Chapter 32: Bar Gathering

As Sherlock stepped into the pub he was greeted by Hagrid upon his arrival. It was Sherlock's first encounter with the giant man since he had last seen him on the Hogsmeade station platform.

At the table where Hagrid was seated, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall were also present, alongside an unfamiliar stout elderly man. He possessed a shiny bald head, thick walrus-like whiskers, and a rotund belly, all accompanied by a friendly grin. On appearance alone, one might consider him a jovial individual.

They were nestled near a window, where one could watch the raindrops trace a path down the eaves — arguably, the best seat to enjoy a relaxed drink amidst the pattering raindrops within the entire pub.

Sherlock proceeded directly to their table. Professor Flitwick courteously pulled out an empty chair next to him, offering Sherlock a seat.

From the moment Sherlock had made his presence known in the pub, this stranger with bewhiskered cheeks had been observing him with an astounded gaze.

"He bears a strong resemblance…" The man murmured faintly, evoking a slight melancholy in the group, except for Sherlock.

"Horace." Professor McGonagall addressed the chubby man, her brow knotted in disapproval.

Seemingly roused from his thoughts, Slughorn blew out a sniff and restored his genial smile.

"I beg your pardon, Sherlock. I trust you won't mind if I address you by your first name, seeing as we nearly had a godfather-son relationship back in the day. Your eyes remind me so much of your mother, but your charm, I see, is all your own. You may know me as Horace Slughorn, your late mother's erstwhile teacher and close friend. You can simply call me Horace, no need for formalities here."

Sherlock responded with a slight nod, refraining from voicing any further words.

An awkward silence hung in the air. Known for his affable demeanor in class, it was Professor Flitwick who eventually wrung out a suitable remark to break the silence.

"Judging by the chatter among the students, it appears you've made quite an impression in your first week as a professor, Sherlock."

"Just fulfilling my responsibilities." Sherlock replied modestly.

Hagrid let out a guffaw.

"Merely doing your duty indeed! You're doing splendidly. I say you must be the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we've had in years! When Harry and his friends visits, they often talk about how refreshing they find your classes."

A slight pout of envy was detectable in his praise. Of those present, only Hagrid did not hold a professorship. In fact, apart from Sherlock, all others had either once commanded or currently held the title of head of one of the four houses.

Slughorn jumped on the train of thought that Hagrid's comment had set in motion.

"It brings back memories of my time as head of Slytherin at Hogwarts, when Professor Merrythought was handling Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was of the most committed and dutiful instructors I had the pleasure to work with. Admittedly, her ideals skewed towards the belief that Dark Arts could be controlled. Fortunately, her instruction in defensive magic was of such high caliber that her tenure passed without incident."

Moving aside her stern demeanor for a moment, McGonagall joined the discussion. "Though she was wonderfully talented and devoted to her craft, Professor Merrythought's attitude towards magic was troubling. She saw magic too objectively, ascribing all magic stances value. This troubled sentiment also seeped into her students, paving way for possible conflicts."

In an attempt to spritz a comforting remark, Flitwick said, "We can't simply lay the blame on her for that. Differences in academic viewpoints stir valuable constructive discussion within the scholarly realm. Individual perceptions wholly rely on personal cognizance."

Slughorn belted out a hearty laugh.

"I trust you aren't putting me under the scrutiny as well, Minerva, considering I was once her student too?"

"I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't. Just a little humor on my part," interjected Slughorn, steering his focus towards Sherlock. "I understand you've become somewhat of a Defense Against the Dark Arts prodigy, Sherlock. What is your standpoint on the Dark Arts?"

Sherlock picked up the whiskey glass that rested before him, savored a swig and responded nonchalantly,

"Darker Magic seems to give a different perspective to everything, but in its essence, it is still just magic. All spells are merely an outward appearance, the core crux of magic lies within the wizard's heart."

"Dark Magic is a reflection of the darker side of humanity. Magic in itself harbors no malevolence or benevolence, it's the hearts of humans that do. The moment Dark Magic is coached into action, it is definite that the heart of the perpetrator is cloaked in obscurity. This taint slips through any barrier and is where the risk lies. Thus, the pervasion of the mind is the true peril of Dark Magic."

Sherlock's profound soliloquy was met with light praise from the professors around the table. Hagrid, though initially puzzled by the complexities, joined in with a few perfunctory words out of camaraderie.

"Highly innovative theories, Sherlock," admired Flitwick. "Spells are just replications of what truly defines magic — the wizard's heart. This notion could instigate a new perspective in all magic researchers."

"Even beyond your present position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, your future in the magical realm is exceptionally promising," asserted McGonagall.

"Your grasp of magic is extraordinary, much like your mother. If I were still the head of Slytherin, your membership in my club would be inevitable," Slughorn extolled unabashedly.

With ample time on their hands due to it being a Saturday, they reveled in casual banter that lasted the entire morning.

Aside from the initial discussion on the philosophy of Dark Arts, Sherlock was rather reticent, choosing instead to study this champagne-loving, seemingly jovial man named Slughorn from afar.

Even though Slughorn maintained a friendly and boisterous facade, his treatment towards everyone wasn't always impartial. During their conversation, Sherlock noticed that Slughorn intentionally disregarded Hagrid. There was clearly an undercurrent of disdain for a wizard lacking talent, knowledge, and social status such as Hagrid.

When they had drained their third round of drinks and noon was looming, Slughorn suddenly turned to Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid.

"I believe it's about time to head back for your lunch, Minerva. Could I kindly request some more time with Sherlock? I have a few matters I'd like to discuss with him."

McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid exchanged glances, nodded, and stood up. After wishing Sherlock a warm farewell, they departed The Three Broomsticks, leaving Sherlock and Slughorn alone.