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Dumbledore rose once more and approached Mulciber. He bent slightly, took hold of Mulciber's left arm, and rolled up the sleeve to the elbow.
On Mulciber's skin was something that looked like a vivid red tattoo—a skull with a serpent slithering from its mouth.
It was the Dark Mark.
"Well, well," said Dumbledore, "has Lord Voldemort sunk so low as to recruit students as Death Eaters?"
His blue eyes blazed with fury, though his voice remained calm.
The name startled Mulciber. He shuddered, shook his head violently, and cast a venomous glance around the room before letting his head droop again.
Dumbledore gazed down at Mulciber, his face etched with disgust and his eyes brimming with disappointment.
Then, raising his wand once more, he conjured several ropes that shot out with a swish, arcing through the air and swiftly binding Mulciber's body, securing him tightly.
Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, please contact Frank Longbottom and ask him to come at dawn to take Mulciber away."
"Of course," Professor McGonagall replied briskly. "I'll keep him in my office for tonight."
She drew her wand and pointed it at Mulciber.
Mulciber's body began to float, drifting after Professor McGonagall as she moved toward the door.
Once the door closed, Slughorn twisted his short, stubby fingers into the fabric of his pale purple dressing gown.
His eyes flickered uncertainly. After a long hesitation, he finally spoke, his voice faltering.
"Albus, I've been thinking… I'm nearly eighty years old."
"Perhaps it's time I considered having more time to enjoy what's left of these old bones."
"You wish to retire, Horace?" Dumbledore said calmly. "At a time like this?"
Slughorn shook his head. "Oh, it's undeniable, Albus. I'm an old man."
"A weary old man, and tonight has thoroughly worn me out. All I want is a quiet life."
"You're not as old as I am, Horace," Dumbledore said.
"True enough," Slughorn replied with a slight sigh, "and perhaps you should consider retiring yourself. We're both getting on, not what we used to be."
"You're right," Dumbledore said evenly, "but on the other hand, if we all retired—"
"Professor Slughorn," Snape interrupted suddenly, his gaze fixed on Slughorn, "why would you want to retire?"
"At a time like this, I can't imagine anywhere safer than Hogwarts."
"As you saw tonight, only one reckless Death Eater dared to carry out a vile scheme here, and even Lord Voldemort himself didn't show his face. Not even when Professor Dumbledore was absent."
At the mention of Voldemort's name again, Slughorn let out a small sound of protest.
But Snape ignored him, pressing on. "Where would you go if you left Hogwarts? I don't believe the Death Eaters would leave a wizard as talented as you alone. No matter where you went, they'd find you."
"What use would the Death Eaters have for these useless old bones?" Slughorn retorted loudly.
"I think," Snape said, "they'd want your brilliance for oppression, torture, and murder. Do you believe they're unaware of your talents?"
Slughorn glared at Snape for a moment, clearly offended by the implication.
But after a while, his gaze softened, and he muttered, "I'm not one for danger…"
"Then all the more reason to stay at Hogwarts," Snape continued, recalling Harry's way of framing things. "As long as Professor Dumbledore is Headmaster, I believe the staff at Hogwarts are safer than most. Voldemort fears him alone, doesn't he?"
Slughorn fell silent, as if weighing Snape's words carefully.
"Well, yes," he grumbled reluctantly, "that fellow whose name we don't mention has never dared to face Albus head-on."
"I suppose, since I've no intention of joining the Death Eaters, that fellow wouldn't exactly consider me a friend…"
His voice trailed off, as though he were reasoning with himself to stay.
"In that case, staying by Albus's side might be the safer choice…"
Dumbledore watched them with a faint smile.
Then he walked behind the long table, opened a drawer, and pulled out a piece of parchment, tapping it lightly with his wand.
"Horace," Dumbledore said, "as an old friend, I hope you'll continue as Head of Slytherin House."
"But here," he handed the parchment to Slughorn, "if you insist, sign this, and you can retire. I've already filled in the rest of the resignation form."
"Hahaha," Slughorn let out a dry laugh before his tone shifted. "Albus, I was joking. Kettleburn hasn't retired yet, so I've no reason to rush…"
"I'm glad you've made that decision," Dumbledore said. "After tonight, I'll rearrange staff and strengthen Hogwarts' security measures."
"Yes, yes," Slughorn said, looking somewhat troubled, his brow furrowing slightly. "I must be getting muddled in the head."
"Albus, if there's nothing else, I'll head back. This old man can't take much more excitement…"
"Well done," Dumbledore said to Snape after Slughorn left, "with your persuasion tonight… well… thank you."
His expression was peculiar, as if unsure whether to commend Snape.
"Over this time, you've proven your resolve to stand against Voldemort—and your remarkable ability to act."
"But I hope, in the future, if you have any ideas, you'll discuss them with me first."
"Of course, Professor," Snape replied quickly, though his swiftness made his words seem slightly less convincing.
Then he asked, "Professor, how is Hogsmeade?"
"Hogsmeade is fine," Dumbledore said gently. "The collapse of the passage woke the villagers, and most of the Inferi were trapped in the tunnel."
"Only Madam Rosmerta from The Three Broomsticks was badly injured. Aberforth has taken her to the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to treat. She should recover in a few days."
"You should rest as well."
"Yes, Professor."
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