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

increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much …
    Helped him … it was an almost unendurable thought, now …
    ‘I still don’t get why he didn’t turn you in for using that book,’ said Ron. ‘He must’ve known where you were getting it all from.’
    ‘He knew,’ said Harry bitterly. ‘He knew when I used Sectumsempra . He didn’t really need Legilimency … he might even have known before then, with Slughorn talking about how brilliant I was at Potions … shouldn’t have left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?’
    ‘But why didn’t he turn you in?’
    ‘I don’t think he wanted to associate himself with that book,’ said Hermione. ‘I don’t think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he’d known. And even if Snape pretended it hadn’t been his, Slughorn would have recognised his writing at once. Anyway, the book was left in Snape’s old classroom, and I’ll bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called “Prince”.’
    ‘I should’ve shown the book to Dumbledore,’ said Harry. ‘All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too –’
    ‘“Evil” is a strong word,’ said Hermione quietly.
    ‘You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!’
    ‘I’m trying to say, Harry, that you’re putting too much blame on yourself. I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humour, but I would never have guessed he was a potential killer …’
    ‘None of us could’ve guessed Snape would … you know,’ said Ron.
    Silence fell between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Harry was sure that they, like him, were thinking about the following morning, when Dumbledore’s body would be laid to rest. Harry had never attended a funeral before; there had been no body to bury when Sirius had died. He did not know what to expect and was a little worried about what he might see, about how he would feel. He wondered whether Dumbledore’s death would be more real to him once the funeral was over. Though he had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm him, there were blank stretches of numbness where, despite the fact that nobody was talking about anything else in the whole castle, he still found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore had really gone. Admittedly he had not, as he had with Sirius, looked desperately for some kind of loophole, some way that Dumbledore would come back … he felt in his pocket for the cold chain of the fake Horcrux, which he now carried with him everywhere, not as a talisman, but as a reminder of what it had cost and what remained still to do.
    Harry rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour after the funeral. Downstairs he found the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody was wearing their dress robes and no one seemed very hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the thronelike chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid’s chair was deserted too: Harry thought that perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast; but Snape’s place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry avoided his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall; Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that Scrimgeour was looking for him. Among Scrimgeour’s entourage Harry spotted the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy Weasley. Ron gave no sign that he was aware of Percy, apart from stabbing pieces of kipper with unwonted venom.
    Over at the Slytherin table Crabbe and Goyle were muttering together. Hulking boys though they were, they looked oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy between them, bossing them around. Harry had not spared Malfoy much thought. His animosity was all for Snape, but he had not forgotten the fear in Malfoy’s voice on that Tower top, nor the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death Eaters arrived. Harry did not believe that Malfoy would have killed Dumbledore. He despised Malfoy still for his infatuation with the Dark Arts, but now the tiniest drop of pity mingled with his dislike. Where, Harry wondered, was Malfoy now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of killing him and his parents?
    Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Ginny. Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet and the mournful hum in the Hall