enough.“It's nothing to do with me

enough.”

“It's nothing to do with me!” said Harry indignantly. “The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I've got his old Potions book. He wrote spells

all over it, spells he invented. One of them was Levicorpus—”

“Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts,” said Lupin reminiscently. “There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn't move for being

hoisted into the air by your ankle.”

“My dad used it,” said Harry. “I saw him in the Pensieve, he used it on Snape.”

He tried to sound casual, as though this was a throwaway comment of no real importance, but he was not sure he had achieved the right effect; Lupin's smile was a little

too understanding.

“Yes,” he said, “but he wasn't the only one. As I say, it was very popular... You know how these spells come and go...”

“But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school,” Harry persisted.

“Not necessarily,” said Lupin. “Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else.” He looked into Harry's face and then said quietly, “James was a pure-blood,

Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him ‘Prince.'”

Abandoning pretense, Harry said, “And it wasn't Sirius? Or you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh.” Harry stared into the fire. “I just thought—well, he's helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has.”

“How old is this book, Harry?”

“I dunno, I've never checked.”

“Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts,” said Lupin.

Shortly after this, Fleur decided to imitate Celestina singing “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” which was taken by everyone, once they had glimpsed Mrs.

Weasley's expression, to be the cue to go to bed. Harry and Ron climbed all the way up to Ron's attic bedroom, where a camp bed had been added for Harry.

Ron fell asleep almost immediately, but Harry delved into his trunk and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed. There he turned its

pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the book, the date that it had been published. It was nearly fifty years old. Neither his father, nor his

father's friends, had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago. Feeling disappointed, Harry threw the book back into his trunk, turned off the lamp, and rolled over, thinking

of werewolves and Snape, Stan Shunpike and the Half-Blood Prince, and finally falling into an uneasy sleep full of creeping shadows and the cries of bitten children...

“She's got to be joking...”

Harry woke with a start to find a bulging stocking lying over the end of his bed. He put on his glasses and looked around; the tiny window was almost completely

obscured with snow and, in front of it, Ron was sitting bolt upright in bed and examining what appeared to be a thick gold chain.

“What's that?” asked Harry.

“It's from Lavender,” said Ron, sounding revolted. “She can't honestly think I'd wear ...”

Harry looked more closely and let out a shout of laughter. Dangling from the chain in large gold letters were the words: “My Sweetheart”

“Nice,” he said. “Classy. You should definitely wear it in front of Fred and George.”

“If you tell them,” said Ron, shoving the necklace out of sight under his pillow, “I—I—I'll—”

“Stutter at me?” said Harry, grinning. “Come on, would I?”

“How could she think I'd like something like that, though?” Ron demanded of thin air, looking rather shocked.

“Well, think back,” said Harry. “Have you ever let it slip that you'd like to go out in public with the words ‘My Sweetheart’ round your neck?”

“Well... we don't really talk much,” said Ron. “It's mainly...”

“Snogging,” said Harry.

“Well, yeah,” said Ron. He hesitated a moment, then said, “Is Hermione really going out with McLaggen?”

“I dunno,” said Harry. “They were at Slughorn's party together, but I don't think it went that well.”

Ron looked slightly more cheerful as he delved deeper into his stocking.

Harry's presents included a sweater with a large Golden Snitch worked onto the front, hand-knitted by Mrs. Weasley, a large box of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products

from the twins, and a slightly damp, moldy-smelling package that came with a label reading “To Master, From Kreacher".

Harry stared at it. “D'you reckon this is safe to open?” he asked.

“Can't be anything dangerous, all our mail's still being searched at the Ministry,” replied Ron, though he was eyeing the parcel suspiciously.