fic: alternative methods
Title: Alternative methods
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5,341
Summary: When Harry discovers that Snape has a lot to teach him during a detention, Harry returns for more information about Voldemort- and then it stops being about Voldemort. For gingertart50 for the hds-beltane exchange. It was my first Snarry fic...
During a particularly boring non-practical lesson, Harry wished that Snape would teach something directly useful to his upcoming future for once. He also wished that he would be a little more interesting, since that might gain him a few more students into his class. His piece of parchment was filled with blank space and doodles. Harry knew better than to doodle in Snape's class, really he did, and yet suddenly he found himself looking down at a half-drown image of Snape. It was undoubtedly Snape, for no one else Harry knew had long, lank hair like that. His had had apparently drawn it of its own will, and the pose was exactly that which the Professor had been in the last time Harry had looked up. It was quite a good drawing.
Unfortunately, the man was not a statue, and therefore did not remain in a solitary space. "Mr Potter!" Harry started, and managed to smash his knee into the bottom of the desk. He bit his lip to stop himself from swearing. "What is this?" The parchment was snatched from his desk and closely examined. Harry bit his lip ever more. The parchment was slammed down, a crumpled bit on the side where it had been grabbed. "Mr Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor and a detention, I think." He whisked his robes back up to the front. Harry slowly smoothed out the rumpled side, and picked up his quill. He finished his picture of Snape.
-
As the Gryffindor hauled his back from Gryffindor tower down to Snape's office, he wondered at the vague note he'd been sent. Snape had not specified what he'd be doing. He'd been told to go to Snape's office rather than a dungeon too; he probably wasn't scrubbing anything down, at least. Hearing Snape's cut voice after he knocked, the boy entered, flicking his eyes around. Apart from an inordinate amount of scrolls on Snape's desk, nothing particularly stood out.
"Sit down, Potter. You can start marking those First Year essays. Even you should know enough to answer their question. You are familiar with the way I mark. The red ink is on your right." Snape didn't even looked up from whatever his was reading, apparently not First Year work. Harry blinked; Snape trusted him with marking other people's work? Odd.
Harry slowly seated himself, and got out a quill. He unrolled the first essay and was greeted by barely stabilised handwriting and many blots. A muggleborn not yet used to a quill, he guessed. The evening passed slowly, and by the time he was only ninth scroll, Harry was wondering whether he really had ever written such nonsense like this. Dipping into the red ink, he impatiently crossed a line through an entire paragraph, and then realised that it was what Snape often did through his own essays. Reading practically the same thing over and over was tiring, especially when he often had to fight through convoluted sentences and atrocious grammar to find it.
"Not so much butterflies and rainbows, is it, Potter?" Harry started; he whacked the same knee he had the day before on the bottom on Snape's desk. His Professor had looked at him with his noticing. How did he do that?! Harry formed a questioning look. "After reading forty of these, you start to wonder if you have any brain cells left, or whether the nonsense they say is actually correct." Loath as he was to admit it, Harry agreed. "It happens elsewhere too." Snape's tone was strangely stilted. "Once you hear something enough times, you start thinking about it differently." Harry was caught in the odd look in Snape's eyes.
Although the eyes revealed nothing about the thoughts beneath, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Snape was referring to the Death Eaters. Sirius had said something last year, about his brother hearing about 'the glory of the Death Eaters'. Had it been the same for Snape? Except it was different too, in that Regulus had run away, and been punished for it; Snape was still caught in their throes, trapped as a spy for both sides. "Carry on, Potter. You haven't even hit ten yet," Snape said dryly as he returned to his own marking.
Harry became quicker at marking, watching for specific points and key words. "Becoming attuned to the rhythm of it?" Apparently, Harry's Professor could startle him at any time; Harry dripped red ink onto the table, and hastily blotted it away. He was also surprised at the... poetic nature of Snape's words. They seemed very un-Snape-like. "Get quicker at it." Ah. That was something Snape would say. "Then apply the skill elsewhere." Harry looked up to see Snape intently staring at him. He both shivered and frowned, not quite understanding.
"You want to know how I know what you're doing without looking up, Potter?" Snape's tone was faintly amused, faintly sardonic. Harry flushed somewhat. He had been thinking that that would be useful. "You have more than one sense, Potter. Honestly. Are you deaf, mute and otherwise completely insensitive to the world?" Snape made it sound easy. "Become attuned to what you're doing, the thing you are focused on. Like that piece of writing. Like The Dark Lord." Somehow, Harry didn't think that this was about detention anymore. There was something a little more important.
The Gryffindor slowly set down his quill and listened attentively to Snape, something he pretty much never did in lessons. Then again, Snape didn't give him much advice on fighting Voldemort during lessons. "Once you're attuned to it, you don't have to focus on it so much. Are you still with me?" Harry nodded; he did notice that he was starting to think other things whilst marking. "This leaves you free to focus on other things." There, simple. Harry nodded slowly. What Snape meant was that whilst he half-concentrated on marking, the rest of his attention could be kept on Harry.
"But sir," Harry frowned somewhat," shouldn't I completely focus on Vol- You-Know-Who?" It was a sensible question, he decided.
Snape tutted. "When you fought with The Dark Lord in your Fourth Year, Potter, were you dimly aware of the circle of other Death Eaters around you?" Harry grimaced, and thought back to Fourth Year, He didn't like to purposely think of it very much; the feeling of guilt about Cedric descended upon him whenever he did. Thinking about it, Harry did recall knowing that he was surrounded by other Death Eaters; he nodded.
"Well, Potter, what if one of them had cursed you? You wouldn't have known, because you were completely focused on The Dark Lord." Strangely enough, Snape's tone wasn't as derisive as usual. "I am aware that The Dark Lord wishes to deal with you personally, but what about when you're fighting alongside other people, Potter? If you're not fully aware of your surroundings as well your target, you might hit one of your comrades in battle." Harry stared at Snape, wondering why he was being told this. Snape was insistent, his voice staying quiet and yet becoming louder in Harry's ears. "What about the area you were fighting in? It was one of the Dark Lord's choosing, and you didn't know where everything was, did you? If you are fully aware of your surrounds, you can evaluate the best course, where to move, stop yourself from being backed into a corner."
When Snape finished talking, he slowly returned to his marking. Harry stared at him numbly for a moment. Snape ignored him, and Harry severely doubted that the older man was not aware of his stare, especially after what he had just said. Snape had summarised it so clearly. Harry hadn't known the area, hadn't been prepared for a fight, and he had no idea how to protect others in a fight. He looked blankly down at the piece of parchment, not quite reading the words on it. Slap! Harry reeled, and shot backwards on his chair, a screeching sound across the floor.
"You weren't paying attention again," Snape said smoothly as the Gryffindor put a hand up to his cheek, shocked. And that was it. Shocked. He wasn't supposed to be shocked; he was supposed to be prepared. "You do understand now, don't you, Potter?" Harry silently looked his Potions Master in the face, a determined expression firmly chiselled into his features. He understood.
Harry was moving quite swiftly through the scrolls now, trying to do as Snape suggested and keep his mind open for things other than the essay before him. Now he was trying, Harry could clearly hear Snape's quill scratching over a piece of parchment, see the other man moving his hand out of his peripheral vision, hear the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. His eyes only skimmed lightly across the words whilst he concentrated on everything around him.
Reaching out absently for the red ink, Harry suddenly flushed, as his hand brushed past Snape's, a firm contact, and he jerked, knocking the red ink over. Pools of ink spread across the desk, and Harry stared at it. It looked uncannily like blood. "Potter!" Snape already had his wand out, and had waved the ink off before Harry had even reached for his. "You need more practice at multi-tasking apparently," Snape's voice as dry as usual, "And stop blushing like a virgin on her wedding night." Was there amusement there too? Harry flushed some more; somehow, Snape making sexual references was unnerving.
"Your reactions need some fine-tuning too, I see." Snape eyed his wand hand, which was only halfway to his hand. "Stop being distracted, Potter. The Dark Lord's not going to wait for you if he decides to attack and you're halfway through intercourse." Harry choked, quite aghast. "...Asexual, are you?" asked Snape snidely, apparently deciding to interpret his reaction as an indication that Harry didn't think about sex. Harry didn't want to know if Voldemort had ever walked in on Snape having sex. In fact, Harry didn't want to know about Snape having sex at all, actually.
When the clock struck half ten, Snape glanced up at it. "Get out of my office, Potter. You are far too disruptive." Harry's mouth twitched a little at this unusual dismissal. "But come back next week." Snape eyed his desk. "You didn't finish." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. He knew it was futile arguing with Snape. He'd probably land himself another month's worth of detention. Besides, he supposed that it was somehow his fault; the detention had deviated somewhat from Harry marking papers. He had learnt a few useful things from Snape, something he hadn't thought possible. Snape had inside information and survival tactics, he guessed. It would be quite intriguing to learn about those if ever he and Snape could behave civilly towards each other in a room for long enough.
-
Marking for Snape wasn't nearly as bad a detention as Harry would have thought. Between this week and the last, the idea of it had somehow manifested in Harry's mind as something peaceful, and useful revision too. He shuddered; he'd probably been spending too much time around Hermione. Sitting opposite the older man, Harry sneaked a glance at him whilst resting his eyes from sixteen inches of particularly bad handwriting.
"Potter," his name was only stated, with completely neutral overtones. Harry jumped anyway. Hadn't quite mastered being aware of everything yet, he pulled a mental face at himself. He should really expect to be startled by Snape by now. "Finish marking; the First Year lesson is tomorrow." Harry ducked his head with a slight smile.
The boy did finally finish marking, and yawned as he stacked the scrolls neatly on the side of Snape's desk. "Cover your mouth when you yawn, Potter." His Professor eyed him sternly. "Your reactions are slow when you yawn, and you never know when someone might fire a hex into your mouth." Harry looked startled at the idea, then turned it curiously over in his mind. It did sound quite plausible, really. "Try not to fight when you're having a bout of sneezes either, if you can help it. Your senses get completely destroyed by sneezes." The thought of him going to fight Voldemort and then sneezing on the monster somehow seemed quite amusing.
"The Dark Lord doesn't like being sneezed on..." Snape had a look on his face which indicated that he wasn't quite here. Harry stared, wondering if he was being serious, but realised from the emotion which briefly flickered through his eyes that he was. Surely even Voldemort wouldn't torture someone for sneezing on him?
Harry started to say something, but realised that it would be inappropriate for the time being. "What's it like?" He said softly, finally. Snape looked sharply down at him as if he had shouted the words and they had rung resolutely in his ears incessantly, the words being flung around in his mind, unable to get rid of them. Harry had some pretty traumatic memories himself; he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the sort Snape had in his mind now that he had asked.
"Don't look so horrified, Potter," Snape sneered at him, and Harry knew that the sneer is somehow less real than usual. "It starts out fine. Naturally, it starts out fine; you wouldn't join otherwise, would you?" Harry stayed silent. "Sometimes it feels good. Exhilarating, like after a sex rush." The boy pulled a somewhat disgusted face. He wished that Snape would stop making sexual references. "After the initial rush... it either stays like that, constantly perfect," Harry thought of mad Bellatrix and her wild happiness in cursing people, "or you pretend. You learn to ignore... 'distractions' very quickly."
Harry frowned. 'Distractions'... Snape probably meant things like witnessing someone being tortured and having to ignore it, not do anything about it... and yet at the same time be so relieved that it wasn't you, and yet guilty for thinking that... Harry could understand that. Seeing this insight into Snape's life was hollowly enlightening. He hated Snape so much, and yet it was impossible to, knowing that he had to deal with this every day of his life, and-
Harry's thoughts were cut off when he felt something on his thigh. Snape was, once again, looking nonchalant and merely marking his work, but Harry froze, as -it was definitely a foot- it trailed up his thigh, and further. Harry gripped his edge of the table, frantically staring at Snape. Suddenly, Snape's words pushed themselves painfully to the front of his mind, and Harry gritted his teeth. Snape was being kind, he told himself, he's helping me cope with distractions and he could have just hexed me, but he didn't.
Picking up his quill with trembling fingers, Harry forced himself to look at the parchment, and not focus on Snape feeling his way into his so very upper thigh and shit! it suddenly wasn't his thigh anymore, and Harry's eyes almost glazed over, but he closed them firmly, and then focused on getting the work marked. He needed it all marked before tomorrow, Harry reminded himself, steeling himself against any 'distractions'. At least this was a relatively harmless distraction. Suddenly, slap! Harry jerked backwards.
"You're not supposed to block everything out," Snape sounded halfway between amused and exasperated. Since this was a relatively new experience for him (having Snape anything but angry at him), Harry scowled. It was hard! And really, really, really disturbing! He settled back into his chair properly again, suspiciously glaring at Snape. Snape rolled his eyes. "If you go around looking like that, it's no wonder you get attacked, you moron," the Professor snorted. "You're not going to catch anyone off-guard like that."
The clock struck half-ten, and Harry glanced worriedly at the few scrolls he still had left to finish marking. "Well? Finish them up, Potter," Snape demanded, apparently very impatient with him. Harry did, and in record time, all the while very aware that Snape was watching him.
"Professor," Harry started as he stood, "I have something to ask you." He didn't know that he had; he'd only just thought of it. He paused, before saying hurriedly, "Could you tell me some more about You-Know-Who?" For some reason, the thought of his final battle lurked just below the surface of Harry's mind, and... and somehow, Snape, slimy annoying infuriating Snape, seemed able to help Harry. This wasn't like the Occlumency last year. He had hated Snape then, but these last two weeks... Harry had found himself trying to do what Snape had suggested, and found that it was working, and that he... enjoyed his time with Snape? He needed all the help he needed though.
Snape was looking at him oddly. "What makes you think I've got the time to teach you anything? What makes you think I even have anything to tell you?" drawled the Potions Master. Harry considered it.
"I'll mark your First Years' Potions essays?" He offered.
-
When the red ink was stoppered for the evening, and Harry rolled away the scroll he had been marking, he glanced up to see what Snape was preparing next. He was startled to suddenly find lips over his, and a tongue roughly pushing in. He gripped the edge of the desk in surprise and gasped as Snape took control, grabbing his hair and pulling him sideways and down. Scrolls rolled across the floor, and Harry distinctly thought that he’d just squashed a few, as he sprawled sideways across the table, letting Snape push his mouth apart. Then, Snape drew back, leaving him staring. "You were unprepared, Potter," he said.
Harry put one hand over his face for a bit, and sighed. "I was hardly expecting-"
"Exactly." Snape cut in smoothly, looking down at him. "I believe a certain Professor used to scream 'Constant vigilance' all the time? He wasn't incorrect, Potter. At any time. The Dark Lord is not going to wait until you're ready." He leaned down to kiss Harry again, this time not so rough, and Harry pushed back a little this time, mind digesting what just been said. It was true, of course. It was something that he knew; he'd just never had it put into a situation like this.
"Potter, your mind is wandering." Harry heard the light touch of annoyance in his Potions Master's voice, and quickly concentrated again as Snape bit his lip. He winced. "If you were concentrating, that wouldn't have happened," commented Snape blandly. "At least pretend to pay attention. Your mind can't be wandering in important situations."
Harry sighed again. He nodded. He knew that too. Somehow, Snape touching him like this was... less unnerving than he had thought. There was something about Snape which assured Harry that Snape wasn't going to do anything stupid, or take advantage of Harry or anything. In this relatively mild environment, Harry wouldn't really be hurt by Snape, but... well, as Snape said, 'at any time'. Who knew; Voldemort might well walk right into the dungeons there and then.
A hard knock sounded on the door, and Harry jerked upwards and off the table in surprise, having already gotten his wand out before realising that Dark Lords probably didn't knock. He Summoned all the scrolls neatly back to the table anyway, and was already seated and pretending to be marking again by the time Snape had gotten to the door. "Better, Potter. Sharp reactions." Harry smiled slightly, keeping his head bent as Snape received his visitor. Who visited him at half-ten at night anyway?!
"Ah, Draco," Snape said smoothly, "What are you doing still wandering around at this hour?" He held the door open and let the boy in, who made some sort of angry noise upon seeing Harry. Harry didn't know; his back was to the boy, but he pretended nothing was wrong, and stayed marking the work, eyes blurring over the words, not really reading it. He listened instead. "Did you want to speak to me about something?"
There was a long pause. "I just wished to ask for a Dreamless Sleep potion, sir." His voice was stony, indicating very clearly that he hadn't come here to ask for that at all. Harry continued pretending that nothing was wrong, but he could feel both gazes at his back switch over to him. Although there were two people staring at him, Harry felt the presence of one more so than the other in his mind. Malfoy was probably glaring at him, wishing that he wasn't here so that he could speak to Snape privately. But in the back of his mind, Harry could imagine Snape staring at Harry, his expression as bland as usual, but almost stripping Harry in front of his mind, exposing him, and his weaknesses.
"Potter is, once again, doing a detention from me. It appears that he still has much to learn." Biting the inside of his cheek in amusement, Harry half-heartedly marked the scroll, hearing Snape tinker with vials behind him. "Here you are, Draco. Don't drink it too often. Overdoses will send you into a coma." From the silence, footsteps and then door shutting, Harry guessed that Malfoy had done his usual head-jerk as a thanks and walked out. He relaxed, putting the quill down again, but before he could turn around, he felt Snape's hands holding his face forwards, and lips on his neck. He moaned softly, making sure to close the red ink. Wouldn't want that spilling everywhere.
"Potter," Snape managed to sound both scathing and amused at the same time. "With your back to us, what would you have done had we both cursed you from behind at the same time?" Harry shivered; Snape nipped him on the neck to prove his point.
"I would have-"
"Died, Potter. You would have died." Snape licked slowly over the bitten area, soothing it out, which somehow made Harry very comfortable. It was as though Snape was taking all of Harry's qualms and worries about this... situation with his Potions Master and licking them out, comforting everything. "But you aren't dead. So you can remember for the next time that you don't turn your back to your enemy." Harry stiffened, insulted. Even he wouldn't- "Is Mr. Malfoy not an enemy?" Harry gritted his teeth, then felt Snape's long fingers forcibly massage his jaw until he couldn't keep the tension up, and relaxed. Snape's fingers were very relaxing on his jaw. Feeling the body shift behind him, Harry automatically moved so that Snape could sit on the chair, and he perched in between Snape's legs.
"Yes, sir," the Gryffindor replied slowly. "What should I do then? To not attract attention?"
Snape's hands moved over his chest, and he could feel the softness in his fingertips even through the robes and t-shirt underneath. Snape tucked fingers under his chin and turned Harry's head for a kiss. He smelled the ingredients the man worked with all day, herb-like and like spices as he sucked on Snape's tongue, somehow very alluring. "Not attracting attention is a good idea. You're starting to think now, Potter. You do something else that doesn't attract attention. There's never only one solution." Harry got it. He could have been filing things away, or rearranging the bookshelf, something which enabled to both be discreet and yet keep an eye on the others around him.
-
As soon as Harry entered the room, he was knocked onto his back. He looked up dazedly to see Snape looming over him. "Unprepared," he muttered with a sigh as Snape hauled him back up. The Potions Master agreed. Harry started on his promised work, whilst paying very close attention to what Snape was doing. He had no wish to be pounced upon again.
"Potter," Snape intoned. Harry looked up and put his quill down. Snape reached out, not trying to surprise Harry, and pulled him forwards, over the narrow gap that was the desk, and kissed him. Harry let him, and suddenly whimpered as Snape grew rough, tongue forcing its way in, lips pressing down hard on Harry's, bruisingly hard, forcing Harry's head to an odd angle. He submitted, wondering what point Snape was trying to prove. Snape bit his tongue, and Harry gave a muffled cry. The older man drew back, an eyebrow raised. "...So when the Dark Lord attacks you, you're going to sit still like a good puppy and wait for him to kill you?"
With a touch to his bruised lips, Harry scowled. "Of course not!"
"So show some force, Potter." Snape sighed, as if tiring of trying to teach Harry something and have it stick in his head. "And remember, not everything is as it first seems." Harry nodded; the kiss had changed, and it had been pleasant first. Relatively pleasant, Harry amended quickly, before something inside of him nagged at him. Harry denied that it had been a very pleasant kiss indeed.
When he had wanted Snape to teach him insider tactics about the Death Eaters and Voldemort, Harry had hardly expected this... but he hadn't complained. He could see that the quickest way for him to really pick something up was to experience it, and Snape could hardly be hexing him every week, could he? This sort of analogy was... alternative, he admitted, but it worked. He pressed the tips of his fingers to his mouth again, briefly.
Moving quickly, Snape snatched Harry's wrists, and pinned him to the wall by them, holding his hands above his head before reaching out a hand and grinding his palm into Harry's groin. At the same time, he pressed his lips over Harry's and gave him the same harsh kiss as he had earlier. Harry groaned gutturally into the older man's mouth, and then forcefully pushed back, fighting for power. "Merlin, Potter, don't you know anything?" Snape bit Harry's lower lip hard, and closed his hand around the boy's erection. Harry's eyes rolled upwards; he would have collapsed if not for Snape holding him up.
"If someone's taken hostage, you don't just shove through," Snape explained, far more patiently than he usually was during class. He jerked his hand along Harry's cock and Harry whimpered his understanding. "If there's a hostage, you play along until you have an opportunity." Snape stopped talking to ravage his mouth again, and Harry let him, submissively taking in the other man's tongue. Snape pulled away from the kiss, and then whispered, "What happens if you don't get an opportunity? I could stand like this for hours."
Through the haze of sexual pleasure and being physically restricted, Harry tried to think. "You... you create one," he croaked, pushing his hips forward into Snape's hand, hooking one leg behind one of the Professor's and pulling it forward so that their hips bumped; Harry rubbed his erection into Snape's groin. The friction of his robes made Harry gasp, but he could already feel Snape's grip on his wrists loosening at the same time as feeling Snape get harder.
With a jerk of his hands, Harry pulled free, and then wrapped his arms around Snape's neck. "Crude, but it worked, Potter," Snape whispered, pulling Harry forwards; Harry went, and nuzzled Snape's lips before applying soft pressure. Snape's hand stroked down Harry's hip, and he shivered.
-
The next week, Harry strode in after having been admitted with determination written across his face. As usual, Snape didn't look up, and Harry swiftly crossed over to the Professor's side of the desk, pushed himself onto Snape's lap and forcefully kissed the older man. He really had taken what had been said the previous week into account; he had assessed the situation, and made it go his way. Always, Harry had fought Voldemort on the Dark Lord's terms and grounds. He would have to make Voldemort come to him, and be prepared. Suddenly, Harry found himself rolled onto the floor, his arms automatically latching on to around Snape's neck, Snape's hand under his head so that it wouldn't bang on the stone, and power was wrested away from him.
Snape's eyes glittered with mild amusement. "Potter, you are the least subtle person I have ever met. Typical Gryffindor," he sighed, stroking Harry's cheek. He bit Harry's lip, as he always did whenever Harry did something stupid; the boy wondered what it was this time. "If you barge in looking like you're there to start a battle, you lose your element of surprise, Potter." The Potions Master's long fingers wound into Harry's messy tangle of hair and pulled his head back. "And then your enemy will respond with violence. Be prepared for battle. But look as though you're not. Subtlety, Potter, and pretence. They are two traits that you don't have. You're just rather lucky that The Dark Lord himself is not the most subtle of people either."
As the man's face lowered towards Harry's neck, Harry felt his head being pulled back, and willingly let himself expose his skin. A hot wetness could be felt on his neck, and Harry felt his eyes flutter closed, as Snape nibbled him there. The light touches felt a little like the feeling in his stomach; wet, hot and so very pleasant. "There is one thing the Dark Lord is subtle at," Snape's soft murmur was mesmerising. "There are some things which don't leave physical marks, which can't be seen..." Snape licked that part of Harry's neck to demonstrate, and the Gryffindor knew that he didn't have to worry about a bite mark. "... but that doesn't mean that nothing has happened."
Harry understood; the sensation of teeth across his neck was amazing as opposed to torture, but it was the same principal. He wondered how often Snape had been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse, and felt a pang of pity. He immediately felt guilty for feeling pity, because he knew that he hated it when people pitied him. The man was still standing, sane, before him, after all.
-
Almost two months had passed, and Ron and Hermione had asked why Snape was still keeping Harry for an evening a week. Harry had told them a half-truth; he'd told them that Snape was giving him lessons again -no, not Occlumency, he reassured, but more telling him about how the Death Eaters worked, and tactics against Voldemort. Hermione had nodded; that seemed a practical thing to do to her, and Ron had cautioned Harry to be careful about trusting what Snape said.
Harry had agreed. He didn't quite know whether he really did trust his Professor, but he couldn't deny that Snape had a vast amount to teach him, even if he hadn't originally liked the man himself, and... he didn't have a problem with the way Snape was teaching him. Strangely. Or perhaps, not so strangely, because Snape was darkly enticing and very good at teaching that method. With grim humour, Harry amused himself with the thought that Snape could hardly teach his normal lessons like that.
Slipping into Snape's office, the Gryffindor noticed the lack of a pile of scrolls immediately. Snape was leaning back in his chair, apparently engrossed in a rather dusty book. "I have nothing left to teach you, Potter." The man looked over the top of the book, eyes shadowed. "You are as prepared as you will ever be without me actually physically attacking you." For some reason, Harry felt a small lurch in his stomach. Snape went back to his book; the boy stood there dumbly for a moment.
With a swallow, Harry crossed the room as he decided what he wanted to do. Prising the book out of Snape's hands and ignoring the scowl that the older man sent him, Harry marked the page and set it back on the shelf. He licked his lips. If it was because he was nervous or because he was anticipating, he wasn't completely sure. "Professor, I'd like to thank you for... training me," Harry Potter said, slowly sliding onto Snape's legs. He placed a trembling hand either side of Snape's face and closed his eyes and he pressed his lips to Severus Snape's with a softness that neither of them had entertained before.
With his eyes closed, Harry could but only feel Snape's arm across his waist, welcoming him into a proper straddle across Snape's lap, and the man's other hand behind his head, bringing them closer. The room felt too warm, and Harry kept his eyes closed to the sensation of Snape's hand stroking his back, his buttock, his hip. Snape's tongue was gentle, and massaged his own with what could only be describing as a tender caress.
"I suppose, Potter," Snape's dry tone hadn't changed at all, and Harry didn't expect it to. He knew Professor Snape this way, and this way it would stay. "That if you particularly desire my company, you may continue visiting me." Harry felt something inside him -his heart?- jump excitedly inside him. He pressed his forehead to Snape's cheek, and heard the man snort softly. "So clingy, Potter," he mocked. Harry curled his arms around Snape's neck, and felt arms wind more tightly around the back of him.
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 5,341
Summary: When Harry discovers that Snape has a lot to teach him during a detention, Harry returns for more information about Voldemort- and then it stops being about Voldemort. For gingertart50 for the hds-beltane exchange. It was my first Snarry fic...
During a particularly boring non-practical lesson, Harry wished that Snape would teach something directly useful to his upcoming future for once. He also wished that he would be a little more interesting, since that might gain him a few more students into his class. His piece of parchment was filled with blank space and doodles. Harry knew better than to doodle in Snape's class, really he did, and yet suddenly he found himself looking down at a half-drown image of Snape. It was undoubtedly Snape, for no one else Harry knew had long, lank hair like that. His had had apparently drawn it of its own will, and the pose was exactly that which the Professor had been in the last time Harry had looked up. It was quite a good drawing.
Unfortunately, the man was not a statue, and therefore did not remain in a solitary space. "Mr Potter!" Harry started, and managed to smash his knee into the bottom of the desk. He bit his lip to stop himself from swearing. "What is this?" The parchment was snatched from his desk and closely examined. Harry bit his lip ever more. The parchment was slammed down, a crumpled bit on the side where it had been grabbed. "Mr Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor and a detention, I think." He whisked his robes back up to the front. Harry slowly smoothed out the rumpled side, and picked up his quill. He finished his picture of Snape.
-
As the Gryffindor hauled his back from Gryffindor tower down to Snape's office, he wondered at the vague note he'd been sent. Snape had not specified what he'd be doing. He'd been told to go to Snape's office rather than a dungeon too; he probably wasn't scrubbing anything down, at least. Hearing Snape's cut voice after he knocked, the boy entered, flicking his eyes around. Apart from an inordinate amount of scrolls on Snape's desk, nothing particularly stood out.
"Sit down, Potter. You can start marking those First Year essays. Even you should know enough to answer their question. You are familiar with the way I mark. The red ink is on your right." Snape didn't even looked up from whatever his was reading, apparently not First Year work. Harry blinked; Snape trusted him with marking other people's work? Odd.
Harry slowly seated himself, and got out a quill. He unrolled the first essay and was greeted by barely stabilised handwriting and many blots. A muggleborn not yet used to a quill, he guessed. The evening passed slowly, and by the time he was only ninth scroll, Harry was wondering whether he really had ever written such nonsense like this. Dipping into the red ink, he impatiently crossed a line through an entire paragraph, and then realised that it was what Snape often did through his own essays. Reading practically the same thing over and over was tiring, especially when he often had to fight through convoluted sentences and atrocious grammar to find it.
"Not so much butterflies and rainbows, is it, Potter?" Harry started; he whacked the same knee he had the day before on the bottom on Snape's desk. His Professor had looked at him with his noticing. How did he do that?! Harry formed a questioning look. "After reading forty of these, you start to wonder if you have any brain cells left, or whether the nonsense they say is actually correct." Loath as he was to admit it, Harry agreed. "It happens elsewhere too." Snape's tone was strangely stilted. "Once you hear something enough times, you start thinking about it differently." Harry was caught in the odd look in Snape's eyes.
Although the eyes revealed nothing about the thoughts beneath, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Snape was referring to the Death Eaters. Sirius had said something last year, about his brother hearing about 'the glory of the Death Eaters'. Had it been the same for Snape? Except it was different too, in that Regulus had run away, and been punished for it; Snape was still caught in their throes, trapped as a spy for both sides. "Carry on, Potter. You haven't even hit ten yet," Snape said dryly as he returned to his own marking.
Harry became quicker at marking, watching for specific points and key words. "Becoming attuned to the rhythm of it?" Apparently, Harry's Professor could startle him at any time; Harry dripped red ink onto the table, and hastily blotted it away. He was also surprised at the... poetic nature of Snape's words. They seemed very un-Snape-like. "Get quicker at it." Ah. That was something Snape would say. "Then apply the skill elsewhere." Harry looked up to see Snape intently staring at him. He both shivered and frowned, not quite understanding.
"You want to know how I know what you're doing without looking up, Potter?" Snape's tone was faintly amused, faintly sardonic. Harry flushed somewhat. He had been thinking that that would be useful. "You have more than one sense, Potter. Honestly. Are you deaf, mute and otherwise completely insensitive to the world?" Snape made it sound easy. "Become attuned to what you're doing, the thing you are focused on. Like that piece of writing. Like The Dark Lord." Somehow, Harry didn't think that this was about detention anymore. There was something a little more important.
The Gryffindor slowly set down his quill and listened attentively to Snape, something he pretty much never did in lessons. Then again, Snape didn't give him much advice on fighting Voldemort during lessons. "Once you're attuned to it, you don't have to focus on it so much. Are you still with me?" Harry nodded; he did notice that he was starting to think other things whilst marking. "This leaves you free to focus on other things." There, simple. Harry nodded slowly. What Snape meant was that whilst he half-concentrated on marking, the rest of his attention could be kept on Harry.
"But sir," Harry frowned somewhat," shouldn't I completely focus on Vol- You-Know-Who?" It was a sensible question, he decided.
Snape tutted. "When you fought with The Dark Lord in your Fourth Year, Potter, were you dimly aware of the circle of other Death Eaters around you?" Harry grimaced, and thought back to Fourth Year, He didn't like to purposely think of it very much; the feeling of guilt about Cedric descended upon him whenever he did. Thinking about it, Harry did recall knowing that he was surrounded by other Death Eaters; he nodded.
"Well, Potter, what if one of them had cursed you? You wouldn't have known, because you were completely focused on The Dark Lord." Strangely enough, Snape's tone wasn't as derisive as usual. "I am aware that The Dark Lord wishes to deal with you personally, but what about when you're fighting alongside other people, Potter? If you're not fully aware of your surroundings as well your target, you might hit one of your comrades in battle." Harry stared at Snape, wondering why he was being told this. Snape was insistent, his voice staying quiet and yet becoming louder in Harry's ears. "What about the area you were fighting in? It was one of the Dark Lord's choosing, and you didn't know where everything was, did you? If you are fully aware of your surrounds, you can evaluate the best course, where to move, stop yourself from being backed into a corner."
When Snape finished talking, he slowly returned to his marking. Harry stared at him numbly for a moment. Snape ignored him, and Harry severely doubted that the older man was not aware of his stare, especially after what he had just said. Snape had summarised it so clearly. Harry hadn't known the area, hadn't been prepared for a fight, and he had no idea how to protect others in a fight. He looked blankly down at the piece of parchment, not quite reading the words on it. Slap! Harry reeled, and shot backwards on his chair, a screeching sound across the floor.
"You weren't paying attention again," Snape said smoothly as the Gryffindor put a hand up to his cheek, shocked. And that was it. Shocked. He wasn't supposed to be shocked; he was supposed to be prepared. "You do understand now, don't you, Potter?" Harry silently looked his Potions Master in the face, a determined expression firmly chiselled into his features. He understood.
Harry was moving quite swiftly through the scrolls now, trying to do as Snape suggested and keep his mind open for things other than the essay before him. Now he was trying, Harry could clearly hear Snape's quill scratching over a piece of parchment, see the other man moving his hand out of his peripheral vision, hear the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. His eyes only skimmed lightly across the words whilst he concentrated on everything around him.
Reaching out absently for the red ink, Harry suddenly flushed, as his hand brushed past Snape's, a firm contact, and he jerked, knocking the red ink over. Pools of ink spread across the desk, and Harry stared at it. It looked uncannily like blood. "Potter!" Snape already had his wand out, and had waved the ink off before Harry had even reached for his. "You need more practice at multi-tasking apparently," Snape's voice as dry as usual, "And stop blushing like a virgin on her wedding night." Was there amusement there too? Harry flushed some more; somehow, Snape making sexual references was unnerving.
"Your reactions need some fine-tuning too, I see." Snape eyed his wand hand, which was only halfway to his hand. "Stop being distracted, Potter. The Dark Lord's not going to wait for you if he decides to attack and you're halfway through intercourse." Harry choked, quite aghast. "...Asexual, are you?" asked Snape snidely, apparently deciding to interpret his reaction as an indication that Harry didn't think about sex. Harry didn't want to know if Voldemort had ever walked in on Snape having sex. In fact, Harry didn't want to know about Snape having sex at all, actually.
When the clock struck half ten, Snape glanced up at it. "Get out of my office, Potter. You are far too disruptive." Harry's mouth twitched a little at this unusual dismissal. "But come back next week." Snape eyed his desk. "You didn't finish." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. He knew it was futile arguing with Snape. He'd probably land himself another month's worth of detention. Besides, he supposed that it was somehow his fault; the detention had deviated somewhat from Harry marking papers. He had learnt a few useful things from Snape, something he hadn't thought possible. Snape had inside information and survival tactics, he guessed. It would be quite intriguing to learn about those if ever he and Snape could behave civilly towards each other in a room for long enough.
-
Marking for Snape wasn't nearly as bad a detention as Harry would have thought. Between this week and the last, the idea of it had somehow manifested in Harry's mind as something peaceful, and useful revision too. He shuddered; he'd probably been spending too much time around Hermione. Sitting opposite the older man, Harry sneaked a glance at him whilst resting his eyes from sixteen inches of particularly bad handwriting.
"Potter," his name was only stated, with completely neutral overtones. Harry jumped anyway. Hadn't quite mastered being aware of everything yet, he pulled a mental face at himself. He should really expect to be startled by Snape by now. "Finish marking; the First Year lesson is tomorrow." Harry ducked his head with a slight smile.
The boy did finally finish marking, and yawned as he stacked the scrolls neatly on the side of Snape's desk. "Cover your mouth when you yawn, Potter." His Professor eyed him sternly. "Your reactions are slow when you yawn, and you never know when someone might fire a hex into your mouth." Harry looked startled at the idea, then turned it curiously over in his mind. It did sound quite plausible, really. "Try not to fight when you're having a bout of sneezes either, if you can help it. Your senses get completely destroyed by sneezes." The thought of him going to fight Voldemort and then sneezing on the monster somehow seemed quite amusing.
"The Dark Lord doesn't like being sneezed on..." Snape had a look on his face which indicated that he wasn't quite here. Harry stared, wondering if he was being serious, but realised from the emotion which briefly flickered through his eyes that he was. Surely even Voldemort wouldn't torture someone for sneezing on him?
Harry started to say something, but realised that it would be inappropriate for the time being. "What's it like?" He said softly, finally. Snape looked sharply down at him as if he had shouted the words and they had rung resolutely in his ears incessantly, the words being flung around in his mind, unable to get rid of them. Harry had some pretty traumatic memories himself; he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the sort Snape had in his mind now that he had asked.
"Don't look so horrified, Potter," Snape sneered at him, and Harry knew that the sneer is somehow less real than usual. "It starts out fine. Naturally, it starts out fine; you wouldn't join otherwise, would you?" Harry stayed silent. "Sometimes it feels good. Exhilarating, like after a sex rush." The boy pulled a somewhat disgusted face. He wished that Snape would stop making sexual references. "After the initial rush... it either stays like that, constantly perfect," Harry thought of mad Bellatrix and her wild happiness in cursing people, "or you pretend. You learn to ignore... 'distractions' very quickly."
Harry frowned. 'Distractions'... Snape probably meant things like witnessing someone being tortured and having to ignore it, not do anything about it... and yet at the same time be so relieved that it wasn't you, and yet guilty for thinking that... Harry could understand that. Seeing this insight into Snape's life was hollowly enlightening. He hated Snape so much, and yet it was impossible to, knowing that he had to deal with this every day of his life, and-
Harry's thoughts were cut off when he felt something on his thigh. Snape was, once again, looking nonchalant and merely marking his work, but Harry froze, as -it was definitely a foot- it trailed up his thigh, and further. Harry gripped his edge of the table, frantically staring at Snape. Suddenly, Snape's words pushed themselves painfully to the front of his mind, and Harry gritted his teeth. Snape was being kind, he told himself, he's helping me cope with distractions and he could have just hexed me, but he didn't.
Picking up his quill with trembling fingers, Harry forced himself to look at the parchment, and not focus on Snape feeling his way into his so very upper thigh and shit! it suddenly wasn't his thigh anymore, and Harry's eyes almost glazed over, but he closed them firmly, and then focused on getting the work marked. He needed it all marked before tomorrow, Harry reminded himself, steeling himself against any 'distractions'. At least this was a relatively harmless distraction. Suddenly, slap! Harry jerked backwards.
"You're not supposed to block everything out," Snape sounded halfway between amused and exasperated. Since this was a relatively new experience for him (having Snape anything but angry at him), Harry scowled. It was hard! And really, really, really disturbing! He settled back into his chair properly again, suspiciously glaring at Snape. Snape rolled his eyes. "If you go around looking like that, it's no wonder you get attacked, you moron," the Professor snorted. "You're not going to catch anyone off-guard like that."
The clock struck half-ten, and Harry glanced worriedly at the few scrolls he still had left to finish marking. "Well? Finish them up, Potter," Snape demanded, apparently very impatient with him. Harry did, and in record time, all the while very aware that Snape was watching him.
"Professor," Harry started as he stood, "I have something to ask you." He didn't know that he had; he'd only just thought of it. He paused, before saying hurriedly, "Could you tell me some more about You-Know-Who?" For some reason, the thought of his final battle lurked just below the surface of Harry's mind, and... and somehow, Snape, slimy annoying infuriating Snape, seemed able to help Harry. This wasn't like the Occlumency last year. He had hated Snape then, but these last two weeks... Harry had found himself trying to do what Snape had suggested, and found that it was working, and that he... enjoyed his time with Snape? He needed all the help he needed though.
Snape was looking at him oddly. "What makes you think I've got the time to teach you anything? What makes you think I even have anything to tell you?" drawled the Potions Master. Harry considered it.
"I'll mark your First Years' Potions essays?" He offered.
-
When the red ink was stoppered for the evening, and Harry rolled away the scroll he had been marking, he glanced up to see what Snape was preparing next. He was startled to suddenly find lips over his, and a tongue roughly pushing in. He gripped the edge of the desk in surprise and gasped as Snape took control, grabbing his hair and pulling him sideways and down. Scrolls rolled across the floor, and Harry distinctly thought that he’d just squashed a few, as he sprawled sideways across the table, letting Snape push his mouth apart. Then, Snape drew back, leaving him staring. "You were unprepared, Potter," he said.
Harry put one hand over his face for a bit, and sighed. "I was hardly expecting-"
"Exactly." Snape cut in smoothly, looking down at him. "I believe a certain Professor used to scream 'Constant vigilance' all the time? He wasn't incorrect, Potter. At any time. The Dark Lord is not going to wait until you're ready." He leaned down to kiss Harry again, this time not so rough, and Harry pushed back a little this time, mind digesting what just been said. It was true, of course. It was something that he knew; he'd just never had it put into a situation like this.
"Potter, your mind is wandering." Harry heard the light touch of annoyance in his Potions Master's voice, and quickly concentrated again as Snape bit his lip. He winced. "If you were concentrating, that wouldn't have happened," commented Snape blandly. "At least pretend to pay attention. Your mind can't be wandering in important situations."
Harry sighed again. He nodded. He knew that too. Somehow, Snape touching him like this was... less unnerving than he had thought. There was something about Snape which assured Harry that Snape wasn't going to do anything stupid, or take advantage of Harry or anything. In this relatively mild environment, Harry wouldn't really be hurt by Snape, but... well, as Snape said, 'at any time'. Who knew; Voldemort might well walk right into the dungeons there and then.
A hard knock sounded on the door, and Harry jerked upwards and off the table in surprise, having already gotten his wand out before realising that Dark Lords probably didn't knock. He Summoned all the scrolls neatly back to the table anyway, and was already seated and pretending to be marking again by the time Snape had gotten to the door. "Better, Potter. Sharp reactions." Harry smiled slightly, keeping his head bent as Snape received his visitor. Who visited him at half-ten at night anyway?!
"Ah, Draco," Snape said smoothly, "What are you doing still wandering around at this hour?" He held the door open and let the boy in, who made some sort of angry noise upon seeing Harry. Harry didn't know; his back was to the boy, but he pretended nothing was wrong, and stayed marking the work, eyes blurring over the words, not really reading it. He listened instead. "Did you want to speak to me about something?"
There was a long pause. "I just wished to ask for a Dreamless Sleep potion, sir." His voice was stony, indicating very clearly that he hadn't come here to ask for that at all. Harry continued pretending that nothing was wrong, but he could feel both gazes at his back switch over to him. Although there were two people staring at him, Harry felt the presence of one more so than the other in his mind. Malfoy was probably glaring at him, wishing that he wasn't here so that he could speak to Snape privately. But in the back of his mind, Harry could imagine Snape staring at Harry, his expression as bland as usual, but almost stripping Harry in front of his mind, exposing him, and his weaknesses.
"Potter is, once again, doing a detention from me. It appears that he still has much to learn." Biting the inside of his cheek in amusement, Harry half-heartedly marked the scroll, hearing Snape tinker with vials behind him. "Here you are, Draco. Don't drink it too often. Overdoses will send you into a coma." From the silence, footsteps and then door shutting, Harry guessed that Malfoy had done his usual head-jerk as a thanks and walked out. He relaxed, putting the quill down again, but before he could turn around, he felt Snape's hands holding his face forwards, and lips on his neck. He moaned softly, making sure to close the red ink. Wouldn't want that spilling everywhere.
"Potter," Snape managed to sound both scathing and amused at the same time. "With your back to us, what would you have done had we both cursed you from behind at the same time?" Harry shivered; Snape nipped him on the neck to prove his point.
"I would have-"
"Died, Potter. You would have died." Snape licked slowly over the bitten area, soothing it out, which somehow made Harry very comfortable. It was as though Snape was taking all of Harry's qualms and worries about this... situation with his Potions Master and licking them out, comforting everything. "But you aren't dead. So you can remember for the next time that you don't turn your back to your enemy." Harry stiffened, insulted. Even he wouldn't- "Is Mr. Malfoy not an enemy?" Harry gritted his teeth, then felt Snape's long fingers forcibly massage his jaw until he couldn't keep the tension up, and relaxed. Snape's fingers were very relaxing on his jaw. Feeling the body shift behind him, Harry automatically moved so that Snape could sit on the chair, and he perched in between Snape's legs.
"Yes, sir," the Gryffindor replied slowly. "What should I do then? To not attract attention?"
Snape's hands moved over his chest, and he could feel the softness in his fingertips even through the robes and t-shirt underneath. Snape tucked fingers under his chin and turned Harry's head for a kiss. He smelled the ingredients the man worked with all day, herb-like and like spices as he sucked on Snape's tongue, somehow very alluring. "Not attracting attention is a good idea. You're starting to think now, Potter. You do something else that doesn't attract attention. There's never only one solution." Harry got it. He could have been filing things away, or rearranging the bookshelf, something which enabled to both be discreet and yet keep an eye on the others around him.
-
As soon as Harry entered the room, he was knocked onto his back. He looked up dazedly to see Snape looming over him. "Unprepared," he muttered with a sigh as Snape hauled him back up. The Potions Master agreed. Harry started on his promised work, whilst paying very close attention to what Snape was doing. He had no wish to be pounced upon again.
"Potter," Snape intoned. Harry looked up and put his quill down. Snape reached out, not trying to surprise Harry, and pulled him forwards, over the narrow gap that was the desk, and kissed him. Harry let him, and suddenly whimpered as Snape grew rough, tongue forcing its way in, lips pressing down hard on Harry's, bruisingly hard, forcing Harry's head to an odd angle. He submitted, wondering what point Snape was trying to prove. Snape bit his tongue, and Harry gave a muffled cry. The older man drew back, an eyebrow raised. "...So when the Dark Lord attacks you, you're going to sit still like a good puppy and wait for him to kill you?"
With a touch to his bruised lips, Harry scowled. "Of course not!"
"So show some force, Potter." Snape sighed, as if tiring of trying to teach Harry something and have it stick in his head. "And remember, not everything is as it first seems." Harry nodded; the kiss had changed, and it had been pleasant first. Relatively pleasant, Harry amended quickly, before something inside of him nagged at him. Harry denied that it had been a very pleasant kiss indeed.
When he had wanted Snape to teach him insider tactics about the Death Eaters and Voldemort, Harry had hardly expected this... but he hadn't complained. He could see that the quickest way for him to really pick something up was to experience it, and Snape could hardly be hexing him every week, could he? This sort of analogy was... alternative, he admitted, but it worked. He pressed the tips of his fingers to his mouth again, briefly.
Moving quickly, Snape snatched Harry's wrists, and pinned him to the wall by them, holding his hands above his head before reaching out a hand and grinding his palm into Harry's groin. At the same time, he pressed his lips over Harry's and gave him the same harsh kiss as he had earlier. Harry groaned gutturally into the older man's mouth, and then forcefully pushed back, fighting for power. "Merlin, Potter, don't you know anything?" Snape bit Harry's lower lip hard, and closed his hand around the boy's erection. Harry's eyes rolled upwards; he would have collapsed if not for Snape holding him up.
"If someone's taken hostage, you don't just shove through," Snape explained, far more patiently than he usually was during class. He jerked his hand along Harry's cock and Harry whimpered his understanding. "If there's a hostage, you play along until you have an opportunity." Snape stopped talking to ravage his mouth again, and Harry let him, submissively taking in the other man's tongue. Snape pulled away from the kiss, and then whispered, "What happens if you don't get an opportunity? I could stand like this for hours."
Through the haze of sexual pleasure and being physically restricted, Harry tried to think. "You... you create one," he croaked, pushing his hips forward into Snape's hand, hooking one leg behind one of the Professor's and pulling it forward so that their hips bumped; Harry rubbed his erection into Snape's groin. The friction of his robes made Harry gasp, but he could already feel Snape's grip on his wrists loosening at the same time as feeling Snape get harder.
With a jerk of his hands, Harry pulled free, and then wrapped his arms around Snape's neck. "Crude, but it worked, Potter," Snape whispered, pulling Harry forwards; Harry went, and nuzzled Snape's lips before applying soft pressure. Snape's hand stroked down Harry's hip, and he shivered.
-
The next week, Harry strode in after having been admitted with determination written across his face. As usual, Snape didn't look up, and Harry swiftly crossed over to the Professor's side of the desk, pushed himself onto Snape's lap and forcefully kissed the older man. He really had taken what had been said the previous week into account; he had assessed the situation, and made it go his way. Always, Harry had fought Voldemort on the Dark Lord's terms and grounds. He would have to make Voldemort come to him, and be prepared. Suddenly, Harry found himself rolled onto the floor, his arms automatically latching on to around Snape's neck, Snape's hand under his head so that it wouldn't bang on the stone, and power was wrested away from him.
Snape's eyes glittered with mild amusement. "Potter, you are the least subtle person I have ever met. Typical Gryffindor," he sighed, stroking Harry's cheek. He bit Harry's lip, as he always did whenever Harry did something stupid; the boy wondered what it was this time. "If you barge in looking like you're there to start a battle, you lose your element of surprise, Potter." The Potions Master's long fingers wound into Harry's messy tangle of hair and pulled his head back. "And then your enemy will respond with violence. Be prepared for battle. But look as though you're not. Subtlety, Potter, and pretence. They are two traits that you don't have. You're just rather lucky that The Dark Lord himself is not the most subtle of people either."
As the man's face lowered towards Harry's neck, Harry felt his head being pulled back, and willingly let himself expose his skin. A hot wetness could be felt on his neck, and Harry felt his eyes flutter closed, as Snape nibbled him there. The light touches felt a little like the feeling in his stomach; wet, hot and so very pleasant. "There is one thing the Dark Lord is subtle at," Snape's soft murmur was mesmerising. "There are some things which don't leave physical marks, which can't be seen..." Snape licked that part of Harry's neck to demonstrate, and the Gryffindor knew that he didn't have to worry about a bite mark. "... but that doesn't mean that nothing has happened."
Harry understood; the sensation of teeth across his neck was amazing as opposed to torture, but it was the same principal. He wondered how often Snape had been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse, and felt a pang of pity. He immediately felt guilty for feeling pity, because he knew that he hated it when people pitied him. The man was still standing, sane, before him, after all.
-
Almost two months had passed, and Ron and Hermione had asked why Snape was still keeping Harry for an evening a week. Harry had told them a half-truth; he'd told them that Snape was giving him lessons again -no, not Occlumency, he reassured, but more telling him about how the Death Eaters worked, and tactics against Voldemort. Hermione had nodded; that seemed a practical thing to do to her, and Ron had cautioned Harry to be careful about trusting what Snape said.
Harry had agreed. He didn't quite know whether he really did trust his Professor, but he couldn't deny that Snape had a vast amount to teach him, even if he hadn't originally liked the man himself, and... he didn't have a problem with the way Snape was teaching him. Strangely. Or perhaps, not so strangely, because Snape was darkly enticing and very good at teaching that method. With grim humour, Harry amused himself with the thought that Snape could hardly teach his normal lessons like that.
Slipping into Snape's office, the Gryffindor noticed the lack of a pile of scrolls immediately. Snape was leaning back in his chair, apparently engrossed in a rather dusty book. "I have nothing left to teach you, Potter." The man looked over the top of the book, eyes shadowed. "You are as prepared as you will ever be without me actually physically attacking you." For some reason, Harry felt a small lurch in his stomach. Snape went back to his book; the boy stood there dumbly for a moment.
With a swallow, Harry crossed the room as he decided what he wanted to do. Prising the book out of Snape's hands and ignoring the scowl that the older man sent him, Harry marked the page and set it back on the shelf. He licked his lips. If it was because he was nervous or because he was anticipating, he wasn't completely sure. "Professor, I'd like to thank you for... training me," Harry Potter said, slowly sliding onto Snape's legs. He placed a trembling hand either side of Snape's face and closed his eyes and he pressed his lips to Severus Snape's with a softness that neither of them had entertained before.
With his eyes closed, Harry could but only feel Snape's arm across his waist, welcoming him into a proper straddle across Snape's lap, and the man's other hand behind his head, bringing them closer. The room felt too warm, and Harry kept his eyes closed to the sensation of Snape's hand stroking his back, his buttock, his hip. Snape's tongue was gentle, and massaged his own with what could only be describing as a tender caress.
"I suppose, Potter," Snape's dry tone hadn't changed at all, and Harry didn't expect it to. He knew Professor Snape this way, and this way it would stay. "That if you particularly desire my company, you may continue visiting me." Harry felt something inside him -his heart?- jump excitedly inside him. He pressed his forehead to Snape's cheek, and heard the man snort softly. "So clingy, Potter," he mocked. Harry curled his arms around Snape's neck, and felt arms wind more tightly around the back of him.