Summary: Harry and Draco have shown an affinity for sex magics and guess who has to instruct them? Start of their 3rd Year.
Warnings: Chan (somewhat), unbeta-ed.
Published: 21st December 2003
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine (but JKR’s), even if the pervy idea is.
Harry made his way down to the dungeons morosely, his steps slowing down as he neared the Snape’s office. First day of term and he already had detention. Stupid Malfoy. The two had ran into each other on the train and one insult led to another, until the two boys found themselves tussling in the narrow corridors.
And just his luck, they had to be caught by Snape. Twenty points lost from Gryffindor before they even had a chance to earn any, none from Slytherin of course, and a detention. To his gleeful surprise, Malfoy was similarly slapped with a detention. The other boy had tried to protest but Snape had given him an irritated look and said, “Do you want to make that two detentions, Mr. Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s eyes had widened at that glare and he ducked his head with a flush. “No sir.”
Turning around the last corner, Harry couldn’t hold back a groan when he saw a familiar blond walking towards him. Snape was going to make them serve detention with Malfoy?
“Bloody hell!” Malfoy groaned at the same time. “It’s bad enough Snape made me serve detention, but to serve it with you?”
And then they were in front of Snape’s office door. The two boys glared at each other, leaning so close their noses were almost touching, almost vibrating in their anger. Harry stared into Malfoy’s blue eyes balefully, so pale and icy they were almost silver, his fingers twitching. *Why* did Malfoy *always* had to ruin things for him? Second Year had been a bad year for him, though it did end on a better note, and he really wanted to start Third Year on a positive note.
The chime of the hourly bell startled them and they sprang apart. Malfoy turned with a sniff and rapped smartly on the heavy door.
Harry shivered; Snape’s commanding deep voice never failed to evoke a frisson of fear from him — just a tiny bit — and tonight, Snape sounded more irritated than usual. Even Malfoy paled slightly before he remembered he was Snape’s favourite, and squared his shoulders and went in first. Harry stepped in after the Slytherin and the heavy door swung shut silently behind him.
“Messrs Malfoy and Potter.” Professor Snape sat behind his desk, hands steepled in front of him, his eyes appearing even blacker and unreadable in the gloom of the dungeon.”I am highly disappointed in you. Getting into trouble before you’ve even stepped back into school.”
“Sir, it was…”
“Silence!” Snape’s glare snapped towards Malfoy and the boy quailed. “I am particularly peeved at you, Mr. Malfoy. I had expected better from students of my own House. Brawling like a common hooligan on the floor. What would your father say?”
Malfoy’s eyes flickered between Harry and Snape, obviously torn, but his fear of his father was evidently stronger than his pride. Harry was surprised when the blond boy whispered, “I’m …sorry Sir. Please.. don’t tell my father. Sir.”
Harry saw something like approval flicker in Snape’s eyes and he gave a curt nod. “I’ll overlook this just once, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Thank you, Sir.” The look of relief on Malfoy’s would be comical, if Snape’s glare hadn’t swung to him.
“I fail to see what’s so amusing, Mr. Potter.”
“Sorry Sir.” Harry tried to look as contrite as he could, ducking his head and peering up at Snape from lowered lashes. But Snape didn’t look mollified. Damn Malfoy. The potion master’s pet would probably walk away scot-free without a detention after his cloying little act while Snape would make him clean his cauldrons with a toothbrush.
“It’s just as well,” Snape muttered crossly to himself. He stood up and turned in a swirl of black robes.”Follow me.”
“Sir?” Malfoy ventured tentatively as they trailed after him in confusion. Snape brought them into a room that looked suspiciously liked his personal quarters. Harry’s eyes darted from side to side in avid curiosity.
Strange. He somehow imagined Snape’s personal rooms to be as dark and gloomy as him, but while the rooms weren’t as bright as those in Gryffindor Tower, they were not as bad as he thought. There wasn’t much by way of furniture or possessions, but what Snape had appeared to be of high quality.
A dark green couch with matching armchairs and ottomans ringed a large rug in front of the hearth, plush and inviting. A round dining table set stood in the other side of the room and bookcases, filled with books and various interesting-looking objects, lined the walls. The furniture and room were dark, but rather than seem oppressing, it exuded a comfortable, cocoon-like atmosphere. Snape settled down in one of the high wing-backed armchairs in front of the fire and waved them to sit down in front of him.
Malfoy seated himself on one of the ottomans, looking poised and at ease despite the weirdness of the entire situation. After a moment’s hesitation, Harry followed the other boy’s lead and sat down gingerly, almost expecting the low, padded furniture to bite him. Why did Snape call them in here? Surely he didn’t expect them to clean his rooms — don’t the teachers have house elves for that? If he wanted to lecture them, he could have done so in his office.
“Now, I had been told to call the two of you in anyway, so this was convenient,” Snape said. “And stop looking so worried. This isn’t a detention. In fact, forget about your detentions. There are more important matters to attend to now. Do you remember the magical affinity tests you took at the end of your second year?”
The two boys nodded, both looking considerably relieved but still perplexed. Harry wondered why Snape was telling them this. Well, Malfoy was in his House, but him? Shouldn’t Professor McGongall be telling him about his magical affinity test?
Malfoy must have been thinking the same thing. “Sir? Why is Potty… I mean Potter here then?”
Snape grimaced sourly. “Because the two of you are special cases and I’ve been saddled with the unfortunate task of …mentoring him as well.” Unspoken was the fact that Snape had absolutely no problems with Malfoy as his student.
Harry blanched. Snape, his mentor?
“I have something in common with Potter?” Malfoy cried out in aghast.
Snape’s lips curled momentarily in amusement. “Yes. It is a very rare ability — hadn’t surfaced in years actually — and now the two of you happened to have it. What irony.”
Malfoy shot Harry a jealous glare. “Surely some other Professor would be more than happy to take on the Gryffindor Golden Boy.”
“You’re more than welcome to Snape, Malfoy,” Harry snarked back.
“Shut your mouth Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek. I will not have that kind of disrespectful language from you,” Snape snapped. “Do you think I’m thrilled with this arrangement myself?”
Could his day be any worse? What a horrid start to the year! Harry groaned, slouching down unhappily.
“And what ability is that, Sir?” Malfoy turned back to Snape.
“Well, first let me go over the rest of your test,” Snape held out his right hand and two papers came sailing across the room, one red and one green. He read from the green paper first. “Mr. Malfoy, you’ll be pleased to know that your innate magic rates very strongly and that you have a natural talent for potions, as well as some affinity for transfigurations.”
Malfoy sat up straighter, a smirk on his face.
“Mr. Potter, your magic ability is also considered to be very strong,” Harry perked up at that, “and you show promise in charms, which include the darker alternatives such as curses and hexes, though I couldn’t tell from your abysmal grades, and some minor skill in dealing with magical beasts.”
Well, that was accurate enough. DADA and charms came easily to him, even though he never really tried hard. Harry thought of his parseltongue ability gloomily. Oh yeah, he had some skill in dealing with certain magical beasts all right.
Snape placed away the papers on a side table and steepled his hands in front of him. “In addition, the two of you show an affinity — a high affinity too — for sex magics.”
“Sex magics?” Harry squeaked. He knew that… well, he didn’t *really* know, but everybody’s heard of it — it’s just something you *know*, but you don’t discuss. The boys would all guffaw and punch each other on the shoulders whenever the word ‘sex’ was brought up, and Harry always laughed along. Sex, well, it’s…
Harry *really* didn’t know.
*Sex* magics? He stared at the rug, unable to look up, not wishing to say anything that would confirm his ignorance on the subject but still certain Snape already knew and that there would be a mocking sneer on Snape’s face. And Malfoy…. He sneaked a peek at the other boy.
To his surprise, Malfoy was looking very pale. “Sex… magics?” His voice wavered, all traces of his over-confident drawl gone.
Harry glanced at Snape and got a second surprise. Snape looked …apologetic and concerned. “Unfortunately, or perhaps not, you heard me correctly, Mr. Malfoy. Draco.”
Malfoy shook his head stubbornly. “No! I can’t be! I mean, I’ve heard of…” His voice trailed off and he was breathing rapidly.
“Calm down, Mr. Malfoy! Breathe and slowly!” Snape snapped out, leaning forward in alarm. Abruptly getting to his feet, he strode across the room to a closed glass cabinet.
Malfoy closed his eyes and took large gulping lungfuls of air. His normally pale face had turned alarmingly translucent. Harry began to feel even more worried. Previously, he had just been extremely embarrassed. What was so bad about sex magics that had Malfoy practically panicking?
“Better now? Here, drink this.” Snape returned, carrying a small vial. He handed it to the blond boy, laying a reassuring hand on a shaking shoulder as Malfoy drank. “Look, it need not be that bad. That’s what I’m here for.”
“But I’m a Malfoy! A Malfoy isn’t supposed to be a …” Harry strained to catch the next words, his own eyes widening as he heard them. “..a whore.”
“What’s that?” Harry asked timidly. What was a whore? “What do you mean?”
Malfoy didn’t look up but sank his head down into his hands with a dramatic moan.
“Why me?” Sighing, Snape sat down in his chair again, his expression dour. “Oh do stop that, Mr. Malfoy, and get a grip on yourself. It isn’t all that bad. Perhaps I should first explain to Mr. Potter here, who obviously has no idea what’s going on. A common state for him, I’m sure.”
Harry scowled at Snape, to no effect of course.
“Sex magics means just that; magic associated with any sexual act. It is not restricted to the act of penetration between two people; oral sex and even foreplay are included as sexual acts. In fact, the wizard or witch who is skilled in sexual magic can often generate almost quite a fair bit of sexual magic required from masturbation alone…”
Snape paused, looking disgustedly at Harry, who gave a perplexed look and an eloquent, “Huh?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” The dark man leaned back in the chair wearily. “Sex. To have sexual intercourse. To copulate, rut, mate. Shag, fuck, bugger, screw, bang or whatever you brats are calling it these days. Do you understand the mechanics or do I have to draw a diagram? Do you *even* know what sex is, boy?”
Harry flushed to the roots of his hair. “Of.. of course I do.” And he did! Um… vaguely. At Snape’s sneering, expectant expression, he replied hurriedly, “You need two people…uh… one boy and one girl, and it seems to be painful; a lot of groaning and moaning.” At least that was what he remembered from listening through the cupboard door when his uncle watched late-night shows, while his aunt and cousin were asleep. Harry personally thought that sex sounded painful, and now to learn that he had a *talent* for it…!
Snape swore under his breath and Harry cringed. “What are they teaching the brats nowadays? Did you think to look it up? Find out more about it? Oh wait. I forgot; you’re a *Gryffindor*.” A scornful glare impaled him, and though Harry was shaking with indignation, he couldn’t find any ready retort. “Rest assured, boy, that you will learn all that and much, much more.”
“But what if I didn’t want to, Professor?” Malfoy spoke up, his voice fearful and brittle. “I’ve heard horrible stories…”
“Probably uninformed snatches from your peers, no doubt.” Snape turned his attention back to his blond charge, his expression softening just a bit. “It *is* true that there are wizards and witches with sexual magic affinity who were captured and used as sex slaves. It is *also* true that there are similarly talented wizards and witches whose sexual services are eagerly sought after for a very, very high price.”
“Expensive high-class whores, but still whores,” Malfoy said derisively, some of his old sneer coming back. Harry wondered what a whore was; he had heard the term before and it usually meant something…someone bad. A worse insult than ‘git’.
“Mmm.. yes. You can look upon it that way. They are still in control of the …services they provide however; they dictate the terms and extent, and I think that makes all the difference.” Snape gave a barely perceptible shrug. “I personally chose not to judge so harshly, and as a Slytherin, I’m sure you know why.”
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. So did Harry. Everything felt simply surreal to him.
“And it is definitely true that there are wizards and witches who chose not to prostitute that talent. Who chose not to announce it to the world and who can protect themselves with defensive wards so strong even Voldermort himself cannot break. Ironically, those said wards would probably derive their strength from caster’s sexual energies. ”
“Oh.” Then, “how do you know?”
Snape smiled thinly. “Why do you think, of all of the possible faculty members, I was arm-twisted into teaching you control of this sex magic?”
“Voldermort doesn’t know of my affinity either. Nobody except people who I want to know, and I cannot stress enough the importance of keeping this a secret. From Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger especially. Both my secret, and yours. I would not hesitate to oblivate you if I think you cannot keep your mouth shut.” His eyes drew an oath from Malfoy, who immediately nodded, and then turned to Harry, who nodded as well.
Learning sex magics from Snape? Snape, his mentor? Harry was starting to feel a little sick.
Another thought struck him. He would most likely be studying with Malfoy… Now Harry really felt ill.
Snape could tell that Draco wasn’t fully convinced, but no matter. He was still young and opinions at that age were fickle and malleable. Draco could be such a drama queen sometimes. It was a Malfoy trait. It would be easy to change his mind. Snape certainly was looking forward to teaching the pretty little blond *just* why and how sex magics can be a good thing. A *very* good thing.
He had made token protests in front of Dumbledore and Minerva — who had been flushing and spitting in indignation — but really, he found himself looking forward to the task.
In a way, it had been fortunate that he had caught those two fighting; it gave him the perfect excuse to get them down in his dungeons *together*. He did feel a pang of guilt at Draco’s hurt expression and resolved to make it up tomorrow, probably by being extra mean to the Gryffindors during Potions.
Potter —*Harry*; he had better get into the habit of thinking of the boy in more familiar, intimate terms — on the other hand, was totally clueless. Gryffindors.
“Why us, Professor?”
“Potter has strong magic. How can he not? He is The Boy-Who-Lived.” His words were sarcastic and quickly drew their desired effect. Potter, who had been looking rather white, flushed hotly and scowled at him. Delectable, really. Potter might look like a little street-urchin, with unkempt hair and glasses that didn’t quite sit properly on his nose, but he has potential. Snape raked his eyes down the skinny frame. Yes, no doubt — Potter just needed someone to clean him up. Such Gryffindor passion, flaring at the slightest provocation and searing in its heat. While he still hated Potter, he cannot deny that teaching the brat posed an …intriguing challenge.
“And you,” he turned to look at Draco with a lazily widening smile, “I suppose it’s most likely due in part to your Veela ancestry, diluted as it is.”
“Veela?” Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, and then opened even further in comical shock as the implications of that sentence *really* sunk in. “*Father*?”
“Why yes. Lucius does have a small talent. Not as strong as yours, however.” Snape could feel his lips curling up with a sultry smile in remembrance. Of hot, young male bodies and cold Scottish nights that never seemed quite that cold. Of giddy explorations behind drawn and spelled bedcurtains, and sneaking back early on Hogsmeade weekends when everyone was still out and locking themselves in the Prefects’ bathroom. They literally made magic together.
“Father?” Draco squeaked out again. “But, he’s…”
Snape snickered. “You know that old adage about those who protests the most vehemently. It’s just for outward appearances though.”
“Oh. Well. That made sense, I suppose,” Draco said dazedly.
“And done right, Mr. Malfoy, sex magics can be a great source of power. Do not be so quick to reject it.”
As he had anticipated, that line drew him in. “Power, Professor? How? Show me?” The young Slytherin was clearly curious and excited.
“Take off your robes.”
“What? Here? Now?” Draco darted a glance of twinned embarrassment and apprehension towards Potter. “In front of him?”
“Yes,” Snape snapped. “You want to learn, you will learn to obey me first! Do not worry; Potter will get his turn.”
“Yessir.” Chastened, the blond boy lowered his head and slowly fumbled with the clasp on his school robes. It was at the tip of Snape’s tongue to hasten him along, but he realised that he was enjoying Draco’s bashful strip-tease.
“Now the rest of your clothing.” Draco looked as if he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Snape approved; Draco could think for himself and yet he knew when to obey too. Most importantly, Draco obeyed *him*. A Slytherin tie slid to the floor like a snake, followed by a white shirt. When he hesitated, small hands on the buttons of his trousers and eyes darting from Snape to Potter, Snape took pity on the boy. With a small wave of his hand, the fire in the hearth banked down, casting the room into flickering shadows. A whispered word and the ottoman beneath Draco stretched and shifted into a divan.
“Lie down. Now ease off your pants. Everything. Yes, that’s it.” Snape purred, modulating his tone, lowering it and smoothing his cadence comfortingly. He knew his voice was one of his best features and he now wielded it like a master, wrapping the nervous boy in the deep silks of his voice.
“Just focus on me. Draco.” Somehow, using one’s given name was always more intimate, more personal. He could see the slight tremor that ran through the blond and he found himself leaning forward expectantly. He could *feel* Harry watching, gawking, but he ignored the other boy. For now. Now, in the darkened room, it was just him and Draco.
Merlin, but Draco was beautiful. Still young, but rather than looking gangly and awkward as teenagers of his age tended to, all limbs and clumsy hands, he looked more coltish. Already, he was exhibiting that envious Malfoy grace as he reclined back in a ripple of languid silver and smooth cream. The colour highlighting his high cheekbones and the not-so-inconspicuous way he tried to shift his legs so as to cover his growing erection was simply endearing.
“Touch yourself, Draco. Run your hands along your throat, and down your chest.”
Long-fingered hands ghosted over the pale throat, hesitantly at first, and then more confidently. Snape saw the tiny goosebumps that raced along Draco’s arms as he ran his hands over his shoulders and smirked. So Draco was sensitive there? “Rake your nails lightly over your shoulders, yes. Does it feel good?”
“Yes,” Draco moaned softly, a tiny shudder rippling through his slim frame. The blond Slytherin closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as he arranged himself more comfortably. Snape shifted as well, surreptitiously plucking the front of his robes.
“Now touch your nipples. Pinch them. Yesss… Didn’t know that they could be an erogenous zone for a male, did you?” Snape watched hungrily as Draco explored himself.
“Now down your stomach and along your hips.” Pale hands followed his instructions, sliding down the smooth planes of a toned stomach. Quidditch was a *marvelous* sport; Draco already had the beginnings of a eight-pack. Snape fought the urge to lean over and run his tongue down the deep and oh so enticing crease down the center of his stomach.
There would be …other times.
“No, not yet. Don’t touch your cock until I say so.” Draco paused and then his hands fluttered uncertainly back over his hips. “Good. Stroke your inner thighs, yes, higher.” Snape watched as he teased the blond mercilessly, controlling him with nothing more than his voice and keeping him at the edge. “Cup your balls and fondle them.”
“Pl..please.” Draco’s erection was hard and leaking, and no doubt painful for the teenager who had never experienced sexual restraint, even if he had played with himself before. Draco shifted uncomfortably, his hands occasionally straying close to his weeping cock but never daring to touch it.
“Please what?” Snape smirked.
“Let me come. Please. Sir.” Draco panted, his hips canting up unconsciously. His legs fell open as he writhed, his earlier modesty gone. He really was a wanton creature, just like his father. More than once, Snape had suspected incubi contributions to the Malfoy bloodlines.
“Hm.” Snape purred, considering. Draco was young and inexperienced, and the ritual was simple, but already he could feel the thick stirrings of the boy’s magic. Yes, Draco had a *definite* talent for sex magics. Interestingly, he could feel faint tendrils of magic from Potter as well. Well, voyeurism was a weaker form of sex magics after all.
Draco gave a whimper.
“All right. Now stroke yourself.”
Immediately, Draco’s hand flew to his cock and a couple of quick, hard strokes later, he was arching up and coming violently. Snape stared, transfixed and bewitched. Or bewizarded. Even the way the blond climaxed, arching up with a feline ripple, was elegant. Draco came with an almost silent moan and it was suddenly Snape’s personal goal to see if *he* could make Draco *shriek*. Pearlescent cream splattered over the flat stomach and Snape almost groaned aloud at the erotic sight. He bit down on his lower lip, the sharp pain serving to center his thoughts once more, and stood up.
He knelt down beside the trembling boy and dipping his right index finger in the still warm semen, he quickly traced out a series of runes over the boy’s chest and abdomen. Softly, so as not to break the sensual, languid atmosphere, he murmured the corresponding incantations. Draco watched him with sleepy grey eyes and his expression, though confused, was relaxed and trusting. He finished the last stroke just as he uttered the last syllable, and the runes glowed silver for a moment before sinking into the creamy flesh.
“Just a very simple spell. An example of how useful sex magics can be.” Snape licked his cum-stained finger clean, smirking as Draco’s eyes followed his tongue and pink blossomed over his cheeks. But he could tell that Draco knew what the spell did. His eyes were bright, his expression alert and amazed.
“For a normal wizard, such a spell would scarcely make a perceptible difference, but for you… Well, let’s just say you’ll be most pleasantly surprised in your classes tommorrow.”
Standing up, he murmured a simple charm and Draco was clothed again.
“Professor?” Draco sat up, a curious look on his face. “Does it…”
Snape shook his head. “I’ll answer more of your questions tommorrow, Mr. Malfoy. Now it is late and you should be getting back to your dormitories to sleep.” And I need to wank off before I can go to sleep, Snape thought ruefully.
“I’ll see you and Mr. Potter here tomorrow evening, nine sharp.”
Draco’s eyes flew to Potter’s; he *had* forgotten all about the Gryffindor, and both boys blushed crimson. Delightful. Snape fought the urge to cackle evilly. Perhaps having two neophytes — two young, nubile, gorgeous neophytes — would be a very good thing after all. Especially this particular pair; the animosity and tension between them practically *crackled*.
“Out.” Brusquely, he packed them out of his door with a most useful charm. He felt a bit of a bastard at treating Draco in such a curt manner — he couldn’t care less about Potter — but it was because he was currently a bastard in *pain*. It was all Draco’s fault anyway; he hadn’t been this hard in quite a while, not since…
Oh yes, this term promises to be an interesting one indeed, but first… Snape reached into the jar he kept on his mantle, adjusted his too-tight pants under his robes with the other, and threw a pinchful of floo power into the hearth.