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suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students were hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days — the Patil twins were gone before breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore's death, and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point-blank to accompany his mother home; they had a shouting match in the entrance hall that was resolved when she agreed that he could remain behind for the funeral. She had difficulty in finding a bed in Hogsmeade, Seamus told Elara, Harry, and Ron,for wizards and witches were pouring into the village, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore.

Some excitement was caused among the younger students, who had never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant winged palominos, came soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and landed on the edge of the forest.

Elara watched from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descended the carriage steps and threw herself into the waiting Hagrid's arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister of Magic himself, was being accommodated within the castle. Elara was diligently avoiding contact with any of them; she was sure that, sooner or later, she would be asked again to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts.

Elara, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and were now spending all of their time together. Usually they had classes and assignments filling their schedules, but a certain weight hung even on the morning dew drops. The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Elara could imagine how it would have been if Dumbledore had not died, and they had had this time together at the very end of the year, all examinations finished, the pressure of homework lifted.

They visited the hospital wing twice a day: Neville had been discharged, but Bill remained under Madam Pomfrey's care. His scars were as bad as ever — in truth, he now bore a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody, though thankfully with both eyes and legs —but in personality he seemed just the same as ever. All that appeared to have changed was that he now had a great liking for very rare steaks.

". . . so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying me," said Fleur happily, plumping up Bill's pillows, "because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said this."

Elara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the twilit grounds

"Anyone else we know died?" Ron asked Hermione, who was perusing the Evening Prophet.

Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice.

"No,"she said reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. "They're still looking for Snape but no sign . . ."

"Of course there isn't," said Harry, who became angry every time this subject cropped up. "They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they've never managed to do that in all this time . . ."

Elara's fingers quickly found his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"I found something out this morning, in the library," said Hermione, leaning forward in her seat

"R.A.B.?" said Elara, sitting up straight.

She did not feel the way she had so often felt before, excited, curious, burning to get to the bottom of a mystery; she simply knew that the task of discovering the truth about the real Horcrux had to be completed before she could move a little farther along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of her, the path that she, Harry, and Dumbledore had set out upon together, and which she now knew they would have to journey alone.

There might still be as many as four Horcruxes out there somewhere, and each would need to be found and eliminated before there was even a possibility that Voldemort could be killed. She kept reciting their names to himself, as though by listing them she could bring them within reach: the locket. . . the cup . . . the snake . . . something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. . . the locket . . . the cup . . . the snake . . . something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's . . .

This mantra seemed to pulse through Elara's mind as she fell asleep at night in Harry's arms, and her dreams were thick with cups, lockets, and mysterious objects that she could not quite reach, though Dumbledore helpfully offered Elara a rope ladder that turned to snakes the moment she began to climb. . . .

She had shown Hermione the note inside the locket the morning after Dumbledore's death, and although Hermione had not immediately recognized the initials as belonging to some obscure wizard about whom she had been reading, she had since been rushing off to the library a little more often than was strictly necessary for somebody who had no homework to do.

"No," she said sadly, "I've been trying, you two, but I haven't found anything. . . . There are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials — Rosalind Antigone Bungs . . . Rupert 'Axebanger' Brookstanton . . . but they don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Bungs or Axebanger ever had anything to do with him. . . . No, actually, it's about . . . well, Snape."

She looked nervous even saying the name again.

"What about him?" asked Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair.

"Well, it's just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business," she said tentatively.

"D'you have to rub it in, Hermione? How d'you think I feel about that now?"

"No — no — Harry, I didn't mean that!" she said hastily, looking around to check that they were not being overheard. "It's just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see. . . she was Snape's mother!"

"I thought she wasn't much of a looker," said Ron.

Hermione ignored him.

"I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she'd given birth to a —"

"— murderer," spat Elara.

"Well . . . yes," said Hermione. "So . . . I was sort of right .Snape must have been proud of being 'half a Prince,' you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in the Prophet."

"Yeah, that fits," said Harry. "He'd play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them. . . .He's just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, Muggle father . . .ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name — Lord Voldemort — the Half-Blood Prince — how could Dumbledore have missed — ?"

He broke off, looking out the window. Elara sighed, toying with her hair.

"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 recognized 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. And you too, Elara. Don't think I don't notice. Anyways, I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humor, 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 Elara was sure that they, like her, were thinking about the following morning, when Dumbledore's body would be laid to rest.

She had never attended a funeral before; there had been no body to bury when Sirius had died. She did not know what to expect and was a little worried about what she might see, about how she would feel. She wondered whether Dumbledore's death would be more real to her once it was over.

Elara, by second nature, slipped her hand into Harry's and gripped it tightly.

Though she had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm her, there were blank stretches of numbness where, despite the fact that nobody was talking about anything else in the whole castle, she still found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore had really gone.

Admittedly she had not, as she had with Sirius, looked desperately for some kind of loophole, some way that Dumbledore would come back. . . . She felt in her pocket for the cold chain of the fake Horcrux, which she now carried with him everywhere, not as a talisman, but as a reminder of what it had cost and what remained still to do.

Elara rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour after the funeral. She met Harry on her way down to the Great Hall. Not a single word was shared between them as they walked, his arm around her waist.

Downstairs, they 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 throne like chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair was deserted too; Elara thought that perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast, but Snape's place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour.

Elara met his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall and glared. Scrimgeour immediately looked away. Among Scrimgeour's entourage Elara 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.

"This may not be appropriate," whispered Elara to Ron, "but I am more than willing to set Percy on fire. Just tell me when."

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 Draco between them, bossing them around. Elara had also been thinking quite a lot about Draco.

She had not forgotten the fear in Draco's voice on that tower top, nor the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death Eaters arrived. Elara did not believe that Draco would have killed Dumbledore.

Where, Elara wondered, was Draco now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of killing him and his parents?

Elara's thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Harry.

Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet, and the mournful hum in the Hall died away at once.

"It is nearly time," she said. "Please follow your Heads of Houses out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me."

Harry's hand immediately found Elara's. A warmth spread over her as she truly realized that she wasn't alone. She'd spent so much time in a dark numbness she forgot she had Harry.

They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Elara glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver.

She had never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat, and when they reached the entrance hall, they found Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that fell to her knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothballs.

They were heading, as Elara saw when she stepped out onto the stone steps from the front doors, toward the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed her face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows.

An aisle ran down the center of them: There was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day. An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most Elara did not recognize, but a few she did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt; Mad-Eye Moody; Corrine and Oliver; Nymphie, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink; Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands (finally); Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin, and Aurora, her striking mess of curls standing out against her elegant dress.

Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib neighbor; the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus; Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and some people whom Elara merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express.

The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air. Elara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione filed into seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the bird song was louder by far.

The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Elara saw Neville being helped into a seat by Luna. Neville and Luna alone of the D.A. had responded to Hermione's summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Elara knew why: They were the ones who had missed the D.A. most . . .probably the ones who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be another meeting.

Cornelius Fudge walked past toward the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Elara next recognized Rita Skeeter, who, she was infuriated to see, had a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand, and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toad like face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-colored curls.

Harry must have noticed the Umbitch too, seeing as an arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, gluing her to her seat.

At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, Umbridge gave a start and scurried hastily into a seat a good distance away. The staff was seated at last. Elara could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall.Sh e wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead.

But then she heard music, strange, otherworldly music, and she forgot her dislike of the Ministry and her ever burning desire to overthrow it to look around for the source of the song. She was not the only one: Many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.

"In there," whispered Harry in Elara's ear.

And she saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface, reminding her horribly of the Inferi: a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language she did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them.

The music made the hair on Elara's neck stand up, and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As she looked down into the wild faces of the singers, she had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing. Then Harry nudged her again and she looked around.

Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Elara knew to be Dumbledore's body.

A sharp pain rose in Elara's throat at this sight: For a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. For the first time in a couple years, hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

Soon, her face was buried in Harry's shoulder, crying quietly. She felt Harry rub her back slowly as her crying slowed to shaky breaths. She wiped her eyes before looking up, not caring if the mascara Lavender had given her just an hour before smeared.

Hagrid seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalized looks from some, including, Elara saw, Dolores Umbridge . . . but Elara knew that Dumbledore would not have cared.

Harry tried to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passed, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it was a wonder he could see where he was going.

Elara glanced at the back row to which Hagrid was heading and realized what was guiding him, for there, dressed in a jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, was the giant Grawp, his great ugly boulderlike head bowed, docile, almost human. Hagrid sat down next to his half-brother, and Grawp patted Hagrid hard on the head, so that his chair legs sank into the ground.