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Neville Longbottom and the Portkey of Perversion	By : Sal Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 17400 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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It had been Quirrell all along, of course it had been. He had known that the turban-wearing younger man had been in the pay of Voldemort. You always got to recognise the type; a certain look in the eye, a mannerism, something that was exuded that indicated that a person was in He Who Must Not Be Named employment. The act had been good — excellent in fact — and if it had not been for the fact that Death Eaters, even those who were no longer in the service of their master, could see right through their fellows, he would have got away with murder. Harry Potter' murder, to be precise. It was almost a pity that he hadn't actually completed his mission, that Quirrell had died at the final hurdle. However much he reminded himself that he owed the father, and therefore the son, for the saving of a life, he would have cheerfully garrotted the Potter boy and laughed while he did it.

"Professor? Professor Snape?"

A querulous, thin, rather ancient voice broke those savage thoughts that had moved on to Potter being mown down with one of those Muggle machine guns. Snape glanced up, surprise and ire at being disturbed breaking into one of his rare thin-lipped smiles of delight. Before him stood a man that he had come to know very well over the years he was Potions Master, a man who had excelled in his field of study and had become one of the most famous wizards of the past four hundred years. Before him, in rather elegant robes of dark crimson, sporting a neatly clipped silvery beard and hair that was fashioned into a style that had become passé in around 1600, was Nicholas Flamel.

"Flamel." The greeting, though short, was suffused in pleasure. Snape had seen the dapper older man only a few times in the years he had returned to Hogwarts as a teacher, and that was on business. As he had grown older, Flamel had found making his Elixir of Life more and more taxing, and had therefore shown the permanently irate but supremely talented Potions Master the secret to life itself. Of course, the true secret — how to make the Philosopher's Stone — was never revealed, but this was not necessary to the making of the potion.

"I have come to collect the property of mine that has caused so much trouble. If only I knew it was going to—"

"You would have still formed it, you would not have passed that opportunity by."

"You know me a little too well, young Snape." Flamel smiled, showing uneven and rather rotten teeth. Though his face was quite well preserved, the rest of his body that was visible showed his true age; the hands were heavily veined and liver-spotted, his throat almost like a turkey wattle.

"Show me the stone — I have never seen it in its entirely and it would be an excellent academic learning curve for me to have actually held it, examined it." The potions had always been made with shavings of the stone that had been brought to the school on Flamel's infrequent visits. The stone was alien to the Potions Master— he knew it was of a garnet colour, but nothing more than that.

Flamel, who had taken to sitting on Snape's cluttered but tidy desk, reached forward and pushed a lock of dark hair of the Slytherin's pale and broad forehead. "I shall be back. You will look upon the stone before I destroy it. Death is not even a daunting thought, really. You live and then you die; it is all natural and correct. I just feel I want to lay down and sleep and never wake up now, for although I have seen many wonderful and spectacular things, it has all been a little tiring. I'm ready for bed now, Snape. Perhaps this whole business has been a blessing in disguise?" And with that, Flamel gave a slight bow and strode out of the room.

"I would never have expected it to be like this!" Snape ran his long and elegant fingers over the slightly polished and cool surface of the stone. It looked for all the world like an uncut ruby; embers glinted in its glassy depths and the edges worn and slightly chipped. There was much evidence of the removal of flakes of stone for the Elixir to be brewed. It was also rather smaller than the Potions Master expected it to be at about the length of his index finger and about twice as thick. He rubbed at the stone, thoughtfully. "Are you sure you really want to destroy it?"

Flamel sighed, and took off his wire-rimmed glasses, polishing them on his dark red robes. "I promised the headmaster, and he is a great friend of mine. I cannot go back on a promise to Albus, however much I am tempted." The reality of what had to be done seemed to have hit him in between leaving and re-entering the dungeon study, and the looked a lot older that he had done. "It's a shame. I have lived for so long and there are still things I have not achieved."

Severus looked incredulous. "You still haven't done all the things that you wanted to? Even in all that time? What were you—?

"Fighting Dark Wizards took up a lot of my time you know, young man."

"What sort of things were you thinking of? Can't you fit them into these last few days?"

"Oh, if only. The thing is—the thing is—" and here the old man started to look a little embarrassed and shifty, as if something he wanted to say was rather unsavoury. "The thing is, I'm not sure if I could find someone with which to"—experience, that's the right word — experience all I want to."

Snape gave an almost satanic grin. He knew of one person who would oblige the old man. "There's a young lady in Hogsmeade, by the name of Rosmer—" His speech was cut off shortly as Flamel, who had gone rather pink and warm looking by this time, interrupted him.

" I don't think that she would do the trick—gosh this is hard to explain—you see, it's not a young lady I'm wanting…" He looked shamefaced as the realisation dawned in the Potion Master's obsidian eyes.

"You want a man?"

"Yes."

"Tricky."

"Yes."

"But not impossible." A sudden mad hope made itself known on Flamel's face.

"You know of someone?"

"He would want to be paid of course." A worm had infiltrated Snape's head and was growing rapidly. Ownership of the stone—all the potential. But the price to pay? Snape silenced the nagging moral voice and listened to the one that told him exactly what he would have to do to obtain the stone. The price was little to pay for such a prize!

"Anything!" The tone in the painfully excited but still a little ashamed voice was palpable and believable. That banished any doubts that the Potions Master was entertaining.

Severus slowly, painfully slowly, unpinned the serpent clasp that held his high-throated robes closed, and let the severe black material fall to the floor. Underneath he was dressed in his most comfortable clothes that he worse when alone in his dungeon; a pair of clinging black leather trousers worn soft with age, which hung on his snaky hips. Nothing else graced his body apart from the Mark on his forearm. Raising his hand to his face, Snape's tongue parted narrow lips and wrapped obscenely around his index finger. The wet digit descended over the pale and delicate skin of his throat, leaving a trail of glistening saliva, over his rather too prominent collarbone and flickered over his hardening left nipple. All the time he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Flamel's face, which was getting pinker, sweatier and more turned on by the second. Tiring of that nub of erectile flesh, the tip of the finger ran oh so lightly over the white flesh to it's twin, circling and massaging until both peaks stood proud and hard from the rest of the skin.

"You said anything." Snape broke the silence, his whisper shockingly loud in the heavy quiet that had descended at the same time as the robes. "Anything." The flat of his hand ran over taut skin to the slash of his navel, pausing to tickle around the erogenous zone. The action was obviously erotic to himself, as his head lolled back a little, small gasp of pleasure trickling through his clenched teeth. Then, as the hand moved ever downwards, its brother joined it until both slid over the prominent bulge that was accentuated by the skin-tight leather. The button was flicked undone with practised fingers.

"Anything, you said anything." Slowly, tooth by tooth, the fly was drawn down. The resulting strip of flesh that grew as the zip waned acted as an arrow and drew the slavering Flamel's attention even more to what actually lay under the trousers.

Nothing. All he could see was creamy flesh and closely trimmed curls.

"Anything?" The statement had turned into a question now as the Potions Master paused, mere millimetres from indecent exposure, taunting the older man with the expanse of white skin that was framed by the dense black leather.

"Anything," groaned Flamel, his eyes not leaving the spot where they were so avidly trained.

"The stone?"

"Yes, yes—please let me see you!" The last part came out almost as a sob.

"Promise me, Flamel. Promise me the stone."

"I swear—now let me—"

The leather trousers crumpled to the ground.

Snape stood, head lowered slightly, glancing coquettishly up at the older man through his long dark eyelashes. A wickedly pointed and healthily pink tongue passed across dry lips, making them glisten damply in the dim light of the study. Then he smiled.

"How do you want me? What did your thoughts tell you to do to me? Tell me and I will make all your perverted little fantasies come true. Every last one."

Flamel's breathing had quickened at the slight of the naked younger man standing so brazenly before him, all gleaming pale skin and dark hair and shadowed muscle and bone. All his, his for the taking.

"On your knees. Suck me."

Bonelessly the Potions Master slid down, kneeling on the dark green carpet that covered the icily cold stone slabs. He slowly crawled forwards, almost like a great cat, slinking on his hands and knees and still gazing upwards from under his brows. As he reached Flamel, Snape's hands slid around the rather bony ankles and directed the older man to sit upon a rather hard and high backed carved armless chair. When he was safety seated, the elegant hands of the Potions Master slithered from narrow ankles, up scrawny calves, to sunken thighs. Pulling the legs apart, Severus crawled into the vacated space between them and waited for Flamel to struggle out of his claret robes. As the ties and clasps were undone, the robe slithered from the old man's shoulders, revealing his ribby, pot-bellied frame, as ancient looking and wrinkled as his hands promised he would be. Finally when the last of the fabric had been pushed aside, revealing a small but perky looking cock which was as lined and loose-skinned as the rest of the body, Snape got to work, mind fixed on the stone.

Wicked tongue, long and slightly rough, lapped at fuzzy balls, massaging the sacs and then enveloping them with a hot and talented mouth. For only a second they were sucked gently but firmly, then the lips wrapped around the bulbous head of the member and tongue went to work on the spongy head and the slit, laving each thoroughly. Then slowly, agonisingly, the mouth worked its way down the shaft, tongue lashing furiously over the thick veins and skin until it was all inside his mouth. He giggled around it, making Flamel writhe with pleasure, and fingers twisted painfully into Snape's shoulder-length hair. Even fully inside the wet cavern of his mouth, the little cock didn't even reach the curve of his throat; Flamel may be eager, but as penises go, his was lacking rather a lot. Snape let his head bob up, keeping the pressure on the glans with his lips, then just as it was going to pop out, he dived back down, taking it all in again.

"Stop—please—stop—" gasped Flamel, his hands tugging urgently at the back of Snape's head. "I want to —I need to—let me—oh please—let me fuck you—sit on my cock—ride me—"

The Potions Master rose elegantly to his feet, the pile of the carpet imprinted on his kneecaps. For such a little thing he needed no preparation, and the idea of having someone thrusting inside his dry passage was something that he did not want to miss out on. The delicious pain of the walls clamping, perhaps being lubricated with a little blood. One long leg slid astride Flamel, and he sat on the tops of his thighs, his own hardening member brushing idly against the angry and saliva-slicked one of the older man. There would be some lubrication after all. Snape arched his hips forward, feeling his arsehole touch the damp tip of Flamel's small cock, and he was just about to impale himself.

"Stop—do something for me, young man."

"What do you want me to do?" He kept teasing the inflamed tip by pressing up and down very slightly and letting Flamel feel the pucker begin to open then close.

Reaching behind him, Flamel grabbed at something that lay on Snape's desk, and only when he turned around clutching his prize could Severus see what is actually was. It was the Philosopher's stone. "Put it in you—I want you to come—won't with this." Here the older man rubbed an affectionate hand over the base of his shaft, groaning with enjoyment. "I want to see you putting it in yourself—"

It was a strangely erotic idea, and the Potions Master did not even think to question. Wriggling off Flamel's lap, he strode over to the fireplace, the greenish flames giving his skin a sickly, almost daemonic hue. The mantle was rather low, and Snape bent, supporting himself with his elbow and forearm. The position had the delightful effect of spreading his arse cheeks and exposing his tight little hole to the thoroughly over-excited Flamel. The free arm twisted back, running the stone over his lower back, down the cleft of his ripe cheeks, to the waiting pucker. There he placed the slightly narrower end, feeling the bluntness press a little way inside him, and then in one slow but continuous moment, Snape thrust the stone inside him as far as he could push it. Once buried deep inside, he turned and slinked back to the now almost crying with frustration Flamel, mounted him, and impaled himself on the old man's wrinkled spike.

Their twin screams echoed through the room.

Flamel had never ever felt something as incredible as this. The heat, the tightness that massaged his cock as the younger man rode him, the friction of the head against the stone which started off as cool but heated up due to their combined body temperature. The constant muscle contractions rippled against his short length, grasping and releasing, pressure then nothing.

Severus, on the other hand, was seeing stars every time he moved. The extra inches of the stone, when pushed and braced against Flamel's penis, meant that the slightly pointed end was being driven relentlessly into his prostate. He was screaming incoherently by the time his cock, which was throbbing and agonising and not being touched by either of them, came in long and ropey strings across his own stomach and chest. The shuddering musculature movements, which became jerky and erratic, drove the old man to finish, burying his semen deep into the tight arse of Severus, spattering the Philosopher's stone with his own essence.

"Ah, Severus. Nicholas has said his goodbyes to you then?" Dumbledore, the familiar twinkle in his pale eyes, gave his shagged-out looking Potions Master an almost lascivious grin.

Dumbly, the younger man gazed up into the kindly eyes. Snape was laying on the carpet of the study, come dried to a sticky crust on his pale chest, come dripping out of him and pooling beneath his raw and well-used arse. Deep inside him, however, he could still feel the reassuring thickness of the stone, pressing now a little uncomfortably against his sore passage. He had the stone. Excellent.

"You better go and have a bath, Severus, and then get to bed. You look thoroughly exhausted." As the headmaster opened the battered oak door he paused, a thoughtful look on his face. "I'd also remove that stone, Severus. He destroyed the real one in my office before he came back to you and gave you the ‘real' one. Ah, he always used that trick on the boys to make them have sex with him." And almost oblivious to the look of sick horror on the face of his young Potions Master, Albus wandered out into the corridor and thought about the time that he had been had by Flamel. In more ways that one!
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Neville Longbottom and the Portkey of Perversion