This one is unfortunately unfinished, but it's one of my favorites:

Slughorn's Indulgence: A Hogwarts Story

by MagicianX



At a quarter past ten, Horace Slughorn sat down to breakfast. It was lighter than his usual fair: eggs, bacon, doughnuts, a half-dozen slices of toast, and a mug of thick cocoa topped with whipped cream. Normally, he would have also had a roast beef sandwich and some chips—an old man deserved a few indulgences, after all—but today was an exception to normal rules. He wanted to be sure he kept up an appetite.

Beside the mug of cocoa, Slughorn carefully placed a smaller cup. He was delicate with his movement, settling it gently to avoid spilling even a drop of the precious liquid within. The liquid, however, seemed to have other ideas, and splashed a bit of its own accord. Slughorn waved a stern finger at it.

“Now now,” he said, “all in good time, my old chum. We mustn’t rush things, eh?” Chortling, he tucked into his breakfast, not stopping until every crumb had been scraped and every drop drained. After wiping his mouth with a silk napkin and permitting himself a long, resonant belch, Slughorn turned back to the little cup. “Now,” he said pointedly, picking it up, “it’s your turn.”

He lifted the cup to his lips. It was about halfway full of a slightly thick, extremely bright golden liquid, and Slughorn drained it with relish. He waited for a moment after swallowing, tingling with anticipation.

Slowly, like light creeping into a room during sunrise, a fantastic sensation swelled within the considerable expanse of his belly. He had experienced it only twice before in his life, but the memory had never left him; it was the sensation of becoming invincible within a span of seconds. Slughorn’s mind swam with a world of possibility, and the knowledge that on this day, nothing was outside his reach.

With a wave of his wand to clear the dishes, Slughorn stood up and strode purposefully into his bedroom. He had bought a new suit for today, a bright velvet affair in green and silver, with marvelously extravagant pearl buttons. He donned it with pleasure and, leaving his dressing gown in a heap, strode down the stairs and into one of Hogwarts’ many corridors. It was quieter now than on a weekday, with many students having a lie-in or catching up on homework in their dormitories. Slughorn walked cheerily on, calling out a greeting to Professor Flitwick as he passed.

“Ahoy there, Filius!” he said, loudly and merrily, realizing how long it had been since he and the tiny charms professor had chatted. “And how’ve you been? Keeping busy? Staying active and lighthearted?”

“Of course, of course!” Flitwick squeaked, nodding amicably. “And yourself, Horace? You do seem it be in fine spirits, if you don’t mind my saying so. Anything special planned for today?”

“Every day is special!” Slughorn boomed thunderously, and gave Flitwick a jovial pat on his miniscule shoulder. “Although some are more special than others. It so happens that I’ve decided to make today extra special,” he added, winking broadly.

Flitwick peered up at him. “Extra special, you say? What are you up to, Horace?”

Slughorn chuckled. “Just a little something I partook of with breakfast. Felix Felicis, in fact.”

“Lucky potion!” Flitwick exclaimed, his fluffy eyebrows shooting up. “I say, Horace! I hope you haven’t been taking it often! The side effects can be quite unfortunate, if I recall correctly. I once had a cousin who took a few swallows too many, and decided that he could tame a hippogriff with his bare hands and a broomstick.” The professor shook his head sadly. “We never did manage to fix his thumbs back on properly.”

“Not to worry,” said Slughorn, brimming with confidence. “It’s been more than ten years since I had a sip of the stuff, and I’ve only taken enough to last about twelve hours.”

“Well, that should be quite enough to have a fine day!” Flitwick agreed, bouncing with merriment. “Do be sure to let me know how it goes, Horace!”

“I certainly will!” Slughorn said. “As it happens, I like to spread my luck around.” At Flitwick’s look of inquisition, Slughorn went on, “I’ll be having a dinner party of sorts tonight. I’d be delighted if you could find the time to come!”

“Oh, splendid!” piped the professor. “What will we be having?”

Slughorn told him.

There was a pause.

“I do say,” Flitwick murmured, his eyes wide and gleaming. “Does the headmaster know about this?”

“He certainly does,” Slughorn confirmed. “He’ll be attending and, if I’m not mistaken, bringing along some extremely fine elf-made wine. Dumbledore’s been to one or two of my dinner parties in the past, you see.”

“Quite an event,” Flitwick agreed. “I’d certainly be honored, Horace. Anything special I can bring?”

“Whatever you like,” Slughorn told him jovially, starting off down the corridor again. “Seven o’clock, Flitwick, in my office! See you there!”

Flitwick waved good-bye and Slughorn trundled off, feeling jubilant. He ambled toward the Great Hall, but paused as he approached it, thinking instead that it might be better to go out the side entrance nearest the greenhouses. He hadn’t been out that way in some time, and it would be a lovely morning to see how the sun was glinting off the lake.

As he stepped outside, breathing deeply of the crisp, fresh air, Slughorn spotted a small group of students leaving one of the greenhouses. As they got closer, he saw some sixth-year students and recognized one from his N.E.W.T Potions class.

“Ernie, m’boy!” he hailed, waving. Ernie Macmillian, a pleasantly pompous Hufflepuff, led his fellows up to the professor. “And how are you, Ernie?”

“Doing fine, professor!” Ernie replied. “We’ve just been getting a jump on our Herbology homework. Needed a few more Snargleuff pods, you know.”

“Quite so,” Slughorn said, eyeing the bowlful of thick-skinned pods tucked under Ernie’s arm. “And who are your friends?”

“Oh, sorry, sir. This is Hannah Abbott, and Luna Lovegood.”

The two girls nodded and said hello. Slughorn replied in kind, not resisting as his gaze was drawn toward the girl named Luna. It suited her, he thought; she had a misty look about her, like the moon on a cloudy night. She seemed a bit unusual all around—a necklace made from butterbeer corks dangled around her neck, and she was wearing a sash with ‘Beware of Crungle-Dups!’ printed on it in bold letters—but with some examination, there was quite a pretty girl beneath the oddness. Slughorn’s mind suddenly offered him the beginnings of a plan, and he smiled.

“Out of curiosity, Miss Lovegood,” he said, regarding Luna’s slender, heart-shaped face, “are you warning against the garden-variety of Crungle-Dups, or their more vicious mountain-dwelling cousins? I’ve had my share of trouble with the little blighters, I don’t mind telling you!”

The misty expression evaporated somewhat from Luna’s eyes, and she looked at Slughorn with mild surprise. “You’ve seen a Crungle-Dup?” she asked.

Slughorn nodded. “Indeed, indeed! As I say, I’ve had a few run-ins with them. Tell me, do you suggest utilizing the normal repellant of honey and spicy pickles, or have you found a more potent method?” Slughorn was improvising, his mind tripping lightly along with the Felix Felicis prodding it from behind.

“I’ve never heard of using honey and spicy pickles,” Luna said, now staring with fascination at the rotund professor. “My father always says that the only proven method of driving away Crungle-Dups is to ritually sacrifice a fresh cod during a thunderstorm. Do the pickles really work?”

“It can be somewhat hit or miss,” Slughorn admitted, adding sorrow and reluctance to his tone. “I shall make it a point to try out your father’s advice at the next opportunity, however!” He drew himself up purposefully. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to see Hagrid. Good day to you!” He started toward Hagrid’s cabin, took a few paces, then paused. “Miss Lovegood, one more question, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, sir?” Luna said mildly. She was beginning to look misty again, and toyed with the knot on her sash.

“I’ve lately been curious about something I read, and I was wondering if you had any insights,” said Slughorn. The Lucky Potion was reminding him, urgently and unexpectedly, that he had seen the name ‘Lovegood’ before. “It was in a magazine, actually, a fascinating article about heliopaths.”

“Oh!” Luna exclaimed happily. “That’s my father’s magazine, The Quibbler! Do you read it often?”

“My dear girl, I have a subscription!” Slughorn lied. “I simply can’t eat lunch without a copy to peruse. Your father is involved with its publication?”

“He’s the editor,” replied the girl, a wide smile illuminating soft, pink lips. “The heliopath article was very good, wasn’t it?”

“Exceptional,” agreed Slughorn. “Goodness me, I don’t know how I managed to overlook such a thing! You simply must come and have a chat with me later, Miss Lovegood,” he said. “I’m hosting a dinner party in my office this evening, and I can’t bear the thought of carrying on without your company! What do you say?”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Luna said, bobbing her head and making the butterbeer corks bounce. "What time should I come?"

"Let's make it six o'clock," Slughorn told her, mildly amused at the look of indignation on Ernie's face upon being snubbed. "I prefer to have dinner around seven, and I'll be cooking up something extra special tonight!"

"Should I bring anything?" Luna asked. The question was aimed at Slughorn, but her eyes were wandering around the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest, as if she had difficulty focusing her attention. "I can make a lovely freshwater plimpie soup."

"That does sound delightful," Slughorn hazarded, "but I assure you, I have a highly unique menu planned. I'm sure you won't forget it any time soon!" He started off again, waving to Luna and calling, "Six o'clock, my dear! Don't forget!"

As he left Luna and the red-faced Ernie behind, Slughorn began to whistle. He couldn't help himself.

The sounds of the school began to diminish into a general, background hum, and Slughorn, as though following a preset path, went for a leisurely stomp along the edge of the lake. The sun was glinting off the water, and a cool breeze played across the wide, rolling lawns. It was a thoroughly wonderful day to be outside.

He glanced skyward as a sudden shadow flickered across his vision, and, after raising a hand to deflect the bright sun, spotted a half-dozen figures on broomsticks. It was the work of moments to study their flight-patterns, and determine that they were playing a three-on-three game of Quidditch.

It had been many years since Slughorn had been slender enough to sit comfortably on a broom, and he chuckled fondly as he tracked the swift, balletic movements. Several of the flyers were quite agile, though one looked ungainly, and wobbled from side to side as it wove through the air.

In the time it took to blink, Slughorn spotted a blob of red speeding away from the figures and hurtling toward him; he drew his wand from a jacket pocket and flicked it toward the object, stopping it a foot from his face. It was, he noted, a Quaffle.

"Professor!" One of the figures had departed from the group, and came to a swift halt in front of him. She did not land, but hovered at level with his face, grinning with a blush on her lightly-freckled cheeks. "Sorry, Professor! Hermione dropped it, she's not much good at ball-handling."

"Not a problem, not a problem," Slughorn said, and he smiled indulgently as he handed the Quaffle back to the floating girl. "I say, my dear, have we met?"

"Yes, sir," she said, taking the Quaffle from him, and balancing it perfectly on the tip of one finger. "I'm Ginny Weasley. You had me in your car for lunch on the Hogwarts Express a while ago."

"Of course!" Slughorn exclaimed, though he remembered the event with perfect clarity. "I don't know how it could have escaped me. How have you been?"

"Very well, sir," Ginny said brightly. Still balancing the Quaffle, she brushed sleek, shiny red hair back from her face. "How about you?"

"Couldn't be better," said Slughorn truthfully. He had liked Ginny from the moment he met her on the Hogwarts Express, and she seemed every bit as lively and charismatic now as she danced back and forth on her broom. She was wearing Quidditch pads over her jeans and t-shirt, which looked slightly odd, but also suited her small, sprightly appearance. "The day is going swimmingly, so far!"

"That's great!" Ginny agreed. "Er--well, I'll just get out of your way, then. See you later, professor!" She was gone before Slughorn could protest, darting back off toward the little cluster of broom-mounted figures.

"Later indeed," he mused, fingering his thick moustache thoughtfully. He resumed his walk along the lakeshore, but cast several thoughtful glances over his shoulder; he could see Ginny's distinctive red hair shining in the sun, and admired the prodigious darts and dives she made to catch the speeding Quaffle.

Doing his best to ignore the disappointment knotting his considerable belly, and reminding himself that Felix Felicis always seemed to find a solution to these little problems, Slughorn continued to stroll along the lake for another half hour. He spared a glance toward Hagrid's cabin, but the urge to visit the gamekeeper had departed; Lucky Potion was unpredictable like that. Sometimes it guided you along, thinking you were headed for one destination, only to arrive at a completely different one.

But that, Slughorn mused with a smile, was part of the fun.

The exertion of his constitutional eventually became too great, and he turned back toward the castle, thinking fondly of a glass of cold pumpkin juice, and perhaps a few large pieces of crystallized pineapple. It was about one o'clock, and there would probably be some lunch in the Great Hall as well. Though he still intended to save the majority of his appetitie for the evening, Slughorn was never one to pass up a sandwich prepared by the Hogwarts House-Elves.

He had taken only a few steps into the Great Hall when two boys came tumbling down a side staircase; both were laughing loudly, though they seemed--to Slughorn's eyes--to be engaged in a life-or-death duel with silvery, bejeweled swords.

"I'm upping the ante!" shouted the taller of the two, who had red hair, many freckles, and a long nose. "If I win, you have to write my Transfiguration essay, Harry!"

"Pretty confident for a dead man, aren't you?" retorted the shorter, dark-haired boy. He grinned as he lunged forward, sweeping the sword at his companion's legs. "And if I win--oh! Sorry, professor!"

Harry, giving full attention to his friend's slashing blade, had failed to notice Slughorn behind him. He stepped hastily back, having bumped into the green-clad expanse of belly.

"Not to worry, Harry," Slughorn assured him, "no harm done. But do be careful with those swords, boys! I daresay that Professor McGonagall would pull quite a frown if she saw you waving them around like that!"

"These?" The taller boy waved his sword carelessly, in a way that made Slughorn slightly nervous. "It's all right, professor. My brothers made them, they're a new sort of gag. They're not sharp or anything, but they explode into fireworks if you fight with them long enough. Sort of like a deck of Exploding Snap cards, you know?"

"Really?" Even Slughorn had to admit that sounded like fun. "How amusing! You are Ronald Weasley, of course? From my N.E.W.T Potions class?"

"Yes, sir," said Ron, pleased at being remembered. "My brothers are Fred and George, but you wouldn't know them. They ditched school before you came on. They run a joke shop in Diagon Alley, now," he added as an afterthought.

"I shall make it a point to meet them," said Slughorn. It could certainly be worth making contact with up-and-coming jokesters, he knew. There was always money to be made in the business of comedy, and the ground level was an advantageous position to occupy.

"What are you up to today, Professor?" asked Harry, with whom Slughorn was already acquainted, and quite fond. "You look like you're in a good mood."

"I certainly am!" agreed the professor, and he experienced another of those delicious, Felix-induced sparkles through his brain. "But what's a good mood if you keep it all to yourself? I'm having a dinner party this evening, boys, and I should be honored if you would attend. What do you say?" he asked, making special effort to give a big wink to Ron.

"Y-yeah!" Ron said at once, looking ecstatic. "How about it, Harry?"

"Er--all right." Harry sounded less enthusiastic than Ron. "What time, professor?"

"Six o'clock would be perfect," said Slughorn, "but I don't expect things to really get rolling until seven or so."

Harry tapped the tip of his sword on the stone floor--it smoked ominously--and frowned as if he were thinking about something. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"If it's not too much trouble, could I invite someone to come along with me?"

There was another sparkle, and Slughorn resisted--with difficulty--the urge to bellow with laughter. He already knew what was coming. "No trouble at all, Harry, no trouble at all! Who will be accompanying you?"

"My girlfriend, Ginny," said Harry. "I mean--Ron's sister," he amended quickly, at a slightly mutinous glance from Ron. "I'm sure she'd enjoy it."

"My boy, the pleasure would be entirely mine," said the Potions Master. He was internally grateful for his walrus-moustche, and the fact that it could hide his grin so well. "See you this evening, then, in my office!"

He trotted off, waving to Harry and Ron, and chortling as Harry's sword exploded in a massive spray of pink fireworks.

***


Slughorn ate a quiet lunch, investigating a copy of The Quibbler as he did so. If Luna's father was the editor, he reflected, he could see why the girl was so unusual. Every article was a sensationalized mass of enthusiasm, urging the reader to investigate and believe in anything that could remotely be possible. Slughorn made a mental note to send away for a subscription; at the very least, it would keep him entertained.

The Felix Felicis was still sending thrills of possibility down his spine every few minutes, but the sense of urgency that dominated the morning had tapered, and he felt no pressing impulses as he returned to his office. That was fortunate, as there was considerable work to do before the party began. Rolling up his sleeves, he got to business.

"A masterful presentation, Horace," said a serene voice some hours later, as Slughorn was putting the finishing touches on the lighting. "You always have had an eye for the opulent."

Slughorn turned, and felt mingled pleasure and wariness at the sight of Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster, strolling into the office. Dumbledore was tall, thin, and had sweeping silver hair; he looked terribly grand and impressive in his deep, scarlet robes.

"Nothing's too good for a party of this sort, Albus," Slughorn said, gesturing to the rich hangings, polished golden lamps, and many trays of drinks and appetizers. "I always like them to be memorable!"

"Certainly, they are memorable," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling. "I have numerous fond recollections of your other parties. It has been a fair while since the last one, has it not? You were...fifty-seven, I believe?"

"Fifty-seven," Slughorn agreed, as a movie-reel of treasured images played across his mind's eye. "Quite the evening. Quite the day."

Both of the old men went momentarily quiet, lost in savoring silence.

"But," Dumbledore said at last, "may I offer my assistance? You seem to have things well attended, but I'm sure a helping hand wouldn't go amiss."

"If you like," said Slughorn cordially, and the tingles of Felix Felicis happily nudged him forward. "But do you know what I could really use, Albus?"

There was the briefest of pauses in which Dumbledore seemed to be considering the question. Then the corners of his mouth began to twitch, and he said, "I might, Horace. It is entirely possible that I might." He gave a little bow, and turned toward the door. "I shall be back directly."

Slughorn, who had been expecting the Headmaster to wave his wand in a feat of conjuring, blinked. "You have to fetch it?"

"I keep it safely tucked away," Dumbledore replied. "It must be retrieved by hand. It helps," he added at Slughorn's questioning gaze, "when my willpower falters."

"I shouldn't think such a thing would be possible for you, Albus," Slughorn observed, but Dumbledore only chuckled tolerantly as he left the office.

Slughorn glanced around, making one final sweep of the room; everything seemed to be in place, as far as he could tell. As he had done for his other parties, his office had been magically expanded to comfortably fit anyone wising to attend, as well as placing curtains and hangings along all the walls. It gave a feeling of unusual richness, and made the office look rather like a large, lavish circus tent.

There was just one thing missing, he thought, and smiled as someone immediately knocked on his office door.

"Your timing is impeccable," he told Harry, Ron, Luna, and Ginny, as they filed into the office. Ron's face was positively ecstatic, while Ginny and Harry wore matching expressions of polite disinterest. Luna gazed around the room, looking as if she might float away on the first hint of a breeze.

"Thanks again for inviting us, professor!" Ron enthused. "I wasn't expecting anything really interesting to happen today, you know? Nothing this special, at any rate."

"Every day is special, lad!" Slughorn said approvingly, and he clapped Ron on the back in such a way that he very nearly began to glow.

"It's nice and warm in here," Luna said dreamily, gazing at a vacant, uninteresting corner with inordinate attention. "Do you heat it up for all your parties, professor?"

"Not all of them, my dear," chortled Slughorn. "Just one particular type." He waved them into the room, and closed the door behind them. "Do help yourselves to drinks!"

When the four students had selected glasses of mead and butterbeer, Slughorn gave them the tour of his enlarged office. Harry and Ginny continued to look well-mannered, but bored, while Ron nodded with great enthusiasm at everything the professor showed him.

"Brilliant!" he kept saying. "Absolutely brilliant, professor!"

"You're too kind," Slughorn smirked, Ron goggling at his decorative lamps as if he had never before seen such artifical lighting. "But it is quite a bit of fun to bring out the good china sometimes, as it were."

"Do you have a fire in here, professor?" Luna asked, gazing about the room, and holding an untouched butterbeer lightly in one hand. "It really is lovely and warm..."

"Ah, well," the professor sighed, with what he knew was convincing remorse, "I was going to save it for a bit later. I hate to give away the main attraction too early...anticlimactic, you know."

"Anticlimactic?" Harry repeated, looking interested for the first time. "What do you mean, sir?"

Slughorn gestured them back into the largest of the curtained rooms, and waved his wand. Several of the hangings along the wall rearranged themselves, finally settling into a pattern which obviously stated that they were concealing something.

"Ready?" Slughorn asked, eyeing the students over his shoulder. When they nodded, he waved his wand at the curtains, and they slid smoothly away. The parting folds of cloth, which had previously been blocking only the wall from view, now opened into an entirely new room. The small party entered, and stopped short quite suddenly.

"Wow!" Ron said immediately, and then hesitated. "Er--what is that, exactly?"

"It's quite a fancy sort of thing, wouldn't you agree?" Slughorn asked, guiding the four of them to the center of the newly revealed chamber. "I don't often take it out, so it's nice to give it some use. Only on special occasions, of course."

"It definitely is...big," Harry observed. He walked around the perimeter of it, leaving Ginny's side for the first time in his curiosity. "What is it, exactly?"

"My prized possession," replied the professor truthfully. He gazed fondly at the emerald green brickwork and the intricate, ornate runes carved along the entire length of his treasure. "Made with the purest of silver, and heated by a spark of Undying Flame."

Ron, though he looked somewhat bemused, gave another impressed, "Wow!" He trailed toward Harry, and both of them peered into the dancing light of the brilliantly green fire.

"Not to belittle your favorite thing, professor," said Ginny slowly, "but it kind of looks like--er--"

"A grill?" suggested Luna, who seemed entranced by the flames dancing between the silvery grates. "Are we roasting marshmallows, professor?"

"If you like," Slughorn offered. "I did have something a bit more substantial in mind, though."

"You could definitely get substantial with a thing like that," Ron agreed, walking the length of the wide basin. "You could probably fit a couple of cows on there, eh, Ginny?" He paused, and looked toward his sister. "Ginny?"

"Oh--what?" Ginny looked quickly away from the flames, and took a startled step back. She seemed not to have realized how close she had gotten to the fire, and wiped her forehead. "Yeah, sure. Two of them, I'll bet."

A long, relaxed sigh drew everyone's attention away from Ginny; Luna was also standing very close to the grill, and holding her arms out over it. "They would be lucky cows," she murmured. "It's so warm, professor."

"Isn't it just?" Slughorn bobbed his head up and down in agreement. "Just the thing to thaw you out on a winter's evening, let me tell you!"

"So what're we...um..." Ginny began, but seemed to grow distracted halfway through the sentence. She was a bit pink in the cheeks, and brushed absently at her hair. "...What're we...having? For dinner, I mean?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Slughorn twiddled his mustache, again letting the Felix Felicis guide him down a golden pathway. "There are so many things one potentially could have for dinner, but the question is--what to have?"

In the short span of seconds following the question, Slughorn thrilled to a spectacular tingle from the Lucky Potion. He had been allowing it to lead him freely since the students had entered, and now knew that he had acted perfectly on its advice.

The next moment, however, he was snapped out of the reverie as Luna's knees seemed to give out; she drifted forward in a strange, slow way, as though she were underwater, and fell full-length across the silver grill. There were gasps of horror from Ron and Harry, but only a sort of longing moan from Ginny.

"Get her off!" Harry shouted, lunging forward and grabbing Luna around the waist. He gasped as his hands touched the hot silver, but didn't let go. "Ron, help me! Professor, can you--!"

"Oh, that's all right, Harry," Luna sighed. She was as limp as a rag-doll as Harry dragged her away from the fire, and made no effort to stand or assist. Unlike Harry, she seemed to be in no discomfort to speak of. "I'm quite happy here."

"She's delirious!" Harry muttered. He rubbed at his hands, grimacing; there were several shiny red burns on each of them. "What's wrong, Luna? Are you sick, or...Luna?"

Luna, upon having found that she was no longer on the grill, had immediately stood up and walked back over to it. Harry gazed helplessly, clearly at a loss.

"Don't worry, Harry," Slughorn said, giving Harry a consoling thump on the back. "It tends to have that effect on young ladies."

Indeed, Ginny was right beside Luna, though she didn't quite look ready to lie down on the grill. She traced her fingers along the silver though, and far from crying out in pain or pulling away, closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. When she held her hands up to examine them, there were no burns or blemishes to mar her skin. "I think I understand, professor."

"I thought you might." Slughorn squeezed her shoulder fondly. "I knew you were a clever girl the moment I met you."

"Wait a second," said Harry, who was looking defensive, angry, and lost. "What's going on? Ginny, why're you--will someone get Luna off of there?"

"I'm really okay, Harry," said Luna. She had again draped herself over the edge of the grill, and seemed completely content to stay there, despite the fact that her sweater was beginning to smolder gently.

"I'm okay with it, sir," Ginny said, looking up at Slughorn with bright, brown eyes, "but I do have one question."

"Oh? What's that, my girl?"

"Is Professor Snape coming to the party?" She scowled at the name. "I don't mind if you and Harry and Ron want to eat me, but I'm not doing it if Snape's going to be here."

"What?" Harry gawked. "Eat--Ginny, are you mental?"

"I'm not, thanks," she said shortly, and gave Harry a looked that would have made an angry basilisk think twice about arguing. "But come on, Harry...it'll be fun if it's all of you, won't it?"

"I think it certainly will be," said Slughorn encouragingly. "And no, Professor Snape will not be attending. He isn't much for festivities, oddly enough. The headmaster should be along in short order, however, along with Professor Flitwick and McGonagall, and a few other friends."

"See?" Ginny leaned up on her toes and kissed Harry's forehead. "Professor Dumbledore will be here, won't he? That means it's fine."

"Oh. I...I guess so," Harry said, sounding unconvinced. "But--eating you? I mean--it's a little strange, isn't it?" He looked to Ron for support, but the taller boy only shrugged.

"Not that strange, mate," said Ron bracingly, and clapped Harry's back. "Mum says I'd have an older sister, but they had her for my Uncle Bilius's birthday ages ago. Muggles don't go in for family meals, then?"

"Not so much," Harry admitted. "They'd think it was...unusual. Mind you my cousin, Dudley, could probably feed a third-world country. If anybody actually wanted to eat a git like him."

"My father always said I'd cook up a treat," Luna commented. She sat up, hanging her legs off the side of the grill. There were wide, smoking holes burned in her sweater and pants, though the skin visible beneath was pale and undamaged. "Could you send him a letter if he's right, Harry? I'm sure he'd like to know."

"Er--sure," said Harry. He still looked uncomfortable, but Slughorn knew that would fade.

***