Bottoms, how do you like yours?
"Ah, um, Professor Snape?"
The brooding wizard turned in his seat at the Staff Table to glare at the offending Weasley. Percy was peering nervously at him, fingering a buttered bread roll distractedly. The red haired youth had taken it upon himself to sit beside Snape at breakfast that morning and had made several unsuccessful attempts at engaging the Potions Master in idle small talk. Why was he still here anyway? Snape had wondered absently. The Yule Ball had ended the previous evening and the next task would not be held for a good few weeks yet; he was no longer needed to represent Crouch and yet here he still was.
"I've been meaning to ask for some time a…a question on a… a rather delicate matter, at least for a man such as yourself." Snape ignored him pointedly and viciously speared a sausage with his fork. Percy seemed to take this as encouragement to continue: "What, may ask, is your opinion on, ah, bottoms?"
Snape paused, a forkful of breakfast partway to his mouth, and glowered at the stuttering young man. Percy had adopted a look of intellectual pomposity and was studying him over the tops of his horn-rimmed glasses. Surely Snape hadn't heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"
"A colleague of mine, charming lady, mentioned that generally, Potions Masters tend to snub a more rounded, well moulded bottom. Is it that way for you? I always tended to prefer mine rather peachy, but," and here Percy dropped in an affected titter, "then I am relatively inexperienced in comparison to you with your notorious expertise."
Snape spluttered- who had the boy been talking to?
"Come now, Professor, don't be modest," Percy took a sip from his teacup, "it is well known that you are rather a master of your art. I would consider a wizard as talented and as knowledgeable as yourself is well-qualified to guide and educate someone of my regrettably limited experience in these matters."
Is he coming on to me? Snape shuddered at the thought and quickly started to rack his brains for a suitable let down; maybe he could tell Percy large age gaps made him uncomfortable.
"It's the older ones that do it for me."
Merlin, save me…
"It's true what they say, about improving with age. The whole process is a lot more gratifying somehow." Snape flushed profusely. How was he going to get out of this one? "Of course, the old black bottoms are the best. You can't beat a black one, not when things are getting hot and steamy…
"What about rimming?"
Snape choked on air and fell to coughing, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Excuse me?"
"That's quite alright," Percy dismissed, slapping him on the back. "But please, carry on, what is your opinion on the subject?"
The Potions Master's sallow skin had adopted more of a fuchsia hue and he sat stammering stupidly, "O- op- opinion?"
"Personally," Percy announced, gazing contemplatively at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, a hand stroking his chin, (Snape watched those fingers' licentious movements in horror) "I don't feel it is essential in order to reach the crucial point. However, I have known wizards, and witches, who think good quality rimming is the only way to obtain maximum satisfaction…"
Snape glanced around frantically at the small number of other staff who had managed to haul themselves from their beds after the previous night's festivities, desperate for someone to save him from this over-sexed wizard's advances. But his colleagues were all absorbed in their own conversations, and in any case, the considerate amongst them tended to leave him in peace at mealtimes, knowing it was his preference to eat in silence without interruption.
"I have to say though, I do like a good pair of handles, if you know what I mean," the younger man grinned lecherously and winked, "something to grip- good morning, Professor Dumbledore."
"Good morning Percy, Severus," the old Headmaster greeted the two wizards as he approached the table, a benign twinkle in his eye.
Percy continued to babble excitedly, "Professor Snape and I have just been having the most fascinating conversation-" Snape made an odd noise, rather like a strangled mouse; Percy eyed him with genuine puzzlement, "about cauldron bottoms."