Professor Slughorn stared directly into Harry's eyes.
After a moment, he placed his wand tip against his temple, then withdrew it.
The wand tip drew out a long, silvery thread of memory.
It stretched longer and longer and longer until finally it broke.
The silvery light eventually dangled from the wand tip.
Slughorn placed it into the vial, and the silver thread coiled up, then unfurled, swirling like gas.
With trembling hands, he corked the bottle tightly and passed it across the table to Harry.
"Thank you very much, Professor," Harry said, taking the bottle.
"You're a good boy," Slughorn said, tears flowing down his plump cheeks into his walrus mustache. He stared into Harry's green eyes and spoke slowly. "You have her eyes—you must be a good boy. Just don't think too badly of me after seeing this."
Having said that, Slughorn rested his head in the crook of his arm, gave a long sigh, and fell asleep.
"That's it?" Harry looked at the small vial in his hand in disbelief, finding it almost incredible.+
As if the timing had been calculated, just then Dumbledore walked over from the other side of the room.
"Professor!" Harry glanced at the now-sleeping Slughorn, raised the small glass vial, and said softly, "We got it!"
Seeing the small glass vial in Harry's hand, Dumbledore's face broke into a brilliant smile. "This is truly exciting news—absolutely wonderful! Sherlock, Harry, I knew you could do it!"
"Actually, we really have Harry's mother to thank," Sherlock said with a smile, his gaze becoming increasingly profound.
Harry's mother, Lily Potter—her charm was incredible to an unbelievable degree.
She could make a rake like James reform.
She could make Snape, a Death Eater, resolutely turn traitor.
She could make someone like Professor Slughorn give up his deepest secret.
If he didn't know the true circumstances, Sherlock would almost suspect she had Veela blood.
But regardless, for successfully obtaining this crucial memory today, Harry's mother Lily deserved the greatest credit.
"I understand—" At Sherlock's reminder, Dumbledore also grasped the connection.
He looked at the now-sleeping Slughorn, hesitating to speak.
Sherlock noticed Dumbledore's movement and smiled slightly. "I suppose—Professor Slughorn won't remember anything tomorrow morning, will he, sir?"
Dumbledore was momentarily startled, then understood. "You're right, Sherlock."
He waved his wand very gently, and then Slughorn seemed to sleep even more soundly.
Harry: ∑(°°;)
Having dealt with Slughorn, Dumbledore began looking around.
"Sir, are you looking for the Pensieve? I think it should be in that cabinet," Sherlock said with a light laugh, seeing Dumbledore's manner, then pointed to a locked cabinet.
Dumbledore was startled again, once more amazed by Sherlock's keen observation.
"I suppose that lock shouldn't be difficult for you, but if I were you, I wouldn't examine this memory here. Any subtle action could lead to unexpected consequences."
"You're right," Dumbledore said, pausing in his motion to open the lock and looking deeply at Sherlock. "Let's go."
After the three left Slughorn's house, they simultaneously looked back at the magnificent residence.
Though it had been only two short hours, Professor Horace Slughorn had left a deep impression on all three.
Dumbledore sighed deeply and said to the two as they walked. "I think you both noticed that Horace enjoys material comforts and likes to associate with famous, successful, powerful people."
Since Dumbledore had already said it, Harry naturally didn't need to comment.
Sherlock had known the man's nature before coming, so even less needed to be said.
Dumbledore continued. "Horace himself never wanted to wield power directly—he preferred to occupy a secondary position. For him, that provided more room to maneuver.
During his time teaching at Hogwarts, he always enjoyed selecting his favorite students. Sometimes for their ambition or intelligence, sometimes for their charm or talent. And he had an unusual ability to always pick those who would later distinguish themselves in various fields.
The Slug Club that Horace organized around himself consisted of his star pupils. He just introduced them to you—he helps them get to know each other, build useful connections, and always gains some benefit—even if just a free box of his favorite crystallized pineapple. But most of the time, it's the opportunity to recommend a clerk to the Goblin Liaison Office."
Sherlock chuckled lightly, noncommittal.
In Harry's mind appeared the image of a fat, bloated spider weaving a web here and there around its body, eventually drawing delicious, juicy flies to itself.
"For Sherlock, I don't need to say more—I think his understanding of Horace may be even deeper than mine."
"Obviously, sir," Sherlock admitted without hesitation.
Dumbledore smiled and continued. "But for you, Harry, I'm telling you this not to make you dislike Horace, but to keep you vigilant."
"Vigilant?" Harry looked at Dumbledore with some confusion. "I don't understand, Professor. Why should I be vigilant?"
"Because he'll certainly try to recruit you, Harry. You'll be the jewel in his collection—the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, the Dark Lord's only nemesis. To him, you're simply perfect. You could even think of him as Gilderoy Lockhart. The difference is that Gilderoy only talks big, whereas Horace is a very capable wizard."
Hearing these words, Harry felt a chill.
He couldn't help but recall the words he'd heard in Dumbledore's office at the end of third year—words with terrible and special meaning for him.
One must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives—
By this time, Dumbledore had stopped at the coordinates where they'd Apparated to earlier.
"Now, you just need to hold onto my arm."
This was the third time Harry had been brought along by Side-Along Apparition, but even with two previous experiences, he still felt very uncomfortable.
He looked at Sherlock and Dumbledore beside him, who seemed perfectly fine, with envious eyes.
Dumbledore was one thing, but for Sherlock to manage this was truly remarkable.
"Don't look at me like that, dear Harry," Sherlock said, glancing once and understanding what Harry was thinking. He laughed lightly, "Actually, I've only experienced Apparition one more time than you."
"Was it with Filius?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"That's right, the Greek Interpreter case." Speaking of this, Sherlock frowned. "It's been two whole years since that incident, and the Ministry still hasn't caught John Smith."
"As I understand it, they gave up after making an effort at the beginning," Dumbledore said, obviously knowing about this matter, shaking his head. "That's how they always are."
"Now I understand—comparing Scotland Yard to them is an insult to Scotland Yard."
"Well, let's not discuss that. Let's first look at this crucial memory."
"Wait, where is this?" Harry suddenly realized the three of them were standing side by side on a country lane—clearly, this wasn't Grimmauld Place.
"Simply put, this is one of my secret bases," Dumbledore said.
"Secret base?" Harry asked in surprise.
"That's right."
It was Sherlock who answered Harry, not Dumbledore. He looked around and pointed to the somewhat shabby house ahead. "As Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, having private property outside the school is quite normal."
Dumbledore smiled and led Sherlock and Harry into the house.
Once inside the small cabin, Harry couldn't help but think of Hagrid's hut. Both looked unremarkable from the outside but were much more complex inside.
The furnishings here were like a simplified, miniature version of the Hogwarts Headmaster's office. Even without special explanation, one could see the connection between it and Dumbledore.
"I've cast Confundus Charms here to ensure Muggles won't discover this place. I've also set up two Intruder Charms—if any stranger breaks in, I'll know immediately."
As Dumbledore spoke, he strode to a cabinet and brought out a stone basin.
Sherlock recognized it at a glance as a Pensieve. However, compared to the one in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office, this one was more rudimentary.
Dumbledore placed the basin on the table and poured the contents of the vial into it, his voice somewhat excited. "Now we're finally going to see it—quickly—"
When Sherlock bent over the Pensieve, from the corner of his eye he noticed Harry making the same movement.
As with the last time using the Pensieve, he felt his feet leave the ground, falling into darkness, dropping through the silver surface, and finally landing before a person.
With just one look, Sherlock recognized him.
Horace Slughorn.
Compared to when they'd just met, the Slughorn before them was clearly much younger.
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