Little Wonder by seeker

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Staring at the text, Snape decided it was little wonder no one in living memory had successfully concocted this potion. He was going to be the first.

With Voldemort hiding, licking his wounds, the rest of summer stretching before him with little to do and few students to torment, and no interesting fellow staff members to harass, Snape was bored. Decided to dig into his oft-neglected research, since the war was on hiatus, and try his hand at something truly challenging.

Unfortunately, while the telekinetic potion appeared to be just the thing to keep him from going potty from boredom, he had no idea to what creature the preparatory notes referred.

Eyes roving restlessly over the words, he grudgingly admitted he'd chosen the potion more because it gave him an excuse to get shagged that didn't involve death eaters. In order to brew this particular potion, one must be freshly anointed with the seminal fluid of a zhedhi, which carried in it magickal properties unfound in the systems of any other magical beast.

The problem was no bestiary listing he could find in the Library had any notation whatsoever of what a zhedhi WAS.

This added a layer of frustration to his boredom that threatened to make his temper, never less than pitch black at the best of times, boil over like one of Longbottom's botched attempts at a potion. Any potion.

Reminded that he had less than a month before the students invaded, Snape wandered down to the Great Hall, hoping the silence would settle his mind and suggest further possibilities for the elusive beast. Truth be told, having been fucked by Voldemort, a little bestiality wasn't the problem. So long as he could FIND the bloody thing.

Might even be ... fun.

Unfortunately, when he arrived at the Hall, it was already occupied. Granger, Weasley and Potter, his own personal Migraine-Inducing Triad, were clustered around the end of the Gryffindor table, along with a few of the others, all wide-eyed as Granger, of course, talked. He'd forgotten the girl was returning early; neither boy had left, this summer, since the most recent attacks had left the Weasleys' home in shambles and the Dursleys had decamped to the wilds of Ireland, never to be seen again.

Not that anyone looked.

Stalking over to confront the brats, determined to wring an ounce of fun out of ruining their collective day if he couldn't do anything about the potion, Granger's clear, irritating voice distracted him before he could make his presence known.

"And the zhedhi were incredible! They were everywhere, fighting all these horrible Dark creatures, killing them in droves. It was too bad, really, so many of them died themselves, but they were so outnumbered. I guess it's only to be expected, since they're going to be hunted into extinction --"

Snape didn't hear another word. Granger, infuriating know-all that she was, knew where to find zhedhi! And there was no time left, from the sound of it; Voldemort's legions might be in disarray in Scotland, but wherever the zhedhi had made their stand they'd come out the worse for it. From the sound of things, if he were going to save any at all, and if he were going to brew that blasted potion he'd have to save one, then he had to act quickly.

Sweeping down into the midst of the small group of Gryffindors, he barely noticed the ripple of "Eek!"s and the way they scattered. Pinning Granger with his most intimidating stare, he snarled, "Where are the remaining zhedhi?" As she gawked at him, he growled softly. "Hurry up, girl, stop wasting my time!"

She swallowed twice before she said, slowly, "In a galaxy ... far, far away ..."

"Well, that's no help," he snapped. "Name one!"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi!" she yelped back involuntarily, then her mouth gaped open and closed like a fish for a moment.

Without another word, he swung on his heel and swept back to his dungeons. He paid no attention to the wild whispers and titters behind his back. He had what he'd come for. He could and would always terrorize them later, once he had them back in his dungeons.

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Trans-universal locating spells were tricky, and trans-dimensional retraction spells were even trickier, but Snape relished the challenge. Once he had a zhedhi in his possession, he'd get a compliancy potion down its gullet or work a lust charm on it, something that wouldn't affect the level of innate magick in its system, then have sexual relations with it, then work the bloody telekinetic potion, then present it to the Ministry, then be awarded the Order of Merlin. First class. He had it all worked out.

Until the sparkling gray-blue-green-brown vortex that looked oddly like the color of some native Scotsmen's eyes, closer to heather than hazel, grew to a good six feet across. Wand swishing rhythmically over the controlled portal, Snape intoned, "Bring to me the one I seek; at my feet, one zhedhi Kenobi!"

The vortex convulsed.

And spat out ... a very confused, highly combative, overly-dressed, furry-faced, heather-eyed human male whose head topped out at Snape's chin.

Bemused by the way the cream linen trousers clung to the shapely, muscular legs, equally distracted by the flavor of strange magick in the air about the man, Snape was nearly beheaded by a flaming blue energy beam shooting from the small tube in the man's hand. Ducking out of the way just in time, he staggered and ended up sprawled at the feet of the man who was supposed to be at Snape's feet. And would have been, if he hadn't performed a reverse double somersault from a crouching position that landed him on his feet and already fighting.

Bloody hell. Give the Order of the Phoenix half a dozen like him and Voldemort's Death Eaters wouldn't know what hit them.

Then those incredible legs stalked over and stood over him, and Snape wasn't quite sure what had hit HIM.

"Who are you? Sith? Dooku's man? What sort of trap is this? How did you compel me here?"

God. That voice. Snape, used to being the one wielding the vocal weapons in any match-up, found himself drooling at the combination of velvet burr and bright menace. Staring past the edge of the energy weapon, he found himself caught up in the odd-colored eyes, a compulsion moving through him to answer every question, freely and completely, then do anything this man commanded. Willingly. Happily.

The last part of that thought snapped him out of the incredible thrall the man, Kenobi, had somehow woven about him. Snape never did anything happily. That suggestion had to have come from the zhedhi. Natural psycho-kinesis! That explained the need for close contact. There must be some sort of transmission of ability, perhaps through an electrical charge, via the medium of seminal fluid.

Ignoring Kenobi's demands for answers, Snape asked, "How do you do that? Implant suggestions with only your voice? Is it an innate talent? Were you trained?"

The heather eyes widened, shock showing for an instant. "You're Force-insensitive? But I can feel it, radiating from you. How did you resist the Force command?" The energy weapon disappeared, and the man hung the now-empty tube on his belt. He still stood over Snape's supine body, booted foot planted firmly on either side of his hips, but he rested his hands on his hips now and stared down at Snape much like Snape often stared down at a potion when it didn't do as he expected.

Not having a clue what Kenobi was babbling about, and not caring, Snape decided he might as well get on with it. He only had a limited window of opportunity before the vortex energy collapsed, sucking the zhedhi back to the dimension from which he'd been taken.

Besides, lying on his back between Kenobi's spread legs gave Snape a great view, and he was getting impatient to have a feel of the hefty packet he could see distending the crotch beneath all those layers of clothing. Sliding his wand along the outside of the man's right leg, enjoying the startled look on those expressive features, he muttered a denuding charm.

Then a second. Then a third. Good god, the man was simply BURIED under layers of clothing! Either the zhedhi were ridiculously modest or it was very very cold in their universe. Still, it was a crime to cover up such beauty. His eyes roved over the compact, muscular, furry and very well-hung Kenobi.

Brown-gold-auburn fur in all the right places, and a cock that made Snape's mouth water. As he dropped his wand back down his sleeve and reached out for a double-handful, the zhedhi shrieked and leaped into another insane airborne gymnastic leap.

Then stopped dead, aborting the movement with a sound that reminded Snape irresistibly of a first year girl, as Snape refused to let go of the zhedhi's penis.

"Focking 'ell!" Kenobi wheezed, his knees buckling, as Snape made good use of thirty years of potion-brewing to tighten his hands like manacles on the sensitive flesh. The zhedhi attempted to raise his leg to kick Snape off him, muttering barely heard imprecations about 'sneaky bastard' and 'clothes!' but Snape was undeterred. Before the kick could land, Snape slid his left hand directly between those muscular thighs and poked one finger straight up the zhedhi's arse.

Kenobi froze.

Snape flexed his hand. Drove his finger deeper, kneading the surrounding flesh with his knuckles.

Kenobi whimpered.

The furry face dropped down toward Snape's, a light in his eye that could only be described as feral. "Get ... your hands ... away ..."

Before he could finish the command, as Snape could already feel compulsion working at his wrists to pull them away from that delectable body, Snape burrowed through the beard on Kenobi's face and latched onto his mouth in a single motion. Tongue delving into the open mouth, he sucked for all he was worth, while at the same time pulling and rubbing at the foreskin under one hand and working a second finger into the arse hole being stretched by the other hand.

From the reaction, it would appear that the best way to defeat a zhedhi's protests was sensual assault on multiple fronts.

The prick beneath his palm lengthened and swelled to truly impressive proportions. The hole beneath his fingers yielded, slowly, until Snape was working three fingers to the first knuckle, causing Kenobi's entire body to do a shimmying dance. An energetic tongue now met his advances with as much enthusiasm as Snape could hope to provoke.

Altogether quite satisfactory, for a beginning.

But he needed to be anointed, and time was, most unfortunately, running short. Tearing his mouth away, he growled the necessary spell to cause his own robes to join the zhedhi's coverings on the other side of the room, then spread his now-nude legs and clamped them around Kenobi's waist. The mouth now working at his throat broke contact long enough to give an interrogatory noise.

Well past words himself, Snape let his body do the talking. Drawing the prick pushing against his hand further back, behind his balls, he placed the head at his own hole and wriggled as commandingly as he possibly could. Luckily, while difficult to acquire, zhedhi were by no means slow on the uptake, and very quickly Kenobi was rooting away quite lustily in Snape's bottom.

The first thrust nearly tore him in half.

The second one sent him to Nirvana.

Realizing from the frustrated whimpers coming from Kenobi's throat that, while Snape's hand up his fundament was rather thrilling, it was impeding progress, Snape reluctantly pulled his fingers away.

"Right," huffed Kenobi, and began drilling with a will.

If the first few thrusts made Snape practically insensible with delight, once the zhedhi put his back into it, reality became nothing more than a dimly remembered dream. All that existed was the bludger working his guts into ecstasy, the strong hands cupping and kneading his arse cheeks, the furry chest abrading his nipples, the voracious mouth once more attacking his own ... and the blue-white light that crackled around them like some sort of strange bubble.

Before he could remark on the phenomenon, assuming Kenobi would let him have his tongue back long enough to MAKE a remark, the zhedhi made a move with his hips that put him so deep in Snape for a moment Snape thought he could feel it in his throat, and Snape was coming helplessly all over his belly. The friction of those tight abdominal muscles rubbing all over his balls pushed the spunk right out of him, and the spasms in his arse must have done much the same for Kenobi, as moments later the zhedhi was arching into him.

"Feels strange," he mumbled against Kenobi's mouth.

A quick nip and lick across his lower lip, and the zhedhi mumbled something that sounded like 'middle chloride', making no sense, yet again. Snape pried open eyes he hadn't realized had closed to glance up into dazed, unfocused heather eyes. The literally dumb-fucked look on the zhedhi's face made him smirk.

An expression that turned instantly to horror as he realized two things simultaneously. One, they were floating in the middle of the air a good four feet off the stone floor of the dungeon, and landing was going to hurt. Two, the vortex was imploding, and he had no time to do more than yelp, "Shite!" as Kenobi was literally wrenched out of him and sent hurtling back the way he'd originally come.

Snape landed with a bone-jarring thud on the stone, arse clenching instinctively to keep as much of the semen in him as possible. An instant later, the vortex appeared to burp, and one at a time, each of the zhedhi's accouterments was sucked away. A boot, a sash, trousers, another boot ... finally, lastly, the empty tube disappeared into the interdimensional maw. Mid-way it ignited, and Snape heard a distant, "Master? MASTER!" followed immediately by an "OUCH!!" before the vortex finally collapsed.

Well.

That had been ... rather exciting.

Absently rubbing his own spilled seed into his stomach, then reaching down to massage the strangely-tingling spunk from the zhedhi into his thighs and hoping he wouldn't get a rash as he had no idea how he'd explain it to Pomfrey, he pulled himself painfully up from the floor and reached for his clothes. He had a potion to brew!

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He stared down at the cauldron. The fifth cauldron. With a congealed mass of sickly peridot-green gunk in it that was supposed to be a neon lime solution the consistency of weak mead. He stepped back. Raised his wand.

Sent that cauldron and its disastrous failure to perdition with the last four.

The stench in the workroom was so strong it was too much even for his battle-hardened stomach. Something hadn't worked. It wasn't the ingredients. It wasn't the preparation.

It had to be the zhedhi.

Perhaps there was another.

He contemplated the sheer energy required to open another portal, not to mention having to ask the Granger girl if she knew of any other zhedhi names he could use for summoning, and decided he needed further information before he put himself through all that. One hand rubbing away the headache gathering behind his eyes, the other rubbing absently at the ache left behind in his arse when the zhedhi was so rudely extracted, he wandered up the staircases until he reached Dumbledore's office.

"Snickerdoodle," he snapped at the gargoyle, who thought for an instant of telling Snape that was the previous month's password and not letting him through, then gave up the thought as suicidal and meekly opened the door.

"Ah, dear boy," Dumbledore began, then stopped short and stared at him, eyes going wide behind his spectacles.

"I need to know more about the zhedhi," Snape launched into his complaint without bothering with niceties. Otherwise he'd be sipping tea and refusing sweets all evening and he wasn't sure how long the potency of the zhedhi would last. "I pulled one through the transdimensional warp, which was a bitch as the universe was so bloody far away --"

"But, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted him, "the zhedhi you seek doesn't come from a universe far away. It comes from the Forbidden Forest. Right behind Hogwarts. Ask the Centaurs. They know where to locate them. They're actually not all that difficult to find."

Snape stared at him. Twitched. Eased from one foot to the other, then turned on his heel and marched back out the door.

It wasn't until he got to stairwell outside that he realized his robe was on inside-out.

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Snape grumbled under his breath as he tromped in the Centaur's wake. Astaire, a debonair brunet with large eyes in his bony face, had grinned like a maniac when Snape presented his request. A bribe of sweet apples and toffee candy had overcome any objections, not that he'd made any, but Snape was wary of the light of anticipation in the pale blue eyes.

Forty minutes of trampling through brambles later, Astaire stood to the side and made a sweeping gesture. "There's your zhedhi!" Then he watched, a grin still curving his mouth, as Snape shot him a suspicious look and stepped aside a few hundred stone of horse's arse to see the object of his intent to shag.

He immediately understood Astaire's nasty snickering. The zhedhi, far from the delicious man who'd so thoroughly shagged him earlier, was far from arousing. Nauseating, more like. It resembled nothing so much as a vastly overgrown banana slug with bright purple splotches. It appeared to be molting. Or melting. Vaguely, Snape wondered where he'd left his canister of salt. He rapidly revised his plans for the evening.

Staring at the beast, Snape decided it was little wonder no one in living memory had successfully concocted that potion.

He wasn't going to be the first.

END.