Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 697: Horace Slughorn

The village of Budleigh Babberton appeared expansive at first glance, but in reality, it wasn’t particularly large. After walking for over ten minutes, Dumbledore finally stopped in front of a dilapidated house.

“Oh, my goodness!” he exclaimed.

Kyle and Harry followed his gaze.

The scene was incongruous: a well-maintained path bordered by neatly trimmed gardens leading to a house that looked as though it had been struck by a Blasting Curse. The front door was reduced to splintered wood, with only a small fragment—about the size of a tabletop—hanging precariously from its frame.

Dumbledore surveyed the surroundings before whispering, “Kyle, Harry, draw your wands and follow me.”

Carefully, he made his way down the garden path, his wand at the ready, with Kyle and Harry close behind. Upon reaching the shattered doorway, he pushed it open and raised his wand.

“Lumos.”

The interior was in even worse condition than the outside. It was a chaotic mess, as though the room had been ransacked. An overturned piano lay on the floor, its keys scattered like broken teeth. Shattered vases, glass fragments, and scattered cushions of various shapes and colors littered the space.

On the wall, a large, ominous red stain caught their attention.

“Something terrible must have happened here,” Dumbledore said softly. Yet there was an odd note of detachment—almost artificial—in his voice.

“Yeah,” Kyle murmured, scanning the room. “Harry, can you help me move the piano onto that armchair? I think there’s something underneath.”

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

Harry wasn’t sure why the piano needed to be moved to the armchair, but he trusted Kyle had his reasons. He pointed his wand at the piano, which rose slowly into the air and, at Harry’s direction, floated toward the overturned armchair.

The moment the piano settled on the chair, a voice shrieked, “Ouch, get it off me!”

Startled, Harry’s hand slipped, breaking the spell. The piano dropped heavily, eliciting another scream, loud and grating, like a Mandrake being uprooted.

Dumbledore quickly intervened, waving his wand to move the piano aside.

“Good evening, Horace,” Dumbledore greeted cheerfully. “Are you all right?”

To Harry’s astonishment, the armchair morphed into a squat, almost bald old man in an instant. The man was crouched on the floor, propping himself up with his hands, one eye narrowed as he glared tearfully at Dumbledore.

“That was a piano! Why didn’t you stop them?” he groaned, struggling to his feet. “Do you know how much that hurt?”

“I apologize, Horace,” Dumbledore said with a slight smile. “But it’s not my fault—your transfiguration was flawless. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Flawless, you say…” Horace Slughorn grumbled, glaring at Dumbledore, though his irritation seemed to be fading. “Well, what’s done is done. I should have had some Felix Felicis earlier,” he sighed, his sideburns fluttering slightly as he exhaled.

“Shall we help you pack?” Dumbledore offered.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Slughorn replied wearily. “I could use a moment to recover.”

Dumbledore nodded and turned to Kyle and Harry. “Kyle, Harry, would you mind taking over? Oh, and I should introduce you. This is my old colleague, Horace Slughorn.”

“Not a problem, Professor,” Kyle said, raising his wand.

With a series of efficient flicks, the room began to right itself. Furniture returned to its proper places, broken vases and glass fragments mended midair, and the scattered piano keys flew back to the instrument, restoring it to its former state.

Meanwhile, Slughorn, who had been rubbing his sore back, suddenly paused. His round eyes locked onto Harry, and his gaze shifted to the lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Oh, he canʼt be...”

“Yes, Harry Potter,” Dumbledore confirmed with a smile. “And there’s another name you’ve probably heard of: Kyle Chopper, the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class—formerly Second.”

“Wait, what do you mean? I haven’t heard of any new First Class medals being awarded in the wizarding world recently.”

“Oh, it’s internal news,” Dumbledore replied smoothly. “Cornelius seems intent on boosting morale in the wizarding world. The youngest First Class Order of Merlin recipient makes for a compelling story.”

As they spoke, the entire room had been restored. Even the ominous red stain on the wall had been collected into a small glass bottle.

Kyle examined the contents of the bottle.

Hmm, Dragon’s blood. A little dusty—not suitable for potions anymore. What a shame.

Without much hesitation, he slipped the bottle into his pocket.

“Oh, that was my last one,” Slughorn muttered with a trace of sorrow, though it was clear his focus was elsewhere.

“Don’t think this is going to convince me, Albus,” Slughorn said firmly. “I’ve told you many times before—the answer is no.”

Despite his refusal, his gaze darted to Kyle and Harry intermittently.

“He’ll really get a First Class medal?” Slughorn asked, his tone skeptical.

“Cornelius is quite determined,” Dumbledore replied. “But never mind that for now. Won’t you pour me a drink? For old times’ sake.”

“Just one drink,” Slughorn relented, standing and retrieving a few glasses from a shelf. He carefully poured a scant amount of honey wine into each glass—barely enough to coat the bottom—clearly signaling his intent for them to finish quickly and leave.

Kyle and Harry accepted their glasses as well, though the portion was so minimal it hardly counted as a drink.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, taking his glass. He sipped it with apparent delight. “It’s quite good—not at all like the stuff from the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Of course not!” Slughorn replied with pride. “This is a reserve from the Oak Barrel Pub, made with Billywig honey. I bought it myself in Romania and paid a handsome price for it.”

The Oak Barrel Pub?

Kyle’s brow furrowed. The name tugged at his memory, and the mention of Romania brought sudden clarity. Ah, the bar near the dragon reserve. Then he remembered Charlie saying their sign actually read “Brandy.”

Kyle raised his glass hesitantly and took a sip. As he set it back down, realization dawned.

Great, Slughorn’s been duped.

The honey wine lacked the distinctive sweetness of genuine Billywig honey. Kyle recognized this particular scam—it was a standard trick at the Oak Barrel Pub. Chris had fallen for it once too, purchasing two fake bottles of brandy, though Charlie had managed to trade them for real ones later.

Kyle opted not to mention it, setting his glass down without comment.

I’ve been too tense lately, Kyle thought. The small sip of wine left him feeling unexpectedly drowsy, and he found himself sitting there in a daze.

Kyle’s consciousness slowly returned as he heard his name being called.

“Kyle... Kyle...”

“What is it?” he asked, snapping awake and turning toward Harry, who was nudging him.

Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, leaving only Harry and Slughorn nearby.

“Nothing,” Harry replied. “Mr. Slughorn was just asking which house you’re in.”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Kyle said, rubbing his eyes before looking at Slughorn. “Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, the same as your father,” Slughorn remarked, barely registering the answer. “But I always preferred your mother. Intelligent, sensible, confident... She was the pride of Slytherin House.”

He sipped his honey wine, seemingly lost in thought. “Of course, as an instructor, I shouldn’t show favoritism toward students, but I must admit, I did.”

“I recall one time she fought for your father’s honor. Sent a fifth-year student to the Hospital Wing for a week, then cornered him in the Common Room so thoroughly he didn’t dare leave his dormitory for days.”

“Now, such behavior would normally have warranted serious punishment, but I didn’t give her detention. I just docked ten points.”

Slughorn hastily added, “Ah, don’t misunderstand me—I’m not encouraging you to break the rules. But there were circumstances. The student in question had used a foul slur in front of her friend. Such language was, and is, strictly forbidden at Hogwarts.”

“Your father tried to reason with him, but he was mocked viciously. Frankly, I still believe the student got what he deserved.”

He sipped his drink again, then reiterated, “But of course, I don’t advocate breaking school rules.”

Harry noticed that as Slughorn recounted the story, his gaze occasionally flickered toward him, as though the tale held some personal relevance. Just as Harry was about to ask, Slughorn abruptly changed the subject, likely realizing the story was inappropriate to share with students.

“Come,” Slughorn said, standing up. “I’ll show you some of my former students.”

He led them to a cabinet and gestured toward the array of photographs displayed on the top shelf.

“These here are Barnabas Cuffe, editor of The Daily Prophet, who often sought my opinions on current affairs... and your father, Kyle. He was one of my favorite students, a shining example of all the virtues of Hufflepuff House. Oh, here he is.”

He pointed to a photograph in one of the frames. “Your mother was supposed to be up here as well, but for some reason, her picture disappeared. You can probably guess why.”

Kyle nodded silently. It was likely due to his mother’s position in the Department of Mysteries, though he wasn’t privy to the specifics.

Slughorn went on to introduce several more names, most of whom were well-known figures in the wizarding world. While Kyle examined the photos, Harry engaged in conversation with Slughorn.

“I think, as long as Dumbledore remains headmaster, the school staff will be safer than most,” he said. “It’s said that Voldemort fears him more than anyone else.”

At the mention of Voldemort, Harry suddenly exclaimed, startling Kyle.

Slughorn appeared distracted, as if weighing his own words carefully.

Kyle walked over and lowered his voice. “Harry, speaking of safety, do you know what happened to Umbridge?”

“I couldn’t care less what happens to her,” Harry said stiffly, though a moment later he sighed. “Still, I didn’t think someone like her would stand up to the Death Eaters. All the papers say is that she was attacked. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“Ron said St. Mungo’s is now swarming with Aurors, especially around her ward.”

Slughorn fell silent again, his expression darkening.

The attack on Umbridge had clearly unsettled him. A woman as despised as Umbridge had been brazenly targeted by Death Eaters—even in a place as public and well-guarded as St. Mungo’s.

And what about himself? Slughorn had avoided joining the Death Eaters, but he was under no illusion that they would consider him an ally.

The realization loomed large in his mind: perhaps he really would be safer under Dumbledore’s protection...

As Slughorn mulled over his thoughts, Dumbledore returned to the room.

“You’re back, Albus,” Slughorn said, snapping out of his reverie. “What took you so long? Did you have the runs?”

“No, I was just flipping through some Muggle magazines,” Dumbledore replied pleasantly. “Well, Harry, Kyle, we’ve been pestering Horace long enough. It’s time to leave.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed. “It’s getting late, and Kyle has work at the Ministry tomorrow morning. Staying up too late wouldn’t do him any good.”

“Wait—work at the Ministry?” Slughorn asked, clearly intrigued. “So it’s true? He was exceptionally recruited?”

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied with a nod. “Haven’t you read the papers? Kyle has been serving as Senior Assistant to the Minister for Magic for nearly six months now.”

“A Senior Assistant to the Minister for Magic who hasn’t graduated…” Slughorn muttered, his expression thoughtful, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“So long, then,” Dumbledore said, moving toward the door. “I’m sorry we won’t be working together again, but the door to Hogwarts is always open if you choose to return.”

“Goodbye,” Harry said, giving Slughorn a small wave.

As the three of them walked out, a loud shout from behind startled them.

“All right, all right, I’ll do it!”

Slughorn came hurrying out after them, slightly out of breath. “I must be mad, but yes, I’ll come back to Hogwarts.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said with a warm smile. “So, Horace, I’ll see you on the first of September.”

“Fine,” Slughorn muttered. “But I’ll ask for a raise…”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not up to me,” Dumbledore said lightly, turning to Kyle. “In fact, someone here could see me earning fifty Galleons less a month with just a word.”

“Really?” Slughorn’s interest visibly piqued.

Though he wasn’t entirely sure what Dumbledore meant, the idea that the headmaster’s salary could be altered so easily hinted at the extent of Kyle’s authority. Slughorn’s gaze turned calculating.

“Never mind,” Slughorn said with a grin, shifting gears. “Salary doesn’t really matter. I just…miss my old colleagues. How are Minerva and Filius these days?”

“They’re both doing well,” Dumbledore replied with a smile.

“Well, I’ll see you on the first of September, then,” Slughorn said, waving them off.

The three of them set off again along the garden path.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry asked quietly, “why did Slughorn suddenly change his mind?”

“You should call him Professor Slughorn now,” Dumbledore corrected gently. “As for why, I believe he recognized the advantages of returning to Hogwarts.”

“Advantages?”

“Yes. For instance, you and Kyle.”

Dumbledore elaborated, “Slughorn has a penchant for surrounding himself with material comforts and prominent connections. But his method is unique—he cultivates relationships with students who he believes will grow into influential or accomplished individuals.”

“And he has an uncanny talent for recognizing such potential.”

“I see,” Harry said with a nod. “No wonder he agreed right away after learning Kyle is Senior Assistant to the Minister for Magic.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “You, Harry, carry a certain renown. The boy who lived through Voldemort’s attack. Or, as some now say, the Chosen One…”

Harry winced at the title, clearly uncomfortable. He hated the notion, feeling as though he hadn’t done anything worthy of it. It was just an exaggeration stemming from his earlier warning about Voldemort’s return.

They walked in silence for a while longer.

Finally, Dumbledore stopped and turned to them. “All right. I may be quite busy in the days to come. If you have any urgent matters, Newt can reach me.”

Kyle nodded. “Understood.”

“So, do you need me to send you back?” Dumbledore asked.

Kyle glanced between Dumbledore and Harry, sensing that the professor had something private to discuss with Harry. He shook his head.

“No, Professor. I can make my own way back.”

With that, he waved to the two of them and vanished.