"Good evening, Horas," Dumbledore said, standing up straight again.

In the blink of an eye, the armchair turned into a bald fat old man squatted there. He rubbed his belly, narrowed a painful, and looked at Dumbledore with tears in his eyes.

"You don't need to pierce it so hard with your magic wand." He said angrily, and he climbed up with great difficulty, "It hurts so much."

The light of the wand shone on his shaky bald head, his bulging eyes, his walrus-like silver beard, and the shiny buttons on the brown-purple velvet dress outside his lilac pajamas. His head was only as close to Dumbledore's chin.

"How did it reveal the stuff?" he asked in a rough voice. While staggeringly standing up, he still rubbed his belly. It seemed that his face was astonishingly thick. You know, he had just pretended to be an armchair and was discovered.

"My dear Horas," Dumbledore said, "You can ask my little friend, you didn't even deceive you in your arrangement."

The fat old man found Silver, "How did you see it?"

"Mr. Slughorn, the blood you use is too obvious." Silver smiled. "This is the blood of the fire dragon. The smell of sulfur is too different from that of human blood."

The wizard patted his wide forehead with his chubby hands.

"I know," he muttered, "I just felt something was missing. I forgot to wipe out the smell of the fire dragon blood. Oh, yes. But it's too late. I just adjusted the chair cover and you went into the house."

He sighed heavily, blowing the tips of both beards up.

"Do you want me to clean up for you?" Dumbledore asked politely.

"Please." said the fat old man.

They stood back to back, one tall and thin, the other short and fat, and the two waved their wands in unison.

The furniture jumped back to its original position one by one, the decorations returned to its original shape in the air, the feathers were re-arched into the cushion, and the broken books were automatically repaired, neatly arranged on the bookshelf. The oil lamp flew to the small table beside the wall and lit up again. A large number of broken silver flew to the other end of the room like a frame, landing on a desk, and became bright as new again. The damaged, torn and open areas were restored to the original state. The stains on the wall were also wiped clean automatically.

"Dumbledore, what are you thinking about when you come to me?" The fat old man sat down. "I will not go back to Hogwarts. I don't want to be ruined by a group of naughty ghosts. I'm not going to be ruined by a group of naughty ghosts."

Dumbledore laughed, "Are you really unwilling to help me? Horace?"

The fat old man was so angry that he blew his beard and glared at Dumbledore, "Okay, Dumbledore, do you want to call me after becoming the Minister of Magic? I tell you, this is impossible, I am not afraid of power!"

Silver found a chair and sat down, leisurely preparing to watch the show.

"How about it, Horas, are you doing well recently?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not very good," Slughorn said immediately, "can't breathe. Asthma, rheumatism, legs and feet are not as flexible as before. Alas, this is also expected. People are old and useless."
Chapter completed!