chapter five : Horace Slughorn
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Juniper had expected many things of tonight. However, she did not expect her father to be brought up in any of them.
Dumbledore, who had been eying them silently, said, "Would you like my assistance clearing up?"
"Please," Horace said, averting his eyes from June.
They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.
The furniture flew back to its original place; ornaments re-formed in midair; feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn-books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared on to side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks and holes healed everywhere; and the walls wiped themselves clean.
"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" Dumbledore asked loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather clock.
"On the walls? Dragon," Horace shouted as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.
There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.
"Yes, dragon," Horace repeated conversationally. My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."
He stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.
"Hm. Bit dusty."
He set the bottle back on the side-board and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.
"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"
"This," Dumbledore said, moving forwards to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."
Horace turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd. "So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus."
He pushed past Harry, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.
"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" Dumbledore asked. "For old times' sake?"
Horace hesitated. "All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.
Harry and June moved towards one of the couches and sat down next to each other. Both of them had no clue at all as to why they were there but June got the feeling that Dumbledore wanted to keep them as visible as possible.
"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore questioned the wizard.
"Not so well," Horace said at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."
"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," Dumbledore said. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"
Horace said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."
He certainly had those, June thought, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If June had not known who lived there, she would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.
"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," Dumbledore said.
"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," Horace said bluntly. His pale gooseberry eyes had found Dumbledore's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."
"You're quite right,' said Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of June's neck prickle unpleasantly. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand . . ."
He shrugged and spread his hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations, and June noticed a ring on his uninjured hand that she had never seen Dumbledore wear before: it was large, rather clumsily made of what looked like gold, and was set with a heavy black stone that had cracked down the middle. Horace's eyes lingered for a
moment on the ring, too, and June saw a tiny frown momentarily crease his wide forehead.
"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace . . . are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?" Dumbledore asked.
"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" Horace demanded.
"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture and murder," Dumbledore said. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?'
Horace eyed Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands. It's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they used instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."
"Ingenious," Dumbledore said. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts—"
"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumours have reached me since Dolores
Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days—"
"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd,"Dumbledore said. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the Forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy half-breeds'!"
"That's what she did, did she?" Horace said. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."
Harry and June chuckled and both Dumbledore and Horace looked round at them.
"Sorry," Harry said hastily, as he and June exchanged a glance. "It's just — we don't like her, either."
Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.
"Are you leaving?" Horace asked at once, looking hopeful.
"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," Dumbledore said.
"Oh," Horace said, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."
Dumbledore crossed the room. Once the door had closed behind him there was silence. After a few moments Horace got to his feet, but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then strode to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.
"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he said abruptly.
Harry and June merely looked at Horace. Horace's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.
"You look very like your father."
"Yeah, I've been told," Harry said.
"Except for your eyes. You've got—"
"My mother's eyes, yeah."
"Humph. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favourites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Horace added, in answer to Harry's questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest l
ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my house. Very cheeky answered I used to get back, too."
"Which was your house?" Harry questioned.
"I was Head of Slytherin," Horace said. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby finger at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done — been in the papers for
the last couple of years — escaped Azkaban, apparently he was innocent . . ."
"He is," June confirmed, giving him a glare.
"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my house, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother Regulus when he came along, but I'd have liked the set." He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.
"Which brings me to you," Horace said, eying June now. "You know, without me, you wouldn't have been born."
June raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
Horace smiled. "I was a matchmaker back in the good old days. And quite a good one if I may say so myself."
"Er — thanks?" June said, rather unsure.
Horace seemed pleased with this reply and turned back to Harry. "Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."
"One of my best friends is Muggleborn," Harry said defensively, "and she's the best in our year."
"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" Horace said.
"Not really," said Harry coldly.
Horace looked down at him in surprise. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favourite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her, too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggleborn, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"
He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.
"'All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And
Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies . . . people are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms
with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"
This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.
"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" Harry asked. June silently agreed with him. She, too, wondered why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Horace if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.
The smile slid from Horace's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.
"Of course not," he said, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year."
June had the impression that the words shocked Horace himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.
"Still . . . the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to
the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate—"
"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," Harry said, quite harshly. "Most of the teachers aren't in it and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort."
At the mention of Voldemort's name, June glanced at Horace, wondering if he could bear to hear Voldemort's name spoke out loud. He did not. He have a shudder and a squawk of protest, which
Harry ignored.
"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry went on.
Horace gazed into space for a moment or two: he seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.
"Well, yes, it is true that He Who Must Not Be Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore,' he muttered grudgingly. 'And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He
Who Must Not Be Named can hardly count me a friend . . . in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus . . . I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me . . . if she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection . . ."
Dumbledore re-entered the room and Horace jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.
"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long time Upset stomach?"
"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines,"said Dumbledore. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, Juniper, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."
June almost felt relieved as she jumped to her feet, next to her, Harry did the same. Horace seemed taken aback.
"You're leaving?"
"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."
"Lost . . . ?"
Horace seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fastening his travelling cloak and Harry zipping up his jacket. June didn't bother closing her leather jacket.
"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," Dumbledore said, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security not-withstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."
"Yes . . . well . . . very gracious . . . as I say . . ."
"Goodbye, then."
"Bye," Harry said.
June merely nodded.
They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.
"All right, all right, I'll do it!"
June turned to see Horace standing breathless in the
doorway to the sitting room.
"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore questioned.
"Yes, yes," Horace said impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes!"
"Wonderful," Dumbledore said, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."
"Yes, I daresay you will," Horace grunted.
As they set off down the garden path, Horace's voice floated after them.
"I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.
"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said.
"I didn't do anything," Harry said in surprise.
"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"
"Er . . ."
June glanced at Harry and saw him hesitating. She herself hadn't had an answer either. She supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggleborn should make a good witch.
"Horace," Dumbledore said, relieving Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the back seat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favourites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favourites with himself at the centre, making introductions, torging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favourite crystallised pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office."
So that's why Dumbledore brought Harry with them, June thought grimly. But why had she been here?
"I tell you all this,' Dumbledore continued, 'not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection: the Boy Who Lived . . . or, as they call you these days, the Chosen One."
At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over June. She was reminded of words she had heard a few weeks ago, words that had a horrible and particular meaning
to her.
Neither can live while the other survives
Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had assed earlier.
"This will do, Harry, June. If you will grasp my arm?"
"No thanks," she said, shaking her head. "If we're going to Grimmauld Place, I'd rather go on my own. I don't like Side-Along Apparition."
"Understandable," Dumbledore said. "Well, I suppose we'll see you there."
And with a crack, they were gone. June followed pursuit and landed lightly at the doorstep of Grimmauld Place 12. Dumbledore and Harry were already standing next to her.
"Now, if you don't mind, would you please get Charlie?" Dumbledore asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Horace wasn't the only professor I wanted to recruit this night."
Too surprised to say anything, June merely nodded and strode inside, processing what Dumbledore had told her. She stuck her head into all the common room such as the kitchen, living room and hallways. When she didn't find Charlie, she climbed the stairs and knocked on his bedroom door, hoping he was still awake.
Moments later, the door was pulled open and June was met with the sight of a sleepy Charlie. Apparently he had been asleep.
"What's wrong?" he asked, yawning.
June shrugged. "I don't know. Dumbledore wants to see you."
"Dumbledore?" Charlie repeated, rubbing in his eyes. "All right. I'll be right downstairs." He reached out and grabbed a sweater that hung over his bed.
"June, is that you?" another voice came and June turned around to see Nymphadora standing on the stairs. "Can I talk to you?"
"Sure," June said, following her upstairs to her bedroom.
Nymphadora said nothing and made sure to close the door before turning to June.
"I think I like Remus."
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Published 31.10.2021
I hope you enjoyed it & tell me what you think of it!
HAPPY HALLOWEEN! :)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNE! :)
RIP LILY AND JAMES :(