Harry wriggled uncomfortably on the hard wooden stool. He'd never realized just how little physical comfort there was in the Potions classroom until he had to sit his sixth-year exams bruised and exhausted. Parts of him he hadn't known could be sore were aching persistently as he shifted his hips again, trying desperately to concentrate on the questions in front of him despite the events of the day before. He'd been the one to insist that he be here, though, bullying his way down to the dungeons through Madame Pomfrey's protests and Ron's bemusement.

After making it into the bloody class, he wasn't about to give Snape the satisfaction of kicking him out for his Seventh Year just because he'd been too sick to take the end-of-year exam. He had no doubt that Snape would do it, too, no matter that they'd both nearly died last night and only sheer luck and a few well-placed lies had kept them from being on the wrong end of Avada Kedavra. Again.

As it was, Snape's cover was blown and, at this rate, Harry himself had very little future to look forward to; Death Eaters were lurking everywhere, eager to bring the Boy Who Lived back to their Lord for execution, or better yet just enough of him to show the task had already been accomplished. It wasn't safe to leave school grounds for anyone dark-haired and Gryffindor anymore; even one particularly flat-chested Fourth Year girl had nearly got captured last Hogsmeade weekend before someone had noticed she was wearing a skirt.

Of course, that hadn't stopped Harry from rushing in, again, and he had some very unusual bruises to prove it. At least he'd kept Voldemort from killing Snape, which had been looking very likely at this point. Although why he cared whether the greasy git got snuffed wasn't very clear to him at this point, after having spent an hour being browbeaten in the headmaster's office before being allowed to see Madame Pomfrey at all.

He thought about what his life might be like without the tall, disagreeable Potions Master in it, and he could only conclude with a sigh that the answer to that question was, undeniably, "shorter." Snape had been saving his fool hide since his First Year, and hopefully would continue to do so, at least until Harry could fulfill the terms of the prophecy and finally just kill, or die. He shifted again, uncomfortably aware that some of the bruises were in the shape of Snape's long, thin fingers, where they'd clutched at him tightly as they'd Apparated out.

Harry hadn't even know you could Apparate two people, but he'd trusted Snape enough to surrender himself willingly to that harsh embrace, curling against the tall, spare form and basking in the heat that seemed to radiate from the core of him. Harry had completely embarrassed himself, a fact that he could only thank the gods that Snape hadn't brought up during the interminable lecture, by getting hard when Snape's fingers had slid into the cleft of his arse.

He certainly hadn't been planning on his Potions Master being the first to find out he was queer, especially not in such a personal manner. Harry squirmed again, this time with the memory of how close that hand had been to the center of him, fingers a mere inch away from sliding over his entrance.

"Mr. Potter," said a harsh voice behind him, bringing him back to the immediate reality of his Potions exam. "Is there something you wished to discuss with me?"

Harry looked up, shocked to find the room empty except for himself and Professor Snape. His eyes fell on his exam paper, gratified to see that his brain hadn't gone wandering until he'd got it mostly done. "Er, no, I was just..."

Snape's expression faded from its usual sneer, growing unreadable and strange in a way that made Harry squirm in his seat and remember once again those hot, harsh hands on his body. "Distracted?"

Harry dropped his gaze and mumbled, "Yes, sir."

Snape's voice sounded strained and almost kind as he said quietly, "If you wish to discuss anything with me... of a personal nature... I will be available this evening. I believe that I possess some small personal insight into at least one of your current dilemmas."

Harry's eyes snapped up, wide with shock. "Er, yes. Yes, sir, I... I think I'd like that."

A Question of Etiquette II: A Fine Understanding