WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

TITLE: Firefly
EMAIL: ailei@texas.net
PAIRING: SS/Ollivander, SS/PP, SS/LM
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Alas. And alack, even.
SUMMARY: Sometimes the smallest kindness break you more effectively than the cruelest tortures.
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest, response to tricky pairing: Snape/Ollivander.

Authors Notes: This is...weird. Warnings for implied incest, and some. Well. Non-standard human anatomy, and cross-species sex. Caveat lector.

It shattered.

Slender, delicate thing it was. Willow, nine and a half inches, with a core of unicorn hair. Not a boy's wand at all, or so they always sniggered. But it fit my hand perfectly, an ideal extension of flesh and bone and blood.

It's a common misconception, really, that Potions is not a wand-art. The wand has its place in potion-crafting, as surely as the scales and the cauldron and the delicate little silver knives. The wizard's power, channeled through wood and hair and will, animates the disparate ingredients, imbues them with the spark of their magic. A Muggle could toss some cut up bits-and-parts into a cauldron and stir until the sky turned to blood, and all he'd have is a foul-smelling, poisonous mess.

I'd wondered, of course, if my wand's affinity for me would wither and die when I lost my virginity

//tear-choked, face-down on Lucius Malfoy's bed, screaming and then chewing the pillow and just taking it because no one no one refuses a Malfoy, said he'd be gentle, fucking liar yet I just keep coming back for more more more//

My fears were groundless. Although it quavered in my hand, against my now-sullied flesh, it remained loyal. Our magic remained true and strong. Apparently, getting fucked doesn't really make you impure.

But the Dark Mark certainly does.

The Malfoy dungeons were suitably dank, appropriately noisome. The underground cavern they used for the Rites was vast and echoing and properly intimidating. Cloaked figures, check. Chanting, check. As I huddled naked in the center of their circle, my exhausted brain kept envisioning Kramer and Sprenger leading a phalanx of red-robed Inquisitors bearing stakes and bundles of kindling. 'We found a witch...' I laughed, but it sounded like rusting metal. Peter insisted we see that movie. Silly little half-breed.

Seventeen years had done little to fill out my lanky body, and between my natural thinness and the rigors of my Trials, I was no more than skin over muscle over bone, a pathetic creature, tortured and bleeding and terrified. But alive. And, even more importantly, sane. My mind had not failed me, though at times I had feared for my flesh.

I was weak as a child when shining, beautiful Lysander Malfoy stepped forward and pushed the cowl off those glorious platinum tresses. He looked like an angel, and I almost choked on my aborted laugh. Lysander was no more an angel than his son. Lucius was at his side, disrobing as well. The full complement of Death Eaters removed their hoods, one by one.

I had succeeded, then.

"Well, Severus. You surprised me." Lysander's thin lips curled in a sneer. "I assumed you were too much of a coward to survive." The assembled Death Eaters rustled around the periphery of my awareness, and I was reminded of nothing so much as scuttling beetles. "Now, be a good lad and bend over, or we'll have to tie you up."

"What?" I was aghast. "I passed the Trials, did I not?"

"Oh, yes. This is just a bit of neighborly service before we place the Mark in your flesh. Trust me, you won't be up for it when we're finished." The jarring joviality made my already-abused stomach churn.

Lucius laughed cruelly and kicked at me until I'd assumed the requisite position on all fours. I tried to relax my body, tried to just open myself and let it happen. Even so, Lysander made me bleed, and Lucius made me choke, and it only went from bad to worse thereafter.

//oh, Merlin help me, he shouldn't feel good inside me, shouldn't be such a delicious pain and I want to suck and squeeze and make these bastards moan//

"You've been too tender with him, Lucius," Lysander scolded, huge cock violating me over and over as Lucius responded by yanking on my hair and shoving punishingly down my throat.

"Is this better, Father?" Lucius smirked.

"Yes, that's the way. That's my good boy." I was rather glad, in that moment, for Lucius' cock crammed down inside my mouth, or I'm sure I would have said something to get myself killed.

Finally, it was over, and one of the Death Eaters who declined to partake of my services picked me up off the cold stone floor and hauled me over to the rough-hewn altar. I knelt and held out my left arm. I thought I was sufficiently prepared. After all, it's a simple tattoo. Considering my activities with Lucius of the past year, a needle in my flesh is of little consequence. Almost laughable, really.

I loathe being wrong.

The spelled needle cut a swath through tender skin, infusing it with magical ink. The ink burnt coldly as it seeped into my body, permeating fragile cell barriers, and I could almost see it weaving into my DNA, altering me in fundamental ways. I lost control of my clenching stomach and vomited all over a Death Eater's robe. How déclassé.

It wasn't the pain. It was the corruption that made me sick. I felt like someone shoved rotten, greenish meat down my throat, like maggots were squirming in my stomach. I forgot what beauty was, and love, and joy.

No, again, not strictly accurate. And as any devotee of potion-making will tell you, accuracy is the prime virtue of the art.

I forgot everything but beauty, and how delicious it was to mar. Love, and how easy it was to manipulate into hate. Joy, and how exciting it was to steal.

Small voices screamed in my soul, protesting, but even they were silent in the end. Not dead, but slumbering. Still breathing despite the pillow shoved over their mouths.

After an eternity lost to pain and sickness and a thousand little deaths, I rose from the floor and walked, straight-backed from the circle. I was fully one of them now, and they recognized it. Smelled it, like the beasts they were. I shrugged on my robe, and reached for my wand.

It cringed in my palm. And then...

It shattered.

I wound through the bustle of Diagon Alley, relieved that there would be no students here. No risk of running into familiar faces. Lysander had owled Hogwarts, saying I was ill and that I would be late returning from my weekend staying with Lucius. I had the day to replace my wand, using the pouch of galleons Lysander had laughingly pressed into my palm.

Enough to buy a wand, and whatever else might capture the fancy of a young Death Eater. I actually smiled at him when he said that, and dropped to my knees for him, sucking his cock with a professional skill and equal enthusiasm. I do believe I made Lucius jealous.

Luci was a terrible cocksucker, bless his black, microscopic little heart.

I stopped outside Ollivander's, fear washing over me suddenly. Old man Ollivander...what if he could see? What if he knew what happened to my wand?

Well. So what if he knows?

I pushed open the door, an oily smile on my face. For long moments, I just stood there, gazing at the rows upon rows of dusty little boxes, and eventually I began to wonder if the old loon was actually there.

"Mr. Snape. Willow, unicorn hair, 9-and-a-half inches." I bowed sarcastically after only the tiniest flinch of surprise.

"I'm afraid I come in need of another wand," I spread my hands disarmingly.

"Why, Mr. Snape. Whatever happened to the old one?" He cocked an eyebrow and leaned nonchalantly against the counter.

"I broke it, alas. A potion gone awry..."

"Pity. She didn't much like it, did she?"

"She? The wand?"

"Of course," Ollivander said, looking at me like I'd grown a second head. "You never even figured out your wand was a 'she'? No wonder you failed her."

"I failed it? Rather the other way around." I bit out the words, striving very hard to keep my patience about me.

He took several steps forward, and I could have sworn he was scenting the air around me. His wild white hair fell over his shoulders as he turned his head quizzically. "Let me see what's left of her, then."

"I don't have it with me." I stared him down.

"Nonsense, boy. She is in that green-embroidered pouch on your belt. Have her out, if you please." His tone left no doubt that he was quite serious. Still, I resisted, drunk with my newfound power.

"Just sell me a new wand, old man, and spare me your eccentricities. I'm sure all the little First Years find you suitably intimidating and mysterious. I, however, am not impressed." I used my best haughtier-than-thou inflection.

Ollivander sighed heavily and held out his hand. A box flew across the room into it, and he opened it with an avid, almost lustful look on his face. "Ebony, Veela hair, 11 inches and uncommonly thick."

Oh, yes. I liked the idea of having a Veela-hair wand. "That will do sufficiently."

"My, you are a foolish boy." Surprisingly supple, unwrinkled fingers pulled out the shiny, black wood, and a dexterous flick of his wrist sent me flying across the room, solar plexus connecting hard with the edge of the counter. "This is my wand."

My eyes watered from the sudden pain. "Oh, very funny," I choked out.

"No, not at all." Rough fingers ripped the laces to the pouch, yanking it off my belt and upending it on the counter. Another wand tap, and I realized I couldn't move my wrists or ankles. "Mr. Snape, you need to learn to respect those older and more powerful than you."

Ollivander's fingers ran through the shattered bits of wood and frayed ends of shining silver hair. "Oh, you poor dear. I see how it is now. Exactly as I suspected, yes."

"Oh, honestly." I was becoming very seriously annoyed indeed. It's a measure of my standards that fear hadn't even entered into the equation. Really, what could he do to me, that hadn't already been done, and by professionals, no less? I might prefer someone beautiful like Lysander or Lucius doing the raping and hurting, but such is the nature of life that one's preferences are very rarely taken into account. "You've got me where you want me, old man, so take your pound of flesh, sell me a damned wand, and let me get about my business."

"Mr. Snape." Ollivander strode purposefully behind the counter and leaned down to look me right in the face. Years had melted off him in the space of a few breaths, and he was...different. Hair still an almost-blinding white, eyes a deeply startling silver, like small full moons on perfect cloudless nights. The whites of his eyes were...midnight black. "You are a very sad little boy."

"And you aren't human."

"Sad, but intelligent." He smiled his approval, and one of his remarkable hands combed through my hair. I arched into his touch, well trained body responding almost without my noticing. Certainly without my authorization.

"I'm most assuredly not sad. I am quite in control of my life, and pleased with its direction. Now, if you will please get on with it?"

"You are a finely crafted little playtoy, aren't you? I find that immeasurably sad." The nimble fingers were wonderfully warm as they cupped my cheek and raised my head up. He moved in closer and breathed his next words against my hungry lips. "Arousing as fuck, but sad."

The obscenity, uttered in that elegant, rich, cultured, gentle voice made me faintly dizzy as the blood in my brain shot down into my cock. My wounded pride, however, was stronger than any erection. "Are you going to sell me a fucking wand, or not?"

"My dear, sad child. I've been selling wands to wizards both darker and lighter than you since before the Muggles' Christ was born. Of course I will sell one to you. Scruples are bad for business." The last word was hissed against my cheek in a way that sent shivers down my back. "First, though, you must apologize to her."

"No. I will NOT abase myself to some pieces of wood and hair." I spat out the words angrily.

"She served you well for six years, child. You owe her an apology for taking the Dark Mark, and hurting her so badly she shattered. Her spirit will not be free until you do, and I will not conscience that." The words may have been sharp, but the small kisses he trailed over my cheekbone were not. I shivered again and tried to angle my face, to press forward just a little more, but he had me well and truly trussed.

Then my brain made it past the quality of the words, to the meaning, and I stiffened in panic. He knew?! It was simply not possible. The Mark was not visible. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I told you, it was a botched potion. Veritaserum is exceedingly volatile in its coalescent phase."

"I can smell it on you, child. I can taste it on your skin." To illustrate, he darted out his pink tongue and flickered it against my ear. "It is...a decadent flavor. Sinful and sweet, like overripe peaches."

"Such things tend to make one sick." I whispered. I was now, quite legitimately, I believe, terrified. Getting caught was not in my master plan. Azkaban is not an option. Losing my mind is not something I can face.

"When 'one' is immortal, one can eat what one pleases." Ollivander was smiling, a slow, contemplative smile. "And my, you are very frightened. They must love your fear."

"Are you going to notify the Aurors?" I barely managed to give breath and voice to the words.

"No, child. I am not. You will simply apologize." He loosened my bindings, without virtue of the wand. I was almost...disappointed. "I care not which path you take, though I must say that your current companions will not keep their promises to you, nor will they allow you to achieve the rather magnificent potential I can feel stoppered within you."

"You don't care that I'm...that I'm a Dark Wizard?" I asked, incredulous.

"My child, to me you are all sputters. Brief flashes of lightning. Only the art endures, and so it is only the art that deserves my full attention." He swept the pieces back in front of Snape. "Apologize."

I thought about resisting, simply to be contrary. Then, I remembered something called professional courtesy. I may not view my potions as sentient creatures (thank Merlin I'm not quite that far gone yet) but the concept, the passion, is the same. And, fear aside...I wanted Ollivander to bend me back over that damnable counter and make me walk bowlegged for a week.

I gathered the fragile, sharp pieces into my hand and held them tenderly. "I am deeply sorry that my choices caused you pain. I will most sincerely miss working with you."

"Tell me, child. Would you like her back?" Ollivander was obviously favorably impressed with my apology.

"Yes, but..." I stroked the familiar grain of the wood. "Won't...she...break again?"

"For you, she would try to remain whole." His melodic voice was tender as he held one long-fingered hand over the shards and spoke words in a language I'd never heard before. I learned, many years later, that it was Fae. The pieces of wood and hair reformed in my hand, pieces knitting together smoothly, even and without seam. When she was cradled once more in my palm, I couldn't believe how beautiful she was. How...hollow I had felt since she shattered.



No. That was assuredly not a productive or particularly revelatory thought path. My hand curled loosely, almost protectively, around her, and I actually murmured my thanks to her before hanging her safely from the special loop in my belt.

My nipples tightened almost painfully, forcing me to realize that I was cold, though it was close and stifling in the shop. And Ollivander was just watching me, arms crossed, leaning against the counter, hips canted and positively radiating at me.

Surely he knows how warm he feels, even at armslength?

"Why are you cold, little one? You humans usually find it too warm in here." A small smile played across his lips, and suddenly his distance, his cool, mirror-beauty reminded me of Lucius. The illusion of warmth, my childish passing fancy of comfort in his arms, passed out of me and I straightened my robes.

"I am quite well, I assure you. What do I owe you for repairing my wand?" I fondled the purse of money hanging beside the wand, enjoying the solidity and heaviness of the gold. It grounded me and reminded me who I was.

"You are a surprising creature, my child. Going from hungry to disdainful to haughty so quickly you make my head spin." Ollivander's quirk of smile bloomed into a grin, and it changed everything. "Perhaps you have had your fill of cold, remote beauties who can fuck you, hurt you, make you love it, then walk out again with not so much as one blonde hair out of place?"

My heart pounded against my ribs, and I couldn't help myself. I knew he was playing me like a game of chess. I knew his care was an illusion, but I wanted it. Merlin, how I wanted it.

In the end, it was Ollivander who closed the small distance between us and cupped my cheek in one (thankfully) warm hand, thumb stroking the prominent arch of bone. "Have you ever simply made love, for the joy of it, to feel your body sing?"

I shuddered violently, a million denials on my lips. Tenderness was for the weak. Sex was a tool. I didn't 'make love', I fucked, and fucking's no different than going to the bathroom--a physical need that didn't translate to anything higher at all. But, the uncompromisingly honest, analytical part of me that made me a master of my art at only seventeen knew his words rang True.

It was bad enough that Lucius had created me, bent me and shaped me and trained me, but I did the same to Peter. I may not have left him bleeding and broken, but I showed him no tenderness. I had taken his virginity with perfunctory care, cold and distant despite the love I saw in his eyes.

And I realized, as I turned my face to kiss the smooth palm, that I had no idea how make my body do beautiful things. Joyful things.

"Tell me what you want, child."

"Show me." Even in that, I was commanding. I smiled wryly and softened the statement. "Please?"

"Sweet little one." His lips brushed mine, and I leapt forward, abruptly starving. Lucius didn't kiss, and I didn't let Peter, either. Right then, I couldn't fathom what on earth I'd always found so distasteful. I simultaneously realized I would likely vomit on Lucius if he ever tried to kiss me.

Ollivander held me and let me deepen the kiss, one hand on the small of my back, the other cradling the back of my head. He responded in kind, tongue slipping between my lips, stroking along mine. His manner was focused and intent, but not the least surprised, as though he knew this would happen. As though having an armful of desperate, ravenous teenaged Death Eater was a matter of course for him.

I sucked on his tongue, so warm and slick. He tasted vaguely of anise, of the licorice-innocent childhood that I'd never had, but always craved. I probably tasted vile, like old blood and corruption, but he kissed me all the same. My very first kisses.

I was so hard as he cradled me close, moving my head, angling me for ever-deeper tasting. Somehow, I'd ended up turned, and pressed against the counter, his lean body fitted to mine. My erection throbbed against his belly, but I felt no answering hardness. Puzzled, I dug my hips harder against him, searching, hungry for his arousal, whimpering into his mouth.

"Shhh, little one. Never fear, I want you." He murmured slickly against my mouth. Strong, beautiful hands steadied me as he lifted me with careless ease, winding my long legs around his waist and locking the shop door with a glance.

"But...you're not..." I was almost sobbing, panicked that I wouldn't be able to have him. So hungry, so fucking needy. He has to...Has to.

"Human, remember?" Ollivander smiled mischievously and nuzzled my neck, biting gently at places that gave me hopeless shivers. I clung to him as he climbed a short flight of stairs up to some fairly ordinary-seeming rooms above the shop.

Truthfully, with his teeth doing such marvelous things to my skin, I only really noticed the large bed with its divinely soft-looking duvet. He laid me down across it, and looked down at me with what I could have sworn was fondness. I decided then and there that I would pretend he really cared for me.

"Are you frightened, child?" He began unbuttoning his shirt, head tilted as he studied my reaction.

"Frightened? No." My voice was blessedly normal. "Fascinated, and impatient." I licked my lips as he pulled his shirt apart, somehow unsurprised that he completely lacked nipples. Smooth planes of light pectoral muscle, with nothing to mar the purity of the lines. Beautiful.

"Do you know what fascinates me?" He asked, leaving his trousers on for the moment and straddling my hips, busy fingers making short work of my own robes and shirt. I shook my head, struck dumb by his sheer...presence. The white head bent and his pointed, pink little tongue lapped maddeningly at a hardened, brown little nub. "Nipples on men."

I writhed under him, slutty words dripping from my mouth as he spent what felt like hours nursing from my nipples--biting, suckling, licking. Insistent fingers pinched and pulled at whichever poor peak wasn't receiving his mouth's attention. My cock leaked a dark stain across the front of my trousers, and I cried out over and over. I needed more, anything, but I never wanted this to end.

His pale lips were reddened and swollen when he finally released my nipples and pressed down firmly against my aching prick. Begging words, pleading words, were finally rewarded as he wriggled down and unbuckled my belt. He turned the slide of the zipper into an erotic tease, nosing along the parting fabric until he freed my cock, which slapped wetly against my belly.

"You don't pass out when you come, do you?" My trousers were slid past my hips, then over my knees to pool at my ankles. I still had my shoes on.

"N...no. Please, please touch it!" I'd forgotten everything I ever knew about dignity.

"Touch it? Your gorgeous, weeping cock? I'll do considerably more than touch." One of his long fingers found its way into my mouth and I sucked on it convulsively as he licked the exposed head, moaning as my prick released more precome into his mouth. Oh, I was so close that little pinpricks of red light were exploding on the back of my eyelids. "Open your eyes, Severus. Watch what I'm doing."

I forced myself to comply as he extracted his slippery finger and used it to press at the tender skin below my tight balls, then rubbed at the tiny, hidden hole. I opened for him so fast I was sure, somewhere in my mind, it must have made me seem a whore. His finger drove past unresisting muscle and found the little gland, pressing it firmly and rubbing at the same moment he swallowed my cock into his throat.

The molten heat coiled deep in my belly exploded from my pulsing cock in great, heavy waves, only to be devoured by Ollivander's clever mouth. My last thought before black stole across my vision was 'I hate to break a promise..."

I came to just a few moments later, but it was enough for my lover to strip me naked, and himself as well. "That was a challenge, before, not a question." I smiled up at him, and he tangled his legs with mine and bent down to kiss me tenderly, fingers brushing my over-sensitive nipples again.

"Smart lad." He nuzzled the side of my face, behind my ears, scenting me, maybe marking me. I didn't care. I'd rather wear his brand...I sighed. Again, an unproductive train of thought.

I used my hips to tip him over onto his back. "May I?" I'd never asked permission to touch, before. It made me feel noble.

"Please. I'll tell you what to do." He smiled contentedly and propped himself up against the headboard and pillows. Ollivander's body was so smooth, so perfectly pale. No scars or cuts like Lucius or Lysander, no little flaws like Peter.

The flesh between his legs was smooth, too, with a small, glistening slit splitting the delicate arch of pubic mound. "Are you a..." I looked up at him quizzically, not wanting to offend him.

"Female? No, Severus. Never fear. Your homosexuality is safe with me." He grinned at me, and I found myself laughing. Laughing! During sex! "Touch, and slip two fingers inside, to start."

I felt my cock stirring again as I stroked a thumb over the wet heat, delighting in Ollivander's restless little moans. "Like this?" Two of my long, dexterous fingers pressed inside him, only to encounter a slick hardness about four inches in. He gasped and spread his legs wide, arching into my hand as the rigid flesh extended palpably toward my reaching fingers.

"Very...goddess...very good. Now..." He panted and stumbled over his words as I managed to slip a third finger inside and surround his penis (or so I presumed), stroking it carefully and loving the way it arched toward me, closer and closer to the point where I could get my lips around it and taste. "Oh, your instincts are far too good."

"Does it come all the way out?" I nudged the insides of his thighs with my nose, rubbing my face against the soft flesh. I licked at the opening, around my fingers, provoking more of those wanton, delicious noises and soft little curses. He tasted wonderful, still of licorice, but with an overtone of musk that made my mouth water.

"You'll...oh, Severus...you'll see." I had no idea how long I coaxed and rubbed and licked, but when my tongue found a miniscule hidden nub at the bottom of the slit and flickered against it, I was immediately rewarded with the emerging head of his cock nudging my lips. With a grateful sigh I sucked it in, enjoying the lubricated smoothness of it, the pink vulnerability. There was no defined glans, just a spike of sensitive flesh to suckle. It felt good, comfortable, in my mouth.

I wanted to feel it inside me, and that need only intensified as it grew longer and thicker. I took his prick into my throat and massaged it with well-trained muscles, delighting as much in his groans and pleas as in the organ's progress from its warm, moist cavity.

"Severus!" He was scrabbling at my head, fingers gentle even in his extremity, stroking at my hair instead of grabbing. I looked up with a mouthful of cock and a raised eyebrow. "Bring your hips here, let me open you."

I was on the verge of protesting that I didn't need preparation. I was quite happy sucking this magnificent cock and then taking it just as I was. But...maybe. Just this once, it might be nice...I scooted about obediently, settling my knees under his shoulders. Ollivander purred, hips writhing and cock pulsing faintly. Long, sensitive fingers spread my arse cheeks apart, stroked over the delicate, crinkled flesh of my opening.

I hummed my appreciation, vibrations transmitting through the slick, beautiful prick in my throat. He probed gently at my hole for what felt like forever--rubbing in little circles, slipping in just a fingertip here, a thumb there. Enough to drive me mad, and force me to plot my revenge. I remembered the little nodule at what was now the base of his cock, and found it with my fingers, rubbing it as I sucked.

In answer I felt his growl resonate against the tender flesh of my inner thigh, and his fingers left my opening to pull my hips down. I cried out around the cock as I first felt his tongue lave the little hole. No one had ever done such a thing for me. No one had ever cared so much for my pleasure. And, oh, it was excruciating pleasure as he bore down with more force, slipping his tongue into the loosened pucker as deeply as it would go, then withdrawing again to tease the hungry little mouth.

I gave up on sucking and just swallowed his prick and kept it there, practically convulsing as I staved off my second orgasm, my own cock spitting precome into the hollow of his throat, across his gorgeous, pristine chest. Desperate, I let him slip from my mouth and pulled away from his maddening tongue. "Too close. In me now now please." I was sure I should be ashamed of my incoherent need, but I simply couldn't stop myself from begging.

"Yes, yes, little one. Lie back." He sounded just as ragged as he guided my near-senseless body down to the bed, arranging me gently on my back, and spreading my legs. I hooked them around the sharp juts of his hipbones, and nearly cried when he wrapped one arm around me, holding me close while the other hand guided his glorious cock to my grasping hole.

He locked his alien eyes with mine as he filled me, one agonizing inch at a time. There was no pain at all as his long, arrowed shaft entered my passage, only a long, slow glide of sheer bliss. Finally, he was buried to the hilt in my willing body, stilled and gasping above me. I couldn't speak, not even to demand that he move. His other arm encircled me as well, and my flexible hips canted up so that our bodies were lying nearly flush.

I whimpered and squirmed and sighed as he just lie against me, until he grinned at me again and brought our mouths together. Ollivander's kisses were so sweet, even when they were filthy tongue fucks like this one. He hit my prostate on the first try as he pulled out a few inches, then slid back in with a definitive shove. I cried out into his mouth and simply allowed him to do this to me. I didn't try to urge him on, to make him go faster, or harder, even when it felt like the little gland inside me was swollen raw from his slow, deliberate, forceful thrusts.

When he felt me near the brink, he stopped altogether and licked at the tears of need and frustration that leaked from my tightly closed eyes. "You are beautiful, Severus." The tears turned to sobs as one more stroke broke through my control, sending me crashing into orgasm, spending myself with frantic fervor onto our slick bellies.

"So, so beautiful, my firefly." I laugh-sobbed at the endearment. Brief, but bright. Yes. Ironic for one so dark as me. "Not so dark. Just so hungry." I didn't even notice that he read my mind until I thought about it, relived it, much later.

Ollivander brought me easily to climax twice more, until my body was so wrung out, so sated that I couldn't even move. Only then, my arms wrapped round him as tightly as his had been around me earlier, did he let himself find his own release, howling out with fierce joy as he spent his strange, sweet seed inside me. By now, of course, I was raw, and sore, and I couldn't remember ever feeling better.

After, we lay together as the shadows lengthened in his pleasant bedroom. We talked, a little, and I told him why. Why Lucius, why Lysander. Why the Dark Lord. Why I was so starved for attention and approval and love that I did all the things Lucius wanted, and why I ended up loving them. I was shaking by the time the story drabbled out of me, a sentence or two at a time interspersed with kisses. He didn't talk, didn't judge. Just listened. I was grateful.

"I can only say one thing in response to all this, my firefly." Ollivander carded his fingers through my hair. "They will misuse you. They will not allow you to achieve your potential, because then you will be a threat."

"What...I can't do anything about it." My left arm ached dully, still, a rude reminder.

"Betray them, before they betray you. Just...be smart about it." Ollivander kissed my forehead and we rose from the sticky, sweaty bed. He washed me up, quite tenderly, in the large tub, then dressed me again like a child. I allowed it, pondering his words with a sort of desperate hope.

"How?" I asked as I paused by the shop door.

"Don't do it yet. But when the time is right...talk to Albus." He gestured with his ebony wand, and the patina of age fell over him again, a most convincing glamour.

"Am...am I allowed back here?"

"Yes, firefly. You'll know when to return." I wasn't the least bit repulsed when soft, wrinkled lips pressed mine in a farewell kiss.

The Malfoy carriage dropped me off at Hogwarts after curfew. Indeed, it was after midnight as I descended into my dungeon, fending off Argus Filch and his filthy feline with a letter from Lysander. The dorm rooms in the Slytherin Dungeon were very small compared to those in Gryffindor Tower, or the Hufflepuff Arboretum, or even the Ravenclaw Athenaeum. As a result, seventh-year Slytherins had only one roommate apiece.

I was, on the whole, obscenely relieved when Lucius was given the odd-man-out single. My own roommate, Vincent Goyle, and I had an understanding. I knew his dirt, and he knew mine, and we were secure in the knowledge that if either of us told, the other would simply kill the informant.

It may have been an embarrassment that I am fucking a Gryffindor, but his girlfriend was a Hufflepuff.

Vincent was still out when I arrived, but I could hear a soft, rhythmic snore arising from my curtained bed. Peter. Of course he'd been waiting for me. He was a good boy. Followed orders. I undressed quietly and parted the bedcurtains to look at him. He was childlike in sleep, flung carelessly onto his back, one arm over his head, the other splayed across the soft, gentle rise of his belly. His golden hair was in messy, slightly-damp curls, and his mouth was pink and delectable.

He was not unlovely to me. He never had been. I'd always found him a comforting weight, the only thing in my life devoid of sharp corners and clever angles. Stocky legs had kicked off the green duvet, and he was obediently naked. His hips bore my bruises, his torso my teeth marks. His short, thick cock rested heavily against his thigh.

I crawled in next to him, and pulled the lighter blanket up, curling around his solid body. He turned into me and his pretty blue eyes opened sleepily.

"Sev?" Peter shouldn't adore me like that.

"Hush, Peter. I want..." That mouth looked delicious. Why had I never seen it before? I pressed my lips to his, almost shy, and his eyes widened comically. He blinked at me for long moments, then wrapped his arms around me and kissed back, moaning in surprised delight. I felt like I was giving him a gift, with my kisses. My hands were gentle as I rubbed his back, and I wasn't angry in the slightest when he pressed his erection to my hip with a plaintive little cry.

"Mmmph...sorry, Sev." He murmured against my mouth, pulling his hips back, denying himself my heat. I had done this to him. Now...now I wanted to fix it.

"No, Peter. It's all right. I want you to tell me a thing." I kissed him again, then nuzzled his round cheek. "If you could have me do anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

"Any...anything?" He gasped as I cupped his delicious arse and pulled his prick back into contact with my body. "Is this a test?"

"I mean it, Peter. I want you. I want this."

The pad of his thumb traced my mouth, and his eyes were fixed on my lips. "I would like for you to s...s..." He blushed beet red.

I captured his thumb in my mouth and suckled it strongly. "Tell me."

"Suck my cock." I could feel the hard flesh in question spurt a slick little burst of precome against me at the excitement of saying such a thing.

"Wonderful." My own tired cock was taking a half-hearted interest, utterly refusing to respond to my brain's rather significant arousal. I kissed down his body, paying special attention to the dark rose of his small nipples. And when I took his erection into my mouth, I made love to it. It felt so good against my tongue, filling me perfectly. The right length to suck without even the faintest fear of choking, and so thick that it was substantial and satisfying.


Peter cried out loudly, wantonly as I pleasured him. I felt like an infant with a pacifier. I knew no one had ever done this for Peter before. After months of getting reamed to within an inch of his life, he was getting his first blow job.

He didn't, couldn't last long, but I vowed as he wriggled and cried out incoherently, trying to stave off his orgasm, that this wouldn't be the last time I sucked him off, or kissed him, or held him tight. When he came, it was explosive. His entire body went rigid, then burst into a frenzy of motion and desperation. I drank him down eagerly, moaning in turn, my cock finally growing fully hard despite its twitching protest. I took him back into my arms, and he clung to me in a way that just this morning I would have called pathetic.

"Oh, Sev...that was...thank you," Peter murmured sweetly into my neck, while his hand moved down to stroke my sensitized prick. "I've decided to do as you asked me."

"Hmmmm?" I was drugged with this simple pleasure, slow and heavy like a snake after an overly ambitious meal.

"Last week, silly." His hand was so soft, so careful as he moved the foreskin up and down. "I'll tell you where Lily and James go, what they do, after graduation."

Oh, no. I'd forgotten. How could I have allowed myself to become so distracted? My overarching mandate from the Malfoys: create an inroad into these powerful Gryffindors. Why, I couldn't understand--they were obnoxious children at the best of times--but I set about seducing Peter. It was almost insultingly easy to break him down. To make him fall in love with me.

"I can't imagine why you're so interested in Lily and James, though. They'll be the boring ones, you know," he prattled on sleepily, stroking all the while, bestowing wet kisses to my neck, then my chest. "James off to work for Gringott's, and Lily interning in the psychiatric wards at St. Mungo's with Edwina Longbottom. Remus and Sirius will be the ones doing exciting things, what with becoming Aurors and all."

I took his hand from my cock and kissed his palm. "Not this time, Peter. This was just for you." I cringed inwardly as he curled gratefully around me. What had I done to this sweet boy?

"Good," I told him, heart shattering in the smallest increments. "I knew you loved me enough to do as I asked."

"Oh, I do, Severus. I know you have good reasons. I know it'll all work out right."

"Yes, of course it will, Peter," I lied. "It'll all work out exactly right."