Slughorn's private storeroom was filled with the honeyed sweetness of sugar and the complex scent of aged potion ingredients. The annual small Christmas gathering was being held here, a traditional occasion for Horace Slughorn to display his "collection"—the students he favored, whether from prominent families or blessed with exceptional talent.
Tom Riddle was naturally a frequent guest here. Elegant in manner and proper in speech, he moved deftly among several classmates from Board of Governors families like a born protagonist, as though the gloomy-eyed boy at the edge of the Forbidden Forest not long ago had been nothing more than an illusion.
Ares Phoenix stood quietly in a shadowed spot by the wall, holding a glass of untouched Honey Wine. His mismatched eyes appeared even more distinct beneath the warm yellow light, while the Golden Chain Pattern beneath his left eye was cleverly half-concealed by a lock of platinum-blond hair. He could feel several gazes falling upon him from time to time—Abraxas Malfoy's cautious appraisal, Katarin Voronova's undisguised scrutiny, and, from the other end of the room, the seemingly casual yet precise attention of Walton Travers, the newly appointed Dark Magic Defense professor.
Professor Travers was chatting amiably with Slughorn. His refined manner and "occasional insights" into potions had clearly won the host's favor. Yet Ares noticed that Travers always seemed to steer the topic, seemingly by accident, toward ancient magic, bloodline inheritance, and certain "misunderstood powers."
"...There are always gifted young people, like uncut diamonds, who need the right guidance before they can shine," Travers said. His voice was low, yet it carried perfectly to Ares's ears. "To leave them trapped by narrow perspectives would truly be a loss for the entire wizarding world."
Slughorn chuckled, his plump fingers turning his glass. "Ah, yes, like our young Phoenix. Even