The Istfy's Curse
It was a very concerned Severus Snape who left the Dark Lord's office in the Death Eaters' headquarters. He needed to return to Hogwarts as fast as possible. Lucius had found, among the dark objects he used to buy in the most obscure places in the Wizarding World, an Egyptian parchment, and had it translated by an expert on hieroglyphs. It was none other than the recipe of the potion to the infamous Istfy's Curse, a ritual to sexually enslave one wizard to another. Lucius, who had always been one of the greatest sycophants surrounding the Dark Lord and who had became even more subservient after being released from Azkaban by a group of Death Eaters, had tempted his Lord with the idea of performing the Itsfy's ritual. Obviously, the insane idea had pleased the perverted and megalomaniacal mind of their Master, and now Severus had been ordered to prepare the potion that would enable the Dark Lord to enslave Harry Potter.
Severus had studied the parchment and its translation carefully. The potion seemed difficult, because its base was formed by many Egyptian oils and unguents that required lengthy and complex preparation, but Severus knew where to acquire them. His mother's family was Egyptian, and when he was a kid she had taken him to the Land of Punt, a secret, mysterious place, isolated from the rest of the wizarding community. Severus used to go there frequently to buy oils and herbs, and also to remind himself of the only period of his life when he had been truly happy. Severus could read hieroglyphs, but he wouldn't let the Dark Lord know he could. And he wouldn't let him know that the translation Lucius had obtained for him was dreadful.
Like much ancient Dark Magic, the potion was a blood magic one. In order to complete it, Severus would need a few drops of Harry Potter's and the Dark Lord's blood.
According to the parchment, the effect was immediate and extremely intense. If the enslaved wizard or witch didn't have a sexual intercourse with his or her "master" in less than twenty-four hours, they would become insane and would kill themselves in despair. And if someone else tried to have an intercourse with the "slave", the body of the "intruder" to the bond would be consumed in flames instantly at the first touch of the master's genitals with the slave.
Severus hadn't dared ask his Lord if he intended to take Potter sexually. If the Dark Lord were wise, he wouldn't do it; he would simply let Potter die. But even if the sexual act were consummated, the curse wouldn't end. Slaves had to be taken by their masters at least once every twenty-four hours.
Obviously, Severus wouldn't make this potion, or at least wouldn't make it correctly. But if he failed, the Dark Lord wouldn't forgive him. For the moment, Severus had done the only thing he could: he had tried to gain time. He had told the Dark Lord that the potion was extremely complex and would take a month to be completed. That was a big lie. As soon as he could have the ingredients on hand - which would take no more than a day or two - the potion would take only half an hour to be completed. The Dark Lord had allowed Severus to make the potion in Hogwarts, but the ritual would have to be performed in the Riddle House, in the Dark Lord's presence. This way he would ensure that his blood wouldn't be used for anything else.
Severus sincerely hoped Dumbledore would have a solution to the problem.
"Severus, this is very grave," said Dumbledore, in front of a copy of the parchment and its translation, which Severus had laid on the Headmaster's desk. "This ritual is extremely powerful. Flamel mentioned it to me once. I seem to recall he felt we were lucky that the recipe had been lost."
"It's a potion; there must be an antidote," Severus mused.
"And I'm sure you will be able to find it. But will we have time? We cannot take the risk."
"We have a month to do it."
"We cannot be sure. What if Riddle suspects you are deluding him? He can hire another expert on potions who could finish it in less than a day, according to your own words."
That was true. However, almost all the other "experts on Potions" available in the Wizarding World were charlatans, and probably wouldn't know where to acquire the oils. If they tried to prepare the oils themselves, the potion would take about two years to be made. Even so, the risk for the Golden Boy was too great because, with his powers and his many allies, the Dark Lord might find someone with knowledge about Egyptian potions and who would know about the existence of Punt.
"Headmaster... There is a way to block the Istfy's Curse and prevent the enslaving of Potter by the Dark Lord. However, this won't make the situation... agreeable to Potter."
"And what would it be?"
"We could cast the Istfy's Curse on Potter before, bonding him to another wizard or witch. By doing so, we could protect Potter; if the Dark Lord tried to take him, he would be the one to die beforehand."
Dumbledore frowned. "But that would be... unacceptable."
"Not if this other wizard were you, Headmaster."
"Do you want me to sexually enslave my pupil? Sometimes you worry me, child."
"Headmaster, better you than the Dark Lord!"
"Severus, I'm a symbol of the resistance against the Dark Arts; I can't afford to compromise my principles." The Headmaster stroked his long beard. "We have to find another wizard. Or perhaps a witch?"
Severus arched an eyebrow. "From the way your Golden Boy has been staring at Mr Smith, he's as camp as a row of tents."
"Zacharias Smith, of Hufflepuff?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "How interesting."
Severus didn't like when Dumbledore made that face. He had a bad feeling about it. "Perhaps we should ask him to whom he would like to be sexually enslaved?"
"Severus, I will ponder further on the subject before making a decision. In the meantime, would you please research everything you can about the Istfy's Curse?"
"As you wish, sir."
When Severus was called again to Dumbledore's office the next day, he found Harry Potter already there, pale as a corpse, sitting in front of the Headmaster's desk. Severus cursed inwardly.
The old wizard's voice tried to convey calm, but a deep weariness punctuated his words. "Severus, Harry has already been informed about the Istfy's Curse."
Severus saw Potter turning and looking at him with an angry expression. The idiot boy was certainly blaming him for that too. Severus was tired of being the scapegoat for the Golden Boy. He greeted the boy with a nod, trying to keep cool. "How can I help you, Headmaster?"
"Have you found anything else about the Curse?"
"I hardly had time to do any research. I could only start to study the individual action of the ingredients in the general composition."
"I've explained the whole situation to Harry. I've even mentioned the... alternative we are contemplating."
"And... what was the outcome?" Severus didn't like the direction the conversation was taking.
Potter stood up, his face suddenly flushed. "I don't want any of my friends involved in this. I won't let them risk their lives because of me!"
"Very noble of you," said Severus. "However, this won't do any good if you die and the Wizarding World loses its saviour."
"Calm down, Severus, and sit down. You too, Harry," said the Headmaster. "There's no need to be upset."
Potter sat down with evident reluctance. The last thing Severus wanted was to sit and stay there. He was Dumbledore's slave, even without any binding curse involved, and he had to comply. "Headmaster, would you be so kind as to tell me why have I been called here?"
"Severus, Harry has chosen you as his Master."
The words didn't seem to make sense. Severus felt a sudden dizziness and had to lean on Dumbledore's desk. Darkness fell upon him. Then he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He rose up his head and saw the concerned look of Albus Dumbledore.
"Are you unwell, Severus?"
Severus remembered the words that had made him dizzy: Harry has chosen you... He stood up abruptly. "What? Has he become insane? He has decided to be my slave because I'm not one of his friends? What is the logic in this? What about you, Headmaster? Are you going to agree with this nonsense? He's my student!" Severus turned to face Potter, but the boy seemed in shock.
" If he let himself be enslaved by one of his friends, the emotional pressure on him will be stronger. He will feel guilty for imposing a burden on a friend. It will be better for him if there is no emotional involvement," Dumbledore argued.
"No emotional involvement? But he hates me more than he hates the Dark Lord!"
"Now, Severus, don't talk like that. We trust you."
Severus couldn't help a snort. What had Dumbledore done to make Potter agree with that? It was too absurd. It couldn't be happening. "What about my situation regarding the Dark Lord?"
"You will continue the masquerade that the potion will take a month to be completed. When the time is over, we will announce Harry's death, and he will be hidden in Grimmauld Place. Luckily, classes will have ended at this point, and Harry will have finished his studies."
Yes, they were lucky that the Dark Lord always decided to act in June, thought Severus, not without a dose of self-sarcasm. "He's my student!" Severus shook his head. "You don't seriously expect me to..."
"We don't have another solution! Everything will be kept a secret. Only the three of us will know about it. Madam Pomfrey will have to know a few details too, but not the whole story. And no one else will know."
Severus glared at Potter. "You don't expect him to keep this a secret from his friends, do you?"
Severus saw Harry clench his fists and Dumbledore walk to his student's side. "Harry will be discreet."
Yes, this time he probably will. Just imagine how humiliated he would feel if his friends knew he had been made a sexual slave to his greasy Potions master.
Suddenly, the idea of having Harry Potter under his control didn't seem so bad. Severus felt divided. Part of him rejected the idea as absolutely revolting. Having sexual intercourse with a student, almost a child, was atrocious. However, another part of his being was looking forward to the opportunity to avenge himself for all the humiliations he had suffered at the hands of the Golden Boy, his father and his father's friends. Severus looked at Albus Dumbledore angrily. How could he force him to deal with his darkest side again? Wasn't Dumbledore the one who didn't let Severus teach Defence Against Dark Arts because he feared that Severus might let himself be seduced again?
Then Severus noticed that, while he was lost in his musings, Dumbledore had continued speaking.
"... you will have to spend your nights together..."
"What?" Severus couldn't believe less in what he was hearing.
"It's necessary. You know it is, Severus. You will be in a special
room inside the castle, a room under Fidelius. We will tell Harry's friends
and the staff that, as Harry is having nightmares and at risk of being
possessed by Riddle, he will have to sleep in a special room in the hospital
wing, under Madam Pomfrey's care. But Harry won't stay in this room; he
will Floo to the room I've mentioned. And you, Severus, will go there
straight from your chambers, as soon as the curfew begins." Once
again, Severus could only shake his head while the Headmaster went on,
"You told me you can gather the potion's ingredients in one day.
I would like you to do it tomorrow, and if everything goes fine, you may
prepare the potion on Saturday. Harry will meet you in your laboratory
on Saturday evening, and you will explain to him, carefully, everything
that will happen between you."
"After that," the Headmaster was saying, "you will go by Floo to your new bedroom. You don't even need to know its location; I just have to tell you its name, so that you can use the Floo. I named your bedroom 'Sekhet-Aanru'. It means 'Fields of Peace', Harry."
Severus almost laughed hysterically. How poetic, to give the name of the Egyptian Paradise to the hell where he and Potter were going to spend their nights!
"You had everything planned out, didn't you?" asked Potter, his voice trembling in fury.
"You must understand, Harry, that your safety is my main concern."
Severus clenched his fists and sank his nails in his own palms. He needed to vent his helpless rage on someone, even if it were on himself.
The Seven Sacred Oils were among the ingredients Severus needed to prepare the Istfy's potion. He checked in 'The Pyramid Texts' and found the list of its components: Festival Oil - fresh and dried frankincense, fir seeds, and other aromatics; Hekenu - nedjem*, wood pitch, acacia, fresh and dry frankincense; Sefet - a fir seed based oil and unidentified ingredients; Nekhemet - wood pitch and pine with other aromatics; Tewat - similar to Festival with other resins and herbs added; Best Cedar Oil - nedjem, lotus, white frankincense; Best Libyan Oil - wood pitch and other unidentified flowers. There were many unidentified ingredients in the oils, and only a few Egyptian wizards knew how to make them. Their preparation was very complex; the Hekenu, for instance, took almost a full solar year to be completed.
Severus knew what he had to do. He walked to the castle's gates in order to Apparate to the Great Market of Punt.
The Great Market of Punt was held inside a monumental half-ruined temple. It was chaotic, but a place of temptation for a Potions master. As Severus's time was scarce, he tried to focus on the task at hand and ignore the seductions that appeared on his way. He stopped in front of an herb tent and bought balsam, labdanum, lily oil and bdellium.
He found the Seven Sacred Oils in the tent of a middle-age wizard with a wig and no hair on his body, as it was usual among the wizards of the Land of Punt. Besides the Seven Oils, Severus found another oil necessary for the potion there, the Madjet Oil, composed of nedjem, lotus, and frankincense, as well as pine resin and kernels, cyperus grass, juniper, cinnamon, and antiu (a variety of myrrh). The whole recipe was based on animal fat and took nearly two years to complete. Many of those oils were not really oils, but pastes or unguents. The bottles where they were stored were made of marble or alabaster, and they were very expensive. Severus tried to bargain, but in vain. It was useless trying to bargain with Egyptians; they would always win in the end. Dumbledore had assured him the costs would be refunded by the Order of the Phoenix. As for who exactly financed the Order, Severus had never asked.
He still had to find the 'Secret Min Unguent', dedicated to the worship of the God Min-Amun. Its recipe called for sweet flag, pine kernels, juniper and other obscure herbs. This recipe was unique in that it also called for the addition of minerals such as lapis, carnelian, red jasper, turquoise, gold and silver. It was a colourful, exotic and expensive preparation. Severus had to ask and search around for a long time until he found it, in the darkest corner of the vast temple.
The wizard who was selling it seemed older than the others in the Market. Surrounded by statuettes of Min (the god of sexuality and fertility, always represented with his erect phallus) the old wizard looked at Severus mistrustfully. "You're not a native of this Land. I hope you know what you're doing," said he, in Egyptian.
Severus looked back at him, aggravated, and replied in Egyptian, "Why do you say this?"
"Because many curses cannot be undone easily."
"Do you have special... knowledge... about curses based on this oil?"
"Oh, I've devoted all my life to study the secrets of Min, but I'm still an apprentice."
"Are you always here?"
"Everyday, from morning to evening, even on Sundays."
"Very well. I'll take the unguent."
Severus took the beautiful alabaster vase and left the temple, wondering if he should return on another day and buy a glass of wine for the old wizard.
He Apparated by the Hogwarts' gates and, exhausted, walked back to the castle.
Severus slept terribly that night, the eve of the day when he would have to prepare the potion for the Istfy's Curse ritual.
The idea of having sex with an inexperienced boy who felt only hate and disgust for him was very disturbing. And the fact that he didn't reject the idea as vehemently as he should was even more disturbing.
The strict control Severus exerted over himself would have to be strengthened if he didn't want to be in the same hell from which he had escaped sixteen years ago.
Sometimes he wondered if Albus Dumbledore wasn't darker than the Dark Lord.
Harry couldn't sleep that night. He spent the morning sulking and avoiding his friends. Finally, he grabbed his Firebolt and flew out towards the lake.
At lunch, he only ate because Hermione wouldn't stop pestering him if he didn't. Ron kept looking at him worriedly. Harry had told them the official lie that he would have to sleep every night in the hospital wing, under Pomfrey's surveillance. Harry couldn't tell which of them had become more concerned: Hermione wanted to know the details; Ron seemed to want to erase the problem from their minds and their life. If they worried about that, what if they knew the truth?
How humiliating it would be, to beg to be taken by that ugly git! Harry didn't want to think about it. Why couldn't he lead a normal life? Why did all these weird and horrible things have to happen to him all the time? It wasn't fair, especially now that, for the first time since he had realised his preference for members of the same sex, Harry had found someone who seemed interested in him: the way Zacharias looked at him was unmistakable, even for someone as inexperienced as Harry.
He had considered the possibility of asking Zacharias to be his Master, but it would have been too embarrassing. Zacharias didn't have anything to do with the fight against Voldemort, and probably wouldn't take on the task. Anyway, even if he did, it would be horrible. Harry didn't want to depend on a friend that way. The wizard who agreed to enslave him would have to be available for him every night. Dumbledore was right, unfortunately. Snape was the only one available.
At four the'clock in the afternoon he went to take a bath, gritting his teeth in rage. The thought that he was cleaning himself for the greasy bat left him nauseated. The thought that those yellow fingers would touch him, that... No. Harry didn't want to think about that.
At five o'clock, as they had previously agreed, Harry knocked on Snape's door. Harry's heart was hammering wildly in his chest.
The former Death Eater opened the door in his usual black robes. "Potter," he said, his voice dripping contempt.
Harry didn't bother to reply and just entered the office.
"Follow me to the laboratory. The potion is in its final stages. I will explain the... procedures to you."
The Potions master whirled around, robes swishing behind him, and walked towards the contiguous room.
Bastard. He was certainly eager to see Harry's shame, disgrace and humiliation.
Harry followed after him, walking slowly, and entered the laboratory dragging his feet. He noticed Snape was using a golden cauldron to make the potion, which exhaled an intoxicating fragrance. Harry coughed.
"Do not inhale the vapours, or you will faint. This potion is highly intoxicant. It shouldn't be drunk; it's only a ritual potion. Modern magic banned those potions, but in the ancient times they were very popular."
"Dumbledore told me you're going to need my blood?"
"Naturally. It's blood magic." Snape was staring at him with his piercing eyes. Harry felt like shrinking into the floor. "Don't think that I'm pleased with the situation, Potter."
Harry thought he was going to die of shame. He didn't know where to hide. Trying to muster up some courage, he lifted up his chin. "Let's just do it, okay? Whinging won't get us anywhere."
Snape raised an eyebrow and held his spatula to stir the potion. "As soon as we add our blood, the potion will be ready. I will say the spell and the bond will be formed." Harry swallowed hard and waited for Snape to continue. Snape stared at him firmly, but the hand that held the spatula didn't seem very firm. "You will feel an irresistible attraction; the sensation will become more and more intense and unbearable. If in about twenty-four hours we don't have a complete anal intercourse, with you as the passive part, you won't survive. Your drive to submit sexually to me as a slave will be overwhelming and unavoidable."
Harry felt the blood flow to his face and hated himself for that. He wanted to be as cold as Snape appeared to be. Except for those trembling hands...
"Have you had sex before, Potter?" Snape asked abruptly.
Harry clenched his fists. Why had he to stand that?
"Answer me, boy."
"No," said Harry through gritted teeth.
Snape sighed audibly, leaving Harry even more enraged. Snape took a knife from his worktable and cut his own arm, right above the Dark Mark. He let a few drops drip onto the cauldron. Then he touched his arm with his wand and murmured a spell to close the cut. "Now it's your turn. Come here."
Shaking, Harry approached and stretched his arm out to him. Everything was too fast: an excruciating pain, the hot blood flowing out; Snape stretching Harry's arm above the steamy cauldron and then pulling it back and closing its cut.
His arm still hurt a little, and the vapours had left him dizzy. Snape flicked his wand above the cauldron and murmured, "mk thw m bak y"**
Harry felt his entire body shudder, his blood boil in his veins and a magnet-like force binding him to Snape.
Snape... Snape was surrounded by a brilliant, colourful halo... Harry's heart shrunk. Snape lowered his wand, his arms along the side of his body, as if waiting for Harry. Harry's body responded to each one of Snape's movements.
"Come with me, Potter." Snape turned and walked to the fireplace. The feeling of void became more and more intense as Snape went away, and Harry rushed behind him, trying to get closer and extinguish that sensation. Snape stretched his hand out to him to give him the Floo powder, and when Snape's hand touched his, Harry gripped it eagerly. Snape sighed, and pulled him against his body resignedly. Snape took him in his arms and threw the Floo powder into the fireplace himself. "Sekhet-Aanru."
Harry clung to Snape and leant his head on Snape's shoulder. Oh, Snape's scent, Snape's body rigid against his... Harry's cock was already hard and throbbing. He couldn't think of anything else.
Luckily, Snape laid him on the bed, because he didn't think he would be able to stand up. However, when Snape let go of him, he panicked and grabbed him with all his might. "No! Don't leave me."
Snape held his arms firmly and pushed him against the mattress. "I must verify if the room is adequately protected."
"I-- I can't stand it."
"The intensity of the spell will diminish, as soon as we... do what
has to be done."
Snape sat on the bed, on the purple blankets. "Do you want me to touch you?" Snape asked, in a dry and formal tone.
Harry let a moan escape from his throat and nodded, feeling miserable. Then Snape looked at him oddly, as if surprised by his reaction, and made a gesture for him to come closer.
Suddenly, Harry was on Snape's lap.
Potter was pure lust. There wasn't revulsion or hate. Only desire. And Severus... was touching him. Touching that boy that had irritated him since the first time he had seen him; that arrogant, reckless boy in front of whom everyone bowed and curtsied. And the fact that he was the Golden Boy and son of James Potter didn't seem to have the importance that Severus expected to have.
Perhaps the bond didn't work only from him to Potter; perhaps Potter also affected him. That was strange; the parchments didn't mention anything of the kind.
Perhaps it was that look of worship in the boy's eyes, and the way each of Severus's touches elicited an immediate and intense response from him. Severus had never felt like that, as if he were a god to another person. He knew the pleasure of being feared, but not the one of being worshipped.
Settled sideways on his lap, Potter squirmed against him, trying to get as much contact as possible. The boy's eyes were closed now, maybe in disgust, but maybe just in shame. Severus felt divided between the desire to protect him and to dominate him. He wrapped his arms around the boy's waist and buried his face in his neck.
This was wrong, he thought. He didn't love this boy who was now moaning and writhing in his arms. He didn't need to stroke him like that. He just had to fuck him. That was what he should be doing.
He felt the first signs of arousal in himself. To make things worse, he realised he was sensing the boy's feelings; he was in tune with the boy's sensations. Severus growled and turned Potter in his arms, pulling the boy's back against his front. Potter rested his head back against Severus's shoulder, moaning low. Severus felt the excruciating pain and lust the boy was feeling. Severus would have to make him come now; then he would do what he must - when they could be more in control.
Potter continued to tremble and twitch in his arms. Severus took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. He lifted the boy's robe. Potter's white briefs couldn't conceal his erection. The boy jerked up his hips towards Severus's hand.
"Hold still," Severus snarled, while his hand slid beneath
the waistband of Potter's briefs and his fingers curled around the boy's
hard cock. Severus's cock throbbed when his fingers slid down the whole
length of the boy's smooth and velvety flesh, its tip already leaking
Severus held him tightly, and the friction of the boy's arse against his groin threatened to shatter what little control he had remaining.
Potter's body stiffened; he let out a hoarse cry and came in Severus's hand. Unable to hold himself longer, Severus continued pressing against Potter's arse. He buried his face in the curve of Potter's neck. Now the boy had relaxed in his arms, and Severus came with only a soft, ragged groan escaping his throat. He held the boy against his body a little longer while his cock still throbbed.
Severus cast a cleaning spell over himself, then over Potter, and laid Potter on the bed again. He stood up and looked around the bedroom. The four-poster bed, with its ludicrous purple coverlets, was settled against the back wall. There was a bathroom at his left and a mahogany cupboard at his right. Severus approached the cupboard, opened it and was relieved to find a bottle of Firewhisky and a few glasses. He turned to face Potter. "Do you want a drink?"
"Yes," said boy, his voice shaky and uneven.
Severus poured two glasses and handed one to Potter. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah. But...er... don't we have to..."
"We do. But keep calm. Drink your Firewhisky."
Harry had never felt so embarrassed in his entire life. Snape... had made him come. In his hand. On his lap.
But Snape had come too. Harry had felt it, because he was absurdly attuned to Snape's sensations. For some reason, the fact that Snape had come made Harry feel better. It dawned on him that it was the bond that was making him feel like that. The bond aimed to give pleasure to the master, not to the slave! That was the reason why Harry felt more relaxed now: because Snape had come.
But that quick pleasure wouldn't be enough. They would have to go all the way through with it. Snape had to come inside him. This prospect should be disgusting, but the bond had turned it into the most desirable thing in the world to Harry. Sitting on the bed with a glass in his hand, Harry smoothed his wrinkled robes, feeling confused and ridiculous.
The Firewhisky seemed to be his only ally, since Snape kept his distance and didn't even look at him.
Snape had desired him. He had even stroked him. He had held him against his body while he had come. Just thinking of that was enough to arouse Harry again. Oh, Merlin. Less than ten minutes had passed since he had come and Harry was already rock hard. All he wanted was those long and deft fingers roaming his body. His hands were shaking so hard he had to put his glass on the bedside table.
When he lifted his face and his eyes met Snape's, Harry thought he wouldn't be able to stand a minute longer. "Please..." he whispered.
Snape frowned and then nodded. Harry saw Snape empty his glass and kept staring at those slender hands, enthralled. Snape set down his glass and walked towards him. Harry's heart raced.
"Mr Potter, I will endeavour to release you from this torture as fast as possible."
Snape undressed him, exposing his erect cock. A scorching heat concentrated between his legs. Snape's movements weren't delicate, but they weren't rude either. They were only calculated, methodical, as if he had a purpose and was completely focused on it. Snape produced a phial from a pocket in his robes; he hadn't undressed. Harry bit his lower lip, ashamed for being exposed before Snape like that. Snape wedged a knee between his legs, and Harry moaned.
Snape opened the phial and coated his fingers with lube.
At the first touch of those fingers, Harry's body seemed to ignite, and Harry jerked his hips wildly upwards. Snape's left hand pressed him against the mattress. "Keep still, boy."
Harry wanted to be angry, but Snape's hoarse voice electrified him. What torture! Harry wanted, needed that touch, and more, much more. And then one of those magic fingers was sliding into his hole, massaging it slowly, and stretching it. Harry knew he had to be patient or he could be hurt, but lust made him push against that finger, trying to force it deeper.
He heard Snape gasp and insert another finger. Snape was nervous too; Harry could feel it through the bond. Two fingers weren't enough; they only seemed to arouse him further. "Please... More..."
"Control yourself, or you will get hurt."
Snape's voice sounded bitterly cold, but Harry knew that that was only a mask. Snape slipped a third finger inside him and went deeper. It hurt, but pain didn't diminish Harry's craving for more.
When Snape removed his fingers, Harry whimpered and grabbed his arm, ready to beg.
"Potter, get a grip on yourself. I must prepare myself."
And Harry saw Snape opening the lower part of his robes and pull out his impressive cock. Rock hard for Harry.
Snape opened the phial again and smeared the product meticulously over all his length. Then Snape turned him face down, and Harry felt something hot and blunt pressing between his cheeks.
Knowing that was exactly what he needed, Harry tilted his hips to meet him. Snape groaned and penetrated him slowly. Harry's body stubbornly struggled against what he most desired, but Snape didn't let himself be deterred. When Harry felt him inside him, an intense feeling of completeness took over his body and soul.
Carefully, Snape thrust in, pulled out, and then thrust deeper, starting to set a slow rhythm. Harry noticed how much the older wizard was holding back. When the pace became more frantic, Snape squeezed Harry's cock in his hand and Harry came, gripping the sheets and shouting his pleasure. But the bond kept him totally attuned to Snape, who acted as if he was just trying to get rid of his burden as soon as possible. Disappointment hit Harry like a punch in the stomach. He couldn't even see Snape's expression. A few thrusts later, Snape's body stiffened in anticipation. Snape came, once again with no more than a soft, raspy groan. Harry felt hot semen filling him. A brief moment later, Snape pulled his cock from inside him. Harry heard Snape murmuring a cleaning spell before turning his back at him and going to the bathroom.
Harry stared at the walls, feeling empty. His first day of torture had ended. He should be happy and relieved. He pulled the coverlet over his body to warm himself and hide his shame, and curled up in a ball.
A few minutes later, Snape went out of the bathroom. "Potter, I will return to my chambers in the dungeons, so that we don't have to endure this shameful and uncomfortable situation any longer. Good night."
Harry didn't bother to reply.
The second time wasn't any better.
Harry had spent the day feeling lethargic and apathetic. As evening approached, the bond started to torment him again, making him lust for Snape. Harry was about to bang his head against the wall when the curfew came down. In no time, Harry went to the room in the hospital wing, threw Floo powder into the fireplace and found himself alone in Sekhet-Aanru.
In order to kill time and gain courage, Harry poured himself of a glass of Firewhisky.
He had barely tasted his drink when a green flash lit the room, and Snape appeared in all his glory. Harry almost knelt at his feet. The bond attracted him mercilessly to the other wizard; Harry approached and embraced him.
Snape pushed him away and shoved him onto the bed, turning him face down. Snape undressed him, with the same methodical gestures of the previous night.
Snape placed a pillow under Harry and spread Harry's legs apart. One finger, two fingers, three fingers - Snape followed the same ritual, in silence. Harry was burning in lust. Soon, Snape's warm and firm flesh was ripping him apart, and once again Harry couldn't even see his expression. "It won't take long, Potter. Be patient," Snape snapped.
And a cold feeling spread through Harry even while he was coming - in Snape's hand, again. Snape hadn't lied: soon Snape was coming inside Harry and retiring to his own chambers.
Without touching him. Without talking to him.
Because... that was how it should be. That was how Harry should like it to be: with as little contact as possible. After all, he had chosen Snape for that task because he hated him.
Snape hated him too, and that was the reason why he was avoiding contact with Harry as much as possible.
So, why Harry was feeling so sad, so disappointed?
During the whole week, Snape followed the same pattern. That was driving Harry insane. There was nothing more humiliating than having to beg Snape to take him and feeling Snape's rejection even while he was fucking him. Harry wanted to see Snape reduced to the same situation as him. And that didn't seem impossible, because Harry felt that Snape was holding back somehow. When they were in class, or when they met in the corridors, Snape stared at him with a possessive look, devouring him with his eyes. However, instead of taking possession of him when he had the opportunity to do it, he adopted that mechanical attitude. All that Harry wanted was to see Snape let go.
Harry was more depressed than ever. Ron and Hermione kept tormenting him with questions.
"You're looking horrible, Harry. What's up?" asked Hermione on Thursday.
"Nothing. It's only the nightmares," Harry replied.
Ron widened his eyes. "With You-Know-Who?"
"Yeah. But I don't want to talk about it, okay?"
On Friday's night, after Snape had left Sekhet-Aanru, Harry felt angry and helpless. He couldn't take it any more.
And then Harry had a very dangerous idea...
** "Behold, thou are my servant". In hieroglyphs:
TBC in Part II
Ptyx, June 2005