Dumbledore glanced up and down the side street. It looks empty. "Take out your wand and follow me, Harry," he said softly. He pushed open the courtyard door and walked quickly down the garden path. Harry followed him. Dumbledore gave the front door a slow push and raised his wand. Fluorescent flicker. The tip of Dumbledore's wand was lit up, illuminating a narrow corridor. To the left of the corridor is another open door. Dumbledore held his wand high and walked into the living room, followed closely by Harry. In front of them was a scene of chaos. A cracked grandfather clock lay across their feet, its face broken, and his pendulum lay a little farther away from them, like a sword that had fallen to the ground. There was a piano beside it, and the keys were scattered all over the floor. The remains of a fallen chandelier gleamed on one side. The cushions were squashed flat, feathers leaking through the side seams; smashed glass and China fell everywhere. Dumbledore raised his wand a little higher so that the light could shine on the wall, and the wallpaper was splattered with something sticky and dark red. Harry gasped, and Dumbledore turned to look at him. "Not very pretty, is it?" He said heavily. Yes, something terrible has happened here. Dumbledore walked cautiously into the middle of the room,titanium machining parts, examining the remains of the furniture at his feet. Harry followed and looked around. He suspected in horror that there was something hidden behind the piano and the overturned sofa, but there was nothing there. Maybe there was a struggle here-and then they dragged him away, Professor? Harry guessed, trying not to imagine how badly a man would have to be hurt to splash so much blood halfway up the wall. "I don't think so," said Dumbledore softly, glancing at an overstuffed armchair behind him. You mean he — "" "Still here somewhere?"? Yes Without any forewarning,non standard fasteners, Dumbledore lunged like lightning and poked the tip of his wand into the seat of the bloated armchair, only to hear a cry of "Ouch!" "Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up. Harry's jaw nearly dropped. Where an armchair had been just now, a fat, balding old man appeared curled up, rubbing his stomach with his hands and looking sadly at Dumbledore with his watery eyes. "There's no need to jab me like that," he said gruffly, struggling to his feet. You'll get hurt. The light from the wand shone on his shiny bald head, Steel investment casting ,Magnetic Drain Plug, his bulging eyes, and his silvery beard like a walrus. He wore a lilac-colored silk nightgown under a maroon velvet jacket whose buttons were polished to a shine. He stood up straight, but he could only reach Dumbledore's chin. How did I get exposed? He groaned to his feet, his hands still rubbing his stomach. He was not at all ashamed to be found pretending to be an armchair. "My dear Horace." Dumbley looked pleased. "If the Death Eaters had visited you, they would have left the Dark Mark." The wizard clapped his fat hand on his broad forehead. Dark Mark, "he muttered." I knew there was something wrong. Ah, yes. But I didn't have time to conjure that. I just finished the last bit of camouflage before you came in. He sighed heavily and blew the end of his beard. Do you want me to help you clean up? Said Dumbledore politely. "Please," he said. They stood back to back, a tall, thin wizard and a short, fat wizard, waving their wands in the same motion. The furniture flew back to its original place; the ornaments were restored in midair; the feathers flew into their cushions; the torn books were restored to their original state when they were returned to their shelves; the oil lamp flew high to the next table and lit up again; a large pile of fragments of silver picture frames flashed across the room and then fell intact on the table in its old, dusty state; All the cracks and gaps in the house had disappeared; the blood on the walls had been swept away. By the way, what kind of blood is that? Said Dumbledore loudly, over the chime of the resurrected grandfather clock. On the wall? "Dragon's blood!" The wizard called Horace shouted. With a deafening grinding and ringing sound, the chandelier returned to the ceiling by itself and tightened the screws. The piano gave a final thud, and then all was quiet. "Yes, dragon's blood," repeated the wizard to himself, "my last bottle, and now the price is sky-high. But this can be used again. He hobbled over, removed a small crystal bottle from the top of the sideboard, and held it up to the light to examine the sticky liquid inside. Uh. Not bad. He put the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. Then his eyes fell on Harry. "Oh." His big round eyes were fixed on Harry's forehead with the lightning scar. " Oh "This," Dumbledore introduced, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my old friend and colleague, Horace Slughorn. Slughorn turned to Dumbledore with a shrewd expression. You think that's gonna convince me, don't you? My answer, then, is no, Albus. He pushed past Harry, his face becoming determined, as if he were resisting some temptation. I thought at least we could have a drink. Asked Dumbledore. For old times' sake. Slughorn hesitated. "All right,alloy die casting, then, just one drink," he said rudely. autoparts-dx.com