Harry Potter: The Forgotten Chronicles- Book 6

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The atmosphere in Slughorn's office was warm and inviting, though tinged with a certain formality that only deepened as the evening wore on. The room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of candlelight, casting dancing shadows on the richly paneled walls adorned with framed photographs of Slughorn's past prized students. The flickering flames from a grand fireplace added to the cozy, yet slightly grandiose ambiance, making the setting feel both intimate and important.

The table, rounded and polished to a gleaming finish, was set with gleaming silverware and fine china, each place meticulously arranged. Goblets of polished silver caught the light as Slughorn raised his glass, the liquid inside a deep, ruby red. The room was filled with the soft murmur of polite conversation, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter.

"A toast!" Slughorn declared, standing at the head of the table with a jovial smile. His round face glowed with pride as he looked down at the students assembled before him. "To Hogwarts' best and brightest!"

The students raised their goblets in unison, some more enthusiastically than others. "Here, here!" Cormac McLaggen exclaimed, his voice loud and confident, the words punctuated with a broad grin. His enthusiasm contrasted sharply with the more subdued reactions from the others.

Harry, seated beside Evelyn, lifted his goblet with a hint of reluctance. He shared a brief glance with her, a silent exchange that spoke volumes about their mutual unease. Their conversation about Draco long out of their minds as they sat around the table, trying to navigate the social etiquette needed for the night. Hermione, seated across from them, caught Evelyn's eye and offered a wry smile.

Evelyn returned the smile, though hers was softer, more reserved. She felt the weight of the evening pressing down on her—a gathering of the elite, where every word and gesture was carefully measured, every compliment a potential favor to be returned later. Yet, there was something undeniably intoxicating about the atmosphere, a sense of being part of something exclusive and important.

The other guests—Marcus Belby, Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom, Cormac McLaggen, and the two Slytherin twins—each reacted differently to the toast. Belby looked slightly out of place, as though he was still trying to understand why he had been invited. Zabini, ever the cool and composed Slytherin, raised his glass with a practiced elegance, his eyes flickering with amusement. Neville, visibly nervous, fumbled slightly with his goblet before managing a shy smile. The twins exchanged identical, knowing glances, their expressions mirroring the faint air of superiority they carried.

As the goblets were lowered and the conversations resumed, the warmth of the room contrasted with the underlying currents of competition and ambition that swirled among the students. It was a dinner party, yes, but also a subtle game of wits and influence, one in which each student would leave with their own impressions, alliances, and perhaps even secrets.

The conversation around the table continued, with Slughorn orchestrating it like a conductor with a symphony, directing the focus from one student to another, ensuring no one remained silent for too long.

"So tell me, Cormac," Slughorn said, his voice booming with interest as he turned toward the Gryffindor boy. "See much of your Uncle Tiberius these days?"

"Yes, sir," Cormac replied, puffing out his chest slightly. "In fact, I'm meant to go hunting with him and the Minister for Magic over the holiday."

"Splendid!" Slughorn beamed, clearly pleased by the connection. "Well, be sure to give them both my best. I've always had the highest regard for Tiberius. A man of fine taste, that one." Slughorn's eyes gleamed as he shifted his attention to Marcus Belby, who was more focused on the heaping portions of food in front of him than the conversation.