Entry tags:

2008_fic, dub-con, fic4:atdelphi, masturbation, snape/dumbledore, snape/slughorn, voyeurism

18th Snapely Holidays Entry - Surveillance (Snape/Slughorn, Snape/Albus)

Fic for: atdelphi
Title: Surveillance
Author: purplefluffycat


Pairing Severus/Horace, Severus/Albus
Rating NC-17
Warnings Dub-con (in the sense that a character would have consented, but was physically unable to do so at the time), voyeurism, masturbation
Summary Albus Dumbledore had long given up seeking what he could not have; or so he thought, before his youngest and sourest teacher appeared to him in a very different light. A life-threatening accident turns to a life-changing discovery - but for whom?
Disclaimer The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count ~9,800
Author Notes This story and its pairings were great fun to write - thank you for the prompts. I hope that you enjoy reading the result!

Surveillance


It was late. The documents on Albus' desk were beginning to swim before his eyes as rain beat the windows of his office, and although the pile of parchment to his right didn't seem to be getting any smaller, he was considering turning in for the night. Albus took off his spectacles to rub the bridge of his nose, and was thus caught off-guard when a crack of apparation sounded within his office.

"P..P...Professor Dumbledore, sir?" A tiny elf scurried forward and looked up at Albus from the other side of his desk, saucer eyes wide and spindly hands wringing at the hem of a monogrammed tea-towel.

Albus mustered his most benign smile and tried not to show surprise even though he had been startled. He bade the creature continue; this was likely to be important.

"It's ahhhh! Oh no, terrible, awful, it's... Professor, so terrible it is..." The elf looked on the verge of breaking down, so Albus made some gentle shushing sounds to try to soothe him. It was probably nothing, he thought; elves could be so emotional. A minute or so later the elf took a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes with the edge of his tea-towel.

It was then that Albus saw the little flash of green that made him sit up and take notice. The proudest distinction for a Hogwarts elf was to be given personal responsibilities for the chambers of a member of staff, and those senior elves wore a ribbon as insignia of their office. The colour of said ribbon left no doubt as to which Professor's rooms this elf attended.

Albus put his quill down sharply and regarded the elf with a new intensity. "Please tell me what has happened to Professor Snape - Krimbly, isn't it?"

Being called by name seemed to give the elf added strength; he swelled with pride at the idea the Headmaster might even know who he, in particular, was. "Yes, Krimbly be a good elf! Krimbly tell good Headmaster. Headmaster help Professor Snape. Poor Professor Snape! Professor Snape in infirmary, not talk or move. Krimbly found him like that! Poor, poor Professor Snape..."

Albus was already half-way to the door of his study by the time Krimbly had finished speaking. This sounded far from good, indeed. "Thank you, Krimbly. You have done very well. I will take it from here."


*****

As Albus strode through the corridors his mind whirled with the various horrors that might have befallen his young charge. Three years of peace did not number enough to be trusted. There could still be insurgents, even with the Lestranges finally behind bars, and whom would they find a better target than a traitor?

Unless...

The thought caught at Albus like a bird's vicious talons and he suddenly felt very ill. A wizard such as Severus Snape would be knocked insensible by only the fiercest of opponents. Albus had always grimly supposed that Voldemort's demise would only be a temporary one; a belief he held sadly and privately while the rest of wizard-kind looked to a brighter future and attempted to rebuild. But so soon? Could the world not be afforded a little more quiet before descending once more into terror?

And Severus, oh, Severus. That bitter little wraith on a hilltop; the young man who had wept without reserve in his office; those dark eyes that always questioned but never replied. The Professor who always ate kippers for breakfast, black tea, no sugar and never a lemon-drop. The teacher who the children hated but who put more time into preparing his classes than any other. The boy who despite it all wanted to be liked, but knew to ask such a thing would be fruitless, so better not to want it at all...

And now he was attacked; unconscious; possibly even dead.

Albus found that the staircases would not move quickly enough and the portraits all seemed to taunt and stare. Why did the infirmary have to be at the other end of the castle? Landing upon the correct floor, Albus broke into a run, several portraits waking and scolding him as he passed. Please let it not be too late.

Finally, he broke into the hospital wing, flushed, slightly out of breath but perfectly still, even as his eyes combed the scene in dread. The curtains were drawn around one of the beds, and Albus could hear the soft conversation of witches from behind the screen.

Rounding the shield, he was greeted by Poppy and Minerva who were peering at Severus' still form, insensible, but breathing steadily, his sharp face more relaxed in this unnatural sleep than it ever appeared in waking. "What's going on?" Albus asked, abrupt even to his own ears.

The witches exchanged an apprehensive glance. "We... Well, we think..." began Poppy.

"We don't honestly know," cut in Minerva, "He was found collapsed on the floor of his study, alone, and having suffered no apparent intrusion. There was a potion bottle nearby, but Poppy's tried all of the usual antidotes, and nothing seems to work."

Suicide. The word hit Albus like a shock of icy water.

He pushed past the witches. "Let me see him."

Albus reached out to feel Severus' brow and his pulse. To his immense relief both seemed normal; the man had a few more hours at least.

That action caused a most unusual response, however. Severus changed from being perfectly still and quiet to leaning into Albus' palm, a soft moan escaping his lips at the touch and a tightening across his features that might have been pleasure as easily as discomfort. Albus was taken aback; Severus' hair was soft beneath his fingers, and he was struck by the urge to brush a stray lock from the pale forehead under his palm. He withdrew his hand quickly, guiltily, before such folly could be acted upon. Whatever bewitchment the man was suffering from, it was by no means straightforward.

"I'm glad you're here, Albus," said Poppy, cutting across his thoughts. "We need to know what happened." She said that with measured force, the implicit request hanging heavily between them.

Albus nodded his understanding. Severus would be most severely displeased by this, when he came to. It's for his own good, Albus reminded himself sternly. Really, there was no other choice. The Headmaster therefore changed the focus of his eyes, no longer seeing the contents of the room with its crisp, white sheets and antiseptic gleam, but reaching forth into a consciousness that was not his own and which he certainly did not have permission to access.

Severus felt desperate. The term 'sexually frustrated' did not even begin to cover it; the waking in the night, the cold loneliness, wanking until he is sore and still feeling empty and unsatisfied. He thought himself a freak. No-one should reach the age of twenty-seven and still be a virgin, after all.

The potion bubbling in the cauldron before him should help at least a little, Severus reasoned. After six failed attempts, it had better work, anyway.

It wasn't a proper substitute for a partner, of course, but the closest he was going to find without risking the shame of a visit to one of Knockturn Alley's less reputable establishments. Not that he was a stranger to the seedy and deprived - as a child from below the bread-line and then a Death Eater such squalor was almost an old friend. The prickle of humiliation crept over his skin at even the thought of such a transaction, however. Even a whore would find him repulsive; he had been told so often enough.

Severus paused in his stirring and felt his mouth tighten into an angry sneer. Hideous, bullying children... and the brash, entitled adults they became. As far as he was concerned they were better dead, even though it was apparently near blasphemy to say so. The world was full of bloody hypocrites.

Severus schooled his breathing and made a conscious effort to banish unwelcome thoughts. The ghosts of those handsome, cruel boys would have no place here - not even the haunted memory of a girl with red hair and no kindness when it really mattered. The hordes of young hooligans he had to see day in day out in this new existence would also be decidedly absent; the same childhood cruelties replayed before his eyes, the same foolish prettiness - lithe of limb and insolent of tongue. Severus had a magnificent imagination for perversions, but how a man could find boys attractive completely eluded him. Nasty little bastards, the lot.

No, it had to be someone older, wiser, more sensible; someone who would touch him and teach him and shower him with experience and worldliness. Someone whose years made him feel less of a freak at twenty-seven and virginal. Of course, it had to be man; a man's touch was the illicit feeling he craved and would never dare to seek. That roughness, rudeness... yet also the gentle protection that he heard can come when the painful, sickening heat of young desire mellows and lets you feel something other than madness...

A pinch of belladonna, twelve shards of fungi psilocybe to intensify, and then leave to simmer for half a minute, adding the unicorn horn gradually throughout... It had to work this time, Severus thought. He had covered everything. With faintly shaking hands he filled a flagon from the cauldron and drank.

Albus withdrew sharply; he had seen enough. His cheeks burned with intruding so thoroughly into the young man's privacy but his robes tightened with a different heat altogether. Only he and Gellert could have developed this advanced form of Legilimency - subtle, spying, undetectable, dangerous - and just then it was yellowed, age-old memories of Gellert that cried within Albus - or at least the carnality that they represented. Memories from a lifetime ago, from before Albus was above such things, before he deemed pleasures of the flesh entirely irrelevant to a thinking existence and before he was so old and wrinkled that any desires he may or may not have had were entirely theoretical anyway.

He swallowed hard as the witches' faces swum back into focus before him, painted with questions. "Severus has drugged himself," he began, voice hesitant to his own ears. "I do not believe with an intention to cause harm, however. In fact, quite the opposite." Albus paused delicately, allowing Poppy and Minerva to glean from that what they would. Knowing Poppy and Minerva as he did, he judged that would amount to pretty much the lot.

"An aphrodisiac?" asked the Mediwitch, somewhat skeptically.

Albus shook his head. "If I have interpreted the ingredients correctly, I believe our Potions Master has brewed a powerful hallucinogen. No doubt it was intended to create lifelike visions and sensations while awake, but I fear that the brew was more potent than even Severus could have imagined." The three glanced at the pale figure before them, and Albus once again fought to keep his thoughts on the matter purely medical. "He appears impassive because his mind is locked within it's own imaginings upon a singular and singularly colourful theme; practically all sensory input from the real world is overridden and occluded."

They paused a moment, taking that in. "And how long will he remain in this... state?" asked Minerva, sounding even brusquer than usual.

Albus thought once again about the items he had seen Severus add to the cauldron. Most were of magical origin, few would decay. "Years, potentially," he admitted. "And it might take at least at long to concoct a safe antidote."

At that, the witches looked thoroughly distressed. "But we can't just leave him!" exclaimed Poppy.

"Quite," agreed Albus, and that seemed to mollify them a little. "You notice I said that practically all sensory input from the real world is overridden." Albus steeled himself. "Observe." He extended his hand to Severus' brow once more and this time indulged the wish to smooth back those tendrils of dark hair. Albus felt his hands lingering as his fingertips traced across Severus' pale cheek... all in the name of demonstration, of course.

And what a demonstration it was! Severus gasped as if caressed by a lover, unabashed and needy and mouthing kisses toward Albus' fingers, so utterly unlike the stern young man whom they knew.

"He certainly didn't do that when I took his temperature," stated Poppy, sounding slightly miffed.

Diplomatically, Albus pushed on. "I hold the hope that a sensory experience in same vein as Severus' inward hallucinations would act to bring him back to us, if it were sufficiently intense. I predict that a potion of this type would only be trumped by the very experience that it seeks to emulate."

Poppy looked skeptical. "But if your theory is true, we would have to know exactly the sort of person he finds..."

"'Male and significantly older' I believe to be the specification," Albus stated, doing his best to sound matter-of-fact. The room suddenly went very quiet.

"Albus? You mean... you mean... you?" Minerva asked, wide-eyed.

And what a tantalizing suggestion it was. Severus, so carelessly beautiful. Albus alone and quietly lonely. Of what he had seen in Severus' thoughts...

"Oh goodness, no!" he exclaimed, breaking the silence.

The idea was ridiculous. How could she even have supposed that he would... that he could... or even that he had ever... It wasn't even as if he and Gellert had fully... that is... But in a different world how dearly he would like to...

Albus shook his head to dispel such foolishness. "I mean, that is not what I had in mind at all. What we need here is a hedonist of the first order. I believe we all know a certain person who would perform the task admirably..."

"Oh, yes..." Minerva flushed slightly as the realization dawned upon her, "But isn't he away? Something about a rehabilitory stay in Dubai before a world cruise?"

Albus nodded, relieved that the references to himself had passed. "I'll Floo-call him."


******

Arriving back in his study, Albus took the small pot of blue-green powder from the shelf at the side of the mantelpiece; International Floo Powder was expensive stuff. He spoke the address clearly into the rising flames as they burnt iridescent and soon found himself face-to-face with an Arabic young man wearing the gold-edged robes and cap of a bell-wizard.

"Yessir. How may I help sir?"

"Good morning - assuming it is morning in your part of the world, that is. I should like to speak to Professor Horace Slughorn, please."

The boy glanced sideways into the room he was occupying, swallowed hard and then returned to Albus with an apologetic expression. "Professor Slughorn busy most sorry. I take message?"

"Thank you very much, but I feel that shan't be necessary. Please tell the Professor that Albus Dumbledore needs to speak with him as a matter of utmost urgency."

The boy looked skeptical, particularly following a second surreptitious glance to his left. Albus' gaze brooked no argument, however. "I try. 'Dumbulydore', you say?" he conceded.

"That will do. Thank you."

Albus waited patiently as the boy scurried off, and some muttered conversations and some noises that were more difficult to interpret came from out of view. Finally, a rather discombobulated-looking Horace Slughorn took up his place on the other side of the Floo connection, clad in a silken dressing gown and a rather flushed expression. "Ah, Albus!" he started, not quite enthusiastically, "What a pleasure."

"As it is to see you, my dear Horace," said Albus, "I'm very sorry to interrupt you in your hard-earned retirement."

"Well, yes, quite, quite. You should really give it a try, you know, old thing. You don't have to run that school of yours forever and there are some delightful experiences to be had in the rest of the world." He glanced lasciviously at someone out of view, then leaned forward with a conspiratorial gleam. "I know you're just as much as an old queen as I am, Albus, even if you are too high and mighty to admit it."

Albus felt himself reddening once again and focused valiantly upon the matter at hand - which, to be frank, did little to alleviate such symptoms. Unaccustomed to feeling so out-of-step, he decided to cut to the chase. "I have a favour to ask of you, my friend."

Horace shook his head with vigour. "Tush, Albus, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: I'm an old man, I'm having some well-earned rest..." His attention was caught by something out of sight, causing him to partially disappear from the flames then came back into view holding a martini-glass and a smug expression. "Ah, thank you Manuel, and yes, a little to the left. Yeeessss... Mmmmm... Anyway, as I was saying, Albus - I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else."

"Well, that's a great pity," said Albus solemnly. He had, after all, expected this. "I think you might even have enjoyed this one, it's right in your area of expertise."

"You have young Severus for all that sort of thing, now," rejoined Horace swiftly.

"No, Horace, your other area of expertise." He waited for the Knut to drop, and Horace's eyebrows raised, right on cue. "And it's funny that you should mention Severus..."

"Oho!" He waved away his companion in the background. "Severus Snape? Not to my taste at all, I'm afraid, Albus. Far too prickly. I like my boys to come with a smile and a sweet kiss or two. And besides, why on earth are you Flooing me in the middle of the Middle East to try to matchmake me with a sourpuss?"

Albus had to laugh at that. So Severus might seem to most, he supposed. Many would overlook the cleverness, the heart that loved so fiercely, the young lithe form and the sweet vulnerability that laid beneath it all... but no buttoned-up, powerfully-awkward, awkwardly-powerful wizard such as himself would have the first clue what to do, despite best intentions. "Ah, 'matchmake' isn't quite the word I'm afraid, Horace. Our dilemma is as follows..."


*****

Horace arrived at the castle within the hour, making a terrible fuss about the indignities of long-distance travel and how hungry it made him, but nevertheless smiling and suggesting that the best guest-suite would be in order for the activities that were to follow. Albus was happy to oblige his every whim; anything to stop his mind from wandering to Severus lying placidly atop that sumptuous bed, insensible to all but his own fevered thoughts.

He escorted Horace to the staff common room and saw that the house elves took good care of his extensive luggage. Conversation and wine flowed, almost as if nothing out-of-the-ordinary was going on, and no-one dared to mention the proverbial hippogriff standing in the room. Albus found himself wishing that the elaborate brunch upon which Horace had insisted would just end; there really was a limit to the number of Middle-Eastern vineyard-and-bordello stories he could hear in one night - and surely Severus needed help soon? He supposed, however, that if anyone knew the correct etiquette to precede extensive sexual congress with an unconscious junior colleague, it was probably Horace.

At the end of that indulgent meal and the necessary small-talk, Horace smiled broadly and rubbed his plump palms against one another. "Time to get busy, I think! I have quite a day ahead of me, if that Potion is as you describe it." He sounded none-too-distressed by the idea, that was for certain.

Albus wondered vaguely how someone could manage to do anything after that much food - but he supposed that his colleague was a man of large appetites, in every sense. "Yes...well," he muttered, trying to keep gaze and tone even, and trying not to see the sleeping Severus in his mind's eye. What was stopping him? Why did his palms suddenly prickle and he have the ridiculous urge to send Horace far, far away? Albus swallowed hard. "I'll... I'll show you where to go."

They walked together along the corridor to the chamber in question, footsteps ringing all-too-loudly in the cold night air. "He'll be as right as rain soon, don't you worry!" said Horace, clapping Albus' tense shoulders, "In fact, I rather promise that he'll be better than ever; I take this as a matter of pride..." They had arrived at the room. Horace chuckled, slipping Albus one of his cheeky winks and then disappeared into the chamber in a flurry of embroidery and enthusiasm.

The heavy door locked, leaving Albus cold and alone in the corridor, clearly needing to leave.

Except that he didn't. Or couldn't. Or didn't want to.

There was something riling within him just then, something fierce and tense that smacked suspiciously of jealousy... although that was clearly ridiculous because he had never wanted Severus Snape for his own... had he? He had never dreamed of kissing those sneering lips, smoothing that shock of black hair and holding that poor, young, deplorable man so tightly at night until they could both forget their mistakes. He was the Great Albus Dumbledore; he had no such desires.

Albus was shaking, pressed against the stone wall. His mouth was dry and his fingers sought comforting purchase on the rough surface, yet a twisting ache surged in his gut and he burned with years of stoppered heat.

He knew he shouldn't, he mustn't, but old habits die hard and Albus oh-so-desperately wanted to know what was going to happen within that chamber. It was in the name of medicine, yes - he told himself - academic interest and healing and fatherly concern for his colleagues.

Thus, he once again cast the surveillance charm; the old charm; the charm that was far more than Legilimency and would probably be Unforgivable if its existence were widely known. More than a spying charm but not quite a possession charm. More of a fly-on-the-wall charm, except the wall in question was the inside of a person's mind; an opportunity to gaze through the windows of the soul from the wrong side.

Stripping down to his underthings, Horace surveyed the room before him. Four-poster bed with delightful hangings, a log-fire roaring in the grate - yes, yes, this was all looking entirely suitable.

He padded around, folding his robes, hanging his dressing gown, and checking that everything else that might prove necessary was in order. Horace was perfectly comfortable thus, with his large body; indeed, he took it as a sign of how much he enjoyed life. He was a hedonist of the truest and most honest sort and saw no point in deprivation of any kind - whether that be food, drink, travel or love; Horace was a connoisseur of them all.

And what a pretty little parcel he had before him then, stretched out placidly on the bed! Indeed, this task might not even require the case of elf-made wine he had made Albus promise for his trouble. The young man in the room was not at all like the Severus he remembered - gone was the sneer and the hunched posture, replaced by features that were striking rather than grim, and a physique that was admittedly on the scrawny side, but possessed much of the grace of those Muggle dancers in deliciously close-fitting tights.

The elves had dressed Severus in a loose-fitting nightshirt and pyjama bottoms to match. Horace stopped for a moment, considering.

In his life, he had had many, many different lovers. He had cavorted with all the other boys when they had been young and louche, barely sleeping in their teenaged dormitories in a veritable orgy of exploration; then holding wild parties in London during their Ministry apprenticeships, champagne flowing all night amid the music and lust. There had been rich, older men, keen for toothsome young flesh; foreign hopefuls, wanting to ingratiate themselves with the fashionable English youth; dancers and musicians and writers and academics, all itching to indulge and be indulged. Then, as he had grown older and more important, and his Gringott's account and waistline had both grown fat, a whole host of different opportunities had presented themselves. There were his dashing contemporaries, exquisitely turned out, every crease of their rutting expensive and perfumed; delightful young men seeking to get ahead in the wizarding world; boys from far-off lands wanting work and money; and even a few who seemed to like him just for the trademark Sluggy chuckle and repartee.

Never in his life though, had he dealt with a situation quite like this.

Horace walked along the side of the bed, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Severus' chest in sleep. Tentatively, he extended a hand to a pale cheek, and was rewarded as Severus leaned into his touch with a soft hum. Encouraged, he continued these gentle caresses; brow, nose, jaw and neck. The last of those caused a particularly strong reaction - Severus rolled his head backwards to expose his smooth throat, causing Horace to hop onto the bed alongside him and apply talented lips in place of his fingers.

It was then that things really started to get interesting. Severus' hums turned to veritable groans, and with the taste of sweet skin on his lips, Horace found himself turning from contracted assistance to enthusiastic participant. He slid his hands under Severus' nightshirt, broad palms smoothed over sunken belly. Severus hissed at the contact and arched upwards, causing Horace's hands to move over hardened nipples and elicit yet more vocality from his pliant charge. Gosh! This boy had potential!

As Severus' shirt was removed from view, Horace marvelled at the sight of ribcage and hipbones, vaguely wondering how someone could come to be that lean. He was slightly put off his mark by such apparent frailty - he would never want to cause a lover injury - but also fascinated by the spareness, as if the lust contained in that flat belly would be all the more concentrated for it, and the little hollows around Severus' hips were beckoning him to taste within their shadows. He lapped at a nipple, causing Severus to gasp almost as if in pain, and then, feeling his own arousal growing ever stronger, banished all of their clothing with a flick of his wand.

The sight of Severus completely nude certainly did not disappoint. He was large, and perfectly erect, rosy tip pointing from a base of black curls. Horace was very tempted to take him in hand then and there, but he restrained himself - a consummate lover knows the value of exquisite timing, above all.

Therefore, Horace busied himself with Severus' elegant legs, hands traveling along their length and ghostly fingers teasing at inner thighs in a way to make Severus groan and part his limbs in silent plea - all interspersed with lingering touches to Severus' abdomen and hardened nipples. The young man's movements had by then graduated to a continuous writhe and his gasps to a low, needy keening sound. Horace was sure that had Severus been fully awake, he would have positively demanded to be touched where it most mattered, then and there.

With this in mind, Horace coated his palm in oil from the bottle he had placed by the bed, and closed his fingers around Severus. He stroked firmly in a slow, steady rhythm, knowing from years of practice that men enjoy it most when it's allowed to build; one, two, three, but then-

-Severus tensed all of a sudden, releasing his seed across his own white chest.

Horace released Severus in surprise, and dived under the covers. He had made plans for what to do when Severus came to, but that was much earlier than he had expected - assuming of course that it had done the trick. He stayed very still, eying Severus as he would a sleeping dragonling. His own sizable erection still throbbed angrily, beginning to feel decidedly cheated.

Seconds passed - possibly minutes - but Severus showed no signs of waking. Certain parts of his anatomy were making a fair attempt, however, which made Horace rather pleased. He cast a quick cleaning charm then resumed his position at Severus' side and his ministrations.

A surprisingly short time later, Severus was once again writhing upon the bedclothes and wailing with hunger. In the small part of his brain that was not clouded by lust, Horace wondered whether the Potion created such impressive recovery skills, or whether he was just forgetting the attributes of the very young and inexperienced. Either way, it was certainly a delicious sight.

Horace shifted his weight to straddle Severus' prone form, than applied his mouth to all those delightful planes and hollows of the lithe body before him. That increased Severus' reaction yet more, particularly when spread legs gave way to a broad tongue across balls and perineum, and teasing laps that climbed up his shaft. Having seen many a pushy top, and many a needy bottom in his time, Horace was left in no doubt as to Severus' true nature, and he quickly formed a theory as to exactly what would be necessary to supersede the fantasies in which Severus was trapped.

He oiled his fingers liberally, then pushed one gently against Severus - but such gentleness proved barely necessary. So this is the key thought Horace, as Severus moved back toward him, crying ever louder as he was stretched and filled, then squirming to connect ever more. When Horace was confident that Severus had been properly prepared, he took great pleasure in replacing his fingers with his liberally oiled cock at Severus' entrance and slid smoothly in to that slick heat.

And oh! It was good! Horace closed his eyes in pleasure as he pushed to the hilt, letting out a moan himself to rival Severus' cries. He then set about the serious business of fucking the delightful young man smoothly and thoroughly like the master he was, aiming true for that sweet spot within at every stroke, hands firmly holding Severus' hips as his legs fell back over Horace's shoulders.

It was glorious, simply glorious! But like so many charmed things in life, it had, eventually, to come to an end. Horace could feel himself sweating with happy exertion, building closer and closer to that delightful peak, as Severus' erection raged red and hard and his wordless cries reached full voice.

They came within seconds of one another, grunting and pumping hard, Horace's sight clouding white and his lungs devoid of breath.

He did not allow himself the luxury of a lengthy afterglow, however. As soon as he was able, Horace withdrew and cast cleaning and dressing charms upon them both. A Potion's Master as he was, Horace
had a very clear idea of when the effects of the concoction would be eliminated, and he had absolutely no intention of hanging around to suffer the aftermath.

Sure enough, Severus' eyes began to flutter open. His limbs became stiffer, muttered words escaped his lips that could have been curses... and just at the moment when he came to, Horace hopped away, securely fastened his velvet bathrobe about him and slipped out of the door - to come face-to-face with...

"Albus! ...I didn't realize you were still here!"

Albus' heart pounded in his chest. His mouth felt dry with guilt and lust and his blood raged with years of neglect and envy. "I, err..." So close. So very nearly caught. How could he have been so stupid? And yet, Severus. Beautiful, naked, keening, needy Severus...

"No matter," declared Horace, jovially. "You'll be pleased to know that he's as right as rain - nothing that the old Sluggy treatment couldn't cure, just like I said!" Horace looked up and down the deserted corridor and lowered his voice to a sated whisper, in mock confidence. "You should really have a go with him yourself, old thing. An absolute treasure beneath the covers!"

"Really, Horace, I..."

"Come now, Mr. Saviour-Of-The-Wizarding-World, there's no harm in a little slap and tickle, you know. - It's not even as if this one's a student. I daresay it would do you good!"

Albus found it very difficult to say anything at that moment save "Hurrumph," and that gave Horace even the more reason to smirk.

The problem was, of course, that old Sluggy was completely and utterly right.


*****

It had been tempting for Albus to go and see Severus directly after his awakening, but however much he might have wanted to, he knew that would have been a very bad idea. The young man was proud and bad-tempered at the best of times; after events such as those he would either be incandescent or inconsolable - probably both.

It therefore came as no surprise when a sharp banging sounded on Albus' office door the following morning, followed by a shout of, 'Open up this instant!' even before he reasonably could have done so.

Albus settled behind his desk and bade the door open, carefully telling himself that he had been expecting this; he'd considered how to deal with it. He had, after all, been awake for most of the night thinking about this particular professional situation. Not to mention the accompanying images of Severus lithe and writhing as he was taken... his treacherous subconscious provided.

"Good morning, Severus," Albus started, trying for a bland tone as a streak of black steamed through his door.

"Good sodding morning?" Severus sneered, "Don't give me good bloody arsing morning!"

"Very well, then. What sort of greeting would you prefer?"

Severus stopped his pacing directly in front of Albus' desk and swallowed hard. "Just tell me what happened. All of it."

"Ah, I take it you are referring to yesterday's occurrences while you were taken ill," said Albus, playing for time. "Do have a seat, Severus. Lemon drop?"

The glare that Severus produced at that point was sufficient to have melted all the lemon-drops in Albus' jar, but he did concede to sitting on the chair across the desk.

Albus carefully gathered his wits; he knew he had rehearsed this. "Now, before I begin, Severus, it is necessary for you to understand that you were brought to the infirmary in a most worrying state. We thought you had been attacked - were concerned that you might die. So any action that was taken was designed to preserve your life first and foremost - and it was needful that concerns of privacy take a secondary role."

Severus ground his teeth with a pained cringe, conveying that this was, indeed, going to be as bad as he had feared. "Just get on with it."

"Very well. Given the perceived emergency as I described, it was deemed appropriate for me to use an advanced form of Legilimency on you to determine the nature of the problem - which informed us that you were suffering from the unintended effects of a particular experimental potion. Having established the imperishable nature of the ingredients, it was clear that the only way to overcome-"

"-Yes, yes, spare me the gory details. I know very well what would have sorted it out." The grimace grew stronger, and Severus seemed to shrink in his chair. Silence stretched as Albus tried to look anywhere but those wrung hands, furrowed brow and squeezed-shut eyes.

Finally, Severus looked up, and in a much softer voice, he asked, "Who... who was it?"

"Professor Slughorn."

Severus' eyebrows rose a little at that, but he said nothing, and looked - if anything - the slightest bit relieved. Another dark thought then crossed his features, however. "And who else knows?"

Oh dear. Albus had been especially dreading this part. "You must realize, Severus, that we thought you were at risk of death. And the need for secrecy of a particularly personal kind was not fully expected..."

"Who. Knows?"

"Well, myself," And far more than I ought, came that tantalizing voice once more, "Horace, of course," Albus flinched slightly despite himself. "I believe that Minerva and Poppy were also present, and several of the house elves were instrumental in-"

"-Oh, marvellous! So the whole bloody school, then. Announce it at assembly did you? 'I'm sorry to have to inform you, children, that the Head of Slytherin is currently unavailable due to self-induced sexual psychosis...'" The customary tantrum was back in full force as Severus leapt up from his seat.

"Nothing of the sort! Come now, Severus. Be fair."

The young man merely grimaced and snorted before stalking off.


*****

No more had been said on the matter of Severus' incapacitation, but some weeks later Albus still found it difficult to meet his young colleague without a flood of distinctly unprofessional thoughts. Having lived the ascetic lifestyle for so many years he was quite unprepared for the slow, constant simmering that plagued his distracted moments and those times of half-dream when neither awake nor asleep.

He couldn't even properly explain it. He had spied and witnessed scenes that he had no right to see. They had been extremely arousing. So far, so good, thought Albus, but was he really as shallow and desperate as a teenaged boy?

Probably, he concluded, thoroughly unimpressed with himself. Yet he was sure there was something more.

For the first time in years, Albus faced up to the fact he was lonely. He had plenty of friends, a busy calendar and a job that he believed in, yet his bed was always cold and his waking always quiet. He thought of all the people he had rebuffed and eluded over the years; he didn't deserve someone new and fresh and clean and unsullied like those who might have been interested in him - or at least the myth of him.

But Severus... was by no means the innocent.

He therefore welcomed the project when it was suggested, for reasons other than just magical good sense. The sensible, dour part of Albus by which he had lived the majority of his years said that working closely with the young man should get the whole embarrassing fancy out of his system; the excited, lustful part merely delighted in the promise of close proximity. Both parts had made it easy to say 'yes.'

The idea had been Minerva's in the first instance, but one in which both Albus and Severus could see clear utility. In different ways, the concept was rather close to their hearts.

Extracting memories - either with agreement or by force - was well-defined magic, of course, but playing these from one mind to another was a hazy and sometimes partisan process. Questionable evidence of this nature had formed a large part in the recent Death Eater trials, and although Albus knew that many of those sent to Azkaban were as guilty as sin, there was clearly room for error in both directions. What was needed was some sort of external device - to allow safe storage of those silver strands without the chance of mental manipulation, and at best, a way in which more than one person could objectively view the same recollection at one time; some way in which the truth would always out.

A clear brief, then, but one that was proving difficult to meet. Albus and Severus had met twice a week for the past two months, and aside from a few charred pieces of stone and the occasional splitting headache, they had little to show for their efforts.

They worked in secret, owing to the potentially dangerous nature of this half-formed magic falling into the wrong hands; luckily, the Hogwarts castle had provided an ideal venue - a room on the seventh floor that appeared only upon request to those who needed it.

It was within said room on one wet Tuesday evening that Albus began at last to feel hopeful... and the device might just have made some headway, also. It had been their habit to provide their own memories as test-subjects - carefully controlled and always impersonal; Severus' Potions' lessons, Albus' meetings with visiting academics or charitable organizations. However, after such long and frustrating efforts, variety was proving a necessary solace.

"Try this." Severus flung a pearlescent strand across the room, caught deftly by Albus' wand-tip. Albus added it to the charmed dish before them, causing it to hiss and splutter. "Well, be quick!" Albus focused his mind into the bowl.

Severus was there, but... not quite as he recognized him. Squinting, Albus saw that he was...yes, much younger. Perhaps fifteen or so. And he didn't seem to be standing anywhere that Albus recognized. Was that a park? Or perhaps a meadow. The figure bent to pick up something from the grass, and-

-with a final crackle the memory was gone. "Dashed unstable," muttered Albus. Then he paused, thinking about what he had seen. "Where were you, exactly, in that memory?"

Severus shrugged and looked away, perhaps regretting what he had done. "A field in some benighted part of Northern England."

Albus was hoping that he might learn more, but the long silence seemed to say he had heard all he would. "Oh. Well, shall we-"

"-It was the day my grandmother died. She was more a parent to me than the ones I had, really. I went out to pick some wild flowers for her."

Severus was looking down at his hands, face twisted into a grimace. Albus had the urge to wrap an arm around his spiky shoulders, but resisted, knowing it would most probably be unwelcome. Instead, he tried to push past the silence. "We've added every preservation charm there is, but they're still so volatile! The objectivity is coming along, though. I couldn't have fiddled with that memory, even though I could see it. Well, at least for a few seconds."

Severus continued to look thoughtful. "Maybe if we...mmmm, yes." He muttered something over the dish with his wand. "Give me another."

Resisting the urge to ask exactly what Severus had done, Albus extracted another memory for the dish. Something innocuous, for sure; he plumped upon breakfast in hall that morning.

The charm that Severus had used was clearly beneficial - the sounds of hiss and splutter were much reduced. Severus peered with surprising intensity; proof or principle was all very well, but toast and jam and chatter couldn't be that interesting. Unless...

Oh, no. Albus realized with a jolt that he had not, in fact, been chatting with anyone at breakfast that day, but quietly gazing at Severus at the other end of the table with his usual ridiculous thoughts. He had been subtle about it at the time, of course, avoiding Severus' gaze when he had glanced upward, but passing the whole recollection to Severus on a plate, moony eyes and all, was nothing if not embarrassing.

Albus felt his toes curling within his pointy boots as Severus continued to watch the - now irritatingly stable - memory swirl about in the dish. Finally, Severus looked up, expression unreadable but eyebrows highly arched. "It seems to work better if you tag the magical observation to just the perspective of the memory donor," he said, dryly.

"Ah, marvellous idea!" replied Albus, over-eager. "On such a promising note, shall we call it an evening? I'm terribly tired." He barely waited for Severus to agree before bolting out of the room's door, ears burning the colour of his burgundy robes.


*****

They did not meet for a second time that week, and Severus also made his excuses for the next session that was scheduled, cryptically claiming pressures of 'other research'. It was therefore fully ten days later that Albus and Severus found themselves once more in the Room of Requirement.

In the interim, Albus had tried to forget his silly faux-pas in the breakfast-memory department, but couldn't help thinking that Severus found him ridiculous. Even he could see the humour inherent in an asexual old goat with a crush on his much-younger colleague, after all, and he dreaded to think what a razor-wit might make of the situation.

Needless to say, Albus had kept his Legilimency very much to himself after that fateful evening in the corridor outside the Hogwarts' guest suite. The images he had stolen continued to bring warmth on those cold winter nights, but he was determined not to let such weakness cause him to trespass again. Albus had struggled long and hard to learn how not to abuse his power, and he certainly wasn't going to let all that slip now. At least, that was what he told himself - as each glimpse of Severus made his lips tingle and stirred the long-dormant fire in his blood.

On the evening in question, Albus was already waiting in the Room when Severus strode through the door. A brand-new incarnation of the device was on the central table; Albus had spent much of the past week using magic to hew stone ever more smoothly and symmetrically - a polished surface would best receive the complex preservation and visualization charms they were to place upon it.

Severus peered quizzically at the new dish, but looked as though he was going to refrain from commenting. When Albus gave it a sneaky polish, however, the temptation was clearly too great. "Why don't you just engrave the edge with runic poetry and have done with it?"

"I might just do that, thank you, Severus," Albus twinkled back at him, "In addition to looking really rather splendid - even though I do say so myself - I'm confident that this dish will perform far better than our previous prototypes. It can carry the Solidato charm for hours, and the Visibilius that I cast last week is still as good as ever."

Severus nodded, clearly appreciative, but then remained quiet. Albus felt the weight of the young man's gaze, and he felt scrutinized in that way he knew he sometimes did to others. The effect was, indeed, distinctly unsettling.

Albus looked away, and busied himself with another polishing charm. "Won't you sit down?"

More silence. "Yes, but..." Severus' attention seemed to be caught by the bowl as Albus' hands rhythmically smoothed over its contours.

"But...?"

"Nothing."

The gaze didn't abate and Albus felt he couldn't stand it for much longer. He decided to force the matter. "What were you thinking?"

"I said, 'nothing'."

"No, really Severus, you were looking pensive."

"Don't you understand English?" asked Severus, waspishly, He then paused, as if deciding what to concede. "But if you really must know, I was wondering what we should call the thing."

That washed Albus with relief but also with a little twang of disappointment that he couldn't quite identify. "Oh. And?"

Severus seemed to regain his stride then and puffed up with a hint of self-importance. "I was thinking the 'Snape' - or 'Dumbledore', that is, 'Optical Memorizer: Internal To External.'"

Albus considered for a moment... but unfortunately he couldn't hold back his laughter. "Oh, Severus! We couldn't possibly!" he chuckled, that twinge of sadness swept away by his mirth.

"Why ever not?"

"Because... Ha ha, oh dear. Because the acronym, my dear Severus, is 'SODOMITE'!"

Severus opened his mouth to object at such unfair teasing, but quickly shut it again, clearly realizing Albus' reckoning to be accurate. "Oh, very bloody funny. You come up with something better then."

Albus took that as something of a challenge, once more in his social stride. "Well, let's think through this logically, then. What does the device do? It distills thoughts; helps one sort the wheat from the chaff - like draining one's memories." He pondered for a moment and then broke into a wide smile. "I have it! I just said it's for draining one's memories - like a sieve - and I said you were looking pensive, so-"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?!"

"I mean, it sounds ridiculous." Severus brooded for a second, and then waved his had in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, I'm sure you'll do what you will. But far more importantly, I've been working on an enhancement that I'd like to try out."

"Certainly. But what exactly-"

At that moment, however, several things seemed to happen at once. Severus whispered a spell that Albus didn't recognize and he felt a memory slip unbidden from his mind. Before he could object, the silvery strands were swirling in the stone dish, and Severus was - gone.

Albus looked about the room, fearing foul play. There were no traces of Dark magic, however, and certainly no physical signs of interference. He checked for Severus' - invisible - presence, but could sense none; this was clearly more than just an advanced disillusionment charm. What was he playing at?

Whatever spell Severus had used on him, it had not been particularly violent or intrusive; the memories of horrors past were securely buried in Albus' mind, and he wagered that no Legilimens in Britain could penetrate those defenses. The lighter, happier, peripheral things, though? They were unguarded and ripe for the taking. Since the end of the war, Albus had afforded himself the small luxury of keeping his day-to-day life reasonably accessible in mental terms; building and maintaining barriers was exhausting, not to mention yet another thing that seemed to separate him from everybody else. Except Severus, his subconscious supplied. Severus understood what it was to be constantly on-guard, forever shielded. - But where on earth had he disappeared?

Albus puzzled for a few more moments, but then worked it out: a memory-extraction charm, coupled with Permissio and a secrecy charm. Severus had explicitly asked whether he may 'try something out,' and Albus' vague assent had clearly been good enough for the spell. Hence, one extracted memory - Albus having not felt a thing, and he was even unable to tell which recollection had been taken.

As to where Severus had disappeared, 'into the device' seemed the only available explanation. Albus felt for the magic surrounding it, and ah, yes, there was the expansion charm. A clever boy, that Severus, it had to be said. Albus felt himself smiling despite having been duped. He was sure that Severus would reappear at any moment, happily gloating of his triumph, and to be honest, Albus was content to let him do so; the young man had earned his pride on this one.

His reasoning was rewarded a short time later. Severus reappeared in the room, reforming in a split-second from a whoosh of black that flowed from the dish. Albus was just about to chime his congratulations, but the intense yet unreadable expression painted on Severus' features sucked the breeze from his bonhomie. Once again, a heavy silence stretched between them, as Severus' eyes burrowed into his own and Albus found his tongue caught and his cheeks aflame.

Finally, Severus spoke. "That time, two months ago. You were watching, weren't you?"

"No! Of course not..." Utter panic.

Severus drove on, his tone steely. "You wanted so see. You were wishing it had been you."

"I would never..." Albus spluttered. The colour burning his face did little to add credence to his protestations.

"Just an old pervert, aren't you?" Severus taunted.

"Really, Severus, I..."

"- But I'm glad, you see, because I wish it had been you." Severus lurched forward and crushed his lips to Albus'.

Mind reeling with all kinds of shock, Albus stayed still for what must have been an unreasonably long period of time, given the fact he was being kissed. Thin, insistent lips were pushing at his, moving with imagination rather than practice, but nevertheless communicating their heat and intention perfectly.

After a very long freeze, Albus allowed himself to melt into the moment. He was being kissed. He was being kissed! After decades of celibacy, then weeks of elaborate fantasy, he was actually, truly, honestly being kissed!

He delighted in the feel of Severus hot mouth, allowing his to open slightly as Severus tasted his lower lip. His hands filled with Severus' robes, a lean body pressed to his own, heat radiating through clothes. Gaining courage, Albus moved one hand to cradle Severus' cheek and received a soft sigh in return. His fingers twined with those black strands, and as his tongue found Severus', Albus' heart sang with pleasure; the sweet reality was more than he could ever have dreamed.

Finally, they parted and Severus moved away. Lips glistening but silent, Severus looked suddenly vulnerable, as if he had used all of his advances and bravery at once and was now lost in uncharted territory.

Unfortunately, Albus felt equally at sea. His mind was whirling with sensation and surprise, but he determined he had to say something. Eloquence, his usual friend and shield, seemed to have deserted him, so the only words of which he felt capable tumbled forth. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" repeated Severus, warily.

"Yes, thank you."

"You mean, you liked...?"

Albus answered that with an advance of his own, capturing Severus lips before they had finished his question, and hands becoming ever bolder upon his lithe young body. He slipped a hand beneath Severus' outer robes, feeling the flex of his trim sides and the neat curve of his buttocks. Severus stiffened slightly at the contact as if embarrassed, but seemed to overcome that by reciprocating the action. It was exciting to feel Severus' palms move over his form - that was for certain - but then it was Albus' turn to feel bashful. An exploring hand over his stomach reminded him that he wasn't as slim as he used to be, and although fingertips brushing his nipples felt delightful, he definitely used to be more muscled.

Luckily for both, more pressing matters literally made themselves known. Severus moved slightly within Albus' embrace, and at that moment their hardnesses aligned, eliciting a deep moan from both men and a simultaneous tugging at robes to afford better access.

They kissed and ground and pawed, becoming ever more aroused - but after a while it became clear that neither was leaping forth to take the lead in proceedings. That feeling of nervousness crept back into Albus' mind, and a few moments later they parted once more.

"So, do you want to...?" croaked Albus, cringing at how fatuous he sounded.

"I do. And you?"

"Very much."

Severus took a deep breath and plastered an expression across his face that might have been intended to appear businesslike. "Well, just to get all of the humiliation out of the way before this all grinds to some kind of toe-curling, mortifying halt, you do realize that I'm in truth completely clueless when it comes to coital matters, and although this, technically, wouldn't be my first time with another person, it would be my first time while sentient, and that amounts to pretty much the same thing, so-"

Albus smiled, then silenced his nervous chatter with another kiss. "And what makes you think I especially know what I'm doing either, dear heart?"

Severus snorted at that. "Surely the Great Albus Dumbledore knows everything... being fêted for the past eighty years must have thrown a few opportunities your way."

"Not as many as you might think, actually. And the problem with being put on a pedestal is that people don't think that they - or indeed, anyone else - ought to touch. Add to that a bookish character who didn't really know what he was up to in the first place, and you have...well, a great theoretical knowledge of matters carnal but very little practical application."

Severus raised his eyebrows as he took that in. "So, we'll just...?"

"I daresay we'll muddle through." Albus chuckled. "If you think ten years of celibacy was bad enough, imagine the elaborate fantasies that one can concoct in ten times that!"

Severus' eyes widened at that thought, and Albus was treated to a rare half-smile - perhaps in smugness at being the subject of said fantasies. "Any potion-maker worth his skrewt should know the value of experimentation..."

"...Which, arguably is how this whole business started, is it not?"

Severus swatted Albus' rump for that jibe before pulling him close. "Shut up and come here."


*****

Minerva McGonagall was not a particularly romantic witch, and certainly not fluffy-headed. She did however, know a pitiful waste when she saw one. A young, virginal Severus Snape had certainly fallen into that category. As had a handsome, repressed Albus Dumbledore.

It had therefore only been the reasonable thing to do when she had found that book about Potions to enhance the sexual experience in the Restricted Section - college owls were often employed to deliver packages anonymously, after all. And of course, it was thoroughly sensible for the most skilled Occlumens and Legilimens in England to collaborate on that memory storage device: 'recall sieve', or whatever they were going to call it. If a few choice inner thoughts were going to surface during the working process, then all the better for it.

Peering through a spyhole into the Room of Requirement, Minerva hissed as she massaged her clit, keeping her strokes at the same leisurely pace as the scene that was unfolding before her. Clothing was slowly being removed - a shoulder blade there, a long, sleek leg there - and both were fumbling and blushing as if a gawky sunken chest or a tummy flabby with age could somehow diminish the attractiveness of two naked powerful wizards, breath catching at every hesitant touch and cocks hard and eager.

They started kissing in earnest then, bodies pressed together in the cold air of the chamber, nipples hard and buttocks tensed. When Albus finally gathered the presence of mind to conjure a bed they collapsed together, all eager mouths and inexpert grabbing palms, and writhed and squirmed like teenagers on heat, and Minerva increased her pace to match.

Finally, Severus lifted his legs onto Albus' shoulders and they made the necessary preparations - fingers shaking with trepidation and urgency and eyes half-closed with the effort not to end too soon. As Albus inched forward, Severus mewled with delight and Minerva laid back, her long, sure fingers matching every thrust and making her quiver with hard-earned pleasure.

As sweet shudders coursed through her body, and surprised, excited gasps came from the adjoining room, Minerva had the presence of mind for one last thought: About bloody time.

END