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Snape positioned the scalpel over his arm with a small but noticeable flourish. “Very well. You’ve terrified me into obedience. Harry.”
Harry sighed as Snape made the tiny cut in his wrist. He’d noticed that Snape was careful not to cut in exactly the same place twice, to avoid hurting flesh that was still tender despite the daily healing spell. He tried not to think about Snape being kind – not because it was an affront to his sensibilities, but because it turned his active lust into a mushy warm kind of emotion that he was really unwilling to examine at this time.
As he bled, Harry said, “About last night…” and felt Snape’s fingers tighten convulsively around his wrist.
“Let us not talk about it.”
“I only—”
Snape gave him a look that silenced him, but Harry felt his resolve harden. Okay, Severus. We won’t talk about it, but I’m not giving up.
Harry watched in silence as Snape went about the other preliminaries of his potion for the day. He observed that the liquid turned only a light gray this time, and cheered up a bit thinking he’d soon be cured.
Then you’ll have to go back to work. How are you going to work on Snape then?
The potions master turned around and affected surprise at seeing Harry still there.
“Mr. Potter.” He rubbed his hands together. Harry had never seen anyone do that except villains in old Muggle movies.
“Harry,” Harry said.
“Harry,” Snape repeated. “As you are here and at loose ends, I can make use of your services.”
Harry blinked. “My services?”
Snape nodded. “You won’t find it pleasant, I’m sure, but I don’t think you’re in a position to refuse.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll make the best of it.”
“Follow me,” Snape said.
They went through Snape’s private office into the public one.
Snape stopped at his desk, piled high with neatly stacked parchments. “Be very afraid. Harry.”
Harry looked around the room. The usual. He looked back at Snape, puzzled.
“These are first-year essays,” Snape said with a wicked smirk. “Grade them.”
“What?” For a second he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Oh.” He shook his head. “And here I was hoping you meant my ... services.” He shrugged, slid behind the desk and rolled up his sleeves (he had a tendency to get ink on them when doing any intensive writing).
“Get your mind out of the middens,” Snape muttered.
Harry shrugged one shoulder, dipping a quill and pulling the first stack of parchments toward him. “Can’t blame a man for hoping.”
Snape crossed his arms. “You would rather sleep with me than …”
Harry gave him a long, measuring look, then said deliberately, “Well, let’s do the math here. On the one hand, laborious reading through ignorant and sloppy chickenscratches. On the other, making love to an incredibly sexy man. Which would you prefer?” He ran the quill’s feather-end across his mouth and had the pleasure of seeing Snape’s lips part as he watched.
Harry took an essay off the pile, smoothed it. “Just for reference, have you ever given anyone a good grade? I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.” He kept the smile off his face.
Silence. Harry looked at Snape. The man was still staring. “Professor? Are you okay?”
Snape blinked at him. “What?”
Harry grinned. “I’ve shocked you. I didn’t think that was possible.”
Snape flushed, two ragged patches of red below his cheekbones. “You’re out of your mind.”
“For thinking I shocked you, or for wanting to have sex with you?”
“Very amusing, Potter,” Snape said, getting himself under control. “Did you think your body was going to be the price for this potion?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know what the potion’s worth. I also don’t know how high a value you’d put on shagging me.”
“But if you want to ... shag me, as you put it,” Snape said, “it could hardly be considered payment for the potion, could it?”
“You could tie me up and have your way with me,” Harry suggested.
Snape crossed his arms, aplomb restored. “We still seem to be in the realm of your own perverse desires.”
“True.” Harry glanced at the first essay, dipping his quill in the ink. He pretended to be reading. “So how do you feel about that?”
“About what? Tying you up? It does have a certain appeal –”
Harry snorted. “I’ll bet.” He let the end of the quill travel across his lips again, as if accidentally, while he eyed the essay before him.
“You brought it up,” Snape reminded him. “And keep that quill out of your mouth. You don’t know where it’s been.”
Harry groaned. “You’re killing me. Don’t tease me.”
Snape snorted. “Get to work.” He spun about and headed for the laboratory door.
“Severus?”
Snape stopped, turned, clearly anticipating another irksome remark for him to verbally lacerate.
“How do you make your robes billow like that?”
One side of Snape’s mouth twitched upward. “The trick is to extend your elbows.”
Harry boggled.
“Not too much, however, or people can tell you’re doing it.”
Harry blinked, and Snape smiled nastily. “Wearing a cloak well is an art, Mr. – Harry.”
He strode away in a swirl of black drama, proving his point. Harry watched him go and burst into laughter.
