Unlikely Mentor
Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

The rotund man was huffing and puffing as he dragged a large trunk down the stairs in his comfortable, secluded mansion in an obscure little corner of Great Britain. He paused to look around at the bare spots on the wall where he'd taken down his paintings, and the impressions on the thick carpet in the room at the base of the stairs, most notably the spot where his piano once stood.

He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and irritably wiped the sweat off his forehead, then the back of his neck. "Got to practice that Muggle way of doing it," he muttered to himself before he gave in and quickly cast a cooling charm on himself, feeling a pleasant breeze waft over every inch of his body, removing his sweat and leaving him quite refreshed.

That said, he had been quite harried, and he was in a hurry to leave his residence before certain – er, unsavoury types might get the idea to come visiting.

So saying, the man continued dragging his trunk down the stairs, hearing it go ka-thump each time he got it down a step. Slowly but surely he finally got the trunk down and lined it up next to the other one, which held the contents of his possessions from the ground floor.

"Got to get used to the way Muggles do this," he mused again, wondering if he should have just decided to use locomotor charms to levitate and move the trunks; his concession to magic had been to use packing and shrinking charms where needed. He sighed, and looked around once again. His luxurious, well-appointed mansion looked so bare and neglected with half the pictures gone, his piano gone, his various liqueurs stored away, his numerous coats all packed up—

BONG! BONG! BONG!

"Yaaaaaaaaah!" The man fairly leaped out of his skin, the shock of hearing the doorbell ring causing him to momentarily forget he could Apparate at all.

A gentle, but loud and carrying voice all the same, genially said through the door, "Horace Slughorn! Aren't you going to greet an old friend?"

Slughorn, breathing steadily to calm himself, irritably looked at the front door. He had been so close to disappearing, but he owed the man on the other side of the door a certain basic courtesy. He rushed over, yanked the door open, and barked, "What is it, Albus? I'm in a hurry!"

The tall, serene Headmaster of Hogwarts wore a robe in a style that was uniquely Dumbledore. Horace thought to himself, He really hasn't changed at all, not since the 1970s.

Only one Headmaster of Hogwarts, Slughorn reflected, could get away with such a shocking vermillion-shaded robe on which danced golden unicorns and ponies. And that Headmaster was calmly peering about the house and about to ask a very irritating question—

"I do believe your residence has less than the usual amount of possessions in it. I do hope you haven't been robbed, have you?"

"No, of course I bloody well didn't get… never mind." Slughorn sighed. He gestured half-heartedly. "You may as well come in for a bit. Take a seat."

Dumbledore fairly beamed, his eyes beginning to shine in that familiar twinkle that marked his usual geniality and good humour. He walked in and made his way to the front sitting room and sat in a comfortable well-upholstered lounge chair. Slughorn, bringing up the rear, took the chair beside Dumbledore and wondered if he should bother with the fireplace.

At Slughorn's look, Dumbledore waved his hand. "I shan't be long, Horace. I won't draw this out any longer than I have to; time grows short and I need your help."

"My help?! Whatever for? I'm a retired Potions professor whose primary mission in life is to enjoy my material comforts, as I'm sure you can see from looking around," said Slughorn peevishly. If he could just get Dumbledore to leave…

Dumbledore sighed and looked at his old friend. "Horace, I see the trunks. You, no doubt, from one or more of your excellent connections, have heard of the events not two nights before: that Voldemort has, indeed, returned."

Slughorn was slightly proud that he didn't flinch. Too much, anyway.

"And? So what if I happen to be taking a small vacation?" asked Slughorn with some asperity.

In that irritatingly even voice, Dumbledore replied, "Hardly, Horace. If you really were taking a vacation you would make sure everything would be provided to you on the other end and you would have no need of the multifarious personal possessions you have no doubt packed in those trunks." He paused to look at Slughorn intently. "But yes, I imagine he will send his Death Eaters sooner or later to inquire with you—"

"Fine. Fine! You've seen right through me. Yes, I plan to hide out somewhere. I'm not going to be brave like you, Albus, thank you very much."

"I wish to offer you protection, Horace. At Hogwarts. As long as I am alive and Headmaster, you will never have to fear for your life there."

"Mmmf." Slughorn grimaced and wrapped his coat about himself as he shifted in the chair.

"There is also the matter of Harry Potter," said Dumbledore idly.

"Harry Potter?!" Against his will, Slughorn fleetingly wondered what it would be like to get to know the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

"Indeed. The one and only, Horace. The boy needs special instruction. Time, as I said, grows short. I must know that you are safe and that I can count on you to help him," said Dumbledore earnestly, his eyes seeking out Slughorn's own.

"But what do you need me for?" protested Slughorn. "You've got a perfectly fine – well, I'll amend that – mostly fine, except for his personality issues – Potions professor. Severus Snape, as I recall; pity he graduates so few NEWT students, though."

"Occlumency."

That got Slughorn's attention.

"Really now? The Boy-Who-Lived needs lessons in mental defence? Well, I suppose, I just suppose I could see my way to it," admitted Horace, trying to push away the tantalizing feeling of imparting knowledge to such an important young citizen of magical Britain.

"And as a personal favour to me, Horace, would you consent to teach his Potions class as well as the other first through fifth year classes?"

Slughorn squinted at Dumbledore. "Well, all right, then. But I want a nice office, not that WC you practically had me in the last time. And you pay me a full-time salary, plus expenses for Occlumency lessons. I'm going to need a Pensieve and books to give the boy."

If he thought his demands would cause Albus Dumbledore to refuse, he was mistaken. All the aged Headmaster did was tilt his head and say, "Done."

Dumbledore stood. "Horace, shall we take you and your trunks to Hogwarts? I will personally ensure this place remains unmolested by anyone."

Slughorn stood up and sighed, running his hand over his thinning hair. "I suppose it's better than what I was planning to do, which was hide out at Muggle places here and there. Do you know I even had some dragon blood tucked away if I ran out of money? In a last resort, I suppose it could simulate a struggle, if need be."

"Very inventive, Horace, but sooner started, sooner arrived. Shall we Apparate?"

Within a few moments, the two old men exited the house, the two large trunks trailing behind with a locomotor charm. At a respectable distance away on the large expanse of lawn, they set the trunks down, and each man took one handle.

Two sharp cracks echoed through the air, and then the air went still again.

Author Notes: There's Mentor!McGonagall, Mentor!Snape, Mentor!Dumbledore (this is even canon), and I think a few OCs here and there have been mentors to Harry Potter.

This is a Mentor!Slughorn OoTP-and-beyond AU. :) The point of divergence is that Dumbledore manages to intercept Slughorn before he goes into hiding and entices him with the prospect of tutoring Harry in something he deems vital, as he already has his suspicions about how Harry can see what Voldemort sees even when they are not in physical proximity.

Owing to a review I got on this chapter (quite a good point!) I've revised the section regarding the dragon's blood.