Author: John Sexton
Genre: Harry Potter Slash
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Chapter Twenty-Five -- Dumbledore's Secrets
As Hermione and Ginny stood staring at each other -- the only ones left in the magical Room of Requirement - they were both quite sombre.
"He looked terrible!" Ginny lamented.
"I know, I've never seen him look that bad; he looked worse than after the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the Department of Mysteries combined."
"After everything that's happened to him, I suppose we shouldn't really be surprised."
"No," Hermione sighed, "I suppose we shouldn't. If ever there was a boy who should be dead, it's Harry Potter. We should just be thankful that, with the help of Merlin, he's still alive."
"Do you think we'll ever see him again, Hermione?"
With tears streaming down their cheeks, they embraced in a bone-crushing hug, and wept.
The old man sat in his chair, elbows on his desk, as he propped up his weary head and contemplated the new reality.
Harry Potter had been and gone. He had stayed no more than ten minutes, just enough to bring Dumbledore up to speed and to shatter all of the weary old man's hopes and dreams for the Wizard World and the future of mankind.
Of course the old man had been relieved to see that the youth was alive! But the boy was far from well.
Worst of all the boy had lost his Magic.
"Harry Potter is to all intents and purposes, a Muggle," Dumbledore lamented to nobody.
Many of the former Hogwarts Heads were still nattering away, in their portraits strew across the wall behind Dumbledore's desk.
But they had heard the news when Dumbledore had, straight from the boy's own lips. So the intensity of the discourse had moderated by that stage. However, Dumbledore's lament had raked the coals. He stoked the embers even more, with a woeful wail...
"The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, is no more."
The old man was horrified by what the boy had revealed under Legilimency.
The fact that Dumbledore had to rape the boy's mind to learn that was of secondary concern; it was for the good.
The boy had only just left via one of his secret passages into and out of Hogwarts.
What had devastated Dumbledore, in the wake of Harry's sudden departure, was its impact on The Prophecy and the collective fate of Wizardkind, without Harry Potter.
But Harry had offered an alternative to the old man...
The wizened wizard was still struggling with the suggestion, as he recalled Potter's words...
"He is far more likely to be `The Chosen One,' Professor... he was born according to The Prophecy, he is far more powerful than I ever was, or was likely to ever be! His parents both defied Voldemort... Professor Snape still does!
"My scar was the result of Voldemort's misinterpretation of the prophecy.
Take away the scar, an accident, and I am nothing!
Salazar Snape always was `The Chosen One' and he still is, more obviously than me!"
"Salazar Snape!" the old man mumbled to himself, in his now-empty room.
"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Sals asked tentatively, after he had closed the door to the old man's study
"Professor Dumbledore," Sals queried the old man with an air of disquiet, "are you alright, Sir?".
Of course Sals knew that Dumbledore was far from well; he had determined as much from the moment that he had seen him, late in July, when the old man had interviewed him, in that very chamber.
Sals looked around the room, taking it all in, once again.
The old man was patently weaker than just that five or so weeks ago; he was fading fast.
That realisation boosted Sals's confidence, but he immediately reined in his smug zeal, with a caution to take care and be on the lookout for traps and lies. He was dealing with the most cunning and powerful wizard alive today, albeit a mortally wounded wizard, but one NEVER to be taken for granted.
"ON YOUR TOES, SALAZAR SNAPE!" he chastened himself for his momentary lapse into arrogance.
Sals knew that he had to secure Dumbledore's trust; that was his first priority. It was for that very reason that he had resisted the urge to attempt Legilimency on the old man, until he was confident that he had that trust.
He had played a series of mind games, during the interview, back in July. The old man had seemed to enjoy the interplay. But that was all it was. They had simply been testing each other out.
Sals had come away confident that he had had the better of the old man. But he had been surprisingly mature about it all, and had reined in his smugness and cautioned himself not to be too cavalier, as a result of that early success.
For one thing, Sals was still not completely certain that he hadn't simply walked into the old man's trap.
"Maybe the hat could help me with that, can I get it to read the old man's mind for me?"
"I MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT!" roared the hat inside Sals's head, from its lofty perch atop one of the headmaster's shelves.
The volume and tone of the hat's intrusion caused Sals to actually jerk in response; that, in turn, lowered his defences against the old man, for just a moment.
Thankfully Dumbledore seemed unaware of Sals's distraction.
"Sorry, Hat, can we discuss this later? Please! I really need to focus on the old man, if I'm going to have any chance of success with him."
"Very well," the ancient magical entity relented, "but we need to talk, Snape, and soon!"
The caution that such doubts generated, had so far stood Sals on firm ground. He was currently resisting the urge to probe the old man, while focussing on his almost constant Occlumency in the headmaster's presence.
Sals was thankful that the hat had agreed to stay out of his head, thus freeing his mind to focus on Dumbledore...
"Harry Potter has already left the castle, Salazar; I doubt we shall ever see or hear from him again."
"He has lost his Magic, hasn't he Headmaster?"
"Did he tell you that, My Boy?"
"Yes, Headmaster, he did"
"So why did you ask me? Did you think he was lying to you?"
Sals found humour in that question that the old man would never perceive; he could not suppress the smile, more of a smirk really, that ensued.
Suddenly Sals panicked at his lapse in concentration; he had allowed himself to be distracted. He berated himself, then made a second false move, when he allowed the old man to make eye contact.
It lasted less than a second, but that was usually enough for Sals to penetrate a lesser mind, when the target was unawares. But had it been enough to allow Dumbledore to penetrate his own defences?
Sals took his time and reinforced those defences. He doubted that the old man could hide his response had he learned the truth, and Sals was sensing nothing.
He breathed a sigh of relief and refocussed as quickly as he could.
Sals laughed, to take the edge off the old man.
"No! Of course not, Sir," he chirped playfully.
Then the boy adopted a serious disposition.
"I just wondered if you believe that Harry has really lost all of his Magic, or has he simply convinced himself of the affliction?"
"Are you suggesting that Harry Potter is mad?"
"NO! Of course not, Professor! But he is only a boy, no older than me, and he's been through a lot in the last three months. I doubt if I'd be as sane and confident as I am, if I'd been through what Harry has. Even with my dad by my side I'd be struggling... but Harry Potter is alone Professor... he's got no one to go to or to talk to.
So I was just worried that maybe... he'd just stopped believing in himself."
Albus Dumbledore was totally bamboozled by the Adonis standing before him.
"No, my dear boy," he assured the beguiling youth, "I am convinced that Harry has, indeed, lost his Magic."
The boy did not respond; he simply stared blankly at the old man; but the powerful youth deliberately avoided any direct eye contact.
While he was delighted to have the stunning youth alone and in his office, once again, Albus was genuinely intimidated by the boy.
He was smitten with this newest arrival at Hogwarts, and he was already aware that he was risking everything, once again, to sate his wild desires and wanton passions.
The old man cast his memory back to Salazar's first appearance in his office, the day before the booklists were sent out. He was disappointed that the beautiful youth had since adopted a more conventional hairstyle, but he still found the Adonis irresistible.
Dumbledore was stunned and intimidated by the boy's obvious skill as an Occlumens.
So powerful was the boy wizard's strength in that sphere that Dumbledore still could not determine the youth's proficiency as a Legilimens. That was all the more worrying, because the ancient warlock had yet to detect any attempt at covert invasion of his mind by the beguiling youth!
The implication of that, in his relationship with this demigod, was the most frightening aspect of all.
The old man looked back at his miserable life. A life full of abuse and betrayal.
It had all started with Bertie Knight, that beautiful eleven-year-old.
Dumbledore had been besotted by the blonde half-blood, from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on him, in Diagon Alley, nearly a century ago. It had ended bitterly for Albus, when his beloved was killed in a potions accident at the beginning of their second year together. The beautiful child had not reached his twelfth birthday.
Albus had not yet turned seventeen and he had lost the only love in his life, a love that had lasted barely a year. It had been so intense for both of them; oh! how cruel were the gods?
Then there was Gellert Grindelwald, Dumbledore's first great mistake.
Albus had been besotted with the beauty and grace of Gellert, from the very first day he had encountered him, in Godric's Hollow. He still could not believe, to this day, that he had been so easily taken-in by the youth's beguiling beauty.
It had only taken Albus a few months to realise his mistake; but, by then, the damage had been done. Albus had allowed his lust and ambition to help create a monster.
Of course he had been hailed as the saviour of the Wizarding World when he had exacted his revenge. But Albus knew the truth: far from being the noble act of selfless bravery that history would embellish, at its core it was revenge, pure and simple.
Albus Dumbledore had never forgiven Gellert for his exploitation of the lust and passion, dare he say love, that Albus had for him, nor for the blonde demigod's ultimate betrayal. They had both still been in their teens, at the time, but -- for all his own guile and intelligence -- Albus had failed to learn from his tragic errors.
Half a century later, the old man had made the same mistakes all over again, for which he, and all Wizardkind, was still paying dearly. Tom Riddle had been more alluring and infinitely more cunning than Gellert, even at the age of twelve. He was pure evil, and Albus was still suffering for his own weaknesses.
The old man raised his withered, blackened hand absentmindedly, as if to remind himself of the veracity of that weakness.
Over nearly a century Albus Dumbledore had loved Bertie Knight, Gellert Grindelwald, Tom Riddle, even Harry Potter; but, one way or another, they had all failed him.
Now, there was Salazar Snape, the most beguiling and, arguably, the most powerful and enigmatic of them all. But Albus was dying and the weight of a century of lust, betrayal and unrequited love, unfulfilled desire and unsated passions was addling his tormented brain like nothing he had previously experienced.
While Albus had been unable to penetrate Sals's defences, he sensed that the boy knew that he wanted desperately to fuck him, and -- if the rumours were true -- he wanted that basilisk cock up his own arse just as urgently.
The boy was an impenetrable enigma, both metaphorically and literally.
"Will he betray me? Is he manipulating me? Am I such a slave to my cock that I will risk everything just to sate my passions?" the old man asked himself, despondently, if not rhetorically.
Several of the former headmasters were still watching the old man closely from their portraits, as they had been since Potter's departure from the chamber.
The wizened wizard sighed dejectedly; he was done, finished.
One way or another this boy would kill him. But that could work to Albus's advantage, in the long-run, and even relieve the beguiling youth's father of the burden.
Dumbledore eyed the youth enigmatically, but he dared not make direct eye-contact with the potent young warlock.
"This beautiful young fucker will be the death of me!"
He suppressed the desire to roar with laughter at the irony of it all. Those three beautiful boys, whom he'd loved so dearly, had all betrayed or failed him.
Betrayal had been hatched by both Gellert and Tom, as soon as they had outstripped Dumbledore in their abilities as Occlumens. They had both hidden their powers from the old man until they had revealed their plans to betray him.
But, now that Dumbledore knew he was a beaten man, a dying shell of the great wizard he was purported to be, he was willing to give, not only himself but, the knowledge and power to control the Wizarding World... nay, the entire world... to this beautiful youth, this demigod.
Albus did not even love the boy, in fact he almost despised the wily youth.
The irony of that tickled the old man's fancy, and he revelled in the satisfaction of it all. He wanted the boy's body, not his heart, nor his mind, nor his soul -- if he even had one, which the old man almost doubted.
Albus was well aware that he was about to tempt this beguiling youth with that of which Grindelwald and Riddle could only dream, and which the latter still so desperately desired: ultimate power, and immortality.
If the youth proved unable to resist the temptation - and what wizard could? -- the old man would, at least, fulfil his own ultimate objectives; sexual gratification, a quick death and, sweetest of all, revenge against his betrayal by Grindelwald and Riddle.
It was not a noble objective, and quite unworthy of a great wizard of Dumbledore's stature, but ironically it seemed profoundly just.
"Gilbertus et Sullivanus," the old man suppressed a laugh, "let the punishment fit the crime!"
The boy finally broke the old man's silent reverie, with a response.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Professor Dumbledore. I know that you and Dad were placing a lot of hope in Harry. I'm aware of the Prophecy, Sir."
Then, in an attempt to allay any misunderstanding, the boy quickly added a caveat...
"I'm not trying to suggest that you subscribe to The Daily Prophet's `Chosen One' epithet, Sir," the boy grinned cheekily, then rolled his eyes mischievously, before he added, "Dad certainly doesn't!"
The old man simply returned the grin and indicated that the lad should sit.
"I want to help in any way I can, Headmaster. I have more to lose than most in this matter, Sir!"
Dumbledore's only response was a tacit nod to continue.
"You know better than anyone, Sir, that until that monster is dead my father's life is at risk, every minute of the day! I am prepared to do whatever I can to ensure that nothing ever happens to my father."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and peered at the handsome youth, but still avoided eye contact. The ploy was as subtle as circumstances permitted, but the old man rationalised that they were both aware of the stakes that were in play.
"The prophesy was not necessarily about Harry Potter, Salazar.... It could well have been about Neville Longbottom!"
Sals seemed stunned by that revelation.
Dumbledore looked hard, but indirectly, at the boy, from across his desk.
"The prophesy could just as easily been yours, Salazar."
The stunning youth shocked Albus, by smiling sadly, rather than displaying surprise.
"Yeah, Harry suggested as much to Dad and me, just before he came up here to see you."
"Oh, I did not know that, My Boy... and what are your thoughts on the matter?"
Adonis replied with a wicked grin, which again startled Albus.
"Well I've got more than one reason to see that fucker dead!... sorry, Sir!"
The wily wizard merely smiled at the stunning boy.
"That's quite all right, Salazar: it is a rather suitable epithet, all things considered," the old man responded.
"Fucker, indeed!" he thought to himself.
Albus pondered his own double entendre, and struggled to supress the visualization of a naked, twelve-year-old Tom Riddle riding his massive cock like it was some wild hippogriff, lest such erotic reverie weaken his defences against Severus Snape's son.
"Thank you, Professor, I only hope that I can live up to your expectations, Sir," the boy replied smoothly.
Salazar supressed a snigger, in response to the old man's momentary slip.
He had successfully penetrated the headmaster's defences for the briefest moment. It was just enough to perceive a very young, naked Tom Riddle, riding Dumbledore's cock, like a pro. He never really got a look at the old man's weapon; but, if the look on the kid's face was any indication, it must have been -- and, no doubt, even now, was still - huge.
All of that confirmed Sals's suspicions about Dumbledore's relationship with Tom Riddle. Information that might come in handy, maybe!
The beautiful youth leaned forward in his chair.
"Sir," he half-whispered to the old man, "I know that the prophecy was destroyed in the raid on the Department of Mysteries. But Harry said that you showed him the memory of it. If it is at all possible, I would like to hear it for myself, Sir."
"Of course, My Boy! You have every right to hear it, every right!"
Salazar was well versed in using his father's Pensieve. He dived into the gossamer, and plunged into the memory of Professor Trelawney announcing the prophecy.
When he re-emerged, he was visibly shaken, it had been a surprisingly unsettling experience.
"What are your thoughts, Salazar?"
The boy avoided eye contact, as he replied.
"I would prefer to do my own analysis, Sir, before we discuss it with anyone, including my father. I want to consider my own response before I strategize it with any other input."
"Very wise, Sals, very wise indeed. I am impressed."
"Thank you, Professor."
"I had always assumed it was Harry," Dumbledore pushed on. "I had no idea you even existed. But seeing you now, and comparing you to Harry, who has lost his power almost completely... well he couldn't occlude me, of course, without his Magic. That was how I learned exactly how much power he has. It is so low that he is barely a Wizard, his defences are down and he is vulnerable.
"So you see, dear boy, that the prophesy is, and always was about YOU!"
The old man became suddenly sombre, and he adopted an apologetic tone...
"I am terribly sorry for placing you in this position, Salazar, but you deserve to know. I let Harry know, when I thought it was him; I cannot do any less for you."
"Thank you, Sir."
"Well," Dumbledore pushed on, "since we all seem to be in accord, there are two other memories that I want you to see, before you leave, Salazar. They are critical to our understanding of Voldemort."
"Certainly, Sir," Sals replied casually, while inside he was rejoicing!
"I'm in!" the boy congratulated himself.
Albus Dumbledore took two vials from his cabinet that contained memories about Voldemort.
When he poured them both into the Pensieve, they interacted wildly, swirling the gossamers into a frenzy, that seemed to glow bright green for several seconds.
Sals plunged in and found himself, accompanied by the old man, following a much younger Dumbledore along a rundown street on a wet and gloomy day. The atmosphere was oppressive. Sals shuddered when he looked up to see a dark stone building with the word "Orphanage" spanning the high, steel gates. It looked more like a prison than a home for children, who had done nothing wrong other than to have been deprived of their parents.
From the vehicles on the street, and the gloomy atmosphere, Sals guessed that this had to be at least fifty years ago.
The gloom and sterility of the establishment was even more oppressive.
From the moment Dumbledore, who was dressed as a Muggle, addressed the matron, it was obvious to Sals that this was the orphanage in which Tom Riddle was born and raised.
Sals grew suddenly excited, because he realised that the boy would be about eleven years old. He immediately thought back to the brief glimpse of the naked boy that he had recognised in the snippet of Dumbledore's memory, only minutes earlier.
As they approached the closed door to Riddle's bedroom, more of a cell really, Sals was getting hard imagining the boy naked.
However, what Sals found, when he and the two Dumbledores entered the boy's room, blew his mind. The boy was absolutely beautiful, at least in Sals's eyes.
Riddle's face and skin, his penetrating eyes, his physique were stunning.
But what captivated Sals, above all else, was the boy's voice; it was exquisite. Sals could have listened to the boy talk all day.
It also seemed to Sals that profound thought was behind every word that the boy uttered. When the boy spat phrases like: "prove it!" or "I don't believe you!" his tone was one of command, even though he was talking to an adult.
Sals struggled to listen to the conversation, he was so enamoured of the boy.
The scene soon dissolved and Sals found himself standing in front of what had to be a much younger Horace Slughorn. This was obviously the second memory that Dumbledore had poured into the Pensieve.
Sals quickly looked around the room and scanned the half dozen or so boys who all looked to be around his age. Then, suddenly, he saw him, just as he had hoped. Well he would have to be there, wouldn't he? After all, this whole exercise was about him.
Now Sals's age, Tom Riddle was beautiful, he was a vision to behold.
The younger Snape could have ripped Riddle's clothes off and fucked him, right there in the middle of the floor, with every eye upon them, and he couldn't have cared less!
Sals was angry with himself for being so undisciplined. This was a matter of life and death, his death, potentially, yet he made no genuine effort to address his lapse. Barely any of the small-talk about school politics registered in Sals's consciousness, as he stood stock-still, mesmerised by the fit youth before him.
Sals's black orbs ogled at the beautiful youth, as he repeatedly stripped and fucked the Adonis in his waking dream, while the cadence and tone of the boy's sweet voice cascaded across Sals's libido.
One thing that struck Sals as odd was the fact that while he was fucking Riddle silly in his lascivious fantasy, someone else was fucking the beautiful teen's throat, viciously.
The newest senior Gryffindor finally managed to arrest his pathetic lack of discipline and focussed on the unfolding events, when the memory just simply fogged up!
Sals paid closer attention, when the fog cleared, as Slughorn ushered the boys out of the room, to their dorms. Sals began to panic, that he had missed the whole point of this memory, until he realised that Tom Riddle had not left the scene.
He listened intensely as Riddle began to elicit information from Slughorn about something called a "Horcrux."
There was more fog, even more intense it seemed, before Slughorn and Riddle finally reappeared. Sals was quite surprised by the fury that Slughorn exhibited, when he denied any knowledge of such things and angrily ordered Riddle out of his rooms.
Then, suddenly, as Dumbledore gripped Sals's arm, to withdraw them both from the Pensieve, Sals felt a jolt, and the vivid image of the naked, sixteen-year-old Riddle being thoroughly fucked, flashed before him, once again.
It seemed as if the old man felt, or even shared, the shock, because he released Sals's arm, as if he'd been bitten or stung.
When they stood facing each other, on opposite sides of the Pensieve, Sals caught the old man's eye for just a fraction of a second. It was the old man's second such lapse, in a matter of minutes, and it encouraged Sals greatly.
This time, while almost as brief, the images that Sals gleaned from the old man's mind were clearer than before and even more salacious.
Completely naked, sixteen-year-old Riddle was being fucked vigorously, from both ends, by much younger versions of Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn. It was a spit roasting that was both relentless and rough. But, the youth was more than enthusiastic in his response, in fact -- in the brief image that Sals had been able to secure -- Riddle almost seemed to be in charge!
Sals panicked, once again, that the old man was feeding him this image deliberately, to distract him, to lower his own defences. He decided to break the nexus and quickly diverted Dumbledore's attention back to the issue at hand.
"Is it possible to tamper with a memory, Headmaster?"
The old man grinned like a Cheshire kneazle.
"Very good, Sals, very perceptive of you. Therein lies our problem."
It seemed that either Dumbledore had not penetrated Sals's defences, or if he had, he'd found nothing or covered it well. But he could not detect that the old man was aware of his own intrusion. He quickly determined to focus on their discussion.
"So did Professor Slughorn do that himself, Sir?"
"You do have a sharp mind, Salazar!"
The boy beamed wickedly at the old man.
"Dad would argue with you there, Sir; he says it's a devious one!"
They both chuckled, easing the tension slightly in Sals's mind, but he quickly reminded himself to stay on his toes.
"So why did you call the Professor's memory the most important one, Sir?"
"Because it holds the secret to Voldemort's demise, Salazar, and without that secret we are at a great disadvantage, at best, and facing total annihilation at worst!"
"Oh, is that all?" the boy drawled cheekily.
"I want you to get that missing memory from him Sals, you are the only one who can do it."
Sals looked at Dumbledore questioningly.
"You've no doubt realised that Professor Slughorn likes to collect things, Sals?"
"Including people... and you want him to collect me!"
The handsome youth stepped towards Dumbledore.
"Does the idea of that excite you, Sir"
Sals grinned at the old man, then he licked his lips salaciously, as he took another step closer to the ancient warlock.
"Should it?" the old man replied abstrusely.
"No, definitely not!" the boy asserted.
He stepped into the old man's personal space.
"But I'll bet my left ball that it does!" the boy teased.
He reached into the old man's robes and fastened his fingers around the stiffest, thickest and longest cock he had ever encountered, except with the aid of an engorgement charm, of course.
Dumbledore did not resist nor did he protest when the sixteen-year-old fished the monster cock out through the opening in Dumbledore's robes.
The old man leaned back against the edge of his desk, with his legs apart, as Sals devoured the wizard's cock in a single descent to the grey pubes that dusted the base of the one-hundred-and-fifteen-year-old phallus.
Sals deep-throated the old man, who reached down, with his good hand, and began to disrobe the stunning boy.
In only a matter of minutes, or so it seemed to Sals, he was standing naked, with his hands astride the desk and his arse stretched out before the old man, who was now equally naked.
The old man's massive cock was standing just as straight and hard as Sals's wand, and it was aimed directly at the youth's well used hole.
With one smooth lunge forward the old man speared the Adonis to the hilt.
"OH FUCK!" Sals roared triumphantly, as he ground back onto the huge phallus and rode it fast and furiously, until they both came in a shuddering orgasm that transcended anything that the experience youth had ever encountered.
"You will find that Horace is at his most vulnerable at this very moment of coitus!" the old man whispered into Sals's ear.
He withdrew his semi-flaccid monster from the boy's gaping hole, then he gave the firm arse cheeks several hard slaps with his good hand.
The youth spun around, fell to his knees and proceeded to clean the turgid cock with his tongue.
"You seemed to be quite besotted by young Tom, both versions," Dumbledore observed casually.
Sals flushed profusely, but kept sucking and licking the flagging cock.
"He was a lot like you, just as sexualised and just as aggressive, even at eleven. He had seduced half of the male teachers in his first week here."
"So, when did you know?"
"That he was a monster?"
The boy simply nodded and started to get dressed.
"Not until it was too late! He was a very persuasive and a very charming child, after he arrived here. The master of deception."
"We observed several things that gave us vital clues, in that memory, today. But without the missing parts of Horace's memory, those clues and other observations are almost meaningless.
"So everything is riding on you convincing Horace to give them up."
The old man gripped Sals's pliant buttock through his trousers and squeezed firmly, before he reached around and squeezed the youth's more than adequate weaponry.
"I think you have the necessary tools to get him to reveal all."
The old man laughed at his double entendre, but immediately adopted a serious demeanour.
"Salazar, I am not only taking an enormous risk, I am placing a terrible burden on your young shoulders."
"The risk, I gather, is that you are dying, and you have just given me the knowledge to not only destroy Voldemort, but to take his place."
"Yes, My Boy, I have, this day, endowed you with the secrets to enable you to become the most powerful wizard in the world."
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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