Madame Curie, Potion's Mistress

Madam Curie, Potion's Mistress Chapter 1 Thanks to my beta VIVAvivacious for her great work!

This fic is comedy and smut. Enjoy.


Snape furrowed his brow as he squinted at the Muggle contraption at his fingertips. Albus had introduced him to the wonders of the World Wide Web, expounding the revolutionary way they were able to condense their student records, lesson plans, order supplies for schools, and so on and so forth, via computers and the Internet. Albus had even managed to pipe the arcane Muggle technology of electricity into the professional staff’s personal quarters. Each of them was presented with a “complete package no wizard should be without.” The boxes and instruction manuals had been dropped in front of his door like yesterday’s Hufflepuff refuse bins.

Fingers more suited to tending potions and disciplining wayward miscreants clumsily hen-pecked out the words Albus had scribbled on a piece of parchment. He muttered as he typed. ”Double-you, double-you, double-you, dot… Madame Curies Potions dot com… enter.” Oh wait, he wasn’t supposed to type enter. That was the button on the right side of the typing machine. He attempted to fix the mistake, but ended up erasing the whole thing.

“Damn!” he muttered. It would have been so much easier to just gather the ingredients for his stores as he always had on his own, but the Ministry of Magic had decided to regulate and tax Potions ingredients used in medical institutions, government research, and educational facilities. The over-reaching regulations stemmed from frivolous lawsuits accusing the government of lax oversight; a few greedy Mudbloods out to rake in some quick galleons by hexing their own family members with Unforgivables, and then pretending various potions ingredients were to blame for a continual decline in their loved ones health. The Potion Regulation and Enhancement Act made his job a major pain in the arse.

On top of lesson plans, Dumbledore had put him in charge of not only the inventory for his own potions stores, but those of the infirmary as well. Like he didn’t waste enough time deducting House points form wayward, snogging Hufflepuffs, and dodging errant exploding cauldrons from sniveling first years. Straining his eyes in front of an infernal Muggle contraption was not his idea of a good day, not that Snape had good days. A good day for him meant bloody Albus keeping his wayfaring nose out of his private affairs for more than two minutes, and evading Trelawney’s stalking clutches. A weekend spent over a stinking cauldron, alone in the dungeon with a good book, and some aged Muggle brandy was, indeed, a fine time.

He started over. “Double-you, double-you, double-you, dot… Madame Curies Potions dot com.” Okay, now he had to push the Enter button, not type it in. Enter.

Welcome to the World Wide Web’s Finest Array of Spells, Potions, Elixirs, and Charms!

Browse our fine selection from the comfort of your dungeon! (Shit, how did they know he was in a dungeon?)

If you don’t see something you need, send an email to www dot MadameCuriesgotit dot com.

What the hell was Madame Curies go tit? Oh, got it. Not go tit. Snape smirked. ’Good one.’

After figuring out how to use the mouse (he had held it upside down for twenty minutes at first, threatening to hex the damn thing), he was thoroughly absorbed in browsing the, indeed, wide selection of things available. His mouth literally watered; it was a Potion master’s paradise. He would have to have a warehouse the size of Hogwarts time three if he were to order one of everything. Snape’s fingers itched with the prospects. The idea of gathering his own ingredients flew right out the window, along with the school’s bank account balance, as he happily clicked the way to bankruptcy.

---

Albus was furious. “Do you know how much money you spent on potions ingredients?”

“No, but I assume you are about to enlighten me, Headmaster.” The corner of his mouth twitched. This was not going to be pretty.

“You spent roughly twenty thousand galleons on potions ingredients! That’s the total budget for all of Hogwarts’ supplies for the entire year! We’re broke! The shipping was outrageous! Instead of shipping by owl, you ordered expedited delivery by Hippogriff!” There was an insane twinkle in the old man’s eyes. “I don’t even know where we are going to put it all! I can’t exactly expand the castle to triple its size just to store your twenty-five years worth of potions ingredients!”

“Can you refuse shipment, Headmaster?”

Albus laughed hysterically. “Are you kidding? It’s an international order! Once it goes through Customs, we’re fucked!”

The utterance of a taboo expletive from the mouth of Albus Dumbledore was surely not a good sign.

“I will forego my salary for the year, Headmaster.”

“That you will, and because this is your mess, I am going to let you dig yourself out of it. Your new assignment, before the start of the year, is to use the Room of Requirement to store it all. Starting now. Have fun! Lemon drop?”

Severus shook his head, following the Headmaster’s gaze out the window to the castle grounds. Angry Hippogriffs laden with potions ingredients were all standing at attention, ready to be unloaded into the castle. The Hogwarts lawn would be well fertilized by the end of the day.

“You better get to work,” chuckled the old man.

“Indeed.”

---

Four days, sixty-eight mocha frappuccinos, and one aching back later, the professor slumped into his bed in a caffeine-overload-induced coma for forty-eight hours straight.

When he woke up, and after a shit, shower, and shave, he immediately sent off an email to this Madame Curie, demanding she take the spending charm off her website, or he was going to take the complaint up with the Ministry and Wizengamot. He most thoroughly blamed her for losing his year’s-worth of salary, and it would not be the last she heard from him.

Severus desperately wished he could send a hex over the Internet.

On the bright side, he was very well-stocked for potions that year. He let some of the non-dunderheaded students do extra credit by creating their own simple concoctions. An only slightly irritating Gryffindor managed to turn her cat’s fur into feathers, a useless, if rather amusing, experiment. Much to the cat’s chagrin, a counter-potion was not as forthcoming. On the other hand, it was the only flying cat in the castle. Mice were doomed. Owls went on strike.

Snape didn’t seem to miss his lack of funds. On the contrary, he was having a marvelous time window-shopping on the World Wide Web. He discovered what was called a chat group, for Potions masters. Instead of spending tedious hours poring through hoary old tomes for an ingredient or spell, he was able to type it into Google and come up with hundreds of helpful tips that greatly increased the efficiency of his lab, and categorization of the ingredients.

Severus even started his own Yahoo! group. It was tough to come up with a name. Even after a long, restless night arguing with his self, the best he could come up with was Potions Masters R’ Us.

Within a month, he had over fifty members and growing. The greasy bat of the dungeons was quickly becoming an Internet Potions master celebrity. He began a regular correspondence with the owner of the website he adored, Madame Curie, and she, in turn, helped him develop his own web page.

Minus his picture, Snape began transferring all his knowledge from books and memory, to his web page. Madame Curie even encrypted it for him, so anyone who wanted to join, had to pay a monthly subscription fee to access the site. For a mere five percent stake of the proceeds, she was content with maintaining the bits and bobs for him, while he scanned in and uploaded as much information as he could get his hands on. It would take months to complete, but wasn’t that what detentions were for? He had better things to do, after all, like plan a visit to this Madame Curie.

She was bloody brilliant. The witch had a wit to match his own, she seemed almost more knowledgeable about potions ingredients than he, and had the same contempt for moronic imbeciles that couldn’t spell their own name, much less brew a potion. If his black heart were capable, he would have sworn he was in love.

The obsession to check his e-mail was overwhelming. Every chance he got, Snape was down in the dungeon; clicking away on the mail icon and cursing the hourglass that made him wait. Albus was too bloody cheap to get them anything but dial-up, so the connection was maddeningly slow. The biggest pisser was when it finally loaded his inbox, and just when he was about to click a new email message from Madame Curie with a trembling hand, the fucking machine froze up and he had to re-boot. It really ate away his break times.

He was shocked at how many closet Potions masters there were in the world. Snape figured there were plenty of wannabes, but who was he to deny them knowledge if they wanted to pay the fifty galleons a month to access his website? By the time he reached one thousand members, he had to open a second Gringotts vault just to hold the mountain of quid rolling in, and that was after repaying Albus.

Severus began to wonder about what Madame Curie looked like. Surely, she was tall and slim, a lovely, intelligent witch, with ample bosoms, rounded hips, and a plump derriere. Her long, curvy legs would glide across the room, and slender, manicured hands would caress a potions phial with loving reverence. Her slinky black gown would cling to every curve, enhancing the swell of each succulent morsel ripe for the harvest.

He would be watching her from a corner of the shop, obsidian eyes hooded behind a curtain of oily black hair and a wide smirk. She would be talking to some wanker who knew nothing about potions ingredients, drooling openly over a woman who was surely beneath him. The lady of the night would cut the man down with a snide remark, throwing him out of the shop on his ear. Her eye would briefly catch his as she glided back into the shop with cat-like grace. Her sexy lips would part slightly, tongue flicking out to catch a bit of crumb left over from a snack.

Now alone together in the empty shop, the object of his desire would demurely walk behind the counter, running her fingers up and down the glass aimlessly while humming to herself. As if randomly, she would transfigure a bit of cloth to polish phials in all shapes and sizes. She picks up a long, slender glass, the shape of a phallus. The cloth rubs gently up and down the shaft, making the journey to the bulbous head, swirling in tight circles at the tip. Both of her hands come down over the shaft, working the cloth up and down in long, languid strokes.

Severus is stiff in the corner, watching her erotic dance with the glass out of his peripheral vision. He has a huge erection under his voluminous robes. Pretending to look at some ingredients more closely, he leans forward, placing his hands on a rail separating customers from the fragile merchandise. One hand disappears inside his robes, freeing his erection, and grasping himself firmly.

A slow dance commences, Madame Curie making love to the phial with her loving fingers, her breasts now pressed into the head of the glass, getting her grip to better clean the bottom of the shaft. It creates a sharp contrast between her breasts, tightening the fabric, showing off the outline of her erect nipples.

She is watching him, aware that he is jerking off to her wanton display of lasciviousness.

Her chin lowers to the tip of the glass, her tongue flicking out to lick it.

He groans inwardly, gripping the rail tight with one hand, while increasing the pressure and speed of his motion with the other.

She is walking toward him, the glass phial abandoned on the countertop.

He tries to hide from her, desperately fumbling to shove his erection back into his trousers.

It’s too late. She’s standing right beside him now, five blessed fingers staying his wrist, gentle pressure encouraging him to turn around.

Utter terror grips his throat, and he is unable to speak, horrified to be caught wanking in her shop.

A purely evil smile graces her plum-pudding lips, and she sinks to her knees before him.

Unbelieving eyes burn holes into the top of her head as a dreamy, creamy mouth wets itself, sinking over the head of his shaft.

A groan of bliss escapes his lips at the wonderful agony burning through him.

French tips tickle the underside of his scrotum, scratching and pulling, rolling and kneading.

The tip of her finger wickedly finds it way beneath his sack to the rim of his arsehole.

A naughty finger probes its way inside up to the first knuckle, causing blindness behind his eyes, as she takes him deep into her throat, hitting the bottom of his shaft in time to the errant finger.

The sensations building in him are titanic in proportion. Roughened, calloused hands lose abandon, pressing hard against the back of her head while his hips pump an idiosyncratic rhythm, the pressure building to an insane boiling point. The naughty finger plunges into his arse all the way; as her lips pull their suction off his tip with a loud ‘pop!’ before playing peek-a-boo one last time over his cock.

A river of sticky come floods the inside of her mouth, the greedy Potions mistress sucking every last drop out of his empty balls.

A great shudder of release runs through him, complete exhaustion threatening to overwhelm his trembling legs.

Madame Curie licks the last bit off his weeping tip and stands to attention with a sly wink, slinking back behind the counter to nonchalantly continue polishing her merchandise.

Severus opened his eyes.

Ah, shite. He came all over the third years’ term essays again.