They landed by a village fountain in the dark.
The village was small and completely quiet at this hour — the kind of English settlement that goes to bed early and asks no questions. Dumbledore led them through it at a comfortable pace, filling them in as they walked.
"Horace Slughorn," Dumbledore said, in the tone of a man revisiting an old and complicated acquaintance. "Years of experience, genuinely exceptional brewer. He taught Potions here at Hogwarts for decades. I'm hoping to bring him back — to handle fifth through seventh years, which would free Kevin to focus on the younger students."
"He's also, quite specifically, the person who taught Tom Riddle during his time at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued. "And the person most likely to know exactly how many Horcruxes Voldemort created."
Harry stopped walking for half a step. "If he knows — just make him tell you."
"I would, Harry, except for one difficulty: Horace knows that he knows, and he's been aware of it long enough to feel the full weight of that knowledge. He altered his own memories. He won't willingly confirm anything that implicates him."
"Then why—"
"Because you two are here." Dumbledore smiled at both of them. "Horace has a particular weakness for talented people. Famous ones, especially. He collects them — photographs, dinner parties, name-dropping rights. You, Harry, represent something he can't resist. And you, Kevin, represent something he deeply respects. I am hoping that your combined presence makes the idea of returning to Hogwarts seem rather more appealing than another season of hiding in borrowed houses."
"Don't push for information yet. Let him come to like you. There's time."
They reached a house at the end of a quiet lane. The gate hung at a wrong angle. Through the front window, the interior was dim and disordered in the particular way of a place that has been deliberately left looking uninhabited.
"Wands out," Dumbledore said, his own appearing from somewhere in his robes.
Harry drew his immediately. Kevin picked up his crowbar.
He already knew what was inside — no threat, just a very cautious Potions professor who had been dodging Death Eater recruitment for the better part of a year. But some habits were worth keeping.
Kevin tapped the wall as they entered and let the echo run. The sound came back with the fidelity of long practice.
"No hostile presences, Headmaster." He scanned the darkened room. "Professor Slughorn is in there, though." He pointed at a large, plush sofa near the cold fireplace. "He's the sofa."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."
"It's a good disguise," Kevin admitted. "Very comfortable-looking."
Dumbledore crossed to the sofa and levelled his wand at it pleasantly.
Nothing moved.
Kevin looked at the sofa. The sofa, to all appearances, looked back. He picked up his crowbar, considered the floor space beside it, and brought the crowbar down with a single decisive crack.
The impact left a hole in the floorboards about the size of a grapefruit.
"Merlin's beard! Albus, control your student!"
The sofa lurched backwards. A head emerged. Then arms. Then the rest of Horace Slughorn, a portly man of advanced years with silver hair and a magnificent moustache, reassembling himself from a piece of furniture with the slightly dazed dignity of someone who had not expected to be structurally compromised today.
Dumbledore gave Kevin a look that contained equal parts reproach and appreciation.
"Horace. Your disguise was excellent — I nearly missed it entirely."
"Of course it was! Fooled seventeen Death Eaters with that one!" Slughorn straightened his robes and appeared to decide, with remarkable speed, that the crowbar was not his primary concern right now. His gaze had moved to Kevin and Harry. "Albus — are these who I think they are?"
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore said warmly. "And Kevin Croft. I believe you've read about both of them."
Slughorn's expression underwent a rapid and visible transformation. The rattled man who had just been evicted from a piece of furniture became, within about four seconds, someone entirely at ease.
"No introduction needed," he said, with a broad smile. "Harry Potter. And Kevin — my word, you've been in every other issue of the Prophet for three years running."
He waved at them like old friends. The crowbar, apparently, was already history.
"Mr. Slughorn," Kevin said, looking around at the wrecked interior, "would you mind if we tidied up before we talked? It's difficult to concentrate on a floor that's considering structural collapse."
Slughorn looked at the state of the room as though seeing it freshly.
"If you'd like, Horace," Dumbledore offered.
Kevin put his wand away, waved his hand instead, and the house got to work. Furniture uprighted itself. Dust redistributed. The fireplace considered the situation and lit. A chandelier overhead decided it was able to function again. The general atmosphere of a place that had been slowly disintegrating reversed itself in about forty-five seconds.
Slughorn watched with his hands clasped, eyes bright.
"Magnificent," he breathed. "I haven't seen wandless work like that from a student since—" He stopped himself. Smiled instead. "Well. Magnificent covers it."
Hear me out y'all the bonus chapter is written, it's ready, sitting in the dark like a firefly waiting to be set free into the night. Only your powerstones hold the key, folks. Don't you let it sit there waiting. Set it free now