Slughorn had an hourglass. Whenever he found the topic interesting, the sand inside flowed more slowly; whenever he found it boring, it flowed much faster.
This did not conform to the objective laws of nature. Yet when chatting with someone, if we found the topic interesting, time seemed to fly by, and we wished the sand would fall more slowly.
"So, starting next year, we won't need to prepare for Christmas performances anymore?"
Slughorn lightly tapped the glass of the hourglass. It rang crisply, clearing her muddled mind considerably.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"I said, starting next year, we won't need to prepare for Christmas performances anymore?" Slughorn repeated.
"No, not just next year. There will not be any in the future either," Pomona replied. "Dumbledore thinks Christmas is more suitable for family reunions."
Slughorn considered this, then took a sip of mead, swaying his head.
"A new headmaster, new rules. I understand. Like Muggle schools, right?"
"The professors can take holidays too. You'll have more time to socialize," Pomona "congratulated" him.
"Do you remember Tom Riddle?" Slughorn suddenly said. "I knew when he was at school that he would achieve great things. If he entered politics, he might very well have become Minister for Magic."
Pomona turned to glance at Slughorn's display shelf. It already held quite a few of his "achievements," including a photograph of Tom Riddle and Slughorn holding a trophy. It had been awarded to Tom for protecting the school. A Muggle-born witch had died, and the murderer was said to have been a pet raised by Hagrid.
Albus said the school was unsafe. Someone had released something dangerous from the Chamber of Secrets, something that threatened the lives of teachers and students. That was why he wanted the students to leave school and go