Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Twenty-Six -- Murder in Gryffindor

Ron Weasley was storming around the edge of the lake in a fury. If he had been armed, there would not have been a tree, shrub or living creature within his range.

It had been almost a good hour since he'd stormed out of the Room of Requirement. It was a blessing, really, that he was not allowed to carry his wand out of school hours, or someone, anyone who dared to cross his path, right now, would be hurt.

In lieu of using Magic the volatile redhead resorted to hurling rocks at anything that moved, and threshing plants with a thick stick, until not a leaf or petal remained on any of its, as yet, unbroken branches.

He wanted to punish them all, starting with Longbottom, and working his way up to that traitorous bitch Granger and his rebellious sister. But, most of all, he wanted to hurt Malfoy, Potter and Snape.

"No!" the redhead wailed, against the wind that was beginning to howl.

"I don't want to hurt Snape, I want to kill him!"

If he could have, he would have, with his bare hands.


Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his throne-like chair, behind his desk, and pondered the events of the last hour.

His first thoughts were of Tom Riddle at the orphanage.

He stood up, far more briskly than his aching bones would normally permit. The sex with that magnificent spunk, Salazar Snape, had really put a spring in his step. He felt as if he were one hundred once again.

The old man wasted no time in retrieving another vial from his Voldemort cabinet. It had been some considerable time since he had watched this particular one. He would have to show this version to Salazar, he knew for certain that the boy would love it.

He then grabbed a second vial, and chuckled as he looked at it. He loved this one, it was spectacular.

"Salazar will flip over this," he laughed to himself, as he read the title: "Slug 03."

Albus poured the two vials into the Pensieve together. They interacted to produce a bright, hot-pink glow.

With his good hand already gripping his massive cock like a vice, the old man plunged his head into his fantasy memories.

Dumbledore immediately found himself inside Tom Riddle's room.

It was just as in the other memory that he had shown Salazar, except that it continued on from where the first had left off...


"I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips  they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

The younger version of Dumbledore closed the door to leave the boy, just as in the first memory. But it was at that very point that this new memory began...

The `Muggle' Dumbledore turned back to the boy's door and opened it, without knocking. He startled the boy, who, he was amazed to see, was rubbing his obviously erect cock quite vigorously, through his thin grey shorts.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tom; I should have knocked."

The boy was patently stunned by the old man's apology and delighted with the wizard's general demeanour, given the circumstances. He demonstrated as much, by smiling and slowing down his masturbation to a teasing pose.

The younger Dumbledore walked towards the boy's bed, while simultaneously closing and locking the boy's door, despite it having no lock.

He sat on the edge of the bed, just below the boy's knee, and smiled at the beautiful creature. Then he reached up and gently placed his hand on the boy's closest knee.

The provocative imp returned the smile with interest, while not missing a beat in his slow, external masturbation of a cock that was way too big for an eleven-year-old.

"When was the last time you spoke to a snake, Tom?"

Dumbledore slid his fingers up over the soft, alabaster skin of the boy's thigh, as he waited for a reply.

At the same time, the older, voyeuristic Dumbledore was masturbating his own hard cock, back in his office, with his feet planted firmly on the ground, and his head in the clouds of the Pensieve.

"Last week!" the boy snapped.

The hypersexual child had stopped masturbating, but his massive erection could still be seen, quite clearly, throbbing beneath the soft, thin material.

"He was my only friend," the boy lamented.

A wayward tear dared to trickle from the corner of his eye; but he flicked it away contemptuously, with the index of his free hand, even before the errant pearl had reached the edge of his cherry-pink cheek.

"They killed him!" the lad snarled viciously.

He sneered a twisted grin at the old man...

"But I made them pay for it... that's why they're all glad to see me go. None of them could prove it was me, but they all know."

Dumbledore slid his fingers gently up and down the smooth flesh, along the inside of the tender thigh, as his older voyeur increased the pace and intensity of his own wank, back in his office.

"That's not how we resolve matters at Hogwarts, Tom! But we'll talk more about that later."

He smiled at the boy, and gradually inched the tips of his fingers along the tender flesh, to the fringe of his shorts.

The boy's response was to relax and return the smile sweetly, while he spread his legs, in a patent invitation to continue.

"So tell me, Tom," what else makes you different from the other boys here?"

"You're looking at it!" the boy quipped, as he gripped his massive appendage, through the thin cotton shorts.

Tom squeezed his beautiful prick so hard that it caused the thin, grey fabric to swell until it looked ready to tear.

"It's the biggest, bigger even than the fourteen-year-olds... and I'm only eleven... and I still don't have any hairs yet, either... and I squirt heaps more than the oldest of them!"

"Well!" sighed Dumbledore, "that is very impressive, Tom."

He reached up into the leg of the boy's shorts.

The boy let go of his own cock, and spread his legs even wider apart.

The younger Dumbledore was clearly delighted by the boy's invitation, and was thrilled to discover that the boy wore no pants. He slid his smooth fingers over the satin-slick skin.

The voyeur, meanwhile, was wanking himself into a frenzy, despite having watched this same memory several thousand times over the last fifty years.

"You can suck it if you like..." the eleven-year-old teased, "or you can fuck me... or I can fuck you, if you prefer."

The boy smiled salaciously, then rolled over onto his tummy.

"Pull my shorts down, and play with my bum!" the boy ordered the younger Dumbledore, just as the older voyeur shot his bolt all over the inside of his own robes, back in the real world.

With the older Dumbledore's ejaculation, the Pensieve automatically dissolved into the second memory.

This time Dumbledore found himself in Horace Slughorn's old office. It was a Friday night, and the end of Tom Riddle's first week at Hogwarts...

The sexy young pervert was already well familiar with his new Potions Master's massive cock, having already seduced Slughorn, before curfew on the previous Monday night, barely four hours after alighting the Hogwarts Express.

The petite eleven-year-old was sexually irrepressible. He had the unique ability to charm the pants off any professor he set his sights on, which proved to be nearly half of the male teaching staff, by the end of the first week.

Of course the exquisitely handsome child had already seduced several of his Slytherin housemates by that stage, as well. No doubt the size of his own huge cock, a prodigious weapon on one so young, had been a major factor in all of his conquests.

The little minx was an insatiable nymphomaniac, in possession of charms, both magical and natural, that could stir the loins of the most weary and world-worn of souls.

Such charms were hardly necessary, when it came to Horace Slughorn, who was a paedophile of the highest order.

Quite uncharacteristically, Slughorn was putting up some resistance to the imp's sexual advances, due to the fact that young Riddle had already drained the older wizard's python of its precious nectar, barely two hours earlier, just before dinner.

That, of course, would not normally have deterred the Potions professor from such a salacious interlude; after all, his sexual appetite was nearly as insatiable as his petite seducer's.

What tempered Slughorn's enthusiasm, at that particular moment, was that he was expecting the arrival of one of his least favourite Potions students, who was late with his first potions assignment.

"Come on, Sir," young Riddle begged the old man, "McClure won't be here for another ten minutes at least... he's still playing chess in the great hall."

The deviant old paedophile said nothing, but merely allowed the seductive imp to swing him away from his desk.

Slughorn leaned back in his swivel chair and spread his knees to allow the little slut easier access to his groin.

Within seconds the depraved child was on his knees, with his own quite-prodigious weapon in his left hand and Slughorn's massive cock straining to resist the boy's urgent effort to pull it down, with his right hand, and devour his monster right down to his greying pubes.

Suddenly there was a knock on Slughorn's door.

Both paedophile and cupid froze, until a devilish sneer graced the imp's beautiful visage.

Instead of jumping up in a panic, to restore his dress to respectability, as Professor Slughorn had expected, the boy simply crawled into the huge space under Horace's desk.

The little nymph broadened his wicked smile, as he gripped the still-rock-hard tower of flesh with both of his tiny hands.

The beautiful boy then pulled his teacher by his cock, as he backed into the space beneath the desk, between the two banks of drawers, on either side, until his feet hit the panel that completely hid him from view.

A second, more urgent knock startled Slughorn into action: he allowed his young seducer to pull his chair in under the desk, until his gut was pressing against the edge and his knees were pushed further apart, to make room for Tom to crawl in between his legs.

"Enter!" Slughorn called from his chair.

In complete synchronisation, McClure entered the room, as Slughorn felt his flies being spread and a tiny hand reached into his trousers and grasped his balls.

Slughorn gasped and rolled his eyes, leaving McClure a little startled.

"Are you all right, Professor?" enquired the Third Year Ravenclaw.

"Yes, Yes, McClure, get on with it lad!" Horace answered a little testily.

Tom began tickling the huge cock, just as McClure began to sniffle, startled by the apparent rebuff.

"Now, now, lad... pull yourself together!"

No sooner had Horace uttered the admonition, Riddle began to pull on the old man's cock with both hands. Tom rubbed his tiny right hand over the sensitive glans as he pulled down on the massive muscle, retracting the thick foreskin in the process.

Slughorn could not supress a moan and he wriggled his fat arse in the seat.

By this stage, Dumbledore was wanking his still erect cock, once again, back in his office, while he immersed himself in this second memory, for probably the thousandth time.

"Come on, McClure, stiff upper lip, suck it in lad!" Horace tried to boost the blubbering Ravenclaw.

As the words left his lips, he could feel Riddle doing just that to his massive cock. The little slut was teasing the head of his cock with his tongue and his teeth.

Once more Horace groaned and rolled his eyes, putting poor McClure even more on edge.

Despite the distractions Horace proceeded to admonished McClure over his tardiness, while Tom Riddle enthusiastically deep-throated his massive cock.

At one point in the process McClure started to blubber again.

"Get a grip, lad!" Slughorn cajoled the boy.

Then he almost leapt out of his chair, when both Riddle's tiny hands grasped his balls, pulled down hard on them and indeed gripped them firmly, while he sucked the cock in earnest.

"You need to take the bit between your teeth lad," Slughorn advised McClure, "bite down hard and focus on your target... YEOOW!" he cried, just as Tom did exactly that, as he plunged onto the throbbing cock.

With his nose buried in the old man's pubes, and his massive weapon buried deep in his throat, Tom bit down hard, once again on the very root of Horace's cock.

Slughorn cried out again, and McClure jerked nervously in response to the old man's weird behaviour.

"I'm cuming!..." cried the Potions Master as he shot a massive load down Tom's slutty throat.

He groaned, gripped the handles of his chair, and continued to pump his seed into the hungry mouth below the desk.

"Coming to the conclusion that you are not doing enough work, McClure!" the old man admonished the lad further.

He took a deep breath, as Tom finished teasing his cock to coax the last trickle of spunk from the monster.

"Well, you have a week of detentions. So I suggest you swallow your medicine and knuckle down to work, lad." Horace cautioned McClure.

Tom eased back off the spent cock, and swallowed the massive load with relish, as McClure took his leave.


Dumbledore reared back out of the Pensieve, just as he came for the second time and roared laughing.

He collapsed back into his chair behind his desk, while he recovered from the erotic fantasy of reliving that first experience with Tom Riddle and that hilarious episode with Horace and the boy.

It seemed ages since he had last watched those memories; and he had not had any real sex for longer than he cared to remember, so that interlude with young Snape had been particularly invigorating.

As the old man return the two memories to the cabinet, he marvelled that, of the one-hundred-and-eighty-six vials in his possession, one-hundred-and-thirty-nine of them were of Tom Riddle having sex.

His cabinet reminded Dumbledore of the Muggle house in Budleigh Babberton that Horace had holed up in, when he had been on the run. The owner was a paedophile, just like him and Horace; which was why Horace was there in the first place.

The Muggle had a collection of memories of boys of all ages having wild sex with men. Dumbledore and Horace had spent a few hours watching them, before he'd finally convinced Slughorn to return to Hogwarts.

They were kept in little black boxes, which Horace called "tapes."

With his carnal yearnings finally sated, for the time being at least, Dumbledore slumped back on his chair behind his desk and pondered Sals...

"So... have I, once again, fallen to the wiles of another dark wizard?" Albus asked himself scathingly.

The stunning youth terrified and invigorated the old man, in equal measures. He was an enigma, beautiful beyond belief, powerful beyond reckoning!

"Salazar Snape is a potential monster who could prove worse than either Gellert or Voldemort!" Dumbledore berated himself, "and I have set him on the road to discovering ultimate power.

"You have forsaken the wizarding world, just to get inside yet another boy's pants. Again! Albus!" he cried in shame, but with a surprisingly low degree of regret, that should be commensurate with such treachery.

Both Tom and Gell had used their cocks and given up their arses, each in their own way, to control the stupid old man for their own devices... They had used Dumbledore to meet their own purposes and had hurt him with their callous betrayal.

Well, at least this time, Dumbledore had avoided the possibility of being hurt again, by embracing a boy for whom he had no true feelings.

That the Adonis might well become the most powerful, and probably the most brutal, wizard of all time, was no longer of any consequence to the old man, who knew he was in his own last days.

Dumbledore had only two objectives and, if he was right, Salazar Snape would fulfil both of them, perfectly. The virile youth was a demi-god who was going to enact the old man's revenge on Tom Riddle's betrayal. The glory of that revenge would help assuage the pain of Gell's treachery, to a lesser extent. Albus's second objective, a swift and painless death, would also, by necessity, be delivered by Salazar Snape.

Like Tom and Gell, before him, the ruthless youth was only too happy to trade his arse and cock for the keys to immortality and ultimate power. He had demonstrated as much just this afternoon.

The way forward was reasonably clear for the old man, based on two criteria: he had learned, at the Department of Mysteries, last June, that he was no longer a match for Voldemort; he knew, deep down in his bones, to his very Wizard's core, that this boy, Salazar Snape, could defeat that monster.

The cost? Ah!... well... that was the great unknown.

But, in the old man's mind, that was of secondary import.

To be sure, that was a cynical rationale, born of bitter disillusionment.

Most cynical of all, from Dumbledore's perspective: what happened after that was of little concern for Albus; he would be dead by then.

Dumbledore knew that was an inevitability, because it was only through his death that revenge on Voldemort could be attained. If Salazar Snape was to have any chance of killing Voldemort, Dumbledore had to die and Salazar Snape had to kill him!

Albus held up his withered hand and grinned laconically.

Tom was already killing him, through that blasted ring!

"I'm a selfish old prick!" Dumbledore hissed, with a cynical laugh.

But he did not care anymore, he had been betrayed his whole life; a recluse, a cynic, an old man with only revenge in his heart. His one and only true love had been snatched from his arms, after only twelve months! Such a waste of a beautiful young life, and the pain and suffering of a life of over one hundred years of betrayal.

The Wizarding World was going to get what it deserved.


The ancient chamber was dark and almost silent, except for the gentle hum, and occasional whirring, of the magical devices strewn throughout the vast room. Below that noise, was the gentle rumble of snoring and heavy breathing of the previous heads of Hogwarts, from the countless portraits that were strewn across the walls.

Suddenly the door to the chamber creaked open for just a few seconds before it closed again, almost without a sound, disturbing no-one.


"Snape," came the hat's silent reply.

Had Dumbledore been in the darkened chamber, he could no doubt have detected the youth's presence. But the boy's foray into the headmaster's office would have eluded most other, less powerful, warlocks.

"You said we needed to talk, so here I am!" the boy quipped cheekily.

There was a brief pause, which Sals took as a cue to continue...

"Why did you react so angrily when I wondered whether I could get you to help me get into the old man's mind?"

"If you intend wresting the mantle from such lofty heads as Dumbledore's, young Snape, then you must prove worthy of such a prize."

"So, you wanted me to prove to myself that I could do it?"

"Of course!... Your father is a more powerful Occlumens than either Dumbledore or Riddle are Legilimens, and it appears that you have inherited that aptitude.

"Of course," the hat laughed in Sals's head, "neither of you are a match for me!"

Sals harrumphed indignantly.

"You, it would appear, have exceeded your father, if your early success with Dumbledore is any indication. I do believe you can invade both his and Voldemort's minds, given the impetus of the moment. Whether they can detect your presence is another matter."

Sals felt elated by the hat's confidence in him. He felt emboldened enough to sound out the ancient magical entity on a matter that intrigued, rather than troubled, his young mind.

Even at the tender age of sixteen, Salazar Snape was, above all else, a pragmatist.

"When Dumbledore put all the portraits to sleep, just before our bout of gymnastics, and I mean that in the classical sense," he laughed at his own joke, "did that cut you out of the picture, as well?"

"Of course not," replied the hat indignantly, "I am privy to everything that goes on in this room... always have been."

Sals flushed slightly with that pronouncement.

"You don't seem too upset... with what he did to me... er... I mean what we did to each other?"

The beautiful youth reddened deeper. He couldn't understand how a pile of old rags could shame him.

"OH! SORRY!" Adonis proclaimed in a panic, "Didn't mean to offend! It's just that I find it hard to think of you as a person."

"I should think not!" spat the hat indignantly, "Now that is something that I would find offensive! Which is exactly why I couldn't give two hoots what either of you do with your ugly bodies!"

"Touché!" Sals laughed.

"So... to business!" cried the hat impatiently.

"Now that you are aware of Riddle's proclivities, have you considered trying to get to him through seduction?"

"Since you seem to know everything that's going on inside my head, hat!" the boy conceded peevishly, "you already know the answer to that question! I'd rather screw a Dementor or be fucked by a Blast-Ended Screwt!"

"It would weaken his defences," the hat teased.

"It would shatter mine completely!" countered Sals. "That would have to be the absolute last resort. You have seen what he has become!"

Sals cleared his mind of that horror and focussed on the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. From one extreme to the other...

"Were you aware, previously, of that memory of Slughorn with Riddle?"

"No," replied the hat.

"Slughorn was obviously lying to Riddle... when he said he knew nothing about Horcruxes!... his anger betrayed him; how can you get angry about something you don't know?"

"Very astute conclusion, Snape."

"And the fact that Slughorn felt the need to censor his own memory, makes it almost certain that he is ashamed or terrified of what he did tell Riddle that night!" Sals affirmed his earlier conclusion.

"But, now that I have been anointed as `The Chosen One' by the grand old man himself," the young warlock decided, "I need to let Voldemort know, myself, before he learns it from another source."

"Very good Snape; to deny or try to hide this would destroy Voldemort's trust and ultimately it would prove to be a fatal mistake."

"I'm going to learn everything I can from the old man, and from Slughorn, and then I am going to kill that fucker, once and for all time!

"Dumbledore is growing weaker, by the day, surely you can see that, hat!"

"Do not underestimate Albus Dumbledore, Snape, he is still the most powerful wizard alive today."

"I am not that foolish, hat!" the boy snapped. "But the fact remains that he knows he is too weak to kill Voldemort. He had his chance back in June! That's why he has risked everything to empower a boy that he does not fully trust, he is desperate.

"I will not permit myself to entertain defeat, hat! I am not a haughty fool. However, I am confident, only a complete idiot would embark on an endeavour when he did not believe he could win. I am ever vigilant against the pitfall of becoming smug.

"I will tell Voldemort that Potter is alive but impotent, and I have managed to convince the old man that I am the `Chosen One.' That I now have Dumbledore's full confidence.

"I will go before the day is done, but first I have to speak with my father. Thank you, hat, I will keep you abreast of my progress, and solicit your further advice."


Sweat and blood trickled down Draco Malfoy's distraught face, as he backed into the corner of the cold dungeon.

"Please, I beg you, please... no more!"

He began to sob bitterly, but it had little impact on Salazar Snape's demeanour. The powerful young warlock had no intention of letting up, until he was sure that the blonde could stand no more.

The Ice Prince of Slytherin was still clothed, but his robe was in shreds and soiled with his blood, sweat and vomit.

Salazar raised both hands in an almost casual gesture; the blonde's limp body rose off the floor. Then, with the boy suspended in mid-air, slumped face-down, as if suspended by ropes, Sals stepped forward, gripped the blonde hair and pulled Draco's face up to meet his.

"You still remember why this is happening, don't you Malfoy... you pathetic piece of shit?"

The boy made a feeble affirmative shake of his head.

"Then you know we have only just begun!"

"No! ... please, no more!" The boy began to sob anew... "no more... I beg you... PLEASE!!"

Sals swept his own hands apart, and the Slytherin's clothing was rent from either side and torn from his prone body with a sharp snap of stitches and ripping of the most expensive Wizard cloth available.

The blonde did not speak, he merely begged Salazar through his tear-filled eyes, and shook his head in one last appeal for this vicious attack to end.

But Severus Snape's son showed no such mercy. He slowly circumnavigated the blonde's naked body, as it hung face down in the air, at Salazar's shoulder height.

The dark haired youth turned up his nose at the stench; the blonde had soiled himself with the excruciating pain of the first Cruciatus.

Sals ignored the offensive odour and simply pointed his index finger at the flaccid cock and smooth, hairless ball sack that hung low beneath the blonde's limp torso.

"Cruciatus!" Sals cried.

With that, the pathetic young blonde's screams reached a new, ear-splitting crescendo.


"My Lord," Salazar Snape knelt before the vile monster, standing on the dais in his `throne room' in the old Riddle House.

"I humbly bring news of great import to your cause master."

The youth retreated to stand next to his father, at the foot of the dais.

Between them, naked, bloodied and barely conscious, knelt Draco Malfoy. The blonde was almost totally oblivious to the proceedings.

Voldemort ignored the blonde and turned his attention to the tall, dark and handsome youth who stood before him.

"You have Our permission to speak, Salazar."

"Harry Potter is not dead, My Lord, I have seen him, in the flesh."

Voldemort's eyes flared red and glowered at Salazar.

"This cannot be, We would know if he was alive!" Voldemort thundered angrily, "We have a connection to the boy."

"My Lord... if I may..." the crafty youth made a careful bow before the monster.

Voldemort simply waved his hand, gesturing for the boy to proceed.

"Potter has apparently lost his Magic, My Lord. According to Dumbledore he is, to-all-intents-and-purposes, a Muggle. Might that not have affected your connection, Master?"

"Where is Potter now?"

"I do not know, My Lord, somewhere in Muggle London, I suspect, and far from any Wizards' abodes. Dumbledore doubts that we will ever see him again."

Voldemort made no response; the vile, deformed creature stood stock-still, as if in a trance, no doubt testing the lost connection to his erstwhile Nemesis.

Finally a half smile deformed his already monstrous visage; it seemed to signal some degree of relief.

This prompted Salazar Snape to strike while the iron was hot...

"I have more news, My Lord... I have been able to convince Dumbledore that, with Potter's demise, I am `The Chosen One,' Master."

The Dark Lord looked suddenly sceptical, if not suspicious.

Salazar quickly took up the slack and tried to head off the monster's doubts and suspicions, despite the fact that Voldemort was already probing his young mind, ruthlessly searching for weaknesses and lies.

"Dumbledore is dying, My Lord, he is desperate, clutching at straws. I have managed to exploit his desperation and weakness. He has already taken me into his confidence!"


Sals was in the Potions store room at the start of the Potions double, on Monday afternoon. He was gathering the necessary ingredients for their brewing assignment.

Draco Malfoy had been preparing their equipment, on their bench, back out in the classroom. But he entered the storeroom to ask Sals about the arrangement of the flasks.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the Potions classroom, followed by a scream from one of the girls; it sounded like Parkinson.

When Sals and Draco raced back into the classroom, Theodore Nott was standing next to Sals's bench. But he was frozen to the spot, with a pained look distorting his face.

At Nott's feet, Sals Potions text lay opened on the floor, the well-worn pages crumpled under the weight of the hard cover of the binding.

Professor Slughorn stood next to Nott, scanning the youth with his wand and trying to determine what had happened to the devious Slytherin.

"Sorry, Professor," Sals apologised to the old man, as casually as he could, in order to allay any panic. "That's my doing professor, just a protective spell on my possessions."

"Rather extreme, don't you think, Snape!" Slughorn castigated him, albeit a little cautiously.

"Sorry, Sir, just a precaution."

Sals flicked his second finger against the butt of his thumb, loudly.

Nott slumped forward in confusion, then reared himself up indignantly.

"Just a warning, Nott," Sals hissed in his face, "leave my personal property alone!"

"I just wanted to see how you were getting perfect potions every lesson, Snape!"

"I thought you knew the answer to that already, Nott," Sals sneered at the skinny blonde contemptuously, "I'm better than you!"

Nott huffed indignantly, but swallowed any retort he may have been contemplating, and proceeded to retrieve his own ingredients from the store room, while Weasley prepared their equipment.

Sals picked up his father's annotated text and laid the book on his work bench. The well-worn Potions text flopped open onto a page that Sals had not yet read.

He glanced at the text; a scribble at the top of the page caught his eye: "Sectumsempra, for enemies."

"That's interesting," he mumbled to himself, "I'll have to keep that in mind for the next time Weasley gets out of hand."

Sals flicked the pages back to the day's lesson and proceeded to share out the preparation of the ingredients with Draco.


A loud scream rang out along the second floor corridor, as Moaning Myrtle floated out of the disused girls toilet in a distressed state.

"MURDER!" she cried, "MURDER!" she repeated hysterically, until a crowd had gathered, as they made their way back from dinner in the Great Hall.

"What are you blathering about, you silly girl!" cried Professor McGonagall, in an attempt to diffuse the tension among the gathering students.

"He's dead, murdered... I tell you!"

"Who's dead, Myrtle, who's been murdered?"

"The redhead," she wailed, "Harry's friend... in the bathroom... he's bled to death I tell you. Cut near in half, he was... it's terrible, first Harry, now this... terrible!"


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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