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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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The liquid glittered like the purest amethyst. Severus took a deep breath as he considered the irrevocable step he was about to take.
The potion was ready. It was risky; there was a chance he could erase more than the chosen memories. But he was seldom wrong when it came to brewing potions. Severus Snape knew he had no equal in the wizarding world when it came to concocting potions and was unashamed of that fact. Proper Slytherins had no use for false modesty.
This concoction would work. It would wipe out all memories of his trysts with that infernal Gryffindor and leave everything else untouched. He would leave a note for himself, with the sternest injunctions against prying into Harry’s room after hours, in order to keep from repeating the mistake that had led to this in the first place. If Severus could have managed it, he would have laid a compulsion on himself to avoid the Gryffindor entirely. But he hesitated in fiddling with his own mind to that degree.
Severus picked up the flask and held it to the light, gazing at the shimmering purple potion within its crystalline container. The amount of elixir distilled had turned out to be surprisingly small after the initial brewing and simmering. An alarming geyser of steam had shot up after the addition of Harry’s hair and his own semen, leaving just a small puddle in the bottom of the cauldron.
It was enough. One draught and the haunting visions of Harry’s touch, his gamine smile and his voice raised in the shrill cry of orgasm and repletion would vanish.
So why was he hesitating? He’d sat here, the flask at his lips, for the agonizing stretch of several minutes and still he’d yet to drink. The memories of Harry, those youthful arms enfolding him, resilient body and tenderness that almost edged into words of endearment, were sweet indeed. Just thinking about tearing away all that almost hurt physically.
There would be no actual pain to the memory loss; he wasn’t a masochist. But the contemplation of loss was itself an agony. Hadn’t he already lost so much in this world--Lily, Albus--both gone because of his own actions? Must he throw away this too?
His hand clenched on the vial until the smooth glass ground into his flesh. He didn’t have to do this. He could wait. There was no hurry…
No, the anguish would grow no less for the delay. Harry had taken up with that Weasley girl. Like his infernal father before him, he had fixated on a blooming red-haired witch from one of the most pureblooded in the wizarding world. He would marry her, bed her and father a passel of Weasley brats. He’d turned his back on Snape, just as the Potions Professor had known he would. All that remained was for Severus to deal with this in his own fashion.
Before he could hesitate again, he tipped up the vial and upended it between his lips. The taste was disgusting, as he’d suspected. He grimaced and then gasped at the slight fizzing sensation in his mouth.
Severus blinked, uncertain where he was. What had happened? He glanced down at the feeling of a hard object cupped in his right hand. Where had this flask come from? Was this Calming Draught?
Then he noticed the folded sheet propped in his lap. Holding it up while retaining his grip on the flask, he was astonished to find that it was addressed to him…and in his own handwriting.
His memory was coming back to him. He’d written this letter and brewed this draught, drinking it mere moments ago, judging by the acrid taste on his tongue. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why. Casting a few spells to make certain this was indeed an ordinary letter and not a magical trap in disguise, he unfolded the paper and began reading.
Severus Snape,
Set aside your usual paranoia for the moment. This letter is indeed from yourself, as you can judge by the handwriting. If you don’t believe me, remember that your father was Tobias Snape, a mean-spirited bastard who wrung your arm in your twelfth year because he caught you blasting spiders with your magic. You promptly hit him with an Itching Hex that had him clawing at himself for the better part of six days. You never told anybody about that so that should be proof enough for you.
You have been having an affair with Harry Potter. Yes, THAT Harry Potter. Do suspend your disbelief until you have finished perusing this letter.
About five weeks ago, you noticed that certain items had gone missing from your potions stores and your private quarters. You brewed an invisibility potion you’d learned about in your texts and drank it. Upon investigation of Harry’s room, you found him masturbating with your salve base and Slytherin tie. You were outraged but also intrigued because he was apparently fantasizing about you as he did so. Instead of leaving immediately, you were overcome by lust and engaged him in sexual intercourse, pretending you were an incubus.
However, he saw through your ruse with disgusting swiftness. He was also surprisingly uncaring of the fact. He liked being fucked by you and urged you to return--which you did on no less than two separate occasions. He has also been to your quarters for the very same reason.
You decided this nonsense couldn’t continue and took a potion erasing your memories of these encounters. The ingredients and instructions for this potion are in your workroom, should you wish to test the veracity of this missive by perusing them.
As of this moment, you should be memory-free of the whole sordid affair. That and the warning from this letter should be sufficient to keep you from meeting with Mr. Potter and re-engaging with him in the future.
You must not go back to Harry’s rooms. You must not touch him in any manner even remotely sexual. You must not be anything other than coldly professional towards him in all your dealings.
If Harry Potter returns to your quarters in attempts to re-instigate relations with you, you will dissuade him firmly. Feel free to let him know the lengths you went to in order to destroy any untoward emotions. The fact that you were repelled by him enough to take a potion to wipe the slate clean should humiliate him sufficiently so that he will retreat in wounded pride.
That is all I will state about this matter. You may peruse this letter again but it will not change the facts. I have also rigged it to incinerate in fifteen minutes as a precaution against prying eyes.
Severus did indeed read it again. And again. And once more, slowly this time to make certain there was no mistake. He was on the fifth or sixth reading when a warning tingle indicated the paper had begun its pre-appointed path towards self destruction. He laid it in his fireplace and watched as the edges flared into flame, blackness crept towards the center of it and the entire paper crumbled into ash.
Merlin. He’d had sex with Harry Potter. He didn’t want to believe it but the paper made it plain that it was the truth. He tried searching his memory but had no recollection of it--naturally, since it had been erased.
In spite of the letter, he wanted to run to the prefect’s room and demand answers. But the paper had expressly warned him against any such confrontations. If he went to Harry’s room, he might surprise the boy in flagrante delicto.
He shuddered at the thought. It was hard to believe that he and Harry Potter could have… He’d never even entertained the notion of having sex with the boy!
Still, now that he’d been warned, he wondered. What had they done together? What things had Potter been saying that had led him to attack in the first place? What did the Gryffindor look like naked?
Something in his chest lurched. That was an awful thought, one he knew he did not have before reading that blasted letter. What could he have been thinking? The surest way to coax desire was to tell someone not to feel it!
But, no, the letter hadn’t stated that he felt nothing for Harry Potter, only made clear what he had done to banish memory and, presumably, desire itself.
Severus was an honest man; he could admit that he’d had stray thoughts inclined that way towards the wretched brat in recent months. Seeing Potter grow from an irritating, scrawny student to well fleshed-out adolescent had startled him on more than one occasion with a twinge of…something. But any casual hints of attraction had been just that--casual and so fleeting as to have no effect on Severus’s general demeanour. Acknowledging his feelings did not mean he had to follow through on them.
He’d obviously made a mistake with Potter. But it wouldn’t be repeated. He’d been right to drink this mysterious potion and properly meticulous in writing that warning missive to himself. If he caught Potter invading his private stores again, he would show the Gryffindor the proper scorn and give him harsh detentions. That should kill any remnant of desire.
There was a dull pain in his right hand and he realized he had been squeezing the vial this entire time. He eased open his palm and hit the glass with Scourgify, erasing any leftover traces of potion. He wordlessly sent the now empty vial back to his lab.
Severus refused to entertain any notion of regret. He had made very few mistakes in his life and this was not one of them.
Making his preparations for class, he dressed himself and swept out of the dungeons, a towering figure of menace. If Potter tried for his usual rebelliousness in class, he would sorely regret it.
__________
This was the life. Up here, Harry was in his element. Sure, studying had proven to be not so bad once he--or, rather, Hermione--had set down a schedule and workable studying practices for him to use. The occasional bags of herbal tea provided by Luna Lovegood hadn’t hurt either. She had said in her dreamy way that they helped her enormously whenever she needed to study. Hermione had grudgingly conceded that they couldn’t hurt. They must be working for the quiet blond; Luna was in Ravenclaw, after all, and had provided some valuable advice during the war against Voldemort.
But nothing beat Quidditch. Straddling on his broom, soaring through the air and going after that flighty golden Snitch were still delights Harry loved. He couldn’t dream of giving this up, even for being an Auror.
“Harry Potter is darting through the sky. Apparently he still hasn’t seen the Snitch, it proving as elusive as ever. Today is a cloudy day, with the threat of rain, so perhaps… Wait, there he goes! And there’s the Snitch!”
Harry had indeed spotted it, hovering near the pitch. The Snitch acted like it could think and it was always difficult to catch when it kept close to cover like that. In the air, there was plenty of room to zoom after it. But, that close to the earth, a player had to be cautious not to go too fast or he risked crashing into the ground or veering too close to the stands, a move guaranteed to incur penalties.
A green-and-silver blur darted past, almost close enough to knock him from his broom. Graham Pritchard, the Slytherin Seeker, had also spotted the Snitch and was closing in for the kill. He began weaving back and forth in front of Harry, preventing him from seeing the target clearly or getting around him.
Harry gritted his teeth. No one distracted him from the Snitch and no Slytherin had ever beaten him--not fairly, at any route. But then when were Slytherins ever fair?
The Snitch darted away at the last moment, causing Pritchard to swear under his breath and veer after it. But Harry held back. Let a fourth-year amateur like Pritchard waste his breath and his energy trying to track it. Quidditch was something Harry had taken to the moment he’d sat on a broom. Now he was so prescient about that little golden winged ball, he almost had a sixth sense about what it would do.
Harry waited, drifting almost negligently under Pritchard as the Slytherin streaked after the darting sphere. All of his concentration narrowed down to one still point. The roar of the crowd, the exasperation and bafflement in the announcer’s voice--it all fell away, leaving his focus crystal clear.
The Snitch dropped like a stone, causing Pritchard to overreach it by several yards. By the time he’d adjusted, turned his broom around and started after the ball again, Harry had swooped up on an intercept course. His hand darted in a scooping motion and he soared aloft, the prize clenched in his fist.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Harry Potter has done it AGAIN! He’s caught the Snitch, everybody! He’s caught the Snitch, winning the game in only 45 minutes. Well done, Harry!”
This time the roar was deafening. Harry’s fellow players soared around him in a wild aerial ballet, whooping like loons and just barely avoiding hitting each other. Through the rush of red-and-gold garments, Harry could have sworn he saw Severus Snape pounding his hands together before stopping abruptly.
But after he’d landed, to the applause from most of the gathered students, Severus was nowhere to be seen.
His heart plummeted, much like the Snitch had done moments ago. The congratulations from his teammates, their cheers and the poundings on his back became distant, hollow echoes. Suddenly his triumph was reduced to meaningless dust. He wasn’t a child any more to be swept up in mindless joy over a game. Only one person’s words meant anything here and that person hadn’t cared enough to stick around.
Harry managed to grin at everyone, putting on the usual mask he had perfected in dealing with the nosy press. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know just how devastated he was feeling now. This was a great House win, one certain to put them over the top at the end of the year, and he wasn’t going to spoil it just because his former bed partner wasn’t here to celebrate.
Honestly, what could he expect from Snape at a moment like this? The man was the Head of Slytherin House. It wouldn’t do for him to show any glee or pride over a Gryffindor win. Getting up and stalking away before anyone had seen him clapping would be the proper thing for him to do.
And Severus had clapped, hadn’t he? Harry slowed in the act of scrubbing himself in the communal showers as he replayed that scene in his mind. Severus’s normally expressionless face had been ablaze with something like--pride? His clapping hands had been like a visual “bravo” in which he’d let his actions betray his thoughts.
Had Severus been thrilled with his victory, like the Gryffindors had been? Had he actually been proud of what Harry could do?
Harry had had female students come up to him and rave about how hot and sexy he looked on a broom. It was bizarre; it wasn’t like he was a paid Quidditch player like Viktor Krum. When he’d been at Hogwarts, there had been at least three girls following Viktor around at all times.
That kind of adulation Harry could understand. Viktor had earned his glory in the field, playing against seasoned professionals, blokes who would wipe the field with a student still wet behind the ears. Harry wasn’t anything special, certainly not enough to warrant the attentions he got from those girls.
But to see that look glowing in Severus’s eyes--Harry could feel the familiar coil of desire and he hunched over in dismay. He could not get a stiffy here in the shower room, not with all the other blokes around.
He switched the temperature of the shower water to cold, shivering in the sudden chill but satisfied at watching his erection shrivel. This wasn’t the place or the time.
But he wasn’t going to put off satisfaction forever. Later, he would take care of the problem in his room where his special stash lay hidden, just as soon as he could duck his adoring fans.
__________
Harry fingered the colored square. It was of inferior quality but that didn’t matter. The floor walker had been very thorough when he’d demonstrated the camera and Harry had goggled as the picture had slid from the narrow aperture. Even in the wizarding world, he’d never seen a camera that had a picture simply appear after the flash. If Arthur Weasley had seen it, he would have been turning handsprings and pestering the seller with questions about how it worked.
Finding his accomplice in Knockturn Alley had been ridiculously easy as well. Evidently the streetwalkers there had fielded more unusual requests than using Polyjuice to look like someone else.
The lean figure in the picture, the one who’d taken the potion to look like Severus, had agreed to be Oblivated after they were finished. Harry hadn’t wanted the man to tell who his partner was. That would be all he needed, for some blabber-mouthed pro to take the story to The Prophet about how the Boy Who Lived needed to pay for sex. The man--what was his name? Marcus?--had demanded extra for that but that had been no problem.
He’d been well worth the extra money. The whore had been skilled, possessing tricks even Severus hadn’t used. But it hadn’t been the same. This hadn’t been Severus and he’d known the difference in the man’s touches and calculated moans. The experience had been sorely lacking and Harry swore he wouldn’t do it again.
But, thanks to the power of magic, he’d gotten the still figures to move and speak. The magic to bring motion to inanimate pictures hadn’t been all that hard to learn and now the figures in the still photos were delightfully vigorous. He had used up two entire packs during his two-hour session with the prostitute and now all 20 pictures were spread over his bed.
“More!” the tiny Harry cried, his back arching as the wiry figure thrust vigorously into him.
“Yes! It feels good, doesn’t it? You’re so tight, so hot around me,” the fake Severus purred, leaning down for a kiss. The prostitute had balked at that, saying he refused to kiss his customers. It just wasn’t done. But an extra five Galleons had overcome his scruples and Harry’s mouth had been ruthlessly plundered at every opportunity that their positions had allowed.
The figures continued to rock together, going through their limited repertoire of words and movements. Harry quickly cast it aside to pick up another picture, this one showing his hands bound above his head to the headboard. “Snape” had been on his heels this time, Harry’s legs tight around his waist, their figures connected to each other only by the hard cock pistoning in and out of his arse. He could see the reddened flesh with each movement in and out of the quivering bottom of his flattened counterpart and Harry groaned, fisting his prick frantically as the tiny figures raced to their completion.
Little Harry threw his head back, emitting a guttural cry, just before “Snape” thrust a few more times and let out a sharp grunt. Harry shuddered, splattering his fist, as the pleasure careened through him.
The next moment, the two images started again, the magical animation refusing to release either of them. How long could these things go on? He’d noticed the pictures in Dumbledore’s office sleeping or wandering out of their frames. These pictures would have to quit soon, too, wouldn’t they? Would they remain in their frames or go visit other pictures of themselves? The only other pictures would be the other Polaroids. What would two naked Harrys and Severuses get up to? The very thought made his cock twitch.
Waving his wand over his body to clean up the mess, he shuffled through the pictures, wondering if he should wait a bit before wanking again or call it a night. He was only 17; once a night, even twice, wasn’t nearly enough for him.
Already he was feeling restless. Insomnia was still a problem for Harry. Having been locked up at night until he was 11, you’d think he’d be used to remaining still in one room. But nightmares, nightly challenges and the mysteries of Hogwarts had had him wandering the halls from his first year. And those times he’d been caught by Snape…
He hadn’t been lying when he’d taunted Snape with the notion that perhaps he’d wanted to be captured, at the man’s mercy, fondled by those long, tapered fingers and fucked with abandon. After experiencing what Severus was capable of in bed, Harry definitely wanted more.
But it seemed that was all past. The Potions Professor he’d seen in class today had stared through him, with nothing more than his usual nasty comments to give. Snape had been sneering and dismissive in turns, as though the sex between them had never happened.
He showed no signs of relenting in his continued distance from Harry. Every night, Harry cast Homenum revelio to see if Severus was hiding in his quarters and every night he was disappointed.
If he went stalking through the halls, would Severus find him? Would he relent and fall upon Harry while they fucked in an empty room? Would he allow Harry to lure him into the prefects’ bathroom? No, the last thing he wanted was to risk seeing Moaning Myrtle again or be spied on by that randy mermaid.
Maybe Severus needed to be reminded of what he was missing. Harry flipped through the snapshots, trying to decide which one would have the greatest impact, which one would be the most arousing, which one…
His fingers stilled. Yes, this was it. Harry tapped it with his wand, making a duplicate of it. Whatever Severus did with his copy, he wanted to make sure he had one for himself. It would be a comfort on long, lonely nights…along with the other 19, of course.
There was one thing more he wished to do with this picture, an additional surprise for a former spy who had proved such an elusive lover. He would need to run through the books in the library, perhaps take another trip to Hogsmeade. He briefly toyed with the idea of asking Hermione’s help and then dismissed it. She would ask too many questions and he wasn’t sure he could lie well enough to deceive her.
Harry scooped up the pictures and shoved them deep into his trunk, casting a spell of invisibility on them just in case someone went snooping around his bed. It was unlikely; in the six-plus years he’d been in Gryffindor, no one had invaded his privacy like that. But the sensitive nature of the photographs and his exposure to one paranoid Slytherin had made him cautious. No point in having concealed his affair if one carelessly lost picture should expose him now.
Now that he had a plan, excitement was coursing through him again. Over-thinking was not his style; his plans worked best on the fly. He would set about to capture Severus’s attentions again as soon as possible. What happened after that was strictly up to the Slytherin.

TBC
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Extra Lessons Are Always Appreciated