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

other side of the glass.
    ‘You ask him!’
    ‘No, you!’
    ‘I’ll do it!’
    And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin and long black hair, pushed her way through the door.
    ‘Hi, Harry, I’m Romilda, Romilda Vane,’ she said loudly and confidently. ‘Why don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with them ,’ she added in a stage whisper, indicating Neville’s bottom, which was sticking out from under the seat again as he groped around for Trevor, and Luna, who was now wearing her free Spectrespecs, which gave her the look of a demented, multicoloured owl.
    ‘They’re friends of mine,’ said Harry coldly.
    ‘Oh,’ said the girl, looking very surprised. ‘Oh. OK.’
    And she withdrew, sliding the door closed behind her.
    ‘People expect you to have cooler friends than us,’ said Luna, once again displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty.
    ‘You are cool,’ said Harry shortly. ‘None of them was at the Ministry. They didn’t fight with me.’
    ‘That’s a very nice thing to say,’ beamed Luna, and she pushed her Spectrespecs further up her nose and settled down to read The Quibbler .
    ‘We didn’t face him , though,’ said Neville, emerging from under the seat with fluff and dust in his hair and a resigned-looking Trevor in his hand. ‘You did. You should hear my gran talk about you. “That Harry Potter’s got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!” She’d give anything to have you as a grandson …’
    Harry laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject to O.W.L. results as soon as he could. While Neville recited his grades and wondered aloud whether he would be allowed to take a Transfiguration N.E.W.T. with only an ‘Acceptable’, Harry watched him without really listening.
    Neville’s childhood had been blighted by Voldemort just as much as Harry’s had, but Neville had no idea how close he had come to having Harry’s destiny. The prophecy could have referred to either of them, yet, for his own inscrutable reasons, Voldemort had chosen to believe that Harry was the one meant.
    Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it would be Neville sitting opposite Harry bearing the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy … or would it? Would Neville’s mother have died to save him, as Lily had died for Harry? Surely she would … but what if she had been unable to stand between her son and Voldemort? Would there, then, have been no ‘Chosen One’ at all? An empty seat where Neville now sat and a scarless Harry who would have been kissed goodbye by his own mother, not Ron’s?
    ‘You all right, Harry? You look funny,’ said Neville.
    Harry started.
    ‘Sorry – I –’
    ‘Wrackspurt got you?’ asked Luna sympathetically, peering at Harry through her enormous coloured spectacles.
    ‘I – what?’
    ‘A Wrackspurt … they’re invisible, they float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy,’ she said. ‘I thought I felt one zooming around in here.’
    She flapped her hands at thin air, as though beating off large invisible moths. Harry and Neville caught each other’s eye and hastily began to talk of Quidditch.
    The weather beyond the train windows was as patchy as it had been all summer; they passed through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight. It was during one of the clear spells, when the sun was visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione entered the compartment at last.
    ‘Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I’m starving,’ said Ron longingly, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach. ‘Hi, Neville, hi, Luna. Guess what?’ he added, turning to Harry. ‘Malfoy’s not doing prefect duty. He’s just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed.’
    Harry sat up straight, interested. It was not like Malfoy to pass up the chance to demonstrate his power as prefect, which he had happily abused all the previous year.
    ‘What did he do when he saw you?’
    ‘The usual,’ said Ron indifferently, demonstrating a rude hand gesture. ‘Not like him, though, is it? Well – that is –’ he did the hand gesture again, ‘but why isn’t he out there bullying first-years?’
    ‘Dunno,’ said Harry, but his mind was racing. Didn’t this look as though Malfoy had more important things on his mind than bullying younger students?
    ‘Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial