In the gloom, Dumbledore pushed open the front door and walked noiselessly and quickly up the garden path.
Elwyn, Harry, and Hermione hurried to catch up.
In front, Dumbledore pushed open the front door slowly, wand in his hand, ready to strike at any moment.
"Fluorescent Twinkle!" The tip of her wand lit up, illuminating a narrow porch with an open door on the left.
Dumbledore held his shining wand high and led the way into the living room.
It was a mess, as if there had been a terrible battle not long ago.
An old clock lay smashed at their feet, its face cracked, and the pendulum lay a little further away, like an abandoned sword. At the end of the living room, a piano lay overturned on the ground, its keys scattered everywhere. Nearby, shards of a broken chandelier glittered. Cushions were strewn everywhere, deflated, with feathers coming out of the cracks. Broken glass and porcelain were scattered like powder.
Dumbledore raised his wand higher, illuminating the wall.
The wallpaper was splashed with a dark red, sticky substance. It was blood.
Elwyn looked around, wand raised high, looking for Slughorn in the ruins.
Hermione stood behind him, her body trembling slightly with nervousness.
Harry gasped quietly, as if frightened by the scene in front of him. Dumbledore heard and looked around.
"It doesn't look good, does it?" he said heavily. "There was a horrible incident here."
Dumbledore walked carefully to the middle of the room, carefully examining the debris at his feet.
"Was it the Death Eaters?"
"It must have been them, Hermione. Maybe there was a struggle, and then, then they dragged him away, didn't they, Professor?" Harry guessed, trying not to imagine how badly injured a person must have been to be splashed with blood so high up on the wall.
"I don't think so." Dumbledore said calmly as he looked behind the overturned armchair. "Elwyn, what do you think?"
"There are no Dark Demon markings outside the house. This is very unusual. It doesn't seem like the style of Death Eaters." Elwyn said, sniffing hard. "And there seems to be the smell of alcohol in the air, but I don't see any broken glasses or bottles. The attacker wouldn't have taken this away. Maybe the person we're looking for is still here."
"Elwyn, you mean he …"
"Yeah, it's still here. That must be it."
"How is that possible? Where is he?"
"I'm not sure yet!" said Elwyn, and the light of his wand grew a little brighter.
He had to admit that Slughorn hid it well.
Elwyn didn't find anything unusual. He was sure that Slughorn was here, but he couldn't remember how Slughorn hid himself, and he couldn't find him. Of course, if Elwyn was allowed to use spells to destroy the living room a second time, he was confident that he could force Slughorn out in a second.
"Still here. Yes, I think so too."
In the blink of an eye, Dumbledore thrust the tip of his wand into the bulging cushion of the armchair. The chair screamed, "Ouch!"
"Good evening, Horace," Dumbledore said, standing up straight again. "Long time no see."
Harry quickly turned his head and opened his mouth in surprise. Elwyn and Hermione also looked there in surprise.
It was just an armchair a moment ago, but in the blink of an eye, a fat, bald old man was squatting there.
He rubbed his belly and squinted at Dumbledore with a pained, tearful eye.
"You didn't have to stab me so hard," he said angrily, struggling to get up. "It hurt like hell."
The light of the wand shone on his shiny bald head, his bulging eyes, his silver walrus-like beard, and the shiny buttons on the maroon velvet shirt he wore over his lavender pajamas. He was not tall, and the top of his head only reached Dumbledore's chin.
"So, it was that damn Darkmark that gave me away?" He said gruffly. He staggered to his feet, still rubbing his belly, and looked at Elwyn rudely. He seemed to be shockingly thick-skinned. After all, he had just been seen through by pretending to be an armchair.
"My dear Horace!" Dumbledore seemed to think it was ridiculous. "Elwyn is right. If the Death Eaters were really here, they would have left a Darkmark on the house."
"I just feel like something's missing …" he muttered, as if he was not convinced. "Ah, yes, but it's too late. I just adjusted the chair cover when you came in. I didn't have time."
"There's also a faint smell of alcohol," Elwyn added. "But I don't see any bottles. That's unusual."
"Are you a cat, kid? You can even smell that?" Slughorn looked at Elwyn for a long time and sighed heavily, blowing the tips of his beard. "Yes, you're right. I was drinking a glass of oak-aged wine just now. I only had one bottle left, and I couldn't bear to throw it away …"
"Well, Horace, do you want me to help you clean up?" Dumbledore asked politely.
"Please," he said bluntly.
In the next second, they stood up with their backs facing each other.
One was tall and thin, the other short and fat, but the two of them waved their wands in unison.
The furniture jumped back to its original position, the ornaments returned to their original shape in midair, the feathers returned to their cushions, the damaged books repaired themselves automatically, neatly arranged on the bookshelves, the oil lamp flew to a small table by the wall, and lit up again. A large number of broken silver picture frames flew across the room and landed on a writing desk, where they became as shiny as new, and all the damage, tears, and cracks in the room were restored to their original state.
The stains on the wall were also wiped clean, as if they had never been stained with blood.
"By the way, what kind of blood is that?" Dumbledore asked, his voice drowning out the sound of the grandfather clock that had just been repaired.
"You mean the blood on the wall? It's the blood of a fire dragon, "the other party answered loudly.
At this moment, the chandelier jumped back to the ceiling, making a deafening creaking and clanking sound.
With a final tinkle from the piano, the room finally quieted down.
"Yes, Albus, the blood of a fire dragon!" The wizard said enthusiastically, shaking his wand one last time. "You remind me, this is the last bottle in my collection, and the price on the market is staggering. But it may still be useful, don't waste it. "
He trudged over to the sideboard, picked up a small crystal bottle from the top, and held it up to the light to examine the viscous liquid inside.
"Well, it's a little dirty," he sighed as he put the bottle back on the sideboard.
Only then did his eyes return to Elwyn, Harry, and Hermione.
"Albus, you brought these young people to me in the middle of the night, are you planning a party?!"
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