The next day, Narcissa heard that Draco was going to attend the Slughorn family's luncheon and let him go without saying a word.
She was busy directing the house-elves to clear away the "spotted ground mites" that had spread through the kitchen of Malfoy Manor. These were magical creatures that fed on dirt and dust and slowly secreted a substance that could corrode the foundations of the house.
"This stuff has to be completely cleaned up!" Before activating the Portkey to Godric's Hollow, Draco saw Narcissa, her expression frustrated, speaking to a bowing house-elf. "If this continues, the whole manor will collapse! When are you going to get this done? I don't want strangers from the Pest Advisory Bureau of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures swaggering into the manor and spying on everything just to clean this up…"
Thanks to the ever-spreading infestation, Draco finally enjoyed a bit of freedom and went to meet Slughorn alone.
Horace Slughorn was still the same as ever.
His gleaming bald head and thick, silvery-white beard, like the gold buttons on his vest, shone brightly in the sun.
"Draco, my good boy, it's so good to see you, so good to see you!" He was wearing a velvet smoking jacket and strode over from the other end of the room, giving Draco an exaggeratedly friendly smile.
Draco gave him a graceful bow in return.
If Slughorn was a hospitable host eager to offer delicacies, Draco was a discerning guest bringing fine mead and nectar. The Potions Master was as pleased with Draco as he was with the mead he had just received.
At the table, he opened the bottle of amber-colored mead, smelled it, and praised it.
"Son, this mead is quite interesting—the aroma is different from anything I've had before."
"Indeed, you are a true connoisseur," the well-dressed young man said politely. "It's aged in white oak barrels. Besides the notes of licorice and nuts, there is also a hint of sweet apricot. The mid-palate is a blend of toffee and honey, with a smooth texture. It's produced in limited quantities each year, and I thought you might be interested."
Slughorn sniffed the mead again, his expression one of utter delight.
His face flushed as he poured it into a crystal decanter, and he introduced Draco to the other guests at the table. "This is Draco Malfoy, grandson of Abraxas Malfoy, a very distinguished young man. He received the Order of Merlin, Second Class, two years ago, didn't he?"
The young man remained calm, nodded slightly, and smiled humbly at the other guests.
"If you've read the recent issue of 'Practical Potioneer,' you'll remember his name. He and Severus Snape recently developed an improved version of the Dragonpox treatment potion—a remarkable achievement..."
The smiles of the five or six guests present immediately widened. They exchanged knowing glances and gave Draco approving nods.
"So he's the one! Slughorn, I had a feeling, but I could never be sure! You didn't tell me he was so young!" the wizard on the right exclaimed. Draco noticed that he was Asian.
He looked at Draco with great interest and said in broken English, with exaggerated admiration, "What a genius! So young, yet able to develop such an amazing potion!"
"Draco, this is the Japanese apothecary I mentioned two years ago. He happened to be visiting me in England," Slughorn said to Draco with a smile. "He heard that I knew the wizard who developed that improved potion, so he asked me to invite you over so we could have a chat."
Draco promptly bowed to him.
The wizard to Draco's left quickly said, "Oh, who wouldn't be interested in him? Mr. Slughorn, you can't show favoritism!"
Slughorn, in a good mood, smiled and began introducing Draco to the guests at the table one by one. "To your left is Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet; opposite you sits Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liaison Office; and next to Cresswell is..."
So Draco bowed to them one by one and exchanged friendly greetings with them.
The luncheon, a tangle of interpersonal connections, was a resounding success for both host and guests. After the guests had eaten and drunk their fill and departed, Slughorn beckoned and kept Draco behind.
He sat in a comfortable armchair, looking pleasantly tipsy, and said to Draco, who sat across from him, in a friendly tone, "I must say, Abraxas's pride is quite understandable. You certainly know how to charm people, my boy."
Draco was clearly a master of social interaction. Slughorn appeared relaxed, but he had other ideas in mind.
He kept a close eye on the boy's every move.
This young master of the Malfoy family was no ordinary character. He could whisper to Barnabas without batting an eye, sharing the "little gossip" he had heard, until the usually well-informed editor's expression lit up as if he had been handed some incredible news.
He could talk to Dirk, the head of the Goblin Liaison Office, about strangely named Muggle items, such as "mobile phones" and "high-speed trains," which made the usually aloof Muggle-born wizard beam with joy, as if he had found a lifelong confidant.
He was even able to strike up a conversation with the canny Japanese apothecary, piquing the man's interest and uncovering his family background. Even Slughorn was hearing for the first time that this apothecary had a shrewd businessman brother—whose flying broom company held a significant market share in the Japanese wizarding world.
"It's only because of you, Mr. Slughorn." Draco smiled slightly, flattering him at the opportune moment. "I believe that if it weren't for your table, I wouldn't even have had a chance to speak with them."
Dealing with a luncheon was a piece of cake for Draco. This summer, he had become intimately familiar with the art of flattery and sycophancy—the constant social engagements Narcissa had taken him to had honed his skills to perfection.
Since he was already here, he might as well make the most of it.
In this intricate web of connections woven by Slughorn, rife with the scent of resource exchange and mutual benefit, Draco used the time to get to know as many former members of the Slug Club as possible—those who had not yet completely left the web.
"Still so modest. My boy, your excellence is plain for all to see." Slughorn chuckled and glanced at him. "How has your grandfather been lately? Wasn't it his seventieth birthday at the end of last month? Given his personality, shouldn't he have thrown a big birthday party and invited old friends to get together? But it passed quietly, without any fuss."
"Grandfather is in good health; he even traveled to Europe before his birthday. However, he seems a bit listless these days," Draco said casually. "He's been staying home a lot, preferring to tinker with his hobbies in his house in the suburbs of London. I suppose he's just exhausted from his trip to Europe and needs a good rest."
"In my opinion, he shouldn't be cooped up in the house. He should attend more parties and get to know more promising young wizards! Living in a vibrant environment keeps your mind young. Being stuck in one place all the time, without any novelty, will make your spirit weary," Slughorn said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should take this as a warning and change my own environment."
"You mean—" Draco hesitated for a moment.
He chuckled inwardly, knowing that Slughorn was getting to the point.
"Dumbledore has invited me to return to Hogwarts to teach. What do you think? Would you welcome this old professor back?" Slughorn asked directly, his tone quite lively.
"Of course," Draco replied quickly. "Hogwarts should feel honored to have a Potions Master like you back to teach."
Slughorn stared at him, smiled, and didn't answer directly.
"Alas, my health isn't what it used to be. Asthma and rheumatism are enough to make me suffer, and my legs aren't as nimble as they once were," he said lazily. "Thinking it over carefully, the heavy teaching workload at Hogwarts might not be suitable for an old man like me."
"As I see it, you're as agile as ever, and your mind is just as sharp. I bet quite a few students would love to welcome you back," Draco said casually. "Harry, for example, still wants to personally thank the 'kind gentleman' who gave him his parents' wedding photos. Don't you want to give him that chance?"
At this point, Draco glanced at the dark green velvet curtains behind Slughorn.
They were the only curtains drawn tightly shut in this bright room. Compared to the bright windows on the other two walls, the long, heavy curtains on this wall seemed particularly out of place.
"Really?" Slughorn glanced slowly at the empty goldfish bowl on the cabinet beside him, and at the glittering picture frame next to it, in which Lily Potter, in the front row, smiled broadly among the crowd of the Slug Club.
He seemed nonchalant, as if the name "Harry Potter" meant nothing to him.
But was that really the case?
Looking at the hourglass on Slughorn's table, which was gradually slowing to a standstill, Draco smiled slightly. "Harry inherited his mother's emerald green eyes and his father's looks."
Slughorn's bluffing, Draco thought. He's clearly taken with Harry; the speed of the hourglass is the best proof of that.
He raised his gray eyes, looked directly at the hypocritical old man, and asked with interest, "Don't you want to see for yourself what talents Harry inherited from his parents? Or rather, don't you want to continue the beautiful story of teacher and student?"
"Of course. I admit I'm very curious about him. You little rascal, you saw right through me, didn't you?" Slughorn chuckled, like a collector who had finally admitted to being interested in a particular item, and playfully raised his hands in surrender.
"I've always been interested in Harry Potter, it's true. But lately there are some rumors I can't ignore," he said.
"You mean—" Draco's fingers twitched slightly on his knee.
Slughorn spoke calmly and slowly, with a hint of doubt in his eyes. "The Dark Mark at last year's Quidditch World Cup is still fresh in my mind, and two months ago, during the final of the Triwizard Tournament, there were rumors that Death Eaters had appeared."
He smiled, quietly observing the composed young man before him. "Draco, with your abilities, figuring out the inside story of the final at Hogwarts shouldn't be difficult. Do you know what's going on behind the scenes?"
Slughorn's question served three purposes.
First, he wanted to find out the inside story of the final and gauge how deep the waters ran at Hogwarts.
Second, he wanted to probe Draco's inclinations through his answers, to see which camp he belonged to, whether black or white.
Third, he wanted to try his luck and see whether this former Death Eater's son, who had gone straight, could obtain any inside information from other sources—such as his father.
In truth, Slughorn needn't have gone to such lengths.
Without a doubt, given his surname and family tradition, Draco Malfoy would wholeheartedly side with the Death Eaters—like father, like son.
If that was the case, then no matter how outstanding the boy was, Slughorn should have nothing further to do with him—he would never side with the Dark Lord.
But Slughorn saw a fascinating contradiction in Draco.
He came from a traditional, long-established pure-blood family, and his father was a Death Eater, yet he had a close relationship with the outstanding Muggle-born Granger. This made it impossible for Slughorn to draw an accurate conclusion about him.
No Death Eater would ever be friendly to a Muggle-born, let alone fall in love with one.
Draco Malfoy was an enigma.
Even Slughorn, who was usually good at judging people, had to look harder, trying to see him more clearly.
One thing was certain: he was a very typical, purposeful Slytherin.
He was meticulous in his actions, able to be humble yet never lacking in pride and arrogance.
He was generous in flattering the capable, yet unafraid to ignore the mediocre—a Slytherin principle that Slughorn had always upheld. After all, wasn't it wise to concentrate on the essentials within a limited time?
He was also a modest student who knew how to please a Potions Master. He was gifted, far from dull, and possessed excellent social skills and the ability to read people.
Slughorn had seen some disappointing students. Some were talented but lacked emotional intelligence, too stubborn and always missing opportunities; others had extensive connections but were empty-headed, unable to learn even when spoon-fed.
What was remarkable was that Draco possessed both ability and skill; he had no weaknesses.
Given time, Draco Malfoy should have a very bright future.
The more Slughorn observed him, the more he appreciated his talent and the more reluctant he was to let him go.
Draco smiled, accepting Slughorn's scrutiny without the slightest hint of panic. "There were indeed former Death Eaters causing trouble. However, the situation is under control; some are dead, and others have been captured."
He said meaningfully, "With Albus Dumbledore in charge of Hogwarts, what is there to be afraid of? In the face of absolute power, how much harm can those schemes and tricks do? You don't need to panic so much."
"Yes." Slughorn glanced at Draco, then at the gleaming gold frame, and muttered under his breath, "That man has never dared to challenge Dumbledore."
Draco roughly guessed that "that man" was the Dark Lord.
But he chose not to let on.
He seemed not to hear the old man's mutterings. Suddenly, he got up, walked around the sofa, coffee table, and armchair, and simply pulled open the closed curtains behind the old man's armchair.
Just as I expected, he thought. His smile vanished.
He looked out the window at the ruins of a house not far away, and his tone became unusually gentle.
"Mr. Slughorn, I've always believed that Hogwarts is the safest place. At least safer than Godric's Hollow, isn't it?"
Slughorn's smile vanished completely, and he remained silent.
He suddenly stood up, turned his head, and his watery eyes followed Draco's gaze, looking out at the low-hanging clouds and at the ruins.
The hedges in front of the ruins had grown wild and haphazard, with rubble buried among waist-high weeds. Dark ivy covered the remaining parts of the house, and a huge hole had been blown into the right side of the top-floor room, leaving it as empty as the goldfish bowl on Slughorn's cabinet.
It must have been hit by some evil curse to generate such tremendous power.
After keeping Slughorn company for a while, Draco said casually, "I suppose if that tragedy hadn't happened a decade or so ago, Harry would have grown up in that house."
"Yes. That's right," Slughorn said softly.
He waved his wand, abruptly drawing the curtains shut. He turned away again and sank his stout, swaying body into the soft, comfortable armchair, as if its embrace gave him a sense of security.
It was as though the ruins didn't exist unless one looked through that window.
He sighed, looking somewhat worried.
He tried to give Draco his usual smile, but he couldn't manage it.
"Well then, thank you for your hospitality today, sir. I think I should head back now. I look forward to seeing you again soon." Draco decided to call it a day.
Persuasion is a process of unraveling complexities; one must not be impatient.
Slytherins always assess situations carefully and avoid putting themselves in danger.
As a typical Slytherin, Slughorn often used these principles to map out his life choices.
Draco was certain that the Potions Professor, who had taught at Hogwarts for half a century, was now wavering.
He was thinking with that Slytherin mind of his, using those principles as a guide to improvise a new path for himself.
That was enough; only the finishing touch was needed.
All that was missing was the much-coveted "savior" himself, delivering himself to the door and luring Slughorn, the old spider weaving his web, into the trap.
Draco smiled slightly, bowed gracefully to the old man who could no longer smile, and strolled out of the magnificent, decadent, silent room.