Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written purely for fun.

Ron could smell the evil bastard before Snape dug his fingers into the hard plane of his skull. The fucker then dug his nails in; he didn't say anything, just kept up that relentless grip on his head. Harry hitched a little breath but kept writing. It took all of Ron's will power not to elbow the greasy git in the stomach. Just rear his elbow back and give him a what for.

But he didn't. He kept on writing, fuck all what he wrote, but he was going to be damned if he'd give Snape the satisfaction that he was hurting him, although he was. Those broken nails, more like fucking claws really, digging into his skull. Almost willing him to do something rash. The sadistic fucker was probably all disappointed and bent out of shape that Ron hadn't gone off his nut yet from either pain or rage. Although Ron was close.

And then Ron felt Harry's knee nudge his. Then again. Then Harry rubbed his knee back and forth against Ron's leg as if to say, "It's okay, hang on. Don't give the bastard the satisfaction." Ron concentrated on the soothing back and forth of Harry's knee, the fabric of their robes making the softest of whispers as Harry's knee moved back and forth, back and forth. Snape tightened his grip even further and Ron thought he'd start screaming any second as Snape gave him a half second reprieve only to renew his grip a second later.

Harry's quill never stopped, but he wrapped his entire leg around Ron's, cupping his ankle around the front of Ron's foot. The heat was wonderful. Harry pressed. Ron pressed back. And then harder.

Harry began pressing against Ron's leg in rhythmic little jolts. So tiny that Snape couldn't possibly see, but Ron had to bite his tongue from moaning because his dick was getting hard and Snape could start stabbing his head with a pick ax and he'd doubt he'd notice. Little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as the arousal intensified.

Oh fucking Aunt Murgatroyd, was in the hell was Harry doing? Whatever it was it felt right even though, well, Ron was straight, yes he was straight. But maybe straight meant nothing as far as Harry was concerned. Because this felt really, really good.

Snape shoved his head forward into the desk and then let go.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, you filthy little poufs."