Title: Married to the Cause
Author: senjy
Character(s): Severus/Neville, Gryffindor's sword
Rating(s): NC17
Warning(s): First time, student/teacher, underage (Nev is 17), blood
Kinks Chosen: Mock Marriage, Charms
Word Count: 3,700
Beta: Thanks to red_day_dawning and dungeons_master for their brilliant help, and also zeltkaiserin who really smoothed out the wrinkles in my awkward phrasing. Any remaining mistakes are my own fault.

Summary: When Snape catches Longbottom trying to steal Gryffindor's sword again, he suggests an unusual way in which Longbottom can help the cause.

Author's Note: I also want to give a nod to tripperfunster. Ever since I bought her inspiring piece of Snape/Neville art at the Sectus auction, I have been waiting to write this.

Disclaimer: All familiar characters and situations belong to JK Rowling. No profit is being made.


It had been a long and tiring day, and as Severus strode along the corridors that led up to his office, a headache pounded loudly in time to his footfalls. Stupid, foolish boy, Severus thought as he turned into the last corridor and approached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance.

Severus almost admired the courage and defiance of the students who were standing up to the school's usurpers, but what they did not seem to appreciate was how increasingly difficult it was becoming for him to prevent the Carrows going too far. Their punishments became more severe as their power over the students grew. Despite being cowed by their fear of Snape, and of Voldemort’s reaction if they killed the wrong child, it seemed as if it would not be too long before Amycus and Alecto killed somebody through over-exuberance rather than by design.

The boy who particularly worried Severus was that idiot Longbottom. Somewhere along the line the boy had grown a spine - a strong and stubborn one befitting his parentage – and this development had brought out a startled respect in Severus for the young man; but it also brought out the hottest of the Carrows' anger, and the fiercest penalties.

Only that morning, he had found Longbottom sprawled over a desk in an empty classroom, left there by Amycus after the man had beaten the boy's back bloody with his belt. Severus had been unable to do much under Amycus' smug gaze. He had checked with a glance whether the boy were likely to bleed too much, and when he had seen that the wounds were already congealing, had left Longbottom there to recover on his own. His only other action taken on the boy's behalf had been to invite Amycus to walk with him, thus saving Longbottom from any follow up treatment.

"Stupid, incorrigible, Gryffindor..." Severus muttered; venting his spleen now that the evening had granted him freedom from the Carrows and his reluctant charges.

The revolving staircase had delivered him at his door. He shoved it open and strode into the room, only to stop short at the sight of an intruder. "Longbottom!"

Longbottom spun around in reaction to his growl. Severus watched as the boy hissed and stumbled, reaching out to brace himself against the desk with one hand, while the other cradled Gryffindor's sword against his chest.

"How many times are you going to attempt this nonsense?" Severus demanded, angry that the boy was evidently still in pain, and furious that Longbottom was daring to do something that might land him in much more trouble.

"As many times as it takes!" Longbottom shot back, straightening up defiantly and retrieving his wand from his sleeve to point it at Severus.

"Why have you not sought medical attention for your back?" Severus snapped, negligently waving his hand and relieving Longbottom of his wand.

Longbottom said nothing, though a movement of his eyes betrayed his surprise at the question. He was still holding tightly to the sword, now with both hands, as though he feared Severus would repeat his wandless trick.

Severus looked him up and down. Along with his enhanced vertebrae, Longbottom had grown considerably in height over the past two years. He was still soft about the cheeks and middle, but his strength was visible in the breadth of his shoulders, and the way the muscles of his forearms corded as they clutched at the sword. Severus realised that the boy was wearing Muggle attire, the sleeves of his hooded jumper pushed up to his elbows, and that there was a backpack leaning against the heavy legs of the desk.

"Going to deliver them the sword, are you?" Severus sneered. "Do you even know where they are?"

Again, Longbottom declined to answer, and Severus acknowledged the silence with a nod of his head. Longbottom's stoic refusal to answer his goads was much more impressive than the angry shouting flung at him by others amongst the school's rebels. He gave the boy a hard glare, which was met and held, just as he had expected. He dove easily through the connection and skimmed the surfaces of Longbottom's mind: pain, worry for those who had been taken from him, defiance, and... admiration.

Withdrawing from Longbottom's mind, his gaze lingered on the young man's eyes, which were troubled.

"What did you just do?" Longbottom asked uncertainly.

"You know what I just did," Severus replied, snorting. "I suggest, Longbottom, that you put the sword back and return to your dormitory. Once there, you should ask one of your comrades to tend the wounds on your back. You are evidently still in some pain."

"Harry needs this sword," Longbottom said, unmoved.

"You should worry more about your own neck than what Potter needs," Severus growled. "Courage is one thing, but this, Longbottom, this is stupidity. I could have killed you a dozen times over since I entered this office. The problem with Gryffindors is that you never think things through. You seek to defy me, to give a little spark of hope to all those idiotic children who are waiting for somebody to rescue them. But how long do you think that little hope will continue to burn if you end up dead? Lovegood's not here anymore, and I doubt the Weasley girl has enough stomach to continue on her own. Just what do you think will happen then, Longbottom, when the leader of the rebellion is splashed all over the entrance hall? Put the sword back and return to your dormitory."

Severus had slowly approached the boy as he had spoken, hoping to unnerve Longbottom with both his words and his proximity. The young man shifted, and Severus saw again a note of pain in Longbottom's expression as the cloth of the jumper rasped against the raw skin of his back. Longbottom lowered his gaze, unable to meet his eyes any longer, and Severus' lips curled in a smirk of triumph as he extended his hand, preparing to receive the hilt of the sword.

The smirk dropped off his face when Longbottom suddenly looked back up and, raising his chin, defiantly reiterated, "Harry needs this sword."

Severus hissed in a breath. He was standing right in front of Longbottom now, and was refusing to be disconcerted by the fact the young man was only an inch shy of his own height. Seventeen – this boy was seventeen and he was declaring his willingness to die for what he believed in. While he had seen such bravery in Potter at an even younger age, somehow this was the more stunning act, the more impressive stand. Longbottom was not a main player in these events - he could just keep his head down and survive what was happening - and yet, he still believed in what little he was doing.

Severus narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether he preferred to admire or destroy Longbottom's courage.

"How loyal are you to Potter?" Severus questioned. He was standing near enough that his breath stirred a lock of hair which had fallen across Longbottom's cheek.

"I'd do anything to help him bring down Vol– You-Know-Who." Longbottom's words warmed Severus' skin in return.

"Anything?" Severus purred doubtfully, not allowing himself to show his relief at Longbottom choosing to correct himself in time.

"Anything," Longbottom repeated boldly.

"Would you trust me in order to bring the Dark Lord down?"

"Trust...?" Longbottom frowned, and his eyes broke their connection for a moment while he obviously mulled things over.

Severus watched him carefully, knowing that tucked somewhere inside the boy's thoughts was a small core of respect and admiration for him - misguided and unwanted admiration, but useful. Longbottom had watched Severus stopping the Carrows from going too far, and he had begun to respect him. When Severus had been cast in the worst of lights, this Gryffindor had peered through the shadows and seen something that gave him hope.

Longbottom chewed on his bottom lip, closed his eyes, and whispered in a defeated tone. "I already trust you."

"You stupid, foolish boy," Severus murmured softly. Longbottom opened his eyes again, and for the first time, Severus noticed that they were a tawny shade of brown. They were no match for the rubies glittering in the pommel and guard of the sword pressed to Longbottom's chest, but they reminded Severus of something else that had once belonged to a powerful wizard, and which had been passed to Severus. He resisted the urge to reach for the talisman hidden beneath his robes.

He realised that Longbottom's eyes had widened and the boy was regarding him in surprise, lips parted. Severus licked his own lips, and then abruptly turned away, breaking the intimate moment and breathing deeply of the air in the office, which suddenly felt cooler away from the boy.

"Potter will receive that sword when it is needed. I can promise you that much," he said, his back turned to Longbottom.

"Thank you."

Severus looked sharply over his shoulder at Longbottom's quiet words, and watched incredulously as the boy turned; prepared to now return the sword to the alcove he had discovered it in. While he had suspected that the boy would not have fully shaken off the idea that a Hogwarts teacher – even one as cruel and cutting as Severus – could be trusted, and, indeed, had found a trace of the notion in Longbottom's mind, it was still another thing to see Longbottom's naïve trust put into action.

"Wait!" Severus snapped. He licked his lips. His throat felt parched. "You said that you would do anything?" He wasn't sure why he suddenly thought of the ritual. Perhaps all of Dumbledore's plotting and scheming had finally taken true root in him.

Longbottom was regarding him with those doe eyes of his, the sword held more loosely, another sign that Longbottom had truly decided to trust him. "I meant it, sir."

"There is a ritual we could use," Severus began cautiously, spanning out his words to give him time to think this insanity through. "It would layer the sword with extra protection." It would also redress the balance of light and dark within the blade. Potter's slaying of the basilisk had imbued the sword with magic powerful enough to destroy a Horcrux, but it was dark magic. The blood protection of a boy like Longbottom would redress that balance and make it yet more powerful.

He realised that Longbottom had asked him a question. The boy patiently repeated it, drawing nearer to him, brow creasing in concern. "What kind of ritual? Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine," Severus snapped. "You should worry more about yourself!"

"What kind of ritual, then?"

Severus hesitated, wondering if Longbottom would think him crazy, or merely playing with him. "A marriage ritual."

Longbottom stared at him in shock. "How could marrying you- ?"

"Not me! The sword, you idiot child."

"But how's that possible?"

"If you troubled to use your brain you would realise that marriage in its most primal and magical form is a bonding of two souls."

Longbottom was beginning to look defiant again. "Last time I checked, swords didn't have souls."

"Last time I checked, Longbottom, you were as ignorant as you were incompetent. This sword does have a soul, as do most magical blades. How else do they know when they are needed? How else do they know which hand should be the one to wield them? They seek out souls which are similar to theirs."

It was how Arthur had been able to draw the sword from the stone; how Potter had been able to retrieve it from Gryffindor's old hat; Severus had no doubt that the sword would accept being bound to one such as Longbottom. He studied the young man carefully and was relieved to see that this Gryffindor paused to think and consider.

"Sir, I still don't see how I can marry a sword. It's not like I can–"

Longbottom stopped abruptly, and Severus' lips curled at the sight of the blush that suffused the boy's cheeks. So, this pureblood child understood what was really needed to make a marriage ritual work. Not expensive robes and gifts. Not arcane words or vows. There was one crucial act which made a marriage true: consummation.

"Obviously," Severus drawled, finding comfort in Longbottom's embarrassment. "It will require somebody to personify the sword."

"But, who–?"

Again, Longbottom sharply shut up, this time because he had answered his own question, aiming his terrified gaze at Severus.

"You don't have to do this," Severus informed him with a sneer.

"But it will make the sword stronger?"

"Yes."

Longbottom drew in a deep breath and then nodded. "What do I have to do?"

The boy was resolved and Severus had no wish to draw this out. "Strip and bend yourself over the desk."

For a moment he thought that Longbottom would balk, but at a sharp glance from Severus, he handed the sword over and then began removing his clothing. It took longer than it should have, Longbottom wincing as he struggled with pulling his jumper and t-shirt off. Severus saw that the shirt was stained as it was dropped to the floor, and when Longbottom bent over the desk, blood was oozing sluggishly from the disturbed wounds. Severus wished that the boy had not been subjected to torture, but for the purposes of the ritual it would actually serve them well; a hero's blood to balance the blood of a slain monster.

There were no spells, or enchantments, or foolish wand gestures to make this marriage work. Severus loosened his robes, exposing his chest and genitals, but leaving the garment on. All it would take to personify the sword was to swear allegiance to it, and he had done that back when Longbottom had been crawling about in nappies.

He realised that Longbottom was trembling, and his first touch on the boy's hip made Longbottom start violently.

"You don’t have to do this," Severus repeated sharply.

"Yes, I do."

"Then relax; I will do my best not to hurt you. I am going to lay the sword across your back now, so do not move."

Keeping his right hand firmly gripping the hilt, Severus carefully held the end of the blade in his left so that the sword wouldn't come down too heavily. He did not wish to cut Longbottom, but to have the sword coated in the young man's blood would strengthen the bond they were about to create.

"Brace yourself," Severus hissed once the sword was balanced. Still gripping the hilt, he used his freed left hand to rub at Longbottom's welts, gathering as much blood onto his palm as he could, and then carefully wiping it along the upper side of the blade.

Longbottom was doing his best not to move, but his whimpers were audible. Severus found himself murmuring reassuring nonsense, unable to help how impressed he was by the boy's determination. Longbottom did jerk once, his bottom bumped against Severus' thigh and the sword tore at a scab, making the boy yelp. Deciding that the sword was bloody enough, Severus quickly gripped Longbottom's hip.

"Easy, Longbottom. That part has finished. Do you understand what I am going to do next?"

"Yes," Longbottom whispered hoarsely, his quiet words muffled by the folded arms he had hidden his face within. Severus suspected Longbottom was crying, but he did not draw attention to the matter.

The next part would be more difficult. Not because of any complicated ritual, but simply because, as cruel as Severus was, he did not find holding a terrified boy down with a bloodied sword across his back all that arousing, useful though it might be from magical and strategic points of view. Deciding he should at least start proceedings, Severus drew his wand, and tapped the base of Longbottom's spine. The boy shivered and there was a startled gasp. Severus looked up and saw that Longbottom was looking over his shoulder at him.

"Last chance, Longbottom," Severus told him.

Longbottom shook his head, and hid his face again.

It took a while for Severus to coax himself to hardness. Once he was frustrated enough, he released himself and began teasing at the relaxed and lubricated pucker of Longbottom's arse. He didn't want to hurt Longbottom, but he did not want to prolong this either. As soon as he felt Longbottom had relaxed and calmed sufficiently, he pushed inside, grunting as the tight grasp of Longbottom's internal muscles suddenly sparked in him the frisson of excitement which had hitherto been missing. He returned his left hand to tightly grip Longbottom's hip and began to thrust.

The sword began to slip from his right hand as his movements shifted Longbottom's body along the desk. He renewed his grip and kept the sword balanced as best he could. The blood coating the blade shone strangely, glittering like the rubies in the sword's handle. Severus suddenly realised it was being affected by the sword's magic, which was responding to their actions. Severus watched in disbelief as the blood began to disappear into the steel. The ritual was actually working. The sword was participating, was accepting this bond with Longbottom. Severus thrust harder as a tingling suffused his right hand and travelled up his arm. The sword's magic swept over him and he pounded into Neville's body, wanting to consummate this match, wanting Neville to be a part of him, wanting to protect him, wanting...

"Neville!" Severus shouted, in a voice that was not his own, and as his desire began to pulse, he quickly withdrew from the boy's body and came over Neville's bloody back and on the sword's dazzling blade.

There was a moment of sublime contentment, and then Severus was abruptly returned to his senses. He dropped the sword as if it were burning him and stumbled backwards, almost falling over the armchair he bumped into. The sword lay on the carpet, looking like an everyday medieval weapon, albeit a richly decorated one. However, Severus had told Longbottom that the thing had a soul, and for a few minutes he had been possessed by it. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he started when the corner of his gaze caught movement.

It was Longbottom, who was straightening up. Severus' eyes widened when he saw that the boy's back was smooth, the welts having disappeared, his blood and sacrifice having been accepted by Gryffindor's blade. He watched as Longbottom realised it, and the boy awkwardly reached behind himself to pat at his back.

Longbottom turned, and Severus gasped. The boy was beautiful, transformed, if only to his own eyes. The light blond-brown hair was dishevelled, framing Longbottom's round face, those doe eyes so wide and disbelieving. The broad shoulders belonged to a man, while boyish chubbiness still clung to Longbottom's fleshly middle. Severus stared at Longbottom's cock, which was at half mast, caught indecisively between shock and desire.

"You healed me!" Longbottom breathed.

"It was the sword."

"Oh." There was a pause, and then Longbottom moved forward a step. "You called me Neville."

"It was the sword."

Suddenly aware that he was leaning back against the armchair with his robes hanging open, Severus moved to cover himself, but young, strong hands prevented him.

"Don't," Longbottom said, and Severus realised that the boy's eyes were shining like that because of the tears waiting to fall. "Can't you... please... can't you kiss me?"

Severus shook his head, but with little conviction. Backed up against the armchair as he was, Longbottom was the taller of them, and he stared up into the cherubic face, unable to find any disdain for the innocence of the boy's expression.

"Please, sir. I want... I don't want it to have just been about the sword."

"Was this your first time?" Severus asked, and winced as he realised that he should have known that was the case. Longbottom was growing into a handsome young man, but he was still Longbottom. Severus wet his lips. "You didn't climax?"

Longbottom shook his head. The blush was back, but the boy had not released his grip on Severus' robes, and had moved even closer. Severus tried to straighten up and push him off, but the movement only brought them closer together when Longbottom refused to retreat. Before Severus could remind himself why not, they were kissing.

Neville had more eagerness than skill, and Severus slid his fingers into the boy's hair, gripping it firmly and guiding Neville into something less desperate. The boy moaned as their bodies pressed together, flesh touching flesh where Severus' robes were hanging open. Neville pressed closer and Severus felt the stone of his charmed pendant digging into him just beneath his sternum.

"What's that?" Neville asked. His voice was thick and slurred, and the words were barely out before he pressed his mouth against Severus' again.

It was the talisman Dumbledore had given him before they had been enforced to enact their plan. The old man had wanted to do what he could to protect Severus from the anger of those who had once considered him an ally. It was a very small and weak protection, but it was something, and Severus knew as they tumbled to the carpet that he would give it to the boy.

"Here," Severus gasped, planting his hand in the middle of Neville's chest to keep the eager young man at bay. "Here, take this." He pulled the long chain over his head and slipped it over Neville's. Grasping the jacinth pendant he held it up to the light. It matched the boy's eyes perfectly. "It's a talisman of protection," Severus explained, as Neville sat back on his heels and examined the gift. "It won't save your life, but if you are wounded, it might help you survive long enough for someone else to do the job."

"Thank you," Neville murmured. "You didn't have to–"

"Quiet," Severus whispered, and he pulled Neville to him again, silencing any more words of gratitude with his lips.

The kiss was eagerly returned, and Severus let his head fall back as the boy dared to trail kisses down his neck. It felt strange not to be wearing the pendant after all these months, but he had done the right thing in giving it to Neville.

He threaded his fingers through Neville's hair and arched his back as a tongue rasped over his left nipple. Of all the things for Longbottom to be a quick study in!

He lay back and let the boy learn.