HP: Embrace the Darkness

"Wait a minute!"

Slughorn gritted his teeth and called out to Dumbledore and Harry.

"I agree, I will go with you now."

Half an hour later, Dumbledore and Harry poured themselves a third cup of Earl Gray tea and looked at each other in silence.

Although inviting Slughorn is their purpose here, it does not mean that they are willing to sit here and wait for Slughorn to pack his things like a husband waiting for his wife to go out.

Dumbledore coughed twice to attract Slughorn's attention, "Ahem, Horace, it's been half an hour. Is your 'home' still not in order?"

Slughorn hesitated while holding two photo frames and said without raising his head: "Yes, it will be ready soon."

Harry was not as calm as Dumbledore. He stood up and walked behind Slughorn, wanting to see what Slughorn was packing that took him so long.

They were two photos with the same characters but different movements. Looking at the photo frame in Slughorn's hand, Harry asked a question quietly.

"Why not take them all away?"

"What a good idea." Slughorn clapped his hands, put away both photo frames, and then gave Harry a hug. "I can see that you don't usually feel entangled in the choice. It's just right, come and help." I pack my things, I trust your vision."

Harry readily agreed.

With Harry joining him, it only took Slughorn ten minutes to pack everything up.

"Harry, it's a good thing you're here, otherwise Horace would probably have to clean up until tomorrow."

Dumbledore was deeply moved.

He later joined in packing Slughorn's luggage, and deeply understood Slughorn's persistence - wanting to give up some things, but also thinking that every item has its use.

This is simply an endless loop.

Harry shrugged, "No way, my room is not big. If I want to live comfortably, I have to clean out some useless things regularly."

Dumbledore's smile faded slightly, wanting to say something to comfort the child, but knowing full well that Harry's suffering was also due to his standing by and watching.

In the end, the old man said nothing.

Slughorn broke the silence just in time, "I'm ready, let's go - oh, you can take the rest of the things here if you want, believe me, these are all good things I carefully selected."

"Thank you, Horace, but you also know that the space in the principal's office is limited." Dumbledore reluctantly spread his hands and declined Slughorn.

Harry said nothing and walked silently to the items piled together like a hill.

The two looked at Harry together, and Slughorn asked: "Harry, is there anything you want?"

Harry picked up an hourglass inside.

The top and base of the hourglass are made of wood. In the middle are two glass tubes intertwined in an X shape. There is red and blue sand in the upper glass tube.

Because there is a glass tube between them, the red and blue sands do not intersect. Only at the connected position in the middle of the X can the two sands intersect.

"You're so discerning, young man. This is the hourglass of truth. To a certain extent, it can detect whether the other party is lying. It's quite interesting."

Slughorn's round eyes flashed, and his finger pointed at the button under the hourglass.

"Did you see that? Press it when you use it. If the sand that falls is blue, it is the truth. If it is red sand, it is a lie. If there are both red and blue, it is a mixture of truth and falsehood."

Harry listened carefully to Slughorn's explanation and played with the hourglass in his hand in a novel way.

"Sort of? Is there a limit to it?" he asked.

Hearing this, Slughorn's soft-edged face wrinkled up, and his eyes looked a little strange.

"Of course there is. It's... relatively lazy. It doesn't give feedback every time. Most of the time it's unwilling to move. I've had it for so long and it hasn't responded at all."

Harry was speechless.

What is the difference between this and waste?

It can't even do the only function that counts as timekeeping.

Unwilling to choose a loser, Harry tentatively pressed the button on the hourglass.

"I really want to go home now."

The hourglass was quiet and there was nothing strange about it.

"It seems that what Horace said is true." Dumbledore smiled and comforted the frustrated Harry at the right time. "Think about it in another direction. At least it is a qualified decoration. You can put it on the bedside. .”

"That's the only use." Harry whispered, switching the hourglass to the other hand, "Sir, can we go?"

"of course."

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the door to the room opened automatically, revealing the outside world.

The garden outside was still dilapidated and withered during the recent renovations. Thick fog rose in the sky, and the lifeless flowers gently swayed their remains in the thick fog, as if welcoming the three Dumbledores.

Slughorn looked back at the rags on the ground for the last time, and determined to follow Dumbledore's footsteps. Harry walked behind him and closed the door of the house.

The three of them walked into the thick fog together.

The vast white fog invades human sight.

No one noticed that the hourglass on Harry's hand quietly turned red.

Bound by unknown forces, the blue sand remains motionless in the glass tube that belongs to it.

Harry, didn't want to go home.

The Truth Funnel gave him the answer, but no one could see the answer that wasn't obvious in the fog.

It was late at night when the three of them returned to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore took them directly to the headmaster's office and waved his wand to turn the sofa into two large beds.

"Horace, please just make do with it for one night. The cellar can be cleared out for you to live in tomorrow. By the way, you still want the cellar, right?"

Slughorn's eyes rolled, and Harry saw the corners of his mouth turn down slightly, showing a hint of disgust and displeasure.

Sure enough, he heard Slughorn's rejection.

"No, Albus, I feel Severus needs it more than I do. I will choose my own office tomorrow. Don't worry, I won't be polite to you."

Harry laughed unsurprisingly.

See, he knew no one would like living in a batcave except the old bat.

In the afternoon of the next day, Asseth, who was far away in Cavendish Manor, suddenly felt a sore nose.

Distant suspicion manifested itself in him as a physical impulse.

Because Joel was in front of him, Artes subconsciously resisted the urge to sneeze.

The sneeze didn't come out, it was stuck in the throat.

Without noticing, he took a deep breath and coughed violently.

Joel thoughtfully handed over the tissue.

"Calm down, young master. The auction house's revenue this quarter is just a profit, not a doubling. There is no need for you to be so excited."

"I know." Asseth reluctantly took the tissue and held it in his hand, "Grandpa Joel, have I offended you recently? Why did you..."

Always weird.

"No." Joel held up the reports sent by the responsible persons with a straight face, "Master, let's continue. Next is..."

Okay, okay, he just listens.

Aces leaned back, closed his eyes tiredly, and listened to Joel's report while closing his eyes to rest.

Joel's voice has the characteristic gentleness of old age, and it has a hypnotic effect when he unhurriedly reads out obscure reports.

Not to mention it was still early afternoon.

Warm sunlight squeezed in from the window, drawing another window on the smooth white wall.

The scent of sweet bread filled the air, adding a touch of warmth to the warm afternoon, and an invisible sense of security enveloped the sky.

Ace's eyebrows widened.

The eyelashes trembled a few times and finally calmed down.

After Joel finished reading a report, he stopped before he could finish it. He looked up and saw that Artes was motionless. He had fallen asleep in the middle of his report.