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"Enough, Samuel!"
Walpole suddenly stepped forward, gripping Samuel's arm to stop him.
Samuel seemed to snap back to his senses at Walpole's touch.
He coughed awkwardly twice, as if shaking off a trance.
Wordlessly, he grabbed a bottle of champagne from the table, took a long swig, and leaned against the table in silence.
The party carried on in full swing—students twirled across the dance floor, laughter echoed through the hall, and friendly duels broke out in the corners.
Dumbledore had indeed sheltered these children well.
Compared to the tension simmering outside the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts remained an untouched sanctuary—an ivory tower.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron huddled together, whispering excitedly over something.
Other students gathered in clusters, immersed in their own conversations.
Ethan swirled the red wine in his glass, smiling as he observed the peaceful scene.
"Ethan! The wine you brought is simply marvelous! I've never tasted such fine red wine!"
A ruddy-faced Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder, beaming.
"I'm glad you like it," Ethan replied with an easy smile.
Then, after a pause, he added, "Professor, perhaps we could have a word in private?"
Feigning nonchalance, he traced a finger along the rim of his glass.
Slughorn hesitated only a moment before nodding enthusiastically.
"Of course, of course! No problem at all!"
He led Ethan into his private lounge, a space brimming with indulgence.
A small coffee table overflowed with snacks and fine liquors, while thick Persian rugs lined the floor.
The centerpiece was an opulent sofa, plush enough to serve as both seat and bed.
The moment Ethan sat down, he sank deep into the cushions.
"Professor Ethan, we haven't had a proper chat in ages! How's the work at the Ministry these days?"
Slughorn settled onto the opposite couch and snapped his fingers.
A house-elf materialized, filling their goblets to the brim with more red wine.
Ethan took a slow sip before answering, his voice even.
"To be honest, not great."
He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it catch the light.
"The Dark Lord's power is returning. We've managed to take down a group of Death Eaters, but wizards keep disappearing."
Slughorn tensed, his ruddy complexion paling slightly.
"Ah... yes, most unfortunate," he muttered, shifting in his seat.
He regretted bringing up the topic.
He knew well enough what Ethan did at the Ministry—hunting down Voldemort's followers.
And, of course, he was no stranger to his own past connection to the Dark Lord.
Slughorn's mind raced, desperate for a way to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Unfortunately, Ethan didn't offer him that luxury.
"Professor Slughorn," Ethan said smoothly, taking another sip,
"I heard you once taught the Dark Lord himself."
Slughorn froze. His pupils shrank.
"Yes," he admitted hoarsely.
"I was a professor at Hogwarts back then."
Ethan simply hummed in response, watching him over the rim of his goblet.
Slughorn studied Ethan's face carefully, as if trying to decipher his true intentions.
He was afraid—afraid that at any moment, Ethan would hurl his goblet to the floor, summoning a squad of Aurors from the shadows, ready to pin him down with magic.
But before the tension could escalate further, a burst of laughter erupted from the students outside, shattering the uneasy silence.
"Youth is such a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Ethan mused, swirling his wine.
Slughorn exhaled, relieved that Ethan seemed to let the subject drop.
Grateful for the reprieve, he eagerly seized the new topic.
The two men drank and chatted, discussing the students—their talent, their quirks, their potential.
Slughorn, keen to steer the conversation away from darker matters, spoke at length about his pupils, his face glowing with warmth as he reminisced.
Goblet after goblet was refilled, and soon, Slughorn was tipsy, his usual restraint slipping.
"These kids are lucky," Ethan said casually, watching Slughorn's reaction.
"They escaped the horrors outside. But their parents... many of them weren't so fortunate."
Slughorn's expression clouded. He sighed heavily, his voice thick with wine and nostalgia.
"Yes... those poor children. I remember them well..." He hiccupped, rubbing his temple.
A shadow flickered across his face, memories stirring where he had long buried them.
Then, in an unexpected turn, Ethan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping.
"Professor Slughorn, I assume you've seen the documents—about Harry."
Slughorn masked his surprise, nodding.
"I have. Some of them."
Slughorn let out a breath, his fingers tightening around his goblet.
"James... he died trying to protect them. Voldemort stepped over his body and went straight for Lily and Harry."
Ethan saw the opportunity and pressed forward, his voice steady.
"Voldemort gave her a choice—told her to move aside. He didn't want to kill her. Just Harry."
Slughorn's entire body stiffened. His face drained of color, his fingers trembling against his glass.
"But she didn't move," Ethan continued, his tone almost clinical.
"Her husband was already dead. She couldn't lose her son too. She pleaded with him—begged him—"
Slughorn flinched.
"But he only laughed."
"Enough!"
Slughorn suddenly cried, raising a shaking hand as if to physically push the words away.
"Really, Ethan, that's enough—I don't need to hear it—I don't want to hear it—"
Ethan ignored the outburst. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
"You taught them, didn't you? Lily and James?"
Slughorn's chest heaved.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Lily... was a wonderful girl. A brilliant student."
His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"You liked her," Ethan pressed.
"As a teacher, I wasn't supposed to favor students," Slughorn murmured.
"But I did. I adored Lily."
A sad smile flickered across his face, his mind lost in the past.
"Lily Evans... one of the brightest students I ever taught. Full of life. So charming. I always told her she should've been in my House, and she always had the cheekiest response."
His voice cracked. "I can't imagine anyone disliking her—so brave, so full of light... Merlin's beard, why did something so horrible have to happen?"
He wiped his eyes, his composure unraveling.
Ethan saw his chance. He leaned in slightly, voice grave.
"The problem is that Harry's in danger now. Voldemort wounded him last time. And now that he's back, his target will be Harry."
"No," Slughorn muttered, shaking his head.
"It can't happen again. Lily gave her life to protect Harry—he can't be in danger again!"
Slughorn's breath hitched. His gaze was unfocused, lost in the ghost of a memory.
"They're so alike," he whispered hoarsely.
"Harry's eyes..."
His voice cracked completely.
"Every time I look into them, it's like seeing Lily again."
He let out a shuddering sigh.
"My God... poor Lily."
With that, Slughorn broke down, burying his face in his hands as quiet sobs wracked his body.