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

negative figures this early in the term – we haven’t even started pudding. You might have set a record, Potter.’
    The fury and hatred bubbling inside Harry seemed to blaze white-hot, but he would rather have been immobilised all the way back to London than tell Snape why he was late.
    ‘I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?’ Snape continued. ‘And with no flying car available you decided that bursting into the Great Hall halfway through the feast ought to create a dramatic effect.’
    Still Harry remained silent, though he thought his chest might explode. He knew that Snape had come to fetch him for this, for the few minutes when he could needle and torment Harry without anyone else listening.
    They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors swung open on to the vast flagged Entrance Hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall. Harry wondered whether he could slip his Invisibility Cloak back on, thereby gaining his seat at the long Gryffindor table (which, inconveniently, was the furthest from the Entrance Hall) without being noticed.
    As though he had read Harry’s mind, however, Snape said, ‘No Cloak. You can walk in so that everyone sees you, which is what you wanted, I’m sure.’
    Harry turned on the spot and marched straight through the open doors: anything to get away from Snape. The Great Hall, with its four long house tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was all a shimmering blur to Harry, however, who walked so fast that he was passing the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stare, and by the time they were standing up to get a good look at him, he had spotted Ron and Hermione, sped along the benches towards them and forced his way in between them.
    ‘Where’ve you – blimey, what’ve you done to your face?’ said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.
    ‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’ said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.
    ‘You’re covered in blood!’ said Hermione. ‘Come here –’
    She raised her wand, said, ‘Tergeo!’ and siphoned off the dried blood.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Harry, feeling his now clean face. ‘How’s my nose looking?’
    ‘Normal,’ said Hermione anxiously. ‘Why shouldn’t it? Harry, what happened, we’ve been terrified!’
    ‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean and Seamus were listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had come floating along the bench to eavesdrop.
    ‘But –’ said Hermione.
    ‘Not now, Hermione,’ said Harry, in a darkly significant voice. He hoped very much that they would all assume he had been involved in something heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a Dementor. Of course, Malfoy would spread the story as far and wide as he could, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t reach too many Gryffindor ears.
    He reached across Ron for a couple of chicken legs and a handful of chips, but before he could take them they vanished, to be replaced with puddings.
    ‘You missed the Sorting, anyway,’ said Hermione, as Ron dived for a large chocolate gateau.
    ‘Hat say anything interesting?’ asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.
    ‘More of the same, really … advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know.’
    ‘Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?’
    ‘Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn’t he? It can’t be long now.’
    ‘Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast –’
    ‘You’ve seen Snape? How come?’ said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.
    ‘Bumped into him,’ said Harry evasively.
    ‘Hagrid was only a few minutes late,’ said Hermione. ‘Look, he’s waving at you, Harry.’
    Harry looked up at the staff table and grinned at Hagrid, who was indeed waving at him. Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid’s elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapproving at this enthusiastic greeting. Harry was surprised to see the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, sitting on