Warm light spilled across polished silver and crystal.
Laughter—refined, curated—filled the room in soft waves, never too loud, never uncontrolled.
The Slug Club.
I stepped inside with measured ease, my expression composed, my presence… deliberate.
Every movement mattered here.
Every word.
Every glance.
At the center of it all stood Horace Slughorn—beaming, indulgent, utterly in his element.
A collector.
Not of objects.
But of people.
"Tom, my boy!" Slughorn's voice carried warmly across the room the moment he spotted me. "There you are! I was just telling everyone about your… remarkable talents."
Of course he was.
I inclined my head slightly, offering a polite, effortless smile.
"You're too kind, Professor."
Flattery.
Humility.
Charm.
Tools.
As I moved further into the room, I could feel it immediately—
Attention.
Curiosity.
Interest.
Students turned subtly, conversations pausing just long enough to acknowledge my presence.
Some admired.
Some envied.
Some… feared.
Good.
System Notification:Choice Detected.
Ask Slughorn about HorcruxesReward: Perfect Horcrux Creation Method Ignore the topicReward: Slughorn's Potion Talent
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I observed.
Listened.
Calculated.
In another life…
Another version of me would have leapt at the opportunity.
Would have asked.
Would have exposed himself.
And in doing so—
Planted the very seed of his downfall.
My gaze shifted briefly toward the corner of the room.
Watching.
Always watching.
Albus Dumbledore was not present.
But that meant nothing.
He never needed to be present…
To know.
A faint exhale left me.
"…No."
The decision settled with absolute certainty.
"Ignore it."
Power gained recklessly…
Was power easily lost.
Choice Confirmed.Reward Granted: Slughorn's Potion Talent
Something shifted within me.
Not violently.
Not overwhelmingly.
But precisely.
Knowledge unfolded—intricate, elegant, deeply refined.
Brewing techniques. Ingredient interactions. Subtle adjustments that could mean the difference between mediocrity… and perfection.
Potions was no longer just a subject.
It was an art.
A slow, satisfied smile touched my lips.
"…Useful."
"Tom!" Slughorn's voice pulled me back smoothly. "Come, come—there are some people I'd like you to meet."
Of course there were.
I allowed myself to be guided, stepping into conversation after conversation with effortless grace.
A Ministry official's son.
A brilliant witch with a gift for charms.
An heir to an ancient pure-blood family.
Each one…
Catalogued.
Evaluated.
Potential.
Influence.
Usefulness.
I listened more than I spoke.
When I did speak—
It mattered.
A suggestion here.
A shared opinion there.
A carefully placed compliment.
Not enough to seem manipulative.
Just enough to be remembered.
"They don't even realize…"
I thought quietly, observing the subtle shifts in their attitudes.
"They're already being drawn in."
Across the room, Slughorn laughed loudly, clearly pleased with himself.
And for once…
I agreed with him.
He was useful.
"An entire room…"
My gaze swept across the gathering.
"…filled with talent, ambition, and influence."
A pause.
"…handed to me."
Not through effort.
Not through conquest.
But through opportunity.
The future version of me had relied on fear.
On domination.
On overwhelming force.
Crude.
Inefficient.
This?
This was elegant.
Build relationships.
Earn trust.
Foster admiration.
And when the time came…
Convert it into loyalty.
I accepted a drink—untouched, merely a prop—as I continued navigating the room.
Names.
Faces.
Connections.
All stored perfectly.
All useful.
As the evening continued, one truth became clearer with every passing moment.
"I don't need to rush."
Power wasn't slipping through my fingers.
It wasn't limited.
It was growing.
Steadily.
Inevitably.
And this time…
There would be no mistakes.