The person who greeted Sherlock was Hagrid.
This was the first time he had met Hagrid since seeing him in front of Hogsmeade Station.
Besides Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and a fat old man whom Sherlock had never met before were sitting at the table.
He had a round bald head, a walrus-like mustache, and a big belly. His face wore a friendly smile, making people feel that he was easy-going at first glance.
Their seats were in front of the window, and through the glass, they could see the rain falling from the eaves outside, making it the best place in the entire bar to drink on a rainy day.
Sherlock walked straight over, and Professor Flitwick helped him pull out the empty seat next to him, allowing him to sit down.
From the moment Sherlock appeared in the bar, the fat old man with the walrus mustache had been staring at his face with a distracted gaze.
"Really looks like..."
His soft murmur made everyone sitting there except Sherlock feel inexplicably depressed.
"Horace," Professor McGonagall frowned and called out the fat old man's name.
Slughorn then came back to his senses. He sniffed and put on a friendly smile again.
"Sorry, Sherlock, I should be able to call you that, right? After all, we almost had a father-son relationship back then. Your eyes remind me of your mother, but your handsomeness is inherited from your father. My name is Horace Slughorn. I used to be your mother's teacher and best friend. You can also call me by my name directly; don't stand on ceremony."
Sherlock looked at the kind-looking fat old man and nodded slightly without saying much.
The scene fell into an awkward silence for a while, so Professor Flitwick, who was humorous in class, opened his mouth in a timely manner to liven up the atmosphere.
"According to the students' recent feedback, you have done a very good job this week as a professor, Sherlock."
"I'm just doing my job," Sherlock said humbly.
Hagrid laughed heartily.
"Being able to do yer job well in the position of professor is already a very good thing. Yer previous colleagues didn't perform as well as you. Harry and the others told me your class was very interesting when they came to talk with me."
He was not only praising but also vaguely revealing envy in his tone.
Among the people sitting there, only he did not have a professor's position. Except for Sherlock, the other three were either former heads of houses or current heads.
"This reminds me of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor when I was the head of Slytherin—Merlose, that old fellow."
Slughorn was obviously also a talkative person, and he skillfully took over Hagrid's topic.
"He was one of the most serious and responsible professors I have ever seen, but he was too idealistic and always thought that Dark Magic was controllable. Fortunately, his defence skills were indeed good, and nothing went wrong during his tenure."
"I know his theory and have studied his works. He is indeed talented in teaching. Among the teachers who have achieved the highest accomplishments in educating students at Hogwarts, he can rank in the top ten, but I cannot agree with his attitude toward magic."
Professor McGonagall said seriously, "He thought about magic too objectively and always believed that all existing magic has its value for use. This kind of thinking was naturally passed on to his students, and sure enough, big problems occurred later."
Flitwick comforted her: "This can't be said to be his fault. Academically, any constructive discussion can be put forward. As for how everyone understands it, it's still a matter of that person's own thoughts in the end."
Slughorn laughed.
"Are you also condemning me like this, Minerva? After all, I was also that person's teacher."
"I didn't mean that."
"I know you didn't mean that—just kidding." Slughorn said, turning his gaze to Sherlock.
"I heard that you are a master of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Sherlock, so what do you think about Dark Magic?"
Sherlock picked up the glass of whiskey on the table, took a sip, and said calmly.
"This question can actually be asked in another way. Dark Magic is just a kind of magic, after all. As long as it is magic, then the spells are just appearances. The real core of magic lies in the heart of the wizard."
"And Dark Magic is the dark side of people's hearts. Magic is neither good nor bad, but people's hearts are. At the moment when Dark Magic is used, the user's heart must be extremely dark. The corruption of people's hearts may lead to all disasters, so the greatest harm of Dark Magic is its intervention in the user, which is an internal erosion that is impossible to defend against."
After he finished speaking, the three professors sitting there gently applauded.
Hagrid was confused while listening, and he was still confused at this time, but in order to avoid being out of place, he also clapped his big hands twice in a daze.
Flitwick exclaimed.
"Wonderful theory, Sherlock. All the spells of magic are just appearances, and what truly embodies magic is the heart of the wizard. This sentence alone is enough to make all magic researchers re-examine their research."
"Even if you didn't come to Hogwarts to serve as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, you would have a great future in the magical world," Professor McGonagall said affirmatively.
"The same excellent magical understanding as your mother. If I were still at Hogwarts, I would definitely invite you to join my club," Slughorn did not hesitate to praise him.
There was plenty of time on Saturday, and they chatted in the bar until noon.
After Sherlock made a speech on his views on Dark Magic at the beginning, he began to enter the mode of cherishing words like gold, silently observing Slughorn.
This seemingly humorous and friendly old man did not actually have the same consistent attitude toward everyone as he showed now.
While chatting, Sherlock could clearly feel that Slughorn seemed to be deliberately ignoring Hagrid.
That attitude was obviously disdain for wizards like Hagrid who lacked talent, knowledge, and social status.
Near noon, just as Sherlock and the other four had drunk the third glass of wine in their cups, Slughorn suddenly smiled and said to Professor McGonagall and the others.
"It's getting late, Minerva. You should also prepare to go back for lunch. I wonder if you can leave me and Sherlock some private space. I have something to say to him."
Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid looked at each other. They nodded, stood up from their seats, said goodbye to Sherlock, and left the Three Broomsticks bar.