Pure

Warning for underage sex and incest. This story will depict Draco Malfoy having sex with both Lucius and Narcissa, as well as Marcus Flint, starting from when Draco is 11. If this offends you, please stop reading now.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling and various corporations. I'm just borrowing some Malfoys.

Title: Pure
Author: Gertrude Flint
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: The erotic education of Draco Malfoy, pure-blood.
Pairings: LM/DM, NM/DM, LM/NM, MF/DM
Warnings: Incest, chan.


Note: This chapter was written before HBP came out. It says Snape is a pure-blood wizard.

Chapter Two: The Talk

"Sixteen weeks," says Pansy, sighing, during their first breakfast at Hogwarts.

"You're counting too?"

"'Course I am." She smiles shyly at him over her porridge.

Draco decides Pansy's all right, for a girl, even with all her squeals and blushes. Besides, they are drawn together by one thing: being the only two first years who are pure-born as well as pure-blood, from the very best families. They are the only two who will be opened by their parents during the Christmas holidays this year, according to the old traditions, and then start learning what they need to know to take their rightful place in society.

It sets them apart from others in Slytherin, it allows them to feel rather smugly superior -- and it's always on their minds, in between their new classes and new friends. That week, Draco frequently abandons Goyle and Crabbe to sit with Pansy: comparing their first kisses, sharing scraps of gossip about Visiting, and speculating about what lies in store for them this Christmas.

"Your father's very fat," says Draco idly. "Won't he squash you, the first time?"

Pansy sniffs. "Mother says boys have no tact and ask silly questions. I do believe she's right."

Draco thinks he wouldn't mind talking about all this with someone else besides Pansy, someone else who belongs to that exclusive world of pure wizards and Visits... like their head of house. He's seen Professor Snape once at the Manor, going up the stairs with Father and Mother. Yet although Draco admires Snape -- who speaks so well, and certainly knows how to deal with stupid Potter -- he doesn't quite dare to walk up to the man and ask.

And then there's Flint. Flint, who keeps touching him.

At first Draco thinks it's all by chance: the light touch on his hand or shoulder as Flint shows him around the dungeons, the pat on his head or back. Within a couple of days, he suspects Flint is doing it on purpose -- so Draco tests it, deliberately standing close to Flint or brushing past him.

Flint touches Draco, every single time.

When Draco starts touching him back, it becomes a kind of unspoken game between them: who touches first, who touches the most. In the crowd of students pushing through the doors of the Great Hall after lunch, Draco maneuvers himself in front of Flint -- and for the briefest instant feels a hand on his arse. Flint sits next to Draco at breakfast one day; their feet rub against each other all through the meal, and several times Draco's thigh is squeezed beneath the table.

Soon Draco finds himself looking for Flint, in their common room or in the Great Hall. And Flint is always looking back at Draco. He always smiles.

* * * * * *

Draco misses his house-elf, of all things, much more than he had expected. When he mentions it to Pansy, she admits she's missing her house-elf as well.

Ever since he can remember, it's been part of bed-time (in that narrow bed with the green canopy, in a room now sealed forever) to whistle for his house-elf, to let its skillful fingers and lips stroke him to hardness, to pleasure, then back to softness, leaving him drowsy and content, so he'd fall asleep without even noticing the creature disappear.

Though Father explained to him, years ago, that house-elves are only for children -- adults have other avenues of satisfaction -- and Draco knew his elf would not accompany him to Hogwarts, now he tosses and turns in his dormitory bed, annoyed with himself even as he rubs his own cock. It's so babyish, but... he can't sleep. He misses his house-elf.

Then, one morning in his first week, his eagle owl brings him another box of chocolates from Mother -- and a long letter from Father.

I dare say you are feeling the absence of Dobby, my son. This is understandable; yet I would urge you to make an effort of will and put it behind you. In my opinion, this can best be done by looking to your future, not your past.

You are a pure wizard, my son, pure-blood and pure-born. Until now, your purity has been that of a child; a gift from your mother and myself. Henceforth, in your manhood, you will take on the responsibility and pride of guarding this purity and passing its legacy to your own son. And now I would speak to you of your mother, for you are approaching the moment in your life which is, perhaps, the greatest and most sacred symbol of our pure-born heritage.

I refer, of course, to the moment when you first enter your mother -- when, for the first time since your birth, part of your body returns to touch the pure channel through which you came into the world. As any pure wizard will attest, it is a most powerful and quite unforgettable experience; most certainly, I myself shall never forget the moment my own dear mother first opened her folds to me.

The first time you penetrate the body of another: that is a gift, my son, and what could be more fitting than giving it to the pure witch who gave you life? In doing so, you say to her: no one is more pure, more worthy, than you. And you make this vow: that your flesh, once accepted and welcomed within your mother's body, shall never enter a body which is tainted. Indeed, once a pure wizard's mother has honored him by accepting the gift of his first time, how could he possibly dishonor her and defile himself by any contact with the impure?

As you are aware, my son, in future I shall give you much instruction on matters physical and erotic. On occasion I shall set and enforce rules, when discipline will be to your benefit. One rule I set for you now: this term you may pleasure yourself no more than once a day, and while doing so you shall make every effort to fix your thoughts on the future -- on the night you will be opened, when you share our bed for the first time. Think, most especially, of your mother.

She sends her love; and needless to say, she looks forward to that night as much as I do. With all her heart and pride, she longs to see our beloved son come to our bed in the dawn of his maturity -- she longs to touch and taste you, to open herself to you and feel you hard inside her body. Your delight in her will be great, I assure you, as you learn and grow under our guidance, for your mother is a pure witch of rare talents, and the joy I take in her is boundless.

Be well, my dear son.

Your Father

That night, Draco rubs his cock and thinks of Mother. He thinks of Father. Fifteen-and-a-half weeks to wait.

* * * * * *

They still don't mention the touching, but at the end of the first week Draco does ask Flint about other pure-born students in their house; he's sure there must be more.

"Eight of us, counting you and Parkinson," says Flint. "See those two over there?" He points out two willowy girls across the common room, who seem exactly alike, down to the identical ribbons in their long dark hair. Draco thinks they look awfully grown-up and sophisticated.

"But you'll be introduced, of course, at Snape's meetings." Flint's large teeth flash in a grin. "Oh, your parents didn't tell you about those, did they? Neither did mine, when I first got here -- apparently it's the done thing to let Snape break the news." Flint trails a finger along Draco's arm again, ever so casually. "Brace yourself for The Talk, all right? Tomorrow night, I bet. It's our first meeting for the year."

"Why brace myself?"

"Because it's Snape! And because he usually picks someone as a target for it. Don't worry, it's bound to be Parkinson as the victim -- Snape and your father go way back."

Sure enough, the next morning owls deliver the same message to both Draco and Pansy: their presence is required in Professor Snape's office at seven o'clock that evening. And later, as the time approaches, Flint appears at Draco's side and offers to escort them.

The location of the mysterious meeting proves to be an inner chamber accessible only through Snape's office. As if in deliberate contrast to Snape's austerity, it is furnished with an almost decadent level of comfort: soft Oriental rugs, well-padded couches and chairs, two large four-poster beds and a couple of tables, a glass-fronted cabinet full of bottles and jars. A number of curious instruments hanging on one wall catch Draco's eye; he can't imagine what they might be.

"Greetings, all," says Flint, nodding to the others there. "Look, I've brought the firsties!"

"Mmm... and did you show them a good time on the way, Marcus?" asks one of the identical girls. The two of them are sharing a couch, their arms around each other's waists.

"The witch isn't much to look at," her sister drawls. "But the boy, now... he has potential. Malfoy, isn't he?"

"With that hair, who else?" says the first girl. "Ooh, come here, ickle Malfoy -- let us pet you -- you'll like it!"

Before Draco can reply, a deep voice speaks from the doorway behind him.

"Kindly restrain your impulses, Miss Adele. Are you merely attempting to be witty, or must I remind you in all earnest why an unopened boy is not to be touched?"

"Sorry, Professor!" says the girl, not looking sorry at all. "I was just being silly..."

The other students have fallen silent already as Professor Snape stalks forward into the center of the room, beckoning Draco and Pansy to his side.

"And so another summer season ends, and we begin another year," he says, folding his arms. "I trust it will be a profitable one. Welcome, pure-born wizards and witches of Slytherin. And welcome two newcomers among us: Mr. Draco Malfoy and Miss Pansy Parkinson."

Draco isn't sure whether to bow or not. He settles for staring back at all the curious strangers who are staring at him.

"We meet here twice a week," says Snape, looking down at Draco and Pansy, "to maintain and continue the instruction pure-born students receive from their parents at home. And although the two of you will not be joining us for another two years -- not until you have completed your first season of Visiting -- I consider it best for you to be aware of these meetings. Most certainly, you should know who all the pure-born at this school are, if only by sight. Allow me to introduce you."

Snape turns to point at the identical sisters. "Miss Amelia and Miss Adele Macnair, seventh year." One of them blows Draco a kiss, earning herself another frown from Snape.

"Mr. Marcus Flint, sixth year." Flint rises and bows, then waves.

"There are none of us in fifth year at present, nor in second year. In fourth year, we have Miss Emily Lochrin --" A plump girl with frizzy brown hair smiles uncertainly.

"-- and in third year, joining us here for the first time this evening, Mr. Caradoc Warrington and Mr. Flavius Montague." The two burly boys ignore Draco and Pansy, only looking up at Snape when he says their names.

Snape's dark eyes survey the room once more. "And now, before you disrobe, a few minor matters -- and some reminders. First, I believe we'll test the knowledge of our newcomers..." With no warning, he whirls to loom over Pansy. "Miss Parkinson! Why, in your opinion, do we gather for these meetings?"

"Um... to -- to have sex, sir," she stammers, blushing. The Macnair twins burst into giggles. Pansy casts a frantic glance at Draco, but he's only relieved that Snape isn't staring at him like that.

Snape raises an eyebrow. "How eloquent. A reply worthy of a Gryffindor." After a sharp glance at the older girls, he turns back to Pansy. "Fortunately, you have two years to improve your level of knowledge before you join us here. Allow me to assist you. Exert your imagination, Miss Parkinson..."

His voice turns even more silky. "Picture yourself several years older -- in your fifth year, let's say, or sixth. You have three or four seasons of Visiting behind you. You honor and please your parents, and in the company of others you are a credit to your family. You are, in fact, a pure witch to be proud of, and your future seems very bright indeed."

Pansy nods, as if hypnotized.

"And then -- then, Miss Parkinson -- you start noticing one of your fellow students, a young wizard -- or witch, of course, but let's imagine a wizard. And this object of your attentions also takes notice of you. He may be from another house, or even a Slytherin -- but he is not one of us. Still, you know him to be neither Mudblood nor Muggle-lover, and his family seems respectable enough. So, Miss Parkinson -- you decide a little flirtation would do no harm."

Pansy nods again, then quickly shakes her head; opens her mouth and shuts it.

"But then that flirtation grows into something more," Snape continues, "as such things tend to do. And at least once, possibly more than once, you indulge your desires enough to grant this young wizard access to your body -- you allow him to enter you, Miss Parkinson, to spill his seed within you. It brings great pleasure to you both. And only then -- very soon thereafter, or much later -- do you discover that your lover's grandmother was a half-blood. Yes," says Snape relentlessly, "your dear young wizard is a mere three or four generations removed from Muggles. And what would that mean for you, Miss Parkinson? Answer me!"

"I - I wouldn't be pure any more, sir," Pansy whispers.

"Correct. Say farewell to those bright prospects of yours, Miss Parkinson! You are no longer pure. You are defiled -- marred for life. No more Visiting seasons for you, and no brilliant match with a pure wizard, for how can you pass on the precious legacy of purity now? How can a pure-born child come forth from your impure passage, tainted by impure seed? You find yourself disowned, cast out... And, even worse, you may bring down your parents into your disgrace -- the parents you honor, those who guarded their own pure blood and gave you the gift of it, who raised you and opened you and trained you. If your father and mother lie with you, all unknowing, after you have lost your purity, you would contaminate them as well. Your minor indiscretion could mean the end of your family, Miss Parkinson. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," says Pansy, her lips trembling.

Snape gives her a thin, satisfied smile. "Very well. Now, to give you an example of the standards to which you will be held, we'll hear the witch's oath -- no, not you, Miss Lochrin." He frowns at the fourth-year girl, who has raised a hand. "I think we'll hear it from Miss Amelia. Come forward, please." With that, Snape steps back to stand behind Draco and Pansy.

Though she giggles once more as she leaves her sister's side, by the time Amelia Macnair reaches the center of the room she is a model of deportment, poised and sober.

"No need to remove your clothing or kneel this time," says Snape as she moves to unfasten her robes. "Simply recite the oath, if you please."

She shrugs, and holds out her hands, palms up, slightly raised. Calmly and precisely, she says: "I honor you. I am pure. A true witch, pure-blood and pure-born, opened by my father and accepted by my mother, themselves pure-blood and pure-born, never touched by impure flesh nor tainted by impure seed. I honor you, and invite you to enter me and enjoy my body. If you are also pure, honor me and be welcome."

"Adequate, Miss Amelia. Please be seated." Snape still stands behind them, speaking with easy authority. "There are some variations to the oath, of course, according to the circumstances and the person addressed, but we'll leave those for now. Only one more recital, for Mr. Malfoy's benefit -- the simple version of the wizard's oath. Mr. Flint, please come forward."

Flint strides to the center of the room and drops to his knees. "Oh, come on, Professor," he says, grinning, "let me do a proper job of it!"

"Buffoon." Snape snorts. "Very well, continue."

Flint looks up, his expression serious now, eyes wide and dark. When he begins, his voice is softer and deeper than usual; as he speaks, his fingers move to slowly unfasten his robes. "I honor you. I am pure. A true wizard, pure-blood and pure-born, opened by my father and accepted by my mother, themselves pure-blood and pure-born, never touched by impure flesh nor tainted by impure seed. I honor you, and ask to enter you and bring you pleasure. If you are also pure, honor me and accept me."

He is looking up at Snape, but that means he's looking at Draco as well, and Draco has the oddest feeling that Flint is speaking straight to him -- that the measured, ancient words are meant for him, as if he were a proper grown-up wizard and potential lover. Draco's mouth is dry, and he wonders if Snape can hear his heart pounding -- if everyone can hear it.

Then Flint springs to his feet, grinning, his robes half-undone. One of the twins whistles, and he spins around to bow to her.

Snape clears his throat. "Be seated, Mr. Flint. And now, Miss Parkinson -- do you feel your understanding of our purpose here has improved?"

"Yes, sir." Pansy looks as if she's wishing to sink straight through the carpet and disappear.

"How reassuring it is to hear that, Miss Parkinson. Yes, let me make it clear to you: our purpose here is one with the purpose of us all. To protect purity. Since we live in degenerate times, with most of wizard-kind tainted by inter-breeding, the temptations of the impure are many. And so, we the pure-born have our standards of excellence and our tradition of Visiting, which binds us all together and ensures that the quality, quantity, and diversity of erotic delights available to the pure is beyond compare, superior by far to anything a dalliance with the impure might offer. Thus is purity preserved."

Snape moves into the center of the room again, pacing back and forth as he speaks, looking first at one student, then another. "And while you attend this school -- to prevent such tragedies as the imaginary future I painted for Miss Parkinson -- our meetings here provide an outlet for your needs and desires. In the company of your pure-born peers, and properly supervised, with standards set and instruction given to make certain your performance meets those standards."

Draco listens eagerly, but all the same, he feels glad he won't have to face Snape's standards for another two years. The prospect is exciting, yet intimidating.

"The next reminder is for the benefit of our newest participants, Mr. Warrington and Mr. Montague." Snape folds his arms again, black robes swirling around him. "As the only pure wizard among the Hogwarts staff, and the head of your house, I stand in loco parentis to you all when you are at this school. Thus, I have absolute authority to use your bodies -- or direct them to be used -- in any way I see fit, at any time, and you will obey me in this as you obey your own parents." His gaze sweeps the room. "As this is our first meeting for the year, kindly affirm your obedience now."

Amelia Macnair rises to her feet. "I affirm it, Professor Snape," she says with practised ease. "I am yours to use as you will. I obey."

Adele Macnair follows her sister's example; then Flint, speaking loudly and cheerfully; then the fourth-year girl, looking nervous; and finally the third-year boys, who stumble slightly over the unfamiliar words.

Snape favors each of them with a nod as they speak. "Thank you, all," he says when they are done. "And now, with no further delay -- your assignments for this evening."

A murmur of anticipation runs through the room.

"You first, Miss Lochrin." Snape is standing right in front of the fourth-year girl, who shrinks back in her seat as he continues. "Your parents have written to me regarding a recurrence of your occassional and regrettable tendency to gag. Surely we solved that problem last term?" The Macnair twins snicker. Snape's lip curls in a sneer. "I was mistaken to believe so, it seems. This won't do, Miss Lochrin. At your age, after you've been out for two seasons -- shameful!" He leans forward, almost hissing at the girl. "Let me remind you, Miss Lochrin, that simple competence requires you to open your throat -- and any other orifice, indeed -- fully, readily, and gracefully, whenever requested to do so. Your parents expect to see an improvement by Christmas, and I have no intention of letting you disappoint them again."

Snape steps back, raising his voice slightly. "Therefore, this evening you shall partner both Mr. Warrington and Mr. Montague. Since Mr. Warrington is quite formidably endowed for his age -- as I recall from Visiting his family home this season -- the test should be an adequate one." He turns to the third-year boys. "Each of you must climax down Miss Lochrin's throat at least once this evening -- all the way down, please. Hold her head firmly in place, and make sure her lips are touching the base of your member. The manner of any subsequent orgasms I leave to your choosing."

"Yes, sir," the boys respond.

"And Miss Lochrin..." The girl stares at the floor as Snape addresses her again. "If there is any trouble now, from next week we'll resume the regimen used last year. Yes, you will fellate every male among us, every time we meet, repeatedly if necessary, until your performance is acceptable. No further warnings, Miss Lochrin." Her shoulders slump in relief as he turns away from her at last.

"Mr. Flint, you will spend your time with me. Please use the blue potion to prepare yourself." Snape smirks. "I intend to make use of Miss Lochrin's mouth myself at the end of the evening, and the taste of that potion should present her with a much-needed challenge." He glances over his shoulder, and seems satisified by the effect of his words on the girl.

"Miss Amelia, Miss Adele -- with each other, please." The sisters are all smiles at this. Snape nods to them. "I wish to observe you both, while I penetrate and enjoy Mr. Flint. And you may choose your activities freely, with one specification: use some form of binding or restraint at all times."

Finally, Snape turns back to Draco and Pansy. "You are dismissed. Please return to your dormitories. The rest of you may disrobe and begin."

* * * * * *

"Isn't he scary?" says Pansy as they wander back along the dungeon corridors. "I wouldn't want to be Lochrin, not for a thousand Galleons!"

Draco only shrugs. Pansy probably wouldn't believe him anyway, if he told her how tempted he is to go back and knock on that door and ask to watch -- just watch.

That night, Draco rubs his cock and thinks of Mother, and Father. And Flint, kneeling to recite the pure wizard's oath. And then Flint with Snape, doing something Draco wishes he could picture more clearly...

Fifteen weeks to wait.

* * * * * *

A/N: Thanks to Derr, Capnnudity, and Halatia May Potter-Black-Snape for the lovely eragiraging reviews! They really made me happy.

Hope nobody minds the original characters too much. I promise they're not going to take over the story, and they won't be shipped with the main characters. They're just in this chapter to let Snape illustrate his teaching methods. (Poor Miss Lochrin. *g*)

Comments and criticism of any kind are very welcome.

Next chapter: Marcus/Draco smut!

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