A Question of Etiquette XI:
Methods of Learning
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Harry's meeting with Snape and Dumbledore had been less mortifying than he'd feared, mostly about schedules and educational goals, with the only mention of his "special lessons" an assurance that those were also regularly scheduled. And for all that he'd spent much of his time since learning of the Order's existence imagining their meetings, he found the reality quite boring. He couldn't help but fidget in his seat, tapping his toes against each other, playing with the hem of his new shirt, shifting his hips to accommodate the constantly changing state of his cock, never less than mostly soft or more than mostly hard. His mind kept straying from all the boring adult business to his future adult business with the twins, his second real lesson where hopefully they'd teach him more about those mouth things.

He still couldn't believe that George had actually licked him back there, but it had felt so good! He was so distracted with these thoughts that it caught him by surprise when the meeting began to break up, people splintering into smaller groups to talk about their assignments, or coming by to give him a pat on the shoulder and wish him good luck with his summer lessons. He'd got a fair amount of sympathy when everyone learned he was to get special tutoring from Snape, though he kept his hands firmly in his lap while he looked up at all the familiar faces with something like appropriate woe. Finally, everyone had gone, and he was left alone in the room with the twins and a rather persistent erection.

"So," said George, coming up behind him to sling a casual arm across the back of his chair, squatting down so their heads were nearly level, "ready for that lesson?"

Harry was about to give an enthusiastic 'yes' when his stomach gave a loud growl, and they both laughed. "After dinner?" he said sheepishly.

George gave him a kiss and a grin and said, "Right, need to keep your energy up."

Harry, predictably, blushed. Which was of course when Snape walked back into the room, accompanied as usual by a whole host of inappropriate thoughts crowding into Harry's brain. "Did you need me to help cook, sir?" Harry asked, keeping his hands discreetly in his lap even though he had a feeling no one was really fooled.

"No, the house elves that the headmaster has been so kind as to lend the household took it upon themselves to make our evening meal," he said, a corner of his mouth twitching as though he wanted to smile or frown or maybe grimace in distaste, but his expression remained impassive.

"All right. Er, now?" said Harry, feeling the awkward boy again after dealing with the Order and all those people with their strange expectations. He'd almost forgot how everyone else viewed him, as some young saviour who was supposed to make everything all right, once he grew up a bit more. It was a strange sort of stereotype, much like the mental box they all shoved Snape into, though Snape did little to disabuse them of it and a lot to reinforce it by being disagreeable and cold to everyone foolish enough to approach him.

Harry shook himself out of his reverie, aware that Snape had said something vaguely affirmative before heading off into the kitchen with Fred. Harry got up to follow, George trailing along behind. "How did you and Fred end up seeing past Snape's..." Harry trailed off, not sure what word to fill in.

"Charming exterior?" said George with a snicker. "He gave us the abbreviated version of the lessons, and honestly, we've always had a pretty good sense of who really loathed us, and who secretly admired all the pranks we pulled." George paused at the door to steal another kiss and whisper, "He used to ask us about our inventions during detention. I think he was secretly proud that we learned all that stuff about potions from him just so we could make Nosebleed Nougats."

Harry laughed and followed George inside, to find Fred sitting with Snape, Kingsley, and Mundungus Fletcher, who never missed a free meal if he could help it. Harry sat awkwardly, bracketed by the twins and across from Kingsley's friendly, curious face. "Worried about your summer lessons, there, Harry?" Kingsley asked, taking a swig of whatever was in his goblet and smiling in what Harry supposed he thought was a disarming manner.

As far as Harry was concerned, Kingsley radiated the sort of authority you hoped never to run afoul of, and his attention always made Harry feel vaguely naughty. "Not really, sir. Sn... Professor Snape is a very good teacher, when he wants to be," he mumbled, serving himself without really paying attention to what was going on his plate.

"So he is," said Kingsley, sounding a bit more dubious than Harry thought was strictly polite.

Harry wanted to protest that Snape was really quite nice when you got to know him, but he was well aware that which Snape you got to know depended highly on how Snape felt about you to begin with. He'd spent years thinking Snape despised him, and been contradicted in the course of just a few surreal evenings until his whole life was turned upside-down by this new, desirable, needful Snape. So Harry kept his mouth shut; instead he stabbed his food with his fork and found himself with a mouthful of stewed cabbage, which he gamely tried to pretend he'd intended to eat all along.

He washed it down with a big swig of pumpkin juice and tried to pretend that Fred wasn't trying to get Dung to acquire some illegal ingredients for their next big idea, or that George wasn't stroking his hand up Harry's thigh in a very distracting manner. "Are you, um, looking forward to your mission, sir?" Harry asked, getting a bit of kidney pie this time and hoping he'd remembered right, that Kingsley had been assigned something and that was why he'd stuck around.

"Yes, it's good to be active in the effort again," said Kingsley, tucking his own food away with evident gusto. Kingsley launched into an explanation that Harry could easily ignore, so long as he made the right noises at regular intervals and kept eating his dinner, avoiding the pile of cabbage he'd poked off to one edge of the plate.

After a few minutes of this, George reached past Harry for a roll and whispered, "I want to watch you suck Fred's cock."

Harry flushed bright red, hiding his reaction in a few gulps of pumpkin juice, and shovelling his food a bit faster after that. Snape caught his gaze a few moments later, something glinting in the depths of those black eyes that let Harry know that Snape was quite aware of Harry's predicament. Harry nearly gasped aloud when Fred's hand joined George's in groping him, the large, warm fingers cupping his cock while Fred gestured with a fork in the other hand, seemingly intent on talking to Mundungus the whole while. "I'll get you for that later," Harry murmured to George, snagging the salt as an excuse to lean in close and spreading his legs anyway.

George just chuckled and finished the last of his drink, then gave Harry's thigh a quick squeeze before his hand made a reappearance above the table which Snape noted, and Kingsley chattered on through. "Is there any pudding?" George asked, looking around to see if the house elves were lingering nearby.

"Dobby is making cream cakes for the masters, now that he's got help!" said an enthusiastic voice from behind them. Everyone turned to see Dobby standing there with an enormous tray of the cakes, balanced precariously on his spindly arms. There were a good two dozen small cakes on it, each one bursting with cream filling and covered in sticky frosting, with a single, perfect cherry on top. "Would young master Weasley be wanting his now?"

George smirked and exchanged one of those meaning-filled glances with Fred. "I think Fred and I will take ours in our room, if that's all right? Perhaps an extra for later?"

"Dobby is making plenty of extras! The young masters is having as much pudding as they like." He disappeared with a crack, and when he reappeared the tray looked a bit lighter, making Harry wonder just how many cakes had got left upstairs.

Kingsley had stopped talking with the arrival of the pudding, so Harry gave up on his own dinner, figuring no one would notice if he left the cabbage hidden under his serviette. Well, no one but Snape, who was watching him like a hawk, with that same steady gaze that Harry had always mistakenly thought was hate, but now knew held many more, far different things. "I think I'd like to go rest up, for lessons tomorrow, if that's all right?" he said, cursing himself for the utterly lame excuse.

"You do need to get plenty of rest, Mr. Potter," said Snape sardonically, the innuendo so oblique that only those involved got it. And only Harry was immature enough to let it put a flush on his cheeks and regret that his shirts were no longer big enough to cover his embarrassing problem, with everyone in the room looking expectantly at him.

"Oi, George, d'you have any of the new fireworks on you? Dung was wanting to see the new line, the adult ones," said Fred, and Harry made a swift, grateful exit as all heads but Snape's turned to watch George pull out a suspiciously-shaped cracker.

"We made it like this, so you don't need fire, see, you just give it a quick pull and the sparks come out the end, and turn..." George's voice faded out as Harry climbed the stairs, wondering if he should go bathe, or wait in his own room, or go explore the cakes left in Fred and George's, or just give up and actually go to sleep, as the twins seemed like they might be occupied for awhile with their diversion.

Harry needn't have worried; Dobby arrived moments after he reached his room, with a quick-scribbled note from Fred telling him to have a shower and come to the twins' room after. It also promised that, next weekend, they'd bathe him for part of his lesson, and those thoughts kept him hard and ready through his rushed ablutions. He was tempted to have a wank and take the edge off, but he knew it was that edge he had to learn to ride, the one practical reason why Snape and Dumbledore were putting up with him having a sex life at all.

He was nearly desperate by the time he got out of the shower and slid his still-damp body into warm flannel pyjamas, not bothering to button the top or try to hide the huge tent his prick was making of the front. He padded barefoot out the door and into the next room, where Fred and George had been installed for the summer. It was still sadly empty, so he decided to be a little bit naughty. His skin shivered with the risk of it as he skinned out of his pyjamas and slid, naked, into a strange bed, body thrilling with the unlikely possibility of being caught out.

The sheets were clean and crisp and smelled faintly of cedar, and Harry got a small twinge in his gut when he realised that the twins hadn't yet slept in them because they'd been in Snape's bed last night. He set the feeling aside, unwilling to waste time trying to sort out who he envied more, Snape for shagging Harry's first and only lovers, or Fred and George for getting to touch the man he... well, Snape. Instead he curled up in the slowly-warming bed and thought about how they'd make the sheets smell tonight, of sweat and sex and spicy Weasleys, the way the twins' bed had smelled before he left it the night before last.

Despite his earlier nap, Harry was already a bit tired, and before he knew it the comfort of the bed had overwhelmed the small adrenaline rush from being naked in it, and Harry began to drift off to sleep, lost in thoughts of sex and the twins, cocks and mouths and freckles and large, gentle hands.

When he awoke, it took Harry long moments to realize he wasn't still dreaming, surrounded as he was by firm, naked flesh and floating on pleasure with Fred's mouth wrapped around his cock, and George holding his hands down over his head while nibbling on his ear. "About time you woke up," George murmured when Harry's eyes flew open.

Fred pulled off Harry's cock long enough to say, "We've only got tonight," then swallowed him down again.

"Before we're gone for almost a week," George finished, the words a whisper of hot air over Harry's ear. George moved in for a deep, sweet kiss, and together they used their mouths to render Harry insensate in a distressingly short amount of time. Instead of drawing it out, though, they kept it up until Harry came, spilling his seed down Fred's throat, his cries into George's mouth.

Fred pulled away, licking his lips and grinning while George moved enough for Harry to see as Fred said, "Delicious."

Harry blushed.

"Now," said George, threading his fingers through Harry's so he was holding both of Harry's hands in one of his, "we're going to teach you to do that."

A slow grin spread on Harry's face and he nodded; there were advantages to doing this in the form of lessons, after all, and the taste of himself from Fred's lips was only one of them. "The benefits of a formal education," said Harry, still limp and pliant beneath them.

By the time the evening was over and he was falling asleep curled between them, Harry felt he'd got quite a good grasp on the basics. Next week, they'd even promised to finish teaching him to deep throat.


Monday morning was a flurry of stolen kisses, shared showers and hurried breakfasts, the twins gone to open their shop before Harry had ever properly awakened. Harry's skin still tingled with the memory of their touches when Snape finished his tea and stood. "Shall we begin with Defence, Mr. Potter?" Snape said formally, the chill in his voice shocking Harry into wakefulness.

"I... do I need my books or anything, sir?" Harry asked, trying to give his brain some time to cope with the change in Snape's demeanour, the dour schoolmaster back, if not quite in his full force.

Snape relented a touch at Harry's obvious distress, reaching out to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I thought we'd start with a practical lesson, but you ought to get a quill and one of your journals."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, grateful for the reprieve. He finished the last of his own tea and took a deep breath, then turned and smiled up at Snape. "I'll just go get those, then, and meet you...?" He let the words trail off, realizing he'd no idea at all where they might have a practical Defence lesson.

"The small dining room on the first floor has been converted to a classroom for our use," said Snape, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink as if he, too, needed something to do with his hands at times like this.

"All right, sir," Harry said quietly and made his escape, breathing out the awkwardness of it all and gulping in deep breaths of hope and determination. He took the stairs two at a time and rummaged through his things, blushing as he snagged his wand from his nightstand -- he'd left it there last night and forgot to retrieve it this morning, not yet used to being able to do magic in the summer.

A few deep breaths and a long moment spent staring at the charmed clouds drifting across the ceiling, and Harry went back downstairs to hunt for Snape. He poked his head in a few rooms before he found the one set aside for them. He got a vague impression of pale grey paint and wood flooring before his eyes settled inevitably on the one thing that seemed to take up most of his attention these days -- Snape. He was in his rigid Professor stance, no humour left to soften the line of his mouth, his eyes dull and flat rather than sparkling with mischief or glittering with desire.

Harry went in, knowing that this was as much a part of the man as the other side he'd been privileged to see, telling himself that he might as well reaccustom himself to Snape's disagreeable demeanour now, considering that this was the Snape he'd see for most of the year.

"I see you managed to find your way here all by yourself," said Snape sarcastically, and Harry had to remind himself that there was another side, and that love -- if it was love he felt for Snape -- accepted all parts of a person. Even the mean bits.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, keeping back the snippy reply that was threatening to come out, and ignoring the bit of his libido that said it was perfectly happy with Snape's tone, and would like to hear more of it, preferably while being spanked and called a naughty boy.

Snape raised his eyebrow at Harry's meekness, but fortunately didn't comment. Instead, he waved his wand and the two facing desks in the middle of the room parted ways and settled against opposite walls, leaving a clear space in the centre of the floor. Harry had a feeling he knew what came next, so he set his book, quill and ink on the smaller desk and took up a position opposite Snape. "Duelling today, Professor?" he asked, lips twitching with the desire to smile -- he'd heard far too many dirty jokes along these lines.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, duelling. I trust your skills have improved since your second year," said Snape, and only the slight tinge of humour in his eyes kept Harry from wondering aloud how Snape could possibly be like this with him anymore, after... well, everything.

Harry struggled to contain his hurt and anger and instead took a pose he'd learned for himself just to teach the students of the DA, half a dozen shielding and offensive spells crowding his brain. "Ready," he said, forcing himself to breathe, to concentrate.

Snape took a mirror of Harry's pose, and began, "In a formal duel, there would be a third party present to tell us when to begin. However, you will seldom find yourself in such a situation these days -- not only are formal duels fairly rare, it is doubtful any would want to challenge the precious Boy Who Lived, either for fear of hurting you, or of being soundly trounced by whatever power protected you from the Dark Lord."

Harry watched Snape like a hawk, waiting to see if this was some strange tactic to get him off his guard. "Yes, sir, I understand," he said, when Snape seemed to require some response from him.

Snape nodded and continued. "In an informal duel such as the one we're going to practice now, the rules of conduct are usually he who shoots first and all that, coupled with an understanding that one generally does not expect to encounter an Unforgivable unless the person one is duelling with is a known criminal."

Harry nodded again, and then said, "So, most of my duels will be like this, only with the really nasty curses thrown in for good measure?"

Snape smiled coldly, and Harry shivered at the cruelty in it. "Precisely, Mr. Potter. I would not be so foolish as to try one of those on you today, but most Death Eaters will not hesitate to Cruciate or even kill you." Snape stood just a touch straighter, and Harry's grip tightened on his wand.

"You're not most Death Eaters, sir," said Harry, watching Snape's hands, his eyes, hoping for some sign of what he was supposed to be doing here. "Are we going on the count of three or something, sir?"

"No, Mr. Potter," said Snape, shifting ever so slightly, "we are going now. Expelliarmus!"

Everything felt as though it had slowed down, and Harry had no idea where he found the courage to cast, let alone the words to the spells. "Protego!" he yelled, following up quickly with a Stunning Spell that he knew would never get through Snape's defences.

Snape dodged the curse, though Harry thought it might have grazed him from the look of respect that came into his features. Harry hoped Snape would forgive him as he tried to wipe that look away with a quick succession of strange hexes Hermione had found in a book for him, ones that were odd and out of fashion rather than particularly Dark: Cephalaspidea, which tried to turn Snape's clothing to slugs and did manage to slime up one of his sleeves; Medusa Abla, which would have turned Snape's hair to harmless garden snakes had he not deflected it neatly back at Harry, who had to scramble to dismiss it; and Mysore, which shot colourful ribbons from his wand and attempted to tie Snape up like a Maypole.

That last one, shockingly, was the one that prevailed; Harry ducked under Snape's Tarrantellegra curse, grateful to be short for once, and the ribbons bound Snape's arms to his sides before he could get off another.

Harry was rather proud of himself, but if the smouldering anger in Snape's gaze was any indication, he'd be made to regret this victory before long. Harry dismissed the ribbons, and Snape cast Scourgify on his beslimed robes, then gave Harry a distinctly appraising look. "I'm surprised your knowledge is quite so eclectic, Mr. Potter."

"Hermione's been helping me find stuff that no one remembers anymore in the library, sir," said Harry, checking himself for singe marks and trying to ignore the small itch in his spine that told him he rather wanted to dance a lively jig. He knew from experience that it would go away in a few minutes, though these near-misses were almost as uncomfortable in their own way as being actually hit, since you couldn't cast Finite Incantatum on a spell that hadn't really taken effect.

Snape nodded, and pointed to Harry's book. "Take a note of all the spells used, and what was effective and what wasn't, even the near misses. I find that having one's sleeve develop an unpleasantly cold, wet, rubbery texture and a distinct wiggle is quite distracting, and that may have been what allowed your Mysore curse through."

Harry grinned, pride filtering through beneath the resentment. Snape hadn't complimented him much in Potions, but now he was being treated, if not like an equal, then at least like someone who wasn't a complete moron. "Yes, sir," he said, and sat for a moment to note down the spell progression and the effects. When he was done, he looked up to find Snape watching him with an unreadable expression that gave Harry chills. "All set. What's next?"

"Another duel, of course," said Snape with a tone which distinctly implied that perhaps Harry wasn't as bright as he looked after all.

Harry tried not to take it to heart, as he stood and assumed the position again -- the duelling one, not one of the many others he'd rather assume for Snape -- and looked over at Snape expectantly.

The rest of the tutorial proceeded in a similar manner, half a dozen duels followed by Snape's critical analysis, and Harry taking notes. In the end, Harry managed to win once more, though Harry privately thought that Snape had only won the third duel through blind luck, as Dobby had popped in and startled Harry just as Snape's Impedimenta went off. Snape, of course, said that one would have all sorts of distractions in a real battle and it was no excuse.

Harry did his best not to sulk, which seemed to be the theme for the day with him. It was, he supposed, as good a lesson as any -- life rarely went his way, and it was much better to chin up and bear with it than spend all his time railing at the unfairness of it all.

It still didn't stop him from resenting Dumbledore a little when he was ushered back into the kitchen for a Potions lesson before lunch.


Harry had been happy to be given the afternoon off, though he'd had to fight for any free time at all when they'd drawn up his schedule. Eventually they'd agreed on a light schedule concentrating on five -- well, six -- subjects: Occlumency, Defence, Potions, Transfiguration and Charms, plus the much-anticipated Etiquette lessons.

Tonight would be the first of those, as well.

Harry stood nervously in front of the mirror and looked at himself again; he'd elected to have a bath after lunch, and was now wearing those maddening silk boxers, this time in a liquid golden hue. They were the only thing he wore under the simple burgundy robes he'd bought, and it made him feel naughty, knowing it would take very little effort for Snape to lift the hem and tug down the pants in order to bend him over a table.

Unfortunately, those naughty thoughts telegraphed themselves in the form of a very obvious tent in the front of his robes. Harry glanced at the clock, happy that he'd given himself enough time to take care of the problem he'd known would come up, especially once he'd slipped into the smooth, sensual boxers and felt them caressing his cock and bollocks almost like a lover. Which made him think, now, of Fred holding Harry's balls in his palm while George sucked Harry's nipples, both refusing to touch Harry's cock until Harry successfully managed to take Fred's prick into his throat at least a little. They'd taken his own desperate lust and turned it to Harry's advantage, using it to motivate him to learn the skills he very much wanted to master, and he'd found that it had been easier to ignore his gag reflex when the rest of his body was burning with such acute need.

Harry leaned back against the bed, still watching himself in the mirror as he lifted the robe and pulled the boxers down just enough so the elastic pushed his balls up into his cock. He stared for a moment at the picture he made in the mirror, all pretence of innocence gone with his legs spread just so and his body exposed. He wrapped his free hand around his cock and stroked, just the way he'd always liked, then slipped his other hand under the fabric of his robes to pinch and torment his nipples just as roughly as Fred and George had shown him he could enjoy.

He allowed himself to dwell on everything he'd learned, the joys of his own body and the sublime thrill of giving pleasure to others as well. He'd licked and fucked George's arse with his tongue until the versatile muscle had grown too tired for even the simplest speech, then watched as Fred plundered the same hole with his own tongue. He'd even come once from nothing more than Fred's tongue in his arse and George's mouth on his own.

That memory was enough to trigger him now, and he barely managed to keep his robes clean as he spurted all over his hand and the floor with a soft moan. Fortunately a quick spell could get rid of the mess -- unlike with clothing, where nothing but actual washing seemed to quite get the stain out. Harry tucked himself away and straightened his clothing, looking once again to see how just-wanked he appeared and then figuring that if it was as obvious to Snape as it was to him, at least it would provide Snape with some distraction.

The clock showed five minutes to the hour, so Harry sighed, grabbed another of his new journals along with quill, ink and wand, and made his way down to the parlour.


Snape was already there when Harry arrived, leaning against the mantle with a drink in his hand looking elegant and uncomfortable, reminiscent of the last time Harry had seen him in his quarters. "Good evening, Professor," said Harry formally, trying to get into the spirit of the thing and pretend he was here to get picked up for the sort of encounter that he was, ironically, expressly forbidden to have with Snape.

Snape turned and his signet ring glinted in the low light where he held the glass in his right hand, giving Harry a bit of a shiver -- if he remembered properly, that meant Snape was wanting to top tonight, a situation Harry devoutly wished were allowed. "Good evening, Mr. Potter," he said, his voice formal but tinged with an edge of heat that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Snape's eyes swept over Harry's body, from his low house boots to his unruly hair, lingering at places that twitched embarrassingly under the intent gaze. "You're looking well this evening," he fair purred, stalking over to Harry in a decidedly predatory manner.

Harry definitely felt like prey, and he had to clear his throat to keep from squeaking when he replied, "Thank you, sir, you look quite fit yourself." Harry figured it was a bit heavy-handed for supposedly subtle flirtation, but then, Snape wasn't exactly going for subtle himself.

Snape's eyes grew hooded and he glanced at Harry's hands, his clothing, and appeared to be contemplating something. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. You may call me Severus if you like," he said, turning toward the bar that had been opened and set up, presumably by the house elves. "May I offer you a drink?"

Harry had no idea how he'd handle anything remotely like the amber liquid swirling in Snape's grasp, but he thankfully spotted some familiar bottles in one corner of the cabinet. "Just a butterbeer, si- er, Severus, please." Harry remembered at the last minute to add, "You may call me Harry if you'd like, as well."

"Excellent," said Snape, displaying his arse to remarkably good effect as he walked over to the bar and poured Harry's drink into a tall, elegantly curved pint glass. "Are you a chess player, Harry?"

Something in the way Snape said his name made Harry absolutely sure that they weren't talking about the game with pieces and a board, and Harry remembered their earlier talk about chess as a metaphor. "Yes, sir, though I'm not a very experienced player," he said, then bit his lip at his slip -- he never could get the hang of not calling Snape 'sir' anymore.

"That's quite all right, Harry, I'm sure I can give you a handicap," said Snape, gesturing toward the two chairs by the fire with the board already set up between them. "Black or white?"

This, too, Harry knew the correct answer to, Snape having explained that the more submissive, and often less experienced partner would take the position usually reserved for the weaker player. "White, if you please, Severus," said Harry, wondering if he'd be fifty and still trying to find those who wanted to be black to his white, or if he'd switch as Snape had. If Harry would be alone, then, as Snape was now, though even Snape wasn't nearly so alone as he'd been a week ago.

"I do prefer black these days," said Snape, sitting on that side and looking over his players. "Perhaps... a rook will be enough?" He took the piece off the board and set it aside, much to the consternation of his other pieces, whom he hushed with a wave of his hand.

Harry knew enough about chess to know it was a middling handicap, both to take the rook and give him white, and it made Harry wonder how, precisely, it fit in with chess-as-flirting as Snape had explained it previously. "I, er, expect so?" he said, revealing his ignorance in the simplest possible way, feeling his stomach clench as he wondered just how much of this charade Snape would make him stumble through.

He was oddly relieved, then, when Snape laughed. "You did well, for a first time, Harry. You were obvious enough in noting my token that I felt comfortable to proceed even though you weren't wearing one, which is not uncommon for young wizards who don't wish to advertise their choices quite so publicly until they've decided that young witches truly aren't for them."

Harry slumped back in his chair and shot Snape a bit of a glare, sipping at the beer. "You gave me a turn, there, acting like I was a particularly plump rabbit and you the wolf out hunting," he said plaintively, though he was unable to keep his face straight through the whole thing.

"Trust me, Harry, in this world that is exactly how many men will see you, and treat you," said Snape, looking worried before he dropped back into lecture mode. "You did well in your responses, up until the end there -- it's good that you were honest about your lack of experience but didn't advertise your virginity, you remembered the significance of the piece colours, and as soon as you felt out of your depth, you let me know. A real suitor would have considered it sign either of poor breeding or simply inexperience, but of course as I am your tutor, it was inevitable that we'd come to such an impasse."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, making a few notes in his book as Snape spoke. "So, what's up with the handicap thing?"

Snape grinned a bit wickedly and said, "It would be a subtle way of probing your true level of inexperience. Were you truly a virgin seeking someone to deflower him, you would have asked for my queen instead, and I would have felt quite honoured to be considered for such a delicate task."

Harry blushed. "So, how much does my experience with the twins count towards, er, my handicap?" he asked, making more notes.

"There is an entire system, much of which we will dispose of as you will not need it once Fred and George are done with you and we've released you into the wild, so to speak," Snape replied. "A true untouched virgin might ask for a queen-side handicap, though realistically speaking one so pure would not generally be looking for company in such a manner anyway. Asking for a capped knight or even both rooks might be more appropriate to your current level of experience, considering the lesson plan imparted to me for last night."

Harry's face grew much, much redder, and he sank down into his chair just a bit. "So, if you'd done it but only a few times, you'd ask for a pawn or something?" he asked, staring blankly at the page before blurting, "How much did they tell you?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry and shifted in his seat. "They are keeping me up to date while preserving your privacy as much as possible. All I know is that they were to teach you... oral skills. This morning they informed me that you did quite well, and they've found a way to use your... unique nature as a teaching tool."

Harry hid his face behind the book for a moment, remembering, feeling the tent return to his robes. "Yes, sir, that's... about the size of it. Er, so to speak."

Snape snorted, and Harry risked a peek to see him attempting not to laugh. "Yes, well. A pawn would be appropriate for the situation you describe, especially with the education you are receiving in the other arts of the flesh."

"All right, so I agree to the handicap... then what?" said Harry, setting the book down and squirming a bit until he nearly whimpered at the caress of silk against his cock and bollocks.

"Then, Harry, we would play, and I would attempt to use my wit to seduce you to my bed, using yet more subtle innuendo to discover what sort of bedroom games you're amenable to." Snape paused, and Harry blushed and moved a pawn, which Snape answered with a pawn move of his own. "Your tendency to call me 'sir' despite having been invited to a further intimacy would be taken either as a reluctance to be seduced, or a desire to be dominated. I, of course, know it is the latter, but if you're not careful a suitor will take it as the former and become discouraged."

"Yes, sir," said Harry with an impish little smile, knowing Snape wouldn't miss the implications of that specific reply. "How would I indicate I really wasn't interested after all? Politely, I mean."

Snape raised his eyebrow; that obviously hadn't been the question he'd been expecting. "By maintaining a polite distance conversationally, playing out the entire chess game and then taking your leave as though there were no other meaning, or even conceding the game and taking your leave, if you find the man's company particularly distasteful," he said.

"You'll teach me how to indicate my... er, preferences... without coming out and saying I'd like to be..." Harry blushed, unable to continue, finding it discomfited him as much as Snape to say such things.

"I will, though you'll need to be able to communicate them to me before I can teach you how to communicate them politely to others," said Snape with a wicked smirk, and Harry knew he'd definitely lost this round.

"Yes, sir," he said again, sipping his butterbeer and trying to think. After a long moment, he grinned triumphantly and said, "Well, why don't you start with the basics and we can go from there? Because I'll need to know them all so I don't accidentally agree to something I don't want, right?"

Snape laughed and said, "Don't think this gets you off the hook, it just means you'll only need to tell me your more exotic interests." He sat back and sipped his drink, and Harry took the time to make a chess move while Snape gathered his thoughts.

Snape answered the move absently, then nodded and sat up. "Take notes," he said sharply, and Harry nodded and got quill and ink ready. Snape launched into a somewhat baffling list of possible sexual practices and the ways to propose or refuse them while Harry scribbled frantically, too busy writing to ask questions or really even process the idea that Snape considered the negotiation of group sex to be one of the basics.

Eventually Snape wound down and they ended the evening by actually playing chess, with Harry asking idle questions in an attempt to make Snape blush, and Snape doing his best to make Harry squirm with the answers. Snape won the game, mostly because Harry was too busy thinking about those answers in the context of Snape, himself, and a large well-equipped bedroom. "So," said Harry, when they'd stood up and restored the room to its former arrangement, "does it matter who wins the game?"

Snape looked over at the chess set, now disassembled for the night, the pieces tucked away in their little padded velvet compartments, awaiting the next battle. "Generally speaking, the game is usually conceded by the man who was approached initially, as a sign that he's interested and ready to retire and engage in other, more private amusements."

Harry looked thoughtful, then nodded. "What's for the next lesson, then, just more practice?"

"Hardly," said Snape, shaking his head. "Chess is far from the only method of approach, so next time I will be demonstrating to you other ways in which a man might make his interest known to you. We should also talk about your token, and what form you would like for it to take."

Harry nodded; privately he'd decided long ago that he wanted no other token than Snape's signet, marking him as belonging to Snape and avoiding these sorts of conversations forever, but realistically he knew that Snape might not want him forever, and these were things he'd need to know if he were to end up doing this on his own. "I expect there's things in my vault," he said, "Er, vaults. Though I wouldn't want to wear the Black crest, I don't think."

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "We can't risk taking you back there so soon, but a carefully worded letter would allow me access to bring some items for you to examine."

"Sounds good," Harry replied, then found himself abruptly out of reasons to prolong the conversation. "Er, thank you again. For all this," he said, gesturing uselessly.

Snape nodded once more. "You are most welcome, Harry. It is, oddly enough, my pleasure to teach you. You are a most entertaining student." He paused, a smirk alighting on his features before he added, "Well, except in Potions."

Harry could only laugh and agree, as he was still pretty much pants at Potions, though he concentrated more now than he had bothered to previously, wanting to impress Snape as much as possible. "Yes, sir," he said impishly, then turned to escape into the hall before Snape decided to tease him about something that would make his rebellious body cease cooperating and embarrass him even further. "Good night," he said in a singsong voice as he headed for the stairs.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Potter," Snape called after him, voice warm with humour and something akin to affection.

Harry had a feeling that they would be, for once.

A Question of Etiquette XII: A Dose of Reality


Title: A Question of Etiquette XI: Methods of Learning
Author:
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape/Weasley Twins
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, underage (16), twincest, threesomes, BDSM & general kinkiness
Summary: Harry has three very different lessons.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to everyone who's beta read, audienced, encouraged or otherwise helped with this fic. It's a long road and miles to go, but I'm getting there!



All of the works contained herein are labours of love, unauthorized by those who hold the rights to such things, and no profit is made from them. No harm is meant, and hopefully no offense given.