A/N: So sorry for the delay. This chapter was NC-17. I tried to tone it down a bit, but it might still be a bit strong for R, so...
I won't tell the mods, if you don't, k?
Thank you to those who reviewed chapter 6:
Tinkita, Cataclysmic, aradia-malfoy, Helga of Wurm, Klover P, Skysha-Tranqui, Lyla Hayden (sybil is another word for someone who can see the future, and Remus is from an old myth about the founding of Rome. The twins Remus and Romulus (?) were left on a hill to die, but a she-wolf found them and raised them.), Curely Green, and Avain.
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The first thing Harry does is to remove any trace of incense and perfume from Trelawney's old classroom. Then he transfigures the chintz poufs into something more suitable for sitting- black chairs with armrests. He also replaces the pink and blue teacups with ivory ones. Finally he adds light and ventilation.
His first class is an unparalleled disaster. Twenty pairs of eyes are glued to him. Harry feels positively indecent in a tight black shirt with more zippers than could ever be necessary. He briefly wishes that he had worn robes, but they felt uncomfortable after his hiatus from the wizarding world. So he wore dragonhide pants instead. What had he been thinking?
He clears his throat to attract attention, though there really is no need for him to do so. Even the whispered conversations are about him. The class quiets down instantly. He is almost nervous, but he has not spent his life being a hero and a paragon to be afraid of a little admiration now. He perches on the edge of his desk casually, one leg crossed over the other as he looks over the top of his glasses at the charmed seating chart.
"My name is Jonathan S. Scryer. I will be your Divination professor this year." Harry's voice is low, rich, and instantly catalogued in the subconscious of his students to be replayed over again in daydreams and fantasies. A hand goes up. "Yes, Mr.-"Harry scans the seating chart. "Hornby?"
"What does the 'S' stand for?" Harry blinks.
"I beg your pardon?"
"What does the 'S' stand for? Or do you just have a random initial in the middle of your name?" Harry remembers why he doesn't like Slytherin house.
"I fail to see how that's relevant to class," he replies, adjusting his glasses.
"Well, it isn't really, but the sixth years have a bet on it." Hornby, N., as he is listed on Harry's seating chart, flashes Harry a suave smile. Not to be outdone by a student, Harry removes his glasses and looks directly at his student.
"What do you think it means, Mr. Hornby?" Hornby, N.'s pale blue eyes don't turn away from Harry's gaze.
"I don't have an opinion myself, but popular vote says that it stands for 'Sexy Bitch'." There are several gasps from the girls and a few chuckles from the Slytherin boys. Hornby smiles apologetically, but Harry is not placated.
"Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Hornby, for improper language. Besides, 'Sexy Bitch' is two words and would therefore require two initials."
Harry neglects to mention that with the use of a hyphen, it can be made into one word and he reminds himself never to let Hermione name anything ever again. He is convinced that this was her way of repaying him for his two-year absence, but he grits his teeth and bears it. She is doing him a favor, after all.
The results of the first test are miserable.
"You folks need to spend a little more time studying and a little less time staring at my arse," Harry comments as he hands back the test papers. Several students blush deeply.
"Stop tempting us and maybe we'll stop staring," a voice said.
"Mr. Hornby, that was a joke. I don't expect all of you to be staring at my arse." There is a nervous silence as everyone suddenly finds his or her teacups very interesting.
"You mean to tell me that you've all been staring? Without exception?" The crimson blush stealing across some very "straight" boys' faces is all the confirmation Harry needs.
"Well, you've got a very nice arse," said a Slytherin girl whom Harry has privately dubbed "The Ice Queen". He is almost flattered that she would deign to look upon his arse. "Besides, your pants are exquisitely tailored. Where did you get them?"
"Valmont."
"In London?" the Ice Queen purrs.
"Paris," Harry replies.
"You've been to France?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Oui, mademoiselle." She rattles off a sentence in French. Harry rattles off a reply.
"And that, my fellow Slytherins, is how you deduct points in French," Hornby, N. (sometimes called "Son of Satan" by Harry) laughs. He turns to the Ice Queen. "Handcuffs, Anastasia? I wouldn't have thought you were so tame."
"Not all of us share your appreciation for being whipped, Nicholas." /Ouch. 10 points for the Ice Queen/Harry thinks. Nicholas bows.
"Touché, mademoiselle." Anastasia waves her hand dismissively.
"Pas de touche, Nicholas. I was merely stating a fact." Nicholas' smile is deadly.
"Did your fiancé tell you that, Anastasia darling?" Harry knows who the Son of Satan is referring to- a silent seventh year with an impassive face who comes from a very old family. Nicholas pouts. "And he promised me he wouldn't kiss and tell." The Ice Queen shoots Nicholas a look of pure fury. / Set. Match./ Harry thinks, very glad he never went to school with this particular set of Slytherins.
As entertaining as it is to watch the two Slytherins fight for the title of Cattier-Than-Thou, Harry cannot let it continue. Any minute now, they will start hexing each other and that could get very ugly very quickly. He coughs sharply, shooting a glare worthy of Snape at all of his students.
"To bring this conversation back on topic, why are you failing my course?" he inquires.
"We are simply not motivated, Professor, " replies Son of Satan. Harry raises an eyebrow.
"Receiving a passing grade and graduating are not enough motivation?" he asks. Nicholas smirks.
"That would be too much like learning for learning's sake. With that kind of logic you should be head of Ravenclaw house. We are Slytherin; we never do anything unless we can get something out of it." Harry is suddenly aware of a pressing headache. He attributes it to the fact that he feels like a sheep thrown amongst the wolves. He pulls the tie out of his hair. It falls around his face and the sudden release of tension dulls his headache.
"What kind of motivation do you want?" he sighs.
Once he allows himself to be cross-examined by his students and he plays "sharp schoolmaster" for awhile, his students show actual promise. He is pleased, but doesn't think he really has anything to do with their progress. He does his best to give them accurate information but more often then not, he simply exposes them to books he has decided are the most helpful and provides the students with basic tools for the craft.
Occasionally he surprises himself by predicting a minor occurrence, like the disappearance of Ashleigh Bancroft's cat, the collapse of the top floor of the Astronomy Tower, and Nicholas Hornby's advances on him. But anyone with eyes could see that coming…well, probably not because anyone with eyes is staring at Harry during the lesson and completely oblivious to anything else.
Nicholas is attractive; Harry won't deny that. Nicholas is also rich, arrogant, uncannily collected, and blond. The irony of the situation is not lost on Harry, who does his best to discourage his pupil. He tries "I'm too old for you", "I am your teacher", and "It's unethical." Nicholas responds, "You're only four years older than me", "I'm well aware of that", and "I don't care. I want you."
Harry is so over Slytherin tenacity.
He is very aware that he is just a conquest to Mr. Hornby, who is the biggest rake Hogwarts has seen in several years. Harry would feel bad about using that exact term, but if the shoe fits, the duck quacks, and the bell tolls, then why not? The boy can play the tart like no one's business. Nicholas has no morals, just standards: anything that is beautiful and in some way unattainable is automatically worthy of dogged pursuit. It is positively indecent and Harry wants no part of it. Despite Nicholas' repeated attempts, Harry successfully evades him for months.
Until he has another dream.
It does not take him long to find Nicholas. Nicholas' smile is almost diabolical when he sees Harry and he kisses his professor greedily. It has been a long time since Harry's last kiss. He is slow to react, but eventually responds, fingers entwining in Nicholas' hair, yanking his head back, his mouth trailing kisses down the boy's neck, sucking hard. The boy gasps when Harry reaches his collarbone. Harry's free arm snakes around Nicholas' waist, pulling him closer.
It is a delicious sensation to have something so warm, soft, and positively eager in his arms. Nicholas's willingness does nothing to abate Harry's hunger. It makes it unbearable- the need to have more, to forget, to hear Nicholas' cool, mellow voice raised to a desperate pitch, to break the boy's composure.
His hands follow the lines of Nicholas' body, his lips never far behind. Nicholas begs and when Harry doesn't respond, Nicholas begs in French, and when that doesn't work, he abandons sentences altogether, creating a litany Harry understands perfectly. Harry's smile is twisted. He slides into Nicholas so easily it should be a crime and probably is. Nicholas moans- a sound Harry finds intriguing. He is determined to make Nicholas do it again. He moves inside Nicholas, closing his eyes. The blonde is so hot, so smooth, and Harry's mind is blissfully blank of everything except this moment and the boy beneath him. A ragged gasp captures Harry's attention. Harry echoes his movements. Nicholas gasps again, his eyes rolling back as he lets out a low moan. Harry is enthralled, finding it impossible to take his eyes off Nicholas, impossible not to stare at him in pure awe. He leans forward and captures Nicholas' lips. A pair of arms wraps around his neck and Nicholas pushes his hips against Harry, forcing Harry deeper. Harry's breath catches in his throat. He pushes back and Nicholas moans again, clenching around Harry. Harry discovers that Nicholas is a screamer. Harry chuckles as he reaches his own orgasm. He closes his eyes, waits for his breathing to return to normal.
It is positively unhealthy how fast Harry can begin to hate himself. He goes from sexual predator to repentant sinner in 2.6 seconds./Damn Lucius/ he muses. /This is his fault for not being here./ Of course, the more rational part his mind demands to know how Lucius' absence could be responsible for Harry's earlier lust-driven actions. That part of his mind coyly asks how Lucius would have prevented the problem. Harry quickly recognizes the danger in that question, bites his lip, and doesn't answer.
He promises himself that this will be the only time.
However, he overestimates himself. He is not the choirboy he once pretended to be. These days, he can't even produce a flimsy imitation. He takes Nicholas wherever he can find him- in hallways, disused classrooms, his own classroom, the Slytherin dorms. There is a rumor circulating that Nicholas has given up his other relationships. The very idea makes Harry smile in a way that would have shocked his friends. He is not surprised. It was on his suggestion that Nicholas dropped his other lovers. He really doesn't need them anymore. Every time Nicholas has a desire, Harry is there. Besides, Harry really doesn't like to share his toys.
It is three months into their tryst before Harry starts experience real guilt- the debilitating kind. They are in a hallway. Harry is on his knees, sucking off his young paramour. He watches Nicholas intently, watches his breathing, the flash of his eyes beneath the curtain of hair that has fallen in front of his face. Nicholas screams as Harry brings him to orgasm.
Harry rises, catching the Slytherin around the waist before his knees give away. Nicholas shifts, bringing his lips to Harry's and kissing him fervently. Harry pushes back his hair and sees something in Nicholas' eyes that he was certainly never meant to see. It disappears quickly. "You're still-"Nicholas began, reaching between them.
"Don't worry about it, "Harry murmurs, trying to bury his feelings. He will worry about them later. Nicholas is persistent.
"Mmm, but I want to. Let me take care of it, Jonathan." Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas undoes the fastenings to Harry's pants. He pushes them down along with Harry's underclothes and drops to his knees. "Shall we do it this way?" he asks. Harry is silent, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him. Nicholas interprets his silence as lack of interest. The boy stands. "Or would you prefer to fuck me?" he asks, a small smile playing at the corners pf his mouth.
"Such language, Mr. Hornby," Harry chuckles. "I should take points away from Slytherin house for such vulgarity and a decided lack of originality." His arms wrap around Nicholas and the boy shudders. Harry lowers his voice for effect. "But then again, sometimes there is something to be said for the tried and true."
Afterwards he leaves Nicholas quickly, avoiding the hurt and confused look that crossed the boy's face upon Harry's abrupt departure. Harry locks the door to his room, cursing himself, wishing he could forget what he saw in Nicholas' eyes. Then he wouldn't have to hate himself for not noticing it sooner, for continuing to use the boy as a convenient way to forget about his problems. But it's too late for that now because Nicholas loves him and the truth is that when Harry comes, the blonde he's thinking of isn't always Nicholas.
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Tsk...Harry's not being very good in this fic is he? Chapter 8 will be coming to a website near year soon, but meanwhile, please reveiw. Comments, criticism, suggestions, bribes, threats- all welcome!
Love,
J. Silver