☾✶☽

the fact that Harry Potter was going out with Elara Tonks seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Elara found herself happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making her happier than she could remember being for a very long time, rather than because she had been involved in horrific scenes of Dark Magic.

"You'd think people had better things to gossip about," said Elara, as she sat on the common room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet. "Three dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest."

Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail, of course" said Elara, turning a page of the newspaper idly. "Same thing as fourth year."

"Thanks," said Harry, grinning. "And what did you tell her Ron's got?"

"A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where."

N.E.W.T.s were approaching and they were therefore forced to study for hours into the night. On one such evening Elara and Harry were sitting beside the window in the common room, supposedly finishing their Herbology homework but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour they had spent down by the lake at lunchtime, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.

"I want to talk to you, Harry."

"What about?" said Harry suspiciously.

Only the previous day, Hermione had told him off for distracting Elara when she ought to be working hard for her examinations.

"The so-called Half-Blood Prince."

"Oh, not again," he groaned. "Will you please drop it?"

"I'm not dropping it," said Hermione firmly, "until you've heard me out. Now, I've been trying to find out a bit about who might make a hobby of inventing Dark spells —"

"He didn't make a hobby of it —"

"He, he — who says it's a he?"

"We've been through this," said Harry crossly. "Prince, Hermione, Prince!"

"Right!" said Hermione, red patches blazing in her cheeks as she pulled a very old piece of newsprint out of her pocket and slammed it down on the table in front of Harry. "Look at that! Look at the picture!"

Harry picked up the crumbling piece of paper and stared at the moving photograph, yellowed with age; Elara and Ron leaned over for a look too.

The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She was not pretty; she looked simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph was the caption: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.

"So?" said Harry.

"Her name was Eileen Prince. Prince, Harry."

They looked at each other, and Harry 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 and Elara for five years and not think girls are clever?" said Harry, clearly 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 A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

"You don't think I'm mad, wanting that book back, do you?"

"Yes," muttered Elara under her breath.

" '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 Lara and 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."

The appearance of Jimmy Peakes shook Harry from his daze, and was holding out a scroll of parchment.

"Thanks, Jimmy . . . Hey, it's from Dumbledore!" said Harry excitedly, unrolling the parchment and scanning it. "He wants us to go to his office as quick as we can, Lara!"

The trio stared at each other.

"Blimey," whispered Ron. "You don't reckon . . . he hasn't found . . . ?"

"A dangerous adventure to find a Horcrux?" said Elara, eyes wide, "hell yeah, I'm so in.

"Better go and see, hadn't we?" said Harry, jumping to his feet.

He swiftly pulled Elara up from her spot on the floor and sprinted out the common room. They passed nobody but Peeves, who swooped past in the opposite direction, throwing bits of chalk at them in a routine sort of way and cackling loudly as he dodged Elara's defensive jinx. Once Peeves had vanished, there was silence in the corridors; with only fifteen minutes left until curfew, most people had already returned to their common rooms. And then Elara heard a scream and a crash. She stopped in her tracks, listening.

"How — dare — you — aaaaargh!"

The noise was coming from a corridor nearby; Elara and Harry sprinted toward it, wands at the ready, hurtled around another corner, and saw Professor Trelawney sprawled upon the floor, her head covered in one of her many shawls, several sherry bottles lying beside her, one broken.

"Professor —"

Harry hurried forward and helped Professor Trelawney to her feet. Some of her glittering beads had become entangled with her glasses. She hiccuped loudly, patted her hair, and pulled herself upon Harry's helping arm.

"What happened, Professor?"

"You may well ask!" she said shrilly. "I was strolling along, brooding upon certain dark portents I happen to have glimpsed . . ."

But Elara was not paying much attention. She had just noticed where they were standing: There on the right was the tapestry of dancing trolls, and on the left, that smoothly impenetrable stretch of stone wall that concealed —

"Professor, were you trying to get into the Room of Requirement?" said Elara swiftly.

". . . omens I have been vouchsafed — what?"

She looked suddenly shifty.

"The Room of Requirement," repeated Elara. "Were you trying to get in there?"

"I — well — I didn't know students knew about —"

"Not all of them do," said Elara. "But what happened? You screamed. . . . It sounded as though you were hurt. . . ."

"I — well," said Professor Trelawney, drawing her shawls around her defensively and staring down at Elara with her vastly magnified eyes. "I wished to — ah — deposit certain — um — personal items in the room. . . ."

And she muttered something about "nasty accusations."

"Right," said Elara, glancing down at the sherry bottles. "But you couldn't get in and hide them?"

"Oh, I got in all right," said Professor Trelawney, glaring at the wall. "But there was somebody already in there."

"Somebody in — ? Who?" demanded Harry. "Who was in there?"

Elara groaned inwardly. This again.

"I have no idea," said Professor Trelawney, looking slightly taken aback at the urgency in Harry's voice. "I walked into the room and I heard a voice, which has never happened before in all my years of hiding — of using the room, I mean."

"A voice? Saying what?"

"I don't know that it was saying anything," said Professor Trelawney. "It was . . . whooping."

"Whooping?"

"Gleefully," she said, nodding.

Elara stared at her. Draco must have done whatever he needed to do.

"Was it male or female?"

"I would hazard a guess at male," said Professor Trelawney.

"And it sounded happy?"

"Very happy," said Professor Trelawney sniffily.

"As though it was celebrating?"

"Most definitely."

"And then — ?"

"And then I called out 'Who's there?' "

"You couldn't have found out who it was without asking?" Harry asked her.

"The Inner Eye," said Professor Trelawney with dignity, straightening her shawls and many strands of glittering beads, "was fixed upon matters well outside the mundane realms of whooping voices."

"Right," said Harry hastily, "And did the voice say who was there?"

"No, it did not," she said. "Everything went pitch-black and the next thing I knew, I was being hurled headfirst out of the room!"

"And you didn't see that coming?" said Harry, unable to help himself.

"No, I did not, as I say, it was pitch —"

She stopped and glared at him suspiciously.

"I think you'd better tell Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. "He ought to know Malfoy's celebrating — I mean, that someone threw you out of the room."

To Elara's surprise, Professor Trelawney drew herself up at this suggestion, looking haughty.

"The headmaster has intimated that he would prefer fewer visits from me," she said coldly. "I am not one to press my company upon those who do not value it. If Dumbledore chooses to ignore the warnings the cards show —"

Her bony hand closed suddenly around Harry's wrist.

"Again and again, no matter how I lay them out —" And she pulled a card dramatically from underneath her shawls. "— the lightning-struck tower," she whispered. "Calamity. Disaster. Coming nearer all the time . . ."

Normally, Elara would know better than to believe the proclamations of Professor Trelawney. However, Elara had been seeing. . . . things. A sinister darkness was swirling in each corner of Hogwarts. She always made quite the effort to avoid them, as whenever she walked past, her vision would distort and she heard an overwhelming amount of whispers emanating from the dark energy.

It seemed she were the only one to see them.

"Right," said Harry again. "Well . . . I still think you should tell Dumbledore about this voice, and everything going dark and being thrown out of the room. . . ."

"You think so?" Professor Trelawney seemed to consider the matter for a moment, but Elara could tell that she liked the idea of retelling her little adventure.

"Lara and I are going to see him right now," said Harry. "We've got a meeting with him. We could go together."

"Oh, well, in that case," said Professor Trelawney with a smile.

She bent down, scooped up her sherry bottles, and dumped them unceremoniously in a large blue-and-white vase standing in a nearby niche.

"I miss having you in my classes, you two," she said soulfully as they set off together. "You were never much of a Seer . . . but you were a wonderful Object . . . and Elara, your aura is so powerful . . . I can only hope you've begun Seeing."

They did not reply.

"I am afraid," she went on, "that the nag — I'm sorry, the centaur — knows nothing of cartomancy. I asked him — one Seer to another — had he not, too, sensed the distant vibrations of coming catastrophe? But he seemed to find me almost comical. Yes, comical!"

Her voice rose rather hysterically, and Elara caught a powerful whiff of sherry even though the bottles had been left behind.

"Perhaps the horse has heard people say that I have not inherited my great-great-grandmother's gift. Those rumors have been bandied about by the jealous for years. You know what I say to such people? Would Dumbledore have let me teach at this great school, put so much trust in me all these years, had I not proved myself to him?"

Harry mumbled something indistinct. Elara fought not to laugh.

"I well remember my first interview with Dumbledore," went on Professor Trelawney, in throaty tones. "He was deeply impressed, of course, deeply impressed. . . . I was staying at the Hog's Head, which I do not advise, incidentally — bed bugs, dear children —but funds were low. Dumbledore did me the courtesy of calling upon me in my room. He questioned me. . . . I must confess that, at first, I thought he seemed ill-disposed toward Divination . . .and I remember I was starting to feel a little odd, I had not eaten much that day . . . but then . . ."

And now Elara was paying attention properly for the first time, for she knew what had happened then: Professor Trelawney had made the prophecy that had altered the course of her and Harry's whole life.

". . . but then we were rudely interrupted by Severus Snape!"

"What?" said Harry, stopping short.

"Yes, there was a commotion outside the door and it flew open, and there was that rather uncouth barman standing with Snape, who was waffling about having come the wrong way up the stairs, although I'm afraid that I myself rather thought he had been apprehended eavesdropping on my interview with Dumbledore —you see, he himself was seeking a job at the time, and no doubt hoped to pick up tips! Well, after that, you know, Dumbledore seemed much more disposed to give me a job, and I could not help thinking, that it was because he appreciated the stark contrast between my own unassuming manners and quiet talent, compared to the pushing, thrusting young man who was prepared to listen at keyholes — Elara, Harry, dears?"

She looked back over her shoulder, having only just realized that neither of them were with her; they had stopped walking and they were now ten feet from each other.

"Are you two. . . . all right?" she repeated uncertainly.

It was Snape who had overheard the prophecy. It was Snape who had carried the news of the prophecy to Voldemort. Snape and Peter Pettigrew together had sent Voldemort hunting after Lily and James . . . . Snape who made Voldemort aware of Elara's untapped power.

"I thought we were going to see the headmaster together?"

"You stay here," said Harry numbly.

"But dear . . . I was going to tell him how I was assaulted in the Room of —"

"You stay here!" Harry repeated angrily.

She looked alarmed as he ran past her, as he grabbed Elara's hand and yanked her around the corner into Dumbledore's corridor, where the lone gargoyle stood sentry. Harry shouted the password at the gargoyle and ran up the moving spiral staircase three steps at a time. Elara was moving fast alongside him, rage slowly boiling over.

He did not knock upon Dumbledore's door, he hammered; and the calm voice answered, "Enter" after Elara and Harry had already flung himself into the room.

Fawkes the phoenix looked around, his bright black eyes gleaming with reflected gold from the sunset beyond the windows. Dumbledore was standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black traveling cloak in his arms.

"Well, I did promise that you could come with me."

"Come . . . with you . . . ?" said Harry, as if the revelation with Trelawney had pushed everything else out of his mind.

"Only if you wish it, of course."

"If I . . . You've found one? You've found a Horcrux?"

"I believe so."

"Hell yeah!" said Elara, close to jumping up and down.

The prospect of a dangerous adventure always thrilled her so. Rage and resentment fought shock and excitement: For several moments, neither could speak.

"It is natural to be afraid," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not scared!" said Elara and Harry at once, and it was perfectly true; fear was one emotion Elara was not feeling at all.

"Which Horcrux is it? Where is it?" said Harry, also hardly containing his excitement.

"I am not sure which it is — though I think we can rule out the snake — but I believe it to be hidden in a cave on the coast many miles from here, a cave I have been trying to locate for a very long time: the cave in which Tom Riddle once terrorized two children from his orphanage on their annual trip; you remember?"

"Yes," said Elara. "How is it protected?"