Ron was conflicted.
Even though they'd fought side by side last year to drive Umbridge out, he still didn't like Malfoy.
That face of his.
After getting beaten so many times, he still wouldn't change his attitude? Always doing the right thing but never saying the right words.
"What exactly does he want to do to 'purge' Slytherin?" Harry asked.
"Purge" was an interesting word—typically only used by Gryffindor's Quidditch team when facing Slytherin's.
Ron shook his head. "I don't know."
"But it doesn't seem peaceful. Pansy Parkinson got her nose broken—Malfoy really didn't hold back."
Harry frowned. "I meant, did he say what he wants Slytherin to become? Not Voldemort's Slytherin, sure—but a pure-blood Slytherin? Malfoy's Slytherin? Or Hogwarts' Slytherin?"
Ron tried to remember. "He said he wanted Slytherin to become Slytherin's Slytherin."
A bit of a tongue twister, and Ron's cheeks cramped from saying it.
"Well, isn't that their house's business?" Hermione shrugged. "We haven't won the House Cup in years—this might be our chance."
Ron's eyes lit up.
He started counting on his fingers. "Good thing Fred and George graduated." He muttered, "Otherwise they'd never miss this show."
"Let me think who the usual suspects are."
He pulled out a piece of parchment and started jotting down names of every potential Gryffindor troublemaker who'd enjoy a little chaos.
At that moment—
A knock on the door.
A meticulously dressed third-year witch peeked in, voice clipped and formal: "Excuse me for the interruption, I have an invitation to deliver—to Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley."
All three looked up.
She placed two neatly folded letters in front of Hermione and Ron, then carefully pulled out another and set it down before Harry.
"Who's it from?" Hermione lifted her wand and cast a detection spell.
"A professor," the girl replied. "One I haven't seen before."
A new professor?
The invitation carried no curses. Hermione flicked her wand, and the envelope gently unfolded.
The third-year witch took a breath. "Mr. Potter, I'm Viola Spencer, third year, Slytherin. May I—"
"That's enough, Miss Spencer. Sorry to cut you off." Hermione smiled politely. "But this professor has invited us to his compartment—we need a moment to prepare. Can't meet a professor unkempt."
The girl pouted, clearly disappointed. "Oh. Okay."
As she backed out, she called out again, "Mr. Potter, it's been an honor to speak with you today!"
The door closed with a slow whoosh.
"Harry, did you say anything just now?" Ron blinked. That last line had him wondering if he was hallucinating.
"Harry's very popular now," Hermione twirled her hair. "What did Yennefer say? A good man is bound to attract flowers, whether he wants them or not."
Harry opened his letter. "Hermione, don't let Yennefer corrupt you."
"She's a good mother," Hermione said proudly.
Harry said nothing, eyes scanning the letter.
"Dear Mr. Potter,
It would be my greatest honor to share an afternoon tea with you in Compartment C.
Your friendly and loyal,
H.E.F. Slughorn."
Ron opened his own and muttered aloud: "Who the bloody hell is Professor Slughorn?"
His invitation was almost the same, just worded slightly less grandly.
Hermione pursed her lips at the subtle difference, already forming a poor opinion of this new professor.
"Horace Slughorn," Harry said, "an accomplished Potions Master. One of the few in the Potions Society who can talk shop with Snape."
Ron let out a low whistle.
Harry's tone grew heavier. "But what I remember most is that he was once a Hogwarts professor."
"He taught Tom Riddle Potions."
"And was the Slytherin Head of House."
"He held the Potions post until Snape took over."
Their expressions turned serious.
"Voldemort's professor and Head of House?" Ron asked, brow furrowed.
Harry stood and waved his wand to change into his uniform. "Since he invited us, we may as well go see."
Ron and Hermione did the same, banishing the Transfiguration disguises on their robes.
They made their way to Compartment C.
This section was magically expanded. Inside, not just Slughorn—but several other students were already there.
Gryffindor's Neville, Slytherin's Blaise Zabini, a few others Harry vaguely recognized… and Ginny.
"Mr. Potter!" Slughorn beamed, waddling over eagerly. "Finally! I wrote to you first, you know—I was worried you wouldn't come."
He was built like Fudge, round and heavy, but more handsome in the face. Still, sharp eyes hinted at his cunning.
Hermione murmured, "Professor, having a girl deliver your invitation to Harry was a poor choice. I bet she spent thirty minutes on her makeup."
Slughorn chuckled warmly. "Ah, Miss Granger, people say you're intense. Honestly, I dread dealing with Gryffindors like Minerva. But clearly they've underestimated you—you're quite witty."
Hermione forced a smile.
"Harry, you're the one I was most excited to meet," Slughorn gushed. "The heir of Gryffindor! I've never taught a student like you—Dumbledore's own kind."
"I'm sure you've had plenty of experience," Harry replied mildly. "After all, you've taught some very noteworthy students."
Slughorn froze.
He knew what Harry was hinting at.
"My parents were your students, weren't they?" Harry continued smoothly.
Relief flooded Slughorn's face. "Yes, James and Lily. Oh, how proud I was of Lily! Such a gifted witch—I thought she'd be the youngest female Potions Master in a century. Maybe the youngest, period."
"A terrible loss."
Harry smiled faintly.
Slughorn hastily turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger! You're my second favorite today."
"I dare say you and Harry make a perfect match."
"Lily was like you—humble beginnings but immense magical talent."
"And if I may say, the new generation always surpasses the old—twelve O.W.L.s! Even Dumbledore didn't do that!"
Hermione replied politely, "But you're very experienced, Professor. After all, the last two students to get all O's were yours too."
Harry added, "And under your guidance, Slytherin students always excel. Gryffindor's hoping for the House Cup this year—but with you back, we might have a problem."
Slughorn's smile stiffened again.
Dumbledore had warned him—watch out for Harry's tongue.
But he never said anything about Granger!
A seventh-year Slytherin spoke up, sensing tension. "Professor, are you taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Slughorn quickly smiled. "Oh no, not me! I'm no match for Potter—or even Neville, I imagine."
He looked at Neville in the corner.
Several students blinked in surprise.
"This wasn't reported," he asked Neville, "May I tell them?"
Neville nodded.
"You won't believe this," Slughorn said proudly. "This summer, on his birthday, Neville encountered Bellatrix Lestrange near Godric's Hollow—and killed her, alone."
"I daresay I wouldn't have stood a chance."
The students stared at Neville.
If Harry had done it, they might not have blinked.
But Neville?
He could?
"Defense Against the Dark Arts should be taught by true masters," Slughorn continued. "And have you heard the new rumor?"
"The position is cursed."
Nods all around.
"But recently," he giggled, "they say the real curse is that every professor gets punched by Mr. Potter!"
No one laughed.
"Wait, that's real?" Slughorn noticed their faces.
A Hufflepuff turned to Harry. "Did you beat up Professor Black?"
"I did," Harry nodded.
They dueled often—he didn't hold back just because Sirius was his godfather.
"Then it's true," the Hufflepuff muttered. "Who's the new professor?"
"Snape," Slughorn whispered.
Everyone nodded.
Sounded about right. Potter and Snape not fighting would be the bigger shock.
Slughorn clapped. "Well then, now that you've all met Harry…"
"I should introduce the rest of you."
Hermione quickly noticed a pattern—aside from herself, everyone was either pure-blood or from powerful magical families. Not even the fallen pure-bloods like Draco Malfoy were present.
Slughorn bragged about his past students, the "Slug Club" (ugh), and even mentioned Cornelius Fudge once belonged—which honestly lowered the club's prestige.
Finally, the train's arrival announcement interrupted him.
He clapped. "Goodness! Time flew. Go on, kids, get ready for the Welcoming Feast."
As they filed out, he gave Harry a warm smile. "Looking forward to seeing you in the Slug Club, Harry!"
Once outside—
"I hate him," Hermione said flatly, face sour. "He's a puffed-up Lockhart. Did you see what he did to poor Beeble?"
"Said he wasn't close to his uncle—and suddenly, no more tea refills."
Ron scratched his cheek. "Didn't seem so bad to me…"
"He treated me okay—not like Harry-level, of course."
"Harry, are you joining his Slug Club?" Hermione sighed.
Harry nodded. "Of course."
"He's a Potions Master. Snape's research is at a critical point—having another experienced master around is lucky."
Ron gasped. "Harry, you're going to detention him, aren't you?!"
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Powerstones?
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