The Wicked Week

Chapter Three: Yell Help, Wednesday Night

Harry awoke from dreams of dark robes, long arms stroking him in a frenzy, fiery kisses, and seductive velvety whispers.

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The day passed faster than the one before. He could barely remember breakfast or anything not Snape for that matter. All of his classes passed by in a blur of colour and sound. Soon it came time for his last class of the day. Hypnotized, possessed, Harry slogged down the hallway after Ron and Hermione. The feelings of his dreams grew stronger with every step towards the large oak doors. He wanted it-him. He hated it. He wanted to run... into his arms...away...from...him.

Merlin! I can't get away from him!

Potions. He had to have potions. With Snape.

In the very classroom in which he had stood naked, well close to it, and... Harry slapped himself mentally.

He couldn't believe how careless he was being! He knew his face, his body were giving him away by the devilish twist to the former Death Eater's lips. Careful to avoid his professor's eyes, Harry slinked to his table, sat, and shivered at the sound of Snape's voice.

"Today we will be brewing the Amortentia. Can anyone tell me what that is?"

As usual, Hermione's hand shot up.

"No one? The Amortentia is one of the most powerful love potions to exist. Does anyone know what a successful potion result would look like?"

Hermione practically flew out of her chair as she raised her hand again.

"Really? No one?" the man sighed.

"You will know that you have indeed brewed a successful potion by the mother-of-pearl sheen and spiral shaped steam rising from your cauldron. As a general rule, love potions are not permitted at Hogwarts, but I thought it would make a nice change to do something... a bit wicked."

Harry bit his lower lip, attempting to muffle his moan.

"Something that is normally forbidden."

'Forbidden' cause him to clench his hands together. He knew what Snape was doing, but he couldn't believe it!

He is...he is trying to get a rise out of class! Oh gods! That hook nosed bastard!

"I have been known to provide my students a with a most pleasurable experience, though they have been rare occasions indeed."

Harry felt hot. He could only imagine the things that man could do to give his students a "pleasurable experience". Wrapping his arms around his torso, The Boy-Who-Lived looked around the class. Bewildered eyes stared at the Potions Professor. Snape never wanted them to have fun. Ever.

Was anyone but him getting the innuendo? Was it just him? Was it all in his head?

"Anyone attempting to remove their potion from this class will receive a Troll in this class and will most likely be expelled. Am I understood? Potter?"

Startled, Harry softly answered, "Yes, Professor."

Their eyes locked. Snape's obsidian orbs filled with mischief. Harry knew that look. That look caused him to lose his clothing last night. He could only wonder what it meant for tonight's detention.

"Begin."

...

"Time. Please place a sample of your potion in the basket." With a wave of his wand the once bubbling cauldrons became empty.

"Potter, to my desk."

Sighing, Harry knew he was in for it now. Snape was a Master at this game. He had left Harry in shambles all class period, wondering if the man would make another move. Like a spider caught in a web, Snape had him by the balls.

"Oh rotten luck mate. See ya back in the common room?" Ron inquired with sympathy.

"Yeah," came Harry's weak sounding voice.

Hermione trained her hawk-like gaze onto him. "Hmm. Yes Harry. See you back in the common room."

Harry knew this was getting tricky. 'Mione was as sharp as a razor. She could sense the difference in him- his body language was screaming tells left and right. He was going to have to be more careful around her when he was with Snape.

With the last of his classmates gone, Harry slowly made his way towards his tormentor's desk.

"Closer boy."

Obliging, Harry took a step forward.

"Closer."

Another step.

"Closer," he whispered darkly.

Harry found himself practically in the man's lap.

"Look at me. Now, what time will you be here this evening?"

"8 o'clock sharp, sir." Harry remembered. He wasn't going to be late tonight. No way. Who knows how Snape would punish him!

"Yes," murmured an amused voice. "And what will be in your possession?"

Harry desperately wanted to look anywhere but into Snape's eyes. He was too close. His senses were bombarded with all things Potion Master.

Harry gasped, "My essay on punctuality."

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"Yes. I expect you to come on time...with the essay in hand. Otherwise...well let's say that I have thought of some creative ways to punish you if you don't."

A whimper escaped, before Harry could suppress it. A dangerous glint flashed through Snape's eyes. With his wand, the former Death Eater locked the door.

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"See you tonight."

As soon as Snape dismissed him, Harry ran.

Harry couldn't remember being more frustrated.

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It was cruel, just cruel, and he knew Snape loved every minute of it. Giving himself a mental cold shower, Harry headed off to the common room before supper.

The evening meal past quickly. Snape was nowhere to be seen, which relieved and worried The Chosen One a bit. Pushing that niggling thought away, Harry sat down to write his punctuality essay after dinner. He was determined not to repeat his performance this evening. He had to finish it. But reading the definition pulled him off track, again.

Punc·tu·al

adj \ˈpəŋk-chə-wəl, -chəl\

Definition- being on time

Examples : Thepunctual delivery of the daily post

Origin : Middle English, having a sharp point, from Medieval Latin punctualis of a point, from Latin punctus pricking, point, from pungereto prick. First Known Use: 1675

Synonyms: immediate, prompt, speedy, timely

Antonyms: belated, late, tardy

Harry stared at the definition before him. It started off well. Punctual, meaning being on time. He could copy that down fine with out getting distracted. Next came the example. He didn't need to use that exact example in his essay to Snape, so he skipped over it. Origin...blah blah blah... sharp point...blah blah blah of a point...pricking

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"Oy! Mate. You feelin' sick or something? You're moaning."

He blushed from head to foot at his slip up. Harry murmured, "Ah...yeah Ron. Guess I ate too much at supper."

Ron chuckled, "I don't know how you can eat too much Harry. You're all sticks and bones! Mum's gonna yell at you next time she sees ya. She's always after me to fatten you up."

While Harry loved his best mate, sometimes the boy was completely oblivious. And for that he was truly grateful. Hermione, on the other hand, was another story entirely. She wasn't fooled in the slightest. Harry avoided her searching gaze and dove back into his essay.

Burying himself back into the work, he managed just fine for about a half hour. Then slowly, he was seduced back into his musings.

I know he was just trying to humiliate me.

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An authoritative voice yanked him out of his daydream once more. "Harry, it's 7 o'clock! You don't have that essay for Snape done yet! You don't want to be late again do you?"

"No 'Mione. I know, I know, I know. I mean..WHAT? How did you know I was late?"

With an exasperated huff Hermione tartly replied, "It's obvious you were late Harry. You wouldn't be attempting to write an essay on punctuality if you hadn't been."

"Ahh. Yeah. Right. Umm..I'll just get back to it. Thanks 'Mione." With a heavy sigh Harry turned back to complete his task.

"What's wrong with you?" Hermione asked.

Stammering, Harry tried to reinforce his pathetic lie," Umm..I..I told you. Ate too much."

"I don't believe that for a second. You've been acting peculiar all day. Head in the clouds. I mean, Potions was the worst. Though that class in general was odd today," the Muggle-born girl mused.

Desperate to craft a plausible excuse to throw Hermione off the trail, Harry replied, " I've...I ...I...I.." Failing to find something good, Harry snatched his belongings and bolted from the room.

"Harry! Where are you going? Harry!"

At 8 o'clock Harry was sitting in the front row of the potions room, completed essay laying flat on the tabletop. After running away from Hermione like she was Fluffy, Harry had sat in the astronomy tower and finished his essay.

A sickening feeling settled over him.

This thing with us. It's...not right.

The more he thought about it, the more wrong this whole thing between him and Snape was. This twisted sexual game they were playing had to stop. He could barely focus on anything. All he could do is drool after the man.

This is wrong. It's...it's creepy. I mean he's old enough to be my father. He's my teacher! It's just...It's just...

"Good evening Mr. Potter. I see you actually finished the essay and are on time."

Harry jumped.

Grr! Why does he always do that?

"Good evening Professor. Yes, I did and I am."

Something was different about Snape tonight. The normally smug and severe man that he had come to expect was nowhere to be found. In his place an almost, apologetic man stood before him. It unnerved him to see such a drastic change in demeanor from this afternoon.

Clearing his throat, Harry resolved to end this, whatever it was between them, and get back to normal. It was time to go back to hating each other.

"Professor. This has to stop. You're my teacher and I'm your student. It's not right to do...ya know...whatever this is."

He had no idea how he had managed to say that out loud, but he was glad it all came out well. At least he hoped it had. This was the right this to do, he sure of it.

"Eloquent as always Potter," quipped Snape. "Fortunately for you, you are correct. This needs to stop. I have crossed over a line. For that I apologize. I should never have exposed myself to you like I did this afternoon. I hope we can shake hands and forget this ever happened. Your detentions will go back to being normal, regular ones."

Harry blinked.

Did he just apologize? Well...damn.

"Uh. No biggie. Sure."

Hesitantly, Harry crossed over to Snape who was standing near his front desk. The two raven-haired men shook hands. Harry knew he was in deep trouble the second they touched. The electric current that ran between them was amazingly powerful. Harry couldn't let go. He just kept touching. Rubbing his thumb over the man's knuckles.

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Yell Help, Wednesday Night is in reference to a song medley by Elton John.