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

pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once, bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their perfume could not disguise the lingering smell of what Harry thought was gunpowder. A considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes, amongst which stood Harry’s school trunk. The room looked as though it was being used as a temporary warehouse.
    Hedwig hooted happily at Harry from her perch on top of a large wardrobe, then took off through the window; Harry knew she had been waiting to see him before going hunting. Harry bade Mrs Weasley goodnight, put on pyjamas and got into one of the beds. There was something hard in the pillowcase. He groped inside it and pulled out a sticky purple and orange sweet, which he recognised as a Puking Pastille. Smiling to himself, he rolled over and was instantly asleep.
    Seconds later, or so it seemed to Harry, he was woken by what sounded like cannon-fire as the door burst open. Sitting bolt upright, he heard the rasp of the curtains being pulled back: the dazzling sunlight seemed to poke him hard in both eyes. Shielding them with one hand, he groped hopelessly for his glasses with the other.
    ‘Wuzzgoinon?’
    ‘We didn’t know you were here already!’ said a loud and excited voice, and he received a sharp blow to the top of the head.
    ‘Ron, don’t hit him!’ said a girl’s voice reproachfully.
    Harry’s hand found his glasses and he shoved them on, though the light was so bright he could hardly see anyway. A long, looming shadow quivered in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus, grinning down at him.
    ‘All right?’
    ‘Never been better,’ said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back on to his pillows. ‘You?’
    ‘Not bad,’ said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. ‘When did you get here? Mum’s only just told us!’
    ‘About one o’clock this morning.’
    ‘Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you OK?’
    ‘Same as usual,’ said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of his bed. ‘They didn’t talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How’re you, Hermione?’
    ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said Hermione, who was scrutinising Harry as though he was sickening for something.
    He thought he knew what was behind this and, as he had no wish to discuss Sirius’s death or any other miserable subject at the moment, he said, ‘What’s the time? Have I missed breakfast?’
    ‘Don’t worry about that, Mum’s bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed,’ said Ron, rolling his eyes. ‘So, what’s been going on?’
    ‘Nothing much, I’ve just been stuck at my aunt and uncle’s, haven’t I?’
    ‘Come off it!’ said Ron. ‘You’ve been off with Dumbledore!’
    ‘It wasn’t that exciting. He just wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name’s Horace Slughorn.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Ron, looking disappointed. ‘We thought –’
    Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron and Ron changed tack at top speed.
    ‘– we thought it’d be something like that.’
    ‘You did?’ said Harry, amused.
    ‘Yeah … yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, don’t we? So, er, what’s he like?’
    ‘He looks a bit like a walrus and he used to be Head of Slytherin,’ said Harry. ‘Something wrong, Hermione?’
    She was watching him as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.
    ‘No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he’ll be a good teacher?’
    ‘Dunno,’ said Harry. ‘He can’t be worse than Umbridge, can he?’
    ‘I know someone who’s worse than Umbridge,’ said a voice from the doorway. Ron’s younger sister slouched into