Knockturn Horace

Please also note that I did not write this story in particular....my friend, Mirror's did. As she is too sceptical of her own work and worried what others might think of her,so I offered to post it and see what others might think,so it would be wonderful if I could get some reviews to relay back to her.Or even some ratings,so I can convince her that even if she isnt a brilliant writer her stories are wonderful


The fat on his back quivered as he made his way through the dark street. It was quiet. Too quiet. His own breathing made him self-conscious that someone would hear, and he pulled his hat low over his eyes as he looked around faerfully, afraid that someone had caught on to his dastardly plans.

He shambled up to the house: No. 4 Privet Drive it read and he went up to the door, pausing to cach his breath in the chill winter air. "Alohomora," he whispered, then sneaked inside. Yes, this was dangerous. Far too dangerous for a man of his age and position. But Horace Slughorn was walking on thin ice when it came to what went on at the school. You see, Slughorn had a taste for something in particular, something carnal and precise. Young boys. He had chosen the ones at school carefully to have his time with, usually slow lads whom he could Obliviate or use memory modifications on and no one would be the wiser, or ones from poor families that he could bribed with gold.

He ususally enlisted the help of potions to aide him however, to be safe. He licked his lips now, his large loustache getting in the way of his tongue as he recalled how he had been especially lucky with one boy named Gilderoy. The lad was the most beautiful and delicious thing he had ever seen in his years. And what an absolute joy it had been for Horace when he learned that the boy was basically a squib. This meant the boy wouldn't fight back. He frowned as he remembered the few times when he had been attacked with magic on an approach gone wrong. He still had a scar which he ran his fingers over now as he climbed the stairs in the Dursley home.

Back in the beginning, when he realized he was attracted to boys, those many decades ago, Horace went about it awkwardly and had amost paid the price when his victims had tried to use magic on him in self-defense. But Gilderoy couldn't fight back that way, he had quickly learned. In fact, the lad was terrified that should it was discovered he couldn't do magic at all well enough that he would be expelled and sent who knows where, as his parents were gone and his realtives showed no interest in him. So Horace had offered to help him pass his lessons... for something in return. As Slughorn made his way to the top floor of the Dursley home, he recalled how easy it had been to manipulate Gilderoy.

The lad was so eager to have the help that he was sleeping with the boy within a week. He was perfect... nothing in the world compared to touching his smooth skin, or taking him as his. Some days it was fast and hard over his desk, other days it lasted for hours in his personal chamber. And every time Horace Slughorn was satisfied more than he had ever been in his entire life. He coveted Gilderoy. As time went on, he took other lads as well, but it began to frustrate him. He was always paranoid that a spell woudn't work or a charm would backfire or that a potion wouldn't do the trick, so he resorted to drugging the ones he wanted, taking them, and then hoping they wouldn't wonder why they ached in the morning.

So Horace Slughorn was driven to a kind of madness, a madness which he took out on Gilderoy. He loved the lad but hated him. He took out his frustrations at not being able to have anyone else on him, and told him so. He started having the lad do menial chores as punishments, which turned into monumental chores like dusting all the books in the school library and not being able to eat until he was done. And he took the boy every single day. Called him names while doing it, told him he was a worthless squib who without him would be on the street.

It was probably true, Horace reminded himself even now as he made his way down the hall of the Dursley home and to the door he wanted. He took a moment to catch his breath, then opened the portal to the room inside. The whole place smelled like fake flowers, which tickled Slughorn's nose, and he wiped it on his sleeve to prevent himself from sneezing. He squeezed through the door and shut it behind him, staring fixedly on the boy in the bed snoring before him. His mouth twitched up as he creeped over and whispered a few words.

The snoring stopped and Horace pulled out a phial of potion, one which would ensure that the lad wouldn't wake up, no matter what was going on. He would have ten minutes. More than enough time. He rolled the lad over. He was stoute, pink-faced and resembled a beach ball with a face drawn on it, which Horace made a face at. He was no Gilderoy, that was for certain, but times were desperate. he couldn't risk meddling boys at the school anymore, and he was desperate for some new taking. He drizzled the potion down the lad's open gullet and waited 5...4...3...2...1... bam.

Slughorn smiled greedily as he unzipped his trousers. As he rolled the lad onto his front he recalled how over the years Gilderoy began to become more resistant to him, how inherently he knew something was wrong with their relationship. He had tried to dominate him, strike fear into him by becoming more heavy-handed, but Minerva McGonagall was seeing a change in the boy and was around him far too often to be coincidence. She had given him the evil eye too many times, so he knew he had to do something different, to safeguard his relationship with his favourite lad, to make sure he would never lose his perfect angel.

One night as he was taking Gilderoy in the Prefect's lavatory, the room chill and empty in as it always was in the middle of the night, Horace told Gilderoy that he was going to kill him, that he was going to die. He bound his hands behins his back hard, tied his ankles together, and had his way with him over the sink, and when he was done, he took out his wand and a sharp dagger. He then held his hands behind his back and told the lad to pick a hand; if he picked the wand he would die by means of magic, and if he picked the dagger he would be stabbed 100 times, with a small chance of survival if he did not bleed out, but warned that he would forever be a scarred and ruined man with no value not even worth his looks when he was done.

Gilderoy had sobbed, cried, pressed himself into a dark space under a sink, pleaded and begged not to be scarred or killed, that he was a useless piece of shit who only pleased his master by being beautiful and without that he would have nothing, and he struggled hard, tied and bruised from the previous week's roughness at his professor's hands hardly able to get away or defend himself in his state, and Slughorn had felt a tiny twang of guilt. Of course he had no intention of killing the boy, he needed him. It was all part of his plan.

When Gilderoy finally picked, his face covered with tears and snot, his breath coming in ruined sobs that hardly allowed him to draw breath at all, sure he was a bout to die, Slughorn held out the wand to him (even though he had chosen the dagger) and hit him with a few spells to knock him out. When Gilderoy awoke the next morning, he told Gilderoy that he allowed him to live because he loved him. The boy thanked him, sobbing in his arms that his master cared so much for him and loved him, and that he would never displease his master again. His plan had worked and he never resisted anything again from that day forth, Gilderoy's mood brightening that his master really loved him and didn't just use him for sex and torture and chores, and McGonagall saw the change in him and backed off.

Horace let out a low, strained grunt as he finished with Dudley Dursley, the memory of Gilderoy bringing him to finish faster than he expected, and he cleaned everything up, then left the house, scowling a bit. It was dirty, hard work to do it this way. Muggle boys. Since when had he sunk so low? But it was safer. Far safer this way...

Horace woke up with a snort. He often had dreams of past conquests, and tonight's had been especially delicious. He grinned and stretched, his back creaking a little as he looked at his timepiece. Six o'clock i nthe morning. Early, he chuckled, but he nestled back into his chair, the last of last night's fire dying down. He stroked his moustache, a greedy smile at his lips though he wasn't aware of it, as he recalled what it had been like those years ago, going to the Dursley's. He'd only done it once but it was worth it. How he missed the days of conquest...

He had just started his lament when he thought heard a noise, so he struggled, huffing and puffing out of his recliner and moved to the window, looking outside. Nothing. He shrugged and turned around and came face to face with a tall, slender man, tawny hair hanging about his face and shoulders like a lion's mane, yellowy eyes sharp and intelligent, and Horace jumped back a foot then put his hand over his heart .
"MERLIN you scared the hell out of me, Rufus!" he chuckled nervously. "How in the name of Merlin's Boot did you get in here anyway?" he asked, looking the man over suspiciously. "Ah, you Ministry people, you probably have a blueprint of my place, /and/ extra keys," he joked, moving across the room. "Care for a brandy? Firewhiskey?" He turned to find Rufus Scrimgeour standing in exactly the same spot he had left him, unmoving. "Rufus?" he asked, squinting at him. "Are you alright?" Rufus finally moved then, arms folded, his gaze on Slughorn, the whites of his eyes red as his booted feet clomped heavily and slowly across the floor.

"No, no firewhiskey," Rufus said with deadly calm. "All I want... is to see you six feet under my boots so I can trod on your fucking ugly perverted cunt of a face for the rest of my days."
Slughorn cocked a brow.

"You... what? What are you on about?" he asked nervously, putting a lounge chair between himself and the all too-serious looking man before him.
"You DAMN well know waht the hell I'm talking about you fucking bluddy cunt! GILDEROY LOCKHART!"

Horace Slughorn was confused, but only slightly. "What's happened to the lad, is he alright?" he asked with genuine care, but his hackles rose in fear as realization gripped his heart. Horace was not a fool. His worst fear had come true, he suspected. But he was prepared for this. He had potions, spells... he would make it look like an accident, Scrimgeour would forget, and no one would know anything and he would still be safe... and he would go find Lockhart and do what he promised he would do that night in the Prefect's lavatory. Kill him. He frowned at the thought of that perfect boy, now a perfect man, being gone from the world. A brief idea flashed through his mind and his thoughts raced that he would get to enjoy one more time with his beloved Gilderoy the angel, and the thought excited a part of him long unstirred. Rufus came after him, slowly but with a deadly gleam in his eye.

"Rufus please! Tell me what this is about!" Slughorn asked as buy time as he inched closer to where he kept his wand, but Rufus was no fool here either. The Auror's wand was out faster than lightning and he aimed it at the fuck before him. "You destroyed Gilderoy Lockhart's life!' he hissed. "I know EVERYTHING! Do you know that that... kind, loving, caring man is RUINED because of you?" He rounded the chair and fast as a whip snatched Horace and pressed him up agasint a bookshelf, gripping the front of his night robe hard in his fingers as his wand pressed into his cheek. "He is in a relationship with a woman who loves him more than anything other thing in this world. AND HE FUCKING RAPED HER! HE BEAT HER AND SCARRED HER WITH HIS BELT! HE TORE HER ASSHOLE OPEN! SHE CRIED IN MY ARMS FOR AN HOUR AND SHE WAS A STRANGER TO ME! SHE'S FUCKING RUINED TOO! AND ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!"

He screamed it in the man's face, spittle flying, slamming him back against the bookshelf with each word to emphasize the point, his eyes welling up as he grit his teeth, suddenly making him look feral and crazed. "AND HE DID IT TO ME TOO!" he yelled, his face red, his eyes mad.

Slughorn's already protruding eyes seemed to protrude further at this news. "He... hurt you?" he asked, genuinely surprised, but Rufus was disgusted and he slammed the fucker back once more, and Slughorn groaned as a rain of books fell on his head, which he raised his hands against.

"YES HE HURT ME! HE TOOK ME AND DIDN"T CARE WHAT IT DID TO ME! I told him I could take it. BUT I HAD NO IDEA IT WOULD BE LIKE THAT! WHY! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO HIM! WHY! HE HURTS WHO HE LOVES BECAUSE HE DOESN"T UNDERSTAND THAT LOVE ISN'T ABOUT HURTING AND TAKING!! HE"S FUCKING RUINED!" Rufus let Slughorn's robe go and the man opened his gob to reply when it was met with Rufus's fist. Horace's face exploded in a bloom of blood, and he hit the floor before he even knew what had happened. He looked up, touching his face, blood staining his fingers, but Rufus was already there. He drew back his foot, his heavy boot connecting solidly with Slughorn's stomach, and the man let out a strangled cry and rush of air, then another and another as Rufus kicked him several times. Slughorn finally vomited on the floor, coughing and gasping, then looked up at Rufus, holding his hand out, trying to catch his breath.

"Please, Rufus... please stop!" he begged thickly, but Rufus only laughed.
"Stop? LIKE I'M SURE GILDEROY ASKED YOU TO DO THE HUNDRED TIMES OVER THE YEARS OF TORTURE YOU INFLICTED ON HIM YOU LIVING SACK OF MAGGOT-INFESTED SHIT!!" As Rufus screamed on, Horace knew that he was done for, especially when Rufus revealed in his tirade that he loved Gilderoy. He sat up quickly as Rufus paced back and forth before him and took out a small phial from an inner pocket and hid it in his hand. When Rufus picked him up and dragged him roughly to his feet, Slughorn wasted no time and crammed the phial into Scrimgeour's mouth, the thing breaking and the liquid bursting out. Enraged, Rufus grabbed Horace by his hair and body-slammed him, smashing his head into the ground, face-first.

As the Auror began to see spots and feel weak, cursing Horace for his trickery, he smashed the man's face into the floorboards over and over, finally taking out his wand when his arm got too tired to put any force behind the blows."CRUCIO!" he wailed and Horace screamed like a banshee and writhed in mortal pain, his face covered in a patina of blood, his nose broken, his four front teeth smashed out, his jaw clenched in agony and his tongue caught between his bottom teeth and the bleeding gums of his upper mouth. His throat strained, veins bulging right to his temples, his skin flushed, his heart pounding madly as he began choking on his own blood, his screams becoming gradually more gurgled as he fought for air amidst the excruciating pain and blood which filled his nose and throat, until he finally stopped thrashing and lay still.

When Rufus awoke later that morning, when the short-term effects of Horace's potion had worn off, the sun had just started rising and he got heavily to his feet and stared down at the bloody lifeless gooseberry-eyes staring back in fear at him. He smiled wickedly, not proud of what he'd done, as he was not a killer for the hell of it, but knowing it had been as necessary as any bounty he'd needed to deal with. Slughorn must have been in so much pain, Scrimgeour thought as he stared down at the barely recognizeable form before him. The fucker's fingernails had torn his own throat open wide and were still hooked into the rent flesh, his hands resembling hard claws, bent, gnarled and frozen forever in time as they were the moment he perished.

Rufus leaned down and drew out his pocket knife, averting his gaze as he castrated the man in a final act, taking his cock and balls in one sharp go and throwing them into the fireplace, then setting a blaze on them. He spat on his corpse then kicked it and left that very moment, turning and casting Incendio at the entire house, before Disapparating home. Nothing fit Slughorn more than death for what he had done to Gilderoy and countless others, and Rufus knew that the lad would find some peace in at least in knowing that a part of his painful past had died this day. He couldn't wait to tell him. An unfortunate cooking incident had burned Slughorn's home down and his old professor was gone. A simple lie that would put so much right again. And believe it or not, Rufus Scrimgeour slept better that night than he had in months.

The END.