The Boy Who Lived A Bit [Snarry]

Chapter Eight

'Can't get 'em to mate, can I? Male just dun' wanna know. Won't mount, ye see. Tried ev'rything, I 'ave. Short o'showing 'im how it's done meself.'

The glassware on the staff table rattled as Hagrid's enormous bulk shook with laughter. Beside the half giant, Madam Hooch threw her silver head back and guffawed right along with him.

Snape sliced his scrambled eggs into ribbons and tried to think of something besides sex. A glance at his breakfasting Slytherins didn't help matters – at least three different couples on that table were barely managing to keep their hands to themselves and one particularly precocious third-year was flagrantly reading The Story Of O while eating a sausage.

Merlin's balls, the entire world was conspiring against him!

He shifted slightly in his seat. He hadn't been joking when he'd warned Harry about dining chairs. Sixteen years between incidences of this particular pain. What the fuck was he playing at? Sixteen years ago, he'd stood for an entire early morning double Potions class due to having been fucked senseless until daybreak. He'd never handed out so many detentions as he had that morning, despising the children's hateful ability to be just so fucking innocent in front of him. It had never really occurred to him until that day that they – children, the generation after generation of them that passed through these halls –were all going to be defiled one day, that their innocence would be lost or stolen, that each one of them, every wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked, lisping last one of them would one day be fucking or fucked. He'd shut himself in his laboratory and puked into the basin after that class, telling himself it was just the hangover he was nursing, but knowing deep down that he was not cut out to be a carer of the young. Not as he was, at any rate. He couldn't keep walking into a class full of eleven-year-olds and look any one of them in the eye when he had a gut full of spunk and an arse that had had a tongue in it mere hours before. Quitting his job was not an option. He needed to be here, under Albus' protection, on hand to do Albus' bidding and besides, where else would he have gone just then, with the Ministry's file on him still in the Pending tray, so to speak? The only sex in Snape's life since then had been either of the solitary variety or that which occurred as a natural consequence of his double agenting activities. Neither, it barely needed noting, had been particularly satisfactory.

And now this. Now Harry. Who had once been one of those hatefully fucking innocent eleven-year-olds for whom he had kept himself largely celibate. Harry, who still retained enough of that innocence to enjoy the "naughtiness"of being shagged by his ex-Potions Master.

Snape's mouth went dry. What. The fuck. Was he playing at?

* * *

'Miss Artis, do you really think your cauldron should be spewing foam into my classroom right now?'

'N-no, sir.'

'Then kindly do something about it. There are any number of ingredients on the desk in front of you that will halt that reaction immediately. You have only to make up your mind about at least ONE of them.'

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.'

Snape waved a hand dismissively and returned his attention to marking the essay he was reading.