>Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Twenty-One -- Tats, Tools and Titillation
As the sixth year boys awoke to their first morning in that dormitory of the Gryffindor Tower, they were a sombre lot.
By the time Sals had returned to the room from Dumbledore's office, last night, the lights were already out, and the other three Gryffindors had been feigning sleep.
Sals had decided that it was just as well; the tension in the darkened room had been quite high, so he had promptly hopped into his bed and gone to sleep.
However, by the torpid state of his three new roommates, as they slowly stumbled out of bed, when the early dawn illuminated the chamber, Sals was pretty sure that none of them had slept more than a wink.
Neville was affable enough, even if he had only mumbled "good morning, Sals, how did you sleep?" But the other two Gryffindors were totally mute.
Unlike the other boys -- who wore t-shirts and boxers, or in Neville's case flannel pyjamas -- Sals emerged from his bed-covers in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting, pale-pink boxers.
The smooth fabric hung low on his slim hips; it draped over his lower anatomy sensuously. The shorts revealed little detail, until -- as he walked casually to the end of his bed, to retrieve his towel and toiletries -- the pendulous sway of flesh hinted at genitalia that was more than well-endowed.
Until Sals' arrival at Hogwarts, Dean Thomas and Ron Weasley had been the two tallest boys in the house.
Not only was Sals a good inch taller than both, his sculpted physique was more impressive than Dean's, especially where it mattered most.
As Sals caught the tall black lad's eye, it was clear that both boys knew it, and even more obvious that Dean was jealous.
But what really caught the trio's attention were the tats and, of-course, the shimmering form of Vipera, that adorned Sals' sleek but powerful torso.
"Hermione told me about the snake," Neville ventured.
He stepped closer and peered intently at the serpent's golden scales and iridescent scarlet eyes, as she sensuously curled around Sals' smooth right biceps.
She flicked her blood-red tongue towards Neville.
"I thought Hermione said she was silver with green eyes?" Neville stated, then hurriedly added, "it is she, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Sals smiled, "but Vipera decided that a change was in order, after the hat's decision."
"So she is real then?" Neville enquired further.
He tentatively moved his index finger towards Vipera, and let her flick it with her tongue.
"Yeah," Sals laughed, "she's real enough."
"A Gryffindor snake!" Seamus Finnigan shivered and spat the phrase, as he spoke for the first time in Sals's presence, "that's fookin' freaky!"
However, there was no real malice in the observation, which surprised Sals, given the events of the previous evening.
The Irish lad confirmed as much, as his eyes grazed greedily on Sals's impressive torso and focussed on the tattoos, before gravitating to the pendulous, cloth-covered groin.
"Nice tats though," he added with a cheeky Leprechaun's grin, while still focussed on the hidden genital treasure.
Then Finnigan looked up into Sals's eyes and, with an even more cheeky grin, added: "Harry would like those two!" He indicated the two pectoral tats with a nod of his head.
"Thanks," Sals acknowledged the compliment cheerfully, as the chill in the room thawed.
The three Gryffindors eyed the tats, though Dean Thomas did so from a distance.
Sals was well aware that Thomas's animosity was a blend of jealousy and a belligerent camaraderie with Ron Weasley.
"You must love Quidditch then," quipped Finnigan, ogling at the flying snitch, about half actual size, just above the tiny brown nipple of Sals's smooth, hairless, left pec.
"But what's with the dragon?" the Irish pixie added, as he pointed to Sals' well-defined, right pec, where an Hungarian Horned dragon, a bit bigger than the snitch, arched its wings as its flames engulfed the edge of Sals' button-sized nipple.
"I had one as a pet, more or less," Sals laughed, "until he got too big to handle," he added with a twinkle in his eye, that he directed straight at the cute Irish boy.
Finnigan flushed suddenly, and his eyes dropped, again, to ogle at Sals's groin.
The tall, fit youth grinned salaciously, and chuckled to himself that he had the Irish kid in the palm of his hand -- or, more appropriately, by the short and curlies.
Sals knew a screaming size queen when he saw one, and his groin began to stir slightly, as he imagined the little slut on his knees, worshiping Sals's appendage.
The room was suddenly piqued with a silence that was stark, until Neville shattered the moment with a new observation...
"What's on your hip?" he enquired enthusiastically, as all three boys focussed on the tail of a rainbow that peeked just above the low-hanging shorts.
With a salacious grin, Sals hitched the elastic down, exposing the top of his right thigh, just enough to reveal a rainbow with a stark, black outline that trailed behind an iridescent, aqua-blue star that fell towards his groin from his hip.
"Nothing special really, I just like the look," Sals grinned.
Sals wondered if the Irish Half-Blood recognised the Gay emblem, or the appendicitis scar, from a Muggle operation, that nestled above the rainbow.
They seem to catch Finnigan's eye, momentarily, but the Irish lad's gaze soon returned to Sals' groin. Sals was tempted to use Legilimency on him, to determine why the boy had not commented, but he decided to let it ride.
"I'm dying for a shower," Sals distracted them from the intense inspection of his body, "I haven't had one since I left home."
They all made their way to the senior bathroom in silence.
After they had all emptied their bladders, Sals was the first one to move to the showers.
He could sense their collective eyes on him, as he dropped his shorts and placed them on the bench with his towel.
None of the boys took any notice as Vipera slid from Sals's forearm, to nestle on his discarded boxer shorts, because they were all mesmerised by the two new tats that were now visible.
Dead centre, on each of Sals' smooth, trim, yet well-rounded buttocks, was a ship's propeller.
Sals was absolutely certain that the Muggle visual pun on screwing would not be lost on the lads, not even Neville.
"Oh man! That's fookin' brilliant!" cried Finnigan, in near hysterics, confirming Sals' expectation.
"Glad you like them," Sals laughed.
Without turning around, he flexed his hot buttocks alternately at the boys, then headed towards the bank of five showers.
The others followed, as Sals took the middle showerhead, and lathered up.
Sals kept his eyes closed, while he washed his magnificent body, with his head under the torrent of water. He swung his torso from side to side, as he rinsed his hairless armpits, to provide the lads with ample opportunity to take it all in.
After a few minutes, Sals discretely cracked open an eye, to confirm that Finnigan was focussed on his groin, which was still well-lathered, thus hidden from view.
The Irish pixie was beginning to chub-up. Neville was on Finnigan's other side.
Then Sals eyed Dean Thomas, who had taken the corner furthest from Sals. The dark-skinned youth was eyeing the Slytherin intruder cautiously, from the discrete distance between them.
Sals twisted his body towards Thomas, as he rinsed the suds from his groin.
Sals almost laughed aloud, as Thomas ogled, with the shocked realisation that, not only was Sals' groin totally hairless, the entire length of the sixteen-year-old's massive tool was ,
a tattooed snake, a Basilisk no less!
Its body continued up across his left hip, almost mirroring the rainbow star on his right, until it faded from view, before it reached his buttock. The foreskin was inked with the monster's head. Its deadly, yellow eyes stared eerily, while its black nostrils flared, as though the beast was ready to strike.
Thomas boggled as the tall, dark-haired spunk peeled back his thick foreskin to again lather the flaccid monster. It was humungous: longer than his forearm by a good inch, and thicker than his wrist!
The animated effect, when he rinsed off, was that the snake appeared to have opened its mouth, because the massive glans penis was emblazoned with the sharp teeth and forked tongue of the beast.
"You're fucking joking, Snape!" cried Thomas.
It was the first utterance that he had made in Sals's presence, but there was more awe than disgust in his voice.
That got the attention of the others.
"Where did you get that?" was Neville's exclamation.
"How did you get it?" was Finnigan's.
"Why did you get it!" was Thomas's earnest enquiry.
"Long story!" was Sals's sardonic reply.
And so it began...
Minerva McGonagall checked the clock on the wall of her office, as she waited for the arrival of Salazar Snape.
She had already sent Weasley to wait in the sixth year prefect's study, until all of the seniors had finished dressing and had assembled in the common room.
It would have been the foolish boy's own study, had he not forfeited that honour to Longbottom. The room was conveniently unoccupied, as Longbottom would not move in until later that evening.
She worried exactly how Weasley would behave in front of his peers, and she had serious doubts about his ability to swallow his pride and bring about a resolution to this immediate dilemma.
But of even greater concern were the long-term prospects for her house and the school, as well as the safety and well-being of Weasley, and his sister... and Granger, all of whom she feared were at the mercy of Snape.
Minerva had never had reason to question the Sorting Hat's decisions before, but she seriously struggled with Snape's allocation to the house of lions.
She had been stunned to discover that the hat had attempted to place Potter in Slytherin, back in first year, and she had been even more startled by Dumbledore's revelation that Harry had actually persuaded the hat to place him in Gryffindor!
This knowledge had never troubled Minerva until yesterday, but she had just spent a sleepless night wondering if Snape had done the same. The hat certainly took its time last night; on reflection it was longer than Potter's sorting, and that had taken an eternity.
"Is this all part of Snape's plot? He certainly has an agenda, of that there is little doubt. But what is the powerful youth's agenda; what are his motives, and why would he want to be in Gryffindor?"
These were troubled times, and Minerva feared that Snape's arrival could not have come at a worse period in Hogwarts' history.
At precisely seven o'clock Sals approached McGonagall's quarters. He was not looking forward to this encounter, and he was finding it difficult to resolve her antagonism towards him, especially after their confrontation in Dumbledore's office, last night.
He paused, took a deep breath, then knocked on her office door.
"Come!" was the strident command from the Hogwarts Deputy.
"Ah, Snape, punctual I see..." she announced, then paused.
Sals did not need his skills as a Legilimens to see that her observation was merely a belligerent concession that he at least had one virtue.
"Sit down," the old witch instructed him coolly, as he entered the room.
"We need to discuss the incident with Mr Weasley, last night," she announced, then added cattily, "amongst other matters."
"Yes, Professor," Sals replied deferentially, although he knew it wouldn't cut ice with the woman.
"As you know, I have instructed Mr Weasley to appear before the senior Gryffindors, in the common room, before we go down to breakfast, to resolve this deplorable issue."
"And I expect you to ensure that the matter is resolved, Mr Snape!"
"I'm sorry, Professor," Sals replied a little indignantly, "but that is entirely up to Ron Weasley, Ma'am. The matter is beyond my control."
"Oh come now, Snape," she hissed, "surely a boy of your extraordinary talents can undo one of his own spells!"
Sals resented the woman's tone, but he had to play this by the book. Her hostility was unbridled, and she was the one person he did not want breathing down his neck for the rest of this year.
"With all due respect, Professor, I did build the mechanism into the spell, to enable it to be undone. That power is already in the spell caster's own hands, Ma'am."
"That may well be, Snape," McGonagall bristled, "but I cannot help but wonder why you chose a spell that was so extreme in its consequences!"
Sals was rapidly losing his patience. McGonagall clearly saw him as the aggressor, and she was defending one of her lion cubs against someone whom she clearly considered to be an outsider.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," Sals attempted to placate the hostile old witch, "but Ron Weasley has drawn his wand on me, four times in three encounters. I decided that it was high time he was taught a lesson, before someone was really hurt! With all due respect, Ma'am, what else would you have had me do, under the circumstances?"
"I have it on good authority that you disarmed Weasley with consummate ease on the first two occasions, Snape."
Sals was tempted to retort, "what authority would that be, Professor, the Daily Prophet?" But he wisely bit his tongue, and opted, instead, for a less provocative response.
"Precisely, Ma'am, and that approach patently failed as a deterrent!"
"Be that as it may, Snape," McGonagall clearly resented his response, "I cannot help but wonder why you chose such a flamboyant tactic in front of such a large audience? Why so extreme? Was it to impress the--"
Sals realised his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.
Not only had he rudely interrupted his housemistress, but he had played her off against the headmaster.
"Yes?..." McGonagall cajoled him, daring him to put his foot right in it.
But the damage was already done, so Sals opted to face up to his blunder, without trying to camouflage his intended statement.
"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall, that was very rude of me, please forgive my interjection. But Professor Dumbledore did not find my choice of defensive tactic extreme."
McGonagall eyed the youth fiercely; her tacit response was loud and clear: If that's your ploy, Snape, two can play at that game. She gave a derisive snort before she spoke.
"I'll be honest with you, Snape," she was calm but cold and aloof, if not hostile, "I do not understand the Sorting Hat's decision, but that is sadly irrevocable, and I will stand by it.
"However, you have started out on the wrong foot in Gryffindor, and I can only see difficulties ahead, if you continue in this vein."
"Professor," Sals trod cautiously, "I appreciate your candour, and I will try to be equally honest. You are correct, I did chose my tactic with Ron Weasley to make an impression. However, it was not some vain-glorious gesture, to elicit some facile admiration from the easily impressed. I felt it was a statement that needed to be made, to offset what I had said in the Great Hall during the Sorting."
Sals sensed a change in McGonagall, she was at least assessing what he was saying, but she was still suspicious of his motives.
He pressed on...
"I spoke openly and honestly about solidarity and student co-operation, at the feast, but I felt the need to make sure that the gesture was not misread.
"There was the real danger that I might be seen as so desperate to make friends that I would tolerate inexcusable abuse and aggression for the sake of solidarity.
"Ron Weasley was testing the limits of that tolerance, Ma'am, and he was encouraging others to follow. I decided to set the record straight.
"If I made the wrong decision, Ma'am, I am sorry for any inconvenience that it may have caused you; but I acted with the best of intentions, Professor, and I can only hope that you believe me."
"Well Snape, what we sow we reap. Only time will tell how much damage your actions have caused. In the meantime I caution you to show restraint! I must warn you that I will not tolerate any behaviour that endangers the safety of others. Do I make myself clear, Snape?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Sals replied respectfully, while he suppressed the urge to ask the old witch if she'd issued the same warning to the irascible redhead.
When all of the Gryffindor seniors had assembled in the common room, Minerva sent Dean Thomas to get Weasley from the sixth year prefect's study.
Snape was flanked by Granger and Weasley's sister, but Minerva chose to say nothing, even though she was uncomfortable with the relationship that they had with the new boy.
Weasley arrived a few minutes later, looking very uneasy and brimming with a white hot fury, which he directed at the trio, particularly Snape.
"Mr Weasley, I believe you have something to say to Mr Snape?" Minerva asked rhetorically.
The redhead glared at Snape, and Minerva could already sense that this issue was not going to be resolved as she had hoped; the belligerent boy was too proud and too angry to submit to what he clearly saw as Snape's demands.
"You're the dickhead, Snape," the foolish boy snarled, "and you don't belong here, you're a Death Eater and you should be in Slytherin, with your boyfriend, Malfoy! I'll never apologise to you! So why don't you just piss off!"
Minerva could not believe her ears. She knew Weasley was undisciplined and irrational, but she thought she had explained the situation clearly enough that even he could appreciate his predicament, but apparently not.
"Mr Weasley!" the Gryffindor housemistress exclaimed angrily; but before she could utter another word the belligerent redhead began to undergo another dramatic metamorphosis.
But this change was far more dramatic and devastating than the one Weasley had suffered the previous night.
This time his entire neck and head swelled until it had morphed into a giant penis. The swollen glans of the appendage replaced what had been Weasley's hair and skull.
The only facial features that were retained were the boy's eyes and mouth. The flaccid penis still draped down over that mouth, from the tangle of copper pubic hair that still festooned what once had been Weasley's forehead.
The youth's swollen testicles still hung down pendulously from the underside of the massive glans penis.
The reaction of the witnesses to this fiasco ranged from hysterics to horror.
Weasley's own reaction was total shock. He pawed at his face in utter panic, and raced over to the same mirror. Weasley screamed like a girl at the sight that shattered his ego.
"What's happening," he screamed hysterically, "put it back! PUT IT BACK!" he repeated, as he pounded at the mirror.
"Snape," McGonagall cried in horror, "what is the meaning of this! Stop this at once!"
"Ma'am?" the sinister youth pleaded innocently, "I have done nothing Professor: it's the `iusta poena' ward, Ma'am. It is simply responding to Weasley's behaviour."
"I'll never apologise to you, Snape! I'd rather eat shit!" Weasley screamed with renewed insanity, as he turned from the mirror.
"I'll kill you first, with my bare hands," the redhead roared, and he launched himself at the newest Gryffindor.
But Snape merely held up his hand, and Weasley froze in mid-stride, just as he had at the ice-cream emporium, four weeks previous.
"To breakfast," cried McGonagall stridently, "all of you... NOW!... not you, Snape," she snapped.
"Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, I'll see both of you in my office, before class, if you please!"
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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