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hilarita requested “Snape/Neville/Lucius. Non-con” for the The I Didn't Get To Go To TWH Ficlet-a-thon.
Words: approximately 1550. I was thinking 300 when I started this. Damn plot-badger.
Rating: M. Not much actual smut, though. Damn that plot-badger.
Warnings: Need I actually elaborate? Character deaths galore. Various kinks. A Conan Doyle allusion. Zero cuddliness.
Since There’s No Help
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death
And Innocence is closing up his eyes. . .
Neville had always known that the war might not end well for him, but he had hoped his demise might greet him in the guise of a mercifully swift Avada Kedavra. He wasn’t fool enough to expect any mercy from Severus Snape, however, and it was the former Potions master who had captured him, confiscated his wand, and tossed his body head-first against the floor of his cell. Neville had remembered Hermione ordering him to stay awake after one of his earlier concussions, but Hermione was dead, Ron had been missing for months, and Neville didn’t see the point of remaining conscious for whatever horrors Snape planned to inflict on him, so he simply lay where Snape had thrown him and allowed his mind to slide into the dark, damp mess of images that visited him as dreams these days.
When he came to, however, he found himself on a dark green daybed in an unfamiliar parlor. His body had been bathed and wrapped in a clean robe, and someone had draped an embroidered comforter over him. For a brief, hopeful instant, Neville wondered if he had been rescued while he slept. Then a hand held a goblet out to him; Snape waited for him to accept the drink, his expression unreadable.
Neville considered slapping the goblet away – of splashing its mysterious contents onto Snape. Perhaps this was his chance to imitate an exploding cauldron – thinking this, Neville realized this latest concussion had definitely addled what was left of his brain.
Still, he also felt lucid enough to conclude that not cooperating was unlikely to improve his situation in the slightest. The brew was warm and tasted of pears and copper. It was strange but not unpleasant, and while Neville didn’t trust it, he found himself oddly grateful for the moment’s grace.
Then Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the fire, and Neville instinctively shrank back against the back of the daybed. Malfoy, who had escaped from Azkaban earlier in the spring. Snape, vindictive and deranged even before the murder of Dumbledore. Himself, all but naked under the bedclothes, and now probably drugged as well? It didn’t take a Hermione to read the situation, and his mind automatically began to chant No, no, no, no... as Lucius’s pale, pointed face lit up with anticipation.
“Severus,” the senior Malfoy purred. “You are so inspired.” He stepped forward, clearly expecting an embrace from the other man --
--and gasped as the Reducto slammed him back against the fireplace, his head smashing against the mantel. Snape’s doling out an awful lot of concussions these days, Neville thought to himself half-hysterically.
Lucius staggered forward, his face contorted with fury and shock. “Severus--?”
Snape Accio’d Malfoy’s wand and snapped it just before his hands closed on the other wizard’s clothes. Dazed from the surprise attack, Malfoy put up only a token struggle as Snape swiftly stripped him, clearly half-believing it to be a prelude to – oh, Neville really didn’t want to go there. No, no, no, no...
Snape’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Chains, Longbottom. From under the bed.”
Neville stared at him, uncomprehending.
Snape rolled his eyes and repeated the order. “Chains. Get out from your cozy little cocoon over there and help me.”
At these words, Lucius suddenly began to resist in earnest, but Snape merely yanked his hair and kicked at his knees, causing Lucius to fall to the floor. Still utterly bewildered, Neville scrambled off the daybed and crouched next to it. There was indeed a heap of tangled, tarnished metal –
“For the love of Salazar, Longbottom--!” Snape snapped. Neville hurriedly grabbed at the chains and dragged them over to the other two men. Lucius was writhing and bucking underneath Snape, trying to throw him off –
“Put the cuffs on him,” Snape ordered. As Neville locked the metal clasps around Lucius’s wrists and ankles, Snape muttered an incantation that anchored the chains to the floor. A second spell shortened the chains so that Lucius’s body was stretched taut – his arms secured above his head, his legs spread wide –
“Thank you, Longbottom.” Snape said quietly. Neville nearly fainted at the courtesy. What the—
“Severus,” Lucius said. “Enough. You’ve had your fun--”
Snape backhanded Lucius across the mouth. “That one was from Minerva,” he said, his voice remote. “Granger did stay alive long enough after you were through with her for a deathbed chat.” He stood up, reached for a bottle on top of a nearby table, and unstoppered it. Returning to Lucius, he forced his captive’s jaw open and emptied the bottle in a single pour, not caring how the liquid spilled across the rest of Lucius’s face and neck as he gagged, throat closing up against the onslaught of the potion.
It had been a while since Neville had seen Winter’s Revenge at work, and he felt he could have done without the sight then or now, but there was something satisfying about watching the liquid smear Lucius’s formerly haughty features into a runny, porridge-like mess, given what he had done. What he had done--
Neville stared at Snape, who paid him no heed but continued to watch his handiwork as Lucius screamed and blubbered and begged for relief. When the other man’s voice gave out, Snape merely continued to study him, listening to the rasp of Lucius’s breaths echoing through the room.
“I believe,” he finally said, “you didn’t wait this long to have your fun with Lupin. Not with the cuffs being silver. Not with him half your weight and you not knowing how long his body would hold out. Not with your impatience – tell me, did you actually ever last long enough to finish Narcissa, you swine? Not--”
Snape broke off, raised his wand, and slashed it across Lucius’s chest. A string of silver needles sprang out of its wake and burrowed into the trapped wizard’s skin. Lucius howled. Snape smiled his thin, terrible smile. “Oh yes, Lucius. You realize now what’s going to happen, do you not? Every last thing you did to Lupin. Every excruciating moment, twice as slow and twice as long...”
Neville watched, sick and cold, less from the spectacle in front of him – Snape slicing into Lucius’s flesh, Snape thrusting into Lucius’s body, Snape’s knife dancing along Lucius’s cock before carving into it -- “Oh, Remus,” Neville mourned anew – and with that, Neville also finally comprehended Snape’s revenge on him: it had been Neville who had been used as bait – Neville and Hermione both. Remus had been ambushed during his attempt to rescue them. Kingsley and Harry had succeeded in breaking them out in a follow-up mission, but by then, Remus’s battered corpse had been discovered underneath the Willow, the tree having fended off all potential predators until McGonagall reached it.
To see what had actually happened to Remus – Neville’s eyes met Snape’s, and he saw in them the same savage grief now squeezing his lungs. It was impossible that he was still breathing – Snape might not have killed him yet, but this anguish surely would -- and yet, here he was, in a room with Malfoy and Snape, and it was Malfoy who was no longer breathing.
Neville had never imagined his most hated teacher ever looking uncertain, let alone lost, but Snape remained on his knees next to Malfoy, his body radiating frustration – that there was no more to do, that none of this would ever recover Lupin. Neville would never understand Snape, let alone like him – and his head would be spinning for weeks as it was: Snape and Remus? “That one was from Minerva”!? -- but he couldn’t worry about that now, not with a war to return to, and perhaps the rest of his life, if things somehow ended well.
In the meantime, it was time to end this. Taking care to remain within Snape’s line of vision, Neville walked up to Malfoy’s body and silently spelled off the chains. After another moment, squelching down his feelings of revulsion, he knelt by Malfoy’s ruined face and pressed his fingertips against its eyelids, sliding them down. It was the utter stillness of the man’s body as he did so that helped convince him Lucius was truly dead, and he was not going to be sorry about the flare of wild gladness that surged up at that thought.
The gesture appeared to free Snape from his momentary paralysis as well. As Neville withdrew his hand, Snape simply stood up, shaking his robes back into place but saying nothing.
Neville drew a deep breath. “Not to the Willow, I take it?”
A harsh sound escaped from Snape’s throat – almost a laugh, close to a sob. “Out on the moors will suffice. Let every jackdaw in Scotland peck at what’s left.”
Hysteria is for later, Neville reminded himself, and accepted the robes Snape handed to him. Socks. Shoes. Cloak. Wand –- at the last, Neville caught his breath in spite of himself.
A long stare. A short nod. The two men levitated the body between them and walked out into the night.
hilarita requested “Snape/Neville/Lucius. Non-con” for the The I Didn't Get To Go To TWH Ficlet-a-thon. Words: approximately 1550. I was thinking 300 when I started this. Damn plot-badger.
Rating: M. Not much actual smut, though. Damn that plot-badger.
Warnings: Need I actually elaborate? Character deaths galore. Various kinks. A Conan Doyle allusion. Zero cuddliness.
Since There’s No Help
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death
And Innocence is closing up his eyes. . .
Neville had always known that the war might not end well for him, but he had hoped his demise might greet him in the guise of a mercifully swift Avada Kedavra. He wasn’t fool enough to expect any mercy from Severus Snape, however, and it was the former Potions master who had captured him, confiscated his wand, and tossed his body head-first against the floor of his cell. Neville had remembered Hermione ordering him to stay awake after one of his earlier concussions, but Hermione was dead, Ron had been missing for months, and Neville didn’t see the point of remaining conscious for whatever horrors Snape planned to inflict on him, so he simply lay where Snape had thrown him and allowed his mind to slide into the dark, damp mess of images that visited him as dreams these days.
When he came to, however, he found himself on a dark green daybed in an unfamiliar parlor. His body had been bathed and wrapped in a clean robe, and someone had draped an embroidered comforter over him. For a brief, hopeful instant, Neville wondered if he had been rescued while he slept. Then a hand held a goblet out to him; Snape waited for him to accept the drink, his expression unreadable.
Neville considered slapping the goblet away – of splashing its mysterious contents onto Snape. Perhaps this was his chance to imitate an exploding cauldron – thinking this, Neville realized this latest concussion had definitely addled what was left of his brain.
Still, he also felt lucid enough to conclude that not cooperating was unlikely to improve his situation in the slightest. The brew was warm and tasted of pears and copper. It was strange but not unpleasant, and while Neville didn’t trust it, he found himself oddly grateful for the moment’s grace.
Then Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the fire, and Neville instinctively shrank back against the back of the daybed. Malfoy, who had escaped from Azkaban earlier in the spring. Snape, vindictive and deranged even before the murder of Dumbledore. Himself, all but naked under the bedclothes, and now probably drugged as well? It didn’t take a Hermione to read the situation, and his mind automatically began to chant No, no, no, no... as Lucius’s pale, pointed face lit up with anticipation.
“Severus,” the senior Malfoy purred. “You are so inspired.” He stepped forward, clearly expecting an embrace from the other man --
--and gasped as the Reducto slammed him back against the fireplace, his head smashing against the mantel. Snape’s doling out an awful lot of concussions these days, Neville thought to himself half-hysterically.
Lucius staggered forward, his face contorted with fury and shock. “Severus--?”
Snape Accio’d Malfoy’s wand and snapped it just before his hands closed on the other wizard’s clothes. Dazed from the surprise attack, Malfoy put up only a token struggle as Snape swiftly stripped him, clearly half-believing it to be a prelude to – oh, Neville really didn’t want to go there. No, no, no, no...
Snape’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Chains, Longbottom. From under the bed.”
Neville stared at him, uncomprehending.
Snape rolled his eyes and repeated the order. “Chains. Get out from your cozy little cocoon over there and help me.”
At these words, Lucius suddenly began to resist in earnest, but Snape merely yanked his hair and kicked at his knees, causing Lucius to fall to the floor. Still utterly bewildered, Neville scrambled off the daybed and crouched next to it. There was indeed a heap of tangled, tarnished metal –
“For the love of Salazar, Longbottom--!” Snape snapped. Neville hurriedly grabbed at the chains and dragged them over to the other two men. Lucius was writhing and bucking underneath Snape, trying to throw him off –
“Put the cuffs on him,” Snape ordered. As Neville locked the metal clasps around Lucius’s wrists and ankles, Snape muttered an incantation that anchored the chains to the floor. A second spell shortened the chains so that Lucius’s body was stretched taut – his arms secured above his head, his legs spread wide –
“Thank you, Longbottom.” Snape said quietly. Neville nearly fainted at the courtesy. What the—
“Severus,” Lucius said. “Enough. You’ve had your fun--”
Snape backhanded Lucius across the mouth. “That one was from Minerva,” he said, his voice remote. “Granger did stay alive long enough after you were through with her for a deathbed chat.” He stood up, reached for a bottle on top of a nearby table, and unstoppered it. Returning to Lucius, he forced his captive’s jaw open and emptied the bottle in a single pour, not caring how the liquid spilled across the rest of Lucius’s face and neck as he gagged, throat closing up against the onslaught of the potion.
It had been a while since Neville had seen Winter’s Revenge at work, and he felt he could have done without the sight then or now, but there was something satisfying about watching the liquid smear Lucius’s formerly haughty features into a runny, porridge-like mess, given what he had done. What he had done--
Neville stared at Snape, who paid him no heed but continued to watch his handiwork as Lucius screamed and blubbered and begged for relief. When the other man’s voice gave out, Snape merely continued to study him, listening to the rasp of Lucius’s breaths echoing through the room.
“I believe,” he finally said, “you didn’t wait this long to have your fun with Lupin. Not with the cuffs being silver. Not with him half your weight and you not knowing how long his body would hold out. Not with your impatience – tell me, did you actually ever last long enough to finish Narcissa, you swine? Not--”
Snape broke off, raised his wand, and slashed it across Lucius’s chest. A string of silver needles sprang out of its wake and burrowed into the trapped wizard’s skin. Lucius howled. Snape smiled his thin, terrible smile. “Oh yes, Lucius. You realize now what’s going to happen, do you not? Every last thing you did to Lupin. Every excruciating moment, twice as slow and twice as long...”
Neville watched, sick and cold, less from the spectacle in front of him – Snape slicing into Lucius’s flesh, Snape thrusting into Lucius’s body, Snape’s knife dancing along Lucius’s cock before carving into it -- “Oh, Remus,” Neville mourned anew – and with that, Neville also finally comprehended Snape’s revenge on him: it had been Neville who had been used as bait – Neville and Hermione both. Remus had been ambushed during his attempt to rescue them. Kingsley and Harry had succeeded in breaking them out in a follow-up mission, but by then, Remus’s battered corpse had been discovered underneath the Willow, the tree having fended off all potential predators until McGonagall reached it.
To see what had actually happened to Remus – Neville’s eyes met Snape’s, and he saw in them the same savage grief now squeezing his lungs. It was impossible that he was still breathing – Snape might not have killed him yet, but this anguish surely would -- and yet, here he was, in a room with Malfoy and Snape, and it was Malfoy who was no longer breathing.
Neville had never imagined his most hated teacher ever looking uncertain, let alone lost, but Snape remained on his knees next to Malfoy, his body radiating frustration – that there was no more to do, that none of this would ever recover Lupin. Neville would never understand Snape, let alone like him – and his head would be spinning for weeks as it was: Snape and Remus? “That one was from Minerva”!? -- but he couldn’t worry about that now, not with a war to return to, and perhaps the rest of his life, if things somehow ended well.
In the meantime, it was time to end this. Taking care to remain within Snape’s line of vision, Neville walked up to Malfoy’s body and silently spelled off the chains. After another moment, squelching down his feelings of revulsion, he knelt by Malfoy’s ruined face and pressed his fingertips against its eyelids, sliding them down. It was the utter stillness of the man’s body as he did so that helped convince him Lucius was truly dead, and he was not going to be sorry about the flare of wild gladness that surged up at that thought.
The gesture appeared to free Snape from his momentary paralysis as well. As Neville withdrew his hand, Snape simply stood up, shaking his robes back into place but saying nothing.
Neville drew a deep breath. “Not to the Willow, I take it?”
A harsh sound escaped from Snape’s throat – almost a laugh, close to a sob. “Out on the moors will suffice. Let every jackdaw in Scotland peck at what’s left.”
Hysteria is for later, Neville reminded himself, and accepted the robes Snape handed to him. Socks. Shoes. Cloak. Wand –- at the last, Neville caught his breath in spite of himself.
A long stare. A short nod. The two men levitated the body between them and walked out into the night.
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