Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the Lair of Agony and Pleasure

“Drink it.”

“My Lord, on a healthy man, the effects of the potion are very… uncomfortable.”

“Severus…” the gentle rebuke made mockery of affection.

“Forgive my impertinence, my lord. It will be as you wish, of course,” Severus took a shallow breath, glad he’d used to toilet before he’d entered the maze underneath the Riddle House. The subtle machinations to have Pettigrew test the potion had failed miserably. He wouldn’t even be able to unbutton his trousers without pain for several hours, it seemed.

“You did bring enough to allow that, correct?” asked Voldemort, raising a single, hairless eyebrow.

“Of course, my lord,” said Snape, insinuating an ingratiating whimper into his tone to cover his snarl. First, Perfect Potter had pried into his memories and had himself a great laugh at old Snivellus’ expense just before the school holiday – now this. His week was going to be complete. So much for his holiday.

Voldemort stared at Severus, red eyes narrowed. His forehead crinkled in a frown; the shadows of the room emphasized the wrinkles of stark white skin. He smiled in triumph, apparently satisfied. “You’re not happy with the idea of pain, are you, Severus?”

“No, my lord. You know that.”

“Indeed. Some find pleasure in pain, though.”

“I have never enjoyed being on the receiving end of pain – no matter who gives it or what the circumstances are.”

“I know, Severus. I would spare you the discomfort, if I could. I do know that you’ll be able to find a way to while away the problem in a pleasurable way, though. I really can’t feel all that guilty,” said Voldemort with a very male chuckle. He snapped his fingers.

Nagini looked up from her curl in front of the fire, slithering to the feet of her owner. She wrapped herself around Voldemort’s legs and rested her head in his lap. Voldemort’s eyes closed for a moment and he smiled and whispered to her. Settling her coils into draped comfort, she cuddled. The snake stared at Severus. Voldemort looked to the door.

Pettigrew entered the room, panting. There was a long scratch down the side of his face and what was left of his hair was even more mussed than usual; his robes were fastened crookedly. The silver hand was clenched in a fist and his expression was of exasperation masked by humility. “Master,” he greeted, and fell to his knees.

“I see you’ve had some trouble, Wormtail,” Voldemort chuckled. He turned to Severus. “Peter’s social graces are somewhat lacking.” When Severus smirked in response, Voldemort continued. “Peter, lead Severus to one of your little… toys, once he’s tested the potion for me.”

“Of course, Master. I’m sure that even Sn…Severus will be able to enjoy himself, once he’s had a drink of that,” snickered Pettigrew. He sounded like a schoolboy spying on his sister’s date.

“I would not mock Severus, were I you, Peter,” said Voldemort. His voice was high and cold in warning. “It is because of your bungle that Severus has to trouble himself in the first place.”

“Forgive me, please, Master. I spoke out of turn.” Pettigrew trembled.

“Indeed you did. See that you watch your tone. Now, Severus,” Voldemort attention shifted again. “Drink. I am anxious to see the results of my cure.”

“As you wish,” said Severus, hoping his grimace wasn’t too apparent. Avoiding pain for as long as possible was the only goal now – and it seemed that his stalling time was up. He lifted one of the crystal highball glasses from the table near Voldemort, saluted his lord and drank deeply. It tasted of wine, mostly used to hide the other ingredients of the concoction. Hidden behind the wine was the woody aftertaste of willow, nettles, berries and a touch of pungent mandrake. There was more, but those were the strongest flavors.

He drank deeply, knowing that anything less would not be tolerated. Setting the glass on the table with a click, he waited… and waited.

After several minutes of silence, trying to avoid the stares of Voldemort and Nagini, Severus felt a pleasant fullness. Not bothering to be discreet, he slipped his hand into his cloak pocket, fingered his wand and slit the back of the pocket with a wand flick so he could reach through. With more ceremony and wiggle than was really needed, Severus adjusted himself in his trousers. He was thankful for his black metal ouroboros pin, spelled to keep the cloak closed until it was released.

Voldemort hummed. “Something is happening?”

“The potion is a success, my lord,” said Severus. The last word was in a baritone – the effects of the potion were becoming interesting. There was no tingle, just a heaviness, a pressure– a fullness. It was always indescribable, but it was always good. This was good – for now. Again, without trying to be discreet, Severus released the buttons on his trousers. Since his last year as a Hogwarts student, Severus hadn’t worn underwear – better to flash the world with something impressive than embarrass himself with dingy pants. His erection sprang from its confines. The head brushed the light wool of his cloak; he felt his testes tighten even more.

“Excellent!” Voldemort hissed. His high voice was charged with excitement.

Nagini’s coils rippled. The candlelight playing over the sleek animal, the rippling greens and browns of her skin made Severus imagine a woman’s skin. It would be smooth and creamy white, decorated with a dusting of white blonde hair and a tuft of darker honey. Her muscles would tighten and stretch with every movement. The candlelight on her skin would be worthy of a photograph.

He groaned and didn’t bother to close his mind to the vision or the object of his fantasy. Voldemort stared at him, probing. Severus wondered idly if Voldemort was enjoying the visions of his young, attractive potions professor. He contemplated what the lovely Miss Roundtree would say if she could see into his mind right now. She would probably blush and stammer and then rattle on about the newest crop of pansies. Imagining Miss Roundtree covered in pansy petals was a delightful pastime, as well as an arousing one.

“Ah, Severus, go upstairs. Peter will escort you to a young lady who has a perfect solution…”

Anything, even the ubiquitous – and soon to be dead – prostitute, would help right now. The fullness was becoming unbearable. He needed friction, he craved a body – any body – as long as it was tight and warm and wet. Severus didn’t care if the woman was blonde and petite anymore. He didn’t care if she was a lush redhead. Hell, it could have been McGonagall as long as she knew Lubricating and Masking Spells. The pressure built even more. Severus thought he might burst open as he walked up the stairs behind Pettigrew who was extolling the virtues (oh, what an inappropriate word) of the women.

They wended their way through corridors and at least one secret passageway in the old Riddle House, until they came to a closed door. Peter knocked first, then opened the locked door. He went in but Snape stayed outside, trying to control his breathing, thankful that the Dark Lord was downstairs well out of Legilimency range. He leaned into the wall, pressing his forehead into the hideous cabbage rose wallpaper. His hands were fisted to keep from grabbing his penis and stroking himself as he listened to Pettigrew muttering to the woman in the room.

Her response came in possibly the most irritating voice he’d ever heard, “Strike a light, you again! And another one!”

Severus stepped into the room, unable to wait for Pettigrew to finish babbling.

The woman looked from the rat-faced man to Severus and blanched. “Look, I din’t ‘anker up for no Georgie Porgie. You’ll be wanting to shivvy up to west-end Bessie Blue for that ‘un. For me, it’s one up on the clock for yer ickle dirty nead with a shift over on old dickery’s dong if ye must – and it ain’t yet nine up. I’m still wanting my bever ‘n bath, after the last one, too - or it’ll cost you. I may be brass but I got me standards!”

Severus growled at Pettigrew, who was rubbing his hands together gleefully with a hopeful expression. “Goodbye.”

Wormtail looked crestfallen, “But…”

“Get out, Pettigrew,” Severus snarled. Without sparing the rat another glance, Severus began stalking the woman. She seemed oblivious to his slow approach, which suited his purposes. The door clicked shut as Severus caressed the head of the ouroboros pin. It released its grasp on its tail and the fabric it held. His black cloak fell open revealing his tightly buttoned jacket and open trousers, erection straining from the opening.

The woman was still staring at the closed door, yammering on, “… and that smelly little cobber with the chrome ‘and is way below them. Keep ‘im off me or I’ll be chargin’ ya more than the normal at the end. Once was enough, mind ye’. ‘e’s a right naus.”

Her cant was so horrid he could barely understand her. Not that he cared to. He wanted relief from the pressure inside his cock, not some stupid bitch yammering on about rat-boy. “Quiet.” He infused his voice with as much venom as he could muster – it wasn’t much. He tried to keep the begging whine away by barking, “I don’t understand a single thing that’s coming out of your mouth. Answer me with a yes or a no. Have you bathed recently?” There was no way he’d be dipping in after anyone; much less a man who’d spent twelve years living as a rat – or McNair. Severus knew what the McNair liked to do to many of the animals to be put down by the Ministry before he killed them.

Her voice could crack glass it was so harsh and grating. “I just finished saying to that bloody wanker wot I ‘aven’ ‘ad me bath or me beer – wot was specifically stated that I would be ‘aving after each and every go’ round. I been locked in this ‘ere room since I got ‘ere but for a fiver two goes ago.”

Wincing at the thought, but not willing to wait for the … lady’s leisure, he stuck his hand in his pocket and fondled his wand. A decanter of whiskey – not his favorite, but he wasn’t going to be picky at this point – appeared on the bureau in the corner. “Gargle and rinse your mouth with that,” he pointed to the bottle. “Keep it in your mouth until I tell you to swallow it.”

“But I don’…”

“Do it, or be thrown out on your overly wide arse without being paid.” The threat was an empty one. The woman would never see her home again, but she didn’t have to know that.

The woman looked deeply offended. Wide brown eyes that may have once been doe-like, but were now hard and jaded, summed him up – she ignored his cock. Clearly half naked men held absolutely no mystery for her. She wrinkled her brow; green eye makeup that was caked and smudged, cracked more. Shrugging, she hefted the glass decanter and took a swig directly from it. She spluttered and gagged but took another swig when he growled. She gargled, her head leaned back. She flapped her hand, indicating that he should tell her when to stop.

Severus looked at her. Her face was unlined. The skin of her neck was smooth. Perky tits, a stomach that was flat more from hunger than sit-ups, and a damn fine ass, were encased in a tight purple dress that stopped just below her crotch. The thought crossed his mind that she was young, perhaps in her early twenties – or even her late teens – but he didn’t care.

“Stop, swallow, then take another drink to rinse. Kill anything that might have taken up residence in your mouth,” he muttered. When she fell into a paroxysm of coughing after swallowing, he barked, “Quickly!” He felt like his balls were pushing a great mass into his gut.

Even while coughing, the woman looked jaded and the order seemed to be a dare to her. She took another drink, swishing the whiskey back and forth in her mouth. Severus could tell that it hurt, but he didn’t care. Sometimes - most times - he just didn’t bother to waste the kind of energy it took to actually care on someone else. The woman squeaked to get his full attention, wanting to spit the stuff out after barely ten seconds of rinsing.

“Swallow. Then do the same with the water.” As the girl doubled over, coughing again, he flicked his wand discreetly to summon a pitcher and glass from wherever the kitchen was.

It was a distinct possibility that the woman was too drunk by now to notice that the water hadn’t been there just a moment ago. Even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. It was unlikely she’d be alive tomorrow to tell anyone about things appearing and disappearing anyway. When her back was turned, Severus performed a quick, subtle Cleansing Charm on her – no matter how she’d disinfected her mouth, she still stank. It wouldn’t help much, but even a little was good enough for now.

She rinsed again with water and eyed his cock with growing interest. “So, yer ‘appy to see me, ‘eh, mate?”

“Not really. Come here.”

“Wot, d’you get off on seeing girls drink or somefink? Got a fetish about it?” she wheedled. She probably thought she sounded sexy. Severus though she sounded like a firecrab’s mating call as she flounced to stand directly in front of him.

“Do be a good girl and put your mouth to better use than blabbing,” he ground out, trying to keep his eyeballs from rolling to the back of his head from the almost-agony inside his cock. If the Dark Lord didn’t kill him, the erection surely would.

“You gonna sit down or will ya be falling on top o’ me when yer done?” Her face twisted into a smirk.

He sat and spread his legs; she knelt on the shabby brown carpet and looked up at him expectantly.

“I’m not going to sweet talk you or any other such nonsense. Just do it so you can bathe.”

Rolling her eyes and attacking his cock with professional boredom, the woman set to work.

Good. It felt good. That was the only thing he could think of. She was an expert, of course. He couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing, but her mouth was hot and wet. Her hand provided the perfect amount of pressure. The idea of asking her to slow down, so he could last longer – so he could revel in the pleasure, flashed through his head. Immediately, the immense pressure that was on the knife-edge of pain quashed the thought. It felt like an eternity and the pain was becoming more noticeable than the pressure. His hips pumped convulsively and he was too much of a gentleman not to call out a warning before he came. The woman shifted backward between his thighs, but he quickly caught her by the hair so she didn’t stop as the pleasure took over. Severus could feel his semen spurt into her mouth and didn’t give a damn if that’s what she wanted or not. The sensation was intense and as her mouth moved over him, it became too intense. Instinctively, he jerked her away letting her fall to the floor when she overbalanced. Arching back to the bed, Severus groaned his agony and pleasure.

Not bothering to figure out how long he’d been laying on the bed recovering, Severus sat up on his elbows and looked for the woman. She was sitting tailor fashion, still on the floor. When he cleared his throat, she looked up from picking at the coloring on her fingernails; as it chipped off, the paint had created a sea of purple flakes on the brown carpet. Her dress was hiked up around her arse though she wasn’t wearing pants. One could only hope that insects hadn’t infested the carpet, Severus thought idly. His cock started to stir again, this time in a more leisurely, comfortable way. He took a moment to enjoy the slow, good feeling before summoning the woman to deal with it.

As she watched his cock grow, she goggled, “Yer ready for another go already? You sure gots some kinda magic hampton; it’s only been a sec.”

“Get to it, but go slow, we’ve got a bit of time to kill,” was all he said.

She shrugged and reached for him, grasping firmly. Starting a slow, firm stroke, she leaned in to lick the head of his cock. Tiny flicks of her tongue made the hair on his arms and legs stand straight up. He moaned his appreciation; she made the flicks into longer, more luxurious strokes down his entire length. Severus stopped thinking about what she was doing, his cock was feeling full, his balls were tight to his body and he wanted this single, selfish feeling to go on forever. Almost purring, his grasped the bedcovers when her tongue slid to caress his balls. Her mouth was so warm and wet, he closed his eyes and let his mind go. When her lips closed over his balls, her hand still moving slowly over his cock, he chuckled helplessly.

“Oh… you are good,” he moaned. Each silken word was praise to her skill.

She hummed her response on his balls. He didn’t hear it, but felt it instead – and jerked his hips helplessly. Apparently liking that response, she licked again just behind his balls, then moved back to his cock. Sucking down his length, until he touched the back of her mouth, she hummed and giggled around him. While her tongue stroked what was in her mouth, her hand held the base of his cock. Her fingers pressed and released in a firm massage. It didn’t take long for the pressure in his cock to be too much. His balls were too tight, his cock was too full, and the nerves were on a knife-edge of pleasure and pain. It was the greatest feeling in the world. He wanted… he needed… He grasped her by the hair and forced her to move. Without argument or fight, she did, letting him control the pace and depth. She might have gagged once or twice; he didn’t notice. As long as her hand moved with her mouth and she sucked.… He moaned again, the sound was higher than the last time. His body tightened like a bow; his hand twisted in her hair. She squeaked but he was controlling her movements. Deliberately, he let go. Face wet from saliva, she kept the same pace, making sounds of enjoyment as she sucked him.

“I… going to come,” Severus gasped, warning her.

Her hand still moving, she lifted her head. Quickly, he grabbed her hair again, pushing her back onto his cock. “Yes!” he moaned – it was a plea and an order.

After that, feeling her mouth, he was lost. It felt like launching over and over. His muscles tightened and released as he pumped into her mouth. She wiggled her tongue; he almost screamed. Still holding her hair, Severus yanked her hair, shaking like a naughty puppy. “No!” he yelled. “Don’t move,” he said a second later, on a gasp.

She stilled but still held him in her mouth as he came down. Holding her hair tightly, he waited for reality to return. His breathing slowed down. His cock was so sensitive he knew that if she moved, even her tongue, he would die. Even so, he held her between his legs.

“Don’t move. Don’t swallow. Don’t move your teeth, your tongue – don’t even breathe through your mouth,” he said. His voice was gravel rather than the usual silk. Still, she obeyed his order.

He waited for the nerves to desensitize as he relaxed. Enjoying the painful pleasure of her mouth, he kept his hand tangled in her hair. Praying she wouldn’t move, he let his mind drift into nothingness.

She swallowed. His yanked her hair and gasped as his nerves overloaded. Without thinking, he grabbed for his wand, pointed it at her and snarled, “Immobulus!”

The woman wasn’t petrified, but her movements were so slow that she appeared to have been stopped completely. He could stand it, and, in fact enjoyed the slow feeling of her breathing around his cock. He was exhausted but held her anyway. He didn’t want her to do anything but hold his cock in her mouth. His cock hadn’t completely softened, even though he’d come twice. The sensation of fullness and the after-orgasm sensitivity wasn’t exactly pleasurable but it was interesting enough for him to hold her there – as long as she didn’t move.

His mind whirled over the potion, as his fingers toyed with the woman’s stiff hair. He supposed that he should write a paper on its effects on a healthy man – then again, he really didn’t need his name associated with virility potions. Having anyone – even Healers and other Potions Masters - know that he’d been “testing” virility potions (even one as esoteric as Aphrodite’s Satisfaction) would be cause for grins and snickers at any potions conference for years to come. Though, with this stuff, he might still be hard for those years to come and they could see for themselves just how much he could come. He snickered at his rather macabre humor.

Feeling his belly tighten once more, Severus almost sighed in frustration. It had gone from the sublime feeling of utter masculinity and sexual prowess to a painful reminder that he was a slave to two masters – both of which were currently leading him about by the cock. The nerves were charging again. This would be the last time, he told himself. He would let his penis do whatever it wanted to do. Jasmine had always said that it had a mind of its own, anyway. Wondering what his ex-wife would say would say about his situation, Severus tightened his muscles deliberately in a slow rhythm. She’d probably laugh her well-shaped arse off at him and tell him to get used to cold showers and Miss Lefty. ‘Since you are right handed,’ she’d say, ‘it would feel like someone else was doing it.’ He snorted. As little as he cared for the emotional claptrap of a “relationship”, sex with a prostitute was unsatisfying. He wouldn’t have bothered if he hadn’t taken the potion to give him the hard-on of the century.

Snidely, he muttered, “Be a good girl and stay still. I’ll take care of this one.”

Of course, the almost frozen woman didn’t answer. Since she couldn’t swallow, her mouth had filled with saliva – it spilled unattractively down her chin - but it felt … good. Severus reached between his legs, under the woman’s chin to adjust his balls – hell, he wasn’t adjusting, he was fondling, but it didn’t matter, since it was just to the nice side of agony. He stroked the base of his penis, not so fastidious that he couldn’t appreciate how the tangle of hair and skin was wet with the woman’s saliva and his own semen.

He tugged her closer, until his cock touched the back of her throat – then pushed further. Moaning in pleasure and pain, Severus let go of the woman’s head – she wouldn’t be going anywhere – and lay back again. He raked in deep breaths, concentrating on keeping control but felt his heartbeat in his cock as it pulsed inside the woman’s mouth. Her throat was so warm and tight – it was all he could think of. A minute passed and his body tightened again, ready for the next. His balls, already so sensitive, felt like they were rocks about to be crushed by pleasure. She wasn’t exerting any pressure, she couldn’t, but her mouth felt smaller as he swelled.

Squeezing his muscles turned into gentle thrusts into the back of her throat. Feeling himself swell more, there was a rush, less intense than the last time. He was so close, it would only be… he grabbed her hair convulsively and dragged her closer. Disregarding that he was already at the back of her throat, he couldn’t help it, he tugged until he was farther down, buried deep. He knew it would be the last. He tightened his grip on her hair again, and grunting, arched his back. He came in a slow, agonizingly pleasurable rush.

Later, momentarily relaxed and thankfully pain free, Severus released her from the Immobilizing Spell, and muttered “Alienare.” As she blinked in confusion and recovered from the mild Memory Charm, Snape said, “You may have your bath now. Be ready in twenty minutes – no more.”

‘Brill. Thanks,” she said and stood. She started unsnapping the sides of her dress but stopped when Severus instructed her to do it in the washroom.

“You only have twenty minutes before you’re due to begin again. I suggest that you don’t delay or I shall have to come find you. You won’t like that in the least,” warned Severus. He didn’t give a damn where she stripped off but he didn’t think that his cock needed the extra encouragement. Best that she did what she needed to do somewhere else. She’d be naked in the bedroom soon enough.

The woman twisted the door handle – it wouldn’t budge. “Oi, that wanker’s gone and done it again,” she pouted.

Clearly, she wasn’t to wander the halls alone. With an irritated sigh, Severus rose; his cloak fell around him. He waved his wand at the door – the spell was so simple that he didn’t need to bother saying it. The door was freed with a soft SNICK.

“What the bloody ‘ell was that? “’Ow’d you get that open by shaking a stick at it?” She seemed indignant and puzzled.

“Magic.” She’d know the truth soon enough. He wouldn’t be the one to enlighten her on just how true that one word was.

“What is it? Some kind of funny remote?” she persisted, though she’d opened the door.

“Go bathe.”

With that, she flounced out – Severus stood in the doorway and pointed out the correct room – then locked her in once she’d closed the door. He heard her yelp but ignored it, preferring to sit on the bed, his head in his hands to think. It would be best to present himself now, give the Dark Lord the potion then return, while the woman was bathing. What would happen afterward would be inevitable but he might as well it get it over with. He’d be lucky to have a quick shag in between. As he closed his trousers, he decided that he hated the word ‘shag’. It was so cheap and juvenile. Of course, fucking a prostitute wasn’t the most mature thing to do, was it? With a snicker, he flopped back on the bed to clear his mind, blanking out all but the most superficial thoughts of the potion, Dumbledore, and that nosey little shit, Potter. It took several minutes until he knew that the wall in his mind was solid – but when it was, he was confident in his abilities to keep the Dark Lord from probing too far. Wanting to delay the next episode for as long as possible, Severus thrust thoughts of the woman as far into the back of his mind as he could, but knew that they wouldn’t stay gone for long. With a mental shrug and acceptance of the inevitable, Severus headed downstairs.

Once decided Severus couldn’t get to the Dark Lord’s receiving room fast enough. The sooner he got in, the sooner he could get out and have another session upstairs. He rapped his knuckles sharply on the door and was immediately granted entrance.

“Ah, Severus, has it been an hour already?”

“I don’t think so, my Lord, but as the female is bathing…’ replied Severus.

“I see. Is the potion doing as it should be?”

“Admirably, my Lord.” He tried to smile wickedly, but didn’t want to think about sex. That thought was always important in grinning wickedly for a man – he was sure the smile was rather wan. “The woman is rather talented – of course, with this potion, she didn’t need to be talented – just breathing.”

“Unless your name is Travers,” quipped Voldemort.

Severus couldn’t help but laugh uproariously. Travers was well known for having sex with anything – even the “slightly warm.”

“Married to a face and disposition like Harza Travers’s, I might resort to that too,” snickered Severus.

“You were lucky, though. Jasmine Swan isn’t nearly as repugnant. Why didn’t you keep her?”

Severus stopped laughing and struggled to keep his smile, “We were different people. I couldn’t bear the constant bids for me to ‘cheer up’. She is infernally pleasant.”

“Indeed.” Voldemort looked around the velvet-draped room. “I think we could use a touch of ‘pleasant’, don’t you?”

“Why not put a Cheering Charm on Bellatrix?” Severus stalled.

“Bella is married, Severus. Rodolphus is a good man.”

“Good luck with it, my Lord,” said Severus neutrally. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He didn’t want to think of anything else to say. He felt the fingers of the Dark Lord’s mind probing his and relaxed, sure that his walls would hold. Jasmine could be infernally pleasant, when she wasn’t being a royal bitch, after all. The fingers retreated.

“I think that I will test your potion out now, Severus. I trust that you are more interested in your own self-preservation than my demise, aren’t you?”

“My Lord, your death would be the most earth-shattering event of my entire life.”

“And you so abhor change, don’t you, Severus?”

“I do. The only change that I desire is to stop teaching idiots, so that I can stand nearby while you rule.”

“Ever practical, too. I always know what you want, Severus. It won’t be long. The prophecy will be mine and the end of Dumbledore and Harry J. Potter will come shortly thereafter,” said Voldemort, his red eyes glowing with satisfaction. He motioned for the goblet. As soon as it was in his hand, Voldemort swirled the liquid around, breathing in the scent of his dynasty. Looking directly at Severus, he drained the crystal goblet.

“May it bring you pleasure, my Lord,” murmured Severus.

“I am sure it will. Explain to me again, what this type of potion does,” demanded Voldemort. He whispered in Parseltongue to Nagini, who flicked her tongue at him and slithered out the door. “Off to hunt in the cellars,” Voldemort carelessly explained.

“My Lord, it frees the veins and ducts of the toxins and blockages that might prevent an erection. It also stimulates production of sperm with the assumption that, once produced, the sperm will be normal.”

“But it is not keyed to a specific female?”

“No, my lord. That potion is extremely difficult to make. It also takes several more months than this one did. I thought you would prefer a more immediate result.”

Voldemort’s voice was high, almost squeaking with excitement and joy, “Excellent thought. Severus, you are most excellent and most useful. Your potion has saved the day, so to speak.”

Severus stood straighter than he had in days. Regardless of events and alliances, the Dark Lord’s praise was important to him. He was delighted and honored to have served well and to have been useful and to know that when it came to making potions, he was one of best – and he was the best in the Dark Lord’s service. He let pride take over his being for a moment, before he remembered. It felt good, though, that second of pride.

“Severus, call Peter to me on your way upstairs. I’m sure that the effects of the potion are beginning to effect you again, as well.”

Immediately, Severus mentally felt at his crotch – indeed, he was getting hard again. Not enough to be painful; it was just the beginnings of an erection. He’d been distracted – the concentration needed to avoid disaster before the Dark Lord was enough to stave off arousal for a time.

Dismissed, Severus left the room with repeated instructions to gain favor with the toad-faced bitch – Lucius had again been unsuccessful in enticing Umbridge to Voldemort with promises of power and money. Severus almost tripped over the ubiquitous presence of Peter Pettigrew. Because he didn’t like him enough to bother speaking to him, Severus simply jerked his head, indicating that Pettigrew should go into the room. After the man scuttled through the open doorway, Severus leaned back on the wall. Knowing that the velvet drapes that lined the room were spelled to muffle every sound, he didn’t bother to listen for what would happen inside.

However, Severus was shocked. Every sound from inside the room was amplified, rather than quelled. He heard Pettigrew thud to his knees and whimper about serving his master… and to think the little wank used to call him Snivellus.

“Peter, Peter, Peter…. Severus had to take a great deal of his own time and has borne a great expense to make this potion.”

“Yes, Master. I know. I’m terribly sorry for my failure…”

At that moment, Rabastan Lestrange walked by Severus, looking at him curiously. Severus jerked his chin to the door and wiggled his fingers – this seemed to be the accepted sign that Pettigrew was in with the Dark Lord. Lestrange shrugged. Trying to ignore his growing erection, Severus smirked and motioned him to lean on the wall. When Lestrange heard the voices from inside, his mouth gaped.

“Peter, once again I need help,” said Voldemort.

“Anything,” vowed Pettigrew.

Rabastan rolled his eyes – they had all heard the litany before. Severus nodded his agreement.

“Since you were the one who made the mistake, it seems only fair that you would be the one to help test Severus’s cure.” Voldemort’s voice was high and cold.

Pettigrew’s voice trembled, “Master, how can I help?”

“I want you to test Severus’s potion. Peter. Come here.”

“Master, there are two wome…”

“I will not tell you again, Wormtail,” hissed Voldemort.

Even though he was repulsed by the thought of the Dark Lord buggering Pettigrew, Severus slipped his hand into the pocket that he’d slit earlier. His erection was becoming more prominent and gentle stroking felt good – for now. The shuffling inside the room muffled the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange walking down the hall until she was directly upon them.

“You should not be here,” she dramatically intoned. The once beautiful woman waved an envelope about for emphasis. “The master has important things to do. He doesn’t want the likes of you two hanging about waiting for him to finish.” She touched the door handle.

Rabastan, her brother-in-law, coughed into his hand, “Bella, you oughtn’t go…”

He was too late; she twisted the handle, saying, “The master instructed me to bring this as soon as I found it.” She waved the envelope like a trophy. She swung the door open, starting to say something and stopped mid-motion, staring.

Through the open door, Snape could see the repugnant reality of the potion in effect. The Dark Lord had made his ottoman taller. It was now waist high - enough for Pettigrew to lie upon, arse up, with his head and feet jerking pitifully in midair.

The trio outside stared in sick fascination. It was like watching … Severus didn’t know what it was like watching, but he was sure he didn’t want to be watching it. Despite the sight – or perhaps because of it, Severus knew the potion was affecting his body once again. As his erection grew, his trousers became tight again. Wondering if the woman was finished with her toilette, Severus once again unbuttoned his trousers and tugged his penis from its confines. His cloak masked his actions, though neither Rabastan nor Bellatrix were paying him the slightest mind.

The Dark Lord’s robes were hiked up in front with the back of the black velvet thankfully drooping down over stark white hips and buttocks. Spindly legs moved gracelessly as he pumped his hips. One spider-like hand was pressed into Pettigrew’s back for balance. High-pitched squeals and groans came from the Dark Lord but Pettigrew was moaning, “Oh, Master,” in such long, slow waves that Severus couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or wallowing in abject agony and humiliation as his buttocks wiggled like gelatin.

Apparently, the potion worked.

“He said he wanted… this,” muttered Bellatrix, looking at the envelope in confusion and hurt. The lines in her gaunt face were more prominent than they had been since she’d escaped Azkaban and her skin was devoid of color. “I… I… I’ll bring it back later,” she said and scurried by. The envelope was clutched tightly to her breast. She looked as though tears were filling in her half-mad eyes.

“Excuse me. I have previous engagement,” said Severus, whirling about to escape. He brushed past Rabastan who stayed still, gaping like a codfish.

Once Severus was upstairs, he was again painfully hard. He released the screeching woman from the washroom.

She had been banging on the door and swearing for so long that her voice was scratchy. “Y’re out of y’r tiny Chinese, y’ bloody wanker! Fuck y’ for ditching me in the john!”

Irritation replaced arousal for a moment, “You’ll live – and I do expect you to fuck me, as you so elegantly put it.”

“I’ve a right mind to…”

He cut her off, “I don’t care what you’ve a right mind to do. Get into the bedroom. Now.” He pointed and she flounced away, smelling clean this time. Severus watched her backside as she wiggled in the same purple dress – it was nicely rounded and looked far better than Pettigrew’s had. Her hair was no longer stiff with whatever chemicals Muggle women used to fiddle with their hair. Now that it wasn’t in a tousled mess, it bounced prettily over her shoulders in brown waves. She must have found a hairbrush in the bathroom. The pressure in his cock was more painful now, seeing the woman – clean, free of cosmetics and looking less… used, had roused him further. He forgot the hazards that awaited his descent down the stairs as the intense need to mate… the intense need to fuck - clouded his mind.

Arriving in the room, his erection became even more full. The woman had stripped out of her dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She was rooting about in a handbag the size of an elephant ear. Just as he closed and locked the door, she tugged out a bottle half full of a clear liquid and tossed it at him. “Rub up. I ain’t ‘ad time fer nuffink else and you look to be in a ‘urry,” she muttered. ‘I jest wanna get outta this place and go ‘ome. The sooner you finish up, the better.”

Without commenting on her eventual fate, Severus caught the bottle. It claimed to be a lubricant. He opened the bottle, breathing tentatively – it smelled innocuous. Pouring a bit onto his finger then rubbing his thumb over it, he decided that it really was a Muggle sex aid. Why she didn’t just use a spell he…never mind, this would be fine. He didn’t have time to explain to her why he was ‘shaking his stick’ at her crotch. Vaguely ashamed of having to use the services of a prostitute instead of a woman of his own, Severus removed his cloak – semen was a bitch to get out while avoiding students at Hogwarts. Tossing his cloak over the back of a chair, Severus mentally calculated how long it had been since the Dark Lord had imbibed the potion. He smeared lubricant over his cock on the way back to the bed and lay down. His breathing was shallow. He tried to take deeper breaths. He didn’t have much time left - neither did his erection – it was painfully full and his balls were so tight, he thought he might explode.

“You’ll be wanting me on top ‘o that, ‘eh? Ya look likes a nice, big ride,” she said as she sauntered over and climbed onto the bed.

He smirked and patted his groin. It made his cock bob. The woman mounted him with the ease of long practice. As soon as the head of his cock slid into her, he grabbed her hips to hold her still. Slowly… he wanted to go a little bit more slowly. She looked down at him and shrugged, willing to let him lead even though she was on top. Slowly drawing her down, his eyes closed at the sensation of her cunt surrounding his cock. She wasn’t the tightest he’d ever had, but it was still so damn good. Hot and wet, tight and willing, it was so good. He fought for self-control but felt it shredding quickly under the effects of the potion. He pulled her down until she was seated. Twisting her hips he let himself come closer to the point of no return then contracted his muscles while grinding her body onto his.

The woman clenched around him and he was lost. Helpless, he jerked her up and down on his cock. As his muscles tightened, she began moving herself. His balls felt like they were pressing into his gut and he could feel his heartbeat speeding up. His back arched off the bed and he grabbed her thighs so hard that she would be bruised tomorrow. “I… I’m coming!” he ground out. The contractions started hard and fast and he pumped into her with a loud moan.

He felt the woman tighten around his cock and yelped. Startled, she was nearly unseated. He was so sensitive, her wiggle almost unmanned him.

Fingers sunk into her thighs to still the woman’s practiced gyrations, he ground his hips upwards and lost his reality.

The door opened with a crash. Severus jerked up, his wand at the ready. Though his head was still spinning, he tossed the woman onto the bed. She squeaked and covered her breasts, but Severus was barely paying attention. The remnants of his erection failed under the panicked gaze of Peter Pettigrew – his shirt still unbuttoned and the fly of his trousers flapping open.

“You… come… fainted… the master!” gasped Pettigrew. Clearly he was trying to scream for help but couldn’t because of his heaving. “Come…. You’ve killed him!”

The woman squawked, Severus ignored her and scrambled into his trousers and robes then rushed out. As he dashed down the stairs, automatic panic filled him – the Dark Lord was dead.

‘Do as you must.’ The words echoed in his head – he’d heard them called out from the Floo, just as he left the Hogwarts dungeons several hours before. Thankful for the dispensation and feeling not even a hint of betrayal, Severus rushed to the Dark Lord’s side, already digging into one of his pockets for the packaged bezoar, carried by every Potions Master. He grabbed Pettigrew by the scruff of his neck and tossed him against the wall. “Get his Medicine Chest – I know he has one – I’ve made half the contents. Get it!”

“But I don’t…”

“Do it, you moron!” Severus yelled as he continued his race to the Dark Lord’s chambers. Pettigrew trundled behind.

At the door, a crowd of Death Eaters watched the spectacle in the room with gaped mouths and tears. Snape skidded to a stop, knocking over Rabastan Lestrange and his brother. Both drew their wands on him, their eyes filled with horror and fury.

“You gave him…” screamed Rodolphus Lestrange.

“Get out of my way!” Snape screeched. Spittle flew into Lestrange’s face. His own wand automatically raised to dueling position, near his face. With one hand he shoved through the bodies jostling for position at the door. At the entrance, he took deep breaths and forced himself out of his panic. Randomly pointing at one of them, he instructed, “Go deal with the slags upstairs – we don’t want them gallivanting about.”

Taking deliberate breaths, he walked through the door. His breath caught in his throat when he looked into a corner of the room. His wand fell to his side. The Dark Lord lay crumpled on the floor, half conscious and wheezing. His normally skeletal face was so swollen that his eyes were forced shut. His white skin was covered in an angry red rash. Spidery fingers were randomly raking over his convulsing body.

Rushing to Voldemort’s side, Snape shredded the envelope and spell that kept the bezoar intact. Voldemort lifted his hand in supplication and tried to gasp out words, but Snape shushed him. Just then Pettigrew trundled into the room, levitating a large chest. He jostled through the crowd of onlookers before the trunk thudded to the floor.

Severus looked up at the noise and scowled, “Idiot! If you’ve broken anything…” he threatened Pettigrew. The pudgy man was staring in horror, oblivious that he’d dropped the trunk full of glass medicine bottles.

“Open it!” Severus commanded Pettigrew. The Dark Lord trusted only a few people with access to his cures and potions. Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange were the only ones alive, other than the Dark Lord himself, who could open the chest. Severus made many of the potions but, once he had tested them in full view of Voldemort, not even he had access.

Severus shredded the bezoar into bits. He lifted a bit to Voldemort’s lips but just as it brushed his gaping mouth, Severus swore. “I can’t give you this.” Voldemort moaned and clawed at Severus’s arm. Looking over Voldemort’s body, into his mouth and eyes and thinking quickly, he said “My lord, you’re having an allergic reaction to something – probably in the Aphrodite’s Satisfaction potion. If I give you this,” he waved the bezoar, “it would counteract anything else I give you to help.”

Voldemort only gasped for breath and scratched his scalp.

Turning to the Medicine Chest, he slid the top panel labeled “Stomach” aside. Underneath was a drawer labeled “Head”. Severus examined each bottle, thankful that most of them he’d prepared himself. He removed a pain killer then moved on. Quickly but methodically, drawer after drawer was opened. Some were so small that only a single pill could fit in them, some so large that they looked like they shouldn’t be able to fit. Severus removed several bottles as he dug through the Chest, muttering all the time, “Swelling… calming... itching… Speakeasy will help…”

Severus propped Voldemort up and held the bottle of Speakeasy to his lips. “My lord, this will help you talk.”

Voldemort sipped from the phial and gasped, “Potion… you did this… itch… can’t see ...” He raked his nails over his arm, raising welts.

“I know. Your face is swollen. It’s closed your eyes… what are you allergic to?”

“Nnn…”

“My lord, please. I must know, so I can counteract it,” Severus begged

Voldemort growled, though it sounded more like the cry of an injured animal. He grabbed Severus around the back of his neck and tugged him close. His long nails dug into Severus’s flesh. No one else would be able to hear him as he whispered, “Strawbe…”

“Berries, my lord?” Severus muttered. When Voldemort nodded, Severus made a humming sound. One might have thought that the Dark Lord would have a more impressive allergy, had one thought about it at all. Severus made the conscious, self-interested choice not to remember any thinking he’d done on the subject after Poppy Pomfrey had delivered Tom Riddle’s old school medical records. Instead he concentrated on healing the man he had more fondness for than his own father and grandfather.

He sniffed each bottle on the floor, checking for freshness, though none of them really went off for years. Setting aside a skin healing ointment and combining the Calming, Qwell-Swell, Buffington’s Breeeeathe and Shrinking Draughts and then carefully pouring in a dose and a half of Madame Mozzie’s Anti-Itch Potion (whose expiration date was last month), Severus readied Voldemort’s cure and himself.

Though only barely listening to what was happening around him as he prepared, Snape heard someone in the hallway mutter, ‘If the Master dies, so does Snape.’ It didn’t make him feel any more confident of his chances of escaping unscathed, even though he knew exactly what he was doing.

Carefully, he poured his mixture into a glass and charmed it not to break under the strain of Voldemort’s snake-like fangs if he bit down. In a low, calming voice that he used only rarely, Severus told Voldemort exactly what he was going to do, then lifted his lord from the floor, resting Voldemort’s back against his chest. Cradling Voldemort’s writhing body, Snape lifted the glass to his thin lips and instructed him to drink.

“Nnn… test…”

“My lord, these came directly from your chest. Pettigrew opened it for me. I swear on my life they are as safe as the day you put them in.”

Voldemort groaned and scratched his face. His long, pointed nails left a ragged gash in the flesh.

Snape glared at Pettigrew, who started like a terrified rat. He knelt next to Voldemort and stuttered assurances of the integrity of the box.

After several tortuous minutes, Voldemort finally sipped the cup dry. Within moments, the swelling decreased so that his eyes could open. The rash covering his skin faded, leaving his skin tinged with pink. The welts and lacerations were even more obvious as the red faded. Gingerly, Voldemort shifted so he no longer lay against Severus. Unclenching his fingers, stretching them out and inspecting the gashes in his skin Voldemort murmured, “There was a problem with your potion.”

“My lord, I…”

Voldemort, without looking up from his inspection of the crescent moon gouges in his arm, said, “I can not be killed. I will not die. I’ve proven that.”

Severus pulled a skin healing potion from the chest, handed it to Voldemort. He took a deep breath and shifted to his knees. Head bowed low, he began, “My lord, the poti…”

Voldemort cut him off. “You will find another potion. Bring me the complete list of ingredients and the recipe. I will approve it or I will give you another.”

“Yes, my lord,” Severus acquiesced, knowing better than to do anything else.

Moving very slowly, but not demanding assistance, Voldemort rose to his feet and walked, straight backed, to his chair. He settled with more than the usual amount of ceremony and robe swishing. With a flick of his hand, he ordered a glass of water from Pettigrew, who scurried out of the room, shutting the door to the onlookers. Severus stayed where he was.

“Crucio!”

Acid ripped through his veins. Blue flame roared over his muscles. His shrieking keen could be heard outside the room. Without knowing, Severus dropped from his kneeling position and curled into a protective ball. Fighting the pain was worse than giving over to it, but Severus was helpless to make the choice. Agony enough to drive a man to madness consumed his entire existence. Pain blinded him. Terror deafened him. Nothing could silence his screams, though.

An eternity later, the power being forced upon him stopped, leaving the sensation of a hundred thousand biting ants attacking his flesh. Time slowed for Severus; the past and future ceased and only the now of agony and insanity existed.

A kaleidoscope of images assaulted his mind. The flash of a belt buckle just before it struck him for accidentally ruining newly charmed rosebushes… Crouch-cum-Moody mocking him on a stairwell at Hogwarts… a dead teenaged girl hanging by the neck from his belt just over his vomit-soaked bed… offering himself to death incarnate because an old man asked him to prolong the life of his enemy’s son… the deathbed of an old man in velvet who shunned a tearful woman and derided a teenaged boy while simultaneously giving the boy his estates… being turned upside down by a gang of laughing boys, in front of a beautiful redhead who hated him… the mark on his arm, black again for the first time in years… Jasmine’s tearful smiles as he packed up his belonging and moved out of the Garden… the Dark Lord laying on the floor, gasping for breath because of a potion he’d made…

“Enough,” said Voldemort, ending the mental torture. “Bella, take him to Hogwarts. Use the bench as a portkey – I’ve grown quite fond of using the Minister’s own furniture for myself.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. Severus couldn’t understand anything else she said.

Severus felt himself being lifted onto the bench he’d brought from the Minister of Magic’s garden. A cloud of patchouli, musk and cloying flowers filled his senses, making him gag as Bella sat next to him. Her long nails dug into his arm before he felt a tug on his navel and was whirled through wind, color and noise.

When they arrived and Severus’s head stopped spinning, he realized that the sensation of ants crawling over his skin was easing but his normal reaction to portkey transportation had manifested. Any other time, Severus could have controlled the slight nausea, but now he knew that there would be no way. Trying to avoid embarrassment, though barely cognizant of his surroundings, Severus lurched from the enchanted bench. He crawled to a nearby hedgerow and vomited the potion left in his stomach as well as the remnants of the excellent roast beef supper that Voldemort had provided at the beginning of the meeting. Over the roar of mortification, pain and illness, Severus heard Bellatrix cackle at this final humiliation before a strong wind from the portkey toppled him over. Dumbledore would know of his arrival, Severus thought and crawled away from the puddle of vomit. He lay down again and fell into a healing sleep.


Bellatrix Lestrange directed the bench – she thought the ever-changing mosaic on it was a useless triviality – to the hallway just outside of the master’s chambers. No one stood outside the door this time, which was just as it should be, though the snake lay coiled next to the door as though on guard duty. The master needed his rest, especially after Snape’s bungle. He was lucky that the master had ordered her not to harm him – otherwise, Hogwarts would need a new potions teacher and the Dark Lord would need a new spy in the Order of the Phoenix.

Her mind swirling with dreams of vengeance upon Snape, eternal glory with the Dark Lord and whirling colors of her insanity, Bellatrix Lestrange fetched the envelope for her master. Ignoring the snake who in turn ignored her, she knocked on the door. When she was bidden to enter, she immediately fell to her knees.

Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue – talking to Nagini. Even though Bella had heard it before, the language was alien and hearing it was rather disconcerting. The speaker didn’t seem quite human when hissing and breathing the sounds of the snake language. Of course, the Dark Lord wasn’t completely human. From her expression, she didn’t believe that Voldemort was very far away from Nagrenda or Degei himself.

“Did you deliver Severus to the old man?”

“Yes, Master. He was vomiting in the bushes next to the gate when I left,” she said, laughing into the floor. At one time, men had thrown themselves at her feet for a mere smile. Now her Azkaban – ravaged face held only a hint of her former beauty. Madness and devotion smoldered in her eyes.

“Sit up, girl. And my request from earlier?” inquired Voldemort as Bellatrix swung her legs in front of her, sitting tailor style in front of him.

She fingered the large, parchment envelope. “Right here, Master. I did not want to interrupt you earlier.”

“Such a clever Bella. You waited for me to assuage my pique before showing yourself.” He held his hand out for the envelope. When she handed it to him, he tugged an old photograph from it. The man in it didn’t smile and wave, as other photographs did. Instead the handsome man in the picture, close to forty, with dark hair and eyes, pale English skin, and a superior smirk, simply seemed to be evaluating the room. Voldemort stared at the photograph, then looked up to gaze into the mirror that was on the wall in front of him. He smiled in satisfaction and waved his hand without bothering to utter a spell. The image in the mirror changed from his reflection to a storefront in Diagon Alley – the Three Flowers. Through the window, he could see the woman… his woman. She flitted through the shop, adjusting skirts and tugging the bodices on dress forms.

Bella, too, saw the woman and her hands clenched into fists. She knew what the master was planning. Trying to distract the master, she asked, “Who is that, in the picture?”

“My Bella, don’t you recognize him?” When she shook her head, he chuckled. The crinkling of his face when he laughed stretched the newly healed skin on his face, causing one of the pink lines to split. He stared at the photograph and absently wiped the blood away.

Bellatrix crawled forward and carefully licked the smear of blood from Voldemort’s hand.

“No! That will make you ill, little one.”

“Master, it would be worth any pain to be closer to you.”

He sighed and gentled his voice, as though speaking to a young child, “My blood is no longer human. It is a poison to you, Bella. I am immortal. You are not.”

“Master…”

“Go drink as much water as you can, eat and rest. I do not want you to take ill,” he ordered. “I need you. You cannot be sick. We do not have time. The prophecy will be mine soon. When I have it in my hands, we will not have even a moment to indulge in sickness.”

“Yes, Master,” she said and accepted her dismissal with grace. She stopped at the door, turning to look at Voldemort again. “Master?”

“Yes?”

“Who is that man?” she gestured to the photograph.

“Ah, that is me, a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she said. “You are very handsome, Master.” She smiled dreamily and left the room.

Looking into the mirror again, Voldemort called Nagini away from the hearth. She wended around his legs, once again and rested her head in his lap. Absently stroking, Voldemort petted her head and neck. As he touched her, Nagini rubbed her head and neck over his lap seeking more contact. With Aphrodite’s Satisfaction still dancing through his veins and images of Jasmine Swan in an enchanted mirror, Voldemort hummed at the sensation of Nagini’s movement. As his cock grew, Voldemort unfastened the heavy, black robes he wore. Poking her head under the fabric to investigate, Nagini flicked her tongue over his cock. Almost playfully, she touched her tongue all over, then moved her way down with tiny touches and licks. She traced the valley that bisected it, as though it was a snake’s that hadn’t quite split when he was recreated, then flicked her tiny tongue over his hairless testicles. He breathed deeply, catching the heady scent of her readiness. As she moved against him, the pheromones rubbed on his body exciting him more.

He whispered poetry to her that only a snake could understand. She vowed her devotion to him in images of tall grass and baking rocks, warm gazelles and poisoned kisses for his enemies. Warm hands brushed over her cool skin and she twisted up his body, wrapping herself around him. She absorbed his heat and gave him the sweetest touches of her tongue; she lovingly pressed her flesh to his. He caressed her pale belly, tracing his long fingers from her chin down. Slowly, they moved. He guided her body over his; breathing her scent, she draped his body with her own. Slipping from the chair, Voldemort stretched out on the floor, Nagini cradled his body with her own.

Gently, Voldemort began a slow courtship that felt like ritual more than foreplay. Caressing the backs of his legs, Nagini lowered her nose to his chest. He stroked his cheeks over her skin, bumping his chin on the top of her head several times. She lowered her head and, together, they rolled. Wrapping his arms and legs around her, he held himself over her as she twisted, exposing her pale belly. He nuzzled at her throat, breathing deeply. The pheromones were powerful and the potion did just as it promised. He slid his fingers down her length and guided himself into her. Slowly, whispering love words, they moved, exulting in the scent and taste, the texture and affection.

Hours passed and the room was heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Nagini’s movements slowed in the heat. She curled around him, whispering about warm rocks and sleeping until the mists arose from the ground.

Voldemort smiled his horrible smile, his scarlet eyes heavy with sleep and whispered, “My lotus… you are my perfection.”