Draco Malfoy stood with his back to the door, his hands grasping the sink, his pale face hanging low. Pen, fun, and www.biquge.info

"Don't," the muffled voice of a weeping gold digger came from one of the cubicles. "Don't ...... Please tell me what's wrong...... I can help you......" "No one can help me," Malfoy said. His whole body trembled. "I can't do it...... It still doesn't work...... Unless I'm going to do it...... Otherwise he said he'd kill me......" Harry was shocked and stood there as if he had roots under his feet, and he realized that Malfoy was crying...... Really crying...... Tears dripped from his pale face into the dirty pool. Malfoy gasped, and then he snapped, Harry staring over his shoulder in the shattered mirror.

Malfoy turned and drew his wand. Harry instinctively drew his wand, too. Malfoy's curse passed a few inches past Harry, shattering the lamp on the wall next to him; Harry flashed to the side, thinking in his mind, 'Light Shadow!' He shook his wand, but Malfoy blocked the spell and raised his wand to cast it again.

"Nope! No! Stop it! The shrill voice of the crying myrtle echoed through the brick house. Stop it! Stop it! There was a loud bang, and a tank behind Harry exploded; Harry let out a leg-locking spell that bounced off the wall behind Malfoy, shattering a cistern beneath the weeping Myrtle, and she screamed loudly; The water was splashed everywhere, and the moment Harry slipped and fell, Malfoy's face contorted, and he screamed, "Drill Heart—" "Sword Shadow!" Harry roared on the floor, flailing his wand frantically.

Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest, as if he had just been slashed by an invisible sword. He staggered back a few steps and collapsed on the wet floor, causing a splash and his wand falling out of his feeble right hand.

"No—" Harry said breathlessly.

Harry staggered to his feet from the floor and pounced on Malfoy, his face glowing bright red, his pale hands scratching at his blood-soaked chest.

"No—I didn't—" Harry didn't know what he was talking about; He fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was lying in a pool of his own blood convulsing involuntarily. The weeping myrtle let out a deafening scream.

"Murder! Murder in the bathroom! Murder! The door behind Harry slammed open, and Harry looked up in horror: Snape rushed into the bathroom with a pale face. He shoved Harry aside and knelt beside Malfoy, drawing his wand and moving it through the wound of Harry's spell, muttering a spell that sounded like a song. The bleeding seems to have stopped; Snape wiped the blood from Malfoy's face and recited the incantation. This time the wound seems to be healing.

Harry was still watching it all, horrified by what he had done, not even noticing that he was drenched in blood and water. Weeping myrtles were still crying and screaming above their heads. When Snape finished the spell for the third time, he half-lifted and half-pulled Malfoy to his feet.

"You need to go to the school hospital. There may be some scars, but if you take white moss immediately, the scars may not be gone...... Come on......" he propped Malfoy through the bathroom, turned around in the doorway, and said in a cold, angry tone, "and you, Potter...... Stay here and wait for me. Harry didn't mean to disobey at all. He slowly stood up trembling and looked down at the wet floor. The floor was stained with blood, floating like crimson flowers on the surface of the pool. He couldn't even bear to silence Myrtle, whose constant cry was noticeably increasing in the element of enjoyment.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

"Get out," he said to Myrtle, and she immediately flew into the toilet, leaving a crisp silence.

"I didn't mean to," Harry said right away. His voice echoed in this cold, damp place. "I don't know what that spell does." But Snape ignored the argument.

"Apparently I underestimated you, Potter," he whispered, "who would have thought you would know such dark magic?" Who taught you that mantra? "I—I read it somewhere." "Where?" "Yes—a book in the library," Harry began, "I can't remember what it's called—" "Lied," Snape said. Harry's throat was dry. He knew what Snape was going to do, and he couldn't stop it...... The bathroom in front of him began to flicker; He struggled to get rid of all distractions, but the more he tried, the more the Half-Blood Prince's Advanced Potions Preparation book came to mind.

Then he seemed to be back in the broken, damp bathroom, staring at Snape again. He looked into Snape's dark eyes, and there was a glimmer of hope that Snape didn't see what he feared to be seen, but—"Bring your bag," Snape whispered, "and all your textbooks, all of them." Bring them all here. Right now! "There's no point in arguing. Harry immediately turned around and stepped on the water and walked out of the bathroom. As soon as he reached the hallway, he immediately ran towards the Gryffindor Tower. Most people are going in the opposite direction; They stared at Harry, who was drenched in blood, but he ran wildly, not answering any questions thrown at him along the way.

He was shocked; It's as if a beloved pet suddenly turns into a beast. Why did the prince write such a spell in his book? How would Snape react when he saw it? Would he have told Slavhorn - Harry's stomach began to churn - how Harry had gotten high grades in Potions classes all year long? Would he have confiscated or destroyed the book that had taught Harry so much...... This book that has turned into a mentor and a friend? Harry couldn't let it happen...... He couldn't ......, "Where have you been?" Why are you covered in-? Is this blood? Ron stood at the top of the stairs, looking at Harry in bewilderment.

"I need your book," Harry gasped. "Your Potions textbook. Fast...... Give it to me......" "The half-blood prince's book—?" "I'll explain that later!" Ron took his Advanced Potions Preparation from his bag and handed it over; Harry immediately passed him and rushed back to the common room. He grabbed his bag, ignored the surprised expressions on the faces of those who had finished eating, rushed out of the portrait, and rushed to the corridor on the eighth floor.

He slammed on the brakes next to the tapestry of the dancing troll, closed his eyes and began pacing.

I need a place to store my books...... I need a place to store my books...... I need a place to store my books...... He walked back and forth three times by the bare wall. He opened his eyes, and at last there appeared: the door of the Room of Requirement. Harry pulled it away and rushed inside, slamming the door shut.

He gasped. Despite his hurriedness, panic, and fear of returning to the bathroom, he couldn't help but be shocked by what he saw. Standing in a house the size of a church, with beams of light streaming in from the high windows, he looked like he was in a city with towering walls that had been hidden by generations of Hogwartsers. Broken and ruined furniture was crumblingly piled up on paths and avenues, crammed to the brim, perhaps to hide evidence of indiscriminate magic, or to be hidden by house-elves who were particular about the neatness of the castle. There are thousands of other books, no doubt banned, graffitied, or simply stolen. There were many winged slingshots and fanged frisbees, several of which still had magic on them, hovering lazily over other forbidden items; Some of the broken bottles contained solidified potions, as well as hats, jewelry, and cloaks; There were also what looked like dragon eggshells, several sealed bottles that still glittered evilly, a few rusty swords, and a large bloodstained axe.

Harry scurried into one of the alleys. He turned right to dodge a large, fed troll, ran down a short road, turned left past a broken vanishing cabinet that Monty had fallen into last year, and finally stopped next to a large cupboard whose blistered surface looked like someone had splashed acid. Harry opened a creaky cabinet door: there was already a cage hidden inside, and the contents of the cage were long dead; Its skeleton has five legs. He shoved the half-blood prince's book behind the cage and slammed the door shut. He paused for a moment, and his heart pounded as he looked at this mess...... Will he be able to find this place in all this garbage? He grabbed the broken bust of an ugly old wizard from the top of a nearby chest, set him up on the chest where he was kept, and put an old dusty wig and a tarnished crown on its head to make it even more visible, and then he sped back down the garbage-lined alley, back to the door, and when he reached the hallway, he slammed the door behind him, and it was immediately back to stone.

Harry ran to the bathroom downstairs at full speed, tucking Ron's Advanced Potions Preparation into his bag. A minute later, he returned to Snape, who didn't say anything, just reached out and took Harry's school bag. Harry handed it over, panting as he waited with a burning pain in his chest.

Snape pulled out Harry's books and examined them one by one. In the end, only the Potions textbook remained, and Snape examined it very carefully before speaking.

"This is your Advanced Potions Preparation, isn't it, Potter?" "Yes," Harry still gasped heavily.

"You're pretty sure about that, aren't you, Potter?" "Yes," Harry said, slightly disdainful.

"Is this the copy of Advanced Potions Preparation you bought from the Blotted Bookstore?" "Yes," Harry said firmly.

"Then why," Snape asked, "is the name 'Runier Wattsley' on the back of the book cover?" Harry's heart seemed to stop beating.

"That's my nickname," he said.

"Your nickname," Snape repeated.

"Right...... That's what my friends call me," Harry said.

"I know what a nickname should look like," Snape said. His cold, dark eyes were fixed on Harry once more; He tried not to look at them. Close your mind...... Close your mind...... But he hasn't learned how to do it right...... "Do you know what I think, Potter?" Snape said, very softly. I think you're lying, you're a liar, so you're coming to me every Saturday and locked up until the end of the semester. What do you think, Potter? "I-I don't agree, Professor," Harry said, still not looking Snape in the eye.

"Well, look at what you've thought since you've been locked down," Snape said. "Saturday morning at ten o'clock, Potter. My office. "But, ......Professor," Harry looked up in despair, "Quidditch...... The last game—" "Ten o'clock," Snape whispered, smiling and showing his yellow teeth. "Poor Gryffindor...... I'm afraid I'm going to be fourth this year......" He left the bathroom without saying a word, leaving Harry alone, staring at the broken mirror, convinced that he was feeling more depressed at the moment than Ron had ever felt since he was a child.

"I don't want to say, 'I told you a long time ago,'" Hermione said an hour later in the common room.

"Say no more, Hermione," Ron said angrily.

Harry didn't go to dinner; He had no appetite at all. He'd just told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what had happened, but it didn't seem necessary. The news spread quickly: apparently the weeping myrtle had spread the story to every bathroom in the castle; Pansy Parkinson had just visited Malfoy in the hospital, and she wasted no time in speaking ill of Harry while Snape made it clear to all the teachers what was going on. Harry had just been called out of the common room and had endured a very unpleasant fifteen minutes with Professor McGonagall, telling Harry that he was lucky not to be expelled, and that she wholeheartedly agreed with Professor Snape's punishment of being locked up every Saturday until the end of the semester.

"I told you something wasn't quite right with that prince," Hermione apparently couldn't keep her mouth shut. "I'm right, am I?" "No, I don't think you're right," Harry said stubbornly.

Even without Hermione's preaching, his situation was bad enough. When he told his Gryffindor players that he couldn't play on Saturday, the look on their faces was the worst punishment for him. He could feel Ginny's eyes looking at him, but he didn't dare to make eye contact with them; He didn't want to see any disappointment and irritation there. He had just learned that she would be a Seeker in Saturday's game, and Dean would re-enter the team to replace her as Chaser. Perhaps, if they win, Dean and Ginny will get back together in the aftermath celebration...... The thought crossed Harry's mind like an ice blade...... "Harry," Hermione said, "why are you still maintaining that book, that spell is all there—" "Can you please stop nagging about that book!" Harry snapped her off, "The prince just copied it down!" He doesn't seem to recommend anyone to use it! Maybe he just jotted down what was used against him. "I don't believe it," Hermione said. You're actually defending -- "I'm not defending what I'm doing!" Harry said quickly. I hope I didn't, and not just because I had a dozen confinements to close up. You know I'm not going to use a spell like that, even to Malfoy, but you can't blame the prince for not writing 'Try this, it's really great' - he's just taking notes on himself, isn't he, not for anyone else......" "Are you going to tell me," Hermione said, "you're going back-?" "Get that book back?" Yes, yes," Harry said fiercely. "Listen, I would never have won Flygt Phase without the Prince. I'll never know how to detoxify Ron, and I'll never—"—get your false reputation for potions talent," Hermione said in disgust.

"Stop, Hermione!" Ginny said, and Harry looked up in surprise and gratitude. "Malfoy sounded like he was trying to use an unforgivable spell, and you should be glad Harry had something good to use in an emergency." "Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!" Hermione was visibly stung, "But you can't say that Sword Shadow Charm is a good thing, Ginny, look what it got Harry into!" I'm still thinking that this will give you a chance to win the game-" "Oh, don't pretend you know Quidditch," Ginny interrupted her, "that will only embarrass you." Harry and Ron looked at each other: Hermione and Ginny had always had a good relationship, but now they were sitting there with their hands crossed over their chests, staring in different directions. Ron gave Harry an uneasy look, then picked up a book and hid his head behind it. Harry knew he was ashamed, but he suddenly felt a pang of incredible joy, even though neither of them spoke again that night.

But his ease was short-lived. The next day he had to endure the ridicule of the Slytherins, not to mention the wrath of the Gryffindors, as their captain had allowed himself to be locked up for the final game of the season. On Saturday morning, no matter what he had said to Hermione, Harry was willing to trade all the Flyers in the world for his chance to walk to the Quidditch pitch with Ron, Ginny and the others. It was almost intolerable to leave the crowd that rushed into the sunlight, all wearing rosettes and hats, waving banners and scarves, and just as intolerable, Harry walked down the stone stairs leading to the underground classroom, and walked until the sound of the crowd in the distance disappeared, and he knew that he could not hear a single commentary, nor could he hear a single cheer or sigh.

"Ah, Potter," said Snape, as Harry knocked on the door and walked into the nasty but familiar office, which he hadn't moved out of, though Snape was now a few floors away; The lights were dim as usual, and the walls were filled with colorful flasks of sticky animals and plants. Many cobweb-covered boxes were piled on a table, and Harry had an ominous premonition that he would sit there; It looked like there was a boring, difficult, pointless job waiting for him.

"Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clean up these old files," Snape said softly. "They are a record of other people who have made mistakes at Hogwarts and the punishment they have received. There are places where the ink has faded, or the cards have been destroyed by rats, and we want you to re-transcribe those crimes and punishments, and make sure to put them in alphabetical order before putting them back in the box. You can't use magic. "Yes, Professor," Harry said, pronouncing the last word as contemptuously as possible.

"I think you can get started," Snape smiled viciously. "In boxes 1012 to 1056, you'll find some familiar names that will make the quest a little more interesting. Here, you see......" he forcefully pulled a card from the top box, waved it, and said, 'James Potter and Sirius Black.' Caught casting an illegal curse on Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey's head became twice the size it originally was. Both were locked in confinement. Snape said with a sneer. It was a great consolation, and despite their deaths, the record of their great achievements was still there......" Harry felt the depths of his stomach start churning again. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from retaliating, he sat down and pulled a box.

As Harry expected, it was worthless, boring work. His stomach began to churn (as Snape had planned), which meant that he saw his father's name and Sirius again, usually together for all sorts of trivial crimes, with the occasional Lupin and Peter Pettigrew as company. Harry copied their sins and punishments as he guessed what was going on outside about the game that had just begun...... Ginny and Cho are both Seekers...... Harry glanced over and over at the ticking clock on the wall. It seems to be twice as slow as a normal clock; Did Snape cast a spell on it to make it go very slowly? He couldn't have been here for just half an hour...... An hour...... An hour and a half...... When the clock pointed to half-past twelve, Harry's stomach began to growl. Snape, who hadn't said a word since he had given Harry his assignment, finally looked up at past ten o'clock.

"I think that's it," he said coldly. "Make a mark. It will continue next Saturday at ten o'clock sharp. "Yes, Professor." Harry casually slipped a folded card into the box, then hurried out of his office before Snape could change his mind, darting up the stone stairs as he pricked up his ears in the hope of hearing a little sound from the pitch, but it was all silent...... With that said, the game is over...... He hesitated outside the crowded auditorium, then ran up the marble staircase; Regardless of whether Gryffindor wins or loses, the team usually celebrates or mourns in the common room.

"Hello? Harry said this in Latin," he said tentatively to the fat lady, guessing what he would see inside.

She replied with an unpredictable expression, "You'll see." She stepped forward.

A celebratory commotion came from the hole behind her. The people screamed at the sight of him, and Harry looked at them dumbfounded; A few hands pulled him in.

"We won!" Ron shouted, jumping into Harry's line of sight and waving the silver trophy at him. "We won! 450 to 140! We won! Harry looked around; Ginny ran towards him and embraced him with a determined and fiery look on her face. Harry kissed her, not thinking, not planning, not worrying that 50 people were looking at them.

After a long time - perhaps half an hour - or perhaps several sunny days - they separated. The room became very quiet. Then a few people began to whistle, and the crowd erupted into an uneasy giggle. Harry looked over Ginny's head to see Dean Thomas holding a broken glass in his hand, and Romilda Vinn looked like he was about to drop something. Hermione was smiling, but Harry's eyes were searching for Ron. Eventually, he found Ron still holding the trophy, and the look on his face was as if he had just been hit on the head with a stick. They stared at each other for a moment, then Ron's head moved slightly, and Harry understood that he was saying, "All right—if you insist." The monster in his chest roared in triumph. He grinned at Ginny and silently pointed to the portrait hole. It seemed to imply that they should go for a walk in the playground - if they had time - and discuss the game.