Dumbledore stood where he was without moving. For a moment, he was dazed; he could not reconcile the man before him with the old professor he remembered from Hogwarts, always teaching with his round belly thrust out.
That man had vanished now. In his place stood a middle-aged man in the center of the fountain, abundant magic surging around him like an invisible tide that rose and fell—not aggressive, but substantial enough for any perceptive wizard to sense both its presence and its depth.
Dumbledore discreetly identified the lingering traces of scent from the liquid in his hand: Moonstone powder, the ashes of Unicorn Tail Hair, and some ancient formula base he had never encountered. It was not some invigorating potion sold on the market. At least three forbidden ingredients that should never have appeared in the same formula had been added to that cup.
"Professor Dumbledore." Slughorn stepped out from the center of the fountain, his boot tips lightly crossing the pool's edge without splashing a single drop. He stopped roughly two paces from Dumbledore, wearing a perfectly measured smile—polite, relaxed, with the easy composure of someone thoroughly warmed by sunlight.
"What a rare guest. The last time I saw you leave Hogwarts, it seemed to have been..." He tilted his head, pretending to think carefully, and the smile at the corners of his mouth deepened slightly. "...fifteen years ago? Or even longer? Time passes so quickly, doesn't it?"
Dumbledore looked at him, his gaze moving from Slughorn's facial contours to his shoulders, then from his shoulders to his cuffs—the edges of those cuffs were embroidered with an extremely fine silver pattern, identical to the vine-like "S" on the iron gate.
His voice remained gentle, though his pace was half a beat slower than usual. "Horace, you look... well.