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Extra Lessons Are Always Appreciated	By : QueenB Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. No profit is made from this story.

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“Hands on the table, Mr. Potter. I wish to see if you can follow instructions.”
“What about you following instructions, Professor?” Harry muttered. “Lick my arse again, Severus. That’s it,” panting as the sounds on the tape seemed to follow suit.
“Oh yes, yes.” His own voice responded and Harry’s hands tugged at his cock and balls. Merlin, Severus was a quick learner. Without written instruction, he’d figured out how the “Record” function on the tape recorder worked and had taped their latest session together, without Harry knowing. If he could learn to do this, what else could he become skilled at?
Oh, the possibilities.
The tape wound through to the end, by which time Harry had spurted over his fingers again. A vague gesture and the fluids disappeared. He turned onto his side, hugging the pillow to his chest, and sighed.
This new recording was proving to be a very satisfactory after-studies wank. Harry had hit upon the ingenious idea of using it as a kind of reward system. The better he did in his studies for his N.E.W.T.s, the more often he played it. But not too often. It would lose its intensity if he turned to it every time he had the itch.
Hermione was very impressed by his progress. Of course, she thought it was mainly due to her own efforts at tutoring and he was content to let her. Harry still hadn’t come clean about himself and Severus and it was beginning to bother him.
He wasn’t really certain why he wouldn’t tell her or Ron. They had proven time and again how well they could keep secrets and he was sure they wouldn’t judge him for being gay. He hated keeping things from them, especially this, like it was a dirty affair and he was ashamed of it.
It was because he didn’t know where he stood with the man, damn it. It had been another four days since he and Severus had got together again and the Slytherin still behaved like nothing had happened between them! How was he supposed to tell about his feelings when the man acted like he didn’t give a shit?
What should he do? Severus might be content with trading tapes back and forth and invisible fucking but, now that Harry had gotten a taste of what the man was capable of, he wanted more.
Maybe he should go to Hermione. She had told him exactly what was going through Cho Chang’s mind after that disastrous Valentine Day’s date. If anybody could sort out a relationship muddle, she could do it.
Oh, wait. Hermione was a girl. Severus Snape was most definitely not so that wouldn’t work. But he couldn’t go to Ron. Weasley was a decent bloke but there were definite limits to his understanding about emotional problems. He’d be no help.
Harry turned the problem over and over again in his mind but could see no way out of this fix. He pounded the pillow in frustration. Then he blinked.
Lodged in the pillow casing was a long, black hair. Evidently the house elves had missed this during their usual cleaning. His fingers trembled as he picked up the lone strand. Was it one of his or…? No, it was too long and had a kind of gritty feel to it.
“Severus,” he whispered. It had to belong to the Slytherin; who else had been in Harry’s bed? Frantically, Harry began to scour the sheets. There were a few other stray hairs but they were too short; they must have been his own.
A wild idea began to form in his head, born of desperation. He couldn’t rely on the tape forever; otherwise he’d get so needy for it he’d never be able to come without it. The sexual manual he’d bought now featured satisfactory images that looked like him and Severus. But it was so large and bulky; it was awkward resorting to it whenever he got randy.
He needed more, something he could touch and feel and kiss and taste.
Just to be on the safe side, he should get more than one hair if he was going to carry through on his plan more than once. He needed almost a month to get everything ready. Of course, in a month’s time, a lot could happen. If Severus came back to him before then, this wouldn’t be necessary. But, if he didn’t, it was best for Harry to be prepared.
He folded the hair carefully in his palm and stuffed it deep in the recesses of his moleskin purse. Better safe than sorry.
There was a potion he had to get started on. It was a nuisance, the way some of these sodding brews required weeks or months of preparation. But the sacrifice had to be made. He would save some of the potion for the future, just in case things didn’t work out the way he wanted.
This wasn’t a great plan. It was a miserable alternative to what he really wanted. But if Severus was going to be mean-spirited about this and pull the silent treatment, why shouldn’t he try other outlets?
Falling back on his bed, he laced his hands behind his head and thought furiously over his scheme.
__________
Snape turned about again sharply in the hallway. He wasn’t imagining it. There had been a slight but very definite tugging at his hair. It had happened at odd moments over the last few weeks--a couple of times in class and occasionally during meals in the Great Hall--and he wasn’t certain what to make of it. It didn’t hurt precisely but it was distracting.
He glared down the apparently empty corridor. Was it Harry? He had held fast to his determination not to succumb to the boy’s wiles for well over three weeks now. Maybe this was some kind of retaliation for that disregard. No, this was too childish even for Potter.
Perhaps it was Peeves playing a bizarre joke. But the poltergeist was intangible not invisible and Severus was one of the few teachers Peeves didn’t molest; the Hogwarts imp didn’t dare play such tricks on him.
He couldn’t think of any reason one of the other students or teachers would want his hair. Maybe he was imagining it.
Rubbing at his scalp, he proceeded on his nightly stalking through the hallways, hoping for some student truant he could saddle with a well-earned deduction of points.
__________
“It’s great to have you come out to Hogsmeade with us, mate. I was beginning to think you were turning into another Hermione, what with all that studying and all,” Ron said as he began counting his Knuts and Sickles.
“Please, Ron. One Hermione is enough,” Harry joked.
“Ha ha. You’re not so insulting when we’re studying together,” she retorted with a toss of her head.
“And I’m suitably grateful, you know that. So what are we doing in Hogsmeade today?” Harry replied.
Ron heaved his pack on to his back. “Well, I thought I’d pop into the joke shop, see how Fred and George are doing.” The twins never lacked for something new and exciting. It amazed Harry to see how limitless their inventiveness was. They always urged him to take anything he wanted from their shelves. So far, he’d had no reason to take advantage of their generosity. And today he had a different agenda.
He turned away from his eager mate and finished lacing up his trainers. “What say we go our separate ways for a couple of hours then meet up at the Three Broomsticks?”
Ron’s gaze shot to Hermione and a swift grin flew over his face. “Really, mate? You wouldn’t mind being on your own for a couple of hours?”
He shrugged. “Course not. You two have fun.” He grinned at the flush over Hermione’s cheeks and the leer tugging at Ron’s lips. It was a blessing to have two friends so caught up in their own smut-filled world. It kept them happily ignorant of his own plans.
“How about Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop?” Hermione brightly suggested.
Ron made gagging sounds. “That pink-and-lace covered monstrosity? It’s like being inside a bloody tea cosy! You said so yourself, Harry!”
“It’s not so bad,” Harry piped up. “At least you won’t be disturbed there and it’s not as noisy as the Three Broomsticks.”
“What are you talking about, mate?” Ron said in disbelief. “You had a date there with Cho Chang and you hated it!”
“I just hated the pressure of having to kiss her!” Harry protested. “And anyway it was one date. Not all of them must turn out so bad otherwise it wouldn’t do such great business.”
“Yeah, but Hermione and I aren’t out on a date,” Ron corrected.
“Why not?” Hermione demanded. “You can snatch a quick snog and snuggle under an Invisible Cloak but you can’t take me on a date? What, are you ashamed to be seen in public with me, Ronald Weasley? Is that it?”
“No, no, of course not!” Ronald hastily interjected. He shot a baffled look at Harry. The redhead didn’t know how this friendly outing had turned into an argument and he was anxious to get it back on a friendly keel. What was it with women?
Harry slapped Ron on the back. “Sorry, mate. Looks like you’ve got a date at Madam Puddifoot’s. Try the coffee; it’s great.” He winked at the red-faced wizard and strolled off, ignoring the argument that broke out behind him.
Even after all this time, Ron and Hermione still fell into the occasional bickering. Harry didn’t think they had their hearts in it any more; he had the sneaking suspicion they did it to keep him from seeing how serious they were becoming.
Well, he could hardly expect them to hang around him forever just because he was the Boy Who Lived or whatever. All good things came to an end, even friendship. He had had Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger for the better part of seven years. They had been by his side in good and bad times, especially during the bad times. No one could ask for better friends.
So if they wanted to find happiness with each other--even if that meant leaving him the odd bloke out--he was not going to stand in their way.
Harry trudged out with the others, past the grumbling Argus Filch, as always in a bad mood at a lot of grubby students causing mischief out of his reach. Well past the Hogwarts gates, he spun in a circle with his two best friends and Apparated to Hogsmeade.
__________
He ducked into an alley and took a deep breath. He was about to try something he’d never done before and he hoped he could get it right.
Concentrating, Harry cast the spell, feeling an unfamiliar tingling over his whole body. Fumbling for a pocket mirror, he scrutinized his altered appearance.
Where there had been jet black hair, there was now an indiscriminate brown, almost mousy. His eyes were gray not green and his scar was completely gone. His face was rounder though not pudgy and his chin was slightly pointed. He’d even altered his clothing to appear in shades of brown, black and gray.
All in all, he would blend into a crowd rather easily. He could probably walk past Ron and Hermione now and they wouldn’t notice him. Actually, an elephant could walk past them if they were snogging and they wouldn’t see it. But Harry was satisfied that his disguise bore muster. Now to put it to the test.
He had to change his Galleons into Muggle money first; a quick trip to Gringotts took care of that. Then he would go scouting in London to get what he needed. He only hoped he could find it quickly without getting into trouble or alerting his friends that he was doing something unusual.
He hunched his shoulders and slouched into the Leaky Cauldron. Tom the bartender looked him over then proceeded to ignore him. The other denizens didn’t give him a second glance. Striding to the back of the Cauldron, Harry touched the proper bricks and let himself into Muggle London.
__________
Snape stretched his legs in front of his fire and nursed his scotch. He didn’t often drink; his Hogwarts salary was not substantial and the downing of premium alcohol was therefore a treat to be indulged in only sparingly. But he was brooding and you needed a drink for that.
Thoughts of Harry Potter were invading his dreams at night and his thoughts by day. His invisibility act, meant to teach the boy a lesson, had rebounded on him, catching him in a snare of his own making. He could admit that in private, just as he could admit how often the boy’s antics had taken him by surprise in the past.
Potter always defied expectations, leaving Snape exasperated with his own inabilities to predict where the boy would jump or how to catch him if he fell. In spite of his Herculean efforts to shield the Gryffindor brat over the years, Snape was forced to remember the times Potter had been forced to protect himself when he was nowhere in the vicinity.
There was the loss of the bones in his arm, thanks to that fraud Gilderoy Lockhart. Merlin, the thought of that charlatan still rankled after all these years. In all the school, it seemed the green-eyed Gryffindor had been the only student to see through that quack. It hadn’t saved him from the man’s ineptitude.
Potter had nearly died at the hands of his master when Voldemort had returned in that cemetery. How Severus wished he could have been there, surreptitiously aiding in the boy’s escape. But he’d been caught flat-footed, unaware that Alastair Moody had been a fake, a fellow Death Eater in disguise. Potter had been left to face the resurrected monster on his own and, in typical Gryffindor fashion, had escaped with Cedric Diggory’s body to warn the others of the Dark Lord’s return.
The Bludger incident, the dragon in the Triwizarding Tournament, Dementor attacks--the boy rose to each challenge and surmounted them. At one time, he would have dismissed this as sheer dumb luck. Now Severus knew it was more than that.
The Gryffindor had faced greater challenges and done more in his life than most 17 year olds were forced to do. He couldn’t deny the adolescent’s boundless courage and self-sacrifice. He also possessed truly unfathomable depths of forgiveness if he was willing to be buggered by his hated Potions professor.
Even more than his own attraction to Potter, Severus was baffled as to why the adolescent wanted him. He never had been decent to Potter as a student but had subjected him to the lash of his tongue on practically every occasion that they’d met. He had come to see, grudgingly, that Potter wasn’t as bad as he made him out to be. Yet that hadn’t been enough to make him treat the brat with kindness.
True, they had grown closer during the war. There had been many times when they’d conversed with politeness if not outright warmth. Harry had even risked the odd joke or two. The adolescent had proven to have a touch of sarcasm, one that he didn’t often show around his friends. He’d witnessed Harry visibly biting his tongue at that insufferable Granger girl’s tendency to harass, criticize or pontificate on whatever intellectual point she’d unearthed. That blasted Weasley boy had a denseness that frequently drove Severus to near distraction; he didn’t know how Harry could stand it.
But Potter had cut loose with him, sharing biting comments Severus was sure his friends never got to hear. He had his own unique humor, sudden and brisk, that took Severus by surprise. It was--refreshing.
Yet it had been a cautious alliance, nothing more. And he’d given in to the heat of the moment when he’d pretended to be an incubus and assaulted that deliciously ripe flesh in Harry’s room. So how had that one-time dalliance led to this? Nocturnal emissions? Daydreams of smoldering green eyes? The sappy urge to kiss Harr--Potter senseless whenever they had sex, an urge he gave in to far too often to be comfortable with?
He shifted and took another sip of his drink. He’d managed to remain away from Harr--blast it, Potter!--for the better part of a whole month. While part of him congratulated himself on his forbearance, another part was miserable and it wasn’t just the neglected bits tucked away in his trousers.
Harry had such a sweet smile after he came and the way he touched Severus, so delicately and with so much feeling... It was something that had been sorely lacking in Snape’s life and he missed that almost as much as the sex.
It felt like being--cherished. Even as he winced and inwardly sneered at such sentimentality, an unfamiliar feeling welled up inside him, one he was afraid to examine too closely for fear of chasing it away. Could there be more between him and Harry than mere sexual bliss? It was a tempting and terrifying thought.
But where was Harry now? It was the weekend and most of the other students were gone. Harry could have been with him, could have used that damned cloak of his father’s to join him. Yet he was off in Hogsmeade somewhere with those irritating friends of his. He probably wasn’t thinking of Severus at all.
He heaved a suffering sigh and slouched farther in his chair. Well, that was as it should be. What was occurring--had occurred--between him and Harry was nothing more than a fling, an illicit teacher-student liaison that was best finished. Harry would be happier with people his own age. They would share his interests, his simple joys--his bed.
At the notion of some unknown touching that nubile flesh, Severus’s hands clenched around his glass until the knuckles turned white. The very thought of Harry engaging with another caused a burning bile to rise in his throat. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want anybody else touching what was his!
Severus surged to his feet, hurling the glass into the fireplace. It broke with a satisfying tinny shatter and the fire briefly flared up with the addition of the alcohol still in the glass.
This was an intolerable situation. He wouldn’t be with Harry yet he wouldn’t let the Gryffindor be with anyone else. If he accepted what was between them, Severus felt happy, deliriously so, but beset by guilt and worry. If he decided to let Harry go, he went nearly mad with anticipated jealousy.
He disliked this vacillation. In the past, whenever he’d embarked on any course of action, he stuck to it, allowing no internal dissension. Now he couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether to pursue or withdraw.
There was another alternative. He could wait, wait until Harry left school, until he was properly of age and a recognized adult in the wizarding world. If Harry still wanted him at that time, they might have a chance of creating a future together.
But would he? The lad had spent most of his existence either with his beastly relatives or within the hermetic walls of Hogwarts, where he’d been in danger every single year in spite of Severus’s attempts to shield him. Now that the Dark Lord was dead and he’d attained maturity, he must be eager to shake it off and experience the joys of the outside world.
That blasted godfather of his had bequeathed to him the manor at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was a mouldering old pile, to be sure, but one that promised comfort and luxury. Harry’s father had left him money too and rumor had it that James Potter had been truly wealthy when he’d died. With fame, fortune, good looks and youth going for him, Harry Potter would have the wizarding world at his feet. Parents would trot out their eligible daughters for Harry to marry. With such choices for comparison, why would he settle for a skinny, older, ugly, hawk-nosed freak like Severus Snape?
All this introspection was getting him nowhere and netted him nothing but an aching heart and aching groin to match. He was a Slytherin, was he not? Attacks of conscience had no part in his nature. Time to abandon soft ideas of nobility, decency or self-sacrifice.
He would take from Potter whatever he could get. He would brand his touch on Harry’s flesh until the man could think of nothing else. Severus would use all his wiles and sexual knowledge to make Harry beg and want him and him alone.
The resolution brought calm. Even if there was the residual pinch of guilt, he could ignore it. When Harry returned from Hogsmeade, he would find a Slytherin with renewed purpose waiting to plunder his flesh.
Would Harry choose to spend his entire weekend in Hogsmeade? He had never done so before. Then again, Voldemort and his pack had been after him in the past. With the Dark Lord out of the way and most of his followers behind bars in Azkaban, Harry might feel secure enough to stay the entire time in Hogsmeade. What, after all, was there to hold him here besides one Potions Professor who had been stupid enough to ignore him for almost an entire month?
Sod it, the guilt was returning, this time enforced by the memory of his own neglect. It must be truly confusing to Harry, barely out of boyhood, to have a man come to his room, fuck him silly and then turn his back on him. If he went to Harry again, how would he explain why he’d kept away?
He wouldn’t explain. If Harry sulked or pouted or rejected him in childish spite, he would sneer at him and turn away, pointing out that the brat didn’t seem to appreciate his company. The Gryffindor would then be frantic, stumbling over himself to beg for Severus’s attentions again.
He would let the boy stew awhile, another day at the most, until Harry was properly humbled. Then, perhaps, he would promise to return. Invisible, of course. Denying Harry the sight of himself gave Severus a power he was reluctant to give up.
It was the consummate Slytherin plan. He refused to consider how Gryffindor brashness had outdone him in the past or that, while he’d been keeping away from Harry, Harry had been avoiding him as well, proving to have a will as steely as his own. Severus Snape was the superior to any 17-year-old hormonally driven whelp.
He waved his hand, wordlessly summoning another glass, and levitated the bottle so it could tip another two fingers of the smooth liquid into the rounded container. He felt almost cheerful now. He would have dinner after this and then betake himself to bed. Best that he be rested when he encountered one messy-haired Potter again. He patted his tumescent cock, silently promising hours of sex-filled debauchery.
__________
Harry had been hard-put to maintain his casual air on meeting Hermione and Ron again. Anyone else might have noticed how flushed and breathless he was. And he’d been later than he’d realized. Getting the Muggle equipment hadn’t been too difficult. Finding the other participant for his little subterfuge hadn’t been too tough either.
It was orchestrating the whole affair that had left him dizzy and flustered. He’d never done anything like that in his life before and sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to do so again. If this was the kind of thing he was reduced to, he might as well just forget about being gay and marry Ginny.
Harry shuddered. This was yet another reason why he couldn’t open up to his friends. He had gotten the notion Ron wouldn’t mind having him marry Ginny; they were best mates already. Having him as a brother-in-law would have the youngest Weasley boy performing Wronsky feints without a broom.
But it was out of the question now and Ronald would be less than thrilled if--no, make that when--he broke Ginny’s heart. He sighed and Hermione glanced at him.
“Harry, is something wrong?”
“Wrong? Uh no. Why’d you ask?” he replied as casually as he could.
“Well, you’ve just been really quiet since joining back up with me and Ron. Something on your mind?”
He shrugged. “No. I just thought you two would like to talk between yourselves, is all.”
“We’ve been doing that, mate. If you’ve got something you want to say, you can tell us,” Ron pointed out. He’d been busily enjoying himself with Hermione. But in between moments of snogging she had mentioned how distracted Harry had seemed these days. Maybe he was feeling left out.
Ron knew his girlfriend thought he was insensitive. But he’d learned to pick up on things too. He just didn’t see the girly need for talk, talk, talk, all the time to sort out problems. Some problems went away on their own if you just left them alone.
Not this one, apparently. Harry looked grim, the way he got when he was trying to solve a problem and didn’t want to burden his friends. He’d had that look in fifth year, when he was afraid Voldemort was taking over his mind.
The pinched brows disappeared as Harry went deliberately blank. “It’s nothing. Just concerned about N.E.W.T.s, that’s all.”
“But you’ve been doing so well in your studies. Is it something else? You know if anything’s bothering you, you can always tell us,” Hermione said, peering intently into his face.
A smile stretched on Harry’s face while the bland look deepened. “I’m fine, Hermione. Really.”
Hermione opened her mouth to question him again. But whatever she had to say was pinched into a squeak as Ron squeezed her around the waist. “You heard him, ‘Mione. Harry’s fine. If he isn’t, he’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
Still she hesitated, her glance shooting between her boyfriend and the scruffy-haired teenager on her other side. Ron’s head shook slightly from side to side as he silently demanded that she not interfere or push Harry too hard. There was a muscle twitching in Harry’s jaw that held the same warning.
Sometimes it was hard being the only girl in their trio. It was moments like this when she longed for a female confidante her own age, one she could gripe to about the denseness of boys. Ginny and she talked a bit. But the redheaded Weasley was Ron’s sister and younger than she; it didn’t feel right to burden her with her troubles. While Hermione could have talked to people in her own class level, none of them were as close to her as the two boys on either side of her. She couldn’t betray Harry or Ron by spilling her guts to others.
“If you say you’re okay, Harry…” she ventured again.
“Yeah. Thanks for your concern, Hermione,” he added.
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Whatever was bothering Harry, he was not fine and she made a mental note to find out what it was if it continued for too much longer. Just because Voldemort was dead didn’t mean problems could arise elsewhere.
The three Apparated back to Hogwarts, each lost in their own thoughts.

TBC
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Extra Lessons Are Always Appreciated