Only the Brave

Chapter 30: Horcruxes

Slughorn's office is stuffy because he's got a huge fire roaring in the chimney and several cauldrons boiling with potions on tables around him. Regulus supposes it makes sense, given it's absolutely bloody freezing outside. The end of January is finally, finally bringing them some snow. Regulus is ridiculously excited about this even if he rolls his eyes every time James mentions it.

While the sky darkens outside, the threat of snow and forst hovering over the balcony at the back of Slughorn's office, Regulus takes off his cloak and sits on the sofa, accepting tea from his head of house.

"Mr. Black," Slughorn says, delighted. "We've been missing you at the Slug Club dinners."

Regulus would rather wrestle a Hipogriff than attend one of those horrid dinners, but Slughorn certainly doesn't need to know that. Instead, Regulus dips his head forward in a gesture of fake shame.

"I know, professor. I'm sorry. I'm just finding it hard to fit everything into my schedule."

Slughorn sits back, a benevolent smile on his face. "I understand, young man. Quidditch practice alone takes up a lot of hours!"

The next game of the year, Slytherin vs Ravenclaw, is the following week. No one is worried, because this year's Ravenclaw team has not been doing very well at all. Still. It's as good an excuse as any, and Regulus isn't about to tell Slughorn what's really keeping him busy.

"Certainly," he says smoothly. "I'm also spending more time than ever in the lab. That reminds me—"

Regulus plucks the two bottles he managed to fill with nectar before Remus fucking Lupin attacked him and his boyfriend—who is an illegal animagus (!)—had to come to his rescue with his older brother who is also an illegal animagus (!). Honestly. What the actual fuck. Every time he thinks about it Regulus feels like his head is about to explode, but that's also none of Slughorn's concern.

"I took advantage of the full moon to harvest some of this. Noticed we were running low when I checked the cabinets."

Slughorn takes them, visibly pleased. "Ah, thank you. I hadn't noticed myself, but we'll be needing moon flower nectar for the next potion I'm working on with my NEWT classes."

"What are you making?"

"We're studying advanced antidotes," Slughorn says. "We'll be making Nightingale Drops."

Interested, Regulus nods. Nightingale Drops are a powerful antidote for any poison containing charcoal-derived ingredients. It's hard to make, but nothing Regulus hasn't managed before. They discuss some of the intricacies of that antidote, casually sipping tea. Regulus lets the conversation drift to the Great British Brew-Off for a few minutes, waiting for Slughorn to settle into it and relax. To lower his guard.

"I would love to win an award of that calibre," Regulus says, infusing his voice with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. "It would be an honour."

"It'll be no trouble for you, Mr. Black," Slughorn gushes. "You're my best potioner. But don't tell Severus that."

Slughorn winks and Regulus has to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"I was wondering," Regulus mutters. "Are there any awards the school gives out? Apart from the house and Quidditch cups, of course. I saw this trophy for special services to the school awarded to some Tom Riddle some years ago. Do you reckon I could win one?"

To Regulus' immense relief, Slughorn doesn't find anything suspicious with this question. There's no outward change to his demeanour, no concern flashing in his eyes. He seems to simply be genuinely considering the answer.

"Ah, Tom was exceptional. Not as good at potions as you are, mind. But he was excellent at magic in general," Slughorn says. "His award was... a little controversial, I should say."