Dysfunctional

18 - Slughorn and Blackmail

Saturday, August 3

Sirius Side-Along Apparated with Dumbledore to what appeared to be a sleepy little town.

Dumbledore motioned him forwards when Sirius asked, "Where are we?"

"This is the town of Budleigh Babberton," said Dumbledore as they walked up the empty streets. It had been half-past six when Sirius left Potter Manor and the town seemed deserted at the early hour.

After a few minutes, Sirius broke the silence. "What do you actually want me to do?"

"I am certain your presence alone should be enough for him," chuckled Dumbledore.

"How do you know he lives here by the way?" said Sirius, looking around. "You said he's quite elusive."

"He is," said Dumbledore. "I had Fawkes take me to the place where he delivered the letter I sent to Horace."

"Having a phoenix as a pet does seem to have its advantages," said Sirius, impressed.

"Quite," said Dumbledore, as he pointed forwards. "Just through this left and...oh dear. Oh, dear..."

Sirius tensed as he took in the house in front of him, its front door hanging by its hinges. He pulled out his wand and noticed Dumbledore doing the same as he looked up and down the deserted street.

Dumbledore opened the gate and walked forward swiftly, Sirius at his heels. He pushed the front door with his wand raised and at the ready as he ignited his wand tip, "Lumos."

Sirius lit his wand too as he took in the scene of total devastation in front of him. Everything was broken and the house was in complete disarray.

Dumbledore was walking between the piano and the overturned sofa and examining them closely. Sirius couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right and not everything was what it seemed.

"It can't be Death Eaters. For one, there's no Dark Mark," said Sirius, eyeing around the house suspiciously.

Dumbledore merely nodded and suddenly plunged his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair which yelled, "Ouch!"

"Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore calmly.

Sirius watched, eyes widening as the armchair turned instantly to the fat, bald, old man that was none other than his former professor, Horace Slughorn.

"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," said Slughorn gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."

"What gave me away?" asked Slughorn, irritatedly.

"My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters had indeed made a visit, there would have been the Dark Mark as proof," said Dumbledore.

Slughorn hit his forehead with his pudgy hand, muttering, "I knew I forgot something..."

With Dumbledore's assistance, they put back everything in its place to reveal a charming little house.

"What kind of blood was that incidentally?" asked Dumbledore.