Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Twenty-Eight -- Salazar Seduces Slughorn

"Well you certainly know how to set the Kneazle among the Fwoopers, Sals!"

"Ginny!" the tall, handsome youth cried with delight at the sound of her voice, "you're back!"

Sals hugged her enthusiastically.

She and Hermione, Dean, Neville and Luna had come down from the stands to congratulate him, on the pitch.

The other Seekers, including Draco, Madam Hooch and most of the school had begun migrating back to the castle, while many Gryffindors remained in the stands to watch the Gryffindor try-outs, which were just about to start.

"Yeah," Ginny almost squealed, "Dad finally convinced Mum that I couldn't miss the Quidditch try-outs... Gryffindor wouldn't be Gryffindor without a Weasley in the side."

"That's great, Gin, glad you could make it."

Then Sals held her at arm's length and looked across at Dean, who was standing directly behind her.

"I'll bet I'm not the only one who's glad you're back," Sals added, as he winked at the tall, black lad.

Ginny flushed, then slapped Sals on the arm playfully.

"So what's the story with Draco?" Ginny quickly diverted attention away from her embarrassment.

"Oh that?" Sals parried impishly, "just thought it was the appropriate response, given the circumstances."

"Well I don't think McGonagall thought so," quipped Hermione, "and she wasn't the only one."

She flicked her eyes in the direction of the stands, where Seamus was brooding in the Gryffindor section, all alone and looking black. Below the stands, and looking even darker, was McGonagall; she was waiting on the edge of the pitch, peering across at Sals murderously.

Sals said nothing, for a moment, but rolled his eyes melodramatically.

"Don't worry about him... I'll deal with that later," he finally conceded.

"Well I think you might have a more immediate problem to deal with, anyway," Ginny whispered, but it was obvious who she was referring to and what she was saying.

Sals rolled his eyes again.

"You think!"

The crew all laughed with a degree of trepidation. Then they moved off, towards the stands, to watch the Gryffindor try-outs. The exceptions were Ginny and Dean, who turned to join the rest of the Gryffindor hopefuls, who were already assembling at the centre of the pitch.

Ginny made a half-hearted pause, for Sals to join them, but all three of them knew it was a futile gesture.

"A moment, if you please, Mister Snape," McGonagall's shrill summons, bore out their anticipation.

Sals stopped in his tracks, gave Ginny a half-hearted grin, then turned on his heel and strode towards his Nemesis with an air of indifference.


Minerva McGonagall was ropable. Severus Snape's son was beyond the pale, in almost every aspect of his behaviour. He had pushed every imaginable boundary from the very first minutes of his arrival at Hogwarts. But this... this was a bridge too far!

"What, may I ask, was the meaning of that disgraceful exhibition, just now, with Mister Malfoy... in front of the entire school, no less?"

"What do you mean, Ma'am?"

"You know perfectly well, Snape! I've had quite enough of your cheek, of late, you wilful boy. You will not play these games with me, young man!"

"I assure you, Professor McGonagall, I'm not playing games. There was nothing disgraceful about what I did `with Mister Malfoy!'"

Minerva's patience was wearing thinner by the second. She drew in a deep breath and braced herself. This trumped-up little brat was playing her like a fiddle, but she felt the need to at least seem to be fair, if that was the game the arrogant little punk wanted to play.

"Snape, I have been led to believe that a considerable part of your youth was spent in the company of Muggles. I am also aware that Muggles have a, shall we say, `liberal' view of such matters. But you are more than an accomplished wizard, Snape, and I refuse to believe that you are ignorant of how such things are viewed in the Wizarding World!"

"I thought we were fighting Voldemort, Professor!"

Minerva could not suppress the look of shock that was precipitated by the ridiculous Red Plimpy that the boy had just thrown at her. Exactly what game was this scheming brat playing?

"I beg your pardon, Snape," Minerva almost squealed in frustration, "what in the name of Merlin does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have to do with any of this?" she demanded.

The cheeky boy merely rolled his eyes in sullen contempt.

"He's called `Voldemort,' Ma'am, and I am doing everything that I can to destroy him. But I am damned if I am going to risk my life to stop one lunatic who wants to make me bow and scrape to the dictates of pure-blood fascism, only to defer to those same prejudices from another set of dictators!"

Minerva was stung by the inferences, but she was determined to present an air of rationalism and propriety.

"You are not an adult, Snape! You are a schoolboy and you are expected to act accordingly. Such behaviour is not accepted in this school."

"That is not true, Ma'am, and you know it. Many couples hold hands, here, in the halls, at the dining tables, even out on the lawns. They can often be seen exchanging kisses of greeting, etc. and never a word is said; I'm not talking about making-out, of course, just simple signs of affection."

"Enough! Mister Snape, you are playing on my patience! We are not talking about `simple signs of affection!' We are talking about unnatural behaviour that is unacceptable to wizards and witches everywhere!"

"AH! There it is! The very same fascism! Well, schoolboy or adult, I will not submit to that sort of pure-blood crap... under ANY circumstances!

"I have been given the responsibilities of an adult; I am being treated as an adult, by all and sundry, and my life is on-the-line every day of my non-adult life.

"I will not bow to Voldemort and his thugs, I will not bow to ANY pure-blood dictate, and... on this matter, Ma'am... with all due respect, I will not bow to YOU!"

There was that `with all due respect' epithet once again! Minerva was beside herself with rage. To make matters worse, this conversation was now very public, at least to her own Gryffindor Quidditch hopefuls. If that wasn't enough, the lad had just laid down a quite overt challenge to her authority.

"We shall see about that, Snape!" Minerva almost screeched. "I expect you to be in the Headmaster's office, the very minute that this Quidditch trial is over!"

Then she did something that she had never done before, at least not in any of these students' times at Hogwarts...

In a flurry of anger and embarrassment, she Apparated from the field to the entrance of the castle, a feat, of which it was widely believed, only Dumbledore, himself, was capable.


As Minerva entered the building, she was met by Rolanda Hooch, who was still dressed in her Quidditch umpiring uniform.

"Remarkable young man, Severus should be proud of him."

"Remarkable indeed," snapped the wily Scott.

"Cunning as a Slytherin, to boot!" Rolanda added, clearly goading Minerva into a response.

"To be sure," the Gryffindor housemistress concurred; but the squint in her ancient eyes elicited a caveat from the Quidditch expert.

Hooch obliged.

"You do realise he was playing with them all, down on that pitch?" she posed rhetorically. "Toyed with them.

"Well, I can't be sure, mind you; but I'll wager Hogwarts to a brick that he had the Snitch under his complete control from the very moment I released it, until it returned to my hand."

McGonagall looked as if she had just swallowed the Snitch, herself. She was literally speechless.

"I can't prove it, of course. I doubt anybody could, not even Dumbledore. But I'd be prepared to wager my year's salary that Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup!"

Minerva looked even more perplexed; but that pronouncement did not seem to disturb her to the same extent.

"What's more, I am quite certain that Snape even engineered that little bit of flamboyance with young Malfoy."

"Yes, well, I intend to nip that sort of disgusting behaviour in the bud, Rolanda! There will be none of that filth at Hogwarts, while I'm Deputy!"

"Oh, Minerva... really! I thought it was rather sweet. You surely don't hold to those prejudices. That's the sort of narrow-minded, pure-blood bigotry that we are fighting against."

McGonagall harrumphed stiffly.

"That is exactly the argument that young Snape put to me, just now, down on the pitch."

"Well, I've no doubt he defended his position admirably. If nothing else the lad has balls!"


"Fuck me, Snape!" crowed Cormac McLaggen who had just sauntered over to intercept Sals, who was making his way towards the rest of the assembled Quidditch players. "I don't much care for queers, but I've got to say that took some balls. You're okay!"

"Thanks," Sals smirked dismissively and brushed off the backhanded compliment for what it was.

In Harry Potter's absence Katie Bell had been appointed captain by the rest of the Gryffindors.

The team was eventually sorted out, within two hours, with Jack Sloper and Jimmy Peakes as Beaters, Katie, Ginny and Demelza Robins as Chasers, McLaggen as Keeper, and Sals as Seeker.

As they all traipsed through the main entrance to the castle, Sals turned to Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Dean, then sighed.

"I'll see you all later, I've got an appointment with you-know-who!"

"Voldemort's here, IN HOGWARTS!" Ginny shrieked, before she burst into laughter.

"I wish!" Sals replied cheekily, "I think I could handle that a lot better than McGonagall. She's a right one, an' all!" he finished with a faux-Cockney twang.


Salazar Snape stood before Dumbledore, in the old man's office. He had already defended himself to the headmaster, using the same logic that he had with McGonagall, down on the pitch.

But Sals's housemistress had resumed her attack; she had again lambasted him before the headmaster for what seemed like ages, before she finally drew breath.

"I was down at the ground, Minerva," Dumbledore responded, "and I hardly think `unseemly' is how I would have described the incident. If anything, I thought it was rather cute."

McGonagall was obviously flabbergasted by the old man's response, but Sals could tell that was a well-worn act on her part. After all these years she had surely come to expect the wily old fox to adopt such a radical stance. Dumbledore was nothing if not a shit-stirrer.

"But Albus," the irate witch argued, "if that horrible Skeeter woman were to learn of this, as she no doubt will, think of the damage that it will do to the school's reputation! Not to mention if Dolores Umbridge learns of it. She will try to take control of the school, just like last year."

"I hardly think so, Minerva. Young Salazar is quite capable of defending his actions, and I believe his argument, against allowing the sort of narrow social norms of Voldemort's supporters to hold sway, is a valid and articulate one."

The wily Scott was clearly not convinced nor impressed. But Sals did not push his luck with the irate witch. He took the tactful approach and counted his moral victory with grace. He might have won this round, but he was far from finding favour with the bane of his existence, just yet.

"Thank you, Minerva, I'm sure Salazar will express his feelings for Draco with decorum."

The headmaster concluded proceedings tactfully, by informing Sals that he wished to discuss another matter before the youth made his way back to the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall took her leave, a little stiffly, but with a degree of equanimity, despite the fact that she had failed to win this round.

The old man leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his desk, and bounced his steepled fingers against his lips thoughtfully. His bright blue orbs sparkled mischievously as he eyed the devious youth.

"I trust that all this excitement has not distracted you from the urgency of your mission, My Boy."

Salazar returned the roguish look with interest.

"Of course not, Headmaster. I will call on Professor Slughorn this evening, and I will apprise you of my findings post haste. I will not fail, Sir, I guarantee it!"


When Sals entered the Gryffindor common room it was all but empty, save for Seamus Finnigan, Neville, Hermione, Dean and Ginny.

As soon as Seamus caught Sals's eye, he immediately jumped up from his place next to Neville, on the lounge, and announced rather darkly that he was going to take a shower, as he felt `dirty!'

The implication was not lost on anyone, as the Irish leprechaun stormed up the steps to the sixth dormitory.

"How did it go with McGonagall and Dumbledore, Sals?" Ginny asked what everyone else was thinking, diverting attention away from Seamus.

"Better than I could have expected, actually. The old man had no problem with me kissing Draco, and McGonagall had no option but to back off."

"For the time being," Hermione observed.

"Yeah... well... I won no points on that front," Sals lamented. "She hates me more than ever, if that was even possible!" he laughed bitterly.

"Anyway, I'd better get out of these damn Quidditch robes before dinner, I guess. I'll see you down here at six, eh?"

Sals made his way to the dorm in quick time. He could hear the shower running from beside his bed, as he stripped out of his gear completely.

When he entered the bathroom, he was already completely naked, and his massive cock was swaying pendulously as he swaggered over to the showerhead adjacent to the sexy little Irish imp, who was soaping his hair, with his head under the hot spray.

"Fook, yeh scared da shit outa me!" Seamus almost screamed when Sals turned on his own shower. "Oh, it's you!" he added disconsolately, as he washed the soap from his eyes.

He lowered his head quickly, avoiding Sals's gaze, but he could not look away completely. His own gaze was drawn inexorably towards the massive weapon that hung from the tall, fit youth's groin.

The pendulous slab of meat thickened as Seamus's eyes began to glaze over, and his own six inches strained and throbbed at attention, despite his resolve and his anger with the Adonis standing next to him.

"You okay, Seamus?"

"What do you care!"

"Hey," Sals reached across and gently gripped the cute Irish lad by the shoulder.

But the smaller boy pulled away angrily, and turned towards the corner of the tiled wall.

Sals took a step closer and reached up with both hands; he gripped Seamus's shoulders firmly, but gently, and began to knead them with his massive palms.

Seamus made to jerk out of the hold, but it was half-hearted, at best, and had little effect, as Sals leaned over his shoulder and nuzzled his lips against the Irish lad's right ear. The tall, athletic wizard insinuated his hands down over Seamus's shoulders until his long fingers were massaging the Irish boy's smooth hairless pecs.

"Relax," Sals whispered as he pulled the lithe frame back against his own impressive torso, and his humungous twelve inches of tattooed cock slid smoothly up over the slighter boy's spine, until the massive bell end nudged the lad's quivering shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry if I led you on in the library, last week, Seamus," Sals whispered again, as he teased the shell of the leprechaun's ear with the tip of his tongue.

"I do find you awfully cute!"

He pushed his massive weapon forcefully along the cute boy's spine, to illustrate the point.

The boy responded with a giggle, but he was still putting on his little show of indignation.

"But I did tell you, at the time, that Draco was mine. I do find you hot, Seamus, you are a fit lad, after all. But you've got to realise that it can only ever be physical between us, okay?"

The Irish spunk swung himself around, and in a heartbeat he had half of the massive weapon down his hungry throat. But that was the extent of his effort; he could go no further.

He dropped to his knees under the torrent of hot water; he pulled the massive cock down towards his mouth. But the effect was to make the monstrous slab of muscle thicken and harden as it resisted the downward pressure.

The foreskin peeled right back, till there was no slack in the taut skin, revealing the inked glans in the process, exposing the tongue and fangs of the basilisk tattoo.

"Ooh fook!" the boy cried, "tha's fookin' unreal, fookin' freaky that is!" he declared in awe of the monster appendage.

He resumed his attack on the beautiful mass of flesh, but it had now assumed the texture of metal, albeit its skin was as smooth as the finest silk, but it was as inflexible, rigid and perfectly straight as a rod of steel.

This had the effect of making it even more difficult to swallow, but the Irish lad was determined to force as much of the object of his endless fantasies as deep as he could into his willing throat.

Tears were streaming down Seamus's cheeks as he forced more and more of the inflexible cock into his gullet.

He gagged and gasped for air as he repeatedly withdrew the phallus completely, only to mumble some incoherent adulation of the object of his obsession, before diving once again down onto the rigid flesh, in a valiant attempt to reach his goal.

But it was all in vain, after numerous attempts to devour the monster, they both conceded that it was never going to happen.

They reached a tacit consensus, when Sals turned off both showers, dropped to the tiled floor, and lay down with his rigid weapon pointing to the ceiling, like an Egyptian obelisk.

Sensing the moment, Seamus scooped up the copious pool of saliva and mucus that he had slathered around the base of the cock, from his vigorous attempts to devour the weapon. He lubricated his tight hole with one, two and finally four fingers, before he lowered his hungry arse down onto the throbbing tool.

"Ooooh! Ooh, fook! Fook-fook-fook-fook!" he roared as the massive prick penetrated his chamber of secrets for the first time. His mother's dildo and his own fist had done little to prepare him for this.

The pain was excruciating, but he had less than half of the massive cock inside him. Never-the-less, this was something that Seamus had fantasised over for nearly a fortnight. He had masturbated and fisted himself every night and every other chance he could find, fantasising about this very moment!

He raised himself up, until only the swollen knob of Sals's cock was still wedged behind his tight sphincter, like some massive butt-plug.

With one, almighty, final resolve he slammed his arse down hard, letting gravity take over, until he hit rock bottom and his arse cheeks slammed down hard on Sals's pelvic bone and balls.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!... that fookin-well hurt!" the leprechaun roared in pain and delight. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and slumped himself over the fit lad lying beneath him, until their lips locked in a searing kiss that threatened to evaporate the water off the tiled floor.

With the massive tool buried completely inside his overstretched colon, Seamus gradually began to raise himself up, inch by inch, then he let gravity drop his torso back down onto the rigid cock.

Eventually Seamus was slamming his arse down onto the phallus with a vengeance, their rhythm so violent that it threatened to knock the breath out of him.

As they embraced in a passionate kiss, Sals got to his feet, with the Irish lad still impaled on his cock. He walked over to the bench in the middle of the room, where he laid the smaller lad on his back, and proceeded to pound the living shit out of him.

They climaxed together, in a mind-blowing orgasm, that had Seamus shooting his load over his own shoulder and hitting the floor a good body length from his head. Sals's own load was so massive that it squirted out of Seamus's arse every time that the fit hunk shoved his massive weapon back into the gaping rectum.

"Shit!" Sals cried, as he realised how late it was, "we'd better make a move or we'll be late for dinner!"


Only minutes later Sals was making his way to the Great Hall. He was accompanied by the usual suspects, including Seamus, Ginny, Hermione, Dean and Neville.

As they neared the doors, Sals spied Draco making his way up from the dungeons, accompanied by Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

Sals slowed down to wait for them, and his cohorts followed suit.

When the two groups met, they all exchanged greetings.

"Congratulations, Gryffindor Seeker!" Draco lauded Sals.

Then he leaned in towards the tall Gryffindor and kissed him on the lips, briefly but passionately.

"Oooo!" teased Ginny and Dean, to which the rest laughed and Sals responded by wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Hmmm... you taste sweet, what have you been eating?" Draco teased Sals.

Seamus immediately flushed a deep crimson, but nobody caught it, other than Sals, who laughed and pecked Draco on the lips in reply.

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

Sals avoided direct eye contact with the leprechaun, so as not to draw attention to him; but that did not prevent the boy from reddening with embarrassment once again.

They all made their way into the Great Hall together. But, as the Slytherins turned towards their own dining table, Sals took Draco's hand in his, then he pulled him towards the Gryffindor side of the hall.

Greg and Vincent looked at each other for a moment, before they shrugged their shoulders and followed Draco over to the Gryffindor table.

This hardly went unnoticed, especially given Sals's little performance down on the Quidditch pitch that afternoon. The chamber was soon humming with chatter in response to this very unusual move. Students sharing another house's table for meals was rare, and for Slytherins and Gryffindors it was unheard of, to say the least.

There were a few teasing whistles and cat-calls, and a lot of pointing across at their table; but generally the air was upbeat and warm.

The significance of this event was not lost on the head table, either. In particular by Severus, Minerva and Albus Dumbledore. The latter was beaming like a loon. Severus was amused, if anything. But Professor McGonagall's reaction was inscrutable. Her sphinx-like countenance was masking what was, no doubt, a cacophony of conflicting reactions, ranging from deep suspicion to contemplative philosophy. Was Sals winning her over, or was he further alienating the one person he could hardly afford to offend?

Towards the end of dinner, Sals excused himself and made his way over to the head table to stand before Professor Slughorn.

"Excuse me, Professor," he greeted the rotund wizard, when the old man looked up at him jovially, "I was wondering if you could spare me some of your time this evening, Sir?"

"Of course, My Boy!" the new Potions master leered at him salaciously, "always got time for my favourite Potions student. In fact I was just about to organise a late night session of the Slug Club, just a few select members, McLaggen will be there from Gryffindor. Thought we'd take advantage of the Saturday night, extended curfew and all that... nine o'clock..."

"Oh, thank you, Sir, I'd love to, but I have to see the headmaster at nine-fifteen."

They both looked across at Dumbledore who smiled at Sals, knowingly.

"Ah, what a pity," Slughorn lamented. "Well the headmaster must take precedence, of course, pity."

"Yes, well, in fact, Professor Slughorn, I was hoping to speak to you privately, in any case, on a more personal matter."

Salazar looked directly at the Potions master, and licked his lips, which seemed to have the desired effect. The epicurean nature of the old man was clearly teased. He responded by licking his own fat lips much more salaciously than the youth had done to elicit the response.

"Yes... well... I shall retire to my rooms presently; shall we say, seven-thirty?"

"Thank you, Sir, I appreciate it," Sals replied with a sly, slightly more salacious grin, "I will be there promptly."


"Ah, Salazar, My Boy, come in... come in," Professor Slughorn welcomed the Adonis into his rooms.

The stunningly handsome youth entered the old man's chambers, smiling his charming best at the new Hogwarts Potions master. He was in the same stunning outfit that he had worn on the Hogwarts Express, a fortnight ago, and, quite clearly, its effect was not lost on the corpulent wizard.

"Are these your old rooms, Professor," the boy enquired, "from when you were here, at Hogwarts, before?"

"Oh, no My Boy," Slughorn replied triumphantly, these are much more splendid. Bit of a win, win for me really, much more splendid. Yes... yes... very comfortable. Pity you can't make the Slug Club later this evening. But Dumbledore must be obeyed.

"I hope you're not in any trouble over that indiscretion, down on the Quidditch pitch this afternoon, with young Malfoy... whatever possessed you, lad? Didn't have you under some sort of spell or charm, did he?"

Salazar laughed out loud and secreted a wicked grin at Slughorn, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Professor McGonagall was far from impressed. But, no, Sir, Professor Dumbledore understands these things. Besides, if anyone is under a spell it's Draco. Can't get enough of it, if you know what I mean, Sir."

The old man looked shocked, but suddenly more animated.

"So the rumours are true then?"

Slughorn eyed the youth more aggressively, licking his lips lasciviously as his gaze gravitated towards the prodigious bulge that was obvious, beneath the luxurious, dragon-hide-suede trousers that hung low on the youth's slim hips.

"Oh, you mean the tattoos?" Adonis cooed salaciously, and grinned wickedly at the old man, who immediately broke out in a sweat that beaded his florid cheeks and brow.

"Or maybe just THE tattoo! Would you like to see it, Sir?"

Slughorn made several attempts to utter a reply, but all that emerged from his chubby lips were a series of garbled syllables that were not even remotely intelligible.

"I don't mind, Sir, really." The tall, fit lad moved closer to the flustered paedophile. "Really, Sir, it won't bother me... I know you want to, you've been eyeing it since the Hogwarts Express..."

Sals reached out and gripped the old man's chubby hand and placed it firmly on the swelling monster, trapped beneath the taut leather.

"I can hardly blame you, these don't leave much to the imagination, do they?" the youth posed rhetorically.

Horace Slughorn dropped to his ancient knees and pawed at the smooth outline of the monster that literally snaked its way down Salazar Snape's right thigh.

He was still speechless, as he fumbled with the ornate silver chain of thick, mailed links that girdled the youth's waist and obstructed access to the top of the boy's flies.

With a wave of Sals's wrist the belt gave way and the top of the flies was released.

The old man was salivating, by the time he had managed to work the flies undone.

The boy was going commando, as one would expect. When the leather prison slid down the youth's smooth, hairless thighs, the massive appendage was gradually revealed in all its glory.

Finally, as the huge glans penis was exposed, the turgid monster reared up, like the mythical beast that it had been inked to imitate, and smacked the ancient warlock firmly across his flabby cheeks.

A trail of crystal-clear pre-cum smeared the old man's prodigious whiskers and dribbled down over his mouth.

Horace licked the nectar from his own lips, savouring the taste sensation like the epicurean that he was.

The ancient paedophile was still speechless; he merely groaned, as if he was in pain, while he slid his tongue across the broad, beckoning piss-slit at the very tip of the youth's massive bell-end.

Some twenty minutes later, the now-naked man and boy were sweating profusely, as the old man pounded his own prodigious weapon into the stunning youth's over-stretched colon, with a vengeance.

Salazar was prone on the couch, with his firm young buttocks mounted on the arm of the chair, as the old man laboured away at ploughing a new furrow into the youth's well-used canal.

Another twenty found the rotund and thoroughly exhausted wizard flat-out on his back, on the floor, as the fit youth rode his ancient, granite-like phallus, as if he was breaking in a coltish thestral.

As Adonis cried out, from his long-overdue ejaculation, his anal contractions squeezed the living daylights out of the old man's throbbing cock, propelling his considerable seminal emissions deep into the boy's tight bowels.

It was then, in the paroxysms of their shared climaxes, that Salazar Snape leaned down, over the old man, gripped him firmly by the throat with both hands, and squeezed with all his considerable, youthful might.

The old man's eyes bulged grotesquely, as the youth ruthlessly raped his mind, leaving little doubt that he was exercising Legilimency on the helpless Potions professor. There was no subtlety employed here; it was a ruthless, overt, brutal pillage of the old man's memories, with one salient recollection as the target.

The terror in Horace Slughorn's face was patent, as he realised what the youth was doing, and exactly what was the object of the plunder.


"I have it, Sir!" the boy cried triumphantly, as he raced into the old mans' office.

"Well done, Salazar," the ancient warlock shared in the youth's joy, until he looked at the lad's beautiful countenance and saw the truth of the matter.

The Hogwarts headmaster said nothing; there was no need.

"We are not playing games, Headmaster. You made that clear enough for both of us; this is a matter of life and death, not just for me, or you, but for everybody that we love and care about. We are dealing with a monster, who would kill us all, given half a chance. Horace Slughorn helped create that monster, and he has paid his dues."

The old man said nothing; but he looked suddenly older and weaker than Salazar had ever seen him before that moment.

Suddenly, there was a green flash in the headmaster's fireplace, and Minerva McGonagall's face appeared through the flames.

"Albus? Albus... are you there?"

The old man rose slowly and painfully from the chair behind his desk, to make his way over to the hearth.

"Yes, Minerva, what is it?"

"Terrible news, Albus! Cormac McLaggen has just come from Horace Slughorn's rooms. Professor Slughorn is dead!"


Still not back on track, but getting there. Sorry for the delay, but I've encountered a few problems with some of the graphics for Chapter ten of "Shattered Ceiling, Falling Sky;" so I decided to skip straight to Chapter twenty-eight of Salazar instead.

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 Salazar.

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