The tale of Salazar Slytherin


I couldn't even tell you when I wrote this. I do know that I didn't come up with the name Salazar Slytherin. That was someone else, someone whose name escapes me. What a great moniker.

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In an oak paneled anteroom inside the Los Angeles County Courthouse, a young Snake sits across from his counsel. He is moments away from going before the judge on charges of vandalism, destruction of public property, and evading arrest. At 15, he’s but a young buck but has already lived the life of the street. Adopted and brought to L.A. at birth, he grew up in a lower class, dysfunctional home – unloved by mother, unwanted and abused by his father. Mostly left to his own devices he rarely attended school, preferring instead to frequent the convenience stores and video arcades of his lower class neighborhood. Always a bit of loner, he nonetheless learned from other ne’er-do-well boys the tricks of the juvenile delinquent trade and as a result constantly ran afoul of the law

Known to his lawyer by his adopted name of Salazar Slytherin, the man we will come to know as Snake confers on the course of action he will take in his upcoming hearing. His lawyer needs only to win this case in order to complete a perfect year of decisions, a record he hopes to use as a selling point in the upcoming elections for district attorney.


Lawyer: “Now Salazar, we’ve been over this a hundred times. When the judge reads the charges to you, what are you going to do?”
Snake: “I’m going to look contrite, plead ignorance, and beg for the court’s forgiveness.”
Lawyer: “Correct. You need to impress upon the judge that you come from a broken home, that you have never had the sort of parental guidance that would have permitted you a normal life. You must let him see by your contrition that you are sorry for what you’ve done and that it was and shall remain an isolated incident.”
Snake: “It’s cool.”
Lawyer: “No, Mr. Slytherin, it is decidedly not cool! During all of our mock hearings you have consistently shown a penchant for the sort of flippancy that will surely result in your incarceration. In 5 minutes time you will be in front of a real judge, answering to real charges. A stint in juvenile detention could set you on an irreversible course toward a life of crime. I suggest you spend these 5 minutes soberly reflecting on that possibility.”
Snake stares blankly at his lawyer and fiddles with the zipper on his best leather bomber jacket.

Several minutes later, he and his lawyer sit before the judge as he peruses his docket and the complaint filed against Snake. He periodically adjusts his spectacles and sighs while looking over Snake’s file. Finally, he raises his eyes and calls Snake to stand before him.

Judge: “Mr Slytherin, you have, it seems, compiled a rather lengthy list of transgressions. Nothing extraordinary, graffiti, broken windows, petty larceny, fighting, loitering, and use of abusive language toward an officer of the law, but this latest incident is a tad more serious. Heretofore, you’ve received only slaps on the wrist for your various escapades, but I’m thinking that this time a slightly stiffer sentence may be called for.
Snake: “Well, I’d like you to reconsider.”
Snake’s lawyer yanks him back by his collar and admonishes him.
Lawyer (sotto voce): “Show the judge some respect!”
The judge pounds his gavel repeatedly for order.
Judge: “Mr. Slytherin, I’m going to read to you the litany of charges in this complaint. When I’m done you will tell me truthfully if they conform to your recollection of that evening.”
Snake: “It’s cool.”
Snake’s lawyer makes a growling noise in his throat while the judge sternly looks over his spectacles at Snake before beginning.
Judge: “On the evening of July the 20th, a complaint of vandalism and aggravated assault was lodged by the owner, one Mr. Choi, of Choi’s Coner Store, Recita, against you. According to the police file, interviews, and your own statement, the trouble began when you became enraged at a coin operated video game called Gorf.”
Snake: “It kept laughing at me and calling me a space *beep* (muttering to himself) I’ve never been to space.”
Lawyer: “It was calling you space cadet, you moron!”
The judge pounds his gavel once again.
Judge: “Let me continue, please! Now, you then went to the cooler, selected a 40 oz. bottle of malt liquor -- I suppose you forgot your status as a minor -- and plunged it through the video game’s display, destroying the game. Furthermore, sparks from the game’s monitor ignited a nearby magazine stand, causing a small conflagration. It’s reported that Mr. Choi began hollering at you to spray the fire but you instead grabbed a fire extinguisher and doused Mr. Choi.”
Snake: “I thought he said ‘Spray the ricer!’ I could never understand what that old slope was talking about.”
Snake’s lawyer grabs him by the collar and cuffs him about the head.
Lawyer: “Show the judge some respect you little creep!”
The judge bangs furiously on his gavel.
Judge: “That will be all! I do not expect any further outbursts in my courtroom.”
Snake: “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s usually a very mellow guy. I don’t know…”
Judge: “Let me finish! Now, while Mr. Choi attended to the fire, his wife ordered you out of the store. You then demanded a package of Sixlets brand candy before you would leave. After receiving that, she pleaded with you to leave the premises to which you responded, “What’ll you give me? The stakes just went up. Give me your Playgirls!” Propriety prevented Mrs. Choi from granting your request, however she says you marched behind the counter, grabbed the magazines for yourself and stormed out of the store. Mrs. Choi chased you outside the store, at which point you hopped on your BMX bicycle. Onlookers report that you proceeded to ride the bike into traffic, rode in several tight circles while taunting Mrs. Choi with the centerfold of the magazines, and then took off through a red light; coming inches away from being sideswiped by an oncoming car. Mr. Slytherin, is there any facet of this account in which you find yourself in disagreement? Or is this a factual record of your actions that day?”
Snake looks puzzled at this question and unsure of how to reply.
Judge: “Did you destroy the video game, rob the convenience store, and ride dangerously through traffic nearly causing an accident?”
Snake looks at his lawyer, who can only look pleadingly back at him. For a moment he is unsure what to say.
Judge: “Mr. Slytherin, did you or did you not do this?”
Snake rocks back and forth on his feet, a bead of perspiration forms on his brow, his lips quiver as he fights within himself. Then, just as suddenly, he relaxes and a smile spreads over his face.
Snake “You know it!!”
Snake’s lawyer buries his head in his arms and lets out a muffled cry as the judge bangs his gavel furiously
Judge: “Mr. Slytherin. I will dispense with the lecture. I find you guilty as charged. You are hereby remanded to the custody of the State of California. You will be sent to the Rocky Sullivan Home for Wayward Boys until you have attained the age of 18. I hope that you will there commence on the maturation process that has thus far eluded you. This case is dismissed and the court is in recess.”

Appearing uninterested, Snake was led away by two police officers. His lawyer miserably collected his papers from his desk. The judge stomped off to his office, eager to put that morning behind him. Only one person in attendance seemed pleased by what he had seen. Emerging from the audience was a tall gentleman, bedecked in a white blazer with a red ascot. If you had been standing in the hallway that afternoon, you would have seen a broad smile play across his face and heard him incessantly chuckle to himself as he walked away from the courtroom to his waiting limousine.

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Snake’s time at the Sullivan Home was just as the judge feared. He palled around with several of the boys from his dormitory. For a time they made great sport of humiliating Salazar at every turn. Frequently he fell victim to their nocturnal predations, if “victim” is the proper word. But over a period of time he came to earn their grudging acceptance. These were hardened boys, most of whom would likely go on to do hard time, but the future bad boy of L.A. was able to keep up with them. If not for the future intercession of Mr. Silver, Salazar too might have lived his life in the revolving door of California’s penal system.

There is not much to imagine about the tricks of the criminal trade that were imparted to Salazar in the boys home, but there was one incident that is of interest to us and that was the moment when, in true reptilian fashion, Salazar would shed his adoptive title and emerge with a new and lasting moniker.

The leader of Snake’s crew was a young ruffian who went by “Lefty”. As the boys towel off outside the showers, Snake approaches Lefty.

Snake: “Hey Lefty. While we were in the showers I noticed something about the nicknames you guys have.”
Lefty: “Oh yeah?”
Snake: “Yeah! See, I’ve had my suspicions for a while but it wasn’t until I was ogling Slim in the shower that I discovered where the nicknames come from. Slim’s not slim. He’s one of the fattest guys in here!
Lefty: “That’s right.”
Snake: “And then I started thinking about some of the other guys in our gang. There’s Einstein, he’s one of the stupidest guys I’ve ever met. There’s Red, his hair is almost jet black. And there’s you, Lefty. I’ve watched you soap yourself up almost every day, but it wasn’t until today that I noticed you use your right hand to do it! So…
Lefty: “So what?”
Snake: “So the thing is that almost everyone’s nickname is the opposite of their real characteristics.
Lefty pauses and watches Snake dry off for a moment and was thus inspired.
Lefty: “You catch on quick… Snake.”
Snake: “You mean I finally got my nickname? Cool! You have no idea what this means to me. I’m finally one of the gang. But why did you call me ‘Snake’?
As Snake continues toweling off he waits for his answer. Suddenly he reaches his private parts and realization creeps into his expression.
Snake: “Hey!!!……”

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Part of the duties of the Rocky Sullivan boys was the occasional act of public service, and it was in this way that Terry Silver reeled in his catch. Using a connection at the home, he arranged for a troop of juveniles to assist in cleanup at a Dynatox-owned brownfield. Typically, it would be up to low-level Dynatox employees to take care of the logistics during such a visit, but on that day the boss himself greeted the converted school bus that delivered his junior helpers. He entreated the boys to do their best with the cleanup, pointing out that it was only through hard work and diligence that he had become the proud owner of a toxic waste empire. The boys all put on their protective suits and masks and began trudging out to their appointed tasks under the watchful eye of Mr. Silver. One by one they passed, urged on by their minders from the boys home. Mr. Silver nodded and smiled at each of them until Snake shuffled by. Looking very much like a young Arthur Slugworth, he pulled Snake aside and whispered something into his ear. Snake tried to pull away until Mr. Silver flashed a 100 dollar bill in front of his face, at which point he became more receptive to Mr. Silver’s words. Seconds later, Silver released him and Snake rejoined his mates on their way to work.

The boys fanned out over the Dynatox property and began their task. Snake paid careful attention to his surroundings and carefully made his way to a small incline near the property’s fence line. Sure enough, when he reached the top he spied Terry Silver’s Rolls Royce parked on the other side of the fence. Mr. Silver stood outside and motioned for Snake to come over; Snake passed through a hole cut in the fence and joined Mr. Silver inside his car.


Snake: “Hey. What’s your name again?”
Silver: “Mr. Terry Silver. And you’re the one they call Snake.”
Snake: “Yeah, how’d you know?”
Silver: “You’d be surprised how much I know about you – and there are a few things I’d still like to discover.”
Snake begins peeling off his protective gear
Snake: “Okay, I’ve never done this in a car or for money, but what the hey!”
Silver reaches over and takes Snake’s arm before he can finish removing his shirt.
Silver: “All in due time. Right now there are other things I’d like to discuss with you. Let me get right to the point. Do you like poached salmon?… No, wait! Look, I’m a very wealthy man, more powerful than you can imagine, yet I still have earthly desires that have been thus far beyond my reach. You asked how I knew your name? The truth is that I’ve been watching you for a long time. For many years now I have desired a live-in boy, one whom I could consider perhaps a servant but also a friend and a confidante. It needs to be a boy I can call my own and raise as I see fit, however I’m also looking for someone with the same, shall we say ‘naughty’, proclivities as me. For the past couple years I’ve taken the time to visit juvenile court, searching for just the boy I could take under my wing. I can offer a young man much in the way of material pleasure, but I need someone who can give back to me. Who can do my bidding, run errands, and assist in any future endeavors of mine.”
Snake: “Lots of tough guys go through that court, why did you choose me?”
Silver: “I’ve had more than my share of run-ins with lawyers. EPA lawyers, Greenpeace lawyers, lawyers representing meddling neighbors, they’re all bloodsucking leeches! I liked the way you intentionally sabotaged that pretty boy public defender you were saddled with.”
Snake looked quizzically at Mr. Silver but doesn’t interrupt.
Silver: “Then, after you’d been locked up, I started to do some digging into your past. I’ve discovered that you’re the perfect candidate. Your ties to your family are minimal and tenuous. I’ll be able to sever them completely and make you mine. All mine.
Snake: “But I’ve got a mom and dad and all that.”
Silver: “Would it be easier for you if I told you that they’re not your real parents, Snake?”
Snake looked vacantly at Mr. Silver. It was hard to distinguish whether he was shocked or uninterested in this revelation.
Silver: “Yes, Snake. The Slytherins are not your real parents. Given their own pathetic existence I don’t know why they would have been ashamed to tell you that you were born of another couple, but they chose to hide that information from you. Snake, I have delved deep into your past; I know your entire history but it’s better that you not hear it all at this time. I can tell you this, though: you were adopted from St. Anthony’s Orphanage near Newark, New Jersey. Your birth name was Louie and your mother was named Lucille. The name of your father was left off the birth certificate. Undoubtedly, your birth aroused much shame among your blood relatives. Better that you not think of such things now. Perhaps someday I will facilitate a reunion, but not until I’m sure that you are mine, body and soul. Snake, forget about who was or wasn’t your parent. That’s all in the past. I’m your future, your destiny.
Snake: “What’s in it for me?”
Silver: “I will offer you a lifestyle such as you’ve never dreamed of! I need a young man like you do odd jobs for me from time to time. In return for your help, you will live with me in my opulent mansion on the hill. You will have the run of the place and be able to indulge your wildest fantasies… and so will I. Snake, I’m what’s known as a chubby chaser. I want you just as you are. Come live with me and your life will be part Hansel and Gretel, part Caligula, oft times with cameras present. What do you say?
Snake saw the advantages of what Mr. Silver had offered. His time as a ward of the state had taught him that he must always do what was best for Snake and this was an offer unlikely to be repeated. In truth there wasn’t even a decision to be made.
Snake: “Mr. Silver, you just bought yourself a flunky”
Silver: “You remember that! Now, get back to your group. I’ll make the necessary arrangements, and within a month you’ll be safely ensconced in your own suite inside my mansion. In the meantime, you can dream about me.”
Snake: “Later.”
Snake piled out of the car and walked back to his workmates, his entire life changed in just a few short minutes. A very satisfied looking Terry Silver called out to his faithful assistant Margaret, who, sitting in the front seat of the Rolls Royce, had heard the entire conversation.
Silver: “So what do you think?”
Margaret: “Oh, he’s obnoxious… and rotund and half-witted and odious and flatulent and detestable and malodorous and repugnant and perfidious.
Silver: “Yeah, he’s perfect! Ho-ho!”

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This used to be the best board on the internet.

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So let me get this right
YOU wrote this story in which Terry Silver is a gay chubby chasing paedophile!
Really?

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Pederast, not pedophile. Get it right, you munch!

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Oh, my bad. Allow me to rephrase that question.
So let me get this right.
YOU wrote this story in which Terry Silver is a gay, chubby chasing pederast !
Really?

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Bump

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