As Astoria left, Jon turned back and glanced once more at the cabinet he had just locked. The Pensieve was secured inside.
There was no doubt—he had deceived Astoria.
Those fragmented memories of Diana hadn't actually ended yet—
But he had already sensed that what followed would be far too cruel. He feared the content might leave Astoria with lasting psychological scars… so he came up with a somewhat flimsy excuse and ended it early, pulling them out of the Pensieve before it went further.
Whatever remained in Mrs. Greengrass's memories, he would never let Astoria see it.
...
One thing, however, was true—he really did need to head to The Hog's Head. Otherwise, he'd be keeping Rita Skeeter waiting far too long.
"Phineas, go inform Professor Horace Slughorn—tell him our guest is waiting at The Hog's Head," Jon said quietly to a portrait on the wall.
"I already told him ages ago!" Headmaster Phineas Black replied weakly. "Right after you agreed to let that female reporter interview him…"
"Alright, thank you very much…" Jon nodded.
"…And Armando, please inform the statue that no one is to enter the Headmaster's Office for the next few hours," Jon added, turning to another portrait.
"No problem, Jon." Headmaster Armando Dippet straightened up, then vanished from the frame.
With a loud bang, the oak door of the Headmaster's Office slammed shut. At the same time, the badger-headed door knocker turned on its own, locking the door completely.
After finishing all this, Jon raised his wand and pointed it at the fireplace.
Golden flames instantly flared to life.
Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, Jon stepped into the fire—and vanished in an instant.
...
The Hog's Head was even dirtier and more run-down than Rita Skeeter had imagined.
The reporter stared at the tattered wooden sign hanging from a rusted bracket above the door, painted with a severed pig's head, and felt a wave of nausea… As someone who prided herself on refinement, she had hardly ever set foot in such a dreadful public place.
Worse still, the person she was supposed to meet hadn't shown up.
In fact, she was already growing quite impatient.
"When exactly is Headmaster Hart supposed to arrive?" Rita finally asked, unable to hold back as she looked at the strange bartender.
The tall, gaunt old man simply gave her a cold look without saying a word.
A chill ran down Rita's spine, and she immediately fell silent. The eccentric old bartender was clearly not someone to provoke. She lowered her head, staring at the layers of grime caked onto the stone floor over centuries…
Fortunately, the awkward silence didn't last long.
Footsteps sounded at the entrance, and a bald old man, as plump as a walrus, bustled in.
"Oh, my dear Aberforth…" Professor Horace Slughorn called out warmly the moment he saw the peculiar bartender.
"Slughorn…" The bartender simply snorted, his expression distant and unfriendly. "The person you're meeting is inside."
"Ah, yes, yes…" Slughorn replied cheerfully, nodding with a smile.
He then looked further into the bar and spotted Miss Rita Skeeter, who had been waiting there impatiently.
"Headmaster Hart hasn't arrived yet?" Slughorn asked casually, glancing around.
"I think that's quite obvious," Rita said with a light cough.
"Ah, well, no matter…" Slughorn said with a carefree smile. "I, Horace Slughorn, can start the interview in his place…"
Despite her earlier irritation, Rita Skeeter's professional instincts kicked in immediately.
She swiftly pulled out a notebook from her crocodile-skin handbag.
Since her previous Self-Writing Quill had exploded during Albus Dumbledore's funeral, she was now using an ordinary quill.
She began rapidly firing questions at Slughorn with eager enthusiasm.
...
"When did you join the Order of the Phoenix?" Rita asked impatiently.
"I…" Horace Slughorn seemed caught off guard. He stammered, "It's been… about… sixteen or seventeen years…"
"Oh? That long already!" Rita Skeeter exclaimed, as if she'd just uncovered something significant. Scribbling furiously, she pressed on, "What about the Death Eaters? I've heard they've been trying to recruit you for years?"
"That's correct." Slughorn had calmed down now and spoke more smoothly. "Without a doubt, they've been attempting to do so for decades."
"So what enabled you to refuse the Death Eaters' invitation, join the Order of the Phoenix, and even bravely infiltrate their ranks?" Rita continued excitedly.
"Well… it was a difficult decision…" Slughorn said, gesturing as he spoke. "To be precise… it had to do with one of my students…"
"Her name was Lily—Lily Evans… my favorite student…" his voice softened as he spoke. "Exceptionally gifted… a lovely girl… no praise would have been too much for her…"
"…And yet she died. You-Know-Who brutally murdered her entire family… leaving behind only her child—Harry Potter, as we all know." Slughorn wiped at his eyes.
"It was because of this… that I was finally able to make up my mind to stand against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters…"
Rita Skeeter's hand flew across the page. At that moment, she probably regretted more than ever not buying another Self-Writing Quill.
"And what was life like inside the Death Eaters?" she asked, almost breathlessly.
"To be honest, I held a certain degree of status among them—after all, I was once Head of Slytherin," Horace Slughorn replied. "That gave me access to information from some of the higher-ranking Death Eaters…"