Mistaken Identity

From the moment he laid eyes on the boy, he did not like him. Let everyone else fawn over Potter. He would treat him like he'd treat any other student. But he wasn't, was he? He wasn't any other student. Oh, no. He was Harry James Potter, Gryffindor Golden Boy, goodness personified, the Wizarding World's saviour. And James Potter's son. He looked just like James. The hair, so artfully disarranged. The ease with which he drew people to him. The guileless expression, hiding all the devilry behind that innocent facade. And everyone else was taken in. That air of having the world at his feet, of knowing he just had to snap his fingers, and all would come to him. Without trying, without effort. No struggle for him. No waiting, watching, hoping in the shadows. No desperate embarrassment when he said the wrong thing, made the wrong choice, looked -just -wrong.

This boy would never look on as others took what should have been, should be, his. So. Like any other student. And then some.

The detention, to be served under himself, not Filch, would be the first of many, Severus promised himself. After all, it was ridiculously easy to make Potter lose his temper, or get so embarrassed he made the most elementary mistakes in class. It was almost too easy. This boy - this boy - was to defeat The Dark Lord? It was ludicrous; Dumbledore had to be hiding something else. There must be some other plan, something else the Headmaster hadn't told him. The boy was - well, perhaps not imbecilic, like the Longbottom fool, but surely nothing special. And he certainly had no magic that could have any impact on his Dark Master. There was no great power there.

Severus set the boy a potion when he arrived for the detention. The scribbled instructions on the board were deliberately ambiguous, the procedure unclear.


"What is it, boy?"

"The second line, sir - is that - um - aconite?"

"Can you not read?"

He strode over to the bench he'd set the boy at, directly below his desk, right under his eye.

Close behind the boy, his head by the boy's, he looked up at the board, and whispered directly into Potter's ear, "Strange, it appears to state acacia to me, quite clearly."

Potter blushed red, flinching from the closeness of the Professor, the warmth of the body so near.

"Um, sorry, sir. I couldn't read it."

He moved away from the boy; it was much too soon to go further. He circled the room, keeping a close eye on Potter's fumbling attempts at the potion. The smell of the potion was musky, heavy. Severus wondered if the boy would identify the scent. Surely the boy would recognise that scent from his sheets in the mornings, if from nothing else? He smiled to himself. Even if the boy didn't consciously identify it, Severus could enjoy it.

When the boy was flushed, his black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, peering desperately up at the instructions as though they could save the mess in the cauldron, he slid behind the boy again, placing a hand to either side of Potter's on the workbench. The boy whimpered, and pressed himself closer to the bench, away from the dark enveloping circle and heat of the Potions Master's body.

"That doesn't look right, Potter."

"N-no, sir."

"Perhaps you should start again."

"I can't follow the instructions on the board, sir."

"Do you not know how to read? That may explain quite a lot of your difficulties."

"Yes - I mean no! But - they - they're not right, sir?"

His cheek was brushed by the boy's soft hair - he had but to turn so very slightly to allow his lips to ghost over the boy's ear.

"Are you telling me you know better than me?" he murmured softly into that ear, feeling it tremble under his feather touch.

"No, sir! But - the instructions, sir!"

"Yes, Potter? Can you not follow instructions? I must say, I have never seen any evidence that you could, but I can always hope that I might be wrong. Am I wrong, Mr. Potter?"

"No - that is, yes - I don't know, sir."

"No. You don't know."

With a flick of his wand, he got rid of the stuff in the cauldron.

"Start again, Potter. You didn't expect me to accept that mess, did you?"

"No, sir," the boy said in a small voice.

The scurry, like a mouse, to gather more ingredients, made him smile. Severus had chosen a potion - well, something like a potion - that would use only the most common, the cheapest materials. He certainly wasn't going to waste good ingredients on the Potter brat. Not for this little - exercise.

Hunched over the cauldron, peering up at the board - if the boy had the slightest knowledge of potions, a first-year's knowledge, he would realise that what he was doing was complete nonsense. But of course, this was Harry James Potter. Why should he bother to learn anything as mundane as potions? Why should he retain anything he'd learnt, or not, from the previous year?

Severus sneered, watching the boy mangle the gurdyroot, his hands trembling. He smirked to himself, swept behind the boy again.

"Having problems again, Potter?"

The root, looking suggestively pink and naked in the boy's hand, slipped, and the knife slid into the boy's finger.

"Oh- "

"Foolish boy! Don't put your hand in your mouth!"

Severus' hand shot out to seize the boy's before the finger could disappear into that little sad downturned pucker. Holding Potter's bleeding hand, altogether too close to the boy for Potter's comfort, he drew his wand and stroked the tip across Potter's palm slowly, suggestively. Potter's eyes bulged out.


"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Are you - what are you doing?"

He moved forward just a little more, so his groin brushed against the boy's hip. Just the merest touch.

"Why, I am ensuring that the gurdyroot has not damaged your hand, before healing it, Mr. Potter."

Sliding his wand tip across the boy's palm sensuously thrice more, he healed the cut. The boy shivered, his breath coming in little gasps.

"You have gotten blood all over your robes, Mr. Potter. I suggest you remove them, before you contaminate your potion further."

The boy shot him a confused, frightened glance, but pulled the robes over his head readily enough. The clothes beneath were - dreadful. Much too large, the boy was almost lost in the t-shirt, and the only thing stopping the trousers falling down was a worn belt that ruched the material in great folds around the boy's middle. Severus supposed it was some form of Muggle fashion.

"Continue with your potion."

He swept away to consider his next move, quite enjoying himself. Sweating and confused, Potter looked at the gurdyroot in his hand and flushed a deeper red. Severus observed the swift glance the boy gave him, before the tousled head bent to continue the slicing of the obscene looking root.

"Do not fondle your gurdyroot, Potter. That is not required for the preparation," he said silkily, merely to enjoy the sight of more blood rushing up to Potter's face.

The boy couldn't look up this time; the undercurrents of the session appeared to have finally penetrated the boy's obtuseness. Severus stared at the boy until he had to raise his eyes, to briefly look, bewildered, frightened, and - something else? into the Potions Master's heated black eyes. He smirked before Potter could drop his gaze. The boy's eyes widened before he hid behind the silly fringe of hair. But of course, he would have to look up, to see the instructions on the board. Severus sat and waited, unable to stop smirking even if he'd wished to, his eyes hot and triumphant on the boy's bowed head.

He was moving to scrape the sliced root into the mess, and then he'd have to look up. Severus's groin twitched and he stirred sensuously on the chair, adjusting himself to loosen the restrictive fabric beneath his robes. The boy jerked his head up, startled at the movement, and Severus allowed himself a long, slow caress as he met Potter's eyes. The boy's lips were parted, and he could think of several excellent things he might do with those lips, that mouth. Potter's eyes looked glazed, his brow was sweaty as he dropped his gaze again.

Severus stood, adjusting his robes, sweeping round to the side of Potter's workbench.

The boy wheeled round to face him, and he made that slight gesture, performing the wordless spell that caused the worn belt to part, and Potter's too-large trousers to descend to his ankles. Severus swiftly closed the gap between them, his hand moved to the boy's groin like a snake striking, filling his hand with the bulge tenting the boy's underpants, noting the wetness on the material leaking from the boy's prickhead.

"Is this why you're having so much trouble with the potion, Potter?" he hissed, holding the boy to him with one hand while stroking and squeezing with the other.

"Are you having inappropriate thoughts while you should be concentrating on your work?" his hand dove in to the underwear, to touch the boy's hot erect length, to pull and twist as the boy whined and pushed against Severus's swollen cock, fighting and inviting in equal measure. Severus stared down at the beautiful young cock in his hand, alabaster against his sallow, stained fingers, the head emerging pink from the hood of the foreskin.

"How very naughty, and shameful for you, Potter. What do you think would happen if I were to tell the class that you'd gotten hard in my detention, hmmm?"

"Oh - no - please -"

The boy was gasping and thrusting, trying to pull away at the same time.

"Shall I tell your Mr. Weasley that you were hard, erect, going to come in my hand, Mr. Potter?"

"No no no no no - please, sir, noooo!"

The boy wasn't far off; Severus ran his thumb over the spongy soft head, sliding his nail into the slit, coating his finger with the clear slippery fluid welling up.

"Oh, please, sir!"

Severus suddenly stopped moving his hand, grasping Potter's penis tight, withholding the ejaculation from the boy. He continued to slide his own member up and down, up and down along Potter's back.

"Oh - what?" the boy had realised that the friction had stopped, and even trying to hump into the Potions Master's fist wasn't producing any result.

He let out a wail, as if that would help.

"What is it, Potter? You were saying no - I thought you wished me to stop," he said silkily, his lips moving on the boy's ear.

"Oh, god, no - please, sir - I can't - "

"What is it? You will have to be clearer."

He was sure his amusement showed in his voice, but he suspected Potter was so far gone, he wouldn't notice, nor know what to make of it, if he did.

"Please, sir - "

"What? You will have to ask for what you want. "

"Please - I want - I -"

The embarrassment covering the boy's face was delicious.

"You will have to say it. I am not a mind reader."

"Please, sir, I want - anything. Just - anything, sir -"

"Anything, Potter?"

His dark heart overflowed with joy at the boy's words; he couldn't have hoped for this - innocence.

"Anything. I need -"

"What do you need?"

Choking on the words, Potter shamefacedly gasped, "I need to come, please."

Severus smiled in victory.

"What would Miss Granger say if she could hear you begging your nasty Potions Master for that? What would Dumbledore say if he could see you now?"

Warming himself on the boy's blushes, he ran his hands over the boy's cock, his balls, his crack and buttocks. Carefully, he slid the rest of the boy's clothing off, looking his fill at the perfect, if slight, body, the thin, straight limbs, the flushed chest, the lovely pink nipples, the smooth straight cock, now wilting under the intense scrutiny of the man.

"Oh, you'll come, all right, Potter. Never fear."

Severus showed his teeth at the delicious young body before him. That gaze, so bewildered, so anxious, so needy and yet not knowing what he'd asked for, what he'd allowed. Delicious, and it was all for him. He would be the first to taste, he would imprint himself on the boy's flesh, in the boy, on his soul. James Potter's son would pay.

"Over the bench, there. Face down."

He really couldn't wait any longer, the pressure in his balls was starting to pain him. He hadn't expected this, he hadn't thought he would get to this point with the boy so soon, otherwise he wouldn't have rubbed himself on the boy so much. But from thoughts of starting the boy on the path, then retiring with fantasies and hand, he'd suddenly found himself at the goal. He wouldn't spoil it, he'd be careful. There were still things that could go very wrong. He'd be cautious, give the boy what he desired. He would not hurt the boy - apart from any other consideration, if he played his part well, he would have the consolation of a Potter serving his sexual needs for the foreseeable future. A young boy he could mould and shape to his requirements, and kick the dust in the dead face of the boy's father while he took his pleasure. His cock gave a very interested throb at the idea, and his balls reminded him he needed to see to his own needs. And, after all, if the boy didn't want this, what did that matter? He hadn't wanted to be tormented by the boy's father, had he? He hadn't asked to be bullied by the boy's godfather, had he? It was all part of the same pattern, the same set of situations, played out, over and over again down the ages. He wasn't responsible for it, he was just participating in the next cycle, the next turn of the wheel. And, if this time, he was doing the hurting instead of being the one who was hurt, well, that was all to the good, wasn't it. That was justice. That was how it worked.

The boy was lying on his front, splayed thin and bony like a boiling fowl.

"No - please, Sir. No." The moans came soft and breathy, not as though the boy believed he would be heard, not as though he believed he could make the man change his mind.

"Open your legs," Severus said harshly, summoning a pot of grease.

He gloried in the sight of Potter obeying the command, exposing his all to the Potions Master's view. His stained fingers scrabbled on the boy's back, his thin buttocks. He scooped some of the unguent onto his fingers and stroked them into the boy's crack, pushing long fingers between the thin cheeks. The boy flinched as he moved over Harry's arsehole, but he kept smoothing the slippery stuff, from the tailbone to the very slightly haired balls, stroking the limp little cock on every pass. He might be wicked, but he was not a monster. He would not breach the boy. At least, not yet.

"Bring your legs together, boy," he growled, parting his robes to finally let his cock's single weeping eye see the goal.

The soft, breathy "No"s kept coming, a quiet background litany to this service of retribution.

Severus covered the boy with his body, bringing his cock to the tight gap between the boy's legs. The heat, the friction was delicious. The small body beneath his writhed and flailed, the "No"'s coming faster, more desperately. He ignored them, and proceeded to slide into the pocket made between the boy's legs, surging forward to bury the end of his prick in the boy's balls. It felt so - complete. He bit at the boy's shoulder, eliciting a high wail.

This was entirely too much, and he shook the bony shoulder harshly.

"Stop whimpering. You are not being hurt. I am not hurting you."

The tousled black head shook, and Severus thrust faster into the slippery heat. The soft, hitching snuffling, the fine tremor of the boy's shoulders were now the only signs of his distress. His hands reached round to the boy's narrow chest, fingers finding the little bumps of nipples already hard. A suspicion crossed his mind, and he slid one hand down the washboard ribs, down the soft belly until he encountered the boy's slender cock. It was erect, hard. He laughed darkly, moving the attentions of his mouth and teeth to the side of the boy's neck, pressing his cock luxuriantly, slowly, fully in so his belly curved round the curve of those skinny buttocks.

"No more protests now? Have you decided that it's not such an awful fate?"

The boy let out a soft moan.

"I don't want this, Sir."

"Well, your cock says otherwise, Potter. How embarrassing for you. Are you finding this exciting? Are you, perhaps, enjoying what your nasty Potions Master is doing to you?"

"No, I'm not, Sir. I'm not, honestly."

"Your cock doesn't lie, boy, no matter what your mouth does."

This was delicious. Even better than forcing the boy, this was unforeseen, unimaginable. He stroked the boy's prick in time with his thrusts, knowing he was nearly there. As he started to spurt, he felt the boy's bollocks tighten and his hand milked the hot spunk from the young prick. Pulling off Harry, he turned him flat on his back, reached between his legs to collect some of his own come, and smeared his hand over the boy's flushed, tear-stained face. He pushed his spunk-covered fingers into the boy's mouth, stroking over the hot tongue, dragging the semen-covered fingers over his teeth, forcing him to taste the combined come. Harry's eyes opened wide, trying to turn his head to escape the forced intimacy, but Severus held him fast, coating his lips with the stuff. Then, he brought his fingers to his own mouth and, staring into the green eyes, licked and sucked them clean. Harry stared, mesmerised.

And Severus slid behind the surface seethe of emotions- horror, disgust, lust, longing, shame - and felt as though his world had suddenly tilted sideways.

Instead of warmth and kindness, he saw blows, harsh words, cruelty. He flinched back from the boy, as if burnt. With growing foreboding, he looked into the green eyes. He recognised the thin child, dressed in clothes the other children laughed at. He was familiar with that longing, the desperate desire to be accepted, and the sure knowledge that that would always denied. He had felt those blows, had been hurt by that rejection.

Pulling himself together, he narrowed his eyes at the boy. There was plenty of evidence of the past hour's activities. Scratches from his fingernails around the boy's nipples, along his sides. Bruises at his hipbones. Suck and bite marks on his neck and shoulders. And the remnants of the boy's orgasm on his stomach, and his own between the boy's thighs. The boy's prick was no longer alabaster white, but pink, with the head peeking rosy through the foreskin.

He couldn't remember ever seeing such a delectable, debauched sight.

He couldn't remember ever being so ashamed.

Damage limitation, that was all that was left to him. Again. A quick stunning spell, and those accusing eyes closed. He had to think, to work fast. He eased the boy back onto a workbench and healed the obvious marks, cleaned him. Quickly dressing him, covering those too-thin limbs - how could he have missed the signs - they were glaring now - was the work of a moment. A mild befuddlement draught, easily introduced, would also take care of the residual taste. He licked his lips thoughtfully, savouring the remains of his stolen, misguided pleasure. Setting up a cauldron with a mixture designed to produce plenty of intoxicating fumes, he propped the boy up onto a stool, arranging the limbs into careless slumber. Stepping back, he considered the tableau. It would have to do.

"Mr. Potter! Sleep on your own time!"

The boy startled awake, eyes wild, but Snape was behind his desk, a stack of essays to hand, quill dipped in the red ink. The boy looked suspiciously up at him, his eyes fogged with the befuddlement draught.

"Do you imagine it is acceptable for you to fall asleep during detention, Mr. Potter?"

"No – no, sir."

"Do you suppose I set detentions so you may have dreams and babble and twitch all over my workbenches?"

"No, sir."

"You will read the chapter on potions bases, and provide me with an essay, two feet, by the end of the week. Clean up and get out."

"Yes, sir."

The boy still sounded puzzled and subdued, but when Severus strode past him to the door to open it, Potter didn't flinch from him, but continued to clear the bench. Picking up his school bag, the boy gave him a confused look, but went without any comment.

Well. He rather thought he'd gotten away with it. And after all, the excitement of successful subterfuge was very similar to other excitements. But Potter would serve any other detentions safely with Filch.