Dinner at Grimmauld Place
‘Something about it feels off to me.’
Remus looked up from his book. They were sitting at opposite ends of their new sofa: burgundy, velvet and huge, Sirius choosing the one he thought would most offend his mother. They'd been spending more and more time at Grimmauld, and had decided they needed a proper living room, somewhere free of mothballs and more sinister things. They had considered transfiguration, but in the end, Sirius had shrunk the antique silk settee until it fit in his palm, and chucked it in the bin.
‘I don't know,’ Remus replied, ‘I like it. It's cosy.’
Sirius furrowed his brow in confusion.
‘Not the sofa - Slughorn.’
‘Oh, really? I thought he was his normal level of tactless.’
‘Hmm,’ Sirius mused, ‘I’m not sure what it was. He always was a shifty old bastard. Something about the way he talked about Bathilda’s place being such a sanctuary. Like he was hiding out there -’
‘Did he say that?’
‘Yeah, something like that - while you were at the bar maybe - “refuge” he said. Refuge from what?’
‘I don't know, Sirius. He's always been full of hot air.’
‘There was something about the way he said it - it's hard to explain, and I was just thinking - he was always so in with the Slytherins -’
‘Oh, Slughorn’s no Death Eater -’ Remus shook his head as he slid his bookmark in between the pages. Ambitious and scheming maybe but Horace Slughorn didn't get his hands dirty and he didn't choose sides, he kept his options open -
‘He loved Reg. Don't you remember how he'd go on about him in our lessons? “Your little brother -” You think I'm clutching at straws?’
Remus looked down at his book, biting the inside of his cheek, and back up at Sirius, whose eyes were dark and round.
‘I don't think we've got any better ideas at the moment,’ he said, finally, ‘But let's run it past Dumbledore. He knows Slughorn, he might have some advice about how to talk to him.’
*
‘How serendipitous,’ Dumbledore said, his long fingers arched together under his chin as he watched his teapot pour out three steaming cups, ‘I have been meaning to speak to Horace, yes - he is on my list of Voldemort’s living acquaintances and I did have some questions -’
‘Questions?’ Remus said, just as Sirius asked, ‘Voldemort’s living acquaintances?!’
Dumbledore inclined his head stoically, and waved one hand at the teacups, sending two of them, wobbling slightly on their saucers, towards Remus and Sirius.
‘Yes, Sirius. Not everyone he ever met was a Death Eater or a Member of the Order. Voldemort had a past, a childhood, many years at school, and therein may lie the answers to our questions. Think of what we have discovered and destroyed so far: a teenage diary and two family heirlooms -’
‘We looked for more though,’ Remus replied, ‘I’ve read everything I could find and nothing suggests anything else significant in the Gaunt line, or even much from Slytherin-’
‘I am aware of the extent of your efforts, Remus,’ Dumbledore said, his cool eyes bright, ‘I don't doubt that there is nothing more to read.’
Remus looked at him for a long moment, ‘because there’s nothing else written down.’
‘I suspect that is the case.’
‘So,’ Sirius said, rubbing his hands together an turning to Remus, ‘That sorts it. I’ll see if old Sluggy wants to come over for dinner.’
‘He does enjoy a bottle of Bungbarrel, if I remember correctly.’
‘Good to know.’
*
‘It’s outrageous!’
‘It certainly is,’ Remus said, scanning the last paragraph of the article. They had stopped in Minerva’s office to say hello to Harry, and he had arrived red faced, clutching a copy of The Daily Prophet.
‘Why is she allowed to do this? Just write whatever she likes about people?’
Remus sighed and passed the paper to Sirius. ‘Have you seen Hagrid today?’
‘He didn't turn up to our lesson this morning,’ Harry replied, face scrunched, ‘We had someone else. Does that mean Hagrid's been sacked? Would Dumbledore -?’
‘I’m certain he wouldn't,’ Remus replied, calmly, ‘I’m sure Hagrid is just taking some time. This is - it will be difficult for him.’
Harry nodded and looked down at his shoes, fists still clenched in his lap. Remus looked across at Sirius, whose face was pink with fury, his eyes moving rapidly across the bottom of the page. He looked up when he reached the end and Remus caught his eye before he spoke, shaking his head very slightly and glancing pointedly at Harry.
‘Dumbledore hired Hagrid,’ Sirius said, voice slightly gruff, ‘He knows who he is, Harry. You don't need to worry about his job.’
*
‘Did I, or did I not make it clear, in The Three Broomsticks, that she wasn't to write about Harry again?’
‘I suppose she'd argue it wasn't about Harry.’
‘Why was his name shoehorned in there then?’
Remus sighed and reached for Sirius' hand. They were walking back down the long drive to the front gates so they could apparate back home. Sirius had held himself together impressively until they had left Harry, but now his rage was palpable. His rage. His panic.
‘I don't think Harry was that bothered by it - he was worried about Hagrid.’
‘Because he's used to it,’ Sirius snapped, ‘And he shouldn't have to be. We should be able to protect him from these things. Why-’ he faltered, his grip on Remus' hand painful now.
‘We are,’ Remus said, ‘We will. It’s what we’re doing. We’re getting him through this Tournament, destroying these Horcruxes, getting rid of Voldemort, getting him out of that bloody horrible house and bringing him home.’
Remus inhaled sharply, realising quite suddenly that they had stopped walking, still several feet from the winged boars. He blinked, hard, meeting Sirius’ eyes for the first time since they'd left the entrance hall. They were shining slightly in the fading light.
‘You think that’s it? That’s what it’s going to take?’
‘I think that’s the current plan - pretty much - right?’
‘And you reckon we can do all that?’
‘I reckon that is the only reality I am interested in. So yes. We will make it happen.’
He held Sirius’ stormy gaze. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if he believed what he had just said - he wondered if it mattered - and then, Sirius’ lips were on his, hot and soft, but sure and he knew. He knew they could.
‘OK,’ Sirius said, breathlessly, a minute later.
‘OK.’
*
‘He’s here!’ Remus called from the window, ‘Get the door before he knocks and wakes your mum up.’
Sirius hurried from the room, Remus slipping out behind him a few moments later. He headed down to the kitchen, where Kreacher was busy at the stove.
‘Anything I can do, Kreacher?’ he asked.
‘Kreacher has it all under control!’ the elf replied shrilly, shaking salt into the pot he was standing over, ‘Master Sirius asked Kreacher and Kreacher is doing it.’
‘Alright, alright,’ Remus said, taking a step back towards the door, ‘Sirius will let you know when it’s time - and remember what we talked about -’
‘Kreacher knows,’ the elf snapped, ‘Kreacher understands plans.’
‘Yes, yes, sorry,’ Remus hissed as he closed the door behind him. To be fair, he reasoned, Kreacher had so far been responsible for half their Horcrux-related achievements, so there was every chance he knew what he was doing better than they did.
‘Come in! Come in -’ Remus could hear Sirius saying from the front door, ‘Let me take your cloak, and yes, you can pop your umbrella there, certainly. A Black family heirloom that is, belonged to my Great Aunt Ursula -’
His voice faded as they moved down the hallway and into the morning room - Srius had thought the tapestry might be a useful talking point. Remus crept along the dimly-lit corridor, settling himself at the foot of the stairs. After hours of deliberation, they had decided that perhaps it was best if Sirius took the lead on this one. The entire plain was heavily dependent on the allure of the most ancient and noble house of Black, and they had supposed that Slughorn’s complete lack of recall when it came to Remus could serve as a distraction. Still, it was a risk. If Sirius couldn't hold it together in the face of Slughorn's inevitable insensitivity…
‘Clarisonus,’ he whispered, his wand directed at his own ear.
‘-a magnificent legacy, I'm sure,’ Slughorn was saying, ‘and enchanted I assume? To weave in new descendents as they are born?’
‘Quite right, Professor,’ came Sirius' voice, ‘You don’t miss a thing! Can I offer you a drink?’
‘Horace, please, Sirius. We are not at school anymore!’ Slughorn chuckled indulgently, ‘And yes, whatever you're having would be splendid.’
There was a clinking of glass, and Remus could picture Sirius, pouring out the mead, surreptitiously tapping his own antique goblet with his wand to fill it with water and carrying Slughorn's over to the tapestry he was surely still admiring.
‘Oh how lovely, Bungbarrel is a superior mead, don't you agree?’
There were a few moments of silence. Remus assumed Sirius had nodded his assent -
‘Look! Your aunt Lucretia. Now I remember her - a little odd, if you don't mind me saying, unusual proclivity for poisons, but I can't deny I appreciated her talent when concocting them - absolutely deadly -’ he laughed heartily - ‘and your father, now he was a character wasn't he?’
‘You could say that,’ Sirius replied.
Kreacher appeared in the hallway, stopping at the foot of the stairs to raise his eyebrows at Remus. Remus nodded and stole up the staircase, doing his best to jump the creaky steps as Kreacher knocked on the morning room door.
‘Enter!’ came Sirius' voice, with an air of authority Remus remembered faintly from their early Hogwarts days, ‘Ah, Kreacher.’
‘Dinner is served for Master Sirius and his honoured guest,’ Kreacher wheedled, ‘In the dining room.’
‘Very nice, very nice,’ Slughorn was saying as they opened the door and emerged into the hallway. Peering through the bannisters, Remus could see the tops of their heads as they passed down the hall to the dining room.
‘Just through there, Horace,’ Sirius called, ushering his guest ahead of him and glancing up at the landing for a fraction of a second before disappearing into the next room. Remus crept back down the stairs, settling himself back in his original hiding place.
There was a scraping of chairs and more clinking of glass.
‘I must say, Sirius, what a splendid dining room! You’d never know -’ he paused, ‘- when did you move back in?’
They had spent the last week making the dining room as aggressively Slytherin as they could, undoing much of the work they had done during the summer. The heavy old curtains they'd banished to the attic had been retrieved and cleaned so that the green brocade glimmered in the light of the candles set into antique silver sticks. They had deliberated over art for quite some time, wondering if exposure to more ancestral portraits might help to loosen Slughorn's tongue, but in the end had decided they couldn't be trusted and had left them, locked together in a bedroom on the third floor to argue with each other for eternity. Instead they had chosen two handsome still life paintings, each filled with symbols of wealth and vanitas, the obligatory skulls presiding over the dining table which was draped in a silk cloth, the Black family crest embroidered at its centre. ‘Horrible,’ Sirius had said, the previous evening as they stood back to admire their handiwork. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘Just after I returned to London,’ Sirius replied, vaguely, ‘It was good to be back in the old place, Kreacher had kept it so well.’
‘It must have been a relief to be home.’
‘Oh, absolutely.’
Remus could imagine the look on Sirius' face. He hoped his smile wasn't too manic.
‘This looks superb,’ said Slughorn, ‘If that elf cooks half as well as he cleans then this is going to be a fantastic dinner. Thank you ever so much for the invitation-’ there was a pause and a clink of glass, ‘Cheers! What is it you French say? Bon appetit!’
There was silence for a few moments, as they presumably began their dinner.
‘So, Horace, what have you been doing with yourself since you retired?’
‘Oh, this and that,’ Slughorn said through a mouthful of pate, ‘Travelling around a bit, you know, seeing friends.’
‘Like Bathilda?’
There was a pause. Careful, Remus thought.
‘Yes, yes, Bathilda is a great friend of mine, always inviting me you know? She needs the company, bless her -’
‘A top up?’
‘If you don't mind.’
Remus eased himself back against the wall and very slowly stretched one leg down the stairs. He wondered about going back to the kitchen but he probably wouldn't be able to hear as well and didn't want to wind up Kreacher.
‘It's an interesting place, Godric’s Hollow,’ Sirius began, ‘I’ve spent less time there than I'd like really, given its - significance.’
‘Oh quite,’ Slughorn agreed, ‘Historically very interesting, and home to so many notable wizards. Dumbledore himself at one time, and Grindelwald of course - Bathilda's great-nephew, did you know? Bit of a mess, all that, I suppose. Still, nevermind, it's a very pleasant little village as I'm sure you're aware!’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sirius paused, ‘Although we were there for Harry at Christmas. He is curious you see -’
‘Understandable! Understandable!’ Slughorn boomed, ‘Only natural for a boy his age. I expect he's inherited Lily’s inquisitiveness. She was a talent - always asking questions -’ he tailed off, Remus could imagine him, glass in hand, staring into space.
‘Quite,’ Sirius continued, ‘It's hard for him, you know, growing up without his parents.’
‘Of course it is, of course,’ Slughorn's voice was quieter now, ‘Such a shame -’
Kreacher appeared at the door and Remus held up a hand - ‘wait a sec’ he mouthed.
‘Especially this year,’ Sirius went on, ‘With all this tournament stuff. He’s really feeling the loss, you know?’
‘I do, indeed I do,’ Slughorn said gravely, ‘I keep up with The Prophet of course, Barnabas was one of mine. Do you remember him? Couple of years older maybe - Cuffe? Editor of The Prophet? Anyway, I saw the article - that poor boy.’
‘It's been very hard on him,’ Sirius said, labouring the point. Remus nodded to Kreacher, who pushed through the door.
‘Ah, Kreacher, perfect timing,’ Sirius said, ‘I think we're ready for the main,’ he paused, presumably glancing up at Slughorn, ‘and the wine?’
‘Ho ho, you know how to host a dinner, Sirius, I must say!’
Remus watched as Kreacher backed out of the room, head low, hands empty, having simply vanished the plates they'd used for their starter, leaving the place settings ready for the mains to appear. He shifted carefully on his step, stretching his other leg. This was going to be a long night.
*
‘Oh yes I do remember! You were a naughty boy!’ Slughorn laughed heartily. He was very merry now, there was no two ways about it.
‘Well,’ Sirius replied coyly- Remus could imagine the smirk, the shrug, ‘We had finished our potion, what else was there to do but test it?’
‘My fault entirely then I suppose!’ Slughorn chuckled, ‘Should’ve made the lesson harder! Still there has to be room for students of all abilities to achieve, doesn't there? You shouldn't have been so quick!’
Sirius laughed, ‘Your lessons were always good fun, Horace. I loved potions.’
‘Of course you did!’ Slughorn replied, ‘Potion-making is in your blood. Your father, your brother -’
Remus' ears pricked. Sirius had been massaging Slughorn's ego for over an hour now, dancing around the topic. Had he finally taken the bait?
‘Ah yes, Regulus,’ Sirius sighed. ‘Potions really were his passion. He had a whole lab here, you know, we - I found it when I first moved back, just as he had left it - filled with his school books, notes from your lessons -’
‘Such a talent,’ Slughorn agreed, voice sombre, ‘Such a terrible business all that, Regulus was a sweet boy -’
Remus wasn't sure if ‘sweet’ was the right word for him.
‘Would you like to see it?’ Sirius asked suddenly, ‘There are some books, actually, that you might be able to share some wisdom about -’
‘I would be honoured, my boy!’ Slughorn’s words slurred slightly as he placed something, probably his goblet, back on the table with a thunk.
There was a scraping of chairs and Remus scrambled quickly to his feet, taking the stairs two at a time until he was back on the landing. He heard the dining room door open, and footsteps in the hallway.
‘Just this way, through the kitchen,’ came Sirius' voice, fading slightly as they moved through the house, ‘Kreacher won't mind -’
Remus hugged the bannister for a moment, wondering what to do. He could still, just about hear them with his ear pressed to the floor, but the distance from Sirius was making him anxious. What if the conversation turned sour? He heard them greeting Kreacher and footsteps on the stone cellar steps and stole down the stairs, creeping along the hallway to the open kitchen door.
Kreacher blinked at him as he peered around the door, nodding very slightly before turning back to the enormous trifle he was assembling. Without speaking, Remus tiptoed across the room to the larder and slipped inside, settling himself with his back against the door.
‘As you can see he remained as keen as he had been at school -’ Sirius was saying. Remus could hear the faint tinkle of glass, as if Sirius was running his fingers along the shelves they had restocked earlier in the week, ‘Everything was beautifully preserved -’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ Slughorn muttered. Remus could picture him, revolving slowly, examining the room, lifting a bottle, turning the page of a book.
‘I like to picture him down here,’ Sirius said, ‘Working away, utterly focused - you know how he was - somewhere he could feel -’ Sirius paused, ‘Safe. And useful.’
‘Quite,’ Slughorn replied after a beat.
‘I thought it would help, you know? Knowing what he was doing in those last few months -’ Sirius’ voice broke slightly, ‘Understanding what he was working towards -’
‘And did it? Did you?’ Slughorn asked.
‘Did I what?’ Sirius replied innocently.
‘Did you find out what he was working towards?’
‘Oh,’ Sirius paused, ‘Well, yes.’
There was silence. Remus imagined Slughorn, leaning forward on the rickety stool by the cauldron, eyes round.
After a moment, Sirius spoke, ‘It’s - sensitive.’
‘Of course,’ Slughorn began, ‘I under-’
‘There were these though,’ Sirius interrupted, ‘Potions books. I’m no expert at potions really, and we - I haven’t worked it all out yet - I don’t know - would you have any insight -’
There was a rustling of paper as Sirius carried over a book, turning the pages.
‘Drink of Despair…’ Slughorn muttered under his breath, ‘He was making this?’
‘I think he made it, yes, and I think he drank it -’
‘Why on earth would he do that? This is a horrible way to - why would anyone choose -?’
Sirius said nothing. Remus wondered what he was doing - standing at the desk perhaps, his palms flat upon it, head bowed. He wondered if Sirius was going to be OK after this performance. How much damage it would do: mixing theatrics with genuine trauma.
‘He believed he had no choice,’ Sirius said, ‘Are you familiar with this book too…?’
There was silence again. Remus pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them. He knew what Sirius had handed to Slughorn. He wondered if he’d recognise it, if this revelation would have the desired effect.
‘Are you familiar, Horace?’ Sirius said again, voice low. Slughorn made no reply - Remus could see him in his mind’s eye, staring fixedly down at the ancient volume, his eyes wide, his silence telling Sirius all he needed to know -
‘You must be,’ Sirius continued, ‘You’re a learned wizard -’ he paused, ‘You’ve seen things, known people -’
‘S-sirius,’ Slughorn stuttered, ‘I don’t know what you’re s-suggesting -’
‘The real tragedy of it though,’ Sirius went on, ‘Is that Reggie thought what he was doing would put an end to it. He thought he knew the whole plan, he thought he was sacrificing himself to make a difference -’
‘Sirius -’
‘But as it turned out,’ Sirius said, voice thick, Remus thought he might be crying, ‘It wasn’t enough. He underestimated him.’
There was a scrape of a chair, as if Sirius had sunk down into the one they’d placed by the desk, bowed over, head in hands.
‘I just don’t want him to have died in vain,’ Sirius was crying now, Remus could hear it, in the tightness of his throat. It was horrible to listen to, it must have been utterly painful to watch, ‘I’ve got to - I need to do something - to finish what he started - I just, I just don’t know what I’m dealing with. I just need - I need the complete picture,’ he sounded so desperate. He wasn’t acting anymore.’I just need some help -’
‘I went to Albus,’ Sirius continued, ‘But he couldn’t help - he always thinks he knows best, because he taught him, but -’ there was a pause, Remus closed his eyes, his hands gripping his knees, bracing himself.
‘But - he wasn't the only one -’ Sirius whispered.
Slughorn said nothing. Remus bit his lip hard. Shit, he thought, too confrontational. He listened for the footsteps on the stairs, the slam of the kitchen door.
But it didn't come.
‘He wasn't.’ The whisper was so quiet, Remus wasn't sure whether or not he had imagined it.
*
‘Seven?’
‘That’s what he said. But also that he didn't know for sure - it was just a number that was once mentioned in passing -’
‘It is a powerful number,’ Dumbledore mused. ‘I can see the appeal.’
‘You can see the appeal?’ said Sirius, incredulously. Dumbledore ignored him, turning to Remus.
‘So seven pieces of soul means six Horcruxes: one left inside Voldemort himself. So we have three to find -’
‘Yes,’ Remus replied, ‘And actually, Horace had some thoughts on that too -’
‘Did he really?’ Dumbledore replied, genuine surprise in his voice.
‘Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop,’ Sirius said, dryly, ‘I did have to promise him your protection though, so you might want to do something about that -’
‘What were his thoughts?’
‘He said Riddle was interested in Slytherin as a student - probably mostly for the reasons we already know - the familial connection, the pure-blood ideals, but also because of what he did, with the school -’
‘He was interested in teaching, certainly,’ Dumbledore agreed.
‘Yes,’ Remus replied, ‘but also the school itself - the institution, what it stood for, how it came to be. And Salazar Slytherin didn’t build it on his own…’