
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7881565.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter/Weasleys, Severus_Snape/
      Weasleys, Fred_Weasley/George_Weasley
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Fred_Weasley, George_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Series, First_Time, Romance, BDSM, Multiple_Partners
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-12-30 Words: 6968
****** Methods of Learning ******
by ISF_Archivist
Summary
     Harry has three very different lessons.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Harry is 16, the twins are adults.
Methods of Learning




  Harry's meeting with Snape and Dumbledore had been less mortifying than
  he'd feared, mostly about schedules and educational goals, with the only
  mention of his "special lessons" an assurance that those were also
  regularly scheduled. And for all that he'd spent much of his time since
  learning of the Order's existence imagining their meetings, he found the
  reality quite boring. He couldn't help but fidget in his seat, tapping his
  toes against each other, playing with the hem of his new shirt, shifting
  his hips to accommodate the constantly changing state of his cock, never
  less than mostly soft or more than mostly hard. His mind kept straying from
  all the boring adult business to his future adult business with the twins,
  his second real lesson where hopefully they'd teach him more about those
  mouth things.

  He still couldn't believe that George had actually licked him back there,
  but it had felt so good! He was so distracted with these thoughts that it
  caught him by surprise when the meeting began to break up, people
  splintering into smaller groups to talk about their assignments, or coming
  by to give him a pat on the shoulder and wish him good luck with his summer
  lessons. He'd got a fair amount of sympathy when everyone learned he was to
  get special tutoring from Snape, though he kept his hands firmly in his lap
  while he looked up at all the familiar faces with something like
  appropriate woe. Finally, everyone had gone, and he was left alone in the
  room the twins and a rather persistent erection.

  "So," said George, coming up behind him to sling a casual arm across the
  back of his chair, squatting down so their heads were nearly level, "ready
  for that lesson?"

  Harry was about to give an enthusiastic 'yes' when his stomach gave a loud
  growl, and they both laughed. "After dinner?" he said sheepishly.

  George gave him a kiss and a grin and said, "Right, need to keep your
  energy up."

  Harry, predictably, blushed. Which was of course when Snape walked back
  into the room, accompanied as usual by a whole host of inappropriate
  thoughts crowding into Harry's brain. "Did you need me to help cook, sir?"
  Harry asked, keeping his hands discreetly in his lap even though he had a
  feeling no one was really fooled.

  "No, the house elves that the headmaster has been so kind as to lend the
  household took it upon themselves to make our evening meal," he said, a
  corner of his mouth twitching as though he wanted to smile or frown or
  maybe grimace in distaste, but his expression remained impassive.

  "All right. Er, now?" said Harry, feeling the awkward boy again after
  dealing with the Order and all those people with their strange
  expectations. He'd almost forgot how everyone else viewed him, as some
  young saviour who was supposed to make everything all right, once he grew
  up a bit more. It was a strange sort of stereotype, much like the mental
  box they all shoved Snape into, though Snape did little to disabuse them of
  it and a lot to reinforce it by being disagreeable and cold to everyone
  foolish enough to approach him.

  Harry shook himself out of his reverie, aware that Snape had said something
  vaguely affirmative before heading off into the kitchen with Fred. Harry
  got up to follow, George trailing along behind. "How did you and Fred end
  up seeing past Snape's..." Harry trailed off, not sure what word to fill
  in.

  "Charming exterior?" said George with a snicker. "He gave us the
  abbreviated version of the lessons, and honestly, we've always had a pretty
  good sense of who really loathed us, and who secretly admired all the
  pranks we pulled." George paused at the door to steal another kiss and
  whisper, "He used to ask us about our inventions during detention. I think
  he was secretly proud that we learned all that stuff about potions from him
  just so we could make Nosebleed Nougats."

  Harry laughed and followed George inside, to find Fred sitting with Snape,
  Kingsley, and Mundungus Fletcher, who never missed a free meal if he could
  help it. Harry sat awkwardly, bracketed by the twins and across from
  Kingsley's friendly, curious face. "Worried about your summer lessons,
  there, Harry?" Kingsley asked, taking a swig of whatever was in his goblet
  and smiling in what Harry supposed he thought was a disarming manner.

  As far as Harry was concerned, Kingsley radiated the sort of authority you
  hoped never to run afoul of, and his attention always made Harry feel
  vaguely naughty. "Not really, sir. Sn... Professor Snape is a very good
  teacher, when he wants to be," he mumbled, serving himself without really
  paying attention to what was going on his plate.

  "So he is," said Kingsley, sounding a bit more dubious than Harry thought
  was strictly polite.

  Harry wanted to protest that Snape was really quite nice when you got to
  know him, but he was well aware that which Snape you got to know depended
  highly on how Snape felt about you to begin with. He'd spent years thinking
  Snape despised him, and been contradicted in the course of just a few
  surreal evenings until his whole life was turned upside-down by this new,
  desirable, needful Snape. So Harry kept his mouth shut; instead he stabbed
  his food with his fork and found himself with a mouthful of stewed cabbage,
  which he gamely tried to pretend he'd intended to eat all along.

  He washed it down with a big swig of pumpkin juice and tried to pretend
  that Fred wasn't trying to get Dung to acquire some illegal ingredients for
  their next big idea, or that George wasn't stroking his hand up Harry's
  thigh in a very distracting manner. "Are you, um, looking forward to your
  mission, sir?" Harry asked, getting a bit of kidney pie this time and
  hoping he'd remembered right, that Kingsley had been assigned something and
  that was why he'd stuck around.

  "Yes, it's good to be active in the effort again," said Kingsley, tucking
  his own food away with evident gusto. Kingsley launched into an explanation
  that Harry could easily ignore, so long as he made the right noises at
  regular intervals and kept eating his dinner, avoiding the pile of cabbage
  he'd poked off to one edge of the plate.

  After a few minutes of this, George reached past Harry for a roll and
  whispered, "I want to watch you suck Fred's cock."

  Harry flushed bright red, hiding his reaction in a few gulps of pumpkin
  juice, and shovelling his food a bit faster after that. Snape caught his
  gaze a few moments later, something glinting in the depths of those black
  eyes that let Harry know that Snape was quite aware of Harry's predicament.
  Harry nearly gasped aloud when Fred's hand joined George's in groping him,
  the large, warm fingers cupping his cock while Fred gestured with a fork in
  the other hand, seemingly intent on talking to Mundungus the whole while.
  "I'll get you for that later," Harry murmured to George, snagging the salt
  as an excuse to lean in close and spreading his legs anyway.

  George just chuckled and finished the last of his drink, then gave Harry's
  thigh a quick squeeze before his hand made a reappearance above the table
  which Snape noted, and Kingsley chattered on through. "Is there any
  pudding?" George asked, looking around to see if the house elves were
  lingering nearby.

  "Dobby is making cream cakes for the masters, now that he's got help!" said
  an enthusiastic voice from behind them. Everyone turned to see Dobby
  standing there with an enormous tray of the cakes, balanced precariously on
  his spindly arms. There were a good two dozen small cakes on it, each one
  bursting with cream filling and covered in sticky frosting, with a single,
  perfect cherry on top. "Would young master Weasley be wanting his now?"

  George smirked and exchanged one of those meaning-filled glances with Fred.
  "I think Fred and I will take ours in our room, if that's all right?
  Perhaps an extra for later?"

  "Dobby is making plenty of extras! The young masters is having as much
  pudding as they like." He disappeared with a crack, and when he reappeared
  the tray looked a bit lighter, making Harry wonder just how many cakes had
  got left upstairs.

  Kingsley had stopped talking with the arrival of the pudding, so Harry gave
  up on his own dinner, figuring no one would notice if he left the cabbage
  hidden under his serviette. Well, no one but Snape, who was watching him
  like a hawk, with that same steady gaze that Harry had always mistakenly
  thought was hate, but now knew held many more, far different things. "I
  think I'd like to go rest up, for lessons tomorrow, if that's all right?"
  he said, cursing himself for the utterly lame excuse.

  "You do need to get plenty of rest, Mr. Potter," said Snape sardonically,
  the innuendo so oblique that only those involved got it. And only Harry was
  immature enough to let it put a flush on his cheeks and regret that his
  shirts were no longer big enough to cover his embarrassing problem, with
  everyone in the room looking expectantly at him.

  "Oi, George, d'you have any of the new fireworks on you? Dung was wanting
  to see the new line, the adult ones," said Fred, and Harry made a swift,
  grateful exit as all heads but Snape's turned to watch George pull out a
  suspiciously-shaped cracker.

  "We made it like this, so you don't need fire, see, you just give it a
  quick pull and the sparks come out the end, and turn..." George's voice
  faded out as Harry climbed the stairs, wondering if he should go bathe, or
  wait in his own room, or go explore the cakes left in Fred and George's, or
  just give up and actually go to sleep, as the twins seemed like they might
  be occupied for awhile with their diversion.

  Harry needn't have worried; Dobby arrived moments after he reached his
  room, with a quick-scribbled note from Fred telling him to have a shower
  and come to the twins' room after. It also promised that, next weekend,
  they'd bathe him for part of his lesson, and those thoughts kept him hard
  and ready through his rushed ablutions. He was tempted to have a wank and
  take the edge off, but he knew it was that edge he had to learn to ride,
  the one practical reason why Snape and Dumbledore were putting up with him
  having a sex life at all.

  He was nearly desperate by the time he got out of the shower and slid his
  still-damp body into warm flannel pyjamas, not bothering to button the top
  or try to hide the huge tent his prick was making of the front. He padded
  barefoot out the door and into the next room, where Fred and George had
  been installed for the summer. It was still sadly empty, so he decided to
  be a little bit naughty. His skin shivered with the risk of it as he
  skinned out of his pyjamas and slid, naked, into a strange bed, body
  thrilling with the unlikely possibility of being caught out.

  The sheets were clean and crisp and smelled faintly of cedar, and Harry got
  a small twinge in his gut when he realised that the twins hadn't yet slept
  in them because they'd been in Snape's bed last night. He set the feeling
  aside, unwilling to waste time trying to sort out who he envied more, Snape
  for shagging Harry's first and only lovers, or Fred and George for getting
  to touch the man he... well, Snape. Instead he curled up in the slowly-
  warming bed and thought about how they'd make the sheets smell tonight, of
  sweat and sex and spicy Weasleys, the way the twins' bed had smelled before
  he left it the night before last.

  Despite his earlier nap, Harry was already a bit tired, and before he knew
  it the comfort of the bed had overwhelmed the small adrenaline rush from
  being naked in it, and Harry began to drift off to sleep, lost in thoughts
  of sex and the twins, cocks and mouths and freckles and large, gentle
  hands.

  When he awoke, it took Harry long moments to realize he wasn't still
  dreaming, surrounded as he was by firm, naked flesh and floating on
  pleasure with Fred's mouth wrapped around his cock, and George holding his
  hands down over his head while nibbling on his ear. "About time you woke
  up," George murmured when Harry's eyes flew open.

  Fred pulled off Harry's cock long enough to say, "We've only got tonight,"
  then swallowed him down again.

  "Before we're gone for almost a week," George finished, the words a whisper
  of hot air over Harry's ear. George moved in for a deep, sweet kiss, and
  together they used their mouths to render Harry insensate in a
  distressingly short amount of time. Instead of drawing it out, though, they
  kept it up until Harry came, spilling his seed down Fred's throat, his
  cries into George's mouth.

  Fred pulled away, licking his lips and grinning while George moved enough
  for Harry to see as Fred said, "Delicious."

  Harry blushed.

  "Now," said George, threading his fingers through Harry's so he was holding
  both of Harry's hands in one of his, "we're going to teach you to do that."

  A slow grin spread on Harry's face and he nodded; there were advantages to
  doing this in the form of lessons, after all, and the taste of himself from
  Fred's lips was only one of them. "The benefits of a formal education,"
  said Harry, still limp and pliant beneath them.

  By the time the evening was over and he was falling asleep curled between
  them, Harry felt he'd got quite a good grasp on the basics. Next week,
  they'd even promised to finish teaching him to deep throat.

  ---

  Monday morning was a flurry of stolen kisses, shared showers and hurried
  breakfasts, the twins gone to open their shop before Harry had ever
  properly awakened. Harry's skin still tingled with the memory of their
  touches when Snape finished his tea and stood. "Shall we begin with
  Defence, Mr. Potter?" Snape said formally, the chill in his voice shocking
  Harry into wakefulness.

  "I... do I need my books or anything, sir?" Harry asked, trying to give his
  brain some time to cope with the change in Snape's demeanour, the dour
  schoolmaster back, if not quite in his full force.

  Snape relented a touch at Harry's obvious distress, reaching out to lay a
  hand on Harry's shoulder. "I thought we'd start with a practical lesson,
  but you ought to get a quill and one of your journals."

  "Yes, sir," Harry replied, grateful for the reprieve. He finished the last
  of his own tea and took a deep breath, then turned and smiled up at Snape.
  "I'll just go get those, then, and meet you...?" He let the words trail
  off, realizing he'd no idea at all where they might have a practical
  Defence lesson.

  "The small dining room on the first floor has been converted to a classroom
  for our use," said Snape, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink
  as if he, too, needed something to do with his hands at times like this.

  "All right, sir," Harry said quietly and made his escape, breathing out the
  awkwardness of it all and gulping in deep breaths of hope and
  determination. He took the stairs two at a time and rummaged through his
  things, blushing as he snagged his wand from his nightstand -- he'd left it
  there last night and forgot to retrieve it this morning, not yet used to
  being able to do magic in the summer.

  A few deep breaths and a long moment spent staring at the charmed clouds
  drifting across the ceiling, and Harry went back downstairs to hunt for
  Snape. He poked his head in a few rooms before he found the one set aside
  for them. He got a vague impression of pale grey paint and wood flooring
  before his eyes settled inevitably on the one thing that seemed to take up
  most of his attention these days -- Snape. He was in his rigid Professor
  stance, no humour left to soften the line of his mouth, his eyes dull and
  flat rather than sparkling with mischief or glittering with desire.

  Harry went in, knowing that this was as much a part of the man as the other
  side he'd been privileged to see, telling himself that he might as well
  reaccustom himself to Snape's disagreeable demeanour now, considering that
  this was the Snape he'd see for most of the year.

  "I see you managed to find your way here all by yourself," said Snape
  sarcastically, and Harry had to remind himself that there was another side,
  and that love -- if it was love he felt for Snape -- accepted all parts of
  a person. Even the mean bits.

  "Yes, sir," said Harry, keeping back the snippy reply that was threatening
  to come out, and ignoring the bit of his libido that said it was perfectly
  happy with Snape's tone, and would like to hear more of it, preferably
  while being spanked and called a naughty boy.

  Snape raised his eyebrow at Harry's meekness, but fortunately didn't
  comment. Instead, he waved his wand and the two facing desks in the middle
  of the room parted ways and settled against opposite walls, leaving a clear
  space in the centre of the floor. Harry had a feeling he knew what came
  next, so he set his book, quill and ink on the smaller desk and took up a
  position opposite Snape. "Duelling today, Professor?" he asked, lips
  twitching with the desire to smile -- he'd heard far too many dirty jokes
  along these lines.

  "Yes, Mr. Potter, duelling. I trust your skills have improved since your
  second year," said Snape, and only the slight tinge of humour in his eyes
  kept Harry from wondering aloud how Snape could possibly be like this with
  him anymore, after... well, everything.

  Harry struggled to contain his hurt and anger and instead took a pose he'd
  learned for himself just to teach the students of the DA, half a dozen
  shielding and offesnive spells crowding his brain. "Ready," he said,
  forcing himself to breathe, to concentrate.

  Snape took a mirror of Harry's pose, and began, "In a formal duel, there
  would be a third party present to tell us when to begin. However, you will
  seldom find yourself in such a situation these days -- not only are formal
  duels fairly rare, it is doubtful any would want to challenge the precious
  Boy Who Lived, either for fear of hurting you, or of being soundly trounced
  by whatever power protected you from the Dark Lord."

  Harry watched Snape like a hawk, waiting to see if this was some strange
  tactic to get him off his guard. "Yes, sir, I understand," he said, when
  Snape seemed to require some response from him.

  Snape nodded and continued. "In an informal duel such as the one we're
  going to practice now, the rules of conduct are usually he who shoots first
  and all that, coupled with an understanding that one generally does not
  expect to encounter an Unforgivable unless the person one is duelling with
  is a known criminal."

  Harry nodded again, and then said, "So, most of my duels will be like this,
  only with the really nasty curses thrown in for good measure?"

  Snape smiled coldly, and Harry shivered at the cruelty in it. "Precisely,
  Mr. Potter. I would not be so foolish as to try one of those on you today,
  but most Death Eaters will not hesitate to Cruciate or even kill you."
  Snape stood just a touch straighter, and Harry's grip tightened on his
  wand.

  "You're not most Death Eaters, sir," said Harry, watching Snape's hands,
  his eyes, hoping for some sign of what he was supposed to be doing here.
  "Are we going on the count of three or something, sir?"

  "No, Mr. Potter," said Snape, shifting ever so slightly, "we are going now.
  Expelliarmus!"

  Everything felt as though it had slowed down, and Harry had no idea where
  he found the courage to cast, let alone the words to the spells. "Protego!"
  he yelled, following up quickly with a Stunning Spell that he knew would
  never get through Snape's defences.

  Snape dodged the curse, though Harry thought it might have grazed him from
  the look of respect that came into his features. Harry hoped Snape would
 forgive him as he tried to wipe that look away with a quick succession of    
  strange hexes Hermione had found in a book for him, ones that were odd and
  out of fashion rather than particularly Dark: Cephalaspidea, which tried to
  turn Snape's clothing to slugs and did manage to slime up one of his
  sleeves; Medusa Abla, which would have turned Snape's hair to harmless
  garden snakes had he not deflected it neatly back at Harry, who had to
  scramble to dismiss it; and Mysore, which shot colourful ribbons from his
  wand and attempted to tie Snape up like a Maypole.

  That last one, shockingly, was the one that prevailed; Harry ducked under
  Snape's Tarrantellegra curse, grateful to be short for once, and the
  ribbons bound Snape's arms to his sides before he could get off another.

  Harry was rather proud of himself, but if the smouldering anger in Snape's
  gaze was any indication, he'd be made to regret this victory before long.
  Harry dismissed the ribbons, and Snape cast Scourgify on his beslimed
  robes, then gave Harry a distinctly appraising look. "I'm surprised your
  knowledge is quite so eclectic, Mr. Potter."

  "Hermione's been helping me find stuff that no one remembers anymore in the
  library, sir," said Harry, checking himself for singe marks and trying to
  ignore the small itch in his spine that told him he rather wanted to dance
  a lively jig. He knew from experience that it would go away in a few
  minutes, though these near-misses were almost as uncomfortable in their own
  way as being actually hit, since you couldn't really cast Finite Incantatum
  on a spell that hadn't really taken effect.

  Snape nodded, and pointed to Harry's book. "Take a note of all the spells
  used, and what was effective and what wasn't, even the near misses. I find
  that having one's sleeve develop an unpleasantly cold, wet, rubbery texture
  and a distinct wiggle is quite distracting, and that may have been what
  allowed your Mysore curse through."

  Harry grinned, pride filtering through beneath the resentment. Snape hadn't
  complimented him much in Potions, but now he was being treated, if not like
  an equal, then at least like someone who wasn't a complete moron. "Yes,
  sir," he said, and sat for a moment to note down the spell progression and
  the effects. When he was done, he looked up to find Snape watching him with
  an unreadable expression that gave Harry chills. "All set. What's next?"

  "Another duel, of course," said Snape with a tone which distinctly implied
  that perhaps Harry wasn't as bright as he looked after all.

  Harry tried not to take it to heart, as he stood and assumed the position
  again -- the duelling one, not one of the many others he'd rather assume
  for Snape -- and looked over at Snape expectantly.

  The rest of the tutorial proceeded in a similar manner, half a dozen duels
  followed by Snape's critical analysis, and Harry taking notes. In the end,
  Harry managed to win once more, though Harry privately thought that Snape
  had only won the third duel through blind luck, as Dobby had popped in and
  startled Harry just as Snape's Impedimenta went off. Snape, of course, said
  that one would have all sorts of distractions in a real battle and it was
  no excuse.

  Harry did his best not to sulk, which seemed to be the theme for the day
  with him. It was, he supposed, as good a lesson as any -- life rarely went
  his way, and it was much better to chin up and bear with it than spend all
  his time railing at the unfairness of it all.

  It still didn't stop him from resenting Dumbledore a little when he was
  ushered back into the kitchen for a Potions lesson before lunch.

  ---

  Harry had been happy to be given the afternoon off, though he'd had to
  fight for any free time at all when they'd drawn up his schedule.
  Eventually they'd agreed on a light schedule concentrating on five -- well,
  seix -- subjects: Occlumency, Defence, Potions, Transfiguration and Charms,
  plus the much-anticipated Etiquette lessons.

  Tonight would be the first of those, as well.

  Harry stood nervously in front of the mirror and looked at himself again;
  he'd elected to have a bath after lunch, and was now wearing those
  maddening silk boxers, this time in a liquid golden hue. They were the only
  thing he wore under the simple burgundy robes he'd bought, and it made him
  feel naughty, knowing it would take very little effort for Snape to lift
  the hem and tug down the pants in order to bend him over a table.

  Unfortunately, those naughty thoughts telegraphed themselves in the form of
  a very obvious tent in the front of his robes. Harry glanced at the clock,
  happy that he'd given himself enough time to take care of the problem he'd
  known would come up, especially once he'd slipped into the smooth, sensual
  boxers and felt them caressing his cock and bollocks almost like a lover.
  Which made him think, now, of Fred holding Harry's balls in his palm while
  George sucked Harry's nipples, both refusing to touch Harry's cock until
  Harry successfully managed to take Fred's prick into his throat at least a
  little. They'd taken his own desperate lust and turned it to Harry's
  advantage, using it to motivate him to learn the skills he very much wanted
  to master, and he'd found that it had been easier to ignore his gag reflex
  when the rest of his body was burning with such acute need.

  Harry leaned back against the bed, still watching himself in the mirror as
  he lifted the robe and pulled the boxers down just enough so the elastic
  pushed his balls up into his cock. He stared for a moment at the picture he
  made in the mirror, all pretence of innocence gone with his legs spread
  just so and his body exposed. He wrapped his free hand around his cock and
  stroked, just the way he'd always liked, then slipped his other hand under
  the fabric of his robes to pinch and torment his nipples just as roughly as
  Fred and George had shown him he could enjoy.

  He allowed himself to dwell on everything he'd learned, the joys of his own
  body and the sublime thrill of giving pleasure to others as well. He'd
  licked and fucked George's arse with his tongue until the versatile muscle
  had grown too tired for even the simplest speech, then watched as Fred
  plundered the same hole with his cock. He'd even come once from nothing
  more than Fred's tongue in his arse and George's mouth on his own.

  That memory was enough to trigger him now, and he barely managed to keep
  his robes clean as he spurted all over his hand and the floor with a soft
  moan. Fortunately a quick spell could get rid of the mess -- unlike with
  clothing, where nothing but actual washing seemed to quite get the stain
  out. Harry tucked himself away and straightened his clothing, looking once
  again to see how just-wanked he appeared and then figuring that if it was
  as obvious to Snape as it was to him, at least it would provide Snape with
  some distraction.

  The clock showed five minutes to the hour, so Harry sighed, grabbed another
  of his new journals along with quill, ink and wand, and made his way down
  to the parlour.

  ---

  Snape was already there when Harry arrived, leaning against the mantle with
  a drink in his hand looking elegant and uncomfortable, reminiscent of the
  last time Harry had seen him in his quarters. "Good evening, Professor,"
  said Harry formally, trying to get into the spirit of the thing and pretend
  he was here to get picked up for the sort of encounter that he was,
  ironically, expressly forbidden to have with Snape.

  Snape turned and his signet ring glinted in the low light where he held the
  glass in his right hand, giving Harry a bit of a shiver -- if he remembered
  properly, that meant Snape was wanting to top tonight, a situation Harry
  devoutly wished were allowed. "Good evening, Mr. Potter," he said, his
  voice formal but tinged with an edge of heat that sent a shiver down
  Harry's spine. Snape's eyes swept over Harry's body, from his low house
  boots to his unruly hair, lingering at places that twitched embarrassingly
  under the intent gaze. "You're looking well this evening," he fair purred,
  stalking over to Harry in a decidedly predatory manner.

  Harry definitely felt like prey, and he had to clear his throat to keep
  from squeaking when he replied, "Thank you, sir, you look quite fit
  yourself." Harry figured it was a bit heavy-handed for supposedly subtle
  flirtation, but then, Snape wasn't exactly going for subtle himself.

  Snape's eyes grew hooded and he glanced at Harry's hands, his clothing, and
  appeared to be contemplating something. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. You may
  call me Severus if you like," he said, turning toward the bar that had been
  opened and set up, presumably by the house elves. "May I offer you a
  drink?"

  Harry had no idea how he'd handle anything remotely like the amber liquid
  swirling in Snape's grasp, but he thankfully spotted some familiar bottles
  in one corner of the cabinet. "Just a butterbeer, si- er, Severus, please."
  Harry remembered at the last minute to add, "Y-you may call me Harry if
  you'd like, as well."

  "Excellent," said Snape, displaying his arse to remarkably good effect as
  he walked over to the bar and poured Harry's drink into a tall, elegantly
  curved pint glass. "Are you a chess player, Harry?"

  Something in the way Snape said his name made Harry absolutely sure that
  they weren't talking about the game with pieces and a board, and Harry
  remembered their earlier talk about chess as a metaphor. "Yes, sir, though
  I'm not a very experienced player," he said, then bit his lip at his slip -
  - he never could get the hang of not calling Snape 'sir' anymore.

  "That's quite all right, Harry, I'm sure I can give you a handicap," said
  Snape, gesturing toward the two chairs by the fire with the board already
  set up between them. "Black or white?"

  This, too, Harry knew the correct answer to, Snape having explained that
  the more submissive, and often less experienced partner would take the
  position usually reserved for the weaker player. "White, if you please,
  Severus," said Harry, wondering if he'd be fifty and still trying to find
  those who wanted to be black to his white, or if he'd switch as Snape had.
  If Harry would be alone, then, as Snape was now, though even Snape wasn't
  nearly so alone as he'd been a week ago.

  "I do prefer black these days," said Snape, sitting on that side and
  looking over his players. "Perhaps... a rook will be enough?" He took the
  piece off the board and set it aside, much to the consternation of his
  other pieces, whom he hushed with a wave of his hand.

  Harry knew enough about chess to know it was a middling handicap, both to
  take the rook and give him white, and it made Harry wonder how, precisely,
  it fit in with chess-as-flirting as Snape had explained it previously. "I,
  er, expect so?" he said, revealing his ignorance in the simplest possible
  way, feeling his stomach clench as he wondered just how much of this
  charade Snape would make him stumble through.

  He was oddly relieved, then, when Snape laughed. "You did well, for a first
  time, Harry. You were obvious enough in noting my token that I felt
  comfortable to proceed even though you weren't wearing one, which is not
  uncommon for young wizards who don't wish to advertise their choices quite
  so publicly until they've decided that young witches truly aren't for
  them."

  Harry slumped back in his chair and shot Snape a bit of a glare, sipping at
  the beer. "You gave me a turn, there, acting like I was a particularly
  plump rabbit and you the wolf out hunting," he said plaintively, though he
  was unable to keep his face straight through the whole thing.

  "Trust me, Harry, in this world that is exactly how many men will see you,
  and treat you," said Snape, looking worried before he dropped back into
  lecture mode. "You did well in your responses, up until the end there -
  - it's good that you were honest about your lack of experience but didn't
  advertise your virginity, you remembered the significance of the piece
  colours, and as soon as you felt out of your depth, you let me know. A real
  suitor would have considered it sign either of poor breeding or simply
  inexperience, but of course as I am your tutor, it was inevitable that we'd
  come to such an impasse."

  "Thank you, sir," said Harry, making a few notes in his book as Snape
  spoke. "So, what's up with the handicap thing?"

  Snape grinned a bit wickedly and said, "It would be a subtle way of probing
  your true level of inexperience. Were you truly a virgin seeking someone to
  deflower him, you would have asked for my queen instead, and I would have
  felt quite honoured to be considered for such a delicate task."

  Harry blushed. "So, how much does my experience with the twins count
  towards, er, my handicap?" he asked, making more notes.

  "There is an entire system, much of which we will dispose of as you will
  not need it once Fred and George are done with you and we've released you
  into the wild, so to speak," Snape replied. "A true untouched virgin might
  ask for a queen-side handicap, though realistically speaking one so pure
  would not generally be looking for company in such a manner anyway. Asking
  for a capped knight or even both rooks might be more appropriate to your
  current level of experience, considering the lesson plan imparted to me for
  last night."

  Harry's face grew much, much redder, and he sank down into his chair just a
  bit. "So, if you'd done it but only a few times, you'd ask for a pawn or
  something?" he asked, staring blankly at the page before blurting, "How
  much did they tell you?"

  Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry and shifted in his seat. "They are keeping
  me up to date while preserving your privacy as much as possible. All I know
  is that they were to teach you... oral skills. This morning they informed
  me that you did quite well, and they've found a way to use your... unique
  nature as a teaching tool."

  Harry hid his face behind the book for a moment, remembering, feeling the
  tent return to his robes. "Yes, sir, that's... about the size of it. Er, so
  to speak."

  Snape snorted, and Harry risked a peek to see him attempting not to laugh.
  "Yes, well. A pawn would be appropriate for the situation you describe,
  especially with the education you are receiving in the other arts of the
  flesh."

  "All right, so I agree to the handicap... then what?" said Harry, setting
  the book down and squirming a bit until he nearly whimpered at the caress
  of silk against his cock and bollocks.

  "Then, Harry, we would play, and I would attempt to use my wit to seduce
  you to my bed, using yet more subtle innuendo to discover what sort of
  bedroom games you're amenable to." Snape paused, and Harry blushed and
  moved a pawn, which Snape answered with a pawn move of his own. "Your
  tendency to call me 'sir' despite having been invited to a further intimacy
  would be taken either as a reluctance to be seduced, or a desire to be
  dominated. I, of course, know it is the latter, but if you're not careful a
  suitor will take it as the former and become discouraged."

  "Yes, sir," said Harry with an impish little smile, knowing Snape wouldn't
  miss the implications of that specific reply. "How would I indicate I
  really wasn't interested after all? Politely, I mean."

  Snape raised his eyebrow; that obviously hadn't been the question he'd been
  expecting. "By maintaining a polite distance conversationally, playing out
  the entire chess game and then taking your leave as though there were no
  other meaning, or even conceding the game and taking your leave, if you
  find the man's company particularly distasteful," he said.

  "You'll teach me how to indicate my... er, preferences... without coming
  out and saying I'd like to be..." Harry blushed, unable to continue,
  finding it discomfited him as much as Snape to say such things.

  "I will, though you'll need to be able to communicate them to me before I
  can teach you how to communicate them politely to others," said Snape with
  a wicked smirk, and Harry knew he'd definitely lost this round.

  "Yes, sir," he said again, sipping his butterbeer and trying to think.
  After a long moment, he grinned triumphantly and said, "Well, why don't you
  start with the basics and we can go from there? Because I'll need to know
  them all so I don't accidentally agree to something I don't want, right?"

  Snape laughed and said, "Don't think this gets you off the hook, it just
  means you'll only need to tell me your more exotic interests." He sat back
  and sipped his drink, and Harry took the time to make a chess move while
  Snape gathered his thoughts.

  Snape answered the move absently, then nodded and sat up. "Take notes," he
  said sharply, and Harry nodded and got quill and ink ready. Snape launched
  into a somewhat baffling list of possible sexual practices and the ways to
  propose or refuse them while Harry scribbled frantically, too busy writing
  to ask questions or really even process the idea that Snape considered the
  negotiation of group sex to be one of the basics.

  Eventually Snape wound down and they ended the evening by actually playing
  chess, with Harry asking idle questions in an attempt to make Snape blush,
  and Snape doing his best to make Harry squirm with the answers. Snape won
  the game, mostly because Harry was too busy thinking about those answers in
  the context of Snape, himself, and a large well-equipped bedroom. "So,"
  said Harry, when they'd stood up and restored the room to its former
  arrangement, "does it matter who wins the game?"

  Snape looked over at the chess set, now disassembled for the night, the
  pieces tucked away in their little padded velvet compartments, awaiting the
  next battle. "Generally speaking, the game is usually conceded by the man
  who was approached initially, as a sign that he's interested and ready to
  retire and engage in other, more private amusements."

  Harry looked thoughtful, then nodded. "What's for the next lesson, then,
  just more practice?"

  "Hardly," said Snape, shaking his head. "Chess is far from the only method
  of approach, so next time I will be demonstrating to you other ways in
  which a man might make his interest known to you. We should also talk about
  your token, and what form you would like for it to take."

  Harry nodded; privately he'd decided long ago that he wanted no other token
  than Snape's signet, marking him as belonging to Snape and avoiding these
  sorts of conversations forever, but realistically he knew that Snape might
  not want him forever, and these were things he'd need to know if he were to
  end up doing this on his own. "I expect there's things in my vault," he
  said, "Er, vaults. Though I wouldn't want to wear the Black crest, I don't
  think."

  Snape nodded thoughtfully. "We can't risk taking you back there so soon,
  but a carefully worded letter would allow me access to bring some items for
  you to examine."

  "Sounds good," Harry replied, then found himself abruptly out of reasons to
  prolong the conversation. "Er, thank you again. For all this," he said,
  gesturing uselessly.

  Snape nodded once more. "You are most welcome, Harry. It is, oddly enough,
  my pleasure to teach you. You are a most entertaining student." He paused,
  a smirk alighting on his features before he added, "Well, except in
  Potions."

  Harry could only laugh and agree, as he was still pretty much pants at
  Potions, though he concentrated more now than he had bothered to
  previously, wanting to impress Snape as much as possible. "Yes, sir," he
  said impishly, then turned to escape into the hall before Snape decided to
  tease him about something that would make his rebellious body cease
  cooperating and embarrass him even further. "Good night," he said in a
  singsong voice as he headed for the stairs.

  "Sweet dreams, Mr. Potter," Snape called after him, voice warm with humour
  and something akin to affection.

  Harry had a feeling that they would be, for once.
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