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"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.
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