Chapter Text
So I'll publish the rest of the book as soon as possible in the following days. You'll have very soon the full book to read. Finally, the end of this adventure, thank you for waiting and encouraging me book after book !
Hope you'll enjoy this one <3
Way too late into the evening, knocks echoed through the quiet neighbourhood of Privet Drive. Outside, the sun had been down for a good two hours, but nobody was truly asleep, everyone going about their own business, and certainly not together. This was notably the case for Harry Potter, resident of the smallest bedroom in the Dursleys' small house, who was receiving an unexpected visitor.
Harry was slumped on his bed, spinning the Marauder's Map between his fingers, which allowed him to observe everything happening inside Hogwarts Castle in real time. When he had seen Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, leave his office nearly twenty minutes earlier, he had decided to wait for his return to determine where he could have vanished to, and had been waiting since then, map in hand and eyes fixed on the office from which the Headmaster had disappeared.
Harry had not been very active since the beginning of July, when he had found himself once more locked up with the Dursleys. He had been well-behaved from his own perspective, and had neither tried to leave the house nor progress in his own quest. He had decided to keep a low profile, hoping to see signs of Voldemort appearing somewhere in the news, but the Dark Lord was keeping an even lower profile than the previous year. He was beginning to believe that following their confrontation, Voldemort had found himself, if not severely injured, at least incapacitated by it and had to come up with a new plan of attack. The problem was that Harry was now a bit lost. While delaying his confrontation with Voldemort by a year had been a deliberate choice last year, knowing he was primarily seeking to preserve the future he knew and had control over, he was completely helpless in the face of this now uncertain future.
Harry had been back in time for over 16 years now. He had grown and matured his plan to eradicate Voldemort. He had thought through every single possibility to achieve it. His training, hiding his abilities, his choices to involve or not involve himself in events to maintain control over the future. He truly thought that, once all the Horcruxes were destroyed, killing Voldemort would be the easiest step: not that he underestimated the wizard, who remained by far the most powerful even against Dumbledore, but because he counted on playing on the element of surprise with his own abilities. If there was one thing Harry had learned from his past about Lord Voldemort, it was that he completely underestimated Harry and, in his immense pride, had left him several thousand opportunities. Thus, the fact that Voldemort did not take him seriously for their fight had always been one of his best weapons. But everything had collapsed the moment Dumbledore had turned up and prevented him from pursuing, and even killing him. It had taken Harry several days to cool down after their confrontation, and on top of all this accumulated frustration, learning that Dumbledore still intended to hunt the Horcruxes in this lifetime only added to his anger.
Now, Harry had absolutely no good lead to follow, no idea how to pursue Voldemort, nor how to make Dumbledore forget about him in this Horcruxe business, the nature of which he could not reveal. In short, Harry decided that for the time being he would play dead for both his enemies and allies, and that he would take things as they came: if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that at least Voldemort would never let him live in peace and that he had to be number one on his target list, so rather than straining to look for him, he was going to let him come to him. Meanwhile, he would do nothing.
As this was his state of mind, he was all the more frustrated to hear knocks at the Dursleys' front door. Instantly, he knew it was for him, and despite himself, he already suspected who was there. He closed his map with a flick and muttered the incantation to make the ink disappear before putting it away in his pouch around his neck and slowly leaving his room.
He walked down the corridor as he heard his uncle open the door.
"The cheek of disturbing people at this hour, who do you think you are?"
"Albus Dumbledore, and you must be Vernon Dursley, a pleasure, though I am not here to see you."
A brief silence followed the Professor's statement, and Harry, who could not yet see either of them, easily imagined his uncle's ears and neck beginning to turn blue. He stepped onto the first stair just as his cousin arrived behind him.
"Who is it?"
"My Headmaster," Harry replied with as much indifference and surprise as his frustration allowed.
"Your Headmaster? What the bloody hell is he doing here."
"Good question Big D, Professor, what brings you here?"
Harry saw his uncle, whose ears seemed to be starting to whistle, spin round furiously, clearly blaming Harry for the presence of an eccentric character in fuchsia robes on their doorstep.
"Ah Harry, perfect, I came to see you actually, we have much to discuss and very little time as always. I am also here to act as an escort for Harry to take him to his friends' for the remainder of the summer, you have no objection to that, do you, Mr Dursley?"
This time, Vernon's anger seemed to have short-circuited his brain, for he did not even reply. It was the entrance of Petunia, wearing her rubber gloves and an apron still covered in suds that dripped at her feet, that saved them from another fit of rage. She stared at Dumbledore in shock, ignoring the mess she was making around her. Her cheeks had turned pale and her mouth was wide open.
"And you must be Petunia, we know each other through correspondence, of course, I am Albus Dumbledore."
Harry found it a strange way to remind Aunt Petunia of their shared past which, if he remembered correctly, was that Petunia's jealousy toward her sister, Harry's mother, had driven her to write to Dumbledore to beg him to take her at Hogwarts just like her, and his refusal had sealed her morbid jealousy and hatred toward her younger sister. This had certainly led to Harry spending the first years of his life in a cupboard in two complete lifetimes. Still, for once, Dumbledore could not be blamed, he truly had no means to let Petunia into Hogwarts. In any case, the woman had seemingly never had the opportunity to meet the man face-to-face as she looked deeply shocked to see him, her glove hanging along her body and staining the floor with large drops.
"And this must surely be your son Dudley?" added Dumbledore, bringing Harry out of his analysis.
Dumbledore waited a few moments to see if either of the Dursleys was going to say something, but as the silence stretched on, he smiled.
"Harry, you should pack your things quickly, I am taking you to the Weasleys' for the remainder of the summer."
Harry raised an eyebrow before slowly remembering. It was true that in his previous life Dumbledore had come to fetch him the exact same way to bring him back to his friend Ron's, but he mostly remembered that they had taken a massive detour which Harry would absolutely do without if he could. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest.
"And why are you the one handling it?"
"I volunteered, because we needed to talk. On that note, would you grant me a little time before we leave the house?"
His uncle suddenly straightened up.
"We will go to my room and we will be gone very quickly, Uncle Vernon, and the neighbours won't see us, if that's alright with you just open the cupboard for me."
"Wh-"
"That sounds perfect, show me the way," Dumbledore said, gesturing him toward the upstairs.
"Just a mom-"
"Uncle Vernon, the quicker it's done, the quicker I'll be gone, do you have something against either me or Professor Dumbledore leaving the house?"
Harry knew his uncle was defeated with this argument, as he had been complaining about Harry staying cooped up at home lounging around for weeks.
"Fine, then hurry up, and don't forget your ruddy bird on your way out."
Harry went back up the stairs after patting the shoulder of his cousin who was staring at him, annoyed. Over the years, Dudley and he had always remained on good terms, but Harry's relationship with the Dursley parents had deteriorated and Dudley had absolutely no desire to meddle in these problems. This naturally meant that Harry had not spent as much time with him as in other years, and he saw that his cousin was still annoyed by his total indifference at the idea of leaving him. But he could not help it, Dudley and he would stay in touch once they were adults and it no longer involved running into his parents, that was all.
Meanwhile, he and Dumbledore walked up in a silence that was heavy for Harry and comfortable for the old wizard. Harry quickly pushed open the door of his room, which he had left ajar, with one hand and entered without waiting for his guest. The latter quietly settled into the desk chair while Harry went to open his wardrobe to pull out his usual travel bag and take out a travelling cloak and boots.
"Has the beginning of your summer with your uncle and aunt gone well?"
"As if you cared," he retorted, brushing away the spider that had nested in the coat hanger of his cloak. It was rather old, he had forgotten to bring it the previous year and had left the new one he had ordered in his trunk.
"I do care, Harry," Dumbledore replied to him in a slightly cracked voice.
Harry paused in his movement before throwing the cloak onto his bag.
"Let me rephrase, it's a bit late to start caring... Professor."
A silence grew between the two men as they locked eyes before the Professor finally turned away with weariness. Harry crossed his arms, letting himself fall back against his wardrobe.
"So? What brings you here?"
Dumbledore straightened up.
"I am here to ask a favour of you."
It seemed his rants had finally borne fruit if Dumbledore was finally coming to ask his opinion before using him.
"It turns out I have a new plan for our fight against Voldemort, a plan that is necessary for the remainder of our operations but, above all, one that will provide us with invaluable information regarding the latter's longevity."
How to talk about Horcruxes without talking about them, basically, Harry thought before nodding. He did not really have a reason to refuse if it was phrased that way, as opposing Dumbledore in his search for Horcruxes would only bring suspicion upon himself.
"So, you want me to help you get this information ?"
"Exactly, you must understand, it is truly important that we obtain it as quickly as possible."
"Alright, and so what do you want me to do? I can't do anything if you don't tell me more."
"Rest assured, it won't be arduous for you at all, you will only have to stand by my side and it will be done."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Can you be any clearer?"
"We are going to meet a former and future Hogwarts professor by the name of Horace Slughorn, who holds this famous information."
Dumbledore smiled at him and Harry ignored him, walking past him to open the window before calling Hedwig.
"Go to Ron's, I'll meet you there."
She nipped his finger and vanished into the pitch-black night in two wingbeats. Outside, the street was no longer lit by a single street lamp. Harry frowned before remembering Dumbledore's Deluminator, which allowed him to put out all the lights surrounding him. He turned back to see that Dumbledore was observing him.
"And this information? What is it about? If we are to question him, I might as well know what to look for too."
"We will not be doing that tonight, Horace will refuse to give it to us. Tonight, we are going to convince him to rejoin the Hogwarts teaching staff, and then gain his trust to retrieve this… information."
Harry narrowed his eyes before heading toward his bed.
"I know you are omitting the most important part, I suppose you don't trust the Dursleys enough to speak of it here."
"Indeed."
"And yet you trusted them enough to leave me with them," he grumbled under his breath. "Right, let's go, I'm ready."
"And your trunk?"
"I've already left it with Sirius and Remus."
"Excellent initiative."
Harry opened the door and motioned for him to step out first before shutting it rather sharply behind them. He then knocked on his cousin's door.
"Hey Big D, see you next year."
The sounds of gaming consoles echoed through the door but, after a long second where he thought he hadn't heard him, a muffled voice answered.
"See ya, cousin, have fun with the weirdos."
Harry chuckled and joined Dumbledore, who, if he had heard Dudley's remark, did not comment, at the top of the stairs. They went down together and found Petunia wiping the water traces from the floor.
"About time, go on then, and vanish quickly."
"Yes, yes," Harry replied with a hint of bitterness.
Strangely, he wasn't really ashamed of letting Dumbledore see his uncle and aunt's behaviour. As a child, he would have preferred to throw himself into a bottomless pit rather than let anyone see him like this. But Dumbledore well and truly deserved to know what he was enduring because of him. He hoped, somewhat despite himself, that he would feel a bit more remorse, almost as much as he wished he could hear Dumbledore apologise for what he had been through in his former life.
After getting another tiny bag, he slammed the door behind them without having seen Uncle Vernon, and Harry took great satisfaction in that. Around them, the night was total and sparkled above them with numerous stars whose constellations Harry still didn't know, which would probably make their Astronomy professor weep if she knew. He turned away from the view and tightened his cloak over his shoulders; it was cold outside even though it had been so hot during the last few months, and the lack of ambient light chilled the atmosphere significantly, much like when a Dementor was nearby.
Dumbledore, for his part, seemed perfectly relaxed and in high spirits. They immediately set off to leave Privet Drive.
"Keep your wand ready, Harry," he said in a cheerful tone.
"I don't think I am allowed to use magic outside school."
"If you find yourself forced to, the Ministry will not hold it against you," Dumbledore replied. "Though I know not whether a wand would be of much use to you, then again, I do not think we have any attacks to fear for tonight?"
"Why?"
"As I told you last summer, there is little risk of Voldemort pursuing you immediately, but above all, because you are with me," Dumbledore replied simply.
Arriving at the end of Privet Drive, he stopped abruptly.
"You haven't taken your Apparition test yet, of course?" he asked.
"Not yet, next summer."
"You will have to hold on very tightly to my arm, then," Dumbledore said, holding out his left arm.
Without holding back a brief sigh, Harry gripped the arm Dumbledore offered.
"Very well, let's go."
Harry felt Dumbledore's arm pull away from him and he redoubled his grip: everything then went completely black; Harry didn't like Apparating, but today it was a familiar sensation. He had barely paid attention to that feeling of imploding from the inside when he could once again breathe long draughts of fresh air into his lungs. Privet Drive had vanished, and Dumbledore and he were now standing in the deserted square of a village, with a war memorial and a few public benches in its centre.
"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked, looking at him with concern.
"Perfectly fine," said Harry, who had immediately let go of his arm and was already beginning to observe his surroundings. "And where are we going now?"
Dumbledore smiled, tightened his travelling cloak a little around his neck, and said as his only reply.
"This way."
And he set off again at a brisk pace, passing an empty inn and a few houses. According to the clock of a nearby church, it was nearly midnight. Harry followed him, restraining himself from sighing.
"Tell me, Harry," Dumbledore resumed. "Your scar... has it hurt you recently?"
"No more than at the end of the term. It's nothing more than an ordinary scar now..."
They turned a street corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked at Dumbledore again.
"Professor?"
"Harry?"
"Where are we, exactly?" He tried his best not to sound disagreeable, but he was certain his tone had trembled with annoyance.
"In a charming village by the name of Budleigh Babberton."
"Where your colleague lives, I presume... and why did you choose this specific hour to turn up at your former colleague's house?"
"Well, my dear friend Horace is not overly fond of visitors at the moment, he is hiding and I unfortunately have no better hours to offer. On the left."
The church bell chimed midnight behind them, and Harry decided to drop the debate. Now that the conversation had started, he had more urgent questions to clear up than something he already knew.
"I read in the Daily Prophet that Fudge had been sacked..."
"Correct," said Dumbledore, who was now turning into a steep narrow street. "He has been replaced, as you have surely learned, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who was previously Head of the Auror Office."
"I remember him. And... do you think he'll be any good in the post?" Harry asked in an even tone.
"An interesting question," Dumbledore replied. "He has ability, without a doubt. A more decisive, more forceful personality than Cornelius."
"As if that were difficult, though... that wasn't my question."
"I know what you meant to ask. Rufus is a man of action, and since he has spent most of his working life fighting Dark wizards..."
"He might be the right man for the job given the situation we find ourselves in..."
"The future alone will tell. What did you think of it, Harry?"
"I think he'll be a good-for-nothing just like Fudge," Harry said, shrugging. "I received a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl about the security measures we should all take against Death Eaters."
"Yes, I received one too," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "Did you find it useful?"
"Absolutely not."
"Precisely my thoughts. You have not asked me, for instance, what my favourite jam is, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an imposteur."
Harry gave a vague chuckle.
"Well, there are several reasons for that. First, I don't know what your favourite jam is, so I certainly wouldn't have had the answer regardless... Second, I have enough confidence in my abilities not to fear attacks from many people besides you, which isn't likely to happen. If someone were taking your place, I would have realised... and finally, you know it yourself, but my mother's blood protection repels unwanted guests and those seeking to harm me inside my aunt's house."
"Excellent reasons indeed, some wiser than others, surely... so that you know for the future, I shall point out that it is raspberry jam... but of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have found out what my favourite jam was before impersonating myself."
"Indubitably."
Harry did not try to argue. It was true that he had slightly lowered his guard because the event had already occurred in the past and he therefore knew that it was indeed his professor who was present here and not a trap. Harry refocused on his surroundings, recognising the place.
They were approaching a neat little stone house surrounded by a garden.
"Ah, we have arrived. This is it...," said the old professor's cheerful voice.
They only had time to reach the garden gate before Dumbledore stopped dead and Harry crashed right into him.
"Oh, by Merlin!"
Harry followed his gaze past the neatly kept path: the front door of the house was hanging off its hinges. Dumbledore glanced up and down the street. It seemed completely deserted.
"Get your wand out and stay behind me, Harry," he said in a low voice.
Harry did as requested without much enthusiasm. He knew perfectly well what awaited him inside. And with annoyance, he wondered why Dumbledore was playing along like this; it should be quite obvious to his professor that the attack had been staged. He refrained from commenting, however, and followed him.
Dumbledore opened the gate and walked up the path with quick, muffled steps, Harry close on his heels. Then he pushed the front door open very slowly, his wand raised, ready for action: "Lumos."
The tip of Dumbledore's wand lit up, casting its beam into a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand high, Dumbledore entered the sitting room, followed by Harry. A scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay smashed at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum fallen a little further away like an abandoned sword. A piano had been overturned, its keys scattered across the floor. The fragments of a chandelier ripped from the ceiling gleamed nearby. Ripped cushions bled feathers through their slashed casings; shards of glass and china coated everything like powder. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher to light up the walls. A thick, dark red substance had splattered the wallpaper. A dismal scene altogether.
"Not a pretty sight, is it?" he said in a grief-stricken voice. "Yes, dreadful things have happened here."
Dumbledore stepped carefully into the middle of the room and examined the wreckage littering the floor. Harry followed him, casting vague looks around, having almost lowered his wand, which he held loosely at arm's length. He wondered if Dumbledore was hoping to frighten him by pretending all of this was truly due to an attack when he knew perfectly well it wasn't.
Despite himself, he turned toward a large, plush armchair, overturned on its side. Dumbledore seemed to have spotted it too.
Without the slightest warning, Dumbledore made a great sweeping motion with his arm and poked the tip of his wand deep into the seat of the armchair, which let out a yell: "Ouch!"
"Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up.
Harry had a vague, instinctive movement of recoil. In place of the armchair that had stood there a fraction of a second before, there was now, crouching on the floor, an extraordinarily fat, bald man massaging his stomach and staring at Dumbledore with an offended and watery gaze.
"There was no need to poke the wand in quite so hard," he grumbled, rising to his feet with great difficulty. "That hurts."
"If he is your former colleague... perhaps you should consider stopping hiring them yourself, Professor," Harry said in a neutral tone as the man finally stood up.
Dumbledore cast a brief glance at him, slightly amused and slightly something else. He was surely wondering if it was possible to surprise him.
Harry turned back to the old professor. The light from the wand sparkled on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous silver walrus moustache, and the neatly polished buttons of the maroon velvet jacket he wore over lilac pyjamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.
"What gave me away?" he muttered, unsteady on his legs and still rubbing his stomach.
For someone who had just been caught trying to pass himself off as an armchair, he did not seem the least bit embarrassed. Dumbledore shook his head with a smile.
"My dear Horace," Dumbledore replied amusingly, "if Death Eaters had really come here, the Dark Mark would have been flying over the house."
The wizard clapped a plump hand to his broad forehead.
"The Dark Mark," he mumbled. "I knew there was something missing… Never mind. I wouldn't have had the time anyway. I had only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."
He let out a deep sigh that made the ends of his moustache flutter. Harry frowned, intrigued, was it possible that Slughorn knew how to cast the Dark Mark? Or was he only thinking of a replica?
"Would you like me to help you tidy up a bit?" Dumbledore asked politely.
"Yes, please," the other replied.
They stood back-to-back, the tall, thin wizard and the short, round one, and both brandished their wands in an identical sweeping motion.
Instantly, the furniture flew back to its original place; the ornaments reconstituted themselves in mid-air; feathers shot back into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed on their shelves; oil lamps leapt onto their side tables and relit themselves; a vast collection of smashed silver picture frames soared across the room in a glittering arc and landed delicately on a desk, intact and stainless; rips, cracks, and holes vanished everywhere; and the walls cleaned themselves. It was a prodigious piece of magic to behold for Harry, who observed their grand gestures with fascination. He had no idea what spell they could have cast to achieve such a result, nor how much the communion of their magic had boosted their powers.
"Why the dragon's blood?" Dumbledore asked in a loud voice to carry over the chiming of the newly refurbished grandfather clock.
"On the walls?" the man called Horace shouted back as, with a deafening mixture of creaking and clinking, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.
There was a final plonk from the piano, and then silence fell.
"The dragon's blood," the wizard repeated in a conversational tone. "It was my last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, I might be able to use it again."
With a heavy step, he approached a sideboard upon which stood a small crystal bottle, holding it up to the light to examine the thick liquid inside.
"Mmm. A bit dusty."
He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.
"Oho," he said, his large, round eyes fixing at once upon the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. "Oho!"
"This is Harry Potter," said Dumbledore, stepping forward to make the introductions. "Harry, this is an old friend and colleague, Horace Slughorn."
Slughorn turned a piercing look upon Dumbledore.
"So, that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer is no, Albus."
He walked past Harry, resolutely avoiding looking at him, like someone trying hard to resist temptation. Harry hoped very much that Dumbledore would leave it at that, but he knew he wouldn't. In any case, Dumbledore needed a new Potions professor, just as Snape would be the one for Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"We can still have a drink, surely?" Dumbledore suggested. "For old times' sake?"
Slughorn hesitated.
"Oh, very well, just the one drink," he replied grudgingly.
Harry was more curious to know why he was hiding. In his first life, Horace Slughorn had been hiding primarily from Dumbledore, but also from the Death Eaters and Voldemort; but what exactly did he fear? He believed Voldemort would want to employ his skills as a potioneer, but why would he bother when he had Snape. Contemplating the situation, Harry realised it was possible that Snape had finally been exposed as a traitor after the events. Or perhaps that wasn't the case yet; he ought to ask Dumbledore about it sometime.
Dumbledore smiled at Harry and led him toward an armchair similar to the one Slughorn had recently impersonated. The armchair stood before the fireplace, where a fire had just started up, right next to an oil lamp with a bright flame. Harry sat down with the unpleasant sensation of being put prominently on display by Dumbledore to bait Slughorn. Dumbledore certainly had some nerve doing this to Harry, with whom he had still been at odds no more than a month ago. When Slughorn, having bustled about with a decanter and glasses, turned back toward the centre of the room, his eyes immediately fell upon Harry.
"Humph," he said, hastily looking away as though he feared his eyes might burn. "There."
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. He wasn't particularly happy about being coveted by an old professor starved of attention, but he wouldn't really be able to complain about it. Slughorn gave a glass to Dumbledore, who had sat down uninvited, held out the tray to Harry, and then sank both into the cushions of the repaired sofa and into a sullen silence. His legs were so short they didn't touch the floor.
"So, how is your health, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.
"Not very well," Slughorn replied. "Weak lungs. Wheezy. Rheumatics, too. I can't move like I used to. To be expected. Age. Fatigue."
"Yet you must have moved quite quickly to prepare such a welcome for us in so little time," Dumbledore remarked. "You can't have had more than three minutes."
"Two," Slughorn specified, half-irritated, half-proud of himself. "I didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was in the bath. But still," he added seriously, seeming to pull himself together, "the fact remains that I am an old man, Albus. A tired old man who has well earned the right to a quiet little life, surrounded by a bit of comfort."
For that matter, even Harry could acknowledge it was impressive. Not everyone could stage and improvise a struggle and abduction scene so rapidly in such a short amount of time. If he simply couldn't fool Dumbledore, he would certainly have fooled anyone else.
"You are not as old as I am, Horace," Dumbledore said.
"Perhaps you too should think about retirement," Slughorn retorted abruptly.
"You are quite right," Dumbledore answered serenely. "And all these precautions against intruders, Horace… are they meant for Death Eaters, or simply for me?"
"What would Death Eaters want with a tired old buffer like me?" Slughorn snapped back.
"I imagine they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," Dumbledore replied. "Are you pretending to me that they haven't tried to recruit you yet? Last year particularly, you ceased all contact with me the moment I explained he had returned..."
For a moment, Slughorn looked gloomily at Dumbledore, then he muttered.
"I've been on the move for a year now. Never staying in one place for more than a week. Moving from Muggle house to Muggle house, the owners of this one are on holiday in the Canary Islands. It's very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave it. It's quite easy to get in, you just have to cast a Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes, and make sure the neighbours don't catch you while you're bringing in the piano."
"Ingenious," Dumbledore conceded, "but that sounds a rather exhausting existence for a tired old buffer in search of a quiet little life. At Hogwarts, on the other hand…"
"If you are trying to tell me my life would be more peaceful in that dreadful school, you can save your breath, Albus! Even though I spend my time hiding, odd rumours have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how they treat teachers these days…"
"Dolores Umbridge brought the wrath upon herself and used her position to harm the students, she only got her just deserts, don't you think?"
Slughorn shrugged.
Dumbledore stood up abruptly.
"Are you leaving?" Slughorn asked hopefully.
"No, I merely wanted to use your bathroom," Dumbledore replied.
"Oh, yes, of course," said Slughorn, visibly disappointed. "Second door on the left down the hall."
Dumbledore crossed the room and silence settled in as soon as he closed the door behind him. After a moment, Slughorn got up but didn't seem to know quite what he wanted to do. He snuck a sideways glance at Harry, then walked over to the fireplace and turned his back to the flames, warming his wide behind.
"Don't think I don't know why he brought you along," he blurted out suddenly.
Harry merely looked at him with indifference. Slughorn's watery eyes flicked over his scar, taking in his entire face this time.
"You look very like your father."
"So I've been told," Harry replied.
"Except for your eyes. You've got…"
"My mother's eyes, I know."
"Humph. Yes, well. A teacher, of course, shouldn't have favourites, but she was always one of mine. Your mother, Lily Evans. One of the brightest students I ever taught. Very vivacious. A charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. I must say, she always gave me a lot of cheek back, too."
"Which was your House?" he felt obliged to ask.
"I was Head of Slytherin," Slughorn replied.
Harry nodded vaguely; he was feeling a bit sleepy and this discussion was familiar and therefore tedious.
"You're in Gryffindor, like her, I guess? Yes, usually it runs in families. But not always. Have you ever heard of Sirius Black? Surely, he was all over the papers these last two years... he was a great friend of your father's when they were at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius landed in Gryffindor! Shame… He was very talented. I had his brother Regulus when he came along, but I should have liked the set."
Apparently lost in his memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, nonchalantly shifting his position to spread the heat across his bottom.
"Of course, your mother was Muggle-born. I couldn't believe it when I found out. I thought she must be a pure-blood. She was so good."
"One of my closest friends is Muggle-born," Harry snapped this time, "and she is the best student in our year."
"Curious how that happens sometimes, don't you think?" Slughorn remarked.
"Not really," Harry replied coldly. "Magical ability and blood aren't linked; otherwise, there wouldn't be any Muggle-borns at all."
Slughorn looked at him with surprise.
"Don't go thinking I'm prejudiced!" he protested. "No, no, no! Didn't I say your mother was always one of my absolute favourite students? There was Dirk Cresswell too, a year younger, he's now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, another Muggle-born, a highly gifted student who still gives me excellent inside information on what's going on at Gringotts!"
He rose onto his tiptoes and dropped back onto his heels, looking satisfied, then pointed to the numerous framed photographs glittering on the sideboard, each depicting tiny animated figures.
"All former students, and all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, Editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always glad to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, from Honeydukes,, I get a hamper of sweets every birthday, simply because I introduced him to Cicero Harkiss, who-"
Harry listened to him recount his achievements with indifference, sipping his drink. At least the sofa was quite comfortable. He could just pretend to listen and get some rest. In any case, Slughorn would never pass up the opportunity to teach him, and while he was incredibly annoying, he was also a very decent professor, despite his blatant favouritism. Especially compared to Snape's lessons, he seemed like a partial angel. Perhaps the whole school would benefit from a change of Potions master.
"Be that as it may, in times like these, a prudent man wouldn't sign up for Hogwarts."
"It's never a good time to sign up for Hogwarts, no matter the era," Harry muttered, before adding more loudly: "I take it you are talking about Voldemort?" he said, watching with satisfaction as his future professor shuddered and squirmed with dread. "Isn't Hogwarts reputed to be a safe place?"
For a short while, Slughorn stared into space; he seemed to be pondering what Harry had just said, and Harry slightly regretted his words. He hadn't meant a word of it, and Slughorn would soon learn that he wasn't naive enough to believe that, but as long as he decided to come, Harry didn't care what he thought.
Dumbledore returned to the room, and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.
"Ah, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been gone a long time. Tummy trouble?"
"No, I was merely reading Muggle magazines," Dumbledore replied. "I do love those knitting patterns. But I think we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality long enough, Harry; it is time for us to leave."
Without needing to be told twice, Harry sprang to his feet. Slughorn seemed caught off guard.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes. I know a lost cause when I see one."
"Lost…"
Slughorn appeared agitated. He twiddled his chubby thumbs and shuffled on the spot as he watched Dumbledore fasten his travelling cloak, and Harry turned up the collar of his own.
"I am sorry you haven't accepted the post, Horace," Dumbledore continued, waving farewell with his sound hand. "Hogwarts would have liked to see you return to its midst. Despite the considerable strengthening of our security measures, you will always be welcome if you decide to visit us."
"Well… that's very kind of you… as I always say…"
"Goodbye, then."
"Goodbye," Harry said.
They had reached the front door when a shout echoed behind them.
"All right, all right, I'll do it!"
Harry withheld a grimace as Dumbledore turned around. Slughorn was standing on the threshold of the sitting room, short of breath.
"You will come out of retirement?"
"Yes, yes," Slughorn replied impatiently. "I must be mad, but all right."
"Wonderful," Dumbledore exclaimed, his face beaming. "In that case, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."
"Yes, I suppose so," Slughorn grunted. As they walked away down the path, Slughorn's voice reached them once more: "And I want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate clicked shut behind them, and they headed back down the hill into the darkness and the mist swirling around them.
"You owe me a great deal..."