The Quidditch tryouts were exactly what they'd always been, which was to say organised in principle and chaotic in practice. Harry ran them with the focused authority of someone who had been attending practices for six years and had recently been handed actual responsibility for the outcome.
Kevin, Hermione, and Draco settled into the stands.
Across the pitch, a cluster of students from various houses had stayed to watch, because Quidditch tryouts were entertainment regardless of allegiance. Among them, Kevin noted with mild interest, Gren Dore sat in the upper tier of the Slytherin section, surrounded by what appeared to be a spontaneously assembled fan club. He was being charming about it in the particular way of someone who is being polite without encouraging anything.
"He's doing it again," Hermione said.
"I noticed."
"Very different from the train."
"Mm."
Draco leaned forward, cupped his hands, and shouted down at the pitch. "Ron! Slytherin's grateful if you keep goal this year!"
Ron, hovering near the posts, turned red and made a gesture that was technically visible to everyone in the stands.
Draco cackled.
Whatever it did, the trash talk appeared to catalyse something. Ron squared his shoulders, turned back to the approaching Chaser, and stopped the first shot with a technique that was — if not elegant — at least functionally definitive. The next three followed. The opposition Keeper, a fourth-year who had genuinely been quite good, was comprehensively outperformed.
Ron landed to general congratulation. Then, with the satisfaction of someone who has scored a point he's been working toward, climbed the stands directly to where Draco was sitting, gave him a firm kick to the shin, and walked away.
Draco yelped. Drew his wand. Aimed. Sent six small fireworks after Ron's retreating back, all of which missed because Ron was already descending the far side of the stands at speed.
Lavender Brown, three rows down, watched Draco react to Ron's exit with something she was visibly trying to interpret.
Kevin said nothing.
The group walked back to the castle together, Ron leading with the comfortable authority of a newly confirmed Keeper who had just proven a point. A first-year had attached herself to him somewhere around the pitch exit and was extracting every possible piece of advice about the Keeper role at a speed that suggested she had been saving these questions for weeks.
Kevin was letting the afternoon run through his mind. Adjusting timelines, cross-referencing what he knew with what he'd observed. The Slughorn situation needed movement — they couldn't wait indefinitely for the man to volunteer the Horcrux memory.
He became aware that Harry had slowed to walk beside him.
"Dumbledore's thing," Harry said quietly. "Getting Slughorn to open up about the memory."
"I remember."
"Any thoughts on how to actually do it?"
"Several." Kevin had been working on this for weeks. "But the short answer is that he needs to trust you first. Not as Harry Potter, as someone he actually knows. You're already on the right track."
Harry nodded. "Dinner party's coming up. He invited me."
"I know."
"You too, apparently."
"I'll let you handle it."
Harry absorbed this. "How am I supposed to get him to open up if you're not—"
Kevin turned at the next fork in the path that led past the greenhouses. "Go," he said. "You're fine. You don't need me holding your hand."
Harry gave him a look that communicated a range of feelings. Kevin made a thumbs-up and continued down the alternate path.
Three seconds later, he heard Harry behind him, already talking to someone.
Professor Slughorn was in the third greenhouse, broad back to the path, studying a row of Venomous Tentacula with the absorbed interest of a man who has found something professionally relevant.
Kevin did not turn around. He kept walking.
Harry can handle this. And more to the point, Slughorn's relationship with Harry needed to develop independently — it wouldn't serve either of them if Kevin was always in the room. The Potions professor needed to feel that Harry was his discovery.
Some distance later, walking in quiet, Kevin felt the slight prickling sensation of someone talking about him at a volume they thought was safe.
He glanced back.
Harry and Slughorn were deep in conversation, Slughorn gesturing with the enthusiasm of a man who has found a very good listener. Harry was nodding, maintaining eye contact, asking follow-up questions with the natural sincerity that was genuinely Harry's greatest social asset.
Kevin turned back around.
Good.
A few minutes later, somewhere behind him, he heard rapid footsteps.
Harry drew level with him at the castle steps, slightly out of breath, with the expression of a man who had both succeeded at something and been genuinely abandoned by his supposed support system.
"You left me there," Harry said.
"And it worked," Kevin said.
"He invited me to the Slug Club dinner."
"Told you."
"He also said you're invited."
"Mm."
"Are you coming?"
Kevin considered the diplomatic angle for approximately one second. "Not this one. You go. Build the relationship. I'll come to a later one when it's useful for something specific."
Harry stared at the side of his head. "You could have at least warned me you were going to bail."
"You would have been more nervous knowing I wasn't going to be there. This was better."
A long pause.
"I hate that that's true," Harry said.
They went inside.