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

into Hogsmeade for a drink,’ said Dumbledore lightly. ‘I sometimes offer Rosmerta my custom, or else visit the Hog’s Head … or I appear to. It is as good a way as any of disguising one’s true destination.’
    They made their way down the drive in the gathering twilight. The air was full of the smells of warm grass, lake water and wood smoke from Hagrid’s cabin. It was difficult to believe that they were heading for anything dangerous or frightening.
    ‘Professor,’ said Harry quietly, as the gates at the bottom of the drive came into view, ‘will we be Apparating?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You can Apparate now, I believe?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘but I haven’t got a licence.’
    He felt it best to be honest; what if he spoiled everything by turning up a hundred miles from where he was supposed to go?
    ‘No matter,’ said Dumbledore, ‘I can assist you again.’
    They turned out of the gates into the twilit, deserted lane to Hogsmeade. Darkness descended fast as they walked and by the time they reached the High Street night was falling in earnest. Lights twinkled from windows over shops and as they neared the Three Broomsticks they heard raucous shouting.
    ‘– and stay out!’ shouted Madam Rosmerta, forcibly ejecting a grubby-looking wizard. ‘Oh, hello, Albus … you’re out late …’
    ‘Good evening, Rosmerta, good evening … forgive me, I’m off to the Hog’s Head … no offence, but I feel like a quieter atmosphere tonight …’
    A minute later they turned the corner into the side street where the Hog’s Head’s sign creaked a little, though there was no breeze. In contrast to the Three Broomsticks, the pub appeared to be completely empty.
    ‘It will not be necessary for us to enter,’ muttered Dumbledore, glancing around. ‘As long as nobody sees us go … now place your hand upon my arm, Harry. There is no need to grip too hard, I am merely guiding you. On the count of three – one … two … three …’
    Harry turned. At once, there was that horrible sensation that he was being squeezed through a thick rubber tube; he could not draw breath, every part of him was being compressed almost past endurance and then, just when he thought he must suffocate, the invisible bands seemed to burst open, and he was standing in cool darkness, breathing in lungfuls of fresh, salty air.

 
     
— CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX —
     
The Cave
    Harry could smell salt and hear rushing waves; a light, chilly breeze ruffled his hair as he looked out at moonlit sea and star-strewn sky. He was standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him. He glanced over his shoulder. A towering cliff stood behind, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few large chunks of rock, such as the one upon which Harry and Dumbledore were standing, looked as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. It was a bleak, harsh view; the sea and the rock unrelieved by any tree or sweep of grass or sand.
    ‘What do you think?’ asked Dumbledore. He might have been asking Harry’s opinion on whether it was a good site for a picnic.
    ‘They brought the kids from the orphanage here?’ asked Harry, who could not imagine a less cosy spot for a daytrip.
    ‘Not here, precisely,’ said Dumbledore. ‘There is a village of sorts about halfway along the cliffs behind us. I believe the orphans were taken there for a little sea air and a view of the waves. No, I think it was only ever Tom Riddle and his youthful victims who visited this spot. No Muggle could reach this rock unless they were uncommonly good mountaineers, and boats cannot approach the cliffs; the waters around them are too dangerous. I imagine that Riddle climbed down; magic would have served better than ropes. And he brought two small children with him, probably for the pleasure of terrorising them. I think the journey alone would have done it, don’t you?’
    Harry looked up at the cliff again and felt goosebumps.
    ‘But his final destination – and ours – lies a little further on. Come.’
    Dumbledore beckoned Harry to the very edge of the rock, where a series of jagged niches that made footholds led down to boulders that lay half-submerged in water and closer to the cliff. It was a treacherous descent and Dumbledore, hampered slightly by his withered hand, moved slowly. The lower rocks were slippery with sea water. Harry could feel flecks of cold salt spray hitting his face.
    ‘Lumos,’