Thomas Kinkade Boston paintingPeter Paul Rubens Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus painting
'Dumbledore put you up to this,' whispered Slughorn.
His voice had changed completely. It was not genial any more, but shocked, terrified. He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping his sweating brow.
'Dumbledore's shown you that - that memory,' said Slughorn. 'Well? Hasn't he?'
'Yes,' said Harry, deciding on the spot that it was best not to lie.
'Yes, of course,' said Slughorn quietly, still dabbing at his white face. 'Of course ... well, if you've seen that memory, Harry, you'll know that I don't know anything - anything -he repeated the word forcefully '- about Horcruxes.'
He seized his dragonskin briefcase, stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and marched to the dungeon door.
'Sir,' said Harry desperately, 'I just thought there might be a bit more to the memory -'
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