A Young Wizard's Journey - The Lost Tomb

The Final Plan

As his face touched the water, Y/N felt his body almost be pushed forward.

His entire body fell forward into the liquid, and next moment, he found himself stood in an office. Dumbledore on one side with Harry on his other.

In front of them was the much younger Horace Slughorn. His moustache, less massive than it was these days, was gingery-blond. He was not quite as rotund as the Slughorn they knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain.

His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.

The office was very much like Slughorn's current office. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Y/N felt a lurch as he saw Tom Riddle.

He'd heard all about the young boy from Harry's retellings of course, but seeing him now, for the first time since the Chamber all those years ago, made him want to draw his wand.

'Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?' asked Riddle.

'Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you,' said Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. 'I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are.'

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

'What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter, thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favourite-'

Several of the boys tittered again.

'-I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry.'

Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Y/N's eyes were combing their faces and many he recognised as ones he already duelled.

'I don't know that politics would suit me, sir,' he said when the laughter had died away. 'I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing.'

A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other.

'Nonsense,' said Slughorn briskly, 'couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet.'

'First time for everything,' thought Y/N.

The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.

'Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery.'

Y/N's eyes locked onto both faces.

One by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around; Riddle was still standing there.

'Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you're a Prefect.'

'Sir, I wanted to ask you something.'

'Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away.'

'Sir, I wondered what you know about- about Horcruxes?'

Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass.