"Oh, don't keep calling me Professor. I'm not a professor anymore—hic—"
The small flames in the fireplace drove away the faint chill of the early autumn night.
The room was warm as spring. The plump old man curled up in the cushioned chair, pulled out his wand, and gave it a wave. The piano keys immediately began playing a melodious, lilting tune on their own.
Though he had only had a few drinks, a flush had already risen to Slughorn's cheeks, leaving him pleasantly tipsy.
"I'll call you Amosta, and you call me Horace. All right?"
"Oh, you truly are an approachable wizard, Horace. Shall we drink to that?"
Amosta pointed his wand at Horace's cup. The empty glass gurgled as it filled once more with thick, clear liquor.
Gulp!
The two drained their glasses. Horace seemed to blank out for a moment. He stared at the chandelier overhead for several seconds before looking at Amosta, who still sat upright with an impeccable smile on his face.
"What... what were we talking about just now, Amosta?"
"I believe it was..."
Amosta pretended to ponder for a few seconds.
"Your brilliant teaching methods?"
"Oh, right, that was it!"
Horace slapped his thigh and picked another piece of candied fruit from the half-empty box.
"What does Severus know about teaching? He simply isn't cut out for it!"
Horace shook his head at Amosta.
"Oh, I know that might make you uncomfortable. After all, he looked after you when you were at Hogwarts. But that hardly counts for anything. If it had been me, I would have looked after you too. With talent as outstanding as yours... hic!"
Drunk and indignant, Horace waved his arms.
"Don't think I stopped paying attention just because I retired. Look what Slytherin has become over the years.