A/N: Please note that this story is rated for very mature content. It's set in a brothel, after all. Every single chapter after this one has serious lemons in it, so read at your own risk!
The Wayward Wand: The Potions Bloke
You could walk the streets of Knockturn Alley all night long and not see the entrance to the Wayward Wand.
This was hardly surprising, as it in fact had none. Part of the establishment's insanely rigorous security was that clients entered it only by Portkey, and then strictly by individual appointment.
The room into which the tall, black-haired man was thus transported was furnished in red velvet and gilt, and staffed by a taciturn man in a morning suit and white gloves.
"Your name, sir?" he asked.
"Oh, Merlin's mother's cunt, Hastings," the man snapped. "You know perfectly well who I am. You've been seeing me once a fortnight for the past twelve years." He set a squarish dragonhide satchel heavily onto the floor.
"I'm certain I never remember the identities of any of our clientele, sir," said the man imperturbably. "Your name?"
"Snape," he replied in exasperation. "Severus Snape, you pretentious twat. Now will you do me the kindness of telling your mistress that I'm here?"
The butler left and reappeared shortly, accompanied by a woman in her fifties who, although still attractive, was beginning to run to fat, and was wearing only slightly less paint than the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
"Severus," she purred. "So good to see you. Do come into my office. Have you brought us anything interesting?"
He followed her into an office whose utilitarian furnishings presented a sharp contrast to the heavy-handed opulence of the sitting room. Sweeping aside a stack of papers, she cleared a space on a low table for him to open his case.
"An assortment of lubricants," he said, removing a dozen vials and placing them on the table. "Various flavors and fragrances, slow you down, speed you up, make your cock vibrate, heating, cooling, the usual thing."
"Very nice," she said, removing the stopper from one of the vials and sniffing it delicately. "And do you have any more of those Petrophallic drops? They're a real godsend with some of our more . . . elderly clients, especially since the girls can just slip them into the drinks and the old gentlemen haven't a clue. Makes them think they've still got it; tremendously good for business."
"Yes, of course," he said, rummaging in the satchel and handing her a small brown bottle with an eyedropper. Then he brought out two jars, one large and one small. "Depilatory, repilatory."
"I don't know about that last one," she said. "The girls hate that. They say it itches like the devil."
"Still," said Snape mildly, "you never know when a particular customer's tastes may require it."
She smiled. She was sure that Snape was completely unaware of the existence of a small parchment file card with his name at the top, which said—among other things—"no shaved twat."
"I also have a few new offerings that I think might interest you." He rummaged in the bag again. "For those occasions when you may not wish for the customer to realize that the woman servicing him has resorted to, shall we say, artificial arousal enhancement, I've developed these little beads, which may be inserted up to an hour beforehand, and will provide a lubrication virtually indistinguishable from the real thing." He held out a half-pint-sized container labeled "I Can't Believe It's Not Pussy."
She lifted the lid of the container and peered at the tiny translucent spheres. "Very interesting. Anything else?"
He removed from a pocket of the satchel a pair of blue surgeon's gloves, which he donned with a theatrical snap. "These," he said, holding up a tiny clear bottle with a long thin nozzle, "are SureFire Detonating Drops. Guaranteed to make any man come within thirty seconds."
"Really?" she said, clearly intrigued. "I can see how that would come in very handy."
"The clever bit," said Snape, "is that it is absorbed transcutaneously."
"Hence the gloves."
"Hence the gloves. Just one drop, applied surreptitiously anywhere on the body—the back, for instance, or the nape of the neck—will have the desired effect within seconds."
"I do think, Severus," she said dryly, "that the client is likely to notice if the girl pauses in her attentions to put on a pair of rubber gloves."
"Oh, no," he said, "there's the beauty of it. It has no effect on the female whatsoever, so the wh—the girl can just apply it with her bare hand. Here," he said, taking the cap off the little nozzle, "try it out. Hastings, make yourself useful and come in here a moment, would you?"
She gave him a look over the tops of her reading glasses. "Severus, as much as you might enjoy making poor Hastings ejaculate in his trousers, I think we can spare ourselves the demonstration." She held the little bottle up to the light. "No effect on the girl, eh? Well, I suppose under the circumstances that's just as well. But do you have a companion product that works the same effect on women?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Really, Zelda," he said caustically, "do you think that if I had developed a potion that would induce instantaneous orgasm in women, that I would be eking out a supplement to my income cooking up lube after hours in my Potions classroom? Or coming here to get my, er, needs met? Women would be lining up for the privilege of whipping off their clothes in front of me."
"I suppose you're right," she sighed. "Still, it's a pity."
He cleared his throat. "Speaking of which . . . "
"Ah, yes. Would you like me to check and see which of the girls is available?"
"Actually, Zelda," he said with studied nonchalance, "I was hoping, given the added value of the new products, that we could, er, revisit the possibility I spoke to you about last month."
She wagged a finger in his face. "Severus Snape," she said, "I am never, ever, going to allow you to spy on my clients. The very idea! I don't suppose you would like it if I allowed someone to hide in the wardrobe and watch you while you're at your business with my girls, now would you?"
"Depends on who it was."
She made a little exasperated cluck. "You know, we've got the magic lanterns, if you're so set on watching."
"I don't want some silly fucking picture show. I want to watch the real thing."
She paused for a moment. "How about this? Since you did bring a very nice assortment this time, including the new products, I'll let you have two girls and watch them together. How would that be?"
He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs with elaborate casualness. "I suppose that would be an acceptable compromise."
"Lovely. Just give me a moment and I'll see who's free."
She left, and Snape returned to the red and gold sitting room, where Hastings was still standing by the door. Apparently the man never sat down.
"Will you be staying, sir?" he asked.
"Yes, Hastings, I will be staying. As I always do when I visit this establishment, as you well know."
Hastings held out his hand. "Your wand, please, sir."
"Oh, Christ on a cracker, man, must we go through this every single time?"
"House rules, sir. No magic on the premises. Your wand." His hand remained outstretched, and Snape grudgingly reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his wand and handed it over.
Zelda returned with two women: a slender Asian, and a more voluptuous redhead whose creamy pale skin was sprinkled with freckles. "Malavi, Amanda," she said, "this is Severus. I know you'll look after him."
"Thanks for the chance, Miss Zelda," said Amanda with a little smile. Snape preened ever so slightly; the idea that a girl would be grateful for the chance to suck his cock was a novelty, and pleasing to him. Another artifact of which Severus Snape was unaware was a jar in the kitchenette of the brothel, containing fifty-five Galleons—five for each girl in the House—and bearing a hand-written label, "Fuck the Potions Bloke."
Because in the twelve years that Snape had been making fortnightly visits to the Wayward Wand, he had received hundreds of blowjobs and the occasional wank—but no one, ever, had succeeded in getting her cunt around his cock.