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

love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby’s sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son.’
    The sky outside was inky black and the lamps in Dumbledore’s office seemed to glow more brightly than before.
    ‘I think that will do for tonight, Harry,’ said Dumbledore after a moment or two.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Harry.
    He got to his feet, but did not leave.
    ‘Sir … is it important to know all this about Voldemort’s past?’
    ‘Very important, I think,’ said Dumbledore.
    ‘And it … it’s got something to do with the prophecy?’
    ‘It has everything to do with the prophecy.’
    ‘Right,’ said Harry, a little confused, but reassured all the same.
    He turned to go, then another question occurred to him, and he turned back again.
    ‘Sir, am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you’ve told me?’
    Dumbledore considered him for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, I think Mr Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. But, Harry, I am going to ask you to ask them not to repeat any of this to anybody else. It would not be a good idea if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort’s secrets.’
    ‘No, sir, I’ll make sure it’s just Ron and Hermione. Good-night.’
    He turned away again, and was almost at the door when he saw it. Sitting on one of the little spindle-legged tables that supported so many frail-looking silver instruments was an ugly gold ring set with a large, cracked black stone.
    ‘Sir,’ said Harry, staring at it. ‘That ring –’
    ‘Yes?’ said Dumbledore.
    ‘You were wearing it when we visited Professor Slughorn that night.’
    ‘So I was,’ Dumbledore agreed.
    ‘But isn’t it … sir, isn’t it the same ring Marvolo Gaunt showed Ogden?’
    Dumbledore bowed his head.
    ‘The very same.’
    ‘But how come –? Have you always had it?’
    ‘No, I acquired it very recently,’ said Dumbledore. ‘A few days before I came to fetch you from your aunt and uncle’s, in fact.’
    ‘That would be around the time you injured your hand, then, sir?’
    ‘Around that time, yes, Harry.’
    Harry hesitated. Dumbledore was smiling.
    ‘Sir, how exactly –?’
    ‘Too late, Harry! You shall hear the story another time. Goodnight.’
    ‘Goodnight, sir.’

 
     
— CHAPTER ELEVEN —
     
Hermione’s Helping Hand
    As Hermione had predicted, the sixth-years’ free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione’s increasing resentment, Harry’s best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.
    Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.
    One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practising non-verbal spells was that Harry, Ron and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.
    ‘We’ve got to go and explain,’ said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid’s huge empty chair at the staff table the