Was it fair to say Slughorn had settled in rather nicely at Hogwarts? Undoubtedly. I couldn't say how the other professors lived, but Slughorn was certainly doing well for himself. He had at his disposal an enormous set of apartments on the third floor of the castle. Not only was there a vast sitting room with various columns, vaulted decorated ceilings and huge windows opening onto a balcony, but also a series of adjoining rooms behind closed doors. The sitting room itself was so large it could easily hold thirty people — on the sofas and armchairs, by the fireplaces, at the coffee table beside the bookcases, or simply at the large round table.
That was precisely the scene that greeted Daphne and me as soon as we approached Slughorn's quarters, knocked, and were met by the professor himself, dressed in a brown suit of a tweedish sort.
"Ah, Mr Granger, Miss Greengrass, do come in," the professor smiled cheerfully at us, inviting us through.
"Good evening, Professor."
We got our bearings quickly and headed for the large round table, already laid and set in the finest traditions of a thousand little plates, forks and spoons. Several students in everyday clothing — of a somewhat dressier variety, mind — were already seated.
"Do sit down," Slughorn gestured to a pair of seats, currently empty on either side.
I helped Daphne into her seat and, unbuttoning my jacket, sat myself on her left.
"I take it," Slughorn said, taking a seat almost directly opposite, next to the other students, "you're acquainted with your year-mate, Blaise Zabini?"
Obviously we were acquainted with the fellow, but that's how polite conversation works — nothing to be done about it. Zabini sat on Slughorn's right, dressed entirely in black, rather imposing, as many Slytherins tend to be, for one reason or another that matters to them.
"Of course, Professor," I smiled politely. "As it happens, I haven't come empty-handed."
"Oh, really?" Slughorn was clearly delighted.
"Yes," with a wave of my hand, no wand involved, I stripped the concealment charms off a small box hovering nearby, containing several varieties of pineapple sweets, and set it gliding gently into the professor's hands, the lid popping open along the way. "I thought it might be appropriate."
"Oh, remarkable," Slughorn held the open box and gazed at the sweets with obvious delight. "These are pineapple, aren't they?"
"Yes, Professor."
Daphne clearly sensed some game of mine, glancing at me briefly with a smile.
"Rumour has reached me, Mr Granger," Slughorn took a piece of pineapple, "that you possess a remarkable knack for knowing things most people don't."
Seated beside the professor, besides Zabini, was also McLaggen, a seventh-year Gryffindor. Every bit as astonishingly hot-tempered and boastful a dandy as he'd always been, and who'd "distinguished" himself in the Duelling Club. He clearly didn't like that attention wasn't being lavished on his own splendid person. His outfit of choice, incidentally, was a shirt with a dark maroon jumper.
Meanwhile the two younger twins, Slytherins, Flora and Hestia Carrow — one did wonder about the degree of their relation to that particular pair of unhinged maniacs — regarded the whole proceeding with truly phenomenal calm, and if they'd only been occupying themselves with something of their own, one might have called it indifference.
Smiling politely at the professor, I gave him a look that said: yes, I know a great deal, but I shan't say from where. With a gesture I filled Daphne's glass with one of the juices set out here, clearly serving as an aperitif substitute — we were schoolchildren, after all; had we been older, there'd have been spirits. Repeating the gesture, I filled my own glass — that sort of casual magical control drew rather more attention than I'd expected. Slughorn, for his part, clearly made a mental note.
"And yet, Mr Granger, how did you guess so cleverly about the pineapple? You know, I positively adore it."
"Intuition, sir."
Slughorn gave me an odd look, ate his piece of pineapple, and closed the box, sending it off with his wand somewhere deeper into the sitting room.
"Best not spoil one's appetite with sweets, all the same."
Only drinks stood on the table so far, which meant the house-elves would presumably be organising the serving of dishes.
There was another knock at the door, but this time the professor didn't greet anyone in person, merely opening it with a flick of his wand. Several people entered the sitting room, Hermione among them. Well — getting her into a dress is no trivial task, and this evening clearly hadn't made the list of occasions deemed worthy of such effort, so: trousers, a blouse, and a light jumper over the top. Neville Longbottom was a somewhat unexpected figure for an evening like this, especially hosted by the Head of Slytherin, and a Potions master at that. The boy was plainly self-conscious, and his light striped shirt and some sort of homely, cosy sleeveless jumper made him look positively, classically ordinary in every sense.
Potter was, frankly, a twenty-first-century casual dresser, even though that century hadn't arrived yet. Trousers, trainers, a dark shirt in Sirius's style — I do hope that fool isn't dead yet — and a loose-cut jacket.
The last figure to enter was Ravenclaw Marcus Belby. Slightly plump, a touch cheeky, but also shy, and his love of food could rival Ron Weasley's. His manners, too, come to that — I'd seen it before.
"Do sit, sit down, quickly now," Slughorn smiled and gestured the newcomers to their seats, and they took them with a fair bit of fuss. "I'm glad, Harry, that you could spare me some time in your busy schedule. Miss Granger, Mr Longbottom, Mr Belby — I'm no less pleased to see you."
I suspect what caused them particular discomfort was Daphne, Blaise, and myself, and not merely a matter of dress — ours was formal, tailored, immaculate, rather severe and understated. Whereas here there was a certain scattered quality, as though a line had been drawn somewhere. And no, I don't judge them for it — had it been Madam Sprout hosting, I'd have dressed simply and loosely too. But Slughorn was already another matter entirely, and the fact that he was Head of Slytherin required a certain approach.
"Well then, as a former pupil of mine once said: 'Better late for supper than never for anything.'"
The cold starters and accompanying drinks arrived first. Once we'd taken the edge off our appetites, the professor decided to start the conversation, first making sure we were all acquainted — and where we weren't, he remedied the situation.
"By the way, Cormac," the professor turned to McLaggen. "I happen to know you see quite a lot of your uncle Tiberius. He's got a marvellous wizarding photograph of the two of you hunting Erumpents."
"Yes, sir," McLaggen agreed in a boastful tone, smirking. "As it happens, this holiday I'm going out again with him, Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour, hunting in Norfolk."
"Oh, my!" Slughorn looked pleased. "You know both Higgs and Scrimgeour? Speaking of which, many are predicting Rufus for the next Minister. What do you think?"
Slughorn swept his gaze around the table, but most had either nothing to say or, like Blaise and Daphne, simply kept quiet.
"Without a doubt," McLaggen agreed, pompous and boastful.
"Very unlikely indeed," I countered.
"And what exactly do you know?" A note of haughtiness had now crept into McLaggen's voice. "I should think I, being a close acquaintance, would know better, wouldn't I?"
"Even if he is Head of the Auror Office, that does him no credit in the public eye. I needn't tell you how badly the Auror Office has discredited itself of late. Whereas the DMLE performs its duties reasonably well, doing what it's meant to do, the Auror Office…" I shook my head, taking a sip of juice from my glass. "Especially after Dumbledore's death…"
At that line, quite a few faces fell. Except for those who were aware of the actual events.
"…the balance of power and opinion in the Wizengamot has shifted. And we ought to remember that although the post of Minister is an elected one, it's the Wizengamot that confirms candidates, and theirs is the final word. But let's not dwell on gloom and politics — talk of it inevitably ruins any dinner."
"You're right, Mr Granger, quite right. I recall going hunting with Rufus myself, once upon a time. We weren't alone there, of course. It was winter, snow up to the waist everywhere, and this was in the mountains. We had to make do with a homemade sledge to get back down. A long one. And off we went, ju-u-ust flying…"
Amid the conversation, the first courses arrived, and one doesn't chat much over those. Small portions of a rather pleasant spiced soup were dispatched fairly quickly, and the professor moved on to his next guest — me.
"Mr Granger, tell me, what do you intend to pursue going forward, given you're already a Potions apprentice? Trained under Professor Snape besides, and believe me, I remember him well both as a pupil and as a young Master — training under him is a mark of truly excellent knowledge and skill. Yours, and Miss Greengrass's, of course."
"At present I'm apprenticed to Healer Smethwyck, so I see healing as my main line of work going forward. It seems to come to me rather naturally, and if my other thoughts, plans and projects turn out not to be the best idea, I'll have an excellent profession to fall back on."
"Hippocrates?" Slughorn feigned surprise. "I must say, I'm impressed. Hippocrates is one of the finest Healers on the islands. Almost never takes on apprentices. I do hope you finish your training with him with distinction, talented as you are. The Head of St Mungo's, incidentally, an old acquaintance of mine, once complained to me over a glass of good Ogden's that we're rather short of powerful specialists these days."
The main course was some cunningly roasted meat, absurdly delicious, with an excellent vegetable side and a sauce that suited everything perfectly. It was over this course that conversation could actually flow a little more freely, though besides Slughorn and whoever he was addressing, few others spoke much, most either studying those present — as Zabini did — or simply eating modestly while frowning. Neville, for instance. But the reason there was simpler — Slughorn had mentioned his parents' heroism and everyone's hopes that the boy himself would prove just as fine a wizard. And his parents were at St Mungo's, in the ward for curse-induced mental damage, and their condition was… regrettable.
"Miss Greengrass, a good friend of mine mentioned your family's business has sharply improved of late. Which I congratulate you on, by the way."
"Thank you, Professor," Daphne smiled politely, with a slight nod.
"I recall William was a very ambitious student with grand plans. And I'm glad to know that after a long stagnation your family has found the strength for a breakthrough. If it's not a secret, though, what allowed for that breakthrough? Don't misunderstand me, but as I said, I knew William well as a student, and thought him a very promising young wizard. And I do like to keep an eye on the successes of such people."
Daphne seemed to ask permission with a couple of barely perceptible gestures, to which I simply nodded.
"Hector helped with that, passing on a great deal of expertise in areas adjacent to the family business," Daphne said, demonstratively resting her hand on mine.
"Is that so?"
Slughorn was surprised, as were the other students. Well, yes — only a handful know about it, and it's not exactly broadcast, though there's no real secret in it. Zabini, though, seemed to be putting it together, given he associates with Nott, and certain nuances of recent events were one way or another known to him — in which case it was a small matter of simply thinking it through.
In truth, a great deal of what I do isn't secret at all, but there's no need to shout about one's exploits from every rooftop either — better to pick the right moments and dole out information in portions.
"But that's not something so easily obtained, even for a well-born wizard," Slughorn glanced at me, and in his surprise and curiosity he looked rather comical. "Mind you, I harbour no prejudices about origins, but still… Mr Granger, if it's not a secret…"
"Not a secret," I said with a faint half-smile, taking a sip of juice, noting with mild regret that the main course was nearly gone. "By a fortunate turn of circumstances, I had the opportunity to acquire some land and facilities that had fallen under a powerful area-wide curse. By an equally fortunate turn of circumstances, the price was low as a result. Not without that same luck, and not without outside help, I lifted the curse and studied the property and methods left behind. As it turned out, Mr Greengrass was interested in that knowledge — how could I possibly pass that up?"
The main thing was to smile. Easily, effortlessly. It irritates everyone and keeps them from seeing one's true feelings on the matter.
"What a striking string of coincidences!" Slughorn marvelled, though his look carried a faint doubt that luck had had anything to do with it. Not surprising, really — he'd been Head of Slytherin for many years.
"Pf-f," Zabini snorted quietly, turning away with a smirk on his face. "As if anyone would believe luck, rather than a planned operation."
"Sometimes coincidences really can be quite remarkable," I said, neither confirming nor denying Zabini's remark.
There was another knock at the door, and the professor opened it with a flick of his wand.
"Oh, Miss Weasley, welcome."
The eyes of everyone present turned at once to Ginny — the black-and-brown dress suited her, especially paired with her fiery red hair.
"My apologies," Ginny said, restrained, making her way to the empty seat at the table. "I don't usually run late."
Potter fidgeted rather suspiciously, clearly not knowing how to react. Naturally, this went unnoticed by absolutely no one.
"Well then," the professor smiled. "You've arrived just in time for dessert."
Nearly all the dishes vanished, replaced at once by rather large bowls of ice cream. The glasses and drinks remained. The Ravenclaw, Belby, tucked into his dessert with such enthusiasm that he finally drew Slughorn's full attention. Belby, as a rule, devoted rather more attention to food than to anything else.
"And how's your uncle, Belby?" Having asked, the professor immediately turned to explain to the others: "You know, I had the pleasure of teaching his uncle Damocles. An outstanding wizard, truly outstanding, and he earned his Order of Merlin fair and square. Do you see much of him, Marcus?"
"No," the boy shook his head, staring into his bowl and making quick work of the ice cream, gripping his spoon in his fist like a fist — a proper Ravenclaw version of Ron. "Not very often."
"Well, of course, he's likely a busy man," Slughorn nodded understandingly. "For those who don't know — Marcus's uncle invented the Wolfsbane Potion. That sort of thing doesn't happen without a great deal of long, hard preparatory work. Is he working on something new?"
"Dunno," the boy shook his head again, still giving the ice cream more attention than the people or the conversation at the table. "He doesn't get on with Dad… Dad says potions are rubbish… And that the best potion… is a shot of strong spirits…"
At that declaration Slughorn's face puckered up like some sort of dried fruit, while those quicker on the uptake smiled — fancy saying such a thing to a Potions Master!
"Minus one point," Daphne whispered, at the very edge of audibility, glancing at me with a smile I couldn't help but return in kind.
"Definitely."
"And how are your brothers getting on, Miss Weasley?" Slughorn swiftly found his next target for interrogation. "I've heard a great deal about Fred and George Weasley. Astonishing talents, quite astonishing! And the speed at which they've broken into business — simply a delight to watch. I even regret not having taught them myself — I'm sure I could have given them a great deal on the subject of potion-making, and the ideas I might have had…"
"They're doing wonderfully, sir," Ginny answered without any hint of embarrassment. "I should say hardly anyone expected such success from them. Our parents were always complaining about how restless they were and their utter unwillingness to follow the more… conventional path of good marks and a Ministry job."
"Oh, come now, Miss Weasley," the professor waved a hand with a smile. "Sometimes, to become someone of significance, something greater, one must break free of the usual bounds. Your own manner of casting charms is rather unique too, in my — admittedly far from expert — opinion."
"Professor Flitwick doesn't much approve," Ginny smiled.
And so, one word leading to another, dessert was all but finished, meaning we'd only be lingering at this rather amusing gathering, as I saw it, for another half hour at most.
"Miss Granger," Slughorn seemed ready to move on to the last of his guests — my little sister and Potter. "What do your parents do, in the Muggle world?"
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