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Harry chuckled and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at him.
“Sorry,” Harry said hastily. “It’s just—I didn’t like her either.”
Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.
“Are you leaving?” asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.
“No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom,” said Dumbledore.
“Oh,” said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. “Second on the left down the hall.”
Dumbledore strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then crossed 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 merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn’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,” said Harry.
“Except for your eyes. You’ve got—”
“My mother’s eyes, yeah.” Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.
“Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother,” Slughorn added, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. “Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too.”
“Which was your House?”
“I was Head of Slytherin,” said Slughorn. “Oh, now,” he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry’s face and wagging a stubby ringer 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—died a few weeks ago—”
It was as though an invisible hand had twisted Harry’s intestines and held them tight.
“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.
“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 Muggle-born,” said Harry, “and she’s the best in our year.”
“Fu
“Not really,” said Harry coldly.
Slughorn 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 favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too—now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course—another Muggle-born, 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 Harkisss 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?” asked Harry, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.
The smile slid from Slughorn’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.”
Harry had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn 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,” said Harry, who could not quite keep a note of derision out of his voice: It was hard to sympathize with Slughorn’s cosseted existence when he remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats. “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.”
Harry had been sure Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort’s name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed: Slughorn gave 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.
Slughorn 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 ca
Dumbledore reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.
“Oh, there you are, Albus,” he said. “You’ve been a very long lime. Upset stomach?”
“No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines,” said Dumbledore. “I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace’s hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave.”
Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry jumped to his feet. Slughorn si
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one.”
“Lost…?”
Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket.
“Well, I’m sorry you don’t want the job, Horace,” said Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. “Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to.”
“Yes… well… very gracious… as I say…”
“Good-bye, then.”
“Bye,” said Harry.
They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.
“All right, all right, I’ll do it!”
Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.
“You will come out of retirement?”
“Yes, yes,” said Slughorn impatiently. “I must be mad, but yes.”
“Wonderful,” said Dumbledore, beaming. “Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September.”
“Yes, I daresay you will,” grunted Slughorn.
As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn’s voice floated after them, “I’ll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!”