Spinners End

Author's Note: Spinner's End is a continuation of chapter two of HBP: what happens when Wormtail is sent away from the door by Snape. It's all Wormtail's point of view; I'm aware that little Peter is probably the least sexy character in the whole series (with the possible exception of Filch, and I'm not even sure about that), and I haven't exactly done much to alter that. He seems to have come out as the love-child of Gollum and Harold Lauder (from Stephen King's The Stand).

This story contains adult themes, including non-consensual sex, BDSM, violence. If this subject matter offends you, please don't read it.


*


Snape pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.

And it's not fair, it's not fair at all, thinks Peter. Sent up to his room like a naughty child while the Dark Lord's other servants plot and scheme and leave him out of things. Drinking wine with the women! Where were they when Master was dying in an Albanian forest? Who risked everything to find Master and bring him back to life? Peter did, that's who. Faithful, reliable Peter. Peter, who gets pushed aside by spies and traitors.

And to lock him up here with the man, cruel it is, even by Master's standards. The man's eyes, so dark and glittery, his hard mouth, the voice that leaves Peter weak with fear and desire. So cruel. Ohhh, he needs, he needs, poor Peter and they leave him empty, they leave him crying in the dark and all he wants, all he wants, he's not asking for much.

Peter's hand, snaking beneath his robes, finds the hard thing and begins to stroke, flesh on flesh. And it's every day now, every day like a schoolboy, or sometimes more than once that he needs this, and it's all the man's fault. The voice that orders him to mix and stir and chop and tidy. The proud face that expects obedience, expects its wishes to be forseen, and oh how Peter would love to do more than prepare his meals.

The man makes him need flesh, just once, a reminder of the nights in Hogwarts dormitaries when James and Sirius would have him. So long ago and yet even now the thought makes him ache for it. Hot and hard and quick, laughing boys over in a second but back to life, effortlessly, in a minute.

And oh he needs it now like he needed it then, to be held down on the bed and spread and fucked, when James would press his face into the pillow and pound into him as though he would never stop.

And perhaps, perhaps, Master will kill him if he finds out, but just this once, today he needs the burning and the beautiful agony of the Master's touch. Peter sinks back onto his narrow bed and lifts his robes, and takes hold of the hard thing with his other hand.

His flesh is gone. Only the aching need for release exists, arching across time and space, the power of his desire driving on into the darkness, willing it to stop and wanting it for eternity. Somewhere deep in his soul, he's screaming with the pain of it. With Master's red eyes cutting into the shame of his need and turning the blood to acid in his veins. And the hiss of freezing air across his face.

"Wormtail, cease!" The voice. The man's voice. "Do you think the Dark Lord wishes to be bothered with your miserable inconstancy?"

Peter trembles on the bed. The hard thing goes soft as his hand, Master's hand, whips away from it.

"Do you think our Master sent you here to lie about wanking like a schoolboy?" demands the icy voice, and Peter's face burns to hear it. "Do you think that hand was given you to relieve your own pathetic urges, or to serve the Dark Lord?" The voice grows lower, softer with every word and Peter thinks he'll explode now with the humiliation. "Get up." There's a smile in the voice now. "Get up. I'm going to show you what happens to those people who abuse the Dark Lord's gifts."

Peter staggers to his feet. "Not…" The words don't want to be said. "Not.. the Killing Curse?"

Laughter. "No, Wormtail. Not Avada Kedavra." He feels his knees sag with the relief. "Something much, much worse. Death can only come for you once, but punishment may happen as often as deemed necessary."

And really, thinks Peter, it's like honey, the voice, how can you resist it, even when you know it's coating razor blades? He dares, finally, to lift his face to the man and see the dark eyes glittering at him, the Mark on the man's pale arm glowing with a black fire and there is triumph in the set of his shoulders.

"After all," he says, running one slim finger down Peter's anxious face, "you were sent here to serve me, and really, Wormtail, you haven't been a very good servant, have you?"

"I have, I have!" squeaks Peter. "I've been a faithful and loyal servant. To you and to Master. Always, Master. But I wanted to do more things, important things, not just cooking and making potions."

"Just making potions!" the man hisses. "If I trust you with the important task of preparing potions, Worm, it is because I know that the Dark Lord's hold over you is such that you will not dare to make a mistake in his service, and not from any belief in your natural ability! My faith is in him, not in you."

Peter sees the man's eyes flash red, before he knows nothing else at all.

*

So, dear reader, what do you think? Is the thought of Snape and Wormtail just too gross, or should I continue?