Eat, Slugs!

Slug Club suppers took place in Professor Slughorn's room in the castle. Unlike the dormitories, the man's quarters were enormous— as befitted a man of his… stature— to put it lightly.

Pun not intended.

"Oh good, you're finally here," said Marcus Belby in relief, opening the door for Oleandra, Daphne, and Tracey. "Professor Slughorn was beginning to get worried…"

Lavishly decorated, Slughorn's room bore more than a passing resemblance to Professor Lockhart's old Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, in that nearly every wall was covered in photographs featuring Slughorn himself. But unlike Gilderoy Lockhart's self-portraits, Horace Slughorn was never alone in his pictures.

"Oleandra!" Tracey whispered urgently, tugging at her sleeve. "Look! Look!"

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Oleandra asked helplessly, stumbling as Tracey repeatedly yanked her off balance. "You'll have to be a bit more precise than just 'look'."

Oleandra followed Tracey's gaze across the room to where Astoria, Hermione, McLaggen, and the Carrow twins— a pair of expressionless seventh-year Slytherin sisters with whom she rarely interacted with— stood in conversation with a strikingly tall, dark-skinned woman.

"That woman over there— that's Gwenog Jones!!" hissed Tracey. "Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, the League's first all-female Quidditch team— she's my idol! Think she'd give me an autograph?"

"I thought you rooted for Puddlemere United," said Oleandra, puzzled. "Aren't the Harpies their rivals, or something?"

Tracey blushed and looked away, and for the first time in her life, Oleandra felt a sharp twinge of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. It was not a very pleasant feeling, as it turned out.

"Ah, I see you've spotted my special guest," chuckled Professor Slughorn, as he ambled over to the doorway and patted Marcus Belby on the shoulder. "But do come in, I'll introduce you!"

Poor Marcus— who had been demoted from guest to manservant ever since Slughorn had discovered that he wasn't on especially close terms with his genius Potioneer of an uncle— was unceremoniously shoved aside to allow the three Slytherin girls into the room.

"Good evening, Daphne," said the Carrow twins simultaneously, as Oleandra and company approached them— greeting Daphne respectfully while ignoring Oleandra and Tracey. "How do you do?"

"Flora, Hestia," said Daphne, nodding at them.

"Gwen, m'dear!" Professor Slughorn called out to the woman standing behind the Carrow twins, a twinkle in his eye. "Come meet the heroes of the hour!"

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Gwenog with a grin, as she shook hands with each of the three girls. "Ol' Sluggy tells me you play as well?"

As was his custom, Professor Slughorn then began expounding at length about his close ties with Gwenog, going as far as to insinuate that his influence had been instrumental in her recruitment to the Holyhead Harpies. It wasn't until the House-Elves announced that supper was served that he finally began to quiet down— though only intermittently, and only because he couldn't talk with his mouth full of oriental delicacies.

"We're very lucky to have Gwen with us tonight," said Professor Slughorn in a self-congratulatory manner, delicately picking the last of his crispy chicken from its bone with surprising finesse for a man whose fingers had the girth of a sausage roll. "She very nearly couldn't make it— a rogue Bludger causing havoc in central London— but thanks to my timely…"

"No need to go any further, Sluggy," said Gwenog hastily. "Here, have some more fruit wine…"

Oleandra, seated in the place of honour beside Professor Slughorn, cast a glance across the table at the ancient man slumped next to Marcus Belby and Mai— who had, through some miraculous feat of persuasion or skill, managed to snag an invitation for herself as well.

The old man appeared to be deep in slumber.

"That man at the other end of the table," said Oleandra tentatively, 'is he the Professor Mirobolant you mentioned earlier, Professor?"

"Hm?" said Professor Slughorn distractedly. "Oh, yes— brilliant man, but he's getting on in years…"

Oleandra was beginning to get a better picture of the situation. Fearing that Gwenog might not make it to his supper, Slughorn had invited his old friend as a backup guest— but since she had managed to make it after all, he had been relegated to Marcus Belby status. It was obvious that between the famous Quidditch captain and a dusty old teacher, Slughorn preferred the young Witch…

Eventually, the soirée drew to a close, and with the curfew fast approaching, the guests began preparing to leave. However, since Oleandra hadn't found the answers she'd been looking for at the library, she approached the old codger, hoping that he might have them instead.

"Long time no see, sister," said Mai, with that enigmatic smile of hers playing on her lips. "Been playing with time, have we?"

"How could you possibly—"

"It's a secret," said Mai playfully. "Well, I can see you're busy, so I'll see you later…"

Mai turned her back to Oleandra and headed for the exit with the other students.

"You should get going as well, Oleandra," said Professor Slughorn with feigned sternness. "It wouldn't do for a prefect to break curfew, now, would it?"

"It's a shame I didn't get the chance to speak with Professor Mirobolant during the supper," sighed Oleandra. "I just wanted to ask him a few questions…"

Daphne and Tracey stared at her in open surprise. Oleandra, interested in history? Where was the real Oleandra, and what had this impostor done with her?

"I'm listening," the old man said hoarsely, straightening with a creak of his chair. "Is there something in particular you hoped to learn?"

It turned out he'd been merely resting his eyes for a spell.

"You teach the history of the development of magic, correct? In that case, would you happen to know anything about Druids?" asked Oleandra pointedly. "Specifically, those who lived in the late Bronze Age to the early Iron Age, nearabout Sherwood Forest? And how one might hope to defeat one?"

Professor Mirobolant's jaw very nearly unhinged, revealing a set of slightly crooked dentures. That was… astonishingly specific, just as Oleandra herself had said.

"What you're asking me is slightly beyond my area of research," said Professor Mirobolant after a moment's thought. "Druidism fell out of fashion in the second century of our era as the Roman Empire reached the peak of its power, with the magic of wands expanding across the European continent…"

The old man closed his eyes in thought, his jaw moving silently beneath his skin as he internally formulated his thoughts, though his mouth never opened.

"Along with Shamans, Druids were among the first Wizards," he finally said. "Their magic emulated the untamed powers of nature. They were Potioneers and Healers, but it was also said they could change shapes, as well as command plants and small animals alike."

"I see," said Oleandra slowly. "That's very helpful, thank you…"