Dumbledore rose once more and walked over to Mulciber. He bent slightly, pulled up Mulciber's left arm, and rolled his sleeve past the elbow.
On Mulciber's skin was something that looked like a vivid red tattoo—a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth.
It was the **Dark Mark**.
"Well, well, has Voldemort truly sunk so low as to turn students into Death Eaters?" Dumbledore mused, though his blue eyes blazed with fury, despite his voice remaining calm.
The name startled Mulciber. He shivered, shook his head abruptly, and glared venomously at those around him before lowering his gaze once more.
Dumbledore looked down at Mulciber, a look of distaste on his face and disappointment in his eyes.
Then, he raised his wand again. Several ropes shot out from it, tracing arcs in the air, swiftly coiling around Mulciber's body, binding him tightly.
Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, if you would be so kind as to contact Frank Longbottom and ask him to collect Mulciber at dawn."
"Of course," Professor McGonagall replied briskly. "I'll settle him in my office for the night."
She drew her wand and pointed it at Mulciber.
Mulciber's body slowly floated up, drifting out the door, following Professor McGonagall.
---
After the door closed, Slughorn nervously twisted the pale purple fabric of his dressing gown with his stubby fingers.
His eyes flickered uncertainly, and after a good deal of hesitation, he finally stammered, "Albus, I was thinking, I'm almost eighty now. Perhaps I should consider having more time to enjoy my old bones."
"Are you considering retirement, Horace?" Dumbledore asked calmly. "At a time such as this?"
Slughorn shook his head. "Alas, it's undeniable, I am an old man, Albus. A weary old man. Tonight has quite rattled me. I simply wish for a quiet life."
"You're not as old as I am, Horace," Dumbledore pointed out.
"Indeed, perhaps you should consider retirement yourself," Slughorn said with a sigh. "We're both getting on, not as we once were."
"You speak truly," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "However, on the other hand, if we both were to retire—"
"—Professor Slughorn," Snape suddenly interrupted Dumbledore, his gaze fixed on Slughorn. "Why would you wish to retire? At a time like this, I truly cannot imagine anywhere safer than Hogwarts. As you saw tonight, only one foolish Death Eater dared to carry out his pathetic schemes here. Voldemort himself didn't even dare show his face, not even when Professor Dumbledore was absent."
Hearing Voldemort's name again, Slughorn let out a small protest.
But Snape paid him no mind and continued as if to himself, "Where would you go after leaving Hogwarts? I highly doubt the Death Eaters would overlook a wizard of your formidable skill. Wherever you might be, they would surely seek you out."
"What use would the Death Eaters have for my useless old bones?" Slughorn retorted loudly.
"I believe they would wish for you to employ your considerable intellect in matters of suppression, torture, and murder," Snape said. "Do you truly believe they are unaware of your brilliance?"
Slughorn glared at Snape for a moment, seemingly incensed by his insolence.
But after a while, his eyes slowly dimmed, and he muttered, "I'm not terribly fond of danger..."
"Then you should certainly remain at the school. I believe that as long as Professor Dumbledore is Headmaster, the Hogwarts staff will be safer than most. He is the only one Voldemort truly fears, isn't he?" Snape continued, recalling Harry's persuasive tactics.
Slughorn was lost in thought for a moment, as if carefully weighing Snape's words.
"Alas, yes, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indeed never dared to confront Dumbledore directly," he grumbled reluctantly. "I suppose, since I have no desire to join the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would hardly consider me a friend... In that case, I daresay I would be safer staying near Albus..."
Slughorn's voice grew fainter and fainter, as if he were trying to convince himself to stay.
Dumbledore smiled, watching them.
---
He then walked behind the long table, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a piece of parchment, tapping it with his wand.
"Horace," Dumbledore said, "as an old friend, I still hope you will continue as Head of Slytherin House."
"However, have a look at this," he said, handing the parchment to Slughorn. "If you insist, you may sign here to retire. I've already filled in the other details on the resignation form."
"Hah, hah, hah," Slughorn let out a few dry laughs, then changed his tone. "Albus, I was only jesting. Kettleburn hasn't retired yet, there's no rush for me..."
"I am pleased you've made this decision," Dumbledore said. "After tonight, I shall rearrange our personnel and reinforce Hogwarts' security measures."
"Yes, yes," Slughorn looked a bit troubled, frowning slightly. "I must be a bit muddled in the head. Albus, if there's nothing else, I shall take my leave. An old man can't take much more excitement..."
"A most remarkable persuasion," Dumbledore said to Snape once Slughorn had departed. "Tonight... well... you've certainly worked hard..."
His expression was peculiar, as if he wasn't sure whether to praise Snape.
"Over this time, you have proven your resolve to stand against Voldemort with your actions, and—and your exceptional initiative. However, I still hope that in the future, should you have any ideas, it would be best to discuss them with me first."
"You can count on it, Professor," Snape replied swiftly and without hesitation, which, to be honest, probably made his words about two points less believable.
Then, he asked, "Professor, is everything alright in Hogsmeade?"
"Hogsmeade is largely unharmed," Dumbledore said gently. "Thankfully, the loud collapse of the passage woke the villagers, and most of the Inferi were still trapped within the secret tunnel. Only Madam Rosmerta, the landlady of the Three Broomsticks, was rather severely injured. Aberforth has already taken her to the Hospital Wing for Madam Pomfrey to treat. She should recover in a few days. You should go and rest as well."
"Very good, Professor."