A bald old wizard, as plump as a walrus, lay on a hospital bed covered in crisp white linen. His thick silver beard, just as dense and sweeping, spread across his chest and matched the sheets almost perfectly.
His aged face was utterly devoid of color. He had clearly suffered serious injuries not long ago and had been confined to this bed for some time.
Slowly, with visible effort, the old wizard forced his eyes open.
The moment awareness returned, his expression changed sharply. He tried to look around in alarm—though his weakened body scarcely had the strength.
"Professor Slughorn?" a woman's voice exclaimed in relief from beside the bed. "This is wonderful! You're finally awake… Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall will be so relieved…"
It was Madam Poppy Pomfrey's voice.
"How… how long have I been unconscious?" Horace Slughorn asked with considerable difficulty.
His voice was faint and slurred.
He received no answer—only the hurried sound of footsteps as Madam Pomfrey seemed to rush out of the ward.
Within seconds, her footsteps returned.
Slughorn felt a broad, warm arm lift him slightly from the bed. Then a warm potion was carefully poured into his mouth. The taste was decidedly unpleasant—thick and oddly fermented.
"How long have I been unconscious?" Professor Slughorn asked again. This time, his voice was much clearer.
"Nearly a day and a half, Horace," a gentle voice replied from the doorway. "To be precise—one day, eleven hours, and twenty-five minutes."
Horace Slughorn blinked hard. Gradually, the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore came into focus before him.
...
"So I'm afraid," Dumbledore continued lightly, "you have entirely missed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day this year. Fortunately, you are still alive."
Slughorn stared at him blankly for a moment, then suddenly seemed to remember something.
"It was Vance!" he shouted hoarsely. "Albus—it was Vance from Durmstrang!"
"Steady, my friend," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "You are already quite out of the loop. Professor Vance of Durmstrang attempted to destroy Hogwarts Castle. Without you, he would have come dangerously close to succeeding. Please remain calm, or Madam Pomfrey will have me removed at once."
Slughorn nodded somewhat dazedly.
He glanced to the side. On the small table beside him was a veritable mountain of gifts—flowers, fruit, and sweets piled high.
"These were sent by those aware of the situation," Dumbledore said. "That box of milk toffees is from me. I recommend trying one later—they are quite excellent."
He continued, "I have contacted the Swedish Ministry of Magic and Durmstrang Wizarding School. Regrettably, they informed me that Headmaster Winston Vance spent the entirety of Christmas Eve at Durmstrang Castle with his students. Nearly a hundred students can vouch for that. Therefore, they insist that the attacker at Hogwarts was an impostor."
"Then who…" Slughorn murmured, bewildered.
"For a wizard of Vance's caliber, deceiving a number of students with a skillful Transfiguration would be child's play," Dumbledore said, his tone turning grave. "And we can confirm that Winston Vance was once among Gellert Grindelwald's most loyal followers."
"That Dark Lord… has truly returned?" Slughorn asked, trembling.
"Much as I wish it weren't so, the evidence suggests so," Dumbledore nodded quietly. "Horace, could you recount the entire course of events? I have heard several versions already, but yours will be the most reliable."
"Of course…" Slughorn replied quickly, nodding. He began, bit by bit, to describe everything that had happened that night to Albus Dumbledore.
After listening in silence for ten minutes, Dumbledore finally spoke.
"You mentioned that Vance had a constant companion—a rather unusual young man?"
"Yes. His name… I believe it was… 'Christopher Patrick.'"
"Could you tell me everything you recall about him as well?"
"Certainly, Albus."
...
Amid Madam Pomfrey's loud protests—"Headmaster, Professor Slughorn requires rest!"—Dumbledore was forced to take his leave.
"We have not made this attack public, Horace," he reminded him before departing. "Those who know the truth will keep silent. In a few days, once you are stronger, you will be transferred to St. Mungo's. There, you need only state that your injuries were the result of a spell mishap."
"I understand, Albus…"
"And please do not share anything with your students," Dumbledore added. "For example, Barnabas Cuffe at The Daily Prophet. I imagine they would be most curious about the events."
"I understand, Albus. I fully grasp the seriousness of it," Professor Horace Slughorn said solemnly.
...
After leaving the Hospital Wing, Albus Dumbledore walked slowly along the corridor.
A small figure approached him from the opposite direction.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Professor Filius Flitwick called in his high voice. "I hear Professor Slughorn has regained consciousness?"
"He has," Dumbledore nodded. "He remains quite weak. And I would advise you to lower your voice when you enter—Poppy appears somewhat displeased at present."
Professor Flitwick did not seem particularly concerned. Setting down the bouquet he was carrying, he drew a large parchment from his pocket.
"Ah, Professor—I was just on my way to your office with this. Since I've run into you, I may as well hand it over now."
"Oh?" Dumbledore accepted the thick parchment.
"An application requesting that Professor Wilkie Twycross from the Ministry of Magic conduct Apparition lessons next term for students who are already seventeen—or will turn seventeen during this academic year…"
Dumbledore scanned the contents briefly.
"Very good, Filius. I shall forward this to the Department of Magical Education."