Fandom: Harry Potter
Warnings: Slash, graphic sex, tentacles, dubious consent
Spoilers: Through Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (very few)
Summary: Percy is determined to earn brownie points with the Ministry by determining, once and for all, exactly whose side Severus Snape is really on, and what he's up to at Hogwarts. However, Snape has his own ways of keeping the Ministry out of his business.
Notes: The "Transformations" series is a set of requested fics I wrote for winners of a name-that-quote contest on my personal blog. This one's for Synn, whose request was, "Something slashy from Potter. How about Percy/Snape?"
The word was a hissed breath, drawn out unbearably, then killed with a soft click of the teeth. Percy Weasley found himself paying an inordinate amount of attention to the sound.
It was the first thing his captor had deigned to say to him. The fact that the final ‘t’ was accompanied by a wand slapping against his cheekbone, the tip resting just under his eye, didn’t help matters.
“What were you doing, snooping around my personal possessions?”
“The Ministry has a right to know –” Percy began.
“The Ministry knows what it has been told, and that is sufficient.”
The wand moved off his skin, and performed a complicated little manoeuvre in thin air, just at the edge of Percy’s vision. It was the first time it hadn’t been pointed directly at him since the man Percy had been sent to spy on had discovered him, and had thrown him roughly against the dungeon wall, where Percy now stood, like a deserter facing the wands of a firing squad. He glanced desperately at the door, calculating whether he dared make a run for it… and then something shifted in the wall behind him. He could feel whatever the thing was, rough and warm as a cat’s tongue, slithering over the back of his neck.
Percy shuddered and yelled, trying to twist away. A blunt weight settled on his shoulder, scratching his skin and forcing him still. Percy leaned back heavily against the wall and tried not to breathe as the thing inched forward, almost gently, to wrap around his neck.
Oh, Merlin. It wasn’t something in the wall; it was the wall, transfigured into a thick, writhing band, like a snake. As Percy struggled to catch his breath, a second band twitched into being just above his hip, slowly extending to circle his waist. Smaller tendrils wrapped around his wrists and ankles.
“Professor Snape,” Percy panted, “I hardly think that the Ministry is going to find your attitude helpf – ack!”
The stone cord around his throat tightened infinitesimally, and forced his head up to meet Snape’s implacable black gaze.
“I hardly think the Ministry is going to hear about this little… misadventure of yours,” Snape murmured softly. “Are they?”
The stones were warm from their transfiguration, and pulsed hideously, as if blood were running through them. In spite of the warmth, Percy felt suddenly cold.
“If you kill me, they’ll –”
Snape gave a small, contemptuous wave. “Nothing so crude.”
Severus tilted his head slightly, enjoying the ill-disguised panic on the Weasley boy’s face. Now, what to do? Harming the presumptuous sprog was out of the question, unfortunately. But he could hardly have Weasley reporting back to the Ministry that Snape had blocked his little ‘investigation’. On the other hand, if the boy were too embarrassed to say what had happened…
He’d seen the way Weasley looked at him, back when the tick had been his pupil. The worst of the Gryffindors – the ones who thought they were so far above the rest of the school as to be holy – often developed that look: a tincture of fascination and fear, the flavour imperfectly masked by pretended contempt. That was when Severus knew he had them, as surely as he had the Slytherins who openly vied for his approval. It was an inch away from desire, that look, and with the right pressure –
“Why don’t you tell me what you really want here?” Severus put his head very close, almost laying it on the boy’s shoulder, so that his breath brushed his captive’s overheated skin. Weasley shivered and twisted, though he had no room to move away.
My, my, trembling already. This would be easier than Snape had imagined.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Weasley gasped.
“Oh, I think you do.” And Severus moved his wand arm.
The same horrific grating noise erupted all around Percy, and he could feel the wall closing around the perimeters of his body. He yelled in panic, imagining the stone flowing over his eyes, into his mouth, crunching his skull and ribs beneath that slow, sickening weight –
But the wall imprisoning him did not tighten it grip. Instead, the strangely warm stone at his sides shifted, became a set of thin tendrils on either side of his body. The effect was odd, almost as if the stone were cradling him. Individual strands shook free and began to stroke his arms and legs. Percy’s once-impeccable formal robes shielded his skin from the rough surfaces, but did nothing against the pressure, or the heat of the stone’s… caress was the only word for it, he had to admit. Percy’s skin was already over-sensitised, braced for the torture he expected, and the delicate touches felt unbearably good.
The stone collar around his neck held his head up, so he couldn’t watch what the enchanted tendrils were doing to him. Each touch was a fresh shock, and when the stone curled and gripped Percy’s robes, tearing them open, he hissed at the rush of clammy dungeon air. Then his eyes met Snape’s amused gaze, and Percy yelped and squirmed, suddenly conscious that he was more or less naked from the shoulders down – and that it made the effect of the stone’s fondling him very clear.
“Not as proudly defiant now, are we?” Snape asked softly. Percy tried to formulate an answer – he’d gotten as far as “sod off”, and decided it would have to suffice, when one of the tendrils snaked out to caress the underside of Percy’s cock.
The world whited out.
It was the ghost of a touch, barely brushing against him – any harder, and the jagged surface would shred his skin. Percy shook, petrified and yet wanting, against all logic, to arch into that sinuous heat. Without quite knowing what he was asking for, he whispered, “Please…”
Snape smirked. And then – deliberately, plucking at his robes with fastidious fingers – he knelt, and vanished from Percy’s sight.
Oh Merlin, that’s Snape’s mouth, that’s Snape’s mouth on my – Percy groaned, unable to move, unable to watch, unable to do anything but feel. The wet heat was at once so astonishing and so good, so human after the eerie tickle of the stone, that Percy couldn’t possibly last long. The stone tendrils wrapped around him more tightly, gently scratching his bare stomach and hips – Snape’s tongue moved languidly over his skin – and Percy came with a sharp, hunted cry.
The tendrils retreated, melting back into the wall. The stone restraints uncoiled slowly, and Percy stumbled as they set him down. Catching himself, he turned to stare behind him, and saw only a dungeon wall, green with rank moisture and cool to the touch.
“Now, by all means, feel free to tell the Ministry about your adventures,” murmured Snape in his ear. “I’ll even lend you my Pensieve memory – if you feel that the image of you writhing and begging, with your cock in your former teacher’s mouth, would add a certain vividness to your account.”
Percy folded his ruined robes around himself and refused to speak. After a long moment, Snape muttered a brief spell. The remains of the robes knit themselves back together. Then Snape retrieved Percy’s wand from his desk drawer – where it had been lying like a student’s confiscated toy, Percy thought ruefully – and tossed it to him. “Get. Out.”
Percy smoothed his robes and stalked off without a word.
And for months afterwards, he lay awake at night, wondering if he dared to go back, and to let himself be caught again.