Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/300582.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Horace_Slughorn/Various
  Character:
      Peter_Pettigrew, Horace_Slughorn, Regulus_Black, Tom_Riddle, Remus_Lupin,
      Sirius_Black, James_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Spanking, Voyeurism, Community:_pornish_pixies, Teacher-Student
      Relationship
  Collections:
      Crossgenerational_Slash
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-02-01 Words: 2113
****** The Upward Spiral ******
by pauraque
Summary
     There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.
Notes
     For the Voyeurism Challenge at Pornish Pixies. Dedicated to
     themostepotente, who inspired me to write Sluggy again.
It was an accident, really. Peter had put too much heartsease in his and
Remus's cauldron — he knew it was too much, just knew he'd never get it right —
and when it boiled over he backed up too hastily and knocked into Slughorn's
desk, and one of the small glass phials (which always lined the edge of it)
tipped, fell, and shattered.
The class was still for a moment, as Peter looked down in dismay at the mess of
cloudy, viscous fluid spilt on the stone floor. Then scattered laughter, and a
resumed bustle.
'God, Peter, why can't you be careful.' Remus's voice was low and strained as
he worked on mopping up their potion.
At the next desk, Sirius only smirked as James waved his wand idly over their
cauldron, turning their potion an easy turquoise.
'Pettigrew,' Slughorn snapped from behind him. Peter jerked round and was
surprised at the stern frown, the reddened face. Slughorn usually humoured him.
Not this time. 'That'll be detention.' He cleared up the shattered glass with a
sharp word, and squeezed down the aisle towards the back of the class, where
Snape and Rosier had begun snarling at each other again.
'What could've been in there that was so important?' Peter said morosely,
crushing another batch of heartsease so they could begin again.
'It actually looked like a Pensieve thought,' Remus mumbled, head bowed to
scrutinise the textbook's instructions.
'Memories of fine dining,' drawled Sirius, making an expansive gesture at the
glimmering row of phials. James snickered.
Peter didn't answer. The juice of the heartsease felt puckery on his
fingertips.
*
There was no one else but Peter at Slughorn's detention; he hardly ever gave
any. As Peter dutifully skinned and boned the dead white mice (he wondered if
Slughorn was too squeamish to do this task himself), the glint of glass on the
professor's desk proved a constant distraction. He realised he was being even
slower at this than usual.
After half an hour, Slughorn began to look bored. He put his book aside and
began glancing at his watch every few minutes.
'Should I bother with the paws?' Peter asked needlessly, the feeling of an idea
forming in the back of his mind.
Slughorn let out a weary sigh that ruffled his moustache. 'Yes, you should.
Goes into certain draughts, you know.'
He looked at his watch.
'Did you like the upside-down cake at dinner tonight?'
Slughorn gave Peter a funny look. 'Don't know how you can think about food
while you're... Yes. It was quite lovely, now you mention it.'
The watch again.
Slughorn licked his lips.
'Pettigrew, you wouldn't mind terribly if I— No, of course you wouldn't.'
Slughorn got to his feet. 'I won't be ten minutes.'
Peter was astonished that this actually worked, that it was so easy to get
Slughorn off to the kitchens. Almost angry, too, that Slughorn gets as hungry
as he does, but— no time to think of that now.
Peter hurriedly rinsed off his hands and went straight to the edge of the desk,
carefully picked up the first of the phials. A date on the bottom: Oct 1973.
They all had dates in Slughorn's blotchy handwriting, and the latest was Jan
1975 — this month. Peter took that one.
Then he set about snooping. A man with bottles of memories must have a Pensieve
somewhere. Instinct took Peter to the adjoining private chambers, which smelt
of perfume and something sharper that he couldn't name. He found himself
running his hands along the velvet bedcurtains as his gaze flicked about the
room.
At last he found it, in a mahogany cabinet lined with even more phials, all
lined up and catalogued by date. Peter had used a Pensieve before; he quickly
spilled the thick white memory in, and followed.
*
He is standing in a close, steamy bathroom with earth-coloured tile. The sink
is beside him; he startles briefly at not seeing himself in the mirror.
He turns, and Slughorn is seated on a low chair beside the claw-footed tub,
shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. And sitting in the water with his knobby
knees raised up is Regulus Black, entirely naked. Peter feels suddenly like his
feet aren't touching the floor.
Slughorn is bathing him. He pours water from cupped hands over Regulus's brown
hair, and when it's dark with wetness he looks even more like his brother. The
boy blinks, eyelashes laden with droplets; he is nervous. Slughorn rubs his
soapy hand over Regulus's shoulder blades, down his spine. Across his
childishly smooth chest, his pink nipples that harden like buttons under
Slughorn's wide palm. When he passes the flannel over his belly, Regulus jerks
with a slight breath of a laugh. Slughorn smiles.
'We're quite clean now, aren't we,' he murmurs, his voice reverberating
strangely off the tiles, in the memory. 'Yes, we certainly are,' he answers
himself, and his hand disappears below the waterline. Regulus jerks again,
gasps, narrow shoulders tightening.
Slughorn's hand works gently under the water, and he takes Regulus's chin in
his other hand so tenderly that Peter is sure (with a twist of his gut) that he
is going to kiss him, but instead he looks, watches strained breaths escape the
boy's red, wet lips, watches his long-lashed eyes close.
When it happens, Regulus's knees come together with a splash; he arches, and
makes a ragged sound like crying out in sleep. Slughorn makes a soothing,
hushing noise, and strokes Regulus's wet hair, his other hand still firmly
between his thighs.
After that's done, Slughorn finishes bathing him. Regulus's eyes are still
closed, and he shivers under his professor's hands.
Peter watches as long as he dares.
*
On pulling himself back into the bedroom, Peter put everything back exactly as
he had found it, his hands trembling and his penis hard beneath his robes.
Slughorn returned shortly after, looking much more at ease, and Peter finished
the last minutes of his detention in silence.
*
Peter stayed awake late that night in the cold dormitory, staring up into the
reddish darkness above his bed. He would have liked to ask Remus if Pensieves
could ever hold wishes, but hadn't dared.
Peter thought of Slughorn clasping Regulus on his skinny shoulder with a
chuckle in the corridor earlier that day. He imagined Regulus in Potions class,
glancing up and seeing the glimmering phials lined up innocently along the edge
of the desk. He turned over onto his side, rubbed his eyes.
He couldn't help it. He touched himself restlessly, mind unsettled. Tried to
think of himself in the claw-footed tub, languid, hands sliding over his skin—
An intrusive image of displaced water spilling over the side.
In the end, he thought only of what he saw, of the movement of Slughorn's arm,
of the arch of Regulus's pale back. Oh god. He bit his lip, and heard the echo
of the ragged sound that Regulus had made.
As he finally relaxed into sleep, Peter thought of all those phials. Perhaps a
hundred.
He'd never come up with enough excuses to be able to watch them all.
*
Remus helped him learn the Soporific Charm over the weekend, frowning his
disapproval all the while.
It wasn't extraordinarily difficult to get into detention again; he put
something disgusting into Snape's cauldron, and let himself be caught. Then a
simple matter of waiting until Slughorn was looking the other way, and putting
him out with a whispered word.
Peter picked random phials to check the dates, which seemed to extend back to
the beginning of his teaching career. There was one tucked away in the back of
the cabinet, the only one not in neat formation with the rest, as though
Slughorn had wanted to forget about it but couldn't bring himself to throw it
away. The date was Sep 1944.
*
He is standing in the same room, Slughorn's bedroom, but it is differently
decorated and a different time of day. A younger Slughorn is lying, sated, on
the bed. Peter has never seen a fat naked body other than his own, and is
somehow surprised. His chest sags, and the meeting of his thighs to his arse is
a deep dark crease.
He is gazing fondly at the marble-bodied adolescent who is reclining like a
disdainful god nearer the headboard. It's no one Peter recognises.
'All these noontime "detentions" are beginning to reflect on my academic
record,' says the boy.
Slughorn chuckles and rolls over to caress his indifferent lover's thigh. 'You
might take it as a compliment, Tom, that some days I simply can't wait until
the end of classes to have a taste of you.'
Tom regards him coolly. 'Even if it means missing your lunch?'
'Heavens, you're mouthy today. No wonder you get so many detentions.'
'My prick gets so many detentions,' Tom corrects him.
'Oh, now, that tears it.' Slughorn pushes himself up to a sitting position and
grasps Tom's legs, pulling him playfully towards him. His soft belly rolls
easily when he moves. 'That just tears it.'
'What are you— What—'
Tom stammers in disbelief but doesn't put up a genuine struggle as his long
limbs are collected and he's put over his professor's knee.
'I'm meant to be disciplining you, after all,' Slughorn says, gently rubbing
the smooth arse under his palm. 'Perhaps I ought to start. Have you been
dreadfully naughty, Tom?'
Tom twists his neck to look up at Slughorn, and a slow, wicked smile comes over
his face. 'I think it's safe to say I have been.'
'It's almost hard to believe,' Slughorn muses, brushing the fingertips of his
other hand over the boy's lips. 'To have such a pretty mouth, and have such
dreadful things come out of it.'
Peter jerks at the first hard slap, and Tom lets out an undignified yelp of
surprise.
Slughorn rubs his arse again, which is already starting to flush red. Tom puts
his head down. Two smacks in quick succession, and Tom bites his lip, but
doesn't make another sound.
It's nothing at all like the occasional half-hearted punishments Peter's father
used to give, not a steady smack-smack-smack and then you're done. Slughorn
doesn't provide a pattern for Tom to get used to, spaces out the slaps in
between caresses. Tom spreads his thighs obligingly when Slughorn reaches down
to finger him; he spanks the backs of Tom's thighs as well, until he's blushing
red from his cheeks to the pits of his knees. Slughorn is flushed too, and soon
they're both grinding against each other, breathing heavily.
Just as Peter is realising that the present-day Slughorn won't stay asleep much
longer, the one before him stops and pushes Tom up to his feet. The boy
wobbles, but steadies himself. His prick is half-hard.
'Now, if I'm not mistaken,' Slughorn says breathlessly, 'you've a class to get
to.'
'Yours,' Tom says, his reddened face showing puzzlement.
'Indeed,' says Slughorn, and points to the rumpled school uniform lying on the
floor. 'And I shall expect you to sit still and behave during the full two
hours of it.'
*
Peter felt himself suddenly toppling head over heels, and then falling to the
floor of the bedroom in the evening, in the present, with the white-haired
Slughorn standing over him.
He scrambled to his feet, grabbing to bunch up his robes and hide his erection.
To his astonishment (and strangely, further terror), Slughorn appeared annoyed
rather than enraged.
'Well, there's one thing you're good at. Poking around in other people's
business.'
'I'm sorry,' Peter managed to get out. He was shaking. 'I'm— I'm sorry.'
'It's very wicked of you, wanting to look at things like that.'
And at that moment he felt like he was tumbling again, and he knew, he knew he
was going to be put down and spanked, and be naked belly-to-belly with someone,
and be clasped on the shoulder in the corridor and chuckled at indulgently. He
shivered. He was still hard.
'Get out,' Slughorn said wearily, and turned to go back out into his classroom.
Peter's mouth hung open stupidly. He seemed to be choking on his own tongue for
a moment, but then managed to say to Slughorn's back, 'I'll tell. I'll tell
someone.'
'Cheers,' said Slughorn. 'Enjoy being thought an envious lunatic, as well as a
poor bastard of no family or particular talent.'
Still trembling, Peter ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, his lungs and
legs burning by the time he got to the base.
It was a foolish thing to do: He was in agony as he dragged himself,
breathless, up the five flights to the dormitory and his bed.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!