Horace Slughorn was the only professor at Hogwarts who had ever studied Horcruxes in depth.
When Tom Riddle was in his third year, Slughorn had granted him permission to enter the Restricted Section, where he encountered Magick Moste Evile and became fascinated by its section on creating Horcruxes.
As a student, Tom Riddle possessed extraordinary charisma.
Students adored him. Professors admired him.
Slughorn was no exception.
By nature, Slughorn was vain and deeply fond of cultivating talented students. He openly favored them, showering them with attention and opportunities, because he knew that maintaining relationships with brilliant young witches and wizards would pay dividends later.
And it usually did.
Former students of his became Ministry officials, famous Quidditch players, celebrated journalists, and influential members of magical society. Through them, Slughorn built an impressive network of contacts.
As for Tom, Slughorn never suspected a thing.
At the time, Tom Riddle shone as brightly as Sean did now.
Slughorn considered him his finest protégé and was convinced the boy was destined for greatness.
Unfortunately, Slughorn's teaching style was deeply flawed.
He blatantly favored his star pupils while largely ignoring weaker students.
Some graduated without Slughorn ever learning their names.
So when his most beloved student asked him about Horcruxes, Slughorn—despite knowing how dark and dangerous the subject was—told him what he knew.
"Professor, who is this person?" Sean asked.
Dumbledore folded his hands behind his back.
"Horace Slughorn. The former Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master. He was also a longtime colleague of mine."
"He was quite close to Voldemort during Tom Riddle's school days. If anyone might know something useful, it is Horace."
Dumbledore grew thoughtful.
"It has been quite some time since I last saw him."
Then he looked at Sean.
"Do you have any classes this afternoon?"
Sean mentally reviewed his schedule.
"None that I need to attend."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Excellent. Then I shall take you somewhere rather scenic."
He extended his arm.
Sean instantly recognized the gesture.
Apparition.
"Right now?" Sean asked.
"Yes."
Sean stepped forward obediently.
Fortunately, he had entrusted Harry's Invisibility Cloak to Chris during breakfast. If Dumbledore discovered he was carrying it around, that would be awkward to explain.
The space around Dumbledore distorted.
A familiar wave of dizziness washed over Sean.
This time, however, he recovered almost immediately.
When he opened his eyes, his surroundings were strikingly familiar.
They were standing inside The Leaky Cauldron.
Herns was carrying a plate of freshly fried chips to a customer when Sean and Dumbledore appeared out of thin air.
He hurried over at once.
"Dumbledore! Sean! What brings you here?"
Sean shrugged.
"I have no idea. Professor brought me."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Herns, I'm taking Sean to visit an old friend. But first, I need to pick up a small gift."
He walked to the bar.
"Tom, a bottle of oak-aged mead, please."
Old Tom turned to the shelves behind him and quickly selected a bottle.
As he reached to uncork it, Dumbledore raised a hand.
"No, Tom. Please wrap it—I'm giving it as a gift."
Old Tom's wrinkled face split into a grin.
"If it's a gift, I've got better bottles than mead."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Thank you, but my friend is particularly fond of mead."
Sean finally understood.
So this stop was both a gift run and a transfer point.
Hogwarts lay in northern Scotland, while Slughorn's home was in Hampshire in southeastern England—too far for a single Apparition, which had an effective range of roughly 500 kilometers.
Dumbledore needed two jumps.
While they waited, Herns seized the opportunity to boast to the customers.
"This is my nephew, Sean Grylls."
He puffed out his chest.
"If you've got children at Hogwarts, you've surely heard of him. Brilliant boy. Highly valued by Dumbledore himself."
He gestured proudly.
"See? Even when Dumbledore visits old friends, he takes Sean along."
Sean smiled awkwardly.
"Uncle, that's enough. Your chips are getting cold."
Dumbledore returned carrying the neatly wrapped bottle.
He extended his arm once more.
Sean waved.
"See you next time, Uncle."
A moment later, they vanished before the astonished patrons.
When Sean regained his footing, they stood on a beach.
The temperature was noticeably warmer than at Hogwarts, though only by a few degrees.
It was mid-November.
In Hampshire, the weather hovered around twelve degrees Celsius.
Yet Sean saw several people in swimsuits sunbathing and even swimming in the sea.
They're not cold?
Sean looked around.
The beach stretched in both directions, but there were no buildings nearby.
"Professor, are we in the right place?"
Dumbledore laughed.
"Not quite."
He adjusted his half-moon spectacles.
"It has been a very long time since I last came here. Sixty years, perhaps seventy."
Successful Apparition required a clear mental image of one's destination.
If the image was imprecise, one could arrive some distance off target.
Sean recalled how Charlie Weasley had landed five kilometers away during his Apparition exam.
Apparently, even Dumbledore wasn't immune to fuzzy memories.
He pointed toward a cliff farther down the shore.
"There. That should be it."
Sean followed his gaze and saw a structure resembling a lighthouse perched atop the cliffs.
Though it looked close, they still spent half an hour circling the beach and climbing up to it.
When they were about one hundred meters away, Sean caught a sharp, unpleasant smell.
He wrinkled his nose.
"Professor, what is that?"
Dumbledore smiled.
"Horace has scattered Fear Potion around the perimeter to keep Muggles away."
"The house is also under a Disillusionment Charm, so Muggles cannot see it."
Sean had heard of hiding buildings with concealment charms.
Using potions as a perimeter defense, however, was a new one.
Definitely a Potions Master's idea.
As they entered the final ten-meter radius around the house, the smell disappeared.
Dumbledore knocked twice on the plain wooden door.
A few moments later, Slughorn opened it.
Sean immediately noticed the wand clutched tightly in the old wizard's hand.
Only after recognizing Dumbledore did Slughorn hastily tuck it away.
Sean understood.
Slughorn was terrified that Death Eaters might come for him.
Two years earlier, he had quietly learned through his extensive network that Voldemort might still be alive.
Since then, he had lived in constant fear.
He slept poorly.
And beneath the fear was guilt.
It was Slughorn who had told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes.
In his heart, he believed he bore part of the blame for Voldemort becoming nearly impossible to kill.
"My old friend," Dumbledore said warmly, offering the bottle of mead.
"How long has it been? Eleven years? Twelve?"
Slughorn's round face lit up.
"Nearly twelve."
He ushered Dumbledore inside, then turned to Sean with curious eyes.
"Albus, who is this young man?"
Dumbledore placed a hand on Sean's shoulder.
"One of my finest students—Sean Grylls."
Slughorn examined Sean as though he were a rare artifact in a museum.
His eyes sparkled with interest.
"The Sean Grylls?"
"The one who secured Hogwarts' victory in the Four-School Friendship Tournament?"
Sean inclined his head politely.
"Yes, Professor. I'm Sean."
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