“Yes,” said Harry, “but —”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but —”

“Well, then,” said Dumbledore, shaking back his sleeves once more and raising the empty goblet, “you have my orders.”

“Why can't I drink the potion instead?” asked Harry desperately.

“Because I am much older, much cleverer, and much less valuable,” said Dumbledore. “Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power

to make me keep drinking?”

“Couldn't—?”

“Do I have it?”

“But—”

“Your word, Harry.”

“I —all right, but—”

Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second, Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch

the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.

“Your good health, Harry.”

And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, terrified, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips were numb.

“Professor?” he said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. “How do you feel?”

Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once

more.

In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were

still closed, his breathing heavy.

“Professor Dumbledore?” said Harry, his voice strained. “Can you hear me?”

Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was

about to spill from it. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.

“Professor, can you hear me?” he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.

Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognize, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this.

“I don't want... don't make me...”

Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do.

“...don't like... want to stop...” moaned Dumbledore.

“You... you can't stop, Professor,” said Harry. “You've got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here...”

Hating himself, repulsed by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back toward Dumbledore's mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the

potion inside.

“No ...” he groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. “I don't want to. ... I don't want to... let me go...”

“It's all right, Professor,” said Harry, his hand shaking. “It's all right, I'm here —”

“Make it stop, make it stop,” moaned Dumbledore.

“Yes... yes, this'll make it stop,” lied Harry. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore's open mouth. Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around