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They looked at each other and Harry realised what Hermione was trying to say. He burst out laughing.

“No way.”

“What?”

“You think she was the Half-Blood…? Oh, come on.”

“Well, why not? Harry, there aren’t any real princes in the wizarding world! It’s either a nickname, a made-up title somebody’s given themselves, or it could be their actual name, couldn’t it? No, listen! If, say, her father was a wizard whose surname was “Prince”, and her mother was a Muggle, then that would make her a ‘half-blood Prince’!”

“Yeah, very ingenious, Hermione…”

“But it would! Maybe she was proud of being half a Prince!”

“Listen, Hermione, I can tell it’s not a girl. I can just tell.”

“The truth is that you don’t think a girl would have been clever enough,” said Hermione angrily.

“How can I have hung round with you for five years and not think girls are clever?” said Harry, stung by this. “It’s the way he writes. I just know the Prince was a bloke, I can tell. This girl hasn’t got anything to do with it. Where did you get this, anyway?”

“The library,” said Hermione, predictably. “There’s a whole collection of old Prophets up there. Well, I’m going to find out more about Eileen Prince if I can.”

“Enjoy yourself,” said Harry irritably.

“I will,” said Hermione. “And the first place I’ll look,” she shot at him, as she reached the portrait hole, “is records of old Potions awards!”

Harry scowled after her for a moment, then continued his contemplation of the darkening sky.

“She’s just never got over you outperforming her in Potions,” said Ron, returning to his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

“You don’t think I’m mad, wanting that book back, do you?”

“Course not,” said Ron robustly. “He was a genius, the Prince. Anyway… without his bezoar tip…” he drew his finger significantly across his own throat, “I wouldn’t be here to discuss it, would I? I mean, I’m not saying that spell you used on Malfoy was great—”

“Nor am I,” said Harry quickly.

“But he healed all right, didn’t he? Back on his feet in no time.”

“Yeah,” said Harry; this was perfectly true, although his conscience squirmed slightly all the same. “Thanks to Snape…”

“You still got detention with Snape this Saturday?” Ron continued.

“Yeah, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that,” sighed Harry. “And he’s hinting now that if I don’t get all the boxes done by the end of term, we’ll carry on next year.”

He was finding these detentions particularly irksome because they cut into the already limited time he could have been spending with Ginny. Indeed, he had frequently wondered lately whether Snape did not know this, for he was keeping Harry later and later every time, while making pointed asides about Harry having to miss the good weather and the varied opportunities it offered.

Читайте також:

1. A blank silence greeted Hermione’s words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.
2. A chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through Harry’s chest.
3. A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver to the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor’s sword.
4. A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.
5. A few of the centaurs looked worried now. Hermione, however, gave a gasp.
6. A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter’s eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.
7. A few sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was still pointed at Black’s face. Hermione fell silent.
8. A Good Mother
9. A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.
10. A loud rattling noise behind them announced Hermione’s reappearance with the box of S.P.E.W. badges.
11. A mixture of gratitude and shame welled up in Harry. Had Lupin forgiven him, then, for the terrible things he had said when they had last met?
12. A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Harry and the others.

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