"--And Dumbledore, bless his heart -- thank you, Florean, thank you kindly." Slughorn paused to accept a sundae from the proprietor of the ice cream parlour, a smile wrought with good-natured conspiracy shared between the two. "--Where was I? Ah yes -- Professor Dumbledore came down straightaway when he heard I was contemplating retiring. Said it would be a simple shame if I didn't stay and teach all these newcomers that would be flooding into the school come the end of summer, and perhaps a modest pay increase would persuade me to stay?"

Professor Horace Slughorn rarely stirred from his Hogwarts quarters, even over the summer. A great deal of momentum kept him there most days, coupled with the convenience of accepting owl post deliveries in the comfort of his own chambers. Indeed, a table nearby was downright littered with such deliveries in the form of tins of pineapple, boxes of toffee, and one chest of Turkish Delight that looked like it belonged as a N.E.W.T. level Care of Magical Creatures lesson. (He was still working on trying to figure out how to get the Turkish Delight out of the thing. Must make a note to stop by and bother Hagrid, the man probably had some of his wildman tricks to calm the thing.) But with times so different, Slughorn had decided that an appearance would serve him well, to get an impression of just what was going on in the wizarding world for himself.

So the man himself held court in the outside seats of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, having convened an impromptu meeting of the myth-shrouded Slug Club right here. Open to all members and alumni, and those whose Slughorn's keen eye caught sight of and judged to be of merit. No one could say his instincts were perfect... but time had honed them well.

"And so another year of teaching," he concluded with a theatrical sigh. "Maybe some year I'll give these old bones a rest."