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"Sorry," said Slughorn with a hiccup. "Can't carry a tune to save my life." "Hagrid wasn't talking about your singing," said Harry quietly. "He was talking about my mum and dad dying." "Oh," said Slughorn, repressing a large belch. "Oh dear. Yes, that was — was terrible indeed. Terrible . . . terrible ..." He looked quite at a loss for what to say, and resorted to refilling their mugs.
"I don't — don't suppose you remember it, Harry." he asked awkwardly.
"No — well, I was only one when they died," said Harry, his eyes on the flame of the candle flickering in Hagrid's heavy snores. "But I've found out pretty much what happened since. My dad died first. Did you know that." "I — I didn't," said Slughorn in a hushed voice.
"Yeah . . . Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body toward my mum," said Harry.
Slughorn gave a great shudder, but he did not seem able to tear his horrified gaze away from Harry's face.
"He told her to get out of the way," said Harry remorselessly. "He told me she needn't have died. He only wanted me. She could have run." "Oh dear," breathed Slughorn. "She could have . . . she needn't . . . That's awful. . . ."
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