
    He gasped. Despite his haste, his panic, his fear of what awaited him back in the bathroom, he could not help but be overawed by what he was looking at. He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover half-heartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon-egg shells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords and a heavy, blood-stained axe.
    Harry hurried forwards into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague had got lost the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard which seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. He opened one of the cupboard’s creaking doors: it had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that had long-since died; its skeleton had five legs. He stuffed the Half-Blood Prince’s book behind the cage and slammed the door. He paused for a moment, his heart thumping horribly, gazing around at the clutter … would he be able to find this spot again, amidst all this junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a nearby crate, he stood it on the cupboard where the book was now hidden, perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statue’s head to make it more distinctive, then sprinted back through the alleyways of hidden junk as fast as he could go, back to the door, back out on to the corridor, where he slammed the door behind him and it turned at once back into stone.
    Harry ran flat out towards the bathroom on the floor below, cramming Ron’s copy of Advanced Potion-Making into his bag as he did so. A minute later, he was