By Any Other Name, pt 5 of 5 (Snape/Draco, NC-17) 2006

Author: ravenna_c_tan
Title: By Any Other Name, Part 5 of 5
Pairing: Snape/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3137
Genre: Adventure, Slash, Darkfic
Warnings: Adult Language, Sexual Content, Non-con, Torture, Major HBP Spoilers
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I am merely a hobbyist/tourist visiting J. K. Rowling’s world, for the love, not for the money.

Summary: Draco Malfoy has had nothing but a series of shocks since he fled Hogwarts with Snape and the other Death Eaters. Questioning his own motivations, he finds himself faced with a choice. The story concludes with this segment.

By Any Other Name, Part 5 of 5
by Ravenna C. Tan

Three days later and Draco had read the entire Grimoire. In it he even found the warding charm Snape had used on him, and knew now why it had been ineffective when Snape himself was not present, as well as how to fix that. No wonder Snape had these books hidden away–some of them one could probably land in Azkaban just for owning them. Draco returned the book and exchanged it for another, a hand-lettered volume entitled Nocturnum Minarum, which appeared to be an ancient Defense against the Dark Arts book with spells for fighting vampires and ghouls and other monsters. At least Nocturnum Minarum did not demand he cut himself every time he opened it.

Meanwhile, he ventured out amongst the other Death Eaters a few times. Mostly he kept to his room, feeding himself with the help of the survival spellbook he kept, but he went out several times mostly to see if the others had heard from Snape. Draco kept expecting them to try to play those little parlor games with him again, but the Carrows and the others kept their distance. It took him a while to figure out why, and he eventually narrowed it down to three possibilities.

The first was that maybe all new Death Eaters went through something like that. Hell, even his first year in Slytherin he’d been hazed. The second was that maybe they sensed he was itching for a fight. The third was that when they all thought he was in the doghouse for failing to kill Dumbledore, he had been easy game, but now that he had been to see the Dark Lord and apparently won his approval–given that he was still alive and walking among them–they weren’t sure where they stood. The last seemed the most likely. Still, he never left his room without his wand.


* * *

Seven days after Draco’s meeting with Voldemort, Fenrir came to call. Draco was upstairs in his room, preparing a pot of chamomile, when he heard the howl from outside. He heard the rush of footsteps down the stairs as well as shouts and voices.

It wouldn’t do to be holed up like a coward if something big were going on. Draco, wand in hand, rushed down after the others and found the Death Eaters all standing on the porch of the house, as if they were on the railing of a ship, looking out at the werewolf, transformed fully into his full moon form, prowling back and forth outside the picket fence. He had a sack thrown over one shoulder.

“Let me in, you cretins!” he said in a voice that was mostly growl.

“Snape set the wards, Fenrir,” Alecto said. “Only he can undo them.” She, like all of them, had their wands out. Draco realized with a start that if Snape had set them, no one had reinforced them in over a week.

Fenrir let loose another howl and the sack began moving. It suddenly became clear to Draco what that shape was, a small person or a child, kicking its legs inside the sack.

“Damn your wards!” the werewolf growled and leapt over the fence. Green sparks flew, and Fenrir yelped. He landed in the yard with his fur partly on fire, but he rolled in the grass until it was out, holding the bundle in his clawed hands. Now he tore the sack to shreds to expose a naked blond boy, probably not more than eight or nine years old. In the moonlight his hair shone white.

The boy cowered down, hid his head between his arms, and wailed.

“Brat!” Fenrir struck the little figure. The boy fell over but choked off his cries.

Draco had leaped over the porch rail before he thought clearly about what he was doing. “You don’t belong here, Fenrir,” he said, pointing his wand at the werewolf, who now grabbed the child by the throat. “You’ll bring trouble.”

“Hrrr, now look who’s a brat? Trouble am I?”

The other Death Eaters were shouting at him, now, as well, though Draco was the only one facing him down.

“We’re supposed to be hiding here,” Draco hissed. “You’ll bring half the Aurors in England down on us!”

“Aurors! Ha!” Fenrir howled again, and Draco decided he was quite mad. He shot a Petrification Charm at the werewolf, but Fenrir blocked the spell with the child’s body. Draco saw the boy go rigid as Fenrir ran toward the back of the house. Draco gave chase.

In the back, the trees cast moonshadows, but Draco could see the glint of Fenrir’s eyes, and then hear the wet sound of something tearing. The others were in the kitchen now, looking out the windows.

Draco flicked his wand toward Fenrir and was rewarded with a yelp, followed by a growl. The werewolf left his prey then, and came stalking toward Draco on all fours, snarling.

Really, Fenrir never had a chance. Draco was too quick, his hexes and curses too well-placed, and too powerful, even though the werewolf was at the height of his powers. Nocturnum Minarum. In mere seconds it was over, Fenrir gutted, immobilized, beheaded, and then immolated in a flash. Draco then Vanished the ashes.

The boy was dead, a little wandlight showed. Throat torn out. Draco obliterated the body as well, and then reset the wards on the fence.

When he stepped inside they were all in the parlor, staring at him. No one said a word. Draco merely glared, then went back to his room, his face burning with a kind of grim satisfaction. No, there would be no more calling him a coward after that. And definitely no more of those parlor games.

* * *

In the morning Draco swapped the book for another, and then went downstairs to see if last night’s attitudes held. He was surprised to find the house empty.

He crept silently through the rooms, suspicious they might be trying to ambush him, but there was no sign. Draco pulled up his sleeve, but his mark was quiescent, he had felt no summoning. There was no sign of any struggle–they must have all been called, except for him. He tamped down a prickle of suspicion.

Out back, there were two burned patches in the grass. Draco used Accio to bring himself some apples from nearby, and Transfigured another heel of bread into a tart shell. Baked apples made a nice breakfast and he sat alone eating it and thinking over the previous night’s events. He hadn’t done it to try to save the boy. Thinking about it now, he realized they probably would have had to kill him themselves after he had dispatched Fenrir. He wasn’t even sure if the boy had been wizard or Muggle.

Had the incident with Fenrir made this place unsafe? Was that why the others were gone?

And why had it been so easy to kill Fenrir, when it had been impossible to kill Dumbledore? Draco’s lip curled. Fenrir wasn’t human. Neither was Pettigrew, really.

Nor was Voldemort, Draco realized. He wondered where his mother was. Had she gone into hiding? Would the Ministry have questioned her about her son’s disappearance? Was she in Azkaban even now?

Those would have to be questions for later, when he had more information. Maybe Snape would know something. And where was Snape all this time?

It was some hours later he felt the burning sensation in his arm, much stronger than he had ever felt it before. He could feel Voldemort’s anger and outrage. But where was he? Draco assumed he must be at Grindelwald’s tomb. Before he Disapparated, he took a deep, calming breath. He closed his mind and readied himself. If the Dark Lord was angry, Draco did not want to add fuel to that fire.

He Apparated in the midst of a crowd of Death Eaters. Many of them were wearing their masks. The interior of the tomb had been magically enlarged so that the fifty or so witches and wizards did not crowd the place, but stood in a loose circle, two and three deep, around the place where Draco appeared.

“Draco!” came a cry from a witch behind him. He recognized the voice of his aunt Bellatrix, and then her cloying perfume as she kissed him on the cheek, hugging him tightly. She opened her mouth to say something, but Draco saw her change her mind. She stepped back. “So good of you to join us. We’ve discovered a traitor in our midst.”

She waved her arm toward the sarcophagus, and the circle parted a bit to reveal Voldemort, his back to them, applying some form of painful curse, Cruciatus probably, to a figure chained at the foot of the pedestal.

Draco stifled his gasp by sheer force of will. It was Snape. Snape was in manacles and leg irons, but the chains were slack as he writhed at the base of the stone. He went limp when the Dark Lord looked up to see Draco approaching.

“Ah, young Malfoy, at last our number is complete.” His snake-like face showed sorrow and he placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I have grave news for you, my boy. I wanted to be the one to tell you myself.” He glanced back at Bellatrix and then focused once more on the young wizard in front of him. “I’m afraid your mother undertook a rather foolhardy course of action. She tried to rescue your father from Azkaban, and I am sorry to say they both perished in the process.”

“To Lucius!” Someone in the circle shouted and there were answering cheers and the clinking of tankards. Apparently this was the Death Eaters’ idea of a wake and a party all at once.

“I… thank you for telling me,” Draco said, his mouth acting on years of society training rather than conscious thought. He couldn’t process the information that his parents were gone, not when his eyes were full of the image of Snape, naked, bruised and bleeding, in chains at his feet. “I guess my aunt Bella is all I have now.”

We are your family now,” Voldemort said, with a final pat on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco swallowed, trying to shrug off the feeling that Voldemort was somehow pleased with this state of affairs, that he might have even arranged it.

“Yes, such a fine wizard you have grown to be, Draco Malfoy. Your father would have been quite proud, I am sure.” Voldmort’s eyes gleamed as if Draco were a shiny new knife pulled fresh from its sheath.

“So, Snape is a traitor?” Draco said, mostly to change the subject from himself to someone else.

“Yes, once my enforcer, then my mole, now the time of his usefulness is at an end,” the Dark Lord said. “He used to be the one to deal out punishment among the Death Eaters. Wonderful, sadistic mind he has. Or, had.” Voldemort chuckled and Draco wondered how long Snape had been under Cruciatus. “But killing Dumbledore was the last task I needed from him. Now that Dumbledore is gone”–Voldemort took a deep breath as if he enjoyed the scent of Dumbledore-free air–“this pathetic creature is of no use as a spy. He believed me fooled all along, the double–or is it triple?–agent.” Voldemort slid the wand Draco recognized as Snape’s out of his black robe. “Would you like to try something exceedingly delicious? Try casting Cruciatus on him with his own wand.”

Draco took the wand gingerly in his fingers. The wand that had killed Dumbledore. Aware that Voldemort was watching him closely, as well as Bellatrix and many of the others, he hefted the wand as if testing its balance. The incantation came out no more than a whisper, but the effect was immediate. Snape writhed and screamed. Draco, for his part, felt a flushing sensation throughout his body, a rush of power unlike any he had experienced so far.

He blinked and broke the spell, and looked up at Voldemort who was laughing. “Lovely, was it not?”

He did not explain. Draco did not know if casting Cruciatus on any wizard with his own wand would have such an effect, or if this was a special property of Snape’s wand. Perhaps it was from being Voldemort’s “enforcer.” He was not about to ask. He also realized that underneath his robes, the rush of power had caused his erection to rise.

“Time for me to take a bit of respite,” the Dark Lord then said.

“Master, allow me!” Bellatrix said, holding her hand toward Draco, reaching for the wand.

“No, Bella, let the boy do it.” Voldemort indicated with a flick of his finger that Draco should carry on. Draco recalled Snape’s words–the Dark Lord delegated certain tasks to others.

Draco answered with a bare nod, and stepped closer to where Snape was struggling to sit up.

The chains were longer than Draco had first realized and were obviously ensorcelled against Disapparition. Draco made a show of checking Snape’s bonds, while giving himself time to think, and swapping Snape’s wand for his own. The Principia Nocturnalis had mentioned a technique, but Draco had not practiced it and was not sure he could do it… and his own wand would be better for that.

Cruciatus, effective though it was as a form of torture, made for a boring show. If he was to act like the Dark Lord’s new enforcer, he would have to come up with something else… Yes, of course, he had to try it. A little Cruciatus first though, to make sure they saw he was serious. He spoke the word aloud, “Crucio,” even while preparing another spell in his mind. He had always wondered, could a wizard say one spell but think another and which was the more important? The answer could only be found in books like the ones Snape had hidden away.

Snape writhed but managed to look Draco in the eye. Could he feel what was happening? Draco had no way to communicate with him–a whisper wouldn’t escape the notice of the Dark Lord. Draco banished the thought of what would happen if he failed. Instead he concentrated on the words forming in his mind.

As long as they were using Unforgivables, he cast Imperius and made Snape crawl toward him, chains dragging, then turn around and kneel, presenting his back to Draco. “Flagello,,” he said, drawing his wand downward with a sharp motion. Snape’s back arched and Draco was only half-surprised to see a welt rise across the pale skin. He did it again, criss-crossing the first mark with the second. He could almost see the magical whiptail that emanated from his wand.

“You see, Bella, I told you he would be a natural.”

Draco heard the Dark Lord’s voice as he and Bella receded into the group behind. Draco whipped Snape until the man began to cry out, and then he did it a bit longer because he did not want it to seem as if he stopped out of sympathy.

Now he had to know if his underlying incantation were taking hold. Remembering how the Death Eaters had treated him that day in the parlor, he went and grabbed Snape by the hair. Snape’s hair seemed to crackle under his fingers, but if anyone other than Draco noticed the golden sparks, they said nothing. Draco held his wand up with a flourish, pulling Snape’s head back and exposing his throat.

Insculpo sectis” Draco said, loud enough that the nearest Death Eater could hear, and he drew the tip of his wand over Snape’s sternum, and saw the thin red line appear. The golden light that flowed down Draco’s wand flickered only briefly, while the cutting he made in Snape’s skin bloomed red and began to bleed. There were cheers and whistles from the assembled.

And now to seal it, Draco thought. He wrapped his hands around Snape’s chest, and bit him gently on the neck. Snape’s body reacted, arching his back as much in surprise as anything else. Draco did not bite hard, but the Death Eaters did not know that. He sucked gently and felt Snape relax a little in his arms.

He opened his robes, his hands trembling as he sought to get his trousers open while still holding his wand, the words still going through his mind: Aegis Cintum Obligatus Armorum, Aegis Cintum Obligatus Armorum… Snape turned his head and met his eye. Understanding passed between them and Draco pointed his wand at Snape as if putting him under Imperius once again.

He took a step back and Snape crawled toward him under his own power. His hair hung over his eyes, blood dripped from the incision Draco had made on his skin, but determination drove him forward. Draco swallowed in relief–Snape was still responsive, conscious, now if only he would cooperate.

The potions master sat back on his heels when he reached Draco, then cupped the young wizard’s testicles in his hand, then slid his mouth over Draco’s erection.

Draco nearly dropped the wand. He had never known a touch quite like that in his life. It wasn’t just the wetness, the softness, the exquisite way Snape worked his tongue along the underside even as he dipped his head to take as much of Draco into him as he could. It was the intent, the loving intensity, the hunger, that nearly made Draco falter. To think that this was a touch the Dark Lord could not tolerate, that love could be made into a shield against his power…

Draco pressed his wand-free hand against the back of Snape’s head. Snape looked up at him and Draco could see the golden glow now in his eyes. The warding was almost complete. Snape closed his eyes as he redoubled his efforts, and Draco could not hold out any longer. He began to come, Snape swallowing as quickly as he could, and Draco realized that was his own voice screaming as he came. He was answered by cheers.

Snape broke away then, collapsing in an exhausted heap, and Draco had to steady himself on his feet. “Wormtail,” he said, for Pettigrew had been close by watching the entire scene. “Can these chains be removed? I want… better access to him.”

“Oh yes, here, I can do that,” Wormtail said, scampering behind the sarcophagus and returning with a small golden hammer. He tapped twice at the base of the chains, saying “Catenus Cessus.

The chains fell away, and Draco gathered Severus to him. A nearby Death Eater shouted encouragement, as if Draco were now going to defile that limp form in some other new and interesting way. Draco ignored the sound. He had never been the one in control in a Side-along Apparition, but now was not the time to lose his nerve. He pictured the windowless room, the bed, the books, and in a blink they were gone.

* * *

They landed in a tangle on the Persian carpet, and Draco heard a soft thud a moment later–the other wand falling from his robes. He lit the room with his own–and then dropped it as well. The older wizard seemed unnaturally still, his breathing barely perceptible. Draco lifted him onto the bed, where his former professor lay looking lifeless except for the minute movements of his rib cage.

The bookshelf held no books on healing, but Draco repeated the words he had heard in his once-Obliviated memory, and sealed up the shallow wound he had made on Snape’s chest. The burns, too, that he could handle.

But the lingering effects of Cruciatus had no cure, other than Draco’s speculations about the warding spell he had used. Had Snape known he was fading and hoped the completion of the warding would save him? Draco shivered, reliving the intensity with which Snape had sucked him. Or had the man merely taken his last strength to show Draco his feelings?

If something was broken in the man’s spirit, it was pure speculation that a love-based shield charm might help to heal it. Draco resisted the urge to look it up in the Grimoire again. He had no wish to see more blood at the moment. Instead, he reached out and brushed the hair from Severus’ face, then leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Snape did not react, did not move, his eyes still closed.

“My turn to be the confessor at the bedside,” Draco said, his voice sounding large in the small room. “Did you ever guess how I felt about you when I was eleven, twelve years old? I don’t think you did. I certainly never let on to you, or to myself really, but at that age, what do you really know? I simply thought you were… the greatest. I’d do anything you said. It was hero worship. I used to make up stories for myself about the two of us, roaming the countryside on adventures. Stupid stuff. I got over it quickly. I once spoke too effusively of you at home and was soundly disabused of the notion that you would be a help to me. My aunt already didn’t trust you, and my father was on the fence, waiting to see where the chips would fall.”

Draco realized his robes and undone trousers were bloody and he shucked them off. He climbed into bed next to the unresponsive form. “Well, trying to please him is now over and done with, isn’t it? My ambitions are not to rule the world, if it means ruling that lot. Voldemort would just as soon snap my neck as give me power, don’t you think?”

“Is that what turned you into a traitor to the dark, Severus? Did you, like me, suddenly decide that wasn’t the life you wanted?”

There was still no reaction from the inert body. Draco hugged him close. He reached for his wand. “Unguenis,” he muttered, then went on with his speech. “It’s unfair that you’re unconscious for all this, Severus, but I know you knew what was happening in the end. I looked up that warding charm you had tried to put on me, but you know why it didn’t work the way you wanted, don’t you? You needed to apply it more… intimately.” He worked his fingers between the man’s legs. “I thought it was quite clever of me to be casting the warding at the same time as torturing you.

“But it will all be for naught if you die or go insane now, won’t it?” He rubbed his slick fingers up and down his cock and it responded. “Come on, Severus, wake up.” Even as the blood welled in his groin, he felt his magic gathering.

He positioned himself to enter Snape’s limp form, face to face, nibbling him on the neck and then kissing him on the lips as he pushed with increasing force. Then all at once, he slid in, the body under him convulsed, and the mouth on his was kissing back.

“Draco…” the man said, when he broke away for a breath.

“Shut up,” Draco answered. “Please, don’t fight it.”

“Why would I…”

“I said ‘shut up.’ We’ll talk about it later.” For Draco, talking was becoming increasingly difficult. He found himself clenching muscles in his stomach he didn’t know he had as he thrust into Severus. He swore and clawed at the other man’s shoulders, and bit him on the neck, a bit harder than he had back at the tomb, but the reaction was the same, arching pleasure.

He wrapped his fingers around Severus’ cock now, pumping in time with his thrusts. This was yet another thing he had never done before, but the principle at least was not difficult to grasp. It felt incredible, hot and wet and tight inside Snape, and the hard flesh slipping through his fingers felt very much like his own. It wasn’t long after that Draco’s hips began to jerk out of control, and he came, his frantic movements setting off an orgasm for his partner as well. He felt it, undeniable, a mutual explosion of sorts, the echoes of it tapering away slowly.

And then it was over. Draco held himself up on one arm long enough to collapse to the side. And then, though he felt he couldn’t really move, he spoke. “Are you all right?”

“I am quite well, thank you, Draco.” Neither of them could move, it seemed.

“I think we should sleep,” Draco said, not entirely sure he was still conscious as he spoke. “Don’t you think?”

“An admirable idea.”

Draco curled toward him then, threw one arm over him protectively, and did just that.

* * *

When he woke, Draco had no idea whether it was night or day. The illumination charms were still burning in the windowless room, and he could not tell if they had slept an hour, or six. He looked at the sleeping form under his arm. The potions master looked younger, less worn by time and experience, while he slept. Severus was only what–thirty-something?–but he acted like he was ancient most of the time. But, Draco thought, spending time with the Death Eaters certainly did age a person quickly.

“Severus,” he said softly, suddenly afraid that when Snape awoke, he would be “Mr. Malfoy” again.

“Draco,” came the answer, and an arm pulled him close. “Thank you.” A few moments of languid warmth passed and then the older man sat up. He seemed to want to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth.

Draco couldn’t stand the silence and talked to fill it. “I went as soon as I received the summoning signal,” he said. “But you had been there for a week already…”

“I was not imprisoned the entire week,” Severus said. “I did think it curious that He summoned the others first, to have their way with me, before he called you, though.”

“I would have come sooner if I had known.” Draco sat up himself, resting his head on his knees.

“You cannot blame yourself for something you had no control over.” Severus thinned his lips in what passed for a smile. “It was an admirable rescue.”

“I had been reading your books,” Draco said. “The Grimoire of Blood, and others. And it was just the first thing I thought of, binding the warding charm on you. I wasn’t sure I could do it while… while torturing you at the same time. But it worked.” He suddenly blushed. “Now that I think about it, I might have been able to ask Wormtail to get you out of the chains first, and then I could have just Apparated us here and you wouldn’t have needed the warding…”

“I doubt they would have been convinced. And I needed healing. You did well.” The older wizard slid from the bed then and stood facing his former student. “But you must be wanting to know how I ended up in that position.”

Draco frowned. “No, I don’t. I don’t care whose side you were on. What matters to me is that you were on my side.” He felt his heart beat harder in his chest. “And I on yours. That’s the loyalty that matters to me most, Severus.”

Snape shivered at the sound of his name. “I’m twice your age.”

“That is not being debated right now.” Draco stood, too. “We need each other; we stand together. And do you really think with Voldemort on the loose anyone in the Wizarding world gives a flying fig about the difference in our ages? We’re not welcome anywhere, Severus. Aurors would kill us on sight. Death Eaters, too.”

“You may be right.”

“I know I am.”

The older wizard sat on the edge of the bed tiredly. “So, what is your plan, then?”

“We’re staying here until you teach me what is in the rest of those books. Then we’ll run. We can set up a flying carpet shop… in Morocco or somewhere. One thing at a time.” Draco ran a hand through his hair. “And of course, we’ll need to strengthen the warding charms. Mine still only works if you’re present, you know.”

“I know.” Snape looked at him hungrily, and Draco drank in the feeling of being wanted, needed, loved. “I’ll gladly remedy that, if you’ll let me.”

Draco answered with a kiss, which was much simpler than trying to think of anything more to say.

-end-


Thanks for reading the rewrite! The Author’s Notes on the story are found: HERE.

One thought on “By Any Other Name, pt 5 of 5 (Snape/Draco, NC-17) 2006

  1. Pingback: By Any Other Name, pt. 4 (Snape/Draco, NC-17) 2006 | Ravenna's Quill

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