Slughorn's Day

Horace Slughorn squeezed into his favourite lilac dressing gown and toppled out of his bed. With no students around to see him in this casual state of dressing, the potions master proudly exited his sleeping quarters and waddled in the direction of the staff room. As he walked, he noticed that his feet seemed to get sore a lot quicker, and breathing was becoming a considerably more difficult task. The Second Wizarding War had certainly taken its toll on the aging professor, who was on the run from Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters for years. Nevertheless, the thought of opening a brand new box of crystallised pineapple, in which he left in the staff room the previous evening, was far too tempting to pass up. Although at this point, the staff room was mere metres away, Horace decided that a short break to catch his breath was a clever plan. One look at the courtyard could remind the old man of the suffering in which the school had been through. The spot which had once been taken up by a favoured lavender plant was now a mere patch of daisies. Everything which once grew abundantly in this space had been replaced by brand new flora.

Admittedly, Horace Slughorn had done the least out of the four heads of house in order to repair the school. The fact that he had now reached the staff room and was stuffing himself with generous portions of crystallised pineapple was clearly evidence of this. He had, however, sorted out many of the issues involving potions lessons as well as managing to find some lost ingredients abroad.

However, his main desire was to find a larger office to reside in. Despite the fact that he told McGonagall that his previous office was destroyed, the Headmistress knew full well that it had received hardly a scratch. Nevertheless, using this excuse meant that Horace was able to claim Severus Snape's old teaching office.

"This is the life." Horace mumbled to himself, his mouth full of pineapple. Just as he was about to squash a thirteenth piece into his mouth, the door of the staff room sprung open.

"There you are!"

"Merlin's beard!" yelled Horace, who toppled backwards in his chair.

"Oh goodness!" Flitwick squeaked, as he scurried over to the Potions Master. "I did not mean to startle you, Horace."

"Ah, Filius." Horace voiced, trying to find his bearings. "It is quite alright. What can I do for you?"

Flitwick blinked rapidly. He was not expecting to share his problem with Slughorn so abruptly. "Oh, well, I require your assistance, Horace. With a... with a potion, yes!"

"A potion you say? And what potion might this be?"

"I would prefer not to share details; I simply need help finding a book I require. Tugwood's Book of Potions, I believe it is called. I haven't the slightest clue on where in the library it could be. Irma doesn't seem to be around."

"Tugwood, Tugwood... isn't that the witch who specialises in —"

"Yes, that's the one!" Flitwick squealed nervously. "And if you don't mind, we can head off to the library right now."

Taken aback by Flitwick's bizarre behaviour, Horace had no choice but to follow Flitwick to the library. As the pair reached their destination, they were greeted by Professor Sprout, who was pruning some nearby hedges, as well as Mrs Norris, who was sprawled out in the garden bed.

"Pomona." Flitwick acknowledged, nodding his head in her direction before quickly entering the library.

Horace laughed. "I am sorry about that, Pomona. Filius doesn't seem to be himself today. How have you been?"

"Quite well, thank you. I've almost completed all of the castle's gardening, with the help of Rubeus and Argus, of course."

"And what is the strange device you are using? Surely you can trim the hedges using magic?"

"What? Oh yes." Sprout exclaimed, looking down at her electric shears. "Arthur Weasley was in here a few days ago and suggested I use this muggle gardening tool. He says that it's a lot more efficient than magic means, and neater too!" The herbology professor pressed a small red button on the device and it immediately sprang to life. The blades, rapidly opening and closing, allowing Sprout to trim the hedges with ease. "See!"

"How wonderful!"

"Yes, yes. The only problem is occasionally I can't seem to turn them off. They wear out eventually though; I'll just leave them here for awhile." Sprout explained, leaving the shears in the garden bed. "I might see what Filius is up to."

"Tell him I'll be right there, I just need to collect something from my office." Horace told Sprout anxiously.

Sprout eyed him suspiciously and entered the library. The truth was, Horace couldn't handle it for much longer, his desire for another piece of crystallised pineapple was growing. Taking out another box from his dressing gown pocket, he guiltily removed the packaging and began to devour the sweets. If it wasn't for Mrs Norris, he probably would have consumed the entire box. For there, with a bird hanging out of her mouth was the caretaker's cat. The bird itself was nearly the size of Mrs Norris, but that didn't stop her. Blood dripped out of the bird as Mrs Norris dug her sharp teeth into it, ready to eat her lunch. Disgusted by this feast, Horace put away his pineapple and proceeded to enter the library. Closing the door behind him, he glimpsed the cat fling the bird out of its mouth and into the shears, breaking both the shears, and the bird.

"Got it, Horace!" Flitwick told the Potions Master, as he darted out of the library.

After wishing the tiny professor luck, Horace waddled over to where Professor Sprout was standing. "Well, I guess it's just you and me, Pomona. Would you mind helping me locate a book as well?"

It was at that moment when Horace realised that Professor Sprout would probably have to return to her gardening. "I really am sorry, Horace, but I must get on with my gardening." Sprout explained, confirming Horace's guess. "Good luck!"

"Not a problem, Pomona." He told her as she exited the library. "I'm sure I can find it myself."

Horace was looking for a book that he knew for a fact was in the Restricted Section of the library. Moste Pontente Potions by Phineus Bourne was a book that he had read a number of times, though he often forgot specific details involving a lot of the book's content. Normally, he would simply ask Madam Pince to open the Restricted Area for him, though without her around, he felt guilty breaking in without her. That is why he wanting the company of someone else, to lessen the blow on him if she were to find out. Nevertheless, Horace plucked up the courage to bounce over to the Restricted Section to unlock it.

"Alohomora." he whispered, as he pushed open the iron door. "Jolly good." He announced, closing the door behind him. "Let's see... B for Bourne." Horace said to himself, scanning a nearby shelf.

"In here, darling!"

The unmistakable sound of Madam Pince's voice echoed around the library. Horace froze and ran behind one of the shelves.

"Ooh, how about in the Restricted Section?" Madam Pince laughed, as her voice grew louder.

Horace had never heard Irma Pince talk like this before. She was normally very firm and solemn, not fun and flirtatious. There was no mistaking that she was heading in Horace's direction. He had to act fast. Just as he saw Madam Pince's feet on the other side of the shelves, Horace transfigured himself into a large, lilac armchair.

The next few moments were some of the most awkward of the old potion master's life.

He stayed there, stuck as an armchair, as Madam Pince emerged wearing a transparent black nightgown which left little to the imagination. Not another moment passed when Argus Filch came around the corner, wearing a dusty brown bathrobe.

Oh no, Horace thought to himself.

The pair embraced each other in a fiery display of passion, as Horace was forced to look on in disgust. Lips locked, they fell to the ground and began rolling around on the library floor.

This cannot be happening, Horace thought desperately.

"Take me, Argus! Take me right here on the library floor!" Pince begged lustfully.

Filch got up from the woman and let out a wheezy chuckle. "You dirty, dirty girl."

Before Horace had a chance to block out what had just happened, Filch ripped off his dusty robe, exposing his own naked body, and jumped on top of Madam Pince. Horace had never been so scarred in his life. The pair were going at it like a couple of acromantualas, legs everywhere. Soon enough, Madam Pince's own clothing was flying over the library, only to land on the large, lilac armchair. Horace would have given anything to get out of this sticky situation he now faced. Unfortunately, their never ending sexual conquest didn't seem to stop. If Horace could have vomited, he would have. It was the most disgusting thing that he had ever seen.

"How about we experiment somewhere more... comfortable?" Pince suggested seductively, and placed a hand on the disguised Potions Master.

You've got to be kidding me, Slughorn worried.

Filch nodded and Pince began pacing backwards, before falling on the disguised armchair. Filch was so quick to follow that the lustful activity was not short-lived.

This was it, Horace thought to himself. This will actually be the death of me.

It wasn't until an extremely odd circumstance forced the couple to end their passionate displays of affection. At that very moment, a large man wearing a lilac dressing gown burst into the Restricted Section. Sporting a large walrus moustache and holding a box of crystallised pineapple, Horace Slughorn stared at the couple, terror etched on his face.

"Aghh!" Pince and Filch cried, upon seeing the intruder.

"Aghh!" he yelled, dropping his belongings.

This was Horace's chance. Transfiguring back into a human, he yelled at the imposter, "Who on earth are you?"

"Aghh!" screamed the couple and the imposter, shocked by the appearance of a second Slughorn.

Boom!

"Aghh!" all four of them screamed, as they ducked for cover in the explosion.