Now every day can be Smutday!

In celebration of Insane Thursday, I bring you something I believe fits the bill. It's not a new story, but I'm thinking nobody here has seen it before. One note - this is not the same Blaise as my Blaise in Space. Very different universe here.

Title: A Normal Life
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Blaise
Warnings: Chan. Coercion/dubious consent.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling and a whole slew of media giants. Not me.

Notes: for lasultrix's HP Flashficathon, specifically saeva's request of "Severus Snape/Blaise Zabini (with underage, socially inept stutterer Blaise)". Um. Yeah. The other pairing/situation I had as an option? No Way. Just about everyone on my AIM buddy list deserves a thank you for support and hand-holding. Oddly enough, nobody wanted to be named. Hm. A special thank you to lauramcewan for the eleventh hour beta!



You learned to become invisible at an early age. Not literally, of course; that kind of magic was nearly beyond the most powerful wizards. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say you were a chameleon, adept at blending in with your surroundings, drawing as little attention to yourself as possible.

You mostly succeeded. There was a moment you had the whole castle's attention - your sorting into Slytherin House. Once it passed, you effectively disappeared again. But not quite. Someone who noticed you. One who recognized your game.

Severus Snape saw your potential that first day, Blaise Zabini. Knew you were hiding something. Your other professors did not. With Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in your year, along with all the others clamouring for attention, it was far too easy for you to become part of the stonework.

For nearly four years you went about your business of blending in, not standing out. You maintained marks good enough to avoid being reprimanded, but not so good as to draw attention to yourself. You were capable of much better, but it was better to let others have the academic limelight. You had no idea you were being watched. You never even suspected.

It was an ordinary afternoon in April, double potions Friday. The school week was almost over. Little did you know your life was about to change.

"Dismissed, except Mr Zabini," Snape announced from his desk. He saw the confused expressions cross the faces of the combined Gryffindor and Slytherin class. Your disappearing act is useless when singled out, and you kept your head down, staring at your cauldron. You felt keenly the eyes of your classmates as they gathered their things and left the room.

You didn't look up, when you heard the classroom door close. Whether it was the last of your classmates closing it, or Snape, you didn't know. You felt his eyes on you, the weight of his stare, and you knew that he knew.

"Mr Zabini." Snape paused and rose from his chair before continuing, "Do you know why I've kept you after class today?"

Panic struck. You could manage answers in class; you were always calm and composed – and could stall long enough if need be. But now…you closed your eyes and sighed. You looked back up at your professor. He was standing directly across the table from you, hands on the edge, leaning forward, eyes on yours. "Answer me, Zabini!" he snapped.

At the sharp words, you shook your head and looked back down, this time at your hands resting on the table. "N-n-n-n-no, s-s-sir," you answered, the stammer exacerbated by sheer terror.

"Look at me," Snape said, almost gently. The sudden change in his tone startled you into following the direction, and you looked up. He had straightened and stood there, arms crossed, an utterly neutral expression on his face. "I suggest you give it some thought during dinner. I will see you back here at eight tonight for your detention."

Eyes widening at the unexpected punishment, you opened your mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it back shut. You closed your eyes as you drew a large breath through your nose, steadying yourself. You met his gaze as you responded, "Y-yes, s-sir."

Snape gave a curt nod in response, turned, and returned to his desk, robes billowing. He sat down and gestured at the door with his wand. "You are dismissed, Mr Zabini," he said as the door opened.

You quickly gathered your things and fled.

The urge to skip dinner was strong. You had no appetite, but realized that if you didn't attend, Snape would notice and make you regret it.

Questions from your housemates during the meal were inevitable, but you managed to be prepared for those. A simple 'Detention' followed closely by 'I don't want to talk about it' was enough for most. Malfoy, of course, was more persistent, but eventually your unchanging reply won over his dogged inquiries.

To pass the time between dinner and detention, you retreated to your bed with the curtains drawn and tried to do some homework. Despite being left alone, you couldn't concentrate. Thinking about the detention had your stomach knotted with worry. Worry about just how much Snape knew and just how he knew.

In a fit of frustration, you slung your books aside and flopped back on your bed. You tried, desperately, to see some sort of bright side to the situation. There was none. With Snape supervising the detention, you would be facing a humiliating cleaning task or a humiliating interrogation. Or, most likely, both.

You brushed the hair off your face and checked the time. You heaved a sigh and sat back up in bed.

It was time to go.

While the common room is hardly quiet as you pass through on your way out, you can feel the eyes of everyone as you make your way to the door. You hate the sensation; it's almost tangible, prickling your skin. You resist the urge to bolt, to run from the room and instead maintain your dignity and do your best to ignore the stares.

The walk to the potions classroom isn't a long one, but it feels interminable, like you'll never get there. You're torn. On the one hand, you don't want to do this. On the other, you want to get it over with. Take whatever fate Snape will be handing you.

You enter the room at precisely eight. Pausing on the threshold, you glance around. Snape isn't here, but the door to his office is open. The sinking feeling of dread undoes any calm you might have built. "P-p-professor Snape?" you call out.

"Shut the classroom door and come to my office, Mr Zabini." Snape's voice comes from the office.

You step inside and close the door behind you. A good look around the room reveals no stacks of cauldrons to be cleaned, or any other menial chores waiting for you. You should have known better than to hope. "Mr Zabini! Quit dawdling and come here!" His sharp tone is enough to make you startle, and you hurry over to the office.

As you stand in the doorway, you realize that this is the first time you've been to a teacher's office. There is no time to take in your surroundings; Snape flicks his wand in your direction while muttering, and the door closes behind you, pushing you into the room.

Not taking your eyes off his wand, you take another step into Snape's office. You're not scared precisely, but there's nothing wrong with erring on the side of caution.

Snape notices your stare, looks at his wand and back up at you. "It's hardly 'foolish wand waving' if done for the proper effect, is it, Zabini?" Something resembling a smile crosses his face briefly. He releases his hold on the wand and gestures to a seat in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

You walk around the chair and sit, clasping your hands together between your knees. The apparent abrupt change in Snape's mood has you on edge. Or rather, it adds to the edginess you already feel being under scrutiny. You've spent your entire life making sure situations like this don't happen, and as a result you're completely out of your element now.

"I've had a look at your school records, Mr Zabini," Snape says as he shuffles some parchment on the desk. "Utterly unremarkable." He pauses and looks at you with narrowed eyes. "And this is your first detention. Tell me," he begins, his hands clasped together on the desk, "Why do you think you're here tonight?"

Realizing that a response of 'because you told me to be here' would most likely end up with further disciplinary action for the sheer cheek, you instead answer honestly. "I d-d---d-don't kn-n-n---know, s---s-s-sir."

Snape's eyebrow quirks sharply as he adopts a mocking sneer. "My, that's a rather troublesome vocalization problem you have there, Mr Zabini,"

You can't help but glare. Taunting from classmates is bad enough, but coming from a teacher, your own head of house no less, it is intolerable. In an instant, you're on your feet, drawing your wand from your robe, uttering the one word you can always say clearly.

"Oblivi-" You don't even have time to finish before Snape accio's your wand and has it in his hand.

"Sit down, Mr Zabini," he snaps, pocketing your wand in his robe. Defeated, you drop back into the chair. Your mind is reeling with what you just revealed. With what you have done. You just pulled your wand on a teacher.

His hands once again clasped on the desk, Snape leans forward and begins talking. "As I was saying... it's a rather troublesome problem. I'm," he pauses, searching for the word, "amazed, and possibly impressed, that you kept it from the faculty this long."

There's no way for you to respond. The syllables are falling all over each other in your brain; they'd never make it out of your mouth. Snape unclasps his hands and pushes away from the desk. He stands and moves – no, prowls - around the desk. You keep your eyes on his chair, where he was.

You shift in your seat, tucking your hands under your legs to keep them from shaking. You feel Snape move behind you and set his hands on your shoulders. Now your entire body is trembling, and you close your eyes.

"However, you seem to have found a rather … unique, albeit extreme, way of dealing with it." His voice comes from right beside your ear. Your eyes spring open, and your head turns to face the voice as you jump in your seat. "Tell me, Mr Zabini," he continues, "how many of your classmates have been on the wrong end of your memory charm? How many teachers?" His voice is low and dark, and you wonder if he cast a locking spell on the door when he closed it.

You can't even begin to voice an answer, and you settle for shaking your head. "You're not going to deny it, are you?" You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head emphatically.

Snape stands unexpectedly and steps in front of you. He pulls out his wand. "Do hold still," he says. You look up as he points the wand, the tip hovering just in front of your face. He murmurs a spell you don't quite catch.

Tucking the wand away in his robe, Snape leans back against the desk. "Merely blending in to the background was a good start, but it wasn't enough, was it?" He crosses his arms and continues calmly, "How many students have you obliviated? How many teachers? Go ahead, you can answer."

"Most of Slytherin." Your eyes widen as you hear yourself speak clearly. "A few Ravenclaws. A Gryffindor or two. No Hufflepuffs. And no teachers!" You've never truly heard your voice before and are momentarily stunned. You are compelled to ask, "What did you do to me?"

"The effects will last an hour or two. I had a similar problem when I was a lad. I suppose your parents were too busy teaching you how to refine the memory charm to bother researching a spell to help overcome the problem."

You have to look away at that. While it's not exactly true, it's not particularly wrong either.

"Could you…" You hesitate. You're hardly in a position to be asking for favours, but knowing there's a spell that could fix so much, you can't resist asking, "Would you teach me that spell?"

A look of sheer disbelief crossed Snape's face as he straightens his stance. "Mr Zabini. I believe you have lost track of the situation here. You have admitted to tampering with the memories of your classmates. You attempted to obliviate a teacher. You should be expelled from this school, not given further instruction."

"But, Professor!" You jump from your seat and grasp his robes, preparing to beg to be allowed to stay when you realize exactly what Snape said. "Wait a minute." You release your grip as you look up at him with narrowed eyes. "You said should, not will be expelled."

"Very observant, Zabini," Snape acknowledges with a raised eyebrow. "You've shown a remarkable potential from the start. It would be a shame to squander that special talent you've shown by sending you home." You relax fractionally, recognizing the compliment. The fact that he has apparently been watching you for some time doesn't sit well, but you decide that you can worry about that implication later.

"However, that does not excuse your actions," he says as he sets a firm hand on your shoulder. The touch makes you nervous, combined as it is with the near-panic you're in at the prospect of being thrown out of school, and you start trembling all over again. It is all too easy for Snape to push down on your shoulder until you're on your knees looking up at that oddly calm face.

"As a member of the faculty, I am expected to report such behaviours." He pauses, giving you an appraising look. His left hand is still on your shoulder, and his thumb glides over your collarbone. "But, perhaps we can make some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement." With his free hand, Snape brushes the hair back from your face, trailing his fingers through your hair until they rest on the back of your head.

Your head is in a whirl, and you don't know what to think. Teachers aren't supposed to do this kind of thing to students. But then again, students aren't supposed to do the kinds of things you've done to your fellow students. All you can do is remain as close to calm as you can manage.

"I will keep what I know to myself and provide you with supplementary instruction not included on the Hogwarts curriculum. In exchange, you will provide certain… services for me." As Snape pulls your face to his groin, you lose your calm, and full-blown panic rears its head.

"You can't be serious!" You try to get up, but Snape is stronger than he looks. His grip on your shoulder is unrelenting, keeping you anchored to the floor.

"You have two options, Mr Zabini. You can do as I say and earn my silence." Snape opens his robe as he is speaking and starts unfastening his trousers one-handed. "Or you can get up, go to your dormitory and start packing. It is your choice."

Choice? There is no choice. You must do as he says; returning home in disgrace is not an option. Snape is looking down at you, his head cocked to one side as he takes his hand off your shoulder, leaving you free to get up. He takes his prick out and starts slowly stroking it with his right hand.

You're shocked into immobility, staring at it right there in front of your face. Snape lifts your chin with his free hand, and his expectant eyes meet yours. "Well, Blaise," he says, and it's just one more thing that's wrong here tonight. Your first name in that voice. "What's it going to be?"

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and try to find your resolve. There is only one way out of this, and that's right through it. The situation could be worse. If you hadn't spent countless nights peering through the gap in your drawn bedcurtains, watching as Crabbe or Goyle serviced Malfoy, you wouldn't even know where to begin.

Your palms are sweating and you wipe them on your robe-covered thighs as you open your eyes and slowly nod at Snape. His right hand has continued unabated. His left is still under your chin, and he runs his thumb over your lips before sliding the hand around to the back of your neck, pulling your head closer.

Snape's prick is the first you've seen up close. Only this is no prick. This is a cock. You reach up a hand to touch it, sliding your hand behind Snape's. He lifts his hand and sets it on yours for a couple strokes before guiding his cock to your mouth.

You've been biting your lips since Snape touched them, but now they're being nudged apart by the head of his cock. You're sandwiched between that and his hand on the back of your head. You can think of a million places you'd rather be right now, but since none of them including being up in your room packing, you open your mouth and lean forward, letting Snape's cock fill your mouth. He's quickly in too far, and you grab his hip for balance as your gag reflex is triggered.

Snape eases the pressure on the back of your head, letting you pull back some. You struggle to recall what you've seen, what exactly Vince and Greg did to Draco to cause him to writhe and make all that noise. This is Snape you're doing this to – there's no point in doing it if you're not going to do it right. You adjust to the feel of the cock in your mouth and try to get a rhythm going, listening closely to Snape.

At some point, he takes his hand off yours, letting you control the strokes, and he grips the edge of his desk with it instead. He's mostly quiet, throwing out the occasional direction ("Mind your teeth!" "Use your tongue." "Suck!"), which you carefully follow. His breathing has sped up, and his knuckles are white, you notice. The hand holding your head is directing the rhythm now, fingers clenched in your hair.

The pace increases steadily until it's nearly frantic. Your jaw is getting sore, as are your knees. You just want this to be over. You keep up with the increase in the rhythm, sucking and stroking ever more fiercely. Snape's breathing is shallow and ragged; it can't be much longer now.

Just when you think that you can't go on, that the relentless pace is too much, Snape climaxes with a nearly-stifled grunt, filling your mouth with his come. All you can do is swallow around his cock until he pulls out. You swallow one last time after, closing your eyes and shuddering at the bitterness. A long moment passes while the two of you each catch your breath.

"That was marginally adequate," Snape says as he tucks himself back into his trousers and straightens his robes. "However, if you wish our arrangement to remain intact, future performances will show a marked improvement."

"Yes, sir," you whisper, unsure of your voice. You're unsure of quite a bit right now, but you do trust Snape at his word. You will concern yourself with the cost later.