On the following Thursday he once again said goodbye to Hermione and descended to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. Now he knew for a fact hiding under the Invisibility Cloak was the right thing to do.
Harry stood outside the door for a long time.
During this last week Snape did not give any indication they were meeting for private lessons. If anything, he stopped looking at him as much. The week went by as normal except Harry thought about the lesson frequently, going over it and over again in his mind, especially at night. And here he was in front of the door, late again, still thinking it over. Yes, he made his decision about going forward, but he didn't trust himself with that decision.
Just another inappropriate mentorship with another teacher. No, not JUST another inappropriate mentorship with a teacher- but an inappropriate mentorship with Snape. Severus Snape. He raised a fist to knock.
Snape opened the door himself, forcing Harry to pass closely to enter, eyes following him. Harry watched him closely too- the closing of the door, locking… adding the wards. Privacy, yes, they needed that after all.
They went to the back room together, Snape veering off into the kitchen. Harry was unsure what the proper etiquette was now that they had some sort of… loose understanding. Yes, I consent to hurt you with your permission. Yes, I consent to this level of intimacy with a teacher… again. He wasn't sure how to act so he sat on the couch with his hands in his lap and waited for tea.
Again, from the kitchen, he was being studied... looked over. Perhaps Snape didn't think he was going to show up tonight. And the tea came. They sat together, Harry's eyes glazed over and tapping his wand on his leg. Who's going to speak first?
"So… uhhh… how did I do last week?"
"How do you think you did?"
"Solid 'O' I think. One-on-one lessons, they're easier."
Snape did not correct him, waiting.
"So… uh. Today's lesson… what are we doing this week?" He wasn't actually ready for any of this, but his spine tickled, feeling the anticipation and… danger… and it felt…
It felt alright…and that made him feel unsure.
Snape waited until Harry looked at him, contemplating him… "A refresher, I think." Again, Snape's cloak dropped by magic, but there were no robes underneath this time- just his perfect white shirt waiting underneath.
"Did you practice this week? Let me guess…" He rolled up his arm sleeve.
Harry's mouth dropped a little. He didn't practice at all. "I thought… I thought I'd practice here sir." Yes, that felt like the right answer.
"Interesting choice…" came a taunting whisper.
Snape offered Harry his arm politely as McGonagall offered him biscuits. Harry took it, taking out his wand, getting in closer… steadying.
"You've had a week, you should be able to perform these completely nonverbally, and without shaking like a leaf."
"I wasn't shaking like a leaf," Harry grumbled, adjusting, getting in close to work. "…Sir?"
"Yes, Potter?"
"… If… I'm actually hurting you, would you let me know?"
Harry studied his response carefully but it was a worthless try. Snape's mask twisted into a thin-lipped smile. "That won't be an issue…"
"…Right." Harry took a deep breath. But before he started, he noticed the thin faint lines, barely visible. "They didn't heal all the way," he said, disappointed. He didn't want to leave marks, he thought he did a decent job last week.
"Who cares?" Snape said, unperturbed by the marking of his body.
"These won't scar, will they?"
"Doubt it." He seemed annoyed by his concern. Pulling out his own wand, he redirected Harry to the task at hand. "Move the wand with your arm, not with your wrist- you'll get a cleaner cut and have more control."
"Right." Harry started slow, cutting between the old faint lines. The first few cuts were not his best but by the second set they were clean and neat.
"You're mouthing, Potter."
"…Oh, right…" and he tried harder to be nonverbal.
After a set of 10, Harry readjusted to heal them, but a hand stopped him. "10 more- heal them afterwards."
Harry did the 20, all down the arm. This was starting to feel like an actual lesson. The inappropriate aspect of it faded as he focused on the task, and because there was room on the arm, he did 5 more. Working from the bottom, he healed.
"Stop rushing. No one is dying- go slower. FOCUS your magic, I don't mind mistakes, but the next person might."
And Harry went slower.
"Still too fast. Count. Spend 15 seconds on each."
10 seconds seemed like more than enough. And when he didn't do as asked, Snape started to count for him.
"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine- too fast. Slow down. Again."
"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen -better."
And when Harry finally got to the top, he was doing 20 seconds per line, and couldn't see the lines at all. He held the healed arm and actually smiled. This genuine look of delight seemed to shock Snape who was not ready for any show of happiness. "Pretty good!" Harry bragged.
"I don't think so, Potter." Snape took his arm back and drank some tea, setting the cup down, delving right back into lecture mode.
"Burns. Burns are harder. This is a useful spell, also can be used to light cigars if you're rubbing elbows at your parties."
"I don't get it." Harry's voice rose, suddenly stern. "I enjoy parties just as much as you do, and that's not very much. Can't stand them. Why do you keep insisting that I do? Don't you know me better by now?"
Snape sat there thoughtful. "You hide it better, I suppose. We know our roles. NOW. 'Ignire.' Simple. Makes the wand tip hot enough to burn, to…"
"Oh! I know that spell."
"I hope you know that spell, you're in seventh year. Do five burns- same spot." He pointed his finger at his bicep. "And when you're ready to heal them, it's a several step process. Go light on the first few and then experiment with deepness."
"Ignire."
"-Nonverbally."
"Just let me say it on the first set, so I can get the hang of it."
Snape's skin singed and burned. "Keep your wand tip away, make that one light. Burn through the skin on the next one."
Harry did as he was told.
"Deeper," he instructed.
So he did.
"Deeper."
And he did.
"Five seconds. Let it burn. One." Harry singed the skin, holding... "Two. Three." He was nervous, seeing the smoke. "Four. Five… -done. Next one- but go slower... Do six."
Harry forgot to breathe. Again, the skin burned and singed, and he counted in his head... and although Snape looked calm, the arm he was holding started to tremble slightly. Harry's first instinct was to stop but knew he would be told off if he did.
"Good?" Harry asked, starting to sweat from the pressure of having to burn someone.
Snape inspected his arm. "Fine." He sat up straight, pointing at each burn in turn. "Healing this first one is easy: simple healing spell or use dittany- only skin damage. Second one broke through all the layers of the skin, we will close that one with Sarcio. This one is worse- the muscle tissue damaged. We will attempt to regrow and then heal it as cleanly as we can. These last two, see where the tissue is black? Step one: the dead tissue will be removed. Step two: regrow it. Step 3: seal the wound closed. This one will scar if the scar reduction spell is not used: Adtenuo. With all healing spells, the incantations alone are never enough- you must have intent to heal and sooth another. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said. Snape smiled, like the respect Harry was finally showing him was satisfactory.
After 5 agonizing sets of burn healing and scar reduction, none of the spells difficult, he was able to close all the burns successfully. It was easy, really. Clean, heal, reduce. Clean, heal, reduce. Simple. They should teach this at Hogwarts. But then he remembered the disaster of Dueling Club... No, this should be taught one-on-one.
"Do a set of 10. First one fast, next one slow. Mix it up. Nonverbally. Some shallow… some deep." Snape whispered these instructions casually but…
Harry knew.
He suspected from last lesson.
One burn after the other… watching Snape's even face watch him perform, but… he could see the vein in his neck throb. He knew. Snape enjoyed this. He didn't mind pain at all. And… and Harry signed up for this, didn't he? Harry burned him fast… and then slow. Fast… and slow… as requested. And he made the last one rather deep, eight seconds, and looked at Snape while he did it. Is this what you want?
"Yessss…" Snape took his arm back, looking at it, breathing softly. "Gooood… now…" He gave it back. "Go on…" Harry burned him again.
Not very subtle, Professor.
He got very close and healed the 10, thinking about the predicament he was in.
"Sloppy."
"Sorry, I was thinking."
"About what?"
"Burning you worse," he admitted.
"Be my guest, but it won't help you on your C.H.A.R.M.S."
"No, I guess it wouldn't." Harry was so deep in thought and did such a bad job he had to go over the burns twice, finishing each one with the scar reduction spell.
After this set he had to stop to collect himself. Harry reached for the tea and drank just to buy time. The arm looked like those burns would scar if Snape didn't go over them himself, but at least the wounds were closed, looking weeks old. Grabbing the arm, he started again.
Snape's eyes moved slowly from the arm being burned up to Harry's face. Are you enjoying this? He burned him and healed him over and over, trying to summon feelings of objection, but only a mixture of jumbled thoughts arrived. When should he stop? After the 12th burn, he wavered and put his wand arm down, still holding Snape's arm. He was not imagining things. He was in Snape's private quarters, which were Lupin's old private quarters, cutting open the deputy headmaster's arm and healing it. AND he was reading the Prince's book again. The tension in the air held thick and they both stayed still.
"Is something the matter, Potter?" Snape asked like he already knew the answer.
"Uhhh…" was all that he could muster. "No." He shrugged it out casually and honestly, turning his gaze back to Snape.
Snape raised an eyebrow. Are you sure about that?
The weird thing was… everything was fine. Harry drank the tea again to stall for time and then grabbed the arm to finish this last set. How many burns did he do so far? And although he should do them lighter just to annoy him, he wanted to do them deeper to hurt him- to punish him for this weird situation he cornered him into. But he might like that, wouldn't he? But he did it anyway, burning him deeper and deeper, maintaining the eye contact Snape was so persistent in testing him with, daring him to enjoy this one or that one because he was being rather obvious about this by now. And with each deep burn, Harry's heart raced faster, feeling the damage he was doing.
But Snape didn't utter a sound. In fact, he smiled. Harry stared. He healed them slowly, trying to take a minute on each, trying to make sure they healed, but his brain was rather distracted, and when he was done the arm looked butchered like someone stabbed him over and over with a quill.
"I'm… sorry," Harry said, seeing the damage, wondering what this dare would cost him.
"For what?" Snape breathed.
The room sounded cavernous and empty and every noise amplified: the sound of burning skin, every adjustment, every rustle of fabric... and he also noticed how very close he was to him, sitting like this for almost an hour, holding a Death Eater's arm, burning him respectfully and then disrespectfully.
He did five small light ones.
"Again."
Three deep ones.
"Again."
Four light ones.
"Again."
One VERY deep one.
"Ssssss…"and Snape finally let out a small sigh of pain. Harry immediately stopped and almost apologized, but their eyes met and he knew there was no need for an apology.
And it was over. Snape accompanied him all the way to the classroom door, seeing him out. They didn't even say goodbye- just a final look that lingered as he left, the door closing slowly as he went.
On the way back to the Room of Requirement Harry's stomach prickled. His body felt both electric and jittery, like when he flew on a broomstick for the very first time. He knew there was something wrong with him, there just had to be. He was touching Snape's arm, opening him, hurting him, gently sealing the wound and doing it over and over. Snape's eye contact lay over him like a blanket, the eyes watching his every movement as they sat together silently. They could have been snogging for how inappropriate it felt.
Practical lesson though.
Harry wasn't stupid. Snape, although subtle in many ways, did not make excuses for this grand show of dubious behavior. There was something being offered there. It was 'Snape's turn' to be part of Harry's life, 'Snape's turn' now that all the cards were on the table. That offer though…
Although nothing was said nothing had to be said. With Snape's level of eye contact he did not need Legilimens to gather the gist of his thoughts. And while this knowledge was ringing every single one of his alarm bells, the thought of continuing their lessons… well, he didn't feel the automatic reaction of 'gross' he expected to have.Why did it not feel absolutely disgusting and reckless to do this?
From the moment Harry heard that Snape was in St. Mungo's he accepted there was going to be… a complicated… relationship there. So… this was it. Harry was just surprised to see how complicated Snape's idea of a relationship was.
Continuing was against all his logic. Logic that he conjured up immediately, SCREAMING on his behalf. But that small voice said… this was just on brand for you, isn't it? Starting with his Aunt and Uncle, Hagrid's love of dangerous creatures, private lessons with Lupin, and then his outlaw Godfather pushing him to break rules, the fake Moody performing Unforgivables on him, detentions with Umbridge… and last year… finding out he was a Horcrux and Dumbledore never even told him. And they were all dead, well, most of them anyway. These private intimate medical lessons couldn't be too far off the mark for 'Harry Potter.' This was just another teacher he got too close too, wasn't it? Twisted, yes, but no more twisted than watching Dumbledore screaming, reliving his worst memories in an underground cave of dead bodies waiting to drag them away.
Snape though…
But what he didn't understand was why he was considering it. WHY was he CONSIDERING it? Out of all the people in the world, why was he in Snape's private quarters after dark, cutting him open?
Lying awake in his oversized reclining chair, he stared open eyed at the ceiling, reliving the lesson... breathing... feeling an electric charge.
