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They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.
"All right, all right, I'll do it!" Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.
"You will come out of retirement." "Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes." "Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September." "Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.
As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!" Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.
"Well done, Harry," said Dumbledore.
"I didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.
"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him." "Er..." Harry wasn't sure whether he liked Slughorn or not. He supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.
"Horace," said Dumbledore, relieving Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see.
He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, some-limcs for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin liaison Office." Harry had a sudden and vivid mental image of a great swollen spider, spinning a web around it, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a little closer.
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