Profluent: flowing smoothly and abundantly forth
March 5, 1945
The amber liquid spilled out of the bottleneck in a fair stream by the end of the night. Horace Slughorn laughed jovially at the wise remark of one of his budding students. He clapped one of the shyer boys on the shoulder, bringing out into the middle of the room, urging him to make connections. A group in the corner was singing. And Slughorn gulped down his mead and tipped the bottle again, coaxing the never-ending supply out into his crystal goblet.
There was always plenty of everything in his office, especially for such events. This was, he liked to think, the womb of the future greats. Important connections happened in these walls, and he would be generous and forthcoming with his luxuries to bring them about. All except with the mead. He did make sure to keep a close eye on that past the first couple glasses.
And as the old potions master waddled around his crowded office, his sweets and drinks, music and advice pouring forth like a river of fortune, a pale boy stood watching off to the side. He nodded politely whenever the others looked his way, usually with respect or admiration. He was the oldest here and clearly the one on top, although he stood to the side and merely took in the whole room with those dark, handsome, intelligent eyes.
Oh yes. It was the womb of the greats….
A/N: There you go. All caught up now! Except for Feb. 20. I've got to get on that… Morceau… anyway, I know this one's short and not super exciting, but I hope you'll review anyway! :) Trying not to get redundant, which was why the first few ideas I had for this had to get scrapped.