The Boy Who Lived A Bit [Snarry]

Chapter Eleven

'Honestly, Harry, I don't know how you're coping with all this. Really, I don't.'

'Coping with what?'

'Being cooped up here,' Ron sprawled further along the floor in front of the fire. 'With no one to talk to but old teachers. And all those extra classes they've got you doing! With HIM, of all people! It's just not fair, is it?'

Harry leant his head back against the seat of the settee. He and Ron had both been lounging around on the livingroom floor, but Harry had hauled himself up into a lazy sitting position with his back against the couch as soon as he'd heard the tone of Ron's voice. 'Actually,' he said calmly, 'It's all a lot better now than it was even just a little while ago. And I like those extra lessons, Ron. Snape's teaching me so much stuff that I'm going to need to know, plus a whole lot more besides. Things that might just save my skin if I get captured or something. Really –it's okay.'

'Yeah, but did they have to choose him for it?'

'Well, actually, Snape offered. Everybody else seemed happy to just have me sit around here doing bugger all until I got a chance to meet Voldemort again. But Snape offered to help train me up in the meantime. So that I'll be a sready as I can be when the time comes. And honestly – who else could be better at teaching me what to expect from dark wizards?'

He could tell by the look on Ron's face that the very thought of Snape offering to do something for somebody else was distasteful and unbelievable. Harry shrugged his shoulders against the couch and crossed his legs at the ankle. If Ron couldn't even cope with the idea of Harry training with Snape, how would his friend ever possibly come to accept the reality of what he and Snape often did after those lessons?

It had taken barely a fortnight for them to fall into a good routine. An hour of duelling and hex and curse work, then an hour of either potions/poisons and Death Eater hang-outs or Occlumency. Then half an hour of fucking or blowjobs on the library floor or over one of the tables before it was dinner time and Lupin was calling them into the dining room. Harry often found himself wondering if it was possible that sex could make his brain work better. He seemed to be learning things much more easily, grasping concepts, retaining information, far better than he could ever remember doing in the past. Maybe it was nothing more complicated than a simple reward system – he put in a good two hours of work and was richly rewarded with mind-blowing sex. Plus, of course, he found himself so utterly intrigued by and obsessed with Snape that it was all too easy to give the man his undivided attention these days. He'd never been so hungry for information – just so long as it was being imparted to him with That Voice.

Tuesday and Thursday evenings saw Snape leave promptly after dinner; he had to be available for his Slytherins to come to him with House matters. But Monday and Wednesday evenings meant drinks and long talks in the livingroom or around the kitchen table with Lupin and whomever else might be present joining them. Fridays, as they had been for the past six months, turned into an entire weekend of having Snape around – except now, unlike before, weekends meant heavy duty wards and silencing charms and a lot of time spent on his back or his knees. Harry was quite happy for the war to stretch on indefinitely.

'It's just yuck though, innit, mate? We all thought we were free of lessons with the greasy git when we left school, and now you're stuck with him again. S'hardly fair.'