时间：02-28 来源：转载自澎湃新闻 浏览量：6006
Seamus was not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie’s substitute. There was much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry had now chosen two of his class-mates for the team. As Harry had endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he was not particularly bothered, but all the same, the pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Harry knew that the whole House would forget that they had criticized him and swear that they had always known it was a great team. If they lost. . . well, Harry thought wryly, he had still endured worse mutterings. . . .
Dumbledore pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew out.
"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.
"I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!" "This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!" said Ginny.
"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.
"All right, all right, all right!" bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"
Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly.
"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot eagerly.
"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. "Do you have any proof?"
"Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom'?"
Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did not usually lie in bed
"No," said Harry. "No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dis-honest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?"
"And you think we're scum, do you?" screamed Gaunt, advanc-ing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. "Scum who'll come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?"
"Voldemort's grandfather, yes," said Dumbledore. "Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope, were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of insta-bility and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."
As Hermione had predicted, the sixth years' free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had antici-pated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons them-selves had become more demanding than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.
He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.