Annabeth Chase and Things Are Getting Intense

Chapter Twenty Five

They were standing in front of a much younger Horace Slughorn. He had a head of shiny blond hair that looked like straw, though there was already a large bald spot on the crown of his head. His mustache was smaller than it was now, and though he wasn't as round, the buttons on his embroidered waistcoat were taking a bit of strain. He was sitting back in a winged chair, his feet resting on a velvet pouf as he dug through a box of crystalized pineapple.

They were in Slughorn's office. There were about half a dozen boys sitting in a circle around him, all in chairs that were shorter than Slughorn's. Annabeth took this to be the Slug Club, and she immediately recognized Voldemort sitting among them. The black ring was on one of his fingers. He had already killed his father, then.

"Sir," Riddle said, "is it true Professor Merrythought's retiring?"

"Tom, Tom, even if I knew I wouldn't tell you," Slughorn said, waving a finger in Riddle's direction, though he ruined it by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get all your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

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

"What with you 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 favorite—"

A bunch of the other boys laughed, and then something weird happened. It wasn't weird like the last memory, where darkness had set in like a wave. This time, thick white fog filled the room, obscuring everything, and Sughorn's voice, unnaturally loud, filled the room. "You'll go wrong, boy mark my words."

Just as it had appeared, the smoke vanished. No one in the room seemed to have noticed it; they all went on like nothing had happened. Annabeth furrowed her brow as a golden clock in the corner chimed eleven.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" Slughorn said, jumping and looking around at the clock. "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."

As the boys filed out, Slughorn pulled himself up and moved to a side table, setting down his empty wine glass. Riddle stayed back, and Annabeth could tell it was on purpose. He was waiting to be alone with Slughorn.

"Look sharp, Tom," Slughorn said when he turned around and saw Riddle. "You don't want to be caught out of bed after hours, and you, 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?"

It happened again; smoke filled the room as quickly as if someone had dropped a bomb, so thick that it obscured everything around them and Annabeth couldn't see anything.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you speaking about them again!"

"Well, that's that," Dumbledore said calmly. "Time to go."

When they were back in Dumbledore's office and Annabeth could see three feet in front of her again, she steadied herself and looked up.

"What was that? What happened to it?"

"As you might have noticed," Dumbledore said, sitting down behind his desk, "this memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" Harry asked.

"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."