Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Twenty - Gilbertus et Sullivanus

Hermione was totally flummoxed by the incident with Ron Weasley, just now in the common room. She could still feel the rage emanating from Ginny, as they made their way to Dumbledore's office; but she was not entirely sure of the source of that infamous Weasley anger.

None of them spoke, until, out of the blue, Ginny assuaged Hermione's dilemma.

"You've got nothing to feel bad about, Sals," Ginny reassured the newest Gryffindor.

"That numbskull-brother-of-mine deserved everything he got, and more! He's been a proper arse, so I think it's brilliant that he turned himself into the dickhead that he has become! More or less rounds it off," she laughed.

"Whoa, where did that come from!" Hermione gasped.

The Muggle-born witch almost roared with laughter, as she led the way towards the spiral staircase.

"Well it's true!" Ginny was adamant, as they stopped before the gargoyle.

"He's been utterly unbearable since he met Sals, lost you and his wand, all on the same day. You cannot begin to imagine just how insufferable he has been this past month.

"I swear Mum and Dad were ready to kill him, after only the first week. Of course it was Harry that was the major source of his rage, all the other things merely fanned the flames."

"Oh, sorry, Herm!" Ginny blurted suddenly, "I didn't mean to offend... you mean a lot to Ron, of course... but--"

"Relax, Gin," Hermione reassured her, "I know what you're saying... and it makes perfect sense.

"Anyway," Hermione added, as she nodded in support of Ginny's stance, "this can't keep going on, especially now that you and Ronald are in the same house, Sals."

"Ron is totally out of his tree," Ginny averred, "and he can't be allowed to get away with what he's trying to do."

Hermione was startled by Ginny's powerful sentiments. She smiled at her redheaded friend warmly.

"You're right, Ginny," Hermione concurred, "this has to stop, or the damage that it will do to house unity will be immeasurable."

They all stood before the daunting guardian of the staircase. After a few moments of awkward silence, Sals turned to the girls.

"Shall we go up?" he enquired.

"McGonagall said to wait here," Hermione cautioned him.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that was only because she assumed we never had the password," Sals replied, "besides, I'm pretty sure Dumbledore will be expecting us. I've already learned that there isn't much that gets past that wily old bugger, especially here at Hogwarts!" he grinned.

Then he faced the gargoyle and addressed it in Parseltongue.

Hermione turned to Ginny, at the sound of the snake language, and was not surprised to see her friend go pale, with her recollections of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Are you OK, Gin?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh, Ginny, I am sorry!" cried Sals, "I knew about the Chamber... that was insensitive of me... I... please forgive me?"

"Hell's bells," Ginny scoffed, "that was years ago... and I've been through a damned sight more than that, since then."

Ginny slapped him on the arm playfully.

"I didn't do it to try to trade on your relationships with Harry," Sals scoffed, and his beautiful face was deformed by a cynical grimace, as he glanced from one to the other.

Hermione was stung by the observation; but the tall, hot youth -- a fit lad if ever there was one -- spoke with such passion that she rationalised that he found the idea repugnant.

"I realise that this might risk alienating you, but I just wanted you both to know the full extent of what you're dealing with, here," he explained sombrely.

"Of course it wouldn't have been a risk if I had probed you both without your knowledge or consent, as a Legilimens," Sals spat angrily.

He looked directly at Hermione, and all she could do was smile. She looked deep into his black eyes.

"I know that, Sals," Hermione smiled again, "it shouldn't really come as a surprise, anyway," she rationalised.

The look on Sals' face frightened Ginny, Hermione could tell. He looked straight at the redhead, then his voice darkened...

"You both run a risk... associating with someone like me. There was no point talking about it before, because you could not have appreciated what I was saying, not fully at least. But, now, after the events of tonight, you can see for yourself, what it is like.

"I doubt that the situation will improve greatly. I worry whether either of you can really trust me now, knowing the power I possess... and the possibility that I might be as bad as people think."

He looked dejectedly towards his feet as they rode the staircase to the headmaster's office.

"Even apart from all that, with nothing more than my names... both of them!... any association with me could just as easily alienate you from the rest of Gryffindor..."

"We both know that Sals!" the girls chorused and laughed at their timing.

Then the door to Dumbledore's office opened of its own volition, and Sals smiled to himself, as he stepped off the top of the staircase.

He followed the girls into the office.


"Madam Pomfrey, are you there?" cried Minerva McGonagall.

She held open the door, and ushered Ronald Weasley into the hospital wing.

The boy was beside himself with anger and distress. He had both hands over his face, and she was sure that his complexion still matched his hair, which couldn't be seen because he had pulled the hood of his cloak up, to mask his embarrassment.

The head of Gryffindor House had refrained from trying to interrogate the lad, as they had made their way from Gryffindor tower. Frankly she still didn't know where to begin.

McGonagall cast a sly glance at the troubled youth, then shook her head despondently.

He was a hothead and irrational, and a poor student, but she could not help but like him: he had balls.

Minerva ogled at Weasley's ears, which swayed pendulously when he hunched over, and she nearly erupted into hysterics.

The wily old witch took control of her composure, and suppressed the urge to exclaim her amusement.

She felt some empathy with how the wee laddie must be feeling about the loss of Potter. She glanced at his hands cupped over his genitals, and reassessed her epithet... the not-so-wee laddie. Then she considered Weasley's immediate dilemma, which only served to magnify her concern for his future at Hogwarts.

Minerva had little doubt that Severus Snape's son was involved, heavily involved, in all of this.

She worried what the new school year was going to bring, with such a potent and dangerous young wizard in her house.

"If only half the reports and rumours are true..." she taunted herself with the horrible possibility.

Of course, with Rita Skeeter's muckraking, in that abominable rag, The Daily Prophet, after the alleged incident in Edburg's parlour... Minerva shuddered at the recollections.

The numerous rumours that had surfaced about Snape were troubling, to say the least, even if only one in ten were true.

Wizards and witches from far and wide had contributed snippets of muck and rumour to spice up the gossip columns, for days on end.

It appeared that there were almost as many people who knew Salazar Snape, as those who claimed to know Potter.

Albeit, not all the rumours reflected badly on Snape, some were quite flattering. Sadly, there were more than enough disturbing anecdotes, going back years in some cases, to give the head of Gryffindor pause.

What if, Minerva wondered, this clash with Weasley is all part of Snape's agenda!

Minerva shook her head incredulously, as she waited for Poppy to appear.

How on earth had the youth -- who was obviously Slytherin, right down to his given name -- been sorted into Godrick Gryffindor's house of lions?

What had the Sorting Hat been thinking!

And that hair!

Whatever was Severus thinking? Allowing his son to be so flamboyant and antisocial?

Before she'd even seen the boy, based on the Daily Prophet's description of the lad, Minerva had already argued the hair issue with Albus, and lost.

There were times when the old coot really ticked her off, and this was one of them. The silly old bugger had already seen the boy's hair, and had thought it was brilliant!

But at least the youth had shown some discretion and avoided that issue by arriving with a quite conservative hair style. She wondered what had been the catalyst for that move.

With Potter gone, possibly dead, and Voldemort back on the rampage, the timing of Salazar Snape's arrival could hardly have been worse.

Of even greater concern was the apparent influence that the mysterious youth already exerted over Hermione Granger and Weasley's sister.

The wily old witch turned her attention back to her immediate concern, and shook her head even more despondently.

"Goodness-gracious-me, Mister Weasley," cried Madam Pomfrey, as she emerged from her office, "you're certainly wasting precious little time this year, you've barely had time to unpack."

She nodded to McGonagall.

"Good evening Minerva; whatever has he done to his nose... face... this early in the school term?"

"It would appear that Weasley's nose is only half the problem, Poppy," the stern witch replied, "and the least of it, come to that," she added, as an afterthought.

"Well, let's have a look then, lad," Poppy prompted the distraught youth.

The redhead reluctantly lowered his hands, to reveal his ignominy.

Minerva marvelled at how the Hogwarts nurse always maintained a stolid, professional demeanour, regardless of the circumstances.

"Can you fix it?" the mortified teen cried, in a nasal whine.

"An explanation would be a good start, Weasley," Poppy cued the boy, as she pushed his hood back.

Minerva swore that this time Poppy had struggled with her composure.

"It was all Snape's fault!" the redhead wailed.

"That does not help," Poppy responded, her tone slightly clipped.

"What spell did Snape cast, Weasley?" Minerva prompted the boy.

"I dunno!" the brat snapped.

"We will thank you to watch your tone, Mr Weasley," Minerva chastised the lad.

"How do you know it was Snape?" Poppy demanded, "if you never heard him cast the spell?"

"Cock face! ... that was the spell, I remember now, it was "cock face," I'm positive!"

"Weasley," Minerva rasped, her patience quickly dissipating, "might I remind you that I was with you, in the headmaster's office, not thirty minutes ago. Given your behaviour over the past month, in particular the last eight hours, I find it highly probable that there is more to it than that."

The youth looked rather sheepish, but made no attempt to offer any further explanation.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Are you saying I'm lying, Professor?"

"I'm suggesting that, given your behaviour to date, you may have omitted some pertinent details that might help Madam Pomfrey reverse the effects of this spell."

Minerva paused, then eyed Weasley with an accusatory squint.

"I further suggest that what I already know of Mr Snape tells me that he would hardly be likely to cast such a spell in such a manner.

"I seriously doubt that he would have used English; peniculus vultus, would have been his more likely approach, methinks.

"Well, maybe verpa audacia," Minerva re-evaluated, after scanning the boy's face once again.

This did elicit a subtle smirk from Poppy, who obviously concurred that  Weasley was nothing if not well-endowed.

The redhead's clueless expression made it even more difficult for the women to keep straight faces, but it also verified Minerva's suspicion.

"If anyone were to use the words that you ascribe to the spell, Weasley," Minerva regained her composure, as she admonished the sullen youth, "I suspect that person would have been you!"

The headstrong Gryffindor flushed an even more violent shade of crimson; then he exploded...

"Well, he asked for it! He's evil, pure evil... he shouldn't be in Gryffindor! Why am I the only one who sees it?" he cried.

"Everyone else thinks he's Merlin's gift to Hogwarts... Saint Snape!" he spat the epithet viciously.

"Strange..." quipped Madam Pomfrey... "that is what Malfoy used to call Harry," the wily old nurse observed, "Saint Potter!"

However, Weasley was unable to appreciate the irony; he fumed, as his chest heaved with righteous indignation.

"Students have been sent down for lesser offenses than this, Weasley," Minerva admonished the volatile redhead. "You have gone back on your word... less than half an hour after assuring Professor Dumbledore."

She drew a deep breath, in frustration.

"Why am I being hauled over the coals?" Weasley ranted, in an even more pronounced nasal whine. "He asked for it!" he repeated adamantly.

"I don't know what is at the heart of your obsession with Snape, Weasley," Minerva berated the youth, "but you had better gain control of your anger, or you will find yourself on the next train back to Kings Cross station. Do I make myself clear?"

The angry youth scowled at Minerva belligerently.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied finally, in a tone that was no less bellicose.

"Mmmmm," droned Poppy, as she finished waving her wand over the angry youth.

"Your nose, Mr Weasley... would I be right in assuming that there has been a transposition of organs?"

The redhead was never too bright, and Minerva rolled her eyes at the lad's bewildered countenance.

"Has your nose swapped places with your private parts, Mr Weasley?" Minerva explained.

She had been tempted to say "your now public private parts." However, despite her penchant for alliteration, her professional ethos held sway.
The redhead merely nodded angrily.

"Mmmmm," Madam Pomfrey repeated thoughtfully, "it would appear to be a very powerful and sophisticated counter spell. I do believe that there is only one student in Gryffindor capable of this, Minerva."

"Yes, well," the head of Gryffindor replied, "I think I should speak to Mr Snape, sooner, rather than later."

She turned towards the door.

"I think we both should," added Poppy, "I've some questions that I would like answered, before I attempt to address this issue," the nurse elaborated.

She turned to Weasley, handing him a hospital robe.

"You get into this, and then hop into that bed, Mr Weasley. I'll look you over thoroughly when I return."


Minerva and Poppy arrived at the gargoyle, only to discover that the three Gryffindors were not waiting for her, as instructed.

The headmistress knew that young Snape had been to see the headmaster after the feast, so she immediately assumed that he was responsible for ignoring her directions.

Poppy cast an enquiring look at Minerva, to which she simply snapped "Snape!" by way of an answer.

Minerva angrily cast the password at the guardian, then impatiently stepped onto the staircase.

When the two witches entered the headmaster's office, Dumbledore was chatting pleasantly with Snape and the two girls.

The bonhomie that exuded the chamber put Minerva on the defensive, and she refrained from assailing the devious youth; she would deal with him later.

"Ah, Minerva, Poppy, how is Ronald coping with his present disposition?" the wily old wizard enquired pleasantly.

"Not very well, Albus," Minerva spat, as she eyed the tall, dark youth with increasing suspicion and disdain, "he is in considerable distress!"

Young Snape's posture and disposition angered Minerva so much that she could not take her eyes off the boy; she never even glanced at the girls, whom she feared were already under his spell.

Despite her decision to defer any discipline of the sinister youth, she could not overcome her growing aversion towards Severus Snape's son.

"Mr Snape," Minerva hissed at the youth, "I thought I instructed you to wait for me at the gargoyle."

The two girls were clearly surprised that McGonagall had assumed that Snape was to blame, and their reaction registered in Minerva's peripheral vision. However, she kept her eyes fixed on the treacherous youth.

Before the newest Gryffindor could formulate a reply, Albus came to his defence.

"Ah, Minerva, that would be my fault," the old man explained, "the Gryffindor common room mirror informed me of Mr Weasley's dilemma, indirectly."

He paused to glance at the portraits behind him, and everyone caught his drift. "Young Salazar, here," Dumbledore continued, "correctly assumed that I was eager to hear the details."

This merely infuriated Minerva even more so: a more patent load of old tosh had never been foisted upon her, but she bit her tongue, rather than argue with the headmaster in front of the children.

Never-the-less, she could not mask her growing antagonism towards the boy.

"Well, Snape," Minerva eyed the youth bitterly, "I am equally eager to hear the details, as is Madam Pomfrey; if you would oblige!"

"Certainly Professor," the youth smiled sweetly at the two women.

Minerva's hostility escalated, but she simply waited for the youth's spiel.

"As you no doubt know, Ma'am," he continued smoothly, "there have already been several incidents between myself and Ron Weasley; so I was aware of his tendency towards aggression.

"He seemed to be spoiling for a fight, from the moment I entered the Gryffindor common room. So, as a precaution, I cast a defensive spell to head off any attack that he might launch."

"And what might that spell have been, Master Snape?" Poppy enquired.

"`Gilbertus et Sullivanus', Ma'am."

"`Gilbertus et Sullivanus?'" both witches chorused, before Minerva added coolly, "there is no such thing!"

"It's one of my own, Ma'am," the youth cooed smoothly.

The lad's bold response merely served to fuel Minerva's animosity.

"Gilbert and Sullivan were two British Muggles who wrote comic opera in the last century, Ma'am," he continued, "The Mikado was one of their most famous productions; it's central premise was to `let the punishment fit the crime!' Ma'am."

"So," enquired Minerva icily, "your spell was crafted to rebound any attack back onto the caster?"

"Yes, Ma'am, that is correct."

"Well, young man," Poppy interjected, "if you can tell me the counter-spell, I shall return to the hospital wing and restore Mr Weasley to his proper state."

"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey," the youth replied, "it's irreversible, Ma'am, it is reinforced with the `iusta poena' ward."

"You mean it's bound?" Minerva snapped angrily.

"Yes, Ma'am," the boy confirmed, before he turned back to Dumbledore.

"It's an additional invention of mine, Headmaster, which I'm sure you will appreciate. Unfortunately I never devised a reversal or termination spell for it. None of the standard spells will work, I suspect.

"However, I am confident that the spell can easily be terminated by its instigator, Sir."

"Meaning?" Minerva snapped, drawing the youth's attention back to her.

"All Weasley has to do, Ma'am," Snape replied arrogantly, "is apologise for his actions and the spell will be reversed."

"Well then," McGonagall quipped, "you will accompany us back to the hospital wing, this very instant, and we shall resolve this deplorable situation now!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," the youth smirked defiantly.

Minerva's anger flared.

"The `iusta poena' ward won't permit that, Ma'am: `Gilbertus et Sullivanus...' `let the punishment fit the crime!'"

"Meaning?" Minerva snapped again.

Her impatience with the bane of her coming school year was growing with every syllable that slid off his sinister tongue.

"The apology has to be made in front of those same individuals who witnessed the attack. `Iusta poena,' Ma'am," he added impudently.

"This is ridiculous, Albus," snapped McGonagall to the headmaster, "it is appalling!"

The old man merely smiled, further infuriating his deputy.

"Oh, I don't think so, Minerva," Dumbledore replied. "Rather clever if you ask me: `Gilbertus et Sullivanus...' `let the punishment fit the crime!' Quite ingenious.

"Besides, all Ronald has to do is swallow his pride, mend the error of his ways, and all will be forgotten. Only fair, don't you agree?"

"Do you have any idea what will happen when the Ministry and the newspapers get hold of this, Albus?" Minerva roared.

"If young Mr Weasley does the right thing, that will never be an issue, surely," the old man replied pleasantly.

"Well I'm certainly not about to disturb the house for a second time this evening, they should all be in bed by now. Mr Weasley will just have to wait until morning!" Minerva pontificated angrily.


The serenity of the hospital wing was shattered by raucous laughter, just after six in the morning, as Ronald Weasley attempted to sneak from his bed to the loo.

Michael Corner, who had been admitted late the previous night, with a stomach complaint from over-indulging at the Feast, was in hysterics.

"Oh Weasley, you've got to be kidding me!" the Ravenclaw roared with hilarity, as Weasley tried desperately to hide the massive hard-on that was protruding from the centre of his face, in all of its morning glory.

Weasley was busting to empty his bladder, and ran the rest of the way across the ward, to the safety and privacy of the boys' lavatory.

Once inside the bathroom the redhead locked the door, then stepped in front of the nearest mirror and blanched at the sight that confronted him.

His morning wood reared up like a unicorn's horn, and his anger and shame flared once again.

He was startled when his own image screamed with laughter.

"Oh sweet Merlin, that's not a good look, dear. You'd terrify a hippogriff with that, lad. Not a good look at all!"

Ron was too angry to even reply, and too preoccupied with his dilemma.

How was he going to relieve himself? Could he actually empty his bladder?

He made his way into one of the cubicles, and bent over until his rock-hard cock was pointing into the toilet bowl. He always found it difficult to start peeing with morning wood, at the best of times, and he strained to try to get things moving.

Suddenly, to Ron's utter horror, he felt a trickle of pee, but not from his swollen cock; it was running down his nose!

He almost screamed in panic, as the yellow stream began to splatter onto his bare feet.

He could not believe this was happening to him. He immediately pulled the seat down and sat over the bowl to pee.

Weasley was shattered by the utter humiliation of it all, and he wanted to kill Snape; he could have done it with his bare hands.

As if the humiliation of his appearance was not bad enough, he was being forced to sit and pee like a girl; and to cap it all off, his nose still worked: he could smell the inside of the bowl and his steaming urine!

The one and only relief came from the fact that, as his bladder emptied, his unicorn-horn erection had begun to deflate.

But then, just as he contemplated the positive, he gave a final squeeze of his near-empty bladder, only to let go of an enormous fart.

It was not just any old fart; it was the foulest, rankest and most disgusting eruption of noxious gasses that he had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

To make matters worse, trapped in the confines of the bowl, the intensity of the emission was over-powering.

Ron thought he was going to throw-up or faint or both. He staggered from the cubicle to the wash basin, where he proceeded to flush his face with cold water.

He finally plucked up enough courage to return to the ward.

He was still dressed in only his hospital robe, which he had considered pulling up over his head, to hide his shame.

However, he abandoned that tactic, as soon as he realised that it made matters worse, since it would expose his groin's reassigned organs instead.

Besides, he rationalised, trying to hide his face was only going to encourage that idiot Corner; better to face the twit, and be done with it.

Of course the thought was easier than the performance. Michael Corner was merciless as Ron crossed the short distance from the lavatory to the seclusion of his bed, which was still curtained off from the rest of the ward.

"I'll bet Hogwarts to a brick that it was Snape that did that to you, Weasley," Corner taunted him.

"Sod off Corner!" Ron snapped, as he ducked behind the curtain and hopped under the bedcovers.

But the Ravenclaw was not about to back off. He pulled back the curtain and strode over to Ron's bed.

"Let's have a gander then," Corner teased as he reached for Ron's sheet.

"Mr Corner!" cried Madam Pomfrey imperiously, "you seem to have made a full recovery."

She waved her wand over him, to confirm her diagnosis.

"I suggest you get dressed and return to your dormitory before breakfast... unless you want me to administer another potion, to settle your stomach."

"Yes, Ma'am... I mean NO!... Ma'am!" cried Corner.

He made a quick exit to retrieve his robes. She harried him out of the hospital wing, then returned to Ron Weasley's bedside.

"Mr Weasley," the Hogwarts nurse waited for him to reveal himself.

Ron reluctantly pushed the bed clothes down, to expose his face.

He knew better than to ignore the wily old witch. He flushed so deeply that his complexion was almost indistinguishable from the flaming red pubic hair that adorned his forehead.

"It is nearly six-thirty, young man," Madam Pomfrey announced.

"I suggest that if you are going to the Gryffindor common room before breakfast, as Professor McGonagall instructed, you leave now, before the school is on the move. Unless, of course, you want the rest of the student population to share in Mr Corner's amusement."


If you are enjoying this, you might like my other two Nifty stories...
This is a two-chapter Potterverse short story [complete].
This is on-going and I'm updating it as I write each new chapter.

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