LONG: "The Puppet Master" (Snape/Draco, NC-17)
My first post to Pornish Pixies! Thanks to Femme for the invite--she suggested I start with this fic:
Title: The Puppet Master Author: Ravenna C. Tan Pairing: Snape/Draco, implied past Snape/Lucius Rating: NC-17 Warning: Kind of dubious consent. Prison rape off-camera. Word Count: 8600 Summary: After the war, Snape, Draco, and Lucius are all in Azkaban awaiting either acquittal or exoneration. Now that the Dark Lord is gone, there is much to be said between these three men... but Snape won't be the first to speak, will he? Canon-compliancy: DH-compliant except Snape lives. (Because it would be hard to fulfill my pairing otherwise.) Disclaimer: Not mine. J.K. Rowling owns, I only play. Author's Note: This was supposed to be a Harry/Draco/Snape but Harry shook off the suggestion, damn him. Fulfilling the prompt "The Puppet Master" in my table at 7spells. The table is here. Thanks to clauclauclaudia for beta-reading.
Azkaban is a grim place, even without Dementors. It is a world of stone and seawater, completely deserving of its reputation as a hellhole, I am sorry to say. I try to tell myself each day that it is better to be here, in a rat warren of rock, chilly and imprisoned, than to be in the most comfortable room at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord, or bleeding to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.
I will not go so far as to say I am grateful for this state of affairs. My stint in Azkaban ought to be short, or so we have been told. The three of us should be held only until our trials. Myself, Draco, and Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa has written to say Potter himself has vowed not only that we shall be released, but that we shall be acquitted. Apparently, if the law won't allow it, then new laws will be written. He decrees it by pure Gryffindor stubbornness and righteousness.
Our hero.
Oh, I'm sorry, did I drip sarcasm on you?
In a logic that only jailers understand, they have placed us in three adjacent cells along a narrow corridor with a door at its end. Lucius's cell has a window, which is no advantage since it lets in the cutting wind and occasional lashes of rain if the wind is particularly cruel. They remember him, these guards, and his treatment has not been kind. High up in the wall between his cell and Draco's there is a barred opening, and another just like it between Draco's and my own. If I stand on the sleeping pallet and grasp the bars, I can lift myself enough to see the boy. What little light I have comes through this opening, seeping through from Lucius's window, to his son's, to me.
Voices carry easily enough. We could converse if we wished. But what is there to say? I have little doubt they put Draco's cell adjacent to his so that the son may endure the sound of the father being violated when the guards wish it. They come at midday, when it is warmest and brightest in that cell, always two at once--I imagine for safety rather than voyeurism, but what do I know of the twisted minds of these cretins?
Lucius is nearly silent while they take him, sometimes eerily so. But even he cries out sometimes. Certain rhythmic sounds are unmistakable. And the guards occasionally provide commentary. One need not have a vivid imagination at all to know what they do to him.
Draco asked once, just once, whether he was all right after the guards had left. The answer he received back was so full of vitriol that the boy has not dared ask again.
He's hardly dared to speak. Or perhaps, like me, he prefers the silence now. It took him a few days to get used to it, after our flight from Hogwarts. I have to wonder if, like me, he looks back on those two weeks now as the last peaceful respite we had. If one can consider being hunted by Aurors peaceful.
I assume Lucius' silence stems from mortification. How is one to get past what one hears happening to him daily to have a conversation? Perhaps it is just as well. Lucius and I might argue endlessly otherwise, each blaming the other for our failings, for choosing to follow the path of hate and evil. That I turned from the path much longer ago than he did is only a testament to the fact that I had my short, sharp, shock much longer ago than he did. Actually, I am not entirely certain Lucius ever did see clearly why supporting Voldemort was such a monumentally bad idea. Even when the creature was living in his house and delivering daily humiliations on him and his family, he persisted in loyalty.
Or did he? Perhaps it was plain fear, masked by his ability to play a role. I may never know.
These are the thoughts I ponder, while I lie awake at night, when the only sound I can make out beyond the hollow echo of stone is the gentle sound of Draco breathing. He used to snuggle close on chilly nights when we were on the move, and I allowed him to; the sound of him asleep reminds me of those days.
Perhaps I imagine the sound, so great is my need for some shred of comfort in this place.
*** The first time Potter comes to see me is the first time I hear the door to my own cell being unlocked. The door at the end of the hall opens with a loud thunk, then five loud clicks, then a creak. My own door sounds much the same, only there are only four clicks, metal of the lock and latch embedded deep within the iron door. There is a tiny, scratched window at head height, and a narrow flap near the bottom that they can push a tray of food through. I can make out the additional footsteps as they approach the door to undo the lock.
In the dimness and the pinpoint light of their wands, I can see his spectacles shining toward me. To my surprise they let him into the cell, the door swings shut behind him, four clicks and a loud kerchunk and he is sealed in with me. I hear the footsteps retreat and the door at the other end is sealed as well.
"I would have come sooner," he says, "but until Mrs. Malfoy wrote me to say you were here, I didn't even know you were alive. I can't believe you survived..."
I sit on the pallet, which is the only furniture in the room, leaving him standing. Leave it to Potter to be so ignorant of healing magic—then again, my own innovations in the field always made it seem as if most of wizardkind, even Dumbledore, were ignorant of how much potential there was for magical healing. Nonetheless, I say, "Yes, well, there is this thing called magic..."
"You'll be cleared," he says, interrupting me. "If I'd known, you wouldn't even be here. The Malfoys shouldn't be here, either."
I cluck my tongue. "Tell that to Lucius. The guards remember him from his previous stay here. He hasn't been... well treated."
Potter looks mutinous but says nothing on that subject. "You'll be cleared," he insists. He tells me that Dumbledore's secret cabinet has been opened at last, and that bottled Pensieve memories there will surely be all the evidence needed to clear a double agent of all charges.
"Oh, indeed?" I am trying to keep from grinding my teeth. "And have Pensieve memories become allowed as testimony? Next thing you know you will have Dumbledore's portrait on the stand."
"Er, well..."
Some things never change. I should be elated that this news is all in my favour, of course, but instead I am incensed. "Don't tell me you've convinced them to allow portrait witnesses...?" It's obvious that he has. "You and Dumbledore both, always believed that the rules existed for other people..."
"Shut your mouth! Don't you talk about him that way!" His jaw is clenched in fury; he is far too defensive.
My surmise is that dear little Potter has since figured out for himself that Dumbledore manipulated us all, and yet that has only made him feel all the more guilty for speaking ill of the man now. That or I simply have the unerring talent to spark his anger. "Oh, have I not earned the right to besmirch the beloved memory of the mentor who required me to sear my own soul for his machinations?"
Justifications spring to his lips. "You did what was right! You knew it was!"
"Right." I draw the word out obscenely. "Yes, yes, I took the sacrifice so that dear Draco's soul could remain untainted. Had Dumbledore known the boy was using Imperius all year, perhaps his calculations might have been different."
"What does that have to do with it?" Potter demands, petulant as always. He relishes being able to demand explanations. I can hear it in his voice. It is the first time I have been unable to dock points or discipline him for it and he can barely contain himself.
Fine, a lecture then. "Idiot boy. None of the Unforgivables can be cast without leaving a mark on the soul. You think Bellatrix Lestrange was always such a fetid, corrupt creature? Or that Azkaban made her that way? No. Prolonged use of Cruciatus flayed her soul to bits and made her mad. If Dumbledore's goal had been to preserve Draco Malfoy's soul intact... he lost that battle before we even began fighting it."
Potter's voice is weak when he retorts. "But you had to try..."
"And we did. As you may recall, I remained in a position to help the students at Hogwarts, and to help you, though not in the manner we had expected."
"You'll be freed soon. You have my word. And once you're cleared, the Malfoys will only be a matter of time."
My sniff of scepticism is as clear and audible as any word, and he takes it as a dismissal. The guards come by some beckoning charm and remove him.
***
No one violates Lucius that afternoon, and I wonder if my comment to Potter possibly did any good. I hear the guards opening the doors around the time of their usual visit, and I hear them whispering though I cannot make out what they say. They exit again quickly, leaving Lucius untouched. I do feel Lucius deserves to pay some price for his errors. I do. And if I were the type to mislay blame I could easily lay all my own troubles on his blond head. But I know all too well that my own failings contributed to the path my life took. I have had nearly two decades to think that over, after all. And for how long now have Lucius and I been, at some level, mortal enemies pretending to be friends? Now that the Dark Lord is gone, I need not pretend... yes, does Lucius feel betrayed? I do not know. I have no way to know where we stand with each other. Some part of me wants to believe that in a world where there had been no Dark Lord to begin with, our friendship would have been genuine and never corrupted. And he has paid enough. His wand and pride broken. His son forced to apply Cruciatus to prisoners. His body violated in the crudest manner. That he has some respite this afternoon I am glad of. For a brief time I feel some benevolence toward Potter.
Brief, because when the guard who delivers our dinner comes to my door, he does not push the tray under like he did for the other two. He opens my cell door and enters. Ah, I think, it is merely that they have decided to expand their menu. Perhaps they should rename the place Azkaban Brothel.
He sets the tray aside and closes the door behind him, not bothering to lock it again. He looks me up and down as if appraising me, though his gaze is furtive.
"Have you ever had sex with a wizard?" he asks abruptly.
"Does it matter?" I am standing. I fold my arms over my chest. This guard is not much older than Draco, only by three or four years. I wonder if he went to Hogwarts--I certainly don't recognise him as a student, but I rarely recall any Hufflepuffs unless they advanced to my NEWT class. My guess would be no. Even an imbecile with a Hogwarts education would likely have a better job than this. "I wasn't aware that prison rape required one to have preferences."
He shrugs as only an insolent youth can. "Will you tell me, though? If you like wizards. Would you like me?"
This is the strangest conversation I can imagine having within the walls of Azkaban. "Young man," I say, as if this were a recalcitrant student I found masturbating in a broom closet, "it is full on seven years since I last had sex. But if you must know, it was with a wizard of approximately your age." And I paid him well, too. "Now, if you are looking for some form of physical gratification, please get on with it, as I'm very busy here."
He stares at me blankly, as if the humour is too much for his brain to comprehend. Then a light seems to come on behind his eyes. "Would you... would you suck me?"
I gesture to the pallet. If he is not going to insist on it, I see no reason why I should get on my knees on the damp stone. When he does not move, I say, "Go on, lie down. And open your trousers."
I have no wish to see the rest of him, and he does as I asked, lying down with his trousers halfway down his thighs, his prick soft on a nest of light brown curls. It is, I admit, nice to look at, and it smells rich and doughy and slightly of soap. I imagine, for some reason, his mother admonishing him to wash thoroughly before going to work in the morning.
I massage him with my hand until he begins to stiffen, then let him harden the rest of the way in my mouth. An answering swell in my own trousers is irritating; I will have to deal with it later in my limited privacy here. The guard's eyes are closed. The salt of his precome is a surprisingly welcome flavour on my tongue.
I make quick work of him, thankful that the young have little staying power, finishing him with my hand as I have no intention of swallowing his semen unless he insists on it. He spatters his stomach and shirt. Then he executes a clumsy but effective cleaning charm, and exits without saying another word.
I eat my dinner with the taste of his cock still in my mouth. It is nowhere near as revolting as it should be. The scrape of my spoon against my dish almost makes me miss the soft sound that Draco makes, a stifled sigh, a sound I recognise from our time on the run.
That Draco would masturbate to the sound of me sucking off one of our guards does not surprise me. He is, after all, eighteen years old, and his life is rather devoid of pleasure just now. I am suddenly worried for him, though. If they have already turned their attentions from Lucius to me, how long until they target the lissome, virginal blond between us? The thought of what could happen wilts my budding erection.
***
When the last of the dim light of evening leaves the cell, I lie down to sleep.
The sound of someone moving awakens me. A gritty step on the stone. Then nothing. I hold my breath, listening... nothing.
Then again, there it is. Someone shuffling in the narrow corridor.
I am shocked to hear my name in Lucius' disused voice. "Severus." He is standing on the other side of the door to my cell. "May I come in?"
I am on my feet. "But..." But even as he asks it, I realise I did not hear the four telltale clicks of the door being locked after the guard left. "But of course."
He pulls the latch back and enters, then sits wearily on the pallet. "It is warmer in here."
It is too dark to see anything but the faintest outline of him. I sit next to him, wary, but resigned to whatever twist of fate has brought us together this way. Two guards both made the mistake of leaving our cells unlocked? Or is it a plot of some kind--has he come here to kill me for betraying the Dark Lord after all?
He sighs. "You were kind to that guard today."
I shrug. "I am sorry they have not been kinder to you."
There is no audible answer in the darkness, for some time. Then: "Draco is asleep."
"What of it?" I can hear him, though, the gentle wheeze he makes when deeply slumbering. We have never spoken of my concerns over Draco, Lucius and I. My worries that the prolonged use of Imperius and then the amount of Cruciatus he was made to inflict will cause him to crack like his aunt Bellatrix. I am not even sure Bellatrix was able to feel pleasure of any kind in the last years of her life, and her sexual fixation on the Dark Lord was likely a symptom of it. "It is good that he can sleep," I say.
"I would like you to do me a favour, old friend."
I remain silent, waiting for him to reveal this favour, waiting to find out if we are truly friends now, or not.
"But answer me a question. Do you recall my final year at Hogwarts?" Lucius' voice betrays little of his emotions. As usual.
"Of course," I answer. I spent quite a lot of time in Lucius' company, then. He was a prefect and offered some measure of protection from the Gryffindor bullies then.
"Do you recall how I initiated you into the pleasures of wizard with wizard?" he continues.
"Yes," I say, though I am shocked at this turn of conversation. After all he has suffered, surely Lucius Malfoy is not propositioning me? Our physical dalliance was no more than that, an older boy mentoring a younger one, as he taught me so many things necessary to fit into pureblood society. But his next statement only shocks me more.
"Promise me, if the opportunity arises, that you will do the same for Draco as I once did for you."
"What?" The question, the protest, is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
He is silent a moment, then goes on. "Does this dismay you? I thought... I thought you cared for the boy."
He is not a boy, I remind myself. He is a full-grown wizard, a man by all legal standards. "I do, but I have never allowed myself those sorts of feelings for your son, Lucius."
A bitter laugh. "Never? The truth, Severus. You may have hidden treachery from the Dark Lord, but, this?"
I am shaken. Draco was never more desirable to me than he was those final weeks of his Sixth Year, when he defied me the most, and when he nearly bled to death on the floor of the bathroom, and when we then spent some two weeks in close company, on the run before the Dark Lord secured Malfoy Manor for his own. Amazingly, the boy (no, not a boy, even then he had passed his birthday...) had been the one to show interest in me, with touches and looks... but never words. I had maintained my resolve not to show interest in him; there was too much at stake, then.
"Your son is... desirable," I allow, still unwilling to display too much to his father.
"Then do what you must. He is untouched, still, Severus. And I cannot bear the thought that his first experience will be at the hands of these Mudbloods."
The word nearly draws a wry chuckle from me, but it is clear he uses it mindlessly. After all this time, it is still the worst thing he can say. Some things do not change.
"All right," I agree. "I shall do what I can. But surely we cannot be so lucky as to expect the doors to be left unlocked again?"
He is silent a moment, or perhaps he has shrugged. I cannot see. "I overheard the guards who came for me today. Something about Potter. It is his doing, I think."
Madness, but so be it. No one follows the rules around him, it seems.
Lucius says one more thing before he goes. "We must not let Draco know we planned this, of course. Or all will be for naught."
"Yes, of course." It is a strange kind of parental concern, one I cannot truly fathom, but if I had a son of my own, would I not hope for him to begin what I would hope to be a long and fruitful sexual life with an act of consenting care? After all, it is not as if I cannot keep a secret.
Lucius nods. "I may even protest what you do; it must not seem as if it were my idea."
"But of course." Sweet Merlin, I realise he will be listening and for a moment I wonder if I can even go through with it. Then I think of that sweet, blond body under mine, the way his eyes used to beg me shamelessly, and I know that performing my duty will not be a problem.
***
My opportunity comes the next day, thankfully, before anything dire can occur. This time it is the lunch delivery guard who unlocks Draco's cell when the boy complains of mould growing on his blanket. The guard enters the cell and cleans his bed pallet with charms, muttering and cursing, and then exits, leaving his door unlocked. Mine is still not locked and no one has discovered it, since no one else has tried to enter.
I do not dare venture out while it is still afternoon, though. I am still not convinced that some goons may not come for their daily taste of Lucius. My patience pays dividends when a pair of them come at tea time, their treatment of him especially rough. He makes involuntary sounds on each thrust and instead of clapping my hands over my ears, I listen, thinking that this is the fate I am to save Draco from. Well, to be sure, that could still happen, but at least his first impression will not be of sex as violence.
I am still listening as the guards leave, and they lock Lucius' door when they do. Click-click-click-click.
I wait until after dinner has been served, and the last of the guards we usually see for the night is gone. There is still some summer light in the sky, far north as we are, but the door sounds so very loud as I open it.
He appears to be sleeping, his blond hair seeming brighter in the cell than anything else. I find myself kneeling at his bedside, reaching out and stroking it. Amazingly, the pallet smells fresh and clean and I silently thank the guard's mother or whoever taught him that cleaning charm. Draco stirs softly under my touch, his skin awakening before his mind, and my hand moves to his chest, his ribcage. He stretches then, and through the thin cloth of his shirt I feel lithe muscle go taut under my palm.
He opens his eyes, shining reflective in the dimness. "Severus?" he says, voice so soft.
I do not even question his use of my given name. "Yes," I say.
"Am I dreaming? I've been dreaming that you curled up to sleep with me."
Not a boy, I remind myself. A young man, already so corrupted by some influences, yet still innocent in other ways. "I'll curl up with you, if you like."
"It's so damp here," he goes on, as I lie down with him. "Remember the night of the terrible rain?"
"I do." We had been soaked to the skin and too close to being caught to use magic. I'd held him that night while our robes and shirts hung to dry, the skin of my chest against the bare skin of his back. "It's all right, Draco," I say softly. "You can ask for what you want."
He jerks in surprise. "But I thought... you wouldn't..."
I hush him. "Whatever you want." I realise I am in a quandary if he says no. I have promised his father I will initiate him, but what if he spurns my advances? Wheedle? Coerce by seduction? Neither of those seems much of an improvement over letting the guards have their way.
I find it a strange, strange thing to speak the unvarnished truth, but it is the only way to be sure. "I've always wanted to be the one to initiate you to sexual pleasure."
His breath catches, his fingers clutching at my shirt. For half a moment I think there is fear there, but no, it is...
Sweet Merlin, it is artlessness. His eyes are wide and innocent. He manages to speak and his words send blood flooding to my groin, along with animalistic urges to pin him down and take him. "Oh, yes please," is what he says, so pliant and biddable in my arms.
I nod, needing no words for this, bidding him stand and helping to denude him. He is gorgeous, pale and slim, his knees bent toward each other as he stands, still blushing, not wanton enough to display himself any other way, and yet his prick stands out, red and ready.
I have a choice now. Stuff our clothes into the tiny, high window, and extinguish the light, or allow Lucius to hear every sound we make. I am examining the cut in the stone wall when Draco decides for me. He balls up his clothes and the thin blanket that still smells pleasantly of freshening charm, and wads them into the hole.
Now we can see nothing, but perhaps that is a blessing to him. I am not and have never been much to look at. And the feel of his cool, smooth hands working my own clothes free is nearly enough to make me come like a schoolboy myself.
We still do not talk much. A bit of sound can still escape through the slot in the doorway, after all. Once I am as naked as he is, he seems content to let me direct our movements. I coax him onto his back, settle myself between his legs, and with my head propped on one elbow, I take his stiff prick into my mouth.
He is dirty as only a man who has not washed properly in days can be, and yet his cock is far more delicious to me than that of the guard. I wash it with my tongue, bathing every crevice, each fold of his foreskin, until his breathing is harsh and his fingers in my hair nearly hurt.
My saliva coats one of my fingers generously and I slip it into him while I suckle. His hips buck upward, not against the intrusion, but welcoming it. Good.
When I lift my mouth from his cock, he whimpers with the loss. But I must speak. "I want so very much to fuck you, but I fear that saliva alone will not serve for your first time."
He gasps. "But you must!"
"I must? Draco, I do not want to hurt you. Sex should... not be about pain. I could tear you."
Another sharp breath. "Are you very large?"
I kneel between his legs, take his hand in mine, and lead his damp palm to my erection. He curls his fingers around it and strokes clumsily up and down, but now he knows the measure of it, at least as compared to his own. "You are," he says, a bit awed. Then another whimper. "I want you."
He strokes me covetously now. I do not see how I can get out of fucking him. We both want it far too much to listen to sense; there is an air of inevitability about it.
"Use my come," he whispers, then. "It's much more slippery than spit."
Dear God. My head spins from vertigo, from the intoxicating thought. Draco Malfoy is begging me to make him come so that I may use his issue to deflower him.
"Spit first," I say, and urge him with my hands to turn over onto all fours. My finger finds its way in quickly again, as if no part of my body wants to leave him empty for long. As I fuck him, in and out, in and out, with that one finger, my tongue darts alongside it, wetting it more and more, each inward thrust carrying more moisture into him. It is not long before two fingers are working together, and he moans loudly in the stony space as I brush the right spot inside him. When my hand begins to fatigue from spreading the two fingers apart, I switch to tonguing his hole directly, lapping up his musk and trying to push it as far inside him as I can. Now his moans are appreciative, and I think of how Lucius' own tongue pried me open like a wedge. I had clenched as tight as I could, instinctually thinking of it as a dirty place, but that hot, wet muscle had made its way into me, until I was as supple and slippery as it.
"You may tighten up when you come," I say, inserting two fingers into the much softer hole.
But all he does is beg. "Please, Severus, please. Make me come. I've... I've wanted you to fuck me for so long. F-f-for years."
His voice shaking as he confesses nearly breaks me. I keep two fingers where they are--deep in him, and reach around him to pull on his cock with long strokes. I will want to catch as much of his come in my palm as I can. "Tell me when you're..."
But he is coming then, hot and slick into my grip. I regret I cannot keep milking him much; catching his issue is more important.
And then I am slicking my own cock with the wonderful substance, which feels better than any masturbatory potion I ever made. It drives me fairly insane with lust, for how else can you explain how quickly I find myself buried to the hilt in the moaning boy? I had meant to go slowly, to take my time pressing into him, but the instinct to couple knows no patience.
He is trembling all over, barely able to breathe, and I fear I've injured him badly. "Draco..."
He has one hand reaching back, grasping at the small of my back, urging me to hold still.
"I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"No." I feel his insides clenching, rippling up and down my shaft. "It's all right. It just..." The trembling is beginning to subside. He grinds his bottom against me then, fucking himself on my prick, and another moan escapes him. And then he says with wonder, "Oh... oh God. Severus... t-touch.... t-touch my cock."
I reach around again to find him gratifyingly hard. Straining to burst. Ah, so young.
"Good," I say. And so the fucking truly begins.
I do not know how long it goes on like that, but it seems it could go on forever. He needs only to rock slightly forward and back on his knees to produce a lovely fucking sensation for both of us, and at times I urge him to a different rhythm with my hand on his hip, pulling him back against me at the same time as my thrust, my other hand under him stroking from time to time. Sometimes quickly, sometimes not, other times leaving his cock alone. An extremely prideful part of me wants to make him come from my cock alone, wants him to find every other lover he will ever have to come up wanting when compared to me. They will fuck him until he is sore and begs them to stop, settling for a weak handjob instead, all the while thinking of the time in Azkaban when Severus Snape used his own come for lube because it was all he had...
I reach for him once more to find him spurting the moment my hand touches him, his own spasms urging me to sudden forcefulness, flattening him under me, my hips pumping with a life of their own, driving his cock into my hand under him and my cock as deep as it can go in that sweet arse.
And then it is over, and we are lying in a sweaty heap on no longer so fresh bedclothes, with no reasonable way to clean ourselves.
Draco seems to think his tongue is superior to a cleaning charm anyway, and I soon find my hand, as well as my cock and balls, subjected to a gentle but enthusiastic laving. I do the same for him, though there is no help for the stained sheets. I lap gently at his hole, so lovingly abused now. "Meliore percurare," I whisper playfully, tapping at his tailbone as if my finger were a wand, knowing the incantation will remind him of those few weeks we were on the run together. It was the first healing spell I taught him, one of the few that may work on internal injuries when one does not have greater knowledge of what is wrong. I invented it years ago. Dumbledore taught it to many in the order. It strikes me that many of the people who learnt it from him are dead.
"You didn't hurt me," Draco whispers in reply. He turns and I find his arms around my neck suddenly. "Thank you. I... I've..." He tries again. "I've lo-- wanted you for years."
I press a kiss to his forehead.
At some point I realise I must go back to my own cell. We sort our clothes as best we can in the dark. Even clearing the tiny window to Lucius' cell does not let in more light--there is only starlight tonight.
I am in my own bed when I hear Lucius' voice, sharp yet expressionless. "Why did you block the window, Draco?"
"It's cold," Draco whines.
Lucius' voice is cold. "Why did you unblock it?"
"Now it's stuffy," he says.
I am sure that the scent of sex is strong in the air. Lucius' voice is loud; I wonder if he is up in the window, smelling it. I cannot help but feel a sense of mortification. Deflowering the Malfoy scion? What was I thinking? That it should happen is twisted enough; that his father should have requested it is worse; and that Lucius, and I, should now have to play at ignorance for the sake of appearances is worst of all.
I am suddenly struck by a sense of loss as I realise I will never touch the boy again. I will, from this day forward, be forced to pretend that this night never happened. Lucius will not condone any form of continuation; of course he will not! I am such a fool. How could I have not thought of this before? And even if I had, what would I have done, ghoulishly negotiated the right to revisit my conquest?
Then I remember Draco's confession. He desired me for years? Now what will happen to that desire? No doubt when we leave here, he will be directed toward his duty to his family. I will no doubt leave the country. I am far too infamous now to remain. And the boy has always been headstrong about being denied what he wants. If he were to run away from home and land in my bed, I have little doubt that if pressed, Lucius would ensure I suffer some horrible accident, if not outright killing me, at least resulting in castration...
Azkaban is a grim place, and happy thoughts do not survive here, even with the Dementors gone.
***
It is midway through the next day when the urge to sleep seems to overtake me. This is odd, because I can hear Draco and Lucius arguing in whispers, trying to use a mix of French and Latin to further obscure their conversation. It can only be me that they are keeping their secrets from, which has only made me all the more determined to listen in, but the unintelligible hisses may as well be Parseltongue. I am lying still, straining to hear, and feel the urge to sleep stealing over me. Perhaps it is the way one normally feels the day after having sex, too--I do not remember. I give in to sleep.
I wake some time later to a scream. It takes until the third cry for me to determine it is Lucius, not Draco, who is screaming. I hear the almost wet-sounding slap of something striking flesh--a leather belt? That seems an odd choice for an implement of prison torture, unless this is completely impromptu on the part of the guards.
It goes on for some time, twenty, thirty blows... enough that I lose track. When it does stop, a guard's voice says, "Do you promise?"
There is silence.
"You know this is only a taste of what I can dish out," comes the voice. "You're a weak-willed pathetic excuse for a wizard."
"I know," comes Lucius' answer.
"This can stop, you know. In a battle of wills between us, you know I am the stronger, don't you?"
"Yes." he sobs brokenly.
"You made me." It seems an oddly petulant thing for a guard to say. I think of the callow young man whose cock I sucked and wonder if it is him.
"Then do I have your promise?"
More sobs.
"Come on, now. Or must we get really nasty? Shall I make you eat your own shit next?"
Lucius' voice is surprisingly strong, then. "Nothing could humiliate me more than what you've put me through already. All right. I promise. You can fuck whomever you want. If that's what you need, fine. I won't interfere."
My blood runs cold. They are making Lucius give them permission to rape Draco? Ghouls.
The next thing I hear is a cleaning charm come from the guard's mouth. One that is especially useful for cleaning up blood. How much did I sleep through? Then comes a healing charm. The same one I taught to Draco. Is this not a guard but an Auror, an Order member, interrogating Lucius? But they weren't interrogating him, they were extracting a promise...?
The pieces do not fit. But I do not have time to ponder them as the doorway to our corridor is being opened. Then there is a rush of voices, and with the echo off the stone I make out only the barest bits of it.
"What are you...!"
"Hold him!"
"Are you allrigh--?"
"What happened?"
"I'm telling you there's someone with a gr--"
"Sanders said the same thing, but that's impossible, isn't it?"
"No one could--"
and so on, until they take Lucius and the guard or guards away, and then my own cell door is swinging open. Again I see Potter's spectacles before I take in the outline of the rest of him.
"Come on, Snape," says the warden. "You're free to go."
I am looking at Potter when I speak, though. "What about the others?"
He just shrugs. "One thing at a time. Come on, there's clean robes and a wand waiting for you downstairs."
***
I am not even allowed the respite of a night's sleep. That evening I am whisked through a series of brutally efficient tribunals which require me to fill a Pensieve with memories, answer questions under Veritaserum, and then Veritaserum in tandem with Legilimency. They do not only ask me about my own involvement in the various plots, but everything I know about those I presume are the still-living Death Eaters. The Malfoys of course are among them, but I do not try to skew my presentation in the slightest. It's clear that any hint of Occlumency on my part, even with Potter watching over me like a mother owl, will damn me eternally to that damp, dark rock.
It's near midnight when I am pronounced a free wizard. It's strongly suggested that for my own safety I go somewhere less politically charged for a while, but somewhere I can be reached. I choose Basque country, where there is a wizarding village I know, which I visited a few times while on ingredient-gathering trips for Dumbledore.
I arrive at the public house there in the wee hours, secure a room, and sleep until midway through the following afternoon.
***
The snowy white owl that reaches me a few days later reminds me of Potter's. But the letter that she bears is from Narcissa.
Dear Severus,
I am writing to let you know that Lucius and Draco are now both home, though it remains to be seen for how long. Lucius is under house arrest until his formal trial, and it looks as though he will go through a few more rounds of questioning at the hands of the Ministry, but Potter's investigative commission have not been cruel nor unfair yet, and I find myself hopeful that we will all emerge from this entire episode whole and hale. Potter's prediction is a verdict of six months house arrest, followed by some years of probation to insure we are not involved in any plots to bring that snake back from the dead, nor to set up another pretender in his place. (Please, as if we would make that mistake again...)
Lucius' release came as a result of some surprising events at the prison, though, and so I am also to let you know you may need to come back for a round of questioning about it. Potter is hell-bent on rooting out corruption wherever it lies, and Azkaban... well, you know better than I what it is like there. I have never been more grateful that I never took the Dark Mark, if that is what spared me being incarcerated. Given what they did to Lucius, I cannot imagine what I would have gone through. The scandal that resulted in Lucius and Draco's quick release has only barely begun, but it seems that either someone was using Imperius on the guards and forcing them to do the horrible things to my husband that they did, or the guards were all in cahoots about it. I would easily believe it was merely a conspiracy for revenge on the part of the guards, or even one guard in particular who might have held a grudge? But so far the evidence is mixed. None of the guards' wands showed any sign of Imperius being cast, and they say they checked them all, even the warden's. Of course you know how many Death Eaters had it in for Lucius, as well. One would think without the Dark Lord's favour to be curried, that such things would fall by the by, but apparently not. Potter's theory, and I am inclined to believe him, is that someone within the prison was able to cast Imperius wandlessly. Macnair is the leading suspect. His cell was not far from Lucius', and without a wand the power of the spell would wane quickly. I was always under the impression that Macnair thought of Imperius as inferior to the other two Unforgivables, but perhaps when needs must, he discovered its charm? Stranger things have happened.
Thank you for doing your part to protect Draco when I asked you to. My every effort shall now be aimed at insuring that he has the opportunity to lead the life Lucius and I did not, as we were dragged so young into the madman's plots. You are always welcome to visit; Draco is mad to see you and thank you himself; I owe you as much of a debt as I owe Potter.
Sincerely,
Narcissa Malfoy
Sweet Merlin, no, I think. What happened in Azkaban, a grudge against Lucius... there is no way it was Macnair and only one possible person could have done it. My mind rebels against the idea, but once I have started to consider it--namely that Draco was using Imperius wandlessly--piece after piece of the puzzle that did not fit before fall into place.
The young guard, asking me if I were interested in wizards. His callow inexperience as I sucked him. (Draco masturbated to the sound of it, I am sure!) And then came Lucius' startling request of me. His lack of emotion. Draco no doubt controlled his own father as well as the guards to insure the proper doors were unlocked. He even made a guard freshen his bedclothes with a charm. My nodding off to sleep while he and Lucius argued... I had not recognised it for Imperius but now that I think about it, it had to be. Perhaps wandlessly, the spell's touch is subtler. What were they arguing about? Surely about me, about Draco's choice of me. When I awoke, those were Draco's own words, being spoken through the mouth of the guard--not securing permission for a guard to fuck Draco, but Draco's permission to carry on with me. Lucius' admission of how weak his will was--of course, because he could not throw off his own son's spell. And the guard who seemed to know the spell I had taught Draco knew nothing of the sort. It had been Draco all along.
I feed the owl and pen a hasty reply, telling her that I will stay put and nothing else. It is too dangerous to contemplate anything else. Lucius is not the danger to me now; it is the boy who is the dagger that cannot be put back in its sheath. And Narcissa, the mother lion, she will not stand for much, either... and yet...
I re-read her letter. "Stranger things have happened." Is she not using it as a turn of phrase but as a literal code to tell me that the suspicion on Macnair is wrong? Indeed, something stranger did happen. Is there something more to the invitation to visit, to her assertion that Draco is mad to see me? And that she wants a different life for Draco than the one she and Lucius had? Could it be that she knows? Is this all a warning in case they do question me, that I must protect Draco's secret at all costs? Or something more?
And what am I to do with the fact that the boy is in love with me? That he seared his own soul and tortured his own father... to be with me? Or the fact that my greatest fears about his condition are likely true, that he is as addicted to casting Imperius as Bellatrix was to Cruciatus? Narcissa is making another plea to me, I think, to help her son.
If you think, for one moment, that the corruption in Draco's soul sullies him in my eyes, you are wrong, or that his premeditation sours the sweetness of taking his innocence, you are doubly wrong.
I prepare for every eventuality. I go out shortly before midnight to pick the essential flowers I will need to make the potion that could, with extended use and careful dosage over the course of a few years, cure him.
He arrives in the wee hours of the morning, appearing at my door flushed and bright-eyed from his escape.
"I've been expecting you," I say, and draw him into a kiss. He rubs against my nightshirt hungrily, my cock rising as if under his spell. That will not do. I was wholly under neither Voldemort's nor Dumbledore's thumb; I will not become a slave to a spoilt teenage Slytherin no matter how I feel about him.
I push him to the bed, strip him instantly of his travelling clothes by Banishing them to the floor. I am on all fours above him like a cat with her prey. His eyes are wide with anticipation more than fear, I think. His voice comes out breathy. "They will be seeking me," he rasps. "We should away."
I shake my head, looking down into his eyes. "We will flee soon enough. I am going to make love to you first."
Equal parts dismay and glee flit through those eyes. "But I..."
"I shall do everything in my power to gratify you," I say, before he can get further. "But first I need a promise from you."
He looks up hopefully.
"You must promise never, ever to use Imperius on me without my permission."
He blinks, catching up to my meaning and to how much I know. "You'll... you'll give me permission?"
"Sometimes," I say, bringing his cool hand to the now-aching stiffness of my erection, jutting out from under the edge of my nightshirt. "But not tonight, and not unless I have granted you permission. Promise me."
"My word of honour," he says. "I promise I will not use Imperius on you without your permission."
"Good." My cock is throbbing and he is stroking it, at first unconsciously, then with great awareness of what he is doing. They are surely coming for him, but how long will it be before they figure out where he has gone? Perhaps just long enough. There is an inevitability about this time, too.
My wand makes quick work of the need for lubrication and he gasps as the conjured slickness coats his insides, always cool at first and then warming to the body. I conjure more into my hand and rear back on my knees to stroke myself. He begs with his eyes to be allowed to do it, though, and soon he is greasing my rampant prick with both hands. He licks his lips and I can clearly read the intent there--he has not yet had the pleasure of his mouth on me when I am hard.
Not this time, my love, I think, as I urge him onto his back again. Here there is adequate light, and heat, and I intend to claim him as my lover face to face.
"Severus," he says, and I know that I will never tire of hearing that soft voice caressing my name. He beckons with eyes and words. "Please, don't keep me waiting."
"Stroke yourself," I say, as I stretch him with my fingers, as I ready him to accept me. "Just lightly."
He shakes his head, the stubborn creature. "I don't need to. I can take it, Severus. I can take you."
I narrow my eyes, wondering if there will always be this battle of wills between us. "Do as I say because I say so, not because you guess my motives."
"I just want you so very much," he says, begging with his eyes again. "I... I've been s-s-stretching myself every day, for you."
Oh my. My cock twitches impatiently at that pronouncement. I tell myself to slow down, that "every day" is still only a few days from his first time, but before I am quiet aware of it, my cock and his legs wrapped around my waist have conspired to bring me dangerously close to impaling him. The round head of my prick presses against him. "Now?" I ask, taunting.
"Yes, yes!" he cries, and then a wordless sound tears from his throat as I thrust home. Some might hear pain, but I hear triumph. Whose remains to be seen.