Hero Worship, Part 12 of 25

[ravenna_c_tan]

Here we are, almost at the halfway point of the tale! Tell your friends if they want to join the ride... :)

--
Title: Hero Worship, Part 12/25
Author: Ravenna C. Tan
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Snape
Word Count: 36,901 total, 2500 this part
Disclaimer: This is non-commercial fanfiction. Trademarked characters are used for non-commercial purposes.
Beta: miraba, jordangrant
Author's Note: A gift for regan_v, as a request she made about submissive!snape brought this on.
Warnings: A touch of BDSM/power exchange sex.
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.htm (The Fest was due to begin Nov. 10th--now pushed back 1 month, but authors may post in their own journals).
Challenge/Summary: "What if...?" What if Snape did not escape at the end of Half-Blood Prince? What if Kingsley Shacklebolt caught him before he could Apparate away? Not trusted by the Order, but still determined to bring down Voldemort, Snape agrees to undergo an unusual spell.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven



Hero Worship, Chapter Twelve
Ravenna C. Tan




The meeting is held in what was once the Transfiguration classroom, but the individual student desks are gone and a large conference table dominates the center of the room. This was Minerva's domain for so many years, I am sure this is why she chose it. Probably any security or anti-spying charms in the room she applied herself. Every eye turns toward Potter and myself as we walk into the room.

He goes to take a seat on the far side of the table and indicates I should sit next to him. The urge to spit out "yes, master" and kneel mockingly at his feet is strong. But I do not indulge it.

I take the proffered chair.

"Yes, Severus, how are you?" So says Lupin, from a few chairs down where he has been pretending to read the Prophet.

"Quite well, thank you. And you?" I am not really listening to the platitude he responds with. I am cataloging everyone in the room and deciding which are the most dangerous to me.

At the head of the table, conferring quietly with Minerva, is Elphias Doge. the eldest of our number now that Dumbledore is gone. He is also the one who has been decrypting the journals. Not a likely threat to me or my position. Gideon Vance, husband of the late Emmeline, seems to have taken her place in the Order. He barely gives me a glance. Shacklebolt glides in and greets me with a nod. Molly and Arthur come in soon after. They settle next to Dedalus Diggle who moves his top hat from a chair before Arthur can sit on it, only to have Nymphadora Tonks crush it when she comes over to give Molly a kiss on the cheek. There are a few others I do not know well, new folk, stealing curious but not threatening glances at me.

Mad-Eye Moody is the last to arrive, and his eyes, both of them, fixate on me the moment he comes into the room. The only seat left at that point is on the other side of Harry from me, and he stumps noisily to it and sits down, his face turned now toward Minerva, though I'm sure his magical eye is still looking at me through his skull.

Moody's paranoia irks me. What use is the man's constant vigilance when an imbecile like Barty Crouch Junior could imprison him and pose as his impostor for nearly a year? Though I was never so impolitic as to say that to Dumbledore where Moody could hear, he knows I do not think highly of him.

And I doubt he thinks highly of me. I receive proof of this fact when we begin to debate some of the points of the decryption. This meeting, apparently, is less about revealing the contents of the journals than for arguing about the next tack to take in decoding them. Only the most recent entries have been read at this point.

Arthur brings up the suggestion, one that has apparently been shot down before, of enlisting the aid of a Ministry code-breaker. It is shot down summarily. And so it goes.

Until Moody begins to bait me. "I think the journals'll be a dead end, anyhow. Minerva, we should be returning to the cave to look for clues that Harry and Albus might have missed."

"It's too dangerous," she says, in what sounds like a familiar argument.

"So send Snape! Let the bloody coward do something useful if he's one of us."

I am opening my mouth to retort, but Harry beats me to it, and I am surprised at the authority in his voice. "I agree we should return to the cave. But Severus is not a ... a stick you can poke into Ashwinder nests."

"I was against the binding in the first place, Harry," Moody says, eye spinning now. "Ye may have neutralized one of the Dark Lord's pawns, but you've taken yourself out of the game, too, with that. And that's exactly what he wants."

I speak up at that. "May I remind you that being bound was in no way my suggestion or idea?" I say. "You people came to me and offered it to me as my only choice! And not only that, I consented without knowing whom my principal was to be. For all I knew, it would be you, Moody."

"It should have been me!" Spit sprays from his mouth, hitting Harry who merely stiffens. "Or someone who can keep you in line!"

"I've done nothing to deserve to be spoken to this way--"

"No? What about killing Dumbledore, you backstabbing--"

"I sacrificed my life--and now my freedom--to advance his cause and yet you cannot--"

"What's to say you don't have Harry under your influence already, you murderous--"

I do not know who draws his wand first, but I am fairly sure it is he. It is hard to tell once the anger flares so hot that it nearly blinds me and I cannot even feel my wand in my fingers, nor can I hear my own voice shouting since by this time everyone around the table is shouting at the same time...

And then silence. And impact, as I land on my back hard enough to knock the wind out of me, Potter atop me with his hands clutching the silver chain around my neck.

He pulls me up, not choking me with it, but his eyes are wild. "I cannot believe you just did that."

"Did what?" I ask, but I know what it is I am already feeling. It is one thing to lose my temper and my control with Potter, quite another to do it in front of the Order. I let my head fall back. What is wrong with me? A thousand thoughts are fighting for my attention.

He lets me fall. We are on the hearth rug in my rooms. I wonder if the charm chose this as our destination or if Potter chose it. He is straddling me, looming, and I wonder if, despite the consequences, he is about to strike me again.

But his anger is cold, not hot. "You will not do that again."

My instinct is to fight. Even though I agree with him, I should not have lost control. There are too many emotions running amok in my mind. I give voice to my instinct. "And just how will you insure that?" I sneer.

"Like this," he says, pulling me by the chain, which I cannot seem to resist. So, it is a leash after all. He shifts until he is sitting on the ottoman, and pulls me across his lap.

"No..." I start to say.

"Yes." The charm must give him strength, because I cannot pull away, even as he flips my robe aside and pulls my trousers to my knees. He speaks with his mouth against my ear, his lips moving my hair as he says, "You know how angry I am, don't you, Snape? You can make it all better if you take your licks like a good boy."

The whirlwind in my mind focuses to a pinpoint. "What?" I say, as if I haven't heard him.

"Do you want it? To make it up to me the way you made it up to Evan Rosier? Hmmm? Your choice, Snape. Say no and I'll lock you in here and go back to the meeting without you. Say yes and I'll erase your disgrace."

Those words seem to be the only ones that make it through the noise in my head. Erase your disgrace. "Yes," I hiss and let my arms go limp. It's a simple choice. He has made it simple for me. The turmoil ends the moment I say it.

He strikes me hard, and I wonder how much of it is the spell and how much of it is simply the strength in his arm. The pain makes it easy to focus even more. He spanks hard, rhythmically, not caring about the corresponding pain he must feel in his hand. His anger buffers him from that, and it is not long before I am experiencing anew the astonishment and shame that it is I who lost my temper. I, the master spy, the most powerful Occlumens of my age, Slytherin head of house, and not the bloody impulsive underage Gryffindor who is even now taking me apart blow by blow.

The blows get deeper as his confidence grows, as he senses through Argus where my limits are. Until with each smack he is grabbing a handful of my buttock before drawing back, eliciting a deep grunt from me on each one.

When the blows stop, I am utterly limp across his lap, and all thoughts have been driven quiet by the force of his will. Then I hear the 'pop' of his lips, and he swirls a wet finger at the pucker of my anus.

He must have seen rather more of my memories of Evan than I suspected. That is the one thought deep down that flickers in my consciousness. But I moan with pleasure and anticipation. His voice hums in my ear again, and it's almost as if he's speaking directly into my mind, though I know he isn't. "Slippery elm?" he whispers, and I nod. He Summons it from the ingredients cabinet and I am thinking clever boy. He slicks his fingers with the solution and slides one inside me.

That whimpering is me, a sound that has not come out of my throat since I was nigh on his age. It doubles in volume as he slides a second finger in with the first and sends a jolt to the tips of my nerve endings.

"Very good," he whispers and the warmth of his approval, after the chill of his anger, feels like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

He shifts us onto the rug now, me pillowing my head on my bent arms and settling my knees far enough apart to suit him. He positions himself behind me, reaches with his other hand for my cock while his fingers continue to fuck me.

I press my face against my arms and there are several long moments when the feel of his hand on my cock is the only thing that matters in the world. His age, our history, Hogwarts, it all disappears.

But then it comes back. I tense--second thoughts, third thoughts crowding back into my head.

"Don't think it," he says.

"Think what?"

He clears his throat and then does his version of my voice. "'There is no situation, including the defeat of the Dark Lord, that justifies a sixteen-year-old touching a man old enough to be his father.'" I look over my own shoulder to see a smirk begin to twist his lips. "I'd say you're wrong. His defeat will be the justification."

"But..."

"No, Snape. No more thinking about it." He twists the fingers inside me. "You don't have any more choices to make. Not about this."

I nod. "Very well."

"And not about the Order, either. The spell makes me your guardian and I will take that role seriously." His eyes are glittering green.

"It was your wish to bring me to that meeting today," I remind him, difficult though speech is as his fingers do their work.

"And I will bring you to every meeting. But you must do as I say. No fighting. No options."

I bow my head. Until I regain my equilibrium, until I can stop the outbursts, this is the most sensible course. Did I actually hex Moody before he pulled me away? I cannot trust myself until I regain my self-control. This course is temptingly practical. "Yes. I'll do as you say."

"Then here are the new rules." He pauses with his fingers deep inside me, his other hand still slipping up and down the curve of my erection almost as an afterthought. "I'll get you off once a day--but you choose morning or evening. When we're with other members of the Order, you will defer to me and my decisions about our conduct and our plans. When we're in the Room of Requirement, though, you are in charge."

I crane my neck again, questioning with my eyes.

"I know I've a lot to learn. I don't even know what to ask about. The classroom's your domain. Will you accept these rules?"

"I will." It is surprisingly easy to say, now that I have stopped resisting him. Reality, my old sets of morals, these things keep trying to re-assert themselves. But I do not let them. Potter is my moral compass for now, my lodestone. I feel a modicum of peace I have not felt for seven years.

Being an exceptional Occlumens means being exceptional at compartmentalization. I can do this. I will subsume my will to Potter's if that is what it takes to attain my goal. If there are rewards along the way I will not experience guilt nor remorse, any more than I did as a Death Eater.

He pulls on my penis with swift, slippery strokes, "Come on, Snape," he says. "I've waited long enough for this."

I nod. I'm trying. He whispers encouragement. He can feel I'm trying. I'm nearly screaming in frustration, and the image of him masturbating comes into my mind again.

It is enough. My cock begins to spasm, as does the rest of me to some extent, while I struggle to keep my awareness. Four, five, six heavy spurts, and then I am spent, and gasping for air, and uncurling my toes inside my boots, and wondering if I will even be able to speak for the next several minutes.

I feel as complete as I have since... well, perhaps as complete as I ever have. I've been bouncing back and forth between two masters for far too long. The third, my own self-interest, was eliminated from the equation long ago. Of the other two, I killed one, and the other I hope to see die soon.

That leaves only Potter and his cause now. My one purpose left on this Earth.

He takes his hands away, begins to move away from me. "Potter," I croak.

"I'll be right back," he says.

"No!" I struggle with my twisted robes and leg-trapping trousers to turn around, to grip him by the hips. "No, you must let me." I cannot explain to him or myself why. This is just the way of things and they must be completed.

But he gets to his feet. "I'm going back to the meeting. I'll... I'll tell them that we were dueling and that you took a... an aggressiveness potion or something for the sake of practice. I... I'll see you later."

And then he is gone, the door latching behind him, and I am staring at a pool of my own spunk on my hearth rug, feeling spent and empty.

--

[Go on to chapter thirteen.]