Afternoon.
In a remote Scottish village.
The sight of Hogwarts was already far behind them. Now, all Sean could see was an old war memorial and a few benches.
"Perhaps you've already passed the stage where you need potion assistance?"
After Apparating, Dumbledore glanced at the dried-up crystal vial in his hand and teased him.
"If you don't drink it soon… it'll go to waste."
Sean put the bottle away.
The crystal vial itself wasn't cheap. A decent one cost six Galleons.
And at some point, without him knowing when it had started, his bag had begun filling up with more potions than he could use. For a short while, Sean had worried about them being wasted.
Later, he stopped worrying about it.
Because they were definitely going to be wasted anyway.
Dumbledore smiled, pulled his robes tighter around himself, and said,
"This way."
He walked with light, brisk steps, passing an empty little pub and several houses.
Judging by the clock on a nearby church, it was about three in the afternoon.
"We can't Apparate directly into his house, because that would be as rude as kicking open someone's front door," Dumbledore said, looking disappointed. "Politeness requires that we give another wizard the chance to refuse us. Most wizarding homes are also protected by magic against unwelcome Apparition—"
"If there weren't an Anti-Apparition Charm, would you go straight into Professor Slughorn's house?" Sean asked.
"Oh…"
Dumbledore seemed briefly tempted.
"No… turn left."
They walked up a steep, narrow street lined with rows of houses.
The chill that had settled over Hogwarts still lingered here.
They approached a neat little stone house set back in a garden.
"You may knock now," Dumbledore said.
Sean stepped forward and knocked.
"Who is it?"
The flowerpot hanging on the door asked the question.
"Dumbledore," Sean said, catching the headmaster's meaningful look.
"Ahhh—Dumbledore—"
The flowerpot let out a strange cry, and the door opened.
Sunlight slipped through the crack, illuminating a gleaming bald head, bulging eyes, and a walrus-like silver-white mustache.
At last, the sunlight vanished into the shiny buttons on a plum-colored velvet coat.
"So glad to see you—good afternoon, my boy," the old walrus said.
"Good afternoon, Professor Slughorn," Sean replied politely with a nod.
"Good lad, come in—and my old friend Dumbledore too."
The old walrus let out a hearty laugh.
As soon as they stepped inside, the sunlight was left behind.
Sean instinctively swept his gaze across the room.
It was cramped and cluttered, but no one could have called it uncomfortable.
There were armchairs, footstools, drinks, books, boxes of chocolates, and piles of plump cushions.
If you didn't know who lived here, you might have guessed it belonged to a fussy, well-bred old lady.
"Dragon blood, three-quarters of a gram, excellent quality, from… an Australian Opaleye…"
Sean had spotted the potion ingredients laid out on the wall. His grounding in Potions made them easy for him to identify.
"It seems your Potions are quite good… perhaps you inherited your mother's talent."
Slughorn had heard his quiet muttering.
"My mother?"
Sean froze for a moment and repeated the words.
"Of course. Your mother was one of the cleverest students I ever taught. Lively and lovely. A charming girl…"
Slughorn went on and on.
"Perhaps we'd better not discuss that topic, dear Slughorn."
Dumbledore's voice was cold enough that Slughorn shivered instinctively.
But Sean had already stepped closer, staring straight at Slughorn.
For some reason, Slughorn felt that the pressure coming from him was no less than Dumbledore's.
"What do you mean, Professor?" Sean asked.
"Black hair, green eyes, though the face is a bit different… child, may I see that scar?"
Slughorn's watery eyes drifted toward Sean's forehead.
"This boy is not Harry Potter," Dumbledore said helplessly.
"What?!"
Slughorn was clearly stunned. He nearly collapsed back onto the sofa.
"This," Dumbledore said, stepping forward to make the introduction, "is Mr. Sean Green. Sean, this is an old friend and former colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."
"I thought you'd at least bring that boy to persuade me…"
Some of Slughorn's enthusiasm seemed to fade. He shook Sean's hand a little halfheartedly.
"Oh, what a rare thing, my dear Mr. Green," Dumbledore said, looking as though he was suppressing a laugh as he turned toward Sean. "Sometimes wizards have a habit of focusing on all the wrong things."
"What did you say?"
Slughorn turned to Dumbledore, looking sharp and suspicious.
"I said nothing at all."
Dumbledore smiled, looking innocent.
"Oh, good boy, come here, I really must ask. As you can see, I'm an old man now, my boy. A tired old man, who ought to have the right to live a quiet life and enjoy a few material comforts."
Slughorn examined Sean closely, as though trying to connect him to someone in his memory.
"And now someone wants to disrupt my retirement. I ought to say no to him…"
Sean had already guessed why Dumbledore had brought him.
Professor Slughorn was an interesting wizard.
Whatever he had done in the past—and in truth he had not done all that much wrong—he still showed up at Hogwarts in the final battle and fought with all his strength against Voldemort's forces.
That alone was enough to show that he was a smooth, worldly wizard, but one with principles.
One of his great hobbies was material comfort. His favorite treat was crystallized pineapple, which, in that respect, made him very similar to Professor Sprout.
His other great hobby was collecting famous, successful, powerful, and influential people.
He loved the feeling that important figures in later life would still listen to him.
Yet he himself had never wanted real power. He preferred to remain in a secondary position—there was more room that way, and one could move far more freely.
When he was at Hogwarts, he always liked to handpick his favorite students. Sometimes it was because of their ambition or intelligence, sometimes because of their charm or talent. And he had a highly unusual gift for choosing precisely those who would later distinguish themselves in all walks of life.
"Who else is there at Hogwarts… who could it possibly be…"
Slughorn muttered under his breath, staring at the young wizard in puzzlement.
A wizard named Sean? He had heard the name in the papers, but at the time he had been more focused on Harry Potter.
Sean Green…
"Oh!"
Slughorn suddenly remembered.
"My dear boy, are you the owner of that bookshop?"
At that, Dumbledore nearly burst with laughter; even his beard was trembling.
"Yes, sir," Sean replied.
"I think you smile more than you used to…"
Slughorn looked at Dumbledore oddly.
"I just thought of something pleasant."
Dumbledore tried to suppress his laughter.
"What was it?"
Slughorn asked at once.
"I have a private lesson this afternoon."
Dumbledore put on a serious face.
"With this boy? How many years has it been since you last taught?"
Slughorn looked suspicious.
"Certainly. After all, in two fields, he has already learned all there is to learn. In one of those fields I am powerless to help, but in the other, forgive me, I am confident I still have something to teach."
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly as he spoke.
"Only a few days ago, he subdued two of our professors using Transfiguration… though they did underestimate him… And even more remarkably, he personally captured our escaped prisoner…"
The more Slughorn heard, the more alarmed he became.
He sucked in a breath and turned to Sean with blazing enthusiasm in his eyes.
They shone with the gleam of someone who had just found a gold card.
"I have to get my hands on this one."
Only that single thought echoed through his mind like a spell.
Suddenly, Dumbledore stood up.
"Are you leaving already? I haven't said I refuse—in fact—if—"
Slughorn immediately asked anxiously.
"No, I only wanted to ask whether I might use your bathroom," Dumbledore said with a smile.
"Oh."
Slughorn let out a breath of relief.
"Down the hall. Second door on the left."
Dumbledore walked toward the far side of the room.
After the door closed behind him, the room fell quiet.
A moment later, Slughorn stood up and placed both hands on Sean's shoulders.
"He actually brought you out into the open. Merlin, I thought he meant to hide it for the rest of his life… In fact, if I were him, I certainly wouldn't want others to know…"
"To know what?" Sean asked.
"Well then, have a look at these… at these…"
Smiling, Slughorn gave a little bounce and pointed at the many glittering picture frames on the cabinet, each holding tiny moving figures.
"These are all former students of mine—signed photographs, every one. You'll see Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet. He's always very interested in hearing my thoughts on current affairs.
"And there's Ambrosius Flume of Honeydukes—every year on my birthday he sends me a hamper, because I was the one who introduced him to Ciceron Harkiss and got him his first job!
"And over there—if you crane your neck, you can see Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies… People often wonder why I'm on such good terms with Harpies players. If I want to, I can get free tickets anytime!"
He spoke at a rapid clip, but toward the end, his voice dropped lower.
"I've collected quite a few of them. Of course, they're excellent—perhaps absolutely excellent. But the most precious ones…"
Slughorn pulled a handle on the wall, revealing a hidden cabinet.
Sean saw that the shelves rose from low to high, and on one of the not-so-low levels sat a photograph of Lily.
"Oh, if things go well—oh, Merlin bless me—I simply must… place it here."
Slughorn was beside himself with excitement.
Sean glanced toward the top shelf, only to realize Slughorn's gaze wasn't actually fixed on the very top shelf.
Following the direction of his lifted chin, Sean saw a blank frame hanging above the cabinet.
Tap, tap, tap—
Dumbledore walked back into the room. Slughorn jumped, seeming to have forgotten that Dumbledore hadn't yet left the house.
"Oh, you're back, Albus," he said. "You were gone quite a while. Stomach trouble?"
"No, I was just flipping through those Muggle magazines," Dumbledore said. "I'm very fond of knitting patterns. Well then, Sean, we've taken up enough of Horace's time. I think we should be going."
Slughorn seemed taken aback.
"You haven't even asked me yet!"
"Haven't I?" Dumbledore said vaguely.
"Of course you haven't!"
Slughorn was furious.
"Well then, let me ask once more. Though I seem to recall that all you wanted was a quiet retirement, and forcing the unwilling has never been—"
"Stop talking nonsense. I agree. I'm coming with you now, to Hogwarts, to teach—right now!"
The old walrus huffily began gathering his things.
"I'm asking for a raise, Dumbledore!" he added.
"Well, in that case…"
Dumbledore looked troubled.
"Take it as a joke then—but I'm still coming with you! You stingy old man."
The old walrus angrily picked up his case.
But he didn't look at Dumbledore again. He stared fixedly at Sean.
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
The garden gate shut itself behind them, and they made their way downhill through the dark, curling fog.
Even with the old walrus sulking beside them, Dumbledore was still chatting cheerfully with Sean.
"How far has your Transfiguration progressed?"
"About average for a master," Sean answered honestly.
"Ah, that's a bit slow," Dumbledore said.
"A bit slow?!"
They heard the old walrus shouting from behind.
"Oh, Horace, forgive me. For this child, it truly is slow—especially compared to his other field."
Dumbledore's eyes were still narrowed in amusement, his brows relaxed with obvious delight.
"This afternoon we'll have our first lesson. Don't forget to bring your wand."
He turned to Sean and spoke kindly.
When they returned to Hogwarts, the sunlight was still bright, but the cold wind had never stopped blowing.
And so, in that chilly November, Sean was about to attend his very first one-on-one Transfiguration lesson, taught by Dumbledore himself.
Before he even entered the office, he heard Headmaster Dumbledore's voice.
"Before we begin the lesson, Sean, I may need to spend a few minutes assigning you a second task.
"I trust you'll complete the first task I gave you over the summer. But now, listen carefully—there is another important matter I need you to handle."
Dumbledore's face was blurred behind curling steam.
Sean had not expected this task to fall to him.
The task itself was simple: to uncover Professor Slughorn's memory.
That memory was of great importance, and it had already been part of Sean's plans.
After all, if they were to identify Voldemort's final unknown Horcrux, then understanding his past—especially the way he first approached the subject of Horcruxes—was absolutely necessary.
"So… will you do it?"
As Dumbledore finished explaining, Sean promptly nodded.