Percy Jackson and the Locket of Salazar [Book 6]

4) I'll be the Taylor and You'll be the Swiftie (Sing that to Love Story)

This chapter has got some Taylor Swift titles in it. See how many you notice (:

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled keenly as he led Harry and me to an armchair near the fireplace, in good view of the rest of the room. Our dear headmaster had told me beforehand that Slughorn had a certain pension for making connections with students who would 'go far.' I had assumed Harry to be the entirety of Dumbledore's plan, but now that he was leading us both to the conveniently visible chair, I suspected otherwise. I couldn't decide if I was upset about not having been clued in earlier or if I was ecstatic at influencing a man's retirement decisions in a time of crisis. Either way, I flopped dramatically onto the cushy armchair, Harry sitting on the arm like he had at the Dursleys.

I knew I was pretty famous as a wizard, largely due to the fact that the year before I had gone on a rampage, griefing magical landmarks so that people would take the red pill and accept reality. I hadn't exactly been denying my involvement in all of that, even though I wore a mask. I was also one of the Triwizard champions, and, if he knew about demigods, as I suspected he did due to his history as a Hogwarts professor, then I was basically to him as Taylor is to her Swifties.

Slughorn, after bustling about with glasses and bottles, turned, and, upon spotting Harry and I sitting in the fire's spotlight, looked quickly away, as if startled. "Here —" With a strained voice, he gave Dumbledore, who had invited himself to sit on the man's couch, a drink, and then thrust the tray vaguely in Harry and I's direction, not looking at us. Harry took the tray with a perplexed look on his face, and I tried not to snicker as Slughorn sat by Dumbledore on the couch — his legs didn't even touch the ground.

"Dude, I thought I was short," I muttered to Harry.

"You're a lot taller than you used to be," Harry mumbled back.

"No shit, Sherlock, that tends to happen when you get older."

"No, I mean... you're not really short anymore."

"I'm just regular short, then?"

"Not even that. I'm just an inch or two taller than you."

I stared at Harry, eyebrows raised, but I thought back on last year, on walking together toward Slughorn's, and realized I didn't seem to be looking up to him so much. Being a decent height had used to be part of my Wildest Dreams, but it seemed those dreams had become a reality.

Connor and Travis would be bawling their eyes out.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?"

"Not do well," Slughorn sighed. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

Slughorn, preaching about the ails of old age to Dumbledore. To be fair, in spite of the years between the two, Slughorn did somehow seem more Delicate. Perhaps it just seemed that Dumbledore was impenetrable.

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," Dumbledore said wryly. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"

Slughorn, half-proud, said, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," Slughorn, remembering the cause of his half-pride, decided to Shake It Off, going back to griping about his achy breaky bones, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."

He definitely had those. The house was all cushy clutter, books, chocolates, and 22 different types of drinks, most of which would be shared exclusively with himself.

"You're not as old as I am, Horace," Dumbledore reminded gently.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," Slughorn said simply. His eyes fell upon Dumbledore's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."