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FIC: On a Sure Foundation, Part 3
Title: On a Sure Foundation
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Godric Gryffindor/Salazar Slytherin, Albus Severus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy, Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Warnings: DH canon compliance...to a point, hurt/comfort, frottage, wanking, bloodplay (of sorts), sex magic, orgasm denial, cock ring, rimming, object insertion, semi-public sex, mild bondage, spanking, and unauthorized shenanigans in the Library.
Summary: In Albus Severus Potter's Seventh Year at Hogwarts, he discovered something magical, something scary and exhilarating, something he isn't sure he can tell anyone else about-- oh, and that odd manuscript of Salazar Slytherin's was kind of neat, too...
Notes: This was written as a gift for themostepotente, for merry_smutmas 2007.

Part 1
Part 2



Salazar held his wand before him as he led the way down into the bowels of the castle, its glowing tip illuminating the magic-hewn rock walls and glinting off bits of crystal here and there.

They came at last to a small chamber, directly below the center of the castle, ringed with great stone pillars. Salazar set torches flaming about them and nodded to Godric, who placed the basket he carried beside the massive stone altar in the center of the chamber. Salazar added the heavy linen sack he bore, and rummaged in it for the necessary items.

He cleansed the stone and smudged it with fragrant herbs, all gathered from the castle grounds. He broke open a vial of pure almond oil and drew runes atop the altar, then sprinkled salt and herbs on the ground all around it. When he had finished, he stripped off his robes and stood before Godric in a thin linen tunic. "Disrobe," he instructed, and took a wineskin from the sack.

Godric removed belt, boots, robe, and as Salazar nodded, his inner tunic as well, until he stood nude in the chamber. Salazar poured wine into his cupped palm and sluiced it over Godric's body, over and over until he had rinsed every part of him. He set the wine aside and took oil to mark Godric's body with protective runes from head to toe, chanting softly under his breath as he wove the magic about him.

Godric stood solemnly still, feeling the net of power Salazar wrapped about him, until at last Salazar stepped back and removed his own tunic. Godric took up the wineskin without instruction and bathed Salazar as he had done, then traced runes on his skin as Salazar continued to chant.

The power in the chamber seemed to shimmer and hum as they worked, faint gold and silver lines flickering between the stone pillars and slipping along the floor like darting snakes. Salazar set the basket and sack far to one side and took up his favorite knife, a short blade with a silver-wrapped black horn handle. He knelt just outside the circle of salt and herbs and scribed a small circle in the stone floor, no larger than the end of his thumb, just inside the ring of herbs. He moved about the altar until he had scribed a circle at each of the cardinal points, then rose again and gestured to Godric.

"Lie down upon the altar," he said. Godric hesitated, studying him, then stepped over the ring and stretched himself out on the stone. Salazar moved to stand at the foot of the altar and set the tip of his knife to his own chest, pressing just hard enough to pierce the skin. He retraced the runes Godric had marked there in oil - Algiz, for protection; Kenaz, for power and knowledge; Uruz, for strength and understanding, for desire and potency; Raidho for travel; Ingwaz for the home; Gebo for gifts and giving, balance and partnership in all things. The bright blood-runes glowed with power when he was done, and he knelt on the altar between Godric's ankles and leaned forward to mark Godric in the same fashion.

As his knife bit, he looked deep into Godric's searching green eyes and felt the press of Godric's thoughts, battering at his consciousness. He traced the rune for protection and felt the power wrap around them both, the very warmth and comfort of a mother's arms.

He drew Kenaz and felt his mind pierce the thin barrier between them, and Godric's thoughts and emotions were laid bare to him - a touch of anxiety, sensations of pain and cold, both overcome by the thrill of power surrounding them, curiosity for the ritual Salazar had devised, and beneath it all, a broad and solid footing for everything else, love. Simple, unasked, uncomplicated love. Salazar's heart pounded and he nearly lost the spells in the surge of relief and exultation that filled him.


He stilled his trembling hand and traced the rune Uruz. The power enveloping them flared and sizzled, coiled about his loins and left him rampant. Godric's eyes glowed, and Salazar felt his arousal pressing up into his belly as he leaned down to trace the next runes.

Raidho for travel, and Ingwaz to bring them always safely home, and finally Gebo, that their partnership be that of equals, giving and gifted, balanced in all things.

He placed the blade down on the altar and pressed one hand on his own chest, one on Godric's then held his arms up and chanted again. Power pooled in his bloody palms, and he leaned forward and marked Godric's wrists with their mingled blood, then stretched back and marked his own ankles in the same way.

"By our blood are we bound. To this place and each other, now and always," he intoned, and the power lanced along the blood markings, leaving thin scarlet cords binding Godric's outstretched arms to the altar, and tethering Salazar's ankles to its opposite corners.

His loins were hot and full, aching for touch. He stretched himself out atop Godric's long, broad form and kissed him deeply. Godric could not move his hands, but his legs drew up, cradling Salazar between them as his lips opened and his tongue sought Salazar's. They kissed for an eternity, tongues sliding over one another's, teeth nipping and teasing, lips opening wide and pressing tightly together.

Salazar frotted his swollen shaft against Godric's, groaning at the delicious slick friction, sensitive flesh sliding against equally sensitive flesh. They rocked together, bathed in blood, oil and sweat, as the power swirled around them, driving their passion ever higher.

Godric let out a great cry and clenched his fists, then thrust his hips up against Salazar. "Yes! Let us--be joined," he gasped. "Salazar!"

He could spare no effort for their spell of convenience, not with so much power to channel and guide. Instead, Salazar wrapped his hands around Godric's hips and pulled him down as far as the bonds would permit, gathered the welling fluid from their ready cocks and pressed his slick fingers into the cleft of Godric's buttocks. As he breached him, Godric pressed forward, driving Salazar's fingers deep within. Salazar slid his fingers in and out, making Godric writhe in desperation as the runes carved into their skin glowed brighter. At last, his own arousal could bear the delay no longer, and he judged Godric more than ready. He withdrew his fingers, set his organ to Godric's opening, and pierced through in one powerful thrust.

Godric gave a mighty shout, and Salazar scarcely had time to wrap his hand around Godric's shaft before it jerked and began issuing forth his seed in great gouts, splashing them both and spattering on the altar, where it fairly sizzled with the energy they had raised. Salazar continued to stroke as he thrust home, over and over again, milking the seed from Godric and chanting spells of binding, of protection, of union and safe harbour. Godric was nearly senseless, still gasping out his completion, but Salazar drove his shaft in again and again, feeling the magic coiling about them, building higher and higher still. The power crested above them and seemed to pause, and Salazar felt his bollocks drew up, aching tight. He sheathed himself once more, cried out, and spent himself within his beloved Gryffindor.

The power about them flared, then flashed blindingly white, and burst in a dazzling shower of stars.

* * * * * *

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp. Al met Scorpius at the door of the Great Hall, right after breakfast, holding an old, folded parchment.

"Ready?"

"If you are," Scorpius said. "What is that?"

"A bit of extra help," Al explained, unfolding it. He touched his wand to the parchment and intoned, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

As words and diagrams appeared on the parchment, Scorpius watched in admiration. "So, this is the infamous Marauders' Map?" he asked.

"None other," Al agreed. "Dad gave it to James, his first year, then ordered James to give it to me my first year. I had to give it back to James the following year, then Lily had it for her first year, and I got it back fourth year. We've alternated as Keeper of the Map every year since, although it's a family rule that the map can be borrowed from the Keeper for good and sufficient reason, and fee, of course," he explained, grinning.


"Of course. So, has your map any indication of where we should start?"

They studied the map carefully, unfolding it to show the lowest levels of Hogwarts castle, but there was no indication of a Ritual Chamber or anything that might once have been used as one. "It doesn't go deep enough," Al sighed. "See, here's the Slytherin storage room, on the lowest level. That's not anywhere near the foundations, and certainly not as deep as the Chamber of Secrets."

"Hm." Scorpius traced a faint line along the indicated storage chamber, then peered closer. "What's this? 'Psg to?'"

Al looked at the notation. "Maybe a passageway they couldn't get into? Or one they only suspected was there?"

"Perhaps...it might be worth a look, don't you think?" Scorpius smiled at him, and Al felt an odd little flutter in his belly. Must be the excitement - just like a treasure hunt, he told himself.

"Sure! We've got to start somewhere," he answered.

They headed down to the dungeons, past classrooms and cellars, past Professor Bulstrode's office and the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, and down a narrow, winding staircase that led to the storage room noted on the map.

It was an old, cluttered room, filled with rolled-up green carpets and tapestries, dusty landscape paintings, crates of old textbooks, and all manner of oddments that Slytherins had stored away over the years.

They oriented themselves on the map and had to shift a heavy press filled with green velvet bed curtains, and finally found themselves staring blankly at a stone wall, just like any other stone wall down in the dungeons.

"Well, if the map's right, it should be right here. Does it say anything else?" Scorpius asked.

Al studied the map, but no further information was forthcoming. "The Marauders must not have been able to open the passage," he said, "or they only guessed it was here."

"That doesn't make sense," Scorpius argued. "I didn't see any other 'maybe' passages marked. They must have known it was here, but couldn't get through it."

Al ran his hands over the wall and drew back in sudden surprise. "There's something here," he said, "It's very faint...must be centuries old, and almost worn away." He drew his wand. "Lumos," he said, and held his wand off to one side, tilting his head to see the markings. "It's...snakes," he announced. "Twined snakes, in a circle."

"Sounds promising," Scorpius said encouragingly. "So, what now?"


Al bit his lip and looked sheepishly at Scorpius. "Should I try?"

Scorpius sighed. "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I do not find it 'creepy' or 'evil' or even 'weird' that you're a Parselmouth? Your father's one, you know. It's not unheard of for it to run in families."

"I don't like using it," Al grumbled. "People stare enough when they hear my name, let alone if I start hissing at snakes!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Do you want to open this passage or not? If it's guarded by a carving of snakes, that's a pretty encouraging sign, wouldn't you say? Slytherin storage room, Slytherin symbol, Slytherin secret passage, maybe?"

"All right, all right!" Al sighed and focused on the faintly scribed snakes twined in their eternal circle. "Open up," he said, only vaguely aware that it came out of his mouth in a series of hisses.

He heard a deep rumble in the stone and a heavy, grating sound.

Scorpius nodded approvingly. "Well done," he said, as the wall slid back, revealing a black passage beyond.

They held their wands before them, dispelling a little of the inky darkness with warmly glowing light, and headed down the passage. There were stairs leading downward, and then a long, sloping section that took them farther down in a spiral, toward the unknown depths of Hogwarts' foundations.

Al felt his hands shaking as they went deeper and deeper beneath the castle, and was grateful that Scorpius either didn't notice or refrained from remarking on it. He stumbled briefly, and when Scorpius caught his arm, he noticed that the Ravenclaw was clammy with sweat and a bit trembly as well. On impulse he slid his free hand down and grasped Scorpius's. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure." Scorpius managed to sound unconcerned, but his fingers laced tightly with Al's and neither of them seemed inclined to let go.

They didn't know how far they had gone, but suddenly the passage opened up and gave into a small chamber that echoed before them. Scorpius held his wand higher and pointed it this way and that, illuminating a ring of stone pillars surrounding a small open chamber with a large stone altar at its center.

"Wow," Al said reverently. "I think we found it!"

"There are torch rings up there," Scorpius said, peering through the darkness. "LUMOS!" he called, and suddenly the chamber was bathed in torchlight.


"Scorpius, look!" Al called. He had gone forward to examine the altar. Its ancient surface was closely carved with runes and symbols Al could not readily identify, and the stone floor surrounding it held more runes, as well as four small, faintly glowing circles, one at each of the cardinal points.

"Wicked," Scorpius breathed, then grinned at Al. His parents strongly disapproved of Muggle slang, but Scorpius indulged now and then, a mild rebellion of sorts.

"We've got to get a tracing of these," Al said urgently. "Did you bring parchment?"

"Of course." Scorpius drew out a roll of thin parchment and a quill, which he quickly transfigured to a stick of charcoal. They spread the parchment over the altar and lay the charcoal down atop it.

"Genero vestigium!"

The charcoal slowly moved over the parchment, creating a trace of the runes and other symbols from the stone beneath it. When it was done, they repeated the process on the floor around the altar.

"What do you suppose they did down here," Al wondered.

"Probably a lot of rituals for strengthening the castle; that would make sense if we're down at the foundations."

Al made a circuit of the chamber. "Hey! There's another doorway here," he said excitedly. "Come on, let's see where it goes!"

Scorpius followed him down another passage, this one far shorter than the first, which led them to a door marked with more twined serpents. Al ordered it to open in Parseltongue, and they found themselves in an ancient workroom. A fire sprang up in a brazier as they entered, startling them both a bit, but casting a warm light on an old, old stone work table and shelves of pottery jars and flasks, stone mortars and crucibles, and trays of dried herbs long since crumbled to dust.

"Don't disturb anything, or we'll sneeze our heads off," Al warned.

"Right," Scorpius agreed, taking in everything with wide eyes. "Al, do you suppose this is one of Slytherin's own work rooms? It looks old enough."

"Maybe," Al said, trying to make out the writing on a faded piece of parchment left on the work surface. "It's old enough I can't read this without a translation spell, that's for sure. Think we could take it with us?"

"Let me note exactly where we found it," Scorpius said, "and cast a stasis spell, or it's liable to crumble when you move it."

Al nodded and gently cast the spell, then picked up the parchment and slipped it into his pocket. "There's something else here," he said, reaching between two pottery jars on the nearest shelf. Looks like a whole stack of parchment. Reservo," he cast, then pulled the protected parchment free. "We'll look at these later," he said, "When we have plenty of time."


Scorpius had gone to the far side of the room and was peering into the shadows behind the stone shelves. "There's something here," he said.

Al came to stand by him and look. "Another room?"

"Maybe. Something feels...odd. Do you feel it?"

"Hm...I don't know. Should we go in?"

Scorpius nodded uncertainly. They stepped through the opening and stopped in dumb amazement. It was a very short passageway, and at its far end stood an archway filled with coruscating light, shimmering in silver, blues and greens, like blazing ice.

"Wow.." Al stared at it. "What is that?"

"I don't...know..." Scorpius said vaguely, but he was already walking toward it.

"Scorpius, wait!" Al said, but it was too late. As Scorpius came within reach of the archway, the light flared and the stone passage trembled. There was a terrifyingly deep growl, as from the very bowels of the castle itself, and a bolt of light hit Scorpius full in the chest, blasting him back the way he had come.

"SCORPIUS!" Al shouted. The walls were shaking and he heard the stone groaning over their heads. He leapt to Scorpius and threw himself over the pale prone form, covering his own head with his hands and waiting for the roof to fall in on them.

In moments, the shaking stone calmed and the deep growls and groans died away. Al caught his breath and tried to slow his racing heart, as he felt Scorpius's throat for a pulse.

Fair lashes fluttered and ice blue eyes flickered open. A vaguely amused smile stretched Scorpius's mouth. "My hero," he said lightly, but his eyes were bright and there was no mockery in his tone. Al licked his lips, sighing in relief, and suddenly Scorpius was pressing forward and kissing him. Their hands were twined and their mouths mashed together awkwardly, but somehow it was...amazing...real...and so much more than any other kiss Al had ever had before. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing, but the world narrowed down to the press of their lips together, and the faint taste of strawberries and cream on Scorpius's breath, and the sudden throbbing between his legs, beating in time with his heart.

They finally broke apart, both gasping for air and not knowing exactly where to look or what to say. Scorpius found his voice first. "I think we'd better get back," he said quietly.


"Yeah," Al agreed. He rose and extended a hand, pulling Scorpius up to his feet. They retreated silently, heading back to the altar chamber and retrieving their tracings, then hurrying back up the passage and out through the old storage room. When they finally emerged into the brightly lit halls of Hogwart's ground floor, they had regained their composure and were quite astonished to find that luncheon was only just being served.

* * * * * *

As Harry readied himself for bed, he thought guiltily that he probably ought to be concerned about the rather...unusual turn his dreams had taken of late. In fact, he probably should stop by St. Mungo's and talk to a mind-healer, or at least ask for some Dreamless Sleep. It was probably quite unhealthy for him to be carrying on one-sided conversations with a photo of a dead man, and it was almost certainly a Very Bad Sign Indeed that he not only was dreaming of that same dead man every night, but that he craved the dreams, embraced them, and found himself more eager for his bed every night.

The dreams had begun changing not long after Ginny had moved out, and instead of waking up from fighting for his life, Harry found himself finishing the fight, rescuing Severus from certain death, and then...

Well.

At first, they had only talked. Severus had told him the truth he had actually learned from the man's memories, but in the dreams, it was a very beautiful, emotional sharing of long-buried events and feelings, and they had held each other until Harry woke, tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Before long, the dreams' endings had begun changing again, and lately they had been skipping the battle sequence altogether, and playing out far different scenarios. Harry didn't know whether this indicated a healthy turn of events, meaning he had finally moved past the trauma of the war, or whether it simply indicated the depraved state of his mind, which was so anxious to get to the snogging and whatever came after that it hadn't time for mucking about with phantom snakes in decrepit old shacks.

He crawled into bed, dowsed the light and sighed, putting his glasses on the nightstand. These dreams were a decided improvement on the old models, and he wasn't going to give them up unless he had to.

He stood on a balcony, wearing only a thin linen tunic and golden snakes twined around his forearms. Far below him, lights twinkled in windows and doorways, as the moon rose over the city. There was a sound behind him, and he turned to see Severus enter their chamber, wearing a long black velvet robe bordered in silver thread and emeralds.

"What do you see?" his lover asked, coming out to him and wrapping long arms around him.

"Beauty," he said, tilting his head back and smiling up at Severus.

The hawk-nosed man smiled and leaned down, giving him an inverted kiss. "Your arms are cold," he murmured against Harry's throat. "Come inside and let me warm you," he breathed.

They went back inside, arm in arm, and Severus lit the braziers with a casual wave of his hand. Harry cast his tunic aside and stretched out on the bed, waiting. Severus let his black robe fall to the floor and stood at the foot of the bed, an alabaster statue gilded by flickering firelight. He knelt on the bed and crawled forward until he straddled Harry. He ran his long-fingered hands down Harry's arms, chest, belly and legs, stroking gently and making every inch of skin shiver with delight. With one finger, he drew a sigil of fire in the air, then flicked it toward Harry's rampant cock. It coiled about the base of his erection and solidified into a golden snake like those twining Harry's arms.

Harry smiled. "Feeling playful, I see," he remarked, stretching languidly beneath Severus. He drew one knee back and stretched his leg out, wrapping it over Severus's lean hip and stroking the back of his thigh with his toes.

Severus bent to kiss his lips, then trailed kisses down along his neck and chest. He suckled a nipple while his hand toyed with the other one, then switched sides and teased the wet nipple to a hard point with his calloused fingertips as he scraped his teeth over the second nipple.

Harry gasped and arched into his touch, craving more sensation. Severus's hands splayed across his belly, kneading the firm muscles, then dipped lower and grazed fingertips down on either side of his straining cock. The golden serpent slithered and wrapped its tail under his scrotum, holding him firmly in check, and Harry groaned as his bollocks and cock hardened further.

Severus bent his head and licked a long, slow trail from Harry's navel down to the root of his cock, then slowly up from base to glans, where he flicked the tip of his tongue around and around, until Harry thought he must either come or go mad. Severus drew back and blew softly on the wet skin, making Harry shiver and moan, then bent down again and mouthed his sac, sucking one plump testicle into his mouth and rolling it around with his tongue and then the other. When Harry's bollocks were pulsing and aching with the attention, he let them slip free and cradled Harry's arse in both hands.


With more strength than anyone would have credited, he rocked Harry's hips up and murmured a spell to hold him there. He bent forward again and licked slowly from Harry's scrotum down between his cheeks and over the puckered opening deep within them.

Harry panted, fisting the linen sheets, as Severus subjected him to slow, torturous delights. Severus flicked his tongue over his anus, first with light, feathery touches, then gradually more and more firmly. He pursed his lips around the swollen pucker and pressed his tongue firmly through the center, then gently nibbled the edges, until Harry was gasping and babbling incoherently.

Severus pulled back and licked one long finger, then slid it down along the same line his tongue had traced, and flicked the nail over Harry's overly sensitized hole. He whispered something, and Harry felt fullness in his arse, just before Severus slipped his finger in and began sliding it in and out.

Harry writhed, desperate for more contact, and Severus obliged, adding a second finger and toying with his hole for a while, then removing them and pressing Harry's legs back, to replacing fingers with his own hard cock. He thrust in very slowly, shaking with the strain of holding back, but making Harry feel every inch as it gradually filled him. Harry wrapped both legs around Severus and pulled him in yet farther, arching up and trying to get friction against his aching cock, although he knew the charmed snake would give him no relief until Severus allowed it.

"Harry," Severus breathed, once he was buried as deeply as it was possible to be.

"Yes! God, yes, Severus! Please!" Harry begged, nearly sobbing with need.

Severus drew back and began to thrust, slowly at first, then gradually increasing both tempo and force, until he was slamming into Harry with wild abandon, shaking the bed and snapping Harry's head back with the power of each thrust. He reached between them and wrapped his hand about Harry's cock, stroking it as he fucked him.

Harry's eyes rolled back in his head as Severus pounded into him and frigged his aching, weeping cock. He heard a keening sound and realized vaguely that it was coming from him.

Severus plunged back in and cried out, and suddenly the golden snake binding Harry's cock vanished, and they were both coming, shaking and gasping and shouting in release.

Harry woke with a gasp, spurting come all over his sheets like a randy teenager. He trembled as the spasms ebbed, then sighed heavily. He barely managed to cast a cleaning charm before he fell asleep yet again.

* * * * * * *

Salazar stormed into his workroom and slammed the door behind him. Fools! Could they not see the growing dangers?

The school had been open for a score of years or more, now, and their new students numbered in the dozens each year. True to his own beliefs, Salazar still favoured pupils with strong ambitions and the drive to excel, and above all, those whose parents or grandparents were also magical folk.


Each of the Founders had their criteria for selecting pupils, but most of those were simple matters of personal taste and what qualities each most prized.

In Salazar's eyes, the question of blood was something else entirely.

"We are too few already," he had protested to the others, over an evening cup of wine in their common room, when the subject had been raised yet again. "Do you not see the danger in exposing ourselves to those who have no magic? If you take children, even children of latent power, from mundane homes, whether peasant or noble, their families will question, and before long we will have an angry mob at our gates, with pitchforks and burning torches!"

Godric had made as if to silence him, but his anger was roused and he would not listen. "If you will not think of our safety, what of the students? Do you not remember young Peter Hargrove, beaten and driven from his village by ignorant peasants for being in league with the devil? And all because he was practicing his lessons at home! Or Maelin Corviser, whose father locked her away for her 'unnatural' practices, until he could find a man to take her far away and take her to wife? Or Diota Sweyn?"

He did not need to remind them of what had befallen Diota. Her family had been driven into their own croft, barred in, and the building fired over their heads. It still sickened him to think of it.

"Enough," Godric had said firmly. "Salazar, we know it is a danger. But the danger exists for such children whether we teach them or not! Magic will show itself, always! Should we leave them untaught, a danger to themselves and their families, because we are afraid? Worse, should we leave them prey to the next blood-path wizard that chances by?"

Salazar would hear no more. He had left his wine unfinished and headed for his workroom. If they would not listen, would not heed him...

He sighed. Well, if they would not, they would not. He dared not make empty threats, and he dared not leave them unprotected, even though their own folly brought the danger upon them all.

He drew a bit of sacking from a cage on the floor and regarded the young cockerel sleeping within, head tucked under his wing. If his formula was correct, the bird would lay soon, and he would bury the egg in the dungheap he had prepared for the experiment. And then...well...perhaps he would produce a guardian worthy of Hogwarts.

"Salazar?" Godric's voice came from the hallway.

He dropped the sacking back into place and returned to his worktable, taking up a pestle and grinding crystallized dragon's bile with more force than was strictly necessary.


"Salazar?" Godric poked his head through the doorway and smiled. "Ah, there you are." He came in and stood idly by as Salazar worked, then moved to stand behind him and put his hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently. "So tense, my serpent. I am sorry for this evening. The subject flicks us all on raw nerves. Perhaps we should simply agree that we will never be in accord on this matter."

Salazar shrugged his hands off, irritably. "And by that you mean that you will continue to bring in any child that shows magic, whether I like it or not. We will disagree, but you will have your way, and I am to say nothing!"

Godric sighed. "Believe me, I understand your concerns. I share them, in fact. But I still say the danger is greater if the children are not taught than if they are. Can we not devise something to protect them? A geas, perhaps, that will prevent them from performing spells away from the school, until they are of age? Or perhaps we can cloud their families' memories, so that they will remember nothing of dishes that float or roses that spring up from snow beds."

Salazar snorted. "You may as well cause their families to forget them entirely, or believe them dead. Circe knows enough of them die each winter that a handful more each year will not be remarked."

Godric looked at him in shock, then slowly frowned and nodded. "It is an extreme measure, but if there were no other choice..."

Salazar shook his head and turned back to his grinding. Godric toyed with a spare pestle from the table for a moment, sliding it in and out of his curled fingers. He gently trailed it down Salazar's back, tracing the line of his spine, then slid it over the slight curve of his buttocks. Despite himself, Salazar caught his breath.

Godric leaned in and kissed the side of his neck, as he rubbed the warmed pestle over the soft robe, sliding it along the cleft of his buttocks and pressing it forward between his legs. Salazar's brainless member stirred, having no regard for principles or precautions. He gripped the pestle he was using more tightly and struggled to continue grinding, but Godric mimicked him, pressing the other pestle firmly against him and twisting it as he thrust it against his bollocks, matching the pace of Salazar's grinding.

Godric brushed his hair back and licked behind his ear. "Are you nearly finished?"

"I--" Salazar groaned as Godric pressed the pestle in harder. His staff leapt up, pushing out his robes and drooling against his inner tunic. "Y-yes!" he gasped, and dropped the pestle to grip the worktable with both hands. Godric flipped his robe and tunic up over his haunches and rubbed the warmed pestle against bare flesh, pressing it into the cleft and grazing the sensitive flesh inside with the end of the blunt, rounded stone.

Salazar trembled and spread his legs, damning himself for a fool and a wanton whore, but wanting Godric's touch more than his own dignity. Godric rubbed his buttocks with his free hand and murmured a spell, and the pestle grew slick with heavy oil. He slid it in deeper, probing for Salazar's opening, and teased it, rubbing the hard, heavy stone around and around, twisting it until the puckered hole relaxed enough to admit it. Godric kissed his neck again and pushed the pestle in, to perhaps half of its length.

Salazar gasped as the hard, unyielding object breached him, but Godric only pulled it out a bit and pressed it back in again, slowly setting a pace that matched the pounding of Salazar's heart. Salazar groaned and pressed his hips forward, rubbing his engorged shaft against the broad edge of the worktable as Godric buggered him with the pestle and murmured meaningless babble against his throat.

He felt Godric's free hand slip away, then felt the brush of soft robes against his thighs. Godric withdrew the pestle and thrust in his own swollen rod, making Salazar nearly weep at the touch of hot, living flesh in place of hard stone. Godric slid his hands around under the bunched fabric of Salazar's clothing and wrapped the fingers of one hand around his shaft, as the other hand cradled his bollocks and gently rolled them back and forth while he thrust again and again.

In moments, Salazar felt his organ spasm, and his seed spat forth, spilling over Godric's fist and spattering the insides of his garments. Godric groaned appreciatively and thrust in harder as he milked Salazar's softening member, until he, too, stiffened and spent.

* * * * * * *


Al tried to concentrate on his transcription of the rune tracings, but his gaze kept flickering sideways to Scorpius, who was deeply engrossed in a book on translation spells, trying to find something subtle enough to decipher the ancient writings they had found. The fine, white-blond hair was translucent in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and Scorpius's teeth pressed his lower lip, bringing the bright flush of blood to normally pale pink skin. His tongue slipped out and wet his upper lip, then he frowned and switched to chewing the other side of his lower lip.

The moisture glinted on his upper lip, and Al was nearly overcome by the urge to lean over and lick it away. He shivered and clenched his thighs, trying to ignore the sudden pulsing in his cock as it sprang to attention.

Scorpius shifted in his chair and ran one hand through his hair, then made some more notes.

Al forced himself back to the transcription, carefully annotating his copy of the tracings and making side notes on separate parchment. Scorpius leaned toward him and picked up one of the reference books stacked between them, and Al swallowed hard as his nose filled with the scent of his friend. His cock throbbed hopefully, but he pressed his fist down between his legs and told it sternly to behave! It wasn't as though he hadn't spent time with Scorpius before - hell, they had spent most of seven years together! It was completely ridiculous for him to be feeling and reacting this way, just because of an impulsive, teasing kiss.

He bit back a groan at the memory of Scorpius's lips on his.

Scorpius suddenly thumped the book down and sat back, looking at him. He studied Al for a moment, then stood up. "Come with me; I need your help." He took the quill out of Al's hand and put it down on the table they were using, then pulled Al to his feet. Blinking in mild confusion, Al followed him, back to the dim recesses of the Library stacks, up to the second level and farther back, into the dark alcove that housed the seldom-used Magical Taxation and Accountancy section.

Al looked around in puzzlement. "You found Slytherin's account books?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes and reached for Al with both hands. "No, idiot! I've been flirting with you all damned day, and I'm sick of it! Now, do you want to do something about it, or should I let you go wank in privacy?" He pulled Al close to him and slid one hand down to cup the bulge in his trousers.

Al let out a small whimper and leaned into the touch. "I..."

"Shhh..." Scorpius smiled and slid one knee between Al's legs, until the warm bulk of his thigh rubbed against that aching bulge. Al could feel a similar swelling beneath Scorpius's trousers, pressing against his own thigh. Scorpius grinned at him. "Better?"

He felt a surge of heat and leaned in, kissing Scorpius hard and pressing forward with his leg. The answering pressure on his cock was incredible and he thrust his tongue into Scorpius's mouth, sliding it back and forth as they rocked together. Scorpius wrapped his arms around him and leaned back, pulling him almost on top of him, so that Al pinned him against the stacks. He tilted his hips and thrust up with an almost silent moan. Al ground his leg and crotch into Scorpius's, gasping at the electric thrill and exquisite pleasure that shot up his spine.

"Yessss..." Scorpius breathed against his neck, digging his fingernails through Al's shirt and into his back.

Mindful of their location, Al took a deep breath and bit down on Scorpius's shoulder, muffling his grunts and groans as they frotted together. He was sheened in sweat and trembling, and he felt as if his balls were about to burst, but he had to keep thrusting until he either came or died.

Scorpius whimpered and drew one knee up, wrapping his leg around Al's thigh and pressing his crotch harder against Al's leg. He tilted his head back and then gasped and stilled, and Al felt his cock pulsing against his leg and hot dampness seeping through their clothes. Al moaned, then bit down hard on Scorpius's shoulder and felt as if his brain had suddenly liquefied and was jetting out through his cock as he came and came and came.

* * * * * * * * *

He dreamed again...dark colours painting the greyness between dreams into images he could almost recognize as memories, but faded and blurred with time and distance, though neither held sway in this place of infinite greyness...

The greyness became stone walls, and his arms were manacled and stretched out above his head, high enough that his ribs ached with it, and his feet scrabbled for purchase on the damp stone floor.


There had been blood, and dark magic, and a great deal of pain...and the pain was still with him, but most of all, there was the cold knowledge that his tormenters had left him here to die alone. The chill of abandonment coiled down into his vitals, and it was all he could do to keep from sobbing.

He heard footsteps, and a slight man in dark robes came into view. Green eyes looked at him with infinite compassion, and hands reached up to wipe the blood and sweat from his face.

"Shhh..." A hand cupped his cheek and soothed him. "I'm here. I'll look after you," he said.

He was bathed with warm water and healing herbs, and his body dried with a soft cloth. Gentle hands rubbed ointment into the worst of his injuries, then trailed slowly across his chest. Calloused thumbs circled his nipples, and he arched and cried out at the intense sensation. Palms smoothed their way down his abdomen and rubbed his lengthening cock, then wrapped around it and stroked.

He had little purchase to thrust, suspended as he still was, but his buttocks tensed and he tried to press forward into the grasping hands. The green eyes looked up at him and glittered, and then sank down out of view. All he could see was a dark head bent over his aching prick, before wet, wet heat enveloped him, and a tongue swirled over his swollen glans, then rasped along the great pulsing vein running down his shaft.

He cried out, but the mouth and tongue were in no hurry, sucking and licking at him until he could bear it no more. His bollocks tightened and his cock jerked wildly. He clenched his fists as his orgasm broke free, and his come spurted, filling the avid mouth that swallowed it and continued sucking and licking, stripping every bit of fluid from him. The agile tongue licked away the last droplets, then his softened prick slipped free of the lips that held it.

Strong hands lifted his legs, and there was a whisper of magic. He felt a strange, slick fullness in his arse, and then his legs were lifted higher, and a thick, hot cock pierced him, sliding in deep at the first thrust. He gasped at the stretching, burning pleasure, and wrapped his legs around the trim torso. Powerful arms held him close and a voice kept chanting as he was filled over and over again...a word he almost recognized...soft and sibilant...over and over, in time with each thrust...

"Severus...Severus...Severus..."

Arms and hips shifted, and the next thrust sent a burst of stars across his eyes and white lightning racing along his nerves. Again, and again...

He threw back his head and screamed, "HARRY!"

* * * * * * * * *

Salazar looked down from his high tower, sighing at the forces marshaled on the plains below. After so many years, after all his principles and passions, after he had turned his back on the greatest work any four wizards had ever accomplished, after he had walked away from the one person he might truly have claimed to love, it had come to this. Here he was, old, ill, a curse eating away at him, and under siege in his own castle, by his own hand-picked protégé.


It simply was not fair.

He sighed. Well, he was not Godric, to think there must be some sort of justice in the world. He had known the dangers all along, and if he had ever stopped to consider it, he would have guessed that one of his bright, ambitious young wizardlings would some day decide they wanted his power for themselves.

His hand went into his robe and closed on the old stone amulet he still wore after all this time. Marked with his own device of twined serpents on one side, it still bore the runes he and Godric had charmed into it and its mate, with their ritual of binding and protection. When they had completed the ritual, the four scribed circles in the stone floor had been blazing bright with new runes. He had taken two of them, marking one for Godric, the other for himself, and leaving two for Rowena and Helga, should they choose to bind themselves to the castle as well.

The irony of it all was that after all his cunning plans and preparations, Godric had never needed the amulet...but now, a good sixty years later, perhaps he did!

A noise from below made him look out again and sigh to see "Lord Blackfire" (or whatever he called himself this year) had brought up a trebuchet and begun lobbing pots of flaming tar and doubtless worse things over the wall. For all his talk of magical might, he had resorted to a mundane siege engine at the last.

"And much good may it do him," Salazar grumbled. He had sent the last of his students and servants away two weeks ago, through a subterranean passage that brought them out in a series of caves a good league from the castle. The intervening time he had spent setting nasty little surprises for his enemy all throughout the castle, destroying a few items that were too dangerous to move, gathering all of his precious writings and collected studies into a trunk, and, foolishly, accepting a Wizard's duel with the upstart, which had resulted in the curse that was slowly destroying him.

He really should have credited the man with the speed of youth and enough cunning to cheat...

Well, no matter. They would breach the fortified walls soon enough, and when they arrived, he had no wish to be present. He would not have his corpse dangled from his own tower, nor his head adorn a spike outside the gate. He rose from the window seat and made his painful way to his trunk, gasping at the effort it cost him. He drew his wand and shrunk the heavy trunk down to a size he could fit in a belt-pouch, which he so did. He looked around his study one last time, checked the clever trap-spells over the doors and windows, and picked up a small silver casket that held mementos and a few personal jewels. He slipped it into his pocket and gritted his teeth as the whole castle shook with the impact of one of Blackfire's missiles.

"Yes, yes, soon enough, soon enough," he muttered. He sheathed his wand and grasped the old, worn amulet firmly in one hand. His thumb traced the runes on the stone, then he planted the image of Hogwarts in his mind's eye and commanded, "HOME!"

He had only a moment to wonder whether the spell would still hold, after all these years, then pain and blackness swallowed him.

* * * * * * * * *

Concluded in Part 4