HP/LOTM: Visionary - 382

Chapter 382: A Funeral Invitation, Felix Felicis, and At Last the Memory

On Friday, Harry received a funeral invitation from Hagrid.

The letter gave him a fright at first—he thought it was Aiden writing to ask about the memory—but he relaxed the moment he recognized Hagrid’s handwriting.

After Aragog had been burned by Rada, Hagrid had nursed him for four more years. At last, the old Acromantula had died.

Heartbroken, Hagrid wept for a week before remembering to arrange a funeral.

Unfortunately, Harry was too consumed with obtaining the memory to pay attention to anything else. He sat in the Gryffindor common room, frustrated.

“Mate, stop winding yourself up. Why don’t you just take some Felix?” Ron said, catching sight of Harry’s face.

"All right," Harry decided.

He pulled a tiny vial of Felix Felicis from his robe pocket and, under Hermione and Ron’s watch, took a small sip.

The liquid luck slid down his throat, and a surge of vitality and confidence lit him from within.

Then a peculiar sensation washed over him, as if a chorus of whispers told him what his next step should be.

"Oh. Looks like I ought to attend Hagrid’s funeral," Harry said abruptly.

"What?" Hermione frowned. "Harry, you should go to Horace."

"Yeah, we had a plan," Ron chimed in.

"But I feel I should go to Hagrid’s. Trust me!" Harry darted out in his Invisibility Cloak.

As he passed the greenhouses, he saw Slughorn talking with Professor Sprout.

"Oh, you know, Pomona, I truly need these for third-year lessons," Slughorn said.

Professor Sprout promptly handed him a large bundle. "Enough? I have more."

"Oh, quite enough, quite enough," Slughorn said with a satisfied smile. When Pomona left, Harry, guided by his liquid good fortune, shed the Cloak.

"Harry! It’s late—where do you think you’re going?" Slughorn snapped, furious that Harry, in such dangerous times, would dare wander.

"Professor, I received an invitation to Hagrid’s funeral. His friend, the Acromantula Aragog, has died. I think I should be with him," Harry said honestly.

"An Acromantula!" Slughorn’s eyes glimmered. "A fresh, newly dead, entirely safe Acromantula, you say?"

"Yes. Hagrid kept a whole forest of them," Harry nodded.

"Oh—wait here. I must change my tie. This one is too flamboyant for a funeral," Slughorn blurted, and hurried off.

Behind the pumpkin patch by Hagrid’s hut, a large pit had been dug.

Since Aragog’s death, his offspring had refused to let Hagrid near their lair.

Harry went to Hagrid and patted the arm of the giant whose eyes had swollen red from crying. Though Ron and Hermione hadn’t come, Harry’s presence alone comforted him.

"By the way, Hagrid—Professor Slughorn will be coming," Harry said.

"That’s… that’s nice. I reckon Aragog would have liked him," Hagrid sniffled.

"Perhaps. With all that meat on him, any man-eating spider would like him," a boy’s voice said behind them.

"Aiden, hush," Hagrid said, sniffling. "That’s not funny."

"Sorry," Aiden chuckled, approaching in a black suit.

"Oh, Aiden—what a coincidence," Slughorn said as he arrived as well, carrying two or three bottles of wine.

While Hagrid cried, Slughorn discreetly collected three pints of venom.

Afterward, he delivered a very elegant eulogy for Aragog.

When the funeral ended, Slughorn suggested they share a drink in Hagrid’s hut.

The moment he walked in, he was stunned. Unicorn hair—ten Galleons a strand—had been made into a feather duster and hung on the wall.

Magic shimmered through the cramped space. Rare materials were stacked everywhere.

"Merlin’s beard," Slughorn breathed, and his attitude toward Hagrid became instantly respectful.

Night fell. Two grown wizards drank and sang The Ballad of Odo.

Loosened by drink, Hagrid shared animal-handling stories with Slughorn.

"Fang was just a pup when he hatched, no bigger than my finger. Look at him now," Hagrid said, tossing him a cut of meat.

"Oh, touching. I kept a goldfish once. But one afternoon while I was out, it… left," Slughorn said, raising his glass. Harry quietly refilled it.

"Left," Hagrid echoed. They clinked glasses, drained them, and Hagrid promptly fell asleep against the wall.

Silence returned. Slughorn and Harry faced each other again.

Aiden dimmed his presence with a whisper of power.

"A pupil gave me that goldfish. One spring afternoon, I found a tiny bowl upon my office desk. A little water… petals floating upon it… and I watched as one petal slowly sank," Slughorn said. In the firelight, his pupils shone damply.

"The petal reached the bottom and became a goldfish. Beautiful magic. Lily petals, yes. Your mother’s gift to me," Slughorn said, staring straight at Harry.

"And on the day I came downstairs, the bowl was empty… I know what you want, but I can’t help you. It would ruin me."

Following the tug of liquid luck, Harry bared his heart.

"Do you know how I survived that night? Because of her. Because she chose not to stand by. Because her love was stronger than Voldemort," Harry said. Gold light flickered in his eyes; the heat of his gaze pushed Slughorn’s eyes down.

"Don’t say the name, boy."

"I’m not afraid of her, Professor. I know I’m the Chosen One. I will face her—but I need what you gave her in your office that day. Be brave, Professor!"

Harry’s words, carried by his magic, reached deep into Slughorn’s heart.

"Be brave like my mother—or you cheapen her. Or else her sacrifice was for nothing. Or else that little bowl will remain empty forever."

Slughorn’s eyes wavered. He hesitated a long time, then raised his wand as if coming to a decision.

"When you watch this memory, don’t think I’m a bad man. I didn’t know what he truly was," Slughorn said, hands trembling as he drew a silvery strand of memory and decanted it into a small vial.