#slughorn

Alright.

I'd hate reading:

James -> EW. Ew ew ew. I find this man disgusting and the idea of Severus and him together makes my skin crrrawl. Incredibly toxic but without any fun stuff or character development in store like with Sirius. James had no excuse for being the way he was and that makes him 1000000% worse imo. I ship him with maggots.

Dumbledore -> Incredibly toxic too. He disregarded Severus's safety and well-being so much as a student and then young adult that I can never imagine him as being healthy for him ever. EVER.

Lily -> Sorry, very sorry Snily lovers, I respect you but like the other two, she treated him so poorly and I think he deserves so much better and also, while I think he may have been attracted to her at some point (because teenagers) to me she mostly was his attachment figure and the feeling clearly wasn't mutual. Also I'm not into one-sided love stories (I have my real life for that lolz).

I don't want to read:

Harry -> I don't like the old student/professor dynamic and Harry embodies too many of his triggers. I prefer them in a Severitus setup.

Draco -> Feels straight up like incest to me. He's like his second dad (not shaming people who read incest, it's just not my thing for Sev).

Him with a student in general.

Peter -> I mean I see why this would be a crackship that could work but ew.

Me rattling my brain for things I wouldn't like and didn't really even consider before now:

Slughorn -> Ew.

The Carrows.

DE in general apart from Lucius or Regulus (except maybe an oc? but again this might end badly)(this being said I'd be curious about Barty Crouch Jr.)

Umbridge (tho I would read it diagonally out of curiosity).

Darling, let’s start with the facts—because the facts alone already ache.

Severus Snape joined the Hogwarts staff in 1981. He was twenty-one. Twenty-one. Barely older than the seventh-years he was meant to teach, barely healed from his own battlefield. And what did Dumbledore do? Gave him the dungeons, the potions, the House.

Yes, that house. Slytherin.

⸻

At twenty-one, he wasn’t just given a classroom. He was given a throne of serpents—and not the cushioned kind. The students he was meant to lead? Many of them had seen him in uniform. Some had seen him hexed in corridors. Others knew his name from whispers at the dinner table, muttered over silver cutlery and words like “Half-Blood” or “turncoat”—not because they knew for certain, but because Slytherins always knew how to smell weakness, and the scent of divided loyalty lingered long after the war.

Those students weren’t naive. They knew he wasn’t pure-blood. They knew who his friends were. They knew where his loyalties had once lain—and they wondered, daily, if those ties were truly cut.

And Dumbledore—that visionary, that strategist, that benevolent tyrant—looked at all that and said, "Yes, he’ll do."

⸻

Darling, shall we take a moment to truly marvel at what it meant to hand the reins of the most politically volatile House in Hogwarts to a half-blood Death Eater—barely out of the shadows?

It meant placing a barely-grown man at the helm of bloodlines that had drawn wands against each other the year before.

It meant asking a Death Eater—yes, that one—to play prefect to the precious heirs of Voldemort’s most devoted inner circle.

It meant wrapping Severus in suspicion like it was bespoke tailoring, then setting him loose to waltz daily across a political minefield in soft-soled boots.

He wasn’t chosen because he was respected. He was chosen because no one else wanted the job—or no one else dared to take it. Because Slytherin wasn’t a House. It was a power bloc. A tangle of old money, old magic, and older grudges.

This wasn’t mentorship. It was surveillance—cleverly disguised as atonement.

Redemption? That was never part of the arrangement. What Dumbledore offered wasn’t forgiveness—it was proximity. Keep him close. Keep him useful. Keep him where the leash could be tightened when needed.

And as if the political minefield weren’t enough, one might think there’d be a handover—there wasn’t. And while it’s not confirmed in canon, there’s a strong likelihood Slughorn simply left Severus to fend for himself. The man had been aching to retire to his crystallised pineapple and comfortable obscurity for years. When he left, he didn’t so much pass the torch as drop it mid-corridor with a distracted wave, probably humming.

No curriculum notes. No lesson continuity. No insight into who had been taught what.

Severus didn’t struggle with teaching—please. He could recite antidote theory in his sleep and still have enough brainpower left to correct your stir counter-clockwise. No, what he struggled with was the wreckage. With clearing out years of soft-spoken favouritism, of talent-spotting over structure, of a syllabus curated more by personal whim than pedagogy. He wasn’t inheriting a programme—he was excavating it.

And picking up where Horace left off? That, my tragic thing, was the real test.

⸻

And darling, we’d be fools to think his authority was ever welcomed.

To some, he was too soft—a half-blood apologist playing at discipline. To others, too severe—a traitor desperate to please his new master.

He couldn’t smile. He couldn’t falter. He couldn’t afford a single mistake.

So he learned to glare instead. He learned to intimidate. He learned to slice words like scalpels and build silence into a fortress.

That wasn’t a natural talent. That was survival.

⸻

The punchline, of course?

He did it well.

He survived. He commanded. He protected his House like a shield with no handle—never built to be held, but he held it anyway.

He was twenty-one. And nobody flinched handing him the knives.

⸻

The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Peaceful coexistence failed, causing the UK government to outlaw magic while enacting a nationwide persecution of wizards and witches.

As the British Army invades Hogwarts, Harry and Luna desperately try to reach Dumbledore's grave for the Elder Wand, the last hope of the wizarding world.

Click here for the complete story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, ao3

November 2019

The first helicopter descended into the Hogwarts courtyard, and a squadron of soldiers poured out, unprepared for what was awaiting them in the darkness. From the ravine beyond the gates, pale hands clawed their way upward. One by one, Inferi, reanimated corpses of fallen Death Eaters, dragged themselves into the light.

"Contact front! CONTACT FRONT!" a soldier shouted.

Gunfire erupted across the courtyard, but the bullets tore through flesh that no longer bled. Hundreds of undead beings swarmed the soldiers, tearing their faces apart. One soldier was mauled by the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange.

More helicopters roared overhead, dropping reinforcements onto the school grounds. One man knelt, hefting a bazooka onto his shoulder.

"Target front gate!"

The missile streaked across the courtyard and exploded against the castle gates, shattering the protective runes in a blast of red and gold. The shockwave blew apart statues and sent flaming debris into the night sky.

Through the wreckage, the soldiers advanced only to be met by an ancient fury. From the shadows of the courtyard emerged living armours and stone gargoyles, awakened by the castle's defenders. Their eyes glowed like embers as they charged.

"What is this place?" a soldier gasped before firing wildly as a gargoyle leapt from the parapet.

Iron fists shattered rifles. Claws tore through the soldiers' protective gear as if it were paper. Living medieval armour impaled soldiers with spears and swords. Still, the soldiers kept moving forward, fingers ready on the triggers. One soldier desperately threw a grenade into the hallway, which caused several statues to explode into pieces and entire walls to fall into dust.

Along the corridors, the living portraits shrieked in panic, fleeing their frames to seek refuge in the deepest, darkest corners of the castle.

A group of soldiers tried to retreat up the grand staircase, but the marble steps suddenly moved and swung to the side. Several men lost their footing, screaming as they plunged off the shifting structures into the dark abyss of the lower dungeons.

Inside the castle, the Room of Requirement shook as gunfire and explosions echoed through the stone. Students clutched one another in panic and terror. The Potter children, James, Albus, and Lily, huddled close to Hugo, Rose, and Scorpius. Beside them, Lysander and Lorcan Scamander wept silently into each other's shoulders.

Dudley looked white as a ghost. "Stay down," he said. "Whatever happens, stay quiet. Don't draw attention."

Lily couldn't stop crying. "They're coming for us, Uncle Dudley, they're coming—"

Dudley reached out for her and held her tighter, trying to calm her down, though his heart hammered in fear.

In the Great Hall, the teachers stood shoulder to shoulder before the enchanted windows. McGonagall, Hagrid, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Sprout, Flitwick, Slughorn, Sinistra, and the others gathered as the ground trembled beneath their feet.

Up on the blackened wall, the painted forms of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape stood side-by-side. For the first time, the two legendary headmasters reached out and held each other tightly within the frame.

"Whatever happens, we must protect the children, " McGonagall shouted.

A thunderous boom shook the hall, and the great doors exploded inward. Smoke grenades rolled across the floor, filling the room with choking grey clouds. The teachers coughed and covered their faces as armed soldiers poured through the breach.

"DOWN! EVERYONE DOWN!" shouted a soldier.

Spells flashed: Stupefy, Expelliarmus, Protego!

Unfortunately, most spells bounced off the soldiers' protective gear. Bullets tore through shield charms, causing several teachers to fall in agony before death claimed them.

Hagrid roared as he charged forward like a bull. He swung a broken bench like a club, sending soldiers flying, but a hail of gunfire stopped him. He staggered back, covered in blood and bullet wounds, and fell with a thunderous crash.

"HAGRID!" McGonagall screamed.

Before she could reach him, the soldiers surrounded her. One yanked the wand from her hand, and another forced her to her knees. A heavy, thick steel anti-magic suppression collar was slammed around her neck.

Ron and Ginny desperately tried to form a unified shield to protect each other, but a flashbang grenade detonated directly between them, blinding them with white light. Through the confusion, a group of heavily geared soldiers swarmed them, physically tearing them apart. Ron fought until three soldiers tackled him to the floor. His arms were brutally wrenched behind his back, and the handcuffs snapped tightly around his wrists

Right next to him, Ginny let out a sharp, pained hiss as her own arms were violently forced behind her back. For the second time in twenty-four hours, the metallic click of restraints locked her in place, stripping her of any chance to fight.

"Get off her!" Neville shouted, raising his wand to hex the soldiers binding Ginny, but two massive tactical soldiers struck him from behind, tackling him into the dirt, and held his throat to the floor until the handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists.

To the side, Professor Slughorn looked down the barrel of a loaded assault rifle. With a pathetic, trembling sigh, he dropped his wand onto the stone and raised his hands in absolute surrender. Flitwick attempted to summon a charm, but a soldier viciously kicked the tiny professor in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall.

Within minutes, the defenders of Hogwarts, its teachers, heroes, and leaders were on their knees, handcuffed and surrounded.

McGonagall looked up. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, but she refused to give up.

"You can destroy the walls," she said, trying to remain defiant, "but you will never kill Hogwarts' heart."

The soldier didn't answer. He raised his weapon and signalled to move the prisoners.

Every teacher who had survived the invasion knelt on the marble floor surrounded by Muggle soldiers. Their wrists were bound with cold metal, preventing them from using magic. Professor McGonagall’s tartan robes were torn, and her hair was streaked with ash. Ron and Ginny knelt beside her, unable to break from their chains.

Along the scarred walls, the ghosts of Hogwarts hovered in a defensive but entirely helpless circle, while the portraits of former headmasters watched from their gilded frames in a mixture of profound grief and silent rage.

Madam Pomfrey sobbed quietly over the slumped form of Hagrid, whose massive chest barely rose with each shallow breath.

“Please,” Pomfrey pleaded. “He’s dying! Let me tend to him!”

The soldiers said nothing. Their weapons stayed raised, fingers ready on the triggers.

At their head stood a young Lieutenant. “We’re not here to kill anyone,” he said coldly. “Only to cure you. Magic is a disease. You’ll be free soon enough.”

“No! ", McGonagall exclaimed, while trembling on her knees. "You cannot cure what isn’t an illness. You cannot erase what we are.”

The Lieutenant raised his gun and aimed it directly at her chest. The teachers gasped in horror. Even the ghosts flickered closer.

Then Neville stumbled forward.

“WAIT!” he shouted. “Please, don’t hurt her. I’ll tell you where the students are.”

McGonagall turned to him in disbelief.

“NEVILLE, NO!”

Ron and Ginny gasped in horror and worry for their children, who were hidden in the Room of Requirement. Dumbledore's and Snape's portraits wanted to protest, but couldn't get out a single word.

"NEVILLE!" Ginny roared. "You traitor! You absolute coward! How dare you give them up!"

"Quiet!" a soldier ordered, brutally shoving his rifle butt into Ginny's shoulder to force her back down, though she continued to glare at Neville with pure contempt.

The lieutenant slowly lowered his pistol, looking down at Neville with a cold, calculating satisfaction. "Smart lad. Tell me."

Neville looked at the floor in shame. "They're... they're on the seventh floor. Hidden inside the Room of Requirement. The castle corridor... it opens if you know how to ask it."

"Show me," the lieutenant commanded. He flicked his wrist to his squad. "Bring him. Secure the rest of these freaks."

Two soldiers grabbed Neville roughly by his arms and hauled him to his feet. With his arms still handcuffed behind his back and a rifle pressed firmly against his spine, Neville was marched out of the shattered doors of the Great Hall.

Will Harry and Luna reach the Elder Wand in time to save Hogwarts and their children? Read more to find out!

“When I first meet young Mr Riddle, he was a quiet, obedient, brilliant boy, commited to becoming first A rate wizard. If the monster existed it was very deep within‘‘ - Slughorn

There is no if. The monster, his monster, caused his actions. He wanted to be seen as what Slughorn described him in order to gain more control. More knowledge. To feed his monster. To feed himself. To reach the extent of his influence he had later on, he had perform the image first.