Chapter 271 - The Carriages (1/2)
”Now, Miss Christina Norton,” Slughorn turned to Chris, who was still transfixed at Neville. ”You are gaining fame like no other at your age — except our Harry, of course. There is a lot to talk about you: The youngest writer against Rita Skeeter. . . Defensive inventions and some quite pleasing invention too — An old student of mine presented me a brilliant Perfume the other day and I was surprised to discover that it was made by a young witch who haven't reached her O.W.L.s yet.”
Slughorn beamed at Chris, who politely smiled back. Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini were all staring at her.
Slughorn turned to Harry, ”'I have many Muggle-born friends and they are brilliant.' I'm assuming this is one of the very friends of whom you spoke, Harry?”
Chris surprised turned to Harry who nodded.
”Yes, sir.”
”Very interesting,” said Slughorn looking back at Chris. ”I was very curious after knowing your name, young lady, I have seen your healing jel too, as a potions maker myself I must say, you have a gift in potion-making. Yes, yes a gift.” He contemplated Chris for a moment as though she was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, then said, ”Then there is the news — that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you, Harry and your few companions were there in the thick of it all! I think I have heard that you have written about the entire incident somewhere, is that right?”
”Yes, sir,” said Chris politely. ”In the magazine called 'The Quibbler'.”
”Why not Prophet, my dear?” said Slughorn looking very amused. ”I have heard rumours that they have asked for you, especially after the Ministry incident.”
Chris again was surprised. Slughorn's news was true. The Prophet did want to interview Harry and Chris, for that they even tried to bribe Chris with a permanent writing position in the Prophet. But of course, she refused.
”I don't like Prophet much,” said Chris quickly changing her surprised expression into a calm smile. ”They often try to sell false stories.”
”Yes, yes, indeed, one doesn't know quite what to believe — this fabled prophecy, for instance —” Slughorn now turned grandly to look at Harry. ”Well, Harry, 'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now!”
”We never heard a prophecy,” said Neville, turning geranium pink as he said it.
”That's right,” said Ginny. ”Neville and I were both there too, and all this 'Chosen One' rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual.”
”You were both there too, were you?” said Slughorn with great interest, looking from Ginny to Neville, but both of them sat clamlike before his encouraging smile.
Harry said nothing.
”Of course,” said Slughorn, watching Harry closely, ”there have been rumours for years. . . . I remember when — well — after that terrible night — Lily — James — and you survived — and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary —”
Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused scepticism. Ginny angrily burst out from behind Slughorn.
”Yeah, Zabini, because you're so talented . . . at posing. . . .”
Chris hid her face before she could burst out laughing.
”Oh dear!” chuckled Slughorn comfortably, looking around at Ginny, who was glaring at Zabini around Slughorn's great belly. ”You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn't cross her!”
Zabini merely looked contemptuous.
”Anyway,” Slughorn turned back to Harry and continued singing praises about Harry and meandered off into a long-winded reminiscence of his old students.