Severus stared at the spot-faced Ministry official, who seemed far more interested in surreptitiously spitting out his lemon drop than performing his duties, then glanced at Albus for confirmation.
The headmaster nodded, twinkling. "It's quite true, Severus. The Ministry has decided that your recent heroics have conclusively proven your dedication to the side of light. Mr Edmund here will remove the geis."
The geis. Severus closed his eyes, hardly daring to believe. Edmund -- Elton Edmund, Gryffindor, class of '95, hopeless at anything more complicated than a sleeping draught -- managed to rid himself of the sweet, and Severus was required to open his eyes and glare at the boy.
"I've never actually removed a civis castitas before, Professor. In fact, I've never even heard of it being used, though I suppose, with you working in a school and all..." Edmund trailed off under Severus' cauldron-melting gaze.
"Yes, it was a condition of my decision to employ Severus," Albus said, cheerfully ignoring the glare when it switched to him. "I'll wager a bag of licorice whips the board of governors feels quite silly for insisting on it now. Another lemon drop, Elton?"
"Er, no, thank you, Headmaster. I'll just set Professor Snape free of the geis, and be out of your hair." A wand appeared in the boy's hand. "Er..." He paused. "Finite incantatum?"
There was an unmistakable sensation of release in Severus' midriff.
Edmund looked relieved. "That should do it. Sign here, and your probation is over. Um, sir? You need to sign the paper--"
"Finite incantatum?"
"Er... yes?"
"Sixteen years of that damned 'moral citizen' geis, sixteen years of no cussing, no drinking, no gambling -- no extramarital sex -- and it could have been ended with a finite incantatum?"
Edmund dropped his wand and looked to Albus.
"Now, Severus. I'm sure you wouldn't have violated your probation by breaking the spell yourself. The board was justifiably concerned about allowing a former Death Eater to teach, even if you've proven them completely wrong to doubt you. No matter how it came about, your reputation is cleared and the geis lifted. Why don't you go enjoy your weekend? I'm sure Minerva will take your place as Hogsmeade chaperone."
Severus decided to retreat before he cast a skin-shrinking curse on one or both of the Gryffindor fools. He tottered out of the headmaster's office on stiff legs, but by the time he cleared the gargoyle his customary swoop returned.
Amazingly enough, one of the rumours concerning the Potions master's temper had been true; sixteen years of celibacy would make a saint snarky, and Severus Snape was no saint. Still, the long years of sacrifice finally paid off.
Voldemort was dead, and Severus was free to get laid.
He reached his rooms in record time, busily planning his first weekend of unfettered freedom since Potter killed Voldemort the first time. His plans did not grow anymore complicated than 1) find willing partner, 2) shag him senseless, and 3) repeat steps one and two as many times as possible before eight o'clock Monday morning. Still, visualizing kept him entertained while he dug through his wardrobe for something -- anything -- suitable to wear. Black, black, dark grey, black... He could not afford new clothes every time a student's cauldron blew up on him, but he must have at least one set of non-black clothes besides those obnoxious lime-green dress robes Albus kept giving him for his birthday.
After a long rummage, he found a dark purple shirt, at least twenty years out of fashion, and held it up to his face in the mirror, only to find it no longer suited his complexion.
"Hitting the town, dearie?" the mirror asked. "Might I suggest a, ahem, bath first?"
Severus took in his greasy hair and oily skin, and mentally slapped his forehead. Bath. Of course. With only children and his idiotic colleagues to impress, he had let his appearance slide over the years.
"You might want to do something about your teeth and nails, too."
He grimaced at the mirror, and ran his tongue across his teeth, frankly not seeing the problem. Still, the mirror had a point. Some people were funny that way.
He rifled through his potion cabinet, carrying several armfuls of bottles and jars to his bathroom, where he proceeded to make a mess for the house elves. A bath, three shampoos, two conditioners, an entire bar of lye soap, six bleaching potions, two moisturizers, a mouthwash, and a full-body depilatory charm that left him only his head hair and eyebrows later, Severus stood before the mirror, transformed.
Sort of.
"Er, at least you're clean," the mirror said, and Severus narrowed his eyes at it. "Try not to squint, dear. There's nothing to be done about the nose, unfortu--"
He hexed the mirror into silence, and went to dress.
There were only three gay wizarding bars in Britain: the Wild Wand, Snakecharmers, and Fantastic Beasts. Severus planned to hit all three of them before resorting to the numerous muggle bars; step one of his plan relied on the chance that some of Potter's fame had rubbed off on his less attractive comrades-in-arms. It had been just over two weeks since the Dark Lord's fall -- long enough for the celebrations to die down, but soon enough that everyone should remember Severus' role in the heroics.
He wondered if he had groupies somewhere. Male, gay groupies, who would like nothing more than to have war-hero Severus Snape, to bend him over and push their thick cocks--
Severus adjusted himself through his grey trousers -- he'd gone with the purple shirt and a black half-length over robe, which was a little classy for the Wild Wand, but Hogsmeade was closest and he'd nothing else suitable in his closet -- and entered the bar. He had not patronized the establishment since his twenty-first birthday, when he and Evan Rosier had gotten drunk and rubbed against each other on the dance floor until they both came in their pants, much to the other customers' delight.
The Wild Wand had changed since the later days of the seventies. The interior was considerably more muggle, even going to far as to include imitation strobe lights, despite the fact that ScottishPower did not even know Hogsmeade existed. The fake electricity could end any moment with an over-enthusiastic 'finite incantatum'.
The crowd, fortunately, covered a wide mix of ages, from a smattering of white-haired older gentlemen to a handful of sixth- and seventh-year students, with the majority in the middle. To his complete disgust, Potter and his two faithful sidekicks were skulking around the dance floor, apparently being too dense to realize the Wild Wand was a gay bar. He shook his head. It never failed. Some idiot children would wander in, stay for twenty minutes or so, clue in, and rush out with red faces.
Anticipating Potter making a fool of himself, Severus stalked up to the bar to grab a good seat, and ordered himself a drink. It burned going down, and he shuddered at the unaccustomed taste, then ordered another.
After half an hour, it became clear Potter either knew, or was not going to know unless someone told him, so Severus refocused his attention on his original mission. Step one -- find willing partner -- was easier plotted than done. Years had passed since he'd even attempted to pick up a partner, the last ending with the geis flaring into a burst of heat on his backside that actually set his robes on fire. He had had no desire to repeat the experience. Looking around, he could not help but feel a bit lost. Other wizards seemed to find it easy to simply walk up and start a conversation, but Severus hesitated. He wanted sex, but the in-between steps unsettled him. They'd probably expect him to be polite. They'd want to talk.
He kept a sneer off his face only with great effort. What could he recall about dating? Eye contact. That was a good starting point. He gazed around the bar, trying catch someone's eye. There. That one was staring at him, and with the slightly lowered jaw and wide eyes that spoke of awe. Severus tried not to preen, waited until the man met his gaze, smirked what he hope was a flirtatious manner, and turned away. He gave it several minutes, glanced back to find the semi-attractive blond watching even more intently. Their gazed locked again, and the blond smiled and tilted his head invitingly.
Hallelujah and chocolate frogs from heaven. Severus slid off his stool, decided a bribe was in order, and bought two drinks from the bartender, which he carried through the crowd towards the blond's table. On the way he ran into Potter, who was headed in the opposite direction, and the brat's face went very red.
"Pr'fessor." Mumbled and barely audible over the noise, as Potter seemed more intent on his shoes.
Severus smirked; the moment he'd waited for had arrived. "Ah, Potter. Decided to explore an alternate lifestyle, eh?"
Potter turned six shades darker, mumbled something incomprehensible, and fled.
Decidedly chipper, Severus turned back to his target, only to find that the blond had vacated his table. Frowning and wondering if he had misinterpreted the signals, he made a quick search of the area, then went back to the bar so he would be visible in the crowd. He arrived just in time to watch the blond slip out with a poncy little brunet.
Miffed, Severus downed both drinks in succession.
Several hours later, he still sat alone at the bar, jostled by a crowd of glitter boys who paid him no mind. He had had two more prospects vanish before he could reach them, and one who chatted him up at the bar only to wander off to the loo and never return.
Glumly, Severus ordered a double. He didn't understand the problem; men seemed interested, and then backed off. Was it his teeth? He ran his tongue over them, knowing they were brilliant white and shiny clean now, if a tad uneven. It must be his nose, he decided.
On top of his other problems, Potter had stayed. Severus caught glimpses of him in the crowd, at the bar, on the dance floor -- though he never seemed to dance with anyone in particular. His two shadows remained in their booth, Weasley sunk deep into the wooden bench while Granger chattered at him, elbows on the table like the uncouth little muggle-born she was.
Severus began to consider returning to Hogwarts in defeat, even though his cock complained that he had promised it some fun. He downed the last of his drink, shot an irritated look at the noisy group beside him, and froze in shock.
At the centre of the crowd of giggling young men sat Arsenius Jigger -- old, ugly, smelly, and certainly no war hero -- who had a lap full of squirming blond twins. Slamming down his glass and rising unsteadily to his feet, Severus teetered over to his fellow potions expert to demand the secret of his success.
"Severus Snape, you heap of rotten boomslang skin! I've not seen you in a seeker's minute. Finally crawled out of your hole, eh?" Jigger signalled the bartender for another round, and included Severus in his generosity.
Severus knocked back the drink, and elbowed a twittering piece of fluff out of his way. "Arsenius." He paused, wondering if small talk was required, and then decided he didn't care. He leaned close, knocking one of the twins off Jigger's lap, and almost overbalanced before he caught the bar with one hand. "How in Salazar's name did a disgusting git like you get your own fan club?"
Jigger stared at him, myopic brown eyes bloodshot. "Ho ho! They lifted the geis, didn't they? Tell you what, Severus. I'm feeling pretty damn good, so I'll let you in on my little secret." Jigger waved the simpering idiots away, rummaged in his rumpled frock coat until he came up with a stick of carbon, then proceeded to scribble something down on a bar napkin. He handed it to Severus with an off-balance flourish.
Severus took it, instantly recognizing a potion recipe. A quick scan of the ingredients and everything fell into place. "This is a genialis potion. You're drugging them!"
"Shhh! Not so loud. Pretty clever, eh? No, don't thank me, Severus. It's my duty as a fellow brewer to help you get some action after all this time. 'Sides, it's not like you'd get any on your own."
Severus drew back, a sharp retort leaping to his tongue, but the memory of the last few hours froze the words before he could speak them. Swallowing down the last vestiges of pride, he stuffed the napkin in his pocket.
"You won't regret it, Severus," Jigger said, beckoning his troupe of drugged adorers over. "Trust me!"
Severus glared at the man before storming away, wondering why everyone else was standing crookedly. At the door he cast one last look at Jigger and his boys, then stumbled out into the cool Hogsmeade night.
Having not had a hangover for sixteen years, Severus had forgotten what dirty socks tasted like. Of course the one and only time he ever tasted dirty socks he'd been tied to the center goal hoop on the quidditch pitch in his underpants, so his hangovers were indelibly linked to vertigo and gooseflesh and a profound sense of helplessness, on top of the regular headache and general impression of having spent the previous night being shaken by an angry troll.
He groaned and pulled his arm out from where it lay twisted behind his back, and lifted his face from the pillow. A long line of drool linked his bottom lip to the linen, before gravity and tension won and it snapped. He lay atop the covers, which was fortunate as he was fully dressed -- muddy boots included. He scrubbed his face with the hand that was not burning with the return of circulation, and wondered why alcohol seemed to accelerate the growth of facial hair. He considered a depilatory charm, but decided he might accidentally take his nose off.
His bladder's complaints finally arrived at his brain, so he pulled himself to his feet and staggered for the loo. Outside his bedroom door he tripped over a heavy bag, and crashed into the wall, cursing. It felt good to curse, so he let out a long stream of profanity, even though the pain faded quickly.
Feeling better, he glared down at the offending object.
Who the hell put a bag of dog food in my sitting room? And why do I know it had something to do with the meddling old coot who runs my life?
His bladder spoke up again, and Severus retreated to the toilet. When he emerged, the first thing he saw was a pair of bowls by the sofa, one filled with water, the other with kibble, and a leash lying coiled on the side table.
He stopped short, Albus' voice hazy and cheerful in his mind.
"Mr Potter has his NEWTs this week, and Mr Lupin is busy searching for Mr Pettigrew's body. Until he finds it, Mr Black must stay out of sight, but as most of the school is familiar with 'Snuffles' it's best if we keep up the pretense of a normal dog. And Severus? Don't forget to walk him."
Severus distinctly remembered agreeing, if only to shut the headmaster up and proceed to his rooms before he vomited in the corridor.
His gaze went to the hearth and the blanket there, and more specifically, the large black dog watching him from it. The dog grinned, tongue lolling out in what Severus supposed some might consider canine charm -- when he knew it to be mockery -- and a sudden wave of self-consciousness broadsided him.
He smoothed down the tangled wreck of his hair, nodded curtly to his unwelcome houseguest, and fled to the bedroom, where he leaned against the wall and cursed Albus Dumbledore to the lowest hell. He yanked off his wrinkled robe, tangling his arms in sleeves in his haste, and spent several minutes fighting the garment's rebellion. In the midst of subduing his clothing, he came across Jigger's secret recipe in his pocket.
Staring at the smudged instructions, Severus wondered if he dared use it. The geis was lifted certainly, but did he really want to resort to trickery to get a bed partner?
The resounding yes with which he answered himself unsettled him.
Having never seen the recipe, and leery of a potion given to him by a drunken lecher, Severus decided he needed to test it first. He thought of the black dog in the next room, and smiled.
He used one of the dungeon's ill-frequented student lavatories to clean himself up, and spent the rest of the day puttering in the potions lab.
After taking dinner in the hall, Severus escorted Black out to a public place and -- in retaliation for the growls he had received while clipping the lead onto the collar -- stared intently at the dog as he did his business. A glare kept any of the children from approaching as they usually did when 'Snuffles' went out in Potter's company, and the whole process turned into less of an ordeal than Severus anticipated.
Back in his quarters, he refilled the kibble and water dishes, glaring at the dog as he did so. "Pain in the arse. No, don't you dare transform. I'll take the stench of dog over the sound of your whiney voice, thank you." Throwing a sneer at his guest for good measure, Severus snagged the evening paper, and sat down in the armchair to wait.
He was reduced to reading the classifieds before he became aware of the large dog edging closer. He didn't dare look up to check if his muzzle was wet, and kept pretending to read. A jingle of tags announced every shift until Black ended up pressed against Severus' leg. He resisted the urge to reach down and pat his head.
The dog squirmed.
Sighed.
Huffed.
Grabbed his leg with two powerful forepaws and latched onto it, sending the paper flying.
"Black! You perverted bastard, get off me!" He shoved at the dog frantically humping his leg, and the fistful of fur morphed into silky long hair.
"What the fuck did you do to me, you greasy son of a whore?" Black did not wait for an answer, but released Severus' leg, shoved him back in the chair, yanked his head back by his hair, and bit his neck.
Severus' prick immediately saw the potential of the situation, and leapt into the fray. "Why Black, I did nothing but read my paper. You assaulted me." Despite his words, he reached between their bodies and squeezed Black's erection.
"Fuck! Oh, fuck."
They tumbled to the floor, groping and licking, biting, clawing, pulling clothes and hair, spewing vitriol and obscenities, attempting to shag trough their clothing. Severus pinned Black to the blanket -- the very doggy-scented blanket -- got between his legs and ground their erections together.
"God, Snape! Give it to me, fuck yes."
"Oh, I'll give it to you all right," Severus purred, tugging at the buttons of Black's trousers. "I'm going to ride your cock until you beg me to let you come."
"No, just fuck me already," Black said, trying to reach through the bunched cloth of Severus' robes.
"I don't top, Black."
"What do you mean you don't top?" Black suddenly shoved him off, and Severus fell with a surprised 'oof'.
"I mean I don't bloody well top. Now are you going to shove your prick up my arse or not?"
"I don't top either."
Severus gaped at him. "The great Sirius Black is a total bottom? What, has that pet werewolf of yours got you so thoroughly trained?"
Black went nine shades of red, and Severus would have laughed if hadn't felt like throwing an unforgivable.
"Fuck you, Snape," Black spat.
"Apparently you're too whipped to," Severus retorted, grabbed his cloak and the bottle of genialis potion, and stormed out.
Snakecharmers crouched on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, silent as only the best charms could manage. Severus tugged his black robes into order once more, now rather contemptuous of his earlier efforts to alter his appearance. He gripped the potion vial tighter, and stepped inside.
Instant noise and heat and rhythm and life swallowed him, pulsing within the four walls. Dismayed at the sheer frenetic energy, Severus made his way across the room, pressing against so many writhing bodies as he did so that his long-neglected body screamed in frustration. He gained the bar at last, ordered a drink, and prepared his little bottle of instant sex. All he needed was a partner.
The word gave him pause, even as he scanned the crowd for someone suitably attractive. Partner implied a mutual interest. Really, he was searching for a... for a victim.
"God damn it all to hell," Severus muttered as his conscience reared its ugly head. Could he really drug someone who wouldn't normally look twice at him into sleeping with him? His cock shouted 'yes!' from the confines of his trousers, while the Voice of Dumbledore, currently residing in his head, chided him for even considering the idea. With a great sigh for his own moral stupidity, he pocketed the bottle.
Perhaps he would have better luck tonight on his own. Snakecharmers had a larger clientele after all... including someone who most definitely should not be there. Severus stiffened, then collected his drink and moved to the other end of the bar. He set his glass down next to Draco's, ignoring his student when he nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Professor! What are you doing here?"
"I think the question should be what are you doing here, Mr Malfoy. I wasn't aware Hogsmeade weekends gave students leave to go to Diagon Alley."
Draco flushed, dark red splotches marring his pale skin, and jerked his glass closer, sloshing Blue Exorcism on the counter. "There's only two weeks left of school."
"And speaking of which, you have NEWTs next week. Getting drunk in a bar is not conducive to studying."
"I'll pass. I just needed to get out and relax -- away from the Hogwarts crowd." Draco looked down at his drink, flush taking up permanent residence, and Severus recalled all the heated glances the geis had forced him to ignore.
Heavenly inspiration struck as several facts fell into place: Draco had been mooning over him for the last two years; Draco, while young, assuredly had at least as much experience as Severus; school ended in two weeks, which precluded Draco attempting to stay past his welcome. It appeared Severus had no need of Jigger's potion.
He tested the idea of seducing a soon-to-be-former student against the unknown boundaries of his conscience, and found it well within his comfort zone. He cleared his throat. "You know you can always talk to me if something is troubling you, Draco."
Draco's gaze flicked up before returning to the blue liquid in his glass, and he sighed. "I don't think you can help with this, sir. Thanks all the same."
"Don't be so sure." Severus caught his arm and pulled him toward a booth. A fierce glare evicted the occupants, and Severus gestured for Draco to sit, then slid in next to him. Draco flicked another glance at him, hope making his eyes seem huge.
Severus smiled and dropped a hand on Draco's thigh. "You do realize that I've been under the moral citizen geis since I began teaching, don't you, Draco? That even had I wanted to, I could not have responded to your... overtures?"
"Oh!" Moist pink lips parted, and Severus could not resist. He leaned in and captured them, licking, nibbling sucking until Draco invited his tongue in. He squeezed the firm thigh, and Draco melted against him. He left the delicious lips in favour of a smooth, feminine neck, drifted up to nibble an earlobe to the tune of Draco's moans.
"Oh, sir, you can't imagine how much I've wanted this," Draco murmured as Severus pulled him half onto his lap, "but..."
"But what?" Severus slid his hand higher, and Draco gasped. A small delicate hand clamped onto his wrist.
"But I can't. Father would kill me."
"Leave your father to me." Severus resumed nibbling, and Draco whimpered.
"Please, you have to stop."
"Why? Don't you want this?" A flick of the tongue drew another gasp.
"Oh! Yes, I do, very much, and that's the problem. I-- I just can't." Draco slid off his lap, head down, flustered to an extent Severus had never seen.
"All right. Would you like another drink? I'll buy."
Draco released a shuddery breath. "Thank you, sir," he said in an almost-steady voice.
"As you said, there's only two weeks of school left. You may call me Severus." Draco looked up, and smiled for the first time. "I'll get you that drink now."
Five minutes later, when Severus eased his hand back onto Draco's thigh, Draco licked his lips. Severus nearly cheered.
"Shall we head somewhere... quieter? I can get a room, if you like."
Draco leaned forward and breathed one word. "Yes."
The door of room nineteen burst open, and Severus staggered into the corridor, fingers tripping over buttons as he attempted to stuff certain parts of his anatomy back into his clothing.
"Sir, I'm sorry!"
Severus spun around, backed into the far wall, one hand out to ward himself. "You're sorry? You... You..."
Draco stood in the doorway, clutching the expensive shirt close to keep it from gaping open to display his -- her -- breasts. Small breasts, but still breasts.
Severus shuddered. "How long, Draco? Merlin, please tell me this is a spell that will wear off."
Draco bit his -- her -- lip, and wrapped the shirt closer. "I've always been... You can't tell anyone! Father would murder me. I need..." She lowered her voice. "I need to be a boy. Mother was so ill when she had me they told her she couldn't have any more children, and my great-grandfather made sure the inheritance passes through the male line. If they find out I'm a girl, Father's cousin gets everything." Draco paused, his mouth firming in a return of Malfoy pride. "You can't tell anyone, sir."
"Rest assured, I will keep this information to myself, Miss...ter Malfoy." Severus pulled his own robes a little closer. "The room is paid for. You can stay here and collect yourself, but... you do understand that there can't be anything between us?"
Draco nodded, and the tears slipped free.
The only thing worse, in Severus' opinion, than a female admirer, was a crying female admirer. He nodded once in farewell, picked up his robes, and ran.
"Professor!" Draco called mournfully after him. "I could wear a strap-on!"
His quarters were dark and empty when he returned. Black must have decided to pester Potter after all, Severus thought as he charmed the lights on. Horrible brat will probably fail Potions now, and I'll end up with him again next year.
The thought did not disturb him much; without the geis, at least he could openly ogle Potter's quidditch-toned body, instead of sneaking furtive glances until the geis flared in warning.
Drunk enough that simple tasks required care, but not drunk enough that an observer would know it, Severus puttered around his rooms, preparing for bed. Alone. He set the now half-empty bottle of genialis on the shelf, tossed the dog-scented blanket in the laundry, and gathered the scattered pages of his newspaper from the floor.
An advert fell out of the rumpled pages, flashing with gaudy Gryffindor colours, playing a revoltingly sappy tune. Inch-high text proclaimed 'Play the Matchmaker Game' as tiny cherubs held an archery contest, shooting heart-tipped arrows through the loop of the 'P'. Witch Weekly, it appeared, was entering the dating service business.
Closer examination revealed the service to be an interactive game, whereby those seeking love submitted a personal profile, which the magazine would print in their next edition. Readers matched the contestants and sent their choices in, and Witch Weekly sent the resulting couples on dates, at the price of an interview. The deadline to enter was midnight that day.
"Sounds like a bunch of desperate losers who can't get laid on their own," Severus said.
After a moment, he tore off the entry form and started writing.
He had to swipe Sunday's Witch Weekly from the staff room, but once back in his office, he flipped to the two-page spread containing thirty-two desperate losers. There, in the bottom right corner, was him:
Gender: male
Orientation: homosexual
Age: 38
Profession: schoolteacher
Build: slender
Appearance: distinguished
Interests: practical application of magical theory, entomology, quidditch
Personality: introverted, intelligent, discerning
There were only three other gay males, and Severus suspected his nearly late entry had only made the edition in order to even out the couples. A 40-year-old author with a 'charming personality', a 32-year-old cursebreaker with an academic interest in Dark artefacts, a 23-year-old quidditch player who liked big brooms.
Severus dismissed the last; he sounded like a complete nitwit. Of the other two, the charming author looked like the easiest to get into bed. Severus tore out the ballot, matched himself -- number thirty-two -- with Charming Author -- number three -- and tried to fold it up.
"Bing! I'm sorry, your ballot is only partially compete. Please fill out all the spaces."
Swearing, Severus matched the couples up at random, folded the ballot, and took it off to the owlry.
Exam week was, as always, a trip into a hell which made Bosch look like that muggle, Dizny. His only respite came with the seventh-year Slytherin/Gryffindor Potions NEWT, during which he took great pleasure in some open ogling.
He carefully avoided Draco's longing gaze however.
The high point of his week arrived when a flustered Potter fumbled while adding dried fairy wings to his infusion of marigold roots. Unfortunately, he reacted quickly enough to save his potion, and threw a satyr hoof in to absorb the reaction before the cauldron could overboil. Potter spent the remainder of the exam with his head down, cheeks flushed and lower lip swollen from biting it.
In an excess of freedom, Severus sat back in his chair and stared at Potter's pretty face -- if one could find awkward schoolboys pretty -- as he allowed his hand to creep across his own lap under the desk. The sheer depravity of masturbating in class while watching one of his students struggle through a potion had him quite hard. He stroked as subtly as he could, and wallowed in his own temerity, and the freedom to be temerarious. He thought of his guaranteed date, the little bottle waiting on his shelf, Potter's pink lips...
"Time. Put down your ladles and place your bottled potions on the counter. If your potion is not correctly labeled with its name, your name, and the date of brewing, you fail. No talking!" he added as Longbottom asked Granger for a quill. "Now get out of here, and don't let me see any of you until the leaving feast."
Waiting for Longbottom to finish his label using the tip of his wand and the leftover giant-squid ink, Severus alternately squeezed and stroked his erection. When Longbottom finally fled from his glare, Severus levitated the bottles into a padded case, which he locked and floated to his quarters, pleased with his own cleverness at choosing a potion which needed forty-eight hours to settle before it could be graded. He had the first and third year exams to mark that night, and after that his time was free until Sunday afternoon.
An owl awaited him in his sitting room, perched on the mantle with a garish pink scroll tied to her foot. Thankful she hadn't delivered it at breakfast that morning, Severus ignored his erection and snatched the scroll away, then sent the owl on her way.
Witch Weekly invites you to meet your match! We've tallied our readers' votes, so prepare for a special night with your potential sweetheart.
Severus made a face.
Be at Ptolemy's Lounge this Saturday at seven p.m.
Ptolemy's Lounge was a posh restaurant at the Astrolabe -- an upscale hotel in Hogsmeade. Severus thought a moment, promised his prick some exercise soon, then made a firecall to the seedy motel around the corner from the Astrolabe.
Not wanting to risk a snooty manager asking him to leave the premises, Severus once again delved into his potion cabinet. His teeth remained a blinding white but he cleaned them again, just to be sure. He washed his hair, removing several days' worth of oil, potion fumes, and a bit of slime from Thursday's accident during the fifth year's OWLs.
In a surge of creativity, he thought to dye his clothes a more alluring colour; truthfully, Severus had no idea what sort of clothing might attract a mate, but between the atrocious things the adolescents wore on weekends and the eye-blinding plumage of male birds during mating season, he figured a little colour might improve his chances of getting close enough to use the genialis potion on his date. While the dye itself had naturally turned out perfect, his technique had not, and his first attempt resulted in a washed-out grey robe splotched with large, lime-green patches. The second attempt emerged a deep, subtly marbled blue, not quite as dark as he would have liked, but while his supply of lime-green robes was endless, his time was not. He spelled the garment free of noxious fumes, pulled it on, and shrugged into a long black formal coat which left only a narrow strip of blue visible.
"Quite an improvement, dearie," the mirror said, and since it hadn't added any cracks about his nose, Severus decided not to hex it.
Severus rarely felt self-conscious, but after the fifth wizard stopped on the street to stare at him, he began to wonder if one of the delinquents who masqueraded as students had somehow hexed his hair pink. He tried not to let any of his uncertainty show, but paranoia soon had him glancing over his shoulders. By the time he reached the Astrolabe, he swore everyone was staring at him.
At Ptolemy's Lounge, the maitre d' added himself to the gapers, but swiftly recovered his composure. "Professor Snape. You're looking very well. It's an honour to have you here. May I add my thanks to that of the rest of the wizarding world?"
Severus caught his hand smoothing the front of his robe. "You may. I have a reservation..." He gritted his teeth. "... with the Witch Weekly... dating... thing."
The man's eyes widened briefly, and Severus winced. "Of course, sir. What was your number?"
"Thirty-two."
"Yes, you're at table twenty. Your da--" A glare stopped him cold. "The other gentleman has already arrived."
Still glaring at the maitre d's back, Severus followed him through the maze of tables and diners, promising severe punishment on anyone and everyone within his power should Quidditch Twit be his... other gentleman.
It wasn't.
It was worse.
Much, much worse.
It was Gilderoy Lockhart in ringlets and a powder-blue frock coat.
Severus halted, and the maitre d' continued alone like a chaser whose broom had stalled. No, no, no, absolutely not, I don't care if he's an easy lay, I don't care if he used that damn duelling club as an excuse to feel me up on a regular basis, I don't care if this is my last chance to have sex ever, I am not sitting down at the same table as that narcissistic fop.
The maitre d' realized Severus was no longer with him, and turned around, just as another waiter and customer swept past.
"Right this way, Mr Wood."
Wood, Oliver. Gryffindor, class of '93, inattentive yet inexplicably talented with healing potions. Severus grabbed the flash of burgundy robe as it fluttered past. Quidditch twit.
"Quidditch Tw-- er, Mr Wood."
Wood blinked at him before sweeping him in a head-to-toe inspection. "Professor! What are you doing here? And looking like that?"
Severus hissed at the loud questions, and resisted looking around to see how many people had turned to stare. "Same reason you're here dressed as an overgrown plum." The twit actually laughed. "Do you recall the time you brought your broom to class and I only took twenty points from Gryffindor and gave you a week of detention instead of confiscating the thing? Well, time to pay me back."
"Er..."
"See that man over there?"
"Gilderoy Lockhart?"
"The very same. You're going to go on a date with him. You're going to laugh at his self-serving anecdotes, smile at his posing, and compliment him every time he breathes while I dine with your scheduled partner. Got it?"
"Well..." Wood looked from Severus to Lockhart. "All right."
"Really? I mean..." He'd expected more of a fight.
"Sure! Did you know he was the guest referee at the Snidget Rescue charity match in 1989?"
Severus rolled his eyes and signalled the restaurant staff. "Right then. Change of plans. Quidditch Twit and I will be trading partners." He left Wood with the maitre d', and followed the other waiter, right up to a table occupied by someone with a whole lot of red hair.
He sighed, and took the other chair. He'd take a Weasley over Lockhart or Quidditch Twit any day.
"Mr Weasley." He tried to decipher which of the elder boys he faced, but Bill and Charlie had been in second and first year when Severus had finished school. Bill had finished before Severus began teaching, and Charlie hadn't taken his Potions NEWT.
Thankfully. The fewer Weasleys he had to pound knowledge into the better. Though he wouldn't mind other types of pounding; Bill -- or Charlie -- was hot.
"Professor Snape." Bill-or-Charlie stared at him in much the same manner as half of Hogsmeade had. "You look... great, actually. Compared to normal that is. Er, sorry."
Severus decided to take that as a compliment, considering the way Bill-or-Charlie's eyes drank him in. Part of it was novelty, he knew, and part was his recent moment in the spotlight. Frankly, he didn't care. If Bill-or-Charlie was even remotely willing, Severus would just help him along with a little nip of genialis.
They ordered wine, and Bill-or-Charlie took the burden of starting the conversation; he turned out to be the thirty-two-year-old cursebreaker with an academic interest in Dark artifacts, and they had a lively discussion on the practical uses of such items. The waiter took their orders, and Bill-or-Charlie excused himself to use the loo before the food arrived. Severus took the opportunity to spike his wine. He was not about to let this one get away without buggering him.
The food came, and they ate around the conversation, which wandered comfortably. Severus watched Bill-or-Charlie's smile broaden and his eyes gloss. As dessert came, he moved his foot alongside his date's. Bill-or-Charlie rubbed the side of his foot against Severus', and Severus took that as his cue to start the voyage up the man's leg.
"That colour looks really good on you." Bill-or-Charlie watched his glass, a flush creeping up his neck. "I never thought you liked anything but black. It's a relief actually. My mother will have enough trouble accepting you without making it look like a funeral." He laughed.
Severus slid his foot a little higher up Bill-or-Charlie's leg. "Making what look like a funeral?"
"The wedding, of course. But blue is a good colour. Nice for June, wouldn't you say? Oh, you'd want it in July, after school is out. That's all right. It will give you time to apply for a transfer."
Severus halted his progress. "Wedding? Transfer?"
"Yes. To the Imhotep Academy of Magic. I can't very well transfer here. Not much call for a cursebreaker in London. Though the children will go to Hogwarts."
He withdrew entirely. "Children?"
Bill-or-Charlie grinned, and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "You didn't think you could marry a Weasley and not have children, did you? I was thinking of adoption, but then I heard there's a new potion out that can help gay wizards conceive their own children. We'd need a surrogate to carry them of course, but I also heard of a charm that's going through the final testing process right now. It creates an external womb attached to the wizard's belly so men can experience motherhood for themselves. Isn't that wonderful? I hope the Ministry approves it because we probably won't find a surrogate willing to help us that many times. We'll have at least as many kids as Mum ad Dad."
"Mum and Dad." Molly and Arthur. Potter's friend, Ron. That uptight nitwit, Percy.
Fred and George.
"Don't worry, Mum and Dad will get over it. I'm sure they'll adore you once they get to know you." Bill-or-Charlie's foot pursued Severus'. "In fact, I'd like to get to know you. I, ahem, booked a room in the hotel if you'd like to go... talk."
Severus yanked hand and foot away, and stood abruptly. "My apologies, Charlie, but I've just recalled I have NEWTs to grade."
"It's Bill. I'm sorry. Was the room too much?"
"Good night, Mr Weasley."
Bill-not-Charlie stared wistfully after him as he fled the lounge. "Owl me!"
Severus stormed into his chambers, slamming doors and flinging clothes. He went straight to the loo and poured what remained of the genialis potion down the drain, heedless of the possible damage to the school's pipes. [1]
Should have known better than to trust a recipe written on a bar napkin. There was good reason love potions were illegal; obviously they made fools out of anyone who tried to use them.
He stripped down to his black boxers, dropping clothes on the floor, knowing the house elves would not touch them unless they were in the laundry bin. "Lazy little trolls," he muttered, stomped into his bedroom, and froze.
There was a naked man in his bed.
[1] The potion did not damage the schools pipes. It did, however, cause a sudden, inexplicable explosion in the rat population.
"Mr Potter." Severus tried to ignore the fact that he was addressing a naked student while he himself wore only pants. "I believe I told you not to let me see your face until the leaving feast."
Potter leaned up on his elbows, semi-erect... much like his penis. His statement bore resemblance to the one he normally wore just before a quidditch match with Slytherin: a cross between determination, nerves, and dire threat to the person of Draco Malfoy -- and Severus was suddenly thankful he'd granted her permission to shower privately; the thought of a girl in the boys' locker room turned his stomach. Having that gaze directed at him stirred an ache in Severus' midriff. "Sorry, sir," Potter said. "But you know me and rules."
He quelled the ache. "That was not a rule, that was a warning of the consequences of intruding on my personal space. And this is my personal space, Potter, so get dressed and get out."
Are you mad? cried his cock -- or possibly the part of his mind that controlled his cock -- as it took note of the situation. Naked man. Your bed. Sex now please?
Yes, and have a load of Gryffindors spill out of the closet partway through, or find the story on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow and me without a job. I've had enough humiliation this last week, thank you.
Potter sat up, but made no move to dress. "Look, I understand if you're mad at me after what I did at the Wild Wand, but if you give me a chance I want to make it up to you."
Severus narrowed his eyes. "What, precisely, did you do at the Wild Wand?"
Potter's gaze darted up, then dropped back down to his lap. His cock had softened; perversely, Severus' had hardened. "I thought you had figured it out, and that's why you were so mad when you left. And you've never, um, stared at me quite so much in class before."
"What. Did. You. Do?"
Mumble mumble.
"Potter."
"I saw that bloke looking at you, and I... well, I scared him off. The other ones, too." Defiant green eyes lifted again. "It wasn't easy, you know, especially that last one. He was quite keen on telling his mates he'd shagged Severus Snape."
"You... you..." Damn the brat, he wanted that sort of advertising. It would lead to more sex. Another thought struck him. "And how did you manage to chase them off?"
The gaze dropped again. Potter looked a bit ill. "Er, I told them Neville spilt a shrinking potion in your lap."
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. "You told a man -- a man whom you suspected would spread stories about me -- that a student spilt shrinking potion on my genitals."
"Sorry," Potter whispered.
"Do you really hate me that much, Potter?"
"No, sir! I mean, you're a bit of a bastard -- all right, a lot of a bastard -- but I haven't really hated you in a long time. Eight months even."
Severus sighed, suddenly feeling every moment of the last sixteen years. "Then why?"
"You were checking out my arse all through seventh year. It got my attention, and well, I kind of noticed you back. I thought now that I'm done school, we might..." Potter waved at his naked body.
"Just because I may -- and that's not to say I did -- may have checked out your arse, you assumed I was actually interested in you?" He sneered.
Potter glared. "Well, you were the one wanking beneath your desk, and staring at me the whole time! What was I supposed to think?"
"You... noticed that?"
Potter nodded.
Feeling a bit ill that the students had noticed his actions, Severus reassured himself he would never have to see any of them again after the leaving feast... and that little tidbit changed the situation. Potter appeared genuinely, if shallowly, interested in Severus. Potter thought Severus fantasized about him.
Potter isn't too far off the mark.
Snape held up a hand to halt any further belligerence from the brat. "I wish to know just one thing. In one word, Mr Potter: top or bottom?"
Potter flushed, but kept his eyes on Severus. "To be honest, I really prefer--"
"I said one word, not half a dozen."
Potter tilted his chin up, jaw setting into stubbornness. "Top. But why--"
"Shut up, Mr Potter. I want one thing understood from the beginning. There is to be no mention of what happens here outside of these chambers, not even to those two twittering fools you call friends. You will do exactly as I say at all times, and if at any point you feel you cannot obey, you know where the door is -- or I assume you do, since you got in here. There will be no annoying chatter, no cuddling, no owls bearing sappy love notes whilst you recover from your crush. Clear?"
"Yes, sir. Only that was five things."
"There will also be no back talk. You may kiss me now."
Potter muffled a snort, but got up quickly enough. He padded over, exuding such confidence that Severus felt a sudden twinge of worry; it had been sixteen years after all, and Potter's easy stride screamed experience... now that he knew Severus wouldn't kill him for turning up naked in his bed. Just like riding a broom, Severus, he told himself before Potter's fingers, sweaty and warm, snaked around his nape, pulling him down. Severus allowed the motion, seeing as Potter had no other means of reaching his mouth, short of dragging a chair over. Sarcastic commentary fled before Potter's tongue, which swept over his lips and boldly demanded access. They parted breathless.
Potter drew back a bit and studied him. "All right?"
"You may continue."
Potter grinned.
"Dear sweet Merlin, fuck me!"
"M'trying to. Hold still, will you?"
"I wasn't speaking to you."
"I'm the only one here."
"Merlin is everywhere, you -- fuck, yes! Like that. Faster!"
"I never would have... taken you for... a screamer."
"Shut up and concentrate on -- oh, oh, right there. That's good."
"Fucking brilliant."
"Yes."
"More?"
"Yes!"
Potter collapsed in a sweaty heap across his back, rolled over, and promptly fell asleep.
Severus lay awake, pulse slowly calming, breath returning. He considered kicking Potter out, but the feeling of a warm, full bed stirred a too many memories of a cold, empty one.
And Potter was asleep. It couldn't hurt to sneak in a little cuddle while the brat was unconscious. Severus edged his arm over Potter's snoring form, and found it quite... acceptable.
Besides, if he threw the brat out, there'd be no chance of morning sex.
The residents of Hogwarts were accustomed to unusual happenings, what with attending a school of witchcraft and wizardry and all. Moving staircases, talking portraits, singing hats... it was all ho-hum to the students, and even the festivities surrounding the defeat of You-Know-Who wore thin after three weeks. The leaving feast was, in comparison, quite dull.
Still, nothing could have prepared them for the mind-boggling sight of their master of Potions walking briskly in lieu of his normal terror-inducing swoop, feet falling in time to cheerful whistling.
Severus Snape did not whistle at all, let alone cheerfully, and even those students who had scoffed at the penultimate battle between light and dark suddenly wondered if the world was ending. First years burst into tears as Snape passed them in the corridors, and when no reduction of points followed -- to be carried over to next year as the house cup had already gone to Gryffindor -- they fled shrieking in terror, convinced the apocalypse was upon them.
The fleeing students did not impinge on Snape's thoughts as he headed for his dungeon. An indefinable tension had melted from his stance, his back comfortably straight now, and no longer unnaturally rigid.
The dungeons felt empty and more than ready for summer break, even with the odd straggler rushing past. Severus entered his chambers, secured the door, and reset the wards, then shed his clothing, dropping each item on the floor. At the door to his bedroom, he paused for a deep breath before he pushed the door open.
There was a naked man in his bed.
Severus smirked, and smugly inspected his nails before buffing them on his chest. Sixteen years out of practice, but he still had it. "Back for more already, Potter?"
"Can't very well leave you to the fickle public. Fame isn't everything, after all."
"Oh, shut up. Your dogfather seems to be enjoying it."
"Sirius is just happy to be able to walk down the street as himself. Say, what'd you do to him anyway?"
Severus stiffened. "Why?"
"Madam Rosmerta complained to Dumbledore. Said Snuffles got out while you were supposed to be watching him. Something about her poodle."
"Trust me, Potter. You don't want to know."
As Potter drew him onto the bed with a 'come hither' look and a hand fondling his own balls, Severus swore to burn the genialis recipe. Sometimes the cure was worse than the cold.
End Note: Okay, this is not your typical songfic, but the plot was lifted from 'Funky Cold Medina', by Tone-Loc.
