n, stepping back from the body. Harry saw the glint of a bottle disap-pear beneath his cloak,
though Hagrid, mopping his eyes once more, noticed nothing. "Now . . . shall we proceed to the burial?" Hagrid nodded and moved forward. He heaved the gigantic spi-der into his arms and, with an enormous grunt, rolled it into the dark pit. It hit the bottom with a rather horrible, crunchy thud. Hagrid started to cry again. "Of course, it's difficult for you, who knew him best," said Slughorn, who like Harry could reach no higher than Hagrid's el-bow, but patted it all the same. "Why don't I say a few words?" He must have got a lot of good quality venom from Aragog, Harry thought, for Slughorn wore a satisfied smirk as he stepped up to the rim of the pit and said, in a slow, impressive voice, "Farewell, Aragog, king of arachnids, whose long and faithful friendship those who knew you won't forget! Though your body will decay, your spirit lingers on in the quiet, web-spun places of your forest home. May your many-eyed descendants ever flourish and your human friends find solace for the loss they have sustained." "Tha was . . . tha was . . . beau'iful!" howled Hagrid, and he collapsed onto the compost heap, crying harder than ever. "There, there," said Slughorn, waving his wand so that the huge pile of earth rose up and then fell, with a muffled sort of crash, onto the dead spider, forming a smooth mound. "Lets get inside and have a drink. Get on his other side, Harry. . . . That's it. ... Up you come, Hagrid . . . Well done ..."
They deposited Hagrid in a chair at the table. Fang, who had been skulking in his basket during the burial, now came padding softly across to them and put his heavy head into Harry's lap as usual. Slughorn uncorked one of the bottles of wine he had brought. "I have had it all tested for poison," he assured Harry, pouring most of the first bottle into one of Hagrid's bucket-sized mugs and handing it to Hagrid. "Had a house-elf taste every bottle after what happened to your poor friend Rupert." Harry saw, in his mind's eye, the expression on Hermione's face if she ever heard about this abuse of houseelves, and decided never to mention it to her. "One for Harry . . ." said Slughorn, dividing a second bottle be-tween two mugs, ". . . and one for me. Well" - he raised his mug high - "to Aragog." "Aragog," said Harry and Hagrid together. Both Slughorn and Hagrid drank deeply. Harry, however, with the way ahead illuminated for him by Felix Felicis, knew that he must not drink, so he merely pretended to take a gulp and then set the mug back on the table before him. "I had him from an egg, yeh know," said Hagrid morosely. "'Tiny little thing he was when he hatched. 'Bout the size of a Pekingese" "Sweet," said Slughorn.
"Used ter keep him in a cupboard up at the school until . . . well..." Hagrid's face darkened and Harry knew why: Tom Riddle had contrived to have Hagrid thrown out of school, blamed for opening the Chamber of Secrets. Slughorn, however, did not seem to be listening; he was looking up at the ceiling, from which a number of brass pots hung, and also a long, silky skein of bright white hair. "That's not unicorn hair, Hagrid?" "Oh, yeah," said Hagrid indifferently. "Gets pulled out of their tails, they catch it on branches an' stuff in the forest, yeh know ..." "But my dear chap, do you know how much that's worth?" "I use it fer bindin' on bandages an stuff if a creature gets in jured," said Hagrid, shrugging. "It's dead useful. . . very strong." Slughorn took another deep draught from his mug, his eyes moving carefully around the cabin now, looking, Harry knew, for more treasures that he might be able to convert into a plentiful su ply of oak-matured mead, crystalized pineapple, and velvet smok-ing jackets. He refilled Hagrid's mug and his own, and questioned him about the creatures that lived in the forest these days and how Hagrid was able to look after them all. Hagrid, becoming expan-sive under the influence of the drink and Slughorn's
flattering in-terest, stopped mopping his eyes and entered happily into a long explanation of bowtruckle husbandry. The Felix Felicis gave Harry a little nudge at this point, and he noticed that the supply of drink that Slughorn had brought was running out fast. Harry had not yet managed to bring off the Re-filling Charm without saying the incantation aloud, but the idea that he might not be able to do it tonight was laughable: Indeed, Harry grinned to himself as, unnoticed by either Hagrid or Slug-liorn (now swapping tales of the illegal trade in dragon eggs) he pointed his wand under the table at the emptying bottles and they immediately began to refill. After an hour or so, Hagrid and Slughorn began making extravagant toasts: to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore, to elf-made wine, and to- "Harry Potter!" bellowed Hagrid, slopping some of his four-teenth bucket of wine down his chin as he drained it. "Yes, indeed," cried Slughorn a little thickly, "Parry Otter, the Chosen Boy Who - well - something of that sort," he mumbled, and drained his mug too. Not long after this, Hagrid became tearful again and pressed the whole unicorn tail upon Slughorn, who pocketed it with cries of, "To friendship! To generosity! To ten Galleons a hair!"
And for a while after that, Hagrid and Slughorn were sitting side by side, arms around each other, singing a slow sad song about a dying wizard called Odo. "Aaargh, the good die young," muttered Hagrid, slumping low onto the table, a little cross-eyed, while Slughorn continued to war-ble the refrain. "Me dad was no age ter go ... nor were yer mum' an' dad, Harry . . ." Great fat tears oozed out of the corners of Hagrid's crinkled eyes again; he grasped Harry's arm and shook it "Bes' wiz and witchard o' their age ... I never knew.. . terrible thing . . . terrible thing ..." "And Odo the hero, they bore him back home To the place that he'd known as a lad," sang Slughorn plaintively. "They laid him to rest with his hat inside out. And his wand snapped in two, which was sad." ". . . terrible," Hagrid grunted, and his great shaggy head rolled sideways onto his arms and he fell asleep, snoring deeply.
"Sorry," said Slughorn with a hiccup. "Can't carry a tune to save my life." "Hagrid wasn't talking about your singing," said Harry quietly. "He was talking about my mum and dad dying." "Oh," said Slughorn, repressing a large belch. "Oh dear. Yes, that was - was terrible indeed. Terrible . . . terrible ..." He looked quite at a loss for what to say, and resorted to refilling their mugs. "I don't - don't suppose you remember it, Harry?" he asked awkwardly. "No - well, I was only one when they died," said Harry, his eyes on the flame of the candle flickering in Hagrid's heavy snores. "But I've found out pretty much what happened since. My dad died first. Did you know that?" "I - I didn't," said Slughorn in a hushed voice. "Yeah . . . Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body toward my mum," said Harry. Slughorn gave a great shudder, but he did not seem able to tear his horrified gaze away from Harry's face. "He told her to get out of the way," said Harry remorselessly. "He told me she needn't have died. He only wanted me. She could have run."
"Oh dear," breathed Slughorn. "She could have . . . she needn't . . . That's awful. . . ." "It is, isn't it?" said Harry, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "But she didn't move. Dad was already dead, but she didn't want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort. . . but he just laughed...." "That's enough!" said Slughorn suddenly, raising a shaking hand. "Really, my dear boy, enough . . . I'm an old man ... I don't need to hear ... I don't want to hear ..." "I forgot," lied Harry, Felix Felicis leading him on. "You liked her, didn't you?" "Liked her?" said Slughorn, his eyes brimming with tears once more. "I don't imagine anyone who met her wouldn't have liked her. . . . Very brave . . . Very funny... It was the most horrible thing. ..." "But you won't help her son," said Harry. "She gave me her life, but you won't give me a memory." Hagrid's rumbling snores filled the cabin. Harry looked steadily into Slughorn's tear-filled eyes. The Potions master seemed unable to look away. "Don't say that," he whispered. "It isn't a question ... If it were to help you, of course . . . but no purpose can be served . . ."
"It can," said Harry clearly. "Dumbledore needs information. I need information." He knew he was safe: Felix was telling him that Slughorn would remember nothing of this in the morning. Looking Slughorn straight in the eye, Harry leaned forward a little. "I am the Chosen One. I have to kill him. I need that memory." Slughorn turned paler than ever; his shiny forehead gleamed with sweat. "You are the Chosen One?" . . I. "Of course I am," said Harry calmly. "But then . . . my dear boy . . . you're asking a great deal. . . you're asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy-" "You don't want to get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans?'" "Harry, Harry, of course I do, but -" "You're scared he'll find out you helped me?" Slughorn said nothing; he looked terrified.
"Be brave like my mother, Professor. . . ." Slughorn raised a pudgy hand and pressed his shaking fingers to his mouth; he looked for a moment like an enormously overgrown baby. "I am not proud . . ." he whispered through his fingers. "I am ashamed of what - of what that memory shows. ... I think I may have done great damage that day. ..." "You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory," said Harry. "It would be a very brave and noble thing to do." Hagrid twitched in his sleep and snored on. Slughorn and Harry stared at each other over the guttering candle. There was a long, long silence, but Felix Felicis told Harry not to break it, to wait. Then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He put his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small, empty bottle