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

will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?’
    ‘Couldn’t –?’
    ‘Do I have it?’
    ‘But –’
    ‘Your word, Harry.’
    ‘I – all right, but –’
    Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.
    ‘Your good health, Harry.’
    And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, terrified, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips were numb.
    ‘Professor?’ he said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. ‘How do you feel?’
    Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more.
    In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletfuls of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forwards against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.
    ‘Professor Dumbledore?’ said Harry, his voice strained. ‘Can you hear me?’
    Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he were deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forwards and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.
    ‘Professor, can you hear me?’ he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.
    Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognise, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this.
    ‘I don’t want … don’t make me …’
    Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do.
    ‘… don’t like … want to stop …’ moaned Dumbledore.
    ‘You … you can’t stop, Professor,’ said Harry. ‘You’ve got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here …’
    Hating himself, repulsed by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back towards Dumbledore’s mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the potion inside.
    ‘No …’ he groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. ‘I don’t want to … I don’t want to … let me go …’
    ‘It’s all right, Professor,’ said Harry, his hand shaking. ‘It’s all right, I’m here –’
    ‘Make it stop, make it stop,’ moaned Dumbledore.
    ‘Yes … yes, this’ll make it stop,’ lied Harry. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore’s open mouth.
    Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.
    ‘No, no, no … no … I can’t … I can’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to …’
    ‘It’s all right, Professor, it’s all right!’ said Harry loudly, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth gobletful of potion; the basin was now half-empty. ‘Nothing’s happening to you, you’re safe, it isn’t real, I swear it isn’t real – take this, now, take this …’
    And obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote Harry offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.
    ‘It’s all my fault, all my fault,’ he sobbed, ‘please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh, please make it stop and I’ll never, never again …’
    ‘This will make it stop, Professor,’ Harry said, his voice cracking as he tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore’s mouth.
    Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry’s trembling hands as he moaned, ‘Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them, please, please, it’s my fault, hurt me instead …’
    ‘Here, drink this, drink this, you’ll be all right,’ said Harry desperately, and once again Dumbledore obeyed him, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot.
    And now he fell forwards, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while Harry filled the ninth goblet.
    ‘Please, please, please, no … not that, not that, I’ll do anything …’
    ‘Just drink, Professor, just drink …’
    Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though