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

throughout and refused to talk at all if Harry had used the Muffliato spell on anyone in the vicinity.
    Sitting up in bed, Harry turned the book sideways so as to examine more closely the scribbled instructions for a spell that seemed to have caused the Prince some trouble. There were many crossings-out and alterations, but finally, crammed into a corner of the page, the scribble:
    Levicorpus (n-vbl)
    While the wind and sleet pounded relentlessly on the windows and Neville snored loudly, Harry stared at the letters in brackets. N-vbl … that had to mean non-verbal. Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with non-verbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every DADA class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far.
    Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head.
    ‘Aaaaaaaargh!’
    There was a flash of light and the room was full of voices: everyone had woken up as Ron had let out a yell. Harry sent Advanced Potion-Making flying in panic; Ron was dangling upside-down in midair as though an invisible hook had hoisted him up by the ankle.
    ‘Sorry!’ yelled Harry, as Dean and Seamus roared with laughter and Neville picked himself up from the floor, having fallen out of bed. ‘Hang on – I’ll let you down –’
    He groped for the potion book and riffled through it in a panic, trying to find the right page; at last he located it and deciphered one cramped word underneath the spell: praying that this was the counter-jinx, Harry thought Liberacorpus! with all his might.
    There was another flash of light and Ron fell in a heap on to his mattress.
    ‘Sorry,’ repeated Harry weakly, while Dean and Seamus continued to roar with laughter.
    ‘Tomorrow,’ said Ron in a muffled voice, ‘I’d rather you set the alarm clock.’
    By the time they had got dressed, padding themselves out with several of Mrs Weasley’s hand-knitted sweaters and carrying cloaks, scarves and gloves, Ron’s shock had subsided and he had decided that Harry’s new spell was highly amusing; so amusing, in fact, that he lost no time in regaling Hermione with the story as they sat down for breakfast.
    ‘… and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!’ grinned Ron, helping himself to sausages.
    Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.
    ‘Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?’ she asked.
    Harry frowned at her.
    ‘Always jump to the worst conclusion, don’t you?’
    ‘Was it?’
    ‘Well … yeah, it was, but so what?’
    ‘So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?’
    ‘Why does it matter if it’s handwritten?’ said Harry, preferring not to answer the rest of the question.
    ‘Because it’s probably not Ministry of Magic-approved,’ said Hermione. ‘And also,’ she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, ‘because I’m starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy.’
    Both Harry and Ron shouted her down at once.
    ‘It was a laugh!’ said Ron, up-ending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. ‘Just a laugh, Hermione, that’s all!’
    ‘Dangling people upside-down by the ankle?’ said Hermione. ‘Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?’
    ‘Fred and George,’ said Ron, shrugging, ‘it’s their kind of thing. And, er –’
    ‘My dad,’ said Harry. He had only just remembered.
    ‘What?’ said Ron and Hermione together.
    ‘My dad used this spell,’ said Harry. ‘I – Lupin told me.’
    This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be –?
    ‘Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,’ said Hermione, ‘but he’s not the only one. We’ve seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you’ve forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.’
    Harry stared at her. With a sinking feeling he, too, remembered the behaviour of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to his aid.
    ‘That was different,’ he said robustly. ‘They were