Not Too Young

another oldfic, reposting from my old account

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TITLE: Not Too Young
PAIRING: AD/SS, OMC/SS
RATING: EXPLICIT
SUMMARY: Albus runs after his Potions master when he finds out just how the latter plans to spend his vacation
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest, response to Third Wave's Scenario 20: Snape undergoes a change of character. Thanks to Bhex for the beta! Special Credit: Many, many thanks to Snapebelongstome for giving me permission to employ her Potions Conference and pervy character idea, as used in her SS/HG fic "Sand, Surf and Snape"! Go read her enjoyable fic, regardless of whether or not you enjoy this one!
SPOILERS: GoF, to be safe


Not Too Young

It did strike Albus as odd when Severus suddenly wanted to take a month-long vacation leave. And he really should have asked him how he planned to spend it.

But he, himself, had always insisted that Severus take some time for himself. Just once, Severus, he'd said many times. You deserve some rest, child.

So he'd been surprised but also overjoyed when his Potions master appeared in his office one day, and very reluctantly (or so it seemed) said he wanted to take a vacation the following month. Like a rat falling for a snake's trap, he congratulated the professor, clapped him on the shoulder, and ushered him out of the office quickly. I'll handle everything while you're gone, he'd said. Ignacio owes me a favor or two, I'm sure he won't mind filling in...

The replacement arrived, after which Severus packed and left quickly, leaving a brief letter of thanks on Albus's desk. Albus had smiled at the gesture and put the Potions master out of his mind.

Now, with Minerva shaking her head at him, and Hooch looking on, amused, he truly wished he'd snooped on Severus's activities a bit more.

"Is Severus in trouble, or is Albus?" Hooch said, looking from him to Minerva.

"Must you be present, Hooch?" Minerva asked over her shoulder, her frustration evident. "You have flying lessons, as I recall."

"Raining," the instructor answered, smiling. "It's rare enough that I get a whiff of the school gossip. Just my luck I saw Minerva with that look on her face. So what's with the newspaper and who's in trouble? It can't be Severus again, he's gone."

"It seems that doesn't stop him from acting irresponsibly, my dear," Albus said, as he pushed the article in question toward the Quidditch instructor.

The article was hidden in the back pages of the Daily Prophet. Quite simple and unobtrusive--boring enough not to be noticed. Albus barely looked at that section himself, not really fond of looking at the rundowns on conferences and performances he never attended anyway. Minerva had a keener eye and spotted the name while she was browsing. He really should thank her, but with that thunderous look she was wearing, he decided to postpone the thanking for a few weeks.

Hooch frowned at the newspaper. "I don't get it."

"You granted him permission to leave, I suppose he's doing this with your blessing?" Minerva asked, arms crossed and foot quickly tapping on the floor.

"Isn't this good? He's always wanted to go, hasn't he?"

Albus fought the urge to shift in his seat. "I...may have forgotten to ask where he was going." He mentally braced himself for the explosion.

"Severus asks for a vacation leave, and you don't ask why?!"

Time for an age-old rebuttal. Albus placed his hand on his chest and said in the most piteous tone he could manage, "Minerva, please, I'm an old, old man--"

"Oh you don't get away with this just because you're three figures ahead! I caught you running after a stray unicorn just two days ago! He's out there in the company of--of--"

Hooch suddenly smiled and pointed at one part of the article. "And look! He got someone to sponsor him."

Albus breathed a small sigh of relief while Minerva redirected her angry look at her follow teacher. "I can't believe you don't know who that man is, Hooch!"

The hardy woman gave a glare of her own. "Maybe you could tell me. Nobody tells me anything in this place."

"Frederick Quagmire," Albus began amiably, ignoring Minerva's small huff of frustration, "is a Potions master of decent standards. Severus's senior of many years--"

Minerva interrupted. "He'd have to be to attend that conference, wouldn't he?"

"Minerva." He waited until Minerva closed her mouth and looked away. "He has never missed a Potions Conference, and at 95 years, is well within their age limit of attendance."

"Age limit?" Hooch asked.

"60 years. Not at all unreasonable, considering most people who pursue Potions get their professional certification at 50 or so."

"Really?" At Albus's nod, she continued, "I knew Severus was young when he got his, I didn't think he was that young. So now he gets to attend. Whatever is the matter with that?"

Minerva chose to speak again just as Albus was opening his mouth to reply. "The matter is that Quagmire has a very well-known reputation--"

"Unproven as it is," Albus muttered under his breath before sipping his tea.

"Come now, Albus! He flaunts the fact as if it's a grand accomplishment! The man is revolting!"

Hooch frowned. "Minerva, if you don't tell me this instant what the problem is with Severus attending a conference -- "

Minerva sighed in frustration and quickly said, "For people who fall below the required age of attendance, it's essential that they be sponsored by a Mentor -- what they call someone who could attend. It's a lot of trouble on the Mentor's part -- paperwork, finances, accomodations, and all that -- so no one's really jumping at the chance to bring along apprentices or younger Potions masters. The activities in the conferences are far too advanced for apprentices, so they rarely ever wish to attend. And, it's customary for younger Potions masters to establish a decent reputation first before attending, and that only takes them a few years before they can attend without sponsorship anyway.

"Severus is a special case, obviously, impatient man that he is. He's been trying to find someone to sponsor him since he got his certification," she shot a look at Albus, who merely shrugged and tried to look innocent, "and you could imagine how successful he's been at that. It certainly doesn't help that the conference is only held every five years. He's been strangely quiet since Voldemort's death, as you've noticed. Anyway, Frederick Quagmire is known for...taking advantage of his apprentices. The fact that he has none for the past decade is testament to what he expects as payment for his lessons and sponsorship."

"Oh..." Hooch said, her hand flying up to her mouth. Both Albus and Minerva watched as she digested this, her eyes returning to the page opened on the desk.

Then she started laughing.

"Oh, Minerva! You don't honestly think...I mean, Severus...oh Merlin, I can't stop..."

"Madame Hooch!" Minerva said, indignant. "I fail to see what's so funny. This is a very serious situation!"

"Well...it's Severus. The man doesn't exactly go out of his way to preen," she snorted, "for anyone. He smells like the potions he brewed a week ago! Maybe he and Frederick are friends, or he owes him a favor."

"She does have a point, Minerva."

"Severus does not smell like last week--"

"I meant about Frederick."

"--and Severus has it in him to 'preen,' as you well know, Albus."

Of course Minerva had to bring that up. He gave a warning look at her and gestured discreetly at Hooch, who had her eyebrows nearly touching her hairline and seemed to already have a question ready to leap from her mouth. He quickly cleared his throat. "However concerned all of us might be about Severus and his affairs, I'm afraid we have no business meddling in them." He interrupted Minerva with a placating hand. "The conference began yesterday. Whatever bargain Severus made has already taken effect, and I don't think he would appreciate any sort of interference from us at this point."

Minerva looked like she was about to argue with him, but ended up just sadly shaking her head instead. Hooch patted her arm. "How can he be so stupid..."

Albus gave a helpless shrug. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

---

He used to be better at this.

Severus's eyes narrowed as he felt the hand grabbing his hair painfully tighten its hold. He struggled to breathe, trying to draw back a bit to avoid gagging on the shaft halfway inside his mouth. A glob of precum dribbled straight down his throat and barely avoided choking him.

"Will you get on with it!" came the frustrated hiss from above him.

Severus forced his throat to relax and open, ignoring the burning pain at his tonsils and taking in a few more inches. Bracing himself on his hands clasping Frederick's thighs, he drew back, breathed, pushed it back in, caressed the underside with his tongue, and repeated the process for a few minutes. The hand grasping his hair loosened, began stroking through the strands in approval as his throat eased and his pace quickened.

"That's it...yes..."

Severus barely withheld from rolling his eyes. He hoped it wouldn't take this long for Frederick to have an orgasm the following nights. Or days. The activities he could miss...

The first discharge caught him by surprise, coating the back of his throat and his aching tonsils. He repressed the urge to gag again and closed his eyes, trying not to think of what exactly it was he was trying to swallow. The hand behind his head kept him still as Frederick tried to bury his entire length down his throat.

A full minute later, the softened cock slid from his mouth and he fell back on his heels, trying to catch up on his breathing. His throat felt sore and he wanted nothing more than to wash that acrid taste from his mouth. It was the first blow job he'd done in more than ten years, and now he couldn't remember what he liked about it in the first place.

"Not bad," Frederick said, also panting as he took his wand, cast a cleaning charm on himself, and began to dress. "Not bad. I'll expect better later, understand? And I want willing, not tolerant." He ran his hand through his white-streaked black hair as he waited for Severus's response.

Severus bit back his scowl and merely nodded, wanting to get rid of the taste in his mouth as fast as possible.

"Good. Clean up, get your gear. We're almost late for Restoratives."

He stood, smoothing out his robes as he did, and headed for the bathroom. As he opened the provided mouthwash, he wondered if Albus would be terribly angry with what he'd done. No, not angry...disappointed. And of course he would be. It was the whole point of the deception, wasn't it? So he wouldn't get to see Albus's expression when he found out.

Severus sighed, forcefully putting thoughts of the Headmaster out of his mind before preparing to attend another day of the Conference he'd so wanted to glimpse as a young man.

---

Albus Dumbledore was uneasy.

It showed, obviously, perhaps in his smile or his silence. The people around him have asked, concerned, if something was the matter. Upon settling in his seat, Minerva would hand him the Events section wordlessly, bless her. But no further word of the Potions Conference was mentioned in The Daily Prophet. Not surprising, such things were often simply summarised upon completion. On general consensus, most things related to the field of potions were boring and rarely newsworthy.

But he couldn't help wondering. Speculating. Visualizing. Frederick Quagmire was an annoying man on his own, vain and barely useful in his field. The very thought of him associated in any way with Severus, in truth, made his blood boil.

Which was inappropriate. And hypocritical.

Albus had virtually lost the right to interfere with Severus's personal affairs--at least those not related to the school--when he'd pushed the young man away from him after being a recipient of a heartfelt kiss. Severus had been 21, freshly out of Voldemort's grasp and still exuding the lifestyle he had embraced after leaving Hogwarts. Painted nails, black-lined eyes, and tight clothing showing off his lean physique--the man knew how to attract his prey.

And Albus had nearly succumbed.

Indulging in anything aside from sweets was not something Albus did often, and--with too many things going on at the time, too many responsibilities--a new, young lover would have distracted him severely. He honestly did not think he could handle the tantrums of a younger lover.

It was a defense that had crumbled absolutely as Severus grew into the man he was within the walls of Hogwarts. Enough so that he was forced to acknowledge a deeper truth--that he could not touch him with a clean conscience after failing him so many times.

After that fateful day when he'd dissuaded Severus of his attentions, Albus watched helplessly as the younger man discarded his youthful pleasures. Gone were the tight-fitting clothes, the makeup, and the suggestive tones. In their stead came the stifling robes, the unkempt countenance, and the emotionless mask.

It was the mask he tried to crack, and he succeeded at times. Very rarely, but now and then he could win a smile from that frowning face, or even a brief laugh.

Albus didn't know if Severus still held any affection for him at all, aside perhaps for a glimmer of friendship. But he couldn't allow himself to mourn the loss of a potential love. Severus had made his choices, and so had he.

The here and now was what he was better at dealing with.

Time to rectify a fault, he thought, before stepping through the fireplace and entering the Potions Conference.

---

Severus knew what he was getting into when he'd first approached Frederick, but the reality of it still managed to dampen his enthusiasm. Another passing gentleman--he recognized him as Pollux Threadbare, researcher at Southampton--took one look at him, and then quickly shot a knowing gaze at Frederick, who merely smirked back and looked superior.

He wondered if he'll ever be taken seriously within the three weeks of the Conference. No one had asked him for his name yet--no surprise there, since the exclusivist bastards thought all young people attending the Conference was either an apprentice or barely-established practitioners. He participated in publications and journals, of course, but those rarely put pictures alongside articles and studies.

Despite the public's opinion of his craft, Potions was a continuously transforming genre of study. There were yearly and monthly activities held in its discussion. These smaller activities were actively advertised and were more for politics than any real discourse, of course--meeting people, making collaborations, and establishing new contacts--and Severus found it more convenient to follow them on paper. But the Conference was where everything was decided until the next five years. This was where the true decision-making lay, where sides were dug up and laid flat for debate and decisions made within the span of days. It decided new standards, cited what materials were banned, and showcased new discoveries.

Ironically, it was also the one important event that barely reached any sort of publication. It was extremely frustrating to not be able to attend it and then have to deal with the results later. There were numerous times when he'd had a visit from the Ministry regarding use of "recently-regulated illegal substances" after procuring his usual ingredients from either Knockturn or Diagon Alley. Of course, it never did any good to argue with the clueless Auror about why exactly it was suddenly regarded as illegal, and substitutes would have to be wrung out of other Potions masters in the country. He'd also had to deal with having his arguments corrected in the course of an intellectual exchange through the publications.

When asked why he hadn't been able to attend the Conference (and he would most assuredly be asked), he'd reply with vague reasons related to Hogwarts and try to leave it at that. He didn't know why he bothered, since someone else would always come to the fore about his age, and he'd receive a written equivalent of a pat on the head.

He was sure some of his colleagues had had a hearty laugh at his expense throughout the years.

But that still provided him some measure of comfort. Some people here will be sure to remember him by name, and he hoped that would be enough to ensure his position during his stay. If his reputation as a former Death Eater didn't keep others from speaking with him through the publications, he doubted if it would matter much in person.

He knew being associated with Frederick would be another hurdle to tackle, but whatever assumptions people made of him as a person, no one would be able to deny that he knew Potions like the back of his hand. Treatment wouldn't be ideal, but at least the expertise was there.

Another man that Severus recognized as Harold Buchanan looked at him, transferred his gaze to Frederick, then shook his head and walked away.

---

Fenrir Shaw was excited to have him, of course. The man was also currently trying to wring out a speech from him.

"Just about Dragon's Blood if you like, Mr. Dumbledore," he said, bright-eyed and flushed with excitement, all the way up to his balding head. "People have been proposing substitutes for it because it's so hard to handle, can you believe that? Substitutes for Dragon's Blood," he snorted, "No such thing. But a word from you and I'm sure people will take a step back and take a good look at what they've been saying. It's all these modern methods, you see, the younger ones trying to promote weaker hybrids--"

"Yes, so I've heard," Albus said, glancing past one of the open doors to see if he could catch a glimpse of his wayward Potions master.

"Dreadful, isn't it? Of course a lot of us still know better--er...Pardon me, Sir, are you looking for someone?"

"Yes, yes actually. My Potions master." He paused briefly as another door down the hall opened and out came a stream of people. None of them with a full head of black hair. "Would you happen to know where he might be right now? He signed up a few days ago."

"I wouldn't know his current whereabouts, we don't exactly track the movements of our residents," he guffawed, right hand clutching his round belly. "But I could tell you which room he's staying in...let's see..." He opened a large, leather-bound ledger and flipped through several pages. His chubby finger went through the list. "Hmm...his name is Severus Snape, isn't it? Yes, I thought so...well...are you sure he signed up? He's not listed among our guests."

Albus gave a strained smile as he said, "Please check under sponsorships."

"Oh!" Fenrir slapped his forehead. "Of course, of course. Mr. Severus Snape, always too young to go to the Conference," chuckling to himself, he started flipping through the ledger again. "I'm glad he found a Mentor this year. Always so eager--" he paused, eyes wide and glued to the page. "Er..." his Adam's apple bobbed as he audibly swallowed. Round, nervous eyes rose to meet Albus's expectant ones. "He is being sponsored--we only have six sponsorships this year, haha...ah...did you kn--" Fenrir quickly shook his head. "No, no, it's not any of my business. I'm sorry. He's with his Mentor, Frederick Quagmire, at Room 212. Just one flight up the left stairs and down the hall."

"Thank you, Fenrir." Albus took a few steps away, paused, then stepped back and addressed him again. "Fenrir, I would be happy to give that speech--"

"Oh thank you, Mr. Dumbledore! I can't wait to tell the others, it would have to be in the third week--"

"--if you do a little something for me."

Albus's smile widened as Fenrir paused mid-speech, mouth still in a wide grin. "Little something?" the host asked, Adam's apple bobbing again.

"Two little somethings, actually. Really, Fenrir, would I ask you to do someting illegal? I just need you to drop off a message from me to Mr. Quagmire in his rooms, a few days later. I'll hand it to you when I'm finished."

Fenrir sighed in relief. "Oh, is that all? Of course, of course, I'd be happy to. I'll see to it personally!"

"And, I need you to deliver blank sponsorhsip materials in my room within the week."

"B...blank? But Mr. Dumbledore, we don't issue those unless both Mentor and sponsor are--"

"I really am looking forward to that Dragon's Blood lecture, Fenrir."

The poor man seemed torn. He smiled nervously while wiping off the sweat from his brows. After a while, he nodded, still looking disturbed. "Yes, blank documents it is! Haha...I suppose they'd be in good hands with you, Sir."

Albus thanked him and took the proffered programme before heading for the stairs. His room was on the third floor, being one of the later ones to register. A dark-haired man walked past and he quickly swiveled to check if it was Severus, but, again, he was mistaken.

He wondered what he would say if he did find Severus. He was angry with the young man, that he would take such drastic measures to attend something he'd be able to in a few years. Or decades. The wait was not that intolerable, and there were still so many things to do at Hogwarts. The Potions Conference was always held in November, and to attend, Severus would have had to abandon a few responsibilities. Something Professor Ignacio confirmed when he'd gone through the papers left in Severus's office.

It was a strange thing for Severus to do, because the man was normally patient and he liked to bide his time. Glancing at the programme didn't yield anything truly remarkable in the three-week activities--at least nothing that Severus wouldn't be able to catch up on later through discussions with peers. But then he truly didn't find the subject of Potions all that intriguing anymore, his passion for it waning as he bore other responsibilities remote from its influence. Perhaps these were matters Severus felt strongly about?

He was certain of one thing--Severus was going to be furious with him. Albus could only hope his own anger wouldn't surface during their confrontation.

---

If Severus thought Frederick was annoying just standing there, he was even more annoying sitting down.

When they were seated and the preliminary remarks about certification standards began, Frederick's hand settled on Severus's thigh and began stroking. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the speaker, but the hand kept travelling upwards.

He slapped it away and glared at his companion. "You agreed to restrict it to the bedroom."

Frederick frowned and rubbed his hand, casting an irritated glance at the podium. "I don't know how you can listen to this drivel. It's the same every five years, anyway."

"I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Well it is." He flipped his white-streaked hair over his right shoulder. Raising a disdainful aristocratic eyebrow at the speaker. "I don't see why we can't attend the new promotions for sifts and filters instead. Even that one's more captivating than this."

Severus scowled. He had missed an important point in the speech as Frederick was complaining. He wondered how in hell the man had managed to gain a certification in the first place. "I can't see why you can't stand and walk over there yourself!" he hissed, careful not to let his voice carry across the large, silent room.

"That's against the rules. I'm supposed to keep my eye on you, or have you forgotten?"

"I'm sure they'll make an exception in your case, Frederick."

The older man bristled at the insult. They glared at each other for a few tense seconds before Frederick stood swiftly, making his chair scrape noisily across the marble. Heads turned and watched quietly as he stalked out of the room. Severus kept his gaze down and waited tensely, but no one approached him and demanded he stay with his Mentor. The lecture resumed. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief, and listened once again.

When the speaker finished and the floor was announced opened for discussion, several people raised their hands for questions and rebuttals. He listened to some of them, wincing at the more inane comments (he couldn't care less if the speaker's mother was ill and that they were offering their sympathies, thank you very much), and mentally ticking off the sound arguments.

One aspect of the speech was being overlooked, though, and it was annoying him how no one was bringing it up. He raised his hand.

The moderator glanced his way and gestured for him to speak. Gabriel squinted at him. "I believe the system you proposed does not make room for apathy on the part of the participants. There are several Potions experts who choose not to enter in the more political aspects of the craft. Unless you can somehow concoct a means to ensure full participation from most practitioners at all times, then this method will have to be reconsidered."

There was a brief pause as Gabriel continued squinting at him from a distance. "I'm sorry, are you an apprentice?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.

Severus scowled. None of the other participants were asked for identification. Before he could reply, he was asked, "Where's your Mentor?"

A woman to Severus's left spoke loudly, "What does it matter, Gabriel? He's made a valid point."

A man at the front spoke up after, "He's right though, it's bad enough we could all only get along every five years. Asking each and every one of us to devote time in the evaluation of standards yearly is preposterous."

"But it would only take a few minutes to--"

The argument went on. Severus relaxed and listened quietly, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck with wanting to participate. He was surprised to find that for the rest of that session, the people in his immediate surroundings seemed interested in conversing with him about topics related to the primary subject. Soon enough, he was speaking openly against something Gabriel said again. Some people nodded their agreement, some countered. Even those who had given him and Frederick disdainful looks earlier didn't seem to mind his presence so much anymore.

No one asked him for his name, which didn't bother him. He honestly didn't know if it would make matters worse or better.

By the end of the session, two new edicts were made, eleven potions added to the certification list, and a proposal for a board monitoring quality control would be drafted for debate after five years.

A heady feeling washed over Severus as he watched his contemporaries exit the room. His name had been mentioned in passing by Pollux in defense of expertise not being an issue of age. It was brief, barely noticeable, but still utterly flattering. People he'd known only through journals and pictures patted his shoulder as they left, some exchanging last thoughts with him before they headed for the door.

He stood, picking up his programme and wondering whether to head for another debate on dragonhide equipment or take a brief break in the dining hall first (the room was out of the question), when a woman waylaid him on his way out.

"Excuse me," she said, offering her hand in greeting. He shook it politely. "I'm Edith Lancer, writer of the--"

"--Mercury in Alchemy column in Potions Prodigy," he interrupted, shaking the hand more firmly. He'd never seen her before, but her column was one of the more scholarly areas of the publication.

"Thank you," she smiled, showing off smudged lipstick and a few chipped teeth, "I'm flattered you know my column. Not many people like to admit reading it. I was wondering if I could quote you in my next publication?"

"I doubt if you truly need my permission, but yes, you may."

She looked expectant. When Severus didn't say anything further, she said, "I'll need a name, of course."

Oh. Thus the permission. He mentally chastised himself and hoped he didn't come across as stupid. "Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts."

"Severus Snape!" she laughed. Her teeth seemed more yellow than his. "So glad to have you at the Conference this year. I've read some of your papers in Alchemical Theorem, brilliant work. Finally crossed over the threshold of 60, have you?"

"Severus Snape?" A frail man at the door had overheard her and hobbled over. He paused in front of Severus, peering at him through a pair of tiny spectacles. "He doesn't look 60, Edith, and right well he shouldn't. He was at least two decades short, last I heard from him." He took a step back and seemed to take a long look at him. "Are you Severus Snape?"

"Yes, I am." He looked back at the old man, mentally reviewing the names of the people he'd ever corresponded with through letters. He had a feeling this was--

"Malcolm Gainsborough. Yes, yes, pleasure to meet you."

They shook hands, with Severus feeling a little nervous. Meeting great minds through writing was one thing, up close was another. He'd clashed words with this man a few times, challenging him on his conservatism and unreasonable (or so he thought) hold on certain traditions that yielded no factual influence on final results.

"I'm still waiting for your answer, you know. And now that I know you're still alive, I'll be expecting it soon. It's not polite to challenge someone on their own writing and then not respond to the rebuttal."

"My apologies," he briefly considered adding "Sir," but decided against it, "I've been preoccupied."

"Ho! Not so loose with your tongue in person, are you?" Malcolm chuckled. "A few more days in, lad, and I'll be sure to make you more at ease around me. I miss your vile tongue, and it'll serve some of the people here right to bear the brunt of it as well, I think."

"Who's sponsoring you, then?" Edith asked. "I'll remember to thank him."

"Justinian finally caved and sponsored you like I told him, then?" Malcolm asked, smiling broadly.

Severus began to feel his spirit sink. "No, not Justinian."

"Anton, then? Although you two don't seem to get along very well in Cauldrons Quarterly."

"Not Anton either."

The smile on Malcolm's face faded a bit. There were only six people being sponsored, and four of them were apprenticed to both Justinian and Anton. He truly was sticking out like a sore thumb. "Who's sponsoring you, lad?" Malcolm asked.

There was no escaping it. It wasn't as if he hadn't foreseen this scenario...just perhaps not with Malcolm Gainsborough in mind. Not that it wasn't any less degrading. "Mr. Frederick Quagmire has kindly agreed to sponsor me for the Conference."

"Oh...," Edith said. "You two are friends?"

"Not particularly, no." Severus watched Malcolm's expression, but the older man merely looked puzzled. A little sad, after his last admission.

Malcolm shook his head. "I guess...it's just one more thing we'll disagree on, Severus, isn't it?" He looked up and gave a comforting smile. "Whatever suits you best, lad. None of our business. Keep me company tomorrow at lunch, will you? I'm supposed to be dining with Albertha, but I'll give that up any day for a proper face-to-face conversation with you. It's nice not to have to wait hours, even days for a reply for a change."

As he agreed to meet, Severus made a mental note not to call this man names in his head anymore.

---

There he was.

Albus had paused briefly when he heard another door across the hall open to let out a stream of people. He was about to turn and head back up the stairs, when two more people left the entrance, one of them being his Potions master.

Minerva's phrasing came to mind immediately when he saw him, but it wasn't exactly appropriate. This was not the "preening" he remembered of long ago. This was an entirely different look altogether. Hair shining and robes tailor-made to boast a slim physique. His eyes looked larger and darker around the edges, making his naturally long lashes seem to glide whenever he closed them. His hair was straight--truly straight and not turned stringy with neglect--with the tips swaying enchantingly with every movement.

Yes, Severus looked very elegant indeed. That he would make the effort to dress as such for a man like Frederick fanned Albus's anger even more.

But Frederick didn't seem to be accompanying Severus, which was odd. Mentor and sponsor were supposed to stay together throughout the Potions Conference.

"Severus."

The younger man paused on his way across the large hall. He turned in surprise, intense black eyes locking with Albus's almost immediately. Albus saw a slight hint of nervousness in them before all expression was closed off. "Headmaster. You're a long way from Hogwarts," he cautiously said, walking closer to the stairs.

"Your vacation's going well, I see." He tried to keep his tone light, but some of his anger must have permeated. Severus was one of the few who knew him well, after all.

His Potions master predictably stiffened, his eyes wary. "What do you want, Albus?"

"We will speak in my room, Severus."

"There is nothing to talk about. This is none of your concern."

"I'm making it my concern. Where is Mr. Quagmire?"

"I'm not calling him so you could work your little power trip!" Narrowed eyes closed briefly and opened again, a little calmer. A little colder. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from interfering in my affairs, Sir. This is highly unseemly." He drew himself up, crossing his arms against his chest. "If it appeases your Gryffindor sensibilities, I was not coerced nor influenced in any way, and it was I who made the suggestion to Frederick about our current 'arrangement.'" Severus uncrossed his arms and headed up the stairs, walking past Albus quickly. "Good day, Headmaster. You could go home now with a clean conscience and leave me to my business."

Best he learn it now. Albus cleared his throat and waited until Severus was looking back at him before he said, "It would be impractical for me to depart since I'm booked for the entire conference."

Severus gave him an incredulous look. In a silky, very quiet voice that Albus recognised rather well, he said, "You...are able to attend the Conference? You have certification?"

Albus kept quiet.

Severus shook his head slowly, still looking at the Headmaster with disbelieving eyes. "All this time. I've asked, and you said you know of no one, when you, yourself,--!" He stopped himself abruptly, almost choking on the last word. The hurt in his voice tugged at Albus's heart, but the latter knew he could do nothing at the moment to appease the younger man. All emotion was once again removed from his face as he said a final, "Good day, Headmaster," and headed quickly up the stairs.

Albus watched him go, feeling both sadness and anger mingle bitterly at every step the other took. When Severus was gone from his sight, he gave a small sigh. He wondered, once again, what the best course was to get Severus out of Frederick's grasp. Despite the younger man's belief to the contrary, morals was not what was keeping Albus away from Hogwarts at the moment.

That Albus would come to that realization at such a time was typical enough. He trudged up the stairs, thoughts of Severus rushing back to his room, back to Quagmire, filling his mind.

He had a little note to write.

---

Hurt and betrayal raged through Severus's blood with his every step, clouding his vision and heating his pale skin. He covered two steps at a time, wanting to put as much distance between him and the man below as he could muster, in as little time as possible.

All these years, he thought, gripping the banister painfully. How I must have amused him.

Twice. He had approached Albus twice about the matter, and both times had taken a lot of nerve and dealt considerable blows to his pride. The first time, he asked if Nicholas Flamel was available as Mentor, but he was then informed that Nicholas did not have a Potions certificate because he restricted himself to alchemy and metallurgy. The second time, he asked Albus if there was anyone he knew who could be imposed upon to sponsor him, for a fee or for certain services, and Albus had said he'd ask a few friends. Later, he knocked on Severus's office and told him upon entering that he knew of no one who wanted to sponsor him, for a variety of reasons.

He wondered now if those reasons were merely formulated on the spot and if the old man had asked at all.

And Albus would have his own alibis, wouldn't he? What reasons would he be forced to swallow this time? Would it be his fault again, like all the rest? He could just imagine it: "Why couldn't you wait, child?", or better yet, "You never really did ask me directly."

He opened the door to his--no, their--room and slammed it shut. Frederick was lying on the couch, reading a book. The abrupt entrance didn't bother him in the slightest, evident when he slowly turned a page while Severus quietly fumed in his corner.

"Something happened downstairs?" Frederick asked finally, eyes still on the page. Severus huffed and pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. He walked around the room a bit before settling on pacing across the carpet.

"Albus Dumbledore happened downstairs," he muttered. He missed his large robes and the way they flicked around his legs. This flimsier piece felt like butter. And it made his waist itch.

"Albus Dumbledore?" there was a hint of panic in Frederick's voice that escaped Severus's attention.

"Bloody man has always been able to attend Conferences, well, if he thinks I'm just going to up and join him he's sadly mistaken."

Silence greeted the last statement. Frederick merely watched Severus pace for a while, his lips holding a tense frown. When he spoke, his voice was unnaturally quiet. Cautious. It made Severus pause and look at him. "Is...he going to be a problem?"

Severus took in the calm mask, once again amazed at the influence Albus held over people. "No, he's not. And even if he is, may I remind you that we have a written contract, Frederick. This arrangement will not terminate unless both parties consent--"

"Yes, I know. I know," he waved the reminder away, his calm quickly replaced by annoyance. Severus was pinned with a glare. "Not very many things can pull Albus away from Hogwarts, as you know. I can't say I'd be thrilled if I found out he's seeking his Potions master, who was supposed to have taken care of him before entering our little 'arrangement.'"

The younger man scowled fiercely, wounds still raw from the confrontation downstairs. "I. Didn't. Know. He. Was. Certified!"

"Don't scowl, Severus, it doesn't suit you." Severus snorted. Frederick stood and walked over to him, discarded the book. One hand rose to finger the fine hair keeping those pure black eyes from his sight. "Let's get some of that tension out of you, shall we?"

Severus had half a mind to scowl even more and tell him to bugger off--a panel discussion was going to start in a few minutes, and he truly wanted to attend that--but his blood was still boiling from betrayal and humiliation, and what better way to sate them than to partake in something Albus so obviously disapproved of?

He let the fingers stroke his hair, caress his neck, then trace the line of his jaw. Frederick may be a lecher, but at least he made an effort to make his touch pleasurable. There had been rumors about his stamina when Severus was still an apprentice--rumors that he now knew to be false, sadly enough. But the man had skill, and Severus had enjoyed the two times he'd already been in his bed, notwithstanding the oral activity just that morning.

Now, he would relish it, knowing that Albus was in the same building, that he disapproved, that he had the temerity to try and drag Severus back to Hogwarts after betraying his trust without batting an eyelash.

It was these little vengeances that kept him sane, after all.

He met Frederick's lips with a ferocity born inside, and parted his robes to jam his right hand down his pants. Frederick groaned into his mouth, covering Severus's hand with his own on top of the fabric, and began urging the younger man to go to the bedroom.

Once the door was closed behind him, Severus removed his hand and walked to the bed, all the while discarding his clothes swiftly. His face already felt flushed and his hands had a slight tremble to them as he pulled down his boxers. He would regret this later. He would rue enjoying this so much.

But right now, things felt so damn good.

Frederick joined him on the bed still clothed, having only removed his boots and belt. He crawled up to Severus's form, his breath hot against the already flushed skin, and began nuzzling the long expanse of Severus's neck. Hot, sweaty hands stroked the younger man's sides, sliding up to pluck playfully at the small nipples.

Severus arched his body, grinding their groins together. He groaned deeply while his hands rose to push against Frederick's chest, forcing the man backward.

The other's puzzled glance was replaced with anticipation as he was forced to lay on his back, and Severus crawled down toward his crotch. His pants were pulled partway down, exposing his privates to the cool air of the room.

"This is the passion I like to see," Frederick murmured, hissing when a red tongue darted past Severus's lips and licked the entire length of his manhood.

Severus said nothing in lieu of filling his mouth slowly with the long shaft, taking care to relax his throat. The ease with which he did this in his younger years seemed to have vanished, but the desired effect was still achived. The half-aroused cock quickly rose to its full length when it was halfway in, and it was so hard by the time he'd managed a feasible rhythm.

Hands stroked his hair again, urging him on, caressing the tips of his ears. His right hand, he used to very gently caress the testicles, weighing them and letting them slide slowly from finger to finger.

A few moments later, his right hand felt the telltale tightening of the skin, and a slow dribble of precum oozed out into his throat. He quickly drew back, ignoring the hands that tried to grip his hair, and licked the base of the cock while he waited for Frederick to calm down.

Satisfied, he grabbed his wand from his robes on the floor and pointed it at his rear, casting a quick lubrication charm. Then he crawled up to Frederick's form again and positioned himself on top of the straining shaft, legs tense and spread wide on either side of the older man's torso.

Frederick's hands reached around him and parted his arse, guiding him as he very slowly lowered himself until the tip of the other man's shaft was resting against his opening. He winced as the head pierced through and steeled himself for a moment before gritting his teeth and descending at a slow but unrelenting speed.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the charm work its magic, numbing his skin to pain and making it sensitive to pressure. A hiss escaped through clenched teeth as Frederick made a small thrust, each small movement seeming to rub against his prostate.

Severus braced his hands against Frederick's ribs. The hands clasping his arse began to slide from his rear to his knees, then back up again as he began a slow rhythm, easing into a faster one when every descent felt like heaven. He was careful to keep his hands away from his crotch--it felt as if a touch to his cock would set him off.

Closing his eyes, he let out a deep moan as a particularly deep thrust made his shaft leak. Frederick's hands had moved to his torso, sliding up and down his sides and pausing briefly at his chest to let the thumbs press teasingly against his nipples. The sound of grunts, moans, and sighs--of skin slapping on skin--filled the small room. Slowly, in his mind's eye, white-streaked hair was replaced by silver, and the green-grey eyes that looked at him began to turn blue.

Severus began bucking wildly as he imagined his heart's desire replacing the man beneath him. He barely had time to wonder if he was under a spell when he felt the shaft inside him seem to change, growing just a little bit longer and a tad bit wider. Without opening his eyes, he knew he'd still see Frederick under him. Albus, he mentally snarled, but couldn't bring himself to slow down, much less stop.

His shaft was leaking profusely now and ached for the slightest bit of friction. Suddenly, Frederick lunged forward, toppling him against his back on the bed, his head hanging over the edge. His long, widespread legs instinctively wrapped around the other man's back, heels pressing against that solid arse. When Frederick began thrusting deeply without preamble, he cried out in earnest as each jab seemed to directly hit his prostate rather than rub against it.

He couldn't seem to keep quiet--he'd never had sex this good. Amidst his cries of "Oh Merlin!" and "Fuck--oh yes! Yes!", he knew he was being influenced, knew that this pleasure was being caused by someone else, but dammit, why couldn't Frederick fuck this good on his own?!

The ghostlike sensation of long white hair framing his face and trailing across his chest made him shiver. He threw his head back and screamed when it became too much for him to bear. His seed spilled in jets between their bodies coating his chest and shoulders, then dribbling more onto his stomach.

The spell seemed to break when Frederick gasped and coated his insides with hot come, thrusting frantically for a few more seconds and stilling before drawing back and laying on his back beside Severus, who couldn't seem to properly catch his breath. Severus's body trembled slightly on the aftermath. He finally opened his eyes and took in the ceiling, already feeling the soreness in his arse that would only make itself more pronounced as time passed. Turning his head, he saw Frederick--white-streaked black hair, green-grey eyes, and tanned skin.

"You should be angry more often," Frederick said between gasps of air, "if that's the effect it has on you. Or maybe I should just count myself lucky you find Dumbledore so infuriating."

Albus.

Who was it who just screwed him through the bed?

---

Albus opened his eyes and smiled behind his steepled fingers.

---

A few hours later, Severus realised neither of them cast a silencing charm.

---

"Tradition is not all about results, Severus," Malcolm said after swallowing a piece of veal. "It keeps us grounded on past methodology and culture. A man with no sense of history will never get far on future endeavors."

Severus shook his head stubbornly, his own meal forgotten on the table. "It's impractical and bothersome, and also incites unreasonable conservatism. What need do we have of still soaking leather in urine for a week before using it as lining?"

"If you please!" Frederick exclaimed, nearly choking on his food. "Some of us are eating!"

Both men ignored him. "No, no, I've never been conservative with my methods. Anyone who's worked with me can attest to that."

"I never said you were, but practitioners who refuse to let go of unreasonable traditional methods are quoting your words as defense, and you haven't been dissuading them."

Malcolm gave a disdainful sniff. "I have my own ways to preach, and so do you. Moderation can come later."

"You give people too much credit. A lot of certified people are idiots."

"Merlin forbid if you should have more faith in your peers, Severus."

A new voice joined them from the side. "I'm afraid no amount of swearing could make Severus any less of a cynic, Malcolm." Albus smiled at them and returned Malcolm's hearty greeting. Severus scowled, fixing his gaze at his plate. The scowl deepened when Frederick mumbled something about going back for his programme and quickly left the table.

"Ah! Free seat!" Albus quickly seated himself beside the younger man, smiling amusedly as Severus scooted his chair a small distance away.

Malcolm looked at both with a puzzled and amused expression. "I hope you're not here to recall your Potions master, Albus. He's only been here a week, and I've only recently enjoyed his company."

"No need to worry, old friend. Severus is safe from me for the time being."

Severus made an impolite noise while he chewed on a particularly juicy piece of melon.

Having finished his meal, Malcolm pushed his plate forward and busied with his napkin. "Well, I, for one, am glad you came. Annoying fellow, that Frederick. Has no head for Potions at all anymore."

"Anymore?" As far as Severus was concerned, Frederick had always been just a horny old bastard with a Potions certificate.

The older man nodded. "Way before your time, lad. Used to be quite the prodigy. I don't know what happened--must have lost interest along the way."

"He 'lost interest' at just about the same time he mysteriously inherited his father's fortune, if I recall correctly," Albus contributed. He thanked the waiter who arrived with his drink.

"But that should only provide him with more time to work on potions."

"Financial difficulty can be as great a motivation as any other, Malcolm. He seems to be quite content dallying, one hobby after another."

Malcolm shook his head. "If he's lost interest in potions, he should leave it completely."

"But then he wouldn't be able to sponsor our Severus here if he had."

To his surprise, Severus found himself the center of attention. "Indeed. He has been gracious," he said carefully, giving Albus a small glare of warning.

"Mm," the older man said as he leaned back and stroked his beard. His eyes twinkled. "Slept well yesterday, then?"

Severus narrowed his eyes.

Malcolm's wariness was evident as he looked back and forth at the two other men at the table. When the silence remained unbroken for a few seconds, he cleared his throat. "You two seem to have things to discuss. I'm afraid I'm needed at the 1 o'clock conference." He bid farewell to Albus and extricated another promise from Severus to have lunch with him the following day before leaving.

A deep, sullen frown settled on Severus's lips. "You're absolutely determined to ruin this for me, aren't you?"

"I rather think I'm doing you a favor," Albus said, looking down at the wine he was swirling in his glass. "Severus, this has to end. What you're doing--"

"--is prostitution?" he snorted, giving Albus a bitter smile. "I'm well aware of what I'm doing, Albus. If you think I'm above such things, you're sadly mistaken."

Albus's eyebrows drew together, his eyes immediately losing their glimmer. "You're so blind to your own worth, you refuse to see beyond your wants--!"

"My needs, Headmaster!" All conversation stopped when a few men passed by their table. Severus suddenly became aware of their surroundings and turned his voice down, but made it no less menacing. "Have I disappointed you once again, Albus? What is this--the hundredth lecture you're giving me? I don't seem to recall you ever reprimanding the rest of your staff whenever they make a transgression--and they have made many. Should I get started on Minerva?"

Blue eyes held no emotion as they stared back at the younger man's black ones. "I'm well aware of my staff's activities."

"No," he shook his head stubbornly. Years of frustration were threatening to mist his eyes, but he stubbornly kept them back. He would not give this man the satisfaction of his tears. "No, I don't think you are. Because you have always singled me out, never accepted me for who I am, for what I am! You, of all people, take the extra time to make me feel so worthless, with your constant reprimands and condescending manner." Albus opened his mouth to speak but Severus quickly interrupted him. "I will always be the child to you, always the recalcitrant student--the Slytherin that never shed his skin--"

A sob escaped past Severus's lips, stilling his speech. He turned his head, hiding his face from the man he'd been so intent on hiding from in the past.

Albus looked at him not with sadness, but with determination. "I admit to singling you out, Severus," he began, calmly watching the curtain that hid Severus from him. "I have found throughout the years a habit so ingrained in me that it seems impossible to break. It had surfaced many times when I was younger. I was unaware of it, of course, and it drove people away. It was Imogen who pointed it out to me so clearly one time."

If Severus recognised the name, he gave no indication.

"It seems, Severus, that I have this 'filthy habit' of having high expectations from the people I've grown to love very deeply. I lose sight of who they are in the face of my own ideals." He gave a small, bitter laugh. "Most of the others made me realise this quickly. Imogen in particular had been quick to point it out and gave as good as she got. You, however...did not."

Severus started as a finger touched his chin, and gently but firmly turned his face toward Albus. The latter took in the wide eyes, the confused expression and the quick breathing. "You do not disappoint me, Severus. You never have. This stupid old man just needs a little reminder now and then that he can overstep some very dangerous boundaries."

The younger man shook his head slightly, his gaze fixed on some distant memory. "But, before, when I asked you--"

Albus shook his finger at him. "No, not then. You should realise that I couldn't. You were a boy to me, Severus. It was only in the past year or so that I had wondered...and at times, truly considered. But I had no way of knowing if you still wanted me in that manner."

The arrogance of his words hit Severus like a bullet train, and he drew himself up in his seat, confusion immediately replaced with annoyance. "What makes you think I still do?"

"Yesterday was a very good indication."

A small flush heated his cheeks, but Severus ignored it. "You couldn't have known before it began. It's assault--"

Albus was half-smiling. "I had to make sure he wasn't abusing you, and so I monitored your surface thoughts. I merely...followed up on your line of thinking, so to speak."

Hope threatened to rise in Severus's heart, and, recognising it for what it was, he immediately stomped on it. He forced a scowl to his face, masking the emotions boiling just below the surface. "This is another of your ploys," he stood up quickly, taking his books and papers from the table. "Fun games, Headmaster, but I'm not playing this time."

"Severus, sit down--"

But Severus was out the door before he could finish.

---

He felt like the carpet had been yanked from under him and he was looking at the whole world upside down.

Once again, he was rushing to the sanctity of his room, shared though it was with a man that he couldn't care less about. Such revelations over lunch, he thought sneering at the people he passed by. One would think people talked about such matters behind closed doors after dark.

Banging the door open, he was greeted with the sight of a very rumpled Frederick hurrying to pack his bags. Almost all the drawers and closet doors were wide open and half-empty. Frederick caught sight of him and paused only long enough to say a very angry, "'Not going to be a problem,' eh?!" before going back to his small dance between the closet and his large bag.

"What are you doing? We can't leave now, the Conference lasts for two more weeks!"

"Stay all you want. Your precious Headmaster's made it quite clear that I need to leave the premises now!"

Dammit! He mentally snarled, and wondered just when Albus got the chance to talk to Frederick between now and lunch. "We have a written contract!" he snarled at Frederick as the latter made to move for the door.

The older man shoved him aside, large bag slung over his shoulder and clothes disheveled. He was clutching a small piece of paper in his hand, which he was waving frantically in front of Severus's face. "I'd rather deal with problems from you than have Albus Dumbledore breathing down my back!"

Severus watched with wide eyes as Frederick bolted through the door. The latter called out a sarcastic "Good luck finding a new Mentor!" before vanishing completely from sight.

---

Albus rapped on the hardwood door a second time. He was mollified to hear all about Frederick Quagmire's hasty departure after checking up on his mail at the front desk, which took at least thirty minutes. He hadn't expected Frederick to find the letter so soon, but he supposed the man opened the drawer containing his vanity set every few seconds. There was no mention of Severus's own leaving.

He hoped he wasn't too late.

"Door's unlocked," came the deep voice from within.

Albus entered the room, finding it almost devoid of any personal effects. He peered into a half-open door and found Severus clearing out a drawer on the bed.

"What do you want, Albus?"

"I heard about Frederick's departure..."

Severus snorted. "All your doing. What the hell did you put in that letter?"

"A small reminder that has nothing at all to do with potions, I assure you," Albus said, smiling.

Severus said nothing as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder, far lighter than Frederick's since he bothered to reduce the contents' sizes. "Please at least give Malcolm my apologies. It seems my Mentor found it necessary to abandon me and it's too late now to draft another sponsorship proposal this soon. Even if someone did wish to sponsor me," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

Albus sat on the bed and held Severus's arm firmly, ignoring the younger man's tugs to get away. "I had my reasons for not sponsoring you that time, Severus--"

"Shh," Severus quickly interrupted. "I dont want to hear your excuses now. Not now."

Albus looked at him for a moment before nodding. "Another time. But we will talk about it."

"We always do. One way or another."

A callused thumb tentatively stroking his pale wrist. "You are still angry with me?"

Severus frowned at him, but the malice and fierceness of a few hours ago were gone now. He merely looked tired. Albus felt a pang of guilt at causing it. "Yes."

Albus drew Severus's head down with a hand at the back of his neck and gave him a soft, almost chaste kiss to his lips. When Severus drew back, he saw the stack of papers Albus was hiding behind him and asked cautiously, "What are those?"

"Guess!" the older man said, bringing the papers to the fore. Severus looked at him warily before glancing at the topmost sheet. Then he laughed, loudly and sincerely, when he saw the pre-arranged sponsorship documents

"All it needs is your signature," Albus told him, and handed him a blue and pink-colored pen.

Severus shook his head at him. Hopeless. He was hopeless. "I didn't have the slightest chance to escape, did I?"

"Not a prayer."

End