harry followed the half-blood prince's instructions wherever they deviated from libatius borage's, with the result that by their fourth lesson slughorn was raving about harry's abilities, saying that he had rarely taught anyone so talented. neither ron nor hermione was delighted by this. elara was at best indifferent. her only complaint was that harry seemed too attached to the book. harry had offered to share his book with the three of them, ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than harry did, and could not keep asking harry to read aloud or it might look suspicious. elara was to prideful to accept his offer. hermione, meanwhile, was resolutely plowing on with what she called the "official" instructions, but becoming increasingly bad-tempered as they yielded poorer results than the prince's.

elara wondered vaguely who the half-blood prince had been. she came to the conclusion that they were arrogant. who named themself after royalty?

"or herself," said hermione irritably, overhearing harry pointing some things out to ron in the common room on saturday evening. "it might have been a girl. i think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"the half-blood prince, he was called," harry said. "how many girls have been princes?"

"girls can be whoever they want to be," said elara, joining hermione's side, "if she wants to be a prince, then she can."

"it's a boy, i can just feel it," said harry.

neither elara nor hermione seemed to have no answer to this. hermione merely scowled and twitched her essay on the principles of rematerialization away from ron, who was trying to read it upside down. elara just rolled her eyes and looked away.

"it's five to eight, we'd better go, lara, we'll be late for dumbledore."

elara pushed herself up from her spot on the couch.

"ooooh!" gasped hermione, looking up at once. "good luck! we'll wait up, we want to hear what he teaches you!"

"hope it goes okay," said ron, and the pair of them watched elara and harry leave through the portrait hole.

they proceeded through deserted corridors, though they had to step hastily behind a statue when professor trelawney appeared around a corner, muttering to herself as she shuffled a pack of dirty-looking playing cards, reading them as she walked.

"two of spades: conflict," she murmured, as she passed the place where elara and harry crouched, hidden. "seven of spades: an ill omen. ten of spades: violence. knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner —"

she stopped dead, right on the other side of their statue.

"well, that can't be right," she said, annoyed, and elara heard her reshuffling vigorously as she set off again, leaving nothing but a whiff of cooking sherry behind her. they waited until they were quite sure she had gone, then hurried off again until they reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall.

"acid pops," said harry, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which elara and harry stepped, so that they were carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to dumbledore's office.

elara knocked.

"come in," said dumbledore's voice.

"good evening, sir," said harry, walking into the headmaster's office.

"hi, professor," said elara, right behind harry.

"ah, good evening. sit down," said dumbledore, smiling. "i hope you've had an enjoyable first week back at school?"

"yes, thanks, sir," said harry.

"if i can be honest, anything would be better than the first week of school last year," said elara, remembering her first ever detention with umbridge.

"i believe that to be true," said dumbledore, smiling, "i do recall the both of you getting into a verbal altercation with professor umbridge?"

harry nodded. elara smiled.

"you must have been busy, harry, a detention under your belt already!"

"er," began harry awkwardly, but dumbledore did not look too stern.

"i have arranged with professor snape that you will do your detention next saturday instead."

"right," said harry.

the circular office looked just as it always did; the delicate silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing smoke and whirring; portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, fawkes, stood on his perch behind the door, watching elara and harry with bright interest. it did not even look as though dumbledore had cleared a space for dueling practice.

"so," said dumbledore, in a businesslike voice. "you both have been wondering, i am sure, what i have planned for you during these — for want of a better word — lessons?"

"yes, sir."

"well, i have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted lord voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, harry, and for you elara, to understand how to bring him down."

there was a pause.

"you said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell me everything," said harry. it was hard to keep a note of accusation from his voice. "sir," he added.

"and so i did," said dumbledore placidly. "i told you everything i know. from this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. from here on in, i may be as woefully wrong as humphrey belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"but you think you're right?" said harry.

"naturally i do, but as i have already proven to you, i make mistakes like the next man. in fact, being — forgive me — rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."

"sir," said harry tentatively, "does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy? will it help me . . . survive?"

elara looked down. she was wondering the same thing about herself, but as dumbledore said, there was only a three percent chance she would be able to come back.

"it has a very great deal to do with both of the prophecies," said dumbledore, as casually as if harry had asked him about the next day's weather, "and i certainly hope that it will help you to survive."

dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past elara and harry, who both turned eagerly in their seats to watch dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. when dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a familiar shallow stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. he placed the pensieve on the desk in front of elara and harry.

"you look worried."

elara had indeed been eyeing the pensieve with some apprehension. her previous experiences with the odd device that stored and revealed thoughts and memories, though highly instructive, had also been uncomfortable. for example, finding out her mother had brought her along to the torturing of the longbottoms. the last time she had disturbed its contents, she had seen much more than she would have wished. but dumbledore was smiling.

"this time, you enter the pensieve with me . . . and, even more unusually, with permission."

"where are we going?" asked elara.

"for a trip down bob ogden's memory lane," said dumbledore, pulling from his pocket a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance.

"who was bob ogden?"

"he was employed by the department of magical law enforcement," said dumbledore. "he died some time ago, but not before i had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. we are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. if you will stand, you two . . ."

but dumbledore was having difficulty pulling out the stopper of the crystal bottle: his injured hand seemed stiff and painful.

"shall — shall i, sir?"

"no matter, harry —"

dumbledore pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew out.

"how did you injure your hand?" asked elara, looking at the blackened fingers with a mixture of revulsion and pity.

"now is not the moment for that story, elara. not yet. we have an appointment with bob ogden."

dumbledore tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the pensieve, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.

"after you two," said dumbledore, gesturing toward the bowl.

elara bent forward, took a deep breath, and plunged her face into the silvery substance. she felt her feet leave the office floor; she was falling, falling through whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, she was blinking in dazzling sunlight. before her eyes had adjusted, harry landed beside her, followed shortly thereafter by dumbledore.

they were standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. some ten feet in front of them stood a short, plump man wearing enormously thick glasses that reduced his eyes to molelike specks. he was reading a wooden signpost that was sticking out of the brambles on the left-hand side of the road. elara knew this must be ogden; he was the only person in sight, and he was also wearing the strange assortment of clothes so often chosen by inexperienced wizards trying to look like muggles: in this case, a frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume. before elara had time to do more than register his bizarre appearance, however, ogden had set off at a brisk walk down the lane.

dumbledore, elara, and harry followed. as they passed the wooden sign, elara looked up at its two arms. the one pointing back the way they had come read: great hangleton, 5 miles. the arm pointing after ogden said little hangleton, 1 mile.

they walked a short way with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead and the swishing, frock-coated figure ahead. then the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that they had a sudden, unexpected view of a whole valley laid out in front of them. elara could see a village, undoubtedly little hangleton, nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible. across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn.

ogden had broken into a reluctant trot due to the steep downward slope. dumbledore lengthened his stride, elara and harry hurried to keep up. she thought little hangleton must be their final destination and wondered, as she had done on the night they had found slughorn, why they had to approach it from such a distance. she soon discovered that she was mistaken in thinking that they were going to the village, however. the lane curved to the right and when they rounded the corner, it was to see the very edge of ogden's frock coat vanishing through a gap in the hedge.

dumbledore, elara, and harry followed him onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. the path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them. sure enough, the track soon opened up at the copse, and dumbledore, elara, and harry came to a halt behind ogden, who had stopped and drawn his wand.

despite the cloudless sky, the old trees ahead cast deep, dark, cool shadows, and it was a few seconds before elara's eyes discerned the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks. it seemed to her a very strange location to choose for a house, or else an odd decision to leave the trees growing nearby, blocking all light and the view of the valley below. she wondered whether it was inhabited; its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. just as she had concluded that nobody could possibly live there, however, one of the windows was thrown open with a clatter, and a thin trickle of steam or smoke issued from it, as though somebody was cooking.

ogden moved forward quietly and, it seemed to elara, rather cautiously. as the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, he stopped again, staring at the front door, to which somebody had nailed a dead snake.

what the fuck? elara thought to herself. she did not like this at all.

then there was a rustle and a crack, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of ogden, who leapt backward so fast he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.

the man made a weird hissing noise. elara didn't not like the vibe he was giving off.

he had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. several of his teeth were missing. his eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions. he might have looked comical, but he did not; the effect was frightening, and elara could not blame ogden for backing away several more paces before he spoke.

"er — good morning. i'm from the ministry of magic —"

he made some strange hissing sound again. elara tilted her head slightly. what the hell?

"er — i'm sorry — i don't understand you," said ogden nervously.

elara thought ogden was being kind of dim; the stranger was making himself clear in elara's opinion, particularly as he was brandishing a wand in one hand and a short and rather bloody knife in the other.

"you understand him, i'm sure, harry?" said dumbledore quietly.

"yes, of course," said harry, slightly nonplussed. "why can't ogden — ?"

but as his eyes trailed over dead snake on the door.

"he's speaking parseltongue?"

"very good," said dumbledore, nodding and smiling.

"can someone explain to me what's going on?" whispered elara, and harry looked amused.

"yeah, i'll tell you what he's saying."

the man in rags was now advancing on ogden, knife in one hand, wand in the other.

"now, look —" ogden began, but too late: there was a bang, and ogden was on the ground, clutching his nose, while a nasty yellowish goo squirted from between his fingers.

"morfin!" said a loud voice.

an elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. this man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned; his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong, which, with his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face, gave him the look of a powerful, aged monkey. he came to a halt beside the man with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of ogden on the ground.

"ministry, is it?" said the older man, looking down at ogden.

"correct!" said ogden angrily, dabbing his face. "and you, i take it, are mr. gaunt?"

"s'right," said gaunt. "got you in the face, did he?"

"yes, he did!" snapped ogden.

"should've made your presence known, shouldn't you?" said gaunt aggressively. "this is private property. can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."

"defend himself against what, man?" said ogden, clambering back to his feet.

"busybodies. intruders. muggles and filth."

ogden pointed his wand at his own nose, which was still issuing large amounts of what looked like yellow pus, and the flow stopped at once. mr. gaunt spoke out of the corner of his mouth to morfin. more parseltongue.

"'get in the house. don't argue,'" said harry.

"thanks," elara whispered back.

morfin seemed to be on the point of disagreeing, but when his father cast him a threatening look he changed his mind, lumbering away to the cottage with an odd rolling gait and slamming the front door behind him, so that the snake swung sadly again.

"it's your son i'm here to see, mr. gaunt," said ogden, as he mopped the last of the pus from the front of his coat. "that was morfin, wasn't it?"

"ar, that was morfin," said the old man indifferently. "are you pure-blood?" he asked, suddenly aggressive.

"that's neither here nor there," said ogden coldly, and elara felt her respect for ogden rise.

apparently gaunt felt rather differently. he squinted into ogden's face and muttered, in what was clearly supposed to be an offensive tone, "now i come to think about it, i've seen noses like yours down in the village."

"i don't doubt it, if your son's been let loose on them," said ogden. "perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"

"inside?"

"yes, mr. gaunt. i've already told you. i'm here about morfin. we sent an owl —"

"i've no use for owls," said gaunt. "i don't open letters."

"then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," said ogden tartly. "i am here following a serious breach of wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning —"

"all right, all right, all right!" bellowed gaunt. "come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"

the house seemed to contain three tiny rooms. two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in parseltongue.

"what the hell was that?" whispered elara.