schemingreader

Authors: busaikko, schemingreader, sscrewdriver
Title: Itemize me harder
Pairing: Snape/Molly Weasley's muggle second cousin Nigel Weasley
Rating/Warnings: NC-17/way too silly for you, go home
Summary: You want a summary, too?
Author's Note: Er, so I forgot that this is Molly Prewett Weasley's second cousin who probably should be called Prewett. But you know those intermarrying wizarding families and er, okay.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

"Er--yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (US Edition, Scholastic Press, 1997) p. 99.




"'Don't worry about the Schedule C, just fuck me,' Snape's accountant murmured.

Ever since he left Hogwarts to go into business for himself, Snape had needed to find a Certified Public Accountant to do his taxes. Molly Weasley, one of the few Order members who still spoke to him, suggested her second cousin Nigel. What she didn't know was that Snape had a long-standing weakness for freckles. With a Muggle he didn't need to keep his impulses in check.

"Oh, oh, itemize me harder!" Nigel moaned into the Form 2555s that now covered the debauched desk.

"I think I'll leave you a dividend instead," Snape growled, grinding his hips into the helpless CPA. He hefted the paddle. "Tell me your Social Security number... or be punished." Nigel groaned.

"No, no, I'll tell, just don't stop!"

"How are my accounts, then? Am I in the red?" Snape whispered, watching as his black pubic hair tangled with bright red. His fingers did unholy things with Nigel Weasley's pocket protector. Nigel bared his teeth and pulled Snape's hair, and suddenly his wrists were pinned over his head and Snape's face was a mere five lines from his own. "I'm going to take deductions for that." (And those would be lines 40-45 on the 1040 form.)

It was a very profitable first meeting.

---

Snape opened his e-mail - but the attachment didn't contain the second quarter's VAT returns as he expected. Is that what I think it is? he thought. It was a smudgy monochrome image of an interesting part of male anatomy, with his VAT return written in tiny black numbers all over it.

Nigel phoned to apologise - someone in the office has been playing silly buggers. Would Snape come around to his office so that he can apologise and give him the figures himself?

So Snape locked up his fly fishing business and made his way through the darkening streets - but suddenly he was pushed into a back alley. All he saw was a flash of red hair before he was pinned to the wet brick wall, and his accountant, brandishing an enormous, vibrating electric hole-punch began to forcibly remove snippets from his hair with the pulsing blades.

"Oh, Mr Snape," Nigel quivered, "I've been wanting to obtain monthly returns from you for so long...but I'm not sure it's covered by our practice's ethical guidelines."

"Weasley," Snape growled. "You may be a Muggle but you are still a blasted Weasley nevertheless."

With a lightning-fast motion he disarmed the wild-eyed Nigel and applied the vibrating end of the hole-punch to his small and tight, but polyester-clad, buttocks.

"S--sorry, Mr. Snape," the hapless accountant replied, gasping as the hole punch vibrated closer and closer to his testicles. "P-please," he begged, seemingly unsure himself of whether he was asking for mercy from a demented man bent on castrating him, or for another go against the brick wall.

Perhaps both.

"These trousers are an abomination," Snape pronounced through gritted teeth. Considering that he'd never used a hole punch before, he was remarkably successful in using it to create an exciting eyelet-lace effect on the dreadful garments without actually scraping the tender, freckled Weasley-flesh of Nigel's muscular thighs.

"I won't..." the trembling accountant blurted.

The crotch of his trousers was hanging by mere threads, exposing his Y-fronts underneath. His undergarments might have been saggy, and they might have had little penguins in pink hats all over them, but they did nothing to hide the evidence of his growing arousal, which Snape noted with satisfaction.

"You won't do what?" Snape panted in a deep, husky voice. Two red blotches appeared on his cheekbones as he finally, with a final flourish of office equipment, sliced the grey synthetic fabric completely through. It fell straight into a slick puddle of oil on the ground.

Nigel's prick leapt with a boiiiing into the cold night air, its small scarlet tip poking out of the Y of his novelty Christmas underpants.

"I won't... file your tax return," the helpless Weasley shuddered, helplessly grinding his head of red curls into the brickword behind him. "You forgot to return Ms Adam's P45 last month. It would contravene all IR guidelines!"

"My," Snape purred, securing Weasley to the wall with a languid binding spell. The prancing penguins were soon parted from Nigel's prominently protruding penis. Snape kicked Nigel's legs wide and reached between them: somehow, his rough, uncaring touch was almost unbearably erotic. "What impressive capital gains you show this quarter." Nigel smothered a moan against the sleeve of his starched button-down (in Asparagus Green with stripes in Gotcher Cherry).

"Trust you not to believe in horizontal equity," Nigel snarled as Severus muttered a spell and then violated him -- debased him -- bent, folded, and spindled him -- made him want to roll over and beg for a lump-sum deposit.

Despise the man though he did, he could never accuse Snape of having frozen assets. Damn him! Nigel thought, as Severus slammed balls-deep into him and found his release. Damn him! he thought again, and -- unable to withhold any longer -- came helplessly.