More Than Merely Head of House

More Than Merely Head of House
Pairing- Draco/Snape
Spoilers – OoTP
Rating – NC-17
A/N – Contains elements of book 5, so if you haven’t read it, reading this fic might spoil you. Also, Draco is fifteen in this piece. If that offends you, please don’t read. I haven’t been here long, and I’m already tired of flames…
Disclaimer – Joanne owns them guys and their world. I don’t own jack.


Malfoy storms into the dark and empty dungeon and tosses his satchel across the floor. He’s brooding so much, his pale cheeks are brightly flushed, even in the candlelight.

“I hate them all!” He sneers, “I wish they would all die! I wish I could make them all die!”

From behind him, there comes a low sigh. He turns to see the elegant Potion’s Master seated at his desk, quill in hand poised over a long piece of parchment.

“You’re late.” He says simply in his velvet tones, but Draco is preoccupied.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. Potter and his little pals always find the advantage – with Dumbledore’s help, no doubt.”

Snape lets the boy continue his rant as he finishes his correspondence.

“It’s as if he and his little Weasley shadow think they’re better than I am.”

“Nonsense.”

“And lets not forget the little mud blood girl. She thinks she’s smarter then everyone. If my father had his way, she’d be in Azkaban – or worse!”

“Your father doesn’t have his way.”

Draco glares at Snape, heat coloring his ears red. “How can you sit there and…”

“And I would advise against speaking against Potter and his ‘friends’. It does no good to dwell on your Gryfindor classmates.”

“Why do you defend them?”

Snape meets the boy’s eyes, staring him down until he crumbles and lowers his gaze. “You will remember, Mr. Malfoy, that I am your Professor and not your peer and you will address me as such while we are within the walls of Hogwarts. Am I quite clear?”

Reluctantly, the boy replies. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, why are you late?”

Draco tries to calm the anger pulsing inside of him. “Potter and Weasley. They…I think they’re up to something…Headmistress Umbridge advised me to…”

“No need to continue.” Snape stands and lets his eyes slide shut, looking mildly perturbed. “In spite of whatever action ‘professor’ Umbridge has urged you to take against Potter, I must advise you do the opposite.”

Now Malfoy’s blue eyes look positively round like saucers as he regards the Potion’s Master incredulously. “Wait. You’re telling me to stop action against Potter? But what would be the point of the Inquisitorial Squad if…”

Snape makes a sound of dismissal. “Right, Malfoy, do you really think Umbridge is going to last here much longer? And along the same line of thinking, do you really think that your precious position on her little 'police force' will matter once Dumbledore has gotten back control of the school? If so, then perhaps I overestimated you.”

Malfoy is near tears with anger. “You want him to win.” He practically hisses as Snape throws him a warning look.

“As you’ve seen in the past, Mr. Malfoy, what I want is hardly the issue.” He folds his arms across his chest and regards the boy by firelight. “However, we both know that Dumbledore’s interests lie solely with Potter.”

For an instant, Draco feels his throat constrict then forces the obstruction down into his chest, making it tight. At fifteen, he is a bundle of confusion, angst and anger. Anger at his father, anger at Potter, anger at Snape. Confusion about Snape. Angst about the confusion about Snape. He is shooting daggers from his eyes as he glares up into the face of wizawizard standing before him.

“You care about Potter.”

The accusation takes Snape by surprise, but he doesn’t falter, instead letting his lip curl. “About as much as I care for the Blast Ended Skrewt. Why? Are you jealous?”

Now, Draco has to bite his lip and clutch his hand tight around his wand to keep from attempting a curse on the Potion’s Master. He can’t say what bothers him more. The charge or the facat iat it is utterly true. Yeah. Okay, maybe he is jealous of the relationship between the Potion’s Master and Potter because even though it is riddled with hatred and bursting with contempt, there is also that undercurrent of attraction. It’s the thing that keeps them at each other’s throats so often. To Draco, it greatly resembles obsession, though he would never say this out loud. Instead, he makes known the thing which he has only just learned, the thing he overheard from a small group of Hufflepuffs in the Great Hall.

“I know you aren’t teaching him Remedial Potions.” He watches as Snape tries to conceal that which he knows is true. “I know he comes to meet you, and I heard from a reliable source that it isn’t for Potions. No need to lie. I can handle that you prefer him to me. Everyone else does.”

This last bit slipped out quite by accident, and Malfoy is blushing profusely, a turbulent storm of emotions thrashing around inside him.

Without confirming or denying what has just been brought into the open, Snape unfolds his arms and lets his fingers bush against the dark aged wood of his desk before looking into the brilliant inquisitive eyes before him.

“My time is limited.” He says softly.

Looking down at his feet, Draco seems to be undergoing an internal struggle before taking a step forward. Then, soon, the two, Professor and student, are slowly moving towards each other and Malfoy has a slender arm slung around the other man’s neck as their lips come together. The kiss is heated, passionate, and Draco knows Snape won’t see his tears in the dark or even be able to differentiate them from the wetness of their kiss. But then his hands come up to cup the boy’s face and his thumbs move over the cheeks. He is breathing unevenly as the man’s tall, much larger body presses closer, inadvertently comforting him.

Long fingers slide through platinum blond hair, and the boy moans softly into the black robes of his Potion’s Master.

“Professor…”

“Sshh…” He whispers, fumbling with the boy’s robes before murmuring, “Colloportus.”

The door seals itself, and Draco feels the familiar electric coursing through his loins. It never happens like this. They always meet specifically for this purpose, and there isn’t usually so much discussion or angst, but tonight…tonight is different. Snape is being deliberately tender, and Malfoy is relishing it.

In moments Draco is lying back across Snape’s desk, large cool hands everywhere at once, slow and yet somehow insistent. He sniffles once as black hair fans out across his pale narrow chest, brushing a nipple as the man travels lower. Reaching down, he slides his fingers through the raven tresses, sighing and shutting his eyes.

“Tell me you don’t want Potter.”

Snape murmurs, using one hand to tweak a tiny powder pink nipple and the other to undo trouser button.

“Tell me…” Malfoy whispers, tightening his grip on Snape’s hair.

“Shall I immobilize you, Draco?”

The boy doesn’t respond as cool thin lips brush against his belly button, tongue swirling it lightly.

“Oh!” He turns his head, eyes clenched. “P-Professor.”

Snape is dipping his tongue ie the the navel and unzipping the boy simultaneously. He is silent except for his soft breathing, and Malfoy wonders what he’s thinking.

“Accio.” Snape says in a soft voice and he is rather suddenly holding a small vial of something sweet-smelling. When he rubs some onto his palm, it warms and becomes like jelly and Snape uses it to begin stroking the boy in his palm, and Malfoy raises his hips in surprise and pleasure.

“Snape…P-Professor….P-Professor….”

Snape’s large hand is moving up and down on the slender cock, enveloping the head in his palm before sliding down the shaft again, maddeningly slow. Draco’s pale chest is heaving in the dim light of the dungeon and Snape’s free hand is splayed across the soft expanse of skin, sliding down and up the torso. He seems mesmerized staring at that beautiful hairless chest, and Draco is oblivious because he is getting so close already. It is in this instant when Snape ceases movement.

Malfoy bites his own lip to keep from crying out in frustration. He has been having visits like this with Snape for two years and knows the drill. Snape always gets him so worked up, then takes what he ultimately needs – and Malfoy can already anticipate it.

“Over.” Snape instructs in a cool voice, and Malfoy does as told, turning over onto his belly on the desk, trousers and undergarments around his ankles, robe pushed up his back. He is leaning forward to give Snape the best access he can – and then, without preparation, Snape is inside him. Deep inside. Malfoy can’t suppress the gasp of surprise and pain.

“Oh…Merlin…Oh…Oh…” Malfoy is panting in shallow gulps as Snape relentlessly pounds into him from behind, his massive erection buried to the hilt inside the nubile body. After several seconds, Snape has Malfoy standing up against him, still thrusting slowly, his breath hot against the delicate shell of his ear.

“Breathe, Draco. Concentrate.” He speaks in the same patient, slightly annoyed voice he uses with Potter during Occlumency training. Of course, this is different than that. For one thing, Snape actually enjoys fucking Draco Malfoy. Occlumency is like an hour each day in Azkaban, hopelessly unpleasant. This is beautiful, soft, tight and…so beautiful.

“T-tell me what are y-you thinking?” Draco manages, in a pant. “Are you thinking of him?”

Snape curls one hand around the boy’s neck and squeezes, gently. Draco gasps, willing himself not to panic. Seconds later Snape’s teeth are grazing the same spot, then biting down, mercilessly.

“Ahh! Ah…Oww…Merlin…Professor…”

Snape is thrusting to the hilt, carelessly, causing Draco a great deal of pleasure as well as discomfort because although his thrusts are brutal, he always manages to find that sweet spot inside of the boy. And Malfoy’s eyes are clenched shut; the force of Snape’s arm around him is the only thing keeping him upright. With each shove, Draco makes a little sound in the back of his throat, very close to that of a whimper. And in moments, he feels the familiar warmth flood him from the rear, feels the slight trembling against him. Snape makes a low sound in his throat, dark hair spilling over Draco’s shoulder as the man lets his head roll forward.

As usual, Draco feels the eminent let down because Snape will undoubtedly send him on his way. In fact, Draco rarely climaxes except in the confines of his own room long after having left the dungeon, but tonight, Snape withdraws and turns the boy to face him. Black eyes stare into blue ones, and a large hand is caressing his cheek, so gently. Draco swallows.

“You look spent, Draco. Are you?”

The boy shakes his head, feeling his erection perk up a bit. “No sir.” He is beaten and covered in bruises and aching but his cock is throbbing for release.

Snape looks evil, but something in his eyes hints at generosity – and then he is on his knees before Malfoy, sliding the shaft into his mouth as Draco moans deeply and leans back against the desk.

“Oh, Professor…” His head is lolling back onto his own shoulders. “…Oh, Merlin…yes…Professor….”

The Potion’s Master has a long talented tongue that wraps itself lovingly around the head of Draco’s cock, and the boy is turning to warm putty under his ministrations. Slowly, he moves his head back and forth, swallowing the inches into the warm wet cavern before pulling back. Draco’s nails are clawing the desk and before long, he is trembling, gasping and shooting his seed down the other man’s throat. Snape never stops however, until Malfoy is pushing lightly at his shoulder, shuddering from the aftershock.

It’s funny, though, when he stands and they are face to face again, the Potion’s Master looks as though the ordeal never took place. He wears the usual indifferent expression, his eyes cold and impassive, his hair continues to hang down in onyx rivulets. Draco, on the other hand, looks absolutely ruined. His neck bears several bruises, as well as the pale skin of his chest and hips. His pale golden hair is mussed, falling over into his eyes. His face is blotchy with redness, and his knees are weakened to the point that he can barely stand.

With a curl of his lip, Snape comments. “You look like Hell, Draco.” With a quick flick of his wand, he mutters, “Reparo.” And Draco’s bruises are gone, the blood vessels repaired and good as new. The scratches on his hips are healed and faded, and he looks himself again, although with messy blond hair and clothes still pooled around his ankles.

“Now, get dressed.” Snape mutters, turning his back on the boy to situate his own robes. “We’ve run over time.”

Draco feels sated but also, somehow empty. It always seems so intimate before this moment, and then Snape is his usual self, cold and arrogant, like he is with everyone else. Of course, he can’t let his emotions show. He must be like Lucius.

As he tucks in his shirt, he fixes his sneer in place, ready for whatever negative comment might come out of Snape, but something strange happens. Snape turns and comes closer, a pale hand hovering very near the boy’s head before slowly resting against his face. Malfoy can tell Snape is having a difficult time with this, with tenderness. In spite of himself, though, he likes it. He loves the gentle fingers on his skin.

“If you should pass anyone in the corridors, tell them you had detention.” He says softly.

Malfoy makes a face. “No one will believe that.”

Snape seems not to have heard. “My response didn’t seem pertinent at first, but…I suppose you are deserving of a reply.” He pauses, hand still resting on the boy’s cheek. “No, I don’t care for Potter. No, I don’t want Potter. And No, I wasn’t thinking of Potter.” The words are delivered with icy coldness, but they still manage to warm Malfoy to the core. “I don’t assume I need to reassure you of whom I was thinking.”

The blue eyes fill instantly, and the boy lowers his head, not wanting Snape to see his face, but Snape places one long finger beneath his chin and raises, watching the tiny streams run down the pale cheeks.

“You may remain here – in my dungeon until you are finished with this…display.” Draco swallows, cheeks reddening. “I must get back to work, but I must also remind you…of whose house am I the head?”

Draco clears his throat roughly. “Slytherin.” Swallowing, he adds. “Mine.”

“Yes, Draco. Yours. Not Potter’s.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Snape moves away from the boy and sweeps off into another room, robes billowing after him like a forgotten shadow. As Draco takes a moment to pull himself together, he lets himself smile happily in the candlelight. “Mine.”


FIN