Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already singlehandedly delivered the usual twelve C hristmas trees to the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry went past, which caused blockages in the corridors; fortunat e ly, however, Harry’s frequent nighttime wanderings had given him an unusually good knowledge of the castle’s secret passageways, so that he was often, without too much difficulty, to naviga t e mistletoe-free routes between classes.

Ron, who might once have found the necessity of these detours excuse for jealousy rather than hilarity, simply roared with laughter about it all. Although Harry much preferred this new laughing, joking Ron to the moody, aggressive model he had been enduring for the last few weeks, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly, Harry had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Harry found himself once more the best friend of two people who seemed unlikely ever to speak to each other again.

Ron, whose hands and forearms still bore scratches and cuts from Hermione’s bird attack, was taking a defensive and resentful tone.

“She can’t complain,” he told Harry. “She snogged Krum. So she’s found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it’s a free country. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Harry did not answer, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Q uest). Determined as he was to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, he was spending a lot of time with his mouth shut tight.

“I never promised Hermione anything , ” Ron mumbled. “I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with her, but she never said… just as friends… I’m a free agent…”

Harry turned a page of Quintessence, aware that Ron was watching him. Ron’s voice trailed away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Harry thought he caught the words “Krum” and “Can’t complain” again.

Hermione’s schedule was so full that Harry could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was, in any case, so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Harry was doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, So Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

“He’s at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes,” said Hermione, while the librarian , Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. “I really couldn’t care less.”

She raised her quill and dotted an ‘i’ so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry said nothing. He thought his voice might soon vanish from the lack of use. He bent a little lower over Advanced Potion-Making and continued to make notes on Everlasting Elixirs, occasionally pausing to decipher the p rince’s useful additions to Libatius B orage’s text.

“And incidentally,” said Hermione, after a few moments, “you need to be careful.”

“For the last time,” said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse tone after three-quarters of an ho u r of silence, “I am not giving back this book . I’ve learned more from the Half-blood p rince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in-”

“I’m not talking about your stupid so-called prince,” said Hermione , giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude to her. “I’m talki ng about earlier. I went into the girl’s bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane , trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They’re all hoping they’re going to get you to take them to Slughorn’s party, and thay all seem to have bought Fred and George’s love potions, which I’m afraid to say probably work -”

“Why didn’t you confiscate them then?” demanded Harry, it seemed extraordinary that Hermione’s m ania for upholding the rules could have abandoned her at this crucial juncture.

“They didn’t have the potions with them in the bathroom,” said Hermione scornfully, “They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt the Half-blood prince” she gave the book another scornful look “could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I’d just invite someone to go with you, that’ll stop all the others thinking they’ve still got a chance. It’s tomor r ow night, they’re getting desperate.”

“There isn’t anyone I want to invite,” mumbled Harry, who was still not trying to think about Ginny any more than he could help, despite the fact the fact that she kept cropping up in his dreams in ways that made him devoutly thankful that Ron could not perform Legilimency.

“Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Va ne looked like she meant business.” said Hermione grimly.

She hitched up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Arithma n cy essay and continued to scratch away with her quill. Harry wa t che d her with his mind a long way away.

“Hang on a moment,” he said slowly. “I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?”

“And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?” asked Hermione, still concentrating on her essay.

“But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these grils are able to bring love potions into the school?”

“Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions,” said Hermione. “It’s part of their Owl order service.”

“You know a lot about it.”

Hermione gave him the kind of nasty look she had just given his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

“It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer,” she said coldly, “I don’t go around putting potions in people’s drinks… or pretending too eit h er, which is just as bad…”

“Yeah, well, never mind that,” said Harry quickly. “The point is, Filch is being fooled isn’t he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn’t Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school -?”

“Oh, Harry… not that again…”

“Come on, why not?” demanded Harry.

“Look , ” sighed Hermione, “Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don’t they? They’re used to find d ark magic and d ark obje c ts. They’d have picked up a powerful curse , like the one in the necklace, withi n seconds. But something that’s just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn ‘ t register — anyway Love potions aren’t d ark or dangerous -”

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Harry, thinking of Romilda Vane.

“— so it would be down to Filch to realise it wasn’t a cough potion, and he’s not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from -”

Hermione stopped dead; Harry had heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited, and a moment later the vulturelike countenance of Madam Pince appeared around the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying.

“The library is now closed,” she said, “Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct — what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?”

“It isn’t the library’s, it’s mine!” said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand.

“ Spoiled!” she hissed . “Desecrated, befouled !”

“It’s just a book that’s been written on!” said Harry, tugging it out of her grip.

She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who had hastily packed her things, grabbed Harry by the arm and frogmarched him away.

“She’ll ban you from the library if you’re not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?”

“It’s not my fault she’s barking mad, Hermione. Or d’you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I’ve always thought there might be something between them…”

“Oh, ha ha..”

Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing w hether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

“Baubles” said Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password.

“Same to you,” said the fat lady with a roguish grin, and she swung forward to admit them.

“Hi, Harry!” said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. “Fancy a gillywater?”

Hermione gave him a “what-did-I-tell-you?” look over her shoulder.

“No thanks,” said Harry quickly. “I don’t like it much.”

“Well, take these anyway,” said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. “Chocolate Cauldrons, they’ve got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don’t like them.”

“Oh— right — thanks a lot.” said Harry, who could not think what else to say. “ Er— I ‘ m just going over here with…”

He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly.

“Told you,” said Hermione succinctly, “ Sooner you ask someone, sooner they’ll all leave you alone and you can -”

But her face suddnly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender, who were i ntertwined in the same armchair.

“Well, good night, Harry” said Hermione, though it was only seven o’clock in the evening, and she left for the girl s’ dormitory without another word.

Harry went to bed comforting himself that there was only one more day of lessons to struggle through, plus Slughorn’s party, after which he and Ron would depart together for the B urrow. It now seemed impossible that Ron and Hermione would make up with each other before the holidays began, but perhaps, somehow, the break would give them time to calm down, think better of their behavior…

But his hopes were not high, and they sank still lower after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. They had just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human transfiguration; working in front of mirrors , they were suposed to be changing the color of their own eyebrows. Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron’s disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Profe s sor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Harry, deciding that her need was greater than Ron’s just now, scooped up her remaining po ssessions and followed her.