Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

“Back to normal, then?” said Harry, grinning. Slughorn chuckled. “Thanks a lot, Professor.”

“Don’t mention it, m’boy, don’t mention it,” said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. “Pick-me-up, that’s what he needs,” Slughorn continued, now-bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. “I’ve got Butterbeer, I’ve got wine, I’ve got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead… hmm… meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas… ah well…” he shrugged “…he can’t miss what he’s never had! Why don’t we open it now and celebrate Mr. Weasley’s birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love…”

He chortled again and Harry joined in. This was the first time he had found himself almost alone with Slughorn since his disastrous first attempt to extract the true memory from him. Perhaps, if he could just keep Slughorn in a good mood… perhaps if they got through enough of the oak-matured mead…

“There you are, then,” said Slughorn, handing Harry and Ron a glass of mead each, before raising his own. “Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph—”

“—Ron—” whispered Harry.

But Ron, who did not appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it.

There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, did not.

“—and may you have many more—”

“Ron!”

Ron had dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair and then crumpled, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth and his eyes were bulging from their sockets.

“Professor!” Harry bellowed. “Do something!”

But Slughorn seemed paralysed by shock. Ron twitched and choked: his skin was turning blue.

“What—but—” spluttered Slughorn.

Harry leapt over a low table and sprinted towards Slughorn’s open potion kit, pulling out jars and pouches, while the terrible sound of Ron’s gargling breath filled the room. Then he found it—the shrivelled kidney-like stone Slughorn had taken from him in Potions.

He hurtled back to Ron’s side, wrenched open his jaw and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp and his body became limp and still.

ELF TAILS

“So, all in all, not one of Ron’s better birthdays?” said Fred.

It was evening; the hospital wing was quiet, the windows curtained, the lamps lit. Ron’s was the only occupied bed. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around him; they had spent all day waiting outside the double doors, trying to see inside whenever somebody went in or out. Madam Pomfrey had only let them enter at eight o’clock. Fred and George had arrived at ten past.

“This isn’t how we imagined handing over our present,” said George grimly, putting down a large wrapped gift on Ron’s bedside cabinet and sitting beside Ginny.

“Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious,” said Fred.

“There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him—” said George.

“You were in Hogsmeade?” asked Ginny, looking up.

“We were thinking of buying Zonko’s,” said Fred gloomily. “A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it’ll do us if you lot aren’t allowed out at weekends to buy our stuff anymon… But never mind that now.”

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<== попередня сторінка	\|	наступна сторінка ==>
And then he saw the box lying open on Ron’s bed and the truth hit him with the force of a stampeding troll.	\|	He drew up a chair beside Harry and looked at Ron’s pale face.

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