When cleaning his caldrons, Severus used hands to wash and wands to dry. He didn’t like relying on elves—the morbidity of their meekness never sat well with him, and his household magic was limited. He could cast the clearest cleaning charm and still have spoons covered in smut. He had a giant vat he bought he took from home, which he used to soak his metal cauldrons and cups.
Despite his slovenly appearance, Severus maintained his dungeon domain with far less cavalier than his predecessor. Professor Slughorn was a packrat and hoarder who desperately clung to the reputation of his students over actual substance. When Severus accepted the position as potion master, he vowed actually to teach his students something, and that began with structure. He cleaned his caldrons through a daily regime of name-brand dishwasher soap—another secret he loathed to share with his peers, while his notes were filed conveniently in a cabinet he kept on the side of his bed. He long-handed all his notes and even prepared them two weeks ahead of class. He owned two bookshelves, divided by purpose and pleasure, wizarding almanacs and muggle lore. Snape loathed any reminder of his father’s heritage, but he could never part from his library, bringing his favorites from his hobble of a house on Spinner’s End. It seemed, without the wonders of magic, the wizarding world had no palette for the arts. There was no Whitman or Shakespearean equivalent here. Literature was dull, stories relegated to lore passed on from generation to generation, and there was almost so much redundancy Snape could withstand before he decided a trip to a bookstore was in order. His collection was a secret he chose to bare alone, and he guarded it with the zeal he used with all reminders of his muggle life—his big brand detergents, his dishwashing aids, his battery-powered lamps because he didn’t feel the urge to retrieve his wand every time a candle went out. There was an ongoing rumor that there was “too much magic” for electricity to work in Hogwarts. Severus learned a long time ago that such propaganda only served to further the wizarding world’s agenda. They feared their weaknesses. Maths and sciences were locked in vaults of never could be’s and never will’s. They could utilize cars and elevators, but not batteries? A calculator? Severus sneered at their pride. No matter—he had no intention of sharing his mundanities if they did not. Let them look down on him, for he had the secrets of an invisible universe.
Despite his many tools, the one thing Severus did not own was a mirror. His last one broke while he was experimenting with a rather generous amount of turmeric juice and cat’s spleen, and he never bothered to replace it. He doubted he ever would. He hated the reminder of his monstrosity—his foolishness—and if he never had a reason to acknowledge it, he could almost pretend that night never occurred.
— Almost, Severus thought as he undid his robes to prepare for his bath. He placed his dressings on a hanger and moved onto his shirt. It was far too big on him, as commented by Madam Pomphrey time and time again. She wanted to perform another check-up. “You should worry about your health more, Severus. Your condition requires…attention.” He tried to snap at her for silence. How was he supposed to enjoy a new wardrobe when his wares were drenched continuously in slime and spill? Why should he count his pence and pennies when he was too busy counting his income between his life here, and that of the muggle realm? Not all of them have a weighty inheritance to fall back upon. Not all of them had doting fathers who were willing to sell a limb for their happiness.
Severus shook his head as he snapped off another button. He wasn’t going to dwell today. The…doctors warned him about this nonsense, allowing his thoughts to fester would only harm him in the end. The war was over. Everyone had died, both undeserving or not. Severus was proof that life was not fair.
As the potions master worked on his drawers, he paused. His alarms began to ring as three of his orbs manifested in grey—a spell he mastered to warn him that smoke was present outside his quarters. Given his perchance for experimentation, Severus learned to ire on the side of caution. He kept a never-ending network of spells active to detect smoke, toxins, and other noxious materials in case they left his quarters. In this case, there was a trail outside his rooms.
Severus quickly grabbed his robe—not a formal one he used for teaching, but casual silk for the lounge. He only acquired it to avoid revealing his flesh in case of emergency, and never before had he been so grateful for his decision.
Severus dashed outside to find the source of the smoke. He did not have to stray far, for as soon as he was a few feet out of his dwellings, the perpetrator stood in plain sight. Severus, not even thirty yet, had not mastered his emotions in the eloquent way he would in future years. Instead of a glare cold enough to chill the bones, the Slytherin’s head gaped, his eyes widened, and he stood, waiting for the correct response to come to him. Because never, in his six years of teaching, had Severus ever believed he would have to reprimand William Weasley for smoking.
William Weasley, known as Bill to his family and friends, was not a typical student. Exceptional was far more fitting for a child of his caliber. He was the sort of student Professor Slughorn would have given an arm and leg to collect into his little club of sycophants, and at the same time, was the sort of student Severus imagined would have refused for the sole reason that he “had other priorities.” He was a leader; tutoring classmates of all ages, and being their ever wise counsel. He even kept an eye out for those outside his house. All of them fawned over him like deers to pudding. No one was surprised when he became head boy—he was always the first choice, and Severus watched in wonder as Bill took points from all houses, fair and equal to those who do harm and good.
Bill was made to be envied, and the only shame to his stride was his pauper roots. Yet, instead of deterring his admirers, it made the wealthier more resilient. He had seen many women offer gifts for his favor, a pureblood noble or two offering him their summer cottages, a wealthy half-blood with a yacht in Greece. Severus never experienced such luxury. He should have hated Bill. He hated students for less.
Except Bill Weasley was Severus’ first.
Severus would rather cut his tongue out with the talons of harpies before he ever admitted it, but a part of him was enamored with the boy. He would watch Bill in his laboratory, pulling his hair up in a loose bun as he mixed and melted his ingredients with a pleasant grin, laughing as a strand threatened to be painted green. There were moments where Bill's sharp wit and wise eyes excited him, and other times where he silently watched the student's excitement at being able to devour a new puzzle when they arrived in his advanced arithmancy courses.
Seven years ago, when Severus was twenty-one, he had been given the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. Punishment, Severus assumed, for his sins. Perhaps caution, for Dumbledore never cared to let snakes stray too far from his sight. Newly baptized with the blood of dared to and war, Severus was a wreck. The older students—students he attended Hogwarts with, were still being educated by Slughorn as a kindness—or rather a nod to Severus’ inexperience.
Meanwhile, Severus was thrust into the teaching helm for the upcoming class of 1982. Bill Weasley was a part of this class. He was sweet, wide-eyed and eager to be of service to the new professor. He took notes meticulously, and despite Severus’ sneers and snark, never failed to be proper, even attributing his success to him.
“You’re harder on us than the other professors—well, not McGonagall. But still, I like it.” Young, preteen Bill then babbled on about how he appreciated Snape's methods and how he often used ingredients that cost less than what the textbook stated on Severus' advice. “I like to practice over winter break.” Then he paused. “With supervision, of course! My mother adored the recipe you made for healing warts.”
Severus flushed then. He never told anyone the origin of that potion—the prank his damned peers once cast upon him long-buried underneath his mind. Instead, he nodded at Bill and told him that he should get to his next class—his chest burning in delight as the Gryffindor beamed at him.
On his second year under Severus’ tutelage, he asked if it was alright if he never bought the book for his class. An odd question and Severus was prepared to dismiss his request when he noted that Snape “didn’t teach by the book.” And then, a look in his eyes appeared, so rich with cleverness that Severus wondered if he wasn’t a hawk in disguise.
“My brother will be entering Hogwarts next year. If possible, I want the money that goes into books to go to him.” He smiled with an effortless amount of charm that should not be possible for a twelve-year-old boy, and told Professor Snape, “I recorded your lessons and compared them to the book. They’re different—not by a lot, but enough that I know I like yours better.”
Severus wondered if he was always so vain, that such flattery could so easily spell him to compliance. Bill grinned when he had said yes, and Severus had done his best not to swoon.
Now, Bill was seventeen, almost eighteen and looked every bit the adult that Severus wished he was when he first started teaching at the school. He was tall and thin, but there was a swell in his arms and legs that indicated a fit form. The boy was renowned in the amateur dueling leagues and had been known to play a spot of Quidditch in his free time despite not being on the team. There was a discussion of him joining competitions in his future. His hair nearly reached his shoulders—just short enough to appease school regulations. Inwardly, Severus knew he would have ignored it regardless.
Dumbledore never had a problem with his professors playing favorites, and neither would Severus.
Severus shook his head from such thoughts. This slight was harder to ignore than a fashion misdemeanor. “What do you think you are doing?” Severus asked; he kept his voice low for a menacing effect. He would lose all authority in a shriek.
Bill dared to smile.
“I’m sorry, is the smell bothering you, professor? I wasn’t aware anyone was here.”
Severus wanted to snap that wasn’t the problem. Instead, he said, “This part of the dungeons is my quarters. There’s a spell to detect smoke throughout the area.”
Bill stared in curiosity. He glanced around the walls, trying to find the source of magic. Then, he caught an orb hanging on the tops of the ceilings. “Ah, how clever. I’ve never seen anything like it. Did you make that yourself?”
Severus bristled, he needed to work himself up if he was to ignore the praise that was bound to follow whenever Bill spoke. He was a master manipulator, though hardly out of ill intent.
“Brilliant,” Bill chuckled. “Potions, defense against the dark arts, charms, I wonder if there’s anything you can’t do.”
Severus tried to cool the swelling in his chest. “Flattery will do nothing for you, Mr. Weasley.”
“I’m sorry,” Bill apologized. “I usually have a fag in the corridors but Filch almost caught me last time, so I decided to come here. I thought the dorms were on the opposite side.” He shook his head, disappointed about his assessment—not that he got caught. “It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t. Fifty Points from Gryffindor.” Then, as an afterthought that should have been a priority. “Smoking is prohibited.”
“I’m of age,” Bill noted. This was another trait of Bill—he never argued, merely stated facts that worked against the disagreed.
“You’re a student.” Severus tried to muster up more force. “And I will be confiscating your supply.”
Bill had the audacity to take another drag. He did not put it out. “This is the only one I have on hand.”
“You’re a liar.” He knew from his father’s habit that there should be a few more on him, probably hoping to manage another if time permitted. “I’ll take another ten points each time you refuse.”
Bill chuckled. “On the life of my mother, I’m not lying. I have a limited supply, so I try to ration them.”
Severus’ eyes narrowed. “And how did you come across them?” Bill was a pure blood—another reason Severus wished to hate him, but only made him admire him more for his complete disregard for such conventions. They would have called him a blood traitor, but the Death Easters would have tripped over themselves trying to recruit him. “Wizards don’t smoke cigarettes,” Snape told him as he waited for an answer. “They smoke pipes.”
“I got them from a shop.”
Severus’ eyes narrowed. “In the muggle world?”
“Well, I wasn’t about to pay the prices here. Did you know a pack at Diagon’s Alley could cost as much as five gallons? And yet they’re barely two knuts there.” Bill sighed dramatically at the injustice. Then, he smiled when he saw how poorly his joke sat. “My father wished to go on holiday several months ago to a highly popularized muggle region. I decided to grab a pack.”
Severus continued to glare.
“Or three. My parents thought they were candles.”
Severus was aware there was the novelty of such wears. He practically subsidized his education as a student selling knick-knacks from the muggle world. People loved the exoticism of the muggle culture. Severus never understood it.
“So, you, a wizard, decided that on some holiday to the muggle world, the first thing you would do is buy a carton of smokes?”
“Well, the first time, I confiscated them from a muggleborn,” Bill replied with no hint of irony. There was another grin, and Severus became heated as he saw the mockery in his gaze. “It’s a bad habit, but relaxing. I like the sensation of having them pressed into my mouth.” He leaned closer to Severus. “Have you ever tried them?”
Severus took a step back. “No, and you shouldn’t either. They’re disgusting.” He said this while watching Bill’s burn from the heat. The embers made his eyes blaze and kissed his skin like fireflies. Severus was entranced.
“On a cold night, they’re particularly lovely. Sometimes, the smoke fills my mouth like a kiss and I can taste it on my tongue for hours.” There was quiet inhale of smoke. “It keeps my lips from feeling lonely.”
Severus shivered as his student inhaled the smoke. He wondered how long this habit had developed. Beginners coughed, just a little, and so do intermediate users. Bill smoked like the cigarette was a second limb. “Those things will kill you,” Severus iterated, years of conditioning ingrained to him by his muggle education.
Bill smiled, his nonchalance never wavering. He took another drag. “I’ve heard.”
Severus had enough of Bill’s games. He wondered what had become of his sweet student, and instead took a step forward to remove the ghastly object. Severus’ fingers reached up to the taller student’s face and swiped it from his lips. His fingers ended up brushing against Bill’s mouth, and though dry, there was an enviable softness that pressed against his tips and made him shiver.
And there were the images—filthy, unmistakable images that could blind a nun and whore at once. Severus had always been a skilled legilimens, and his control may even surpassed Dumbledore, but there were times when there were thoughts so intense, so vividly displayed and willingly offered that Severus could not help but watch. Bound to a seat of pervasion as the other’s taped open his eyes for the show.
Bill was not hiding his thoughts from anyone.
Severus watched as Bill pushed his partner onto his crimson bedsheets, a lithe figure bouncing on top of fabric fire with his cock following suit. His cock was large and aching, a dribble of precum wetted the sheets alongside sweat from candle heat. It was a blur as Bill licked up the wetness between the other man’s thighs and kissed his cock with adoration. The other person trembled and screamed, ran his thin fingers into Bill’s hair, and curled his toes. Snape tried to leave those wicked thoughts, but only succeeded in moving towards another position, where Bill had his partner on his hands and knees like a bitch, panting for a cock so deep, it hit his womb.
And if the person in Bill’s fantasies had Severus’ black hair spilled against the red silk, or if his person had skin so pale, a single bite looked like a bruise as those would on Severus own frail body—
“Filthy boy!” Severus thought. Unbeknownst to him, he had uttered the words below his breath and not silent as he had hoped. The cigarette light was not enough to reveal the Weasley’s surprised expression, nor was the smoke so thick to had Severus’ inflamed skin.
The Weasley was a test to his character. Severus was an adult, and Bill’s damning thoughts should not have spurred such a reaction in him. Severus smothered the cigarette against the wall and threw it on the ground for the elves to clean. “Tomorrow, I expect you to deliver all of your packs to me. And I suggest you reconsider your choices if you intend on spending what limited funds you have on these contrivances,” he reminded, crueler than he ever intended to use on Bill. Severus wouldn’t let the boy think he was victorious in any way.
When there was no response, Severus paused. Then, he made the mistake of looking up.
Bill was staring at him. But there was no loathing, or spite. He looked like a hawk, a hawk dressed up like a lion with the sun’s mane. Severus stumbled backward trying to escape, but before he could fall, Bill grabbed his wrists. He was strong, far stronger than Severus had ever been as a student. The man was constantly attending the dueling grounds, and there was more muscle than bone underneath his shirts.
“Professor, are you alright? You’re red as a fever.” He drew close. “Perhaps these dungeons are draftier than you’d like to admit. I know a good heating spell if you need one.”
Severus turned away at once. He could not let this boy read him anymore. He was not a book for pleasure. “That is none of your concern.”
Bill smiled at him. “It’s a natural instinct for me to worry. You’re so frail. Half the time I watch you, I wonder if you’re to blow over.”
How could Severus ever endear himself to such a horrid person? Severus was right about Gryffindors. All of them were so cruel, bullies by nature, desperate to prove themselves as heroes and braggarts. He hated when someone referred to his slightness—he knew what he looked like. Small and skinny, an easy target for those with arrows. “Is this what you do when no one’s watching? What you think you can get away with now that you’re an adult?” Severus glared at him. “I should have known. Gryffindors are all alike.”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t stand to let anyone think of you the way I have.”
Severus wouldn’t have his excuses; he tried to pull back. Bill’s grip was firm, but almost tender. His thumb started to rub Severus’ wrist, and Severus couldn’t hold back the sound that came from his throat. Bill’s eyes got darker. Severus cursed his body.
“You look pale. Come, let’s go inside and I’ll charm the room. Warm this body of yours for the night.”
The offer sounded sincere, but Severus loathed to imagine what would happen if he let this young man into his home. What Bill might do to him. What Severus might let him. The images returned to him, and at once, Severus pulled back. He swore to never let anyone play privy to his secrets and fought to release himself from this lion’s grasp. “Let go. This is your final warning.” Snape started to struggle, and perhaps the violence of his movements alerted Bill to his propriety. He let go, but not before offering his condolences.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I treasure your wisdom, Professor.”
Snape glared. “I will not have your mockery. A hundred—’
“I’m not mocking you,” Bill interrupted, and that, at least, sounded sincere. “I’ve always been honest about how I feel.”
Bill’s eyes trailed down Severus’, and for the first time since he put it on, Severus became shamefully aware of how thin it was. “For instance, I can honestly say that I prefer you in this robe to those of the classroom.” Despite what Bill believed, Severus’ walls were blessed with heating spells and warmth of small fires. Under Bill’s gaze, he felt hotter.
Severus turned red. “You cannot say those things to me.”
“You don’t wish me to mock you, and you don’t like my honesty. At this rate, all we’ll have are potion ingredients.”
“Then, that will suffice.”
“For our roles?” Bill asked, and then there’s that darkness again. A tone of plain unhappiness that bordered anger. Snape recognized the emotion, but not coming from the person before him. “I am not a child, professor. I can smoke if I wish and say what I want. You may be my teacher, but in a few months time, you’ll just be another man.”
“I’ve known you since you were suffering eleven-year-old, and now you’re an insufferable seventeen-year-old.” Bill frowned, and it was the first lost of composure he experienced all evening. Severus looked away. “I will return the points if you hand me the rest of your cigarettes and swear not to touch another until graduation. Be grateful I’m feeling merciful.”
“If you were truly merciful, you’d take off that robe.”
A thousand pixies could have bowed at his feet and a hundred boggarts swimming in the air, and none would ever make him quite as stunned as Bill Weasley’s shamelessness. The young man showed no indication of wrongdoing on his face and if anything, displayed a nonchalance that shocked Severus’ core.
Bill took a step forward. “And if you invite me inside, I’ll return the favor.”
“Are you mad—?”
In a single movement, Severus found himself pressed against the wall. Bill had not touched him, but instead guided him against the brick with the force of his step. Severus tried to look away, but Bill, with his soft touch, guided his gaze upwards.
“I’m not eleven anymore,” Bill corrected. The Head Boy took Severus’ hand, the one that had been holding his cigarette and brushed it down Severus’ waist. “This is muggle wear, isn’t it? Wizards mock them for breeding like rats, but how could they not. It’s like they’ve modeled their lives around getting fucked.”
Severus’s breathing grew harsh at the accusation. Never had he heard his muggle side being referred to so…crudely. “Thin fabrics that paint the form. Tools used to bound their lovers. Cigarettes and cars, cuffs, and chocolate.” Severus could see the images coming back to him; he did his best to will them away, but the energy invoked in doing so took away his strength to fight off Bill’s advances.
Finally, he bit his lip and returned his gaze defiantly, “If you yearn for muggle invention so much, I have a vast collection of literature for your use. Otherwise, I can’t help the whining of a child.”
Bill’s reaction was satisfying. The same looked occurred whenever one was interrupted during the casting of a particularly difficult spell, and Severus was glad the curse had been lifted from him.
“This joke has gone on long enough. I am going to bed.” He pushed Bill out of the way and made his way back to his bedroom. Before he entered, he turned back with a sneer. “And Mr. Weasley?”
Bill looked up.
“You should return to your dorms. It is past your bedtime.”
Severus then slammed the door behind him. Once inside the protection of his home, he exhaled to the heavens and thanked Merlin for his remaining sanity. Severus could not contain himself any longer. He stripped himself out of his robe and dropped his drawers on the ground. He leaned against the wall and nervously, with the trepidation of trembling doe, moved his hands downward. Once safe, he gripped his cock, twitching for attention. But the other hand was far more ambitious and traveled further down to his dripping cunt. The smell of cigarettes was still drenched on his fingers. He closed his eyes, ashamed at having to relegate to its pleasure, the secret shame he ignored for so long was now aching for touch. Severus couldn’t help himself any longer. His fingers started on the clit, and he saw stars. Pure, unadulterated pleasure that he had not felt in years. With his first shield down, the others fell in kind. His fingers started playing with his clit, before fucking his hole with abandon. He could hear the squelching noises fill the room, evidence of his own pleasure surrounding him. He didn’t care. It felt too good to stop. He leaned against the wall as he started working harder and faster. By the end of the night, he would be sore with use, and the last thought in his mind would be of his red-haired student.
When Severus was a child, he thought the world started and ended with magic. For him, Hogwarts and the Wizarding World was an escape from the mornings woken up by a wailing woman, the afternoons filled with broken dishes and fallen lamps, the nights of chipped nails scratching the drywall and fists pressing into flesh. It wasn’t until Severus was older that he realized that magic was as limited as everything else. Magic wasn’t all-powerful; it couldn’t solve all his problems. It couldn’t fix his mother’s illness; in fact, it made it worse. Severus supposed he should give his father some credit in that regard because his old man figured it out before anyone else. Severus learned that the people running the ministry were just as lost and foolish as those in the muggle realm. And when he fought in the war, he saw that people bled and died the same, too. The wizarding world was as broken as its muggle counterpart; only they were better at denial.
If there were anything that would lead to the fall of the Wizarding World, it would not be the wars of its nations, but the hubris of its people. As a student, Severus understood magic only as an innate power that was his, and his alone. He thought he was strong enough to do anything. He could cast curses without a word, and force charms out of his fingers. He could do things no other student in his year or older could even dream of accomplishing.
Back then, Severus Snape was fifteen, high off enchantments and potions and charms. Objectively, Severus knew magic couldn’t do everything. It couldn’t pull chocolates out of midair or fill a glass of water without a source. It couldn’t bring the dead back to life or exorcise the demons from a person’s head. It couldn’t make someone fall in or out of love—people were foolish enough to that on their own.
But Severus thought that maybe, just maybe, it could make him beautiful.
As an adult, the loathing Severus felt whenever he took a bath was sometimes so great, he shook. He should have known, Severus thought. He should have known that what he asked for could not be done; not without great consequence. If everyone could perform such magic, the world would have been filled with dolls and paintings, instead of the variations of quirks he saw on the streets. But Severus was foolish, and that night, he had snuck into the Room of Requirements with his cauldron and wand in hand. He brought out the copied pages of the forbidden texts, the hymns of Venus, and the scriptures of Hathor; he smuggled in herbs and mosses from the sealed corners of the greenhouses. He researched, he planned, and by the will of Merlin, he was going to achieve his hearts’ desire.
He should have known better.
Magic never gave what it didn’t get back. Severus had nothing to offer when he cast those spells. He uttered the words recklessly and prayed defiantly to the goddesses who laughed at his request. For Severus’ insolence, he was punished. The magic took ahold of his body and deformed it to reflect his soul. When Severus was found the morning after, it was too late to do anything. Magic had limits; Severus was reminded for the second time. Madame Pomphrey offered her comforts as McGonagall and Dumbledore explained the permanence of his disfigurement. Severus did not react—he was in a trance. The professors’ voices were muted in the background as he stared in the mirror. His eyes were darker but pleasantly so. His hair did not shine with the same amount of grease. His nose was still crooked, but there was distinguished sharpness that added an appeal to an otherwise ugly feature. But below his robes was an open gash, underseeing his diminished cock. The gods had granted his wish, and they took what they wanted in return.
For the last time in his life, Severus cried in front of someone.
When morning came, Severus spent the first hour staring at the ceiling. It was wet. Long ago, the dungeons were spelled to capture the lake spills in the stones and return it to the wild waters from whence it came. This happened at sundown, and so the water rested on an invisible until it was removed. Every morning for seven years, Severus woke up to a roof full of teardrops. His eyes soaked in the image of the overcast and told him he was in the water while his body, wrapped in wools, reminded him that he wasn’t. Severus hated the dysphoria of dryness and drowning, but he couldn’t complain to the headmaster because he hated rejection more. He didn’t want to hear Dumbledore tell him no, in the same manner he told Severus every time he requested a new position in the academy or dared venture outside his rights as a prisoner.
Eventually, Severus gathered up the strength to leave his bed. Once on his feet, his limbs lifted with a newfound airiness he’d never experienced before. For years, his body was heavy with the water that never touched him. He wondered what happened to cause this change; perhaps the mermaid choirs were practicing a new song, and its echoes were resonating through the walls. The students hated when that happened; his former classmates included. They said it reminded them of the banshees of the castle or the wailing of ghosts. But Severus loved their singing. It was haunting and beautiful and made him dream the sweetest dreams. It was when they were silent that his nightmares came to light. If it weren’t for the wetness, he would have tried to move his quarters deeper into the central dungeons, where the singing could be felt through the floors. Instead, he pressed his ear into the walls for the hope of whisper.
Whatever caused Severus the peace, he was thankful because it eased his routine. He turned off the lights with a wave of his hand so it could not reflect his form and worked on memory. He knew where his robes were. He left his books in the same place. His wand was by the nightstand. Everything went by smoothly, and for a second, the darkness was so comforting he thought about what a world would be like without sight or sun. Maybe he would enjoy the water if he couldn’t see it. Perhaps he would finally get around to buying that mirror.
Once Severus was finished with everything, he paused at the door. He took a step closer and touched the iron. It was smooth and cool. Severus pressed his forehead and breathed in the dampened rust and antiquated poison. On his second inhale, he noticed a second smell.
Breakfast was an affair in red. Bill was on fire, and the whole world turned to admire the sun sitting amongst them. No matter where he sat, he was the center of the school. His hair burned brighter than his brothers, and he wore his uniform like a prince with the sigil of the golden lion resting on his chest. Severus didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to think about last night. He didn’t want to smell the smoke on his robes or taste the tobacco on his fingers.
“Are you feeling well, Severus?” McGonagall asked him. “Your cheeks are flushed.”
Severus turned away. “I’m fine.”
“Might be a fever,” Professor Sprout noted, having overheard their interaction. “It’s the season for the flames. I’ve been growing a field’s worth of winter roots in preparation for all the young ones.”
Severus ignored them both. “You should mind your students then. I’m not a child.”
McGonagall held back a scoff, but Sprout snorted proudly. “You’re a babe compared to us old hags.” She laughed while McGonagall offered up one of her half-smiles. “In the right light, I’d ask you to sit with the rest of the class.”
Severus wasn’t amused. A surge of bitterness churned in him as he glared over at Dumbledore. The headmaster was engaged in a conversation with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Severus wondered why he bothered to get to know anything, knowing full well they would be gone the coming year.
It was his fault Severus was so young. He could have waited until Severus was older to employ him within these ancient walls, but he wanted the snake within his basket. A pet. A weapon. Albus Dumbledore was a callous man, hiding behind the mask of kind instruction and gentle antiquity. In his youth, Severus accused him of being such a fiend. Whereas the other Slytherins saw him as a beguiled, old fool past his prime, Severus was scared of him. He wished he could pretend otherwise, but Severus never had a talent for disguise, only concealment. It was a weakness he loathed.
Because a skilled predator could always find the prey that hides, and when Severus felt a gaze on his form, he knew he was caught. Severus looked up from his plate.
Bill was watching him.
Ah, and again he was too gorgeous to look away. The man, no, the child, could have stabbed him with a hundred swords and his blood would only enrich his flesh. Severus hated every time he thought so but it was undeniable. Touched by the morning sun, uniform handed down by his father and altered by his mother to mimic the current style, the first button of his shirt undone. He was both proper, and a rebel in the making and Severus couldn’t deny his eyes the treat.
Severus never made a hand-me-down look so good. His fellow Gryffindors were struggling for his attention, exaggerating their entertainment in hopes of capturing his interest, but Bill only had eyes for him. If Severus were honest with himself, he would say it felt good to be admired. But Severus was hardly an honest man. He was about to turn away when Bill raised his hand.
People often forget that wands were conductors of magic, not a source. People from around the globe were utilizing wandless magic far before the first oak was cut down for them. It made magic more comfortable to use, in the same fashion that cars made it easier to travel, but they weren’t necessary. That being said, the ability to use wandless magic was an art. Every wizard eventually learned how to light candles and tip cups, but to do greater was the sign of a great and powerful wizard.
Bill brought two fingers to his lips and made a gesture of smoking a cigarette. Severus wanted to laugh, but he held his humor down and added a scoff to the boy’s attention. He planned to deny the boy the pleasure of his amusement, for he knew that was what Bill craved. But Bill was not deterred. He liked challenges. He liked the pride of beating them. Bill grinned, and Severus recognized too late that his actions only encouraged the boy’s advances. This was their inside joke now. Last night was a moment no one else could take from them. Severus wondered if he ever shared something as intimate with another human being.
Severus didn’t have time to dwell on the thought when Bill’s fingers spread to make a V-shape. The young man placed his tongue between the fingers and gave a slow, obscene lick. Severus’ blood ran cold, but his body was hot. Before he could retreat, Bill’s tongue released a whisper of smoke that passed through the finger gates and traveled to the elevated table where Severus sat. The smoke tickled Severus’ calves before traveling up his thighs.
“Ah!” Severus’ hands flew to his mouth as a few peers turned towards him.
“Are you alright, Severus?” McGonagall asked, concerned embedded on her features.
Severus couldn’t bear to uncover his lips. He nodded and looked away. The smoke kissed his cunt before spreading his lips. Severus could feel his entire body heat up. His skin was turning red. His pussy was wet. He wanted to storm off and find relief, but the smoke was relentless. It dug deep until it hit spot Severus never touched before. His knee jolted and hit the table.
“Severus!” McGonagall was past worried. She kept her voice low to avoid alarming the students, but Severus couldn’t say a word. His face was almost on the table. Drool escaped his lips, captured by fingers he could not afford to remove.
Severus pressed his thighs together as the smoke fucked into him. There was more chatter amongst the room now. People were noticing his reaction, and he did his best to calm down. There were spells to counter this…this thing. Severus stood up, but the smoke reacted in kind. It spread through him, fucking his cunt open until he was stumbling down the stairs.
“Severus!” People were swarming towards him. Severus wanted to sob. He did the only thing he could do, and that was look up into the perpetrator’s eyes. Years after the war, Severus never stepped out of line. He made his little passive aggressions and had his tantrums, but he was good under Dumbledore’s all-seeing watch. He hadn’t experimented with so much as a first-year charm, because he couldn’t afford to make a mistake he couldn’t fix.
This was what Severus had been avoiding for years.
Bill’s eyes were sin embodied. Brilliant blue screens that displayed filth beyond imagination. This was different from last night. Back then, Severus read his mind on pure chance; the calamity of the scenes was unintentional. Today, there was a purpose on Bill’s mind. Severus’ fantasies filled with the images of taking his student’s cock raw and his cunt spilling out cum. He came on these thoughts. As his vision darkened, the last thing he saw was Bill’s wand pointed at him.
The chapter is on the shorter side, which is the price to pay for weekly chapters and my sanity. I forgot to mention in the last chapter, but I imagined a "young" Severus to look a little like Gabriel Marquis. I mean, he's obviously better looking than the canon character (given that he's a male model), but he has the aesthetic I want for this story, and so I found a way to justify this appearance.
What do you think of this casting? You're going to see a lot of my HP headcanons in this story, and my own questions about the wizarding world start peeking through. I really love working in a fantasy setting (my original fantasy story will be posted soon, too) so I'm hoping this is good practice.
There were days when Eileen Snape refused to get out of bed.
She wasn’t sleeping. She just stared at a wall and allowed the mud in her mind to muddle her gaze. On those days, Severus’ father would send him up to their bedroom with a plate of food—something light and easy to swallow but heavy enough to hide the taste of anything metallic. Oatmeal and apples, or cereal with too much sugar. Tobias never went up himself, because Eileen never ate anything her husband made on those days. Sometimes she refused to move for hours, and Severus fed her by the spoonful. Severus’ arms often got tired when he did this because he had to hold her up and feed her at the same time. When she was finished eating, Severus brought the plates down and washed them. His father would have gone to work by then, and it’d be his responsibility to do the housework. Severus was particular about the way the house looked because if it were less than perfect, his father would find a reason to complain, and if his mother heard his complaints, there'd be a fight. These days, his father let him stay home instead of going to school, which Severus liked because he hated school. If it were a better day—not a good day, but a better than a bad day, Eileen’s mind would open up for him. She’d let him crawl into her bed so that they could dream together. Some of the dreams were dark and dreary, and others were fantastical and magnificent. No matter what they were magical. Severus’ skin tickled with his mother’s magic, and it made her feel close even when her mind wasn’t there. Sometimes, they fell asleep like with the magic still on their skin, and it was nice. It was peaceful, and Severus always ended up wishing she could sleep forever.
The feeling of waking up in the Hospital Wing was familiar, but none of the experiences were pleasant. Severus jumped up from his bed as soon as his eyes drank in the sight of white sheets, and his nose inhaled the fumes of sickness and health. Whether it was a homeopathic resort or a hospital bed, the scent of wellness was nauseating. Severus attempted to escape, only to be held back by a chain of cotton. The hospital sheets did more than warm his body; they covered his complete barrenness from the cold.
Severus flushed scarlet at his shame. He searched the premises for any additional visitors and wasn’t nearly relieved enough for his anger to subside. Madame Pomphrey chose this moment to make her appearance.
“Where are my clothes!” Severus shrieked.
The matron of the hospital wing was neither shocked nor offended by the professor’s outrage.
“I assure you; you have nothing to scream about,” Madame Pomphrey responded snippily. “I undressed you. There was no one present, but you and I. Your…condition is still a secret between us.”
“That’s not the question!” Severus hissed. “Why am I naked!” Again, he searched for another wayward party—a new teacher figuring out the layout or a stray student with a stuffy nose—anything could go wrong at this point.
“You fainted at breakfast.” She frowned. “It caused quite a ruckus.”
“That doesn’t explain—”
“—And the last time you came to me was over two months ago, and even then, Minerva and I had to drag you like cats with mouse heads! I decided this would be a good of a time as any.”
The healer scoffed at him. “I did no such thing! I checked on your health, but I did not investigate any further than what you have expressed being comfortable with.” She glared at his lower regions, and Severus, despite having the protection of the sheet, tightened up his legs. “You should take my recommendation and visit a specialist. Your health is more fragile than you think.”
“There’s no specialist for my condition,” Severus snapped. Pomphrey’s eyes soften, and Severus’ fisted the bedsheets. He knew that look. He hated that look. He declared a long time ago; he’d rather be a loathed tyrant than a pitiful prince and today was no exception.
Severus gathered up his pride and turned his nose at the woman. “Where are my robes?”
Madam Pomphrey stared at him before handing him his black uniform. Before he could take it from her, she pulled it back.
“I’m going to recommend a day’s worth of bed rest.”
Severus glared at the woman. “I am not ill.”
“Your blood is weak, and I can tell you haven’t been eating like you should, nor getting the rest you need.” Madam Pomphrey’s glared at him. “You’ve ignored your health for far too long and look at the result—fainting in the middle of a feast? Why I expect such irresponsibility from the students, but a professor! You need to set an example from the students.”
“And what example am I setting when I miss my classes? I have three today—one which is for the fifth years, and it will be on your head if they fail their OWLS.”
“Both Professor Sprout and Flitwick have been kind enough to offer their presence as a substitute. Now get back in bed.”
Severus knew the woman would not listen to reason. He got on the cot as requested, and afterward, a goblet was shoved in his face.
“Something to get that blood of yours breathing again.”
Severus grimaced but emptied the cup. She nodded her satisfaction, and it was only then she released his robe back into his possession. Severus hastily put it on.
“You should be grateful your conditions aren’t worst. Thank goodness for Mr. Weasley’s quick thinking.”
Severus’ blood ran cold. “What?”
Madam Pomphrey nodded; she only knew so much about her colleague but understood the man hated being indebted. If he knew it was his student that saved him from a concussion, perhaps he would put more precedent on his health.
“Just as you were about to faint, Mr. Weasley cast a levitation charm on your body. It kept you from hitting the floor and given the spot you were headed…” Madam Pomphrey shook her head. “Needless to say, you owe him your gratitude.”
Severus gripped his robe together tighter; as the thought of his student encouraged his modesty. He opened his mouth to say something, but when the doors opened, the devil’s name was spoken.
“Mr. Weasley, are you here to check on your professor?”
Severus couldn’t look at him. He heard the boy laugh and admitted to the accusation. “I couldn’t stop myself from worrying.”
“Oh, I understand. I just told him what you did. It’s so good to see such quick wand work. You’ve made my job much easier,” Pomphrey praised.
“You have my brothers to thank for that — six of them, and a little sister who is just as much as a handful. My mother cried the day I turned seventeen. Now, she had another hand lifting boys off stoves and casting seeking charms when they get out of sight.”
Madam Pomphrey laughed softly. She turned to Severus, who did his best to look the other way. He heard her sigh. “I’ve been trying to get this one in bed for ages. I know he’s been waiting for me to leave so he could shuffle back to work.”
Against Severus’ better judgment, he looked up. Bill was staring at him, and though his smile was genuine, the look in his eyes was villainous with wicked intent. The seventh-year boy turned to the nurse and asked for a moment alone with him. “Mr. Weasley, I don’t recommend that.”
“Are you worried about his health, Madam?” There was a way he whispered the title with such heat that it had the old woman blushing. She quickly composed herself. Severus was envious. He assumed that after years of dealing with troublemakers and thrill seekers hoping to flirt themselves to a discreet bandage taught her how to gather her wits quite easily.
“I am worried about yours,” she retorted. “He’s still your professor. And speaking from experience, you’d have an easier time growing bones in a giant than convincing him to stay.”
Bill’s smile tightened, and Severus could feel the tension on his face. Bill doesn’t like being reminded of his status; Severus noted. He would tuck that piece of information away for later use.
Nonetheless, Bill was not deterred. He leaned in close. He whispered something low that was privy to the nurse’s wisdom, and Severus watched in horror as the woman’s expression transformed from reluctant to grateful allowance.
She even giggled like some wily French maid. “I’ll leave it to your hands, then.”
“Thank you.” Madam Pomphrey left to attend her pharmacy. The Potions Master was tempted to follow, or at least beg her to stay. Instead, his pride willed him to say in the bed where the hawk circled.
“Do you know why I am here, Professor?”
Severus clicked his tongue. “For my gratitude on your heroism,” Severus sneered. “Or perhaps to give the apology I rightfully deserve for your vicious prank this morning!’”
“It was not a prank.” Bill stepped closer, but then held himself back upon Severus’ wince. He sighed. “You were ignoring me, and I wanted to talk about the night we shared.”
Severus’ face burned at the phrasing. “We did not‘ share a night’! Do not make it sound so…intimate.” The older man tried to get up, but Bill moved forward. He trapped Severus between his arms as his palms touched the cot. Severus turned away, but Bill followed.
“Look at me, professor.”
“Look. At. Me.”
When Severus refused a second time, Bill’s fingers dug into the sheets. He took a step back. Severus jumped when he felt the boy’s forehead rest on his shoulders. “You keep treating me like a child. How could you blame me for acting out?”
Bill’s touch scorched his skin. Magic released from his skin like sparks, and Severus swore he could see his freckles glow like the embers in coals. Severus could feel the gates falling, felt the folded layers of the mind come undone. Bill was opening himself up. He wanted Severus to seek his secrets. Severus knew the freedom of having one’s mind come undone. A part of him—the little boy who wanted nothing more than to make his mother’s nights dreamless wanted to give that to him. This was the boy in Severus who wanted to be wanted, and it is the same boy who would clutch his mother’s face in his tiny fingers and look through the tumbling, upside-down house of his mother’s mind, hoping to build it back again.
Severus pulled away, but not from Bill. Their eyes met, and once again, he was made familiar with the fantasies the boy yearned to come to life. The pictures were not beautiful, but they were so raw, they were real. Bill’s favorite dream was of Severus on his student’s desk, legs spread so that Bill could fit between them. His engorged cock was pumping inside Severus and the professor could feel every roll of Bill’s hips, every wet inch inside him. Severus’ arms were wrapped around his student; his nails dug into his skin where moon-shaped crescents would lay as a reminder. “Let me, professor…” Bill begged, but it was the breathless whisper of a man. And Severus didn’t know what for, but his body burned when his mirror image pulled the boy’s face down for a kiss.
Severus pulled away from the dream immediately. His legs shook when he tried to stand up, before stumbling into the student’s arms. For the second time that day, Bill caught him. Severus shut his eyes, but even so, he couldn’t let go of this boy. Fear choked him as he recalled the visions. How? He wondered. How could this child know about him? He kept wrecking his mind for an explanation, so much so that he couldn’t hear Madam Pomphrey come back into the room, yelling at him to lay back down.
“I think Professor Snape would be more inclined to bedrest in his own room,” Bill told her. “I’ll help him there.”
Madam Pomphrey was hesitant. “Are you sure, Mr. Weasley? You’ll miss your classes.”
“I’m at the top of my classes,” Bill told her. He was smiling, but there was an edge to his tone that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Severus realized that Bill could have whisked him into the Gryffindor dorms and fucked him in front of the fireplace and no one would have stopped him because he had this ability to make anything he did look right. It was his confidence. If Severus had this boy’s confidence, he could have ruled the world.
Madam Pomphrey was a woman of severity, but she became soft under Bill’s insistence. He took Severus out of the room without any argument and held onto him on the dungeons. The stairs were kind enough to give them an easy passage. Severus bided his time until he was firmly within walking distance to his quarters. Once he was sure his body was able, Severus lashed out at his student. He pushed the boy as far as he could against the wall and took out his wand from his bottom pocket.
Bill had the audacity to be surprised by the violent display. “Professor?”
Snape’s arm shook. “Don’t-don’t you dare—” He tried to think of any reason that couldn’t justify him attacking a student that wouldn’t result in his own humiliation. He was better than a jester in green, dancing on his tiptoes so that they can laugh at him. Severus gripped his wand tighter. He straightened his stance. He steadied his arm and took a step closer to Bill to show he was not afraid of a brat whose britches were made big by the spells of his fellow students.
“What do you know?” Severus asked him. “And how did you find out?”
The concern that draped over Bill’s features stripped to a piercing stare followed by an uneasy grin. “I don’t think we should have this conversation here.” He gestured towards the door leading into Severus’ quarters. “Let’s talk inside.”
“I’m not letting you into my room,” Severus snapped.
“I can’t answer that question out here.”
Severus tried not to tremble. “Why not?”
“Because you’ll hate me if anyone overhears,” Bill confessed. “And I’ll sleep in a bed of Devil’s Snare before I’ll do anything to make you hate me.”
Severus ached as the words he longed to hear echoed within the walls. He couldn’t stop his arm from faltering, and he didn’t stop Bill from stepping forward.
“Etiam parietes arcanorum soli conscii timebantur,” Bill reminded him. The richness in his voice that made the proverbs sing like a spell. “If anyone asks, I only wanted to make sure you went to bed.”
If anyone asked, Severus would deny everything with a guiltless heart. His student strong-armed his entrance to his quarters, and if he had tried to stop him, it would only lead to an injurious result. The two of them went inside, and to Severus’ relief, the student didn’t try anything. Severus didn’t dare to change to more comfortable attire while the young man was still within proximity, but Bill was already taking off his blazer. He had no problem getting comfortable in his professor’s presence. Just as Severus thought he wouldn’t regret this foolishness, the Gryffindor smirked.
“So, I finally get to have you to myself,” Bill announced as he walked over to Severus’ personal library. His fingers trailed past the magical titles and onto the second bookshelf of muggle literature. “Is this the collection you were talking about?”
Severus subconsciously checked for the security of clothes. He needed to make sure everything was button up and tightened. “Don’t start, Mr. Weasley. I am not here for pleasantries; you’re here to tell me what you know.”
“I know a lot more than most my age.”
“What exactly?” Severus wouldn’t dare reveal anything on his own. There was a good chance that Bill carried such fantasies on his own. A long shot, but perhaps Bill’s desires were merely coincidental with Severus’ circumstances.
Bill picked a random book from the shelf and flipped through them. “These look like hymns.”
“Muggles have these, too?”
“Yes.” Severus fought the urge to grab it out of the student’s hands, like an only child made to share for the first time. The sense of possession was something he’d never thought he’d feel about his property. Even his father had never touched his items, though that was a bit of an unspoken rule in his house. His old man didn’t like to share either. “They’re for personal enjoyment.”
“I guess we’re not all that different.” Bill flipped a page as his eyes scanned the contents. “Though I must say I enjoy this far more.”
Before Severus could ask why Bill started to recite a passage. The hairs on Severus’ back pricked up as he realized precisely which author he had picked up.
“These are contain’d in sex as parts of itself and justifications of itself. Without shame, the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex…”
The book flew out of Bill’s hand and headed straight to the other room. Severus’ hand didn’t even reach for his wand—his natural magic, that which ran through the green of his veins, reacted first.
Bill looked in the direction of the fallen object, stunned as it left him, before chuckling at Severus’ flustered expressions. “I’m sorry, did I stumble upon a secret?” Bill chuckled. “I heard muggles had forbidden books, books some people are too explicit to read. I would have never guessed someone as proper as you, professor, would partake—”
“Those books are not forbidden!” Severus snapped as he defended himself. He would be painted as some fiend. “That man is a common staple in muggle literature. He’s a renowned poet and highly respected and any man with any semblance of an education would have read him before he was out of school!”
Severus didn’t know what reaction he expected, but the stunned expression was not it.
“Muggle children read this work?”
Severus flushed. “Depending on their advancement, yes.” Severus didn’t mention that the man was an American, and offered during superior courses, but there was no point. It was better for Bill to believe it to be a staple piece of literature, less he thought something improper.
Bill seemed to struggle for a moment before shaking his head. “Best I don’t say a word,” Severus heard him mutter. Severus almost pushed him to do so, but then Bill asked him a question that took Severus back.
“Was your father the one who introduced you to this work?”
Severus felt like choking. It took all his energy not to scream. “What do you know about my father?”
Bill must have noticed his reaction because he hesitated. Severus refused to let this brat back away. He walked forward to confront him. “Mr. Weasley, what do you know about me?”
For the first time, Bill looked away. “I know…your mother was a pureblood. I, I saw her name in the plaques. She was a captain of the school’s Gobstone’s team.”
“How did you know she was my mother?”
Bill tried to smile. “You have a striking resemblance.”
The words chilled Severus, who had such a phrase so many times before. “And my father?”
“He was a muggle. I looked it up, and I saw the marriage announcement—”
“You looked it up? Why?”
“Professor, I don’t mean to offend you—”
“And yet here we are,” Severus sneered at him. “You, barging into my quarters like a moneylender, hoping to shake me down for my wits! Are you happy? Are you satisfied, Mr. Weasley? Should I lie down so you may have my kneecaps?”
“I don’t want to make you unhappy,” Bill denied. “I wanted to learn more about you.”
“Why? What about me has enriched this madness? Is this some pureblood’s attempt to slum it with their inferiors without going as far as to resort to muggleborns?” Severus was livid, and he hated how vividly his shame showed.
“That’s not it!” Bill sounded so sincere, but Severus would hear nothing of it. James Potter seemed sincere when he saved him from that night, and the man went on to steal his best friend from his grasp. Severus asked him what else he knew because he needed to see the extent of this obsession.
Bill paused from his defense. Then, he boldly looked Severus in the eye. This time, Severus knew Bill was doing it on purpose. He was forcing his thoughts onto Severus, and not even bothering to hide his intention. Not hoping to make the same mistake for a third time that day, Severus looked away. He willed his magic to settle down to avoid any further accidents when Bill spoke.
“I always thought it was strange.”
Severus returned his gaze but made sure to hold himself back. “What?”
“How you don’t look me in the eye sometimes,” Bill noted. “You look everyone in the eye, but me less frequently. It’s like you’re afraid of what you see if you do.”
Severus’s lip curled unpleasantly. “Stop changing the subject.”
“I’m not,” Bill denied. He leaned against the shelf he was admiring. “You wanted me to tell you how much I know. Well, here’s a suspicion. You’re a legilimens, aren’t you?”
Severus tried to keep his composure. But he didn’t deny it.
“It’s a useful gift, and you’re no doubt a powerful user given how hard it is for you not to look into my head. For years, my classmates and I wondered how you could always tell what we were thinking, how you always caught my brothers’ pranks, how you just knew who the troublemakers were…”
“I’m registered,” Severus announced, hoping to squash any plans of blackmail.
“That’s not the point,” Bill said. “You could see my thoughts from the start, couldn’t you? How I felt about you?”
“No,” Severus denied.
“Please don’t insult me with a lie, professor.”
“I’m not lying.” Severus tried to quash the voice in his head repeating Bill’s reasoning. ‘You look everyone in the eye, but me less frequently.’ True enough, Bill rarely ever received his prodding, and Severus had justified it for many years, claiming that the one was never worth his intrusion. He was a good student and hardly worth his concern.
A near sorrow fell upon Bill’s face, but it wa soons replaced with resolved. “I’ve wanted you since I was eleven,” Bill confessed. “And you’re all I’ve dreamed about yesterday. You know that.” He moved forward so that their bodies were almost touching.
Severus couldn’t breathe. “You need to leave.”
“Not yet,” Bill told him. He looked down on Severus, and their eyes met again, but this time, Severus made sure to refuse his mind. “You wanted me to spill your secrets, well we have the whole day. I’ve tried to learn so much about you, and with every rumor, my skin buzzes with billywig venom, and I lose my breath.”
Severus pushed him away. “Leave!”
A madness befell Bill when Severus touched him. Bill grabbed him and forced their lips together. Severus had almost no experience underneath another’s touch, and he was too helpless to react properly. His mouth gasped. Bill’s tongue entered him, and Severus’ body ached to give in. The taste of another man was one he was unfamiliar with, but the touch of another human being made him hungry for more. It was not until Bill grabbed his waist that Severus’ lucidity returned. He tried to push the boy away, but he was too strong. Then, with all his might, he bit his student’s lip until it bled. Bill was resilient to the pain, but even he had to part when iron filled their mouths.
Severus covered his mouth as soon as he was free. Bill was far more revealing. Severus watched as his student touched his mouth to observe the blood. Severus’s entire body shivered when he licked his lips. The red looked like molted rubies on his skin, and Severus shouldn’t want it so much. This boy was no better than any other man, and yet Severus ached.
Bill didn’t make any more moves towards him. He turned his back on Severus, and just when Severus thought it was over, he bent down to pick up the book on the floor. “Since you’ve offered so kindly, I’m going to borrow this, professor.”
Bill didn’t wait for a response. He left Severus alone with his aching body and the taste of Bill’s blood on his lips.
*Etiam parietes arcanorum soli conscii timebantur is Latin for “Even the walls, the only sharers of secrets, were feared" and is a quote from Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus when describing his country under the emperor Constantius II.
So my last newest story (The Lifespan of the Sickle Ibis) took a lot of time to write and school and work got really crazy for me so now I'm really behind on everything--writing, school, life. I'm probably always going to be 2-3 days late per chapter at this point, but I'm going to try and keep it within the same week. If not, then I'm going to end up prioritizing the stories with more active engagement. I haven't gotten to the point where I need to take a hiatus so that's good, but I will have to rearrange a few things. That's life.
Either way, we're going to get a purely Bill perspective next chapter which I will work on right after posting this, and we get to see some of some of Charlie! I actually worked on an outline for a Charlie/Sev story a while back so I'm wondering if I should add some scenes with them together as a homage to the story that probably won't ever be written.
“What happened to your lip?”
Bill looked up from his book to see his brother staring at him. He feigned a heavy fall to avoid his classes, and most were quite accommodating. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor even offered to waive the next day’s assignment for him. Charlie was concerned, but he didn’t look too curious about the answer. Bill appreciated that about his brother—he didn’t push on matters that didn’t affect him.
“I ran into a cat in the halls,” Bill told him. “When I tried to find its home, it reacted poorly.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Must have been a pretty big cat. It looks like you got bitten by a kneazle.”
Bill chuckled. “Yes, it was a handful.” He pressed on the injury thoughtfully. “Rather adorable, though. It even let me pet it a few times before attacking.”
“Hopefully, it’s owner finds it before it claws off someone’s face.” Charlie began to undress. “When do you want to head to the dining hall?”
“You go whenever you want. I’m not going today,” Bill clarified. He gestured toward his book. “I’m rather busy.”
Charlie glanced over at his newest book. “I don’t recognize that title. Did you get it from the library?”
“I think our dear Mr. Finch would sooner burn himself alive before he allowed such filth into our school.” Bill chuckled. “It’s muggle poetry.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “You and father—what is your fascination with them?”
“I’m not fascinated with them; I’m intrigued by their philosophy. The wizarding world is so inclined to these notions of superiority that we ignore all matters of muggle art, music, literature. Remember what our uncle used to say about them?”
“Uncle Billius is the last person we should hold as a standard.” Charlie scowled. “Remember what he said about dragons? ‘If we had any sense as a society, we’d burn down the reserves and slaughter the lizards where they laid…’”
Bill laughed. “Believe it or not, his sentiments are shared by a great many.” Bill ran his hand over a passage. “He called muggles ‘base creatures’ who do nothing but breed like rats.”
“People hate what they don’t understand,” Charlie added.
“That’s part of it,” Bill agreed. “Then, there’s envy.”
Bill chuckled. “How do you feel about numbers?”
Charlie sighed. “I keep telling you, Bill. Not everyone is as fascinated by arithmancy as you.”
Bill ignored him. “Last year, the wizarding population dropped from .73 child per woman to .68 child per woman. In the muggle world, the average woman has 1.82 children. Almost three times our population.”
“So, we’re not fertile.”
“No, we’re not fucking,” Bill corrected. He began to read his book out loud. “‘I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you, I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I press with slow rude muscle…’”
“Please stop,” Charlie interrupted, a little red. “I get it. Muggles like sex. We already knew that about them.”
Bill recognized the awkward look on Charlie’s face, a constant occurrence with Bill’s crudeness. The wizarding world was notably restrictive in their regard to sexual education. Hogwarts considered the topic a familial matter, but even their parents were nervous teachers in that regard. It wasn't considered proper conversation in their dorms, either, with the paintings casting constant judgment if they heard the boys get out of hand.
“It’s more than that, Charlie. They live differently than us, not because they lack magic, but because they can make their own. They make it through their art, their music, their literature, and they live because their lives are short. They won’t make it to a hundred and fifty; hells, there’s a good chance they won’t make it to fifty. Death sleeps over their shoulder, and they would have no victories without defiance.” Bill closed the book. “A desperate man wrote this, and desperate men are passionate. Have you ever wanted something so much, you could write like this?”
Charlie chuckled. “Do dragons count?”
“Do you want to fuck a dragon?”
Charlie’s face twisted in disgust. “Merlin, I can’t take you anywhere.” He grabbed his red sweater and a pair of casual pants. “I’m heading out. You want me to bring you back anything?”
Bill refused. “I’ll go down to the kitchens after.”
“You sure they’ll let you?”
“The elves always let me.” Bill grinned.
Cocky bastard, Charlie thought. He left the room without a word. He loved his brother, but it wasn’t just their age difference that made them close. Charlie knew better than to poke the sleeping dragon, and Bill was as volatile as they came. While people imagined they spent their time together similarly to their twin brothers, scheming secret pranks and making facetious jokes, in reality, it was mostly silence. The two left each other to their own devices and passed no judgment when they saw unorthodoxies in the other’s behavior. Charlie knew about Bill’s ‘projects’ and his additional forays into dark arts. While Bill knew about Charlie’s habitual dalliances with magical creatures, many of which ranked far beyond what the school’s scope allowed. On occasion, one would act as a soundboard and listen to the other’s thoughts, before giving the other space to think.
It was nice. It worked for them.
When Bill left their bedroom, more young men began to shuffle in and out, before it became apparently everyone had left for dinner. Bill took his book and his cigarettes and abandoned his quarters to enter the common room. At this point, it had completely cleaned out.
Bill flicked his cigarette to light it, earning the ire of several paintings. One portrait, in particular, was livid. “Fire? In the common room! How dare you? Such insolence!” Bill ignored her. “You fiend! Put it out! Put it out!” Bill heard the clanging of metal, indicating that her yelling had gotten the other paintings’ attention, most notably the knights. Bill raised his hand and used his fag like a wand. “Igniculus.”
The painting shrieked with horror as sparks flew out of the cigarette end. It was all for show—without his wand, Bill couldn’t possibly produce enough fire to cause any damage. Nonetheless, the painting ran away, screaming, yelling about the beastly ginger who threatened her life. Bill chuckled because regardless of her testimony, everyone would suspect the twins.
Peace reinstated; Bill returned to his literature. He laid down on the couch and took a nice, long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke morph into whatever pictures it wished while he read another page.
“I sing the body electric,” Bill read out loud. “The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them; they will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, and discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul…” Bill went through every line with growing interest, admiring the scene of the naked swimmer in his bath, or of the beautiful man who everyone loved with a personal love. Bill wished his brother had not left so he could ask him what became of wild beasts collared in their prime, how damaged a lion’s psyche would become if it were whipped into a kitten. Like all students, Severus came to Hogwarts on the cusp of puberty; before then, he lived amongst muggles who knew nothing of their prudish propriety. Bill bet he saw all sorts of public displays of affection without recourse. He would even bet the Slytherin head watched his parents kiss or do all sorts of touches without a moment’s care—if the rumors were to be believed.
Ah, Bill thought, a wave of embarrassment washed over him. He made a great mistake today. Bill was stuck on the bridge between wishing he didn’t reveal so much to his professor and also wondering if he should have said a lot more. Bill doubted a lie, even one of omission, would be well-received. But he didn’t know how to reveal the truth without harming their relationship further.
The pureblood community was small enough that even blood traitors had a hand on the table and an ear in the room. All Bill had to do to get information on the Prince family was ask a particularly loose-lipped aunt or uncle, and the poison practically dripped from their lips. From his aunt, he learned that almost thirty years ago, the heiress of the Prince family was caught in the arms a muggle.
“Oh, was it a scandal!” Aunt Muriel cackled. “She was still a student at the time.” Muriel explained that during a trip to Hogsmeade, one of her classmates noticed she had drifted away from the group and followed her to a portkey. The girl watched her pureblood classmate be reunited with her lover—a young man still much older than the teenager—and took her into his house. She followed inside, and saw the sight of her lifetime. “I heard you could still find the recorded pensieve in the dark markets. It was rather intense.”
Bill was taken back. “What?”
“Oh, the witch didn’t just watch,” Aunt Muriel revealed. “You know how Slytherins are, always scheming to tear their ‘friends’ apart. Not like us Gryffindors.” Aunt Muriel patted him on the hand in comradery. “My friend had a granddaughter who attended their class. She made it clear that the Prince girl was a handful, but she was brilliant. The best student in her house and would have made the Head Girl if it weren’t for this scandal.” She hummed. “So, the little fly showed off her memory to the entire school, hoping to have an obstacle remove. Utterly tasteless.”
Bill recalled Eileen’s name missing from the graduation list. “She was expelled?”
“No,” Aunt Muriel revealed. “I believe one of the professors vouched for her to stay, the catty one.” She sounded wistful. Bill was always her favorite nephew—he was undoubtedly the most handsome, and Aunt Muriel enjoyed their moments together. She was glad he was developing a taste for storytelling. Now, she could be the envy of her friends when she told them about the pleasant afternoon tea she had with him. “The headmaster was quick to cover up the details. I suppose he was used to covering up a scandal,” She added snidely. “They made it forbidden to have any thoughts of the matter recorded within Hogwarts’s walls. Not that it mattered, given her sullied reputation.”
Aunt Muriel reached for a tart; Bill pushed the plate towards her, which she eagerly engulfed. “I bet her family wasn’t happy.”
“Well, she certainly was,” Aunt Muriel sneered. She leaned in close, and Bill followed her motions, she regaled the tales of Eileen’s debauched fall. “The summer after the incident, I attended a party with her parents—naturally, I gave my condolences. They were quite upset.” Bill bit back a snort. He doubted Aunt Muriel was the epitome of empathy. “All of a sudden, I heard a loud ‘splash’ outside. Everybody at the party turned our attentions to the pool, and it was Eileen, half-naked in some muggle’s dress, love marks all over her flesh, laughing her head off because she accidentally apparated in the pool. Her arm was…” Muriel looked sick. “Splinched; her blood was everywhere. Then, she was reciting these words…some wicked muggle literature. She sounded mad.”
Bill frowned. “Was she okay?”
“Her father was prepared to admit her into St. Mungo’s by the end of the day.” Muriel was a known gadabout, and the more tasteless the tale, the better. Bill watched her face, normally rich with pleasure over the sordid stories, became compassionate.
“You didn’t approve?”
Aunt Muriel snorted. “That girl had problems, Bill. But no man sends his daughter there to be fixed—it’s where girls go to get broken.” Aunt Muriel sipped her tea, a little distant. “No one heard about her since the incident, so we assumed the worst. I was surprised to see her marriage announcement in the papers.”
Bill nodded. “And that was it?”
“No…” Aunt Muriel paused. “Well, we knew she gave birth to a son. Her parents attempted to bring her back after that—fertility amongst our kind is rare. Not that your parents would understand.” She gave him a disapproving look. “A few families were willing to overlook her indiscretion with the promise to produce a healthy heir.”
Bill smiled. “She didn’t take it.”
“Who would?” Aunt Muriel shook her head. “By Merlin, I haven’t thought about her in forever. Why did you bring her up?”
Bill thought it better not to lie. It would be too suspicious if the truth were found out later, and he didn’t need Aunt Muriel making up more sordid stories to her pureblood friends. “Her son is our Potions Master. When I saw her picture in the showcase, I was curious how a Slytherin pureblood would end up with a half-blood son.”
Aunt Muriel chuckled. “Well, now, you know. Good for your professor. Education is a tolerable profession, and well-suited for someone of his standing.” She finished up the last of her tea and ordered some wine to finish off their conversation. The elves complied at once. “Hopefully, he can learn from his mother’s mistakes and close his legs. With that much wickedness in his blood, I’m surprised no bastards are running through the halls already.”
Bill gratefully took up her offer for a glass. “Well, there’s still time,” he told her as he sipped his red. It was of good quality, and it would keep his aunt from detecting the promise in his voice.
Bill closed his book. His cigarette had expired, and he was about to light another one when his aunt’s revelations resurfaced into his head. There was no telling how accurate his aunt’s account was, but he sure it wasn’t an entire falsehood. Bill’s dissatisfaction came from the fact that he wanted to know more. He wanted to see every rumor and report, every secret and story about the man. Bill was obsessed; it was as if an incubus had possessed his body and was feeding off his teacher’s lust. He knew a part of his professor longed for him—the kiss proved the wanting’s existence. Bill wondered how much further he had to push to resuscitate the suffocated desire.
Unable to find the answer in his thoughts or his books, Bill’s body pushed himself off the couch and out of the rooms. Everyone would be heading back to the dorms soon, and that included the professors. He didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention, especially with the acts he yearned to perform. He needed the discretion his perfect schoolboy imaged allowed him.
Bill was able to move to the dungeons without being detected and was standing in front of Snape’s door as he was a few nights ago, and many other nights before that.
If his professor knew how far Bill had gone to find out information on him, the man would have his head split open on a door in St. Mungo’s. Worse, Snape would never forgive him. But Bill couldn’t help himself the first time, and now he feared an addiction. Last night was a moment the two of them would forever share, even if his professor knew nothing about it.
Bill brought up his wand and pointed it at the door. “Intra.” He drew a line upwards. “Mundum.” Drew a 90-degree angle. “Revelare.” And brought it across. His spell created a square door that projected the image of whatever was behind the door. He saw his professor’s back as the man got ready for his evening shower. When he left to the bathroom, Bill’s breath hitched.
There were good days and bad days for Bill. The Good Days when he decided his behavior had gone too far, and he needed to take a step back before he did something unforgivable. The Bad Days were when Bill didn’t care. He wanted more than he deserved. He needed what he couldn’t afford. And it messed up his morality in a way that would leave his mother in tears. Today was one of those Bad Days, where he directed his wand towards the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora.”
The door opened, and Bill quickly shuffled through before he regained his reason. He knew the area well enough. This was not his first-time entering Severus’ home, but if all went well, it might be his last time doing so without invitation. He heard Snape come back and quickly hid behind the door the older man entered from.
From his position, he could see that his professor was in that delectable robe again, and it looked even more tempting in his private quarters. It was open this time, and as he bent down, Bill could catch a glimpse of his nipple. Bill could have revealed himself then, ripped off that barrier of fabric, and had his way with his lovely professor. The man would fight, but like their kiss before, Bill knew he would enjoy it. His professor may even learn to crave it after their first time.
As soon as the devil whispered his thoughts, Bill dug his nails into his fist and bit back his moan. It was the last remaining goodness in Bill that kept him from ravishing his professor tonight. When Snape returned to his bath, Bill released his breath.
Bill followed the man to his restroom and cast the same spell he did from earlier. Bill may have held off from sin tonight, but he was far from a saint. He needed the additional viewing pleasure of his professor stripped of his pride. Through the window, Bill witnessed Snape take off his robe to reveal his serpentine body, glowing with ethereal paleness that contrasted the pink of his mouth, his cock, and his greatest secret—a delectable slit in between his thighs.
When Bill first saw it, he lost his breath and almost stroked his cock raw. He would have never imagined his professor, closed as the chains that locked his dungeons and cold as the deep waters his home resides within, would possess something so open and hot. Back then, Bill couldn’t get it out of his mind, and his newly laid crush hatched into the monstrosity it was now.
There was no turning back for Bill. The Head Boy shoved his hand into his pants and gripped his cock. He watched Snape turn on the faucet and cast a heating spell on the tub while the water rose. There was elegance to everything his professor did. He could make stripping look like a show, and the way he lathered soap on his body reminded Bill of the suds of the ocean brushing against a mermaid’s skin.
Bill circled his thumb over the head of his cock and pressed it as white fluid seeped out. The student was not gentle; he imagined Snape to be hesitant handling another man’s wand, his experience making him nervous and skittish and rough. Bill licked his lips at the thought of Snape’s innocence. Untouched by any man out of fear of finding out his biggest secret; he knew his professor was ashamed of his body, having seen the lack of mirrors in his home and disgust every time he was made to confront his abnormality. Bill couldn’t understand why. Severus Snape was the most lovely person he’d ever laid eyes on. But the Weasley wasn’t ungrateful—Bill wanted Snape for himself, and he feared what he would do if he learned there had been another inside his professor.
Snape dropped some water onto his hair. He sleeked any strands out of his face and dampened the ends. With his hair pushed back, Snape's prettiness was in full view. Bill bit his lip. He smeared his pre-cum all over the head and body of his pulsing cock. It felt so good wet; he could almost imagine he was in the tub with his professor.
The man proceeded to wash more thoroughly. He wasn’t one for nonsense in a bath; he cleaned every crook and crevice of his body, and at one point, stood up to clean in between his back. When he slid his washcloth between his cheeks, Bill knew he didn’t have much time. He twisted his hand over the reddened head of his cock and squeezed the base. Bill was losing his breath. His hand jerked up and down his dick, but his movements were on autopilot. He watched Snape splashed water all over his skin, before rinsing out his hair by diving into the tub and coming out—completely and utterly drenched. Bill made no effort to slow down, increasing his speed as he fucked into his fist. His eyelids fluttered closed, and his hand moved quickly to reach his orgasm. He couldn’t risk getting caught, but the thought of leaving Snape before completion was impossible.
As Bill drew close, Snape stopped his ministrations. Bill felt his heart pound as the man mouthed something that looked obscene. Bill had an active imagination, but most of all, he enjoyed the sight of Snape’s open mouth as he spoke. The man had a gorgeous voice, and it would only sound better if it were moaning around Bill’s cock.
Bill thought the sight and sounds of that fantasy were going to what he came to, only to have Snape turn around and stare straight at the door.
Everything happened in a moment. The first spurt of cum was mostly caught in Bill’s hand, and he reopened tonight’s prior wound when he bit his lip to keep from groaning. His head fell forward as more cum shot out and stained his pants. Bill's breath came out in shuddering gasps, but he didn’t slow down, stroking himself through his orgasm and stopping only to squeeze his cock as if to ensure he’d wrung every drop from it.
Snape couldn’t see from his side of the door, but Bill’s heart stopped when their gazes met. Severus' had the darkest eyes, much like the marbles in a snake and it was impossible to look away. As soon as it came, however, Severus shook his head and turned back to his bath. Bill couldn’t read his lips, but he was sure the man had commented on ‘imagination’ running wild. He went back to his bath and left Bill alone.
Bill knew he shouldn’t test his luck. At the moment, being ignored by his future lover was an act he didn’t care for, nor would he give up on making sure it didn’t happen again. Bill moved himself to Snape’s bedroom. There, he took his cum-stained hands and moved over Snape’s pillow, where he would be laying in, engulfed in the scent of fresh sheets and cotton, and now—Bill’s cum.
For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you'll know this chapter was extremely hard to write because of how difficult Bill's POV was. I thought because he was a minor character in the series, I'd have more freedom because there was less risk of him being OOC, but man, no. As one user pointed out (thank you), with Severus, I had a lot of context for his character whereas Bill is a blank space.
Regardless, thank you for those who commented! I know a lot of people were curious about how Bill found out about Severus, and I knew I was going to answer it in this chapter so I didn't say anything.
Please enjoy this chapter cause the next one will get much, much steamier. No joke, I'm so excited for that chapter. I really am. It's going to be super intense, and I just love it.
Severus was ashamed of his own cowardice when he skipped breakfast. He knew he couldn’t avoid the boy forever. Bill stood in the front of his advanced potions class, but Severus needed the time to figure out how to deal with the boy. He couldn’t have him removed from his class without reason, and any truth would harm him as well. If he lied, he could potentially harm the boy’s career, and, Severus wasn’t prepared to go that far. Severus spent the entire morning drenched in Bill’s memory because he couldn’t get the boy out of his mind. Everything about the student haunted Severus; Bill’s touch still marked his body, Bill’s desires clouded his thoughts, even his smell lingered on Severus's skin. Severus spent the entire morning trying to convince himself that Bill was playing a game, and Severus had every right to ruin the boy’s life for pulling such a prank. A screaming voice within urged him otherwise, because as much as Severus wanted to be loyal to his doubts and keep his walls high, he knew the delusion was better renounced. Last night was real. The kiss was real. Bill’s fantasies were real. No one, not even a Gryffindor, would go so far for a prank.
Before Severus could come to terms with the possible reality that this child truly lusted after him, his break had ended, and his advanced potion’s class was already filing inside. Severus sighed. He rubbed his temples, collected his things, and prepared for class.
When almost everyone was inside, Severus goes to straight to his lesson. He doesn’t look at any of his students in the eye, or rather, he doesn’t dare to look at a particular student at all. “Today, we’re going to work on the most powerful truth potion of all time. Does anybody know what it is?”
From the corner of his hand, he saw several hands shoot up. He pointed to a Slytherin he knew sat on the other side of the room.
“Veritaserum,” the girl answered. “It’s a potion that forces the drinker to answer any questions truthfully and is undetectable to the drinker.”
“A name would have sufficed,” Severus instructed curtly. “5 points to Ravenclaw.”
The girl shrunk down, but he saw her friend pat her on the back for a job well done. Severus looked up for his next question, finally gaining the courage to meet Bill’s gaze when he saw that no such misfortunate was in front of him. He immediately frowned.
“Can anybody tell me why Mr. Weasley is absent?”
A Gryffindor boy raised his hand. “Professor Flitwick asked him for help after class today. He’s supposed to be late.”
Severus’s grip around his wand turned into a fist. “Need I remind all of you that when you are taking my advanced course, the only thing you’re supposed to do is be present.” He scowled as his class shivered. “I would advise all of you to think carefully of who you choose to assist, especially if it means making enemies elsewhere.” Severus turned around angrily to bring up his caldron and slammed it onto his desk, causing everyone to jump. “Because of the complexity of the potion, we will first start with the fundamentals. Once you are finished brewing the potion, I expect a twenty-page research essay on it, including a description towards making it. After that, you will test out your concoction on yourselves. If in an attempt to get an undeserved pass, you try to deceive me, it will result in an automatic failure,” Severus warned. He glared at them. “And trust me, I will know if you are lying.”
The students were stunned silent. Severus began his new round of questioning. The one thing he enjoyed about his advanced course was that the students came prepared instead of lollygagging like the younger students, praying they didn’t get called on. “How long does it take to brew veritaserum?”
The boy from earlier shot his hand up. “One lunar phase—approximately 28 days.”
Snape nodded. “5 points to Gryffindor.” Giving those points never stopped hurting.
“Who has the authority to administer the potion?”
Another student answered without being selected. It was a Slytherin girl, so Severus held his tongue on her scolding. “Use of the potion is strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic.”
Hoping to increase her score, Severus asked her a follow-up question he knew anyone of ambition could answer. “And what benefits come from being able to brew veritaserum?”
The girl grinned. “Well, I could think of a few personal reasons,” she giggled. A few people laughed along with her. “But it is an advanced potion, and being able to brew is a testament to the skill of the witch or wizard. Furthermore, while there are restrictions on its use and it is impossible to buy legally, it is not traceable. Anyone who possessed the ability to create it has a valued skill in the job market.”
“Well done, 20 points to Slytherin.”
Severus proceeded to ask who was most vulnerable to its effects and kept note of the particularly silent students. He knew they didn’t read the assigned material, and he was going to make sure they faced the repercussions of their action on his next question.
“And what are the limitations of veritaserum?” Severus turned to the squirming Gryffindor, and as he opened his mouth to call on the boy’s name, a voice from the back called out his own.
Severus’ head shot up. His mouth went dry when he saw Bill Weasley standing in the back, no robe or blazer insight, wearing only his white dress shirt with the first two buttons undone, hair messy, and sweat running down his neck. He looked like sex.
Severus opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t.
“Sorry for being late,” Bill explained for him. “I ran an errand for Professor Flitwick, and it went overtime. Here’s a note.”
Bill walked over to hand him the piece of parchment. Severus swallowed, but he still couldn’t wet his throat well enough to speak. He took the paper and bit a gasp down when their fingers touch. Bill smiled at him, and it made Severus burn with anger and arousal. He shoved the paper into his pocket.
“10 points from Gryffindor.” Anymore and Professor Flitwick would have a fit. The goblin-oriented professor liked Bill more than anyone else, and he no doubt gifted the Gryffindor house with enough points to make up for Snape’s deduction. “And you may sit in the back of the class due to the distraction you’ve caused.”
Bill smiled, and it was smugger than before. “Of course, professor.”
Severus tried to continue his lesson with impunity. “Since I was interrupted, can someone answer my previous question?” He nodded towards another Ravenclaw girl.
“The potion is unreliable—this is one of the reasons it cannot be used in court. There are many who are resistant to the potions’ effects as well, sometimes through willpower, the antidote, or occlumency.”
“5 points to Ravenclaw—”
“It also only urges it’s a victim to state what they believe to be true, not necessarily what’s the reality.” Severus turned to Bill; whose confidence had all the heads turning to hear him speak.
Severus knew his ire would only earn him Bill’s amusement. He decided to play this boy’s game. “And what does that mean, Mr. Weasley?”
“Truth is subjective. The potion only forces the drinker to recite what their perception of reality holds, and not what actually may have occurred,” Bill looked at Severus in the eye. “A man could fall in love, but the object of their affections may drink the potion and say he was joking.”
Fortunately, Severus came prepared with a set of occlumency spells. No matter what Bill was thinking, the Slytherin wasn’t letting Bill in today. Instead, he turned around and went straight to the lecture without saying a word. Because veritaserum was tested on the NEWTs exam, he restrained from putting up his variation on the board. The students took out their booklets and began their notes. Severus recited the words verbatim from last year’s lessons. He liked the familiarity of his educational routine. It was almost enough to make about Bill.
When Severus instruct everyone to prepare their caldrons, he turned around to see who was listening to his lecture. Half the class looked ready to wet their pants. Had he been watching; he would have seen the same glazed expressions he caught on hundreds of students before. He knew it was his voice. Lily used to tell him that if silk could speak, it would sound like his voice. She loved it. And when Severus listened to her praise, he felt like she loved him, too.
Severus’ turned his attention back to his class for nothing else but the distraction. He wasn’t surprised when his eyes were drawn to the ginger in the room, but Bill was focused on his instruction. Severus thought he was free until the young man rolled up his sleeves. Severus did his best not to lick his lips as his eyes traced the lines of Bill’s arms, admiring the smooth muscle and the freckles on his skin.
Severus wasn’t the only one whose attention was peaked. Every girl in the room, even the most diligent of the bunch, stop everything they were doing. After Bill finished rolling up his last arm, he moved to tie his hair in a loose ponytail. If possible, he looked more attractive. A soft moan escaped his lips. The sounded caught the attention of his class, and Severus was startled as the focus turned back to him. Severus struggled to present himself, and turned away, knowing the all too familiar redness would surface on his face. He resumed his lecture by warning the students not to mess up the wand work, which was vital in the first step. With that completed, Severus returned to his desk to focus on the next class’ lecture. He would give his class a ten-minute preparation period, and another fifteen at the beginning of brewing before he would inspect their work. Hopefully, this should be enough time to gather his thoughts.
After ten minutes, his aspirations were dashed when Bill spoke up. “Professor?”
Severus paused. He took a deep breath and addressed his student. “Yes, Mr. Weasley?”
“I just can’t get it to the color it needs to be. I think it may be my wand stroke.”
Severus grimaced. “Have you read the instructions thoroughly?”
“Yes, and I don’t think I understand it right.” Bill displayed a haphazard wave. His expression was a mix of concern and faux innocence that did little mask his smugness. Severus couldn’t justify leaving him alone, and he worried what the boy may resort to for his attention. Half the materials in veritaserum was could kill an elephant.
Severus walked to the back of the room. “Show me that stroke again.”
Bill complied by placing his hand on Severus’ backside.
Severus closed his eyes and swear to Merlin and prayed to his father’s God for the strength not to kill his student. “Mr. Weasley.”
“Yes, professor?” Bill asked out loud. He gave Severus’ bottom a firm squeeze. “How’s my grip?”
Severus went red. Bill was relentless with Severus’ body. He continued to play to his heart’s content, squeezing the fatty bottom until the flesh was spilling out of his hands. Severus placed his hand on the table to stable himself, only for Bill to take it a step further by digging his fingers into the slit between his cheeks and brushed against his hole.
“Stop it,” Severus hissed.
Bill didn’t answer but complied. When Severus thought he was safe, the young man stood up and towered over his teacher in order to press him against the desk. Severus opened his mouth but could only release a silent scream as his student pressed his erection against him.
“Could you show me the proper way, professor? I’m just having such a hard time figuring this out.” Bill placed his wand into Severus’ hand. Severus clutched onto it until his knuckles went white. Bill chuckled. “Could you be gentler with my wand? It might break if you grip it too tight.”
“Stop using such a weak product, and it won’t be a problem,” Severus snapped.
Bill only chuckled. He leaned forward, so his chin was almost resting on Severus’ shoulder. “I love how you fit in my arms,” Bill murmured. He motioned Severus’ hand to the caldron. “Do you prefer it when I move like this or like this?” Bill asked out loud. He placed his hands-on Severus’ hips, and as he moved his hand counterclockwise and reversed, he made sure to rub himself against his professor further.
“I prefer you to follow the instructions in the book.” Severus tried to keep his tone low.
“Not always,” Bill reminded him. “I know you don’t like to play by the rules, professor.” Bill kept his tone low, but not impossible to hear in case someone was listening. “You’re only teaching this way because we’re being tested on it. If no one was watching, I bet you would do whatever you likde.”
Snape looked around the room. Everyone was too busy paying attention to their potion, but Severus knew any negative noise would draw their attention in a heartbeat. Severus squirmed, trying to get away, but all he did was make Bill’s position more pleasurable as he pressed himself further against the straining cock.
Bill released a breathy noise. “You get me so hard,” Bill whispered into his ear. Pretenses went; all he was left was his bluntness. “I want to fuck you.”
Fuck. Severus’ cock wasn’t prepared for that declaration. If Bill bothered to slip his hand underneath those robes, he loved to rub against; his fingers would get soaked by milk and honey.
“Don’t do this,” Severus ordered him, but it came off as a plea. Bill’s teeth touched the tip of his ear.
“I’m not doing anything, professor.” His breath caressed his neck. Both his hands were on Severus’ hips now, and instead of settling for rubbing, he was thrusting his clothed cock in between Severus's cheeks. His movements were slow and deliberate, not intense to catch attention, but not so subtle that it wouldn’t raise a suspicion if they looked behind them.
“Someone will see,” Severus whispered.
“What was that, professor?” Bill asked, loud enough to catch some students attentions. He didn’t bother to take a step back. A few students glanced in their direction out of curiosity. “Stir like this?” Bill forced Severus hand near the caldron to move in the instructed manner. The clear liquid quickly transformed into the ideal crystal blue color. “Oh, I see, thank you, professor. Could you help me on the next step?” The students from before turned back to their work. Bill leaned in close. “People see what they want to see, and they believe what they need to, regardless of the truth that is in front of them.”
“What do you want?” Severus asked, unable to keep up with this charade for much longer.
“You,” Bill answered. “Me. A moment of uninterrupted privacy where I can have you all to myself.”
Severus swallowed. “And if I say no?” He wouldn’t; today was proof he couldn’t avoid his student forever. But he refused to let this man win so easily.
“You won’t,” Bill said knowingly. He back away from Severus and returned his hand to backside. Severus felt more ashamed he wasn’t surprised when Bill moved his hand forward to stroke the clothed folds of his cunt. “Your pride’s as pretty as the rest of you.”
Severus released his breath, defeated. “After class,” he told him, trying his best to keep his composure. He shoved his student away, and it is the Gryffindor’s will that made the action possible. Bill was so much stronger than him; Severus knew without his wand; he was victim to the young man’s whims. Class continued without further interruption. Severus walked to the front of the classroom. He stopped to check every student’s progress, giving them preliminary marks and answering questions if they asked. The hourglass ran fast, and when it hit the last strand, Severus held his breath. All the students were eager to leave, and none of them took their time to clean up. For the first time, Severus regretted his behavior, knowing if he was a hair kinder, they might have taken their time and gave him more opportunity to collect himself.
“See you later, Bill,” a girl called out, touching her peer’s shoulder as she left. The action made Severus’ bristled, but Bill’s disinterested smile placated him. Once she was gone, Bill and Severus were left alone.
Severus wasn’t sure what he expected from his student, so he almost wasn’t surprised when Bill marched to the front and kissed him against the chalkboard. His hands were on both sides of Severus’ face to keep him from running. This, Severus predicted. He didn’t fight the kiss and eventually leaned in to accept his student’s tongue. It felt good to give in. They snogged like star-crossed lovers hiding in the hallways. Severus’s acceptance encouraged Bill’s recklessness, and he became careless as he kissed his professor with more fervor. Bill finally let go for air, too fascinated by the allowance that he couldn’t think straight let alone breathe.
“You taste so good,” Bill breathed out as if Severus was a gift.
Severus hoped he enjoyed it while it lasted, because as soon as he could, Severus pointed his wand against Bill’s chest.
Bill was knocked backward several feet. Though disorientation was a common side effect of the knock-back curse, it was the shock of Severus’ attack that left his head spinning. He looked up, and Severus was staring at him with cool, dark eyes, daring him to speak. Bill realized it could be worse. His professor held back. At their distance, the man could have broken half his bones with a first-year jinx.
The Head Boy quickly got back on his feet. He dusted himself off to collect time for his composure, and once most of it was recovered, looked at his professor with a shaken grin. “You didn’t have to go that far. A ‘no’ would have suffice.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Severus replied. Both didn’t need to veritaserum to know Severus was speaking the truth. “If you want to talk, you keep your distance.”
Bill took a step forward to challenge that notion. Severus immediately raised his wand when he drew too close. “I just want to talk about last night.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing happened;”
Bill ran his tongue over the cut on his lip. “Something happened.” He stared down at Severus. “You can’t deny there’s something between us.”
“Of course, there’s something,” Severus agreed. As soon as the hope surfaced in Bill’s eyes, Severus added, “You’re my student.” Wrong or right, Severus knew it needed to be said. If nothing else, but as a reminder to Severus to stop their madness before it got any further. The scar dashed through his wrist was proof of his prior sins, and he didn’t dare add another mark on his body. “Even if your feelings are true, it’s not what you think. Boys like you think an infatuation means forever. It’ll pass.”
Bill shook his head, smiling as his hand balled up into a fist. “A boy like me?” Bill mocked.
“You can have anyone you want.” Severus bit his finger, not realizing the rise he was getting out of the other male. He thought about what to say next, before deciding that a bit of truth was necessary to convince the Gryffindor. “You’re handsome, Bill." This was the sole victory Severus would allot his student. "This thing you think is between us is purely physical. I liked the attention, and you enjoy a challenge. But enough is enough. I won’t be so easy to your praises any longer.”
Bill laughed mirthlessly. “Trust me; you are not easy.” Bill took a step further, and though Severus raised his wand to defend himself, Bill quickly captured his wrist, letting the stick fall to the ground. He pulled Severus against a desk by his hand and let go. Severus tried to push him off, only to have Bill grab his wrists again and force his hands onto the counter. Bill held firmly, and Severus could feel his cock pulsing against his covered pussy. Severus tried his best not to press against it. Bill was so close, and his cunt was sensitive regarding his student.
“Do you know I’m still rock hard?” Bill asked. “I couldn’t get soft for a second knowing I’d get to see you after class.”
Severus wanted to tell him this proved his point. Purely physical, he repeated in his head. But then Bill explained that this wasn’t the first time he’d had such a reaction for his teacher.
“I used to watch you walk around the castle with your robes flowing behind you like wings. I would take a shortcut through the Room of Requirement so that I could wait where you were headed. I was utterly entranced by the sight of you. Obsessed, almost. Especially when you were storming off somewhere. You never noticed the charms I would cast to get your robes flying high—I had the nicest view of your ass.” Bill chuckled. “I only stopped because the other boys were noticing, too. Slytherin boys, especially. Merlin, you were always nicer to them. I didn’t want them to get the wrong idea. I already decided you were mine, and I wasn’t going to let anyone have you,” Bill smiled, but there an uneasiness to his grin. He looked predatory, dangerous, and fuck if it didn’t turn Severus on further.
“I wasn’t yours to claim.”
“Yes, you were.” Severus looked back into those hawk eyes peering down on him, and he immediately regretted not adding another spell for protection. “You were mine as soon that fire broke out in the Slytherin dorms, and you stood in front of me, dressed in almost nothing, looking like you were ready to get fucked for a dry towel,” Bill declared. “Do you remember? The dungeons were completely evacuated. We all left our rooms to watch, and there you were, drenched from head to toe because you and the elves were casting water spells to put it out. I could still remember that robe shaping your body, clinging to the supple curves every boy wanted to touch.” Bill chuckled without humor. “All of us were drooling; I went straight to the baths afterward because I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
A knot formed in Severus’ throat. He was only twenty-three when that happened. He remembered his students giving him more attention after that. They helped carry his books and asked to stay after class to assist him with preparation. His insecurities led him to believe they were making fun of him, so he punished them for their kindness. Severus’ face burned when he realized their intentions were far more perverse.
They weren’t looking down on him; they were leering.
Severus knew he should Bill leave so he may collect his dignity. He had a class soon. He had important tasks to prepare. With his hands free, he had a variety of options to make this happened. Yet the revelation stopped all sense of reason.
Running on pure regret for the years that could have been, Severus used his freedom to pull Bill down for a kiss. Bill was stunned, but he recovered like any teenager when sex was rich in the air. The young man lifted Severus onto the table to make his professor more accessible to his mouth. Severus moaned against his lips. He wrapped his legs around Bill’s hips. He was losing himself, and his body moved on his own when his hands flew to Bill’s shirt.
He looked too good in white, Severus thought. Without the blazer, Severus could forget the teenager was his student and imagine he was just another handsome man who caught his eye on the street. Severus pawed at the buttons, and when his hands shook too much for anything to get done, his magic snapped the buttons off.
The spell ended up ricocheting onto his fingers, scorching Severus’ tips. Bill laughed at the sensation, for the spark shocked him as well, but not in the same degree as Severus. Severus was stunned. His magic had never been so out of control, not even in grief. This lust, this passion they had with each other was dangerous for him.
He needed to stop. Now.
“We can’t,” Severus whispered as he turned away. “We’re going too far. We need to stop.” He tried to get up, but Bill held him by the hips. “Bill, let go—”
“I love it when you say my name,” Bill told him instead of letting go. He didn’t sound upset by Severus’ declaration. His head moved to rest on Severus’ shoulder. “I can’t wait for you to come on my cock, screaming it.”
Severus almost choked; he didn’t need to respond because Bill kept talking.
“You have class, soon,” Bill justified. “You don’t want to get caught with a man between your legs, and I don’t want that for you either. It’s better I wait until tonight, that way I have all the time in the world to work on your thighs.”
Severus didn’t know how he could get possibly wetter.
“It’s a good thing I still have to return your book.”
“Keep it,” Severus breathed out. He was about to protest Bill’s appearance at all, but the younger man interrupted him.
“I can’t do that,” Bill reassured. “I need to return it because if someone catches me wandering in the dungeons late I night, I need to be able to tell them the reason.” Bill gave Severus a forceful, unbreakable kiss. When he let go, he was staring into Severus dark eyes. “Leave the door unlocked for me.”
Thank you for reading this chapter, and I really appreciate all the comments. I think I'm going to classify this story as "slow burn" but there's going to be a lot these sorts of chapters before they get to the big finale of the firework show. :) But yeah, I'm really proud of myself, because I've been writing a chapter every week (even though they weren't always "on time"), and the progress has been pretty good. Let's cross our fingers to see if I can continue this to November (I'm hoping to push this story out in three sections, 13 chapters each).
I really want to make a soundtrack of the music I listen to when I write. I think it really elevates some of the scenes in the story. Please let me know your thoughts!
Severus was inclined to a rough touch.
Wizards would call his affliction a curse—a blood malediction that made him want to finger paint his skin with black and blue and engrave crescent patterns onto his partner’s back. Muggles would claim genetics, a combination of nucleotides and proteins no different than the ones that greased his hair and made his nose break across his face. Whatever made Severus crave pain with his pleasure ran in his family. He could see in his father’s pulsing vein as he dragged Severus’ mother into the house, holding her down on the floor as she spat, bit, and clawed at him to escape. Severus could see it in the broken windows, and the shattered glass and shards spilled over the floor, digging into his father’s flesh. He screamed at her, called her a monster and a madwoman, all while holding her in his arms, therefore binding her body but still freeing her hands so she could use magic—unconcentrated, uncontrolled magic, but magic, nonetheless. Tobias didn’t like to leave her defenseless. He liked it when she wasn't the only one in pain. She called him a poisoner and a murderer because, in those moments, she felt like she was going to die. And she could have stopped him; she could have blown his brains out with a single spell. Severus swore never to forgive her for showing him, her son, that cowardice until he learned she wasn’t a coward. She was in love. His father was in love, too. They never loved each other enough to let go of each other, but they loved each other enough to make everything hurt. Severus’ mother pulled her husband’s hair so hard she removed clumps; she apparated plates and lamps, or whatever her magic could get its grip on, at him, and in return, his father struck her across her face until she was coughing blood. She fought back, he fought harder, and in the end, they fucked on the floor, hating each other because they could never love anyone else.
Severus’ parents taught him that love was powerful; love popped floorboards and disintegrated bricks and broke bones and cut skin, and when Severus watched his parents become so immerse with each other that they forget their devastated son huddle underneath a table because he didn’t want the ceiling falling on him again, he knew love could kill.
Severus changed before attending dinner. He wouldn’t go as far as to dress down, but he didn’t wear his robes when he attended the feast that night. The potions master wore common dress slacks and a simple black dress shirt—the type of thing he would wear to Sunday mass if he were still living in the muggle world, but nothing like he’d ever worn in front of his students. When asked by Minerva about his odd attire, he told her that his robes were damaged in a potion’s accident.
“All of them?”
“I’ve been behind on my laundry.” Severus drank his pumpkin juice. “Is that a problem?”
The Transfiguration professor looked at him. Then, she shook her head. “No. I was surprised. I haven’t seen you in muggle wear since you were a child.”
“I won’t make it a habit,” Severus told her. He pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, and a swarm of thoughts came buzzing in his head. The students were watching him, and instead of acknowledging their observations, the potion’s master took a piece of bread from his plate and sliced it open with the precision of a surgeon. He added a thin layer of butter as he spoke, “I loathed this look.”
Minerva frowned. “Your muggle heritage isn’t something to be ashamed of, Severus.”
“No?” Severus held his fork midair. “When was the last time you visited your father’s manse?”
Severus didn’t have to look at her to see her. He imagined her lips closed together like a stitched wound, shoulders straight as a plank, a little bit of shame yet somehow indignant. Instead of answering him, she asked him to pass a plate of potatoes on his left. They continued their meal with their respective composure, both renowned for it until she asked if he was well.
“You missed breakfast this morning, not to mention your fainting spell yesterday.”
The word ‘spell’ and ‘faint’ caught the attention of several faculty members, most notably those of non-muggle heritage who were unused to the turn of phrase. Severus saw one of them turn to the muggle studies professor, Quirrell, for clarification.
“I am fine,” Severus told her. “Pomphrey ordered bed rest, and pumped me with enough potions; I should be well until the end of the century.”
“So, your fever is gone?”
“Utterly extinguished.” Severus put more greens onto his plate. He was about to eat until he noticed his colleague was staring. He put down his fork. “Is there anything else I could help you with?”
Minerva gave the most elegant shrug he’d ever seen, to a point he couldn’t call it a shrug but a movement of the shoulders. “You seem off.”
“And you would know what ‘myself’ is?” Severus sneered. “You’re not my friend; you’re my colleague, Minerva. Don’t give yourself too much credit.”
Minerva ignored his jibe, though she wasn’t unaffected judging by the way she almost tipped her goblet. Severus wondered what he had done to offend her, for he could see no other reason but vengeance for her prurience. “I’ve noticed you retracted a deduction from my house a few nights ago. When I went to look at the account, you removed it as well. Should I be concerned?”
“Of one of your students? Always.” Severus took a bite of his food to fill the hollowness in his stomach. Exploiting the points system was a minor hobby of his when he became a teacher, and though unfair, he often used it as a form of vindication for the suffering he experienced as a student. Particular walls, namely those that framed the hallways and boxed the classrooms, kept track of every authorized announcement regarding house points. Once the intention to subtract or add the points was approved, the walls would set up a recording as an additional precaution. If there seemed to be a variable amount of abuse regarding the distribution, specifically by the head students or prefects, the teachers were able to look into the recording for reference.
Severus was smart regarding his bias; he never gave points for the sake of giving them, and he never deducted without an offense—never mind he treated a Gryffindor crushing an ant with the same severity as casting a hex.
If someone chose to retract their original sentencing, the memory of the incident remained. Most of the time, it was for minor offenses. Perhaps a student was late but had an excuse that was only heard after the lesson. Or, a student correctly answered a question, but it turned out a friend gave the right answer. The teacher was then able to change their mind about the reward. The walls were trained to adapt to these actions, and all the parties had to do was to announce it, and it would be as if the event never happened.
To remove a recording, however, was far more complicated. For fairness, once a record was removed, the points were automatically terminated, as well. This was a feature Dumbledore personally charmed. The process required a manual spell directed at the house hourglass, which held the points, and it always led to a stain. The action was reserved for dire mistakes, so much so that it was a spell only a house head could perform.
Severus paused from cutting. He stared at his cooling meat; his appetite faded with every word. “You looked into my allocation?”
Minerva could hear the outrage in his voice as if she accused him of another betrayal, and it was then she recognized the gravity of her observation. “Severus, I am not accusing you of anything. A student from my house was involved, and I wanted to know what happened.”
“Because you suspect foul play.”
“Because I was concerned,” Minerva emphasized tiredly. “It never looks good when a record is erased. For anyone.”
Concern? Severus glared at his plate. What nonsense. “How kind of you,” Severus said coolly. If they weren’t on display, he would have long stormed out. “Perhaps you should save your concern for candidates more worthy than myself. I’m sure you and the headmaster have already selected your favorites from the students.”
Minerva sighed. “Do not do this.”
“Not everyone is your enemy, Severus, nor do they see you as one.” Minerva shook her head. “Kindness is not a cloak for deception.”
Severus pushed his plate out of the way. He couldn’t stomach another bite. While finishing up the rest of his goblet, he recalled Lucius’ promises of greatness or the seductive Slytherin cultism that enchanted him as a child. He remembered, with both fondness and disgust, of Lily’s kind words as they entangled their pinkies with one another, swearing to be friends forever, before boarding the train for the first time.
Severus never trusted a kind man’s aid, not when he could rely on a cruel man’s intentions.
Severus stopped by his classroom instead of returning to his room and didn’t leave until dessert had long passed. Bill should be waiting outside his door by now if he hadn’t already left.
Severus shook his head. No, he thought, Bill wouldn’t give up so easily.
The potions master busied himself for the last hour with ingredient organizations and supply arrangements before moving on to the next day’s lessons. He was checking marks when he heard the door open. The half-blood tightened his grip around his quill before setting it down.
“I waited for you,” Mr. Weasley told him. He didn’t sound angry; he was annoyed at worse, but it was the sort of resigned annoyance one would give to their lover after a quarrel. Severus looked up, and sure enough, he was given the expressive equivalent of his tone.
“I had work to finish. Adults prioritize such commitments,” Severus remarked with no small amount of malice. He didn’t bother to look at his student at first, but eventually, he succumbed to temptation. Bill was an impossibly hard person to resist. Severus looked up, and once he did, he sighed. Bill’s lips were twitching; before the mention of their statuses would have gotten him upset. Now, Bill was the picture of neutrality.
“You promised we would meet tonight.”
“I did no such thing,” Severus denied. He made a show of finishing up his notes before addressing Bill again. “You made the appointment on your whims. I had no say.”
“You’re my professor,” Bill grimaced when he said it. “As you like to remind me. You can deny me whenever you wish. Instead, you string me along like a cat’s toy.”
“I’ve tried rejecting you,” Severus pointed out. “And I’ve tried reasoning with you. You don’t listen, so if I must resort to these tactics, I will.” Severus walked towards the door. He was immediately, and unsurprisingly, blocked. “Move,” Severus ordered.
“Why should I listen to the words you don’t want to say?”
“Why is it the words I don’t want to say are always the words you don’t want to hear?” Severus shoved him to the side. Before he could reach the door, a clear ‘Colloportus!’ was cast in the air. Severus' hair flew as the door slammed shut.
Severus closed his eyes and tried to contain his frustration. When he turned around to confront Bill, all he could see was the young man’s smug expression. Merlin, he hated Gryffindors.
“You are a child,” Severus hissed. Without looking, Severus pointed his wand at the door and cast an unlocking spell. The smile dropped from Bill’s face. Severus was about to march out without so much as a word when Bill panicked and cast another spell.
In retrospect, the head boy admitted that there were several other ways to handle the situation. But he was still learning to think on his feet, and sometimes, effective was easier to grasp than efficient. “Ventus!” Bill shouted. A powerful gust of wind whirled into the room and knocked Severus off his balance. He hit the ground hard.
Bill's eyes widened. “Professor!”
Bill ran over to him, but before he was within an arm’s length of his crush, Bill was thrown against the other side of the room, crashing into the previously arranged inventory and push the desk several feet with his form. Bill didn’t see the wand pointed at him, nor did he notice the pure, undulated anger on his instructor’s face when the man got up and screamed, “Expelliarmus!”
Bill was not fully required when he heard the door open, and he barely caught a glimpse of Severus’ dark form as he left the room. Bill hastily cast a half-hearted healing spell as he ran out of the room to follow. When he stepped out, Bill was immediately greeted by darkness so rich; he could have pressed his hand in front of his face, and still be blind. It must be Snape’s doing—the candle lights were wholly extinguished.
So clever, Bill thought proudly. He didn’t have time to dwell on the man’s cunning when a more pressing matter was in order. Everything still hurt, but Bill couldn’t waste any more time or magic on himself. Bill combined Lumos with a tracking spell for a makeshift will ‘o wisp that would lead him to his professor. Bill was never more grateful for the natural athleticism that ran through his family line. The head boy was running down the halls with more grace and speed than some of the wizarding world’s best athletes, using his muscle memory to feel his way through the walls and dodging any critters below. It wasn’t long before he heard another set of footsteps.
Bill quickly cast a spell that scattered the orb he was following into a million different lights that swarmed the candle wicks. Each one helped light his pathway, and near the middle of the trail, he could see the object of desire jump almost mid-air at his arrival.
The light show urged Severus to face his chaser. The man stared at him with his black eyes; the only visible color was found from Bill’s reflection. Severus didn’t let him speak, and he didn’t bother on his own behalf. Severus directed his wand and used his magic to throw Bill against the wall, this time resulting in a loud sound that indicated a sprain or worse. His head hit the pavement after his body, and when he licked his lips, he could taste blood. Severus took off again, this time with more force in his step.
Bill listened to the delicate patters become a full-blown sprint, and he couldn’t help himself. He laughed. He laughed so hard he feared his wounds would reopen. The Weasley got up from the ground. He didn’t bother to try and heal himself; he wanted the pain. He liked how it fueled the adrenaline coursing through his body, and he liked the way his blood boil with every bruise. The hurt urged him to run. Run and never stop. Run and never stop until he caught his prey.
Merlin and all the gods and ghosts watching, this felt fucking good. Bill chased the man down his halls. Despite his injuries, Bill was fast, and Snape, for all his exceptional qualities, was never one for athletics. The head boy caught up to his professor with ease. “Professor!” He pleaded. “Professor, stop!”
Severus didn’t listen. With the disadvantage in their physicality, Severus resorted to underhanded tactics to win the race. He turned his head for a split second to cast an expoximise incantation on the boy’s hand, and the magic compelled and stuck his entire body against the brick. Severus heard Bill swear in frustration, but the boy was smart, and it wasn’t long before he cast a dissolvent spell to remove it. Severus was not ahead for long, and he didn’t think he would be. Bill was faster and stronger, and Severus would never win in a game of strength. His heart was pounding as his body weakened from the activity. He was breathing heavier than he ever had in his entire life, but as the air filled, Severus never felt lighter. He was flying as the magic coursed through his fingers. When Bill was within sight, Severus was shot at him with stupefy, only for it to be deflected by Bill’s shield.
Severus was taken back when Bill responded with an offensive charm, especially one with so much potential for harm. The spell released a storm of icy cold air that froze the walls and threatened to do the same to Severus had he not countered with a fire spell. The force of fire and ice colluded in the air to fill the dungeons with steam. Had Severus not been so surprised, he would have used the opportunity to run. Instead, he waited for the mist to clear to look into Bill’s eyes. Would he be horrified as he was when he first attacked Severus? Would he feel vindicated for his victorious casting?
Instead, all Severus saw was excitement, and he was sure if he looked in the mirror, he would have seen the same. Severus raised his wand to draw the steam towards, and once it collected to cloud, he bent it into a wall before Bill could stop him. Bill was a talented wizard, but he wasn’t close to Severus’ skill. Bill attempted to break free, only to be hit by lightning and thrown on his feet.
“If we were in a proper duel, you’d be dead,” Severus taunted. “You should be grateful I don't take my students seriously."
Bill glared at him, and the anger sent a jolt down Severus’ spine. The student tried several spells to break the wall, with one particularly powerful one reflecting into his chest, sending him on his knees.
Severus smirked and took off again. The shield would disappear when the water finished dissipating, or when Bill found a way through. The professor only touched his door when he heard a crack, and the loudest, most self-satisfied cheer echoed through the halls. Severus didn’t hesitate to curse his door when he got inside and added another physical layer for protection. The Slytherin only had to wait a few seconds before the other man was banging on his door. He knew it was impossible, but he could smell the singed skin as Bill punched his bare knuckles on Severus’ enchanted door. Green flames erupted from the barrier with every attack.
He must be in so much pain, Severus thought, as his stomach churned with both nausea and anticipation. Severus’ suspicions were confirmed when the green flames extinguished into the air, and the cement wall he added disintegrated into nothing.
Bill walked through, heaving. He looked at Severus like he could kill. “Are you done, Severus?” Bill, wand in hand, flicked his wrist, and every door in the flat slammed shut, preventing Severus from any form of concealment. Bill’s hands were bloodied. There were scars on his limbs, and Bill’s uniform, already worn from aged, were torn to rags. His skin was drenched in sweat, and yet there was not a single sign that he didn’t want Severus.
“Don’t call me that,” Severus protested weakly. He took a step back when Bill got closer. Before he could raise his arm, Bill shouted ‘expelliarmus!’ Severus let his wand fly across the room. It was a predictable move, one that Severus could have easily countered. Instead, Severus stood where he was, defenseless.
“I’ll call you whatever I want. I won, Severus. I won, and I want my prize.”
“I am not a prize,” Severus hissed.
“No, you're a treasure,” Bill replied, and the declaration caught Severus off-guard. “That curse you placed on the door just now,” Bill addressed as he towered over Severus. “I learned how to break it as a fifth-year. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor taught it to me after I announced my intention to become a curse-breaker.” Bill shook his head. “You knew that; I know you did.”
“Don’t come any closer,” Severus warned him.
“Or what?” Bill took the step forward. “What will you do? Expel me? Hex me? Kill me? You could do anything you wanted, and it wouldn’t be enough because I would keep coming back for you—”
Severus couldn’t listen any longer. Without thinking, his hand lunged forward and struck his student across the face.
Bill clutched his cheek.
Severus gasped when he felt the sting on his hand. “Bill…” Severus tried to apologize, but nothing came out.
“Are you satisfied?” Bill asked, his voice low and menacing. Bill removed his hand where a defiant, red handprint was pulsing. He wore the mark like a battle scar.
Severus couldn't stop his cunt from dripping. Not simply because of Bill's behavior, but because he knew that mark belonged to him. All his life, he'd been branded by the bruises of his father, the scars of Marauders, and Voldemort's tattoo. This was his mark on Bill, and the boy was happy to have it.
“I like it when you touch me,” Bill told him. He gave him a challenge Severus would like to regret taking. “Do it again.”
A thousand forbidden curses couldn’t move Severus to act the way he had that night. Severus raised his hand and struck him again. The sting didn’t hurt this time. It felt good, empowering to be able to take this little bit of control back. “You stupid boy,” Severus accused him. “You are a disgusting, shameless ingrate.” Severus raised his hand one final time when Bill grasped it mid-air.
Looking into his eyes, Bill told him the truth, “I need to kiss you now more than I need anything else in this world,” Bill whispered to his professor.
Severus gasped. Bill had no more mercy to give. He grabbed Severus by the shoulders and forced him against a nearby wall. Severus winced when his head hit the brick. Bill wasn’t harsh, but he wasn’t gentle either. Before Severus could await a familiar strike, Bill grabbed his chin with a single hand. He released his hold on Severus a second before their lips met. Severus didn’t resist him; whether it was the high adrenaline or weakened willpower, Severus opened his mouth and kissed Bill back. Severus wrapped his arms around him and didn’t fight when the student lifted him and wrapped Severus’ legs around his waist, heels of his feet digging into his ass.
“Severus?” Bill asked when they parted. "What do you want?"
Severus didn’t want to stop kissing to answer. His magic spoke for him when the door to his bedroom opened up. Bill laughed into his kiss as he moved them into the bedroom. Bill dropped Severus’ lightness onto the sheets. When Bill moved on top of his form and reached to undo the buttons on his partner’s shirt, Severus woke up from his dream state and slapped Bill across the face.
“Don’t say a word,” Severus ordered, before pulling the boy down for another kiss. His hand entangled itself into the boy’s red hair, and the locks felt like silk in his hands. His thighs were drenched, and his body was hot, and everything felt so good, he could scream.
“No touching,” Severus breathed out. “On your back.”
Bill raised his hands in surrender as he backed away from Severus and moved to the side. He was smirking at his professor. Severus bit his lip as he admired the young man in front of him. He was gorgeous and, it was unfair what his face did to Severus. The professor climbed on top of his student's hips and reached out to undo the buttons on Bill’s shirt. Severus stopped on the third button to kiss Bill again, using the boy's passion to further motivate his actions. He could still feel Bill’s desire through his touch; his cock pressed against his cunt, his lust filling Severus’ head. Severus’s magic snapped all the buttons apart in impatience.
Bill laughed into their kiss. “I've wanted this forever.”
Severus wanted to hit him again, but he refrained from the urge. Instead, he laid his hands onto Bill’s chest. “I thought I told you not to speak,” Severus reminded as he dug his nails into the young man’s pectorals. Bill hissed but didn’t fight back. Severus reward him by running his hands down before they rested on the opening of his pants.
Severus didn’t wait. He undid the zipper and found Bill’s erection straining out of his boxers. Severus hoped his inexperience wouldn’t be noticeable, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d never touch another cock before. Severus took out the erection and bit his lip to keep himself from moaning. Bill was much bigger than Severus, he was heavier, and he was hotter, and it felt good weighing down his hand. Severus wrapped his hands around his student’s dick and kept his grip firm.
“I love your hands,” Bill moaned. “You’re so fucking hot. I’m going to come if you keep touching me.”
Severus didn’t scold him for speaking out of turn this time. He liked the praise. He liked how attractive Bill made him feel. He liked the power he got from making this young, handomse man come undone. He wanted more admiration, and he knew how to get it.
Bill watched with wide eyes as Severus let go of his student to take off his black slacks. Severus revealed a pair of tight briefs underneath those pants; it covered both his straining cock, and a pulsing pussy that wetted the cotton fabric. It was the closest Bill had ever been to perfection, and the Wealsey couldn’t stop the tremble that shook through his body.
Bill couldn’t help himself. He reached out to touch it, that glorious warmth he’d been obsessed with only to get pushed back. Severus latched his hand onto Bill’s throat and squeezed.
“Please,” Bill choked out. “I have to fuck you.”
Severus’s ego swelled, and it made his cunt drip down his thighs. Bill hitched his breath as the scent overwhelmed him. Severus loved this power. Severus was willing to bet the boy would have done anything to fuck him at this moment, even kill. The satisfaction such knowledge brought tasted like victory and sin.
Severus licked his lips. “Hold still,” he commanded. Severus straddled Bill’s hips and held his cock between his thighs, right underneath his cunt.
“What are you doing?”
Severus almost giggled. He let go of his throat to place both his hands onto Bill’s shoulders for balance. After he was comfortable, he kissed Bill again. When Bill wasn’t mouthing off to him, Severus loved the things that boy could do with his tongue. They kissed for ages, and just when Bill was starting to relax, Severus began to move.
Bill had to break the kiss to moan and curse Severus’ name. “Fuck!”
Severus further tightened his legs to increase the friction. Bill’s cock rubbed against his cunt and cock, edging him along the way. Bill tried to thrust upward, but Severus held him in place as he grinded against the young man's erection. Bill was moaning loudly at the thigh fucking, and his body was shaking from helplessness. Severus was reminded of the past, how the boys in his dorm would hump their pillows and comforters. He thought about how they used to mock him for catching a glimpse, and would sometimes, jokingly suggest he help them out. Severus wondered in retrospect if they were joking at all. If he had been bolder back then, could he have made them go as mad for him as Bill? The possibilities were endless.
How he could have used them, Severus mused.
Severus' thoughts were interrupted when Bill managed to move forward for a faster, more dominant grind. He grinned when Severus almost screamed. Severus couldn’t hold back the wanton noise he made, or any of the sounds leaving his mouth. "Ah, ah, ah!" A string of mews escaped his mouth. His clit loved a good rubbing session, but a cock pressing against his hole felt so much better than his own fingers. He continued to rock against Bill, chasing after that tingling sensation along the way.
“Just let me take off your panties, please. Let me have a taste,” Bill begged. “You don’t know how good you look.”
Severus moaned again. He wasn’t used to having another person join him for pleasure, and he was never one for physical restraint. Severus tossed his head back, his mouth open and panting, drool was slipping down the sides as his entire form flushed with arousal. In his weakness, he allowed Bill’s magic to tickle the hem of his underwear, and try to drag them down.
The boy’s cock was leaking, and Severus wanted so badly to see how it would feel inside him. He imagined it would split him apart, and maybe keep him from walking straight for the next few days. He wondered if he would glow, or if others could tell he’d been used. He thought about the rumors, how his colleagues or even students would theorize who was the one that persuaded the cold, unrelenting professor to spread his legs and take their cock raw.
The thought made Severus’ body shake. He loosened his thighs and allowed Bill the honor of thrusting between his legs with more force. His cunt were leaking, his cock on the precipice of completion, and he wanted to be filled. Severus moaned again, with his back arching as he gripped Bill’s body more tightly and rocked against his student hard, whining for it.
“Severus,” Bill moaned. “I need you.”
Good, Severus thought. He did the most reckless thing he did since teaching and reached below to push his underwear to the side, offering Bill more access than he’d been allow before. Severus was half-surprised the young man didn’t just thrust all the way when he had the chance. Shock, he supposed. Severus grabbed the cock and moved it towards his pussy, where he rubbed it down his clit and into his hole. He made sure to maintain his grip the entire time, spreading the pre-cum all over him. His fingers were absolutely drenched, but the feeling was fantastic. Bill was cursing up a storm. Severus continued to go faster and faster, getting himself closer to completion, until finally, he pressed the tip into his folds. The penetration, no matter how small, had Severus wailing as his mind went blank, and he came hard at the intrusion. The young man came shortly after, as Severus’ magic forced his pleasure into his head. Bill groaned as his cock spurted out heavy amounts of cum against Severus’ pussy, some of it managed to get inside before Severus released his grip.
“Shit,” Bill whispered. Severus didn’t respond, his thighs gave out, and his body dropped against Bill’s. Bill pulled at his hair to lift his face up. He was smiling like a mad man, absolutely pleased as he captured Severus’ lips for another kiss. When Severus far too distracted to react, the student flipped his teacher, earning a well-deserved yelp as Severus was laid on his back.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he told Severus.
Severus was stunned. Bill looked down on the man, and his fingers trailed up his shirt and undid his buttons. His magic was opening him up like a present. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up,” Bill begged. There was not an ounce of deception in his voice, and Severus had never met so much desire and honesty. In that moment, Severus knew this man was going to break his heart.
I'm so happy this chapter is finally here. I'm really behind on some of my other work, but I'm glad I got this out. Also, as a note, when I was writing the chase scene, I listened to "Twisted Games" by Night Panda. If you imagine that scene with the song in the background with the right slow-motion effects, it really sets the atmosphere.
*also, did anyone remember that professor Quirell was a muggle studies professor before he took a year-long hiatus in 1990 and came back to teach DADA with Voldemort on his head? I didn't until I looked up the name of the muggle studies professor for the year 1989, and I was like, "oh that's right."