A Rare Opportunity, a Sneak Attack

Regulus nodded to Avery, signaling them to go ahead.

Avery shrugged, unfazed, and walked straight to the door with Alex. Hermes didn't even glance at him, hands in his pockets, and followed them out.

Regulus had assumed that Dumbledore would be the first to speak to him after the holidays, but Slughorn came first.

Thinking about it, it makes sense. The Slytherin Head of House cares about his students. After such a big thing happened during the Christmas holidays, it's normal that he would keep him behind for a chat after school starts. There might also be other reasons, such as the professor wanting to know something about Voldemort.

Rumors circulated that Voldemort had appeared that night, so it's not surprising that the professor came to ask him about it.

Regulus rose and walked to the front of the podium, nodding politely. "Professor."

Slughorn chuckled and waved, tilting his head towards the office. "Come on, let's talk in my office."

Regulus followed.

The door to the Potions Office was to the right of the podium. Pushing the door open, a complex smell wafted towards me.

The strange aroma of various Potions ingredients mixed together was indistinguishable from the actual ingredients, but you could tell from the smell that it wasn't cheap.

The walls are covered with group photos of wizards whose names you can name. Some of the photos show people moving, smiling and raising their glasses at the camera, while others are old and yellowed, with still figures.

Slughorn smiles almost exactly the same way in every photo.

On several shelves against the wall were rare materials; Regulus recognized some of them, but not others.

The Silver Instruments on the table gleamed, the armchairs were upholstered in thick Velvet, and on the small round table beside the fireplace sat a half-empty bottle of Mead and several plates of pastries. The entire room was filled with a carefully crafted sense of comfort and abundance.

Slughorn settled into his large chair, his round body sinking into the thick cushion with a soft thud.

He opened the drawer, took out a box of Candied Pineapple, opened the lid, took a piece and put it in his mouth, then pushed the box and all in front of Regulus.

"Try it, a Christmas present," he mumbled, his tone smug. "Sent by a student from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, probably to make me remember his letter of recommendation for promotion next month."

Regulus sat down in the chair opposite him, his posture upright and somewhat relaxed.

He picked up a piece of Candied Fruit, took a bite, and found it too sweet, almost like Dumbledore's Lemon Sherbet.

He placed the Candied Fruit on the saucer, and the teapot beside him floated over by itself, filling his cup with steaming black tea. He picked up the cup, took a sip, and washed away the cloying sweetness. "Thank you, Professor."

You're welcome, you're welcome.

Slughorn took another piece, then leaned back, interlacing his fingers on his stomach.

He looked at Regulus, his smile relaxed, and casually asked, "How's everything at home? How's Orion's health?"

"Everything is fine, Professor," Regulus said, clasping his hands on his lap. After a moment's thought, he added, "My father asked me to give you his regards. He said I should learn more from you."

Slughorn raised his eyebrows, a wide expression of exaggerated satisfaction on his face. "Orion, you're too kind."

Then, deliberately putting on a stern face, she pointed at Regulus with her finger. "Then why don't you learn? Your talent for Potions is so good it makes me sigh, but why aren't you interested in Potions?"

He's talented enough, but he just doesn't put in the effort. I've mentioned that to Albus several times.

Regulus lowered his head slightly, revealing an embarrassed expression.

Slughorn stared at him for a moment, then couldn't hold back any longer and burst out laughing, waving his hand. "Never mind, I know what you're thinking."

Regulus shook his head inwardly.

You wouldn't believe it, Professor, but it will shock you.

"I heard this year's Christmas Banquet was quite lively." Slughorn's tone was still relaxed, with a hint of gossip, as he held a piece of Candied Pineapple in his hand and stuffed it into his mouth.

Then he added, "Lestrange Manor looks quite spectacular now, even the foundations are burned away?"

Regulus, holding his teacup, didn't rush to reply.

The professor, of course, knew what had happened that night.

Slughorn family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

The professor himself is the patriarch, Slytherin Head of House, the most outstanding Potions Master of the time, the founder of the Slug Club, and has connections throughout half of the Wizarding World.

His status within the Pure-blood Circle is, in some ways, even higher Orion's.

The news that Lestrange Manor was burned down, Bellatrix was badly injured, and Voldemort himself was present—the version of this information he received was probably the most complete besides those directly involved.

The chuckled old man seemed easygoing, but he was incredibly capable.

Regulus took a sip of tea and put down his cup.

Slughorn's smile faded slightly, though his tone remained relaxed but became more serious. "Are you alright?"

Regulus looked at the professor.

The professor certainly had his own agenda; the roundabout way of bringing the conversation to this point indicated more than one intention.

But looking closely at that round face, his concern was genuine.

He met the professor's gaze, smiled, and said in a relaxed tone, "It's nothing, Professor."

After thinking for a moment, she added, "It's just a family matter; I'm sorry to have troubled you."

Slughorn looked at Regulus, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment before sweeping from his face to his hands and back again. Regulus didn't flinch, nor did he have anything to flinch from; he let the professor look at him.

He sat there, relaxed, his breathing steady.

Regulus could feel some kind of sensation touching him, not intrusive, nor malicious, like a very thin net that briefly enveloped him before quickly withdrawing.

It was so light that he wouldn't have been able to detect it if his senses hadn't been sharp enough.

Wizards of this caliber naturally possess unique methods.

Professor Slughorn was more than just Potions Master; in the final stages of the Battle of Hogwarts, he, along with Professor McGonagall and Kingsley, fought against Voldemort himself.

A wizard who can withstand a battle of that level is far more skilled than he usually appears.

After a breath or two, Slughorn finished reading and nodded. "It's good that you're alright."

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then sighed.

"Bellatrix." He shook his head, his tone filled with regret, helplessness, and a complex emotion that only a teacher would have. "Sigh." Regulus didn't reply, but lowered his head slightly.

How could he respond? Say it's not a pity? Say she performed very well? Say she's very useful?

There was nothing more to say; he sat quietly, waiting for the professor to continue.

There was a moment of silence.

The fire in the fireplace flickered twice, Mead bottle reflected the firelight on the small round table.

Slughorn put down his teacup, his fingers tracing the ring on his other hand.

His gaze shifted to the group photos on the office wall. Among those photos with identical smiles, some faces hadn't appeared in public in the Wizarding World for a long time.

Then he looked away and his gaze fell on Regulus.

He hesitated.

Regulus could tell, but he didn't say anything.

Then the professor spoke, his tone softer than before, even a little hesitant, as if he himself wasn't quite sure what answer he wanted to hear. "Regulus, you saw him?"

Regulus kept his eyes downcast and did not answer immediately.

He knew who the professor was asking, and he also knew the professor's inner conflict.

Tom Riddle, Slughorn's most prized and favorite student.

The most dazzling collectible of the Slug Club: an orphan, exceptionally talented, handsome, and well-mannered, perfectly meeting the professor's criteria for collecting future big shots.

The professor's appreciation for him was genuine, unrelated to bloodline or family background, purely because he was so outstanding.

Later, at a party, the professor, after drinking, was tricked by Riddle into revealing his knowledge of Horcruxes.

Riddle asked a very clever question, like a good student asking a profound theoretical question.

The professor answered, saying that Soul Splitting could allow one to transcend death, that it required killing to accomplish, and that seven was a Magic Power number. Later, Riddle became Voldemort.

This is the biggest stain and source of fear in his life.

He knew what he had given the young man, knew what that knowledge had been used for, but he dared not face it, dared not admit it. Later, he altered this memory, giving Dumbledore a revised version, in which he said that the soul should remain whole. It was now 1974, Voldemort was still on the rise, had not yet fallen, and the First Wizarding War had not yet ended.

When Voldemort falls for the first time, the professor will feel fear and will hide for ten years.

He dared not return to Hogwarts, nor let anyone find him, for fear that Voldemort's remaining forces would cause him trouble, and also for fear that Dumbledore would ask him about that matter.

But now, the professor should feel guilty; his students are becoming what he doesn't want to see, and he's powerless to stop it.

So he had to ask.

He wanted to know what Voldemort was like now, and to what extent those words from back then had been used.

Regulus understood all of this and decided to answer.

There's nothing to hide; he'll tell you once he sees it.

But you have to be careful about what you say and how much you say.

What he knows is limited to what he sees with his eyes, at most adding his perceptions, judgments, and speculations; he cannot utter a single word.

The professor waited there, not urging him, his finger resting on the ring but not turning it, just waiting.

The office was quiet for a moment, with only the low crackling of the fireplace.

Regulus looked up and nodded slightly. "I saw him."

Slughorn shifted his body slightly forward, his stomach touching the edge of the table.

After a moment of silence, the professor finally spoke, his tone casual, but his eyes remained fixed on Regulus, never looking away.

How does he look?

How about it?

That's too broad.

Regulus knew that the professor certainly wasn't asking Voldemort how he was dressed or how he looked.

They were talking about the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world today.

The fact that Slughorn asked him this question shows that the professor doesn't treat him like a child, so there's no need for him to pretend to be confused and beat around the bush.

"He doesn't look like a normal person anymore," Regulus began to describe objectively.

"The color and texture of her skin have changed; it's waxy white, and you can see the veins under the skin. Her nose has flattened, leaving only two narrow slits. Her lips are extremely thin, dark purple, and the boundary between them and her skin is almost invisible."

His eyes were dark red, with vertical pupils that slowly contracted in the firelight. He walked silently, and all sounds around him automatically disappeared. Slughorn had been listening the whole time.

Regulus continued.

"In terms of Magic Perception, when I stand in front of him, all I hear is blank space. Visually, there's someone there, Magic Perception, there's nothing there." He knew the professor understood; his perception was more acute than that of the average wizard. He had demonstrated it last year, so there was no problem with him saying it.

"There's another sensation," Regulus said, slowing his pace, "A tremor deep within the bones, subtle but clear, starting from the spine and spreading outwards along the ribs when you stand next to him."

He finished speaking and didn't continue.

Slughorn didn't interrupt, his smile long gone, replaced by focus and seriousness.

He had forgotten about the Candied Pineapple in his hand; the syrup was dripping down his fingers, but he didn't notice.

Silence. The only sound in the office was the fireplace.

Slughorn's gaze seemed to linger somewhere, as if he were looking at a group photo on the wall behind Regulus, or perhaps something further away. Then his voice grew even softer, almost as if he were talking to himself. "What's his expression like when he talks to people?"

He paused, pinched the Candied Fruit between his fingers, and then released it.

"What was his reaction when he saw the injured person?"

It paused again.

"I mean... Bellatrix... did he... what was his expression when he saw Bellatrix?"

Regulus knew what the question was asking.

The professor probably pieced together the scene himself: Voldemort arrived, Bellatrix was seriously injured and collapsed—he had all this information.

He asked whether Voldemort felt any emotional reaction when he saw his most loyal follower fall before him.

Voldemort and Bellatrix were both students of Slughorn.

When it comes to understanding them, Slughorn ranks among the top in the entire Wizarding World.

He watched Tom Riddle transform from a promising young man into what he is today, and he watched Bellatrix go from the Black family's heiress to their most fervent follower.

One of the students became the Dark Lord, and the other became the Dark Lord's most loyal dog.

Regulus thought for a moment; this question involved judgment.

If he answers without any reaction, it would be tantamount to saying that Voldemort has lost the ability to have normal emotional responses.

This is a conclusion, and it is subjective.

He chose not to answer.

He was silent for a moment, then gently shook his head.

The professor's head shaking itself has no clear meaning. It could be interpreted as him not wanting to talk, as him not being able to explain it clearly, or as Voldemort not reacting.

How to interpret it is up to the professor.

Slughorn's twitching fingers stopped, and he froze, his face showing no obvious change, only that all his movements had ceased. Regulus lowered his head slightly.

A moment later, Regulus raised his eyes; the opportunity was too good to pass up.

The atmosphere has reached this point, it would be a shame not to ask something. If you want to hear something from the professor, now is the time.