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

ceiling.
    ‘You have had a busy time while I have been away,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I believe you witnessed Katie’s accident.’
    ‘Yes, sir. How is she?’
    ‘Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin: there was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse –’
    ‘Why him?’ asked Harry quickly. ‘Why not Madam Pomfrey?’
    ‘Impertinent,’ said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius’s great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. ‘I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day.’
    ‘Yes, thank you, Phineas,’ said Dumbledore quellingly. ‘Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St Mungo’s staff are sending me hourly reports and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time.’
    ‘Where were you this weekend, sir?’ Harry asked, disregarding a strong feeling that he might be pushing his luck, a feeling apparently shared by Phineas Nigellus, who hissed softly.
    ‘I would rather not say just now,’ said Dumbledore. ‘However, I shall tell you in due course.’
    ‘You will?’ said Harry, startled.
    ‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Dumbledore, withdrawing a fresh bottle of silver memories from inside his robes and uncorking it with a prod of his wand.
    ‘Sir,’ said Harry tentatively, ‘I met Mundungus in Hogsmeade.’
    ‘Ah, yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt,’ said Dumbledore, frowning a little. ‘He has gone to ground since you accosted him outside the Three Broomsticks; I rather think he dreads facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of Sirius’s old possessions.’
    ‘That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?’ said Phineas Nigellus, incensed; and he stalked out of his frame, undoubtedly to visit his portrait in number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
    ‘Professor,’ said Harry, after a short pause, ‘did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?’
    ‘She told me of your suspicions, yes,’ said Dumbledore.
    ‘And do you –?’
    ‘I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie’s accident,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But what concerns me now, Harry, is our lesson.’
    Harry felt slightly resentful at this: if their lessons were so very important, why had there been such a long gap between the first and second? However, he said no more about Draco Malfoy, but watched as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve, and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered hands.
    ‘You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort’s beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort.’
    ‘How do you know she was in London, sir?’
    ‘Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke,’ said Dumbledore, ‘who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just been discussing.’
    He swilled the contents of the Pensieve as Harry had seen him swill them before, much as a gold prospector sifts for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man, revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.
    ‘Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along … going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin’s. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, “Oh, this was Merlin’s, this was, his favourite teapot,” but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough