There Will Be No Third Dark Lord At Hogwarts!!!

Chapter 380: Chapter 380

”Who is Slughorn?”

Draco asked the question as they made their way toward Carriage C.

He walked half a step ahead of Lynn, his body turned slightly as his gaze shifted between Lynn’s face and the corridor before them.

”A new professor,” Lynn replied without slowing down. ”He used to teach at Hogwarts but retired a long time ago. Logically, you should know who he is. This time, he’s returning to his old profession.”

Draco shook his head.

”I don’t know him. What does he teach?”

”Defence Against the Dark Arts?” Lynn considered it for a moment. ”No, I think it’s Potions.”

He thought about it again.

”Wait, no. Snape teaches Potions. It should be... Well, it’s either Defence Against the Dark Arts or Potions.”

Draco glanced at him.

”You came all this way without even figuring that out?”

”He sent me an invitation,” Lynn said, stepping aside to allow a boy carrying a large cardboard box to pass. ”It would have been impolite not to come.”

The corridor was crowded with students waiting for the food trolley.

Some rummaged through their bags for change, while others stood on tiptoe to see how far away the trolley was. Those who had already made their purchases were heading back to their compartments carrying boxes of sweets.

Lynn and Draco wove through the crowd, passing carriage after carriage.

When they finally reached Carriage C, they discovered that Slughorn had invited far more people than just the two of them.

Carriage C was located directly behind Carriage B, which housed the prefects, and was ordinarily reserved for professors.

Its door was twice as wide as that of an ordinary compartment. The windows were larger, the curtains were made of deep-red velvet, and a thick carpet covered the floor, muffling every footstep.

The compartment itself was spacious—roughly the size of three ordinary ones—but it was currently filled with people.

Everyone occupied a small space of their own. Some sat in relaxed postures, while others appeared stiff. Some expressions looked natural, while others were obviously forced.

”Harry! Lynn!”

The moment Lynn and Draco pushed open the door, Slughorn leaped to his feet.

Yes, leaped.

For a round-bellied, grey-haired old man who appeared to be at least sixty, the word seemed rather inappropriate.

Yet Slughorn had indeed leaped.

He bounced out of his chair with a speed completely uncharacteristic of someone his age, a broad smile spreading across his face.

It was obvious that he had dressed carefully for the occasion.

He wore a dark-maroon velvet waistcoat with gold buttons, each polished brightly enough to reflect a person’s face. His thick beard had been carefully groomed and meticulously combed until it shone almost as brilliantly as the buttons.

”You both came! What a wonderful surprise!”

His gaze moved between Harry, who was already seated inside, and Lynn, and the corners of his mouth rose even higher.

Then his attention landed on Draco, and his eyes lit up once more.

”And this must be Mr. Malfoy. Welcome, welcome!”

Draco nodded and gave a slight bow, his movements elegant and restrained.

”Good morning, Professor.”

His voice remained steady, and his expression appeared perfectly natural. He was clearly accustomed to occasions like this.

While Slughorn and Draco exchanged pleasantries, Lynn quickly scanned the compartment and spotted a familiar figure.

Edgar was sitting beside the window. He had clearly been there for some time and was leaning comfortably against the back of his chair.

The seat beside him was empty.

Lynn naturally walked over and sat down.

Edgar turned toward him and whispered, ”Why are you here too?”

”An invitation.”

Lynn pulled the purple parchment from his pocket, waved it briefly in front of Edgar, and stuffed it back inside.

”What about you?”

”Same.”

Edgar pointed toward an invitation of a similar color resting on the table before him.

”Everyone is here!”

Slughorn’s voice came from the center of the compartment.

He stood at one end of the long table with his arms spread wide. His gaze swept across every young face present, and his smile grew even broader.

”Allow me to introduce you all.”

He turned and gestured toward a girl seated on his left.

”This is Melinda Bobbin,” Slughorn said. ”Harry, surely you know her. You’re in the same year.”

Harry and Melinda both behaved as though they had not heard him.

Neither reacted.

Harry looked down at the napkin before him, seemingly engrossed in studying its texture. Melinda stared out the window at the passing scenery, her expression as still as stagnant water.

The atmosphere inside the compartment chilled for a moment.

It was just like Slughorn to try introducing a Slytherin to a Gryffindor.

Whenever members of those two Houses came together, the air inevitably became thick with tension. Even if they did not immediately start arguing, their glares alone were often enough to kill.

The fact that neither had started a fight on the spot was already remarkably polite.

Slughorn did not mind.

The smile on his face never changed, as though the brief awkwardness had been nothing more than a minor interlude in his plans.

He turned and gestured in another direction.

”This is Cormac McLaggen,” he said, his voice returning to its previous enthusiasm. ”He’s one year above the two of you.”

”Lynn, it’s good to see you here.”

McLaggen raised a hand in a somewhat formal greeting.

Lynn nodded in return.

”Hello.”

His response was brief, but not cold.

Lynn did not have much of an impression of McLaggen. He only knew that the boy was a substitute Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team—competent, but hardly outstanding.

”Marcus Belby.”

Slughorn’s finger moved toward another student.

”Seventh year.”

Unlike the constant friction between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Hufflepuffs were generally well-liked.

”The youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class,” Belby said. ”I heard about what you did in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic.”

Lynn glanced at him.

”Oh,” he replied. ”Thanks.”

Belby appeared eager to say more, but Slughorn’s voice rang out again.

”Well, how delightful...” he drawled, sweeping his gaze across the compartment once more. ”This is a wonderful opportunity for us all to become better acquainted. Everyone, take a napkin and try this.”

He waved his wand.

A plate immediately appeared in front of each person.

The plates were white, with intricate gold patterns decorating their rims. Each held the main course—a roasted hare.

It was not the French-style variety, sliced into delicate portions, carefully arranged, and drizzled with sauce.

This was an entire piece of hare, roasted golden brown and releasing a rich aroma.

Several roasted vegetables had been arranged beside it, along with a small mound of mashed potatoes covered in gravy. The gravy slowly spread across the white porcelain plate.

Lynn studied the food before him, then raised his eyes toward Slughorn.

A Warping Rabbit. (OC)

It was a magical creature found only in the Caucasus Mountains.

Aside from its extraordinary running speed, it possessed no special abilities.

Its meat, however, was exceptionally delicious.

Warping Rabbit meat was considered a luxury in the wizarding world, with a price comparable to that of dragon meat. An ordinary family might not eat it even once a year. It usually appeared only at the most important celebrations.

Lynn was not surprised that Slughorn could obtain several of them.

With the old professor’s connections and resources, acquiring a few Warping Rabbits would not have been difficult.

However, Lynn noticed something else.

This rabbit had not been prepared by a house-elf.

House-elves prioritized consistency when cooking. The temperature, seasoning, and presentation of every dish were controlled with such precision that they might as well have been measured with a ruler.

This Warping Rabbit, however, had clearly been overcooked in several places. Some sections were charred, and the seasoning was so heavy that it concealed the meat’s natural flavor.

Slughorn must have cooked it himself.

As for the taste...

Lynn cut off a small piece, placed it in his mouth, chewed, and fell silent.

Warping Rabbit meat was naturally exquisite—tender, smooth, and capable of melting in one’s mouth, with a faint nutty aroma.

Slughorn’s cooking had completely ruined it.

The heat had been too high, making the meat tough. The seasoning was too strong, allowing the spices to overwhelm its natural flavor.

Most disastrously of all—

Slughorn apparently did not know that Warping Rabbit meat had to be slowly roasted at a low temperature to retain its moisture.

Instead, he had cooked it like an ordinary rabbit, using high heat for a short period.

The result was a charred exterior and an undercooked center.

Lynn cut off another small piece and carefully examined the color of the cross-section.

The middle was still pink.

It had been cooked unevenly.

Cooked on the outside, raw within.

Cooked on top, raw underneath.

Cooked near the bone, yet raw farther away from it.

Slughorn owed this rabbit an apology!

The other people in the compartment clearly did not share Lynn’s opinion.

McLaggen had already eaten more than half his portion. His mouth was greasy, juice stained its corners, and he occasionally released appreciative noises as he chewed.

”Mm-hmm...”

Belby ate much more slowly, chewing each bite for a long time as though seriously savoring its flavor.

His expression, however, told Lynn that he could not taste anything particularly special.

While everyone ate, Slughorn continued asking questions, jumping rapidly from one subject to another.

He called it casual conversation, but his tone made it feel more like an interrogation.

Every question was carefully targeted.

What was their family background?

What did their parents do?

Did they have any famous relatives?

Which influential people did they know?

The questions sounded casual, but each had clearly been designed with a particular purpose.

Slughorn first turned toward Belby.

”Marcus, has your uncle still been dealing with giants lately?”

Belby paused before shaking his head.

”Professor, my uncle and I aren’t on particularly good terms. We haven’t spoken in quite some time.”

”Oh.”

A trace of disappointment entered Slughorn’s voice.

”That is a terrible shame. I have always followed your uncle’s research into giant-wizard relations with great interest.”

Belby lowered his head and continued eating his Warping Rabbit.

Slughorn then turned toward Bobbin.

”Melinda, has your father’s position at the Ministry of Magic changed recently?”

”No, Professor. He is still an office head in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

”Oh, wonderful. I’ve always considered your father one of the finest people in that department.”

Bobbin nodded but did not respond.

Slughorn moved on to McLaggen.

”Cormac, is your uncle still managing that magical-item shop?”

”Yes, Professor. Business has been quite good.”

”I heard that he has recently been researching a new type of anti-curse equipment.”

”I believe so, but I’m not entirely certain.”

Slughorn then turned toward Edgar.

”Mr. Bones, regarding your father’s work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation—”

Edgar lowered his fork and wiped the corner of his mouth before interrupting Slughorn in a perfectly polite tone.

”My father said he has been extremely busy recently. He has been handling several cases involving the international smuggling of magical items and hasn’t had much time to tell me about his work.”

Slughorn’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

He nodded, chose not to press the matter, and turned his attention toward Harry.

”Harry, I heard from Dumbledore that during the battle you and Lynn fought in the Department of Mysteries—”

Harry was preoccupied with a piece of roasted vegetable.

He raised his head while still chewing and replied indistinctly, ”Mmm. Lynn did all the fighting. I just watched from the back.”

Lynn had noticed that the moment Belby casually mentioned being estranged from his uncle, Slughorn appeared to lose interest in him.

”Did you notice?”

Edgar leaned closer and whispered into Lynn’s ear, keeping his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear.

”Slughorn always seems to bring up some relative of theirs.”

”It isn’t merely ’some relative,’” Lynn whispered back. ”It’s a useful relative. He asked about Bobbin’s father, McLaggen’s uncle, and Belby’s uncle. Haven’t you figured it out?”

”When he questioned Belby, he sounded far more eager than he did with anyone else. Then Belby said he wasn’t close to his uncle. Did you see Slughorn’s expression?”

Edgar thought back and nodded.

”I saw it. It was like... someone discovering that the fruit he’d just bought was rotten.”

Lynn almost laughed.

The metaphor was hardly refined, but it was remarkably accurate.

He restrained himself, allowing only the corners of his mouth to twitch slightly upward.

”You have it backward. Those relatives are precisely why they were invited in the first place.”

Edgar fell silent for a moment and swept his gaze around the compartment.

”Isn’t that just...”

He opened his mouth, but ultimately chose not to say the word snobbery.

”I’m thinking the same thing,” Lynn replied.

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