Beg

By Tien Riu

tienriu@yahoo.com.au

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Author's Note: This has actually been up at skyehawke dot com :: archives for quite some time – and is really an experiment in writing higher rated slash.  I'm slowly working my writing style up to a point where I can get the characters to have sex.   

"Beg" is the prequel to "Obliviate" – which I've rated at skyehawke's version of NC-17 (X [V,S]) and thus will not be posted at FF.net.  It's sequel – "Somewhat Miscalculated" won't be posted at FF.net till after I've finished it – however, if anybody's interested, you can see the first part at skyehawke archives.  You can find the link to my author page there in my profile.

I still don't know Seeker – but despite that fact, I am going to say that this story is completely and utterly inspired by Seeker's work.  Go – read it (try Inkstained Fingers).  Much better than anything of mine.

Credits: JK Rowlings'.  Also, I suspect, given the amount of slash fiction I've read, I probably did get inspiration from many other incredible writers.  If I did, unintentionally, copy something from somebody – please email me and I'll remove it/apologise formally/include the actual name in this section.

Warnings: Severus Snape/Harry Potter.  Situations revolving around Severus Snape begging.  PWP.  AU.  Do I need to go on?

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Part One: Container Issues

After one of the numerous strategy sessions that dotted their last year at Hogwarts, Ron dragged Harry into a deserted classroom along with several bottles of Kipsucker's Moonshine.  They had gotten drunk, leaning against the wall and each other (and by the end of the night, the floor).  One of the conversations that had eventuated – as these things do when one is dead-set on getting from vertical to horizontal as quickly as possible – went as follows:

      " – wonder if it hurts?" 

Harry blinked, "What hurts?"

Ron had paused to swallow then started at Harry, "What?"

   "What?"  Harry had snickered, then paused to think, "You said something hurts – and I said 'what' and then you said –"

   "Oh right."  Ron frowned, taking a gulp from the bottle before brightening, "Oh yeah – you think that stick up Snape's arse hurts?"

   "Stick?" 

   "Yeah – the way he acts, it's got to be a stick or severe constipation -!" 

    For some reason, it had seemed funny at the time. 

   "Sick –"

   "True though."

   "Yeah."

They had sat there in silence for a while before Ron – following a train of thought that only made sense to him and his bottle of Moonshine – spoke again.

   "Probably likes it – greasy stiff.  .  .  You think he ever begged for it?" 

   "What?"

   "What?"

They both laughed; Harry had taken another gulp then frowned, "What'cha think it'd take to make Snape beg?"

      The question floated through Harry's mind as he sat in Professor Dumbledore's office and wondered why he kept letting the man do this to him.

    He was eighteen after all – a fully trained wizard.  With no obligation to Hogwarts other than as a member of the alumni.  Obligation to Professor Dumbledore and the faculty – that's another thing completely. 

    Argh.  Harry gave into temptation and allowed his head to sink into his hands.  Argh.  Argh.  Argh.

   "Were there any other way, Harry, I would not ask this of you."  Professor Dumbledore said, "But – the importance –" 

   "I know."  Harry said, voice slightly muffled, "I know.  I just –"  he looked up, "Isn't there some – well, other way? Than this – I mean – it's –"  he stopped, searching for the right words, "It's Professor Snape sir!"

    "Indeed, Harry."  Professor Dumbledore had said solemnly, "Which is why I make this request of you." 

And all of a sudden, Harry had felt ashamed rather than horrified.

      The problem wasn't that Harry had defeated Voldemort – it was what had happened after.  The moment when the Killing Curse had bounced off Harry and turned Voldemort into a fairly large pile of dust to be precise.

    Not that Harry remembered the moment very well.  Ron said that the sound of fifty three and three quarters (Nott, he had been told) worth of Death Eater magic slamming into him had been rather like having one's head stuck inside a very large pot that was being repeatedly bounced up and down.  All Harry remembered was feeling as if he had been repeatedly bounced up and down.

    Thus, Harry had to assume that sometime during that moment, along with the powers of the other fifty-two (and three quarters) Death Eaters, he had absorbed Severus Snape's magic.

    Come to think of it, it might explain  how he passed his Potions NEWTS.

      A year had passed since then with various researchers looking into a way for the purloined magic sitting in Harry to be returned to innocent Death Eaters.  Or the innocent Death Eater: Severus Snape.

    Several methods had already been discovered – all of which had unfortunate side effects (that is, potentially, the Death Eater in question might end up brain-dead or comatose).  Harry had gotten use to being very careful at how he swished and flicked (because having half of Stonehenge zooming towards your head is bad first thing in the morning).

    And then Professor Dumbledore had uncovered an old rite for transference of magical powers deep in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library.  A sexual rite for magical transference.

    One that involved – well, sex.

      Lots of sex.  With moaning.  And groaning and sweat.  And the exchange of bodily fluids.  Or – to be very precise (as Professor Dumbledore had been) – Harry putting bodily fluids (of a certain sort) into Severus Snape.  And Severus Snape – well, not loosing certain bodily fluids.  For a period of time directly proportional to the amount of magical powers he was transferring.    

      Professor Dumbledore had called it a 'container issue'.  And then waited for Harry to stop twitching mentally over that little gem.