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Chapter Text

"Might I interpret your brooding silence as a tacit agreement to my proposition, Severus?" McGonagall raised her thin brows, eyeing the stoic potions professor with a warm yet stern look.

Snape glanced at her and drew in a deep breath; there was a slight quiver to it that didn't go unnoticed by the expectant-looking headmistress.

"Minerva," he drawled, his dark gaze shifting from her to the crackling fire. A small silver teaspoon, pinched between his fingertips, clinked against the rim of the cup as he stirred his steaming tea. "This is a considerable decision."

"Yes, one of which you have considered for the last three weeks."

She rested her own cup in her lap, focusing on him with an unmistakably determined look. The crackling of the wood burning in the fire filled the silence in the room. Snape nodded and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his large nose.

"I presume you have considered a different accommodation if the boy does not agree to abide by the rules of my home?"

"Yes,” she took a sip of tea, “should he not agree, he must come back next term to finish his seventh year as a student. After graduating, then he may apply to work as an aide."

Snape let out a low hum and took another sip of tea.

"Though," McGonagall said, deflated, "he would be on his own for the summer, and possibly the next six months."

Snape remained quiet, his fingers tight around the handle of the kettle on the side table. He motioned for McGonagall to hand him her cup, silently offering more.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the swirling steam. "As much as I'd like to take him in myself, I don't have the capacity to deal with—"

"The repairs to the school, preparing Miss Granger, and the upcoming year. Yes, we discussed this before," he said, his voice tinged with cool detachment as he poured more tea into her cup.

"Harry is too distraught to make it on his own right now," she sighed, stirring her tea slowly. "Yes, he's technically of age, as you reiterated last week, I know, Severus. But he's never been properly looked after, and he's suffering from tremendous anguish."

"Indeed, the weight of saving the entire Wizarding and Muggle World will do that to a young boy." Snape sipped his tea, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the fireplace. McGonagall followed his gaze, her expression pensive and solemn, watching the fluttering flames kiss the blackened stone.

After some time soaking in the silence, Snape cleared his throat and adjusted his robe. He smoothed out a wrinkle in his trousers and spoke, "I'll offer it—"

"Oh, wonderful!" McGonagall clasped her hands together in relief. "Thank you, Severus." 

Snape lifted up a finger in protest, "Hold your thanks, Minerva. If he does not wish to accept the conditions, I absolutely will not insist. Knowing the boy, I'd say his acquiescence is not promising."

McGonagall's lips curled into a knowing smile as she spoke, her gaze holding a glint of amusement. "I expect you'll be surprised."

Snape rolled his eyes and finished the remainder of his tea in one swift motion. He carefully placed the cup and saucer back on the side table, the faint clank breaking the silence.

He rose, fixing her with a parting nod. "We shall see."

Harry drew a shaky breath as he strolled through the desolate courtyard. The unmistakable crunch of rubble echoed underfoot, harmonizing with the rhythmic clanking of repairs reverberating from the castle. He glanced at the wizards toiling tirelessly to mend a shattered quadrant of the stone gate— a twinge of guilt gnawing at his chest.

"Potter," McGonagall's calling broke his train of thought. She waved him over from a cleared section of the castle's remains.

He nodded back in acknowledgement and moved quickly to meet her.

"Hello, Professor," he greeted, his eyes scanning the ongoing repairs. Though he made an effort to appear enthusiastic, the weariness etched across his face overshadowed it. "Looks like the repairs are coming along."

"Yes, they are," she agreed warmly, noting the look of exhaustion on his face. "Come, sit here for a moment with me,” she patted a spot next to her on the stone bench that still stood strong.

Harry sat with a put-upon smile, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"As you know," McGonagall began, her tone thoughtful as she tilted her body to address him directly, "I’ve been considering your interest in joining Hogwarts as an aide for the next term, despite your decision to withdraw from the required seventh year of study."

Ill-placed defeat climbed high up the walls of Harry’s stomach, anticipating her dismissal of the idea. "It's all right if you don't think it would be a good idea, Professor," he said, attempting a genuine smile that usually came so easily to him. Instead, it felt empty, strained. “I don’t have to come back, I—”

"No, wait a moment," she held up a finger, "though it is unheard of for a student to aid a professor prior to graduating, under the circumstances, I shall allow it if—"

Harry shot off the bench, nearly knocking her from her spot, and enveloped her in a tight hug.

"Brilliant!” he exclaimed with relief. “I didn’t fancy the idea of leaving, y’know.”

"Oh!" She caught herself from the impending fall and returned his tight embrace. "Yes, well, just a moment," she pulled back a bit, “there are stipulations you must agree to if you would like this opportunity."

He pulled away from the embrace, a faint warmth coloring the curve of his cheeks.

"Right, er—sorry about that. What kind of stipulations?"

McGonagall straightened out her hat as they returned to their seated positions, "The school will most certainly take the remainder of the summer to get repaired, for one."

Harry's bright disposition fell a little, but he nodded along in understanding.

“It may even take an entire year,” McGonagall continued, her tight-lined lips bending into a small downward turn as she scanned the war-wrecked landscape of the castle. “I am not quite sure on the timeline yet, which of course leaves us with your living accommodations in the meantime.”

Right, Harry sighed, warring with the cluster of insecurity camping out in the center of his bruised pride. He wished he’d never mentioned his reservations in finding a flat of his own to her last week. Now, sober and in the light of a bright day, he realized what a daft move that had been. Her sympathetic eyes spoke pity to him, slamming his ego one silent assumption at a time. He could take care of himself, really. He was simply tired last week. Tired and drunk on five pints of butter-beer with the help of an equally plastered Ron. Bloody bad idea, that. 

"I could go stay with the Weasleys?" Harry suggested, refocusing. 

Professor McGonagall shook her head, "Though the Weasley family is wonderful, I'm afraid they haven’t the ability to provide you with the structure you'll need to be successful as an aid here."

Harry tried not to look deflated, "What about staying here, with you and Hermione?” 

"No, though I would love to have you, you will need more attention than I can provide, and my efforts will be focused on preparing Miss Granger for the upcoming year, as well as attending to matters of the rebuild."

Harry felt his throat tighten, and for some inexplicable reason, a surge of unfamiliar emotions threatened to engulf him. In the wake of the war’s resolution, he found himself navigating uncharted territories of vulnerability, grappling with sensations he had long suppressed. Feelings of rejection, guilt, and echoes of past abandonment drifted over his body, settling deep in his chest and stirring a turmoil within him that he had yet to fully comprehend.

McGonagall noticed the shift in his expression and moved closer to him on the bench. She took his hand in her own, "You have much trauma to work through, dear. You need more than a flat mate to navigate these waters with you, I think. You should be with someone who can give you their full attention, time, and perhaps even discipline prior to returning here."

Harry hesitated but nodded along, his brow furrowing deeply at the mention of discipline, unsure of what she meant by that, but still, willing to listen.

"That is why,” she took in a slight breath, “I've decided that Professor Snape would be the most suitable option for you."

"Snape!?" he instinctively shot to his feet, flashing her a horror-stricken face. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, the potions master had quietly walked up the corridor behind him, his head shaking at the expectedly juvenile protest. His long black robes swept through the rubble in steady swishes as he made his way over to the pair.

“Professor Snape, to you— young man,” McGonagall’s voice held its usual firmness as she leveled him with a steady gaze. Her eyes briefly flickered towards Snape, a hint of mischief dancing within them. “Regardless of your heroic deeds, I will still require that you maintain respect where it is due on these grounds.”

"Oh, right—er, sorry. But Professor McGonagall! There's no way he'll want me to live—"

"Nonsense," McGonagall waved her hand dismissively. "It has already been discussed, and Professor Snape agreed readily. In fact, I believe he is quite looking forward to the company," she added with a smile, noting the inky black glare from behind Harry and suppressing a chuckle.

“But he just got out of the infirmary and—”

“He is quite well,” she finished for him, “which you must know, considering Madam Pomfrey's remarks on your excessive check ins.” 

Harry’s green eyes narrowed a bit, arms crossing against his thin chest. He peered down at McGonagall, brushing off the playful tone of her last words. He couldn’t live with Snape—no way, he wouldn’t, couldn't. He’d told her he didn’t want to live alone, he didn’t say he wanted to live in hell. He was almost certain Snape would rather have died than agree to this.

“Really?" Harry intoned, "Professor Snape agreed to have me stay with him without even putting up a fight? Like, ‘oh brilliant, let me sacrifice my entire summer to host Harry Potter, the one I’ve had to tolerate for years and nearly died protecting’? Sorry but that doesn’t make any—”

"Are you insinuating that Professor McGonagall would be willingly perfidious, Potter?" Snape's low, drawling voice cut through the conversation, sharp and clear, as he emerged silently from the shadows.

McGonagall couldn't help but smile as she observed Harry, rendered speechless, gazing up with wide-eyed surprise. Snape crossed his arms behind his back and peered down at him with a most disapproving expression.

Harry stammered, his thoughts jumbled and words failing him. "I, er... I mean..."

"Eloquently put as ever," Snape looked away from the now-crimson-faced young man and extended his hand to McGonagall, helping her up from her sitting position.

"If you'll pardon us, Minerva, the new hero of the Wizarding World and I have some matters to discuss regarding this proposition."

"Of course," McGonagall smiled warmly. She gave Harry's back a reassuring pat and turned to leave, leaning in to whisper, "If this option doesn't suit you, we will find another solution."

As she departed, the color began receding from Harry's face, and he managed a small smile, muttering back:

"Thanks, Professor."

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

As they walked in silence, making their way toward one of the distant gardens, thoughts swirled through Harry’s mind like a tornado tearing through the western plains. Living with Snape? Professor McGonagall had to be joking! Anxiety soon flooded his chest, making his heart pound and palms sweat as he began to reflect on Snape’s involvement with Voldemort. What if he snapped over the summer due to the post-war pressure? What if living together worsened Snape’s hatred for him? How could—

"Stop, Potter!" Harry was abruptly brought back to the present as Snape's vice-like grip clamped down on his bicep. With a forceful tug, he was pulled to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with a shattered fence post which once marked the nearing entrance to the garden.

“Oh, ah, thanks,” Harry said nervously as he cast Snape a small smile and straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Lost in thought, are we?" Snape asked, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation and something else Harry couldn't quite place.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” Harry shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and taking a few tentative steps forward. He was eager to keep moving and not particularly keen on starting their conversation yet.

The pair arrived shortly, and were enveloped by a symphony of vibrant colors and sweet scents as they entered the garden. Surprisingly, it had remained an oasis of serenity largely untouched by the previous war that had ravaged the rest of Hogwarts. Its enchanting beauty had endured, a testament to nature's resilience amidst chaos.

Harry inhaled deeply, stabilizing himself as he glanced down at the mosaic cobblestone beneath his feet. He leisurely allowed his gaze to follow the tranquil path as it wound gracefully through the lush, green landscape.

A bed of Flutterby Bushes shimmered in the evening's fading light, their soft blue and pink petals emitted a melodic hum that soothed Harry to his core. A wave of nostalgia washed through him as he remembered the few times he had spent laughing in the garden with Ron and Hermione.

Snape watched in silence as Harry visibly relaxed. He, too, took note of the garden's beauty but sighed characteristically at the overgrown vines, unplucked weeds, and small pests grazing on the fruiting plants. His gaze roamed the garden beds, eventually returning to the young and fatigued boy by his side.

Snape mentally prepared himself for the barrage of questions he suspected Harry would present. He moved slowly toward one of the nearby garden beds, his rich black robes flowed softly behind him in the breeze, catching Harry's attention.

Bending down, Snape plucked a prickling weed from the base of a withering flower. He ignored the sharp, needling stings radiating through his potion-stained fingertips as he uprooted it. Turning, he tossed the weed into a silver pail positioned on the side of the bed.

He moved to face Harry, who quickly averted eye contact, embarrassed to have been caught watching.

"Alright, Potter," Snape began, "We better get to the stipulations of this arrangement," he motioned for Harry to join him on a nearby wooden bench as he took a seat himself.

Harry hesitated, feeling unsure and suddenly awkward about sitting so closely beside his former potions master.

Snape arched an eyebrow and suppressed a smirk that threatened to break through his stern demeanor. “Come Potter, you should know by now that I do not bite, regardless of what idle chatter may circulate among your snickering classmates.”

A nervous laugh escaped Harry, and he moved slowly towards the indicated spot. “You know, his whole thing feels a bit weird to me,” he admitted, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he took a tentative, somewhat distant seat away from Snape. “First, I thought you hated my family and everything about me. Then come to find out, um, well, you didn’t actually want me to die this whole time.”

Snape couldn't suppress a faintly wry smile at Harry's statement. Nevertheless, he nodded in encouragement, his long fingers neatly folded across his black-clad lap. His stern, deeply penetrating gaze remained fixed on the young wizard, silently urging him to proceed.

Harry licked his dry lips and swallowed, “I just, well, I guess I don’t feel convinced that you actually want me to live with you.”

Snape raised his brows at the stark honesty, “I—”

“Did Professor McGonagall force you into this?” Harry quickly interrupted, his words rushing out.

"First off, Mr. Potter," Snape began in his usual authoritative tone, a hint of exasperation underlying his words, "Do not forget yourself. In my presence or in the company of others, it is considered not only inappropriate but also exceedingly rude to interrupt someone while they are speaking, especially if they are not your peer."

Harry felt a bit of heat creep into his face but nodded at the correction. “Right, sorry.”

"I'm sorry, sir, would be more appropriate." Snape retorted, his tone retaining its characteristic sternness, yet now with a subtle softness that hadn't been present in their previous interactions, leaving Harry to wonder if Snape had changed somewhat now that his life as a double agent was over.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry replied, his embarrassment tinged with a hint of frustration due to the apparent patronization.

Had Snape forgotten that he’d killed the Dark Lord, for Merlin's sake? Why was he still being forced to mind his manners like a school boy?

Snape adjusted his trousers, sitting up straighter as he cleared his throat. "I understand that our relationship to one another has not always been in the best... standing, if you will." There was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a touch of vulnerability beneath his stern exterior as he continued.

"Nevertheless, I want you to know that I am more than capable and willing to offer you the guidance and structure you need, should you be open to accepting it." His gaze remained fixed on Harry, revealing a hint of sincerity that hadn't always been present in their interactions.

Snape observed a subtle interplay of emotions traversing the contours of the young man's face. He discerned not only curiosity but also a faint undercurrent of trepidation. Though a question lingered in Snape's mind—should he broach the subject of discipline today? Perhaps it would prove wiser to await a more opportune moment, once Harry had become more acclimated to the idea.

“Okay,” Harry started in, “but why are you doing this?”

And so it begins, the barrage of questions. Snape rubbed his temple, a slight ache forming, and cleared his throat. “Harry, there are those here who genuinely care about your well-being. I…” He hesitated, struggling to convey the depth of his feelings, “I have concerns for your welfare as well. It is regrettable that you were forced to reside with individuals who proved incapable of providing proper care for you.”

Harry felt a surge of emotion welling up within him, causing his chest to tighten, he averted his gaze. Memories of Snape's sacrifice surged to the forefront of his mind, flooding him with a profound mixture of gratitude and remorse.

Understanding the discomfort, Snape also averted his gaze as he looked past the boy to the layout of the garden. “While we do recognize your status as a young adult with legal independence, Potter" he continued, his tone adopting a more pragmatic edge, "our concern lies in the potential negative consequences of solitude without the requisite structure and guidance."

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, turning back to look at him with a mix of emotions still present.

At first, relief had washed over him at the thought of having someone by his side, even if it happened to be Professor Snape. However, a complex barrage of feelings presented themselves. On one hand, he welcomed the idea of guidance and support, especially after the tumultuous events he'd endured. On the other hand, a stubborn sense of pride stirred within him, countering the notion that McGonagall and Snape didn't believe he could manage on his own.

Harry’s informality and tone grated on Snape’s nerves, but he stifled his inclination to reprimand and pressed forward.

"To put it bluntly, you've endured not only the trauma of the battle but a childhood devoid of nurturing guidance, of which myself and others were oblivious to," Snape swallowed his lingering resentment toward the late Dumbledore. "While it's undeniable that structure and guidance may not always be comfortable, they pave the way for a more functional adulthood.”

“As for love,” Snape broke eye contact with the boy and looked out to the sun setting in the sky, “well, it's an indispensable component to healing in this life."

Harry nodded, his eyes fixed on Snape as he absorbed every word. He was surprised by the hint of tenderness that he’d seldomly witnessed from the potions professor. Despite the surviving traces of apprehension, an immense wave of peace washed over him in response to Snape's unexpectedly wise counsel.

The garden around them basked in the gentle light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the vibrant blooms. The air was filled with the soothing fragrance of the blossoms, and in the waning daylight, distant birds serenaded the tranquil scene with their soft, melodious songs.

Harry's gaze met Snape's, and he spoke again with genuine curiosity, “Alright. When you say structure though, what do you mean?”

The sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, dappling the path with shifting shadows as they began another lap around the garden loop. Snape hummed low, as he turned his gaze to the winding garden path ahead. He didn't fight to repress a smirk.

"Yes, well, I suppose I should forewarn you, I don't anticipate that you will find the prospect of structure in my residence particularly appealing, Potter," Snape said, his tone remaining composed. "However, if you do not feel comfortable living with me, Professor McGonagall and I will collaborate to assist you in securing a more suitable living arrangement."

“Thank you,” Harry said, offering a sincere smile as he looked up at Snape. His gratitude shone through, adding a genuine warmth that was uncharacteristic of their usual interactions.

“You are most welcome,” Snape replied, returning the smile, though it appeared somewhat reserved on his end. The unfamiliar warmth swelling in his chest made him slightly uneasy.

“Now,” he began, regaining his emotions, “If you decide you would like to accept my offer, there will be stipulations in place.”

"You know, I've lost count of how many times I've heard the word 'stipulations' today. Starting to get a bit repetitive, isn't it?" Harry retorted with a hint of sarcasm.

Snape lowered his gaze at the boy, his expression revealing his displeasure at the quip. The colorful petals of nearby flowers swayed in the breeze as he spoke, “Not that I care for your cheek, Mr. Potter,” he subtly reprimanded. “However, it does make a decent segue into the matter.”

The fear that had threatened their conversation before now seemed distant. Harry’s curiosity began to peak as he continued to follow the potions professor through the winding garden path.

"Let's turn our attention to the terms of our arrangement," Snape calmly initiated, fully anticipating the forthcoming dramatics that often accompanied such discussions of discipline. "Should you choose to display disrespect or willfully flout the regulations of my home, you can expect to face the same unpleasant consequences that I dole out to the Slytherins in my charge."

Harry paused to consider this for a moment. "Okay," he eventually replied, his tone carrying a hint of both skepticism and edge, "so you're saying that I'll be under your watchful eye…for the whole summer?"

The thought stirred up a well of emotions in Harry that ran deeper than the idea of facing discipline like the Slytherins, something he was gravely unfamiliar with.

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but Harry jumped back in, his tone incredulous, “Sounds like living with you is going to be like sitting through your potions class twenty-four seven.” There was a clear amount of disdain laced in Harry’s words, “That hardly sounds like the summer I had in mind.”

Snape hummed deeply, displaying a subtle disapproval of the young wizard’s tone."Mr. Potter, if I had intended to subject you to endless Potions lessons, I would have invited you to spend more hours in my classroom, not my home,” he retorted, his gaze unwavering.

Harry looked away from the intimidating gaze and kicked a stray pebble from the path, “But, you will want me to follow rules while I’m living with you and there will be punishments if I don’t follow them?”

"Indeed." Snape's gaze remained focused on the winding garden path ahead as he spoke, his voice carrying a measured tone. "Living together will require structure and discipline." His steps were purposeful, every word underscored by the serene beauty of the garden.

"As I’m sure you might expect, I will make my expectations unmistakably clear." He turned to Harry, his dark eyes locking onto the young wizard's gaze with intensity. "And, yes, there will be consequences for any willful disobedience." He paused for a moment, allowing the tranquility of the surroundings to emphasize the importance of his words.

Harry's mood shifted, his initial sense of relief fading. Being treated like a child after everything he'd faced didn't sit well with him.

"Right, Professor, because obviously, I'm in desperate need of some 'guidance and support,'" Harry retorted, his tone a mix of exasperation and resignation. "I've stared down Voldemort multiple times, but sure, let's talk about following your rules and enduring your 'discipline' during the one summer I thought might be different. Guess I was wrong."

"Surely, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he made no attempt to hide his frustration. "Defeating the Dark Lord has made you a paragon of maturity and responsibility.”

Snape took a deep breath, his patience clearly wearing thin. His  tone remained sharp as he responded, “Yet even heroes, it seems, require guidance and support. Mastery in one aspect doesn't necessarily translate to success in all areas. The world beyond the battlefield is an entirely different landscape.”

Harry scoffed at that, "Meaning I should be your pet project all summer? Lucky me."

Snape's jaw clenched as he suppressed the urge to physically reprimand the boy on the spot. However, he maintained control and spoke with his typical low, measured tone. "Your defiance is hardly surprising, Mr. Potter. But let me make one thing clear: this arrangement is not about making you my 'pet project.' It's about providing you with structure and guidance for your own benefit, whether you appreciate it or not."

Harry huffed and kicked another stray pebble.

Snape battled the urge to give up and rescind the entire proposal, as Harry's obstinacy and disrespect grated on his patience. Yet, McGonagall's words about Harry's potential deterioration, echoed within him, urging him to hold out.

"Not that I am obliged to provide you with any sales pitch, young man," Snape initiated, a hint of exasperation seeping through his words, "but you shall retain a degree of freedom, under the condition that you adhere to the rules and fulfill your responsibilities."

"Yeah?" Harry perked up, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of hope amidst the frustration. "What kind of freedom?”

Snape scoffed at the protracted back-and-forth,"You'll, of course, bring along your wand, broom, and whatever personal belongings you have that manage to conjure a smidgen of joy. With the presumption of good behavior, I discern no compelling motive to constrain your access to your trinkets and sundry."

Harry scrunched his face at the verbiage of ‘trinkets’ and ‘sundry’. But, maybe Professor Snape's offer might have some worth to it, he thought. While he was still skeptical and annoyed, he couldn't deny that living with Snape would have some advantages. For one, he'd be able to assist a professor next term, without having to take any exams of study himself. That is, if all went well and Minerva approved of his behavior. He decided to push the conversation towards more practical matters, letting his frustration melt a bit.

“What sort of things would we be doing day to day?” Harry asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“I hardly feel the need to provide you with an exhilarating itinerary, Potter,” Snape said coolly, attempting to cut the conversation a bit shorter as the last lights of the sunset disappeared below the horizon, “This is my home after all, not a Muggle amusement park.”

“Well, I need to know what I’m going to be doing in order to make my decision,” Harry protested, feeling rather pushy with the unfamiliar absence of Snape's usual biting tone.

Snape led the way out of the garden, his robes swaying with each brisk step. He had hoped for a concise discussion, but this had extended far longer than he had anticipated, and his inner turmoil over the situation was becoming increasingly evident.

He turned to Harry, his stern demeanor unmistakable as he spoke, "I shall send an owl with further instructions in the morning. Ensure you're ready to receive it, Mr. Potter. This conversation has been less productive than I had hoped for."

“'Oh yeah? Well what can I anticipate in those instructions?'" Harry decided to prod further, a hint of mischief in his tone.

"Mr. Potter," Snape stopped abruptly in his tracks, spinning around to face the young wizard. His expression was as stern as ever, a mixture of irritation and coiled rage. However, just as Snape was about to deliver a scolding word, events took an unexpected turn.

Snape's abrupt halt caused the two of them to crash into each other, as Harry had not anticipated the halt. They both stumbled back a step to regain their balance. Harry's glasses were slightly askew, and Snape's robes had a wrinkle or two more than before.

Their unexpected collision left a moment of silence hanging in the air, broken only by the faint sounds of the approaching evening around them. Harry cleared his throat and offered an apologetic half-smile. "Sorry about that, Professor."

For once, Snape appeared utterly speechless, his dark eyes narrowing at Harry with a blend of astonishment and smoldering anger. As Snape's initial fury ebbed away, it was replaced by a weary sigh. He took a moment to adjust his robes, smoothing out the wrinkles. Harry couldn't help but relish a small sense of triumph in having momentarily disrupted Snape's typically unflappable demeanor.

Finally, Snape turned and resumed his brisk walk, muttering something under his breath that Harry couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly certain it wasn't complimentary.

As they continued their stride back toward Hogwarts, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension about the summer ahead. Snape's offer fell far short of ideal, and the idea of sharing living space with his former professor, who imposed rules and discipline even at home, remained a tough proposition. However, in the midst of his reservations, a faint glimmer of hope emerged — a possibility that this arrangement might, against all odds, yield something promising.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Harry turned to look back at Snape as they reached Hagrid's hut, breaking the silence that had accompanied their stroll on the way over.

"Are you not going to come in and greet Hagrid?" Harry asked.

Snape remained still, refusing to budge from his position a few paces behind Harry. He crossed his arms behind his back, his long, black-clad figure appearing ominous in the pale moonlight.

"As much as I would relish the opportunity for frivolous chit-chat with the Gamekeeper and yourself, I have more pressing matters to attend to," he replied dismissively before turning and walking away.

"Oh, come on now, Professor. I know you have no papers to grade, and your potions classroom is in ruins," Harry said, offended by Snape's disregard for Hagrid.

Snape paused, only half-turning back so Harry could hear him as he continued to walk away. "You can expect my letter tomorrow morning. Ensure you read it carefully, Mr. Potter. I will await your decision by day's end." With that, he concluded, refusing to engage in further conversation for the evening.

Harry parted his lips to say something more, but the potions professor had already vanished into the night, dissolving into the shroud of the evening's darkness. Harry was left standing alone on the dirt path. He glanced up at the bright, shining stars and suddenly felt a pang of sadness that ricocheted through his body without warning.

Though he often thought of his mum and dad listening in on conversations, this time he thought of Fred Weasley. He wondered what George's redheaded counterpart would say about his mental state if he agreed to live with Professor Snape. He smiled at the thought, finding a brief moment of comfort in the memory of his late friend.

Just as he felt the threat of tears assaulting his green eyes, Hagrid burst through the front of his cabin door with a lamp.

"Harry?" he called, a tinge of concern laced in his gruff voice. "You alright, lad?"

Harry took a deep breath and regained composure of his emotions. He stifled his urge to tell Hagrid about Snape’s dismissal of his invitation. Instead, he turned around and gave the man a genuine smile.

“Everything’s fine, Hagrid. I was just telling Professor Snape to have a good night.”

Hagrid eyed the young wizard with suspicion, his face riddled with it, as he motioned for the boy to come in. “What are you doing out here so late with ol' Snapey, anyhow?” he asked with concern.

Harry sighed and gave Hagrid a half-smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets and followed the Gamekeeper inside. “You might want to pour us some of that Old Firewhisky for this one, Hagrid. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

In a different quadrant of the grounds, Snape continued his brisk pace along the moonlit path that led back to Hogwarts Castle. A coolness lingered in the night air, a gentle reminder that summer had not yet taken hold in the final month of spring. Off in the distance, the faint hooting of an owl added to the atmosphere, mingling with the deliberate tread of his boots on the winding dirt path.

As he strode onward, Snape replayed the moments from his conversation with Harry. Apprehension seeped into the forefront of his mind, crawling like the Forbidden Forest spiders. While he had undoubtedly understood the boy's resistance to the proposition, something about the final moments of their conversation left Snape with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

As he walked, Snape's steps became slower and more hesitant. Harry hadn't accepted, nor had he outright refused, and the mere thought of his possible agreement churned Snape’s stomach like one of his boiling cauldrons. He tried to divert his thoughts, shifting his focus to the supplies required for rebuilding his potions lab.

Soon, though, his mind circled back to Harry.

Flickers of doubt and a haunting sense of inadequacy crept into Snape's thoughts, gnawing at his self-assured facade. Could he really provide proper support for Lily’s son? What would she think of this? Surrounded by the profound silence of the night, the weight of his inner turmoil pressed upon him, constricting his chest and making his breaths shallower.

Snape glanced down at the ground, trying to steady himself by focusing on the foliage of the path. With the night as his only witness, he sighed and slumped against a tree, the gravity of his commitment sinking in.

The dawn arrived too early for Harry, as the sharp clinking of tin pots and the rustling of Hagrid’s movements about the cabin jolted him awake. His head throbbed from last night's whiskey, and he longed to return to the blissful embrace of sleep. As fond as Harry was of Hagrid, the man's thunderous snoring could easily keep the entire Forbidden Forest from getting any rest, and the consecutive sleepless nights were beginning to wear on him.

"Good mornin', Harry!" Hagrid stooped over to rustle the boy’s hair. "Sleep well, did ya?" he asked, his tone warm and friendly.

Harry gave a half-smile and nodded. "Yeah, not too bad. You?"

"Good, as usual," he replied cheerfully. "Care for a bite to eat?" Hagrid asked, the comforting sound of water boiling in the teapot filled the small cabin.

Harry nodded, stretching as he grabbed his glasses from the side table and scanned the floor for his t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he replied kindly, “You know you don’t have to always make me something, Hagrid.”

“ ‘Course I do!” Hagrid laughed as he cracked a large egg on the side of the cast iron pan, “What kind of host would I be without offerin’ you breakfast?”

Harry chuckled as he spotted his shirt and slid it on, he quickly rolled up his cot and set it in its usual resting spot beside the clutter Hagrid had accumulated in the west corner of the room.

“Oh! ‘fore I forget,” Hagrid wiped his hands on his earth-toned pants and reached for a small envelope beside the tea kettle, “O’l Snapey dropped this off for ya this morning.”

Harry furrowed his brow as he accepted the outstretched envelope from Hagrid. “He dropped it off?” Harry asked, as he rolled his eyes at the official Slytherin seal securing the envelope shut.

“I thought he was planning to send an owl?” He said curiously, popping the seal on the pristine letter.

“No, hand-delivered it. ‘Said he was sorry he couldn’t stay for a visit last night,” Hagrid continued as he poured Harry a large mug of tea, “Had a decent conversation with him, talked about the weather, and your arrangement.”

Harry took a sip of his tea and nodded without looking up, his eyes scanning the introductory part of Snape’s letter.

“Did he give you any more details about what we’d be doing over the summer?” He paused, looking up to see anything telling in Hagrid’s expression.

“Oh, nothin' too much,” Hagrid replied as he mixed some sugar into his mug. “He mentioned that the two of ya would have some shopping to do for potion ingredients or something rather.”

“Huh,” Harry paused to consider this, “I guess that would be fun.” He replied, satisfied with the new bit of information, and turned his attention back to the letter.

A few moments went by, and nothing but the sounds of the two scraping their forks along the tin pans reverberated in the small wooden space. Harry quietly read his letter while Hagrid focused his attention on the pile of food before him. Fang, Hagrid’s loyal pup, ventured over to the pair, giving them a morning greeting of his own kind.

“Today—" Hagrid started, but his words came to an abrupt halt as Harry coughed violently, causing tea to erupt from every corner of his mouth in a chaotic spray.

Hagrid immediately abandoned his sentence, rushing to Harry's side. "Merlin's beard, Harry! Ya alright?" Hagrid asked, delivering a few firm blows to Harry’s back.

Harry continued to cough as he fought to catch his breath, waving his hands dismissively in response.

“That ain't brought ya bad news, has it?” Hagrid motioned to the now slightly wet paper grasped tightly in Harry’s hand.

“S-sorry, Hagrid,” Harry shook his head as he moved to hide the letter. “No, ah, tea just went down the wrong pipe.” He finally finished, his voice raspy.

“Here, let me help you wipe this up.” Harry stood in search of a rag to clean the spilled tea from the table.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Hagrid wrapped his hand around Harry’s shoulder and gave it a pat, “I’ll get it dried up.” He smiled, relieved to know everything was fine.

Harry quickly folded the letter and shoved it forcefully into his back pocket, “Um, Hagrid,” He began, “I need to go…”

He paused, fervently thinking of what to tell the man.

“See Professor McGonagall.” He finished, trying to appear nonchalant.

Hagrid eyed the boy, a little suspicious of the timing. "You sure you're alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded and abruptly rose from the table. He moved swiftly around Hagrid. "Yes, I'm fine. I'll help you with the cleanup as soon as I return."

He adjusted his glasses and hastened to the door, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be quick!"

Hagrid observed Harry's departure, a lingering doubt in his eyes. After a moment, he dismissed it with a shrug and called after the boy, "Alright, Harry. No rush!"

As the door to the small cabin gently swung shut, a draft of morning air swept in. Hagrid redirected his attention to their shared plate of bacon, letting out a hearty chuckle. "I'll keep your breakfast warm."

The first light of dawn painted the sky with delicate shades of red and orange, casting a serene glow over the garden. Snape sighed softly then drew in a deep cleansing breath as he sat alone on an intricately wrought iron bench. Despite his features bearing the unmistakable marks of a sleepless night, Snape had risen with the first light of dawn. He composed Harry's letter with calm determination before proceeding to Hagrid's hut and later returning to the garden.

In the tranquil solitude, Snape had found a fleeting respite from his relentless thoughts. With careful precision, he had meticulously manicured the garden, pruning overgrown vines, weeding the flower beds, and even casting the Impervious spell around the perimeter to protect it from pests. Each deliberate action had provided a momentary escape from the daunting possibility that Harry would accept the proposal to live together.

Snape immersed himself in the tranquil stillness of the garden, his senses ensnared by the morning air and the faint sounds of doves' wings flapping.

However, the peace was short-lived as he soon caught the unmistakable sound of familiar hurried footsteps approaching. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“P-Professor,” Harry suddenly appeared from around the bend, huffing and clearly out of breath. “I-I had to, – wanted to, um…”

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” Snape said sternly, opening his eyes to observe the young wizard. “Up rather early, aren't we?”

Harry rested his hand on the garden railing across from Snape and nodded, still catching his breath. He retrieved the letter from his pocket and waved it pointedly at Snape. “You, um, I just, how…uh–”

Snape raised his strong, calloused hand, displaying the potion-stained tips of his fingers as he effectively cut Harry off.

“As eloquent as your breathless mumbling is, Potter,” Snape leaned forward and knitted his brows in scrutiny, “compose yourself first, then cut to the point. What about my letter compelled you to rush over here,” his eyes glanced up to Harry's wildly unkempt hair, “looking so disheveled?”

Though hidden from Harry, he had a strong hunch of what had spurred the boy into such theatrics.

Harry swallowed, his breath caught, realizing how nervous he was to speak. "Well," he began hesitantly, "I just didn't know that you, uh, well…you did that."

“How precisely vague of you.” Snape rolled his eyes and leaned back against the bench. He motioned for Harry to continue speaking, circling his hand in a pointed manner.

Harry took a deep breath, “Did Dumbledore know, that you, you sp-smacked the Slytherins?” He hurriedly asked, blushing slightly as he looked away from Snape’s stern glare.

A brief silence stretched between them as the morning sounds of the garden grew slightly more prominent.

Snape raised an eyebrow, "Do you honestly think, Mr. Potter, that I would discipline a student without the headmaster's approval?"

Harry looked up, matching Snape’s intense gaze, “Well,” he hesitated initially before finding his nerve, “I mean… I could see it.” He countered, feeling a bit braver.

In response to Harry's bold statement, Snape let out a low, dry chuckle, his expression a mixture of exasperation and thinly veiled annoyance.

"Your imagination truly knows no bounds," he retorted with a dejected sigh. "I assure you, my methods, unconventional as they may sometimes appear, always reside well within the boundaries of the rules set forth by the headmaster. Your skepticism, however, is duly noted."

Harry dropped his jaw, simply stunned.

“I just, I can’t believe none of them ever told.” He said, his voice carrying the astonishment he felt. “Do you, uh, cane them or… something?”

Snape hummed low in response, disregarding the last question and addressing the first, “Well, Potter, I doubt that even you would have so little discretion as to go broadcasting your discipline to your peers, much less to your rivals.”

Harry contemplated the point Snape made; he found himself in a tailspin of thoughts as he considered just what this new revelation meant. Snape eyed him, practically seeing the cogs in the boy's mind turn.

“I doubt you’ve smacked Draco though, him being your little pet favorite and all,” Harry prodded, his curiosity slowing spiking. 

This was monumental information and he could hardly contain the urge to know who exactly had found themselves on the receiving end of Snape’s displeasure.

“Mr. Malfoy’s discipline is of no concern to you, Mr. Potter,” Snape scolded, his tone quiet and low.

Harry knew he should let it go, but he couldn’t possibly abandon his line of questioning so soon.

He tired another tactic, hoping to get something out of Snape. “But I saved his life, you know. I think I have a right to ask,” Harry protested, his audacity growing. “How did you do it? Did you have to strap him down or something?”

Snape glared at the boy, “My patience is wearing gravely thin with you, young man.” He warned, with an unmistakable threatening tone.

Despite the icy warning Snape's tone held, Harry's caution around the topic had melted away, replaced by a vindictive satisfaction. He couldn't help but imagine the arrogant Slytherins, especially Draco, squirming over Snape’s desk for a thrashing.

He moved slightly closer to the entrance of the garden and tried again, “What about Crabbe and Goyle? Surely they found themselves in trouble with you at least once?”

There was a grating hint of glee in Harry’s tone that didn’t sit well with Snape.

“Potter, this incessant line of questioning is not only inappropriate but also tiresome. Consider this your final warning to cease such inquiries or face the consequences," Snape threatened as he leaned back on the bench, anticipating the young wizard would be wise enough to stop.

Disappointed, Harry mumbled one final thought as he kicked a stray pebble on the ground, “I’m sure they squealed like stuck pigs–”

“That does it, Potter.” Snape snapped. He immediately uncrossed his legs and smoothed the wrinkles from his silky black pants. He crooked a finger, motioning to the disobedient wizard across the fence, “Come to me.”

Uh-oh.

Harry’s heart rate rose as he opened the gate and walked tentatively over to the potions professor sitting on the iron bench. A sense of impending doom came upon him, and he began to wish he’d heeded the first warning.

As Harry reached the intended spot, he couldn't help but avoid Snape's disciplinary gaze. His heart started to thump hard, and his palms began to sweat; he quickly pulled his arms across his torso, in a protective self hug.

Snape let his firm gaze hang for a moment, fixed on the young wizard’s downcast eyes.

“Since, Mr. Potter,” He began slowly with a terrifying sternness in his voice, “you seem to have such an interest in your peers' disciplinary proceedings, I am obliged to give you a hands-on demonstration of the matter.” Snape said as he wrapped his hand tightly around Harry’s wrist, directing him to stand by his right side.

Harry’s feet seemed to follow against his conscious will. He glanced down at the Professor’s perfectly pressed pants and felt a swell of butterflies flurry in his chest. He wanted to speak—to protest or beg—but his throat tightened, and no words would come.

Snape peered at Harry with a cold, calculating gaze, then gestured towards Harry's baggy trousers. "Let’s begin with the first obstacle at hand. Can you handle the task of disrobing yourself, or shall I be forced to extend my assistance?"

Harry blanched, a cold shiver crept its way up his spine. His stomach dropped so hard it felt like it had hit his shoes.

Snape gave the boy’s wrist an encouraging tug, prompting Harry to find his voice, “Wait, wait, wait! Professor, I-I’m sorry. I haven’t agreed to this yet, remember? I’m an adult now… I have rights.”

Harry tried to sound mature, but his voice came out in a desperate whine and he mumbled the last part sheepishly.

Snape merely scoffed in response and reached up to the boy's bicep. He gave it a hard tug forward, knocking Harry off his balance seamlessly. Adult or not, if the young wizard were one of his snakes, he would have met this fate years ago.

Harry landed flat on his stomach in a heap. He coughed at the sudden thud of his torso hitting the potion professor's outstretched knees. His breath spilled out in quick huffs, as he lay motionless across Snape’s lap. Fear coursed through him as his bottom lay upright, presented in perfect striking range. Merlin, why didn’t he just shut his mouth? This was Snape, after all.

Snape paused his proceedings, taking in the scene. He placed a surprisingly warm hand around Harry’s hip, pulling the boy closer to him, which in turn elicited an anxious plea from Harry.

“Professor Snape, please you can’t just—”

Snape decided to torture him no longer, “Enough of the theatrics, Potter,” He directed, effectively cutting the boy off.

“Take note, if any of your sniveling classmates deserved reprimanding of this unfortunate nature, they would find themselves in the position you are in now.”

Harry remained quiet, he nodded at Snape’s words but kept his eyes on the garden ground in front of him.

His glasses threatened to fall off his face from the low stooping of his head. He felt the heat of shame rise from his chest as he stabilized himself with his left hand on the ground. He drew his shaky right hand up to hold his glasses in place.

"However, as you astutely pointed out just moments ago," Snape sighed, "you have not yet agreed to our proposal. Given that you are now an adult, consider this a light preemptive demonstration into the position that may await you if you chose to live in my home and disobey my instructions."

Harry tilted his head up and turned it slightly to the left, trying to comprehend what Snape had just said.

“As to your earlier inquiry,” Snape shifted a bit, still firmly holding the boy in place, “I do not cane students.” His voice remained low but Harry detected a momentary break in the sternness as he said it.

“However,” he continued, “I do employ the use of other severe implements based on the magnitude of the infraction. These disciplinary items are applied to individuals in your position only. I never have, and never will, permit students to bend over a desk for punishment.” 

Harry nodded and faced forward again, keeping his right hand on his glasses. To say he was shocked by Snape's preference for such an intimate position would be an understatement. He felt a knot of discomfort coiling in his stomach, leaving him slightly nauseated in apprehension.

“All discipline is directed towards…” Snape paused, struggling to find the appropriate word as this was his first time ever breaking down his method of spanking in such a way, “a bare backside.”

Harry swallowed hard, this was dreadful.

“Professor Snape,” he quietly protested, “why is that…necessary?”

Snape arched a disdainful eyebrow at the boy's deficiency in critical thinking. “Must you always speak before thinking?”

After a moment, Snape sighed in acquiescence. “I enforce this stipulation to ensure that the pain is never dulled and the administration of discipline is always appropriate, in terms of severity.”

Harry cringed, and though Snape was unable to see it from his vantage point, his face grew crimson red with embarrassment.

He wanted to die. At that very moment, he decided that he'd rather be back in the forest, at the mercy of The Dark Lord, rather than upended over Snape’s lap.

Recognizing the silence and the absence of protest from the boy, Snape continued.

“As you may suspect, crying and loud protests are hardly indicators of proper punishment, the visual from my perspective also ensures the discipline does not conclude before the lesson is learned.”

Harry remained quiet, his anxiety grew as he considered the gravity of Snape’s words.

“In terms of implements,” Snape continued with unwavering sternness, “you may consistently anticipate the use of my hand complemented by more substantial items such as a brush, paddle, or, in particularly unfortunate instances, a strap, if the offense warrants such strong measures.”

Harry nodded, his stomach churning at the thought of the implements and Snape's hand in such an intimate place. He relinquished the brief moment of triumph he'd experienced earlier at the thought of Draco and other Slytherins sharing his fate. This was horrible.

Satisfied with the provided description, Snape relaxed his grip on the boy slightly, instinctively patting the young wizard's back as he spoke.

“Do you have any further, appropriate, inquiries, Potter?"

Snape’s tone was unmistakably softer this time, and Harry couldn't help but feel strangely comforted by the gentle, reassuring pats on his back, as if they offered an unexpected solace in the midst of their uncomfortable ‘conversation’.

Harry licked his lips and shook his head fervently, more than ready to get up and be done with this.

Snape drew in a deep breath as his hand itched to give the boy a smack for the silence.

"You should also note, Mr. Potter," his voice regained its sharp edge, "that if I pose a question to you audibly, in this position or otherwise, you are required to respond with a respectful and audible answer."

Harry quickly found his words, “Sorry.”

Snape let out a deep sigh of disapproval and moved slightly, shifting his legs underneath Harry’s stomach.

“Wait!” Harry exclaimed, nervous at what the movement might mean. “I meant, um, I meant, I’m sorry, sir.”

Snape stilled, letting a moment go by before he offered a low hum of approval and gave Harry’s back a few more reassuring pats.

"Indeed," Snape remarked, a sardonic edge creeping into his characteristic sternness. He moved his left hand to Harry's chest, giving it a slight push as he released his hold on the boy's back. "You may stand up."

Harry sprang to his feet, nearly startling Snape, who characteristically responded with a disapproving tsk. He snatched Harry’s bicep to steady him while he stumbled to his feet in haste.

"Kindly exercise more control next time.” Snape remarked dryly.

Oh— no, no. There was not going to be a next time. No way. 

"I’m sorry, sir," Harry replied, receiving an approving nod from the Potions Master.

Facing Snape’s stern gaze after his previous position, left Harry feeling a profound sense of discomfort. He shifted uneasily on his feet, unable to hold eye contact.

Snape observed the discomfort in the young wizard, noting it as a welcome change to see a trace of humility.

“Take a seat.” Snape motioned beside him.

Harry quickly obeyed, not wanting to give Snape even a hint of hesitation.

"Your inability to finish the letter does not escape my notice.” Snape remarked with a touch of disdain, his voice laced with impatience. “Am I correct to assume that you merely perused the first two paragraphs?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by the Snape’s raised finger, “As you should know,” he added, his low stern voice serving as a warning, “I do not tolerate lying.”

Harry swallowed as he dropped his head down slightly, “Well, no. I didn’t get to read the rest of it yet, I sort of just ran all over trying to find you once I read, um, that you…” Harry trailed off, not wanting to continue with the topic of spankings.

Too drained to correct the boy for his unspecific blathering, Snape merely nodded.

“Very well. See to it that you finish reading promptly.”

Snape stood, prepared to walk to the gate, “You’ll find myself in the Headmistress’s office this evening awaiting your decision.”

“Wait, Professor Snape,” Harry blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could think.

Snape, maintaining his usual composure, turned to look back down at Harry with a hint of detached curiosity.

Harry swallowed hard, his nerves taking over. He wasn’t sure why he wanted Snape to stay, it hardly was in line with the embarrassment he felt. Nevertheless, he didn’t want him to go either.

“Um, well… I have more questions.”

Snape rolled his eyes as he adjusted his robes, his patience waning. “Mr. Potter, you might want to work on your approach to discussions; this lack of precision can be rather tiresome–”

“Don’t go yet,” Harry cut in quickly, swallowing at the way Snape narrowed his intimidating dark gaze.

“I want to talk to you more about whatever you wrote in here.” Harry pulled the letter from his pocket and waved it tentatively in Snape’s direction.

Snape sharp gaze bore down on him in disapproval. In that moment he vowed, if Harry chose to accept this offer, the first lesson he would learn would be on the disrespect of interrupts.

"Do not interrupt me," Snape's voice dripped with impatience as his measured footsteps carried him towards Harry with deliberate intent.

Harry gulped and scooted himself back on the bench. 

Yet, to Harry's surprise, Snape settled back onto the bench beside him, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to a hint of resignation.

Their eyes met, holding a silent exchange filled with unspoken complexities. Snape eventually sighed, a subtle softening in his expression, as he closed his eyes briefly, succumbing to the persistent presence of the expectant young wizard before him.

“Start reading, Potter.”

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

The sun set over Hogwarts, casting soft lavender and pink hues across the spring sky, gently illuminating the wreckage scattered about the castle grounds. Harry wrapped his jacket tightly around his chest and quickened his pace toward the towering castle. Much had transpired since the morning talk and...demonstration he’d had with Professor Snape.

Despite the profound embarrassment of the 'discipline trial run,' an inexplicable force compelled Harry to invite Snape to stay in the garden with him. They spent time discussing Snape's residence and peculiar interests, uncovering surprising common ground amidst awkward moments and Snape's trademark sarcasm. As they parted ways, Harry found himself more confused than ever. At his age, the notion of yielding to any form of 'discipline' held little allure. In all honesty, the morning's rather physical demonstration had nearly convinced him to reject the idea of living with Snape altogether. However, Snape's simple act of patting his back had a surprising effect, causing his determination to waver and leaving behind a strangely comforting feeling.

Then there was Snape's home, intriguing despite the professor's attempts to downplay it. Harry had a lot to consider. In fact, he'd spent half the day wishing for more time.

As he hurried through the corridors of the ruined castle though, his resolve solidified. Even if this decision altered the entire course of his life, for better or worse, he was certain this was a choice he had to make.

The sound of McGonagall’s quill scratching across thin paper filled the Headmistress’s office. She glanced up at Snape, who had been quietly pacing the circular room, pausing only ever so often to gaze out the soot-stained window.

“Feeling rather nervous, Severus?” she asked softly, meeting his eyes with her characteristically sharp gaze.

Snape scoffed and removed his hands from their clasped position behind his back.

“Hardly,” he replied, his voice low.

“And if you are,” McGonagall began, with a look in her eye that cut through his facade, “why might that be?”

Snape hummed as he walked slowly toward her desk, “If I appear to you as nervous, which, I may remind you, I certainly am not,” he gave her a pointed look in response to her knowing smile, “it is merely concern for the task of finding Potter a new living arrangement.”

“Severus, we—”

McGonagall halted her words as a knowing voice interjected itself over them, startling both Snape and herself.

“Pulling the offer off the table so soon, Professor Snape?” Harry asked, stifling the urge to snicker at the little jump the pair did in response.

McGonagall dropped her quill on the paper below as she turned to level the boy with a stern gaze.

“Exactly how long have you been standing over there, Mr. Potter?” She asked, her voice coming out clear and stern as she adjusted her large-brimmed hat.

“Not long,” Harry lied, giving her an apologetic smile.

Snape strode over to the young wizard, his long black robes billowing gracefully behind him, like a shadowy cloak in motion.

“Is that so?” He asked, peering down at the boy, his tone menacingly low.

“Hmm-hmm,” Harry replied, though the way he averted his eyes told the potions master a different story.

Snape narrowed his gaze as he stepped forward another pace, effectively closing the distance between himself and Harry.

He bent down slightly, his tone dripping with cynicism as he whispered, "Have you so soon abandoned the memory of my displeasure with interruptions, Potter? All the while conveniently ignoring my loathing for dishonesty?"

Harry swallowed hard and looked at the ground, “Um, well no. I just—”

“Gentlemen,” McGonagall interjected in her no-nonsense tone, “you may finish this discussion of yours at another time. Come join me over here.” She motioned to the circular seating by the fireplace.

Snape turned, casting McGonagall an irritated glance. Meanwhile, Harry sighed with relief as he quickly attempted to maneuver past the professor. He didn’t get far, though, as Snape reached out and effectively latched onto his bicep.

He bent down low to the young wizard’s ear, walking next to the boy while whispering sternly, “Do not for a moment think we have concluded this conversation, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded in response, stifling a whine as Snape gave his bicep a hard, reprimanding squeeze.

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied back, his tone a little louder as he remembered Snape’s need for ‘audible’ responses.

Snape nodded, sighing as he released his grip on the boy's arm. Harry quickly took a seat next to McGonagall as he worked to hide his blush from both of his former professors.

Snape gracefully adjusted his silky black robes before taking a seat as well, giving McGonagall an exasperated look.

"Now," McGonagall began, her gaze shifting naturally between the pair.

“Harry, I presume you are here to give us your decision about living with Professor Snape?” She said, looking at the young wizard expectantly.

Harry glanced up, meeting her gaze with determination. “Yes, I am.”

“A little more respect in the way you address the Headmistress is warranted, Potter.” Snape interjected rather harshly, his trepidation about the boy’s response growing within his chest.

McGonagall lowered her head in Snape’s direction, giving him another pointed look. “It’s quite alright, Severus.”

She glanced back to Harry, “What are your thoughts, young man?”

Harry swallowed, his heart rate quickening. He licked his lips nervously, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Well,” he said, glancing over at Snape, “I know we haven’t exactly been…close. But, you’ve done so much for me over the last seven years. Things I didn’t even know about..." Harry's voice trailed off as he dropped his gaze, overwhelmed by an unexpected swell of emotion.

Snape remained silent, but his nod towards Harry revealed a subtle softening in the usual stoic demeanor. McGonagall also nodded, giving the boy a small encouraging smile as he glanced up at her.

Harry cleared his throat as he regained his emotions, “Maybe it won’t work and we’ll be back in here in a week, but I’d like to see where it goes and accept the offer for now.”

McGonagall beamed, smiling warmly at Harry. “That is wonderful, young man.” She said happily as she reached over to give Harry’s shoulder a loving squeeze.

“Severus?” She asked, turning her gaze to him. “Your input, if you please.”

"Yes, well," Snape began, his usually calm and collected tone now tinged with a hint of nervousness. He leaned slightly forward in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on Harry, the weight of the moment hanging in the air. "Are you absolutely certain about this, Potter? Your agreement constitutes an acceptance of all the stipulations we discussed prior, and it's not a decision to be taken lightly."

Harry swallowed his own nervousness at the thought of Snape’s disciplinary method, but his determination to grow closer to his former potions professor, after knowing the sacrifices he’d made for not only himself but his mum, overrode it.

“Yes, I’m sure, Professor.”

"Very well," Snape said with a nod, his voice steadying as he accepted Harry's decision. "I trust you understand the gravity of this arrangement, Potter. We will proceed prudently, and should you find it untenable, there will be no shame in admitting so."

Harry nodded, “Thank you.” He said genuinely before glancing away to return his gaze to McGonagall.

“Excellent!” McGonagall said in a warm and proud tone. “Severus, when do you plan on departing? I trust you know there is no rush.”

Harry turned to face his new host, silently hoping for a little rush.

Snape, with his customary air of aloofness, cast a sidelong glance at Harry. “What are your thoughts, young man? I would hate to deprive you of your adventures with the Gamekeeper and his loyal hound too soon.” He remarked quietly, his sarcasm clearly seeping through.

Harry blinked, momentarily taken aback by Snape's dry humor. He couldn't help but chuckle as he replied, “Well, Professor, I have a feeling those adventures can wait till I return. Hagrid, as great as he is, sounds like a freight train at night.”

McGonagall laughed softly, a warm twinkle in her eyes, and his comment even drew a rare wry smile from Snape too. A subtle curl of his lips betrayed the slightest hint of amusement as he said, “Very well, Potter. If you care to gather your things, we will leave tomorrow afternoon.”

Snape turned to the Headmistress and leveled her with an unmistakable look, “Thank you, Minerva, for your assistance in this matter.”

McGonagall caught on to the emotions in Snape’s unspoken glare and smiled mischievously in return, “But of course, Severus, I am always happy to assist you.”

Snape failed to repress a scoff as the three of them stood up.

“Yeah, thanks, Professor,” Harry smiled at McGonagall, “I guess I’ll head back down to Hagrid’s now and fill him in.”

Harry turned to walk away but was taken by surprise as Snape reached out, effectively grabbing his wrist. “Not so quick, Potter. We still have your little habit of interrupting and eavesdropping to discuss.”

Something about the way Snape enunciated the word ‘discuss’ sent immediate shivers down Harry’s spine.

“Um, right now?” Harry asked, his voice came out laced with notable nervousness. He suddenly blanched at the terrifying thought that Snape might just spank him there in front of McGonagall.

“Indeed, now.” Snape leveled the young wizard with a resolute gaze, causing Harry to inhale sharply.

"However, not here," He finished after a moment of suspense, causing Harry to breathe a sigh of relief as Snape turned to face McGonagall.

"We will retire briefly to my classroom," Snape continued, "providing that is acceptable to you, Minerva?" McGonagall cast Harry a sympathetic look, her eyes reflecting her understanding of what was in store for him.

“That will be fine, Severus," McGonagall conceded, "As the semester is not in session, the rules of Harry's house discipline, falling solely under my purview, do not apply now.”

Maybe this was a mistake, Harry thought as his stomach began to do flip-flops in anticipation. They weren’t even back to Snape’s house yet, and he was already in for it.

Snape nodded respectfully at the Headmistress, bowing ever so slightly as he took his leave. He released Harry’s wrist and motioned for the young wizard to follow.

“Come along, Potter.”

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.   

As they descended the spiral staircase into the dungeons, Harry battled the overwhelming urge to turn around, sprint back up to McGonagall, and retract his agreement. His palms were slick with sweat, his heart thudded wildly in his chest, and each step felt shakier than the last. The cold and damp stone walls seemed to enclose around him, their ominous presence intensifying his mounting dread. Why does the greasy git have to go for spankings, of all the bloody things? Harry wondered, his stomach churning with anxiety. The air grew colder with each step down, and the flickering torches on the walls cast dancing shadows that only heightened his trepidation. Despite the countless moments of resilience he had displayed throughout his life, particularly during the harrowing events at the close of the war, Harry found himself unable to shake off the gnawing trepidation that gripped him now. Bloody hell, he'd walked to his death in the Forbidden Forest with his palms less sweaty, one would think he'd be laughing at the idea of receiving a child's punishment after that. But then again, this was Professor Snape... and he was no child. 

With outward determination to discipline the young wizard for his infractions, Snape pressed forward, his steps measured and resolute. Harry couldn't help but wonder what thoughts churned beneath that stoic exterior.

As they continued their descent, winding down the tile-covered staircase, the echo of Snape’s footsteps reverberated off the stone walls. The crisp thuds created a haunting rhythm that only accentuated Harry's growing unease. Memories of his forced walks down to the dungeon for his exhausting Occlumency lessons replayed in his mind. But now, instead of fearing Snape's intrusion into his thoughts, he dreaded a different kind of pain at the hands of the cantankerous potions master.

Too soon for Harry’s liking, they reached the base of the staircase and came face to face with the ominous wooden door leading into the dreaded classroom. Etched into the middle of the oak-stained surface read, “Severus Snape - Potions Master.” It was inscribed in elegant lettering, adding an air of sophistication to the otherwise archaic door. The sight of it brought back many memories to Harry, some horrible, others tolerable, yet none of them compared to the trepidation he was experiencing now.

Snape reached into the concealed folds of his black robes, skillfully drawing forth his wand, as he quietly commanded it to open. A loud click echoed in the small space as the locks on the wooden door began to move. Harry's heart raced as the door, heavy and reluctant, scraped open on the cold dungeon floor, exposing the dark classroom.

The pair entered, Snape leading the way with Harry following reluctantly behind. Snape flicked his wand again, this time directing it towards the row of metal-encased candles. They lit instantaneously, casting a soft, orange hue that ever so slightly brightened the eerily dark space.

Harry focused on controlling his breathing as he surveyed the familiar ominous classroom. Much to his surprise, it was not in ruins. In contrast, it bore no marks of war. It was left precisely as he remembered it: cold, dark, strange-smelling, and haunting. No figure it survived, Harry thought, as he bristled with the slightest bit of frustration.

Snape moved swiftly to the front of the classroom; his billowing black robes licked against the students' wooden stools lining the front row.

Harry watched him with growing reluctance. He knew he was required to follow, but he couldn’t convince his feet to move from his position in the doorway.

With a swift, deliberate motion, Snape pulled one of the wooden stools from behind the table of the first row and placed it squarely in front of the blackboard.

He then turned to Harry, his black robes billowing like a tempest in the dimly lit classroom. 

"Come here, Potter," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade as he motioned for the young wizard to join him at the front of the class.

Harry, his heart pounding in his chest, could only manage a quiet "Yes, sir," as he reluctantly approached Snape.

Snape's approval became apparent through the subtle nod he offered while taking his seat on the stool, his stern gaze fixated on the anxious young wizard standing in front of him. The scene before him was all too familiar. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that, unlike previous recipients, Harry had yet to shed any anticipatory tears.

Allowing the moment to stretch briefly, Snape maintained his punishing silence, quickly resulting in an inevitable groan that finally escaped from Harry.

"Professor Snape... perhaps we can consider this one a wash? I hadn't agreed to your rules before eavesdropping," Harry tried, with a small gleam of hope.

Snape scoffed, his stern gaze narrowing. "I fail to see how, even you, would so arrogantly assume that eavesdropping on my conversation with the Headmistress would go unpunished. Not to mention your blatant habit of interruptions and lying."

Harry shifted from foot to foot, dropping his gaze. "I don’t know... I guess I just thought the house rules would start... when we got to your house." 

Snape let out a low hum of disapproval. "Your ignorance is truly remarkable. My rules for this agreement, as you will come to find, extend far beyond my doorstep," he replied, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

Harry sighed and continued staring at his feet, silently begging the floor to swallow him alive. 

"Over here," Snape motioned to his right side, directing the young wizard to stand by it.

Harry paused, briefly contemplating the urge to heave his guts out. But Snape's impatient glare compelled him to obey, causing him to move slowly, like a man condemned to the gallows. He cast a dejected glance at Snape upon reaching the designated spot.

Snape opened his mouth slightly, preparing to give further instructions, but Harry quickly spoke first.

"Professor Snape, I’m seventeen," Harry interjected, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Please spare me the humiliation of dropping my trousers.” 

"Potter, your age has nothing—"

“I know why you do it, but—”

Before Harry could finish his plea, Snape snatched his bicep, effectively turning him to the side as he landed three hard smacks to his clothed bum with the center of his wand.

“Sna- ow!” Harry shouted out in shock as the intense stinging sensation of the smacks spread quickly across his backside. That bloody well hurt!

“Had you heeded my numerous, and I might add gracious, warnings about interruptions, Potter, you would certainly understand how incredibly foolish that little quip of yours was.”

Snape enunciated his statement by adding three more sharp smacks to the seat of Harry’s trousers, causing him to gasp.

The young wizard swallowed as his face grew crimson with shame. He glanced away from Snape’s penetrating gaze and, much to his embarrassment, found himself unable to stop from reaching around to rub at the radiating sting. If it stung that bad with his trousers on, he was in serious trouble.

Noticing the sly rubbing, Snape sighed and swatted Harry's hand away, abruptly halting his attempt to soothe the sting.

“You’ve earned yourself an extra dose for your insolence,” Snape pronounced, his expression firm and unwavering.

Harry felt tears prick at the back of his eyes as he glanced down. "Sorry," he said quietly, fighting back the shame rising in his chest.

Why do I feel like crying? Bloody hell, what's wrong with me?  Harry wondered; his discomfort growing as the swell of the unfamiliar emotion wrapped its arms around his chest. He resolutely decided not to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing him break down. He could bury emotions, stomp them down low and forget they existed. He'd done it before, now was no different. 

"Indeed," Snape replied as he took a moment to turn and set his wand on the lip of the blackboard behind him.

"If you choose to interrupt me again," he continued, turning back to Harry, "you may anticipate another disciplinary proceeding upon our arrival home tomorrow evening."

Harry shot his head up, dropping his mouth in shock at the severity of Snape’s sentence.

Not willing to drag the discipline out past an acceptable hour of the night, Snape held up his calloused hand, silencing any further debate on the matter.

He extended his faintly potion-stained palm out to Harry.

"Hand me your glasses.”

“Why?” Harry couldn’t help but ask as his nervousness hit an all-time high.

Snape swallowed his temper at the boy’s defiance over the simplest of orders. “Because, Potter, holding your glasses in place should not constitute a distraction from your punishment.”

Harry grimaced at his former professor but nodded in obedience as he removed them carefully, handing them over to Snape’s outstretched hand.

“Very well,” Snape nodded as he turned to place the glasses carefully next to his wand on the blackboard’s rim.

“Now, disrobe yourself from the waist down. Make it quick.”

Harry's stomach lurched at the command, and despite his determination to escape additional consequences, he found himself taking a step back from Snape’s outstretched knees.

“Professor Snape,” he pleaded, unable to stop himself, “I really—”

But before Harry could even finish, Snape leaned forward and snatched him firmly by the waistband of his trousers.

“Honestly, Potter,” he interjected, his voice laced with unbridled frustration as he yanked the young wizard back to him, “I have had first years face their punishment with more tact than you.”

Harry attempted to voice further protests but found himself too stunned to speak, watching in horrified disbelief as Snape deftly undid the top button of his trousers. Then, in one clinical motion, he dragged them down his naked thighs. Uncharacteristically, Snape chose to leave Harry’s pants in place for the time being. A generous favor to which Harry paid it absolutely no mind.

With determination, Snape tightened his grip on Harry's bicep as he pulled the stunned boy down to look into his stern eyes.

"Now, bend over." He instructed; his tone unyielding as he enunciated each word and patted his thigh expectantly. 

Absolutely mortified to be standing there, clad only in his knickers, Harry practically dove over Snape’s awaiting lap. The force of the impact as he hit the professor’s outstretched knees caused Snape to stifle a snort. The drama never ceases to elude you does it, Potter?  He silently mused before calmly placing a stabilizing hand down on Harry’s thin back.

Snape peered down at the young wizard, who lay motionless across his knees. He took a slight breath of his own and paused for a long moment, letting his frustration at the boy's obstinance fade.

In truth, there were countless times when he'd longed to haul the foolish hero over his lap for some much-needed correction. Yet tonight, he found their current predicament rather disheartening. Unbeknownst to Harry, Snape had come close to letting his earlier behavior slide. Though he was gradually growing accustomed to the boy's acceptance of their living arrangement, a twinge of reluctance nagged at him for having to establish discipline so early on. This gnawing feeling was entirely unexpected. It felt strange and foreign to have such an emotion pinching at his chest. He was certainly not used to this discomfort before delivering a well-earned punishment.

Snape shifted his attention back to Harry.

“I presume, Potter, that this is your first experience with this form of discipline. You will need some basic guidelines as to how you are required to receive it, will you not?” Snape asked, his tone lacking any hint of the reservation he felt.

“Er…” Harry started, rather nervous to give his honest answer, “yes and no, I guess.”

Snape briefly closed his eyes, pinching them in annoyance at the boy’s inability to answer the simplest of questions in a straightforward manner.

“I will no longer tolerate this vague blathering of yours,” he said calmly, grabbing the waistband of Harry’s underwear.

“No, wait!” Harry yelled, but it was too late. With one firm tug, his pants abruptly joined the trousers pooled at his ankles as Snape removed them without the slightest bit of hesitation.

Harry sucked in a deep breath; humiliation coursed through his body as he felt the cold air envelop his exposed lower half. Oh Merlin, I’m so fucking stupid, Harry thought, immediately regretting his decision to follow through with this. Have I gone mental?

Paying the boy’s humiliation no mind, Snape raised his right hand just above his shoulder before bringing it down in a hard smack.

Harry gasped sharply at the fiery sting the first swat left in its wake. Without the protection of his pants, the bite caused by Snape’s hand was worse than the strikes he’d received with the wand.

The first smack was swiftly followed by a relentless volley of a dozen more, each intensifying the burning heat. Harry’s throat tightened as he groaned, determined to stay quiet. This is so, so bloody awful.

Snape remained unfazed by Harry's reaction, his stern countenance unyielding as he continued to deliver each firm spank. By the time the third round of smacks began, Harry couldn't help but fidget, releasing soft gasps after each punishing strike.

"Oww," Harry moaned audibly as a sudden, sharp smack caught him just beneath his right sit-spot, causing him to flinch hard and kick his foot up.

"Potter," Snape's low, calm tone cut through the air, "settle down."

As he finished his admonishment and resumed the punishing smacks, Harry reflected on the uncharacteristic softness in Snape's tone—a rarity in their interactions. While Snape had technically just scolded him, he didn't sound harsh; the coldness in his voice was absent, replaced by a tone that almost, nearly, sounded sympathetic. As Harry quietly refocused, he found his resolve to endure the spanking stoically deteriorating. His skin was growing hot under each fresh smack, making him squirm. More pressing than that though, came the feeling of vulnerability intermixed with the shame of it all, causing him to slip in his battle against the torrent of an unfamiliar emotion. 

Harry’s breathing picked up as he fought harder to halt the tears threatening to spill down his crimson-hued cheeks.

“Now,” Snape continued as he momentarily stopped spanking, unconsciously shifting to rub the Harry’s back. “I believe I asked you a question that deserves a proper response.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath, struggling to keep the tremble from of his words.

“Yes, sir,” he swallowed as his mouth went dry. “I, I’ve been smacked before by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. But…” He went quiet, his mind racing to find the best way to put the next part. “Well, they never... smacked me like this.”

Snape hummed low as he continued to rub the boy's back, feeling a glimmer of anger swell up in his chest as he began to piece together what Harry was implying. 

"How precisely did they administer this kind of discipline, Potter?" Snape halted his soothing motions, emphasizing his next statement. "I strongly advise against any vagueness."

Harry nodded; his eyes squeezed shut as he felt the painful memories resurface.

“Er, well,” he began, “sometimes Aunt Petunia would get angry and smack me with whatever she could find. She would hit my arse... but mostly she’d go for any area she could get to first.”

Snape's chest tightened with visceral anger that threatened to consume him. He grappled with every ounce of his willpower to maintain his composed facade. In one of his many postwar talks with Minerva, she insisted upon the likelihood that Harry had suffered from abusive treatment at the hands of his relatives. Something Snape had refused to believe until this moment. 

"And your deplorable uncle, I assume he resorted to the same tactics?" Snape asked, frustration tainting each word.

Without meaning to, Harry shuddered, causing Snape to take a deep, steadying breath.

"Yeah, well, he'd get drunk and whip me whenever he felt like it." Not wanting to linger on those painful memories, Harry shifted his focus to the cold dungeon floor beneath his fingertips. 

Snape took in another deep breath.

"Your honesty has been duly noted, Potter." Snape's tone held another unexpected touch of genuineness.

"Are you feeling quite alright?" He inquired further; his voice tinged with a hint of worry.

"Um..." Harry shifted uncomfortably on the firm thighs beneath his stomach. "Not to sound rude, Professor, but this is not a pleasant experience."

After a moment of silence, Harry couldn’t stop himself from muttering softly, “It’s bloody awful, actually.”

Hearing the murmuring, Snape pressed his hand firmly down on Harry’s back in a silent warning. “Indeed. As such, it would serve you well to mind your cheek while in this position.” 

Greasy git, Harry thought but wisely chose to keep the insult to himself. His attention soon drifted back to his exposed bum. Though his skin had recovered somewhat from the onslaught of disciplinary smacks, it still felt rather warm and prickly.

"As you should have deduced, I am not referring to your enjoyment of some well-earned discipline," Snape scolded.

"However," he continued with a tinge of regret in his voice, "I should have addressed this before bending you over my knee.”

Harry shifted slightly, offering a quick nod. "S'alright, Professor Snape."

Snape, with his usual directness, continued, "If this method of discipline conjures unpleasant memories, now would be the time to say so."

Never before had Harry felt such a strong temptation to lie. Here was his golden ticket out of this, just waving in the wind for him to grab. 

Noticing the delay, Snape slid his hand up Harry’s back to rub some more as he cleared his throat.

“Though I trust you know I am not one to yield in my methods of correction, especially when I’ve found them to be so effective, I shall not subject you to a situation that is distressful due to past abuse,” Snape explained.

Harry sighed; he was sure to kick himself later for this.

“Ah, no, Professor. I’m fine. This doesn’t remind me of them.”

Snape nodded, and though Harry was unable to see it, the potions master actually gave a faint smile of approval at Harry’s courage.

Harry shifted again, hating the feeling of being so exposed and vulnerable. “I mean I don’t like this, at all,” he stated vehemently. “But the way you do it is... different.”

Different, indeed, profoundly so. Snape’s punishment inflicted a slow and deliberate pain, prying open a well of vulnerability and shame within Harry, compelling tears with an intensity he'd never known. Yet amidst the distress, clouding his disdain for the consequence, lingered the gentle trace of Snape's warm hand across his back, intertwining the pain with a newfound sense of security, a comfort that Harry could hardly understand. 

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” Snape nodded in approval. “I appreciate your candor around a rather uncomfortable subject.” 

Harry felt his chest swell, a hint of praise from Snape? Had the world ended?  

However, his moment of reprieve was short lived as Snape soon returned to the painful discipline at hand.

“In terms of the rules for the remainder of your punishment, they are rather straightforward,” Snape said, his voice calm and surprisingly soft.

“Do not attempt to avoid the smacks by flailing your torso around. Do not reach back to cover yourself with your hand, and do not ever,” Snape paused for emphasis, “ever kick me. For if you do, you will find the consequences to be most unpleasant,” he finished, his voice carrying an unyielding tone.

Harry swallowed hard but forced out a respectful, “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. You will cry. That is perfectly acceptable as long as you don’t intentionally overdo it,” Snape paused. “Trust me, Potter, I can easily spot theatrics.”

“Right, okay,” Harry replied, his words tinged with nervousness as he tried to prepare himself. Will cry?  

With nothing else left to discuss, Snape summoned his resolve as he commanded loudly to the room, “Accio ruler.”

The spell caused a chill to crawl up Harry’s spine, followed by a wave of pure dread as he felt the hard, cold ruler tap a few preemptive times on his stinging naked bum. Ah, fuck. 

“Now then,” Snape began, his voice low and firm. “It is time to address your sleuthing, interrupting, and lying.”

Harry groaned inwardly, involuntarily flinching as Snape tapped the ruler a few more times.

“Let this serve as a reminder of what will be in store for you if you decide to revisit these behaviors,” Snape finished as he raised the ruler high and brought it down with a resounding crack.

The unanticipated level of the searing sharp pain caused Harry to jolt forward on Snape’s legs.

“Ahh,” he gasped, unable to stop himself. 

Snape pressed his hand down firmly on the young wizard’s back, ignoring his protests as he brought the ruler up and down in a flurry of strikes, each with the same precision and speed. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and prayed it would end quickly, but it seemed that Merlin, apparently, was not in an answering mood.

Many of the well-earned strikes fell hard and fast over the next few moments, effectively reddening his flinching bum. The flurry of biting swats elicited whimpers of pain from Harry as he tried, and failed miserably, to remain silent.

The ruler, crafted from dense wood, penetrated deep into the tissue of his bum. Its thudding smacks causing him to tremble and gasp each time they struck.

Though he tried to stop himself, he soon felt the hitch of tears catching in his throat as he involuntarily emitted more pained whines.

A particularly forceful smack finally prompted him to cry out for mercy, “P-Professor Snape! Ow, oh– owww! P-please– stop,” Harry begged as he dug his hips into Snape’s knees and drummed his feet on the cold floor, his resolve crumbling.

“Enough, Potter. Lie still,” Snape directed when he felt Harry shift harder in response to the pain.

He sighed as he steeled himself against the young wizard's pleas, which were beginning to affect his resolve like never before when doling out a spanking. With cold determination, Snape effectively wrapped his free hand around Harry’s thin hip and pulled the boy closer to him, doing so in a silent effort to mitigate the writhing.

Snape continued with the punishing smacks, determined to leave an unforgettable impression upon the boy.

“Ohh! Ow! Ahhh, bloody h-hell tha— h-hurts!” Harry cried out loudly. His eyes stung, and his voice cracked as he writhed under the punishing blows.

In mere moments, he was engulfed by a deluge of tears streaming down his cheeks, his breath hitching between each uncontrolled sob. He couldn’t fully process the unfolding torrent as buried emotions surged forth with unyielding force. The grief of the war suddenly felt vivid and raw, overwhelming him. Amidst the tumult, he grappled with the complex tapestry of Snape’s role in his life—a secret protector over him who had once loved his mother deeply, juxtaposed with the unrelenting, bitterly harsh teacher with whom he shared a fraught history.

“Potter…” Snape paused with the ruler still drawn back. He surveyed the crimson surface of the young wizard’s skin and decided that they were almost through. “You are still owed your extra strikes for your foolish interruption earlier. Are you capable of lying still, or must I secure your legs with my own?” Harry groaned through the tears as he felt the ruler tap his aching bum.

His upper body trembled with previously suppressed sobs as he shook his head in response.

“Audible responses are required for audible questions.” Snape enunciated his point by administering four firm smacks, two to each of his sit-spot.

The pain nearly took Harry’s breath away as he brought his hand up, almost reaching around to block the smacks. Yet he forced himself to stop and instead dropped his head into the corner of his crossed arms.

“S-s-sorry! N-noo, please don’t.” Harry cried, his voice came out raspy and laced with tears. 

“Very well, keep yourself still then,” Snape instructed as he resumed the punishing strikes. The sharp, rhythmic sound of wood smacking bare skin echoed through the eerily silent classroom, punctuated by Harry's piercing sobs.

“Owww, ahh—ow, ow. I’m s-sorry.” Harry choked out dejectedly as he forced his body to obediently lay still.

The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Snape, as he resolutely decided the boy had nearly had enough. He administered six more scalding swats to Harry’s crimson bum, three to each tender sit spot, then abruptly stopped. The punishing smacks ceasing their biting echo in the classroom.

Harry was a wreck, his bitter sobs reverberating throughout the entire space as his body convulsed with tears. While the searing pain undoubtedly fueled the breakdown, there was also a deeper undercurrent of emotion at play. For him, each sob carried not only the weight of physical discomfort but also the burden of suppressed emotions that had long simmered beneath the surface, unacknowledged and unexpressed since the war's end. Making the punishment more than just a consequence as it became a rare moment of catharsis, allowing him to release some of the lingering guilt and anguish that had been festering within him for so long.

Snape hummed low as he returned his open palm to Harry’s shaking back. 

"Hush," Snape murmured, his voice unexpectedly gentle as he moved to rub small circles across Harry's back. The comforting sensation briefly diverted the Harry’s attention from the fiery, pulsating pain that radiated from his backside.

“Compose yourself, Potter. Your punishment has concluded." 

Harry coughed a few times as he worked to regain control of his emotions. He felt exhausted, depleted of energy but strangely relieved of a tension that had remained in his body for weeks on end. With his right hand, he pulled the collar of his t-shirt up, using it as a rag for his watery eyes.

What the bloody hell just happened to me? He wondered, letting out a shaky sigh. 

Snape silently continued to rub the boy's back, grateful to have the punishment behind them.

“You may stand,” he instructed quietly a moment later, though he made no gesture to hurry him.

“O-okay,” Harry nodded, his voice came out hoarse and warbled yet he made no move to comply.

Snape said nothing, deciding to disregard the lack of formalism in the response. He continued to rub Harry’s back, pausing to trace his hand up to the boy’s thin shoulders and give them some light rubs as well.

Though he’d administered far more painful sessions to other, less deserving students, for the first time when he glanced down at the angry, red skin, he found himself grimacing.

With a sigh, Snape bent forward and carefully drew up Harry’s pants, eliciting an audible hiss from the boy as he felt the fabric softly settle over his scalding bum. Discretion now to the wind, he considered asking Snape to pull them back off. He wanted nothing touching his inflamed cheeks.

Snape rubbed the young wizard's back for a moment longer. "Are you well, Mr. Potter?" he asked, with a hint of apprehension that Harry easily discerned.

"Um... yeah," Harry admitted with a loud sniff, the tears no longer flowing. "But my arse bloody hurts," he stated boldly as he slowly pushed himself off of Snape’s warm thighs to stand back up. He grimaced at the pain as it radiated through his backside from the movement.

Snape suppressed the urge to snort at the rather candid admission.

“Indeed, as it should,” Snape replied as he raised a warning finger up to the boy’s chest. "Next time, mind your choice of words in my presence."

Harry blushed slightly, but his lips curled into a small, nervous smile as he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders a bit.

“'Next time,' Professor Snape?" he said, his tone a mix of embarrassment and humor. "Trust me, I'd rather face Voldemort again than go another round with you and that ruler."

Harry smirked at Snape’s glowering gaze as he reached down to pull his trousers back up, wincing again as they scraped against his aching flesh.

Snape merely hummed low at Harry’s cheeky quip.

“Hilarious,” he replied, his tone returning to its dry and caustic nature.

Harry offered him a smile, his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained face serving as the only lingering traces of the emotional turmoil he had experienced just moments before.

“So, um…l guess I’ll be off to Hagrid’s then. Do you want to come along for the walk?” Harry asked, a hint of exhaustion laced into his tone as he glanced back to the classroom door.

“No, Potter. It’s grown rather late,” Snape replied as he stood up and grabbed Harry's glasses from the blackboard behind him, stowing the ruler in its place.

"Here. I don't want to witness you stumbling your way out of this classroom like a befuddled first-year.”

Harry smiled and adjusted his glasses in place.

"You will remain in my quarters for the evening, and you may sleep there while I tend to some last-minute matters of business before our departure tomorrow," Snape ordered as he returned the wooden stool to its proper spot.

Harry yawned and nodded sleepily. While he might have hesitated in the past at such an order, he now found himself surprisingly at ease with the once ominous potions professor despite the horrid ache in his backside.

Snape motioned for Harry to follow as he flicked his wand with a deliberate gesture, effectively snuffing out the remaining light within the cold, damp classroom. The darkness closed in around them, casting elongated shadows that danced ominously across the walls and floor as the pair made their way out of the classroom, heading for a new quadrant of the castle.

Harry found himself breathing a sigh of relief as they made their way to Snape's quarters, sensing a newfound peace that had been absent from his life for quite some time.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Late morning’s piercing light had failed to penetrate the dungeons' perpetual dark quarters. A faint marigold hue illuminated the gray stone walls lining the office. The tall, waning candles sat in elongated holders, placed directly above Snape’s round desk. They flickered softly in the darkness. The quiet dripping of their dwindling wax was accompanied only by the sound of a quill dragging meticulously across paper. 

The air carried a subtle scent of aged parchment, lingering potions, and faint smoke. Despite the sun's absence, the white-hot coals glowing in the previously roaring fireplace signified the approach of mid-day, their warmth radiating through the cool, damp air.

Snape’s dark eyes scanned over the final page of his final hand-crafted lesson plan for his advanced potions class next term. Though the schedule was still unknown, he had astutely spent the remainder of the night constructing the last of the necessary plans for the upcoming year.

Satisfied with his work, he added the final period to his page and filed it away. 

He then tapped the nib of the quill to the edge of the inkwell, releasing it from the clinging last drops of the midnight-colored ink. He took a few extra moments to rinse the quill in a smidge of tap water, carefully blotting and drying. Only after he was satisfied with the quill's condition did he set it aside and stand. 

Meanwhile, in the small quarters attached to Snape’s gloomy office, Harry was still deep in the blissful arms of sleep. 

After a slow walk to the office last night, the pair had settled in for the evening rather naturally. Snape lit the fire for the first time in years, and Harry slid gratefully into Snape’s pine green sheets, without many questions or protests. 

Glancing at a small clock on his desk, Snape strode to the fireplace. Withdrawing his wand, he pointed it down. ‘Aguamenti’, he silently commanded. The water’s cold consistency intertwined with the scorching heat of the coals. They hissed and crackled, extinguished with the remaining embers left dwindling in the fireplace. A plume of white smoke rose from the hearth as Snape returned his wand to the folds of his travel cloak.

In his adjacent quarters, the hissing sounds from the hearth lulled Harry out of his cozy cocoon of sleep. He lifted his head from the soft pillow and squinted, trying to make sense of his blurry surroundings. 

Everything was dark, and the stone covered walls carried no hint of light to illuminate any objects.

Harry slowly moved from his stomach to his back, grimacing slightly as he felt a dull, faint ache still lingering in his backside. He snapped his eyes shut again.

Though he tried to think of something else, he couldn’t help but blush as the vivid memory of last night’s punishment came to the forefront of his mind. How could he have cried like that? Begged Snape to stop smacking him like a ruddy child would have. A certain humiliation fell over Harry, interrupted seconds later by non other than the source of his embarrassment himself.

“As it is nearly noon,” the low, familiar voice cut in, interrupting Harry's reverie. “It is time to rise and prepare yourself. We must depart soon.”

Harry nodded. 

“Alright, Professor Snape,” he replied, his voice raspy and low from the night of heavy sleep.

Harry slowly sat up, stretching, and reached for his glasses on the small oak nightstand. To his surprise, he found Snape's outstretched hand holding them, their fingers briefly touching as he passed the cold frames to Harry.

“I’d advise you to find a better resting place for these than a bedside table.” Snape said, though his tone was unexpectedly soft, lacking its usual bite. “Perhaps get a case for them.”

“Yeah, maybe I will," Harry replied as he pulled the frames onto his face. “Thanks.”

He felt a warm flush creeping up his neck, as he grappled with embarrassment. He couldn’t shake the thought of how Snape had smacked his naked bum last night, ugh. The memory was enough to make him want to dive back into bed and stay there forever. How utterly dreadful. 

The dimly lit room came into focus, allowing him to witness Snape's silent departure.

Harry paused, taking a moment to reacquaint himself with Snape’s quarters. The dark bedchamber was exceptionally bare, yet decorated in a clean sort of fashion. Snape's bedspread was a rich, deep brown, matching the hues of the small oak nightstand, which held only a short candle and a mug of water. 

Harry had fallen asleep in his clothes from the day before, despite Snape offering him a lounge robe. A twinge of guilt flickered in his stomach for opting to sleep in Snape’s clean sheets with his day old clothes on. 

Stepping out of bed, Harry’s warm feet met the cold dungeon floor. He made his way to the compact bathroom adjacent to the bedchamber and turned the iron sink's handle toward him. 

The sound of water splashing against the white basin of the sink echoed in the stone-clad bathroom. The sink, while small, stood at the perfect height for Harry to lean slightly and splash his face with the bracingly cold water. He shuddered and then extended his hand to the black towel hanging from a hook near the sink.

Walking back out to the bedchamber Harry paused to glance at the oval floor length mirror in the room. 

“Professor Snape?” He called, listening for a response or sound to indicate the man was still in his office. 

Receiving no reply, and hearing no sounds that would otherwise suggest Snape was around, Harry turned and unfastened the clasp of his trousers. He made quick work of barring himself from the waist down, craning behind to see his previously punished bum. Yet to Harry’s utter shock, it looked normal. 

He moved his free hand across the plains of his naked flesh and pondered how his skin could feel a bit tender this morning, given there were no visible marks or bruises. 

“Potter,” 

Startled, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to find Snape looming in the doorframe like an unwelcome raincloud. 

“Blimey!” Harry exclaimed as he hurried to pull his trousers back up. “Merlin, Professor Snape! How long have you been hanging about?”

Harry grumbled, his crimson with heat. He muttered something about privacy as he redid the clasp on his trousers.

“Your discretion with nudity astounds me.” Snape replied, walking into the room, paying little mind to the boy's utter embarrassment. With a flick of his wand, the bed made itself. 

“I didn’t know you were there!” Harry replied, tossing his hands up defensively. “Did you not hear me call you?”

“I am here because you called me. I do not care for conversations shouted about a room.” Snape replied in his low, dry tone. 

Harry muttered something further under his breath, turning to walk out of the bedchamber.

“Ah, yes, because clearly closing doors is beyond your abilities,” Snape retorted sarcastically as he snatched the water cup from the bedside table. 

Harry turned back to give him a glare, albeit a rather embarrassed glare, but a glare nonetheless. 

Snape rolled his eyes at the young wizard’s contemptuous gaze.

"Honestly, Potter. Did you truly expect me to be so heartless as to anticipate permanent marks on your skin from last night's discipline?"

Harry lowered his eyes from Snape's intense gaze, as he tried to convince his body to stop flushing so deeply. 

“No, no. It’s just– um, I’m still a little… sore, okay?” Harry defended, his voice carrying a clear humiliation to it. 

“Indeed.” Snape replied before sighing and motioning for the young wizard to come to him. “Very well. Given that you are concerned, I will have a look. I highly doubt you have bruised but since you’re concerned–”

“No! No,” Harry blurted out, unable to stop himself as he threw his hand up. He was not going to have Snape inspect his arse. No way.

Snape raised an eyebrow in Harry’s direction, leveling him with a stern glare. 

“Oh, wait, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Er, sorry. Please, don’t um,” Harry swallowed, taking a few tentative steps back, “I didn’t mean…”

Harry trailed off as he continued to back away, a sudden chill of apprehension coiled in his stomach as the painful consequence for last night’s interruption came flooding back. 

“Your nerve to interrupt me so soon after a rather firm punishment is astounding.” Snape replied, though he made no advance towards the now petrified young wizard. 

“I learned my lesson.” Harry said with a hint of desperation in his tone. “Um, thank you for… offering to look and all, but I’m fine, really. There aren’t any bruises, I saw for myself.” 

Snape let a moment of heavy silence hang in the cool, dimly lit air enveloping the small space as Harry suddenly found his feet utterly fascinating.

"I see. Ensure that this is your last time interrupting me. Correcting you for behavior so childish and rude is rather exhausting."

"Yes, sir. Sorry," Harry mumbled, his gaze still fixed on the stone floor.

Relief washed over him as Snape turned to walk out of the room, prompting him to follow suit.

"Given that you needed some extra rest this morning, I collected your things from Hagrid," Snape motioned to Harry's few bags and his broom.

Harry glanced back towards Snape, offering a grateful smile. "Thanks."

“You’re welcome,” Snape nodded, his tone softening slightly as he headed to the fireplace. "Come along, it is time to depart."

"Oh," Harry replied, blinking in surprise. "We aren't saying goodbye to McGonagall first?"

Snape sighed, lifting his small black chest by the leather strap clasped on top. "That is Professor or headmistress McGonagall to you, Potter. Though you are no longer a student, you owe her your respect until you have established a different rapport," Snape lightly scolded.

Harry couldn't resist the temptation to roll his eyes. "Okay, Professor McGonagall then," he retorted. "We don't need to tell her we're leaving?"

Snape resisted the urge to give the boy a smack for his tone.

"She has been informed of our departure, come along," he replied sternly, striding over to the Floo Powder on the mantel, its emerald grains glinting in the dimly lit space.

Harry gathered his bags and his broom, then sauntered over. He glanced up at Snape, waiting for further instructions. The room was filled with the smoky scent of extinguished coals, creating a cozy yet slightly foreboding atmosphere.

With a practiced hand, Snape reached for the Floo Powder and offered some to Harry. "After you. One-eleven Silent Hollow,"

Harry nodded, as he took a pinch of the glittering green powder, and stepped closer to the fireplace.

“It’s been some time since I’ve done this,” he admitted, casting Snape a glance.

Harry sucked in a deep breath and commanded, “One-eleven Silent Hollow,” as he threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace. In an instant, emerald flames engulfed him and his things, swirling and crackling. He felt the familiar sensation of being sucked into a whirlwind come over him as he disappeared from the office.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the flames subsided, leaving Harry standing in a new fireplace, similar yet distinct from the one he'd left. He turned to face the opening, peering back to see Snape preparing to follow suit.

With a final nod, Snape, too, took a handful of Floo Powder, calling out the house address as he cast it into the fireplace. The room filled with a fiery green hue once more as he vanished from sight, soon to reappear in this home beside Harry. 

The journey through the Floo Network was always a bit disorienting, but as the dust settled and the flames subsided, Harry and Snape stood side by side in his living room.

Harry glanced around, filled with a mix of intrigue and uncertainty. Unlike the office, the seating space by the fireplace contained not one, but two, antique armchairs. Their Russian green coverings looked soft to the touch. Beside them stood a small silver tea cart, accompanied by a set of cups and saucers. Underneath Harry's feet lay a bone-brown rug, so pristine that it made him feel almost guilty standing on it.

"Come along. I'll show you to your room," Snape stated, his dark eyes flickering with a hint of uncharacteristic warmth. He led the way through the neatly decorated living room.

As Harry followed behind Snape and his billowing travel cloak, he dragged his feet a bit, taking time to glance around. Just outside of the fireplace, the seating area opened up to a quaint living room, fitted with a vintage couch that matched the Russian green armchairs, and a mahogany oak coffee table set in front of it. Unlike the dungeon office, which always carried a certain unsavory musk to it, this room was filled with the comforting notes of lavender and cedar wood, enveloping Harry in a soothing atmosphere. Behind the couch were three rectangle windows facing the backyard, Harry smiled at the way the natural light filled the space.

Across from the couch lay a tall mahogany chest with a few candles decorating the top of it. Harry wondered what it held. 

As they walked through the archway of the living room, they met a set of walnut-hued wooden stairs leading up to the second floor. Harry took note of the large front door to his left, which had a circular window just above it, allowing the afternoon light to illuminate a long staircase. He then glanced to his right, peering down the spacious hallway leading to the kitchen.

Snape's firm, measured footsteps echoed in the space, prompting Harry to follow him up the creaking staircase.

Though the house was accented in dark brown and green hues, Harry noted the domestic comfort it provided. Contrary to the cold and foreboding halls of the dungeon, this home felt inviting and comfortable, a stark contrast to what Harry had half-expected Snape's residence to be. This was where the man lived? This nice home that smelt like lavender and was bathed in sunlight?

As they reached the top of the staircase, Harry glanced around at the open space of the second floor.

"Wow... this is fantastic," Harry marveled aloud, his tone filled with genuine amazement. 

He took in the wide array of ancient books encased in a large, half-circle shelf system expanding across the back wall of the open floor plan.

"Yes, well," Snape paused, uncertain about his next words, "it has been satisfactory thus far." He finished as he too glanced around the library of sorts in the open space. Unbeknownst to the boy, Snape had purchased the home just three weeks prior, and hadn’t had the time to settle in himself yet. It felt rather strange giving Harry Potter a tour of his newly acquired property, considering Snape’s lingering resentment towards James. But Minerva, in her steady persistence, was right. It was time to move past old grudges. Harry deserved better from him, Snape realized. After all, he was not only James’s son but also Lily’s, and it was time to acknowledge that fact. 

The room they stood in exuded an air of scholarly elegance, with shelves adorned in the leather-bound tomes and the gentle scent of aged parchment in the air

"Down the hall there," Snape pointed to his right, "is where my room is located."

Harry nodded, his gaze shifting toward the closed oak door leading into Snape's room. In the hallway, he noticed some moving paintings, figures shifting about the frames and casting curious glances in his direction.

"My study is through there," Snape motioned to a set of frosted glass doors in front of them, leading to the hidden room.

Though Harry couldn't make out the exact details behind the white-covered glass, he could discern the form of a large desk and a tall candle holder, reminiscent of Snape's arrangement in his Hogwarts lair.

"These stairs will lead us up to your room," Snape finished as he moved to open the oak door on their left. The sound of its hinges creaked quietly as the door slid out easily.

"After you," Snape directed, as he motioned for Harry to walk ahead.

Harry cast him a small smile and headed up the echoing steps to the loft above. His emotions were a jumbled mix of anticipation and trepidation. Though they had both agreed to this arrangement, Harry couldn’t help but think that sharing a home was bound to have its strains. Snape seemed different now, but he was still Snape. And Harry was still, well, himself. 

As Snape followed close behind, his thoughts remained his own, leaving Harry to grapple with the silent expectations and possibilities of what lay ahead.

Reaching the top of the staircase, Harry's eyes grew as he took in the bedroom before him. He set his bags and broom down, stepping a few more paces inside. 

It was spacious. Exceptionally spacious, really. To his left lay a large made bed, fitted neatly with a cobalt blue comforter tucked against the corner wall. The circular window on the center wall, to the left of the bed, drew Harry’s immediate focus as he wandered over to peer outside. The window offered a picturesque view of the courtyard located at the front of the home. The layout was breathtaking, the green grass bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sunlight, a serene oasis that seemed to belong to another world.

On the opposite back wall of the room stood an aptly sized wooden desk, prepared specifically for Harry. A new quill and parchment paper were neatly arranged on its surface, ready to be used for studies or any personal musings he wished to jot down. The desk itself bore the same dark, polished wood as the furniture in the living room, adding a sense of cohesion to the space.

Finally, a fireplace that matched the one in the living room graced the adjacent wall. Its mantle was adorned with a few tasteful decorations, adding a touch of elegance to the room. As Harry moved about the space, he could feel the faint warmth still lingering in the hearth, a testament to the care taken to ensure his comfort in this new, unexpected home.

Snape found himself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, watching Harry take it all in. The decision to share his home had initially stirred intense nervousness, marking a significant departure from his solitary lifestyle and a reminder of the past. He couldn't escape the knowledge that Harry's presence would inevitably draw him closer to the memory of Lily's death. Especially considering his decision to cease viewing Harry as a carbon copy of his father.

However, as he observed Harry's face lighting up while taking in the room, Snape experienced an unexpected and peculiar sense of peace. It was a sentiment he hadn't anticipated, a tiny spark of connection between them amidst the shadowy remnants of their tumultuous past.

Snape's fingers, which had been subtly interlaced, relaxed and found themselves gently resting at his sides. He stood by the doorway, his shoulders easing slightly as he observed Harry's expressions. There was a subtle softening in his features, an almost imperceptible relaxation in his posture. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, revealed a glint of satisfaction. He had gone to great lengths to ensure that this room was welcoming for Harry, and seeing the young wizard's genuine appreciation for the space filled Snape with an unexpected sense of contentment.

“This is great, Professor Snape,” Harry forced himself to keep the faint quiver of emotions out of his words, “I’ve never had a room like this before.”

Snape, letting his guard down, gave Harry a warm and genuine smile. “I’m glad you find the layout satisfactory.” 

Harry felt a swell of shock at seeing Snape smile, it was the first time he’d ever witnessed such a reaction from the hard-pressed potions professor. He was almost unsure of how to handle it.

Harry let out a chuckle, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “More than satisfactory,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Sure, I mean, I might miss the cramped quarters under the Dursleys’ stairs,” a sardonic edge crept into his tone, “but I reckon I can live with this setup.”

Snape arched an eyebrow. “Under the stairs?”

Harry glanced at the floor, suddenly regretting his stellar choice of inopportune humor. “Ah, well…” he thought about lying, but there was a lingering fear that Snape just might find out; and that would be a painful lesson to pay, Harry squared his shoulders a bit, “Yeah, they would throw me under there to sleep and stay a lot of times.” 

“Why in Merlin’s name—” Snape started to say, but stopped himself. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to implore more about the young man’s abusive relatives. He’d just stepped into his room, after all. 

“If you are open to discussing your past, I’d like to revisit that statement after you’ve had time to settle in. Either today, or perhaps another time.” Snape responded.

”Uh,” Harry glanced away and crossed his arms. “I don’t want to bore you with the Dursleys today. But, yeah. Another time.”

Snape nodded, then turned to leave. “When you are unpacked and ready, come join me in the kitchen. We’ll have a meal then discuss the house rules after.” He said over his shoulder, his steps fading down the staircase.

Harry sighed and shook his head, walking over to peer back out the window. Why did he always seem to put his foot in his mouth? 

Gazing out into the courtyard, Harry couldn't help but wonder about Snape's immediate shift in demeanor. The enigmatic promise of 'revisiting' his past raised did not sound exciting, while the upcoming discussion about 'house rules' left him with a slight sense of unease. He shrugged his shoulders and moved to recline on the soft bed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he relaxed into the buttery soft comforter. 

He released the tension in his shoulders and closed his eyes. In recent weeks, no matter where he found himself, a wave of relief seemed to envelop him in moments of solitude. The war was finally over—Voldemort dead, and Ron and Hermione safe. It felt almost too lucky to believe. But in that moment, as he relaxed in a place he could finally call home, Harry felt a profound sense of peace. He was safe. Finally free.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

The remainder of the spring afternoon went surprisingly well for Harry. After savoring the soft silence of his new room, he ventured out to find Snape preparing lunch in the kitchen. The sight of which was nothing short of astonishing– for he’d never picked Snape to be a cook. It was a strange feeling to watch his once cold potions professor, now cloaked in a worn leather apron, assembling sandwiches. With his usual air of precision, Snape layered slices of tomatoes, freshly plucked from his greenhouse, onto the sourdough bread. 

As Harry watched him, a peculiar sense of normalcy began to pervade the room. The comforting scent of potato leek soup filled the air, and the tension that had accompanied their interactions for so long seemed to dissipate. It was a glimpse into a different facet of Snape, one that Harry had never imagined he would witness. 

Later, the pair ate their lunch in relative silence. Snape perused an article from The Daily Prophet, pausing every so often to scoff and shake his head, while Harry took in the kitchen's surroundings. He admired how the afternoon light streamed in from the circular window above the copper sink, illuminating the sleek, jet black countertops. The aesthetic of the kitchen provided a stark contrast to the predominant green and brown hues of the house. 

Harry peered into the open pantry, which revealed several dried bundles of lavender hanging from copper hooks on the ceiling. He smiled to himself as he noted how every ingredient and dried food item was aptly labeled with straight, hand-written notes, appropriately detailing everything down to the last grain of rice.

After finishing their meal, Harry extended a helpful hand to Snape at the sink. Together they rinsed the glass plates, preparation utensils, and ceramic soup bowls. 

Snape maintained his customary stoicism, but a flicker of satisfaction passed through him as he glanced at Harry. He appreciated the unprompted assistance and noted the mature demeanor Harry held.

In the midst of the domestic activity, the gentle sound of running water filled the room. Despite finding the situation somewhat peculiar, Harry also felt a warm sense of contentment as they worked side by side. 

“Could we go see your greenhouse?” Harry had asked, his curiosity piqued by the freshly harvested tomatoes and Snape's earlier mention of it.

Snape nodded, and after finishing with the dishes, led him to the backyard for the tour. 

Harry was genuinely impressed by the vibrant garden inside the greenhouse, where magical plants intertwined with fresh, delicious produce. His smile widened as Snape pointed out the few shaking Mandrakes, their thick green stems and trembling broad leaves evoked memories of lessons spent with Professor Sprout.

During most of the tour, the pair exchanged pleasant and cordial moments. It was only when they reached Snape's potions storage room, situated next to the greenhouse, that a minor incident unfolded.

Harry had inevitably found himself on the receiving end of a firm smack to his bum from Snape's wand for touching a fiery red vial of salamander's blood. Unfortunately, his curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he couldn't resist the temptation to inspect the vial more closely.

"Look with your eyes only," Snape had reprimanded, his voice carrying an undercurrent of displeasure. "As you'll soon learn, handling ingredients in this storage room without explicit permission will result in immediate disciplinary action."

Harry nodded, an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. "Right, okay," his emerald eyes met Snape's gaze apologetically.

Though he knew what Snape had meant by 'disciplinary action,' he had no intention of discussing it then.

“Very well.” Snape replied as the pair moved to exit the large storage room lined with potions, ingredients, and strange looking specimens in glass jars. 

The remainder of the day passed relatively quickly as they split up after the tour. Snape retreated to his study, engrossed in what Harry presumed to be research and potions. Meanwhile he strolled through the sprawling grounds of the yard. He admired how the winding pavement road led to the quiet, private neighborhood, where similar stone homes stood in dignified silence. The courtyard, in particular, caught his attention; with its lush green grass and a charming, natural pond that hosted a few elegant Arowana fish gliding through the water.

Harry was astounded when dinner rolled around and he found Snape yet again in the kitchen, preparing another savory home cooked meal. The smell of roasted chicken graced with a complimentary garlic rub permeated the house, filling Harry with a comforting sense of equanimity. After the war, living with the Dursleys, and the dining hall dishes, Snape’s cooking tasted like a culinary masterpiece.

The warmth emanating from the kitchen, along with the gentle clinking of dishes as Snape finished preparing their meal, made Harry smile. As they ate together, their conversation remained polite and somewhat reserved, and the silences that settled between them felt different. Unlike the hostile and uncomfortable silences he once associated with Snape, these were strangely pleasant, and he wondered if Snape thought so too. 

Harry contemplated how his post-war interactions with Snape had both changed everything and nothing at the same time. It was a peculiar dichotomy that occupied his thoughts throughout the day. Prior to his entrance into Snape's memories, Harry had been oblivious to the depth of the man's love for his mother. Nor was he aware of the bullying Snape had endured at the hands of his father. These revelations had been overwhelming enough during the war, but they now seemed like just the tip of the iceberg.

Vivid memories flooded Harry’s mind, those he had witnessed in the Pensieve. Now, without the imminent threat of death, he had the opportunity to contemplate the impact of those revelations. 

Snape's love for his mother ran deeper than Harry could have ever imagined. The seemingly harsh, cold, and once ominous man had dedicated his life to her – and in a way, to him.

It bewildered Harry to know that throughout his time at Hogwarts, Snape had secretly protected him with unwavering dedication, even deceiving Voldemort himself. Harry had finally seen that Snape cared to keep him safe, though it had been shrouded in layers of complexity and secrecy.

It was with this newfound certainty that he had trusted Snape enough to place him in the humiliating, painful, and exceptionally vulnerable position over his knees. It was why he now shared a home with his enigmatic potions master. Yet, despite these revelations, Snape's outward demeanor remained as dry, stoic, and stern as ever. Harry didn't expect an overnight transformation, but he couldn't help but wonder if Snape felt differently toward him after everything came to light.

It was challenging to discern the true nature of the man he thought he once knew somewhat well. Harry pondered whether Snape would ever forgo the formalities and reserved disposition that had accompanied his presence for so long. 

Shrugging off the persistent thoughts, he took another bite of his delicious dinner. Time will tell, Harry told himself.

When the evening approached, the pair retired to the living room. Snape lit a roaring fire, and Harry settled comfortably into a Russian green armchair. 

As he suspected, it was ridiculously soft and a pleasure to sit in.He hadn't thought much about his tender bum since the early morning. Thankfully, the lingering ache had faded away, and he sat normally, as if the painful lesson had never occurred. 

“I am going to retrieve a kettle of lavender tea,” Snape said, breaking the silence as he stood and peered down at Harry, “Would you like some as well?” 

Harry smiled up at him, “Sure, thank you.” He glanced towards the kitchen, “Do you need any help?” 

Snape shook his head as he turned on his heel to make way for the kitchen, “I can manage to collect a tea kettle, Potter.” He said over his shoulder, disappearing from sight. 

Harry nodded as he turned back to watch the orange flames dance in the fireplace. 

Moments later he heard Snape clear his throat, “Your help this evening has been satisfactory.” He said, though his voice sounded distant. 

Harry chuckled to himself, it wasn’t a ‘thank you’ per se, but Snape’s tone revealed his true sincerity.

“Glad to hear it,” Harry replied with a small smile plastered to his face. “I know I said it earlier, but you make great food.”

Snape reappeared, carrying the silver, steaming tea kettle.

“You’ve merely been scarred by that detestable dining hall slop.” He replied dismissively, pouring the purple hued tea into each of the awaiting cups. 

Harry smirked and took the extended tea from Snape. 

“Though it is not customary to add sugar this close to retiring to bed,” Snape said as he picked up a small serving dish with white sugary cubes and extended them to Harry, “I suppose it is cordial to offer you them regardless.” 

Harry lifted his eyebrows up as he peered into the dish. He couldn’t stop himself from smirking at Snape’s disapproving glare after he snatched two cubes up and plopped them into his piping hot tea. 

“How utterly predictable you are.” Snape replied in his typical low drawl as he set the dish back to the small cart. 

Harry shrugged and drew in a slurp of his tea, earning him another disapproving glance from Snape. 

“Come along, Potter.” Snape directed as he made his way to the antique couch. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as he rose up to follow after Snape, secretly stealing another sugary cube. 

Snape maintained a thoughtful silence as he carefully ignited the tall candles in the room, their flames casting a warm, flickering glow that chased away the remaining shadows in the dimly lit area.

He motioned for Harry to come join him on the couch. They both settled onto the plush fabric, their movements in perfect harmony as Snape subtly shifted to orient himself toward Harry. Their knees came close to touching, revealing an unspoken connection between them after last night's discipline. Though neither even noticed.

"It is time to address the house rules and the consequences that may ensue should you disregard them," Snape declared, his voice maintaining its characteristic low and authoritative tone.

"Oh, right," Harry replied, flushing slightly as he set his teacup down on a coaster located on the polished oak coffee table.

Snape nodded, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. He couldn't help but feel a sense of dread about this particular part of the evening. His initial discomfort about sharing a home with Harry had eased somewhat throughout the day, but he remained haunted by waves of self-doubt. Guiding Harry into adulthood seemed like an overwhelming task, especially having endured a tumultuous and abusive childhood of his own. He now carried the heavy burden of wartime experiences as well, as did Harry.

Over the years, Snape had become adept at concealing his vulnerabilities, but at this moment, his self-doubt clawed at the very core of his being. How could he, someone who had known so little nurturing in his own upbringing, provide the care and discipline that Harry needed?

Unsettling thoughts had plagued him ever since McGonagall suggested this arrangement. Each time he looked at Harry, a mix of emotions welled up within him. Grief and remorse over their complex history struck him sharply. He couldn't avoid the undeniable truth: Harry had seen his sacrifices, endured torment, known the depths of his unspoken love for his mother, and understood the solitary burden he had carried for years. As a result, his entire persona often felt like a thin disguise concealing his true emotions.

Exacerbating his internal turmoil was the realization that he was now responsible for disciplining Lily's son, a young man whose eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to the love of his life. This added layer of complexity weighed heavily on his conscience, casting shadows over the path he had committed to walk with Harry.

The memory of the intense spanking he had administered to the young wizard the night before continued to disrupt his thoughts. While it was true that he had never felt remorse for delivering a well-deserved spanking, the piercing echoes of Harry's cries and the sight of his reddened skin had stirred within him a profound sense of discomfort. He was not looking forward to the prospect of doling out another session anytime soon. Yet, knowing Harry James Potter and his penchant for trouble, Snape couldn't help but fear that another punishment wouldn't be far off.

Clearing his throat, Snape redirected his attention to Harry. He was firm in his resolve to suppress any lingering emotions and move forward, just as he always had.

"I have no inclination for needless complexities," Snape began. "The rules, therefore, shall remain uncomplicated."

Harry nodded, feeling a slight knot of unease in his stomach as he awaited Snape's following words.

"Effective communication is paramount for us during your stay this summer. I have no intention of restricting your outings, but I do expect to be informed of your whereabouts."

Harry raised his brows, for he had half expected that Snape would either insist on accompanying him at all times or confine him to the house. Why he thought that… well, he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, course. I tell you.” Harry responded, his tone reflecting the satisfaction that he felt at the revelation. Snape nodded, taking a sip of his tea. 

“Very well,” he continued, setting the teacup back down. “You will be required to return home prior to 10 in the evening, unless we have arranged otherwise.” 

Harry nodded in response, suddenly feeling less embarrassed by the conversation. 10 is fair, he reasoned to himself. It's not that he wanted to be out late anyway, as the attention of being the 'hero' everywhere he went often felt overwhelming and uncomfortable. 

“This should go without saying,” Snape interlaced his fingers, his tone even more precise, as he leveled Harry with a stern gaze. “Do not pursue anything of a questionable or suspicious nature. You are here to convalesce from the war, not embroil yourself in another one.”

As Harry's eyes drifted away from Snape’s penetrating gaze, a twinge of guilt flicked at his chest. Responsibility for the war's devastation still weighed heavily on his conscience, as it always did. Sensing the emotions traversing Harry's face, Snape did something uncharacteristic. He hesitantly extended his hand, patting Harry’s back a few times, offering a rare moment of comfort.

Harry looked up, a small, grateful smile forming. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good,” Snape replied quietly, withdrawing his hand and taking a sip of his tea.

As Harry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, they settled into a brief companionable silence, the warmth of the fire and the aroma of lavender tea wrapping around them. Harry relished the seldom comfort offered by his former professor; regardless of the embarrassment he felt when he remembered that the last comforting back pats he’d received were over Snape’s outstretched knees. 

“Before you prepare your outings and leisure time, I expect you to first report to me. I will assign you tasks that are to be completed daily that pertain to either the necessary functioning of this household, or your personal development.” Snape continued, leveling Harry a no-nonsense look. 

Harry couldn’t help but sigh at that. Of course there would be mandated chores. 

“Alright.” Harry replied reluctantly as he took another swig of his own tea, finishing it off. 

“Now, as I mentioned during our earlier discussion in the potions storage,” Snape began, causing Harry to blush. “Do not enter the building without explicit permission, and certainly, refrain from touching anything. If you choose to disregard this rule, I will take corrective measures immediately, without waiting for the privacy of this home.” 

Harry's ears turned a brilliant shade of scarlet from his mounting embarrassment. He fought to suppress the intense flush creeping across his face, all while nodding in response without uttering a word. Any other time, Harry would deflect when he felt uncomfortable—whether it be poorly timed humor or outright disrespect. He’d stand his ground and speak his mind. But, now, following the close of the war, Harry felt different. More unsure of himself in the face of Snape. After all, he’d spent months thinking Snape had killed Dumbledore and betrayed the Order. He’d spent weeks on end blaming the man for Sirius’s death and hating him with every ounce of his energy. But now… 

“Young man,” Snape began, his tone low and warning. “Need I remind you of my sentiments for nonverbal responses?” 

“No, no, you don't need to.” Harry responded quickly, meeting Snape’s intense gaze. “I will not go into, or touch anything, in your potions storage. Unless you tell me otherwise.” 

He was relieved to take in the slow nod from Snape, noting the lack of frustration on his face. Young man?  Harry reiterated to himself, that's a new one, isn't it?

"Very well," Snape responded, his tone steady as he leaned back against the couch. “In general, you should be fully aware that I have no tolerance for dishonesty, insolence, or disobedience. A transgression of such will always result in a well-earned trip over my knee. Need I remind you, you are no longer in Gryffindor—free to break any rule and suffer little to no consequences for it. Here I will treat you as I do the Slytherins, and contrary to what you may believe, I run my house with strict discipline." 

Harry wanted to die from embarrassment but was quick to respond this time with a quiet, “Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Excellent. Thus, then concludes the rules of the house," Snape replied, readying himself for the final part of their conversation. "Additional stipulations may be introduced in the future, but rest assured, I will inform you of any changes before administering consequences.”

Harry swallowed and nodded as he glanced around the room, avoiding Snape’s gaze. If he continued to stare at him, he feared his blush would never recede. 

“Now, as for the penalties you can expect for infractions," Snape continued, flicking his wand, “Accio paddle, brush, and strap.”

His voice rang with authority as he commanded the house to fetch the disciplinary tools.

Though spanking Harry had not been an enjoyable experience for either of them, Snape was resolved in the necessity of it. He knew from personal experience that pain proved to be a strong motivator for behavior. His snakes at Hogwarts certainly watched their steps after being on the receiving end of a well-deserved smacking. Even Lucius’s son knew better than to overstep his bounds.

A sinking feeling of dread bubbled in Harry's stomach, and a shiver of unease ran down his spine as he listened to the eerie sounds of the magical summoning echoing throughout the house. 

The unmistakable creak of a drawer sliding open and shutting with a swift, loud smack made Harry grimace. The implements, summoned by Snape's command, flew into the room, their arrival punctuating the weight of what was to be expected for misbehaving.

With practiced precision, Snape deftly caught each one, handling them with the same care and assurance that characterized his every movement. 

He placed them deliberately on the waiting coffee table.

Harry cast a wary glance at the disciplinary tools, unconsciously moving back on the couch. Each implement carried an aura of intimidation, and he had no desire to examine them closely.

"Depending on the severity of the infraction," said Snape, directing a stern gaze towards the array of implements, "one, or perhaps a combination of each, will be administered to you to reinforce the importance of the rules you will abide by this summer.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest in a protective gesture. He glanced closer at the table, his eyes drifting between the implements. 

Crafted from gleaming cherry wood, the short, rounded paddle looked smooth and heavy, hinting at the pain it could inflict.

The vintage hairbrush, beside the paddle, appeared to be made from polished mahogany with a subtle curve, almost as if it were designed for a comfortable grip. Its pristine condition made Harry wonder if it had ever seen use on someone's hair.

Then, there was the menacing leather strap. An imposing tool handcrafted from thick, genuine leather. Measuring about 10 inches in length and 1.5 inches in width, from a look alone it promised a sharp and memorable bite if used for correction.

“Well… lucky me.” Harry mumbled as he glanced away from the intimidating implements laid out before him.

“Ensure you adhere to the guidelines for this arrangement, and you'll avoid any such luck, as you put it.” Snape replied, emphasizing the term with a hint of sardonic dryness.

Harry managed a wry smirk at Snape's witticism, appreciating the levity amid the tension that loomed in the air.

After a brief moment of silence, Harry took a deep, cleansing breath. 

“Blimey, Professor Snape.” He began, with a hint of nervousness as he uncrossed his arms and sat up, “this sort of feels like you're revealing an executioner's tools to the condemned, y’know? Wouldn't a bit of surprise have been better?"

Snape scoffed. “As jovial as your little analogy is, I prefer to deal in certainties, not surprises. It is a lesson you would do well to remember.”

Harry grimaced, before letting out a dejected sigh. 

“See to it that you find a suitable storage place for them.” Snape directed, motioning to the spanking implements. He then stood and strode over to the tea kettle by the crackling fireplace. 

“What? Why do I have to keep them!?” Harry exclaimed in response, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of being anywhere near the disciplinary tools. 

“Settle down, Potter. I am in no mood for theatrics.” He carefully poured himself another cup of tea. Then with precision, he withdrew his wand and cast a spell over the kettle and cup. The room was soon filled with the potent aroma of lavender again as the contents began to boil once more.

“Not only will having the disciplinary implements on hand serve as a reminder for appropriate behavior,” Snape continued, “but you will also be required to retrieve them when you are in need of punishment.” He sentenced, motioning for Harry to bring his teacup over.

Harry’s jaw dropped as he stared at Snape, his expression revealing the level of disgust he felt at the revelation.

“I hate that.” Harry admitted after a moment of silence. He quickly snatched up his cup and sauntered over to Snape. 

Snape merely rolled his eyes and took the teacup from Harry, filling it up with the fragrant brew. 

As the hot liquid settled in the cool cup, a delicate wisp of steam unfurled, momentarily shrouding Harry's glasses in a hazy veil as he raised the cup to his lips. 

Replacing the tea kettle on the awaiting cart, Snape adjusted the front of his trousers and sat down.

Following suit, Harry casually replaced his teacup on its little coaster, adjusting his round glasses to let the steam dissipate before taking a moment to find a comfortable spot on the adjacent armchair. 

As he settled in, he couldn't help but shift slightly in his seat, showing a subtle unease that contrasted Snape's comfort. Who had closed his eyes and looked as though he were ready for a lie down.

“So, um…well.” Harry mumbled for a moment, trying to find the right way to phrase his pressing question without exuding the incredible awkwardness he felt. 

Snape opened his eyes and cast Harry an exhausted glance but waited patiently this time for the young wizard to collect his thoughts. 

“Have you always had them?” Harry asked, motioning back towards the implements on the coffee table. 

Snape hummed low as he glanced up to the ceiling. “Not always.” He said, peering back down to meet Harry’s quizzical gaze. “However, they have remained in my desk drawer since my first day instructing at Hogwarts.”

"Oh," Harry replied, pulling his cup back up to his thin lips again. Snape merely nodded in response, closing his eyes for another moment to rest. 

It had been a sleepless night prior and a long day, and his vigor was beginning to dwindle. Hidden beneath his stoic exterior though, he found himself unexpectedly appreciating the warmth of Harry's company. The trepidation he’d felt over their discussion had diminished after Harry had received the rules and subsequent consequences relatively well. Despite the impending barrage of questions, he was sure to face, the comforting contrast of Harry’s presence to his usually dark, lonely quarters in the dungeon was undeniable.

“Do you discipline the Slytherins often at school?” Harry asked, drumming his foot on the floor, slightly bouncing his knee up and down. 

Snape shot Harry a sidelong glance. “If you are attempting to gain insights again into Mr. Malfoy’s discipline,” 

Harry moved to say something but caught himself just in time, effectively stopping himself from interrupting. The self restraint did not go unnoticed by Snape, causing the potions master to suppress a smile of satisfaction. 

“I’m afraid you will be sorely disappointed.” Snape finished as he took a sip of his tea. 

“No, no.” Harry assured him, “I’m just trying to understand all of this... I’ve never heard of any teachers smacking students.” 

Snape glanced at the fire and considered the statement. “It is less common now. However, when I first began instructing, corporal punishment was widely accepted as a means of proper discipline across Hogwarts.” 

“Really?” Harry asked, his disbelief evident.

"Indeed," Snape replied, raising his brows. "As a matter of fact, the late headmaster himself dealt out many well-earned licks to misbehaving students."

"Dumbledore?!" Harry gasped, his mouth dropping open. "I can hardly believe that."

Snape merely scoffed, taking another sip of his tea. "Yes, well, many things were different back then." He replied, his gaze gravitating back to the fireplace. 

Harry fell into contemplative silence as he grappled with the newly revealed information. 

The room enveloped them in a tranquil hush, broken only by the rhythmic snap and crackle of the blackened logs in the fireplace.

“Do you know if he… disciplined my Mum and Dad that way?” Harry asked tentatively, hoping it wouldn't invite tension to bring up his father. He was exceptionally curious to know, pushing him to try for an answer despite his hesitation. He wondered if Sirius and Lupin had ever found themselves under such treatment as well. 

Harry's question stirred many thoughts within Snape's mind. Though he was certain Lily had never behaved so poorly as to be summoned to the headmaster's office, he recalled a buzz that circulated once or twice in the Slytherin house, suggesting that James and his noble companions had finally received some strikes for sneaking off to the Shrieking Shack.

“Never your mother.” Snape replied, glancing away from the dwindling fire. “Not that I was ever aware of.” 

A moment of silence hung in the air again as Snape reached for a black, metal fire iron to the right of the hearth. With a precise, almost ritualistic motion, he gently prodded the logs with its sharp tip, sending a shower of fiery sparks dancing into the air. The motion rekindled flames, filling the room with an ambiance of both comfort and intrigue.

“Perhaps once or twice though, your father found himself in the headmaster’s office or hauled off to an instructor's quarters.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Snape effectively cut him off as he held up his hand, “I regrettably do not know any details.” 

"That’s a downer." Harry said as he let out a sigh. While he wouldn't necessarily have wished suffering upon his father, he couldn't help but recall the glimpses he had seen in Snape's mind during their final Occlumency lesson. Those memories and suspicions about his father’s past still weighed on his conscience. 

“The Slytherin house,” Snape continued, redirecting the conversation as he set the fire iron down and rested back in his chair, “were far more often the recipients of such disciplinary measures, given our shared affinity for trouble making.” 

Harry perked up, turning a rather intense gaze towards Snape, “‘Our’ affinity?” He prodded in a light and almost teasing tone, “Don’t tell me you, of all people, were smacked by Dumbledore?” 

Snape cast Harry a bit of a warning glare, though he decided not to hide the truth from the young wizard.

“Indeed, I was.” He confirmed in his low, quiet tone as he sipped the remainder of his tea. 

Harry quickly set his teacup down on the silver cart, tossing his hands up as he leaned back in his chair. 

"Blimey,” He exclaimed with genuine curiosity, his sparkling emerald eyes locked onto Snape, eager to hear more about this unexpected revelation. "Professor Snape, this is big, y'know. You've gotta tell me about it." 

Snape merely scoffed, setting his cup down on the cart, next to Harry’s. “Absolutely not.” He replied, aptly avoiding the young wizard’s piercing gaze as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his charcoal black pants.

“Oh, come on,” Harry implored, leaning forward in his seat. “You can’t just drop that bombshell and leave me in the dark like that.”

“Indeed, I can.” Snape replied as he stood and collected the teacups, “Come along. It’s nearly ten and it has been a long enough day.” 

Harry stood and hurried to catch up to Snape who was now moving swiftly towards the kitchen. 

“Just tell me about one of the times?” Harry tried as he nearly slipped on the waxed kitchen floor. 

Snape turned slightly to glower at him, setting the teacups into the sink and the kettle to the iron stove.

“No, I’m afraid my past grievances won't serve as a Muggle bedtime story for the evening." He said dismissively, turning back to rinse out the teacups under the cool water.

Harry huffed as he glanced around the kitchen, trying to think of a way to convince him otherwise.

“Professor Snape, please?” He began once more, almost reluctantly this time. “I mean, I was pretty embarrassed last night,” Harry admitted as he glanced away from Snape’s irritated gaze. “It would make me feel better about the whole… discipline thing.” 

Snape sighed as he set the now clean teacups into a drying rack. Manipulative boy, he thought, the vivid memory of the spanking he’d administered to Harry coming back again. He strode past the young wizard and flicked his wand, effectively extinguishing the candles in the living room. 

“Tomorrow, perhaps we may discuss it, if time permits,” Snape remarked, prompting Harry to respond with a small victorious smile and discreet nod. 

“However,” Snape cautioned, lifting a halting finger in reply, "it remains a significant ‘if’ whether I choose to delve into that discussion with you."

Harry nodded as he followed Snape up the wooden staircase, their synchronized footfalls resonating throughout the house, each step echoing with the creaking of the old wood beneath their feet.

"Don’t you worry, Professor Snape, I’ll make sure we have the time." Harry said with a playful tinge in his voice, provoking Snape to cast an irritated glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrowing at the young wizard.

“Which reminds me,” Snape began as he reached the top of the staircase, pausing for a moment before continuing, “I believe you’ve forgotten to collect some items on the coffee table.”

Harry stopped abruptly just shy of the final stair and let out a groan of mild exasperation. “Do I really have to fetch them right now?”

“Indeed. Attend to it and then retire for the evening.” Snape replied with an air of firmness as he turned and made his way toward his own room.

Harry released a resigned sigh, his heavy steps reverberating back through the house as he descended the stairs.

“Good night,” he called out after Snape, his voice trailing as he disappeared from view.

Glancing down the staircase after the departing boy, Snape merely shook his head in silent amusement. 

“Good night, Harry,” he muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Alone in the still silence of his room, Harry swayed his foot leisurely as he sat on the edge of his new bed, contemplating the conversation with Snape from the evening. 

He glanced down at the disciplinary implements in his hands and grimaced. Trepidation surged through his stomach like lightning on a stormy night, imagining the punishing sting each tool promised to inflict.

Harry swallowed hard, his thoughts soon drifted to the sensation of Snape’s firm thighs beneath his stomach last night. Yeah, that was bloody awful, he thought, feeling a subtle flush creep up his neck. He sighed and rubbed his free hand across his face, a mixture of confusion and embarrassment clouding his mind.

He had been through a lot in his life: perils, danger, panic and even bouts of depression. Yet for some reason, last night's spanking had pushed him far over the edge.

Ugh, the unrestrained sobs he had let out as he pleaded for Snape to stop spanking him made him feel two inches tall. How mortifying, Harry thought as he set the strap and hairbrush down by his side, emitting a barely audible groan. 

The emotional rollercoaster left him baffled as he tried to reconcile his reactions. How could he endure the searing pain of Umbridge's quill, which had drawn his blood as it carved his skin, without shedding a tear, yet crumble like soft dirt when bent over Snape’s lap for a punishment? It didn't make any sense.

Harry glanced up to the ceiling and drew in a sharp breath. He knew that he could hold back his emotions; he’d nearly perfected it by the end of the war. So what happened last night? Why had he lost control? 

Harry slowly twisted the paddle in his hand, glancing down at it. He stared through it somberly, in contemplative silence. 

As painful and humiliating as the spanking had been, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it also felt so oddly… comforting. It wasn’t just the back pats that he relished while sobbing his heart out over Snape’s supportive knees, it was the way he’d been held firmly in place during the smacks, so close to someone he’d always felt so distant from. 

For a man known for his icy demeanor and formality, Snape's preference for such an intimate position revealed an unexpectedly tender side that Harry deeply appreciated. It was a peculiar contradiction; Snape delivering the painful strikes, yet ensuring the recipient never felt alone while receiving them.

Harry's mind drifted back to last night's walk through the gloomy dungeon halls, trailing behind Snape after enduring his punishment. It was then that he had finally felt some relief, the first in weeks. 

Fatigue had weighed on him, and his aching backside served as a lengthy reminder of his poor behavior, but the feeling of liberation from his burdens was undeniable. Why was that? Harry wondered, feeling utterly perplexed by the conflicting emotions. 

He hefted the paddle up and down. As he had suspected earlier, it felt smooth to the touch and heavy in his hand. The brush also carried a threatening weight to it, though the wood wasn’t nearly as dense. And the strap– well, the strap seemed worse than the others. He shuddered at the thought of it smacking down forcefully on his bare, upended arse. 

As Harry glanced around his dimly lit bedroom, he considered where to conceal the disciplinary tools. Despite Snape's notion that they should serve as a 'reminder,' he wanted them out of sight, and out of mind. 

His eyes darted around the room's layout until they rested on a suitable location. 

Harry sighed, gathered up the implements, and sauntered over to his wooden desk. Opening the bottom drawer, he tossed the paddle, brush, and strap in, cringing at the reverberating clatter that echoed throughout the room as they fell into the bottom of the wooden drawer.

Harry listened intently for any sign of Snape's impending scolding, preparing himself for the man to burst in with the force of a storm. But to his relief, he heard nothing but the soft silence of the room.

He undressed leisurely, discarding his shirt and trousers, which landed in a heap beside his large bed. As a yawn overcame him, he embraced the allure of sleep, beckoning him to bury his concerns.

Slipping under the inviting sheets, he removed his glasses, hesitating briefly. Snape had scolded him for leaving them on the nightstand earlier, but it’s not as though he’d know where they were placed tonight.

With a nonchalant shrug, Harry set them down and nestled into the warmth of his bed. Regardless of the day's strangeness, he was looking forward to what the morning would bring. 

As the hazy drawl of sleep began to entrap him, he preoccupied himself with how to broach the subject of Snape’s own misadventures as a student. 

Harry leaned over to extinguish the solitary candle's flickering flame, casting the room into darkness. The morning would arrive soon and he would be ready to welcome it. 

Snape strode outside to greet the early spring dawn, his muted steps in the wet dirt brisk and purposeful. The sun had not yet risen and, much like Harry, the birds were still nestled warmly in their nests. 

He inhaled deeply, noting the smell of the blossoming honeysuckles and damp earth. The morning dew glistened in the soft, pale blue light covering the tarp of his greenhouse.

As he made his way forward to check upon his plants and produce, he considered the evening spent with Harry. Though he'd tentatively agreed to share a tale from his tumultuous teenage years, choosing the right story was no simple task. 

Memories of his painful experiences, as a young and impulsive student, resurfaced with every passing moment. They weren't merely recollections but vivid, visceral relivings of the crimes and lessons that had shaped him.

It was a challenge to select a time he felt comfortable sharing with Harry. 

He had been reserved most of his life, the prospect of opening up a door to his most humbling and painful experiences was vulnerable, nearly too vulnerable. 

Tapping the dirt off his shoes at the entrance of the greenhouse, Snape stepped inside and collected his watering can from the wooden work bench. 

As he considered his youthful transgressions for some time, three incidents loomed large in his thoughts.

The first was his audacious and dangerous quest for forbidden dark artifacts in fifth year. The pursuit of which had ignited a rush of power within him, a sensation he'd craved. But the discovery and its subsequent consequences had swiftly humbled him. He recalled the vulnerability and humility he felt as discipline rained down on him, pulling him back from the precipice of arrogance.

In his sixth year, a catastrophic cauldron explosion which he was undoubtedly at fault for, had sent shockwaves throughout the school. The mishap's public embarrassment left a bitter taste in his mouth long after the stinging sensation in his backside had subsided. 

That incident had forced him to grapple with the price of unchecked recklessness and personal responsibility. Would be an excellent lesson for Potter to learn; Snape thought to himself as he shook his head, memories of the young hero's own recklessness causing him to tsk out loud. 

The most engrained lesson, however, was the malevolent curse he had inflicted on the Lichtenstein boy during his seventh year. Driven by a misguided desire for revenge, he had inflicted unnecessary and lengthy suffering upon his classmate. Dumbledore's stern yet much needed punishment had left him horribly sore, and mostly remorseful. Although, the lingering sentiment that Lichtenstein had brought it on himself never completely dissipated, no matter how guilty he inevitably felt. 

Snape found himself briefly smirking as he recalled the shocked and incensed expressions on the faces of Slughorn and Dumbledore upon discovering each of his transgressions. In contrast to the physical and emotional anguish his father had inflicted on him with the cane or whip, the discipline administered by the Headmaster and his Head of House, though stern, had never made him feel like a wretched young wizard. 

As Snape meticulously watered his thriving plants, he contemplated those pivotal, and often painful, moments of his youth.The flourishing life around him contrasted with the weight of his own history. 

For a fleeting minute, the memory of Dumbledore's death pierced through his thoughts, reopening a well of pain and remorse, a reminder that even in transformation, some wounds never truly healed. His raw grief over the day on the tower would never subside, no matter how much he tried to bury it. 

Snape continued carefully watering the remaining plants in the greenhouse, until the unmistakable sound of boots plodding down the dirt path pulled him from the memory of the late Headmaster. 

Ron Weasley hesitated for a moment outside the wooden greenhouse door. He had never expected to be standing there, on the property of the man who had once viewed as his most dreaded professor. But times had changed, and so had they… hopefully. 

Earlier, he had watched from a distance as Snape briskly made his way down the path and entered the large, dome-shaped greenhouse. He was initially puzzled, as he briefly struggled to recognize the man.

Snape was clad in a deep forest green cloak, a black button up which was accompanied by a thin black belt with a silver clasp holding up his trousers. His trousers, rather than the customary black ones, were earth brown and fit rather loosely. 

It was the first time, in his six years of knowing the cold and enigmatic potions professor, that Ron had seen him wearing anything but his billowing black robes. It was quite the change, and had it not been for Snape’s unmistakably large nose and slick, black hair, Ron would’ve failed to identify him. 

It was a chilly spring morning and he quietly watched his breath billow up in little white puffs as he fidgeted his hands in his pockets outside the door. He had a sneaking suspicion that Snape wouldn’t be too thrilled to see him at his home before sunrise, or at his home at all for that matter. 

When Mum mentioned Harry's new living arrangements the previous night, following her encounter with McGonagall that afternoon, she practically had to persuade Ron to get off his broomstick at midnight. Although he wasn't enthusiastic about seeing Snape, he felt a strong need to ensure Harry's well-being. A part of Ron couldn't fathom why his friend would willingly choose to live with their former icy professor, of all people.

Ron sucked in one last deep breath, as he pulled his hand up to knock on the door. Just before his knuckles could rap on the worn wood, Snape swiftly pulled it open. 

He raised his brow up at Ron, his expression stern and skeptical, as he set his watering can down on a small work table to his left. 

“Mr. Weasley,” Snape began, in his typical low drawl, “Rather early to be intruding upon a resident's private property, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Ron let out a puff of air, smiling uncomfortably as his blue eyes met Snape’s deep, dark ones. 

“Morning, Professor Snape. Um, I don’t suppose Harry is up yet, is he?” He asked tentatively.

A moment of silence hung in the air as Snape assessed the redheaded boy before him. Ron looked exhausted, and his eyes bore the unmistakable marks of many sleepless nights. 

Snape opened the door a touch more, a mixture of faint compassion and heavy annoyance flickered in his chest at the sight of him. Losing a family member was inexplicably hard, and even he couldn’t convince himself to be overly stern with the young wizard. 

Loss, however, wasn’t a completely justifiable excuse for stomping around his home, unannounced or invited. 

“Perhaps start with why you are here, so incredibly early, young man.” Snape lightly scolded as he leaned against the doorframe. “Then I will decide if Potter’s whereabouts are any of your concern.” 

Ron sighed as he grated the toe of his mud caked boot in the dirt, a glimmer of trepidation rose up within him at Snape’s typical formality and abrasiveness. 

Old habits die hard, I guess. Ron thought to himself. 

“Just making sure you haven't killed him yet is all.” Ron smirked a bit at Snape’s slight frown.

“Harry's my best mate you know and, well, we've all been through a lot.…” he trailed off, breaking eye contact. 

Snape sighed as he glanced down at Ron’s exceptionally wet and muddy boots, a sour look formed on his stern face. 

“Yes, well, how noble of you,” Snape replied in his typical dry fashion as he turned back into the greenhouse. “Wait there,” He directed as he disappeared inside, letting the door close firmly back on the redheaded boy behind him. 

Ron shook his head and crossed his arms, glancing up at the yellowing sky. Thankfully the sun was beginning to rise. Perhaps though, he should have listened to mum, and came during normal visiting hours. Maybe Harry would have answered the door. 

“Here you are,” Snape said as he returned and swept the door open, dropping a pair of slicker boots at Ron’s feet. 

“What are those for?” Ron asked as he eyed the clean, dry pair of black boots. 

“Take off your shoes and put them on,” Snape said dismissively as he motioned to Ron's feet. “I'll not have you sloshing about and plastering my delicate, low-hanging plants with mud.”

Ron huffed a bit at the direction but leaned against the door frame to slip off his wet boots. A small stream of muddy water slid out as he peeled off each one. Snape pinched his eyes together and tried not to focus on the smell of feet permeating the entrance of the greenhouse. 

After forcefully shoving each foot in the new boots he glanced up at Snape. “What now?”

Snape said nothing, just turned and motioned for the young wizard to follow. 

Ron obliged and peered around the greenhouse, filled with the same appreciation and genuine curiosity that Harry did. His gaze traversed over Snape's lush foliage, his eyes lighting up at the sight of magical plants entwined with hearty produce. 

Amid the verdant chaos, he spotted an overgrown bed of dittany, its bright green leaves gleaming with their potent healing properties. Nearby, wolfsbane grew in clusters, its eerie violet beauty a stark contrast to the forest and olive green hues of other plants. 

The air was thick with the earthy scent of rare botanical wonders, and Ron couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for Snape's expertise in herbology. 

“Ah, you’ve got some screeching little Mandrakes I see,” Ron commented, watching the way the tops of the bright green leaves trembled. 

“Indeed,” Snape replied, pulling a pair of scratchy and oversized gloves out from under the wooden table that supported a bed of his sopophorous plants. 

“Put these on Mr. Weasley,” Snape directed as he extended the gloves to Ron.

Ron eyed Snape, filled with apprehension as he took them.

“What for?” He asked, tentatively sliding his hands into the gloves. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve got Harry locked up somewhere so mental that I need these to get to him.” Ron said, waving the gloves dramatically in Snape’s direction.

Snape scowled, turning to search about the bottom shelf of the wooden table. 

“Potter, is perfectly safe. He is asleep, in bed, as you ought to be at this hour.” Snape replied stern and slow as he leveled Ron with a no-nonsense glare. 

Ron merely nodded as he glanced away from Snape’s disapproving glare. 

“As a penance for intruding upon my property without notice, or permission, you may carefully prune the dittany,” Snape pointed to the slightly overgrown plant in the garden bed as he withdrew a pair of gardening shears, and handed them over to Ron. 

Ron slowly took them, his face revealing his utmost displeasure at the direction. Snape decisively ignored the incredulous look on the young wizard's face and turned away to retrieve his watering can. 

“Come to me when you have done a satisfactory job, and I will assign you another task.” He called over his shoulder to the dejected redhead. 

“Wha-” Ron began, staring down at the menacingly sharp looking shears. Though he quickly gave up his sentence when Snape refused to turn back and listen. 

“This is utter rubbish,” he mumbled under his breath, lightly kicking the ground for emphasis.

Snape fixed him with a stern gaze from afar that left no room for arguments as he resumed tending to his plants.

“I knew I should’ve waited to come,” Ron grumbled to himself as he begrudgingly walked toward the bed of dittany. 

When Harry moseyed downstairs, near noon, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected scene before him. While filling a cup with cold water at the kitchen spout, he turned his attention to the open window above the sink, drawn by the familiar sound of raised voices outside.

By the side of the greenhouse, he was surprised to see Ron, wearing a wide-brimmed garden hat and gloves, engaged in a heated argument with Snape about a large hole he had dug with a short shovel. Which apparently, according to Ron, was positioned just ‘two centimeters’ off Snape’s mark.

Smiling wide, Harry quickly pulled on his shoes and crept outside, hoping to go undetected by both. 

“The roots and their subsequent growth, Mr. Weasley,” Harry overheard Snape scolding as he crept around the backside of the yard, “will not cease to wreak havoc because of your incompetence.” 

Ron’s face was a deep shade of scarlet, fury bubbling over him as he peered up at Snape under the brim of the overly large hat that he had been instructed him to wear. 

“Blimey, Professor. It’s a measly inch– besides you told me right here!” Ron exclaimed as he pointed down at the massive hole directly in front of his boot clad toes. 

Snape’s expression was cold and firm, “It is no surprise to me that your memory has failed you.” He replied, pointing ever so slightly to the left of the dug hole.

Just before Ron was about to implode, Harry stepped into view earning him a hard glare from both of them. 

“Ron!” Harry said, his voice tinged with a reserved glee as he gazed between the pair; meeting their heated expressions with a warm smile. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Ron fully turned around to face him, little droplets of sweat covered his freckled, scrunched nose. He put his free hand on his hip and staked the shovel down hard with his other. 

“Well, good afternoon to you!” He said curtly, “Enjoy your beauty sleep, did ya?”

Harry crumpled with laughter, while Snape merely scoffed, frowning deeply as he peered back into the large hole while the young wizards spoke. 

Harry turned his sparkling emerald eyes to Ron after composing himself, “What are you doing here? Thought you were off with the family for a few weeks?”

Ron huffed, still miffed by his long and laborious morning with Snape. “I’ll fill you in when we get out of here,” he said quietly as he subtly motioned his eyes behind him and over to Snape. 

Harry nodded, glancing over Ron’s shoulder at his glowering former professor. 

“Snape?” Harry asked, his tone pacifying and smooth. “I’ve been needing to get some clothes and pick up a few things in Diagon Alley. Do you mind if I spend the day with Ron?” 

Snape glanced up at the young wizards, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “You may not address me in that manner, Potter.” He narrowed Harry with a warning glare before continuing. 

“Considering Mr. Weasley has begrudgingly fulfilled the majority of your morning chores, you are free to do as you please for the remainder of the day.” 

Ron gave Harry a hopeful yet exhausted look, “Great, let’s go. And you owe me a drink, mate.”

Harry chuckled as he clapped Ron on the back and nodded. The motion prompted a resentful smile out of Ron, as he yanked his sweaty gloves off his hands and rested the shovel on the side of the greenhouse. 

As the pair of young wizards turned to walk around Snape, they were caught with a halting hand. 

“However, you are not yet finished, Weasley. Fill in your mistake, dig in the correct position this time, and after I have given you my approval, then you may depart.” Snape commanded firmly as he gave Ron no nonsense glare. 

Ron’s relieved expression quickly resigned to frustration again.

"Seriously, Professor Snape?!” Ron asked as he crossed his arms and glowered up at the dark haired man.

“Indeed.” Snape replied curtly, turning to walk back to the house. 

Ron groaned loudly enough for Snape to hear his displeasure then he whipped around to Harry, nearly falling into the large hole. 

“Go get a shovel, Sleeping Beauty,” Ron pointed to the greenhouse, regaining his footing. “It's a team effort this time."

Harry emitted a light, good-natured laugh and rolled his eyes before pivoting to locate a shovel. He was looking forward to spending the day with Ron, despite the chorus of inevitable complaints he was bound to receive. 

“I’ll buy you a round of drinks mate.” He called back over his shoulder to the steaming redhead. 

Snape savored the mild and floral notes of his warm chamomile tea, his gaze shifting from the fireplace to the front door, and back again, for the fifth time that night. With each passing moment, his sense of dread grew as the time edged closer to ten.

For most of the day, solitude had been his companion and he had relished it. Immersing himself in his potions lab, nurturing the flourishing garden, and delving into the aged pages of an arcane lore manuscript, that held secrets known to only a select few. It was a much needed break from the demands of Harry’s question about his past.

However, as the dinner hour had come and gone, and the soft sun set slowly over the winding hills, Snape had begun to grapple with some trepidation. 

“Foolish boy,” He muttered aloud as he rubbed the temple of his forehead. 

Regrettably, he possessed an intimate understanding of Harry's disobedient tendencies. He recognized that the young wizard was not one to adhere strictly to rules or established protocols. His hope that Harry might abstain from breaking a rule so promptly had been a fruitless assumption. 

Nevertheless, he had held onto the expectation that after their stern discussion the previous evening, the young wizard would exhibit a modicum of sense, especially in light of the disciplinary implements introduced to address any infractions.

But as the clock chimed ten, there was no sign of the boy. Snape sighed, setting his newspaper on the coffee table. Reluctance coursed through his veins as he contemplated Harry’s impending discipline. The prospect of administering another unyielding spanking, so soon after the last, weighed heavily on his mind.

Despite his internal turmoil, Snape fully grasped the expectations of adulthood and his responsibility to impart the lesson of accountability to the young wizard. He knew he had to address Harry's actions, no matter how much he might have preferred to avoid it.

After a few more hours of restless waiting, Snape let out a final disapproving 'tsk' and released a heavy sigh. Filled with unwavering determination, he crossed the room in long strides, the clacking of his steps echoing behind him, as he reached the door and snatched his cloak.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

The warm, comforting glow of flickering candles and old-fashioned lanterns cast a golden hue across the wooden beams of The Leaky Cauldron. Despite the late hour, the magical life within the pub was loud, boisterous, and inviting. Wizards and witches alike gathered around butterbeer-stained tables, their laughter and lively conversations mingling with the enticing aroma of the pub's famous drinks. The permeating scent of alcohol looped through the area as glasses clinked together in celebratory cheers. The worn wooden tables bore the marks of countless mugs and friendly conversations.

Tucked away in a corner sat a tipsy Ron and Harry, engaged in deep conversation. The day had been filled with laughter, reflections, and even some tears as the long time friends caught up with each other.

“Wait,” Harry held up his hand, his motions loose and unsteady. “Why not ask Snape?” 

Ron chuckled as he reached for his near empty glass mug, “Mum doesn’t trust him.” 

Harry felt hazy, but he vaguely recalled Ron mentioning that earlier in the day.

Snorting into his glass Harry took another swig of his butterbeer, then nodded along. “Right, ‘cause Snape’s going to poison you.”

Ron and Harry laughed together at the absurdity. Despite Ron's strong aversion to Snape's icy demeanor and unrealistic demands, he had come to trust him, especially after Harry had shared everything he'd seen in the Pensieve.

“Mum’s sensitive these days, after Fred and all.” Ron said, waving at the bartender and motioning for another round of drinks for the table. 

Harry’s smile faded some as he nodded along, his gaze drifting to their empty glasses. Ron reached over and sloppily bumped his hand. 

“Let's not get all,” Ron paused to let out a quiet belch, “mopey again.”

Harry nodded, trying to shake off the heavy sensation of a lead weight on his chest. Everything felt numb and warm, but even in the midst of his drunken state, sadness had him in a vice-like grip.

“Right.” Harry replied, running his calloused finger along with the rim of his empty glass mug. 

“Anyway, I promised Mum I wouldn’t ask him so she’d get off my back about it.” Ron admitted, resting his flushed cheek on his open hand.

Harry withdrew his finger from the glass rim, fixing Ron with a look of concern. 

“Promise or not, you need it mate. You look awful.” Harry replied, his voice tinged a mixture of seriousness and light hearted humor. 

Ron nodded in agreement as the bartender came by to deposit new drinks and collect the empty glasses. 

They thanked him simultaneously and looked back at each other. 

“I know. I want these circles gone before ‘Mione gets back.” Ron said, taking a long chug of the new golden, foam laced butterbeer. 

Many sleepless nights had taken their toll on the young wizard, leaving him with deep, dark circles under his eyes. Ron feared he was starting to look like a battered street fighter after one too many comments from mum and half hatred jabs from Percy. 

As much as he wanted to appease his grief stricken mother, pretending that her breathing exercises and herbal remedies were working was getting exasperating. He held hope that a few sleep draughts from Snape might help him restore his regular sleeping patterns.

Ron's primary concern, though, wasn't the exhaustion he felt; it was Hermione's inevitable reaction to it. She had endured so much, losing her parents to obliviation, battling her own war-related trauma, and facing the horrors of Bellatrix.

Ron couldn't bear the thought of adding to her burdens, especially when she returned from her 'healing retreat' with Fleur. He couldn't help but resent McGonagall's decision to send her away, believing it had contributed to his struggles to sleep. 

“And I can’t just ask Snape for you, ‘cause you think he’d talk to your mum about it before handing over the potion?” Harry asked, taking a chug of his butterbeer. 

Ron nodded his head, almost too vigorously. 

“Yeah mate, he’d want me to get permission or something absurd. You saw him in the yard today! He talks to us like we’re still first years.” Ron’s sloppy tone revealed his disgust. 

Harry laughed a little, but seeing Ron's glower hurried to agree with him. 

“You’re right.” Harry admitted, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“If he can make my life a pain, he will. I still think you’re right mental for living with him.” Ron said in a scoff, swigging his butterbeer. 

Harry gave a small smile. If Ron thought he was delusional for just living with Snape, he could hardly imagine how he might react if he knew the extent of their so-called 'arrangement.' And Harry wasn't quite ready to share that yet, given the redhead's vendetta against the man.

“I might be able to get some for you,” Harry said, trying not to dwell on the dire consequences he was certain to face if he went into Snape's potion storage, especially without permission.

“I’d owe you one,” Ron replied, meeting Harry’s emerald eyes with a warm smile. Harry smiled back, giving Ron some reassurance. 

“Speaking of Snape,” Harry said, “We better finish up. I told him I’d be home by ten.” He admitted, drinking fast, deep gulps of his butterbeer.

“Ten?” Ron asked, startled. “Come off it, mate. It was ten when we got in here.” 

Harry nearly choked, yanking his glass down and swallowing hard. 

“What?” Harry asked, the redhead’s words immediately sobering him. “Tell me you're pulling my leg, Ron.”

Ron shook his head and finished off his own drink, “I reckon it’s one, maybe two by now.” He said, clutching his chest and letting out a ridiculously loud burp.

Harry instantaneously shot to his feet, leaning over to smack Ron’s shoulder as he tried to keep himself from falling down. 

"Ron! Why didn't you say anything?" Harry exclaimed, his words muddled and his eyes growing wide.

“Sorry, guess I didn't realize you had a curfew.” Ron replied, his shoulders shaking as he let out a tipsy chuckle.

Harry felt everything begin to spin, reeling from their last Firewhisky shots as he tried to steady himself on the edge of the table. 

“It’s not funny.” Harry responded. He felt warm, fuzzy and numb, but more than anything he felt a sensation of dread grip him. 

Snape was going to lose it.  

Harry groaned, shoving his hand into his pocket and fishing out the cash for their drinks. 

The room continued to sway and Harry found himself feeling a bit nauseated. He tossed the cash on the table and yanked Ron’s arm firmly.

“We have to go.” Harry said, tugging more insistently when Ron failed to move. 

“Now? If Snape's going to have a go at ya, let's at least make it worthwhile,” Ron mused, waving his hand and trying to catch the bartender's attention.

Harry shook his head, urgently pulling on Ron's sleeve. 

“Fine, I'll help you with whatever bloody landscaping he puts you up to,” Ron added begrudgingly, shoving off Harry's persistence. 

Harry's expression hardened as he grabbed Ron's waving hand. “No,” he whispered, “You don't understand. I’m in for worse than chores— we have to leave right now, Ron.”

Ron finally huffed, too drunk to consider Harry’s urgency or admission. He pulled more cash from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

“Fine.” Ron grumbled, pulling himself to his unsteady feet.

The young wizards turned simultaneously to make their way for the door. It was a crowded space, proving quite the task to maneuver while under the influence of firewhisky and copious amounts of butterbeer. 

“Think he'll be pretty miffed?” Ron asked, a wry smile dancing on his lips as he glanced at Harry’s scowl, though the obvious answer hung heavy in the air. 

Despite the haze of alcohol, even Ron couldn't suppress the shudder that coursed through his veins when he finally considered facing Snape drunk and late.

As he and Harry stumbled for the exit of the Leaky Cauldron's cozy confines, Ron thought back to his days at Hogwarts. He recalled a time in fifth year where a fellow Gryffindor, courageous and foolish, walked into Snape's potions class, a mere two minutes late. The memory was etched vividly into the forefront of his mind as he and Harry bumped against stained sleeves and warm bodies of the crowded pub. 

The poor chap had become the unwilling subject of Snape's cold wrath. Even innocent Ron had sunk low in his chair as their ill-tempered professor unleashed a tongue lashing that left no room for mercy.The ordeal hadn't ended there either, the tardy student was then sentenced to a long month of detention for his transgression. 

A month, for two minutes! 

Poor bloke, Ron thought as he hurried to keep up with Harry. 

Harry hadn’t even bothered with a reply to Ron’s absurd question. Miffed? Miffed was a severe understatement for how Snape was bound to react, and they both knew it .  

Harry’s heart thudded hard in his thin chest while pushing his way through fellow tipsy wizards and witches. The sooner they could get to the front, the faster they could Apparate home. 

Harry sent up a silent prayer to Merlin, desperately hoping that, against all odds, Snape might be caught in a deep sleep. 

I’m so stupid, was all Harry could think. He didn’t want to be spanked again, the thought alone twisted his stomach in tight knots— winding and weaving like the buried roots of the whomping willow. 

I’m bloody screwed. How is it two in the morning? Harry wondered, he didn’t have the faintest clue how he’d lost track of time so badly. 

In a hazy, dizzy, fumble Harry soon found his face buried in the comforting warmth of a black shirt. He vaguely noted the smell of cedar wood, as the pair of young wizards crashed into the perturbed, green cloaked wizard coming through the doorway. 

Ron recognized him first and had the decency to pale at the sight. Backing up he yanked Harry’s arm hard.

“S-sorry,” Harry stammered, oblivious and blind, as he adjusted his crooked glasses back on his face, “My friend and I-” 

“Have a most pitiable excuse for your delinquency, no doubt,” Snape interrupted, his voice dripping with icy disapproval.

Harry felt his heart plummet to his shoes as he recognized the unmistakable timbre of Snape's silky, low voice. A strong wave of fear and trepidation crashed over him, as if the floor had vanished, leaving him in a drunk freefall.

Snape's sharp dark eyes pierced through the dimly lit and crowded pub, fixing on Harry with a chilling intensity. 

He took a threatening step closer to the young wizard, “Lost track of the hours, have we, Potter?”

Harry felt a strange urge to cry as he grappled with how to respond. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the guilt that he felt for getting into trouble with Snape so soon. Either way, he had to fight like hell to keep his composure. 

To make matters worse, his bum seemed to involuntarily flinch when Snape spoke, a quiet warning of the painful consequences ahead for disobeying the set rule. 

Harry blanched, feeling heat rush up from his stomach to his chest. 

Ron glanced at the spinning floor, feeling uncomfortable as heard Harry stutter over his response. He wished he’d taken his friend more seriously the moment Harry said they had to leave. He also wished Harry wouldn’t have been such a blockhead by agreeing to live with the ill-tempered man.

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape.” Harry tried, feeling the familiar flood of embarrassment overtake him as he attempted to come up with something to say in his defense. “I, um, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Snape squinted his eyes, his glare intensifying, “Clearly.” He replied, slowly annunciating the word.

Harry swallowed hard as he glanced over to Ron, silently hoping Snape wouldn’t do something humiliating. He felt his heart pound harder at the sudden thought of public discipline. Surely Snape wouldn’t do that… right? Is it even legal to spank a grown wizard in public? Harry wondered, his mouth growing dry.  

Turning his stern glare away from Harry, Snape stepped closer to Ron. Immediately prompting the drunk redheaded boy to back up. 

“I am correct to assume you are still residing at your parents’ residence, Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked, raising his brow up at Ron’s movement. 

“That’s right, Professor.” Ron muttered as he glanced around the crowded bar, feeling utterly  embarrassed as tipsy patrons began to cast subtle looks their way.

“Very well.” Snape replied. After a swift, apprehensive glance around the room, he firmly clamped his potion stained palms onto Harry and Ron’s thin biceps, his grip python-like tight. 

Both boys let out a moan of embarrassment as Snape roughly hauled them out the wooden doorway, distancing them from the lively, warm pub, and inquisitive onlookers. 

Despite their drunken state, Harry and Ron grimaced as they were thrust into the frozen spring air. The dark morning was freezing, and a fair bit of frost now covered the cobblestone streets. 

The chill bit through their thin clothing, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the distant chatter of early risers, the soft crunch of their footsteps on the icy ground, and the fading hum of the Leaky Cauldron behind them.

Snape dragged them a bit farther from the sight of the nosy patrons, pulling the boys close to him, while maintaining his punishing grip. He rounded first on poor Ron, his words cutting through the frozen air, as the two young wizards stood ashamed, their heads tucked down in submission.

“Weasley,” Snape's voice remained low and menacing. “Though you are not required to abide by the same stipulations as Potter,” Snape scolded, glaring over to Harry, then turning his attention back to Ron.

“You should be well aware of how discourteous it is to arrive inebriated on your parents' doorstep at this hour of the morning. Are you not?” Snape asked, his face a mere inch from Ron’s.

Ron's discomfort grew, his freckled cheeks turning a deep, rosy hue despite the wind chill. He responded with a meek nod, his gaze unable to withstand the withering intensity of Snape's glare.

Snape scoffed at the boy's liquor-laced breath, which hung heavy in the frigid night air, enveloping them in the pungent aroma of a recently emptied firewhisky bottle as Ron exhaled.

"Count yourself ever so fortunate that you are not under my roof, as Potter is. Had you been residing at my residence, I would not hesitate to impress upon you my utmost displeasure at such recklessness." Snape hissed, each word calculated to convey his disapproval and authority.

Ron's stomach churned, and he couldn't muster a response. Snape's threat drained the color from his crimson cheeks. The frost-covered cobblestones beneath his feet seemed to spin as he glanced down and swallowed hard.

Harry observed the exchange, his own cheeks tinged with a blush of embarrassment in response to the mildly public scolding.

Snape's temper flared at the lack of acknowledgement from the insolent, liquored-up redhead.

“Look at me and respond appropriately, young man,” Snape demanded, tightening his grip on Ron's bicep.

“Ow! S-sorry!” Ron exclaimed, scrunching his face in discomfort as he forced himself to meet Snape's punishing glare.

The world spun around him, and he despised every bit of this patronizing display.

“I won't do it again, honest. I'll apologize to Mum and Dad,” Ron said, his voice soft and near tearful.

"As you should," Snape replied, easing his grip on Ron's arm and turning his penetrating gaze to Harry, a gesture that made the young man tremble, his heart rate accelerating in anticipation.

Oh, no, was all Harry could think as Snape tightened his hold on his upper bicep and pulled him in closer, nose to nose. 

“Consider yourself ever so fortunate, Potter, that I am not choosing to address your insolence in this particular location," Snape hissed down to Harry. 

Harry would later connect the unexpected surge of emotions he felt to the butterbeer and firewhisky that he'd consumed. His throat tightened, and his eyes welled up with hot tears in response to Snape's words. 

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quietly, breaking eye contact.

Harry felt a silent wave of gratitude when he glanced at Ron, who was no longer looking at them but rather doubled over and preoccupied with his own troubles as he dry heaved.

Snape averted his disciplinary gaze from Harry and glowered down at Ron, who was now vomiting on the icy, stone-covered streets.

Snape pinched his eyes shut and let out a dejected sigh, his breath billowing in the morning air as he grew increasingly frustrated.

“Better now than at your parent’s home, I suppose.” Snape muttered mostly to himself, withdrawing a handkerchief and passing it down to the sick wizard. 

Ron reached up with a trembling hand and took it, quickly wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbled back to Snape.

“When you have gathered your composure, Mr. Weasley, we shall Apparate back to your parents' residence,” Snape instructed Ron, providing a few firm yet strangely reassuring pats on the boy's back.

Though Harry had regained control of his emotions, he began to grow nauseous himself when he looked a bit too closely at the splattered street in front of Ron.

Snape glanced over to Harry and frowned, turning his full attention to the condemned man.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sick as well, Potter?” Snape asked, his tone firm yet a smidge less harsh than before. 

Harry merely nodded as he glanced up at the dark sky, taking a deep breath of the cold morning air, trying to focus on anything but the retching sounds coming from Ron.

“Just a bit, sir.” Harry responded after a moment. 

“Wonderful,” Snape replied sharply, tsking out loud in disapproval. 

In the span of two hours, Snape's emotions had swung wildly between dread, unwavering determination, and a burning fury. Over ten years of his life had been dedicated to doling out discipline, but reining in two drunk adolescents at one in the morning was far from what he had envisioned his life to look like after miraculously surviving the war.

While Ron and Harry had faced his disciplinary chagrin on multiple occasions, he found himself harboring a faint concern that his sternness might have been excessive, especially considering their inebriated condition. 

Snape wondered if his physical intervention induced Ron's nausea prematurely, and he couldn't help but recall other instances where his strictness had inadvertently led to students falling ill. This experience, he knew, would be far from his last.

Ron pulled himself up, swaying slightly as he took a few cleansing breaths. His unsteady footing prompted Snape to firmly grab hold of his arm.

“T-thanks,” Ron responded, casting a grateful glance Snape’s way as he regained his balance. 

“Right. I feel better.” Ron admitted to the group, offering the used handkerchief back to Snape. 

“That is no longer my property.” Snape replied, extending a halting hand in Ron’s direction as he released the boy’s arm. Ron cast him a wry smile, shoving the handkerchief in his pocket. 

“What about you? You alright, Harry?” Ron asked, his voice laced with tipsy concern.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Harry lied as he drew in a shaky breath, “Let’s get out of here.” 

“Are you quite sure you can manage, Potter?” Snape asked as he lifted his skeptical brown in Harry’s direction.

“As you know, the force of Apparation tends to have a nauseating effect of its own. I’d rather you not dispose of your stomach’s contents at the Weasley’s residence.” Snape said, firm and serious. 

“I won’t, promise.” Harry replied, hating the way his stomach was rolling like a washer’s fast cycle at a cheap laundromat, causing his mouth to grow salty. 

Snape squinted at the young wizard, suspicious of his confidence. 

The morning air was beginning to take its toll on the trio, Ron shivered as he pulled his long sleeves down over his reddening hands, and Harry crossed his thin arms over his chest, tightening them around his torso in a warming self hug. 

“Very well.” Snape decided against his better judgment, grabbing both wizard’s arms. 

In a blinding, twisting flash, the trio vanished from the frost covered street. 

The three reappeared instantly at the front of the Weasley's home, the Apparation leaving Harry and Ron disoriented and even more off-balance than they already felt after the drinks. The freezing air hit them like an icy wave, the early morning darkness pressing in from all sides. The only source of light stemmed from the dimly lit porch lantern and the occasional twinkle of distant stars.

In a matter of seconds, just as Snape has feared, Harry threw up—overwhelmed by unbridled nausea, the disorienting Apparation amplifying the sensation. Harry didn't have any time to aim, and with force, he bent over Snape's clean shoes, heaving everywhere.

Ron cringed, moving out of the way and grimacing at the sight.

Despite how ghastly he felt though, a wide grin came over his thin lips at the sight of Snape’s appalled face when Harry puked. 

Ron tried his best not to snicker when he heard Snape let out a deep, guttural sigh. To Ron, it was sweet justice after the morning he’d spent slaving for free in the garden. 

“Merlin, Potter…” Snape muttered, gently gripping Harry's neck and turning his head away from his soiled shoe tops.

“I-” Harry tried to reply but was overwhelmed by another wave of nausea, resulting in a fresh bout of heaving on the porch. Desperately, he clutched onto Snape's arm for support as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

To Ron's astonishment, Snape didn't pull away. Instead, the stern man gently patted Harry's back with his free hand, whispering something too faint for Ron to discern.

As dizziness came over him, Ron braced himself against the side of the house. What a bloody weird night, he thought as the front yard began to rotate. He hated getting this drunk; curse drinking for being so deceptively sweet. It always started out calm, relaxing, and warm until the spins hit and he was too far gone to reverse the effects.

Snape turned away from tending to Harry and leveled Ron with an exhausted expression. "Are you quite capable of safely seeing yourself to bed?"

“Um, yeah I’m alright.” Ron responded quietly. 

“Very well,” Snape replied. 

With precision, Snape cast a powerful cleaning spell over the front of the porch and the three of them, filling the air with the fresh scent of cleansing magic.

Ron gave a grateful, faint smile as the mess disappeared from sight. At least he wouldn't have to explain that one to Mum.

Harry released Snape’s arm, pulling himself up slowly. Everything was still spinning, but at least he didn’t feel so sick anymore. 

Snape turned to Ron, “Do not go crashing about the house and disturb your sleeping family members. Clean up quietly and get into bed.” His tone was hushed but stern, leaving no room for defiance.

Ron nodded in response. He swayed a bit as he pushed himself off the wall and enveloped Harry in a tight hug. 

Harry returned the warm embrace, smiling at the way Ron tucked his head briefly into his shoulder. 

“You going to be alright, mate?” Ron whispered into his ear. 

“Yeah.” Harry responded softly as they pulled away from each other. 

Harry felt dizzy, embarrassed, and incredibly nervous to face Snape’s private displeasure, but at his core, he knew he’d be fine. He had survived the ruler after all, how much worse could the others be?

Ron would’ve been more concerned but Snape seemed less iterate, despite being puked on. And Ron was exhausted— looking forward to laying in bed, even if he didn’t sleep much. He didn’t fully grasp why, but for some reason Harry liked living with Snape so far. That was enough to give him comfort for now. 

With unsteady movements, Ron glanced nervously up at Snape and extended his hand.

"Thanks for the handkerchief... and getting me home," Ron whispered.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Ron's gesture, his usually reserved demeanor momentarily shifting. He hadn't anticipated a semblance of formality from the inebriated redhead.

With a nod that conveyed his subtle approval, Snape accepted the outstretched palm. His grasp was firm, and Ron couldn't help but be taken aback by the unexpected warmth of Snape's calloused hand. The connection was brief but surprisingly comforting, a rare moment of shared understanding amidst the tension that had accompanied the night. 

"Get into bed, young man," Snape directed to Ron, "Come along, Potter," he said as he turned his back to the young wizards and stepped off the porch.

“Bye, Ron. I’ll see you tomorrow, if I can.” Harry quietly called over his shoulder as he turned to follow behind Snape’s flowing green cloak fading into the darkness of the night. 

“Right, goodnight.” Ron called softly back, slipping through the creaky front door and into the dim house. 

When Harry and Snape had walked a few paces away from the Weasleys, Snape turned to fix Harry with a wary look. 

“Are you capable of Apparating back to our home, or must we walk?” Snape asked.

Harry took a deep, shaky breath as he glanced up at the sky. 

“We can Apparate. I don’t think I have anything left to puke up.” Harry replied, offering Snape an small apologetic smile. 

“Very well.” Snape replied, extending his arm for Harry to grab hold of. 

Harry took it and pinched his eyes shut. In a sucking, twisting, blinding flash— they vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Snape and Harry reappeared instantly at the front door to the stone covered house. Harry kept his eyes shut, focusing on steadying himself while Snape smoothed out the front of his black button up shirt.

The pair remained silent, Snape searching the folds of his cloak for his wand and Harry glancing at his feet. The soft embrace of the night's silence settled around them, amplifying Harry's feelings of dread and guilt now that they were alone. 

With Ron absent, the day's conversations and events hit Harry hard. The weight of Fred's death and the loss of others in the war resurfaced. Harry had tried to push his grief away at the bar for Ron's sake, but without him now, he felt like crumbling.

As he and Ron had strolled through Diagon Alley earlier in the afternoon, they delved into a well of emotions and concerns. Ron shared how George was hardly functioning without his other half, and how the weight of it all, coupled with vivid nightmares, kept Ron awake at night. He told Harry how the house felt emptier as their parents wept often behind their bedroom door, leaving a broken silence in their wake. 

Then there was Ginny, Ron admitted that his sister had been processing everything in her own way, quietly. Harry missed her, he wanted to kiss her all over and hold her close again. Yet, he understood the importance of giving the Weasleys some space and time to grieve, as Professor McGonagall had suggested.

The long-time friends had reminisced about Dumbledore, Dobby, and Sirius, reliving fond memories with mixed emotions. Ron had started the conversation, his voice wavering and eyes glistening with unshed tears. Harry joined in, the dam of emotions breaking as they shared stories and laughter, even though a profound sense of loss hung over them.

Amidst their conversations, Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of grief and guilt that had overtaken him since the day the Dark Lord fell, threatening to engulf him once more.

Harry sucked in a shaky breath, glancing down to his feet. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped low.

Snape, still simmering with frustration from the events of the evening, noticed Harry's subdued and somber demeanor. It pleased him to see that the disobedient adolescent had, for the moment, adopted a modicum of humility after his recent infraction.The severity of the emotions that enveloped them both hung heavy in the dark morning air. 

Snape cast an unlocking charm over the front door, and the two listened to the heavy clunking sound as the metal shifted around the iron lock.

“After you, young man.” Snape said curtly, opening the door and holding it for Harry.

Harry swallowed hard as he stepped through the doorway, his motions wavering and unsteady. 

Snape followed swiftly behind him, shutting the door with a firm thud and shifting the metal latch with a loud clunk to lock it. 

Harry felt the rise of his chest extend and fall as nervousness and grief enveloped his core. Too many emotions rained down on him like a violent storm of dread and sadness, the alcohol amplifying everything to an intolerable level. 

Overwhelmed, Harry made his way up a few steps of the wooden staircase, eventually taking a seat on one of them, the aged wood protesting with a subtle creak. With his head buried in his hands, Harry allowed the tears, long restrained, to finally flow. He detected the lingering scent of firewhisky on his breath, mingling with the comforting aroma of lavender and cedar wood that filled the house.

The alcoholic haze enveloped him like a protective shroud, offering solace and shielding him from the customary shame that accompanied crying in the imposing presence of Snape.

Snape peered up at the trembling boy and felt a slight pang of empathy, beckoning him to show some semblance of comfort. The war, perhaps, made them all more vulnerable and Harry had a lot of grief to bear. 

Crossing his arms behind his back and interlacing his fingers, Snape slowly approached Harry. His boots click-clacking the distance between them. 

"Potter," Snape began, "I trust you know a deluge of tears won't change the impending consequence for disregarding a set house rule," Snape said, characteristically dismissing his inclination to be lenient.

Snape felt a slight pinch in his chest as Harry cried a bit harder, offering no response. A pause hung in the soft herbal and wood scented air as Harry continued to let his emotions out.

Snape considered his options, his gaze shifting up to the ceiling. While he couldn't fully comprehend why Harry was crying so persistently, he assumed that the alcohol was largely to blame. Though perhaps something had transpired with Weasley that he was unaware of.

Humming low, Snape glanced back to the young wizard on the stairs. Disregarding the modicum of compassion he felt and opting for a more direct approach to the situation.

"Are these tears solely connected to your expectation of punishment, or is there an underlying reason for your incessant turmoil?" Snape questioned.

Harry shook his head, choking out his next words, “N-no, just— everything is s-so messed up.” 

Snape scoffed, rubbing a weary hand over his aged skin. 

"Indeed, the world is not a fairy tale, Potter. It's unfair, and sooner or later, we all have to learn how to face it." Snape replied, his tone firm, determined not to provide false comfort when the truth was stark.

Harry's voice trembled, his fresh frustration masked by tears as he retorted, “Right, because you’ve faced life so well.” 

Though the tears in his eyes blurred the edges of his vision, making his glare appear more like a desperate plea for understanding.

Snape took in a sharp breath. He felt a wave of frustration bubble up in his chest like a pluming cauldron. Though given Harry’s emotional and intoxicated state, he forced himself to remain civil with the boy.

Snape propped himself up against the wall and crossed his arms, sighing at the sounds of Harry’s wet, quiet cries as they filled the otherwise silent space.

“Please, Potter,” Snape instructed, his tone stern yet not overly harsh. “Do not stoop so low as to insult me in order to derail this conversation. Why are you sniffling so?” Snape pressed for an answer, though he was beginning to piece things together. 

Harry's chest tightened as he grappled with a surge of buried anger provoked by Snape's question. He was weeping, not sniffling— and the tears were hardly from the anticipation of punishment, but rather the overwhelming guilt and grief that had been festering within him for weeks. 

With trembling resolve, Harry managed to mumble, “I-I'm fine,” though it was a blatant lie.

He didn’t want to tell Snape the depths of his feelings, it was too much for him to bear without dealing with sarcasm and harsh truths Snape would surely dole out.

"Yes, clearly you’re fine. A paradigm of self control," Snape said, his voice dripping with annoyance. 

Harry's eyes were red and raw, as he used the collar of his shirt to wipe away the evidence of his anguish.

“Just forget it.” Harry replied curtly, sniffing loud as he regained control of his tears. 

A moment of silence settled between the agitated pair as Harry took a few deep breaths. He was exasperated, reeling from the hit of alcohol and emotional fatigue.

Snape shifted his arms ever so slightly, his gaze narrowing as he closely monitored Harry's shifting demeanor.

"You should recognize, Potter, that you're not the sole bearer of suffering these days. The entire Wizarding World has endured post-war hardships. It's time to acknowledge that reality and rise above your self-indulgent displays. You are a survivor, whether it suits your preferences or not," Snape concluded, his tone firm but carrying a note of understanding.

Harry found himself at a loss for how to cope with his drunken cluster of thoughts and feelings. 

Snape's words suddenly stirred a strange, compelling desire within him, an impulse to receive his impending punishment and get it over with. 

"Fine. I know you’re going to smack me," Harry said, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. He gingerly rose to his unsteady feet, the room swaying around him, “Just tell me what you want to do it with, and I’ll go get it.” 

A flicker of confusion crossed Snape's face, and his voice softened for a brief moment as he raised his brow up at Harry. 

"You will do no such thing. You are excessively emotional and gravely inebriated. I shall not be doling out your punishment anytime soon," Snape declared, his questioning gaze sweeping from Harry's head to toe. 

Snape found himself pondering the source of this unusual outburst. Drunken individuals were often challenging to comprehend, yet something about the way Harry approached his punishment this time, intoxicated or not, baffled him. At the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had appeared as though he wanted to cry when Snape had threatened him with impending chastisement. Why was he suddenly resigned to it?

A surge of intoxicated anger coursed through Harry, driving him with drunken defiance. 

He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to face his consequence, hoping it might provide an outlet for the grief and pain he'd suppressed for so long.

In a rash, split-second decision, Harry decided his best option would be to provoke Snape, knowing that his potions master's famously short fuse could be easily ignited by certain actions. 

Harry glanced around the spinning room, looking for a target; soon spotting a wooden dowel that supported the railing to the staircase.

"I have asked twice now why—" Snape started but faltered as he witnessed Harry’s unexpected reaction unfolding before his eyes.

Summoning all his strength, Harry delivered a fierce, bone-rattling kick to the fragile wooden dowel, shattering it into splinters with a deafening crack.

There was a weight in the air, a slight pause, before the storm as Snape leveled Harry with a venomous glare.

As Harry had anticipated, Snape was on him in seconds, his eyes ablaze with fury at the sudden outburst of destruction. Snape instantly pushed himself off the wall and stormed up the steps, the creaking wooden stairs amplifying the rapid thumping of Harry's heartbeat as Snape made his way up, carefully avoiding shards of the wood scattered.

"That does it,” Snape hissed, his voice dripping with anger, as he snatched Harry’s upper arm in a painful grip. “You've pushed your luck, Potter.”

Harry's sharp intake of breath was stifled by a sudden knot of fear tightening in his chest as Snape latched on to him, forcefully pulling him down the creaking steps.

Every hard yank felt like a plunge under cold water; for the second Harry had seen Snape’s terrifyingly dark eyes lock onto his, he wanted to take that stupid kick back. 

Their footsteps reverberated, each thud accompanied by the loud creak of the timeworn wood as they finished their descent down the stairs. A hot rush of regret washed over Harry as he drunkenly stumbled over the splintered wood pieces as Snape hauled him down the remainder of the steps. 

Snape's face contorted in a mix of anger and disappointment as he forcefully dragged the unsteady boy into the living room and deposited him roughly in the Russian green armchair. 

“You insolent little prat,” Snape gritted out through clenched teeth.

He took a deliberate step back, fingers curling into tight fists at his sides as he grappled with the urge to unleash his anger upon the young wizard. 

Memories of his own father's brutal discipline— the searing pain of each cane stroke, flooded his mind as he remembered an incident where he had unintentionally brought destruction on the man’s property. In contrast to his mere mistake, which he had been punished severely for, Harry willingly destroyed a section of his home without restraint. It made Snape’s blood boil as he fought to stop himself from subjecting Harry to the same torment his father had rained down on him.

After a long moment of tense silence, Snape grabbed either side of Harry’s armchair and bent down low, his dark, rage filled eyes boring into the young wizard’s. 

The intensity of Snape’s gaze immediately caused any remainder of Harry's bravado to crumple. 

"If you dare to move even an inch from this spot, you will find yourself draped over my knee every night this week,” Snape hissed, his voice dripping with menace as he pushed himself up and strode out of the living room.

Harry's jaw dropped in sheer shock. Bloody hell, every night? he thought to himself, his stomach churning at the grim prospect. He instinctively raised his hands to cradle his face, overcome by the weight of his actions. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A heavy gulp accompanied the sudden well of fresh tears in Harry's eyes. 

In the haze of spinning and numbness, Harry realized what a colossal mistake he had just made. Breaking curfew and vomiting on Snape was bad enough, but now he had caused damage to the ill-tempered man’s property. Harry let out a groan of despair, hanging his head low in remorse. This was a nightmare. 

Snape shot the back door leading to the yard open with his wand. Allowing the heavy metal screen to slam behind him after gliding through it. 

He was furious. 

Not only was he exhausted from the lack of sleep, but he had spent the entire night consumed with Harry. Where was he? Was he safe, or had he indulged in too much liquor? Did he go looking for trouble or was he behaving himself? 

Instead of retiring to bed, as he rightfully should have, Snape had ventured out into the chilly morning, driven by a relentless concern for Harry's well-being. He had sacrificed his evening and sleep just so the ungrateful prat could disrespect him, vomit on his shoes, and wreak havoc upon his antique staircase. 

Harry was in trouble for this one, serious trouble. 

Snape smacked the door to his potions storage open, igniting the blue light on the tip of his wand with a fast flick.  

His dark eyes scanned the gleaming potion bottles reflecting against the blue cast of his wand's light. 

In a matter of seconds Snape discovered what he’d come for. He collected the bright green vial in the contorted container followed by a small circular black one, then snuffed out his wand and strode back for the house. 

Snape was beyond finished with Harry’s recklessness and uncontrolled hysterics. He would not have his home suffer the effects of the boy's undisciplined emotions, no matter where they stemmed from. 

Clutching the potions tight in his right hand, Snape resolved himself. One way or another Harry was going to yield to his line of questioning, no matter what lengths it took.

The hearth's fire dimmed, intermittently crackling, while Harry immersed himself in the oppressive silence of the living room. The violent slam of the screen door as Snape departed moments ago sent his heart racing. A wave of dread washed over him—dizziness, nausea, and anxiety entwined in a tormenting mix, making every passing moment horrible.

He knew from the minute Snape had thrown him in his chair that he’d made a grave mistake. The strange torrent of grief had subsided and was now replaced by trepidation.

His arm ached from Snape’s firm grip and everything inside him felt rattled. What was he thinking trying to get spanked? The first one was terrible, and he hardly had enough time to get over the embarrassment of it. Harry regretted every minute of his outburst as he awaited his former professor's return. 

He didn’t have to wait long though. Soon the back door snapped open and Harry heard the sound of Snape’s boots clicking across the kitchen floor. A trickle of sweat leaked down Harry’s back as he grimaced at the sound. 

Snape reappeared in the living room in seconds, looking like a hot kettle bubbling on a stove. Harry glanced down at Snape’s hands, half expecting to see a whip of some sort. Instead, he noticed the potion vials Snape was carrying, making him swallow hard. 

Snape kept his eyes off Harry, firmly setting the potions down on the silver tea cart with a reverberating clink. He then turned to the fire and reignited it with a spell. The flames roared to life and filled the room with warmth and light. 

Grabbing the back of the second Russian green armchair, Snape yanked it up and deposited it closely in front of Harry’s. With precision Snape removed his travel coat, setting it down on the backrest. 

He took a seat and brushed out a few wrinkles in his trousers, then looked at Harry with a cold, determined stare. 

Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest as his knees touched Snape’s. He couldn’t bring himself to look into the furious dark eyes, so he kept his glance on Snape’s lap. He wrapped his arms around his chest and tapped his toe nervously. Terror seized him as he considered the broken dowel by the stairs. What was he thinking? 

Snape let his disciplinary gaze traverse the ashamed young wizard. Thankfully, Harry had come to his senses. The boy's shoulders sagged low and the glint of defiance in his eye was now gone.

Snape extended his hand to pick up the black, circular bottle. He uncorked it with practiced ease before extending it to Harry.

"Ensure you finish every drop," Snape directed, his expression maintaining its usual austerity.

Harry glanced up at him then down at the potion. He wanted to argue, or at least ask what it was, but he was in too much trouble to protest.

Harry took the bottle carefully and pulled it up to his lips. Despite his hazy state, he could still smell the rancid earthly scent emitting from the black potion. His mouth grew salty at the smell, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. But one glance at Snape told him arguing was off the table.

He threw the potion back like a firewhisky shot and chugged hard. Forcing himself to think about anything but the horrid taste. Harry finished quickly, gagging and sputtering as he yanked the glass vial away from his lips. Snape gave a curt nod, taking the empty container back from the sour faced young wizard. 

He glanced up at Snape, his body began to tingle slightly, and he felt a surge of nervousness. 

“You will sober up momentarily,” Snape admitted, seeing the fear in Harry's eyes. 

Almost on cue, Harry felt his haziness begin to dissipate. The room stopped spinning and everything came into clear focus. The earthy, lavender, and cedar scents of the room enveloped Harry, bringing him back to a sober state of mind. 

Harry looked up at Snape in astonishment. “What was that?”

“How do you feel now, Potter?” Snape asked, ignoring the first question.

“Um,” Harry glanced at his feet and shuffled them some. “Like I shouldn’t have kicked the rail.” He tried, looking up to meet Snape’s punishing glare.

“That goes without saying,” Snape snapped, leaning over to grab the green contorted vial on the tea cart. 

“Physically and emotionally, how do you feel? Besides being intoxicated, what precisely was the cause of that obscene, childish outburst,” Snape asked, suggestively tapping the green potion. Harry recognized it immediately and grimaced. 

“You don’t have to use Veritaserum, Professor Snape. I’ll tell you the truth.” Harry said, eyeing the green potion with dread. He was terrified for Snape to know the depths of his thoughts on things he’d rather keep private, especially when it came to his drunken desire for pain so he could cry. 

Snape squinted his eyes but withdrew the truth serum and leveled Harry with an expectant look. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath and sat up. He was relieved to have his drunkenness gone, though mystified by how Snape had managed to come up with a potion like that.  

“Ron and I lost track of time,” Harry started. 

“Obviously.” Snape countered, his tone low and slow. 

Harry swallowed hard and licked his lips, “We talked about everything. The war, life… everybody who's gone now.” 

Snape nodded, his expression neutral. Though Harry swore he caught it softening some. 

Now without the alcohol swimming in his thought, it was easier for him to conceal his grief and control his emotions. He cleared his throat and continued. 

“Um, well I guess… I guess I just couldn’t handle those feelings while drunk.” Harry finished, hoping his response was enough for Snape. 

Snape hummed low, sitting back in his chair. He shifted his gaze to the crackling fire, his exhaustion evident. He interlaced his fingers together and contemplated the young wizard's admission. 

“I’ve been having a bit of a hard time processing everything.” Harry added in a near whisper. 

He followed Snape’s gaze, letting himself slide back in his own chair. 

As sobriety washed over him, Harry's dread deepened. His heart sank, and a torrent of guilt and fear surged within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The thought of Snape spanking him every day made his stomach churn, and he desperately hoped that was just an idle threat. 

“Physically I feel good now,” Harry admitted softly as he glanced back over to Snape. 

Snape remained silent, as he drew in a slight breath and trailed his eyes up with each flicker of the fire's flames. 

Grief had been his longtime companion for years, propelling him into dark paths and painful lessons of his own. He could sympathize with Harry’s turmoil and understand why the young wizard struggled to control his emotions, especially while inebriated. 

However, being under the influence of alcohol couldn't excuse unrestrained loss of self-control, especially when it involved physical violence. Harry's actions had warranted consequences, and now, in the boy’s sobriety, the impending pain was bound to be effective. Still, Snape's enduring frustration compelled him to postpone the punishment.

“Very well,” Snape began, looking back to Harry, “It goes without saying that your behavior the last few hours has been abhorrent.” 

Harry glanced at the floor, nodding, “I know, sir.” 

“You were in for a reminder of the house rules for staying out late, but after your recent destructive outburst, you now face more than one punishment,” Snape stated, his tone unyielding, as he remained unaffected by Harry's dejected expression.

Harry nodded again, glancing away from Snape as trepidation overran his senses. He swallowed, bouncing his knee a bit harder. Please, not a week of them, was all Harry could think, his mind racing with possibilities of what Snape meant.

"Retire to your bedroom immediately, Potter.” Snape said, his voice low and commanding.

Harry rose from his seat with a heavy heart, determined to hold back the stinging tears that threatened to well back up.

"Are you coming up with me or…” Harry trailed off, unsure of how to ask if Snape was planning to spank him now or not.  

“I will retire to my room shortly. Your punishments, however, will have to wait until after you’ve rested.” Snape sentenced. 

Harry sighed; some relief came over him despite the dread of it all. 

“Okay, er, sorry 'bout this, Professor Snape,” he uttered softly, as he turned and headed for his room, his words laced with sincere remorse.

Snape, weary and vexed, watched Harry's retreating figure. He sighed inwardly; a twinge of concern hidden beneath his exterior of stern disapproval.

"Get some sleep, Potter. We'll discuss the matter in the morning."

Harry's footsteps echoed as he moved towards the staircase, the broken dowel a stark reminder of his impulsive actions. "Alright.” Harry said nearly under his breath, his head hung low as he retreated from sight. 

Snape's gaze lingered on the crackling flames, the orange and crimson tongues dancing in the hearth's heart, casting flickering shadows across the room. 

The weight of responsibility pressed upon Snape’s shoulders as his anger began to dissipate. Closing his eyes for a moment, he reflected on his own past, the harsh lessons that had shaped him into the man he was today. 

Snape refrained from being abusive, firmly committed to never perpetuating his father's cruelty, regardless of his own anger. Nevertheless, he grasped the significance of discipline, recognizing its role in guidance and education. It offered him solace to know that Harry remained under no compulsion to stay and accept such consequences.

With a deep breath, Snape steeled himself. 

He had committed to walking an unconventional path with Harry, well aware of the challenges that lay ahead. Regardless of how demanding it might become, he remained resolute in his determination to guide the young man, establish boundaries, and help him grow into the responsibilities of adulthood, for as long as Harry desired.

As Snape gazed into the fire, he resigned himself to address Harry's transgressions. The coming day would prove challenging, but he was unwavering in his resolve to shape the young wizard into a person who could truly realize his potential.

Exhausted, Snape rose slowly and restored the green armchairs to their proper places. With a flick of his wand, he extinguished the crackling fire, leaving the room in soft, smoky darkness as he silently departed from the hearth.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, squinting as the harsh sunlight penetrated his spacious room. He groaned out loud, hating the punishing thumps of his throbbing headache. Apparently, Snape's potion did little to alleviate the morning after effects of excessive drinking.

Harry shoved the covers off his thin frame and gingerly pushed himself to a sitting position. His stomach churned and twisted with each movement, and his head throbbed as if a team of Bludgers were relentlessly pounding against his skull.

Great, Harry thought to himself as he rubbed away the sleep from his puffy eyes. 

He felt the cold floor beneath his warm feet as he forced himself to stand. Despite the misery coursing through him, he was relieved not to have to fight back waves of nausea. He briefly wondered how Ron was fairing, hoping his best mate got some sleep. 

Harry leaned over, snatched his glasses off the bedside table and adjusted them on his face. He took a deep, steadying breath, forcing himself to think about anything other than his impending punishment with Snape. Last night was just dreadful, so bloody dreadful , and sleep hadn’t come easy to the young wizard. 

After sliding on a fresh long sleeve shirt and a pair of trousers, Harry cautiously descended the creaky wooden staircase to his bedroom door. With each groaning step, the pounding in his head intensified, sending sharp stabs of pain through his temples. 

His hands grew clammy, and an invisible weight pressed down on his chest, making each breath a conscious effort. The mere act of walking felt like traversing a treacherous path, as if the world was in protest of his overindulgence.

Slowly opening his door at the bottom of the staircase, Harry's tired eyes wandered around the upper part of the house. To his relief, there was no sign of Snape. The quiet half library exuded the comforting scent of aged leather and parchment paper, and the dark study appeared empty too, offering Harry a small wave of relief.

Despite Snape’s nocturnal tendencies, Harry knew he was awake. It was as if Snape had a personal vendetta against the sun, determined to rise before it and assert his dominance over the morning.

Harry peaked down the staircase leading to the bottom floor of the house, feeling relieved to see the previously splintered and split wooden dowel repaired. Though, he wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a terribly bad one. The house was eerily quiet, and Harry wondered if Snape was outside. 

Harry carefully made his way to the small bathroom located to the left of the study, hoping he'd feel better after washing his face and brushing his teeth. He pulled his hand up to his stiff neck, giving it a soothing rub, and pushed open the dark wooden door. With a soft clack, he shut it behind him and let out a long sigh. The sound of rushing water poured into the porcelain sink, splashing in every direction and filling the space with a bubbling noise.

Harry moaned, this day was not going to be a good one. 

The faint clinking of metal shears snapping open and closed reverberated in the honey-sun bathed greenhouse. With dutiful precision Snape snipped away a few remaining pieces of the dittany plant that Ron had so clearly missed while grumbling yesterday.

Snape scoffed, bending low to spin off one glaringly overgrown piece. 

He had slept some after retiring to bed, but dutifully rose before dawn as usual. He busied himself with minor tasks throughout the greenhouse while considering his approach to Harry’s discipline. 

Despite his displeasure about having to enforce the consequences for breaking the house rules, Harry's destructive outburst last night had more than solidified his resolve.

As it stood, Snape possessed an exceptionally low tolerance for ignorance, insolence, and disrespect and would act accordingly to curb these behaviors in students. In very, very, selective circumstances, he would force himself to show leniency. Unbridled loss of control, though? Absolutely not. That was a grievance Snape would never allow to go unpunished. 

Having been taught emotional stability during his own adolescence, he was unwavering in his goal to pass on that strength to Harry by the end of the summer.

As Snape moved to the front of the greenhouse, he paused at the sound of faint knocking on the wooden door as it filled the hushed plant covered space. Snape glanced up to the strong rafters supporting the roof of the greenhouse and drew in a quick, sharp breath. 

“Come in, Potter,” he said, loud enough for Harry to hear, though his tone remained low and calm. 

Harry peered wearily into the tidy, well manicured garden space. His sleepy emerald eyes matched the green hue of the flourishing life around him as he cast an apprehensive glance at Snape. His hair was a moppy brown mess and faint dark circles encompassed his slightly swollen eyes. 

“Good morning,” Harry said softly as he slid into the entryway and carefully shut the wooden door behind him. He fidgeted slightly, crossing one arm over to grab hold of the other. 

Snape gave a slight nod, turning to water a weblike plant. 

"So it is. How are you faring?" Snape asked, casting Harry with a neutral sidelong glance.

“Uh, not fantastic,” Harry admitted, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his stinging eyes. The tears from last night left a residual dryness. 

Snape inhaled a small breath, and set his watering can down. “You know my sentiments for vague responses, Potter. Physically speaking, how are you? I recommend you be specific this time.”

Harry held back the urge to roll his eyes. 

Surely, at least once in Snape’s structured, cold, and lonely life, he had experienced a hangover. 

“My head is pounding,” Harry quipped, frowning up at Snape, “and my stomach hurts.” 

Snape nodded, glancing around the garden beds for a final, quick inspection. 

“Very well,” he replied after a moment, walking a few paces closer to Harry, “Feeling particularly sensitive to sound or light?” 

Harry squinted his eyes a bit and shoved his hands in his pockets, “My room was bright this morning, I guess.” 

Snape hummed low, his expression remaining stern. 

Then, in the blink of an eye, he withdrew his wand. And before Harry could react, the potions master pointed it directly to the right of the young wizard and incanted, "Bombarda.”

Harry jumped as the wand shot out the deafening spell. His heart skipped a sudden beat, and he involuntarily took a step back, his body tensing with surprise. 

The spell cracked loudly, and the sharp explosion of frying paper filled up the space, as the magical shot zapped a remnant of an old garden bag to Harry's left-hand side.

“Blimey!” Harry gasped as he flinched, his hands instinctively moving to cover his ears. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?” 

He didn't mean to sound so snippy, but his tone came out as sharp as a razor's edge. That loud zap had certainly not helped his pounding headache.

Snape narrowed his gaze, “I would advise you to be cautious with your temperament this morning, Potter. Your current predicament leaves little room for further missteps.”

Harry’s initial shot of adrenaline simmered, but his frustration only mounted. He crossed his arms, leveling Snape with a defensive glare. “Oh, well, my sincerest apologies, Professor. I suppose you forgot that most normal people startle when shot at.” 

With a low, contemplative hum, Snape approached the flustered young man. His muted steps hitting the greenhouse ground with determined force. 

Harry instantly caught the glimmer of frustration in his eyes and swallowed. Oh, hell, Harry thought, instinctively backing up.

“Astounding really, that after last night’s antics you refuse to express yourself with a modicum of respect.” Snape shot in a low, near whisper. 

When he reached Harry, his potion stained fingers wrapped firmly around the young wizard’s arm making him wince.

Snape effortlessly turned him to the side, prompting Harry's anger to melt into trepidation, like hot coals doused in icy water. 

Why do I always do this? Harry thought, feeling the hot bolt of trepidation shoot up through his stomach as Snape’s strong hand squeezed his bicep. 

“Bend forward,” Snape said, tapping the front of Harry’s hip with his wand. 

Harry swallowed hard, he wanted to protest but self preservation beckoned him to obey. 

Snape assisted in the process: pulling Harry’s bicep down and forward, instantly forcing him into a semi-bow. Harry cringed at the way the position presented his bum. He rested his hands on his knees and tucked his head down— sucking in a quick breath. His head thudded wildly at movement. 

Snape released Harry’s bicep and wrapped his left arm around the boy’s hip, firmly pulling him in close to his side. He tapped his wand a few firm times on Harry’s bum, eliciting a flinch from Harry as the boy held his breath.

With precision, Snape pulled his arm back and down in a steady succession of smacks,  administering ten hard flicks to Harry’s trouser clad backside. 

Harry grimaced, pinching his eyes shut as the firm cracks struck his bum. He emitted a barely audible moan, trying hard to take it silently. 

"Consider this a preliminary reminder, Potter," Snape said, slow and firm after he concluded the last smack, "that actions in this household have consequences." He then gave Harry’s hip a reprimanding squeeze before pulling the boy back upright and releasing him. 

Harry's cheeks burned crimson, his voice now submissive and faint as he replied, “Yes, sir.”

Snape merely nodded in response, turning to walk to the wooden door. 

Harry wanted to die already, and that little smacking was nothing. Today’s going to be dreadful, he thought to himself, trying hard not to focus on the sharp stinging sensation lingering across his bum.

Snape opened the door to the greenhouse after retrieving the charcoal burnt paper. He tossed the blackened remnants in a silver garbage bin to the left of the entryway. 

“The incantation was to test your sensitivity to abrupt sound,” Snape said, his tone calm and neutral, as he closed the door to the greenhouse and turned back to face Harry. “The potion you consumed earlier this morning may, at times, cause a crippling reaction to loud noise or extreme sensitivity to light four to five hours after consumption.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, slipping his hands into his back pockets, unconsciously rubbing the sting in his bum through his trousers, “I guess I’m okay then.” 

Snape nodded, clasping his hands and leaning ever so slightly back against the door, “It would seem so.” 

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the greenhouse, the air heavy and charged with renewed tension. Harry's emerald eyes fell from Snape's dark ones, letting his gaze traverse the lush foliage that produced a symphony of greens and the occasional burst of colorful blossoms. 

Snape, his expression an unreadable mask of curiosity and scrutiny, continued to watch Harry closely.

Harry drew in a deep breath and forced himself to look back into Snape’s deep, penetrating gaze. 

"Look, I know I messed up last night, and truly I'm sorry," he said, his voice softening with genuine remorse. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and let them fall to his side. 

Snape nodded, allowing the silence to stretch out for a moment more. He then pushed himself upright, walking slowly up to the condemned young man. 

Harry swallowed, his heart fluttering some as Snape came closer. 

“I trust you've comprehended the consequences of your actions,” Snape began, “however, before we proceed to your punishments, are you quite certain this living arrangement still suits you?” 

Harry's head shot up abruptly, his expression falling despite the sting in his bum. Was Snape already kicking him out?

He had wondered last night if this was coming. 

Lying in his bed, mentally and physically drained after the drunken, emotional turmoil of the evening, Harry had pondered his circumstances. He had stared out at the night through the circular window, wondering whether Snape would still be willing to share their living space after the series of mishaps that had transpired. 

“If you don’t want me to stay anymore, Professor Snape, I understand…” Harry's voice wavered, but he forced an apologetic smile to mask the hurt that threatened to spill over.

He trailed off when Snape slightly shook his head and held up a halting hand. 

“That is not what I am implying," Snape replied, his expression firm.

“Though I am far from pleased with your behavior last night, Potter,” he said with a no-nonsense tone, “I merely want you to understand that, despite it, I am capable of assisting you in finding an alternative option should you choose not to submit to the impending discipline.”

Harry nodded, yeah, he knew that. Despite the torrent of trepidation he’d experienced at facing Snape’s wrath for disobedience, he hadn’t even considered looking for another place to live. Perhaps Snape wanted him too though. 

Did I really push it that far? Harry wondered, feeling a swell of rejection wrap its familiar arms around him. 

Noticing the tight expression on Harry’s face, Snape moved a few steps closer, closing the distance between them. 

“My chosen method of discipline is not conventional, nor particularly easy to endure at your age," Snape stated matter-of-factly. "I simply want to make it abundantly clear that I would not fault you for deciding that this living arrangement does not align with your growth and development."

The tension in Harry’s shoulders relaxed some, and his downcast eyes looked back up to Snape’s authoritative dark ones. Snape hesitated for a minute, then pulled his calloused hand up to Harry’s thin shoulder. 

“Aside from your behavior last night," he began, his voice softening slightly, "I've appreciated having you here the last few days, perhaps more than I let on.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, feeling more assured. While he didn’t want to submit to another spanking, for some reason, moving out to live alone sounded far worse than facing Snape’s displeasure. He also felt a small amount of comfort at the unexpected touch Snape offered, it was nice to feel the tension in the air fade a little.  

“Thanks, Professor Snape. I like living here,” Harry said quietly, offering an apologetic smile at the mention of his behavior. 

“I know you handle um…discipline differently,” Harry fought hard to keep the warm, cherry red color from overwhelming his face, “I’m okay with it though, it’s not all that bad.” 

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry's admission. Was this not the young wizard whom he fought to disrobe and bend over his knee for punishment, only days prior?

And while Harry knew that 'not all that bad' wasn't entirely accurate, he felt safe with Snape. He liked him, despite their mountain of differences and torrent history. The stinging sensation from moments ago had already begun to subside, easing Harry’s nervousness about the forthcoming discipline. 

Harry knew from his previous experience that Snape's method of spanking didn't involve exceptionally forceful strikes. Instead, Snape opted for a measured and controlled approach, which made it far more bearable than the infrequent lashings he'd endured from his uncle, Vernon. 

The pain Snape administered was sharp, yes, and it certainly had made him writhe and cry; but it was somehow different. It was a more precise ache that, while intense, didn't evoke the same gut-wrenching fear as his uncle's drunken whippings had.  

Harry had never encountered such thorough discipline – or experienced such swift relief— as he did at the hands of Severus Snape.

Pulling Harry from his thoughts, Snape responded with a curt nod; releasing the young wizard’s shoulder and moving forward.

"Very well. Come with me," Snape directed as he turned and led the way out of the greenhouse, sliding his wand back into his pocket.

Harry moved to follow behind, realizing it was one of the first times he’d seen Professor Snape without a billowing cloak. Today, the Potions Master was clad only in an ebony cardigan sweater and deep, green trousers. Both garments were so pristinely kept, they could hardly pass as casual wear. Yet, without his flowing cloak and robes, Professor Snape seemed… well, casual. 

Snape walked briskly, his elbows slightly bent and his hands tucked deep into his trouser pockets. 

Harry bit his lower lip and sucked in a trembling breath. In truth, he wasn’t ready for his spanking yet— especially with his head still pounding. But, if Snape wanted to do it now, he wouldn’t resist. He knew he deserved it after the night he put the man through. 

Snape motioned for Harry to hurry up as he held the door open for him. 

Harry focused on keeping his breathing measured and calm. It’s just a smacking, I can handle it, he told himself, fighting embarrassment as he stepped through the open doorway and into the blinding morning light. 

Harry closed his eyes slightly as the sunlight intensified his pounding headache. 

He was taken aback when Snape didn't lead towards the house but instead walked in the opposite direction, heading to the potions storage.

“You should know, Potter,” Snape said over his shoulder, his tone as cool as ever, “though I may not be one for emotional displays now, I had my share of them at your age.”

Harry looked up at Snape, intrigued and a bit apprehensive, as he hurried to catch up. 

"Really?" Harry asked, sliding his hands into his own pockets as he caught up, standing closely beside Snape.

“Indeed,” Snape replied, his sharp eyes remained fixed on the narrow dirt path extending ahead of them. 

He ushered Harry along, returning to slow and measured strides. With each step, the earth crunched softly beneath their shoes, creating a rhythmic cadence that matched their unhurried progress.

"During my seventh year at Hogwarts, there was a terrible occasion when I permitted my emotions to triumph over reason," Snape said, his gaze fixed upon the landscape of the backyard.

Despite Harry’s horrible headache, he perked up. Oh, right! He thought, remembering their conversation from a few nights prior. He had been so consumed with his time spent with Ron, and his grief, that he had almost forgotten Snape’s mention of his own encounters in the Headmaster’s office. 

“What happened?” Harry asked, looking intently at Snape’s unreadable face. 

Snape maintained his unwavering gaze ahead, his breathing controlled but tinged with a subtle unease. The sound of their footsteps on the gravel punctuated the morning stillness, making him acutely aware that he had never divulged this particular incident to anyone. 

In fact, he had scarcely revealed any personal experiences related to corporal punishment to another person, let alone a student. He fought to keep his composure, resolute in his determination to contain the memory for Harry’s benefit. 

“I had a reputation for my fascination with the Dark Arts," Snape stated, his voice carrying a hint of modesty. “One particular day, a peer challenged me to a duel on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, and I, foolishly, accepted.”

Harry's mind whirled with intrigue. For so long, he had known Professor Snape as the stern, seemingly unshakable Potions Master, but the image of a young Severus Snape, brash and daring, dueling on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, was almost too much to comprehend. 

“What happened? Did you win?” Harry asked, nearly too quickly. 

“No,” Snape lied, knowing he had most definitely won, but at a terrible price. 

Harry continued to stare wide eyed at Snape, hanging on his every word as they walked along the dirt path, growing closer to the potions storage.

“I didn't abide by the set rules more upstanding Slytherins had established,” Snape continued, his expression ever so slightly revealing the haunting memories of that fateful evening. “In an effort to make up for our insolence for holding the forbidden duel, it was agreed-upon that neither participants would be allowed to cast a dark curse. However, after a rather cutting comment from my opponent, I let my emotions take control and blatantly disregarded that stipulation.”

Harry took in a quick, small breath. “What curse did you cast?” he asked. 

Snape sighed, his expression momentarily clouded with regret, though he quickly composed himself.

“Sectumsempra,” He admitted, a touch quieter than before.

Harry gasped. The words hit him like a hex, conjuring a sudden, vivid memory of his own dark encounter with that very spell. He remembered the way Snape looked at him, a mixture of anger, shock, and disappointment, when Harry himself had unknowingly struck Draco with the same curse. 

Harry's face twisted in a grimace as he recalled the gruesome scene in the bathroom. The image of Draco lying there, motionless, with the bloody gashes slicing through his chest and abdomen, etched in his memory like stone markings.

A shudder coursed through Harry's body, and he shook his head to dispel the haunting images.

“What happened next?” He asked Snape, trying to push past his own guilt and learn more about that fateful event.

Snape paused at the entrance to the potions storage. “I left the duel, abandoning my opponent to writhe on the forest floor.” 

Harry dropped his mouth open in shock.

“Wait here,” Snape instructed, disappearing into the stone building. 

Harry said nothing as he watched Snape vanish behind the door. 

He too had left Draco after casting the curse, but only did so after Snape had appeared, sweeping into the flooded bathroom like an angry black bat. Harry had known Snape would save the lacerated blonde, and he merely left due to the panic that had overtaken his senses. 

In contrast, there was presumably no one to help Snape’s dueling partner. Which was a gut wrenching thought. 

Harry had anticipated that Snape’s past was shrouded in regrettable moments, knowing his history as a Death Eater. But for some reason, Harry couldn’t fathom the idea of the skinny teen he’d seen, hanging upside down in the tree above his father, hitting a student with such a vicious curse and leaving him there to suffer. 

Snape reappeared momentarily with a blue vial of potion. Harry instantly felt a flutter of trepidation in his chest as he glanced down at it, distracting him from Snape’s story. 

“What’s that for?” Harry asked, crossing his arms and motioning down to the vial. 

“Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dream of robbing you of nature’s consequences to overindulgence,” Snape said slowly, “However, given your rather uncomfortable, impending discipline, you may take this to relieve your head and stomach ache, if you wish.”

Harry was stunned by the gesture, especially after he’d anticipated a far harder morning with Snape. 

After all, he had smashed the dowel to pieces last night and puked on the man, yet instead of immediately receiving discipline, he was getting an anticipated story and a healing potion. What was happening? 

“Well… thank you," Harry said, taking the vial. He popped the cork off the glass and chugged it fast. 

To his surprise, this potion wasn’t half bad, though it still left a pungent earthly taste in his mouth.

Harry handed the vial back to Snape, who accepted it with a curt nod and disappeared back into his potions storage again. 

Harry felt a wave of relief as soft tendrils of magic pulled the sharp pains in his head and stomach away. Snape had all sorts of fantastic potions up his sleeve, making Harry wish he had more freedom to explore them. He briefly thought of Ron again and the sleeping draughts Snape possessed. 

Interrupting him from his thoughts, Snape returned and motioned for Harry to follow him. 

“So, um,” Harry began as they made their way back toward the greenhouse, “what happened to your classmate?” 

Snape hummed low, focusing on the scenery in front of them. 

“He survived. Though, not without some unfortunate side effects, given the time it took for assistance to arrive.” Snape admitted, tensing his shoulders ever so slightly. 

Harry didn’t know quite what to say at first. He wanted to press for more information, but also didn’t want to upset Snape, so a pause hung in the cool morning air until he could gather his approach.

“Poor bloke… I imagine Dumbledore was not pleased,” Harry finally said, looking up at Snape tentatively.

Snape cast a brief, calculating glance at Harry, “Indeed. His displeasure was challenging to endure; however, he was exceedingly gracious to keep his punishment to the extent he did. I should have been expelled immediately,” Snape replied, slowly clasping his hands behind his back. 

“Why weren’t you?” Harry asked, though he had an idea after spending much time with Dumbledore.

“I suppose the Headmaster foresaw the darkness in my future,” Snape admitted, pausing to take a slight breath.

Harry nodded, feeling a twinge of sadness envelope him.

“He wanted to keep an eye on me, I presume, for the last year,” Snape finished, and his eyes grew blank as they traversed the flourishing spring landscape. 

“Sounds like him,” Harry said with a small smile on his cold lips. 

Harry could linger in grief if he allowed himself, as any mention of Dumbledore brought with it an onslaught of mixed emotions. 

Instead though, he considered the consequences Snape had faced for the forbidden duel. 

For some reason, a warm flush crept into Harry's cheeks. He could hardly believe Snape was opening up about this part of his past; and while his curiosity prodded him to press for more details, he also felt a gnawing awkwardness, making him hesitant to ask for specifics.

“Um,” Harry started, licking his lips and glancing to the greenhouse, “Was Dumbledore the only one who… punished you?” 

Snape kept his eyes trained on the scenery, his mind dwelling on the memories of that fateful day, “The Headmaster’s displeasure was severe, but no, it wasn't the only consequence of my actions during that time.”

When they arrived at the greenhouse, Snape shut the wooden door with a soft click and cast a locking spell over it. He then gestured for Harry to accompany him up the dirt path to the house. 

As they turned to walk back, Harry's curiosity about Snape's past gnawed at him like an itch he couldn't resist scratching. He felt a growing sense of embarrassment at his curiosity surrounding the details of Snape’s punishments, as if he were prying into a part of Snape's life he had no business knowing about— despite being subjected to the same form of correction by the man. Still though, Harry couldn’t suppress the urge to understand better.

"Um," Harry hesitated, his cheeks flushing slightly with self-consciousness, "what else… happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

Understanding that Harry's inquisitiveness wasn't to be thwarted, Snape sighed softly. 

“Professor Slughorn,” Snape paused to clear his throat, “my Head of House, gave me an additional paddling during one of many detentions spent in his classroom. He was rather disappointed in me for delving into dark magic, as you can imagine."

Harry was stunned, he felt a pang of empathy for Snape despite the severity of his actions; getting into trouble with both sounded awful. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he responded softly. “So Dumbledore… paddled you too, then? Did it happen the same day?” 

“Indeed, he did. Yes, the day after the incident.” Snape looked back down to Harry, forcing himself not to feel threatened by the boy's natural questions.

“That sounds awful,” Harry said, not bothering to keep the grimace out of his features. 

Snape hesitated, a sense of profound discomfort surfacing as he contemplated sharing the next part. "Yes, well, even combined, they were nowhere near as dreadful as the consequences I faced when my father received notice of my misbehavior. As you might suspect, he bothered not with a letter or howler to express his displeasure," Snape said, trailing off momentarily as the pair reached the back door to the house.

"What did he do?" Harry asked, leaning in a bit closer to Snape as the pair stopped.

"I was summoned home for punishment," Snape continued, though his demeanor hardly shifted, Harry noticed the way his fingers seemed to twitch. "My father was not a kind man, Potter." 

“Did he, um, beat you?” Harry asked softly, surprising not only Snape with the question but himself as well—  not having a clue where his nerve came from. 

Snape hummed low. “Indeed, in a traditional sense. My father always took a rather unorthodox approach to discipline that was physically challenging for me to withstand.” Snape took in a small breath before continuing, “The moment I returned home, he caned me severely for my foolishness. Then proceeded to express his displeasure in the same manner throughout the week.” 

Harry was shocked, and he couldn't help but feel deep sympathy for Snape. Facing smackings from the Headmaster, his Head of House, and then returning home to a whole week with his aggressive father must have been a harrowing experience, no matter how grave his infraction was. 

“That’s terrible,” Harry said, his voice filled with compassion.

"I certainly didn’t agree with my father’s approach, given that the punishment left me… debilitated for some time before my return back," Snape said dismissively, though Harry caught his tone wavering ever so slightly.

“However, I undoubtedly deserved the punishments from my Head of House and the Headmaster. I credit their rather stern intervention and meaningful disciplinary discussions to an otherwise successful year.” Snape said calmly, a sense of strength clear in his voice. 

“Still sounds awful,” Harry replied, grimacing at the thought. 

Snape nodded, a hint of nostalgia and pain in his eyes. 

“Yes, well, proper discipline is hardly an enjoyable experience.” He said plainly. 

In that moment, the weight of his past experiences hung heavily in the air, creating an unexpected bond of understanding between him and Harry. 

These were aspects of his life that he rarely shared, but he believed it was important for Harry to comprehend before the lesson he was about to teach him.

“Back in my classroom, you mentioned your own experiences with unbridled discipline at the hands of your uncle, correct?” Snape asked Harry, pausing to face the young man. 

Despite the vulnerability Snape felt at his previous admission, and the discomfort with this entire conversation, he masked it with ease. Coming off clear and calm. 

Harry nodded, meeting Snape’s eyes with a new sense of connection at the semi-shared experience. 

“Yes, my uncle would drink and come after me,” Harry replied, “It wasn’t near as bad as what you endured though, he was a large man and didn’t have the steam to go for too long.” 

Snape paused, his expression firm. “Nonsense. You should never have been subjected to physical correction administered out of unchecked anger. It is regrettable that such instances transpired in your life." 

Harry lifted his brows and gave a small smile. Oddly enough, it was nice to have Snape acknowledge that. 

Harry nodded, “Thanks.” 

Drawing a slight breath in, Snape momentarily clasped his hands in front of his waist. 

“I am here for you if you would ever like to discuss those experiences and need a guiding hand.” Snape offered quietly. 

As Snape extended his support, Harry felt a long-held weight seem to fall from his shoulders.

A small, comfortable moment of silence enveloped them in the spring dawn, making Harry wonder if perhaps this was the side of Professor Snape his mother had cared for when she was young. Snape seemed strong and supportive, despite his quiet and stern presence. 

“I appreciate that, Professor Snape.” Harry said, the warmth in his tone undeniable. 

Snape gave a curt nod and pulled the creaking metal screen open, “After you,” he said, motioning for Harry to lead the way inside. 

Harry stepped inside the house with a sense of gratitude for the unexpected support he had just received. A private weight of his past seemed to momentarily lift from his shoulders.

He appreciated Snape's willingness to listen, to share his own experiences, and to be there for him. The warmth in his heart was undeniable, and for the first time, he felt a connection to his professor that extended beyond the intimacy of discipline.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Soon after crossing the threshold, however, the flood of memories from Harry’s own insolence surged back into his mind.The sound of shattered wood, the sickness in his stomach, the fury in Snape's eyes— all coalesced into a heavy pit of dread that settled in his stomach as he remembered he still needed to be punished. 

Harry understood that despite the comforting conversation they had just shared, he was still in his own world of trouble. Snape's personal unwavering discipline and stern scolding awaited him, serving as a stark reminder of the household expectations that he had agreed upon, and broken. 

“As you may have perceived, our conversation provides a decent segue into the latter half of this discussion,” Snape said as he turned to close the metal door. 

Harry swallowed, fidgeting with the hem of his long sleeve shirt. He still didn’t feel ready for it, but responded with, “Alright, sir,” anyway. 

Snape walked a few steps forward, returning a hand to his pocket and pulling out a seat at the table with the other. 

“Come sit, Potter.” He said, moving to take a seat of his own. 

Harry forced himself to walk forward and sit down, glancing first at his own fidgeting hands then up to Snape. 

“I'd like you to give me a thorough account of the events that transpired yesterday, leading up to your outburst last night," Snape said, folding his hands and locking eyes with Harry in a way that sent a shiver down the young wizard's spine. "Bear in mind, if your account lacks the required specificity, you will find yourself draped over my knee for a preliminary discussion on my stance towards vague statements.”

Harry's discomfort was palpable as he audibly swallowed and met Snape's stern gaze to respond.

“Okay,” Harry said, forcing himself to sit up straighter, “Well, Ron and I got lunch then we shopped for a while. I got some new clothes, and we talked about some things,” Harry paused, trying to think of the most important details from the day before. 

Snape's dark eyes remained fixed on Harry, a steely intensity underscoring his unwavering expression. Despite the earlier conversation, the image Harry had held of a teenage Severus Snape, one who warranted sympathy for his experiences, swiftly evaporated. In its place sat the stern disciplinarian that Snape had become—the same disappointed and cross teacher who had come down on Harry many times before. Though this time, he had more to lose than measly house points. 

Snape leaned forward slightly, his fingers tightly laced together. 

"Go on," Snape said, his voice low and measured, loaded with the weight of expectation.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze briefly straying from Snape's punishing one. His voice wavered as he continued, "Um, Ron can't really sleep anymore, and his family is not doing well after losing Fred." Harry fought to maintain his composure, refusing to allow grief to resurface.

Snape's stern expression softened ever so slightly as he acknowledged the weight of grief. 

"Indeed, the Weasley family's distress is regrettable," Snape replied, his tone firm as he continued. “Did this specific concern over their well-being contribute to your destructive outburst?” 

Harry hesitated, his feelings swirling within him like rocks in a blender. He didn't want to cry again in front of Snape, especially sober, but he couldn't deny the truth and the feelings that accompanied it. 

"Yes, it... it was the main thing that pushed me over the edge." Harry replied with a slight strain in his voice.  

Snape hummed low, "Why?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and drummed his foot on the floor. Wasn't the answer obvious? He fought to keep his sadness from rolling into anger.

“Ron’s my best mate, I care for him. For his family,” Harry pulled his hand up and ran it across his pained face, “I… I cared for Fred.” 

Snape drew in a small breath, shifting his interlaced fingers slightly. 

"Very well," Snape replied, pausing briefly to gather his response. "I must add, Potter, that Headmistress McGonagall also cares a great deal for the Weasley family, as she did for the late young wizard; though it seems, none of her home has been destroyed as a result."

Harry nodded, uncrossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table, “I understand, sir,” he said softly. 

“While I may recognize that you were under the influence of alcohol,” Snape said, though his tone did not waver in severity, “it is hardly an excuse for the unbridled lack of restraint that you so foolishly demonstrated last night.” 

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape… I don’t know what came over me,” Harry said, not trying to excuse himself, but hoping Snape would believe him. 

Snape paused, momentarily letting his disapproving gaze speak for him. Harry swallowed again, dropping his eyes down to the clean tabletop.

“You feel responsible for Mr. Weasley’s death, do you not?” Snape asked without a hint of reservation.

Harry sucked in a trembling breath, how did he know that? 

“Yes,” he responded quietly. His voice strained with pent emotion.

“That is a needless guilt to bear,” Snape replied, though his tone was less severe, “Fred Weasley, like many others, made a choice to engage in combat—”

Harry tried to interject, his pitch rising, “Because of m—” 

“The Dark Lord— Potter.” Snape snapped, “Congratulations, as last time, you’ve earned extra strokes for interruption. I would strongly advise you to control your emotions going forward.” He warned, leveling the young wizard with a stern glare. 

Harry huffed and swallowed his rebuttal sentence, “Sorry, Professor Snape.” 

Snape continued, his tone unwavering, "Listen carefully to me, the responsibility for the war and the subsequent death of those who fought lies with Voldemort and his followers, not with you."

Harry's eyes were cast down, his mind heavy with the weight of self-blame. He struggled to accept Snape's words, feeling hot anger and sadness wash over him. 

Snape drew in a tense breath and shifted his approach slightly. 

"I understand the burden of loss and the guilt it can carry. However, you mustn’t let it consume you. The fight was a collective effort, and it was the choices of many, not just one, that determined the inevitable outcome." Snape said, his voice measured and firm.

He could see the turmoil within the young wizard, and he knew that it would take time for Harry to fully grasp the reality of his words.

“You have a valiant heart, Harry,” Snape admitted, causing the boy’s eyes to swell up with unshed tears. He paused for a brief moment, then continued with unwavering sternness, "Regardless, loss of emotional control that results in physical violence, will never be tolerated in my home," Snape finished, his tone low and resolute.

The resonance of Snape's unexpected words about Harry's character, coupled with the unfamiliarity of his first name on Snape's lips, stirred a tumult of emotions within him. As Harry's eyes glistened, he blinked rapidly in an attempt to compose himself. The unexpected shift in Snape's demeanor had struck a chord, evoking a response that Harry couldn't easily dismiss or conceal.

Harry tried hard, so hard , not to let the tears fall down his face; but he was ultimately unsuccessful. 

Snape took a deep breath in, forcing himself this time to act upon the compassion he felt for the boy. He stood slowly and moved over to Harry’s side, taking his chair with him. 

Snape adjusted the front of his trousers and sat back down with a graceful ease. 

He then pulled his hand up to Harry’s back and began to rub it. Running his warm, calloused palm down Harry’s trembling spine with firm, comforting motions. 

Though Harry relished the solace, for some reason it made him cry harder. He pulled his hands up to his face and covered his tear stained cheeks, quietly letting the well of emotions come forth. 

Snape hummed low, feeling a slight pain in his chest as Harry wept. 

“Come now, Potter. Take a breath.” He coaxed, pausing to rub up to Harry’s neck. Snape’s potion stained fingertips felt strong and soothing as they moved in firm stroking patterns, relieving the pent up tension in Harry’s neck and back.

“S-sorry,” Harry sputtered, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to wipe his eyes. 

“We will revisit this discussion at another time. For now, do you understand why I must impress upon you the severity of your lack of control?” Snape asked, slow and steady. 

Harry nodded after a long pause, regaining his composure and taking a steadying breath, “Y-yes, sir.” 

Deciding not to postpone the inevitable, Snape gave a curt nod and patted Harry’s back. Harry drew in a deep breath and used his soft sleeves to dry off the rest of his wet face.

“Very well,” Snape said, making Harry’s stomach roll as the Potions Master shifted his approach back to the punishments at hand. With minimal movement he adjusted his chair to face Harry square on and interlaced his fingers. 

“In terms of punishment, had you only returned home hours late and intoxicated, I would have draped you over my knee for a dose of the hairbrush as a potent reminder of the house rules," Snape stated with unwavering severity. 

The words hung in the air, causing Harry to hold his breath, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. 

His grief scurried away like a mouse fleeing a cat, utterly overwhelmed by Snape's authoritative presence.

"However, in light of your destructive outburst, you have undoubtedly earned the paddle as well," Snape declared, his voice a heavy, unwavering force.

Harry nodded, feeling as though his stomach had plummeted to the floor. His chest tightened, and he struggled to control the nervous flutters that surged through him. He wanted to cry all over again. 

Snape steeled himself, prepared for Harry's inevitable clash with his next words.

“I do not indulge in prolonged punishments,” Snape continued, “therefore, you will go over my knee twice before the day's end.” The weight of his words hung in the air, signaling the impending storm of discipline.

Harry’s head snapped up and his mouth dropped slightly, though tears were no longer streaming down his flushed cheeks, he looked utterly distraught at the sentence. 

“Professor Snape—” Harry tried but was cut off by a firm halting hand.

“This is certainly not up for discussion, Potter,” Snape said with a strong note of authority, despite the dread he also felt at the impending punishments, “You willingly violated our agreement, came home inebriated, and damaged my property. For that, you will be punished in the manner I see fit, without needless protest.” 

Harry felt a large lump in his throat, everything in him wanted to argue or plead but he knew he had no leg to stand on. 

“Okay, sir.” Harry finally responded, taking in a deep breath and rubbing his sweaty palms off on his trouser clad thighs. 

He felt sick to his core. Two spankings? How in Merlin's name was he going to endure the humiliation of bending across Snape’s knee twice ?

"Very well," Snape said, rising from his seat. "Go upstairs immediately, take a shower and prepare yourself for the day.”

Harry slowly nodded and pushed his chair back from the table, preparing to stand. 

Snape smoothed out a few wrinkles in his pants, then straightened his dark cardigan. "Once you've finished, fetch the hairbrush and bring it to me. Your discipline will follow," he sentenced.

Rising to his feet, Harry's heart quickened, and a nervous tremor ran through his legs as he muttered an embarrassed, "Yes, sir.”

“Um, Professor Snape?” Harry soon added but stopped when Snape leveled him with a warning glare.

“Sorry, I just have a question,” Harry said, glancing uncomfortably at the waxed kitchen floor. 

“And what might that question be?” Snape asked, lifting his brow down to Harry and giving him an expectant look while he repositioned the dining chairs to their respectful places. 

“Um, when will I get… the other one?” Harry asked, keeping his eyes on the ground, feeling a sense of humiliation wrapping its hot hand around his chest.

Snape didn’t answer, prompting Harry to glance up. He wanted to groan as a furious blush warmed his face again, realizing Snape wanted him to be more specific. “My other... spanking,” Harry said softer.

“Just before you retire to bed.” Snape sentenced, interlacing his fingers and bringing them to rest in front of his waist. 

“Any more questions?” He asked, though the response sounded short, his voice lacked its typical severity. 

“Well… yes, actually. I’m not arguing, but why do I have to take a shower right now?” Harry asked tentatively, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up uncomfortably at Snape.

“I’d like you to take some time to contemplate your actions. Considering you didn’t shower after last night’s antics, it will serve as a suitable place for reflection,” Snape sentenced. 

Harry couldn’t stop himself from letting out a dejected sigh, prompting Snape to narrow his dark eyes. 

“Perhaps you would prefer to reflect in a corner of the living room instead? I will gladly see you to a suitable area.” Snape shot, his expression firm. 

“A corner?!” Harry gasped, feeling the heat of shame wash back over him for the hundredth time today. “Come on— I’m hardly a child, Professor Snape,” he retorted with a mix of disbelief and defiance.

“Really?” Snape quipped, “I hardly think a mature and capable adult would rationally wreak havoc upon an innocent staircase.” 

Harry clenched his teeth, but refused to dig an even deeper hole for himself.  

“Are we quite through with your inquiries?” Snape drawled, his patience running thin.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, his emerald green eyes ever so slightly narrowed as he glanced up.

"Very well. After you’ve had your first punishment, I shall consider preparing a light morning meal. Unless you have an inclination to eat beforehand?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, I couldn't... I'd rather eat after, thank you." His tone carried a hint of frustration, but he wisely maintained his respect.

“Go shower.” Snape directed with a nod, watching as the young man turned and ever so slowly, disappeared from sight. 

Harry was enveloped by the strong rush of warm water as it pelted against his thin frame. Everything was blurry under the water’s pressure without his glasses. He ran his hands up through his soaked hair, vigorously scrubbing it with a slimy lather of mint soap. 

As he washed away the dirt and grime from the last few days, bouts of trepidation welled up from his stomach to his chest, feeling like the tension in the air before a heavy downpour.

Harry let the warm pelts of water stream down his toned back. 

He can sod right off, Harry thought as hot humiliation flooded his chest . There was no way– absolutely no way—he'd ever stand in a corner like a bloody three-year-old. 

He finished scrubbing his body with vigor, letting his frustration with Snape come out on every patch of his soft, slick skin. He paused when he reached his bum, a small groan escaping his wet lips as he remembered the impending ache that would soon engulf the region. 

A familiar glimmer of disdain for Snape welled up within him as he finished scrubbing and extended his wet hand to turn off the water at the shower's spigot. 

Grabbing a fluffy black towel from the metal bar hanging by the shower, Harry patted himself dry and let out a shaky sigh. 

Despite his annoyance, his mind soon wandered to how many of his previous misadventures might have turned out differently if he had exercised more restraint. After all, Snape had been a triple agent; if he could conceal such raw emotions, perhaps Harry could learn to control his temper in the same way. If anything, he would at least stop earning those dreadful extra smacks for interruptions. 

As Harry stood there drying off, the once tight line of his shoulders eased. An audible sigh escaped him, and he shook his head slowly. It dawned on him that, in his peculiar Snape-esque way, the professor was doing this for his benefit, to impart a lesson Harry desperately needed to grasp, even if it meant enduring the impending painful consequences.

Despite his determination to submit to the correction, Harry decided, as he pulled up his pants and trousers on his damp legs, that he would at least try to endure the first spanking without crying.

He gave himself a small pep talk as he snatched up his glasses, drying off the layer of wet steam on them, and adjusting them back on his face. 

With resolve, Harry slid on his long sleeve shirt. Taking a stabilizing breath, he moved to open the bathroom door letting the warm steam collide with the clear air in a little billow. Today was going to suck; but he was determined to face it with as much courage as he could muster.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Snape stood still in the sun soaked glow of the kitchen. A sense of heaviness weighing on his shoulders that contrasted the brightness around him as he prepared a pot of tea. 

Though he was resolute in his decision to discipline Harry, he hardly relished the thought of punishing him twice in one day. He despised hearing the boy sob, especially when he caught sight of those familiar green eyes glistening with anguish. He understood the importance of discipline, but it was difficult to steel himself against the pain-laced pleading from a boy he had always begrudgingly protected. This was… unexpected. Not something he thought he would deal with when he agreed to take Harry in and ‘guide’—or rather ‘mentor’—him for Minerva. Treating Harry poorly in classes, assigning detention after detention, and taking any opportunity to remind the boy what a piece of rubbish his father was didn't compare to how he felt actually disciplining him these days. Perhaps the end of the war was to blame...

As Snape measured the dried lavender, he dwelled on the reasoning behind this strict approach. Harry's lack of self-control, exacerbated by the trauma of the war, was a deep cause for concern. As Minerva feared, Snape too was concerned that without guidance, Harry might resort to violence as an outlet for his emotional turmoil, like he himself had many, many, years ago. The memories of the boy's uncontrolled outburst from the previous night lingered in his mind and strengthened his resolve. He knew that he had to be firm, for Harry's own well-being. 

As he poured the cool water into the teapot, Snape wondered how long it would take to truly reach Harry. 

Could he even help the boy channel his emotions and find healthier outlets for his pain? Snape audibly sighed, grappling with the thought. He hadn’t even worked through half of his own issues. How could he possibly aid Harry? He relied on the only method of discipline he knew that had once induced compliance when he was young and foolish; even though it proved to be a challenge at times. Perhaps that would be help enough… or a start, at least. He left the tea to steep and snatched up a newspaper from the countertop, his internal conflict still lingering as he waited for Harry to join him in the kitchen.

Harry's heart thudded in anxious anticipation as he reached the bottom of the wooden staircase. His clean hands were slick with sweat, as he clung loosely to the menacing wooden hairbrush in his right hand. 

He couldn't shake his growing humiliation over the impending punishments as he approached the kitchen one painstaking step at a time. The anticipation weighed heavily on his shoulders, desperately urging him to get it over with and postpone it, all at the same time.

Will I lose control of his emotions again?  He wondered, sob like a child without being able to stop it? Harry’s brows drew in a tight line. This was so embarrassing… and surreal, really. Was he honestly living with Professor Snape now? Following his ‘rules’ and getting his bare arse smacked when he broke them? Or was this just some mental dream? Maybe Voldemort did kill him in the forest, and this was his comeuppance for all the wrong he’d done in his life.

Harry shook his head, reminded himself that could leave if he wanted to, then gave himself one more moment to mentally prepare— stopping just before the kitchen entryway. 

Yes, this was real. And it was bloody dreadful... but he'd be fine. Fine like he was after the smacking in the classroom. Maybe he'd even feel strangely relieved again when it was over. Lighter and less burdened. 

He sucked in a stabilizing breath and stepped into the warm, sunlit kitchen. The tea kettle was steaming on the iron stove and the scent of lavender touched the room. Harry’s gaze wandered over to Snape, who was seemingly engrossed in a newspaper at the kitchen table. 

Brilliant, he frowned, he had to break the silence. 

“I, er, I’m back Professor Snape,” Harry said quietly, unable to bring himself to look anywhere other than at the table in front of Snape. 

Dropping the first half of the newspaper, Snape let it collapse on itself in a seamless fold. 

“So you are,” he replied, his gaze traveling to the ashamed young man. 

Harry’s hair was a damp mop and his skin looked somewhat dewy, hinting at the thorough shower he’d taken. He fidgeted uncomfortably, ever so slightly rotating the dense hairbrush at his side. 

“I trust you had sufficient time to consider your transgressions?” Snape asked, setting the newspaper down.

“Yes.” Harry swallowed hard and sucked in a small breath, “I was—”

“Just a moment,” Snape interjected as he laced his fingers together and leaned slightly forward. “You need to address me properly for this conversation. Eyes on mine, Potter.” 

Harry despised how small and awkward that made him feel but he forced himself to meet Snape’s disciplinary stare.

Snape gave him a curt nod, “Carry on.” 

Harry pushed back the bubble of frustration that momentarily boiled up in him and refocused on his apology. He didn’t dare make this worse by arguing with Snape like he used to. No, that would be a horrible idea. 

“I was wrong for breaking the house rules and smashing the dowel.” Harry admitted his tone tinged with the slightest bit of edge, “I should’ve controlled myself, but I didn’t. I… er, shouldn’t have gotten so pissed drunk either.” 

“Indeed, I trust when the day is through you will think twice before allowing yourself to behave in such a manner,” Snape replied, moving to stand. “Hand me the hairbrush,” he extended his potion-stained palm out.  

On cue, Harry’s stomach plummeted. These ordeals were beginning to feel like the winding courses of a roller coaster track. With a dry swallow, he walked over to Snape, gingerly setting the hefty wooden brush in his outstretched palm. 

Snape curled his calloused fingers around the smooth handle and brought it down to his side. 

“Come with me,” he directed, motioning for Harry to follow him into the living room. 

Harry complied. Each step he took behind Snape felt heavy, laden with sweaty and shaky trepidation. He criticized himself for feeling stressed. Really, this wasn't a big deal. It was just a smacking... a bare one... over Snape's bloody lap. Harry ran a hand through his hair and huffed. 

A gentle thud drew his attention as Snape set the hairbrush down on the living room table. Then, in one swift motion, he withdrew his wand and flicked it with practiced precision, causing the sheer black curtains over the three rectangular windows behind the couch to drag shut. A matching set fell across the large window facing the front yard as well, blocking out the light. 

Harry’s breaths grew shallow. With the drapes now closed, the once bright living room transformed into a shadowed space covered in muted sunlight. While it provided a semblance of privacy, the action heightened the discomfort in the room, amplifying Harry’s awareness of Snape's stern presence. Why do the curtains have to be closed?  He wondered before answering his own senseless question with, Right, well... I'm about to be half naked, aren't I? Couldn't chance having a neighbor see... or Merlin forbid, Ron, if he decided to come for another unexpected pop over. The thought alone brought a hot heat up Harry's neck. 

Snape disrupted his flustered contemplation, effortlessly lifting the corner of the table and pushing it forward in a quiet drag to create more legroom. With the same precision that invaded every corner of his life, he adjusted his trousers and gracefully settled onto the vintage couch.

Perhaps to some, he may have appeared quite handsome sitting there with his legs spread slightly, clad in his ebony cardigan and deep green trousers. However, to Harry, he might as well have been a Dementor. 

“Potter,” said Snape, interrupting the young wizard's anxious thoughts, “having a little trouble moving our feet today, are we?”

Harry glanced around, realizing he was a good twenty paces or so away from Snape.

“Oh,” Harry said, forcing his feet to move, “right, sorry.”

Snape nodded, lifting an eyebrow up a moment later when Harry still stopped short— just out of arm's reach. 

Trying not to lose his patience, Snape sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms casually on his spread thighs and interlacing his fingers. 

He leveled Harry with a no-nonsense glare. "Come directly to me," Snape said in a terrifyingly low tone.

Harry let out an apprehensive groan and pulled his right hand up to his mouth, unconsciously biting his nail. “I’m... coming,” he replied, though he hardly moved forward. 

Snape motioned to a spot on the floor in front of his lap and gave Harry an impatient black glare. 

Harry pushed himself to walk to it, though his pace could’ve been quicker for Snape’s liking.

When he reached the designated spot between Snape’s outstretched knees, he crossed his arms around his chest, attempting to slow his nervous breaths. Bloody hell, he didn’t want to get smacked. The last time was painful and thoroughly embarrassing. Not to mention he’d cried with an intensity so foreign to him, he nearly felt like it hadn’t happened. He couldn’t believe this was real. That this was his life now. That Professor Severus Snape was sitting on the couch, waiting for him to strip his pants off and lay across his thighs to have his arse thoroughly smacked. And he thought hunting Horcruxes was dreadful.

Snape paused, noticing the rise and fall of Harry’s thin chest.

"Are you prepared for your punishment, or do you need a moment?" Snape asked, leaning back into a more upright position.

“I’m ready,” Harry said quietly, forcing himself to look down into Snape’s dark, stern eyes. 

“I’m ready, sir, would be the correct response,” Snape retorted, making Harry’s stomach do another acrobatic flip. He remembered the same words out of Snape’s mouth in his potions class, two years prior. Although unlike then, Harry had the sense not to give him cheek now.  

“Sorry,” Harry said, dropping his arms from their crossed position, “I’m ready now... sir.” 

"Very well," Snape said, "hand me your glasses."

Harry fought to keep himself from growing sick as he removed his glasses and folded them carefully. He extended them down to Snape, keeping his gaze averted. Snape carefully set them far out of reach in the center of the wooden coffee table. 

“Stand here,” Snape instructed, motioning to his right side. 

Harry willed himself to obey, ready to get his spanking over with, despite the cartwheels his stomach was doing. He began to wonder if the anxiety he was experiencing was worse than the actual punishment.

Snape nodded, so far satisfied with Harry’s compliance, minus the initial hesitation from the young wizard. 

“Do you recall the rules for how you are required to receive this punishment?” Snape asked.

“Um…” Harry thought for a moment, fidgeting his fingertips. “I know I’m not supposed to kick you," he answered honestly. 

“Indeed, you most certainly should not.” Snape replied. 

He knew such a rule was hardly applicable for a boy of Harry’s size. Still though, he deemed it necessary to include it after Draco had somehow managed to clip his chin with his heel during a particularly stern punishment last year. That had certainly not ended well for the pitiable blonde.

Snape regained his focus on Harry. “There are a few others to consider. Are you able to conjure them?” 

“I don’t remember, sir,” said Harry, dropping his gaze to Snape’s outstretched lap. His heart thumped harder as he remembered how firm those thighs felt under his bare hips the last time he was in this position. Ughhh.

“Take note so that you can recall them for me this evening then,” Snape began, making Harry wince at the reminder of his bedtime spanking.

“You may cry, which is a natural reaction to the discomfort of this particular punishment. Do not, however, result to hysterical behavior in an attempt to conclude prematurely,” Snape warned, leveling Harry with a look that made him squirm. 

“I won’t, sir,” Harry responded quietly, breaking eye contact. 

Snape nodded, “You are required to lie still across my lap, to the best of your ability, and accept your punishment. I understand that it may prove challenging, but I expect your best effort.” 

Harry rubbed his sweaty hands on the side of his trousers, “Alright, sir.” 

“Lastly,” Snape said, fixing Harry with a pointed look, “refrain from attempting to block any smacks with your hands. I’d prefer not to rap your knuckles."

Harry grimaced, remembering how hard it was to keep his hands in front last time. Ugh, this was going to be dreadful— he wasn’t ready again.

"Any attempt to shield yourself by pulling back your hands will result in immediate restraint. Such insolence will also earn you additional strikes to the back of your thighs," Snape warned, noting the instant reddening of Harry's ears.

"Are these stipulations clear?" Snape asked slowly, letting his gaze rest on Harry’s downcast eyes.

Harry let out a dejected sigh and nodded, “Yes, sir. Everything is clear.” 

“Very well then,” Snape said, his tone stern. He drew in a slight breath and considered how he wanted to proceed.

Harry was already squirming like a hare caught in a trap, and Snape, having known the prideful boy for years, was acutely aware that he would rather do anything other than willingly remove his trousers and pants.

He considered the prospect of pulling Harry over his lap and disrobing him afterward—a task which once proved challenging in his early years of disciplining students. Yet, after fifteen years of refining his disciplinary techniques, he could now do so with ease.

He thought for a moment more, letting Harry sweat and fidget. While he could give the young wizard an easier path out, sparing his dignity– accepting responsibility for his actions was a necessity Snape wanted to instill in Harry, even if he had to fight him through it.

Snape met Harry's familiar, emerald eyes, experiencing a complex surge of dread and dismay at the reluctance he saw in them. 

"Alright, Potter," Snape's voice cut through the tense air, stern as ever, "remove both your trousers and pants, and lie down across my lap.” 

Snape's dark eyes narrowed as Harry inevitably hesitated. 

The young wizard's face turned a brilliant shade of red, and he swallowed hard before finally muttering, "Sir, I... I, er… can’t we do it like we did last time?” 

Harry's voice wavered, dripping with hot embarrassment, as every word hung heavy in the air. He loathed this and his hesitant movements next to Snape's thigh made his discomfort painfully evident.

Snape's stern expression remained unyielding. "No, young man, my instructions were clear. I will not accommodate your discomfort at the expense of proper discipline. Take them down, now."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably, his voice barely above a whisper, “I really despise this,” he muttered, bringing his twitching hands up to the waistband of his trousers. 

After fumbling nervously for a moment, he popped the metal clasp button and tried not to cringe while pulling his trousers down– just below his bum. 

He gave Snape a final pleading look, but seeing no wavering his dark gaze, Harry groaned and quickly pulled his loose pants down too.

Painful embarrassment flooded him from his head to his toes as he straightened back up. At least Snape was trained on his eyes, not sparing a glance down to his front. 

“Lie down,” said Snape, motioning across his dark green trousers. 

Harry didn’t have to be told twice, in an instant his bare hips pressed down into Snape’s strong thighs. He flushed deeply, keeping his head tucked low as Snape took a few moments to adjust his position. 

Unlike the last time, Harry didn’t find himself fully upended over Snape’s knees. Instead, he was laying across his lap, in a near plank fashion, with his feet and upper body supported by the velvety soft couch. 

It was more comfortable for him, but he knew it wouldn’t make any difference for the pain. 

Snape remained quiet, pulling Harry a bit closer to his hip and placing his warm hand on the young wizard’s lower back. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Snape lift his shirt a bit, clearing the lower hem away from his naked bum. The motion made him flinch as a small chill crawled down his spine. 

“Lift your hips,” Snape instructed, tapping at Harry’s gathered up trousers and pants resting just below his bum. 

Harry blanched at the command but pushed his hips up obediently. Snape's hand touched the back of his thigh as he pulled the rest of Harry's clothes down, exposing the back of his stippled thighs. 

"This evening, you’ll remove your trousers and pants entirely," Snape said, sending a flood of heat through Harry's chest. “It’s hardly practical for your legs to become tangled in the fabric. Not to mention, if you disobey and reach behind, your thighs will receive a proper smacking, not your gathered clothing."

Harry knew he should reply but he was too embarrassed to utter a word. Instead, he gave a meek nod and interlaced his fingers behind his head, allowing his palms to rest on his damp hair. 

Despite the absence of the cold atmosphere and formality of the potion's classroom, this intimate, living room setting was exponentially worse.

Snape suppressed a sigh at the boy’s lack of response.

“Do you need a dose of the strap to loosen your tongue, Potter?” Snape asked, his voice sounding icy cold.

“What?! No, I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, moving his arms down from the back of his head, “I-I will take my pants all the way off tonight.” He replied quietly, a thrill of dread tickling his chest that would've morphed into frustration if he were in any other situation besides this one. 

“Indeed, you will,” Snape said, shifting ever so slightly. “You shall also answer promptly when spoken to, or you will quickly find yourself in a situation far more uncomfortable than a mere session with the hairbrush. You understand?”

"Yes, sir," Harry responded quickly in a hushed tone, his fingers fidgeting as one hand slid beneath his head while the other anxiously bit at a nail. 

Harry hated the way Snape’s firm thighs felt beneath his vulnerable, exposed hips— reminding him of his position. The pressed dark fabric of Snape’s trousers felt soft and deceptively comfortable; yet each flex and shift below Harry’s stomach reminded him of the painful discipline to come. 

Snape's threat lingered in the charged air, intensifying his nervousness as he laid there waiting and exposed. He swallowed when he felt Snape press his warm hand down firmly on his lower back.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, his stomach dropping at the shift in movement. A second later he felt the first firm swat smack down across his bare bum. 

The initial sting and burn were shocking and it took everything in him not to let out a soft gasp as the pain spread. 

Without hesitation, Snape followed the first smack with twelve punishing others. 

Harry let out a barely audible, “oww,” as the pain began to build. 

His skin blossomed into dark pink blotches under Snape’s calloused hand while the room filled with a tense hush, the only sound audible being the continued crisp smacks. 

Harry held his breath as the prickly pain erupted across the plains of his unprotected skin. 

Though the sting wasn’t particularly awful yet, the sensation of Snape’s palm smacking his exposed bum over, and over, and over, again made Harry beg silently for death. 

Humiliation coursed through every corner of his body as the next round of punishing smacks started. He focused hard on staying as still as possible, naturally holding his breath when each smack came down, hurting a little more than the last. 

Snape sighed at Harry’s staunch silence and continued to bring his hand up and down in precise, firm smacks. Two minutes went by, then three and four. His palm started to sting as the dusty pink color beneath each swat grew to a redder hue.

Harry’s bum clenched between each strike, his legs jerking slightly, making Snape feel a sense of utter dismay. Though Harry was holding out far better than he had the last time, Snape knew it was only a matter of time before the punished boy broke the silence.

Harry shifted and flinched more frequently, letting out soft little moans of pain, as Snape worked his way down to focus on the lower part of his smarting bum. He bit his lip hard and clenched his hands, shifting his head to face the black drapes drawn across the windows. It was getting more challenging to stay quiet, and Snape seemed to be smacking harder and harder.

Continuing with the firm smacks, Snape glanced down at Harry’s pained face. He paused, his right palm held high.

"Cease that immediately," Snape said sharply.

Harry's chest heaved with pent frustration as Snape inexplicably halted the punishing smacks. 

He had hoped they were on the verge of concluding this part, but his growing realization that he was losing control over his emotions made his breath hitch.

“Cease what?” Harry spat out, keeping his lip between his teeth.

Snape narrow his dark eyes.

A brief silence hung in the warm air as the muted sunlight filtered in through the drawn black drapes, casting soft shadows across the living room. The atmosphere, tinged with the faint scent of cedar and lingering smoke, felt heavy with tension. The silence broken only by the sound of Harry's uneven breaths as he waited. His arse stung with a certain burn, and he battled back the urge to reach behind and give it a rub. This was so miserable.

In that threatening pause, Snape let the weight of Harry's disrespectful remark linger, allowing the consequences to hang in the air like an unspoken truth.

“Mind your tone, Potter,” Snape whispered with a chilling menace. “Or you will be one sorry little wizard indeed.”

The patronizing nickname did not sit well with Harry. Despite the achy throb in his backside, he let his temper spill over. 

"Oh, sorry— I meant, stop what exactly, Professor Snape?" Harry retorted; the words punctuated by the audible bite of his lip. "You were rather vague, you know." His voice carried a strong blend of defiance and frustration, adding to the tense atmosphere.

Snape drew in a breath, his frustration with Harry mounting. 

"Well, well," he tutted, his temper hardly contained. "You fail to consider your tone even with your backside reddened, do you, Potter? A rather foolish choice... even for you." 

He emphasized his point by giving Harry’s thin hip a tight squeeze. “You shall cease this childish lip-biting at once," Snape commanded, his voice cutting through the charged air as he motioned to Harry’s bitten lip. “You may be physically enduring this punishment, but until you allow yourself to submit emotionally, you'll only prolong it.”

Harry's chest tightened, and he felt a surge of frustration and confusion. He stammered for a moment, caught between conflicting emotions.

"You want me to be emotional… in the middle of being punished for being too emotional? How does that make any sense, Professor Snape?” Harry burst out, pushing himself up on his elbows and glaring over his shoulder. His words were edged with defiance, but beneath that, there was a hint of genuine bewilderment.

Snape's eyes narrowed with impatience at Harry, but he maintained a stern demeanor, his voice measured and controlled.

"I am disciplining you for your disruptive outburst and disregard for the rules, not for experiencing emotions," Snape stated plainly. "Recognize your feelings, but channel them appropriately. Your defiance only prolongs this process and adds unnecessary discomfort."

Harry huffed and let his chest drop back down to the velvety soft couch. 

Snape glanced back to Harry’s punished skin, then firmly administered eight more smacks, four to each side of his reddened bum, to emphasize his point. 

Harry groaned, letting go of his bitten lip. Tears sprang forth to the back of his eyes but he refused to let them fall. 

He felt Snape shift, the soft cardigan briefly pressing into his exposed lower back as he leaned forward to retrieve the hairbrush from the coffee table. 

Harry’s frustration dwindled when he felt the cold hard surface of the hairbrush pat a few times across his aching bum. Dread coiled in his stomach as he dropped his head into his outstretched hands.

Oh, bloody hell, Harry thought as he felt Snape shift and tighten his warm hand over the edge of his hip. He sucked in a fast breath when the cold surface of the hairbrush momentarily disappeared. 

In an instant, sharp, blinding pain shot through his bum as the brush struck down four hard times, twice on the center of each cheek.

“Owww!” Harry cried out, jerking and screwing his eyes shut at the sudden eruption of pain. 

Snape shifted, securing his grip on the boy. A tense breath escaped his lips as he steeled himself for the task at hand. The room seemed to quiet, each moment stretching as he raised the hairbrush. With deliberate precision, he brought it up and down on Harry's red bottom, the sharp smacks cracking through the room.

In an instant, a surge of warmth blurred Harry's vision as tears welled up in his eyes. His resolve crumbled, and he soon surrendered to the river of pent-up emotion. The tears spilled down his face in hot, relentless waves— his broken cries filling the room. Each firm thwack of the brush made him cry out and writhe.

It only took a few more well placed smacks for Harry to lose all self preservation. It hurt so bad, far worse than the ruler. 

“S-Snape,” Harry gasped, jerking his legs and shifting his torso, “I-I, owww, ‘mm sorry!”  

“Lie still,” Snape said without breaking the punishing rhythm. Crack, crack, crack, came down hard and Harry thumped the couch with his hand. He was begging, pleading now for Snape to stop. He wouldn't though. He simply closed off his ears to such pitiful cries and continued on, painting every inch of Harry's bum a deep red. He had long resolved not to insist upon formality in these moments, understanding that Harry had enough on his mind without the need for proper titles.

"Potter," Snape paused, the brush raised, adding more pressure to the boy's lower back to steady him with his left hand. "Settle down. You're moving too much. I would rather not resort to smacking the side of your hip, but if you cannot steady yourself, it may become unavoidable." 

No, Harry could not possibly settle down. It burned– it really, really, burned, and it was taking all the willpower he could conjure to stay put over Snape’s lap. Four hearty smacks fell then, causing Harry to yelp and squirm with renewed vigor.

“Owww, ow, oww! It-it hurts-s!” Harry pleaded, digging his hips into Snape’s thighs after each slow smack. 

As the hairbrush whacked down three more times, Harry's legs jerked in short, powerful kicks. 

Despite his conscious effort to once stay in place, he couldn't take it anymore. Not willingly like this. Harry exerted a forceful pull, rolling off Snape's lap and landing heavily on his unsteady knees.

"Harry James Potter," Snape snapped, the unexpected movement catching him off guard. He shot down a disappointed look at the sob-stricken young man now pooled at his feet.

“That was exceptionally childish. Stop behaving like an undisciplined first-year, and place yourself back in position.” Snape instructed, moving to grab hold of Harry's arm. 

Harry merely shook his head, crying hard as he moved his hands to rub at his sore, punished skin. “I-I,” he tried to get out a cohesive sentence but failed miserably.

Snape drew in a long, steading breath as Harry dropped his head to the velvet couch beside his right knee and heaved, his frame trembling with previously suppressed sobs. Snape's dark eyes traversed the young boy on the ground with slight unease. He knew he was delivering a harder spanking than he had in the dungeon, but Merlin, this punishment was no harsher than any of the others he’d doled out to misbehaving seventh years. The sobs from Harry, however, threatened to break Snape's resolute composure, rendering the disciplinary act all the more disheartening for him.

Steeling himself to the boy’s harsh cries, Snape locked down firmly onto Harry’s bicep and gave it a firm tug. 

“We are not through, Harry,” he said in a low authoritative tone that lacked the dismay he felt. “You shall stand and lie back down this instant. Come.” 

Harry let out a groan as Snape urged him to get off the floor. His bum ached and throbbed and he really, really didn’t want to obey. 

“I-it hurt-s-s, Snape,” Harry cried as he pushed his trembling legs to stand back up, trying not to trip on his pooled up pants by his ankles. “S-so bad.”

“Yes, it is intended to,” Snape snapped back, moving his grip from Harry’s bicep to his wrist as the young man stood up. 

Harry hiccuped a few times and drew in a few short, shaky breaths. To his surprise Snape did not yank him back over or push him down, just waited patiently. 

Harry swallowed and pulled his hands back to rub at his aching backside. 

“Enough,” Snape said instantly, swatting at Harry’s moving hands.  

“S-sorry,” Harry muttered, pulling his hands away and glancing down at Snape. His blurry, red rimmed eyes lacked any trace of defiance, with tears flowing freely down his flushed cheeks. He urged himself to lie back down, but hell, he didn’t want to. This was so incredibly embarrassing and painful and awful. 

“Clearly, maintaining a simple position is beyond your capabilities. Allow me to provide the assistance typically reserved for first-years,” Snape said, avoiding his gaze from Harry's distraught green eyes.

Harry moaned and looked up to the cream-colored ceiling, this was worse than he’d imagined. 

Snape pulled himself to the edge of the velvet couch, and spread his legs a bit more, motioning Harry over to his left thigh. 

“Bend over my knee,” Snape said, devoid of any patience for Harry's reluctance.

“I-I…don’t, want to,” Harry stammered, attempting to regain control of his emotions. Despite being aware of how childish he sounded, he couldn’t care. Not really. He was already crying, already pleading, there was no sense in hiding the fact that he hated this. 

Snape felt the defiance like a weight on his shoulders, a persistent frustration that extended this ordeal unnecessarily.

“Indeed,” he replied, his tone unyielding, as if daring Harry to challenge him, “if you wanted to, this would hardly be effective, now would it?”

Harry drew in a few more shaky breaths, then, between sobs, murmured, “you d-don’t understand h-how bad it h-hurts.”

Snape scoffed, grabbing Harry’s bicep and giving it a firm tug, “Oh, yes, Potter, my extensive experience with this discipline has left me utterly clueless about the exquisite pain you're enduring.”

Harry winced at Snape's sarcastic remark, a pang of regret instantly coursing through him. “I-I, I d-didn’t mean–”

Snape pointed the wooden hairbrush up to Harry, halting his broken sentence, “I am through with this insolent stammering of yours. You have precisely one, and I mean one, second to bend over my knee or I shall extend your punishment to three sessions rather than two.” 

Harry blanched, his tears now a gentle stream rather than the previous uncontrollable sobs. 

He moved forward but stopped when his pants almost tripped him. Without thinking much about it, he reached down to Snape's shoulder, holding it for support as he yanked his trousers and pants off with his bare feet.

Harry quickly bent back over, huffing in short breaths from the slowing sobs, without looking back into Snape's punishing eyes.

Snape sighed and drew the young wizard closer to his hip, wrapping his free arm around the boy's waist to secure him.

Then, to Harry's utter dread, Snape used his right leg to lock over Harry’s hanging ones, securing him in place. He wanted to protest the imprisonment but was too tired and sore to fight. He hung his head low and let out a devastated moan as he felt Snape shift, preparing to start back up. He wasn’t sure how much more he could willingly take without actually fighting Snape off. 

Snape sealed off the surge of regret he felt and pulled the hairbrush up. 

In a flash– Harry’s pulsating backside ignited with fresh pain as Snape smacked the brush down three very hard times. 

“Ahh– owww!” Harry cried in response, jerking hard but moving nowhere as Snape held him firmly in place. 

Snape smacked Harry three more times, returning him to his dejected sobs as he flinched with each stroke.

After a few more slow spanks Snape rested the hairbrush on Harry’s crimson, flinching bottom. Speaking quietly he said, “Rules are in place here for reasons, Potter. I expect you to follow the guidelines we set and express your emotions in an appropriate way, is that understood?”

Harry nodded his bent head, it was tough to speak through the onslaught of tears but he forced himself to say, “Y-y-yes, s-sir.” 

“Very well,” Snape said, moving to reposition the brush against the top of Harry’s untouched upper thigh.

Harry moaned, sucking in a few shaky breaths. 

“This is for your interruption at the table as well as your little theatrical tumble off my lap,” Snape said, emphasizing his point by tapping the backs of Harry’s upper thighs. 

“Please n-nooo,” Harry begged, “n-not there, S-Snape— p-pleaseee, ‘mm s-o s-sorry” 

Snape remained resolute, blocking out Harry's pleas and suppressing the ache in his chest triggered by the desperate begging. With a deliberate motion, he drew the brush back, then swiftly delivered six of the most resounding and forceful smacks to each of Harry's exposed thighs.

The explosion of pain on such a tender area took Harry’s breath away. He cried loud and hard, drumming his toes on the floor as the horrible pain spread across his thighs.

“Sna– ow!! Oww– owww!” Harry sobbed, his hands flying up to cover his flushed, tear-soaked face.

Harry's gasps of pain intertwined with muffled cries sounded in the room as Snape finished the stern discipline, the final sharp smack to the center of his hot bottom a reminder of the intensity of the punishment.

It was horrible, scratch that— this spanking was so bloody awful, Harry had no idea how he’d gotten through it without full on screaming.

His sobs reverberated through the room, a sorrowful melody of pain and distress that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Time lost its meaning as Harry's cries suffused the warm living room, each tearful note a testament to the deep ache of firm discipline stretched across his exposed thighs and bottom. Merlin, it hurt. 

In the midst of tears flowing freely, a quiet but profound comfort enveloped Harry—a gentle touch that seemed to ease the weight of his grief. It was Snape's hand, a steady presence tracing a path of reassurance along his spine. This simple gesture, like a fragile lifeline amidst his swirling emotions, anchored him in the storm.

Once a room echoing with stern discipline, now held only the sound of Harry's sorrow. Snape's silent support, conveyed through that rhythmic motion, helped Harry find his footing amid the chaos of his feelings.

“Your punishment is at an end now,” Snape declared over the deluge of tears, his voice steady and firm, “relax, Potter. Take a deep breath.”

Harry felt Snape pat his back softly as he whispered small, unexpected words of encouragement down. He coughed a few times and sighed with relief when Snape let go of his trapped legs. 

The top of his sore bum to now the middle of his thighs ached badly, and Harry felt utterly drained. Yet a significant part of him craved the solace provided by Snape so he chose to remain motionless, allowing himself to absorb the gentle hush of the living room and the soothing strokes of Snape's warm hands.

Snape took a final glance at Harry’s upturned bum and sighed. His skin was an angry red hue and the tops of Harry’s previously unblemished thighs now bore imprints of the hairbrush. Snape continued to rub soothing, small circles across Harry’s back, leaning ever so slightly to inspect further. 

He knew it hurt; he knew all too well how uncomfortable Harry felt. But he also knew Harry would be perfectly fine; despite the skin's swollen red appearance, there were no bruises or battered marks on the surface. Just a well-disciplined bottom on an insolent young boy. 

Snape rubbed Harry back for a few minutes more, humming low and whispering little ‘hush’ sounds at the last remaining tears. 

After some time, when Harry’s tears had completely subsided and his breathing had returned to its comforting slow rhythm, Snape patted Harry’s back a few times. "Are we sufficiently composed, now?" he asked, his tone retaining its characteristic coolness.

Harry let out a raspy sigh and nodded, “I suppose so,” he said, slowly pushing himself off Snape’s knee to stand up. 

The movement made his whole backside pulsate and he winced at the thought of pulling his pants and trousers up. Gingerly he bent down and snatched up his boxer-pants, taking extra care as he pulled them up and away from his punished skin, letting them snap back into place of his thin hips. 

Snape averted his gaze, giving Harry privacy to reposition his clothing as he pulled down the sleeve of his cardigan. 

“Um,” Harry started, his voice sounded a bit strained as he glanced back down to Snape with tear stained cheeks. “Can I just leave these on for now?” He motioned down to his pants— the loose boxer-shorts. 

Snape lifted a curious brow, holding back a small smile that wanted to draw up the corners of his lips. “You may, if it brings you comfort.”

“Well, the less pressure the better,” Harry said, offering Snape a small, grateful smile.

Surprisingly, Snape returned it ever so slightly.

“Come,” Snape said, lightly patting the couch next to where he was seated. 

Harry grimaced, the idea of sitting anywhere was not appealing in the slightest.

“Can’t I stand, Professor Snape?” Harry asked, wiping another stray tear from his eyes. 

“No,” Snape said, reaching over to grab Harry’s glasses and extending them up to him. 

Harry adjusted them on his face, feeling relieved when the living room came into clear focus. Snape gave him a look that said, ‘sit down,’ so he did with reluctance. 

He bit back a moan as his punished bum met the soft velvet couch. He looked over to Snape with a tinge of lingering apprehension. 

“Are you quite alright?” Snape asked, baffling Harry. 

“Well… yeah, I guess,” Harry replied, shifting his weight to try and alleviate the pressure. 

Snape desired a brief post-disciplinary conversation to ensure Harry grasped the necessity of discipline. However, the task proved challenging as he attempted to concentrate, his attention continually drawn to the pained expression on the boy's face and the subtle winces that accompanied it.

Snape sighed and shifted slightly, creating more space between himself and Harry on the couch. "If you prefer, you may turn to your side and rest your head here for our brief discussion," he suggested, patting his thigh.

Harry, his mind clouded with confusion, opted to accept any offer that could alleviate the throbbing ache in his bum. He lowered his head onto Snape's right thigh and shifted to lie on his side, finding relief in this position. The softness of the couch beneath him provided a welcome contrast to the lingering throb pulsing across his bottom.

In response, Snape placed his warm hand on Harry's shoulder, tracing soothing circles with his thumb. Despite the discomfort and the unusual circumstances, a small, involuntary smile tugged at the corners of Harry's lips. Comforting touches were never something he thought Professor Snape was capable of. But in a moment like this, Harry couldn't have been more grateful that he was wrong. 

“I hope this lesson is beginning to get through to you, Potter.” Snape said in a hushed voice. 

Harry yawned and nodded, unconsciously letting his head snuggle into the side of Snape’s comforting thigh, “It is. I'm... sorry. Really sorry, honest.” 

Snape opened his mouth to reply but Harry unknowingly cut back in.

"You know what would really cement this lesson in my mind?" Harry remarked, his lighter tone returning to his words.

"What?" Snape drawled, arching a skeptical brow at the boy's head resting in his lap.

"If you gave my neck another one of those nice rubs like earlier, I'm pretty sure it would guarantee the lesson stays with me forever," Harry said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Snape scoffed and rolled his eyes to the heavens, “Oh, yes, because you are so richly deserving of a massage.” 

Harry’s smile grew wide as turned his head to look up at Snape, “It’s only fair after the way you practically threw your arm out on me.” 

Snape’s eyes narrowed down slightly at Harry, cheeky little prat, he thought. 

Though his lips curved into a sardonic smirk as he regarded Harry. "It's only fair, you say? Quite the audacious request, Potter," he replied dryly, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Though... I suppose I cannot have you forgetting your lessons now, can I? I'd rather not pull you off the floor again."

Harry kept his little smile to himself as he relaxed into the firm, comforting strokes that began going lazily up and down his tense neck. 

“This is not a reward for your theatrical behavior, I hope you know,” Snape added in a tone that sounded cold but... fake, really. Like there was an undercurrent of affection laced in it, “No, this is merely a tactic to hold your attention for the moment.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Harry mumbled, letting himself melt like butter into the velvet couch. Snape’s firm thigh made a decent pillow and he found himself growing a bit sleepy. 

Harry listened quietly as Snape droned on about responsibility, emotional control, and inevitable consequences for bad behavior. He made sure to offer up his customary ‘yes, sir’ and ‘I understand,’ every so often. But soon found himself dozing as Snape concluded the lecture and allowed the soft silence of the living room to envelope them. 

His bum ached so bad, but oddly, he felt incredibly safe laying there with his head in Snape’s lap. For the first time in years, he felt a long-held burden lift from his shoulders as he leaned into the comforting touch and soft silence of the living room. This was surreal, yes, but at least it made him feel... better. Much better than he ever had after getting himself into trouble. 

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

“Potter,” Snape said, glancing up at Harry from his plate of salad, “if prisoners, awaiting dawn’s execution, can muster the will to eat a meal, surely you will survive a bite.” 

Harry frowned at him, skewering a piece of lettuce and dragging it lazily along the plate. 

"I'd trade places with them if I could," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes downcast as thoughts swirled about his cluttered mind. 

Harry hadn’t really meant that, but still, he hoped it would give Snape a smidge of regret for the state of his sore backside. 

The afternoon following his first punishment had been uncomfortable but decent enough. Snape had allowed him to take a short nap on the couch before insisting they meet the day’s responsibilities with an exhausting vigor. 

Despite Harry's efforts to appear nonchalant, the persistent throb in his backside made every move and twist a subtle challenge, prompting occasional winces. Snape observed him keenly at the most inopportune moments, casting an unwelcome spotlight on Harry's discomfort.

During those watchful gazes, Harry detected something in Snape's eyes, an elusive emotion that lingered briefly before retreating behind the professor's stoic facade. It left Harry with a lingering sense of curiosity, uncertain about the depths of Snape's thoughts.

After completing their household duties, Harry and Snape parted ways to indulge in more private afternoons. Snape lingered in his potion storage, immersed in the hushed clinking of bubbling vials as he organized. Meanwhile, Harry had sprawled across his bed, absorbing the secrets of a captivating book he’d found on rare magic. 

The spring evening came quickly, with the sun gracefully descending beyond the emerald hills, casting a warm glow on the stone houses in the neighborhood at the end of the sprawling driveway. 

In stark contrast to the beauty of the evening's soft approach, trepidation had latched its cold teeth into Harry’s chest; taunting him with nervous bites of energy as he sliced a bundle of wet lettuce for Snape. He most definitely did not want the night to come and the prospect of facing Snape’s knee a second time made his stomach roll and his palms sweat. The first one hurt so, so bad, how could he handle another?

As Harry glanced up, returning to the present moment and away from his cluttered thoughts, Snape leveled him with a stern look.

"Your talent for turning a meal into an extraordinary display of self pity is truly remarkable." Snape said slowly, taking a bite of his salad and dismissing the inclination he possessed to pity the boy. 

Harry set down his fork, fidgeting his fingertips as he reached out to snatch up his water glass. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad for me,” Harry lied, pulling the glass of water up to his lips and taking a sip, “I just have a reason for being upset is all. I, uh, my… um…  ” 

Harry trailed off taking another slow sip of water, pulling his emerald eyes away from Snape’s dark gaze. He briefly wondered if he’d ever be able to talk about his own spankings without getting gravely embarrassed. 

Snape drew in a small breath, hating the detective role he had to play whenever Harry stumbled through expressing his thoughts.

“Stop stammering, Potter,” Snape chided in his silky tone, “What childish complaint are you attempting to cast?” 

Harry furrowed his brow, his ears turning a little pink, “Well, I… I’m still sort of... sore.” 

Harry flushed furiously after admitting so, staring down at his plate as he stabbed up a few neglected pieces of lettuce.

“Pity,” Snape replied slowly, “it appears that the punishment is fulfilling its intended function.”

Despite the silky sarcasm, Snape did indeed harbor a bit of buried sympathy for the young wizard—though Harry would never know it.

The internal conflict had clawed at Snape's usual stoic resolve after Harry's physical struggle to endure his morning spanking, a display of emotion that rivaled even Malfoy's trips over his knees. 

Snape found himself questioning his unwavering commitment to administer an evening dose of the paddle, caught in the crossfire of responsibility and an unexpected sense of empathy for Harry.

Guiding Harry back into position to complete the remainder of his discipline had proved more challenging than Snape could have anticipated. Harry's shaky sobs and desperate pleadings disrupted Snape’s usual stoic routine, leaving him briefly questioning his own conviction.

Personal experiences had shaped Snape's view that physical punishment, when applied properly, was necessary— even if others couldn’t agree. He firmly held the belief that a well-disciplined backside served as a powerful incentive for promoting positive conduct and genuine remorse.

Indeed, many of his Slytherins required no more than a single trip over his knee to realign their behavior. Given the unruliness of Potter and his lot in Gryffindor, Snape had criticized Minerva over the years for discontinuing her use of corporal punishments after he left Hogwarts as a student. 

They had even bickered about it many years ago, after Ron and Harry crashed into the Whomping Willow, with Snape believing that if they weren't to be expelled, they deserved to feel the sting of the damage they inflicted on the grounds. Minerva, however, didn't quite agree.

Now, years later, as Harry finally found himself subjected to trips across Snape's knees, Snape battled an entirely unsuspected discomfort over spanking the young wizard. 

Harry flashed Snape a frustrated glance as he swallowed the bite of salad and shifted for the millionth time in his chair. Of course, Snape had shot down his polite request to stand.

Bloody tyrant, not a bone of sympathy in his body, Harry thought as he stared down at his salad.

Realizing that extracting compassion from Snape was a futile endeavor, Harry shifted tactics.

"Can you tell me more about the duel?” Harry asked, “And more about what happened, um, after?” He finished softly, punctuating his questions with a failed stab at a small cherry tomato.

Snape's eyes narrowed sharply when Harry's fork missed its target, producing a clear clink as it struck the fragile plate.

Snape took a slight breath, concealing any trace of emotion from his outward appearance as he considered Harry’s question, forgoing, for now, the urge to scold him for his poor table manners.

In truth, he had wished for this conversation to remain dormant, but a lingering suspicion realized its potential resurgence given Harry's oh-so sentimental nature.

"Your insatiable curiosity, Potter, recognizes no bounds of propriety, does it?" Snape snipped, his tone cutting through the air with characteristic dryness.

Harry furrowed his brow slightly, making another half-hearted attempt to spear the cherry tomato, which resulted in another grating clink as it slid away.

Snape’s dark eyes shot up to meet Harry’s but the young wizard didn’t catch the warning they held. 

“I'm not trying to pry,” Harry muttered, moving the large pieces of lettuce swimming in dressing. “I just want to understand more… about you, what you went through.” 

Snape paused to consider the sentiment. It was a rare moment where words eluded him, his gaze fixed on Harry with a mix of faint surprise and contemplation.

Harry's chest swelled with nervous anticipation, akin to the tide gently lapping against the shore. Despite the undeniable surge of anxiety, the truth remained — his desire to understand Snape had intensified more than ever before.

Snape was taken aback by Harry’s admission. Despite his commitment to giving the boy a fresh start, dismissing his tendency to project his hatred for James Potter onto him, he hadn’t imagined that Harry cared to know much about him. 

Harry didn’t give Snape much time to reflect though, as he missed stabbing the slippery tomato once more, resulting in a third sharp, scraping clink of his silver fork against the glass plate.

Snape scowled and instantly withdrew his wand from his pocket. With a swift flick, the tomato, accompanied by a healthy bite of leafy greens, forcefully stabbed onto Harry’s fork.

Harry blinked in surprise, his gaze shifting from the now-loaded fork to Snape's stern expression.

“Should your dining utensil strike that fragile tableware again, I assure you, the rest of your meal will be far less enjoyable,” Snape warned, deftly stowing his wand back in his trouser pocket. 

“Sorry, Professor Snape.” Harry muttered, forcing himself to take the prepped bite. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the salad, it was actually one of the best he’d had. The produce was crisp and refreshing, while the dressing that accompanied it was a delicate blend of savory and sweet. Unfortunately though, with a tender bum that was soon to be in throbbing pain again , he could hardly commit himself to eating as he normally would. 

Swirls of hot trepidation jolted back up in his gut every time he thought about his upcoming introduction to Snape’s paddle. He feared the paddle would be worse than the brush—truly believing it might be the end of him, or at least the end of his backside.

Snape observed the sulking boy for a moment longer before finally choosing to relent to Harry’s questions. 

His approach would, as always, be guarded with skepticism regarding Harry’s intentions. Nonetheless, he resolved to try and open up. Though like a clam that’s been snapped shut for decades, it would prove a challenge

“Very well, Potter. Be succinct in your inquiry regarding the duel. I have little patience for unnecessary details.” Snape said, causing Harry’s face to brighten despite the sharpness of his tone. 

Finally, Harry thought. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and looked up to Snape with his bright green eyes.

“Well,” Harry began, “to start, what did your classmate say that made you want to slash them to pieces in the Forbidden Forest?” Harry asked, shooting the pent up sentence out with gusto.

Snape leveled Harry with a stern look, his eyes communicating a blend of seriousness and lack of enthusiasm.

“Your ability to address sensitive topics in an eloquent manner never ceases to amaze me, Potter,” Snape snipped, pausing for a moment to reluctantly refocus his thoughts on that fateful evening.

He vividly recalled the final taunt from his dueling partner on that ominous night. Even after many years passed, he would never fully forget it.

After stumbling from a painful, powerful blow that nearly concluded the battle, the ego-battered Slytherin had jeered at Snape's retreating figure and the crowd: “Been practicing, eh? It seems losing that mud-blooded little cooper-top girl did wonders for you, mate.”

Snape's blood had boiled, his fingers twitching, and his jaw clenched to suppress the surge of anger. He maintained his stride, but the taunt lingered in the air like a poison, eliciting not just cheers but a crescendo of mocking laughter from the small crowd.

“What's your hurry?” The injured Slytherin boy had shouted after him, “Hoping to catch Potter bending her over for a go through the peephole?”

That had done it. It was one of those rare moments in Snape’s life where he acted without a second thought.The barbarous curse flew past the tip of his cold lips before he could even think twice. 

The once soft snickers and laughs from the crowd were immediately replaced by distant screams of horror as Snape retreated, without so much as a glance back.  

Snape looked into Harry’s wide, expectant green eyes and expelled a sharp exhale, the memory's impact subtly etched on his stoic features. He deemed it inappropriate for Harry to be privy to that particular insult. 

"I did not emerge from a family of wealth or any notable prestige and my classmate decided to make it a spectacle, provoking me into losing my temper." Snape lied, infusing his words with a deceptive air of assurance.

“Oh,” Harry said, falling for it without doubt. “Well that was low of him.”

Snape almost smiled at Harry’s quick defense but opted for a customary nod instead.

Harry reflected for a moment, and his sympathy for Snape resurfaced. A taunt like that from an opponent would have irked him too. Probably not to the extent of inciting a desire to cast something as brutal as Sectumsempra, but it certainly would have frustrated him.

“Were you scared when you found out you had to go home?” Harry asked after a moment, his thoughts drifting back to the horrible consequences Snape had endured following casting the curse. 

Snape let a short pause hang in the kitchen, his eyes drifting to a distant point as if retrieving memories from the past.

“Indeed.” Snape finally replied, returning his gaze to Harry, there was a faint glint of honesty transparent in his dark eyes.

Harry nodded, looking intently at Snape. He didn’t have to ask for more details, his bright, nervously curious expression pleaded for him. 

Snape shifted ever so slightly in his chair, reaching for his glass of water and taking a sip. He felt a fresh swell of discomfort at Harry’s intense interest in his past. In all his years, he believed anyone asking personal questions did so only to gain an advantage over him. It proved a challenge not to assume the same intentions lie with Harry. 

Regardless, Snape cleared his throat and met Harry’s eager eyes.

“I knew to expect the cane when I returned home,” Snape said slowly, his voice was measured and sure. 

Harry noticed the way the corners of his eyes shifted, almost in an undetectable wince.

“My father did not allow any pleading or emotional expression that may have impacted the severity of punishments, which I suppose, increased my trepidation,” Snape admitted.  He paused to stand, his movements measured and deliberate, grabbing his empty plate and water glass. 

A somber understanding settled in Harry's expression, connecting the dots between Snape's reserved demeanor and the scars of his past. Harry speculated that this might be one reason why Snape rarely displayed emotions. If he couldn't express outward pain during something as severe as a beating, he likely didn't come from a home that embraced emotional displays for anything.

Harry then thought back to his own spanking that morning and Snape’s insistence on his emotional submission to it, his expression softened as he glanced around the room in brief contemplative silence. 

Snape's boots click-clacked on the tile kitchen floor as he moved to the sink. “Had my father possessed less discernment, I might have considered bringing along a remedy to alleviate the consequences of his displeasure and my trepidation,” Snape continued.

Though Snape held his tall stance and stoic demeanor well, his jaw clenched ever so slightly, hidden from Harry’s view. 

Harry considered his words for a moment, after taking the potion that relieved his headache earlier, he wondered if Snape may have been referring to an early prototype of it. 

Snape caught a subtle shift from Harry out of the corner of his eye as the boy moved to take his dishes too.

“I won’t stand for you pillaging the kitchen tonight, because your stomach is empty, Potter,” Snape said over his shoulder, placing the used dishes in the copper sink.

Harry didn’t feel like finishing, but with consideration to Snape’s words, he shoveled in the remaining bites of his salad.

“I'm good,” Harry said, his words muffled by the mouthful of dressing-coated lettuce.

Snape turned back to give him an unenthused look, motioning for Harry to hand over his dishes. 

Harry complied and swallowed the large bite quickly. He felt another swell of dread bubble up in his stomach, noticing how the warm light filling the kitchen had begun to dwindle, bringing him back to his impending fate.

The last lights of the evening sunlight had completely receded behind the winding hills of the quiet neighborhood. A faint blue hue now encompassed the dark kitchen space, underscoring the sleek, jet black countertops and copper toned appliances. 

The open pantry door excluded a strong scent of familiar lavender. The top bushels of the delicate purple flowers hung still from the pantry ceiling, having been replaced by Snape that afternoon. 

The scent they emitted gave Harry a sense of comfort amidst the creeping anticipation of his evening punishment. 

Harry crossed his arms and leaned back against the stand alone island in the center of the kitchen, letting his gaze wander up to the hanging copper pans and pots above his head on the steel pot rack. In all his years at Hogwarts, he would have never imagined Snape to live in such a quaint home. 

Harry soon glanced back over to Snape, who had his back turned to him at the sink. 

Licking his lips before continuing, Harry probed tentatively, “So… you think your father would have found out if you took a potion, or something, for the pain?” 

Harry held his breath a little, sure that Snape would characteristically wall up and close the conversation. 

“Indeed, he would have,” Snape replied, letting the cold tap water from the sink’s copper spigot rinse over the dishes.

Harry pondered for a moment, recognizing the pain dwelling on those memories might cause Snape. Though he still wanted to know how Snape had conjured up the near supernatural resilience to endure a week of thrashings, he chose prudently to redirect.

“Did you take healing potions when you got back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, pushing himself off the island and sidestepping to Snape's left, reaching for a dish towel.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the unexpected move.

“I can dry them for you,” Harry offered, gesturing toward the rinsed plates and utensils.

“Very well,” Snape acquiesced, handing over one of the cleaned plates. 

In Snape’s estimation, Harry's well-timed, helpful gestures, seemed a subtle ploy to encourage discussion about his past, a manipulative attempt at persuasion in his mind. 

Nevertheless, Snape acknowledged the unprompted assistance with a certain level of appreciation.

The cool splashes of tap water filled the otherwise dark, quiet kitchen, accompanied by small clinks as Snape moved a few of the wet items from his side of the sink to the countertop by Harry. 

Finally, as the wash side of the sink had begun to grow soapy, Snape turned to Harry to answer his question.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

"To address your inquiry," Snape stated with his customary dryness, turning slightly to face Harry. "Indeed, a few of the draughts I possessed at Hogwarts aided in my recovery upon returning."

Despite Snape’s cool and dismissive tone, memories from his painful trip back to Hogwarts resurfaced, lingering like a distant ache in his aged chest.

Years ago, the train had chugged softly up the hills on the afternoon of his return, the rhythmic clinking of the wheels on the tracks resonating through the empty compartment. Knowing he wasn’t permitted to stand, Snape had lain on his side, stretched across the long row of seats.

Dark circles encompassed his eyes and pain coupled with exhaustion revealed itself in his pale expression. Even the slightest jolt of the train on the tracks made him groan quietly and wince.

After boarding the familiar area, and finding the compartment completely empty, Snape had finally allowed himself to weep. The solitude of the cabin offered a brief reprieve from the agonizing pain he was in. 

Memories of the past week replayed in his mind— the vivid swishing of the cane and the debilitating fear he experienced each day he faced it, lingered like a poison in his veins. Forced to assume a position of complete vulnerability, Snape had laid face down on his bed, the cold sheets providing little comfort against the brutal, relentless assault.

Though he fought to keep some of his composure in the empty cab of the train, young Severus Snape barely controlled his body from convulsing into harsh sobs. 

At home, showing vulnerability, pleading for mercy, or releasing his emotions only invited more brutality. Unfortunately, the pain inflicted during the whippings became unbearable by the final day, driving him to violent tears that, in turn, made his father's strikes longer and more forceful.

His room at Spinner's End held no sanctuary for emotional release. Snape, too afraid to cry alone, dared not invoke more beatings by succumbing to the pain each night in solitude. 

Relief from escaping his father clashed with an intense fear that his classmates would grow suspicious of his condition, subjecting him to potential humiliation.

When the train had finally arrived at Hogwarts, he slowly made his way to the exit, his determination unwavering despite the dark bruises, soreness, and exhaustion he felt. 

By the time he stepped out of the train, he had fully composed himself, keeping his red-rimmed eyes down and away from anyone that might look.

Hidden from view, his body bore the marks of a week of relentless whippings, yet he had concealed his horrible pain with stoic resolve. The slow, hard walk to his room had been a severe test of endurance for Snape, both physically and emotionally, as he navigated the long path back to the dorms of Hogwarts. Yet, he had done it, and proven to himself that he could make it through tortuous things.

Harry frowned, clinking a wet dish and bringing Snape back to the present moment. The fact that Snape had needed magical assistance following his father’s punishments made Harry feel sick. He dried a small bowl with a bit more vigor as he considered his response.

“Did you tell anyone what had happened to you, Professor Snape?” Harry asked, placing the overly dried dish to his left. 

Snape handed Harry a wet, clean fork and leveled him with an exasperated look. He never thinks, does he? Snape mused to himself. 

“Yes, Potter, I could hardly wait to divulge the riveting saga of my home life to people who would undoubtedly use it against me,” Snape retorted, his voice laden with a sharp sarcastic edge as he turned back to grab another dish. 

Harry let out a pent up sigh, refusing to let the quip afflict his line of interrogation, “Not even Dumbledore or Slughorn knew?” 

“No.” Snape said slowly, handing over a large wooden serving spoon, the last of the cleaned utensils. 

Harry couldn’t exactly blame Snape for keeping his horrible home life private. After all, he hadn’t gone around broadcasting his cupboard under the stairs or the drunk lashings from Vernon. But still, he felt a swell of anger that neither Dumbledore or Slughorn knew what was going to happen to Snape at home before subjecting him to separate rounds of the paddle. 

“Well… they should have.” Harry said firmly.

“Is that so?” Snape replied in a low voice, walking around Harry to collect the dried dishes on the counter. 

“Yeah,” Harry said sincerely, watching Snape move to the other side of the kitchen, “I don't think they would have been so harsh if they knew what was going to happen to you.”

Snape had his back to Harry, positioning the clear glasses to their rightful places in the wooden cupboard. 

“Rather presumptuous of you to assume, Potter.” Snape quipped, though he knew Harry was right. 

“Regardless, it served me better to keep the matter private.” Snape concluded after a short pause, methodically placing the silverware in the drawer below the cupboard. 

Harry folded the damp drying towel and leaned back a bit against the copper sink. “Why?” He asked, his brows a pensive line of confusion, genuinely baffled by Snape’s words. 

Snape snapped the silverware drawer shut and moved to collect the larger utensils on the counter. 

“Because, Potter, my father’s punishments produced no desire for change within me.” Snape eventually admitted. He grabbed up the large wooden spoon and fork-like wooden salad server, “the Headmaster and my Head of House’s discipline on the other hand, did.” 

“How were they different?” Harry asked, his green eyes following Snape’s precise movements about the kitchen, “Besides being less severe?”

Repositioning the wooden salad serving utensils in their proper place, Snape turned to ignite a few short candles on the counter. They flickered in the darkening blue hue of the kitchen, signifying the approach of night. 

“Harry, it’s late and this discussion has grown rather long.” Snape said, turning to level him with a stern look that reinstilled his authority back into their conversation. 

Harry swallowed, a shot of electric heat burst from his chest to his toes at the mention of his first name.

He dropped his gaze from Snape’s and glanced around the clean kitchen space, desperate for something to do that would keep their conversation alive. 

“Oh look at that,” Harry said, a long second later, motioning over to the small dining table. “Forgot to wipe off the tabletop. Why don’t you tell me while I do that?” 

Snape arched a skeptical eyebrow at Harry's attempt to prolong the conversation, his dark eyes holding a glint of amusement as Harry slowly moved to find a washcloth for the tabletop.

"Procrastination won't guarantee the extension of this conversation, young man.” Snape chided, his tone carrying a mixture of sternness and mild amusement.

Harry swallowed hard, he knew where the washcloths were kept, but decided to let his gaze linger slowly around the kitchen anyway. 

Snape’s eyes narrowed, watching Harry meander around the sink area, refraining from his typical swift intervention just yet.

Under regular circumstances he would’ve put an end instantaneously to Harry’s attempt at stalling. Tonight however, he didn’t mind waiting for a bit. Harry was going to bed directly after his second punishment and he had no intention of forcing him to sleep earlier. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, Snape was merely trying to steer the conversation toward a less emotional topic when he’d mentioned the late hour. However, as he observed Harry's face light up in a reddish hue, he discerned that the young wizard had incorrectly interpreted the redirection as a preemptive nudge to his impending spanking. 

After a moment more, Snape sighed and crossed his arms. 

"Put an end to this pointless delay," he interjected, after a painfully prolonged observation of Harry's feigned search. "You are well aware that the cleaning supplies are stored beneath the sink."

“Oh,” Harry said, faking surprise as a small flush crept up his neck. “So they are.” 

He half-heartedly opened the bottom cabinet below the sink and glanced around. 

Snape opened his mouth to chide him once more but Harry suddenly found a little nerve as he snatched up a rag. 

He took a deep breath and pinched his eyes shut, forcing himself to say, “I want to understand why you like to discipline me the way you do, Professor Snape… especially after your history with, um, awful smackings.” 

Harry was able to get it out somewhat clearly with his back turned to Snape, forcing himself not to turn beat red with embarrassment. 

For the second time that evening, Snape was taken back by Harry’s words. 

He let a pause hang in the air as he watched the young wizard intently, thinking of how he wanted to handle his response. 

Harry felt awkward for asking, but he was being sincere. After all, he had thought about it for days and figured now would be the time to finally just ask. 

Harry moved up and turned on the sink’s spigot, letting the cool water envelope the rag. 

Snape hummed low, finally saying, “‘ Like ’ is a gravely inaccurate way of phrasing my sentiments towards discipline, Potter.” 

Harry sighed and shrugged, walking back to the tabletop and letting the wet rag plop down on the sleek surface. 

“Seems accurate from my point of view.” Harry mumbled. 

His tone was light and tinged with embarrassment, but he knew that Snape would take the bait for a longer chat if he was a little perturbed. 

Snape leaned back against the jet black countertop and crossed his arms.

“Your artful attempts at distraction are not escaping my notice,” Snape said in his low, silky voice.

Harry kept his eyes downcast, refusing to look up and he slid the rag back and forth.

“It appears that you are simply trying to divert your attention from your impending encounter with the paddle by focusing on mine,” Snape remarked with a dry tone, his eyes narrowing on Harry.

Harry swallowed, his face blushed dark red at Snape’s words as he kept his eyes on the wet rag. 

Enduring the physical aspect of his spankings was one thing, but discussing them with Snape opened up an entirely new realm of guttural embarrassment for Harry.

Harry licked his thin lips, letting out a little nervous chuckle. 

“Yeah, you caught me Professor Snape.” He said, running his fidgeting fingers over the corner of the wet rag. “I’m only asking to save my sore arse, since I know how easily you can be swayed to let me off the hook.” He finished. 

A subtle flicker of irritation crossed Snape's features, a warning sign to the unspoken boundary Harry had crossed. 

“How very kind of you to acknowledge my lenient tendencies,” Snape shot back.

Harry glanced up and gave him a little apologetic smile, Snape did not return it.

“Mercy aside, my chosen method of correction for you is hardly a matter to make light of.” Snape finished, his voice low and strong. 

Harry dropped his eyes from Snape’s and refocused on the wet rag in his hand. He slid it slowly, back and forth across the countertop, willing his flush to recede from his face. 

“Alright, I’m sorry.” Harry muttered as he continued to wipe down the table. 

After a moment, Snape let out a tense sigh and pulled out one of the wooden table chairs. He adjusted his trousers and sat.

“Sit down.” Snape instructed, taking the rag from Harry’s fidgeting hand and placing it next to him. 

Harry cast Snape a dejected glance at the instruction, eyeing the wooden chair with ill-placed frustration. Why were the seats so hard? 

Deciding it would be prudent not to irritate Snape further, Harry obeyed. His tender backside protested the pressure but he willed himself to sit still. 

“Listen carefully to me,” Snape began after a moment of tense contemplation, “I loathe your tendency to pry into matters that most would deem completely inappropriate.” 

Harry frowned a little, crossing his arms on the table, “I’m sorry, I–” 

Snape cut him off effectively with a raised hand. 

“I’m not through,” he said, leveling Harry with a stern look. “In this case, however, I understand why you may feel a desire to understand my history.” 

Harry’s brows shot up, surprised by the shift. 

“You have opted to submit to an unconventional method of discipline at the hands of your least favorite professor. Given that, you are entitled to an explanation of where this form of correction began in my life and why I have chosen to apply it in yours,” Snape concluded, interlacing his fingers

Harry was stunned; moments ago, he was certain Snape would punish him for pushing further, especially after Snape had indicated they were done with the conversation.

“Well, thanks.” Harry said, his voice conveying the solace he felt. “And you’re not my least favorite… anymore.” He added for good measure. 

Snape gave a little eye roll, “Flattery won’t keep you from your evening punishment, Potter.” He quipped, dismissing the belief that Harry meant that. 

“I know.” Harry said, a bit of attitude seeping into his words. Why couldn’t Snape ever believe him? 

Snape leveled him with a pointed look, “Ask me what you wish to close out this matter on your end. Ensure you proceed in a mature manner, young man.” 

Harry nodded, uncrossing his arms and folding his hands in his lap. He took a small little breath, forcing away his discomfort. 

“How did Dumbledore and Slughorn’s punishments make you want to change after the duel?” Harry asked, steering the conversation back to his original, unanswered question as he glanced up at Snape.

Snape looked up at the ceiling, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Completely hidden from his stern expression, a well of emotions sat churning in his chest. Waves of trepidation, grief, and even buried affection licked up like little splashes against the walls.  

Snape hummed low, shifting ever so slightly in his chair, “I suppose it was their approach to the punishments that initially shifted my perspective.” 

Harry nodded, waiting for Snape to continue. 

“Instead of descending upon me with the fury I undoubtedly warranted, they opted for individual discussions to understand my motives for casting the curse,” Snape remarked, his gaze momentarily averted from Harry.

Harry took a little breath, focused intently on Snape’s face. His eyes traversed the man’s deep lines and cold features. 

Snape looked back to Harry. 

“Prior to those discussions, I hadn’t felt remorse in the slightest. However, after their stern lectures and line of effective questioning, I began to understand the gravity of my actions.” Snape said, taking a deep breath that didn’t escape Harry’s watchful eye. 

“So you didn’t feel bad at all after you left the duel?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. 

“Not in the slightest,” Snape said, his tone carrying a small hint of the dismay he felt towards his teenage self. 

Harry nodded, holding back his urge to dive into all the reasons why that was the case. 

Snape shifted his interlaced fingers some and cleared his throat. 

“Then,” he uttered with deliberate slowness, “once the gravity of my transgression became unmistakably clear, they, in turn, bent me over their desks, and applied separate lessons with the wooden paddle.” Snape concluded, his tone carrying the weight of the formidable experience.

Harry swallowed, he wasn’t sure why exactly, but his face flushed red at Snape’s private admission. He glanced down at his lap, nodding as he fidgeted his now clammy hands. 

Snape watched Harry with a contemplated mix of emotions, he wasn’t sure why the young wizard seemed to feel ashamed at hearing of his discipline. After all, James Potter and his lot of friends would have relished the opportunity to hear of his punishments, yet Harry seemed to be… distressed by it. 

“I might add,” Snape said after a moment of heavy silence, “both Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professor Slughorn, ensured I felt my emotions to the fullest extent.” 

Harry glanced up, his blush receding some. 

“Did— did you cry?” Harry asked softly, understanding how private this admission was for someone as cold and emotionless as Snape. 

Snape sighed, a mix of weariness and resignation etched on his features. His response carried the weight of a man who had grappled with his past and was now laying it bare.

"Yes, I cried." Snape finally admitted, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. "They ensured so."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and empathy evident in his expression.

"They each firmly impressed upon me the gravity of my choices," Snape continued, his voice low and measured. "Their determination forced me to confront the depth of my actions and subsequently, I experienced a surge of remorse."

As Harry processed Snape's revelation, Snape's gaze met him with a hint of resolve, ready to move forward from the conversation. 

"There now, you have your answer. Are you quite satisfied with the provided details of my past?" Snape asked, his words punctuated with a raised eyebrow as he buried his sentimental feelings that threatened to devour him. 

"Well, it helps me understand," Harry retorted, as he crossed his arms, "I still have a few more questions though."

“Of course you do.” Snape sniped, he folded his own arms across his chest and leveled Harry with an intense look that urged him to continue. 

Harry swallowed, maybe he shouldn’t ask. 

Then after a second of thought he grew braver, ready to defend himself if needed. Snape did this to him this morning, why shouldn’t he ask?

“Did they… uh…” His nerve faltered slightly as dropped his eyes again from Snape’s, glancing around the dimly lit kitchen.

There was a slight pause that lingered in the dark kitchen, the scent of lavender permeated the silence with a soothing comfort that contrasted the uncomfortable energy ricocheting off the walls. 

“Did they what, Harry?” Snape asked, his tone terrifyingly low. “Be specific and stop drifting off mid inquiry, this conversation is painstakingly long as is.” 

Harry sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to meet Snape’s intense gaze. 

“Did they spank, I mean, um, paddle you, without your trousers on?” The furious blush was back and Harry had to glance away again. 

Snape leveled Harry with an exasperated expression, “Well, now, how about you apply your famous deductive reasoning here? What might you conclude?” He challenged, forcing Harry to look back up. 

“Well, I-I don’t know!” Harry said, lifting his hand up defensively, “that’s why I’m asking.” 

“Do not get cheeky.” Snape snapped, causing Harry’s shy, embarrassed demeanor to shift more into a defensive, and frustrated one. 

Snape decided not to goad the boy into an argument, realizing he was personally becoming defensive over the nature of their conversation rather than Harry’s normal, yet intrusive, questions. 

“Yes,” Snape relented, forcing himself to finish the question to its fullest extent to avoid more prodding, “I removed my robes, trousers and pants, as did every student for the paddle.” 

Harry hesitated for a moment, the weight of the revelation settling on him. He bit his lip, contemplating his next question.

"So, um," Harry paused, choosing his next words carefully, his embarrassment evident. "Was that pretty awful?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, the resistance in his gaze not subsiding.

“It was a method of reinforcing vulnerability and humility, Potter. It was far from enjoyable, yet it served as a stark reminder of the consequences of my actions,” Snape stated firmly.

Harry nodded, absorbing the information. Despite the awkwardness of the conversation, his curiosity itched.

"Did it... hurt bad?" Harry asked tentatively, almost afraid of the answer.

Snape's expression remained stoic, but a flicker of something undetectable to Harry passed through his eyes. 

"Pain is subjective; what may be unbearable for one person may be manageable for another. What matters is I learned a much needed lesson." Snape replied. 

Harry winced at the word ‘unbearable’.

“So they each hurt pretty bad then?" Harry pressed to know. 

Snape could have lied; he was more than tempted to do so as this conversation had pushed him far past an intolerable level of vulnerability. Yet, for Harry’s benefit and his own, he chose to press forward in rare honesty.

A brief pause hung in the air before Snape finally conceded, "Yes, Harry, they hurt badly.” Snape admitted, “I was sore, and uncomfortable, but I survived. As will you.”  

The revelation left Harry silent for a moment. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, contemplating the vulnerability Snape had just exposed. The next question lingered on his tongue, aching to be asked, but the tension in the room made it difficult for him to voice it.

Snape took a tense little breath and pinched his eyes shut, bringing his potion stained fingers up to squeeze the bridge of his large nose. 

“Out with your next question, Potter,” Snape commanded, refocusing on Harry. “I might as well be watching you squirm under the Cruciatus curse with an unanswered inquiry lingering."

Harry glanced up at Snape and couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. The unexpected quip lightening the tension permeating the room. 

“I’m not that bad,” Harry defended, leaning on the table with his elbows pressed down, closing a bit of space between himself and Snape. 

To Harry’s surprise, Snape leaned in too, his fingers re-lacing. 

“I beg to differ,” Snape said low and slow, making Harry grin a little. 

“Alright,” Harry said, glancing down at his hands. “Don’t you have any firewhisky or something to make this conversation less awkward?”

Snape raised his brow high at the request, “Certainly you are not asking me for alcohol after your punishment this morning, Potter.” Snape said in a tone that nearly mirrored his astonishment at Harry’s nerve. 

“Okay, well, no,” Harry swallowed, “I shouldn’t have said that. I just meant, do you have anything I could take to get through these questions without dying of embarrassment?” He finished, glancing at the table. 

“Your dramatics have no end, do they?” Snape snipped, rolling his eyes. “Suffice to say, no, I do not possess anything that would remove the discomfort accompanied by this conversation.”

Harry nodded, sucking in a deep breath to refocus. 

“And if I did, Potter,” Snape finished low and quiet, “I would have taken it myself.” 

Harry gave a small smile, well at least he wasn’t alone in his suffering. Though Snape hardly seemed as uncomfortable as he did. 

“Okay, fine,” Harry said, jumping into his next sentence like a plunge in cold water. 

“Why do I have to be held over your…um,” Harry swallowed hard and licked his lips, “knees or lap, for smacks? I’d rather bend over something.” He finished, forcing himself not to look away this time.

Snape raised both his brows and leveled Harry with an unmissable look, “You gave yourself a hands on demonstration of why being secured during punishment is necessary, this very morning.” 

Harry frowned, his ears burned bright pink as he shifted in his chair. 

“I-I uh, well, sorry actually,” he said quietly, “but I could do better if you’d let me.”

Snape shook his head, “No, you’ll remain over my knee for spankings.” 

Harry moaned a little, shifting again, “Why though? Can’t I try bending over something— just for tonight?” 

“You can not,” Snape said firmly, “I’ve disciplined students over my knee for fourteen years, I will not be tailoring my method of correction to please your discomfort.” 

Harry sighed, and he leaned back in his chair, “But you were bent over a desk, why can’t I be?” 

Snape’s dark eyes narrowed at Harry’s sharpened tone. 

“Mind your tone, Potter, or we will finish this conversation now and retire to your room to complete your punishment early.” Snape threatened, infusing his words with the authority he held. 

Harry swallowed, swaying his leg a little. “No, please um, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking up at Snape with his somber green eyes. 

Snape sighed audibly and moved his interlaced fingers to his lap, “I’ve merely relayed one story to you regarding this matter. For your painfully persistent information, I’ve been draped over knees far more often than bent over desks for discipline.” 

Damn, Harry thought to himself, there went his leg to stand on. He wondered if Snape was inferring back to Dumbledore and Slughorn. 

“Who spanked you over the knee?” Harry pressed, now more curious than ever. 

“Any Professor I offended when I was a boy, Potter.” Snape sniped, “Back then, discipline was not reserved for simply the Head of House, but anyone who held an ounce of authority on the grounds.” 

Harry dropped his mouth open a little in surprise. 

“My penchant for disregarding authority wasn’t limited to a particular individual’s knees.” Snape  chided slightly, emphasizing the widespread nature of his disciplinary experiences. 

“Even the, uh, girl teachers did that?” Harry asked, astonished.

Snape gave a wry little smile, “Indeed, unlike you I did not receive the same leniency from Professor McGonagall when I misbehaved.” 

Harry gasped, his eyes wide with shock. “McGonagall?! You’re bloody joking!” 

Snape moved to correct Harry for the quip but a soft knock at the front door interrupted them, reverberating throughout the entryway of the home, drawing their attention away from one another. 

After a brief, silent pause, Snape let out an audible, exhausted sigh and moved toward the front door.

Harry stood to follow but was halted when Snape turned back and held up a hand, silently motioning for Harry to sit back down. 

Harry grimaced and sat, a mix of trepidation and curiosity churning in his stomach. 

Harry’s sense of unease grew as it seemed to take Snape years to click-clack his way to the heavy, wooden front door. 

Snape pulled his hand up to the door knob, sighing even louder when he caught sight of the unsuspected visitor through the peephole. He briefly thought about sending Harry up to his room, but decided it would take too long to accomplish. 

Pulling open the heavy wooden door Snape gave the visitor a deep frown, “How lovely of you to drop by, unannounced , at this hour,” he sneered. 

His tone was impeccably sharp, and Harry almost winced for whoever was on the receiving end of it. 

Leaning over in his chair, he tried to crane around Snape’s tall figure to see who was at the door, but Snape, with his broad shoulders, effectively blocked Harry’s view.

Harry didn’t need to wonder for long though, his blood running instantly cold when he heard the familiar voice say, 

“Pardon me, Severus, but I'm in a rather delicate situation. Your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

The darkness of the evening backlit the pale skinned woman, her cherry red lipstick glistened in the flickering porch light as she looked up at Snape. Even with copious amounts of white, seamless foundation and binding pats of translucent powder, the effects of many long, anxious days lay etched into her skin. 

What delicate situation could she possibly need assistance with now? The Dark Lord was gone. Lucius in prison. Surely Draco was well, she looked concerned, but if a serious accident had befallen the boy, he would know. Snape tapped his finger against the doorframe, hesitant to welcome her in. His discomfort with Harry’s questions had projected into a less-than-inviting greeting. She didn’t necessarily deserve such hostility, but this was hardly the right night to reconnect after the war’s close. Though given her penchant for maintaining social decorum, something at least partially serious was amiss. The need for help was written all over her face. He needed to deal with Potter, and hopefully, it was written all over his. That would have to suffice as an apology for the harsh hello.

She clasped her hands in front of her waist and waited. Severus looked tired, she thought. It was rather late, but he had always been somewhat of a night owl, hadn’t he? She regretted the intrusion, yet the matter was pressing. Despite the poor grace and appearing on the porch at such an hour, she held out hope that he would, once again, hear her out, just as he had many times before without prior notice.

As his eyes roamed the yard behind her in thought, she caught something in his expression that lingered with her. Where she expected to see anger or exhaustion, she was met instead with his typical firm strength, sealing her resolve for the request at hand.

“Very well.” Snape pulled open the door and waved her in.

She flashed him a short smile and stepped in daintily, her pinpoint heels clicking sharply on the wooden floor. She was clad in a velvety formal overcoat, one that exuded wealth despite the trying times she found herself in. 

Harry watched them both with tight unease. What could she possibly want from Snape now? The war was over.

“Oh, Harry,” she said quietly from her place in the entryway, her somber hazel eyes met him with an unexpected warmth. “Hello. I didn’t realize you were visiting.”

Harry swallowed and pushed himself up from the table. 

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said back, forcing himself to walk slowly over to her and a very dour looking Snape.   

Seeing her for the first time since the final battle stirred a mix of tumultuous feelings within him. While he was undoubtedly grateful for her protective intervention in the Forbidden Forest, a chill had still crawled up his spine when he’d heard her speak, hidden from sight on the doorstep. 

He didn’t fully trust her– not really. 

Sure she loved Draco, and spared the truth of his life from the Dark Lord because of it; but, he feared her motives. He felt a wave of nausea grip his stomach as he walked towards them, sick at the thought of Snape reconnecting with the Malfoy family. 

Snape glowered, casting a quick glance between the pair when Harry took up a spot in front of him, to the left of Narcissa.

Curse Minerva and this dreadful summer plan. This was hardly how he wished to spend his evening: catering to whatever pitiful request Narcissa was sure to have, followed swiftly by enduring the deluge of tears from Harry for their evening chat after an exhausting, emotional night of Q&A with the boy.

Snape released a tense, audible sigh. Interlacing his fingers and dropping them to the front of his waist. 

“Narcissa,” Snape turned to face her, his voice a thin thread of patience. “Given the late hour, I presume you are here for a private conversation?” 

Narcissa’s empty gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer before pulling her attention back to Snape. 

“Yes,” she said, giving a small nod that shifted the top half of her silky smooth hair. 

Harry watched the short interplay between the two with apprehension. 

Even though Snape’s stern gaze rested on Narcissa, he noticed the way Harry began to fidget with the corner hem of his long sleeve shirt. He looked rather pensive as he waited for someone else to speak. 

“Very well then. Potter,” Snape said, turning to face the young wizard. “Go to your room, I will be up shortly to conclude our own discussion before you retire for bed.”

Oh Merlin, Harry felt everything flush at Snape’s words. He darted his eyes away from Narcissa and shot emerald daggers up at Snape. 

What if she had caught onto the way he said the word ‘discussion’? Look Narcissa, the hero of the Wizarding World— who you helped to hunt down and nearly kill— is being sent up to his room like a naughty little boy for a smacking. Bloody hell, how embarrassing.The mere thought of her knowing he got spanked was enough to make him burn with furious humiliation. What if she told Draco? His life would be over. 

Snape raised a brow up at the unmistakable mixture of defiance and embarrassment in Harry’s expression. 

Narcissa shifted her slow gaze between them, silently contemplating the unspoken dynamic between the two. His room? What on earth was Harry Potter doing here with Severus? She knew now that he had been working for the Order all along, but in her mind, Sev’s resentment for the boy was as plain as the nose on her face. Perhaps he duped them all with that too, though. 

“I think I’ll stay down here, keep myself busy with something while you two talk.” Harry challenged, crossing his arms over his thin chest. 

“You think so?” Snape said, his tone sharp as a razor’s edge.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Harry retorted with fake confidence. 

Snape’s dark gaze turned flinty. He was stunned at the nerve the young wizard possessed when facing an impending paddling for misbehavior already. 

Narcissa lifted her brows a little, looking up to Snape then glancing back down to Harry. 

A tense hush came over the entryway, only broken by the breeze of the night wind fluttering against the windowsills. The looming silence enveloped the three of them as Harry refused to move an inch. 

After a moment of lengthy silence, without breaking his glare at Harry, Snape said, “See yourself to the kitchen, Narcissa.” 

Narcissa nodded, letting her eye’s traverse the reddened boy’s face for a second more. Harry looked different, flushed— but healthier, a brighter complexion that no longer bore the marks of hard, sleepless nights. How she longed to see Draco look the same. 

She had questions. She needed to visit with Severus under better circumstances and unpack all of this. With graceful steps she moved forward, walking between the pair and making her way toward the kitchen. The sharp echoing clicks of her heels reverberated in her wake as she glanced around the home. 

“Lovely little spot you’ve got here, darling. Much better than that ghastly corner in Spinner’s End,” she said, pausing in the entryway of the kitchen to peer around. 

Snape shot his black eyes away from Harry just long enough to give Narcissa’s retreating figure a glare. 

Harry furrowed his brow, “Where’s Spinner's End?”

Snape refused to reply, waiting a half second more for Narcissa to disappear around the corner of the kitchen's entryway. 

When she did, his advance on Harry was swift, stepping a pace forward and snatching up the boy's bicep in an iron lock grip. Their little question time had come to an end; as had his inclination to extend Harry any leniency or pity.

Harry winced, his heart missing a beat at the sudden grab.

Oh, bloody hell.

“Wait— Snape,” Harry hissed in a whisper as he was yanked closer to the Potions Master’s side, he tried to pull back but it was useless. 

Completely forgetting his momentary confusion over Narcissa’s quip, Harry blanched at the fury he caught in Snape’s eyes. 

Alright, so he knew how daft it was to challenge him at the door, but he had to prove to Narcissa he wasn’t a child. What if she told Draco that Snape had sent him up to bed like a first year? 

Wait— he’s not going to try and smack me now is he? Harry paled at the thought. Down here? On the couch?

That he could not handle. He would rather be tortured by the Dark Lord or kissed by the dementors than have Narcissa actually hear him get a spanking across Snape’s knees. If Snape so much as tried, he was moving out. Then and now, he would pack his bags and be at the Weasley’s in a blink.

Noting how the rebellion was replaced by trepidation in Harry’s wide green eyes, Snape sharpened his stern expression. 

“You find it wise to add disrespect and deliberate disobedience to your extensive list of transgressions, do you?” Snape chided in a whisper. 

“You sent me up to my room like a fucking three year old!” Harry defended, his voice hushed but peaking in sharpness.

“Swearing as well?” Snape tsked out loud, “I’d forgotten how brilliant you are at digging yourself a grave.” 

Snape’s tone was cold and firm, reminding Harry of his darker days spent in potions class. He huffed and looked away, boring his angry, uncomfortable glare, into the wooden door. 

“It would appear,” Snape drawled out, bringing his voice down lower in Harry’s ear, “I was far too lenient with you this morning, given you possess neither the sense of self preservation nor the required respect to follow my explicit instructions.” 

Too lenient? Harry sucked in a sharp breath and moved to speak but Snape cut him off. 

“Rest assured, I will make my expectations for your behavior unmistakably clear to you this evening. This time, your punishment will leave an impression on you.” 

Snape’s expression left no room for doubt as he gave Harry’s bicep a reprimanding squeeze. His stomach tightened at his words, momentarily forgetting Narcissa and switching into a quiet plea. 

“No, Snape— er, Professor Snape— come on, please, don’t. Don’t make it worse. You weren’t lenient this morning.” Harry’s pitiful green eyes met the narrowed dark gaze in desperation. 

Snape said nothing for a moment, making Harry shift nervously and his bum tingle with dreadful anticipation. His backside still felt tender, even near nine hours later. Half the day he’d wondered if the brush was charmed to leave the sting, given his lack of bruising and redness. 

While he knew this next spanking was going to hurt, the thought of Snape making it deliberately worse made him feel emotional.

“If you wouldn’t have tried to send me up to my room like that, then I wouldn’t have said what I said.” Harry muttered for good measure despite the invisible steam rolling out of Snape’s ears. “That was rather embarrassing, y’know.”

Snape’s anger came to a head at that little quip. 

The boy hesitated to obey simple instructions for fear of embarrassment, yet displayed no concern for the repercussions of open defiance? 

Snape scoffed, “Was it?” He whispered with a venomous lace to his tone, “Well then, I highly suggest you retire to your bedroom now, if you’d like to salvage a modicum of your fragile dignity.” 

On a dime, Snape’s icy whisper turned Harry’s trepidation to anger. Oh fuck him— fucking tosser.

Momentarily remembering who he was and what he’d been through, Harry’s wide eyes from before narrowed into dark green slits. No part of him was ‘fragile’, fuck Snape for even saying that. 

“I don’t care who’s around, young man.” Snape continued when he caught sight of the rebellion rekindling in Harry’s eyes, “You will respect me and do as you’re told immediately in this home, or I will drape you over my knee so fast it will make your head spin.” Snape finished in his typical low drawl. 

Harry hardly swallowed the furious burst of frustration that shot through his chest, replacing the fear that had gripped him only moments ago. 

He was an adult now, he’d killed the Dark Lord, he’d been at war and bore every one’s burdens nearly alone at the end, why should he have to scurry away the minute Snape snapped at him like a bloody petrified toddler? 

“Sod off. ” Harry spat in reply, attempting to break free from Snape’s grip, only to grimace when it tightened further. 

Instead of releasing him, Snape pulled Harry in closer, leveling him with a lethal glare.

“You’ve just bought yourself a world of trouble, Harry Potter,” said Snape, shoving him toward the staircase. 

“Narcissa,” Snape called in a cold tone, turning his head slightly to face the kitchen. 

Harry’s eyes shot to the kitchen, his hot anger extinguished by cold dread at Snape’s call to her. 

Did he really just tell Professor Snape to sod off? Was he possessed again or something? What the bloody hell was wrong with him?  

No, no, no, he could not possibly be spanked with Narcissa in the house. 

Harry felt every muscle in his body grow rigid as he listened to her reply with a soft, distant, “Yes, Severus?” 

“You’ll have to pardon me for a moment or two while I have a little chat with Harry about respect,” Snape said in a terrifyingly calm tone. 

Harry felt his insides wilt like dead flowers as Snape shoved him forward, practically herding him up the staircase. 

Their clustered footsteps clacked against the aged wood as they ascended the creaky pathway to Harry’s personal hell. 

“Quite alright.” Narcissa called back, listening to the pair clamor up the stairs. 

She shook her head— Severus Snape would never change. 

She respected him for that though, understanding Harry had a reason to whisper whine as he and Snape reached the upper portion of the home. 

With sophisticated grace, Narcissa slid a wooden chair out from the dining room table and sat down. 

She brought her slender hand up to her bony cheek and rested her face in her cold palm. She let her gaze wander about the dimly lit kitchen– sadness enveloping her core for the tenth time that day. 

“Professor Snape— wait,” Harry pleaded, his voice urgent but tinged with a note of desperation as Snape dragged him up the second set of stairs to his room. “She could hear! Just listen for a moment, will you? Be reasonable.”

As they neared his room, he felt his hands grow damp with sweat, painfully conscious of the way sound carried throughout the modest house.

No, no, no. He was so screwed. Narcissa was about to hear and his stomach shivered at the thought of the paddle being worse than the hairbrush. What was he thinking?

Stupid, I’m so bloody stupid. 

Snape said nothing in reply, merely squeezing Harry’s bicep harder, eliciting a groan from the young wizard as they neared the top door. 

Snape faltered when he reached the final step as Harry stopped dead in his tracks, tugging his arm back hard—nearly knocking the both of them off balance. This is it, Harry decided. He had to move out. He couldn’t do this. If McGonagall made him leave Hogwarts and forgo the opportunity to aid a professor— so be it. He was not getting his bare arse paddled with Narcissa Malfoy in the house.

“No, Snape, wait—”

“Harry Potter, enough.” Snape said low and slow, moving his voice up from a whisper. “Walk— this instant.” He commanded, pointing up to the door.

Harry swallowed, his face turning scarlet as he forced himself to move his stuck feet, stomping the smallest amount possible up the last few steps. 

When they entered his room Snape snapped the wooden door shut with a resonating clack that made Harry grimace as he released his arm. 

The room was dimly lit but a few candles spread about coupled with a lantern flickering on the nightstand brought enough brightness to illuminate the both of them. 

In that moment, any defiance Harry had was gone, replaced by a vice grip of self preservation. The thought of moving out vanished for the time being, grounding him in the moment of silence he found himself in with Snape. 

“Don’t, Professor Snape,” Harry begged again, backing up to his bed. “Don’t do it yet. Wait until she’s gone, please. I’m sorry, alright?”

Snape glared at Harry. Dramatic little prat, he was. Though he would have preferred to make a lasting impression on the boy for the defiance, he wouldn’t risk prolonging his conversation with Narcissa. 

He was too emotionally drained from the day to deal with Harry properly and then her. And he and the boy had a long chat ahead of them after the final spat Harry gave. No, he wouldn’t compromise on integrity of proper discipline for the sake of social obligation. 

There was something he could do though. 

Walking with firm, resolved strides to the left hand side of the room, Snape looked up at Harry and said, “Not another word. Come here to me.” 

Harry felt hot tears of intense shame and trepidation take hold of his composure. He sagged his shoulders and gave up. Not bothering to hide his distress as he crossed his arms over his thin chest and moved slowly to meet Snape. 

He had been dreading the paddle all day, but now with Narcissa in earshot, he couldn’t possibly imagine feeling much worse. He didn’t know why he was complying, not really. He could technically tell Snape to ‘sod off’ again, pack his bags and hit the road. But, something within Harry stopped him from doing that. He couldn’t hold back the trickle of wet tears now sliding down his face, no matter how ashamed he was by them.

Snape might’ve rolled his eyes at Harry’s crocodile tears if they hadn't already experienced such an emotional morning together. He let out a small sigh and motioned for Harry to move faster. 

Harry soon stood next to Snape, keeping his eyes downcast as a few, hot heavy tears hit the wooden flooring by his bare feet. To his astonishment though, Snape didn’t bend him forward. 

Instead, he gave Harry a brusque little shove into the awaiting corner of the room. 

“You will stay here until I’ve finished my conversation downstairs.” Snape instructed, watching Harry’s tight frame ease in relief.

“Do not even consider moving, or I will impress upon you the severity of your disobedience whether Narcissa Malfoy is still present in this house or not,” Snape threatened. “Do I make myself perfectly clear?” 

Harry nodded quickly. “Yes, sir,” he said, wiping away the shameful tears with the back of his shirt sleeve. “Thanks.”

It had been a long and painful day; Harry didn’t want a second spanking— didn’t want Narcissa there, didn’t want Snape mad at him again. Everything was too overwhelming to hold back the swells of tears that just kept coming. Tears that were so foreign to him in the first place. Since when was this bloody emotional? 

Snape pushed his warm, potion stained palm into Harry’s lower back, withdrawing his wand. In a flash, he added three horribly hard smacks to Harry's trouser clad bottom, making him gasp in shock. 

"I find your behavior this evening utterly appalling," Snape remarked with a tone of disdain, punctuating his words with three more sharp smacks that elicited a hushed ‘oww’ from Harry.

“Stay put.” Snape said as he replaced his wand, executed a swift turn on his heel, and strode out of the bedroom. 

With a firm pull, he let the door slam shut, the sound echoing ominously through the room.

Harry’s breath hitched as the unexpected sting reignited the tenderness in his bum. His whole body turned red with shame and he silently prayed Narcissa hadn’t heard those smacks. He listened to Snape retreat down the stairs, his measured strides reverberating on the creaking wooden steps.

Harry let out a dejected groan, bringing his hands back to rub out the fresh sting and dropping his head hard into the tight corner. Why did he always cock things up?

“Apologies for my interruption to your interruption,” Snape snarked as he returned to the kitchen, out-letting yet again. “He is still learning what I expect of him.” 

Narcissa watched Snape light a few additional candles on the table, brightening the dim kitchen.

“He is living with you?” She asked, not bothering to hide the emotion in her tone. 

Snape met her somber hazel eyes, returning their gleam with a curt nod.  

“Indeed, at the request of the Headmistress.” He flicked his wand to fill a copper kettle with water.  

Snape forced away the uncomfortable swell of dread that washed over him at having to be in a room with Narcissa again. 

He had little desire to discuss his treachery to the Death Eaters in some feigned melodramatic display of emotions, especially with Harry upstairs, sniveling in a corner, waiting to be paddled. 

She said nothing at first, letting her grave, blank stare, linger on Snape’s frame while he moved to set the kettle on the stove. 

"Tea or not?" Snape motioned to the kettle.

“Yes, thank you.” Narcissa replied after a contemplative pause. 

They said nothing more to one another as Snape glided about the kitchen. He retrieved two teacups, setting them down on the counter with a faint clink. Then with deft precision, reached up into the pantry to collect a few fresh clippings of the hung lavender. 

Certainly, he was pressed for time, not eager to prolong the conversation, but the solemnity in Narcissa's eyes compelled him to offer a gesture of hospitality despite his irritation. In the grand scheme of things, they were friends. Friends brought together by gravely dark circumstances, but friends nonetheless. He had never refused her when she sought his help, and considering Lucius’s current whereabouts, he understood she must be dealing with quite a downpour of distress.

Narcissa’s hazel eyes eventually trailed up the steam from her teacup as Snape filled it with a stream of lavender-hued tea. He poured his cup next and then joined her at the table. 

She watched him, her broken stare moving through his chest like a hot knife in butter. 

Snape moved to speak but Narcissa started in first, bringing the hot liquid up to her cherry red lips. 

“So, my sister was right,” she said quietly, pausing to take a small sip. “He never should have trusted you.” 

“As much as I would cherish reminiscing with you over every moment of treachery to the Dark Lord,” Snape sighed, “why are you here? I played my part well, yes. But surely that is a moot point to what you’re seeking at this hour.”

Narcissa pushed down a bit of a quiver that threatened to punctuate her words. 

“You played the part too well,” she said softly, setting down her cup and clasping her thin hands together. “Thank you for doing it, Severus. Draco, he, he couldn’t– ” 

Snape held up his calloused hand, attempting to halt Narcissa’s nearing tears. 

He didn’t have time for this tonight, he possessed not the will nor emotional capacity to coddle both her and Harry for separate swells of overwhelming emotion. 

“You should know, my actions were a result of Dumbledore’s own order.” Snape said, refusing any flattery over the matter. “The execution was orchestrated.” He added, hating the feeling of thankful sappiness Narcissa had infused into the conversation with her appreciative expression. 

“You didn’t have to make the vow.” 

She refused to believe Snape only did so to prove his loyalty to Bellatrix, without a care in the world for the well being of her son. Not after the way he’d taken Draco in over the years at school. Not after the way she’d watched them interact. He loved Draco, she knew that. 

Snape wanted to argue but he prudently decided against it, his mind drifting back to Harry crying alone and feeling a sense of pressure to get Narcissa to leave. 

“You are merely here to reminisce then?” Snape shot out with a bit too much edge in his voice. “Waltzing into my home, with no invitation, to have a little chat about our past?”

He knew she wanted something, she’d said so. There was some delicate situation that had ushered her to his doorstep that night. 

Narcissa knew not to take the bait for an argument, she’d known Snape for too long to fall victim to that trap. 

“I’m here because of Draco… again.” She said, feeling a surge of emotions well back up in her chest. “I need your help, Severus.” 

“What has he done this time?” Snape snapped, narrowing his gaze. His tight expression revealed the intertwined dread and anger invading his thoughts. 

“H-he,” Narcissa started but held up her delicate, red nail hand when tears threatened to fill her eyes, halting herself from collapsing into another round of tears for the day. 

Snape sighed and extended a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket. 

That little prat, he thought to himself, his mind beginning to whirl with what the boy may have done to upset his mother to this extent. 

Narcissa accepted the handkerchief and used the corner to well up the droplets of tears in her eyes. 

“Pardon me.” She said, taking a moment to collect her emotions. 

Snape replied with a slow nod and interlaced his fingers, waiting not so patiently for her to continue. 

Narcissa drew in a short, resolute breath, “Draco is so angry and unruly these days. He’s getting worse by the second.” 

Snape hummed low, “How utterly unsurprising considering Lucius is residing in Azkaban.” 

“Yes.” Narcissa said, her tone growing more distant and cold. “Draco’s hardly ever been close to his father, as you know.” She continued, taking a pause to sip her hot tea. “Having him gone though, has seemingly distributed the boy’s ability to comprehend any sense of safety, personal responsibility, or house rules.” 

Snape raised his brow, not entirely surprised at the admission. Lucius was a colder man than he, hardly a good father, but he ran a tight ship at home; keeping Draco in line when not pampering him in public.

“Have you enforced the rules, Narcissa?” Snape drawled, flashing her a knowing look. 

She was a delicate woman and had the greatest tendency to spoil Draco, which had irritated Snape to no end over the years. As a witch she knew better. She knew the Wizarding World’s customs and typical methods for enforcing discipline to children and teens. Though, she tended to pass the responsibility off to her husband. And when she could, to him.

Narcissa’s gaze fell from Snape’s, “Not quite… I’m struggling to be firm after everything we put him through,” she admitted with painful honesty. 

Snape's scoff held a touch of disdain. 

"Indulging in sentimentality won't rectify the situation. Draco needs structure, not pity. If you're incapable of asserting control, he may find himself following his father's path sooner than you think.” Snape off-handedly concluded, sipping his hot tea.

“That’s why I’m here.” Narcissa said, folding her hands and looking up to Snape with her pleading warm eyes. 

Snape's expression tightened into an instant frown. 

“Narcissa,” Snape intoned, “you are perfectly capable of taking him in hand. Potter is task enough for me these days.”

“Severus, this isn’t something to be taken lightly,” Narcissa’s tone pleaded with him, “he’s delving into dark magic.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears again. “On his own.”

Snape’s dark gaze turned alarmed. 

A heavy moment of lavender soaked silence fell across the table before he finally muttered: 

“Continue.”  

Harry groaned in the corner, crossing his arms and leaning his moppy dark head of hair to the side. He was sure he’d been waiting there for hours by now. 

He had gathered his composure, but a flood of harrowing possibilities flooded his mind. 

Narcissa Malfoy's unanticipated visit hinted at trouble—Draco, Lucius, or some undisclosed crisis was sure to ensue. An unsettling aura hung in the air, leaving him grappling with the ominous suspense of what awaited. Whatever it was, he didn’t want Snape to be a part of it. 

Just as Harry had resigned himself to dying in the corner and becoming one with the wall and his questions, he finally heard Narcissa’s high heels click across the entryway of the home, making her way to the front wooden door. He could tell by the familiar sound of strong click-clacks that Snape was following closely behind.

Harry felt a brief wave of relief followed by icy cold dread. Though he heard the front door open he couldn’t make out what the pair were saying to each other.

Brilliant, Harry sighed. What if she came to ask Snape to help her break Lucius out of Azkaban? What if the remaining death eaters were re-conspiring against him again? Harry swallowed thickly, glancing over to his circular bedroom window.

“Thank you.” Narcissa said quietly, her soft breaths billowing out in small puffs of the cold spring night. 

Snape nodded. “I shall do what I can. However, do be prepared,” he said, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re well aware of your son’s tendencies. This is unlikely to be a smooth experience.”

“I know,” Narcissa adjusted her velvet overcoat, sharing her shoulders with resolve. “He respects you far more than Lucius, though, Severus.” Narcissa said quietly, slipping her slender hands deep into the pockets. “He does not like to disappoint you. He’ll obey.”

Snape scoffed, he moved to speak but stopped abruptly when he felt a fair amount of rubble sprinkled onto his shoulder from somewhere above them. 

Narcissa glanced up briefly, turning back down to give Snape a sly smile as they both caught sight of the circular window now propped open. 

Narcissia let out a tiny chuckle at Snape’s sour expression.

“See? Teenage boys, hero or not, they’re all the same,” she whispered to a very grim looking Snape. 

“Run along, Cissy,” said Snape, his tone laced with irritation. 

“See you tomorrow.” She said, giving his arm a little squeeze as she turned on her pinpoint heel to apparate. 

Snape sighed, glaring up at the propped open window with great disdain. Even when in trouble, Harry Potter managed to find more.

Resolute to drive some stinging sense into the young wizard, Snape firmly closed the heavy wooden door and locked it.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Harry shuddered when he heard the firm clacks of Snape’s shoes ascending the first set of stairs. He adjusted his position in the corner, getting as tightly pressed into it as he could. 

His heart rate ticked up when he heard Snape pause on the upper floor. 

Though tears were no longer streaming down his face, an overwhelming dread over the upcoming paddling had fully taken hold of him. 

This was so miserable, why did he even choose to stay? 

He didn’t want to feel the paddle bite his tender skin. Harry’s breath hitched when he heard the bottom door leading up to his stairs creak open, followed by the resonating sounds of Snape’s clacking shoes as they hit each creaky wooden step. 

Hopefully Snape hadn’t heard him crack open the window. Harry pinched his eyes shut and sighed.

The door to his bedroom swung open a moment later, revealing Snape's stern figure in the dim light of the entryway. He entered the room, his gaze fixed on Harry.

"Well, Potter," Snape drawled as he closed the door behind him with a click, his tone dripping with disdain, "it seems you have a penchant for insolence tonight."

Harry swallowed hard, he glanced up from the corner briefly then pulled his anxious gaze back to it. 

“I’m sorry… sir.” Harry said into the tight corner. 

Snape let his dark gaze wander briefly around the bedroom. He soon located what was needed and he moved swiftly to retrieve it. 

Harry reached up to rub at his neck when he heard Snape's shoes clacking on the wooden bedroom floor, each step echoing with a rhythmic tension that hung thick in the air. 

His stomach was doing somersaults and his palms were laced with sweat. In the dimly lit corner, Harry held his breath, his senses heightened and his heart thumping hard in his chest. He fidgeted his feet and pinched his eyes shut at the familiar creak of the oak desk chair being retrieved from the opposite side of the room. 

The dragging sound as Snape pulled it out from its tucked away spot added an ominous note to the tense atmosphere.

"Get me the paddle, Harry," Snape soon ordered in a low voice that made Harry's breath hitch.

“Um,” Harry stammered for a moment as he turned away from the corner to face Snape, “Can you get it?” 

Snape paused, leveling him with an overly irritated glare, still holding the desk chair slightly off the floor. 

Harry licked his lips and fidgeted his index finger against the sleeve of his right shirt. “It’s in that bottom drawer, next to you.” He added, his tone colored with apprehension. 

Snape said nothing, setting the chair down with a harsh snap. Harry swallowed as he watched Snape bend down and slide open his desk drawer. 

Just as the tense expression on Snape’s face drew deeper Harry remembered, “Oh, um– its–” 

"Not present," Snape concluded. “This feeble endeavor to delay will result in an escalation of your punishment, and I assure you, additional swats will be administered for every minute you drag your feet tonight, Harry. I have no patience for you.”

“It’s there, Professor Snape.” Harry said, his stomach rolling at the threat. “You just can’t see it because it’s… under my cloak.” 

Snape’s dark eyes narrowed into black glittering slits as he reached into the drawer. 

Sure enough, his calloused hand found the soft, weighty, invisibility cloak bunched up concealing not only the paddle, but the brush and strap as well.

As Snape dragged it up some, Harry watched his right hand disappear along with half of his arm as the cloak swooped down. The clattering of the implements colliding as they moved caused Harry to flinch. “Just fantastic,” he muttered sarcastically, looking away. He hadn’t anticipated that hiding the objects would be a poor decision, but Snape’s expression made it clear what a mistake it had been.

Snape's irritation deepened as he withdrew the cloak, a symbol of Harry's infamous escapades during his school years. He bent down further and retrieved the paddle, concealed under the invisibility cloak.

"Of course, hidden under your precious cloak. Dare I say, one might think you've been evading consequences for years with this wretched thing." Snape snapped, his voice laced with tension as he fully pulled the cloak out of the drawer. Just like your father did, he silently added.

The invisible fabric billowed and swirled around Snape's hand, a silent reminder of the countless times Harry had used it to slip through the grasp of authority. He bit his lip, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realized the association the cloak had with his past misdeeds. Snape's narrowed eyes bore into him.

“Come to me.” Snape commanded, folding the cloak over his left arm and leveling Harry with a terrifyingly stern expression. 

Harry took a few deep breaths as he forced himself to move, he wanted nothing more than to run away in that moment— away from Snape, from the paddle, from his heavy feelings. And he could. But he wouldn’t. Because this was all so bloody complicated now that he knew who Snape was. Knew what he’d done for him over the years.

What a dreadful night this had turned out to be. 

Harry felt a swell of anger at Narcissa as he made his way slowly over to Snape, his bare, clammy feet padding against the cedar floorboards. Only an hour ago, they had engaged in a profoundly meaningful conversation before she intervened and disrupted it all. Blowing up his day into pieces, like a typical Malfoy would. 

When Harry finally reached Snape, he forced himself to meet the dark hard gaze. He felt tears swell up again in his stinging eyes, threatening to engulf him. 

“I will be confiscating this,” Snape said, motioning to the cloak draped over his left arm. “You certainly have no need for it now or anytime in the near future.” 

Harry wanted to protest but he knew it would be foolish to do so with a heavy punishment already hanging over his head. 

“Yes, sir.” Harry wisely replied, keeping his somber gaze on his bare feet. 

Snape let his punishing eyes traverse the young wizard for a moment longer as he considered how he would like to proceed. 

“Take this,” Snape shifted the heavy, cherry wood paddle, out— extending the handle to Harry. 

Harry glanced up at Snape, then down anxiously at the implement. He begrudgingly collected it, awkwardly bringing it down to rest at his side. 

Snape gave a curt nod, picking up the wooden desk chair, he then said: “Disciplinary tools will now reside in your dresser drawer, where you retrieve your clothes each morning. Place them in the correct location, now.” 

Snape ignored the protest on the tip of Harry’s lips as he moved past the boy with precise, firm strides. 

The whole point of having Harry keep the brush, strap, and paddle was so they would serve as a reminder for good behavior. Hidden away in the bottom of the desk they so clearly failed to do so. 

Harry’s heart beat ramped up, and a few shameful tears fell as he sucked in a breath and bent down to the lower drawer. His clammy hand grazed against the thick leather strap, making him grimace. 

Snape positioned the wooden chair to the side of Harry’s soft bed. His thin lips were in a tight line and his expression remained rigid, lacking any dismay. He carefully folded the cloak and placed it at the foot of Harry’s bed. 

Throughout the day Snape had struggled with his resolve to use the paddle. Every wince the young wizard made in the backyard had tested his commitment to follow through as a ridiculous sense of empathy had overtaken him. 

For that he blamed the boy's intrusion into his past. 

However, Harry's deliberate defiance this evening reignited the disciplinarian within him, fueling his resolve. If Harry believed for a moment— a moment— that he could defy him and disregard his instructions this summer, he was sorely mistaken. The boy required structure in his life. Needed it. After all, this was the primary reason he had agreed to McGonagall’s suggestion to house Harry in the first place. 

For far too long, the hero had escaped the repercussions of his actions at Hogwarts, and Snape was determined not to let the boy manipulate him into pity like he had so many others before.

No, he was quite resolved to met out this paddling with painful precision. 

Or, at least he thought he was.

“Professor Snape?” Harry asked, his back turned to him as he buried the implements in his top dresser drawer. 

“What?” Snape replied, resting his right hand on the back of the wooden chair, allowing his other to rest on his hip. 

He narrowed his dark gaze, challenging Harry’s shining emerald eyes to argue with him. 

“Uh, um,” Harry stumbled, crossing his arms tightly around his chest. 

“Enough.” Snape snapped, “I will not pity you, Potter. You’ve made this bed yourself, time to lie in it. Come here.” 

Harry let out a little sob that took Snape completely off guard. 

“I’m, I- ‘m sorry,” Harry muttered, forcing himself to walk over to Snape. 

"Indeed you will be when we are through here," Snape threatened, sealing off any emotion as he prepared to resume his stoic routine for this form of discipline.

Just before he could settle into the chair, he was halted by Harry's next action. 

Instead of pleading, whining, or hesitating, Harry simply closed the distance between them, falling heavily into the Potions Master's strong chest.

“Potter,” Snape stammered against the weight of the distraught boy now pressed into him, “Harry— what is, what has come over you?”

Harry merely shook his head, letting his guilty, shameful tears soak into Snape’s soft cardigan. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Snape’s broad torso and buried his head in the warmth of his lavender-scented chest.

Perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly right then. Falling into Snape and crying? Ron would have thought he’d been possessed again. Hermione too, he was sure. But Harry really couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed or spend any more time thinking tonight. He needed some semblance of support after the intense emotions of the day. Snape had already made him sob twice over his knee in just a few days and had never criticized him for it or made him feel bad. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t stop the tidal wave of emotion from falling. A part of him desperately wanted to regain the closeness he’d felt with Snape in the kitchen too, hating the cold, icy persona Snape had taken on again.

For a moment, Snape faltered, standing stiff as a board. He certainly wasn't one for hugs; in fact, he hadn’t given one to any teenagers he’d disciplined before. Yet, to his own astonishment, when Harry let out another short sob, Snape found himself wrapping his arms around him, pulling the insolent young wizard in closer to his chest.  

They stayed like that for a long moment as Harry let himself weep in Snape’s supportive arms. He was so relieved to feel the warm, comforting touch; some much needed affection after the day he had. 

Despite Snape’s aversion to any displays of sappy affection, Harry was consoled by the strong hug that he was so clearly capable of giving. 

Manipulative, little prat, Snape thought as he pulled his hand up to reluctantly hold Harry’s moppy head of hair, soothing him from the onslaught of shaky tears. 

He naturally pulled his other hand up to rub the crying boy's back, hating the way his resolve to be unmovable was completely moved Harry’s strained sobs. 

After a few long moments more of the muffled cries, Snape moved to grab hold of Harry’s shoulders, stealing his resolve again despite the clench of dread in his chest. 

He pulled the boy back a bit as he bent down slightly to look into Harry’s tear soaked eyes. 

“Harry,” Snape began, his voice a mixture of concern and firmness, "this... this display of emotion changes nothing. You are not absolved of the consequences of your actions. You have a lesson to learn, and I shall not be swayed by tears. This certainly does not excuse your behavior.”

Harry looked down to the ground, nodding. “I-I, k-know-w,” he forced out through the tears. 

Snape let out a tense sigh, with strong hands he guided Harry over to the bed and forced him to take a seat. 

Harry continued to cry, resting the heavy paddle in his lap and bringing his hands up to cradle his tear soaked face. 

Releasing his hold on Harry’s shoulder’s Snape took a seat on the wooden chair to the side of the bed. He then leaned over and snatched the paddle out of Harry’s lap, prompting a tense breath to escape the young boy. 

Snape sighed and leaned over, placing the hefty paddle on the nightstand. 

“Take a breath and compose yourself,” Snape instructed, leveling Harry with a stern look that hardly betrayed the distress he felt. 

“O-ok-ay,” Harry replied, taking a few short, hard breaths and pulling his hands away from his face. He wiped his wet palms on his trousers and glanced up at the ceiling, willing himself to take a few more cleansing breaths.

As the haze of emotion began to clear, he couldn’t fully comprehend why he had succumbed to such violent tears already. He also had no clue as to where his initial nerve to initiate a hug from Snape, of all people, came from. Yes, he’d been smacked and cried plenty over Snape’s knee but… they’d never hugged before. Never once. Harry felt a trickle of heat come up his neck. Why did spankings stir up such emotions?

Yes, he dreaded the paddle, but he believed he could endure it. The pain would be there, but he genuinely trusted Snape not to push it too far, even with the looming threat of a more severe punishment for disobedience hanging over him.

So he pondered it for a moment, huffing out shaky breaths and using the bottom half of his shirt to wipe his eyes. This time, perhaps, the onslaught of tears seemed to take hold of him as Snape had held up his cloak. 

In that moment, he was reminded of everything he’d done wrong over the course of his school years, of all the trouble he’d gotten himself and his friends into. He thought back to how different things may have been if Snape had been there for him. To discipline him like this even; maybe he could’ve saved himself and others some trouble.

“There now,” Snape said, his voice shockingly tender as he watched Harry’s chest return from heaving to slower, more measured breaths. “Out with it, what is the source of this emotional upheaval aside from apprehension?" Snape asked, his usual sternness softened by a genuine concern that he couldn't entirely conceal.

Harry let a soft pause hang in the tense air as he sucked up a few more stray tears and ran his long sleeve across his face, moving his glasses out of the way as he worked to dry the sadness from his eyes. 

“I-I, feel b-ad,” Harry stammered as he caught his breath, forcing himself to calm down. 

“Undoubtedly,” said Snape. “Elaborate.”

Harry nodded, fearful to earn extra strikes for being vague. After a few more long moments he composed himself and his broken voice began to return.

“I feel bad f-for letting you down,” Harry admitted, stunning Snape. “Mucking things up again. I promise I-I learned this morning, I didn’t mean to let my emotions at the door t-take over my response again.” 

Harry sucked in another shaky breath and forced himself to relax. He crossed his arms over his chest, hugging them close to his body. He needed to get this out clearly then he could go back to crying over Snape’s knees. Not that he was looking forward to the pain, but at least he could finally let all these heavy feelings out. Letting himself ‘submit emotionally’, like Snape has told him to do that morning.

Snape glanced up at the ceiling briefly and interlaced his fingers on his lap. Seeing there was no response coming yet, Harry cleared his throat and sniffed. 

“I know I deserve it,” Harry said, keeping his gaze on Snape's averted dark eyes. “I’ll take it without arguing.”

Snape lifted his brows and looked back to Harry, momentarily at a loss for words. 

He had expected Harry to plead, as he had all the way up the stairs, but the boy’s demeanor had completely shifted from rebellion into humble acceptance. Snape couldn’t recall a time where he’d seen Harry look so contrite. 

“I suppose,” Harry said, licking his lips and taking another breath, “I’m not accustomed to… thinking things all the way through before I react. I’ve sort of been living in the moment for the past few years, relying on my instincts above all else.”

"Really?” Snape admonished with a hint of sarcasm. Harry gave him an embarrassed smile in return. 

“Yes, well,” Snape paused for a moment then continued with, “by the end of this summer, you will assuredly break that pesky habit of neglecting reason, Potter.”

Harry swallowed and dropped his gaze. 

“I’m sure I will.” He said quietly. 

Snape gave a curt nod and shifted his fingers ever so slightly. 

The room held a heavy hush as the candles by the windowsill flickered in the blue moonlight. Harry cringed when he caught sight of the open window, scolding himself for what he was about to admit. 

“And, er, I also… didn’t exactly follow your orders to stay in the corner,” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I sort of attempted to eavesdrop.”

Snape felt his jaw clench at the admission, so help Merlin — Harry had better be referring to the blasted window crack at the tailend of his conversation, and nothing prior. 

“Is that so?” Snape asked, his sharp tone cutting through the tense air like a blade.

Harry swallowed hard and compelled himself to nod. “I heard you both walking outside, and I just wanted to know why she came, so I cracked the window open to listen… I’m sorry.”

Pausing for a moment, Snape felt a wave of relief that Harry hadn’t been foolish enough to leave his room. However, his anger still simmered, fueled by Harry’s clear disregard for the rule he had recently disciplined him for violating in his classroom just days ago.

“If it helps, I didn’t hear anything...” Harry tried, dropping his emerald eyes to his fidgeting hands when Snape gave him a disapproving glare.

"It most certainly does not help," said Snape cooly.

He took a slight breath and pinched the bring of his large nose. After a moment of charged silence he pulled his hand down and relaxed his fingers. 

Harry noticed how tired Snape looked at that moment, making him feel all the more guilty. 

"Your actions tonight most certainly merit firm consequences. However, we must first and foremost address your remaining punishment for last night's transgressions, independent of this additional poor behavior.”

Harry nodded, forcing himself to hold Snape’s stern gaze. He hated the way Snape had slowly enunciated the word ‘independent.’

“I certainly can not entertain additional strikes this evening without risking damage to your skin,” Snape continued, “Nevertheless, rest assured, your blatant disobedience will not go unpunished. Tomorrow morning, you will face an additional punishment for your eavesdropping and disobedience. Consider it a delayed consequence for your lack of restraint."

Snape's gaze remained stern as he spoke, leaving Harry to contemplate the forthcoming repercussions.

Harry swallowed and nodded, “Er, like… another punishment like this?” He asked despite the hot wave of shame that overtook him. 

"I have yet to decide." Snape snipped, although, in reality, he had already made up his mind against it.

Maybe he would have considered it if Harry had lied, but the young wizard's display of maturity in admitting his insolence and accepting his final punishment had, in fact, instilled in Snape a small sense of pride. He recognized how challenging it was for someone of Harry's age to exhibit such courage in the face of a paddling. 

"Thank you for not adding more on tonight," Harry breathed out, the words heavy with genuine gratitude as he wiped away a few remaining tears from the corner of his eyes. 

The acknowledgment of Snape's decision not to add more strikes brought a momentary sense of relief to the young wizard.

Snape gave a short curt nod and pulled himself up to the edge of the wooden chair. Harry’s stomach dropped at the motion, his heart rate creeping back up again. 

“Come here.” Snape instructed, pointing to the floor in front of them. 

Harry, heart hammering away, forced himself to slide off the soft comforter of the bed. 

In one step he was in front of Snape’s lap, looking down into the Potion Master’s stern expression. 

"Do you fully grasp the purpose behind my choice to paddle you this evening?" Snape questioned.

Harry’s stomach clenched and he shifted his weight on his feet. Despite the hot red heat taking over his neck and face he kept his somber gaze on Snape. 

“Yes, sir.” Harry responded quietly, fidgeting his hands together in nervous anticipation. 

"Articulate it then." Snape instructed, keeping his stern gaze fixed on Harry and forcing himself not to falter at the sight of the sad green eyes. “Why must I be so stern with you?”

Harry took a quick breath, “‘I, er, well I broke more than one rule…”

Snape nodded, waiting for Harry to elaborate.

“And, y'know, losing control of my emotions is not okay. It wasn't right that I broke the dowel, got too sloshed, and lost track of time," Harry admitted.

“Indeed. Go on.” Snape prompted, causing Harry to nervously dart his eyes up to the ceiling. 

“Um…” he thought for a moment, trying to conjure up the answer Snape wanted. “I was also disrespectful to you. I reckon that could’ve earned me this even if it wasn’t already going to happen.”

Snape gave a slow, precise nod. 

“Yes, you were disrespectful. I will help you finish.” 

Harry swallowed and waited, his back seemed to break out in little trickles of sweat and his stomach flurried with sharp jolts of trepidation as he glanced down at Snape’s outstretched legs. 

Snape continued in his stern tone, "I am going to paddle you for your rule-breaking and destructive outburst, yes. However, this punishment is intended to extend beyond mere physical discipline,”

Harry nodded, his breath coming out in little hitches. 

“I hope to instill in you a sense of control, teaching you the importance of restraint and respect. You may find me strict this summer, but consider it a necessary firmness, a means to provide stability in your tumultuous life. You've faced too much chaos that went undisciplined and now you require a steady hand to guide you back to a place of both safety and stability. You understand?"

Harry's eyes, already glossy with unshed tears, dropped at Snape's unexpected explanation. A mixture of vulnerability and a hint of relief played across his face.

For a moment, he found himself at a loss for words, his throat tightening with a surge of emotions. The realization that Snape's strictness wasn't merely because he demanded good behavior, but stemmed from a genuine concern for his well-being, touched a chord deep within him.

"Yes, I understand. Thank you… for wanting to help me this summer.” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. 

His eyes, still glistening, held a look of appreciation. The weight of Snape's words began to sink in, and a rare sense of reassurance washed over him. It was a new moment of connection, a realization that Snape's discipline, as stern as it was, came from a place of care and a desire to provide the stability Harry so desperately wanted.

Harry's expression of gratitude stirred an unexpected warmth in Snape's typically stoic chest, a quiet appreciation he concealed beneath his reserved demeanor.

Smoothing out a wrinkle in his pants, Snape let out a barely audible breath, “Recite the rules and be quick, Harry.” 

Harry’s stomach turned at the command. He wanted to face the paddle with brave stoicism, like he had for most hardships in his life, but his body refused to get on board. 

“Uh… no kicking you, no forcing away my emotions,” Harry’s face turned a brilliant shade of red as he dropped his eyes from Snape, “I can’t be theatrical and I need to stay still for it. Well, as still as I can.” 

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief after gritting out the last part.

“Almost, you’ve neglected one.” Snape said calmly. 

Harry crossed one arm over the other and gave it a squeeze. “Umm…” his mind raced for a moment before it dawned on him, “oh, right, I shouldn’t cover with my hands.” 

“And if you break the rules?” Snape asked, lifting his stern brow. 

Harry sighed, flushing furiously. 

“You’ll smack my thighs.” He said quietly, keeping his eyes on his squirming feet. 

“Look up at me.” Snape commanded, making Harry’s stomach plummet to his feet. 

Harry cleared his throat and bit his lip a little. “Sorry, you’ll—”

“No, not for that,” Snape interrupted, Harry glanced down with a tight, apprehensive expression.

It took Snape a minute to gather the words he wanted to say in a way that felt appropriate. 

“I commend your capacity for accountability and willingness to endure the consequences of your actions,” Snape said it in a quiet tone, his tight facial expressions relaxing. “It is not a simple feat, but you managed. Well done.”

Fresh tears sprung into Harry’s eyes at the words and the gesture, though Snape hardly gave him time to contemplate it. 

“Hand me your glasses,” Snape instructed. 

Harry pulled them off his face, folding and extending them down to Snape’s open palm.

Snape reached into his pocket, retrieved his wand, then tapped the glasses. They popped away and reappeared on Harry’s dresser top, out of reach. 

Snape then turned and set his wand on the bedside table behind him. 

“Take your trousers and pants down,” he commanded, turning back to Harry and reaching up to firmly grab hold of his bicep, “completely this time. There is no sense in having your feet bound up in the fabric.”

Harry moved to obey without hesitation. 

His sweaty hands popped the silver clasp on his trousers and he quickly worked them off. Kicking them away from his feet as Snape held his bicep, supporting his balance. 

Harry sucked in a hot breath of humiliation and slid his pants down off his thin hips, giving them a little kick as well. 

The cool air invading in through the cracked window enveloped Harry’s exposed lower half, making his thighs shiver. 

Thankfully Snape didn't make him stand there bare for long. 

“Over my knee,” Snape said firmly, guiding Harry down into position. 

Harry’s stomach clenched as his hips pressed down onto Snape’s soft trousers for the second time that day. 

The moment his upper body landed on the supporting bed below his chest, he buried his face in the covers and let the tears come back. Tears he never thought he had in him.  

Snape glanced down at the boy across his knee. 

The desk chair was on an even plane with the top of the bed, making it easier to hold Harry in a supportive way. His chest rested on the top of the comforter comfortably and his backside was pushed out at an acceptable angle over Snape’s left thigh. 

Snape moved his warm, stabilizing hand into place on Harry’s lower back and let his gaze wander for a moment across the plains of Harry’s skin. 

He had no interest in further humiliating the crying young man, but given Harry’s wincing in the backyard and prolonged shifting in his chair at dinner, Snape deemed it necessary to do a quick inspection before administering the paddle. Though rare, he knew some teenagers could possess light welts that were not as visible as bruising. 

“Harry,” said Snape, waiting a moment for the crying young wizard to comprehend his need to respond. 

Harry titled his face to the side of the bedspread and sucked in a tearful breath. 

“Yeah?” He asked, his nervousness clearly apparent in the tone of his voice. 

“You may find this briefly uncomfortable; however, I must physically access your skin to be sure it is capable of receiving further discipline." Snape moved his hand a little lower down from Harry’s back. “There are a few places that I need to touch, briefly, to be perfectly sure they haven’t welted. Understood?”

Oh, Merlin. Harry just wanted to die from embarrassment, uuuughh. He forced himself to nod quickly though, wanting to get it over with. 

“Right,” he said fast, adding a quiet, “okay, that’s fine.” 

Snape leaned down a bit closer to better observe the faintly blushed skin. He was slightly concerned with Harry’s sit spots which had endured the majority of smacks from the brush. Perhaps he should have taken the charm off the implement. Considering Harry had the paddling coming, it didn’t seem so necessary now to have the sting linger for the day. 

Quick as to not prolong Harry’s discomfort, Snape clinically ran his potion stained fingers across the concerned parts of Harry’s bum, eliciting an involuntary flinch from him. 

Harry had sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Snape touch him, momentarily taking his mind off the guilt and emotional anguish he was experiencing. 

Snape nodded and gave Harry bum a few pats in lieu of the incoming spanks. As he had suspected from his initial glance, there were no welts or abrasions on Harry’s tender skin. 

“As I had anticipated, you are quite alright.” Snape said.

With a nod, Harry buried his face in the covers. His ears were bright red and his pride no longer existed. 

Snape shifted and looked at Harry's legs. They were out straight, preventing him from securing them. 

He tapped the back of Harry’s exposed knee, “Pull your legs in.” 

Harry let out a tear-laced groan, not wanting to argue, but hating the idea of being pinned down again. 

He obeyed the instructions slowly but turned his head to the side to shakily say,

“Please don’t hold them down, Professor Snape.” 

Snape rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, “Potter, it has been a long day and this will undoubtedly hurt your backside. I shall not spend half an hour coaxing you off the floor again.” 

Harry moaned as Snape effectively trapped his legs with his own. 

Snape shifted and reached behind his seat to grab the paddle off the nightstand. He hefted it in his hand and drew his lips into a tight line. 

Despite his intermittent anger with Harry throughout the evening, the tears welling up in the boy coupled with the long hug, added an extra layer of difficulty to the task, though Snape acknowledged its necessity.

He placed the paddle on Harry’s backside, pushing it down firmly into the tender skin. 

“Wait! Wait, wait,” Harry found himself begging through tears, his chest rising and falling in horrible anticipation. 

“What, Potter?” Snape shot back, positioning his left hand firmly at the base of Harry’s lower back, moving the hem of his shirt up. 

Harry had panicked when he felt the heavy, hard surface rest across his tender bum instead of Snape’s warm hand. He swallowed, his nerves taking over the surge of tears flowing down his cheeks. 

“Y-you’re just starting with that?” Harry stammered out. 

Snape caught the fear laced into Harry’s tearful words, making his chest clench.

Snape let out a low hum, "Indeed, this is a paddling, and I will be applying the paddle."

He said nothing more, tapping the paddle a few times across Harry’s bum before pulling it back and bringing it down in a hard thud. 

Snape felt Harry jump, thrusting his hips forward in response. 

Harry gasped, twisting the covers in his palms.

Oh no, fuck no, this was going to be awful.  

Snape let out a tense breath and glanced down at the large blossoming red mark in the center of Harry’s bum. 

He forced himself to recall the boy’s audacious transgressions, tightening his brace on Harry's lower back before pulling the paddle back once again.

Harry sucked in a horribly sharp breath and clenched the blanket tight in his palms.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, was all he could manage to think as he felt the paddle thwack down again and again and again on aching skin. 

Snape’s rhythm was slow, measured and awfully painful as he smacked the most tender areas of Harry’s already disciplined skin. 

Harry gasped loudly and screwed his eyes shut as the thuddy, burning pain spread everywhere. 

“S-Snape! Oh— ahh, oww,” Harry breathed out through shaky sobs.

Despite Snape’s firm hold, Harry pushed his hips down with all his might, desperate to somehow mitigate the sting. 

Each slow smack of the paddle rekindled the horrible ache left from the hairbrush this morning, making Harry sob and jerk hard with each stroke. 

“Bl-bloody he-ll!” Harry cried through fits of ragged breaths as the paddle caught him sharply across his sit spots. “Oww… ow, ow.”

It ached so bad with the paddle smacking deep into his skin making him wish he’d never said yes to going out with Ron. 

Making him wish he’d never drank: smack!

Making him wish never lost his temper: smack!

Making him wish he never cursed at or disobeyed Snape: smack! smack!

Ow, ow, owww!

Rather than striking pinpointed regions on his trembling bum as the brush had, the paddle seemed to stretch across the whole area making Harry wince at the explosively sharp pain. 

“Settle down,” Snape said when he felt the boy's thighs flinching and squirming hard under his own leg. 

Four well placed smacks later and Harry’s couldn’t take it anymore. 

Against his conscious will his hand flew back to block the next smack.

“S-Snape!” Harry pleaded, the cry muffled by his face pressed hard into the covers, “Mm sorry! S-s-topp— p-please! I-It h-hurts.”

“Potter!” Snape snapped narrowly missing Harry’s hand. “Foolish choice.” 

Harry's cries intensified as Snape seized the back of his wrist, forcefully pulling it up across his lower back and pinning his hand in place.

This was horrible. 

Snape took a deep breath in and let his stern gaze traverse Harry’s angry red skin. He hated himself for following through with the next part, but Harry hadn’t left him a choice. 

He dropped his leg down slightly, exposed the upper back tops of Harry’s trembling thighs. 

Snape knew Harry was about to beg so he wasted no time in delivering three hard smacks to the back of each naked thigh. 

Harry cried out in pain, jolting his legs back and forth to try and mitigate the horribly hard blows. 

“O—Ow!!” Harry yelled, writhing as Snape pushed his back down— keeping him held in place.

Finally, all the instinctual fight drained from Harry, as his entire body collapsed into shaky sobs. He released the tension held in every muscle and allowed himself to surrender to the pain. A personal pain that seemed to overwhelm him more than any other form of punishment had. An emotional pain too, that naturally stole his longtime stoicism and steadfast resolve in the face of challenges.

“Take a few breaths,” he barely heard Snape say, hating the feeling of the hard paddle pressed firmly into his burning backside as he tried to breath. 

“I-I…I,” Harry’s hitched breaths made it hard for him to form words. 

“Hush,” Snape murmured in his low, distinctive voice, “this is quite painful, I understand. We are nearly through… take another breath.” 

Harry took a few ragged inhales, holding his breath in between each and focusing his attention on Snape’s thumb rubbing across the side of his pinned wrist.

“Do I have your fullest attention, Harry Potter?” Snape asked after a few long moments of listening to Harry’s ragged cries subside. 

Harry gave an exhausted nod, replying with a raspy, “Y-yes sir, I’m l-listening.” 

Snape nodded, moving the paddle in a few slow circles across Harry’s aching backside. 

Harry hiccuped a few times and sucked in a couple more sharp breaths, cringing at the uncomfortable sensation.

“The next time you are tempted to step out of the boundaries we have set in place,” Snape said sharply, patting the paddle a few times for emphasis. “I want you to think of how you feel in this moment.” 

Harry moaned, “I-I will, s-sir,” he added quickly. 

“Pay close attention to me, I shall not tolerate further foolish misbehavior,” Snape added, his tone hard but not harsh. “As challenging as this may be for you, understand that the strap is a more severe consequence. One which you will find yourself on the receiving end of if you chose to invoke it. Your thoughtless actions and poor decisions end today. Is that perfectly understood?"

“Yes, Professor Snape, I’m sorry, s-so sorry.” Harry said, his head rested to the left as he stared at the blurry wooden posts of his bed frame. 

The dimly lit bedroom held the weight of Harry's hitched breaths in its dark corners. Shadows clung to the edges, and the air seemed thick with remorse. 

The soft glow of a solitary lamp on the nightstand revealed the subtle quiver in Harry's form, his head bowed, eyes fixed on the indistinct patterns of the wooden bed frame. The atmosphere echoed with the weight of regret, a palpable silence settling between the cautionary words Snape whispered and Harry's sincere apology.

“And you listen very carefully to me,” Snape said, bending his head down low to Harry’s ear, his voice coming out in an ominous whisper, “If you ever, ever, dare tell me to sod off again, I will make these last strikes pale in comparison to the next.” 

The room went black as Harry screwed his eyes shut, feeling Snape shift and the paddle leave his aching bum. 

In a blinding flash, three of the worst strokes that he’d ever received at the hand of Severus Snape came crashing down in explosive pain across his tender sit spots. 

Harry lost his breath, jerking with full force as Snape released his wrist and stabilized his lower back with his hard pressed hand. 

“Ow! Ow! Owww!!” Harry shouted, letting out a long forceful sob. His hands twisted the covers and he grit his teeth. His bottom hurt. Hurt with a throbbing pain that left him unable to think about anything else. 

Snape bent to his right side and let the hefty paddle clack down against the floor in a resounding thud. 

Harry jerked his arms up to tuck under his thin chest and let his head bury back into the soft comforter as he wept with unrestrained force. 

Merlin, in all his life he’d never thought about how much a spanking hurt until today. Between that bloody hairbrush and the blasted paddle he was thoroughly spent: sore, exhausted— and desperate for physical touch that wasn’t painful. 

Snape rubbed firm, comforting circles across his lower back, listening to the bitter flow of distraught sobs coming from the well disciplined young man.

Looking closely at Harry’s inflamed backside, Snape ran his hand down the hot, tender skin. To his relief, there were no welts. He grimaced though at the way the heat pulsated against his hand. Foolish boy, Snape thought, blaming Harry for earning such a firm reprimand and doing his best not to feel guilty for being the one to dole it out. Why was this such a challenge? He’d never felt much emotion after, or before, administering a well earned punishment. This was peculiar… unwelcome even. Snape gave Harry’s bum the smallest of rubs, ignoring the fact that such an action was one he only reserved for Draco at times, then rested his hand to Harry’s lower back again. 

Though Harry knew Snape had to just be checking for welts again, he wanted to ask him to keep rubbing. He couldn’t bother to feel embarrassed anymore and would gladly welcome anything to soothe the horrible burn. 

“Mm’ so s-sorry, Snape.” Harry murmured into the cover. 

Snape let out a sigh of his own and moved to run his left hand through Harry's clean mop of dark hair. 

“Hush,” Snape uttered in his characteristically subdued tone, "consider yourself forgiven."

Harry experienced a few harsh sobs of relief, each one a mixture of pain and gratitude, as he absorbed Snape's words. Despite the pulsating heat in his backside, the weight of Snape's forgiveness brought a certain solace, making the endured pain almost worthwhile.

Almost.

They lingered there for a long moment. 

Snape’s firm, rhythmic rubbing of comforting circles on Harry’s trembling back relaxed him. 

Snape patted every now and then to console the tearful wizard while Harry focused on breathing through the throbbing ache. 

The cold night air now felt good on his punished skin as the candles flickered softly in the blue moonlight. Soft gusts of wind whispered through the cracked window, carrying away the shattered remnants of emotions that hung between them. 

Harry let out a final raspy sigh as the last of his tears subsided. He pulled his sleeve up to his eyes and wiped the rest of his wet face dry. Snape hummed low and gave his back a few more firm pats.

“Are you miraculously still breathing, Potter?” Snape asked, his dry tone weaving through the words.

“Hardly,” Harry retorted, a pained smile playing on his thin lips.

“Perhaps then, it is time to get into bed.” Snape said it like a suggestion but Harry knew not to argue.

“Alright,” Harry said, punctuating the end of his short response with a hiccup. 

Snape used his left hand to help guide Harry back into a stance as he moved to get up himself. 

Harry couldn’t hide his sharp grimace from Snape as they stood, causing the stoic Potions Master to frown ever so slightly. He reached over and snatched up his wand from the end table, slipping it into his trouser pocket. 

Harry peered around the fuzzy floor for his boxer pants while Snape moved to take the wooden chair and paddle back to their rightful places. 

Pulling his pants up gingerly, Harry cast a hard glare at the blurry wooden paddle in Snape’s hand as he gave his bum a small rub. It hurt bad. So bad. Merlin in heaven, the Slytherins from here on out would have his empathy. 

Snape replaced the wooden chair with a firm clack, then briskly strode over to the dresser to retrieve Harry's glasses and stow the paddle.

Returning to Harry, he extended the glasses down to the subdued young wizard. After Harry had slid them back onto his face, he peered up at Snape with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Still looking quite remorseful and distraught. 

Snape felt a swell of unease as he forced himself to open his arms a bit. 

Harry, shocked by the unexpected offer of a hug, couldn't help but smile as he accepted the subtle gesture. He buried his face in Snape’s chest, breathing in the comfort he so desperately needed. 

Snape, despite rolling his eyes, couldn't conceal the subtle warmth he felt as he patted Harry’s back a few times. 

“Very well then,” Snape quipped after a painfully long minute of hugging for him, “time you go to bed.” 

He moved to pull back and Harry decided to tease him a touch, holding on extra tight. 

“Potter,” Snape said quickly, pulling a bit harder on Harry’s tight shoulders. “Honestly, enough of this.” 

Harry let out a raspy laugh as he finally pulled away, “Merlin, you act like a hug is lethal, Professor Snape.” 

Snape rolled his eyes and hummed low.

“Considering your tendency to attract trouble, I prefer to be cautious even with hugs. Now, off you go to bed before you conjure up another calamity that I have to smack you for.” 

Harry smiled as Snape herded him over with little shoves to his bed. 

Snape grabbed up the invisibility cloak from the end of the bed and tapped it with his wand, Harry couldn’t see, but he knew from the swishing sound it had disappeared to some other quadrant of the house, making him frown. 

Oh well, he’d get it back soon or later. 

Reaching the top of the headboard first, Snape pulled back the covers and motioned for Harry to get into bed. 

Harry yawned and obeyed, pushing himself up and into the soft mattress. He hissed when his bum momentarily hit the bed before twisting onto his stomach. 

Snape reached over and slid his wand back into his pocket then pulled the covers over Harry. 

As Snape tucked him, Harry couldn’t help but smile mischievously, “First hugs, now tucking me in, huh? Didn’t realize you were such a softy, Professor Snape. What’s next, a bedtime story?” 

Harry couldn’t see him through his closed eyes but he knew Snape was glaring down. 

“Knowing you, the request for one can not possibly be far off,” Snape shot back. 

Harry let out a light chuckle, listening to the sound of Snape’s clacking shoes reverberate through the otherwise quiet room as he made his way to the door. 

“Sleep well, Potter.” Snape said as he moved to walk out.

“Good night.” Harry replied, though right as the door began to close, Harry called back, “Professor Snape?” 

He heard Snape take a step back up the creaky top stair, cracking the door open again. 

“Er,” Harry took a little breath, “thanks.” He said it softly, genuine gratitude seeping into his few words. 

Harry couldn’t see the faint smile stretch across Snape’s face as he replied back with: 

“Go to sleep. No doubt the figments of your imagination can hardly wait for the trouble you’re bound to find in your dreams.” 

With that Snape flicked his wand and the window snapped shut followed by the sound of a soft click as the lock on the side slid into place. The flickering candles extinguished in a smoky puff, casting the room into near darkness. 

Harry smiled, sliding his glasses off and setting them on the nightstand. He listened to Snape close the door and make his way down the creaky steps. 

He sucked in a weary breath and extinguished the final glimmering light from the warm lantern. 

His bum had never ached quite as bad as it did now, yet for some reason he felt waves of soft peace flowing through every part of him. 

As the soft tendrils of sleep began to wisp him into the cocoon of slumber, Harry felt his chest swell with a mix of emotions. His mind drifted back to the memories he’d seen in the Pensieve, the image of his mother and Snape as children, sitting in the wide open field, came to mind. 

Briefly, ever so briefly, Harry found himself wishing things had turned out differently between both of them; wondering what life would have been like if Snape had ever been more to him than a distant, cold, professor. 

The fleeting thought gently cradled Harry as he succumbed to the embrace of well-deserved sleep, leaving the possibility for who Snape could become in the quiet corners of his dreams.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

The burnt corner of the smoke mangled book flicked off in a black flutter as Snape flipped to the next fire damaged page. His dark eyes scanned the charcoal stained lettering as his temper ebbed up, climbing fast like a thermometer submerged in boiling water. 

It was hardly salvageable, the burnt book, but Snape could make out the center ingredients on the dog eared page:

• Moonflower essence
• Powdered Thestral Hoof
• Basilisk Scale 

He inhaled sharply and pursed his lips into a tight line. 

Fuming, he snapped the nearly destroyed potions book shut. Flutters of torched black paper and ashes spilled across his heavy oak desk. 

Draco was a dead man walking. 

How could the boy be so utterly moronic? Snape wondered. Of course Narcissa had come begging. 

Snape leaned back in his study chair and took a deep, cleansing breath. He steepled his potion stained fingers and pinched his eyes shut. 

Today was going to be longer, and harder, than he’d anticipated. 

On cue, reminding him of the other troublesome teenager he had yet to deal with, the wooden door at the top of Harry’s staircase creaked open. Snape listened to the soft padding of Harry’s bare feet climb down the worn stairs. 

With a singular tap of his wand, the barely bound book disappeared, stowing itself in the front of his deep trouser pocket as the black ash dissipated into thin air. 

Snape stood, walked a few paces and swung the door to the study open, nearly colliding with a sleepy Harry. 

“Oh, uh, hi,” Harry said sheepishly, he peered past Snape to the dimly lit study, “I was just coming to see if you were up.” 

“Good morning,” Snape said low and slow, his eyes gliding up to Harry’s exceptionally messy hair. 

He never understood how Harry tolerated having his hair look like the scruff of a frazzled beaver. 

“I trust you slept well.” Snape followed up a moment later, when Harry said nothing, keeping his green eyes anywhere else but Snape's dark gaze. 

Harry felt his face flush as he reached up to rub the back of his neck, “Oh, uh, yeah.” 

In truth he had slept great, but his dreams were... peculiar. 

As he had laid down to rest, thoughts of Snape lingered in his tired mind, and upon waking up, they persisted in an unexpected way.

The details of last night's dream were elusive, slipping through the grasp of his waking mind in pieces. 

He recalled faint, vivid fragments of the scene; feeling warmth from the presence of his mother, alive and laughing in the kitchen downstairs with Snape. They were connected, sharing a tender embrace... Harry was there too, though it felt more like he was observing a scene on a distant screen than actively participating in the moment.

He wasn’t sure why the recollection of the fictitious moments made him feel embarrassed, but it did. 

Snape eyed Harry, observing the reddening of the boy’s ears and downcast eyes. 

The persistent ache in Harry's backside reminded him of his long, embarrassing, cry last night, which added on to his lingering discomfort. 

“What about you? Did you sleep well?” Harry forced himself to ask, finally looking up. 

“Indeed.” Snape replied, lifting an eyebrow at Harry before pulling the door to his study shut and moving swiftly past him. 

“Prepare yourself for the day then meet me downstairs, we need to have a little chat before I leave.” Snape said over his shoulder. 

From what he gathered, the boy was still embarrassed over the lingering consequences he had to face. The quicker they could discuss, the quicker Harry could return to his normal, arrogant little self. 

Harry swallowed at the mention of a ‘chat’, watching Snape stride down the creaky wooden steps.  

“What kind of chat?” Harry asked, moving to the railing of the staircase.

“A chat about your obnoxious habit of listening to private conversations and defying outright instructions.” Snape said in a no nonsense tone, giving Harry a pointed look from the base of the staircase. 

Harry groaned and looked up at the ceiling. He quickly became aware that he was still in his boxer pants and sleep shirt. 

“Alright,” Harry grumbled, moving to come downstairs. 

Snape watched Harry intently, his temper spiking at the lack of compliance. 

“I just told you to get dressed, Potter. Are you actively trying to provoke more trouble for yourself?” Snape shot, leaning his hand on the railing and glaring up at the descending young wizard on the staircase. 

“I’m wearing this shirt today,” Harry said, pausing to motion down to his soft oversized shirt, “there’s no point in putting my trousers on yet.” 

“No? Well, your comfortability in my residence is certainly touching.” Snape snapped, raising his brow. "Though I must admit, it is rather surprising given your discretion during disciplinary proceedings. What, may I ask, has prompted this newfound sense of audacity?" 

Harry blushed, casting his eyes downward and nervously tapping his fingers along the railing. Well someone was in a bit of a mood today. 

“Well… if you’re just going to make me take them off for a smacking I might as well save the time.” Harry said quietly, darting his nervous gaze away from Snape. 

Snape narrowed his dark gaze. “I see. Potter, at what point, in our extraordinarily brief conversation, did I say you were receiving one?” 

“Uh,” Harry glanced up, a little hope flickering in his green eyes, “I’m not?” 

“I hadn’t planned on it. However, you’re tempting me with this robust display of self pity.” Snape quipped, making Harry smile a little. “Go get dressed. Put on a fitting shirt as well.”

Relief flooded Harry at the sentence, his tight shoulders dropped and the anxious pit in his stomach soon evaporated as he scurried back up the stairs. 

“ Cheeky little prat ,” Snape mumbled to himself as he made his way to the sun-kissed kitchen. 

Twenty minutes later Snape heard the click and lock of the bathroom door, followed by the squeak of the shower handle. The sound of strong water pelting against tile reverberated out through the upper half of the floor. 

Without making a sound, he ascended both sets of stairs, briskly striding into Harry’s room.

The copper tea kettle glimmered in the bright kitchen light, steam pouring out of its piping hot spout. It began to squeal loudly in protest, prompting Snape to snatch it off the flickering fire. He snapped off the gas burner and retrieved a teacup. 

Soon Harry padded into the kitchen, his socks nearly causing him to slip on the freshly waxed floor. He ran a hand up through his damp hair and gave it a little shake. He then glanced at Snape who was busy undoing a few lavender stems from the pantry ceiling. 

“So, um,” Harry said, strolling over and grabbing a banana off the counter, “I take it you’re off to involve yourself with the wonderful Malfoy family?” 

Harry stripped the top of the banana down and took a large bite. 

Stepping out of the pantry, Snape raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s awfully early to be cheeky with me, especially with your punishments at hand.” 

Harry frowned, his mouth now filled with banana.

“I thought you weren’t smacking me?” His words came out muffled by the soft, mushy fruit. 

Snape frowned. “Potter, have the common decency not to speak with your mouth full. That is atrocious behavior at your age.” 

Snape tsked out loud, grinding the lavender petals together in a small stone bowl on the counter. 

“Sorry,” Harry said after he swallowed another bite. 

Harry couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at the scolding remark while he watched Snape nestle the lavender petals into a prepped tea bag. 

Snape soon turned to peer into the fridge.

“As it so happens, I have other matters to attend to aside from the Malfoy family.” Snape said, grabbing a cold bundle of mint leaves and setting them on the counter.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, pulling the banana peel down lower, “Can I come with you then?” 

“No.” Snape replied swiftly, pausing to tear off a few mint leaves from the bundle. 

“Why not?” Harry asked, taking another ridiculously large bite. 

“Eavesdroppers don’t get special privileges.” Snape retorted, tossing in the fresh mint to his teacup and the bundle back into the chilly fridge. 

Harry frowned, smacking his banana a bit in his mouth. 

Snape glared up at him, the sound of chomping making his skin crawl, eliciting a mischievous little grin from Harry. 

“Stop testing me today, Potter,” Snape said, lightly smacking Harry's backside with his wand for emphasis while he strode past him. 

“Hey!” Harry protested through a mouth full of his last banana bite. 

He swallowed hard and glared. 

"That was low, Professor Snape," he shot, rubbing the aching spot on his backside.

Snape merely pulled out a wooden dining room chair and said: “Sit down.”  

“Can’t we ever have a conversation standing?” Harry grumbled, moving to toss the banana peel in the small silver trash can out the back door. 

Snape glowered in response, prompting him to pipe down and obey. He was too sore to push his luck with Snape today. 

Harry groaned, hating the discomfort he felt when his sore backside met the unforgivingly hard surface of the dining chair. 

Snape glanced at the boy's pained face, diligently choosing to ignore the discomfort he caught in it. 

Snape interlaced his fingers and leveled the young wizard with a stern look.

“Considering you’ve successfully earned yourself two trips over my knee in the last twenty four hours, I deemed it inappropriate to extend a third visit today, despite your behavior last night.” 

Harry nodded, grateful but still embarrassed at the mention of it all. 

“Thanks, Professor Snape,” he said respectfully, looking up with his wide green eyes. 

Snape stirred his tea with a small silver teaspoon and took a sip.

“Tell me why it’s inappropriate to listen in on private conversations.” Snape said, leveling Harry with an unforgiving glare. 

Harry swallowed, swinging his foot some under the table. 

“Well it’s disrespectful to the people hoping for a private conversation,” Harry replied, keeping his green eyes on Snape.

Snape nodded, “Obviously. Go on.” 

“Uh,” Harry said, looking up for a moment, “I suppose I could hear something wrong and misinterpret it.” 

“Indeed,” Snape replied, “and given your penchant for misplaced heroics, surely your eagerness to entangle yourself in matters that were never meant for your involvement would be woefully irresistible.”

Harry nodded, his backside ached so bad, making him shift his weight again. 

“Going forward, I will not be so lenient with you,” Snape paused, watching Harry chew his lip and drop his eyes. 

“Any eavesdropping in the future will secure you a firm reprimand with the paddle, understood?” 

Harry’s face flushed deeply, but he nodded fast, “I understand, sir.” 

“Disobedience will not be tolerated either, Mr. Potter,” Snape dropped his tone down lower, causing Harry to squirm. 

“The next time you willingly defy me, whether it be as simple as neglecting to take your dish to the sink, I will bend you over for a strapping you won’t soon forget.” 

Harry took a sharp breath in and fidgeted with his jittery hands. 

“I understand,” Harry said quietly, “I really am sorry about last night, sir, it won’t happen again.”

“Very well,” Snape said with a small nod, “you know what to expect if it does.” 

Snape let the threat dangle in the lavender soaked morning air, watching Harry shift in his seat for the millionth time. 

Harry nodded, chewing the corner of his thumb nail and waiting for Snape to say something more.

Snape withdrew his wand from his pocket and tapped the table. 

In the blink of an eye, a parchment paper appeared with Snape’s detailed penmanship gracing its brown page. 

Harry peered over to it.

“You are to complete these chores while I am away.” Snape said, extending the list. “They should occupy your time adequately.” 

Harry nodded, and took the paper, his eyes wandering over the extensive list of outdoor and indoor chores. 

“This goes without saying but you will complete these tasks by hand, without the use of magical intervention.” Snape added, leveling Harry with a stern expression. 

Harry glanced up and nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

He was surprised, nothing was particularly hard about the list. 

Water the lawn— he could do that.

Weed the garden beds— not a problem.

Wash the windows—  that was light work. 

The list stretched on, but he found nothing more challenging than what he’d done on a day to day basis for Petunia and Vernon.  

“When you’re through,” Snape said, withdrawing a folded paper from his button up shirt pocket, “I expect two separate essays answering each of the following prompts. No less than three feet.” 

Harry frowned but quickly fixed his face when he caught the flinty glare in Snape’s eye. His sore arse begged him not to challenge it. 

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, taking the paper from Snape and trying not to moan when he glanced at the prompt questions:

The Consequences of Disobeying Authority: A Personal Reflection

• Provide a detailed analysis of your recent actions, elucidating the repercussions of defying authority. Reflect on the impact of such behavior, both on yourself and those around you. Be thorough, Potter, include the immediate repercussions you will suffer for a repeat infraction and the long term consequences of defying authority figures in your life. 

Navigating Curiosity and Impulse Control: A Self-Analysis

• Conduct a thorough examination of your tendencies toward curiosity and impulsive behavior, specifically regarding your inclination towards invading upon private discussions. Analyze the root causes of these inclinations and propose strategies for improving your impulse control. Your response should be insightful and introspective. Include the consequences to be expected in this house for violating confidential conversations.

Snape found a concealed sense of relief as Harry complied. He watched the green eyes travers the parchment paper with a sense of needed satisfaction. 

Bringing down the firm hand of discipline was a task he deemed quite necessary to instill respect and redirect poor behavior; but still, it proved a challenge these days, more so than he could’ve imagined with Harry. Seeing the discomfort etched on the young wizard's face, when those emerald, soft eyes hit him with pain and desperation, had Snape nearly crumbling each session.

And today, the prospect of taking Draco over his knee, so soon after Harry, filled him with a lingering sense of dismay. Administering a thrashing to the insolent young wizard, known to be one of the most emotionally charged individuals on the planet when in pain, added a weight on Snape's shoulders.

It had been over three years since he found it necessary to deliver multiple spankings in such a short span of time. The vivid memory flickered in his mind from the exhausting night when a group of his Slytherins had infiltrated Hufflepuff’s quarters, unleashing a cascade of contraband bats upon their sleeping peers. 

It had been a long night of doling out separate rounds with the paddle, bringing his resolve to the absolute brink when he laid down the last hard strike to the fifth and final sobbing offender.

Snape took a sip of his tea and shook his head at the memory, foolish teenagers. 

“Very well,” Snape finally said, standing from the table. “It’s time I leave.” 

He had hoped Harry would leave it at that, but he was well acquainted with the boy’s insufferable curiosity, making Harry’s next question hardly a surprise.

“Before you go, will you please tell me what Narcissa wanted last night?” Harry set the paper down, saying the sentence as if it had been pinned up in his chest for years. 

“That’s not really your concern, is it, Potter?” Snape snipped, his tone laced with early exasperation.

“Maybe not,” Harry said, crossing his arms as he moved to stand, “but I’m not sure I want to live with someone who is re-associating with the family who tried to murder me.” 

“Watch your tone,” Snape chided.

Harry dropped his crossed arms, “It’s unnerving, Professor Snape.” 

“Your concerns touch upon matters that are private— discussed in confidence.” Snape said with an air of authority that allowed little room for protest. 

Harry frowned, prompting Snape to raise an index finger in warning. 

“The intricacies of my dealings with Narcissa are not something I intend to share freely. However, rest assured that you are in no harm, my involvement has nothing to do with you . Now, your focus today should be on your assigned tasks and essays. Need I remind you, this is part of your punishment for last night’s transgressions, don’t provoke further, less pleasant, additions to it.” 

“Professor Snape—”

“No, enough. You will have to grow accustomed to staying out of private matters, as you would have learned long, long ago, had you been sorted into Slytherin.” 

With that Snape turned on his heel and made his way to the front door, his shoes clacking firmly with each stride. 

Harry frowned, eyeing the steaming teacup with the floating mint leaf… why was he in a hurry? Since when did Snape abandon freshly brewed tea?

“When will you be back?” Harry asked, watching Snape pull on his travel cloak. 

“I’m not sure,” Snape replied without turning to look back.

“Consider it a challenge though, Potter. Let's see if you can manage a day without igniting chaos. I’m more than certain your backside would appreciate the respite.” Snape said over his shoulder, stepping out into the spring afternoon. 

Harry grimaced as the heavy wooden door closed slowly behind Snape, the last licks of his sweeping coat smacking against the bottom door frame as he disappeared.

Something was definitely up.

“Oh, ye, he was in here a few nights ago.” 

The scrappy older man said, nodding as he conjured up the conversation he’d had with gaunt looking blonde. 

“Looking fer a Basilisk Scale.” 

He peered back down and gave Snape a scolding look.

“N’ every other blasted ingredient for that ghastly brew.” 

Snape scoffed up at the shopkeeper who was hanging from the unsteady ladder, organizing his collection of slimy frog eyes. 

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Draco becoming all that cunning in his solo exploration of the Dark Arts.

Snape pursed his lips in a line briefly then said, “I presume you gave him—”

“Chimaera tail.” 

The old scruffy man finished as he sloppily clamored down the creaking ladder, holding a jar of eyeballs. 

Snape’s dark eyes glimmered with cold fury. 

“I got to tell ya Severus, he’s rubbish at spotting ingredients. One of your students, is he?” He asked, setting the jar down on the cluttered counter. 

The eyeballs quivered, bobbing up and down in the rancid looking liquid, glaring up at Snape with fictitious disdain. 

Snape’s jaw clenched at the condescension in the man’s tone. “Indeed, he is.” 

“He needs another lesson or two, don’t he?” The scruffy man gave a wry, ugly smile. 

Snape gave him a blank cold stare, keeping his composure reserved despite the hot fury rising up in his chest. 

“How bad was the explosion?” The man followed up, shoving a few decrepit spider carcasses off his counter space.

Snape let a brief pause hang in the air for a moment, peering down at the short man with his black daggers for eyes. 

“It obliterated a shed on the property and surrounding garden, if you must know.” Snape finally gritted out. 

He certainly didn’t owe the man an explanation but he was more than perturbed at the shopkeeper's jovial approach to such a serious matter. 

The scruffy man let out a loud cackle, and it took all of Snape’s willpower not to recoil from the overwhelming stench emanating from the man’s rotting teeth.

“It could have killed him, his mother— endangered the neighbors— set the entire property on fire.” Snape snapped, letting his tone speak for him. 

The scruffy man waved his hand and rang up the jar of bobbing eyeballs.

“Bah, serves the little bugger right. He’s got no business trying to brew that. You ought to know it.” 

Snape bit his tongue. 

Draco was in a world of trouble. 

Harry wiped the trickle of sweat off his forehead and moved to stand up. He yanked the gruff dirty garden gloves off his hands and tossed them under a wooden workbench. 

His emerald eyes wandered about the greenhouse, doing a final inspection of the work he’d done. 

Snape had been gone for a few hours and he was nearly done with the chores. 

If there was one thing Harry could do quickly, it was chores. 

He gave a nod of approval then shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and walked out the wooden door, letting it swing softly shut behind him. 

Harry withdrew his wand and cast a locking spell on the greenhouse door. 

Snape wouldn’t be mad over a locking spell, right? Harry shrugged and slid his wand back into his pocket. 

He made his way back to the house a little stiffly, his sore arse protesting every step of the way. 

Merlin, last night was horrible. 

Harry was incredibly grateful Snape had let him off with just the chores and essays, another spanking would have been unbearable on a backside as sore as his. 

Harry swung through the back kitchen door and peeled off his shoes, giving them a little kick off the porch. 

The final chore he needed to complete was mopping, then he could finish the ridiculous, guilt inducing, essays. 

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. Snape kept the kitchen floor so clean a high up from the Ministry could eat off it with no qualms. It seemed senseless to mop it but he sauntered over to the pantry anyway. 

In the back corner, masked by the intoxicatingly sweet scent of lavender, lay a wooden handled mop and large oak bucket, tucked neatly behind the canned goods. 

Harry snatched it up and walked to the sink. He desperately wanted to use a water spell to fill it but wisely decided against it. 

Knowing Snape, the mop and other cleaning supplies might be charmed to detect the use of magic. 

Soon the heavy bucket of water was filled to the brim, sloshing about the corners in little cold waves as Harry snapped off the sink spigot. 

He was lost in thought, turning over the bits and pieces he could remember from last night's dream again. It was strange, even with Snape out of the house, he felt a little embarrassed. 

A lingering sense of disloyalty clung to him as he remembered fragments of the vague dream where Snape had undoubtedly replaced the memory of his late father. Holding hands with his mother: talking, hugging, laughing… kissing. 

Harry sighed, he felt bad for dreaming it.

Perhaps it was the hugging last night... yeah, he supposed that made sense. It was the first time Snape had ever embraced him, so his subconscious must have stolen it, twisted it into a confusing ball, and run wild.

Or, perhaps all that talk of a guiding hand and discipline, coupled with his sore backside, had triggered it... though that made a little less sense to Harry.

What baffled him the most though, was why he felt so happy in the dream… why… why did he wake up wishing he could go back into it? 

Harry clicked his tongue, shaking his head of moppy brown hair and refocusing himself on the task at hand. 

Right as he lifted the heavy water bucket nearly clear from the sink’s lip, the doorbell rang, startling him. 

In a second, half the bucket of cold water tipped forward and splashed down the front of his shirt, soaking both his waist and trousers. 

“Blimey!” Harry gasped at the sensation of the cold water biting his warm skin.

The doorbell chimed again, echoing in a sharp clang throughout the otherwise silent house. 

Harry quickly set the bucket down, stepped over the puddle of glistening water and slowly withdrew his wand. 

The sun shone vividly on the Malfoy property, illuminating the glistening black shingles on the towering rooftop. Snape’s dark eyes lingered on the scene, forcing away the sickly memories the dark home conjured. 

A moment later he spotted Narcissa, standing in the distance amidst the rubble of the burnt down shed. Her red skirt licked up her white calves in the little whispers from the spring wind blowing about the lawn. 

Snape took in the damaged scene, gritting his teeth as he made his way down the stone paved corridor. 

Soon he was at Narcissa’s side, his dark gaze traversing the tears slipping down her pale face. 

“Good afternoon. I presume Draco won’t be joining us here.” Snape said, extending one of his clean handkerchiefs to her.

“Hello,” Narcissa said as she shook her head and took the offered fabric square.“No, he’s in his room.” 

Snape gave a slow nod. 

Of course he was in his room, where else might he be besides on his hands and knees cleaning up the shards of rubble in the blasted yard. Snape vowed to work with Narcissa on her expectations and consequences for the boy. 

“I presume you failed to notify him of the purpose of my visit?” Snape asked in a low tone as he walked around the burnt rubble, his dark eyes scanning the blacked pile of wood. 

Narcissa said nothing for a moment, blotting the tears from her eyes. 

“If I had, he wouldn’t be here,” she said quietly, taking in a slight breath.

Snape’s dark eyes shot up to meet hers, he hummed low with a note of disapproval. 

“I see. You understand that this form of outright defiance must come to an end, yes?”

Narcissa nodded, glancing past Snape to the charcoal remnants of her favorite garden, the only safe haven she had left in the haunting manor, now ruined by the tall flames of fire that had encompassed the yard that dark night. 

“You are his mother, Narcissa. If he would like to sustain the privilege of living with you, he must follow your explicit rules and instructions, without delay,” Snape said sharply. “If he fails to do so, he must receive a firm, memorable consequence.” 

Snape softened his expression ever so slightly when she dropped her gaze to the rubble.

“It may feel challenging to enforce discipline now, but it will get easier. He will soon become accustomed to the spine you must grow.” Snape finished, moving a section of a shattered glass vial with his boot clad toe. 

Narcissa shot him a sharp but melancholy glance, “You know how Draco can be, Severus.” 

Snape scoffed, “Indeed I do, which brings me to our next point of discussion.” 

He walked slowly to Narcissa, closing the distance between them. 

“I would implore you to stay out of earshot while I discipline Draco for this infraction.”

A glimmer of apprehension flickered across Narcissa’s hazel eyes. 

Snape sighed, continuing, “My reasoning for this being— seeing as you summoned me here, he will undoubtedly try and appeal to your empathetic nature. I suspect it will be challenging for you not to interfere given his penchant for pitiful caterwauling.” 

Narcissa tried to keep the tears out of her eyes but in a few heavy blinks of her delicate lashes they returned. 

“Very well. I don’t doubt your reasoning… I-I hope he recognizes the severity of this,” she said softly. 

Snape hummed low and interlaced his fingers behind his back. Draco was hardly one for self reflection at the onset of a spanking.

“Given that he is exceptionally upset over Lucius and caught in a ridiculous spiral of teenage angst, it’s doubtful he will fully grasp the severity until we’re through.” Snape noted. 

Narcissa nodded and blotted a few more tears away with Snape’s soft handkerchief. 

“Once Draco understands the structure of this arrangement, I must insist you involve yourself further so he knows you won’t accept his poor behavior.” Snape said, moving his interlaced fingers to the front of his waist. 

Narcissa took a deep breath. “The threat of calling you should be sufficient enough, no?” 

Snape made a concerted effort not to roll his eyes.

"No. Given your son's nature, he'll undoubtedly attempt to dissuade you from contacting me. It's imperative that he faces discipline from you as well. As a skilled witch, I trust in your capacity to administer it effectively."

A soft silence hung in the windy spring air as licks of ashes and soot flurried up in black plumes around their feet. 

“I’ve never been a part of it.” Narcissa said quietly, letting her sober gaze rest on the burnt down garden space. “When Lucius gave him the cane I couldn’t bear to be in the house.” 

Snape drew in a subtle tight breath at the unexpected memories her statement conjured up, recalling each time his mother conveniently left the dark, cold home when his father rounded on him. 

Snape pondered her statement for a moment.

“I don’t doubt hearing him cry is disheartening,” Snape said, his softer tone catching Narcissa off guard. “However, the reason I'm here is because he lacks respect for you. In order for this to be effective, you must re-instill it.” 

Narcissa nodded, considering his words.

“As you're aware, my approach to corporal punishment differs from Lucius'. I'll take Draco over my knee, a method I've employed on numerous occasions. It imparts the necessary lesson without the severity of a caning. While it may pose a challenge, considering it's his first encounter with the strap, he'll manage and glean the intended lesson. If you would like guidance, I am confident you can employ the same disciplinary technique in the coming months."

Narcissa raised her soft brows slightly, casting Snape a skeptical glance.

“You possess a wooden hairbrush, do you not?” Snape asked, glancing around the rubble once more. 

“I do,” Narcissa replied softly. “My mother’s in fact.”

“Then I don't doubt you know its effectiveness.” Snape said, motioning for Narcissa to follow him back up to the manor. “We may discuss this more before I leave today, if it pleases you.”

Narcissa nodded, moving slowly to trail behind. 

“Yes, perhaps we should,” she said, taking him by surprise.

“Tell me, were you able to make out what he attempted to brew?” She followed up, hoping the burnt book she’d given him had held some clues.

Snape paused, giving her a flinty expression.

“Indeed. Are you familiar with Wraith Elixir?” 

Narcissa’s cherry red lips parted, a little gasp escaping them. The faint color she had in her pale, grief stricken face, drained away. 

Harry smiled wide as he swung the heavy wooden door open, “Ron!” He said, almost laughing at the relief of seeing him. 

“Hey Harry,” Ron smiled, then frowned when he glanced down. “What’s gotten all over your trousers?” 

Harry shrugged. “Oh, I was about to mop and I spilled a bucket of water.” 

“Ah,” Ron said then peered inside, closing more distance between him and Harry, “treating ya like a right slave, is he?” 

Harry chuckled at the way Ron had finished his sentence in a whisper. 

“Get in, he’s not home.” Harry said, pulling Ron in the entryway by his arm. 

“I’m surprised you’re alive, mate,” Ron admonished, looking Harry over from head to toe. “He didn’t beat on you did he?” 

Harry knew Ron was teasing but he couldn’t stop himself from flushing. 

He turned on his heel quickly, trying to keep his reddening face from Ron. 

“No,” Harry said, waving over his shoulder, “come see the kitchen.” 

Hermione always scolded Ron for not picking up on subtle cues; had she been there now, this certainly would have been one of those times.

“Nice place he’s got here,” Ron said, his bright eyes wandering all over the space, “you sure you’re living with Snape and not some home-goods woman on poly juice potion?” 

Harry laughed, crouching below the sink to grab a towel. He stood, patting his shirt off first then rubbing down the rest of his trousers while Ron wandered around.

After a few vigorous moments of blotting at the water, he gave up. 

“I need to change,” Harry said, tossing the towel on the counter. 

“Could’ve told you that,” Ron replied, wandering into the pantry, his eyes darting across the perfectly labeled ingredients.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t touch anything, I’ll be back.” 

He only made it two strides before Ron was on him, blocking the way out. 

“You’re not leaving me downstairs while you disappear up there,” Ron motioned up to the wooden staircase. “What if he comes back?” 

“Oh, Ron, come off it,” Harry said, suddenly, shockingly, getting a bit defensive. “He hasn’t killed me, has he? He’s not so bad.” 

Ron gaped at him, “Harry I know he sacrificed a lot for you–”

“A whole lot,” Harry cut back in, crossing his arm. “He risked his life every day for me.” 

Ron let out an exasperated sigh. “Right, yeah, but he was still a major arse while doing it. Sorry, but I look at him and I still see the greasy git he’s always been. I’m not past all the things he’s said to you and ‘Mione and me.” 

Harry let the tension in his shoulders relax some, as he uncrossed his arms, remembering how he first felt when McGonagall suggested he should live with Snape.

Ron had always been his most loyal mate. He couldn’t blame him for feeling resentful and suspicious. He’d felt suspicious too, at first. 

However, after his initial experience over Snape's knee in the classroom, a meaningful shift had occurred between them. A longstanding disciplinary boundary had finally been crossed, imparting a new lesson in trust to Harry. The vulnerability and pain he felt, coupled with the subsequent comfort Snape provided, gave him an unusual sense of security with the once harsh Potions Master. Oddly enough, along with the Pensieve revelation, the spanking played a crucial role in solidifying his trust in Snape, something he never would have anticipated before going through the painful ordeal. 

“It’s complicated, Ron,” Harry said, letting out a little breath, “he’s… he’s different with me now. I don’t know how to really prove it to you but I like living with him.” 

Thankfully, that was enough for Ron to nod, tossing his hands up in acquiescence. 

“Right, mate, if you say so.” 

Harry smiled and gave Ron a little clap on the back, “Come on then. Let me change, and I'll give you the grand tour.” 

Ron smiled and turned to follow Harry out of the kitchen. 

A few moments later, after plenty of quips from Ron about the study, the library, the paintings and the bathroom, the pair swung the top door to Harry’s bedroom wide open. 

Ron peered in. “Wow, Harry,” he said, walking over to the circular window, “this is spacious.” 

“It is, isn't it?” Harry said, moving quickly to his top drawer while Ron was distracted by the view of the front yard. 

“He’s got a fish pond?” Ron asked with a hint of bewilderment pervading his tone. “You’re sure this is Snape you’re living with?” 

“He’s full of surprises,” Harry muttered, snapping open the top drawer and fishing quickly for a fresh pair of trousers and socks. 

Harry did his best to keep the implements from shifting around and making any noise as his face lit up in a dark red hue. He cast a quick glance at Ron, relieved to see him still peering out the window. 

“The driveway looks so long from here,” Ron said, moving over to the center of the window to get a better look. 

“Mm-hmm,” Harry replied half heartedly, suddenly confused by what he felt, or rather didn’t feel, in the drawer. 

The paddle was there and the brush was there… but the strap was… gone? 

Harry buried his hand through the drawer with renewed vigor, feeling all over for the cold, menacing strip of leather.

Where the bloody hell did it go? 

It was there this morning… wasn’t it? 

“Not finding pants?” Ron finally asked, turning back to face Harry with his brows furrowed slightly. 

Harry said nothing for a minute, running his hand over and under the cotton fabrics of the drawer until he was completely convinced it wasn’t there. 

He snapped the drawer shut quickly as Ron made his way across the room. 

“Um, no I got them,” Harry said, pants in hand, dropping to the ground to peer under the dresser. 

Ron perked up, watching Harry scour the floor. 

“Lose something then?” He asked, watching Harry turn to look under his bed. 

“Uh,” Harry started, shooting up to his feet and walking to his desk. 

Maybe I left it in the drawer? Harry thought. 

It was possible, he guessed, but he swore he’d picked it up when Snape had told him to last night. 

Harry pulled open the bottom drawer— no strap. 

“I, um, was just looking for my… my wand.” Harry said, pulling his hands up to his hips and looking fervently around the room. 

“Isn’t it there?” Ron said, motioning to Harry’s front wet pocket. 

“Oh,” Harry faked surprise, letting his fingers tap the wooden stick. “So it is. Don’t know how I didn’t feel it.” 

Ron waved his hand, “That happens to me sometimes.” 

Hermione would have slapped Ron’s arm if she had been there. Subtly was not his specialty. 

Harry’s brows stayed tense for a moment longer, questions spiraling in his always working mind. 

As Ron moved on, rattling off all the things he found peculiar or strange that Snape possessed, Harry's gaze lingered on the dresser drawer, thinking back to the empty space where the strap should have been.

It only took a moment more before an unspoken realization settled over him, connecting the dots between Narcissa's unexpected visit, Snape's unusual behavior, and the mysteriously absent strap.

Harry almost shuddered as the ominous picture slowly formed in his curious mind.

Poor Draco .

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

A bit more of a TW for this one: This chapter contains (in my opinion) an intense strapping scene w/ heavy emotions. If you’re here for the Snape & Harry mentor side, this chapter might be not be your favorite. I will also note, this spanking scene is not CNC. It’s a Non-consent spanking and there is a fair bit of discomfort and a bit of humiliation that may not be everyone’s cup of tea. Though Narcissa and Draco have made an appearance in these last few chapters, and will surface again, I do plan to keep the primary emphasis on Snape & Harry. Le muse ran a little wild with this one but I hope you enjoy it just as much. 

The metal knob on the polished bedroom door rattled loudly, clattering throughout the large room with spiking volume. Its desperate clinking reverberated throughout the cold corridors in the empty manor as Draco gave it another hard shake. 

Narcissa pinched her eyes shut and wrapped her cloak tighter around her thin chest, breathing quietly from the other side of the door. 

Her mascara had bled down her pale face from a few tears trickling out the corners of her hazel eyes. 

“No, Mother, no please. You can't possibly allow him to do this to me!” Draco yelled at the locked bedroom door, pulling on the handle again with all his might.

Snape glared up at the ceiling, silently counting himself down from ten, hoping to conjure the patience not to strangle the insolent, manipulative, fool-hardy, spoiled, little prat.

“Mother!” Draco yelled again, his pitch spiking high in fervent desperation. 

He pulled his battered fist up and pounded the door with a slew of heavy bangs. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Snape snapped, standing back up from the black velvet armchair. “Enough of this ridiculous display. Come to me.”

Snape's gaze pierced Draco with an intensity that stole his breath. His stomach tightened and his palms dampened with sweat. The words lingered, a stern command demanding unwavering obedience. 

A brief, weighty silence engulfed the room, interrupted only by Draco's strained breaths. Despite fear gripping him, Draco defiantly clung to the doorknob, fingers clenched in a white-knuckled grip.

"No, no, no— Snape!” Draco shouted when Snape descended upon him in cold fury, wrapping an iron lock grip around his bicep. “No!”

Though Snape had insisted that his mother was out of the house, Draco knew better. When he had tried to burst out the door the first time, he heard her cast the spell, locking him in from the outside.

He could hear her now, crying from the other side of the door– faint, quiet sobs, but he could hear it. 

Why was she doing this? How could she approve? Draco squirmed in Snape’s grip. No, no. He could not allow it to happen. This was not Hogwarts! Snape hadn’t smacked him in his home in years. 

Draco dug his feet into the plush carpet lining of his room, dead weighing himself against the door as Snape tugged on his arm. He slid down the smooth wooden surface as if he’d been struck by an unforgivable curse. 

“You're just going to let him hurt me?” Draco whispered through the slit lining the door, nervous anticipation building as Snape tightened the firm grip on his arm.

“Please, mother— please, don't allow this,” Draco pinched his eyes shut, his heart hammering in his ears, “you don't understand—it's torture. You're condemning me to agony!” 

Snape scoffed, “My patience is far beyond spent, Draco,” he leaned down, his voice dropping to a dangerous hush, “every minute you resist is another minute you will spend on the receiving end of the strap. Get. Up. Now.”

Draco’s stomach clenched. “No!” he shouted, yanking back with all his might. 

He was mortified— terrified. This couldn’t be happening to him, not now, not in his home, not after the war ended. He wasn’t going to accept it willingly, no matter how much his mother said he deserved it. 

He resisted as Snape yanked him again. His warm breath was spilling out in short huffs as he lay heavy against the door, cursing himself for giving his mother his wand earlier when she’d asked to inspect it for ‘damage’. 

Every part of Draco felt betrayed, how could she do this to him? This was a bloody set up!

Snape was growing more furious by the second. 

In that moment he had to admit to himself that Harry took discipline far, far better than Draco. Snape grit his teeth and yanked the boy's arm again. 

He had anticipated a show, but this was becoming a circus. 

"This is your last opportunity to comply. Submit willingly, or I will make you." Snape finally said, moving his free hand to the fold of his cloak. 

Draco’s icy gray eyes met him in a blaze of petrified defiance. “No! I can’t— I won’t!” 

That was the breaking point. 

As soon as Snape withdrew his wand, Narcissa burst into the room, a mix of sadness and determination etched across her tear-streaked face.

Shocking not only Draco, but Snape as well, Narcissa leaned down to grab hold of Draco’s other arm. 

“Up, Draco Malfoy,” she said in a tone he hadn’t heard in over a decade. 

The action prompted Draco to scramble up to his feet, his breath coming out in little hitches as he complied. He backed up another long step away from Snape, tucking himself in closer to her side. 

The next words out her mouth however, hit him harder than any curse could. 

“Go to him, Draco. I will not stand for a moment more of this nonsense.” 

Draco’s jaw dropped open as he head snapped away from Snape and onto her.

“Mother, please,” Draco pleaded. 

“No,” Narcissa said firmly. “You could have killed yourself, and you will be punished properly for it.” 

Draco’s icy gray eyes lost a flicker of their fire as he crossed his arms and glanced away. He dragged his toe into the plush carpet and drew in a shaky breath.

Snape’s dark gaze continued to bore down on him as he tightened his fingers around the tip of his wand. He was impressed with Narcissa, a bit astonished, but impressed. 

“You are fully aware that Wraith Elixir is forbidden,” Narcissa continued, her voice firm. “I cannot fathom what possessed you to brew such a dangerous potion. Do you have a death wish?”

Draco’s chest began to rise and fall, his anticipation climbing. Snape was bearing his black daggers for eyes into his soul, and his mother wasn’t stopping him. 

Snape watched Draco fidget in place, waiting a moment more to see if the young man would admit to his reasoning. 

“It was an accident-” Draco tired but was cut off when Snape and Narcissa said sharply in unison: 

“An accident ?”

Oh Merlin , Draco took in another shaky breath. He was beginning to feel cornered, like a field mouse at the mercy of a hawk. Two hawks. 

Snape scoffed, shaking his head, his patience wearing thin despite his promise to Narcissa that he would handle the situation delicately, a measure Draco scarcely deserved.

“Enough of this,” Snape snapped, “tell your mother why you attempted to brew it. Be quick.” 

“You don’t even know why!” Draco shot back, stepping away when he caught the fury in Snape’s eye. “Unless you read my bloody mind,” he muttered under his breath. 

Narcissa looked at Snape, her tired eyes moving about his tight expression.

“I didn’t need to read your mind to know what you were up to, you arrogant imbecile,” Snape shot back, a wry edge to his voice as he forced himself to swallow his venomous temper. “Wraith Elixir separates the body from the soul, you were hoping to pass through a specific location undetected, were you not?” 

Snape let his words remain vague, silently commanding Draco to elaborate. 

Draco swallowed and glanced away. 

How does he always know? Draco wondered while he rapidly tried to conjure up anything but the truth. 

“What location?” Narcissa snapped at her son, giving him her best maternal glare. 

They had attempted to talk Draco through this an hour ago but his lying and backpedaling had made the interrogation exhaustingly long. Rather than push, Narcissa took her cue to leave when Snape withdrew the strap. The action, no surprise to anyone, prompted an emotional upheaval from Draco that she wasn’t keen on hearing. 

Draco’s mind spun with possibilities, he wanted to lie again but he hardly could. Snape knew, he always fucking knew. 

“Azkaban,” Draco finally gave up and whispered, dropping his eyes away from his mothers. 

“Azkaban?” Narcissa questioned, keeping her emotions suppressed despite the sharp pain in her chest at the admission. 

Snape was hardly proud of Draco at that moment, but he was pleased to finally gain a modicum of compliance from the foolish boy. 

“I made a mistake, okay?” Draco lifted his hands up and backed another step away. “Please mum, just make him leave. I-I’ll tell you the whole thing.” 

Snape’s dark eyes narrowed, Draco was pushing dangerously far today. If they were alone, back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, this would have already been over and dealt with. In fact, by this point, Draco would have earned himself a stern reminder spanking on the importance of compliance in the face of discipline before he retired to his dorm for the evening. 

“You can tell me,” Narcissa started, giving Draco a false sense of hope. “Either now, or after Severus is through with you.” 

For the first time, tears welled up in Draco’s gray eyes, “Mother…”

Snape deemed it time to intervene again, he had to get back to Harry, who was undoubtedly occupying himself with questionable things, and this robust, inexcusable, show of defiance had already stretched well past an hour.

“Enough pleading with your mother. It is time to face the consequences of your moronic actions," Snape declared, narrowing the distance between them. 

He seized Draco's arm again, just below the shoulder, his grip like iron. "Now, come," he commanded, shoving Draco firmly toward the awaiting black chair.

Draco cast one more pleading look to his mother, but was sickened by the unwavering firmness he found in her hazel eyes. 

His chest flooded with a slew of fear and betrayal. 

Draco groaned, yet despite the shove he remained rooted in place, refusing to move. 

Snape’s temper hit its boiling point at the sheer defiance. 

In a fast second he abruptly turned Draco to the side, pulled his wand back high and administered six full strength smacks to the back of Draco’s trouser clad upper thighs. 

“Owww!!” Draco yelled, writhing in Snape’s grasp. “Okay! S-stop! Ow— I’ll GO!”

Snape tightened his grip on Draco's arm, his voice a low, menacing whisper as he pulled Draco’s ear to his lips. "I have been excessively patient with you, control your emotions and proceed with respect or face the severe consequence of defying me, Draco Malfoy.” 

Screwing his eyes shut and grinding his heel into the ground Draco moaned as he shifted his legs back and forth. 

His thighs stung so bad, this was already horrible .

Narcissa wrapped her cloak closer to her chest, forcing herself to remain firm. He needs this, she reminded herself, he could be dead. 

Fearing more preliminary smacks, Draco finally moved his anxious feet in step with Snape’s. 

His icy eyes darted to the strap laying next to the burnt potions book.

His stomach gyrated in terror; his mouth grew dry, and his breath became hard to catch. Snape had threatened him with the strap over the years, but he’d never been on the receiving end of it. 

Quickly, his thoughts returned to the whispers about the pain of it, lapping around the Slytherin House every few months or so. Goyle had received it once for sneaking a girl into the forbidden forest. Apparently, it was worse than he could’ve imagined. He talked about it like a war story, telling everyone the strap had brought him to the brink of death and left him sore for weeks on end.

Draco swallowed hard. He was more than scared; he was terrified of the pain. He was angry too—furious with his father, betrayed by his mother, and loathing Severus Snape with every fiber of his being. 

By the time they reached the black velvet armchair, Draco felt like running again as he watched Snape take a seat. His wide eyes shot back to the bedroom door but paused on the sight of his mother.

She looked so… sad. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest and her eyes looked vacant as she stared out his large bedroom window. The muted trickles of sunlight illuminated the dark stains of makeup etched under her eyes. Amidst the heavy combination of anger and fear, Draco suddenly felt a small twinge of guilt stab his quivering stomach. 

He didn't have long to ruminate in it though, as Snape yanked him to the side of the armless chair and moved to unfasten his trousers. 

In a snap Draco was brought back to the present moment. He hunched over violently, his hands grabbing at Snape's as he tried to step back. “No, no! Wait!” He shouted, pulling hard in protest.  

Snape glared up, holding tight to the waistband of his trousers, “Draco M—” 

“She has to leave first!” Draco yelled, battling Snape’s hands at the waistband of his trousers.

The pair struggled for a brief second before Draco heard her soft voice:

“I’ll be staying, honey,” Narcissa said calmly, turning to face them. “Severus won’t always be around to punish you, I need a proper demonstration for next time you behave poorly.” 

Draco’s mouth dropped open as he froze in utter horror. 

There was no way, no bloody way this was actually happening to him right now. 

Snape used the momentary break in struggle to his advantage, shoving Draco’s hands out of the way, and popping the metal clasp of his trousers. He turned the boy sharply so that his backside faced his mother rather than his front. Then, in one fluid motion, Draco was bared from the waist down. 

Draco gasped sharply, pulling his stunned attention away from his mother and down to Snape. He immediately moved to cover himself but lost his balance as Snape pulled him forward. 

With a final yank, Draco fell in a heap across Snape's firm thighs, letting out a breathless "umph" as he did.

Draco moaned loudly, covering his horribly flushed face with his hands, trembling as he felt Snape secure his legs with his own. 

“I hate you both,” Draco shot out, humiliation coursing through every part of him as waves of fear flooded his body. “I'm never ever talking to you again, Severus, or you, Mother .”

Narcissa glanced away, fresh tears sprung back to the corners of her makeup stained eyes. 

Snape on the other hand glowered, piercing his dark gaze into the back of the blonde’s head. 

Insolent little prat, Snape thought to himself as he took a minute to adjust Draco’s position. He would never stand for this at Hogwarts, never. Not once had Draco possessed the sheer nerve to fight a punishment to this obscene extent. It was only out of respect for Narcissa’s state of mind that Snape forced himself to remain so collected and exceedingly patient. 

He grabbed the young wizard’s pale waist, his potion stain palms encompassing Draco’s hips, and he pushed him forward, shifting his backside to a better angle. 

Draco squirmed hard and sucked in a sharp breath, he hated this. 

In that tense, horrible moment, Draco decided this was the worst thing he’d ever gone through in his entire life. Remorse of his actions had disappeared, replaced by a vivid onslaught of anger. He would never forgive his mother for this brutal stab of betrayal.  

Once Snape had Draco where he wanted him, he said low and stern: “Your hands, Draco.” 

Draco moaned, an audible protest against the inevitable. After a tense moment, he reluctantly slid his hands to the base of his back, knowing Snape would pin them there. 

Bitter resentment surged through him, as it did with each spanking – a silent curse against Snape, who, since the incident where he had punched him in the leg five years ago, insisted on this patronizing routine. Every spanking since then had become a reminder of the time he lost his privilege to free arms and was now forced to be fully restrained for punishments. 

Snape took a moment to hike Draco’s cashmere sweater up his back and out of the way, then with his left hand he clasped Draco’s waiting wrists, firmly pushing them down into place. 

Given the intensity of the strap, Snape had decided to give Draco a lengthy, proper warm up first, hoping to break down some of his defiance in the process. 

Snape shot a final glance up at Narcissa, content to see her watching with an air of maternal strength rather than ill placed pity. 

He pulled his hand up high and brought it down in a sharp, stinging smack.

“AH!!” Draco's sharp cry echoed through the room, a haunting symphony of pain lingered in the air as the first of many red marks blossomed across his flinching bum.

The bright afternoon sunlight began to fade, casting a serene glow on Snape’s property. As the evening slowly approached, Ron and Harry engaged in a playful duel— shooting out vibrant spells and teasing each other after every burst from their wands. 

Despite moments of electrified focus, Harry found himself distracted, glancing around the property every few minutes. 

His sparkling emerald eyes traversed the lush landscape, his gaze shifting from the back door  behind Ron to the front of the house. Despite the late hour, there was still no sign of Snape. 

Harry had finished his chores early, completed his essays, despite endless questions from Ron, and even made a couple of sandwiches for lunch. 

Yet, despite the best distractions the day had offered, he couldn’t tear his thoughts away from the idea that Draco— spoiled Draco Malfoy, of all people— might be getting that dreaded strap, for something he desperately wanted to know about. 

Draco getting spanked made no sense to him; he could hardly believe Snape would follow through with it. While he knew Slytherins were subject to Snape's strict disciplinary style, the idea of Malfoy receiving it baffled him.

Harry wished he could theorize about it with Ron but there was no way to broach the subject without exposing his own fate under Snape’s firm hand. Sure, eventually he’d tell him, they were best mates after all, but not today. If Ron found out now, there would be no redemption for the former Potions Master in his loyal eyes. 

Ron shot out another spell, a crack of vibrant color escaping the tip of his wand, Harry barely moved in time to deflect it. The sharp snap broke him free from his wandering thoughts. 

Ron laughed, “Lost your touch, huh mate? It’s alright, I go easier on ya.”

“Try me me again!” Harry yelled across the back yard, refocusing his attention on the playful duel at hand.  

Before Ron could cast the next spell, Harry shot Ron’s wand out of his hand with lightning speed, disarming him with ease. 

“Hey!” Ron yelled, casting Harry a tight glare from across the yard. “I wasn’t ready!” 

Harry chuckled and shoved his wand into his front pocket. 

“Oh, you weren’t? Sorry about that!”

A mischievous smile pulled up the corners of his mouth as strolled over to Ron.

“Oh no ya don’t,” Ron said pointing his wand back at Harry. “Get back over there, you can’t win on a cheat like that.” 

“Let’s pause a second, yeah?” Harry said, reaching Ron and peering around him. 

Ron turned to look where Harry’s gaze lingered. 

“He’s not back yet,” Ron said, his eyes following Harry’s to the back porch of the house. 

“Trust me, I’m keeping a sharp lookout so I can jump on my broom the minute I see his greasy black hair.” Ron said as he slid his own wand into his pocket.

“Ah, come on.” Harry tried for the second time that day. “Just stay for dinner.”

“No way!” Ron snapped back, he had no intention of sharing a meal near Snape, invited to it or not. The space between him and the bat at the teachers table in the dining hall was close enough. 

“You’re sure we have to wait on the sleeping draughts?” Ron asked, redirecting the conversation back to a topic they’d flushed out for hours earlier that day. 

Harry took a sharp breath in and nodded. His green gaze lingered under the deep circles beneath Ron’s eyes. He was filled with a mixture of emotions thinking back to their plan— caught between a deep desire to help Ron finally get some sleep and an utter terror at facing Snape’s wrath for breaking and entering his potions storage. 

All day his thoughts wandered back to the sensation of the paddle pressed against his thoroughly whacked backside last night as Snape had warned him of the strapping that would ensue for further missteps. It made his stomach roll and for the first time, the consequence of his impending action rivaled his desire to follow through with it. 

Harry refocused and gave Ron an apologetic look, “Yeah sorry, mate. I think he was going into town to get ingredients for stuff, he’s bound to know if I swipe them tonight.” 

Ron signed but nodded, he didn’t want to wait three weeks to be able to sleep, but it was his only option since his family was leaving tomorrow for their memorial trip for Fred.

“You’re sure he won’t notice the replacements?” Ron asked, his desire for the potions clashing with his concern for Harry if Snape found out. Those essays looked exhaustingly long from the brief peek he was allowed to take at them.

Harry sucked in another little breath, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glanced over to the stone wall encompassing the potions storage. His face in a pensive line. 

It wasn’t a matter of if Snape found out, but when Snape found out. Harry knew he couldn’t hide it from him for long, but he’d practically come to terms with it. He owed Ron the favor, the man needed sleep. 

“No, I’ll make sure they look the same.” Harry reassured him.

“You don’t have to ya know,” Ron tried for a third time that evening, “seriously, I should do it myself, then you could play it off like you were clueless.” 

Harry shook his head, he didn’t know what Snape would do if he found out Ron had stolen from him, but he didn’t want to put Ron at risk— not with everything he’d gone through. 

“No, trust me,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “It’s better if I do it.” 

The once bright bedroom now lay bathed in shadows as the last lights of the spring sun receded. A somber tension filled the air, accompanied by Draco's harsh, wracked sobs as he trembled over Snape's knees.

Narcissa was no longer watching; her glossy red nails swept past the corners of her eyes as she continued to release the pent-up emotions swirling within her chest at the sound of Draco's broken cries. She stared out the window, dreading the end of the night.

Snape glanced down at the crying boy over his knee. Per usual, Draco had taken the hand spanking with as little discretion as humanly possible, jerking and bellowing with every smack. However, as Snape brought down the last hard round of blistering smacks, he felt the shift in Draco's cries, signifying a switch from theatrics to genuine discomfort.

Draco hung his head, sobbing fervently, his shoulders trembling from the intensity of Snape's hand and the embarrassment of having his mother watch. 

It hurt; Snape's hand always did. But having his mother there listening— looking, not helping, had amplified his emotions to an extensive height. 

Draco's initial surge of fury had ebbed into distress, and his balled-up fists trapped behind his back were now open, holding tightly to Snape's potion-stained palm.

With each hard smack, he had felt less angry and more broken. 

He had felt broken for weeks, furious with his father for putting this unbearable weight on their shoulders. Once blinded by influence, Draco now saw the situation for what it was. How dare he involve them with the Dark Lord. It didn’t matter that Voldemort was dead now, thanks to him, everything had changed for the worse. Draco hated how the manor, once filled with fond memories from his childhood, now felt like a tomb of darkness and suffering. 

Snape released Draco’s wrists, pausing for a moment to offer a few consoling pats to his back. 

Draco’s bum was thoroughly smacked, sporting a deep red hue stretching from the top of his punished skin to the center of his soft white thighs. 

Every spanking Draco walked away with red thighs. He couldn’t help but buck hard and flail, earning those searing extra smacks every single time. 

Draco cried for a minute more as Snape soothed him but the moment Snape shifted, his stomach tightened up in an apprehensive knot. 

“Get up, Draco,” Snape instructed, his voice carrying the same measured, stern tone. “It’s time for the strap.”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head.

“Oh no— no, n-not that!” He pleaded through tears, a renewed vigor coming over him, stirred by intense fear as Snape pulled him to his feet.

“I-I w-won’t do it again. P-please Snape, d-don’t.” His face was flushed red covered in wet tears, "I don't need i-it."  

Instead of responding, Snape merely pulled the sobbing blonde with him to the end of the bed. 

Without releasing Draco’s arm, Snape propped his boot clad foot on the bottom of the gleaming metal frame. He was standing in front of the bed with his left thigh pulled up just enough for Draco to bend over it. 

Snape leaned over and grabbed the handle of the strap, causing Draco to moan and twist against his grip. 

Draco’s stomach plummeted when the long piece of leather licked across the burnt potions book as Snape pulled it up from its resting place on the black velvet comforter.

Draco yanked back against Snape’s iron tight grip again, his tear-laced sobs picking up in intensity. 

“Enough. Look at me,” Snape commanded, prompting Draco to still and look up.  

“I will not be able to hold both your hands and waist while I discipline you,” Snape leveled Draco with an unwavering dark look. “Will you be able to keep your hands in front or must I bind them now?” 

“Snape, p-please,” Draco let out another pitiful cry, pulling back again through a fit of renewed sobs. 

Narcissa’s chest clenched tight at hearing Draco's desperate plea. Unlike before, she knew he was no longer putting on a show. She ran her red nails across the soft velvet fabric of the chair, taking a deep breath, attempting to steal her resolve not to intervene. 

“Silence,” Snape commanded, effortlessly pulling the crying boy closer. Lowering his tone, he continued, "I’d like to see some courage from you, young man. This is not befitting behavior for someone so justly deserving of punishment."

Draco’s harsh sobs quieted, if only a bit, as his cloudy eyes bore down into the velvet comforter. He despised every second of this ordeal, hating it with every fiber of his being. Yet, deep down, he knew Snape was right. His thoughts raced back to the night of the explosion, briefly flickering between the blaze of the fire and the intense fear in his mother's voice. He was lucky to have even made it out of the shed in time before the whole thing blew.

Accepting punishments was never his forte, but a small part of him yearned to prove himself to his Head of House. Slytherins were supposed to be resilient. 

Beyond this torment of a punishment, Snape had saved him that day on the tower, doing what he couldn't bring himself to. Unlike others, Snape embodied a courage that surpassed anyone he knew. Deep down he wished he could possess even a small amount of it. 

Reflecting, Draco acknowledged that, without Snape, the Dark Lord might have killed or tortured him. He felt not only guilty for his actions but indebted to the man, compelling him to calm down and try to obey.

“Now,” Snape said, bringing Draco back to the present as he ushered him in place to bend over his thigh. “I will implore you once more, will you manage to restrain yourself or need I bind you?” 

With no word from his silent mother behind him, and a desire to prove himself to Snape, Draco finally resigned himself to his fate. 

“F-fine. I-I’ll t-try,” Draco whispered through tears as he focused on catching his breath. 

“No,” Snape corrected, tightening his grip on Draco’s arm. "Not 'try,' Draco. Say, 'I will, sir.' and mean it."

Draco nodded, holding the front hem of his blue cashmere shirt, squeezing the fabric tight as he tried to steady himself for a response. 

His bum throbbed and he was terrified for how much worse it was sure to feel. 

“I-I, I will, s-sir.” Draco stammered out, sucking in a tight breath as Snape nodded and guided him forward into position. 

The center of Draco’s stomach pressed down first over Snape’s propped leg; it was uncomfortable and tight, so he maneuvered himself forward— getting his hips settled over Snape’s solid thigh. 

His breath was hitched, coming out in nervous little stops as he crossed his arms and dropped his trembling blonde head between them. 

A tense hush came over the room filled only with the nervous sputters from Draco’s previous sobs. 

Narcissa was silent, tracing her red nail over her protruding collar bone as she watched with a broken stare. 

Snape tightened his strong arm around Draco’s waist, slipping his warm hand just beneath the side of Draco’s quivering hip as he braced him tight. 

“I expect far better out of you, Draco Malfoy.” Snape scolded, hoping to instill responsibility into the boy he’d watched grow up for years. “After all we've endured, especially after the war, how dare you dabble in the Dark Arts willingly, forbidden potions no less. Do you realize the risks involved beyond the damage you inflicted to your family’s property? The consequences could be catastrophic, not just for you but for those around you. This kind of recklessness is unacceptable. It will not happen again, and I will not permit it, nor will your mother."

Draco choked on a few shaky breaths, nodding his hanging head between his arms. 

Steeling himself, Snape pulled the strap back to an appropriate height. Feeling the shift under his hips, Draco let out a fresh sob, crossing his arms in even tighter and screwing his eyes shut.

The strap whipped down in a biting crack that reverberated throughout the massive bedroom. 

Nothing in the world could have prepared Draco for the pain that followed. 

He jerked with such violent force Snape nearly dropped him, prompting Narcissa to shoot up to her feet immediately. 

“AH!!!” Draco writhed and kicked, finally able to form a word through the searing pain.

As Snape had anticipated, Draco flailed his body, pulling his right hand back to pry hard at Snape’s grip on his trembling hip. 

Resilience and courage could bugger off, he couldn’t handle this. He wouldn’t. 

“Oh no, no!! P-please, please!! I can’t! I-I can’t!” Draco bellowed as Snape tightened his grip.

“Wait, Severus,” Narcissa said as Snape moved to withdraw his wand from his pocket. 

Snape let out a tense breath, giving her an exhausted expression as he held down the writhing, sobbing young wizard. 

Narcissa glanced at the dark red stripe now prominent in the center of Draco’s spanked bum. It looked painful, but thankfully, not nearly as vicious as Draco’s cries made it sound.

She pulled her shoulders back and steadied her hands as she walked over to Draco’s bent frame. 

“M-mum-m,” Draco sobbed, when he felt her comforting hand settle on his trembling back, “I-I, pleas-s-e, pleeeaase.” 

“Shh,” Narcissa murmured, running her hand up and down his spine. “You’re doing so well, so well. It’ll be through soon.” 

Her soft, tender voice made Draco sob harder as he moved to grab hold of her arm. 

“Would you like mummy to hold your hands?” Her voice came out in a near whisper, eliciting a harsh sob from Draco. 

He nodded his head fervently and kept his blurry eyes pinched shut. 

Draco hardly cared about his pride anymore, if she wasn’t going to stop the pain then he needed her support to endure it. He wanted this horrible experience to end so badly. 

Narcissa nodded, she swept off some of the lingering ash from the burnt potions book and took a seat on the velvet comforter. 

She opened her slender, warm palms and Draco took them quickly. 

She glanced down at the battered marks on his knuckles, forcing herself to remember the terror she felt when she heard the explosion and saw the bright orange flames climb high into the dark night air. She pinched her eyes shut and focused on the sheer horror she experienced while she screamed for Draco, thinking she’d lost him. 

Snape sucked in an undetectably small breath of his own. He forcefully pushed away the torrent of emotions the unexpected, tender display prompted, making himself focus solely on the discipline at hand— nothing more. 

Snape cleared his throat and tightened his grip on Draco’s back again. 

“Ten, Draco.” Snape said sharply, his tone lacking any hint of the discomfort he felt. “Count them out.” 

Draco’s broken ‘yes, sir’ was so quiet Snape barely heard it. 

The next crack of the strap smacked down quickly, eliciting a violent jerk from Draco as his anguished cry pierced the heavy air with pained remorse. 

He tightened his grip on his mother’s hands, kicking his feet. 

It took him a long moment to stop gasping and catch his breath before he gritted out a shaky: “O-one, s-s-sir.” 

Snape nodded, and pulled the strap back up again. 

His expression remained stern, unmoved, as he delivered the next punishing blow. The strap cracked sharply, eliciting another heart-wrenching sob from Draco.

“AH!!” He screamed, his voice strained with pain. “Owww- uh- t-two, sir,”

Narcissa's heart sank low as she held Draco's quivering hands, rubbing her thumb soothingly across the top of his trembling skin. 

The room echoed with Draco's pain laced cries as each subsequent strike Snape brought down made him scream, the intensity escalating with every count. 

Snape maintained his slow and deliberate pace. Narcissa could feel Draco's desperate grip on her hands tighten after each agonizing impact.

“T-Three, s-sir! AH!! Four, sir! S-Snape, OW!!” Draco's counting became more erratic, interjected with vivid pleas for mercy. He kicked his feet, trying his best to mitigate the horrible, searing pain engulfing his tender spanked bum. 

Narcissa welled up with fresh tears, mirroring the anguish etched across Draco's face. She whispered down words of comfort, trying to absorb some of his pain through the connection of their hands.

The strap continued its merciless descent, and Draco's sobs grew more desperate. His count wavered, the numbers blending with inconsolable cries. Snape continued on, determined to enforce the discipline, while Narcissa held Draco's hands, a silent witness to his torment.

“S-S-Seven, sir—owww! Eight, s-sir! Ow, ow, ow!! P-Pleaseee s-stop!” Draco's begging for support merged into a heartbreaking chorus, his body shuddering with every sob as he held her hands tightly.

As the ninth strike lashed down, Draco's piercing cry reached a crescendo. His grip on Narcissa's hands was almost crushing, seeking solace in the only source of comfort within his reach.

“Nine. Breath, Draco.” He heard Snape count for him. “One more. We are nearly through.”

All the fight in Draco melted into the stream of guilt ridden sobs. His body lay slack and his sweaty hands stayed tightly gripped around his mothers. 

Lying there in throbbing, searing pain, he pondered the aftermath of the explosion he had caused once again—vividly recalling the shattered cries in his mother's voice as they extinguished the flames with spells. She had embraced him tightly, but all he could focus on at that moment was the rage within him, not the impact he had made.

Reflecting on the mix of fear and disappointment he had seen in her eyes that night, a profound sense of remorse washed over him for the pain he had added to her life in recent weeks. In that tense, broken moment, he made a solemn vow to stop being so self absorbed and grow into a better person for her.  

Narcissa looked up at Snape with tear-clouded, pleading eyes. 

Snape rubbed his thumb on Draco’s hip for a moment then said in a clear, unwavering tone:

“Today marks the end of your association with the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy. You were destined for far greater pursuits. Take heed of how you feel in this moment, for if any whisper reaches me of your entanglement with forbidden potions again, consider this punishment merciful in comparison to what will follow.” 

Draco hiccuped a few times, nodding his bent head quickly as he squeezed his mothers hands. The top of his bum to the center of his thighs ached with a pain he could hardly tolerate. He couldn't fathom anything more dreadful, and he vowed never to engage in such foolish actions again.

“I-I’m s-o s-sorry.” Draco choked out through healing tears. 

Snape pulled the strap back for a final time, and paused. 

“And you listen to me, confronting your father in prison won't alleviate the pain he's caused you and your mother.” Snape added, making Narcissa’s face flood with more anguish.

“You need to grasp that this endeavor only jeopardizes your safety. It won’t alter the past. Taking such a risk would only put your life in danger, and you must never do that again. Is that perfectly clear?”

“I-it is, s-sir.” Draco said adamantly, holding his breath for the last stroke.

Snape brought it down hard and fast, making it the worst one yet. Draco shook his head, gripping his mothers hands tightly through the pain as he let out a final anguished cry through clenched teeth.

“Ten.” Snape's voice cut through the room, halting the punishment. He dropped the strap on the bed and moved to rub Draco’s lower back. 

Draco, breathless and broken, clung to his mother’s hands as Snape rubbed soothing circles all over his trembling back.

He had never experienced such vivid, hot pain radiating over his bum the way it did in that moment. He had to be bruised, he thought, probably bloody too. 

Narcissa's heart ached as she looked into Draco's tear-streaked face, her hands still cradling his shaking ones. 

The room, heavy with the aftermath of pain, held a fragile stillness as Snape assessed the impact of the discipline he had administered.

Draco’s bum was striped with red, ugly lines, but as Snape ran his hand down it in a quick pass, he was relieved to feel no hard abrasions to the skin. He doubted the last strike, despite its intensity, would even welt. Draco would be sore for the night, but he would make a fast recovery. 

After a few moments of raspy sobbing Draco found his breath, “I-I’m so, s-so sorry, mum.” He said quietly as he released her hands. 

Narcissa nodded, pulling her hand up to Draco’s bent, sweat laced neck, “I am too.” 

Snape paused the comforting circles, pulling his brow up at the words and giving Narcissa a pensive look. 

“Not for arranging your punishment,” she clarified to the both of them, “but for not stepping in when our involvement with the Dark Lord started. I should have gotten you out of this place when I had the chance, Draco. I should have taken you away from it all.” Narcissa’s voice cracked as she finally let go of the guilt she’d been holding close to her chest.

Snape felt Draco push up against him so he moved to help the boy down, dropping his leg and stabilizing Draco’s arm. In an effort to save the boy’s modesty, Snape swiftly repositioned Draco’s boxer pants as he helped him to stand. 

The minute Draco was on his feet again, he dropped down to envelop his mother in a tight embrace. 

Snape rolled his sleeve down on his right arm and walked away, giving the pair a private moment to connect. He withdrew his wand and tapped the lanterns on Draco’s end table, igniting them to warm life. 

Snape flicked his wand again and a stream of the elegantly long candles gracing the marble shelves in the room flickered in a burst of soft light. 

While Draco and his mother soaked in the catharsis of forgiveness and tender comfort, Snape’s thoughts drifted back to Harry and his own feelings over the last few days. 

Discipline had always been a hard necessity in his life, but never before had he experienced such a torrent of emotions while administering it. He reasoned that, perhaps in part, the closing of the war and the subsequent easing of life-threatening pressure allowed him to feel the discomfort that accompanied the resolve to see such punishments through.

Over the last few days, he found himself confronting a uproar of buried emotion while punishing Harry and now Draco, engaged in a battle with suppressed feelings that he had shut out long ago.

As he glanced back to the pair briefly, watching Narcissa run her hand up and down Draco’s back, Snape thought of Lily. 

Harry was more than deserving of the same tenderness, yet he hardly felt his attempt at consolation could match what hers would have been in such moments. 

Then, just when the cold grip of guilt threatened to plunge him down further into a flurry of self doubt, Narcissa caught his eye, mouthing a simple, soft: thank you.

When Snape’s dark gaze received the gesture, a fleeting moment of respite washed over him. It was as if, in her acknowledgment, he found a brief pause in the relentless start of guilt that threatened to drown him. For a heartbeat, Narcissa’s gratitude resonated with an imagined echo of Lily's approval – a quiet reassurance that, perhaps, providing structure and discipline was a form of care, even if his came veiled in strictness.

Snape gave her a small nod and interlaced his fingers behind his back.

Draco let out a spent sigh. Giving his mother one last tight hug, he stood and turned around to face Snape. 

His red rimmed eyes and tearstained face looked a bit shy as he dropped his icy gray gaze to the plush carpet. 

Narcissa rose as well and pressed a gentle kiss to Draco's forehead before gracefully exiting the room, leaving them alone to converse in her absence. Relieved to have it behind her, she was determined to shower Draco with as much love as possible that evening.

The soft click of the closing door echoed in the room as they both observed her departure. A moment later, Snape's dark gaze shifted back to Draco, and he approached slowly, closing the distance between them

Draco kept his eyes down for a moment, his backside had never hurt so bad in his entire life and he suddenly felt a swell of deep embarrassment over his performance of sorts. 

After a moment of tense silence, Draco glanced up at Snape.

“So, um, how did I fare compared to Goyle?” he inquired, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

The question caught Snape off guard, and he raised an eyebrow at the blonde.

“What exactly are you referring to?” 

“Goyle,” Draco reiterated, a touch of curiosity in his tone. “You know, when you whipped him for sneaking a girl into the Forbidden Forest. Did he… yell louder than me?”

Snape raised both his brows at the redirection of the conversation, considering Draco’s question for a moment. 

“I believe Mr. Goyle misled you on the consequences he received for that infraction.” Snape admitted, almost smiling at the way Draco seemed to bristle up in annoyance. 

“What do you mean? He said you nearly killed him with that,” Draco pointed at the menacing strap on his bed as he pulled his hands up to his hips. 

“Certainly not. Due to the Headmaster’s intervention, he only received a round with the paddle for that ridiculous stunt, not the strapping it warranted.”  

Snape watched with mild amusement as Draco’s face contorted in disgust. 

“That lying little weasel.” Draco spat, making Snape actually smile a bit. 

His Slytherins would never change.

“Aside from your musings regarding Mr. Goyle’s infraction, are you quite alright?” Snape asked in his typical, neutral tone. 

A small silence hung in the warm room, the honey golden glow illuminating the velvet furnishings and luxurious items strewn about the space as Draco thought for a moment. 

“No.” Draco finally said, blushing a little as he stared at the carpet. 

“No?” Snape repeated, lifting a brow up at him. 

“Well of course not. I don’t believe I’ll ever sit comfortably again.” Draco grumbled as he pulled his hands back to give his sore bum a rub. 

Snape scoffed. 

“In all my years of administering discipline, Draco, no one has ever put on a display that rivals yours.” 

Draco scrunched his nose up and frowned. 

“Well, that’s because you seem to have a penchant for targeting only us Slytherins. Perhaps if you were to discipline Weasley or Potter for once, my actions wouldn’t appear so dramatic.”

Snape rolled his eyes, despite Harry’s tumble off his lap yesterday morning, nothing the boy had done could hold a candle to the circus of insolence Draco had just put on. He doubted Weasley would have the sheer nerve to put up such a fuss either. 

But, he humored the boy nevertheless.

“Perhaps.” 

Draco huffed and uncrossed his arms, taking a minute to reflect before saying a very quiet, “Thank you, Snape… for everything.” 

Snape replied with a slow nod, truly impressed with the sentiment. While he knew Draco was referring to more than just the discipline, a thanks following a spanking was a first for the boy. No less than a year ago, Draco had stormed out of his office after a paddling and refused to speak to him unless required to for days on end— casting sharp icy glares at him whenever he got the chance. Now, here he was, expressing some gratitude and showcasing a glimmer of newfound maturity. 

“Anytime, Draco. I shall be available all summer to reel you back in.” Snape replied, smirking a bit at the red hue flooding Draco’s face.

Draco sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. 

“Better you than my mother,” he muttered back. “Snape, you must talk her out of that. I don’t want her to… that’s too embarrassing. Completely inappropriate, really.” 

Snape snorted, teenage boys were so fickle with their egos. “Then behave yourself.” 

Draco scoffed and glanced disdainfully at the bed before swiftly retrieving the burnt potions book and handing it back to Snape.

“Here,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, “I have no interest in ever laying eyes on this again.”

Snape nodded and tapped the book with his wand. The pair watched it disappear into thin air. 

“Would you like a hug?” Snape offered a moment later, watching Draco’s face twist up in shock.

“Wha—uh, well…” Draco stuttered, completely taken back by the gesture. 

Snape opened his arms, just slightly, extending an offer he hadn’t done since Draco was just a small boy. 

Draco swallowed and glanced down, but sheepishly took a step forward and fell into the comforting embrace. 

Snape patted his back a few times, hugging him close and allowing the moment to stretch in the soft glow of the bedroom. Draco buried his head into Snape’s shoulder and took in a deep, cleansing breath. 

After a comforting minute or so, Draco pulled back.

“Why do you smell like bloody flowers now?” He suddenly asked, stepping out of the embrace.

Snape frowned. 

“Perhaps you are detecting fresh clippings of lavender, used for tea.” 

Draco could help but snort then laugh loudly, prompting Snape to scoff and lightly smack him upside the head. 

“Hand me the strap,” Snape said after a moment, extending his potion stained palm. 

Draco grimaced, his laughing slowing to a prompt halt. 

“I was only teasing!” He said, taking a precautionary step back. 

Snape glowered at the blonde, “I need to take it home, Draco. It’s late.” 

“Oh, right, ‘course. ” Draco said, forcing himself to pick it up and hand it over quickly. 

Snape took the strap and folded it, stowing it away in the depth of his dark trouser pocket. 

“What’s your hurry?” Draco inquired, his voice carrying a hint of nonchalant arrogance again. “There’s no need to rush off. You could stay a while longer.”

Snape shook his head and swung the bedroom door open. 

"I hate to be the one to dampen your vibrant spirit with this earth-shattering news, but Harry Potter is at my home, up to no good—no doubt,” he said over his shoulder as he moved out the bedroom doorway. 

“What?” Draco gasped, moving abruptly after Snape but stopping to wince at the throbbing pain radiating from his backside. 

Merlin, it hurt. He paused for a minute to rub his bum, his hands moving gently to ease the ache, before charging back out of his room a little stiffly. 

“Potter is living with you?” Draco shot out after Snape, hurrying to catch up. His warm bare feet met the cold marble in a slick hurry. 

“Indeed.” Snape replied, moving with measured precision down the cascade of elegant stairs, his shoes clacking throughout the empty stairwell. Thoroughly panicked, Draco pursued him with haste. Charging down the staircase in his short silk pants, without a second thought to his modesty now. No, no, no— Potter couldn’t know about this. It would be the bitter end of his social life which was hanging by a thread already. 

“Wait, wait— just a moment, Snape!” His tone spiked in pitch, urgency coloring his spilled out words. “Surely, he’s unaware of your purpose here, isn’t he?”

Snape abruptly turned on his heel, nearly colliding with Draco on the grand staircase in the process. 

“Draco.” Snape’s deep voice echoed in the stairwell. “Enough. No, I did not consult him or seek his intimate advice before coming here to smack you,” Snape retorted dryly, casting Draco a pointed look that demanded his silence.

“Very well,” Draco said slowly with a little flush creeping up his neck. “I should hope you wouldn’t.”

Snape turned and continued his descent, meeting Narcissa at the bottom of the wide staircase. 

“I need a word with your mother.” Snape said, shewing the blonde off with a wave. “When I return next, every remnant of that explosion shall be cleaned up. Do it by hand, no magic. You understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” Draco grumbled, turning to leave for the dining room. “Snape?”

“What?” Snape asked, pulling his gaze away from Narcissa. 

“Is Harry, erm, Potter aware that you have that strap?” Draco asked.

Narcissa suppressed a little smile as she recalled the look on Harry's face after defying Snape last night. Remembering the faint smacks that had rang out down the stairs not long after the boys ascended the staircase. 

Snape sighed in response.

More than a twinge of apprehension had grabbed hold of Draco at the possibility of Harry knowing he was still spanked by Snape, especially at their age. Then, at the same time, he also felt a little sense of curiosity wash over him at the thought of Harry living with Snape… maybe…

“That is none of your business. We’ve concluded this conversation, Draco. Make yourself scarce and be good for your mother this week.” Snape commanded, refusing to give any information. 

The boys would have to discover his approach to their discipline on their own; he simply refused to place himself in the middle of their life long rivalry and all the drama that would surely ensue if he did. 

Draco sighed but nodded, turning around with a hint of satisfaction at the vague response. 

Snape was a hard ass when it came to rules— leaving little doubt in Draco’s mind over what Harry had to be up against.

A satisfied smirk drew up the corners of Draco’s mouth, like a cat who’d caught the famous canary as he moved through the dark manor. 

Maybe he’d have to pay Potter a little visit tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

A murmur of soft wind penetrated the otherwise quiet evening in Silent Hollow. The cold spring air wrapped its soft fingertips around the freshly sprouted oak leaves, swirling them about in little shakes. 

Severus Snape maintained a brisk pace, strolling  along the moonlight graced trail in contemplative silence. He had opted for a leisure walk home to clear his mind, hoping to regain some semblance of balance after the emotional chokehold he’d been caught in the last three days. 

His thoughts returned to Lily, as they often did now that the war had ended and Harry had taken up a room in his home. Snape oscillated between doubt and resolve, considering the impact his discipline was making on her only son.

Recalling Narcissa's comfort over Draco, Snape found himself wishing he could provide the same warmth for Harry. 

After all, the boy had needed to force himself into his chest yesterday, just to receive a hug he should have been offered freely. Snape knew beyond doubt that Lily's tenderness would surely outdo the comfort he could offer the boy in such moments. 

The familiar ache of utter brokenness returned to him as he thought of her delicate face, soft features and warm smile. 

Snape sighed and shook his head, vowing to find ways to offer more physical comfort to Harry. He hoped deep down Lily knew he’d grown to care for  the boy, even though it was often veiled in a slew of strictness and formalities. 

In the solitude the night offered, Snape let his rigid composure drop at the memories rekindling from his torrent childhood in Spinner’s End. He had never been consoled by his father after a whipping, nor his mother. Try as she might, his father hated physical affection, forbidding her to offer it after a punishment.

At Hogwarts, Dumbledore would offer consoling back pats after the paddle or cane, Slughorn too, but neither had initiated warm embraces. Which Snape accepted, and expected. There was a certain formality to school discipline that hardly invited grand displays of comfort precluding it. He was fine with it, the subtle gestures of comfort were still far more soothing than what he was offered at home. 

Snape peered up at the rattling oak leaves, his long black hair whisped about in little flicks as he considered his attempts at consoling Harry yesterday night. Regardless of his initial discomfort, it had felt rather… natural to hold the boy close. 

He glanced up at the blanket of stars with a contemplative expression on his face. 

Just as he had come to a place of respite from the onslaught of distress that had ravaged him over the last seventy two hours, a vibrant crack of purple illuminated the dark night sky above his home. 

In an instant, his pulse quickened, his strong brisk strides slowed in a pensive pause. 

A flicker of trepidation crossed his face, though it was quickly replaced by an exhausted scowl. Closely following the vibrant flash of purple, a familiar burst of laughter filled the large property, instantly bristling him.

A following flash of a light blue came after the purple wake, another loud laugh echoed in the air behind it. Snape knew from the juvenile burst of cackles that Harry’s redheaded counterpart was back, at his property, uninvited— again . 

Snape stopped walking and listened intently. The boys were less than a quarter mile out but their boisterous words rang out crystal clear in the cold night air. Snape listened to Harry mercilessly tease Ron about being afraid to stay for dinner. 

Snape knit his brow at the words. Why an offer of free food distressed Ronald Weasley, of all people, made little sense to him. He rolled his eyes at the protest that followed. 

Ron insisted that he had no interest in enduring such a ‘right awkward’ obligation. He really had to go, he told Harry, it was dangerously late. Though, despite Ron's best attempts to leave, Harry cast another spell, illuminating the dark sky with a mesmerizing hue of turquoise blue. 

Snape tsked out loud, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

As the soft night breeze caressed the hard lines of his face, he found himself doing what he hadn't in  years. Prompted by the tenderness of the night echoing with Harry’s strong laughter, he glanced up to the blanket of twinkling stars and muttered: 

“I hope you know, I’m exerting my best effort with him these days. However, your son's audacity in testing boundaries is… quite notable, to say the least, Lily.”

He shook his head pulling his exhausted gaze back down. It had been many, many years since he had spoken to her memory, but somehow, it felt right tonight. He rubbed his hand across his face and straightened his black shirt out.

Then, in a twisting, blinding flash, Snape Aparated, disappearing from the lonesome gravel path.

Ron pulled his wand up, poised to cast the next disarming spell, but before he could, Professor Snape materialized onto the lawn between them in a blinding twist.

Harry and Ron abruptly halted, Ron momentarily losing his breath, and Harry letting out a soft, “oh bloody hell,” as they found themselves instantly under Snape's scrutinizing gaze.

For whatever reason, neither of them had anticipated him to Aparate straight into the backyard.

So much for Ron’s eagle eye lookout , Harry thought.

“Harry Potter,” Snape's voice was low and slow, glaring down first at Harry's drawn wand then up to his guilty emerald eyes. “Is this your idea of appropriate behavior given the circumstances you find yourself in?”

Harry flushed, hurriedly tucking his wand into his pocket. “Uh, well, er… no. Sorry, Professor Snape, we were just—”

Snape raised his calloused palm, effectively silencing Harry, then turned his cold, icy glare to Ron.

“Mr. Weasley, kindly refresh my memory. When did you receive a formal invitation from me requesting your commencement with this ludicrous display of unrestricted magic on my property?”

Ron swallowed, quickly tucking his wand into his back pocket. “I didn’t… sir.”

Snape let the cold spring air fill with a palpable tension as he considered his next steps. On any other occasion, he might have been tempted to take Harry over his knee for this little display of bravado. A duel in the middle of a neighborhood—at his age? What utter nonsense. 

Then again, it was late and he genuinely desired a break from administering discipline. 

Fortunately enough, Ron’s strange stance against being forced to eat dinner at his residence provided an excellent penance for his actions.

“Potter, we will certainly discuss this tonight,” Snape said, letting the ominous threat tighten around Harry’s chest. 

Harry nodded, letting out a soft, “Yes, sir.” Bloody hell, he’d managed to do it again. 

Why couldn’t he stay out of trouble with Snape? He prayed to anyone listening, that Snape would still deem a third spanking today as too excessive. Despite the late hour, his bum still didn’t feel good after yesterday’s punishment.  

Snape turned and leveled Ron with a look that made him squirm.

“Weasley, given your evident desire to abandon your family and file for adoption into this one, you will stay for the evening meal.” 

It was dark, but the flickering lantern on the back porch illuminated Ron’s distraught face at the sentence. Harry would have smiled if the frozen air wasn’t so thick with tension. 

“With me,” Snape directed, turning on his heel and motioning for the teenagers to follow.

The minute Snape turned away, Ron shot Harry a death glare. This time Harry couldn’t help the little smile that pulled up the corners of his cold lips.

He pulled his hands up and mouthed, “Sorry.”

Ron replied in a tight frown. Blimey he didn’t want to eat dinner next to the pissed off bat in a button up shirt. He knew he should’ve left hours ago.

As they plodded along, following Snape’s motion for them to step first through the black back door, Harry felt a small glimmer of curiosity at Snape’s words to Ron, despite the thick sarcasm that had encompassed them. 

Did Snape, deep down, consider him… would he ever consider him… sort of like family? The thought lingered, creating a subtle warmth in Harry amidst the underlying tension. 

“Take this to the table,” Snape said, handing Harry the last bowl of tomato soup.

Harry nodded, forcing himself not to chuckle at the disdain painted all over Ron’s face. He would have teased him a bit if not for Ron’s sleep deprived eyes, the dark circles looked worse today, making Harry feel disheartened.

“Mr. Weasley, you take this,” Snape turned and handed Ron a platter with a loaf of roasted bread on it. 

The redhead accepted the buttered loaf tentatively, peering down at it with more than a hint of surprise.

It looked… right tasty. The three bowls of soup on the table all appeared appropriately tomato colored. The comforting scent permeating the kitchen was a savory blend of spices intermixed with basil leaves. 

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it sure wasn’t the cozy vibe the kitchen emitted. Or the comforting smell of home cooked food that Snape had prepared himself . 

The emotions traversing his face amused Harry. Ron’s surprise superseded his when he found out Snape could cook. Yeah, it was a bit out of character for the man, but what had Ron expected? Snape to make them eat out of bubbling cauldrons or something? 

The three of them soon settled into the table, Harry started eating first, then Snape. Ron was the last one to finally take a small spoonful of the warm, tomato soup.

His brows shot up as he swallowed, he was astonished by the taste. Not a second later he dunked his spoon in for a much larger second bite. 

They ate in contemplative silence for a moment, Harry eyed Snape nervously when he picked up one of his essays from the counter behind them. 

“So,” Harry started before Snape could read much, “how was your, uh, outing?” 

Snape raised a brow up at Harry, pulling his eyes from the essay for a brief second. 

“Unnecessarily long,” Snape responded, his dark eyes gliding back to the paper, his mind trailing back to Draco’s ridiculous fit. 

Harry swam his silver spoon around the red lake of tomato soup, hoping he wasn’t in too much trouble for the duel. To be fair, Snape hadn’t said Ron couldn’t come over today. Though, his expression and warning for a conversation in the backyard made him feel uneasy. He felt slightly embarrassed to have Snape reading his punishment essay at the table too. 

Pulling Harry from his slight distress, Ron ripped off a large piece of bread and dunked it straight into the soup bowl. For someone so hesitant to eat dinner at Snape’s, he’d sure made himself at home after tasting everything. Harry gave a little satisfied smirk as he watched Ron and pulled another warm spoonful up to his mouth. 

Looking down at his soup, Ron hefted the red soggy bread up, just before he could take a massive dripping bite he glanced over to Snape. 

“You went into town then?” Ron asked, chomping down on the bread in a satisfying, buttery squish. 

Snape’s dark eyes shot up at the atrocious sound. Harry couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle.

Ron looked up, giving him a ‘what’s funny?’ face, smacking obliviously down on his bread and soup. 

Snape stared intently at Ron for a moment, before folding the essay over and returning his attention to the soup and question at hand. 

“Surely your mother requires table manners at your home, Weasley,” Snape shot, watching Ron devour the soup without a care in the world. 

Clearly, Snape’s punishment for the boy proved to be counterintuitive as he was the one now suffering, not Ron. 

The redhead offered an apologetic smile and slowed down some. 

Snape sighed. “To answer your inquiry, yes, I did venture into town this afternoon.” 

Ron hadn’t really looked back at Snape, just the soup. He dunked another corner of the bread in and said, “Right then. Oh—say, did you happen to hear anything about the fire at the Malfoy manor when you were there?” 

Snape didn’t even have a second to process Ron’s question before Harry dropped his next spoonful of soup. 

Red droplets of tomato bisque landed on the table as Harry completely abandoned his next bite. 

“There was a fire at the Malfoy’s?” Harry reiterated. “You didn’t mention that today.”

Ron shrugged. 

“Guess I forgot about it till now,” his words were completely blocked by the unnecessarily large bit of soup and bread in his mouth.

Harry started but Snape cut off his next burning question.“Wh—” 

“Weasley, do not talk with your mouth full at my home. Potter, wipe up that soup that you just so graciously splattered about the dining table.” 

Snape let out an audible ‘tsk’ and both boys nodded, following up with small, ‘yes, sir’s.’ 

Harry was hardly dissuaded by the reprimand. He was simply dying to know everything Ron did. If he could slap him for holding this information in all day, he would have. 

“What happened, Ron?” Harry asked while halfheartedly mopping up the soup with his napkin. “How’d you hear?” 

Shooting Harry a pointed glare first, Snape then turned his attention to Ron. “Indeed, Mr. Weasley, I too am wondering how exactly you came upon this tidbit of information?” 

Snape took a bite of his soup and leveled Ron with an expectant expression. Unlike Harry, Ron failed to catch the edge to Snape’s tone. 

Harry swallowed, hoping Ron would get it out before Snape cut the conversation off. 

The minute Ron had said it, everything clicked into place. So that’s why Narcissa had come last night! Draco was somehow involved in the fire. 

Completely chewing his next bite before speaking, Ron glanced first at Harry then at Snape.

“Mum ran into Draco’s mum down in town when she was off buying all the bloody herbal stuff for me,” Ron said, then took another bite and swallowed. 

“She got me daffodils this time, Harry. Blimey flowers. Who thinks of that for sleep issues?”

Harry tossed his hands up a little. “Right, flowers, terrible idea. Go on then, what happened? How did a fire start?” 

Ron furrowed his brow a bit as he chewed another bite. Meanwhile Snape narrowed his dark gaze toward Harry. 

“Not sure, mate. Mum just asked me if I knew what happened. Draco’s mum didn’t say much.” 

Before Harry could reply, Ron turned to Snape, “Did you hear what happened, sir?” 

Harry paused for a minute, letting his thoughts circle around. He then tapped his silver spoon on the side of his glass bowl resulting in a few soft clinks. 

“Yeah, did you hear what happened, Professor Snape?” Harry added, smirking a little at the dark glower coming over Snape’s typically composed features.

“Harry, enough . This goes for the both of you,” Snape shot Harry a harsh warning glare, “speculation over gossip is entirely inappropriate. It is best not to involve yourselves with matters you were not directly included in. Understood? Find a more prudent topic of conversation.” 

Ron nodded, content to let it go as he returned to his soup. Draco’s bloody house fire was the least of his worries these days. Unless the blonde snob had gotten crisped up in it, he didn’t care much. 

In contrast, Harry couldn’t possibly abandon his stream of speculation. It was like clicking in puzzle pieces he wasn’t supposed to know about, reminding him of the way he used to piece things together at Hogwarts.  

Against his better judgment, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. 

“She didn’t give any clues to how it started?” He asked Ron.

“Harry James Potter.” Snape snapped, his tone was fiercely sharp. “Were you not paying attention to a word I just said?”

Snape’s dark eyes looked positively glacial. He couldn’t fathom Harry’s audacity to press forth after receiving such stern punishments yesterday. 

Harry briefly considered the harshness Snape’s tone held, vividly remembering their conversation on rules and expectations earlier that morning. The inclusion of his middle name was new to… making his stomach drop a bit. 

The way he saw it, he now had two options. The first and best, was to drop it and be respectful. The second… well, the second for whatever reason was too tantalizing not to take. 

Snape ought to know he wasn’t that thick; he could figure things out fairly quick with enough clues. Maybe, just maybe, Snape wouldn’t hide stuff from him if he knew that Harry was perceptive enough to figure it out. He just wanted to know if Draco faced discipline, was that so bad? The prat has run around the school with his nose so high in the air over the last six years, Harry just wanted to know he actually got humbled once and awhile. 

“Sorry, Professor Snape,” Harry began, pulling up a bite of soup. 

Snape watched Harry carefully for a moment. The young hero’s inability to leave things alone never failed to kindle a fire in his chest. 

The trio continued with their meal for a breath more, the little clinks of soup spoons and Ron’s slight slurping filled the quiet dining space. 

“In other news,” Harry started in a tone far too casual, “Ron and I had a good day.” 

“Is that so?” Snape replied, his words drawn out slow and suspicious, watching the way Harry’s emerald eyes seemed to dance in insolence.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, taking a bite and swallowing. “Well, except I spilled some water all over my trousers before I mopped… had to go change.” 

The kitchen was dangerously quiet, Ron eyed Harry with a perplexed expression. He had finished dinner first and was now sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed. Why did Snape need to know about that?

Snape’s expression was tight and emotionless, though Harry sensed he was well aware of the direction this was taking.

“I have to say, it is rather practical to keep everything in my top drawer,” Harry quipped, amused by the way Snape’s dark eyes seemed to narrow, ever so slightly. “Fantastic to know where everything is… or where it isn’t .” 

Ron, being Ron, uncrossed his arms and leaned in to take another piece of bread. The following  crunch punctuated the tense energy ricocheting between Snape and Harry. 

This was an odd conversation, yet his curiosity over it didn’t mask his desire for more buttery bread. To be fair, he had been thinking about snatching another piece for sometime but since he had practically devoured the loaf solo, he’d thought it necessary to wait for Harry and Snape to grab some. Whatever they were doing now though, it was evident that bread was not on their agenda.

Snape let his dark gaze pierce into Harry’s bravado for a moment more. Then, in a slow and precise manner, he moved his soup bowl out of the way and interlaced his fingers. 

"Clearly, your exceptional talent for observation is far superior to your capacity for obeying my explicit instructions.” Snape's low voice dripped with icy precision, “Well done, Potter, not a night later and you’ve already successfully earned yourself an experience with that missing item you’ve so subtly hinted at." 

And just like that, Harry lost the wind in his sails. All the air in the room seemed to suck up, leaving him breathless. 

Harry dropped his eyes down to his bowl and sucked in a sharp breath.

Well, fuck.

Satisfied to see Harry’s ego deflate like a punctured balloon, Snape turned to Ron. 

“Now, Mr. Weasley, as delighted as I am to have your black hole of an appetite here—threatening to devour the entire table and chairs—I’m afraid it is time for you to return to your parents’ residence. Harry and I have a discussion we must attend to.”  

Ron nodded, swallowing his last bite of bread, shooting Harry a sympathetic look. 

“Right, um thanks for super,” Ron said, feeling a bit embarrassed when he noticed the bread was nearly gone. “Can I offer you a hand with the dishes then?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Snape said, rising from the table.

Harry swallowed hard, trying his best not to flush too bad at the unexpected threat from Snape. He stood up a little stiffly, feeling his heart thud wildly in his chest. 

Snape couldn’t be serious, it had to be an empty threat. He was just teasing a little! 

“I’ll walk you out, Ron,” Harry grumbled, he moved quickly past Snape without making eye contact. 

“Right,” Ron replied, turning to go. “Uh, thanks again, Professor Snape.” 

Snape gave Ron a curt nod, collecting the dishes. 

“I’ll send an owl next time I want to drop by.” Ron added, hoping the offer could make up for the duel and loaf of bread. 

“As you should,” Snape said, setting the dishes down into the sink, “I will accept nothing less from you, Ronald.”

“Yes, sir.” Ron furrowed his brow as he turned around, how strange to hear Snape use his first name… and Harry’s too. He shrugged it off then strolled over to a distraught looking Harry waiting for him at the door. 

“You alright, mate?” Ron whispered when he got closer.

Harry shot a quick glance at Snape then motioned for Ron to follow him out the front door. 

Closing the door softly behind them, Harry said, “I’m fine, Ron. Just stepped on his toes a bit.” 

Ron gave a little frown, “Yeah, what has that all anyhow? What were you two snappin on about?”

Harry wasn’t the best liar, but it came a bit more naturally with Ron. 

“Oh, just a parchment piece on cleaning and rules. He took it out of my drawer is all, he didn’t care for the teasing about it.” 

“Ah,” Ron nodded and leaned up to stretch. “Well, if you don’t fancy turning into a maid, you better just get on with him… or, here’s a brilliant idea: move out like a sane person.”

Smiling, Harry squeezed Ron’s shoulder. “Right,” he said, “I’ll try.” 

Ron shook his head. 

“You were right about the food though. Astonishing, isn’t it? I forgot who he was for a minute until he snapped off at you. Did you hear him call me ‘Ronald’? 

Harry went to reply but caught the sound of Snape walking to the cracked front door behind him before he could. He quickly gave Ron a little wave off, pointing fast to the door behind him.

“Right, mate,” Ron whispered with a nod, “accio broom!” 

Just as the door flew open, Ron’s broom shot onto the porch, smacking the little lantern at the end of the steps. 

Ron cringed as he snatched it up and caught sight of the crooked lamp. He didn’t look back though, shooting off fast into the night sky with the least amount of grace Snape had ever witnessed. His dark eyes narrowed at the askew lantern, then fell directly to Harry’s back. 

A tense minute crawled by and Harry could feel Snape standing behind him, glaring down. 

“Er, look, Professor Snape—”

Harry semi turned but soon lost his stomach when he felt Snape’s warm hand take hold of his arm. 

“Come with me.” Snape said slowly.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

Harry squirmed in Snape’s firm grip, “Wait! Wait, wait—Professor Snape, hang on!” 

Their jumbled footsteps echoed through the entryway of the house as Snape pulled Harry to the kitchen.

“Hang on?” Snape replied too calmly, pulling back a wooden chair and propping his boot on the lower rung. 

He slid the strap out of his pocket with ease, causing Harry to gasp. 

“But I didn’t disobey you!” Harry stepped back from Snape’s propped up thigh.

“No?” Snape shot back, clear and sharp. “I disagree.” 

He pulled Harry back to him. 

“Can’t we at least talk first? Just for a second?” 

Harry didn’t realize how close to crying he already was, but Snape could hear it in the crack of his last words. 

“Very well.” Snape said, though he made no move to release the boy or shift positions. “Give me your inexcusable excuse first, make it quick.” 

“Uh,” Harry sucked in a sharp breath and glanced down at the menacing strap clutched in Snape’s hand. “I was only teasing you at the table… I didn’t think of it as disobeying, I just wanted to, erm, press a little.” 

Snape said nothing for a moment, boring down dark daggers into Harry’s dropped eyes.

“Honest, sir. I wasn’t intending to break a rule or disrespect you… I just thought it was a bit funny.”

Ah blimey, Harry felt himself flush. 

“Funny? This form of punishment is a laughing matter to you?” Snape’s voice was eerily calm, shooting a little shiver up Harry’s spine.

“No, no,” Harry back-peddled, “I just like figuring things out is all… and, er, I guess I wanted you to know.” 

Snape hummed low and leveled Harry with a look he could only interpret as cold disappointment. 

“You wanted me to know so you could flaunt your insufferable insolence.” Snape's dark eyes narrowed and his jaw set, “I told you to keep out of the Malfoy's affairs, more than once, and you willingly disregarded my instructions. I believe you were explicitly warned of the consequences you could expect for such a transgression, just this morning, were you not?” 

Harry swallowed hard, realizing there was no easy way out of this. 

“I-I… well, yes, but sir, please don’t. I did my best today with the punishment you gave me this morning. I cleaned everything. Ron popped over, unexpected, but I made him wait while I finished the essays, I put a lot of thought into them too.”

The coldness in Snape’s eyes seemed to melt, just the smallest bit. This was challenging for him. He’d walked home emotionally fatigued after whipping Draco, spoken to Lily for the first time in a decade, promised himself he’d be more affectionate with Harry, and now, there he was again—stern, cold, ready to reprimand the young wizard for the fourth time in a week. It was nearly unbearable, even for him.

“Er, Professor Snape, I swear I tried my best to be… good, while you were out. I'm just me, you know? I only wanted Ron to spill the details. I can be a bit cheeky, like I was at the table, but I promise, I'll try to be more... um, behaved in the future.”

Harry caught a flicker of something in Snape’s eyes, he hoped it was mercy but was quickly disappointed. 

“Yes, I will see to it that you are.” Snape motioned Harry forward. “Bend over. Now.”

With tears already welling up in his eyes, Harry moaned and begrudgingly complied. He wanted to protest more, but his conversation with Snape about obedience that morning rang through his miserable head. 

What was he thinking at the table? Of course Snape saw his push for more information as disobedient. If the man had told their potions class to be quiet and someone accidentally sneezed they’d be getting a detention for bloody ‘disobedience’. 

A small part of him felt relieved though that he wasn't told to take his trousers off yet. He wasn’t sure what to make of it but appreciated the moment of respite nonetheless.

Harry’s hips settled naturally over Snape’s propped up thigh. He shimmied forward a little and grabbed on tightly to the backrest of the chair in front of him. Snape’s elevated leg felt so sturdy beneath him, making Harry suck in a sharp breath. 

Harry knit his brows as he waited for the spanking to start. He wasn’t sure about this one. Snape didn’t go over the rules, didn’t take his glasses off, didn’t tell him to pull his trousers down… he found that odd.

Despite his hitched breath and trepidation, Harry felt more so confused by the whole process than scared of it. Maybe the strap was so bad you had to keep your trousers on for it? Harry shuttered at the thought. 

Snape looked down at Harry’s trouser clad backside and pursed his lips together. He hesitated for a moment. 

Despite the insolent pushing at the table and the backyard duel, Harry had effectively completed his punishments. The assigned essays were meant to be three feet, but Harry had voluntarily extended them to four. A strapping was far too excessive for the minor offense. 

Snape pinched his eyes shut and shook his head. Perhaps a streak of James Potter was still alive and well in the boy, taunting him from the grave, pushing him past his limits. Despite his earlier attempts to maintain some leniency, Harry still managed to wade on to the thin ice of his patience, crashing through it with ease. Though not incredibly egregious, the foolish teenager had deliberately disobeyed him too soon after their morning conversation about its seriousness, and Snape couldn't overlook that. 

Harry needed follow through, not empty promises, from authority figures. Over the years, Snape had witnessed the young wizard consistently push boundaries beyond acceptable limits, especially with those who tolerated it. Now that the war had concluded, he had no intention of affording the boy the same leniency.

Harry had one hand on his glasses, the other on the back of the chair. Snape could feel him taking in sharper breaths, fidgeting. 

Pushing his warm hand down firmly into Harry’s back with fast resolve, Snape pulled back the strap up and brought it down in a hard, forceful crack.

Harry’s response, much like Draco’s, was instant. 

He gasped and pushed his hips down hard, his feet kicked up in a short fast motion at the sudden lash of fire spreading across the center of his bum. 

"Ah! Ow! Bloody—blimey, uhh..." Harry groaned as he screwed his eyes shut, teeth clenched against the vivid pain.

He was so fucked. 

Unwelcome, hot tears instantly flooded the back of his green eyes as he squeezed the backrest of the wooden chair. 

Harry could take pain; for years, he had borne the physical and emotional scars of war with unwavering resilience. Yet, in moments such as these, a different vulnerability came over him. It wasn't solely the horrible sting on his skin that brought forth tears; it was the way Snape somehow connected discipline with a firm form of care. In the last week, each time he was pulled over Snape’s knee he experienced a profound sense of comfort interwoven with the pain. It was a relief to have someone finally care enough to expect the best of him and take nothing less.

Snape held him tight for a moment, keeping him pinned down against his thigh. Even over Harry’s trousers, the dreaded strap was far, far worse than the bloody brush and paddle. It hurt so bad. 

Harry attempted to breathe through the surge of emotion in his chest. Hating the hot sensation radiating from the center of his bum, where the leather had lashed into his skin. While also feeling horrible for thinking it was a good idea to test Snape. He wasn’t even sure why he had. 

Harry was more than ready to protest, but was left surprised by what happened next. 

To his utter astonishment, another horribly searing smack failed to fall. Instead, he felt Snape shift and release the pressure on his lower back. For a drawn out moment, Snape softly rubbed up and down his spine, soothing him through the pulsating pain.

“You may get up now,” Snape said calmly after another minute of comfort, helping Harry to stand upright again. 

As Harry stood to face Snape, his pained green eyes met him with confusion and a little relief. 

Harry’s face was crimson with shame, his breath was spilling out in little hitches, he was already crying, and a thick line of pain stung horribly on the middle of his bottom. 

He hugged his arms around his thin frame and sucked in a few sharp breaths, forcing himself not to reach back and rub at the ache. He wondered if Snape was about to make him pull his pants down for the rest of it. 

His glistening emerald eyes watched as Snape slowly pushed the dining room chair back to its rightful place and set the strap down carefully on the table. 

After a small moment of hesitation, Snape turned and leaned down to him. With his potion stained thumbs, he carefully wiped a few of the stray tears off Harry’s crimson face. 

"I won't tolerate disobedience from you, Harry, even if it seems minimal." Snape said, quietly wiping away tears. "Push back against my authority is not allowed in my classroom, and certainly not in my home. If you care to avoid the pain of the strap on your bare backside next time, you would do well to remember that."

Harry's heart thumped, a confusing concoction of surprise and bewilderment at the unexpected soft touch coupled with a dreadful flush of embarrassment over the words ‘bare backside’ on Snape’s lips. Harry drew in a shaky little breath, the gentle sensation of Snape's calloused thumbs, still wiping away his tears, left him grappling with emotions he hadn't expected. His gaze lingered on Snape's firm yet kind expression. 

“O-okay, er, sorry, yes. I mean, yes, sir.” Harry replied softly, flushing deeply as he held Snape’s gaze. “I won’t disobey you again. I understand… I’m sorry.”

“Very well.” Snape said calmly, bringing his warm hands to rest down on Harry’s shoulders.“Now, you will take your essays into the living room and we will finish this evening with a discussion on their content.” 

Staring for a moment longer into Snape’s soft expression, Harry felt his nerves die down. Relief washed over him in a calm reassuring wave regardless of the ache in his bum. 

Harry forced out an, “O-okay, sir. Thank you.”

His pained eyes trailed for a minute longer on Snape. 

Soon he was taking the handed over essays from Snape’s outstretched palm. Harry forced his breathing to slow, glancing one more time up at Snape to see if this was some sort of fake out. 

“Go to the living room.” Snape said, giving him a gentle little push then turning back into the kitchen to collect the tea kettle. “I will meet you there shortly.” 

Harry turned slowly, looking down at the essays, trying to steady the little tremor in his hands. 

Something about Snape’s unexpected softness and the gentle brushing away of his tears, made him want to weep. He had never felt such warmth in Snape’s dark eyes. Snape had never looked at him with such a… soft sort of expression. Harry controlled the onslaught of emotions it prompted, letting his gaze fall on the dwindling fire in the hearth. 

He set the essays down next to Snape's armchair and pulled his hands back to rub at the line of fire still pulsing on his backside.

What had just happened? 

The living room held a tender hush, broken only by the little crackles of dwindling pine in the warm fireplace. 

Harry glanced back to Snape again, watching him with a mixture of slight trepidation. He shifted a little on his seat, the strap mark still stinging some despite how long it’d been since he received it. 

With his hands folded tightly in his lap, Harry ran his thumb over the back of his knuckle and waited. Snape was reading the last line of his essay on disobedience. Harry noticed the way his dark shimmering eyes in the firelight paused and trailed back to the start of the last sentence for a second time.

Snape glanced to the top of the essay, then back down again, and folded it with careful precision.

“Well, despite your grammatical errors,” he started, making Harry hold his nervous breath, “these essays possessed the reflective depth I expected of you. Well done.”

Harry let out a little sigh of relief. 

“Tell me though,” Snape said, setting the essay down carefully on the tea cart and reaching for his cup. “Are you certain you meant it?”

The fire crackled a little and Harry shifted in his chair, looking intently at Snape.

“Of course, sir. I meant every word.” Harry’s response was quiet, subdued, but sincere.

Snape knit his brows, leveling Harry with a look of disbelief.

“ Every word? I find it hard to believe that if the current arrangement we find ourselves in today had been available to you during your time at Hogwarts, you would have willingly embraced it.”

Harry sucked in a little breath. 

“I think I would have, sir.” He said quietly, watching Snape take a sip of tea.

“I think if I had you… um, well, had discipline like this, I could’ve done better. Went through less… trouble.” Harry added.

Snape gave a slow, calculated nod. 

“I believe you would have found the idea of structure at my hands appalling a few years back. I must admit, I was taken by surprise when you accepted the offer this week.” 

Harry blushed a bit and looked down at his fidgeting hands. 

“Well,” he paused, “I didn’t know what exactly I was… missing… at school. Things were awfully different between us back then but they changed for me when I saw, um, everything.” 

Humming low Snape glanced first at the soft flames of the fire, then back to Harry. 

“You are quite correct, things were incredibly different. Which brings me to another point of our conversation for this evening, I would like to formally apologize to you.” 

Harry snapped his head up, his lips parting open slightly, prompting Snape to sigh and set his tea cup down. 

“You deserved far better treatment from me, from the first day you set foot in my classroom to the last, and everything in between. However, I was too caught up in my own hatred and regret to handle you properly,” he said quietly, interlacing his fingers and resting his forearms on the sides of the armchair. “For that, you have my sincerest apology.”

Harry swallowed hard and blinked a few times, trying his best not to let the new round of warm tears fall. He broke away from Snape’s rarely kind gaze and stared into the fireplace. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice shaky, “I understand, Professor Snape. It- it’s alright.” 

Snape shook his head and tapped his potion stained fingers on the Russian green armchair. 

“No, it most certainly is not.” 

Harry sucked in a little breath, he hurriedly moved his glasses up and wiped away a few tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. 

“We didn’t get on, but you risked your life for me. I know you loved my mum, too.” Harry said, mentally cursing himself for crying again. 

Snape’s tone came out impeccably soft, making Harry’s chest swell with such raw emotion at his next words. 

“Indeed. I always will. She was the best sort of person, your mother.” Snape let a long moment of smoke tinged silence settle around them. Noting the way Harry’s green eyes were glistening in the firelight. 

He leveled Harry with a sincere gaze,“I’ve certainly grown to care a great deal for you as well, Harry. You possess the finest qualities that shone so brightly in her. You may bear the name Potter, but you possess the kindness of an Evans.” 

A swell of affection and warmth overwhelmed Harry’s senses as he coped with Snape’s unexpected words. It was as if a soft summer breeze had slid its warm arms around him, comforting him from every care in the world. 

“S-sorry,” Harry said a second later as more tears spilled over, “I, I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

Snape glanced away for a moment, considering if he should try to offer some physical affection but not knowing what exactly to do. He felt his own pain clenching around his chest at the mention of Lily, he hadn’t admitted his love for her so outrightly to anyone since she passed. 

“This is an emotionally charged conversation, it’s perfectly understandable to cry,” Snape finally said, keeping the swell of heartbreak he felt subdued. 

Harry surprised him by letting out a little tear laced chuckle as he pulled his glasses off to wipe his eyes. He wanted to tell Snape he cared about him too, more than he could’ve imagined he would. He also wanted to ask what he meant, ask him what qualities his mum had that he did too, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. 

“You’re so formal, you know. Even though we’re not in school.” Harry sucked in a stabilizing breath, “have you always talked like this?” 

Snape, relieved to see Harry regaining composure, considered the question carefully. He hummed low and surveyed the boy. 

“I’m not sure,” Snape soon replied, “perhaps my approach to conversations shifted when I began teaching."

Harry nodded, taking in another breath, trying not to feel so emotional.

Snape pulled his teacup to his lips and took a sip. 

“Speaking on formalities,” he said, “I’ve decided it is acceptable for you to address me by simply my last name, precluding the title of Professor for the remainder of the summer as we are not in a school setting. When we return at the start of term you will reinstitute a more formal address, as will I for you. I implore you to stay respectful with this change, mind the situation you find yourself in and respond to me accordingly.” 

Harry gave a warm smile, “I will, thanks…I like it when you call me Harry, or Potter is fine too. Basically feels like a first name now.” 

“I will endeavor to use your first name more often then.” Snape said, taking another sip of tea. 

Harry nodded, and let out a cleansing breath. He had regained his composure and refocused his feelings on the summer rather than the rollercoaster of emotions threatening to engulf him from words he never thought he’d hear from Snape. 

A new warmth settled between the two of them as they indulged in the smoke soaked silence of the living room. While the bright orange flames climbed high in the hearth, years of pain and anger between them seemed to burn into nothing. 

After a moment more, Snape set his teacup down resulting in a little clink and turned back to Harry. 

“Now,” he said slowly, “on the note of trying our best, we must discuss a few things.” 

Harry set his teacup down too and looked up. 

“You must understand the difference in our demeanors. I for one, am reserved, in every sense of the word. You, most certainly are not.” 

A little dance of glee sparkled in Harry’s eyes. “I can be,” he challenged. 

“You can,” Snape quipped back, “though your penchant for cheekiness at inopportune times proves troublesome. Tonight, for example, you nearly earned yourself a much longer introduction to the strap for your insolence.”

The small sound of Harry letting out a breath filled the distance between them. 

“I know, I’m sorry about that.” Harry said quietly, dropping his eyes from Snape. “Um, thanks for not lighting into me.”

“Yes, well, if you care to avoid uncomfortable consequences you must learn to restrain your emotions and tailor your reactions to the circumstances you find yourself in while we are living with one another.” Snape said, adopting his stern tone. 

“I will,” Harry responded quickly, suddenly more inclined to appease him. 

“Your essay on impulse control should prove helpful for the circumstance we faced this evening,” Snape picked up the essay, and tapped it with his index finger. “You identified one facet for your inability to control your curiosity as a need for information that may directly impact you, yes?”

Harry nodded, “Yes...” 

“I fail to see how Draco’s presumed discipline impacted you to the extent of risking your own backside.” Snape raised an eyebrow up, making Harry flush red. “Explain yourself.” 

Harry squirmed a little, not sure how to really justify his curiosity over this one. 

“Um,” Harry paused to consider his approach. “Well, I guess I was a bit… satisfied to know, er—to think, Draco gets in trouble too. I never picked him to face consequences with you or anyone else. I got unreasonably curious, I guess.” 

“Yes, ‘unreasonably’ is an appropriate word choice.” Snape drawled out, pausing to sip his tea. “This desire to find out my involvement with Narcissa stem from your disdain over Draco, not self preservation?” 

Harry thought about it for a moment, running his fingertip over the rim of his teacup. 

“Partially both, I suppose.” He finally said. 

Snape motioned for Harry to continue. 

“Well, I had a feeling whatever she came for had to do with Draco or Lucius. At first though, I was just nervous that you would get close with them again.” 

Snape nodded. “So due to your apprehension, you deemed that private information to be applicable to you?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said quietly.

Snape hummed low, it didn’t sound approving. 

“Then you did not trust me this morning when I assured you that my involvement with the Malfoy family did not put you at risk.” 

“Well, no I did…” Harry paused, “I don’t know. I tried to let it go, but then I spilt the water and found out the strap was gone.” 

Snape steepled his fingers and glanced up for a moment up to the ceiling. After making Harry change and prepare for the day, he hadn’t expected him to bury through his top drawer. Despite Harry’s obviously clear deductions, he tried to navigate his response to maintain Draco’s privacy.

Harry glanced around the room and swallowed the bit of lingering anxiety over the conversation. 

“After that, it became more about what was happening to Draco and less about how it could affect me.” Harry added, swirling his empty tea cup. 

The pensive pause stretched on for a bit more as Harry waited for Snape to respond.

“Very well. Let’s try this,” Snape soon said, leaning closer to Harry. “Suppose you could change your previous response to me at the dining table, what would have been the most appropriate way to approach the matter?” 

Harry sat up too, mirroring Snape’s posture. 

“Well, I could—”

Snape held his hand up. 

“Don’t speculate. Articulate it again, as if it were your first time bringing up this predicament. Speak to me as you should have, in an appropriate way.” 

Flushing a bit, Harry glanced away from Snape’s intense gaze and tried to prepare something to say. 

“Um,” Harry shifted a little and rubbed the side of the armchair with his thumb. “So, uh… when you were gone I splashed water everywhere, on myself and the floor, and I had to go change.” 

Snape gave a small nod of approval and Harry sat up a bit straighter. 

“I saw you took the strap from my drawer, at least I assumed it was you, and I want to know why.” 

“No, that is not the correct way to approach the conversation,” Snape said, eliciting a frown from Harry. “Try again.” 

“What was wrong with that?” Harry asked, his tone shifting just slightly higher.

“It was presumptuous. You approached the situation like I owed you information, which is disrespectful.”

Harry huffed ever so slightly and glanced at the carpet, trying to think of a different way to put it. 

“Okay,” Harry said, his green eyes darting across the floor as he thought. 

He looked back up, “Professor Snape? Or, wait, just Snape.” 

Snape almost smiled, “Yes, Harry?”

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“You mean, ‘may I ask you a question,’ and yes, you may.” 

Snape watched Harry hold back the cheek he wanted to give with a hint of satisfaction. 

“Okay, well, I went to change this afternoon and noticed the strap you told me to keep in my top drawer was gone,” Harry swallowed and glanced away for a minute. “I know it’s your property, and you have a right to take it, but I was wondering, if you’d please let me know why you needed it today.” 

Snape gave a short nod, and a very small smile. 

“Better. You shifted your approach from an ask that demanded an answer to a respectful question. That is how you should’ve approached this situation after Mr. Weasley left.” 

“Alright then.” Harry grinned. "But come on, we're still in the scene you know. You can’t break character until you answer my very kind and respectful question."

Snape rolled his eyes but actually considered a response. “No, I will not be informing you of my need for it. Busy yourself with matters pertaining to your own day.” 

Harry let out a disgruntled little breath. “That’s what you’d say?”

“Indeed.” Snape said, folding his hands and leveling Harry with a firm look.

“Blimey,” Harry said leaning back in his chair, “sitting on information like this just really eats me up.” 

“You need to get used to it,” Snape snipped, standing to retrieve the tea kettle. “As I mentioned this morning, you will adjust to staying out of private matters. Even if that means I need to give you some uncomfortable encouragement to help you do so.” 

Harry cringed but stayed quiet for a minute. After a beat of silence he asked, “If it were Draco wanting to know, would you tell him about me?” 

A small part of Harry didn’t believe for a second that Snape would protect his privacy the way he did for his favorite snob Draco Malfoy. 

Snape remained quiet as he poured out a stream of steaming purple tea. The warm liquid hitting the glass cup filled the air with a soft trickling sound.  Without asking, he refilled Harry’s cup as well. 

“As a matter of fact, Draco did inquire about our living situation.” Snape said, setting down the kettle. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, bloody hell .

“Did you tell him everything?” Harry’s tone was so dejected as he anticipated the response. 

“Certainly not. I told him my living arrangement with you was none of his business.” Snape said after a long pause. 

Snape was mildly amused to see Harry’s bright green eyes light up. 

“Really?”

“Yes, Harry. I did not confirm with Draco that you are subjected to physical discipline. That is incredibly private information. It is up to you to decide who, if anyone, you care to share it with.” 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a swell of affection at Snape’s loyalty. “Thanks, Snape.” 

“The Malfoy manor is not far from here,” Snape soon noted, then sipped his warm tea. “Perhaps if you are so curious as to the discipline Draco has received in Slytherin over the years, you should venture over and ask.”

Harry let out a little snort and picked up his cup of tea, “Yeah, I’ll do that and he’ll knock me on my arse.” 

“That is preposterous.” Snape shot back, though for a moment he considered the possibility given the immaturity of both boys. “Honestly, it is high time the two of you set aside your differences now that you have the luxury.” 

Harry gave a little frown and took another sip of his tea, he glanced around the cart for some sugar cubes.

“Yeah, well, I saved his life and didn’t even get a ‘thanks, Pottah,’” Harry said quickly in his best snotty Draco impression. “Not sure how much more of an olive branch I can extend there.” 

Snape let out a little scoff, “I was unaware that you had seen him after the battle.”

Harry shifted, and took a sip of his tea. “I haven’t…” 

“Perhaps that is why you have yet to receive proper thanks.” Snape’s brows raised just a touch. 

“Well… perhaps,” Harry admitted, of course Snape was defending Draco. “Or, more likely, it is because he felt entitled to be saved. He’d rather have died than thank me for saving him from dying.”

Snape gave Harry a very faint smile, making him feel oddly comforted. 

“You will find in the coming year that people do change, Harry.” Snape said, short and quick, then stood to retrieve a book from the coffee table. 

Harry thought about that for a moment. Certainly Snape had changed… more than he could have ever anticipated. But, Draco Malfoy? No. Highly, highly , unlikely. 

Stretching in his chair, Harry let the warmth of the fireplace wrap its comforting arms around him. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling safe and relaxed. He cherished the feeling after the years of unease and torment. 

“This goes without saying,” Snape said quietly, taking a seat back in the armchair. “No duels in the neighborhood going forward. Cordial or not, that is inappropriate behavior at your age. Many wizards and witches have families in the area; I’m more than certain their children don’t need a light show for bedtime entertainment.” 

Harry cracked an eye open and gave a little smile before closing it again. “Right, sorry about that, sir.” 

Every so often a soft flick of a page filled the hushed living room as Snape’s dark eyes scanned the worn parchment pages of his book on potion explosions and brewing incidents.  

The crackling of the fire and scent of comforting lavender made Harry feel rather sleepy. He had  nearly dozed off when a sudden rustling in the center of the living room drew his groggy attention. 

Breaking through the soft hush of the evening, a fluffy brown owl popped into view to the left of them, hustling its feathers. Startled, Harry opened his eyes more and sat up straighter in the armchair.

Snape’s dark gaze wandered up from his book, his lips in a tight frown. He sighed and motioned for the bird to hand him the little scroll of parchment paper held tightly in its sharp talons. The creature obliged, hobbling over slowly, then turned its sinister burnt orange eyes on Harry. 

By the time Harry recognized the brown plumage of feathers and razor sharp talons, Snape looked up to interrupt his racing thoughts.

“Well,” Snape said, shewing the owl out of the house with a quick snap of his fingers. “It appears you will soon have an opportunity to receive that so deeply desired apology from Mr. Malfoy.” 

Harry eyed Snape cautiously, dropping his brows into a tight furrow. Snape rolled up the little note the owl had brought from Draco and tossed it into the fire. 

“You can expect him here by noon tomorrow.” Snape said, returning his gaze to his book.

“Ah, blimey— P- er, Snape, can’t you tell him no? Tell him we’re too busy? Here, I can get the owl to come back.”

Harry stood but Snape stopped him in his tracks, motioning for him to sit back in the armchair. 

Harry obeyed but grimaced at the thought of facing Draco, a sense of dread settling over him at the idea of having to host his least favorite peer so soon after the war. The nerve Draco had, asking Snape for details about their living arrangement, irked him to no end. He was certain that’s why Draco suddenly wanted to come over. That had to be it, he reasoned. Draco wanted to know if he was getting smacked! What a prick. 

Contrary to whatever Snape believed about change, there was no way Draco Malfoy was sauntering over to bridge the gap between them with an apology. What a load of utter rubbish. 

"No, we will not be busy," Snape finally responded, flipping another page in his book.

Harry let out an audible groan, directing his gaze back to the flickering flames. His arms crossed over his lean chest as he pondered his options. After a few moments of vivid contemplation, the tension in Harry's expression eased, replaced by a faint smirk of realization. 

Draco had nothing on him. But, he had something on Draco.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

The following day brought a sigh of relief for Harry when he learned that Draco had sent the owl back, rescheduling his visit to the end of the following week. Snape had conveyed the change in plans over a warm breakfast with tea, granting Harry a welcome extension to solidify his defenses against Draco’s inevitable harassment.

Over the next seven days, Harry settled in with Snape well. Their interactions were pleasant as he managed to steer clear of any sort of misbehavior. There were a few moments when Harry believed his cheeky remarks would land him in trouble, but to his surprise, Snape took them in stride, responding with an even sharper wit. Snape's talent for dry humor resulted in more chuckles than Harry could have anticipated in the Potion Master's company.

They delved into a few conversations about Snape's Hogwarts days— how he’d grown an affinity for potions and excelled in academics. They discussed aspects of the war, and Harry’s plans for the upcoming term. Snape not-so-subtly nudged him to reconsider his seventh year but hadn’t pushed more beyond a lengthy lecture on the benefits of a completed education. 

Mornings were spent in the greenhouse, afternoons on potions (after Harry had convinced Snape to let him assist), and free time indulging in their own various pursuits. Harry immersed himself in numerous ancient books, relishing the luxury of sipping a warm cup of tea and having time to relax without the stress of saving anyone or facing the imminent threat of his own demise. He wrote to Hermione and looked forward to hearing back. 

As the second week in Snape’s home concluded, Harry smiled at the unexpected enjoyment of living with his once enigmatic professor. He considered how his first week of discipline had set the course for the newfound connection between them. In such a short span of time, many barriers long held between the pair had torn down, making everything feel like a fresh start. Despite Snape's reserved nature, his occasional displays of affection scattered throughout the waning spring days made Harry feel more than accepted. Whether Snape was brewing him a calming lavender tea after a long day, preparing meals with an unspoken camaraderie, or the subtle but affirming pats on the shoulder and gentle squeezes on the arm whenever Harry achieved a task, each small moment seemed to form a connection of their own. Snape's increased displays of affection added a warmth to their interactions, creating an unspoken understanding that transcended the years of resentment during the war.

Staying out of trouble had made his stay far easier as well; though amid the growing closeness, doubt and guilt loomed like storm clouds, casting shadows over his quiet evenings in bed. With only two weeks left before Ron's return, the prospect of betraying Snape’s trust weighed heavily on Harry. Torn between responsibility over his best mate and a growing respect for Snape, Harry didn’t know where he stood. Wedged between a rock and a hard place, he felt crushed under the surfacing pressure to make a decision. 

The end of the week soon came, and with it— Draco Malfoy, who proved to be a painful distraction from Harry’s predicament in more ways than one.

Draco’s icy gray eyes scanned the large property as he set his broom down on the side of the home. He didn’t know what to make of the stone house set on the stretched-out hills of green grass. It was quaint and seemed private. Far too domestic for Snape and it certainly wasn’t the dark, cold cramped house he hoped Potter would be living in. 

The entire week he’d felt his irritation growing at the thought of bloody Harry Potter living with Professor Snape. Afterall, Snape was his Head of House, his— not Potter’s. He was cold and harsh and few but Draco had the luxury of knowing him personally. The idea that Harry-saved-the-world-Potter was living with him now, perhaps even growing closer to him, was enough to make Draco’s blood boil. 

It wouldn’t be easy to get Potter to talk about his living arrangement, but Draco was certain he could back him into a tight enough corner. With enough cutting jabs and humiliating insinuations Potter was sure to snap, he always did. 

Draco paused when he arrived at the foot of the large wooden door, noting the little crooked lantern at the end of the steps. Three times he questioned whether this was the correct residence, despite the parchment being delivered here by his owl a week ago. The flourishing exterior itself contradicted anything associated with Snape.

The chilly spring air licked around Draco’s shoulders as he huffed out a few warm breaths. He glanced over to his right, catching sight of a black fish gliding through the shifting water of the pond in the courtyard. Watching it move in slow, lazy circles, a memory came swimming back to the forefront of his mind; one he hadn’t thought of in over a decade. 

The glimpse of a warm day in September, with honey rays of sunlight bathing vibrant leaves of the nearing fall season returned to him. Hues of orange, red, and yellow had licked the tops of the oak trees on the expansive property of the Malfoy manor. The serene beauty contrasted the dark appearance of the towering castle he called home.

Draco was young at the time, a little boy of seven, perhaps eight, heaving with sobs as he ran down to the large pond on the grounds of the property. Mummy and daddy had ignored him all morning only to force him away when tall figures clad in black coats swept into their home like plumes of nasty thick smoke. 

Draco could still remember the sharp splashes of glimmering water as he furiously threw stones at the fish in the pond, hoping to hit just one. He was so angry and hurt, he hated being left out and overlooked. Hated those tall ominous people around his nice and happy house. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” the silky-smooth voice had said from a small distance behind him, “I was unaware of your vendetta against aquatic life.” 

“Go away!” Draco had screamed back through raspy tears at the dark-haired man in a flowing black cloak. 

Draco chucked another rock resulting in a sharp splash then reached for a stick to spear into the water. 

He had heard Snape tsk, his footsteps reverberating off the wooden dock as he grew closer. 

“Enough of this nonsense.” Snape said, snatching the stick swiftly from his hands. “Come with me.”

He had calmly grabbed Draco by the arm, pulling him away from the water and his onslaught of tears.

Draco couldn’t remember if he’d truly put up that much of a fight as they trudged off the dock, though he vaguely recalled Snape threatening to spank him with the stick if he didn’t cooperate.

Draco's tight expression softened as he gazed into the dark water. What lingered most from that day wasn't the anger toward his parents or the ominous presence of death eaters in his home. Instead, it was the solace provided by Snape, perched on a sizable tree stump, guiding him onto his lap, firmly compelling him to explain himself.

The details of their conversation that September day were shrouded in a haze, but amid the foggy recollection, the vivid memory persisted of him falling into Snape's chest, embraced tightly in a hug. He had felt safe as he was held close, comforted from the grip of rejection that had threatened to overwhelm his tiny mind. 

Last week after his punishment, the warm nostalgia had returned to him when he buried his tearstained face in Snape’s shoulder. 

Draco sucked in a small breath, continuing to watch the fish swim slowly. 

That day by the pond became the first of many similar moments as Snape remained closely connected with his parents, and later, when Draco entered Slytherin, he found himself under Snape’s care for much of the year. Though most of Snape’s comfort came after well-earned spankings, Draco had always felt a unique closeness to him. He was the harsh Potions Master’s favorite student and he had consistently kept that spot over his years at Hogwarts, holding the attention of the one person everyone else couldn’t stand. 

Snape wasn’t easy on him, he’d experienced his terrifying authority and painful lessons more times than he could count, but unlike the others, Snape had always let Draco stay longer after discipline. He had always left Snape’s office feeling heard and understood, just as he did that day by the pond. Well, except for the day he felt unjustly paddled for interruptions in class, but that was a stand-alone incident. 

While hugging wasn't Snape's strong suit during school, there were numerous occasions when Draco had fallen asleep on his shoulder after pouring out his frustrations. Following hard punishments, Snape even allowed him to spend the night in the dungeon, and countless times, he’d found himself tucked in with a blanket on Snape's modest couch by the fire. Those memories were ones he held close, and for some reason, they now felt threatened. 

The dark scaled fish surfaced the water, flicking its gleaming tail in a little splash, pulling Draco away from the buried memory. 

Draco scowled; his shoulders grew rigid as he glanced up at the stone house. Why did Snape have to live with Harry Potter, of all people? Why him ?

Draco ran his battered hand down the front of his soft back sweater, attempting to sweep off the fabric and the growing feeling of resentment. 

He then scaled the small set of stone steps and rapped the wooden door three firm times. He sucked in a tight breath and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting not so patiently for one of them to answer the door.

Harry was handing Snape a section of stripped pine for the cauldron set up on the table in the kitchen when the loud rapping knocks filled the entryway of the house. Harry’s subsequent frown was instantaneous, eliciting an eye roll from Snape. 

He couldn’t help it, he had no interest in entertaining Draco Malfoy, especially not after such a trouble-free week and peaceful morning. 

Noting how the young wizard failed to move from his seated position by the cauldron, Snape sighed and carefully set down his small knife with a clink on the tabletop. 

He had taken the time earlier to explicitly warn Harry of the repercussions of fighting with Draco, emphasizing the discomfort of the punishment that would follow if the pair so much as insulted each other in his presence. 

In truth, Snape harbored hope that the young men would come to an understanding now that the looming pressure of the war had faded. He certainly wouldn’t tolerate anything less in his home. He sighed audibly at the prospect of having to reinforce discipline if the young wizards could not remain level-headed.

“You will be civil,” Snape warned Harry for the second time that day, turning around to head for the front door. 

“I know, sir.” Harry grumbled behind him, looking down at the glistening blue liquid bubbling in the cauldron. 

“No immature displays of temper.” Snape added low and slow, pausing in the entryway of the kitchen to give Harry a pointed look. “You two are no longer children.”

“I know.” Harry said, a hint of disdain creeping into his tone. “We won’t fight.” 

Snape’s dark eyes narrowed a touch, “You know what punishment to expect if you do.”

A warmth of embarrassment crept up Harry’s neck, reddening his face. He shot emerald daggers up at Snape. 

“Yes, I know, sir.” Harry whispered; his tone desperate for Snape to stop the threats. “Please, he might hear you.” 

Snape gave a little scoff accompanied by a brief eye roll. Both Harry and Draco were desperate to keep their punishments from one another, yet considering they received the same form of correction for misbehavior, Snape found the whole discretion ridiculous. Though he hadn't confirmed it with either of them, the boys had likely deduced it. He turned to make his way across the wooden floor, his footsteps reverberating through the quiet home with strong clacks. He’d only gotten halfway there when three more loud bangs echoed in a thudding clamor across the entryway. 

Snape paused, his dark gaze narrowing at the wooden door. Silently, he hoped it wasn't a mistake to allow Draco to visit the home so soon. Well aware of Draco’s inclination toward strong displays of emotion, having Harry Potter suddenly in close proximity and living with him was sure to stir frustration within the young wizard. However, Snape hoped Draco had grown up enough to handle it.

Snape strode the remainder of the way to the door, his hand soon hovering for a moment over the metal handle as he mentally attempted to prepare himself for the afternoon that lay ahead. Too many times at Hogwarts, he’d dealt with a frustrated Minerva pestering him over Draco’s insufferable taunting and Harry’s subsequent reactions. The faculty was well aware of the boys' disdain for one another and the inevitable drama that followed them around the school up until the very end. 

Snape could almost feel a headache coming on as dragged the front door open. He peered down at Draco with a raised brow. 

The boy's cheeks were tinged red, prompting him to wonder if the color had been brought on by the cold spring air or a preemptive temper already brewing. The next words out of Draco’s mouth confirmed the latter. 

“Took you long enough,” Draco shot out as he crossed his arms tighter to his chest. “Lost roaming the property with Potter or something?”

Snape’s brows shot up, stunned at the blonde's audacity. That quip was bold, even for Draco. Snape fixed the Slytherin with a piercing gaze of disapproval, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“As lovely as your little greeting was, I highly suggest you curb your tongue and adjust your level of respect before stepping another foot forward.” 

Draco uncrossed his arms, shifting his gaze to the right, glaring out again at the fishpond. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered without looking back. 

After a long pause Snape semi-turned back to Harry who was peering down into the cauldron and said:

“Harry, add the—”

“ Harry ?” Draco couldn’t stop himself from interrupting, his sharp tone echoed throughout the entryway. Snape was calling Potter just Harry now?! 

Bloody hell they have gotten on. Draco thought to himself, his temper fuming. 

A faint smirk crept up the side of Harry’s face at the evident appall laced in Draco’s words. He watched with a hint of satisfaction as Snape instantly spun back around. Though Harry couldn’t see Draco, he could only imagine his face when Snape’s voice dropped down to an icy, barely audible whisper. 

“You know full well my sentiments on interruptions, Mr. Malfoy.” Snape said, leaning down closer to Draco. “Your behavior in the mere minute you’ve been in my presence is not only uncalled for but truly astounding.” 

Draco sucked in a sharp breath, he was more than furious at the apparent closeness Snape and Harry now shared but his sense of self-preservation kicked back in at the agitated intensity radiating off Snape. 

“Sorry, sir.” Draco whispered quickly, his ears turning a bright pink at the possibility of Harry overhearing. 

Snape raised his index finger and pointed it towards Draco’s chest, “Not another word.” 

Snape drew in a lengthy breath before turning back to Harry. In less than two minutes, he regretted not cordially refusing Draco's request to visit his home. Today was sure to prove troublesome.

“As I was saying ,” Snape annunciated the words slowly, turning back briefly to glare at Draco. “Add in the Valerian Root Extract next. Don’t stop stirring until I get back.” 

Harry nodded, his green eyes glistening with curiosity. He desperately wanted to ask where they were going but wisely chose not to give Draco the satisfaction that he cared. 

“Right, Snape. I’ll do that.” Harry said just a little louder than necessary. He struggled to keep his composure at the small, strangled sound coming from Draco. 

Snape rolled his eyes at the mounting theatrics. Despite the boys not having addressed each other directly yet, the agitation between them was already bubbling faster than the potion brewing in the kitchen.

Snape gave Harry a warning glare as he stepped out the wooden door, letting it click with a hard thud behind him. 

“You let him call you ‘Snape’ too!?” Draco almost yelled when they got roughly ten paces away from the porch. 

Before he could get another fury laced protest out Snape latched onto his arms and pulled him in close.

“Enough.” Snape’s tone was low and sharp, making Draco instantly swallow his temper. 

Snape pulled Draco along, walking a few steps farther from the stone house. When he received no explanation or word from the bristled blonde, his blood pressure spiked. 

He paused and leveled Draco with an exceptionally stern expression. 

“You'd do well to mind your words, Draco, unless you're eager to experience the consequences of your insolence firsthand. My private quarters and the backside of the brush will certainly suffice for such an unfortunate discussion if you persist.” 

“What?” Draco’s head shot up and a little gasp escaped his lips. “Snape, you can’t be serious! Not with him around!”

It sounded more like a panicked plea than a genuine challenge. Snape, attuned to Draco's emotional tendencies, easily discerned the difference.

“Indeed I am.” Snape's voice carried a low, controlled intensity as he addressed Draco, giving his arm a firm squeeze. “I do not care who is present, if you choose to behave poorly in my home you will be disciplined accordingly. Now, enough of this insolent display of temper.”

Draco looked utterly appalled, though the threat seemed to curb the fire from his icy eyes. He looked away from Snape’s piercing gaze for a moment. It was difficult to ebb the flush of anger sweeping from the pit of his stomach to the center of his chest, but he needed to try if he didn’t want to earn a smacking. Snape wasn’t one for idle threats.

"You are never permitted to be disrespectful to me,” Snape reiterated, his eyes bore down into Draco with an intensity that made his stomach drop. “You are also well aware of the specific consequences reserved for such a transgression in Slytherin, which, might I remind you, apply for this summer.” 

Snape let the ominous reminder hang for a moment in the tense air, watching Draco’s face flush in response.

Satisfied with the curb in attitude, Snape took a step forward, closing more of the space between them. His low voice dropped down into a whisper making Draco swallow in response. “Given your discretion around discipline, I’m astounded by your lack of self-preservation. Did last week not make a clear enough impression upon you? Perhaps you need a reminder to solidify my expectations for your behavior."

Draco’s entire demeanor shifted, his eyes growing a bit wider as his mouth went dry. “No, no, please, I don't need that! I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t.”

Snape set his dark eyes on Draco, leveling him with an intensity that made him squirm. 

“Explain yourself.”

The sound of a small swallow filled the distance between them as Draco tried to find words. 

“I… I just can’t believe— calling him Harry ? Since when do you like him? And you only let… no one is allowed to call you just ‘Snape’.”

Snape resisted the urge to roll his or scoff at the theatrics. He knew Draco would have his issues with Harry living close by, especially with him, yet his emotional display over the nature of names and formalities was a bit unexpected. 

“Draco, circumstances have evolved—”

Draco couldn’t stop the overwhelming swell of anger filling up his tight chest at Snape’s words. Evolved ? As in Harry had evolved into someone important to him? Feelings overtook logic and he couldn’t help himself from cutting back in. 

“Evolved!? What is that supposed—”

He didn’t have an opportunity to finish his accusatory sentence. Before he had another breath to protest, he was spun to the side, pulled in close to Snape, and smacked three horribly hard times across the center of his bum. 

A sharp, pained gasp escaped Draco’s lips when Snape’s open palm met his backside. Despite the unexpected sting, he kept his next words uncharacteristically quiet.

“Owww, no, Snape! Please,” Draco begged in a high-pitched whisper, his face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet as looked back to the house. “He might have seen that!”

“You are two seconds away from a full punishment with the paddle, Mr. Malfoy. I would be far more concerned with my next words over Mr. Potter's whereabouts if I were you.” Snape drawled out the last three words, boring his punishing gaze down into Draco’s eyes. 

Draco sucked in a sharp breath, stepping back away from Snape. 

“No, no, please, not the paddle. I’m sorry, sir! I… I just—it’s just—I don’t know why I feel...” 

He dropped his eyes from Snape and stared at the top of his shoes. Snape considered Draco for a moment waiting for him to show a glimmer of maturity and express himself appropriately. 

“Please don’t smack me. I can’t take another one after last week.” 

Snape glared down at him, exhausted with this lengthy display. 

“Is that so? It seems to me your audacity has sufficiently recovered enough to receive further correction.” 

Letting out a little groan, Draco looked to the right, his icy eyes wandering around the property. His bum stung with prickly heat, and he suddenly decided he wasn’t going back into the house. What if Potter had seen him get smacked? 

“No, I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have come.” Draco said quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’ll just go, you can get back to Harry .”

Since he’s more important than me now , Draco added to himself. 

Snape rolled his dark gaze up to the blue sky for a moment. Though he hadn’t anticipated it, there was an undeniable undercurrent of jealousy tainting Draco’s words. It was an emotion he was quite familiar with after years of looking after the young wizard in Slytherin.

When Draco was a child, they’d dealt with this issue many times at Hogwarts. He never particularly liked other members of their House getting even a hint of praise from Snape. The moment a peer seemed to get any recognition; Draco had taken it upon himself to sabotage their good standing with any measure possible. Snape had moved swiftly to dispel Draco’s belief that he was above severe consequences and subsequently, the young wizard had found himself on the receiving end of discipline far more often than other students the first few years. However, as time wore on, Draco outgrew such childish displays. Snape was a bit mystified to feel the reaction resurfacing now, given Draco’s age and everything he’d been through. 

Snape paused for a moment more to collect his thoughts. He reasoned that perhaps the intensity of the punishment last week had rekindled a need for reassurance in Draco. This initially made the boy’s insolent behavior at the door all the more perplexing, as Snape had not anticipated such a blatant display of disrespect. The jealousy, however, connected the pieces together, providing Snape a fresh bout of understanding, and annoyance, over the escalating situation. 

“No, you will not be leaving,” Snape said firmly, motioning for Draco to follow him. “Come along.”

Draco swallowed, moving to follow Snape with reluctance. His feet felt like they were stuck in molasses and his heart thudded in a swell of anticipation. 

Humiliation filled Draco at the mere thought of Snape spanking him while Harry was nearby. The anxiety surged as he contemplated the possibility that Harry had somehow witnessed the three swats. Not only would that be humiliating, but it would also jeopardize Draco's entire plan. If Harry discovered they shared the same form of punishment, there would be nothing to use against him. 

“Snape,” Draco said after they’d walked a few minutes down the driveway and onto the gravel path winding through the forest surrounding the neighborhood. “What if he’s around? He’s got that horrible cloak! If I find out he saw and is following us—”

“Silence,” Snape said, turning to face Draco. “He is certainly not following along; he is planted at the table stirring an experimental calming draught.”

Draco breathed a little sigh, scanning behind them one more time than looking back into Snape’s dark gaze. “If you say so, sir.”

Snape gave a small nod; he would certainly know if Harry quit stirring the potion as the consistency would ruin. Despite the young wizard's penchant for trouble, he doubted Harry would disobey him after their firm introduction to discipline at the beginning of the month. 

“Now, there are more pressing matters at hand than Mr. Potter's whereabouts.” Snape said sharply, “I explicitly warned you in my response to your request to come here, that fighting, foolish displays of temperament or bickering would be met with a swift punishment. Imagine my astonishment that you’ve started with this insolent display without saying a word to Harry Potter yet. Explain yourself thoroughly, while I still possess the patience.” 

Draco said nothing for a moment, letting his gaze wander up the tall pine trees, his icy eyes following small songbirds flitting about the blue sky in spiraling patterns. The warm rays of the spring sunshine cast beams of light upon them illuminating their close stance to one another. 

“I can’t stand him and his bloody savior complex.” Draco soon muttered, toeing the ground with his boot. “Not sure why I got so cross with you though.”

“No?” Snape said low and slow, interlacing his fingers and bringing them down to rest in front of his waist. “That is not an answer I will accept, Draco.” 

Draco swallowed hard and looked back at Snape. He certainly wasn’t about to get all mushy and tell him the truth—tell him he hated that Potter was living with him, hated thinking they might get close, hated feeling suddenly rejected and replaced. No, he wouldn’t do that, so he did what he always had when feeling threatened: deflect. 

“You lied to me.” Draco said, crossing his arms tight.

“I lied to you?” Snape shot back, narrowing his eyes. 

Unlike Harry, Draco didn’t always back down from Snape’s sharp tones and cold words. He had a sense for how far he could push before getting his arse in trouble. 

“Yes. You hated Potter too—you helped try to hand him over. We all did. Clearly though, I completely missed something since now you think he’s so special like everyone else does. I suppose you must have always liked him… and I don’t appreciate being bloody lied to, Snape.” 

“I will not warn you again,” Snape’s dark eyes narrowed at the challenge in Draco’s stance and sharpness of his words. “You will speak respectfully as you express yourself or I assure you, our discussion will resume over my knee, right here. Understood?”

Draco swallowed but held Snape’s gaze, “I understand.”

Snape raised an eyebrow prompting Draco to add: “sir.” 

Snape’s paper-thin patience was nearly ripped in two. He had half a mind to haul Draco over to the nearest tree stump and discipline some sense back into him. While he could acknowledge Draco's feelings to some extent, he wouldn't be disrespectfully interrogated by an insolent seventeen-year-old.

He took a deep breath and interlaced his fingers behind his back. He was attempting to give the boy more leniency after the whipping last week, though Draco seemed determined to reject the offer. He rarely extended the opportunity for compliance beyond the initial chance and Draco’s luck had run dry as Snape prepared himself to follow through.

“There are many things you do not know yet, Draco. Intricacies that I am not at liberty to discuss with you right now. The complexities of wartime decisions elude those who did not bear the burden. If you would like to discuss such matters, we will do so at a later date.” 

“Why can’t we talk about it now?” Draco’s tone was more subdued, lacking the previous accusation accompanied by his first round of questions. 

“As it stands, Harry’s hand is destined for exhaustion from incessant stirring. I will not have that potion ruined on account of your whining,” Snape declared, signaling for Draco to accompany him up the road. “Must I reiterate that the primary objective of your visit is to reconcile?" 

As he walked briskly away from the path, Snape decided they would have to deal with this combustion of jealousy another time when he had the patience to draw the truth out of Draco. Or, perhaps, the Veritaserum.

Draco huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and hustling to keep up with Snape. He hated that he called bloody Potter ‘Harry.’ The first name basis was enough to rile him up from head to toe, but he wisely refrained from allowing the anger to take his next words.

“Well,” Draco said slowly, walking in step with Snape. “You said I couldn’t come over unless I did, sir. It wasn’t entirely my… objective.” 

Snape shot Draco a sharp glare over his shoulder. 

“Well, it is your objective now, Draco.”

Any enthusiasm Harry possessed for assisting Snape with the potion had dissipated faster than morning mist at daybreak. He reasoned if the cramp in his wrist didn’t kill him, his curiosity about where Draco and Snape had wandered off to would. He wondered if they were talking about him, or better, if Draco was in trouble for interrupting at the door.

Though Harry hadn’t wanted to see Draco at all, it was a relief to hear his voice growing louder as he and Snape approached the house. 

“After you,” Harry heard Snape say. 

A second later Draco stepped through the entryway. Both sets of footsteps reverberated across the wooden panels of the floor, drawing closer. 

Harry's heartbeat quickened inexplicably when Draco appeared and met his gaze. They stared at each other for a tense moment before Draco glanced away first, seemingly glaring at the kitchen’s surroundings. Harry redirected his focus to the bubbling cauldron; it had been a considerable time since his body instinctively tensed for a possible fight. Despite Snape's assurances, Harry was convinced Draco had come with the intent to rile him up.

Harry watched the brewing potion intently as he stirred, waiting for Snape to intervene and save his hand from falling off. The once blue glittering concoction had turned into a deep swirl of violet purple. Harry was nearly convinced that if he let go of the stirring rod the movement of the liquid would keep it turning with the same velocity. 

Snape observed the tension between the two boys for a moment. They had failed to even greet one another which was a poor indicator of the remainder of the day. He resolved himself to do something about it, for the sake of his own sanity, as he strode over to a spot next to Harry. 

Snape peered down into the cauldron and gave a curt nod. “Well done, you’ve achieved the correct consistency and coloration. You may stop stirring now.”

Harry pulled the stirring stick out and set it down on the counter with a small clink. 

It was hardly audible, but he heard Draco mutter as he walked into the pantry: “Please, as if stirring is some grand accomplishment.” 

Harry sucked in a breath, unsure if Snape had even heard that one, but before he could confront Draco for the first quip, the blonde followed up with:

“No wonder everything smells like lavender, Snape.” Draco glared up at the bundles strung high in the pantry, he motioned to them above his head, “this whole place is permeated with it thanks to these.” 

Harry looked over at Snape who was busy slicing a root on the wooden chopping block next to the cauldron. Without so much as glancing up he shot back at Draco: 

“Perhaps then, it would do you some good to distance yourself from such an offensive aroma.” 

Snape’s tone was impeccably sharp, making Harry hope Draco was about to be sent home. However, the next words out of Snape’s mouth were more than disappointing. 

“You will accompany Harry to the greenhouse. I’d like the two of you to carefully collect six clippings of Dittany and bring them here to me.” Snape’s pointed glare shifted from Draco to Harry, both who were focused on him, refusing to look at one another.

Great, a private activity with Malfoy, that’ll go well. Harry thought to himself, frustration already pinching at his nerves. 

“A response and subsequent action are required from the both of you.” Snape added after a moment of tense silence, leveling them each with a stern expression. 

“Yes, sir.” The pair said in near unison. Harry moved to stand, and Draco stepped out of the pantry. 

Harry, being closer to the back metal door, made it outside first. The gleaming sunlight was bright, causing him to squint for a moment as he waited for Draco. He was tempted to let the door fall back and smack the arrogant prat in the face, but he knew Snape wouldn’t be enthralled when the blonde fell to the floor screaming in feigned agony. 

A second later Draco followed behind. The pair strolled out in silence with only the sounds of the spring afternoon accompanying them. A few birds chirped kindly to one another while the soft wind rustled the budding leaves on the bushes by the house. It remained quiet for a moment more, until they were out of earshot of the back porch. 

“Holding the door for me now, eh, Potter?” Draco spat from a few paces behind Harry. “Seems like Snape’s already got you whipped into shape. It’s refreshing, really.” 

Harry felt his chest flush with a familiar swell of frustration. Of course, as he predicted, Draco Malfoy hadn’t changed in the slightest following the conclusion of the war. 

“Come off it, Malfoy.” Harry shot back over his shoulder, “Why are you even here?”

Draco’s eyes wandered up the door of the greenhouse as Harry soon shoved it and walked through, not bothering to hold it even for a second this time. 

Draco smirked, catching the door and pushing it open to follow. 

“I have my reasons, and my questions.” 

Harry didn’t look back; he bent down by the wooden work bench and began searching for the pair of gardening shears. 

“Well, your burning questions better be for Snape because I’m not answering any for you.” Harry said without looking back, rummaging around the tools. 

“You hardly need to. I know why you’re here,” Draco drawled, he slid his hands into his pockets and side-stepped Harry. 

His icy gaze wandered round the lush foliage of the green house. “Can’t make it on your own after the war so you needed Snape to jump in and play daddy. It’s adorable, really, Potter. How does he compare to yours?” 

Harry took in a sharp breath, his fingers tightened around the handle of the shears as he yanked them from the bottom of the wooden shelf. He knew Malfoy, it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a crack at his late parents, and it wouldn’t be the last. He figured he’d make some sort of bloody jab at the situation. Regardless, his entire body flushed with anger.

Harry wisely said nothing, striding past Draco and heading for the bed of Dittany. Draco smirked at the flush coming up from Harry’s neck. It felt so, so, good to piss him off again. 

He waited for a moment watching Harry snap the shears open and carefully collect a stem of Dittany to snip. 

“Perhaps it would be wise to wait, Potter,” Draco said, sauntering over to the overgrown plant bed. “I’m pretty sure I heard Snape say I needed to assist you. Wouldn’t want to disobey him now, right? I’ve heard his consequences are quite unpleasant.” 

Harry glared up at Draco, hating the flint of snark gleaming in his eyes. He knew he should leave it… but the set up was too good. 

“Oh, yeah, Malfoy,” Harry smirked. “I’m certain you’ve heard about his consequences.” 

Harry punctuated the end of his sentence with a snip of the Dittany. 

Draco faltered for a brief moment, his pulse quickening at the insinuation. His eyes narrowed slightly at Harry. Maybe the little prat had seen the swats. Despite feeling a bit sick, Draco decided to call his bluff. 

“What are you playing at, hm?” He said casually, swallowing his nerves. “Leave your twisted fantasies about me out of your little game of ‘house’ with Snape. Disgusting, honestly.” 

Harry knew he couldn’t push it too far if he didn’t want an all-out brawl with Malfoy. So, he shoved off his temper and snipped the next five pieces of Dittany silently. 

Draco opened his mouth, primed to insult him again but Harry shoved the shears in his direction, pushing the handle into Draco’s chest. 

“Here, make yourself useful for once in your life and put them away, Malfoy.” Harry let go of the shears and Draco caught them on instinct. 

Harry pushed his way quickly out of the greenhouse, letting the wooden door thud behind him. Draco smirked and tossed the shears on the wooden table. A few years ago, Harry would have never backed down from a quip about his precious dead parents. Now though, he seemed more than desperate to stay out of a fight. 

Perfect.

Draco had already needled his way under his skin, and he couldn’t even react. It wouldn’t take too much more for him to crack with frustration and spill everything— defend why he was living with Snape and admit what his life looked like now. Draco felt reassured that Harry hadn’t seen the smacks he’d gotten out front either, after all, he certainly would have brought that one up. 

Draco strode quickly out of the wooden door, bursting it open and snapping it closed behind him. He was more than satisfied to find Harry waiting.

He scrunched his nose up in a familiar sneer, “He really has done a number on you, hasn’t he, Potter? Imagine that, the hero of the wizarding world is scared to act up. Can’t step one toe out of line in this place, can you?”

“Open your hand.” Harry said sharply, dismissing Draco’s taunts once more. 

Draco squinted his icy eyes, “For what? So you can kiss the back of it or something? Trust me, holding the door shows plenty of due respect.” 

Harry scoffed. “You take three and I take three or we’re going to be right back out here.” He waved the six clips of Dittany at Draco. 

Draco’s sneer deepened, “Careful, if Snape knew you were out here giving orders—”

“Just take the Dittany, Malfoy, and spare me the commentary. I know what you’re doing, and I won’t bite.” 

Draco smirked and snatched the Dittany, grabbing the three best pieces, he then tossed the others at Harry’s chest. 

Catching them before they hit the ground, Harry narrowed his emerald eyes. 

“I know why you won’t bite,” Draco’s smirk deepened at the faint color tinging Harry’s cheeks. “Let me be the first to say, on behalf of all Slytherins, it's refreshing to know Snape’s got you now, even if it is pathetic at your age. It’s about time you learned some real, painful lessons.” 

Harry stuffed down his embarrassment and rolled his eyes, “It seems you’ve concocted your own little fantasies, haven’t you? You don’t know anything about my life here.” 

Draco stepped in closer to him, narrowing his icy glare, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Snape and I had a nice long chat earlier.” 

“I’m sure you did.” Harry said, lacing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. 

Draco had to be just fishing for a reaction, perhaps even for some solace in knowing he didn’t face Snape’s strap alone, which Harry was more than convinced of after this little round of specialized prodding. All things considered he let it slide to save his own arse from the brewing fight, then turned quickly and made his way back to the house. 

Snape glanced up at the boys when the black metal door swung open. Draco looked far too smug while Harry already seemed agitated. Snape shot his dark glare to Draco who gave him an innocent expression in return. 

“I presume you collected these together,” Snape said, retrieving the three pieces of each of their outstretched hands. 

Draco said ‘certainly’ first but Harry’s ‘yes’ came a second delayed, confirming Snape’s suspicions. He was about to confront Draco but, before he had the opportunity, the blonde asked: 

“Snape, where’s your loo?” 

Draco shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and peered around the kitchen. 

“It is up the stairs. Harry will show you to it.” Snape said, deciding to address the boys separately. 

Today was already shaping up to be a storm of chaos, and he was preparing to put a halt to it before it escalated to a downpour. 

Harry gave Snape a wary look, “It really is just right up the stairs.” 

Shooting a glance between Snape and Harry, Draco smirked at the look he caught.

“Indeed, and you will show him to it.” Snape said, narrowing his dark gaze at Harry, “Come back to me after you have.”

Digging his nail into the flesh of his palm, Harry willed himself not to blush at the subtle reprimand.  

“Yes, sir.” He replied quietly, waving Draco to follow as he turned out of the kitchen. 

As Draco moved to walk past Snape, he found a warm hand encompassing his forearm, stopping him. 

“When I tell you to do something, you obey me.” Snape said, tapping the wooden cutting board next to the Dittany. “You are well aware I do not take kindly to lying either, Draco Malfoy.” 

Draco swallowed, suddenly far less smug now that he was on the other side of the threat. A flicker of fear crossed his eyes as he remembered Snape’s warning outside. Somehow, Snape always knew when he didn’t do exactly as asked.

“I know, sir.” Draco said, trying to keep the discomfort from his tone. 

“You and I have not finished discussing this matter.” Snape said sharply, releasing Draco’s arm. 

Snape tsked out loud and shook his head. Only a week later and Draco had already earned another trip across his knee. As Snape observed the young wizard, he considered Draco’s demeanor. Clearly, he was struggling with jealousy, something which they had yet to discuss. It was also evident that Draco failed to see the seriousness in their conversation outside. Neither though were excuses for the behavior he’d put up with all afternoon. Draco’s little jab to Harry in the pantry had not gone unnoticed, and given it was disrespectful to him as well, especially preceding their conversation on respect only minutes prior, Draco had unknowingly sealed his fate. 

Snape dismissed Draco and sliced into one of the Dittany leaves, his face tightening into a stern mask. He supposed it was possible that Draco had dismissed the expectations he held for his behavior, even after the strap last week. The last year of the war had ravished them all, and Snape had been far too preoccupied with keeping Draco and everyone else he could alive to dole out many well-earned spankings. 

Regardless, Draco certainly should have remembered that he possessed a zero-tolerance policy for disobedience and lying. The young wizard once knew that. Given the cunning nature of Slytherins and the ethical dilemma of using Occlumency on students, Snape always laid down the hard expectation for honesty in his presence. From the moment a new student walked into his House at Hogwarts to the day they left, they knew the severity of lying or disobeying him. 

He was more than tempted to give Draco a few swats now. Though, for the time being, he chose to refrain from punishing the boys in front of one another. Humiliation was a force he was painfully familiar with, and despite his no nonsense approach to discipline, he wouldn’t subject Harry or Draco to that level of discomfort before they reconciled their differences and discussed that matter on their own terms. 

Draco gave a quieter, “Yes, sir.” 

Then he turned to follow up with Harry who was leaning against the railing of the stairs. It was his turn to smirk at the obvious flush covering Draco’s pale face. 

As he made his way over to Harry, Draco felt his stomach plummet. Lying and dishonesty on Snape’s lips made him swallow hard. Suddenly the threat of being pulled up to Snape’s room felt all too real. He hoped beyond hope that wasn’t the goal of their continued conversation. 

Draco glared at Harry when he gave him a snarky little smile and said, “It’s right up there.” 

Harry motioned for Draco to walk ahead but for whatever reason he refused. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes then led the way up the creaky wooden stairs. 

Draco followed behind, tapping his fingers in little thumps up the wooden railing as he walked. He took a deep breath and forced himself not to worry about the comment from Snape. If he had really planned to smack me, he’d be doing it now, right? Yeah, he doesn’t wait around. Draco reassured himself. 

Snape always acted quick when he meant it so it must not have been that serious. Draco allowed himself to relax, letting the unease in his stomach subside. He still had some prodding to do with Potter, more now than ever after that little moment of humiliation. 

Draco peered around the upstairs of the house when they reached the top, taking in the library of sorts and the smell of ached parchment. At least it was better than the bloody lavender scent sweeping around the kitchen. 

“There you go,” Harry said waving at the bathroom, then moving to walk down the stairs. 

He was tempted to tell Draco not to piss everywhere since it was his bathroom but decided against giving the blonde any ideas. 

Draco shoved past Harry, clipping his shoulder in the process. He walked into the bathroom and snapped the door shut, then waited carefully for the sound of Harry’s footsteps to retreat down the creaky stairs. 

Once he was sure Harry was out of the entryway and in the kitchen, he slowly turned the metal handle on the bathroom door, exiting without a sound.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

“Come in here, Harry.” Snape said from the back of the walk-in pantry. He was burying through a few glass jars of spices resulting in little clinks filling the small space.

Harry stepped into the pantry a second later, his shoulders a bit tense. Upon clearing the entryway, Snape withdrew his wand and cast a silencing charm over them.

“Why— um, what was that for, sir?” Harry asked, more than a tinge of nervousness gripping him as Snape looked down. 

“I’m going to ask you a question and I expect the utmost honesty. Did Draco refuse to assist you in collecting the Dittany?” 

Harry took in a little breath, as much as he loathed Draco with every little fiber of his being, the idea of ratting him out to Snape felt… a bit bad. Plus, it may prove to be more trouble for him too. 

“Well,” Harry glanced up at the organized dry ingredients, “he put the shears away for me.”

Snape’s brows knit in a tight line. “Then the correct answer to my inquiry would be, he refused, yes?” 

Harry swallowed, considering his response. “He came over, but I sort of just started doing it.” 

Snape raised his brows up and a short, tense pause hung in the air. 

“Are you meaning to tell me that you disobeyed my explicit instructions? Then lied to me when I asked if you both collected the Dittany?” 

Harry felt like he’d lost the feeling in his legs as he sucked in a sharp breath. Wait, oh no.

“N-no, well, er, not intentionally. We were just chatting about… everything. I just sort of did it naturally but we were in there together, so I figured that meant we collected it together if we both handed you some. I didn’t think we had to actually both participate in the cutting part.” 

“No?” Snape said, his tone coming out impeccably sharp.

Harry swallowed, bloody hell, if this somehow turned into him getting the strap for disobedience, he would kill Draco.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s been, uh, well, a lot has gone on since we last spoke, so we were caught up in conversation.” Harry tried, that much was true, though he kept the boiling anger and hurled insults Draco had thrown out to himself. 

Snape hummed low, turning to collect a glass jar of dried sage leaves. He had assigned the boys a task to gauge their ability to complete it, offering them an opportunity to demonstrate a semblance of maturity. Yet, the looks on the pair proved to him the minute they stepped through the door that neither of them had obeyed or behaved civilly. Draco had been warned too many times to reconcile and he was now out of opportunities.

“I presume the conversation was cordial and reflective of the maturity you both should possess now.” Snape added, glancing over unconvincingly to Harry. 

Harry took a little breath and glanced down at the clinking glass jars beneath Snape’s potion-stained fingers. 

“For us it was cordial.” Harry tried, earning a glare from Snape. 

“I explicitly told you no arguments. I will remind you once more, if one ensues you will wish to stand for the evening meal tonight.” 

Harry felt a jolt of trepidation shoot through the center of his stomach. He had done so well last week, he certainly did not want to be spanked again, especially with the potion theft and the subsequent smacking he was sure to face for it at the forefront of his mind. Fighting with Draco was the last thing he needed on his plate.

“I understand, sir. I’m trying.” 

Despite not wanting to entirely throw Draco under the bus, he felt a desire for Snape to know how genuinely hard he was attempting to avoid an argument.

“I suspect he is provoking you.” Snape soon said, collecting the second jar of sage from the back of the wooden shelf. 

Harry swallowed and let out a long sigh, “It’s just Draco, you know. He can’t help himself.” 

Snape scoffed at that. 

“He certainly can. It sounds as though my assistance is needed to facilitate some form of reconciliation between you two in order to keep the peace when you’re both in my home. We will proceed to my study after I distribute the draughts to their appropriate storage containers.” 

Removing his wand to reverse the silencing charm, Snape paused when Harry reached out and grabbed his arm. 

“Wait, Snape, hang on.” Harry said before the charm was reversed, he let go of Snape’s arm and quickly stowed his hands in his pockets. “Er, sorry, um, please let us just work this out alone.”

Snape opened his palm and thwacked his wand a few times across his calloused skin. He raised both brows up at Harry. “I’m not certain you two are capable of handling such a monumental task without guidance.” 

Harry pulled his hands out of his pockets. “We can, just let us try. Like you said, we’re adults. We should be able to make amends.”

Snape’s expression remained unreadable as he continued with the light thwacking motion against his calloused palm. Harry watched him for a moment, growing nervous. He hated feeling so scrutinized in such a small space with Snape. 

“Harry, if Draco continues to provoke you and you react poorly, I will certainly still punish you for fighting with him. It seems it is in your best interest that this be handled in an alternative manner with my assistance. I will not force the two of you to extensively tear through years of spats. As I’ve told Draco, I merely require an understanding to be reached in order to avoid unnecessary arguments between the two of you. Part of entering your adult life is learning to collaborate with those you may not prefer.” 

Harry shook his head, he really didn’t want to have some long, tense, awkward conversation with Draco and Snape. He could already feel the thick tension that would encompass the room as the three of them sat in Snape’s dark study to come to some fake amends.

“I understand, sir, I can control myself.” Harry said with an air of assurance, “I won’t get into it with him. We can come to terms on our own.” 

Snape hummed low but actually surprised Harry by giving him a slow nod. 

“Very well, you may have another opportunity.” Snape said leveling Harry with a pointed look. “If Draco continues to provoke you, I expect you to come to me. Do not allow your temper to get the best of you or you will not enjoy the repercussions.” 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, “Thank you.” 

Snape nodded, but stepped in closer to Harry, causing his heartbeat to quicken.

“Consider yourself ever so fortunate that I am not punishing you for the Dittany incident either, Mr. Potter.” Snape said in a lower tone. Harry nodded; his cheeks flushed pink as he kept his eyes fixed on Snape’s. 

“I understand the circumstances surrounding today and subsequently realize I did not specify the need for the two of you to physically cut the plant together. However, I could just as easily view this as direct disobedience since you are hardly a child and should have deduced the need to work together based on my instructions.” Snape finished with a stern glare. “Not to mention, your near blatant lie to me.” 

“Thank you for understanding and not, um, punishing me.” Harry added quickly, hoping Snape could see how sincere he was. “My bad on that one, sir."

"Indeed," Snape replied. 

He swiftly snatched Harry by the arm, pivoted him around, and delivered three firm open-palmed smacks to the seat of his trousers before lightly pushing him forward.

Harry gasped, a sudden sting and shock coursing through him. He glanced around the kitchen first, relieved to find Draco nowhere in sight. He then turned back to Snape, ready to shoot a dejected glare, but his former professor had swiftly returned to sorting through the glass jars with little clinks, leaving Harry feeling a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

Without lifting his gaze, Snape casually flicked his wand, lifting the silencing charm in the space. A swift gust of wind accompanied the motion, ushering Harry away. The bundles of lavender swayed in purple spirals above them as the wooden door to the pantry pushed Harry out and clicked shut.

Harry glared at it for a moment, then turned around to look for Draco. His bum stung a bit from the unexpected smacks, but he was more than relieved that Snape hadn’t decided to take the strap to him for disobedience. The entire situation was a horribly close call. 

Harry peered into the backyard, no Draco. Then he strolled into the living room, still no Draco. He walked to the entryway of the house and glanced around, no Draco. He began to feel uneasy. 

His gaze shifted upward to the second floor, where he then noticed the first door leading to his bedroom was hanging open, sending a wave of fury through his chest. 

Draco continued his snooping with vigor, rustling about the room, hoping to discover any shred of evidence that could prove his point or further incriminate Potter. 

He had checked under the bed, rifled through Harry’s dingy old chest, buried through the end table, and scoured every drawer of the desk but found nothing helpful. 

Hurried footsteps snapping up the creaky wooden stairs soon echoed in the stairwell. Draco smirked, knowing Harry was coming to scream about his precious privacy being invaded. 

Serves him right, he thought. 

Even though Draco hadn’t found anything, he smiled to himself, satisfied that his trespassing would get under Potter’s skin. He decided to make a show of it, taking it a step further. 

Draco lazily wandered over to the last unsearched piece of furniture in the room, hearing Harry’s smacking footsteps rounding up the second set of stairs. He waited with his hand on the handle of the top wooden drawer. 

“Listen here, Malfoy,” he heard Harry start in before coming into view. Just as Harry reached the last step up, Draco slid the drawer open.

By Merlin, or some other magic, Draco’s brows shot up and he smiled wide at what he found tucked in with the worn-out shirts. 

“You—” Harry froze in place, watching Draco reach into the top drawer. 

“ You have been in trouble, haven’t you, Potter?” Draco drawled as he pulled out the familiar wooden paddle. 

Harry suddenly felt sick; white-hot fury flooded him from head to toe. His fists clenched tight by his sides; crimson shame flooded up from his neck to his hairline. His conversation with Snape flew clear out of mind as he snapped his door shut behind him. He was going to strangle the arrogant prat with his bare hands for this.

Draco’s grin widened as he wielded the paddle, taking a few long moments to smack it across his open palm. 

“What was that you said in the yard, Potter? I don’t know anything about your life here?” 

Harry fumed; his fights clenched tight as he stormed across the room. “Put it back, Malfoy. You have no right to—” 

“Be in here? Rummage through a place I’m not allowed in?” A snide laugh filled the small distance between them as Draco stepped closer to Harry. “I'm only dabbling in your favorite pastime, Potter. Didn’t think I could find out your little humiliating secret, did you?” 

Harry clenched his teeth, narrowing his emerald eyes into dangerous slits. Anger overtook his embarrassment as he knew full well Draco was also smacked. Snape hadn’t just taken the strap and gone to the Malfoy’s for tea last week, no matter what details he refused to give up. 

Now, Harry had two options. Handle this like an adult, as he told Snape he could. Or kick Malfoy’s arse.

Snatching the paddle out of Draco’s hand, Harry tossed it in the open drawer and snapped it shut. 

“It looks like you have a few more toys in there,” Draco noted casually, lavishing the excuse to shame the hero of the wizarding world. “So, what is it? You like a little pain? Does it give you special feelings when you’re bent over Snape’s knee?” 

Harry shoved Draco up against the wall, hoping Snape wouldn’t hear. Of course, Draco had tried to spin it that way, gross . Harry was more than furious as his fists tightened around Draco’s sweater collar. Rather than squirm away or panic like he would have in school, Draco just relaxed into the cedar wood behind him. 

“Careful, Potter, you don’t want Snape to pull out that strap in there. Can’t imagine you’d fare well even if you like that sort of thing.” 

Harry couldn’t take that stupid grin plastered over Draco’s face one more second. So, he backed up a few steps and released him, letting Draco push back up from the wall. 

“Yeah? Well, why don’t you tell me about it, Malfoy.” Harry shot back, crossing his arms. “Afterall, you’re the one with first-hand experience. How bad is it?”

Draco narrowed his icy eyes, feeling more than a bit of apprehension coil around the center of his chest. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at—”

“Oh, yeah you do.” Harry snapped, “Mummy wasn’t so happy with the fire, was she? Had to call Snape over to sort you out.” 

Instantly the tables flipped, and Draco’s gloat was replaced by two vivid emotions: fury and betrayal. 

Snape told Potter?! He told him?  

“He told you?!” Draco shot out in disbelief. His arrogant little sneer had vanished, replaced by a look of utter fury. “He said—”

Draco clamped his mouth shut, storming toward the bedroom door. He didn't care anymore if Snape decided to punish him for disrespect. How could he have told Potter? The humiliation cut deep; it was painfully evident now – Potter had become the newfound favorite, not just in the eyes of the world but also in Professor Snape's too. The sense of betrayal overflowed, seeping out of Draco's chest.

Bloody hell , Harry thought as he moved to try and stop Draco at the door. “Wait, Malfoy.”

“Get out of my way before I punch the glasses off your face, Potter.” Draco spat, shoving Harry hard off the door and yanking it open. 

Draco had only made it a few hard thumps down the stairs when he paused at the sound of Harry’s hushed whisper. 

“He didn’t tell me anything, alright?” 

Draco froze, He didn’t? Then how do you…  

Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. He spun on his heel at the terror that latched into his chest at the new implication. That strapping had been the most humiliating, painful and vulnerable moment Draco had ever been through, he was going to kill Harry, simply murder him, if he had done what he now thought he did.

Harry swallowed hard, quickly taking his wand out and casting a silencing charm on the room as Draco charged back up the stairs. 

He was thankful he thought to do so as the slam of his bedroom door certainly would have spurred Snape into motion. 

Draco withdrew his new wand and shot Harry’s out of his hands in the blink of an eye. Harry sucked in a stabilizing breath as Draco grabbed a fistful of the collar of his gray hoodie and slammed him against the cedar wall of his room. 

Pointing his wand to Harry’s throat Draco’s tone dropped lower than he’d ever heard it in all of their spats at school.

“If you were there, watching in that blasted cloak , Potter, I’ll—”

“I wasn’t!” Harry shot out fast, swallowing hard as Draco’s wand bore into the side of his throat. 

“Then how do you know?” Draco spat, pressing his wand tighter into Harry’s neck.  

“Your mother came by here, Malfoy.” Harry said, pulling his hand up to push the wand away. “Sod off and I’ll tell you.” 

Surprisingly Draco released him. Harry huffed and straightened out his hoodie. He glared at Draco for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. 

“She came by to talk with Snape,” Harry started, taking in a little breath. “He wouldn’t tell me why or give me any details.” 

Draco felt a bit of the pent-up tension release from his shoulders. 

“Yeah? So, what then?” He narrowed his icy eyes, trying to piece together how the hell Potter knew.

“Snape left the next day. I noticed he took the strap, then Ron came by and—”

“ Weasley knows?!” Draco felt every bit of embarrassment and livid anger flood his pale skin again. 

He turned once more to head for the door, ready to spew all of this onto Snape, who had always promised to keep this sort of thing private. Only Slytherins were still spanked like the medieval days and only Slytherins knew about it. For six years it had stayed that way but now, bloody Ron Weasley knew?! All of Hogwarts would know next term. Draco’s seventh year was about to be miserable, thanks to Snape and that bloody strap. He was going to give him hell for it, then stomp Potter into the floor after. 

Harry latched on to Draco’s arm before he could make it to the door again. “Just wait, Draco—”

Draco sneered at Harry, yanking his arm away. He paused for a moment, suddenly catching on to the apprehension. Potter never called him by his first name. 

“Are you prying into things you shouldn't, you little prat? Did Snape instruct you to stay out of my… dealings with him?” 

Draco’s winter glare took in the jittery energy pouring off of Harry, confirming his suspicion.

“He did, didn’t he? Rather obvious with the way you’re so desperate to ensure I keep mum about it.”

Harry moved to speak but Draco cut him back off.   

“Danced a little too close to the flames this time, didn’t you, Harry ? I don't think Snape will stand for you hanging this over my head, maybe I’ll get to watch him take you down a peg or two.” 

Draco smirked at the flush creeping back up Harry’s neck. He felt relief come over him, convinced now that Snape hadn’t betrayed his trust. Potter was just sneaking around, like the little rat he was. 

“What do you want to know?” Harry asked quickly, he clenched his teeth and crossed his arms, hating how fast he’d lost the advantage. “Leave him out of this and I’ll tell you whatever you’re dying to hear.” 

Draco’s icy gray eyes seemed to waver for a moment, considering the offer. 

In retrospect, with a new opportunity to take, he realized storming down the stairs to yell at Snape wouldn’t prove the wisest choice. True, Potter probably would get his arse kicked for meddling, but he would be right behind him for disrespect. Not to mention fighting, as he was supposed to reconcile. 

A faint smirk came on the side of Draco’s lily-white skin. “You’ll tell me anything I want to know?” 

Harry took in a small breath; he was so bloody screwed with this one. Drowning with no ability to swim, Harry gave up and sank. 

“Yeah,” Harry said as he ran his hand through his fluffy brown hair and sighed. “Anything about my situation here with Snape.” 

Draco contorted his face and crossed his arms, “I highly doubt you’ll tell the truth.” 

Harry stifled the urge to groan, “He’s been your Head of House for six years, Malfoy. You think you wouldn’t see through a lie about… this sort of thing?” 

Hoping the little flattery would work, Harry was relieved to hear Draco accept. 

“Fine. If I think you’re lying, I’ll waltz straight in and tell him you harassed me about the fire.” Draco quipped, arrogance dripping from his words. “Better be the shining, honest Gryffindor you're so famous for, Potter, unless you want to go a round with Snape while I’m here.”

Harry grimaced and willed his body to stop flushing.

“Right then, let’s go before he comes up here and notices something’s up.”

Draco spun around first and made his way to the door, pausing as he looked back at Harry. 

“When we get down there you better tell him I helped you cut that bloody plant too.” Draco added.

“I can’t do that,” Harry said, annoyed. “He already interrogated me while you were up here playing Sherlock Holmes.” 

“And you sold me out?” Draco spat, “I told you to wait so I could help you, you insufferable imbecile.” 

“No, I didn’t sell you out.” Harry shot back, pulling his hands to his hips. “I just told him what happened, minus your lovely little comments. He barely bought that we didn’t know we had to cut them together.” 

Draco scoffed and took in a little breath. He didn’t feel so great with the whole lying thing, as he had definitely told Snape that he helped collect it. 

“Great,” Draco shot out sarcastically. “Right then, tell him we made up, be sure to include that I graciously thanked you for ‘saving my life’.”

At least if Harry said they made amends, he might be able to talk his way out of the lying. 

“Thank me then.” Harry challenged crossing his arms. 

“No.” Draco shot back, crossing his. 

“Are you daft? I’m not going to lie to him, Malfoy.” Harry said, pulling his brow in a tight line. 

“Forget it all then.” Draco said, opening the door. “The fire chat it is.” 

Harry cursed himself for getting wrapped up in this as he moved to follow Draco. He hardly desired to spill his guts to him, over spankings of all things, but between that and getting licked bare with that horrible strap, Harry would gladly pick the embarrassment. 

“Alright, fine.” Harry said in a little whisper behind Draco as the pair made their way down the creaking steps. “I’ll tell him.”

“Is that so?” Snape said, his dark eyes shifting between the pair of boys. 

He stood beside the cauldron in the kitchen, carefully concluding the preparation of the calming draughts and meticulously tidying up the area.  

Harry tried not to look uncomfortable as he said, “Yes, sir. We worked it all out.” 

There were many accomplishments Severus Snape held close in his life, successfully deceiving the Dark Lord being one, but his most cherished achievement was his ability to see right through lies from students. 

“Very well,” Snape replied, glancing briefly away from the pair to pour the glistening potion into a glass vial. 

Draco shifted his weight on his feet then chimed in too.

“My apologies for misunderstanding your instructions earlier. I thought accompanying him would suffice. And of course, there was my brilliant shear collecting. He couldn’t have cut them without those, you know.” 

Snape shot Draco a terrifyingly dark gaze though he deliberately chose not to respond as he filled another vial. 

Harry could feel the nerves coming off Draco despite the casual show of detachment. 

"Well, sir," Draco interjected once more, his tone subtly hinting at feigned confidence. "Unless you require our assistance in gathering more ingredients, Potter and I have a few more matters to discuss."

Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco's audacious remark, his expression giving away nothing. He capped the vial with a deliberate precision that added to the thick suspense in the room.

"Discuss away, Draco," Snape finally replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure your newfound camaraderie will be a joy to witness after enduring your appalling childish antics over the years."

Harry swallowed and shot Draco a sidelong glare. He certainly didn’t want to get into it with Snape after they so delicately lied about their amends. 

“It’s rather private, actually, sir.” Draco followed up, his tone was fairly neutral, keeping the quiver of nerves at bay. “We were hoping to discuss the matter elsewhere.” 

Snape hummed low, focusing on the swirling liquids in the vials. Harry felt his stomach drop, he knew Snape saw right through them. He had just willingly lied and that was sure to be ‘discussed’ at some point. To his surprise Snape waved his hand, dismissing them. 

“We will be having a discussion when you two return, do not make this conversation unnecessarily lengthy.” Snape's tone carried an ominous weight that unsettled Harry, and Draco too, though he attempted to conceal any unease.

“Thank you, sir.” Draco said as turned quickly and trudged out the back door, certainly not bothering to hold it for Harry. 

Draco sucked in a few sharp breaths as he made his way over to a large oak tree in the distance. Ah, fuck. Snape had that look, the knowing one. The one every Slytherin cracked under in seconds. He should have taken the lead and said they made amends, he could be a hell of a lot more convincing than squirming, noble Potter. 

Harry started to move but hesitated upon hearing Snape's stern command: "Astonishing you possess the nerve to walk out that door without divulging the truth, Harry Potter."

His heartbeat thumped against his chest as he slowly turned to face Snape again. He watched Snape interlace his fingers and give him a stern, pointed look. Harry swallowed, chancing a glance out the window at Draco who looked rather impatient standing by a large tree in the backyard. 

“You don’t think we’re telling you the truth?” 

“I know you aren’t.” Snape replied sharply. 

Harry groaned and ran his hand across his face. 

“Snape, you said we could handle it. We’re not done yet with our talk, please let me finish it? I’ll tell you everything after.” 

Snape's gaze remained stern, and he observed Harry with an intensity that hinted at his skepticism. After a moment of tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured.

"Very well. Finish your discussion, but I won’t tolerate lying from either of you. We'll continue this conversation together upon your return."

Harry nodded, a mixture of relief and apprehension coursing through him. He turned to leave, catching up with Draco in the backyard, where their humiliating conversation awaited. 

“What were you lingering back for, Potter?” Draco spat, watching Harry sit down on the collapsed tree log a few feet from him.

“He knows we lied, Malfoy.” Harry said laying down horizontally, wishing the log would absorb him.

“Did you tell him we did?” Draco snapped, walking over to Harry to tower above him. “Merlin, if you want to be his favorite so desperately at least have the decency not to drag me down into that bloody hell with you.” 

Harry turned his head a bit to squint up at Draco, the bright afternoon sunlight streamed down through the budding leaves of the remaining tall tree covering the log he was laying on. 

“No I didn’t tell him, I asked him to let us finish our conversation.” Harry said, forcing himself to relax. “Then he accused us of lying.” 

“Of course he’s going to accuse! It’s Snape. Professor Snape. His greatest pleasure in life is to accuse.” Draco bit back, “You’re so thick, Potter. I haven’t the faintest clue how you survived the war.”

Harry rolled his eyes then pinched them shut, he focused on the soft breeze rustling the tree branches above his head. He felt his heartbeat spike up and he cleared his throat. 

“Let’s get on with this then, so I can try to save my arse after this rubbish idea to lie to him.” Harry said. 

“It wouldn’t have been rubbish if you weren’t so horribly awful at lying.” Draco shot back, “I would give you lessons if I didn’t relish the idea of you being punished for it.”

Harry snorted, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Right, speaking of relishing, ask your bloody questions.”

“Anxious to spill your secrets?” Draco smirked, sitting down on the ground next to the log. 

He pulled his knees up and let his forearms rest on them. He was facing the side where Potter lay stretched out, this way he could watch his expressions, ready to pounce on him over even a hint of a lie. 

In truth though, Draco had lost his gusto from earlier. His thoughts trailed back to Snape in the kitchen, and a part of him, hidden far away from Harry, was terrified Snape was planning to smack him soon. 

Draco shoved off his nerves, focusing on the anger he felt in the bedroom. 

“You told bloody Weasley your little collection of information, didn’t you, Potter?” 

Harry sighed, relieved that Draco started with that one first, not straight into the details of his punishments with Snape. 

“No, if you would have let me finish earlier you could have spared yourself some grief.” Harry said, with his eyes still closed. 

The bright sun pierced the front of his closed eyelids illuminating a faint red color rather than the typical darkness one would expect to see. 

“Ron told me about the fire—”

“How did he know!?” Draco spat, feeling his chest flood with rekindled heat. 

Harry cracked his eyes open and slightly turned his head. His sharp green gaze met Draco’s scowl. No wonder Snape was such a stickler with interruptions, every time Draco cut him off it only escalated the situation.

“His mum spoke with your mum in town.” Harry said calmly, “Before you go mental, he didn’t know about the strap, and I didn’t tell him.” 

Draco pulled his frustrated glare from Harry and let his gaze wander around the yard. He was going to have to have a serious conversation with his mother about telling poor people their business. What was she thinking talking to a bloody Weasley?

“I hardly believe that.” Draco spat, his tone laced with suspicious doubt, “I’m certain the pair of you gossiped about it like little schoolgirls. It’s practically all you’re good for.” 

Harry turned his head back up, letting the soft breeze soothe the tension in his chest. He needed to calm down if he didn’t want to get into a yelling match. 

“I didn’t, Malfoy. How was I supposed to tell him a strap, that I keep in my top drawer, went missing? Then explain what it’s used for without getting into why I have it?” 

Harry tried not to let his tone get to snide, but he felt a layer of annoyance creeping in. 

A small snort filled the air as Draco scoffed and reached down to pick a few strands of grass from the ground by his side. He was a bit surprised that Potter had felt too embarrassed to even tell his wart of a friend about the smackings. 

"It's Weasley, Potter. Garden slugs possess more discernment than him.” Draco sneered, flicking bits of grass aside as he continued his dismissive gesture. “Honestly, you could have fed him a string of absurdities, and he'd have swallowed them without a second thought.” 

“Cut it out, Malfoy.” Harry shot back, snapping his head to the side and giving Draco the sharpest glare possible.

A small silence hung in the soft spring air, both boys narrowing their eyes in agitation. 

“I suppose we do have a few more interesting things to discuss besides that ginger’s stupidity.” 

The condescending sparkle returned to Draco’s voice, making Harry internally groan. He crossed his arms tight to his chest, snapped his eyes closed and waited for Draco’s first horribly uncomfortable question. 

“Why don’t we start with your first time with Snape. What naughty behavior got you, the hero of the wizarding world, finally bent over for a smacking?” 

Harry couldn’t help but flush despite keeping his shut eyes and sincere focus on the spring breeze. He had half a mind to let Draco bring up the fire with Snape so he could avoid this embarrassing interrogation. He would’ve too if he hadn’t felt how dreadfully awful that strap was over his trousers last week. 

“That’s a gross way of phrasing it, you prat.” Harry spat, feeling the center of his chest fill with dread. 

“Certainly,” Draco said, scooting a little closer to the log, boring his flinty gaze down at Harry. “The world has no business calling you a ‘hero’, you never would have survived without everyone and their blasted dog aiding you. Gross indeed.”

Harry turned his head to meet Draco’s nasty sneer. 

“That’s rather rich coming from the poster child of privilege.” 

Draco shot Harry an icy glare, normally he would have taken the bait after such a sharp insult, but he knew Harry was deflecting.

“Speaking of privilege, I’m waiting for your honest answer, Potter. Don’t spare any details either.” 

Harry sucked in a shallow breath and let his emerald gaze wander up to the budding leaves of the towering oak tree. 

“Fine,” Harry paused, Merlin this was hard to talk about, especially with Draco. He hadn’t even told Ron about everything yet. He quickly decided to go the long way around it. 

“McGonagall told me if I wanted to come back as an aide next year, I needed structure.”

Draco paused and furrowed his brow, “As an aide? Hogwarts doesn’t have aides.” 

“Student assistants, Malfoy. Except I won’t be a student so it’s sort of a new thing.” 

Of course, Harry was getting some sort of ‘special privilege’. Draco sucked in a tight breath, a new horrible thought settling over his spinning thoughts. 

“Don’t think you’re going to be aiding Snape, Potter. If you even think to give it a go, I'll ensure your time in Slytherin becomes a proper nightmare. You’ll be sprinting back to Gryffindor before the first night’s through.” 

Draco said it with gusto, but Harry detected the nervousness laced into his words. It almost made him smile. 

“Calm down, I don’t know who I’m aiding yet. I have to make it through the summer first and at this rate I might not.” Harry said, feeling a bit dejected as he considered how many times Snape had already smacked him within his short stay. 

The way things were going, the rest of the summer was not looking promising. Going from no discipline, coupled with utter chaos and unimaginable stress for years, to stringent disciplinary measures was no easy feat, especially at the hands of Severus Snape. 

“On behalf of everyone I hope you don’t make it through.” Draco said sharply, pinching the battered skin on his left hand. “Get on with it.”

Harry swallowed and glanced away from the intensity radiating off Draco. He hated how much he wanted to see him squirm. This was more embarrassing than any other situation he’d been in, and it was challenging not to let it show. 

“I agreed to come live here,” Harry paused to suck in a small breath, “and follow his rules.” 

“And get smacked with a paddle when you don’t.” Draco added, smirking again at the way Harry seemed to grimace. “You’re stretching it out, Potter.” 

“Why do you care so much about this?” Harry snapped, crossing his arms tighter to his chest and pinching his eyes shut. “Seems a bit dodgy to me, Malfoy.”

Draco leaned in closer, smirking as he did. A hint of genuine curiosity lay beneath the surface of his prodding, “It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? Finding out that the ‘Boy Who Lived’ is finally being punished for all his glazed over troublemaking, with Snape, no less. It’s the best news I’ve received all year, really.” 

Harry frowned and turned to glare at Draco.

“Not to mention, you nearly killed me with that evil curse in the loo and strutted away without a thoroughly deserved sore arse. Consider this dreadfully uncomfortable conversation a small down payment on the apology you owe me.” 

Harry felt more than a twinge of regret pool in the center of his chest as the memory of Draco bleeding out in the bathroom invaded his mind like an unwelcome thorn. He supposed in a way Draco had a point, though saving his life in the war felt like payment enough. 

“Right, well,” Harry switched gears for a brief second and met Draco’s nasty glare with the most sincerity he could muster. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, Malfoy. I had no clue what that spell did. But, er, I’m sorry. Glad you’re alright.” 

Ever so briefly, Draco’s sharp expression faltered. A flicker of contemplation flitted across his icy gray eyes. He quickly shoved away the warm feeling of appreciation that washed over his chest and let out an exaggerated scoff. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you slither out of this one with that half arse, fake apology.” 

Despite the bite of his words, Harry perceived a small change between them. He watched as Draco dropped his arms from his knees and turned to face him square on. His expression wasn’t half as snide as before, somehow making it a bit easier for Harry to continue. 

“Worth a shot.” Harry quipped back, letting a little of his natural tease permeated his words. “Right so, um, I agreed in McGonagall’s office. But before that I had sort of been… listening in on her and Snape’s conversation outside the door.” 

Draco snorted; a wide smile played across his pale face. 

Harry sucked in a short breath, “Snape caught me.” 

The outside space filled with a few crisp claps from Draco as he commenced with a little round of condescending applause. A huge smirk came across his face at Harry’s irritated expression. Harry soon noticed the battered cuts and markings on Draco’s knuckles as he continued his little dramatic show of approval. 

“Serves you right, Potter. I can’t believe you didn’t learn your lesson after I cracked your nose on the train for that pathetic little habit.” Draco quipped, so incredibly satisfied. 

He decided it was almost worth it that Harry had found out about the fire, this was the best blackmail he could wield. 

“So, what delightful method of correction did Snape choose? The paddle, perhaps? Did he administer your punishment right there in the office, in front of the old hag?"

Normally Harry would have been quick to defend Professor McGonagall against such an insult but today he could only cringe, this was so awful. 

“No, he didn’t punish me in the office.” Harry said as he sat up on the log, swinging his feet around.

To Harry's surprise Draco didn’t shove away to create more distance between them. Instead, he casually rested his left arm on the log, tilting his head up at Harry. 

Draco didn’t have on a kind expression, by any means, but it wasn’t entirely spiteful anymore.

Harry cleared his throat and hugged his arms close to his chest, staring out at the back side of the house where he sat facing the circle kitchen window. 

“It wasn’t the paddle; it was the ruler.” Harry added a touch quieter. “Before you ask, it happened in his classroom. And yes, it bloody hurt like hell. Happy?”

Draco let out a boastful little chuckle, “Course I am, but you got off easy if it was just the ruler.” 

Harry scowled, no part of that experience was easy , not in the slightest. The frustration prompted him to add, “Well, it wasn’t just the ruler. He, er, smacked me first.” 

“Bet that was fun,” Draco drawled out, making Harry flush again. “Did you pull your trousers and pants down willingly or did he have to ‘assist’ you?” 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry shot out venomously, “I’m not going into detail about that.” 

“As I recall, Potter, you don’t have a choice, do you?” Draco’s icy eyes danced, relishing the discomfort radiating off Harry. 

Harry subtly grit his teeth, he did in fact have a choice. Yet the prospect of Snape’s strap wasn’t the option he could force himself to opt for. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, “I was a bit shocked by the, er, expectation for that.” 

“Assist it was,” Draco smiled triumphantly, content to know Potter hadn’t faced Snape’s knee with the same heroic bravery as everything else. “I bet your thighs ached for hours after that stunt.” 

A small gust of the spring breeze blew through them, and Harry ran his hand up through his soft brown hair. He found himself briefly contemplating Draco’s words. In contrast to the ruthless taunting, he felt the smallest bit of connection woven into Draco’s prodding. Whether Draco realized it or not, he’d slowly given up a few more clues that solidified Harry’s suspicions. He knew exactly how Snape spanked, from the trousers bit to the thigh smacks for misbehaving during it, Draco had undeniable experience on the receiving end; making it a bit easier to talk through it despite the condescending jabs. 

“Why does he even do that?” Harry tried, glancing up at the shadowed oak tree. “You know, I never had much sympathy for Slytherins but thigh smacks gave me a better understanding of how dreadful your House is.” 

Draco narrowed his icy glare, “Speaking of that, Potter, don't you dare think you’re going to be breathing a word about it when we go back next term. Snape’s discipline in Slytherin is private. It’s been like that for years and you’re certainly not about to destroy it.”

Harry shot his brows up, peering down at Draco. Suddenly a wave of relief washed through him from head to toe. He had found a way out of this and Draco had just unknowingly swung the door wide open. 

“That is no other House's business but our own. And if Weasley or any other members of your little fan club decide—”

“To tell?” Harry finished for him, “They would have nothing to go off of, neither would I...” Harry grinned down, feeling the warm sunshine flood through the back of his shirt as Draco’s expression dimmed. “Except you just told me.” 

Draco shot to his feet and glared down at Harry, though suddenly, he was at a loss of words. Bloody hell , he had just told. He’d walked right into Potter’s special little trap. 

Harry took a moment to just smile, he then interlaced his fingers behind his head. Yes, he already knew about discipline in Slytherin. But, Malfoy could think he’d blown it, that worked out much better for him. 

“Now, I think it’s your turn to answer some of my questions.” Harry leveled Draco with an intensity that overrode the previous bravado from the blonde. “I imagine it’ll be hard for you to be honest, since Slytherins are hardly known for that. But I think you can manage if you want to preserve your House’s little secret.” 

A palpable tension settled between the pair; Harry’s emerald eyes scanned down to Draco’s clenching fits. Half expecting Draco to pummel him, he shot a glance back to the kitchen window, hoping Snape wasn’t spying from his vantage point. 

“I won’t be telling you a word, Potter.” Draco said sharply, stepping a foot closer, toe to toe now with Harry still seated on the log beneath him. “Slytherin has its own ways of dealing with unwanted attention and you’re dafter than I thought if you think you can manipulate this situation in your favor. Besides, don’t forget, I know all about your life here with Snape."

Harry hummed low, keeping his head rested back on his interlaced fingers. His emerald eyes reflected the sharp rays of the afternoon sun as he smirked up at Draco. 

“I guess we’ll see about that next term, Malfoy.” Harry challenged, watching the way Draco’s chest rose up and down. “If I had to bet a galleon or two on it, I’d have to say my words hold a bit more weight these days than yours. I’m not sure the rest of Slytherin would be entirely pleased to know that you were the one who sold them out, to a Gryffindor no less.” 

“You better not. I’ll waltz right back in there and tell Snape about your little fire taunts if you don’t take that back.” Draco motioned to the back door, boring his gaze down on Harry.

Harry released his hands from his head and leaned back, spreading his arms wide on either side of the log.

“Go ahead, Malfoy. I think a smacking will be worth seeing you shunned next term.”

He didn’t mean that. In truth, he wasn’t the type to enjoy anyone being bullied, even Draco Malfoy. But his bluff had to be convincing enough to keep Draco from running back inside. 

Harry didn’t let himself falter as he watched Draco track a few paces back to the house. A huge smile crept across his face when he watched Draco stop and bring his hands to his hips. 

A moment later he heard him say: “Fine, Potter.” 

He watched with satisfaction as Draco spun back and headed toward him. 

“If your ego is so battered after being over Snape’s knee that you need me to soothe the blow with my own experiences, I suppose I’ll entertain you.” Draco spat it out, but Harry could feel the dejection radiating off his dropped shoulders. 

“Seems like a wise decision,” Harry added, satisfied with the way Draco’s face flushed red. “Why don’t you tell me first about your worst experience with Snape? Don’t spare any details either, Malfoy.” 

Draco was fuming again, had they been anywhere else and away from Snape’s grasp, he would have pummeled Potter for this. He crossed his arms and glared down at the cheeky green eyed prat. 

After a moment of considering the question, a brilliant idea came to mind. Draco wanted to punch Harry right across the face for threatening to tear down his social life but he knew Snape would undoubtedly rain fire down on him for it. So, he quickly devised a new plan. 

He glanced back at the circular window, seeing no movement or sign of Snape’s presence he decided to act fast.

“Very well, Potter.” Draco said moving from the front to the right side of Harry, “Since you’re so curious, I’ll give you something better than just a story.” 

Harry hardly had time to consider the ominous words. In an instant, Draco’s firm stomach pressed down into his lap as he threw himself over in a heap.  

Harry’s mouth dropped open at the sudden weight of Draco’s torso over his thighs. He stuttered for a moment, trying to form a sensible sentence through the shock. 

“Wh—” Harry started to speak, instinctively shoving Draco forward but the blonde loudly cleared his throat and shifted his hips. 

“I'm quite sure you'd prefer a glimpse of my naked flawless arse, but I won't be granting you that privilege.” Draco said, shimmying forward a bit on Harry’s thin thighs. He made sure he was pulled up enough to have his head hanging low and his arms free. 

Harry tried to roll him forward and shove him off, digging both his hands into Draco’s side, but Draco kept himself rooted in place, pushing back in against Harry’s shove. 

“M-Malfoy! Get off!” Harry choked out; he’d never been so caught off guard in his life. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

“Don’t think you can get any free smacks in, Potter. This is simply a demonstration.” Draco said casually over his shoulder, wrapping his left arm tightly around the back of Harry’s calf to keep some leverage against the shoving. “You wanted to know about the worst time, so shut up and listen.” 

Harry glared down at Draco lying face down over his lap. The position made him wildly uncomfortable, and he couldn’t fathom how their once awkward and tense confrontation had taken such a drastic turn. He stared down dumbfounded at the back of Draco’s messy blonde hair; but for the moment, he stilled. 

Draco smirked as Harry’s hands left his ribs, he’d been shoving him quite hard so feeling him relax back made him bite the inside of his cheek. Potter was too easy sometimes. 

“So, here we are – you, playing Snape, and I, the epitome of excellence,” Draco said just over his shoulder, catching the contorted blanket of confusion etched across Harry’s face. “You’re painfully smacking away, and I decide you deserve a little… smack back, if you will.” 

Before Harry had time to process the foreboding statement, he caught sight of Draco’s right fist pulling up. 

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

After surviving the war and teaching at Hogwarts for over a decade, Severus Snape had witnessed countless strange moments between students. Some egregious, others inappropriate, but nothing in all his life had ever perplexed him quite as instantly as the sight of Draco Malfoy bent over Harry Potter’s outstretched lap on a collapsed tree in his yard.

He stood perfectly still by the kitchen window, baffled by the scene in the distance. A steady stream of water splattered into the sink, but his dirty knife remained dry as his attention lingered outside. The pale spring sun illuminated the boys entangled on the weathered log as Draco craned his head to say something to Harry.

Clinking the tip of his knife on the edge of the sink, Snape's eyes narrowed into black slits when Draco pulled his right fist back. Harry jerked violently as the punch landed just below his calf, his leg buckling from the pain. Snape clenched his jaw, muttering a curse under his breath as Harry shoved Draco off his lap and the pair tumbled into a chaotic tangle of swinging punches.

Snape grit his teeth, snapping down his knife into the copper sink with a sharp clatter that reverberated across the kitchen. With a swift twist of the faucet handle, the sound of running water ceased, leaving a slow drip in its place. The stern clack of his shoes echoed off the walls as Snape headed for the black metal door. He withdrew his wand with precision and whipped the frame open, charging briskly into the afternoon sun, cursing the boys with every sharp step toward the aged oak tree.

Draco’s fist collided with the side of Harry’s face in a resounding thud, knocking his cracked glasses off his nose. He swore off the instant pain, swinging his fist through the air and landing a solid punch to the bottom of Draco’s lip. The white-blonde's face contorted with pain and a high-pitched yell hit the air giving Harry the advantage to roll on top of him, grab hold of his shoulders and slam his back into the ground below.

Squirming against the dirt, Draco tried and failed to take in a breath. He wheezed, the air sucked from his lungs by the blow to his back and knee pressed deep in his gut. Harry's palms dug in his collar bone; the heavy sound of ragged breathing growing louder overhead.

“You’re dead for that, Malfoy,” came Harry's low whisper; his heartbeat thudding hard against the front of his huffing chest. Anger coursed through every part of his body as he glared down at the bleeding blonde. A throbbing ache pulsed in his calf and the numbness in his face began to fade into an angry bite of its own. It was his final straw, between the ruthless taunting and his enduring patience, the unexpected blow to his leg shut off all self-preservation as he had shoved Draco off his lap and collided with him in a long overdue fight. 

“Get off!” Draco finally coughed, his eyes pinched shut and his face contorted in an agonizing grimace. 

Harry pinned him down tighter to the patch of squashed grass. 

“You’ve been asking for this all day,” Harry spat back, tightening his fists around the collar of Draco’s black sweater. “Why should I?” 

A dark shadow covered the front of Draco’s pale face, hiding the fresh trickle of blood oozing down from his split lip. 

“Because Harry James,” came the terrifyingly low tone from behind him, making his stomach drop, “should you fail to do so immediately, the both of you will be punished with unfathomable severity for this appalling display, right now.”  

Harry sucked in a breath and pinched his eyes shut as Snape wrapped a warm hand around his arm. 

Fuck.

The wind depleted out of Draco’s ribs beneath his knees as Snape hauled him to his feet. 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Snape hissed down at the moaning blonde. “Stand.” 

As Draco slowly moved to obey him, Snape reached down, while still firmly holding Harry, and hauled him up. He pulled the boys to stand next to each other, keeping a firm grip on their arms. He looked over the guilty pair and paused, surveying each ruffled teenager from head to toe. Draco’s lip had begun to swell in a bloody red mess and the right side of Harry’s cheek was already beginning to bruise, forming a speckled array of color. 

Both their clothing bore the marks of the scuffle, covered in dirt smudges and grass stains. The sound of subdued huffing filled the air as they struggled to catch their breaths from the adrenaline of the fight. Snape clenched his teeth behind his pursed lips, forcing himself to maintain his composure. He pulled the boys in closer, squeezing their biceps tight. 

Draco moaned a little, resisting the pressure but Harry stayed quiet, keeping his eyes downcast. 

“It would appear,” Snape hissed, his tone cold and sharp, dripping with fury, “that my explicit instructions to remain cordial with one another have fallen upon deaf ears. Quite astonishing considering you both were made painfully aware of the repercussions that would follow such disobedience.” 

Harry let out an unnerved breath, pulling his gaze up to Snape’s. He wasn’t able to hold it long when his guilty green eyes met the cold fury gleaming in his professor's piercing scowl. Draco, on the other hand, refused to look up, trepidation had taken hold of him, but he resisted the urge to let it show. He was barely able to keep himself from lashing back out at Potter for his wrecked lip. 

“Sir, er, we—”

“It was Potter who—”

Snape quieted them with a tighter squeeze to their arms. 

"Silence, both of you," he commanded, his voice lowering into an ominous tone. "Speak without being addressed again, and Merlin help you, I will charm a cane, bare you both, and thrash you with such severity you will regret this show of defiance for days to come.”

Content to see the looks of horror coming across their guilty faces, Snape released their arms and took a step back. Harry felt himself grow sicker, a cane? Snape didn’t cane, not after the abuse he suffered under one at the hands of his father. He had to be horribly frustrated with them to even threaten it. Oh, just brilliant, his stomach twisted. This was not good. Not good at all. 

A similar wave of ice settled into Draco’s stomach at the foreboding words. He had only been caned a few times before, but the ghastly experiences were enough to keep him perfectly compliant if his father so much as shot him a look of disapproval. Snape, in all his firm methods of discipline, had never resorted to such a tactic— Draco didn’t think he could handle it if he did. 

“Where are your glasses?” Snape soon asked, his dark eyes piercing into Harry’s bent head. 

“Um,” Harry glanced at the ground, everything was tinged in a slight blur. “I don’t know, sir. I can’t see them.” 

Snape withdrew his wand and flicked it; in a split second the glasses flew into his hand. The frames were bent and a small crack in the lens glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Snape tsked out loud and tapped the side of the frame with his wand, repairing them.  

He extended them out and Harry pulled them gingerly from his grasp. Wordlessly Snape then cast a spell, moving his wand over each of the boys. Isolated heat flooded Draco and Harry’s injuries as the magic repaired the damage they’d inflicted upon one another. 

“Draco,” said Snape after a moment of tense silence, "explain to me the purpose of your confounding display, which evidently, resulted in this deplorable altercation. I shall afford you a single opportunity to convey the truth, young man. Should you falter in providing a comprehensive explanation, I will delve into Potter’s mind and ascertain the situation firsthand."

Draco dropped his mouth open, and Harry shot him a sidelong glance. 

“Now, Draco.” Snape said, taking a step in closer to the blonde making him tense in response. 

“Potter wanted to know about my worst sp- uh hm, one of my worst times… in trouble with you.” 

Draco tried to keep his shoulders back and his tone confident, but he hardly could hide the anxiety the question had prompted. Harry narrowed his gaze, forcing himself to stay perfectly quiet. 

“He asked for a demonstration of that historic display of nerve, did he?” Snape prodded, his tone dripping with pointed disbelief. 

“No, sir.” Draco soon said when he caught sight of the familiar look in Snape’s eyes. “I rather assumed it would be more memorable for him if I gave him the full picture.”

Snape hummed low, thoroughly appalled by Draco's audacity, which had seemingly reached its peak for the day. The sheer nerve to mock such a grave situation left him not only stunned but furious. He took a moment to consider the incident then made up his mind. Since Draco had not only brought up the event but turned it into an opportunity for a physical confrontation, Snape resolved to seize this moment to emphasize the gravity of the matter and instill a touch of humility in the insolent young wizard.

“Very well,” said Snape, turning slightly to face Harry. "Am I correct to presume that you do not possess the ‘full picture’ of the following repercussions Draco faced for daring such a foolish show of defiance that day?"

"Er, well," Harry started only to be cut off when Draco pleaded with: "Snape, don't-"

"Quiet, Draco," said Snape, "you do not know the consequences he suffered for striking me, do you, Potter?" 

"No, but-"

Snape held up his hand, silencing the rest of Harry's sentence. "Well, then, I shall be happy to provide it to you. What exactly-" 

“No, Snape," Draco begged, his face flushing furiously, "please, don't—”

Before Draco could finish his plea, Snape seized his arm and spun him around. Harry felt his stomach drop at the motion, watching in discomfort as Snape pulled his wand back and delivered a string of harsh smacks to Draco's bum. Harry cringed instinctively and glanced away from the scene. Each firm thwack of Snape’s wand rang out with sharp precision into the spring afternoon as he unleashed his disapproval onto Draco. 

"Owww! Ow- Snape!" Draco cried out, initially squirming in Snape’s grasp before stilling abruptly, remember Potter was there. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to suppress any protests as the next round of sharp smacks landed mercilessly on the back of his thighs.

“You are in enough trouble as it stands, Draco Malfoy,” Snape hissed into his ear. “Do. Not. Interrupt. Me. Again,” he punctuated each word with a searing smack, one intentionally overlapping the other in the center of Draco’s sit spots. 

Draco gasped, unable to stop himself from jerking at the eruption of pain. A moan of hot embarrassment slipped from his lips. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I'm sorry," he whispered when the sharp smacks stopped, his face had never been so crimson with shame, and it took every bit of self-preservation not to collapse into preemptive tears. Which he undoubtedly might have if Potter wasn’t standing less than a foot away. He huffed, biting his tongue in an attempt to steal himself. His pride was about to be bloody screwed. He truly hated getting spanked, it was humiliating and exceptionally painful, and unlike others in Slytherin— he couldn’t take it quietly. 

“You certainly will be sorry,” Snape warned as he released him. 

Sucking in a shaky breath Draco crossed his arms, his watery gaze bore down into the grass by his feet as he tried to handle his overwhelming emotions. His bum radiated with sharp heat, prompting him to shift his legs a bit to mitigate the burn. Never in his life, especially at their age, did he ever anticipate being spanked in front of Harry Potter. Everything had crumbled into a bloody trash fire and things were certainly not looking good for his ego. 

Snape kept his sharp gaze on Draco for a moment, then stowed his wand in his trouser pocket and redirected his attention toward an exceptionally uncomfortable looking Harry. 

“Now,” Snape said slowly, “what exactly did Draco relay to you regarding that incident?” 

Harry shot a small glance at Draco who looked thoroughly distraught and painfully ashamed even though his gaze was averted. Harry pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his front trouser pockets. 

“He didn’t say much, sir,” Harry started but hurried to add more at the look of agitation coming across Snape’s face. “He said it was the worst experience, then told me I needed a demonstration. I don’t need to know more though, I—” 

Harry was then silenced again by the raise of Snape’s hand. 

“As you will soon come to find, given that the two of you have broached this subject, unconventionally or not, there will be no further discretion around disciplinary proceedings when you both behave so poorly together in my home,” Snape pronounced. 

Draco snapped his head up at the obvious insinuation, his stomach plummeting. Harry, too, felt a sudden dread grip his gut. 

“Though most punishments are intended to be reflected upon privately,” Snape emphasized the word, giving Draco a cold glare that made his eyes drop down. “The incident in question was no laughing matter and I will ensure that you understand the severity of it in case you’re tempted to repeat such inexcusable behavior.” 

“I wouldn’t…” Harry stopped speaking again at the severity radiating from Snape’s glare. 

“I would certainly hope not. For if you do, you can expect to be treated with similar severity,” Snape snapped then continued, “after Draco chose to strike me, he received an upgrade from the brush to the paddle, resulting in a more severe lesson than he was initially due for breaking an established rule in our House.” 

Draco quietly moaned, grating his toe hard against the earth beneath him. He crossed his arms tight to his chest and tried to focus on anything but his burning humiliation. He hated this, everything in him was cursing the rubbish idea to come over. He never intended to give Potter the specifics of that horrid week, only use it as an opportunity to punch him. He certainly hadn't anticipated Harry to round on him so hard for the punch either.  

Snape paused to critically eye the blushing blonde then continued, “he was then sentenced to report to me every other evening for the remainder of the week where he then received an additional trip over my knee, serving as a potent reminder of my stance regarding such egregious disrespect before retiring to bed.” 

Harry’s emerald eyes widened, he glanced over at Draco, only catching sight of his blood red ear tips. Well, no wonder that was one of his worst times. A week?!

Many times in his life Harry had been grateful to be sorted into Gryffindor, but this new revelation made him want to give extra thanks to the heavens that the hat didn’t sort him into Slytherin. Every other night for a week? Harry couldn’t fathom it. Especially not for Draco Malfoy, of all people. 

“Given that this occurred years ago, such an action at your age now would be met with appropriate severity,” Snape finished, shifting his punishing gaze between the pair.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what ‘appropriate severity’ meant, though he had no inclination to find out. He nodded fast and responded with, “I understand, sir.”

Snape gave a curt nod then inclined his head toward Draco. 

“It would be appropriate, I think, for you to contribute to this conversation now, Draco. Reiterate what you learned from the experience,” said Snape, prompting Draco’s face to flush a deeper red. 

“I—”

“Address Harry, not the ground, Draco,” Snape interrupted, “you were the one who deemed this situation appropriate to divulge, given that, you will finish this ‘full picture’ with the warranted clarification.” 

Draco pulled his icy eyes up to meet Harry’s after shooting an embarrassed glance at Snape, trying to steel himself against the humiliation. He thought back to those nights in Snape’s office, conjuring the scoldings after each subsequent ‘reminder’ spanking. Although Professor Snape had only delivered the extra punishments with his hand, they had been horribly memorable, smacking in a lesson he would never forget. 

“I learned how foolish it was to do something like that,” said Draco quietly, “it was uncalled for… um, disrespectful and offensive. I certainly would never do it again.” 

Despite the deep shame Draco felt, he was relieved to see Harry wasn’t smug. Not in the slightest, really. If anything, there was a clear look of sympathy in his eyes easing Draco’s humiliation a bit. He didn’t deserve that, not after how horribly he’d goaded him all day. 

Harry gave Draco a small nod then glanced up to Snape, unsure of what he was expected to say. 

“Do you have any questions for Draco before we move on from this conversation?” Snape asked, his tone low and smooth. 

Harry glanced back at Draco who was staring out to the left now, keeping his gaze trained to the layout of the property. 

“No, sir,” said Harry quietly. 

“Very well,” Snape nodded, “Draco, do you have anything more you would like to add to this conversation?” 

Draco sucked in a small breath and pulled his eyes up to Snape’s, “No, sir. I… um, apologize for this.”  

"Good," Snape said icily, then shifted his disciplinary gaze between the pair, “I am going to ask you both specific questions and you will answer me with utmost honesty, understood?” 

Harry and Draco both nodded, following up with exceptionally quiet ‘yes, sirs.’

“Harry, not thirty minutes ago you told me the two of you settled your differences, did you not?” 

With his stomach slinking down to his groin, Harry chewed on the inner fold of his cheek. Draco internally cringed, cursing himself for insisting he lie. Potter was right, it was a rubbish idea.  

Harry swallowed; his heartbeat escalated into a stream of thumping pounds. They were in so much trouble with this and he had no way of backpedaling out of it. 

“I did,” he said, feeling a surge of shame well up in his chest.

“That was a blatant lie, was it not?” Snape asked, though they all knew the answer to it. 

“Yes,” Harry said, shifting his weight on his feet. He felt so dejected, wishing he could take every last minute of this day back. 

When Snape used to catch him at school breaking the rules, there was this harsh bitterness accompanying his scolding. But today, after the few weeks they’d spent together following the close of the war, Harry felt a wave of something else from Snape’s sharp gaze. He was angry with him, he knew that, but there was a faint look of disappointment etched across his stern features making Harry feel much worse. 

“You know full well my stances on lying, as well as the consequences reserved for such an offense,” Snape said firmly, watching Harry’s face redden at the reprimand. “Why did you feel the need to do so? As I recall, you were simply told to remain civil and handle this situation.”

Harry sucked in a breath and tried to collect an answer that didn’t fully incriminate himself or Draco. He still didn’t want Snape to find out about their conversation as it would only prove far more troublesome for the both of them.

“Well,” Harry paused, struggling for a moment to think straight. “We didn’t want you to be upset about the dittany, so we figured if we said we made amends, you would go easier on us.”

It was a true enough statement for Draco’s reasoning behind forcing the admission, but Harry knew as soon as he said it that Snape didn't buy it.

Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow, then calmly reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him in close. Harry's stomach rolled at the action and he dropped his eyes to the crumpled grass below his feet. 

“Let’s try again,” Snape said quietly, giving Harry’s arm a firm squeeze, “the statement ‘we’ is hardly accurate as you were already pardoned from the dittany incident.”

Draco hated himself for what he was about to do but he knew Harry’s horrible lying skills would make their situation ten times worse. Another word out of Harry’s mouth and Snape would rip through his mind and burst a vein over his taunting of precious Harry Potter. 

"Snape?" Draco's voice wavered slightly as he cleared his throat, wary of incurring more punishment for speaking out of turn. "I made him tell you, alright? I knew you were going to come down on me for the whole thing, so I... manipulated him into lying."

Harry glanced away from Snape; his emerald eyes caught Draco’s in a whirlwind of surprise. Malfoy was taking the blame? Had the world frozen over?

Snape glared at Draco for a moment, still keeping his arm clamped around Harry’s. 

“Is this true?” Snape then asked Harry, giving him a look so severe he dared not lie again.

“Yes,” Harry muttered. 

Feeling a renewed sense of disdain for all the lying Snape chose to act swiftly. He withdrew his wand, sharply turned Harry to the side and began administering a string of hard smacks to the seat of his trousers. 

Harry gasped at the initial sting but screwed his eyes shut and kept himself from uttering another sound as the barrage of sharp spanks continued. 

Draco grimaced, watching the scene play out.  Despite his merciless taunting and feigned enjoyment at the prospect of Potter getting smacked, seeing it happen for the first time didn’t bring him an ounce of the satisfaction he anticipated. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was, in part, due to the fact he too was facing Snape's wrath but whatever the case, he hoped Snape would finish soon. He cursed himself for crying out earlier when Harry stayed mostly silent through the hard smacks. 

“I will not accept another word out of your mouth that isn’t the truth, Harry Potter,” Snape whipped his wand down three more hard times in the center of Harry’s bum. “Is that perfectly clear?” 

“Yes, s-sir.” Harry grit out, the center of his backside stung with a sharp burn and his entire body flushed with humiliation. It was bad enough being spanked with just Snape; but having Draco Malfoy witness made him feel inexplicably worse, “I’m sorry for lying, I'll tell you the truth now, alright?” 

To Harry’s relief Snape turned him back around, stopping the sharp smacks. He stowed his wand back in his trouser pocket then turned his dangerously dark gaze on Draco. 

“How precisely did you convince him to lie for you?”

“I threatened him,” Draco said quietly, crossing his arms, “with some personal information I discovered.” 

That was mostly true, Draco knew it might not work given the gravity of their fight, but he knew Snape well enough to play on his discretion around private information. 

Snape narrowed his eyes and surveyed Draco for a moment more, then turned his attention back to Harry. 

“Is this so-called ‘personal information’ something you do not wish me to be privy to?” Snape asked Harry, keeping his tone firm. 

“Er,” Harry started, then caught a sharp look Draco shot him, convincing him not to say more. “Yeah, I’d rather not discuss it.” 

Snape inclined his head, his voice low and penetrating, "Very well. So, the two of you decided to engage in a physical altercation upstairs first, clamoring about the bedroom and stomping up the stairs. Then, in your infinite wisdom, one of you saw fit to cast a silencing charm, leading to a clandestine exchange that culminated in a rather audacious threat." The last words were delivered to Draco with such a severe gaze that it made his heart pound. “Then, you proceeded out here to commence with another argument that ended with this all-out brawl after Draco’s exceptionally foolish ‘demonstration’, correct?” 

Neither young wizard could grasp how Snape deduced the situation so quickly, but in an effort to get out of the intense line of questioning they both nodded and replied with a soft ‘yes, sir.’ 

After a lengthy pause with nothing but the sounds of the spring afternoon penetrating the silence, Snape leaned in slightly, his dark eyes piercing.

"It is abundantly clear that the two of you have failed to grasp the importance of restraint and obedience. Since you've collectively chosen to disregard my explicit instructions, you will receive consequences of the appropriate severity for your transgressions." Snape paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I will not tolerate further defiance. Am I understood?"

Harry felt his palms grow wet with sweat and Draco swallowed hard. Neither had to be told what was about to happen next as they both replied with a dejected ‘yes, sir.’ 

“Where are your wands?” Snape asked next, startling both boys. 

Wands?  Harry thought. 

Why does he need our wands? Draco wondered. 

Harry glanced at the ground, his emerald eyes scanning the grass until he found his wand by the log. Draco also located his a few paces away from Harry’s. 

“Collect them, now. Bring back with you an object from the ground. Stick, stone, leaf, anything you’re capable of transfiguring,” Snape said, watching intently as the boys followed his instructions. 

He had anticipated the day may go poorly, but the sheer lack of disrespect and disregard for his authority was too astounding to handle lightly. The situation had solidified his resolve to make a strong impression upon both boys. He glanced over about a quarter mile out to the willow tree at the edge of his property. 

The condemned pair returned with their wands in hand; Draco had a small rock and Harry a stick. 

“Transfigure those objects into small knives.” 

Both Harry and Draco gave Snape incredulous looks, neither moving to obey. 

“Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, must we have two separate discussions on the severity of disobedience?” Snape said low and slow, instilling instant fear into both of them. 

They each transfigured their items with a quick snap. Snape extended his palm, and they handed over the newly transfigured knives. Snape surveyed them, ensuring they were sharp enough for the task at hand. He tapped Draco’s with his wand, sharpening the blade. Harrys would suffice as is. 

“Hand me your wands,” Snape commanded, and they complied. 

“Come with me,” Snape then turned on his heel to lead them to the large drooping tree at the edge of his property. 

Harry shot Draco a confused expression, but Draco merely responded with an equally perplexed look. As the boys silently trailed behind Snape, Harry soon caught sight of the towering willow tree in the distance. He stifled the urge to groan as the realization came flooding in, making his mouth grow dry. 

Not a moment later, Draco stilled. His icy eyes darted from the tree in the distance to the knives in Snape’s palm. The spring afternoon seemed to darken as his heart skipped another beat.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. I promise Harry gets more validation and encouragement from Snape in the next chapter. Hold tight if you’re here for those softer moments between the pair. 

The weeping willow’s drawn-out branches rustled in soft waves as the afternoon breeze filled the otherwise quiet area beneath the canopy of the drooping tree. Glimmers of honey sunlight filtered in through the dense thicket of the arched sage foliage, small beams of golden warmth warred with the pockets of dark shadows encompassing the twisted base of the age-old tree. The air whirling around the approaching trio carried the scent of nearby honeysuckles in full bloom as the spring days neared their end and the summer approached with a lengthy saunter. A gentle warmth lingered in the breeze, foreshadowing the sun-drenched days to come.

Snape’s firm steps into the fresh grass below his boots came to a soft halt, his dark gaze wandering up the twists of the willow's sprawled branches. Harry and Draco were still a ways behind, lingering in their slowed steps, delaying their inevitable fate beneath the sinuous limbs. 

Without looking back to the condemned pair, Snape tucked the small knives into the depth of his charcoal trouser pocket. 

A quiet breeze swept his dark hair up in small flicks as he moved with sharp precision to pull off his ebony jacket. He lazily folded the suede garment over his left arm, then meticulously rolled up the right sleeve of his long gray shirt, revealing the sturdy expanse of his forearm. As he did so, he turned with a commanding presence, fixing the insolent pair of boys with a stern glare. 

His scrutinizing gaze flickered between Harry and Draco as they drew closer. 

“Come along, enough stalling.” Snape said, his voice low and icy, though both caught every word. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath; his guilty green eyes met Snape’s dark glare briefly. He tightened his crossed arms against his chest and moved quicker, attempting to keep his composure beneath the mounting storm of dread. He wasn’t entirely certain, but he had an idea of where this was headed. George Weasley had told him about the time his mum sent him and Fred out to fetch switches. He’d laughed through it but remarked every time he passed a tree, he’d hear her scolding in the whispering leaves.

Draco swallowed hard, still trailing a bit slower behind Harry’s renewed pace. He couldn’t bring himself to look up as he clenched his teeth, anticipation like an icy storm swirled in the center of his stomach. Though it was ages ago, he vividly recalled the time his Gran had taken a hickory switch to him in the backyard of the manor. He was little then but the pain was still nasty and vivid. He certainly never dared call her a ‘pompous old tyrant’ again after that. 

Draco’s icy eyes darted up to the towering branches of the willow tree as he came to a slow halt just behind Harry. His heart thumped loudly in his ears, pumping a warm flush from his chest to his rosy cheeks. Harry’s shoulders grew tight, and his stomach clenched as Snape bore down on them with a silent stream of disappointment. 

“In light of your mutual decision to deliberately defy explicit instructions, I've chosen to switch to your backsides before taking you over my knee,” Snape declared sharply, making both Harry and Draco flush crimson. “Pay careful attention to my demonstration, as I possess little patience for incompetence.”

Snape then withdrew his wand and tapped the base of the twisted tree. Harry felt his stomach roll, watching anxiously as a thick trunk-like arm of the willow tree creaked loudly and dropped down into a low beam. Draco darted his cold glare from the newly lowered branch to the clearing of the field, wondering if it would be worth it to run. 

“Come here,” Snape told the boys without looking back. 

Begrudgingly they followed. 

Snape draped his soft jacket over the newly dropped branch that extended out in a bench-like beam, suitable for each of them to bend over. 

Withdrawing his own small knife Snape walked to the outskirts of the willow tree, beckoning the boys to follow with a flick of the gleaming blade. 

Snape’s dark gaze trailed up the dangling branches, scanning for a sturdy yet flexible limb.

“You will each select two,” Snape directed, sliding his potion-stained fingers up to a lengthy branch above his head. “In the event the first fails us, I won’t have to pause for you to fetch another.” 

Draco felt his heart thump harder at the sentence, he shot a quick glance at Harry who was staring up at Snape, his expression giving way to the discomfort he felt.

“One such as this would suffice.” Snape instructed.

The willow tree rustled quietly as he pulled his blade up to the branch, slicing it off in a precise motion and pulling it down from the sap oozing notch. 

Harry and Draco watched anxiously as Snape rotated the leaf covered branch in his calloused fingertips. 

“Feel the diameter and weight of it so you know what I expect you to retrieve.” Snape said firmly, offering the branch first to Draco. 

“Uh hm, Snape.” Draco said slowly, eyeing the branch like a venomous snake. 

“I’m more than certain you are not about to argue with me, Draco.” Snape replied in that low toned warning Harry was all too familiar with. 

Draco swallowed hard, forcing himself to extend his battered palm and feel the width of the limb. His pale fingertips met the cool bark in a small fumble; he snapped his hand back fast and gave a reluctant nod. 

Snape lifted a brow at the fidgeting blonde, letting this sharp gaze linger on him for a moment. He then extended the branch to Harry who, unlike Draco, took it from him. 

Despite his dry mouth and sweat laced palms, Harry forced himself to feel the branch up from top to bottom. He noted the weight and length, then nodded and handed it back to Snape. 

“Very well,” Snape said slowly, flicking his punishing gaze between the pair before refocusing on the limb in hand. “You will cut them down then strip the branches of their leaves. Use your knives to ensure the surface is smooth, free of knots or other debris.” 

Harry and Draco watched as Snape made quick work of the branch in his palm, using his knife to strip in clean. In little time it transformed from the soothing curtain of droopy green into a smooth whip like tool, ready to wield the discipline they deserved. 

Unbeknownst to Harry and Draco, Snape had vast experience selecting and cleaning switches as it was a preferred method of discipline by many of his professors growing up. Minerva McGonagall could certainly deliver a memorable switching to disobedient girls and boys back when he attended Hogwarts. He almost smirked to himself as he stripped the branch, remembering a time in his third year when a peer had labeled her ‘barbaric’ for insisting they bring two switches instead of one, as a precaution in case the first one failed her. Both he and his Slytherin counterpart had certainly thought twice about misbehaving anywhere near her after that. 

Snape ran his potion-stained fingertips in a final pass over the length of the switch then whipped the branch through the air a few times, testing it. Both Draco and Harry felt their stomachs sink low at the sound of the bare limb slicing through the soft afternoon breeze. Snape made them both feel the surface of his switch, so they knew how to properly strip it. 

Tossing the switch to the ground, Snape then slid his palm into the depths of his trouser pocket. 

“Questions?” He asked, gliding his dark gaze between the condemned young men. 

“No, sir.” Harry said quietly, meeting Snape’s scrutiny with pent up guilt in his green eyes. 

Snape gave him a slow nod then raised his brow at Draco.

“You know my sentiments on audible responses, Draco. Perhaps you need to collect three switches rather than the required two?”

“Wait, no!” Draco said, his voice coming out in a high pitch. His face grew crimson as he cleared his throat and dropped his tone. “I mean, no, sir. I don’t have any further questions.” 

Keeping his scrutinizing gaze on Draco for a moment longer, Snape then turned and addressed the pair. 

“If you fail to bring me suitable switches, not only will you be required to begin the process again, but I shall add the additional amount of time it takes you to find a replacement to your punishment. Choose carefully, if you are unsure about what you have selected, ask and I will come inspect.” 

Snape then placed their newly transfigured knives in the palms of their hands. Draco kept his icy gaze away as he accepted the knife, but Harry flicked his green eyes up at Snape as he took his. 

He expected to see the cold fury from earlier as Snape had hauled them up from the ground, but this time Harry caught sight of that slightly softened expression again, laced with disappointment as he handed over the knife.

Harry swallowed and felt his chest tighten with regret. 

“Neither of you will speak unless spoken to, understood?” Snape interlaced his fingers behind his back and leveled them with a stern expression. 

His words were followed by two subdued, ‘Yes, sirs.’ He offered a slow nod then dismissed the boys to begin their task.  

Snape walked alone to the clearing of the tree; his dark eyes flickered about the expansive property as he considered his approach to the impending discipline. 

Harry rotated his small knife in the palm of his fidgeting hand, his eyes trailing away from Snape’s retreating figure and up to the dangling branches above.

His stomach felt a bit sick, his thoughts swirled through him at a mile a minute. He could hardly believe he would soon be whipped with a tree branch, with Malfoy nearby, listening to every gasp and groan as he tried to endure however awful it was sure to be. He cursed himself for exploding and letting anger take hold of him in that short moment. 

Why didn’t he control himself? A week . He only made it one bloody week before getting right back into this humiliating situation. Only now, it was far worse than simply being punished alone. He had Draco to contend with, his nemesis, someone who not but twenty minutes ago had applauded at the idea of him being smacked. It made it all so much worse.

Draco let out a huff, interrupting Harry’s second of contemplation. He strode off to the back of the willow without so much as a glance up. He felt trapped— suffocated by his own deflating ego as apprehension wrapped around his chest with a growing tension. Any other time he’d beg a little, plead with Snape to consider something else, force him to give him reassurance that he could take it even if it came veiled in threats. He couldn’t do that today, not in front of Potter. It intensified his dread to an intolerant level. 

When Draco arrived at the farthest outskirts of the back side of the willow, far from Harry and even farther away from Snape, he let out a sharp breath, clenching his fist tightly around the small knife. He was bloody  screwed; how could he stay quiet through something as horrid as a switching? Fury ebbed up in him as he shoved his battered hand up into the swaying limbs of the willow and snatched a bundle of branches down. He pulled them close, his icy eyes trailing the length of each. His stomach coiled and his pride shouted out desperately for him to do something. Humiliated in front of his mother last week and now, here he stood, waiting to take another licking but with Harry Potter right bloody there. 

Fuck, Draco swore to himself as he violently slashed down two of the best-looking branches. 

Harry glanced over tentatively at the sound of the willow leaves being aggressively stripped from Draco’s selected switches. His blond head was tilted down, his right fist curled around a bundle of soft green leaves as he ripped off a massive handful. Soon another followed and another after that as Draco seemingly poured every ounce of pent-up emotion out on the thinning branch. 

Harry glanced away and up at the rustling tree. Extending his hand high into the foliage, he let his fingertips wander through the soft blowing swirls of sage green leaves, feeling branch after branch. Some were far too frail while others seemed too thick, after a moment more of searching he located the first similar limb to Snape’s example. 

Letting out a dejected sigh, he pulled the little knife up and carved away at the base of the branch. It snapped off in a sharp echo— sap oozed out over his fingertips. The cracking sound of the break seemed to stand out against the ripping of leaves from Draco behind him. 

He transferred the branch from his right to his left hand then reached back up to locate the second limb. He found it quicker, pulling his knife back up. The branch snapped, sap oozed, the echo followed.

Harry let one limb drop by his shoes then carefully stripped off the delicate leaves of the other. Bundles of sage green billows fell to the ground in quiet submission, surrendering to the blade of his knife. 

Despite Draco’s initial vigor, he finished clearing his switches in near tandem with Harry. They shot each other a tight glare from differing sides of the tree, then turned to head back to the willow’s trunk together— freshly bared switches in hand. 

Snape eyed the boys with his typical scrutiny as they approached him, neither confident enough to hold his disciplinary glare. 

“Show me,” Snape commanded, motioning for the boys to hand up their switches. 

Taking Harry’s two first, Snape eyed them from bottom to top. He then stepped back and swished each one through the tense air. The cutting thwick sound made Harry’s heart thump. Snape ran his potion-stained fingertips up each branch, feeling for abrasions to the bark that may inflict unnecessary damage to the skin. 

He nodded, satisfied with their smoothness, then handed them back. Next, he took Draco’s lengthy limbs and performed the same inspection commencing with the ghastly preemptive thwicks .

Draco's gut twisted at the sight of Snape, his sleeve casually pushed up, brandishing that ominous branch through the delicate spring air. Merlin, punching Potter – what a daft move , he thought, a wave of regret coloring his thoughts. He had no doubt Snape would come down harder on him for the fight, making his anxiety far worse. 

To his relief, Snape gave him the same curt nod, handed the switches back and didn’t make him fetch another. 

Glancing between the pair Snape drew in a small, undetectable breath. He wondered briefly if he could have prevented this by coming down instantly on the boys for the Dittany. He had foolishly believed both Draco and Harry would have the sense to heed his warnings but, clearly, they didn’t deem his consequences severe enough to control their tempers. 

That would change today. 

“Now,” Snape sharply addressed the two boys with evident displeasure. “I find it difficult to believe that neither of you contemplated the consequences of your utterly foolish displays of temper this afternoon before commencing with such a childish performance.”

Harry swallowed and fidgeted the hem of his hoodie, keeping his eyes on Snape. Draco crossed his arms tightly against his chest and swept his icy glare down across the grass. 

“Either you simply didn’t possess the ability to comprehend anything outside of the moment of frustration you found yourselves in, or, you don’t perceive my discipline as memorable enough to warrant adherence.” 

Draco looked up then, sucking in a sharp breath. He nearly said something in protest but wisely held his tongue, catching the dangerous glint in Snape’s eyes that dared him to interrupt. Harry felt his stomach constrict tighter, also wishing to interject but knowing full well he was not allowed.

“Whether it be the former, or the latter, perhaps a combination of both, I will ensure the two of you recall this moment the next time you’re tempted to disregard my authority. When I give you both explicit instructions not to argue in my home, this memory will serve as a proper deterrent for such misbehavior. Am I understood?” 

Harry and Draco gave slow nods, each followed by a, “Yes, sir.” 

“Listen closely to me,” Snape then said, drawing a step forward and tilting his head down to meet their gaze. “This will not be pleasant nor easy. You’ve each been under my hand before and know what I expect of you during such disciplinary measures. However, I am well aware that the two of you have never been corrected together, thus I sense it may be challenging for you to submit emotionally to this punishment. Regardless, no false bravado or masks of indifference will be tolerated. If you resist the intended remorse for your actions, it will be viewed as defiance, and further consequences will follow. Understand?”

Swallowing the flutter of nerves taking over his chest, Harry forced a nod and a quiet, “Yes, sir.” 

Draco’s response was a bit delayed as he sucked in a shaky breath, but he too gave a subdued nod and appropriate, “Yes, sir.”

“Very well,” Snape said, his tone low and impeccably stern. “Draco, leave your switches with me. Walk to the base of the willow, turn around and do not look back or speak until spoken to.” 

A sharp breath filled the space between them as Draco handed over the switches. He stole a quick glance at Harry, who briefly met his gaze with a combination of regret and irritation, silently scolding him for their shared predicament.

Though Draco desperately wanted to talk to Snape, to offer some defense, he knew how foolish that would be. Obediently, he turned around and headed for the base of the tree. He wasn't sure how to feel about going last, but he was somewhat relieved to delay the inevitable for now. At least he could gauge how awful the switch was from Potter’s reactions.

Draco reached the base of the towering tree quickly; he crossed his arms tight to his chest in a protective gesture and waited for it to begin. He wasn’t far from the pair, every notable sound and word would be heard, making his mouth grow dry. He hoped Snape’s threat about emotional resistance would keep Harry from enduring it better than he could, but he doubted it. 

With Draco now turned and waiting, Snape regarded Harry with a mixture of disappointment and stern authority. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry said quietly, dropping his gaze from Snape. “This was all rubbish.” 

Snape hummed low, his warm hand encompassing Harry’s arm as he guided him to stand in front of the bench of a branch. 

“Rubbish, indeed.” Snape replied, tapping the wood with his wand. 

The bark cracked loudly in a groaning protest as its thick beam came down lower. Harry noticed how it was situated at his hips, rather than the center of his stomach now, making for an easier bend over. His heart soon skipped a beat as Snape collected the switches from his sweating palm.

“Before we begin,” Snape said, turning Harry slightly to face him with a firm hand to his shoulder. “Is there anything else I should be aware of? Perhaps you have something to add in defense of your actions. If you happen to believe that this punishment is an unbearable injustice, now would be the perfect moment for you to give me a reason why.” 

Harry peered up at Snape through the blinds of his shaggy dark hair, a bit taken back by the question. 

“No, sir, not really.” Harry said quietly, glancing down at the switches in Snape’s hand and swallowing. 

“No?” Snape said, strategically. “I believe many would claim after such an assault, you had the right to defend yourself.” 

Harry considered this, keeping his eyes on Snape’s dark gaze. 

A tense pause hung in the air for a minute, the wind rustling the branches of the towering willow above them. 

Harry sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, considering his conversation with Snape in the pantry. Snape rarely gave second chances; he’d not only let the Dittany incident slide, but he also offered to help him work things out with Draco and he had bloody well refused it. Given that he was warned explicitly that a fight would end him right here, regardless of who started it, he truly had no defense of his actions. Yes, Draco had punched him. But it would have been easy to stand up and walk away instead of throwing him to the ground and unleashing every bit of pent-up frustration onto the prat. At the end of the day, Snape said not to fight, and fight he did. 

“I didn’t swing on him out of self-defense, just pent-up frustration.” Harry said, telling the truth. “I wish I would have taken you up on the offer to just work this out together, sir.”

Draco gave the biggest eye roll at the response from his place facing the tree. Bloody Gryffindors and their ridiculous ‘courage’, he thought to himself.

He certainly wouldn’t have taken the high road if he were in Harry’s shoes on this one. A resounding, ‘ Yes, this punishment is unfair. Downright treacherous if you want my opinion’, would have sufficed quite nicely. Snape might have even heard him out! 

Stupid, Potter.

Snape gave Harry a slow nod, a flicker of pride welled up within him at the young wizard’s acknowledgment of the situation. Despite giving in to his temper after multiple warnings, his maturity in recognizing the event for what it was, was commendable. Snape resolved to speak to him later about it. 

“Indeed, well, your accountability today is impressive, all things considered.” Snape's tone carried a wave of acknowledgement. “Frustration is a common adversary, but recognizing its influence on your actions is a step towards maturity. Let's see if you can carry that insight into the consequences you're about to face for direct disobedience." 

Harry gave a small nod, his heartbeat thudded in his ears and his breaths came in at a quicker pace as Snape turned him again to face the beam-like branch.  

He soon felt Snape’s warm hand come to rest on the back of his neck as he extended his other potion-stained palm in front of Harry and said: 

“Hand me your glasses.” 

Sucking in a shallow breath Harry pulled his glasses off his face, folded them over and placed them gingerly in Snape’s palm. He felt a bit of comfort laced in the swell of anticipation as Snape gave his neck a seemingly reassuring squeeze. 

“Very well. You know the rules,” Snape observed as Harry gave a slow nod. “Ensure you adhere to them. Remove your trousers and pants, and bend forward.” 

Harry’s stomach slunk down low to his feet. 

He despised this part, truly despised it. He burned with humiliation, moving to comply with a sick dread. He shot a fast glance at Draco, grateful to see him still facing the tree. 

As he shoved his trousers down with his sweat laced palms, he paused, tucking his fidgeting fingertips into the waistband of his pants. 

“Er, sir,” Harry said, glancing back over his shoulder. 

Snape, switch in hand, gave him a sharp look—wordlessly warning him not to argue. 

“Do you want me to move your jacket?” Harry asked, motioning down to the suede material below his hips, trying to keep the trembling nerves from his tone.

“No. It is there intentionally, as a barrier between your skin and the bark,” Snape replied, he stepped a pace forward, to the left of him. 

Harry was about to add in another comment, a thank you maybe, something, anything to delay this a second longer, but Snape was one step ahead of him. 

“Bend forward as I instructed, Harry.” Snape lightly pushed his calloused hand at the base of Harry’s hoodie, guiding him down into position. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry pinched his eyes shut as his boxer clad hips met the fabric of Snape’s jacket. The large beam of a branch was hard and uncomfortable beneath him, though the soft material offered a semblance of padding. 

Head down, back bent, he came face to face with the soft blurry grass beneath him. A few weeks ago, he believed that bending over an object would preserve his dignity, but now, it proved far more challenging than anticipated—more formal and severe, less supportive. With nothing to grab hold of, Harry crossed his arms tightly, close to his chest, unsure of what to do with his hands.

Oh, wait. 

As soon as he realized his pants were still up, he felt Snape’s warm fingertips brush over his skin, tucking them into either side of the top band of his boxers. Harry let out a dejected groan as Snape slid his pants down and out of the way, effectively baring him for the switch. 

He pinched his eyes shut tighter as the cool wind of the spring afternoon wrapped itself around every corner of his undisciplined skin. He flushed deeply, cringing with embarrassment as Snape’s warm hand hiked up the base of his hoodie and came to rest firmly on his exposed lower back. 

A second later the cold line of the smooth switch tapped a few gentle times on his naked bum, making him flinch. 

“Keep still for me.” Snape directed, making Harry’s stomach clench. 

Instantly the switch disappeared. 

A thwick whistled through the air—hot searing pain followed as it whipped into his skin. 

Harry gasped, pivoting his hips down at the new horrid sensation.

Oh, bloody hell, bloody hell . 

Sucking in a few sharp breaths, Harry continued to shift against the swarm of fresh stinging heat. 

Snape waited a moment, keeping his hard-pressed hand in place. The effect on Harry’s bum was instant with a sharp line of crimson color appearing at the top of his skin. 

Harry felt the cold sensation of the thin switch come to rest again just below the first stinging red mark. 

A few light taps, then it slid back.  

Thwick. 

Another line of fire, just under the first, licked him with hot precision.

His lungs filled with a tight, fast breath. He tried to keep himself quiet but the next three whips were nearly unbearable, urging him to cry out. 

“Uhh!” Harry groaned, kicking his foot up then down into the soft grass. “Oh– blimeyyy.”

This hurts, it hurts so bad.

“Keep your feet on the ground, Harry.” Snape said firmly, moving the switch to rest just below the fifth blooming red line. 

He paused for a moment, tapping, ensuring his aim was correct.

Another sharp thwick filled the tense air once more as the sixth stroke landed, whipping dead center into Harry’s red striped skin. 

“Ah!” Harry gasped, shooting up to stand at the slicing hot sensation. “Snape! B-bloody hell, owww ahh.”

His legs stiffened; his back grew ridged as he pushed against Snape’s hold. 

“ Enough . Bend back over— this instant.” Snape snapped, preventing him from standing with his hard-pressed hand. “We are not nearly through.” 

Harry sucked in a few sharp breaths, gasping through the vivid swell of hot pain. It felt as though he’d been stung by hornets or burned by fire drenched lines.

Snape tapped the back of his leg with the switch. 

“Blatant disobedience carries its sting, doesn't it? I forewarned you both of the consequences for fighting, and yet, here we are. I watched you throw him down and swing Harry, you might not have started it but you absolutely played your part.” 

As Snape firmly guided him back down into position, Harry felt the first warm tears prick at the back of his eyes. 

“M’sorry, sir.” He mumbled out, his voice cracking. 

He refused to let the tears fall, holding his breath as the next three searing strikes came down, one under the other, lower on his bum— painfully slow. 

Thwick .

Thwick . 

Thwick .

An explosion of hot, sharp pain overwhelmed him.

“Ah! T-this—oww!” Harry stammered out, unable to form a coherent sentence through the skinny lines of hot agony imprinted on his bum. 

This pain was different from the others, so very different and so ghastly bad. 

Snape brought the next few licks down fast, overlapping his sit-spots in controlled slashes. 

Harry's knees buckled, crumbling as the searing sensation took his breath away. The branch pressed deep into his hips as he fell forward, kicking his toes into the grass, the ground a blurry mess of green. Guilt and shame mingled with the slow tears now rolling down his face. The fire-like pain was bad, licking into his skin with a vicious heat, but the tears didn’t emerge from the pain— no, he was crying because he’d messed up again. Again . Years ago, Harry wouldn’t have given a damn if Snape was disappointed in him. Now though? For some reason it felt horrible. He groaned, gritting his teeth hard, resisting the urge to beg for it to be over, as the switch flicked down sharply.  

Draco instinctively screwed his eyes shut, listening to Harry’s pain laced cries fill the air. He felt sick to his stomach, his heart thudded in his chest. Potter was crying ? Harry Potter?? That switch must be horrid . Naturally, he believed Harry would take every stroke with stone cold silence. Half of his anxiety had swelled up in gusts at the possibility of Harry keeping his composure far better than he could. He was more than stunned at the reaction. 

Draco had reluctantly observed Harry confront various challenges at school with unwavering resilience. However, now, hearing the audible flood of tears drowning out his words as he endured the pain of the switch, Draco felt not only terrified for himself but also burdened with guilt. For the first time, genuine remorse overcame him for harassing Potter. This entire situation was undeniably his fault.

“I’m s-sorry, m’ sorry.” Harry cried, hanging his body limply over the branch. 

Snape released a weary sigh. 

“You would do well to remember that lying to me is unacceptable, Harry. I understand that you were coerced into it, but nevertheless, you are well aware of my stance against dishonesty. Rather than the eight I had planned, you’re receiving three due to the circumstance. These should serve as a reminder the next time you’re tempted to deceive me.”

He tapped the switch gently on the tops of Harry’s undisciplined thighs. 

Harry didn’t get a chance to protest as the next three lines of fire licked his tender skin with a hot bite. 

“Oww!” He cried, kicking his feet up hard as Snape held him tightly in place. 

After a moment of holding Harry still, Snape tossed the switch down into the grass, thankful the first limb held up so well. He rubbed soothing circles over his lower back for a moment, mentally stealing himself for the next part. 

After Harry had settled himself down some, sucking in a few steadier breaths, Snape moved his hand to his chest and pulled him up. 

“S—”

“No, you are not to speak yet, we are not finished.” Snape said, keeping his gaze away from the tear laced emerald eyes. 

He couldn’t let Harry plead with him, not if he wanted to finish this with the severity his behavior had warranted. 

Harry groaned as Snape shifted his jacket over on the branch and took a seat. He tilted his body to an angle, then gently pulled Harry in close to him, between his knees. 

“Listen carefully to me,” Snape said, his voice quiet and low, forcing himself to meet Harry’s pained gaze with unwavering firmness. “You must learn to follow instructions even when they become difficult. Part of that is accepting when you can no longer handle a situation on your own. We would not be in this position had you simply come to me, at any point today, and asked for assistance or accepted my offer to help you address this.” 

A thicker round of warm tears began to fall, overtaking Harry’s flushed face. He wished he’d listened, not solely to save his skin from the cutting sting, but to prevent such disappointment from Snape. He trusted Snape, he did. But it was a challenge not to rely solely on his own instincts. 

“I understand, s-sir.” Harry responded quietly, in tears. “‘M s-sorry. I’ll do b-better.”

“I’m certain you will,” Snape said through a small sigh, pulling Harry easily to bend forward over his titled knee.

Harry didn’t think to fight it, he needed to feel supported even if it came through discipline. He hated bending over that bloody branch and felt grateful for the familiar contact of Snape’s lap. 

Harry took a few deep breaths, trying not to focus on the itching, fiery heat stretching from the top of his bum to the center of his thighs. 

While he was technically over one knee, he felt more so bent over Snape’s hip. His side rested up against Snape’s cotton clad torso, his legs just barely touching the ground now. 

Despite the pain, and more to come, he felt steadied when Snape wrapped an arm around his waist to secure him. 

Snape paused for a moment after getting Harry situated, eyeing the crimson lines raised up on his tender skin. He’d only overlapped a few strokes on the sit spots of Harry’s bum where the undercurve met the top of his punished thighs. He made a mental note not to smack the area with his palm. 

Reluctant dismay coiled in Snape’s chest as he did a fast, clinical-like inspection of Harry’s welted bottom with his cool fingertips. The switch had not cut him, nor had it caused any real abrasions to the skin. The raised lines would last for some time, but they’d dissipate in the coming day, as all redness from well-earned spankings did. 

Moving his warm hand to briefly rest on the top of Harry’s switched bum, Snape pushed away the growing inclination to pity the boy. 

“It is unfortunate that we find ourselves in this position, yet again. I certainly hope this is instilling some sense into you, Harry Potter.” 

A second later Snape pulled his hand back and smacked down at half his normal strength, beginning the first round of firm and slow spanks. 

Harry couldn’t notice the difference in intensity as the stern swats peppered his already throbbing skin. 

“Ahhh,” Harry cried quietly, squirming against the onslaught of renewed pain. “Owww, uhh.”

In under a minute, Snape's firm hand brought Harry to a torrent of heavy tears. He mumbled out a string of apologies, surrendering to not only the pain, but the discipline as well. 

“You’re doing well,” Snape said, his tone measured and calm as he continued to spank. “Almost through.”

Harry sucked in a few shaky breaths as ten more smacks landed down– five to each side of his sore bum. He continued to tremble with tears, unable to form a response.

It hurt bad, so bad . Yet at the same time, it provided him a sense of deep relief. Positioned over Snape’s knee was the one place he felt completely safe to cry. His tears weren’t merely encouraged during these moments, but expected, making it much easier to release the pent-up burdens he held so close. 

Soon the smacks stopped, leaving his bum a throbbing mess despite how short the hand-spanking was.

“Take a breath,” Snape soothed, rubbing comforting strokes up and down Harry's back. “Your discipline has concluded, you’re forgiven.”

Harry sniffed, huffing out short little stops of breath as he wiped his face with his hoodie sleeve. The gray cotton material instantly splotched with dark patches where the tears permeated the fabric.

It was a tough spanking. The switch was an isolated lick of heat that certainly left its mark. Though, as Harry dried his tears, he breathed a sigh of relief, wagering the strap bare would have felt much worse and considering he disobeyed, he was relieved to have been given an alternative. 

Merlin , he had forgotten Draco. 

A hot wave of shame hit him like a tight punch to the gut as Harry sought to quickly regain his composure. 

He was going to hear about this for the rest of his life . Or at least for the rest of his time knowing the arrogant prat.

Sensing Harry’s hurry to shield off his emotions, Snape slid up the boy’s boxer pants and ushered him off his knee. Harry hissed as the soft fabric drug across his tender skin, even if it was only for a split second. 

Rather than moving him to stand, as expected, Harry felt a swell of warmth when Snape pulled him swiftly into a tight embrace. It was natural this time, as if he always included such a gesture. 

Breathing a few shaky huffs out, Harry let himself collapse into the comfort he so desperately craved. Snape's strong arms tightened around him, offering warmth and security. The steady movement of his calloused hand tracing up and down his back brought reassurance, a calm in the whirlwind of discomfort. Pressed closely to his chest, Harry felt the weight of discipline. It hurt, no doubt, but it also seamlessly intertwined with a profound sense of guidance, a sanctuary of solace after a lifetime without such a presence in his life. Though he never anticipated a summer quite like this, he was grateful for it. Grateful for Snape. 

Snape gently rubbed Harry's back beneath the trembling willow tree, absorbing the small moment of comfort. The previous sounds of Harry's sobs, paired with the distress in his emerald eyes, had moved him as it always had, making this punishment a challenge of his own resolve. Yet, as he allowed his walls to crumble, embracing emotions he once buried, holding Harry close offered a peculiar sense of peace. Harry was an extension of Lily and though he’d spent most of the boy’s childhood forcing that recognition away, he could no longer hide the responsibility he felt for his well-being. Discipline was hardly easy on either of them, but if it helped Harry recenter after the war, refining the honorable qualities he already possessed, Snape was more than willing to extend a guiding hand.

After letting the moment of comfort stretch as long as he could, Snape said quietly, “I must deal now with Draco, but we will discuss this further after he’s left this evening, understood?” 

Harry gave a slow nod, yet Snape felt him stiffen. He rolled his dark gaze up to the sunlight streaming in through the shifting willow branches in the breeze.

“A discussion with words, not another spanking.” Snape clarified in the same low whisper. 

Harry relaxed again in the embrace, nodding against Snape’s shoulder. “Right, I’d like that.”

They pulled away from one another at the same time. 

Harry scrubbed his red rimmed eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. Shame tightened around his chest as he broke eye contact with Snape and shot a dejected glance at Draco’s back. 

Snape summoned Harry’s glasses and he took them gingerly, sliding them onto his face. The tranquil world beneath the willow came into welcome clarity, and, despite the angry throb across his bum, Harry felt soothed. Embarrassed to his core, but soothed, nonetheless. 

“Draco,” Snape said, low and stern, standing to reposition his jacket over the correct place of the beam. “Come to me.”

Snape gave the center of Harry’s back a little push forward, wordlessly directing him to switch places. Harry glanced back and wondered if he should grab his trousers but decided against such torture for now. The light touch of his pants already was uncomfortable enough. 

As Harry moved to pass Draco, their eyes met briefly. Though he had expected to see pride or gloat, he was taken back by the brief flicker of regret in Draco’s icy eyes. He looked even whiter than he usually did as he slowly made his way to Snape. 

Harry was stunned again as he caught the unmistakable small, “Sorry for this, Potter,” slipping from Draco's lips as he passed him.

Harry turned back instantly, his brows in a pensive line as Draco approached Snape. Their professor's stern glare was back, admonishing the condemned blonde. 

“Face the tree, Harry, unless you’d like a second lesson in obedience.” Snape said, shooting his characteristic brow up at him.

“Sorry, sir.” Harry replied, turning to face the intricately woven tree trunk. 

Did he really just apologize to me? An honest ‘sorry’ from Malfoy? 

Suddenly Harry’s shame was replaced by guilt for allowing himself to succumb to such harsh tears. That had to be horrible to hear, especially waiting to go next. 

Harry let his thoughts wander, listening intently to the unfolding scene behind him; forcing himself not to reach back and rub his throbbing arse. Merlin , it burned bad—bloody well itched too. 

Snape paused for a moment, surveying the blonde carefully. He was pleased to have caught the soft apology Draco had offered in his passing to Harry. Despite the obvious regression into the throws of jealousy, a deeper side of him glimmered through his false bravado; one that Snape was familiar with.

“Well,” Snape began, his tone hardly reflective of the approval he felt. “You've certainly behaved in a manner unbefitting of your age this afternoon. Care to enlighten me on your motive for this appalling display?”

“No,” Draco said, feeling a deep sweep of shame flood from his chest to his face. “I have no excuse.”

“I didn't ask for an excuse, Draco; I requested the motive for this antagonistic behavior,” Snape said sharply, maintaining his rigid demeanor. “What prompted your little show of utter foolishness?”

A small huff filled the space as Draco crossed his arms around his chest, rubbing his thumb across the side of his soft black sweater. 

“I don’t know.” Draco said quietly, internally pleading for Snape not to make him say the truth. 

Snape narrowed his dark gaze in return, making Draco’s icy eyes fall to his feet.

Ah bloody hell , Snape was going to make him say it. 

“I… I suppose, ‘I don't know how to express how I feel,’ is a more appropriate response, sir.” Draco said quietly.

Snape gave a slow nod; it was a better answer. 

Harry fidgeted by the base of the tree, listening closely. He’d never witnessed this semi-contrite side of Malfoy before. Frankly, he didn’t know it existed. 

“Allow me to assist then.” Snape said slowly, making Draco flush cherry red.

“Do you recall your second week in Slytherin?” 

Draco frowned, sucking in a small breath. A specific memory came slinking back, making him cringe. 

“Yes… sir.”

Snape nodded, reflecting back on the audacious week he had experienced with a young, overly jealous Draco. The boy had grown temperamental quickly, his first offense occurring when a fellow Slytherin received something faintly akin to a compliment for successfully brewing a beginner's potion on his first attempt. In the next class, Draco 'secretly' sabotaged the boy’s ingredients, well, as secretly as a first year could, leading to a mini explosion and utter chaos.

Snape deduced the situation instantly, summoning Draco to his office after class for his first introduction to Slytherin discipline. It proved to be a challenging experience for Draco, even though he had received a few spankings from Snape prior to the start of the term. Those had been at the request of Lucius, who had other matters with fellow Death Eaters to contend with at the time, leaving little room for his son's behavior. 

“Do you recall what I told you after your first punishment in my office?” Snape prodded, though his tone remained scolding, his expression slightly eased.

Draco cursed himself at the sudden swell of tears coming to his eyes. 

Certainly, he recalled it, after all, he’d held onto it for years. Snape had reiterated the same words after each display of misplaced jealousy until Draco truly believed them. 

Though, hoping to save himself from tears, Draco tried to deflect.

“I recall you telling me that Slytherins channel envy into ambition, not sabotage.” 

“I told you that before, what did I tell you after?” Snape snapped, stepping in a bit closer. 

Draco flushed, sucking in a sharp breath to force the emotion away. 

“Uh mh, t-that I need to remember my place with you.” Draco said softer. 

“Correct. And that place with me is what?” 

A pause hung in the air as Draco swallowed. The willow branches swaying overheard. 

“Not a place meant for entitlement, but one of significance.” He finally said, feeling terribly ashamed having Potter hear this as it made him feel all of ten years old again. 

Snape nodded slowly, and in that moment, as he cast a stern gaze down at Draco, he recognized the same young boy — a mixture of sadness and shame evident after pushing too hard for acknowledgment. He needed reassurance, without it he would stoop lower to find it, which never turned out well. 

“Significance indeed. You always have and always will mean a great deal to me, Draco Malfoy. Yet, you've so foolishly chosen a familiar path of disobedience and poor decisions by allowing yourself to forget a truth I so clearly instilled in you years ago. I have never stood for your unfounded displays of jealously, young man. Not prior to the fall of the Dark Lord and certainly not now. I don’t care if you’re seventeen or on the cusp of thirty, I will always support you when you need it and chastise you when you’ve earned it. You know this.”

Draco quickly swept away a few tears leaking from the sides of his icy eyes thinking back to Snape the night on the tower. He’d always been there before. How could he have thought that would change? 

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

Away from them, Harry narrowed his red rimmed eyes at the tree, Draco had been jealous? Jealous that he was living with Snape? What ? Perhaps Hermione would have caught on to this one, but he certainly had not. His thoughts darted through Draco’s ruthless taunts as he replayed their conversations from the day, trying to make sense of the newfound information. It nearly distracted him from the itchy burn in his well spanked bum. 

Nearly . 

Snape offered no response; instead, he reached out, clasped his warm hand around Draco's bicep, and drew him in closer.

“Perhaps a thorough switching will bring you back to your senses on the matter.” Snape pronounced, making Draco whine under his breath. “Your value to me is too significant to tolerate such destructive behavior, causing harm to both yourself and so clearly to others .” 

Harry felt a swell of satisfaction at the tail end of Snape’s words. He never thought the day would come where Snape held Draco accountable for antagonizing him. 

Snape then leaned in, speaking low and slow so only Draco could hear his next words: 

“Are you capable of holding still on your own?” He tapped the bench-like beam with his wand, prompting Draco to look down at it. “Or shall I place you over my lap? Choose wisely. For if you roll off, thrash about, or impede this process you will receive the due penalty for such resistance.” 

Draco groaned quietly and tilted his head back, trying to keep the small trickle of tears trailing down his face from sounding like anything. 

“Over your lap.” He finally whispered back after a drawn-out moment of dread.

Snape gave a short nod, he stepped aside and picked up both of Draco’s switches, making the boy’s stomach contort into a coiled ball.

He placed them on top of the branch-like beam, withdrew his sharp knife from the depths of his trouser pocket, and snapped the blade down— cutting the length of each switch in half. 

After discarding the remnants, Snape took up a seat on the branch. He snatched Draco by the side of his elbow and guided him to stand in between his knees. 

Draco swallowed hard, pinching the healing skin on the back of his knuckles.

“Enough.” Snape said sharply, lightly smacking his hand away. “Those should be healed by now.”

“Sorry.” Draco replied, pulling his hands to his sides. 

“Why do I need to discipline you, Draco?” Snape asked, leveling him with an unwavering sternness.

Draco’s stomach swirled in apprehension, but he forced himself to speak evenly. 

“Because I disobeyed you. I didn’t reconcile like you instructed.” 

Snape raised his brow up, silently prompting a more thorough explanation. 

Taking in a deep breath Draco glanced over at the short switch in Snape’s hand, feeling nerves begin to take hold of him. 

“I um, also used a serious situation as an advantage to start a fight.” Draco added, wiping away the remnants of the first tears he shed. 

“Indeed, and I shall certainly ensure you never think to do so again.” Snape replied firmly, causing Draco’s breath to hitch.

“Go on,” Snape prodded, ignoring the red flush warming Draco’s pale skin.

“I acted out of jealousy.” Draco said in a small whisper, desperate for Harry not to hear it. 

Snape nodded.

“Out of not only jealousy, but ignorance. You forgot your place with me, and subsequently, how much I care for you, Draco.” Snape corrected, bringing fresh tears to the young man’s eyes.

“Now, allow me to rectify this by giving you the attention you so richly deserve,” Snape followed up, bringing the scold back to his tone. 

Draco hated those words, he’d heard them time and time again throughout school, nearly every trip over Snape’s knee. 

“Pull your trousers and pants down, and bend over.” Snape said, guiding Draco close to his waiting lap. 

Even knowing he deserved it; Draco couldn’t bring himself to simply comply . He didn't accept spankings well, he never had. He possessed far too much pride even in moments of genuine reflection. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Snape said sharply, when he didn’t move. “Do so now.” 

“Snape, why a switch?” Draco said, his pitch rising as he tried to take a step back. “You practically killed him with it. Can’t you use something else?”

He’d been dying to plead and finally, after Harry had dissolved into a puddle of tears first, he decided to try. 

“No, enough. I will certainly not debate this with you.” Snape snapped, leaning in to snatch Draco by the waistband of his trousers.

“Snape, Snape!” Draco whined as Snape popped the top button on his trousers. “I can’t—”

“Silence, you can, and you will.” Snape shot back, smoothly undoing his trousers and tugging Draco’s garments down. “You have more than earned this.”

The moment the cold air swept across his bare skin; Draco felt a wave of sheer trepidation. 

No, no, no. I can’t . I can’t do this. Not with Potter right fucking there.

Draco sucked in a sharp breath, turning beet red with embarrassment. He shoved his heels into the ground, resisting the pull as Snape moved to bend him over. 

Snape tightened his warm grip on Draco’s arm, his voice adopting a stern bite.

"Very well. If you are incapable of following instructions, even when being punished for such atrocious behavior, I shall escort you home after we've finished and paddle you soundly this evening, before you retire to bed. I believe that would help cement some compliance in you, would it not?"

That stopped Draco’s resistance instantly; he nearly flew down over Snape’s propped thigh. Potter be damned he was not getting paddled on top of this. 

“No, don’t!” Draco said fast, forcing his hips in position over Snape’s soft trousers. “I’m sorry, I certainly don’t need that. Honest, I’m compliant, see? Plenty of cementing can happen now. Right now, there is no need for this evening.”

Snape rolled his eyes up to the willow tree and shook his head. He took a moment to position Draco at a stable angle over his knee, then said, “Wise choice, Mr. Malfoy. Give me your hands.”

He could feel the movement of Draco’s breath rising and falling in fast huffs across his thigh. A small whimper slipped past his lips as he reluctantly slid his hands to his lower back. 

Snape clasped them down, pinning them in place with his left hand. He held Draco firmly, with more pressure than he did Harry. 

“Do not thrash about unnecessarily, Draco. You’re required to steady yourself and accept this, understood?”

Draco gave a weak nod and let out a sharp breath. “Yes, sir.” 

Snape tapped the cold switch down on Draco’s pale bottom, bracing him tightly. 

A moment later the cool, hard sensation vanished, and Draco screwed his eyes shut. 

A sharp thwick whistled through the air and a line of vicious heat whipped his skin a second later.

“AH!” Draco shouted when the pain hit, writhing instantly in Snape’s tight hold. “Fuck!”

Harry cringed at the deafening yell followed by the curse. Sure, he had thought it plenty of times this month while enduring the pain of a smacking, but he never had the nerve to say such a thing in front of Snape. 

Maybe he gives him a bit of a break with language , Harry wondered as he tightened his arms against his chest. 

“Draco Malfoy.” Snape hissed, holding him steady in an iron grip. “Should that vile word slip off your tongue again, I’ll switch you clear down to the back of your knees. Understood?”

Guess not, Harry concluded, taking mental note for himself. 

Draco could hardly focus on the threat; hot tears were already in his eyes as he squirmed and gasped. 

It fucking hurt and he had no intention of hiding the fact. No intention whatsoever, really. Potter had already cried out, tears streamed down the Boy-Who-Lived’s face in a river, giving Draco’s pride the permission to hide away for a bit. And perhaps it was the Slytherin in him, but he always believed deep down he could get Snape to feel guilty for spanking him, as he damn well should, in Draco’s mind.

The switch thwicked down three more agonizing times when Draco failed to respond to the language warning.  

“AH! Sn—ah! Ow!!” Draco screamed, squirming harder at the vivid cuts of the switch burning his naked skin. “S-sorry! ‘M sorry! I-it hurts ! I-won’t say it a-gain!”

“Indeed. You will respond when spoken to as well.” Snape commanded, bringing the short switch up and down in a fast slew of calculated whips moving down Draco’s red lined bum with sharp precision.

Draco’s cries pierced loudly through the soft afternoon as he bucked his hips and squirmed against Snape’s soft trousers. His body pleaded, begging him to get the hell away from the swarm of hornet stings whipping his flinching bum. 

“Owww!! Uh!” Draco cried out through messy tears. He shifted vigorously though Snape’s hold kept him pinned. 

“Lie still.” Snape directed, pausing to secure Draco’s legs tighter with his own. 

Draco let out a strangled cry as he felt Snape tighten his grip on him, keeping him constricted and hardly able to move. It was for the best Snape had him over his lap, for he would have certainly fallen off the branch if not. 

The switch whipped down with fiery precision, line after crimson line bloomed up, covering Draco’s bum. Snape went from the top of his bum to the bottom then began again at the top, overlapping each strike, making Draco yell with a ridiculous volume. 

“OW!!” Draco cried out, sputtering through tears. “Y-you, ow! Snape! Th-this is unbear-ah!!”

Snape let out a tense sigh. He would’ve preferred to let the message sink in, go stroke for stroke as he did with Harry. However, Draco’s pain tolerance was a fair bit lower and he needed things to move fast if he wanted to keep his eardrums intact. 

“Yes, it stings, it is intended to. These next strikes are for not only blatantly lying to my face but blackmailing Harry to do the same. I’m truly appalled by such behavior, Draco Malfoy. Completely unacceptable.” 

“Sna-pe!” Draco wailed through the slew of fresh, hot tears rolling down the front of his contorted face. His tone begged for the leniency he knew not to expect. 

He dragged in a ragged gulp of air and jerked his trapped thighs at the sensation of the cold branch preemptively tapping his sensitive skin. 

The next ten strikes were utter hell for Draco, thwicking down in furiously fast whistles with no room for a sound in between. He couldn’t even yell for a moment as the rush of firefly lines stole his breath. 

“AH!!” Draco finally bellowed through clenched teeth; he barely recognized the sensation of Snape shifting as he dropped the switch. 

Weeping bitterly, as he always did when he hit the peak of his pain tolerance, Draco opened his balled-up fits at the base of his spine and let his body uncoil. Pent frustration released its hold in his rigid shoulders as he succumbed quickly to the guilt of it all. Growing up, Draco wasn’t one for self-reflection. Yet following the close of the war, he’d slowly begun to take more responsibility for his mistakes. Each searing lick, though horribly painful, carried a weight of deserved consequence that he couldn't ignore. In that moment, he grappled not just with the physical pain but with the remorse that accompanied it— a bitter pill to swallow considering Harry Potter was the one involved this time. 

“Sorry, ‘so sorry.” Draco choked out through the pain, focusing his attention on Snape’s soothing hand going up and down his back. 

“Very well, Draco,” Snape said quietly, patting his back a few more times. “I’m going to spank you a bit more then we’ll be through. I expect you to remember this moment and carry it with you when you’re tempted to defy my instructions again and allow immature feelings to take hold of your senses.”  

Harry bit his lip and looked up to the swaying branches of the willow tree, prepared to hear Draco start with the tear-laced please again, but they shockingly never came.

Draco’s small, broken, “yes sir,” was so quiet Harry barely caught it. 

After a quick pass over Draco’s red lined skin, tracing his cool fingertips across the most pronounced lines, Snape decided to make the ending lesson slow and measured. 

Just as with Harry, he pulled his hand up and brought it down firmly, at half his usual strength, beginning his first round of precise swats. Draco pushed his hips forward and groaned loudly as the heat from his backside melded into a symphony of pain but kept himself uncharacteristically compliant. 

Snape nodded in approval at the acceptance, continuing with a measured pace. 

“I don’t want to hear a word about the length of your punishment versus Harry’s when we finish,” Snape added, smacking his hand down firmly. “You certainly started this. From the moment you approached my doorstep you chose to behave like an unruly first year, beginning this day off with inexcusable behavior.”

Draco felt humiliation roll back up in his chest amid the horribly painful smacks. Though he merely hung his head and nodded, offering no argument. 

He couldn’t even get out a ‘yes, sir’ through the slew of tears but Snape didn’t scold him for it, merely continuing with the slow spanks to his tender red bum.

“I heard your little quip in the pantry as well, Draco. You were fortunate I didn’t drag you across my knee then and there.”

Snape punctuated his words with six harder smacks, three to each of Draco’s upper thighs. 

“Owww, mmm,” Draco shook his blonde head, hot tears dripping down his face. “I’m s-s-orry!”

He was in pain, but he’d truly given up the fight against it now. Snape intensified the last few minutes of smacks, prompting Draco to cry out the rest of his feelings, consumed by dejected sobs.

When Snape was through spanking, he rested his stinging hand against Draco’s throbbing bum and gave it a quick rub. The hot heat radiated against his calloused palm making him internally sigh. It was hardly typical for him to do such a thing, but Draco had once asked for it, telling him in an exceptionally vulnerable moment it made him feel better after the smacks were through. Half the time he’d scurry up off Snape’s knee and commence with the rubbing himself before any of the post-spanking conversation had started.

Snape moved his hand up Draco’s back next and rubbed firm circles, soothing him with the sound of his low voice. 

“You’re forgiven, Draco, take a breath. You’re quite alright.” 

Draco took in more than one, trying to steady the warbling effect of his previous sobs. 

Snape whispered down a few lingering words of encouragement, continuing with the slow rubbing and support. 

Feeling embarrassment take over again as he regained his emotions, a dejected groan slipped past Draco’s lips. Bloody hell, he had to deal with Potter after this humiliating mess. Snape took the cue to help him righten his boxers and pull him up from his knee. 

Just as he’d done with Harry, Snape drew Draco in tightly to his chest. Wrapping his strong arms around the troublesome blonde. 

Draco sniffed, his breath slowing from the last fast jolts of adrenaline. He slunk into Snape’s cotton clad chest, feeling safe and secure— just as he always had after being spanked. He hadn’t a clue why Snape had taken up hugging again after administering spankings but he wouldn’t deny how soothed the gesture made him feel. 

“You will not forget this lesson, Draco, nor my care for you. Is that clear?” Snape uttered quietly, his hand rubbing Draco's back.

His words were met with a tighter embrace from Draco, “As long as you don’t replace me.” He said in the faintest whisper. 

Snape scoffed, “What a foolish concern.” 

Draco smiled at that, thankful to have gotten the reassurance he came for, even though it wasn’t under the circumstances he’d expected. 

They pulled away from each other a moment later and Draco drew in one more shaky breath. His pride returned with a vengeance, his mind working quickly on a way to downplay his reaction. His bum burned horribly and he took the opportunity to give it a soothing rub before Potter could turn around. 

Snape let out a weary sigh and rose. Though his sternness had returned feverishly fast when he’d witnessed the boys beating each other into the ground, disciplining them was nevertheless a challenge. As he moved to retrieve his jackets from the branch and unroll his sleeve, he resolved to speak with Minerva about the matter soon, perhaps she could provide some clarity.

“Come here, Harry.” Snape instructed with an even tone.

Harry turned from his position slowly and made his way over to them. Neither he nor Draco dared a glance at each other, both of them radiating with the discomfort they now felt. 

“Now,” Snape said when Harry took up a spot next to Draco. “You two are going to address each other civilly, as you should have hours ago, and come to an understanding that will set aside your differences in my home.This goes for the next term as well, I won’t stand for the two of you regressing to such immature behavior in front of troves of students who admire the resilience you’ve both demonstrated over the last few years of the war.” 

Despite the shame of having just been spanked in front of each other, both Harry and Draco felt a flicker of appreciation at Snape’s words.

“Come along,” Snape motioned, lending a firm hand to each boy's shoulder and turning them to face one another. 

Draco sniffed, rubbing his nose across the back of his hand, attempting to hide away the remnants of tears. Harry let out a tense breath, running his hand through his shaggy dark hair.

There was a small pause that hung in the air as the pair of disciplined boys finally met each other's red rimmed eyes. 

“I—”

“Well—”

Harry and Draco paused, both awkwardly waiting for the other to finish their sentences. Snape interlaced his fingers behind his back, attempting to remain patient.

“Oh go on, Potter. Since you always have to be first at everything. I’m sure you’re dying to take the high road before I can.” Draco finally quipped, a trace of his customary smirk emerging at the edge of his tear-stained face.

Snape parted his lips to deliver a fresh scold but Harry jumped in first, hands pulled up to his thin hips, a hint of challenge back in his emerald eyes. 

“Come off it, Malfoy, don’t act like you didn’t already beat me to it when you slid out a ‘sorry’ before I was even allowed to say anything back.” 

Draco scoffed, “Do you have any idea how torturous it was to listen to you beg for mercy while I waited to go next? Not even I could stop myself from feeling sorry about it.”

Harry dropped his mouth open, “Begged? You think I'm the one that begged ? It sounded like you were being gutted behind me.”

“Enough.” Snape cut in, he sighed at their bickering but had to hold back a smirk of his own at the quips. “Civilly, gentlemen, and we’re certainly not here to commence with such a ridiculous debate.” 

Hoping to salvage just a bit of pride, Draco cleared his throat after a moment of tense silence and extended his hand out to Harry. 

“I know you’ll be eternally grateful that I didn’t give you and your little fan club up to the Death Eaters and, I suppose, up until about ten minutes ago, I was marginally thankful you didn’t let me die. Truce for now, yeah?” 

Snape scoffed and rolled his dark eyes up to the flurries of willow branches but to his relief Harry took the arrogant show of amends in his own cheeky stride. 

“Yeah, loads of eternal appreciation to you, Malfoy. Right then, truce it is.”

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbed Draco’s hand and gave it a firm shake. 

“There now,” Snape said, shifting his dark gaze between the pair. “Imagine, had you both acted with a modicum of sense earlier and followed my instructions to have this brief conversation, my willow tree would be undisturbed, and your backsides wouldn't be lamenting every stride back to the house.” 

Harry and Draco looked away from each other, releasing hands. A familiar red flush crept up their necks yet again. 

“Both of you put your trousers back on,” Snape instructed, motioning for the boxer-clad boys to locate their garments. “Then we’ll take a little walk.” 

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

The remainder of the day, following the ghastly encounter with the switch, turned out decently well for Harry despite the itchy soreness across his skin. Upon entering the house, Draco made a brilliant excuse as to why he couldn’t possibly stay another moment more and, despite clearly seeing through it, Snape had permitted him to take his leave. Harry listened closely to the small conversation between the pair as Snape ushered Draco over to the fireplace, directing him to use the floo network home. Apparently, Draco would be accompanying him to Diagon Alley next week to conclude a conversation they must have had on the walk. Harry bid Draco a quiet goodbye which he stiffly returned, before disappearing into the crackling swirl of emerald green flames. 

Snape ushered Harry into the kitchen next with a firm hand to his shoulder, requiring him to give an account of the fight and what had led up to it as they prepared a light lunch together. Carefully navigating the conversation, Harry omitted his threat to Draco about the fire and Draco’s nasty taunt about Snape substituting the role of his father. Despite the evasions, he managed to reveal more about the day in a way that seemed to be acceptable. 

A deep warmth of appreciation filled Harry’s chest when Snape unexpectedly commended him on keeping his temper at bay for as long as he did. They discussed how he could have handled the situation differently and the importance of seeking help when needed. The reiteration of that lesson, the same he’d received before his trip over Snape’s knee beneath the willow, clung closely to Harry’s chest, intensifying his dread over the next few days as he considered stealing the potions for Ron. 

Maybe Snape would help out if he asked, maybe he’d talk to Ron’s mum and convince her that the sleeping draughts were safe.

What if Snape doesn’t though?

The thought clawed at Harry, trapping the words in his throat each time he could muster up the courage to ask. What if he simply says no, then Ron would have to suffer. 

Suffer like everyone else. All because of me.  

It would be his fault, just like the war was. Just like all the innocent lives lost were. Draco was right, he wouldn’t have survived without help, and thanks to such selfless sacrifices, so many were long gone. Vibrant lives had been snuffed out with a cold malice because of him. The guilt over Fred's death, Sirius's, and Dobby's, everyone's, all came rolling back with a vengeance, bearing down on his shoulders with an unrelenting weight.

Though despite his best efforts to conceal it all, Snape seemed to take note.

The study emanated a soft glow, flickering in warm strokes of amber light across the cedar-lined space. Snape's quill scratched at a metronomic pace, filling the hush of the room with its smooth grating. Every now and then, he'd clink the edge of the inkwell, releasing thick blots of the raven-colored liquid. 

He added another period to the page of aged parchment and glanced up briefly at Harry. Sitting across from him in the armchair, his green eyes were barely visible above the worn cover of the leather-bound book. 

“I might presume you’d fallen asleep behind that text, though I’d be a bit astonished at your knack for holding it upright. Is this a technique you polished to withstand my invigorating lectures?” 

Harry glanced over the book at Snape, dipping it lower to reveal his questioning emerald eyes. 

“What?” 

“My mistake, it seems the chapter is so engrossing you didn’t even catch my remark.” Snape replied in his dry tone, continuing to write with flawless precision. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Clearly,” Snape said casually, dipping his quill in the inkwell. “Out with it— what’s troubling you?” 

The faintest little clink rang out in the small room as Snape tapped the quill's tip to the side of the jar, releasing the excess ink. A deep pit grew larger in the center of Harry’s stomach, his mouth drying up faster than the cracks of a desert.

Did Snape know? Had he invaded his thoughts moments ago as he considered when he could filch the potions? No, Harry would have felt that— known that. Right? Legilimency was noticeable. He hadn’t even looked at Snape’s dark eyes. 

“What makes you so sure I’m upset?” Harry challenged, trying to sound relaxed though every muscle in his body seemed to contort into knots as he said it. 

Snape continued writing, keeping his eyes on the parchment and his hand gliding across it in smooth strokes.  

“You have yet to turn to the next page of your book,” he noted, with an air of feigned indifference. “Considering it’s been well over a half hour; I'm astonished your eyes haven't started watering from such prolonged staring.”

Harry felt the smallest blush creep up his neck as he peered down at the same paragraph he’d looked at for ages. 

“Oh…right. So I have, er, bit lost in thought is all. Nothing is bothering me.” 

“Is that so?” Snape replied, continuing to write without breaking pace. “Perhaps then, you took another precarious fly around the property that evaded my notice.” 

Harry furrowed his brows in a tight line and dropped his book to his lap, folding it over in a thick smack. 

“Flying? Not since the day before last, no. Why?” 

Snape pulled up the parchment paper, giving it a light shake to dry the remaining lines of his correspondence. 

“You didn’t nosedive your way across the pond again, narrowly missing the side of the home?”

Harry flashed a sheepish smile, “You saw that?” 

“Indeed,” Snape finally looked up as he folded the letter and sealed it. “Did you injure your neck while at it?” 

“My neck?” Harry scrunched his brows, perplexed. 

Snape gave a slight sigh, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk. Harry could hear the sounds of glass jars and other objects clinking across the room as he buried through it. 

“You’ve been rubbing it off and on for the last hour.” Snape remarked, pulling a short glass jar of a lilac tinted balm out. He set it on his desk and shut the wooden drawer with a clack. 

Harry eyed the jar, wondering just how Snape always seemed to notice the little things he did. 

“Oh…” Harry said slowly, “No, I didn’t hurt it flying. I guess it’s a bit tense.” 

Snape gave a slow nod. “Hence my question, Harry. If you didn’t injure it, I presume one or many of those spiraling thoughts of yours are distressing.” 

Merlin , Snape was perceptive. It made Harry wonder just exactly how much he’d known at school but never let on. 

Harry tried to think of an excuse, something that would make sense, other than the truth: I’m planning to steal from you, and I wish I didn’t have to. I'm sure you'll go back to hating me after. 

“I guess just war stuff,” Harry said and swallowed, “Missing Fred and the others, is all.” 

Snape hummed low and collected the little jar of balm, “Come to me, bring that chair with you.”

Harry eyed Snape cautiously, his heart missed a beat. Am I in trouble? Does he know? 

As if reading his mind Snape let out a little scoff and rolled his eyes. 

“I am going to apply this to your neck so that you may cease your incessant fidgeting with it every other moment.” Snape tapped the jar in his potion-stained palm. “Merlin, Harry, with your perpetual bewilderment at my directives one would think I’ve grown another head anytime I ask something of you.” 

Harry let out a little chuckle, feeling relieved. Alright, Snape didn’t know. Good. 

He turned and set the large book on the shelf behind him with a soft thud then dragged the armchair over in an echoing scrape that seemed to bounce off the silent study’s walls. 

“It is not all that heavy,” Snape noted, raising his brow up at the sound. “Hardly necessary to tear through the floorboards.” 

Giving a halfhearted smirk Harry offered a hardly sincere apology, turned the chair so the backrest faced Snape, and plopped down into it. 

Snape rolled his eyes, picking up his armless study chair and gently disposing it behind Harry’s. 

“Sit up for me.” Snape said, unscrewing the top of the balm jar in a squeaky whirl. “I will not crane around you to accommodate lazy posture.”

Harry obeyed with a little smirk, feeling a sense of appreciation come over him at Snape’s offer. This was one of those little moments, small gestures that Snape casually did, almost in a feigned annoyance sort of way, that made him feel incredibly comforted. Growing up, Harry wasn’t offered much physical comfort. Aunt Petunia saved the cuddles for Dudley, and the only thing Vernon cared to touch was his food. For Harry, any form of contact Snape offered him these days stirred a sense of security in his chest, a feeling of being looked after and cared for following an upbringing devoid of such affection. 

Snape dipped his potion-stained fingers into the cool balm and dabbed a bit on Harry's neck. 

“Merlin!” Harry jerked forward at the freezing sensation, shooting to the front of the chair. 

“Lord in heaven,” Snape tsk’d out loud. “Lean back and spare me the unnecessary theatrics, you dramatic child.” 

Harry huffed, turning slightly to shoot him an emerald dagger of a glare. “That’s like bloody ice, Snape!” 

Snape merely rolled his eyes and motioned for Harry to lean back. 

“And I’m hardly a child.” Harry grumbled, making Snape smirk. “That’s likely to give me a fair bit of frostbite if you’re not careful.”

Snape scoffed and surveyed him for a moment. Despite Harry legally being an adult, in many aspects, he remained a young boy in his eyes. The wizarding age of 17 had always struck him as to tender an age to label someone as ready to take on the world. In the magical community, many adolescents lingered with their families until their early twenties despite society pushing for them to venture out on their own. Ron Weasley would likely choose a more extended stay in the warmth of the Burrow before embarking on a solo journey. It was good for the youth to spend a bit more time nurtured and looked after by their loved ones, they needed it. Especially those who had survived such a devastating war. 

“It truly mystifies me that you never formed an alliance with Draco,” Snape replied, earning another small glare from Harry as he slid back into place. “The two of you possess such a similar penchant for excessive histrionics, I can only imagine the liveliness of your conversations if you were to converse without insults.” 

Harry snorted. “You know I’m not half as bad as Draco.” 

He nearly shot forward again at the icy sensation of the balm on his neck but forced himself to stay perfectly still. Snape gave a little smirk at the newfound calmness, if there was one way to get Harry to do something it was to make it a challenge, a light jab went a long way. 

Snape hummed low, working the balm into Harry’s tight neck. He considered the boy’s demeanor over the last few days. He had been more withdrawn, pleasant but distracted. It hardly took a legilimens to know something was troubling him. 

“Now, regarding the war,” Snape began, but paused when he caught the beginning of Harry starting to say something.

“I was wondering…” Harry trailed off, clearly realizing his mistake. He was relieved when Snape didn’t stop rubbing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” 

Snape worked his calloused thumbs in slow circles, attempting to relax the knot of tension under Harry’s skin. Uncharacteristically, he decided to let the interruption slide without much of a stern reprimand. 

“Yes, well, see to it you refrain from doing so in the future,” Snape said calmly, without the bite of his typical scolding. “Go ahead with your inquiry.” 

Harry tried to relax at the firm sensation of Snape’s fingers working their way around his neck in calming strokes. For some reason though, the moment of care suddenly made his stomach constrict tighter. He didn’t want to break Snape’s trust; he didn’t want to steal from him. Ugh , he was going to ruin everything if he did. Getting emotionally wrapped up in his downpour of guilt over the war also sounded staunchly unappealing so he decided to switch tactics, focusing on another question that had been eating away at him for days. 

“I won’t, sir.” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Speaking of Draco, I have a question that’s been bothering me since he left.” 

Snape lifted a brow, continuing with the slow strokes across Harry’s constricted neck.

“That question would be?”

“Er, well, you know how you painted a ‘full picture’ of the time he punched you?” Harry asked, trying to keep the discomfort from his tone.

“Indeed.” Snape said, reaching to collect a bit more soothing balm. 

He sighed internally, noting that when Harry got uncomfortable, he tended to stretch his questions out to an exhausting length.

Harry took a little breath in. “I was just wondering… um, about the ‘every other day’ part of that punishment.” 

Snape rolled his dark eyes up to the ceiling and gave a small head shake. He couldn’t remember if discussing spankings as a boy ever made him feel quite as embarrassed as it did Harry. 

“Harry, I’ve spoken to you before about being specific. You know my short fuse for drawn out conversations with hidden points.” 

Harry bounced his knee a little, tapping his shoe in thumps across the wood floor.

“Just, um, smacking him every other day for a week seems like a lot… I, er, just sort of wanted to know why you did that and, um, if you’re still a fan of that… method.” 

Snape couldn’t help but give a small smile at the question accompanied by such needless stumbling, at least he had gotten it out. 

“Do you imagine I was unfair in my dealings with Draco?” He questioned, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles across Harry’s warming neck. 

“Well…” Harry paused, “I mean, one round with your paddle is torture enough, but a whole week of it? That's another level.” 

Snape actually let out a small chuckle at that, making Harry crane back a bit to look at him.

“Especially for Draco,” Harry added, a little smirk of his own forming on his lips. “You punished yourself with those extra smackings unless you cast a muting spell over him.”

Snape gave Harry’s shoulder a little reprimanding squeeze, prompting him to turn back around. 

“Enough of that,” Snape said, returning his tone to its typical silky ease. “If you are presuming that I paddled him for those three additional days you’re mistaken. Evening reproval as such is different from a typical trip across my knee for a sole infraction.”

“How is it different?” Harry asked, wondering if Snape would do the same to him for the planned potions theft. It has been bothering him since Draco left. 

“It’s more so about self-reflection and reinforcing a memorable lesson,” Snape said, moving to rub a bit lower at the base of Harry's neck. “Draco only received my palm, not the paddle, or any other implement for that matter.”

“Oh,” Harry said, finally feeling a bit more relaxed by the rubbing as he redirected his attention to the conversation and away from his impending theft. “So, you don’t use implements for those, er, 'follow ups'?” 

A wry smile painted Snape’s lips at the way Harry phrased the question. 

“That depends on the crime. If the infraction was particularly egregious then a wooden spoon or other light implement may be necessary.” 

Harry felt his stomach dip low at that, he didn’t imagine a wooden spoon would feel great. Or ‘light’ for that matter. 

“Right, well, anyway… when you say self-reflection what do you mean?” 

“There is quite a bit more conversation taking place while the offender is being corrected.” Snape said in his typical low and slow tone. 

“Hmm,” Harry hummed, thinking. 

“I've observed many of my younger students using the term 'bedtime spankings,' in reference to them as they invariably commence in the evening,” Snape remarked, moving to rub Harry’s rigid shoulders. “A label I deem rather lacking in the seriousness of the matter, but I supposed it captures the essence of the punishment well.”

“Why do you do it in the evening?” Harry asked, relishing the comforting rubs across his tight shoulders. He gave a little smile at the thought of Slytherins having their own nicknames for Snape’s discipline. 

“I have little desire for a student to embark on their classes with an additional distraction. Your minds are already plagued with enough aimless musings, hindering your concentration on academic pursuits. The evening is a far more suitable time for self-reflection.”

Harry smiled at that, reeling up with a little sarcasm. 

“Yeah, I don’t reckon having a sore arse would make your potion’s class any more enthralling.” He stifled a little snicker when Snape squeezed his shoulder a bit harder. 

“I hardly imagine your concern over Draco’s past welfare contributed to such a horribly stiff neck.” Snape said, steering the conversation back. “Don’t tell me you’re planning a foolish endeavor that puts you at risk of such a punishment.” 

Harry felt his heart rate pick up and his breath hitch in his chest. Fuck.

“No,” He shot out fast, as clear as possible. “Course not.” 

Oh Merlin , Harry felt his unease growing. Had he just accidentally tipped him off? 

“Very well,” Snape said, a clear suspicion hanging in his words. “Prior to your little show in the backyard with Draco, I’d say we had quite an acceptable week prior. I don’t see why the rest of the summer can’t remain the same.” 

“Right, course. I’m planning to be the pinnacle of fine behavior going forward.” Harry said, trying to sound casual. “Honest.”

“That would certainly be a welcome change to your usual antics.” Snape shot back, his dry wit creeping back to his tone. 

Harry let out a little snort. Snape continued with the massage, tracing back up his neck, growing concerned with the unrelenting rigidness in the muscles. 

“Now, in terms of the war,” Snape said slowly, “you mentioned feeling plagued by grief. Elaborate on that, if you care to.” 

Shifting his feet in a small scuffle, Harry crossed his arms over his chest and sat up a bit straighter. 

“It’s not particularly easy knowing they’ll never come back,” he said quietly after a long pause of contemplation. 

Snape nodded, easing up the pressure of his rubs. 

“The finality of death is undoubtedly hard to grasp.” He replied, matching the quieted tone from Harry.  

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling the urge to cry but forcing those emotions down low— crushing them, crumbling them into a ball and burying them down deep in his chest. He’d cried too many times in front of Snape, he wasn’t about to start bawling now. 

“Are you feeling burdened by guilt?” Snape pushed, rubbing at the base of Harry’s head just before the start of his hairline. “At the beginning of the month we discussed your distress over Fred Weasley. Has the responsibility over his fate returned?” 

Harry swallowed hard and cleared his throat. 

“Yes, a bit.” 

“Perhaps then it would help to process why you are feeling that way.” Snape said, rubbing the base of Harry’s head now. 

The soothing strokes felt so good—calming— somehow alleviating a bit of the burden in his chest. 

“Thanks for doing this,” Harry said softly, closing his eyes at the warm sensation of Snape’s firm circles. “Feels nice.” 

Snape nodded, “You’re most welcome.” 

There was a small pause that hung in the room, a more relaxed energy flowing through the comforting air. Harry enjoyed the scent of Snape’s study, it held a note of cedar wood, aged parchment and fresh ink. It was comforting—academic in nature, reminding him of better days. 

“I suppose I feel guilty that Fred fought for me, well for the Order, and I wasn’t able to prevent or stop the explosion that… took him away.”

Snape hummed low; it made sense in a way. Though he considered it impractical for Harry to feel so burdened by something he wasn’t responsible for. 

“Practically speaking, Harry, you may not have been able to prevent Fred’s demise, but have you considered the survival of the rest of the Weasley family? Your victory over the Dark Lord was instrumental in saving numerous innocent lives – surely that hasn’t escaped your mind.” 

Harry relaxed a bit more into Snape’s hands, feeling a swell of complicated feelings. He was crushed by grief, the weight of it all bearing down on him like a rushing wave of water, threatening to tear him apart at the seams. It intermingled with the guilt of betraying Snape’s fragile trust, wrapping itself around his legs and pulling him down deeper to the bottom ocean of his sadness. 

“I wish I could have done more.” Harry whispered; his voice wavered. 

Snape’s dark gaze lingered on Harry’s slumped shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles in the soft silence for a long while. The tightness across Harry’s thin frame had finally eased, relieving him. During the past few weeks, Snape came to realize how mistaken he was about the boy’s personality over the years. Harry, though often cheeky, carried an overwhelming sense of self-blame and guilt. He took responsibility for his actions and faced consequences with a rare humility, rendering any resemblance to James Potter entirely remote.

After a few moments more, Snape made up his mind. He patted Harry’s shoulder, then leaned over to swirl the cap on the balm in a light grating whirl. 

“Reposition the chair, then go up to your room and grab a coat.” Snape said, standing to move his chair back to its rightful position behind his desk.

Harry stood slowly. “A coat?” 

“Yes,” Snape replied, snatching the balm from the top of his wooden lacquered desk and placing it back in its rightful drawer. “I’m going to show you something.” 

Pulling the armchair up this time, so as to keep it from dragging, Harry complied. Confusion blanketed his face as he moved to make his way out of the flickering light of the study and up the creaky stairs to his room. 

When he made it to the top floor he glanced outside, the rapid pitter patter of rain coated his circular bedroom window in wet splatters. Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself. 

Stop being so emotional. Just breathe, it’s fine— you’re fine. 

He snatched his new slicker coat, quickly making his way back down the creaky wooden staircase. 

Harry was surprised when he met Snape at the base of the stairs rather than the back door. With quick precision Snape wrapped his dark green cloak over his shoulders in a billowing swish. 

“Zip your coat up.” Snape directed, moving to open the front door. 

Harry furrowed his brow into an inquisitive line but complied. He followed Snape’s small wave out the front door and stepped on to the dry porch facing the cold storm. The crooked lantern flickered in an orange hue against the sleek splatters of pelting rain. Strong wind wrapped itself around the pair making Snape’s dark hair whirl in black wisps and Harry’s jacket rustle. 

“Now,” Snape said, his tone a bit deeper against the sounds of the storm. “Step out into the rain and catch all the raindrops. Don’t allow any to hit the ground.” 

Harry turned to give Snape an incredulous look. 

“What?” Harry said quickly, the sound of the storm permeating his words. “How exactly am I going to manage that, Snape? That’s impossible.” 

“Do you have your wand?” Snape asked, lazily.

“Er,” Harry patted his empty pockets, “no.” 

Snape moved to the fold of his clock and withdrew his own. 

“Take mine then. Use whatever spell or charm you can think of to aid you.” 

Harry gaped up at him, completely at a loss for words. 

“Come along,” Snape said, giving his wand a little wave. “I don’t have all night.” 

Taking it slowly Harry wracked his brain as his emerald eyes flickered about the vast expanse of Snape’s lawn. How the bloody hell could he catch all the raindrops? He twisted the sleek wood in his fingertips, contemplating. 

“I’m going to get all soaked,” Harry whined, giving Snape an exasperated look. 

“Pity,” Snape said, low and slow. “If only we were wizards and could cast a drying spell the moment you stepped back on the porch. Too bad we’ll have to dry you off the muggle way. I certainly hope I have enough suitable towels for your delicate skin.” 

Harry let out a scoff and lightly shoved Snape’s arm, to which he received a nudge against his back ushering him forward. 

“Go, you don’t have a choice. Catch all the rain.” 

Huffing Harry sucked in a sharp breath and charged off the porch into the downpour. 

This is ridiculous. What the bloody hell is he thinking- asking me to do something so absurd?

Snape watched with mild amusement as Harry cast spell after ineffective spell. Vibrant colors lit the blackened sky, shimmering in an electrified beauty against the reflective raindrops. To Snape’s faint surprise, Harry soon managed to shout out the incantation ‘Aguamenti’ conjuring a large wave of water to hold back an enormous portion of the rain as it reabsorbed into his conjured pool hovering above the ground. 

“Very well,” Snape said, his low voice carrying across the sounds of pouring rain smacking down against the side of the home. “You may drop that water and come back to me.” 

Harry squinted his eyes, staring back at a blurry Snape through droplet covered glasses. The strong wind swept through his dark hair, soaking it with the thick drops of water pouring from the sky. Suddenly he felt a swell of frustration that he hadn’t stopped more of the rain, so with the gusto he brought to every challenge, Harry whirled his wand and grew the wave larger. 

Snape watched silently as Harry stumbled back, trying to encompass more of the yard. He had nearly caught a fourth of the water pouring down from the blackened clouds when he suddenly lost his footing at the edge of the lawn where the grass met the slippery mud. 

Snape sighed but remained impressed when Harry kept the wand upright despite his tumble, holding the large wave of water in place. 

“Even in a simple demonstration he has to overdo it.” Snape muttered to himself, stepping off gracefully from the porch and into the pouring rain. 

He reached Harry quickly, who in the moment was struggling to get back to his feet in the slippery slop of mud. Snape snatched the wand from him first, breaking the spell with a flick of his wrist and scattering the large swell of water into thousands of droplets across the dripping yard.

Snape then leaned down and brought a supportive hand to Harry’s bicep, helping him to stand. 

“I almost had it!” Harry yelled in the storm as Snape guided him away from the mud and back up to the porch. 

Rainwater pelted against their clothes, soaking them quickly from head to toe as the raging storm picked up intensely. 

They soon reached the lip of the porch, shielded by the rain. 

“Why’d you stop me? It was just slick. I was going to stand back up in a second.” Harry said breathlessly as he moved to pull his wet glasses off his dripping wet face. Sticky mud clung to his shoes, splattered across his trousers and sleeves from the tumble. 

“Yes, you would’ve sauntered back up and then what?” Snape asked, gently grabbing Harry’s glasses and drying them with the inner fold of his cloak. 

He extended them back out and Harry took them gingerly, sliding them onto his face. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Snape’s black hair now dripping with rainwater. 

Snape sighed and motioned for Harry to continue, “I’m certain the storm hasn’t drowned out my question or clogged your ears. What would have happened when you stood back up, Harry Potter."

“I would have stopped more of the rain.” Harry said matter-of-factly. 

“Indeed, and what of all the droplets you missed when you fell?” Snape asked slowly, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, I was on the ground, I couldn’t catch those.” Harry said, huffing out a few cold breaths into the frigid night air. 

Snape hummed low and crossed his arms. 

“Correct. If you had risen back up and invoked a surge of water rivaling the magnitude of a tsunami, would it have been within your capacity to prevent every raindrop from reaching the earth?” 

Harry thought for a moment, sniffing as the cold began to permeate his skin. Snape’s property was expansive, not to mention the size of the neighborhood covered in the wet storm. It seemed impossible to collect all the rain.

“No...” He said slowly, suddenly realizing where this demonstration was headed.

“No, indeed,” Snape said, removing his wand and pointing it up at the swirling storm clouds to gesture out his point. “Tell me, were you the one who conjured this storm? Did you condense the water vapor and combine it to form such ghastly clouds?”

Harry’s words felt stuck in his throat, a swell of emotion matching the size of the storm surrounding them grew in his chest, threatening to spill out in hot tears across the expanse of his cold face.

“No? Very well, consider this, was it proper of me to ask you to stop water from hitting the ground, at an alarming rate, from a storm you had no part in creating?” 

Harry huffed a few times, his breath trembling out. 

“I suppose not,” he said so quietly, the rain drowning his words. 

“Time and time again I’ve reiterated to you the lesson that life is not fair, Harry,” Snape paused to suck in a slight breath and run his hand down his wet face. “It isn’t. However, for the sake of this particular demonstration, let’s consider the concept. Is it fair, or rather, sensible of you, to judge your inability to handle such an impossible task? Should you forget about all the rain you collected while doing your damnedest to complete my requirement, only to solely berate yourself for the droplets that eluded your grasp?”

Harry glanced out at the pouring rain, feeling a spiral of understanding sweep its way through his chest. 

“Thanks, Snape.” He said, his voice soft, holding back the tears threatening to pour from his glistening emerald eyes. 

Snape gave a slow nod, eyeing Harry with a look of heartfelt contemplation as the rain poured down in a stream of rhythmic pelts. 

“You were presented with storms beyond your control, and you navigated them as well as anyone could with the hand life dealt you. You should be proud of yourself. The rest of our world is… myself most certainly included.”

“Merlin,” Harry said, his voice cracking as he looked away. He chewed on the inside of his cheek hard, trying to fight away the violent storm of emotions. “What happened to you, Professor Snape? How come… why do you…”  

Snape followed Harry’s gaze into the gusts of harsh rain yet said nothing, moving his wand out to cast the drying spell over Harry first and then himself. A second cleaning spell removed the mud clinging tight to his clothes. Harry effectively fought off his urge to cry, struggling to ease the swell of affection he felt for Snape. He’s proud of me? Professor Snape, proud? It all still mystified him. Nevertheless, in the confusion, the memories from the Pensive came rolling back to the forefront of his mind, ending with the same vision of Snape as a child laying in the grass with his mum. 

“Come along.” Snape directed, opening the front door and ushering Harry in, “I’d rather we not catch our death in this cold.”

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic per say, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

Soon after crossing the threshold to the home, Harry and Snape made their way to the dimly lit kitchen. 

Stepping into the pantry, Snape pulled on the cord of a singular lightbulb, illuminating the space in an orange glow with a soft click. He then moved toward the back corner of the storage space to locate an item he’d purchased on his last trip to Diagon Alley. 

“It’s rather late,” Snape said over his shoulder. “Feeling tired?”

Harry’s emerald gaze wandered up to the billowing swirls of lavender in the pantry, he tucked his hands into the depths of his trouser pockets and looked back over to Snape. 

“Not particularly,” Harry said, “are you going to bed soon?” 

A small clink reverberated through the pantry as Snape snatched up the bottle he was searching for.

“No,” he replied. “I will be venturing to my storage to labor on an experimental sleeping draught.”

Harry felt his stomach clench at the words, watching Snape pull down a tall, dark bottle from the top shelf. 

A sleeping draught?  Shit, Snape didn’t know, right? No , he wouldn’t have done all that in the rain if he knew . Harry reassured himself, watching Snape move to the cabinet that housed the glassware, bottle in hand. 

“You may come assist if you’d like,” Snape said, palming his way through the clinking glass cabinet. “Permitting you’re not too tired and can handle the delicate ingredients without haphazardly sending the building up in flames.” 

Harry rolled his eyes at the customary jab but smiled to himself, leaning casually against the counter. If anyone would have told him six months ago, he’d be in Snape’s kitchen getting an invite to help brew a personal potion in his storage Harry would have laughed at the absurdity. 

“Sure, so long as you don’t turn it into a pop quiz on potion-making etiquette.” Harry quipped, watching curiously as Snape took down two short glasses from the cabinet. 

Snape gave a soft scoff but shot back with, “I’d rather save a tree and my ink. Grading your incompetence in real time shall suffice.”

Harry smirked and rolled his eyes. 

“Tea tends to cool fast in the building, so I often have a glass or two of this,” Snape said, extending the bottle out and motioning for Harry to take it. 

Harry pulled it gingerly from his grasp then slid his thumb over the slick label on the side, it read: Serpent’s Sip Reserve. The picture on the front showcased a glittering black snake curled around the edge of a small glass, its fangs bearing down into a pale blue ice cube dunked in the mahogany hued liquid. 

“Huh,” Harry said as he popped the cork on the top of the bottle and smelt the liquor. He scrunched his nose up at the overpowering scent, but gave a little nod. There was a faint note of smoky oak with a small trace of what Harry perceived to be cherry lingering. 

Snape popped open the freezer and withdrew a fairly large ice cube mold. With casual precision he peeled the mold back and pulled a square of ice out, it hit the bottom of his short glass with a small clink. 

“Would you like to try it?” He asked without looking up. 

Harry glanced over, watching Snape scour the fridge in search of another item.

“Yeah. Thanks, sir.” Harry smiled and set the bottle down next to the glasses. He peered at the fizzing container of liquid Snape withdrew from the fridge. “I’m, er, a bit surprised you’re offering me a drink after… you know.” 

Snape set the container down and picked up the glass without an ice cube. 

“Permitting the railings on my staircase stay intact this evening, I don’t see any reason to forbid you from drinking responsibly.” 

Harry felt a bit of heat creep up his ears at the mention of it all but gave a small, grateful nod. 

“My educated guess would be that whiskey doesn't align with the preferences of you and your companions. I presume you lean towards the sugary indulgence of beverages such as the universally loathed butterbeer, correct?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, “I like fire whiskey.”

“You sip on it?” Snape asked, eyeing Harry with a dark look that he could only speculate was one of mild amusement. 

“Er, no,” Harry admitted, glancing down at the glasses. “We toss it back.” 

“How unsurprising,” Snape said casually, he poured a small amount of liquor into Harry’s glass and extended it out to him. “This is meant to be savored, it’s far too expensive to be downed in one shot.”

Harry nodded as he took the glass, he swirled it around then swallowed the sip. It was incredibly smooth, and the quality was certainly noticeable, but he couldn’t help but gag a bit. 

“Merlin,” Harry coughed, the burn of the alcohol warming his mouth, “that’s rather strong.” 

Snape gave him a wry smile and took the glass back. He pulled the fizzing container up and poured out a fourth of it into Harry’s glass then added a bit more liquor.

“Here, a slight modification for your youthful palate.” Snape said, handing the glass back to him. “Try it this way.” 

Harry took a cautious sip, savoring the rich blend of flavors that danced on his tongue. The expensive whiskey unfolded with nuanced notes of dried cherry, the subtle warmth of smoky oak, and a lingering touch of vanilla, blended together with an unexpected sweetness from the carbonated liquid. A pleasant surprise lit up his eyes as he savored the newfound delight.

“What’s that you added in?” Harry asked, genuinely intrigued by the complexity in the drink. “I like it.”

“A mixer.” Snape said, taking Harry’s glass back. He carefully filled it with one part liquor to two parts of the carbonated liquid. “Similar to a muggle fizzy drink.”

Harry felt a twinge of dismay that the liquor had to be sweetened for him to enjoy it. He would have preferred sipping it over ice like Snape, finding it more mature, but the thought of consuming it without a grimace was beyond him. 

Harry took the prepped glass and followed Snape out to the back door. The rain had eased but it was still pouring forth with a delicate dance of thumps against the wet earth. Snape grabbed an umbrella stashed in a small utility closet to the right of the back screen door. He wordlessly handed Harry his glass of whiskey as they stepped outside. He then  slid open the large dark shield against the rain and pulled Harry close, keeping him tight by his side under the shelter. 

They made it to the potion storage quickly. Snape ushered Harry in first, then collapsed the umbrella with a swift pull. 

The cold, damp area was filled with shelves bearing an array of ghastly ingredients, set against a soft contrast of herbs and dried plants. Harry's emerald eyes swept across the collection, lingering on cloudy vials containing rare scales that glittered beneath the waning candlelight. Nearby, rancid bobbing creatures floated in a vat of thick liquid, with other strange specimens suspended in the dark potions nearby, creating an eerie yet intriguing atmosphere.

Harry set Snape’s glass down on the center of the wooden table and walked to the back shelf hanging on the wall of gray stone. He felt a heavy weight descend upon his shoulders as he subtly glanced around for the area where Snape kept the sleeping draughts. Bloody hell , he wished Ron never asked him to do this. Maybe he should’ve let him steal them alone, at least then Snape wouldn’t assume he was comfortable breaking the fragile trust they’d established over the last few weeks. 

His emerald eyes reflected the small glow of a burning candle, waning in a slow drip. His gaze swept down shelf after shelf, searching with a sharp intensity. Nothing looked like a sleeping draught. Maybe he doesn’t have any?  

“Looking for something specific?” Snape said in his low, silky tone nearly making Harry jump. He was so far lost in his thoughts he momentarily forgot Snape had come in with him.

“A-ah no, just familiarizing myself with all this.” Harry said, taking a long swig of his drink.

Snape eyed him quietly then gave a slow nod. 

“We won’t be using any ingredients from this end, come along.” 

Harry obeyed, forcing his thoughts of stealing far away as he took another thick sip of his drink. 

Together they set up a cauldron, lit a few candles, and collected the various ingredients for the sleeping draught. The rain poured softly on the roof of the building, filling the space with a comforting deluge of the alternating pitter-patters. 

Regardless of the warm flush the whiskey had brought him, Harry felt slightly unnerved at the chance of making a sleeping draught with Snape. Considering the Potion Master’s extensive history as a spy, he couldn't quite shake the thought that Snape might somehow be aware of his plan, biding his time before unleashing the fury upon him which he so thoroughly deserved.

Yet, their conversation didn’t seem to elude it as they worked together in the soft silence of the storm. 

“Just a moment,” Snape said sharply, “don’t add that yet.” 

Harry furrowed his brow and paused, his hand hovering above the bubbling cauldron. He watched as Snape picked up the container of powdered Asphodel petals and added a bit more. 

“Messing with the potion guidelines?” Harry asked, his tone drenched in a light tease. “Better be careful, Snape. I wouldn’t want you to be the one to engulf this place in flames and deprive yourself of my stellar assistance.” 

The glare that came over Snape’s dark features made Harry grin. 

“As I recall,” he said slowly, prying Harry’s hand open to take out two of the lavender sprigs from his clenched palm. “Your stellar potion skills in sixth year emerged only after you discovered the meticulous additions of a certain copy of one Advanced Potions text.” 

Harry felt the faintest blush creep up his neck as he glanced down at the bubbling cauldron, a cheeky smile still plastered to his face. 

“Not a single combination in those margins paved the path for a display in pyrotechnics.” Snape added, motioning for Harry to set down the remaining lavender in his palm.

“Right,” Harry said quietly, taking another sip of his drink. A flash of a thought suddenly trailed across his mind. “You read my mind in the flooded bathroom that day, didn’t you? You saw your book— knew I had it.” 

Snape raised a brow at Harry, giving him a knowing look but refraining from a comment as he stirred the potion slowly. ‘Read my mind,’ Snape internally scolded the phrase. Harry’s affinity for attributing the talent of Legilimency to a fictional muggle concept had never ceased to annoy him. 

“Did you know I switched my copy with Ron’s, after you told me to bring my bag down to you?” Harry asked, dropping his green eyes to the spiraling potion. 

Humming low, Snape pulled the stirring stick out and gave it a few light taps against the side of the cauldron. 

“No idea,” Snape said, his voice laced with the familiar low toned sarcasm. “‘Roonil Wazlib’ could have been any red headed student with a poor attention span.” 

Harry chuckled at that and Snape took a lengthy sip of his drink. A soft silence settled in the room as the pair gazed into the swirling cauldron. The rain descending upon the stone roof eased some, thumping across the top of the building with a slow rhythm. Harry breathed in deeply, the scent of herbal undertones, bitter potions and smoky fumes encompassing him held an ominous familiarity. It was like being in Snape’s classroom again, except this time, Harry wanted to stay as long as he could. 

“Say, er, if I had been in Slytherin…” Harry started, trailing off when he caught a certain look from Snape. 

“I’m not entirely sure you’d like to know how I would’ve handled that incident had your fate rested with me.” Snape said, eyeing Harry with a stern expression. 

Harry sucked in a little breath, grateful for the liquor laced warmth in his chest that seemed to take his discomfort around the subject away. 

“For the sake of my curiosity—”

“Which is insufferable.” Snape chided, stepping around Harry to locate another ingredient.

“How bad would it have been?” Harry finished, watching Snape move with swift precision to the other side of the space. 

Snape didn’t say anything for a moment, glancing around the shelves with a dark flicker of contemplation. He snatched his collection of vibrant blue and violet fairy wings then turned to give Harry a serious glance. 

“I’m not certain it’s wise to dwell on the past with a hypothetical lens.” Snape said slowly, moving back to the table. 

“Come on, Professor. It's not as if what you say is gonna bother me at this point,” Harry said with an air of assurance that Snape didn’t quite buy. 

“Very well.” Snape said after a lengthy pause. “I would have caned you severely for that infraction in addition to your slew of detentions with me.”

“Really?” Harry said a bit quieter, his stomach dropping, watching as Snape set the jar down next to him. 

“Indeed.” Snape confirmed, unscrewing the lid and carefully withdrawing a shimmering fairy wing. 

Harry swallowed, thankful once more that McGonagall had been his Head of House at the time. 

“Would you have also given me the, um, evening punishments?” Harry asked, watching as Snape delicately set the fairy wing into a stone bowl.

“Possibly,” Snape replied, moving to grab a stone to grind down the wing. “It would have depended on if you had bruised or not.” 

“You would have bruised me?” Harry said, shocked. 

“It’s rare to walk away from a proper caning without some lingering blemishes.” Snape confirmed, speaking candidly as if giving instructions to brew a potion. “Even when applied with reasonable force there’s still a possibility of it. Welts are nearly inevitable either way.”

The seeming lack of emotion around something so severe bristled Harry a touch, making him feel a bit more on edge despite the relaxation his drink had coated him with. 

“Right,” Harry said a bit sharper. “I guess that would have made sense considering how you felt about me back then.” 

Snape shot his brows up at the abrupt shift in tone, then carefully set his stone down.

“You do realize in your infinite wisdom that Draco nearly died from that incident, yes? To this day he bears the scars, those of which will never heal.” 

Harry glanced away, suddenly not only remembering Draco, but how Snape had been sent home for a week of whippings at the hands of his abusive father for casting the very same curse; not to mention being paddled by Dumbledore and Slughorn before he left. Of course Snape would have caned him back then, it would have been far less cruel than what he went through, Harry silently reasoned. 

Snape let out a slight sigh, “Before you dig yourself a grave with me in the present moment, it would serve you well to remember this is a hypothetical situation, one of which you inquired about. I can’t say that, at the time, I would’ve been nearly as concerned with the impact of your punishment considering the circumstances.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Harry dragged his hand over his face and nodded. 

“Right, er, I’m sorry I got cross. That’s understandable.” 

Snape gave a slow nod, he picked up the stone and hovered above the fairy wing but paused to say his next words while holding Harry’s gaze. 

“However,” Snape paused for a moment, contemplating his next words. “It may put your mind at ease to know I will not be caning you for any infractions during your stay this summer.” 

Harry felt a sense of relief flood his chest. 

“Are you sure? Not even if I did something awful?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

“Define awful .” Snape replied, raising a suspicious brow.

“I don’t know…” Harry said, trailing off. “If I did something that really upset you, are you sure you wouldn’t? You threatened me and Draco with it after the fight.” 

“So I did,” Snape said, taking in a slight breath as he ground the fairy’s wing into a glittering dust. “Though I threatened it at the time, no, I don’t believe I would still cane you, even if you did something I deemed particularly awful.”

“Why?” Harry asked, wishing he had a second drink. “Why back at school and not now?”

Snape let a moment of silence hang in the musty air, his stone grated sharply against the base of the bowl echoing in the stillness as he finished pulverizing the fairy wing. 

“During our time at Hogwarts I kept many of my personal sentiments on the severity of discipline… concealed. I don’t believe I could maintain the same detachment needed to administer such a severe punishment to you now.” 

Harry thought on that for a moment, tilting his glass back and forth, watching the large ice cube melt in a slippery swirl. 

“Does it make you upset to punish me?” Harry soon asked, a softness now interlacing his words. 

For some reason or other, Harry hadn’t considered that Snape might feel distressed while disciplining him. In all his trips over the man’s lap, never once had he appeared emotionally disrupted by the action, only resolved to it. While Snape had looked disappointed the last few times he smacked him— that much was obvious— the idea of him being ‘upset’ or ‘emotional’ while delivering the punishment had never crossed Harry’s mind until this quiet moment. The light thumping of rain upon the roof amplified the pause, filling the silence with a unique stillness. 

A million and one sarcastic barbs came to Snape’s mind, ready to deflect the vulnerable turn the conversation had taken. However, he forced himself to maintain the seriousness such a conversation warranted. 

“It is a challenge, no doubt,” Snape set his stone down with a thud. 

“How come?” Harry pushed to know, his curiosity toeing the line. 

Snape glanced away for a moment, the truth bombarding his thoughts. Because when you cry, I see your mother’s eyes in distress. I feel as though I have no right to correct you for poor behavior after treating you miserably for so long when you needed support the most. I despise seeing you fidget with concern over the pain I’m about to inflict even if I deem your behavior as befitting for such a consequence. This entire approach to discipline has, for the first time, felt increasingly difficult to follow through with and I haven’t the faintest clue why now I feel this way and not then, not with my other students. 

Snape let out a small scoff, deflection clawing its way back in as he met Harry’s emerald gaze. 

“Because, Harry, punishing you is akin to attempting to brew a potion without precise measurements – it’s a bit unpredictable and prone to explosive results that just may have you tumbling off my lap. It’s an endeavor that requires finesse beyond the scope of even my resolve at times.” 

Harry smiled a little at that and glanced back down to his glass of melted ice. A strange comfort came over him at the thought of Snape actually feeling a bit bad for doling out discipline, even if he deserved it. 

“That was just once,” Harry said sheepishly, “I’ve done alright with the, um, others.” 

“So you have.” Snape said, though the response was short, his tone was warm, making Harry feel a degree of comfort. 

Merlin, I don’t want to steal from him. Harry thought as he stared down at the watery chunk of ice. He’s never going to let me come in here again if I do. 

“Why are you adding in fairy wings?” Harry soon asked, shoving away his distress. His green eyes watched the glittering dust drift softly down into the bubbling cauldron from Snape’s potion-stained fingertips. 

“Well now, let’s put your memory from my lectures to the test, shall we?” Snape remarked, a small smirk playing on his lips as he observed the frown tugging down the corners of Harry's usual grin. “Tell me, which prominent potion features the inclusion of fairy wings?”

“Uhhm,” Harry hummed, shifting the nearly melted ice cube around his glass in little clinks. “Beautification Potion?”

“Correct,” Snape said, his voice carrying an air of acknowledgment as he reached for the stirring stick. “What function do fairy wings serve in that brew?” 

“Well, they help remove blemishes, right? Aiding in the potions ability to make the consumer look more… appealing.” 

Snape gave a slow nod, “Impressive. Perhaps you weren’t just scribbling nonsense on your parchment while I lectured.”

Harry gave Snape a little glare, squinting at him with his customary green slits. 

“Yeah, I actually paid attention , Professor Snape.” Harry was quick to say, remembering how many times he’d wanted to defend himself after needless scoldings. “Draco was the one doodling and passing notes.” 

Snape raised a brow up in Harry’s direction but said nothing. Harry was about to ask why this sleeping draught needed to possess such a restorative quality - why they were even brewing it in the first place - but a light tapping on the door pulled his attention first. 

“You suppose that was the wind?” Harry asked, a tinge of curiosity laced in his tone as he eyed the wooden door. 

Snape glanced over and motioned for Harry to come to him. “Stir this continuously.” 

Harry watched Snape move to the door as he haphazardly stirred the potion, anxious to see who, or what, was waiting outside. 

When Snape dragged open the wooden frame, Harry was both surprised and relieved to see a wet owl fluttering through the entryway spilling thick mists of water everywhere as it shook out its feathers.  

“Salazar, at this hour?” Snape muttered under his breath, leaning down to snatch the rain covered letter from the owls talons. 

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked, pausing his stirring. 

Snape glanced down at the owl and said quietly, “You will stay and rest, dry your feathers.” 

The smallest of smiles came over Harry’s lips, witnessing a softness to Snape that was often evasive, directed at a wet owl no less. 

“It is addressed to you,” Snape replied, drawing up behind Harry. “Now, we’ve stopped stirring, I see. Let’s not waste such an expensive ingredient as fairy wings.”

Snape punctuated his statement with a light smack to Harry’s backside with his wand. 

“Ow— hey,” Harry shot back, giving Snape his best unenthused glare. 

“Switch me places and you may have a look.” Snape said, ignoring the grimace painting Harry’s face. 

Harry snatched the letter from Snape's hand and plopped down on a wooden stool by the table. He made sure to add in a dramatic hiss, as if the smack to his bum had hurt far more than it did.

“Oh please,” Snape drawled languidly, his dark eyes rolling in exasperation. "I mean it, you ought to consider striking up an alliance with Draco. I’m certain the pair of you could put on an act that challenges the absurdity of muggle theater.” 

Harry scoffed lightly as he broke the seal on the damp letter. It was blurry with smudged ink, making it challenging to read. Just before he could ask though, Snape effortlessly cast a drying spell over the parchment with a mere flick of his wand, not bothering to look up.

Offering a smile of appreciation that went undetected, Harry then turned his attention to the letter. 

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well amidst whatever mischief or magical mysteries you've entangled yourself in at Professor Snape’s. I’m rather suspicious of your so called ‘calm’ days with your nose buried in books. Knowing you, I’m certain you’ve found some sort of mischief to get up to. Ron mentioned your late-night trip to the pub, you know. I do hope Snape wasn’t too hard on you. Ron seems to think you’ve been recruited to slave away for hours on end in the greenhouse. I’m more than sure he isn’t abusing your stay, all things considered. Speaking on that, I’ve heard he has quite the home. I’d love to come by when I return and see it, permitting he’d be alright with it. What do you think?

I’ll be back in town next week, as will Ron! I’m hoping the three of us can meet somewhere? The Leaky Cauldron or another place perhaps. We have so much to discuss. 

On a more serious note, I've come across some fascinating research on ancient magical artifacts on my trip. I thought you might find it intriguing, considering your history with certain items that have caused more than a bit of chaos in the past. Perhaps we could discuss it soon, and I can share my findings over a cup of tea. I promise not to overload you with too much information – a Gryffindor can only handle so much, after all.

When you write back I expect a bit more of an update than the last. Honestly, Harry, we haven’t spoken in over a month and the best you can do is a brief paragraph? Stay out of too much trouble, and give my best to Professor Snape. I'll be eagerly awaiting your owl.

I miss you. Wishing you all the best,

~ Hermione

Harry smiled to himself as he folded the letter. He’d missed Hermione too and he was more than ready to have her back around. It would be wonderful to meet with her and Ron soon. 

“I trust Miss Granger is doing well?” Snape said casually, stirring with a relaxed sort of motion. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, wondering how exactly Snape knew it was from her. “She gives you her best.” 

Snape nodded, “You may return mine when you write back. Though I must insist you do so tomorrow, unless you’d like to kill that bundle of wet feathers by the door.” 

Harry glanced over at the weighty owl who seemed not only slippery but exhausted. It had already flown up to the small window seal of stone and curled in on itself for a much needed rest. 

“Right, I won’t.” Harry said through a little yawn as he folded the letter and tucked it in the front pocket of his trousers. 

Snape eyed him then moved to extinguish a candle on the table. He waved his wand above the cauldron then turned to Harry. 

“Put your coat back on,” Snape motioned to the slicker jacket bunched up on the small table behind him. “It’s time you retire for the evening.”

Harry gave a small nod and moved to comply. He shrugged his jacket on and finagled with the hood, “We don’t need to bottle the draught first?” 

“I’ll tend to it later.” Snape said, collecting both his and Harry’s finished glasses of whiskey, waving for the young wizard to follow him. 

Harry thought about being perturbed that Snape was essentially sending him to bed, but it was late, nearly midnight or so, and he couldn’t deny how exhausted he felt. 

“How does your neck feel?” Snape asked, as they stepped out of the potions storage. He handed Harry the empty glasses and unlatched the umbrella. 

“Better,” Harry admitted, shifting the glasses in his hands. “Not as tense.” 

“Very well. I’ll apply a bit more of the balm for you once you’re settled in for bed.” Snape said casually, Harry glanced up at him and flashed a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Snape.”

Snape nodded, then snatched Harry by the arm and pulled him close, keeping him under the umbrella as they walked back to the house through the light rain. They hit the wet earth in a matching stride, their footsteps plodding along the drenched grass with purpose. Harry smiled as they drew closer to the house, feeling comforted by the shared space beneath the shield against the storm. The rain pelted against the umbrella in a soothing stream, reminding Harry of the demonstration in the front yard mere hours ago. He considered how much his life had changed in such a small span of time, feeling overwhelmed with how nice it felt to have a home— someone looking after him, even if he was a bit old to want it… to need it. 

“The end of the war has made you into quite the mum, hasn’t it?” Harry teased, smirking as Snape scoffed. “Neck rubs, cooking, building up my self-esteem, Mrs. Weasley would be impressed—”

“That will be quite enough, thank you.” Snape snapped, cutting off the rest of Harry teasing compliments. 

Snape rolled his eyes but kept his warm grip on Harry’s arm as they walked, feeling the boy’s shoulders shake with light laughter.

“You’re insufferable, Harry Potter.” Snape chided, yet despite his efforts, a small smile broke through his typically stern expression.

What an unexpected summer this was turning out to be. 

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

It was a dreary afternoon, endless sheets of rain had swept across the neighborhood for days, leaving everything from the highest branches to the deepest roots thoroughly soaked. Harry had kept himself busy, forced his conflict down low and functioned with as much normality as possible. It was hard to know if he’d succeed in his endeavor to appear nonchalant given the underlying stream of suspicion that Snape was on to him, watching him closely.

When the rain eased up, Harry ventured outside and immersed himself in the dripping aftermath of the storm. Perched upon the weathered log, the former battleground for his pent-up fury with Draco Malfoy, he leaned heavily against the towering oak tree. His back pressed tight against the wet bark as he drew one leg to his chest and let the other hang freely. He pinched his eyes shut, closing out the wet earth around him. 

Three days . 

Three more days to get his shit together and make a decision. 

It needled at him incessantly—knowing he owed it to Ron, yet feeling an unexpected sense of loyalty to Snape. Their newfound closeness transformed what should have been a straightforward decision into a daunting hurdle. He wasn’t just living with his former professor anymore. No, these days he found himself actively participating in Snape’s life in ways he never imagined. They brewed potions together in the afternoons, strolled beneath the protective umbrella during rainy evenings, delved into the intricacies of Harry’s experiences during the war, and even broached subjects of Snape's past—matters Harry suspected he typically kept guarded. In the span of a month, he grappled with a burgeoning appreciation for Snape’s composed and reassuring presence. Harry relished the sense of being cared for and looked after, even if the admission of such feelings left him slightly embarrassed. The thought of possibly losing that security weighed heavily on his shoulders. Living alone might not be terrible, but it wasn't what he truly wanted, not yet anyway. 

It was getting exhausting but familiar— being stuck with a hard choice. 

Though he would have preferred to agonize over his decision for longer, much to Harry’s great disdain, his three-day window soon snapped shut, leaving him with mere hours in its place.

A symphony of small drips filled the hushed space surrounding Harry as the wet leaves above him rolled off their collection of rainwater. He muttered a soft spell and flicked his wand, watching the wooden tip ignite in a shimmering spark of fire. His emerald eyes danced lazily over the burst of heat while he maneuvered his wand through the cool air. Trailing it up, down, left, right — repeating. The distraction held some of his attention, but his mind was still lost in deep thought, considering the route he had to take. 

“Hardly ideal weather to commit arson considering even the log you’re sitting upon has succumbed to the relentless assault of rain.” 

Harry jumped a little, startled by the low-toned quip accompanied by Snape’s looming presence.

“Blimey, Snape,” Harry breathed, fumbling with his wand. “How long have you been lurking about?”

He pulled his head back to look up at him. Snape was clad in a black sweeping overcoat and a slate gray cable-knit sweater, appearing properly collected despite the disheveled environment surrounding them. 

“I approached only moments ago,” he replied, raising a brow at the imminent flush trailing up from Harry’s neck. “Your hearing needs to be assessed if you failed to catch the unmistakable sound of my footsteps in this pond of a yard.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and put out the flame hovering above the tip of his wand with a flick.  

“I can hear fine. Just, er, thinking is all.”

Snape’s expression revealed nothing as he inclined his head down to level Harry with a firm gaze. 

“Yes, an answer you've supplied for nearly a week now. I’m certain you never did this much thinking in all your years as a student combined.”

Frowning, Harry swung his leg down and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Hilarious.” 

Without realizing it, he had subtly adopted a few of Snape’s key phrases. Sporadically he’d swap in an ‘indeed’ for a ‘yes’ or interlace his fingers subconsciously during a particularly intense conversation regarding the war. Snape almost smiled at the choice word of ‘hilarious,’ something he typically reserved for when Harry’s cheek had grated on his nerves—dancing the line of his patience. He found those small mirrors in demeanor rather amusing. It was a peculiar acknowledgment of the influence he unknowingly wielded over the boy, a testament to the subtle shifts in their dynamic that neither of them fully grasped.

Snape offered a faint smirk prompting Harry to roll his eyes in a slow and deliberate circle. 

“I am merely interrupting your deeply profound moment of contemplation to convey a message on behalf of a certain intrusive redhead who owes me a lantern repair.” Snape said, sliding his hands into the velvet lining of his coat pockets. 

“Ron?” Harry asked, dropping his hands in tandem with his stomach. 

“Indeed. It appears he possesses some capacity for following instructions, considering he dispatched that imbecilic owl my way.” 

Snape glanced away, out to the shimmering glitter of raindrops gracing the top of his greenhouse. 

“He’d like to come by in a few hours and collect you for an evening sure to be filled with questionable decisions.” 

“He’s not supposed to be home yet.” Harry groaned, unable to stop the dejection seeping into his tone. He moved his glasses up to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Arching an eyebrow, Snape cast a perplexed gaze down. 

“If you’d like, I shall certainly inform Mr. Weasley that you are indisposed for the evening. Sparing you from making precarious decisions induced by liquor laced socializing seems like the sort of thing I ought to be doing.” 

Harry sighed but composed fast. 

Well,  that seems suspicious, doesn’t it? Acting like you don’t want to see your best mate. You have to stop being so obvious—get a grip. 

“No, I want to see him. Just didn’t realize his trip was cut short is all.”

And I didn’t get the bloody potions. 

Snape surveyed him for a moment. “Very well, if you care to entertain him here, I’ll be out of the home for the remainder of the day.” 

Harry glanced up, forcing his trademark curiosity into his green eyes. 

“Meeting some Death Eater friends for tea and biscuits, are you?” He asked, raising his brows and shoving away the distress the earlier sentence had brought him. 

Snape arched an eyebrow, his dry tone cutting through the air, “Charming, but no. I shall be tending to their ailing son instead.” 

“Malfoy?” Harry pushed himself to his feet, moving to stand beside Snape. “What’s happened?”

Exasperation gracefully blanketed Snape’s expression. 

“He was accosted by the common cold and his mother would like to pass the torch of irritation in dealing with it off to me. I’ve agreed to bring him a few potions for recovery.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, suddenly seeing a small window of opportunity. “So, Draco can ring you up and just get any potions he wants then? A right little privilege that is.” 

Snape scoffed and side stepped him, moving as smoothly as one could through the slosh of grass, carefully avoiding the syrup like patches of mud. 

“You presume too much. They are granted to him only after certain considerations.” Snape admitted over his shoulder. 

Harry observed Snape's retreat for a moment, his dark hair billowing in the wind, reminiscent of the way his robes used to flow down the school corridors.

Ah, figured as much. Course he's got some potion protocol up his sleeve.

Harry splashed down a few paces to catch up, shooting muddied water in every direction. 

“What sort of considerations?” He asked, soon sloshing beside Snape as they made their way to the potions storage. 

“His mother’s.” Snape replied, grimacing down at the water now soaking the hem of his trousers.

Harry tucked his hands into the depths of his pockets and pressed on with his sloppy steps— not noticing the splatter of mud and water coating his trainers. Again, lost in thought. 

If Malfoy has to get permission from his mum, there’s no way Ron will get away without it. Bloody hell. How am I— 

Snape stopped abruptly and gave Harry a dark look of disapproval, effortlessly interrupting his silent slew of thoughts. 

“Tell me, is it within your capacity to walk with more grace than a hippogriff? Look at the hems of your trousers, mine as well.”

Harry glanced down. 

“What, you’re blaming me for the water?” He snorted and splayed his hands wide, motioning to the wet layout of the property. 

“Look at it out here, it’s a bloody marsh. I’m hardly responsible for that.”

“Oh you most certainly are.” Snape said, gesturing between their feet. “I ensured my stride collected no more water than necessary and within mere moments you obliterated my precision with a string of well executed sloshes.” 

Harry crooked his head, his emerald eyes wandering back up to meet the disapproval. A mischievous glint appeared in his gaze, recalling what Snape had told him on the porch when he hadn’t wanted to soak himself in the last rainstorm. 

“Too bad we’re not wizards .” He intoned, hoping to jog Snape’s memory. “I imagine they have ways of drying off trousers that are hardly an inconvenience.” 

Snape's dark stare remained impassive, concealing his mild amusement sparked by Harry’s recycled use of his own sarcasm. 

“Cleaning charms or not, it doesn't excuse the blatant disregard for our surroundings. Now, come along and kindly refrain from turning our journey into a mud-splattered escapade.” 

“Fine,” Harry said, moving with a little more grace in stride with him, splashing far less water. 

Snape briefly considered correcting him for the less-than-respectful agreement but chose to overlook it, avoiding an escalation in the exchange. However, his tolerance collapsed like a house of cards when he caught the next hushed murmur slipping from Harry’s lips.

“ Journey… we’re going five fucking paces not some bloody big mountain.” 

He uttered it under his breath but swiftly regretted such a choice when Snape came to a halt, turning to cast a sharp look of disapproval upon him.

Oop, too far.

“Wait,” Harry gasped when Snape snatched his arm, turned to him to the side and withdrew his wand. 

“No, don't go smacking me,” Harry pleaded, attempting to shift away and shield himself from the inevitable retribution with his hand. 

“I’m sorry!”

A faint chuckle escaped his lips despite his earnest plea, stoking the fire of Snape’s growing irritation.

“Oh, indeed, the laughter of regret— a chosen sound of the contrite.” Snape narrowed his eyes, swaying his wand in disapproval from its now raised position behind him. 

“Hands to your sides.”

“Snape!” Harry pulled back again trying to maneuver his arm out of grasp all while bringing his other hand back to block more of his trouser clad backside. 

“No, come on— I didn’t mean for you to hear it.” 

“How pitiful for you that I did.” 

Snape's grip kept him rooted in place. 

“Move your hands.”

Harry offered a small groan, tilting his head to level him with a pointed look of despair.

“Obey me, you insolent teenager.” Snape drawled, tapping his wand on the boy's knuckles. “Or you will face a proper consequence for such an astounding remark.”

“Ah, Blimey,” Harry grimaced but finally complied, crossing his arms to his chest. “This is rub—oww, ah!”

Snape's wand struck his backside three times in quick succession, the sharp and stinging smacks echoing through the air. Snape rolled his eyes at the melodramatic yelp that followed. 

It was a mystery to him that Harry could fall from towering heights during a round of Quidditch and spring up unfazed. Yet, the moment his bum received a reprimanding smack, he turned into a screeching little mandrake.

“You truly have a gift for testing my patience.” 

Snape released Harry's arm before stowing the wand in his pocket. 

“Cheek is one thing, but blatant disrespect is another. You ought to be familiar with the line by now.”

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said, faking a wince as he reached back to rub the spot where Snape’s wand had landed. 

The smacks stung a bit, but they hadn’t truly hurt. He was getting used to those occasional spanks after a week of testing how much cheek Snape would tolerate. It was like a little game, one he couldn’t resist playing when he wasn’t consumed with guilt over the impending theft.

Harry shot a sheepish grin up as he soothed the prickling sting. 

“Got a bit carried away there, didn't I?”

“Indeed.” Snape turned on his heel, interlaced his fingers behind his back and began walking again with purposeful strides. 

“Which is hardly a surprise,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Far be it from me to believe you can restrain your nerve when a cheeky little mood strikes.”

Harry scoffed, unable to prevent a small blush from creeping up his face. He soon followed Snape’s lead, taking careful steps up the hill and through the sloshy grass to the potions storage. 

After collecting the needed vials for Draco, setting a hearty stew on the iron stove to heat and finishing a cup of lavender mint tea, Snape prepared to make his departure. 

“When will you be back?” Harry asked, watching Snape collect the umbrella from its resting place by the door.

“Late,” he replied, moving to wrap a travel cloak around his shoulders in a smooth sweep of the charcoal fabric. “If you chose to stay here with Mr. Weasley, there's a meal on the stove for this evening.”

“Thank you.” Harry smiled and propped up against the railing of the staircase. He pulled his hand back to palm his neck without thinking and let out a breathy sigh. His gaze soon went vacant, his emerald eyes staring at the door absentmindedly. 

Snape’s dark gaze traversed over Harry's stiff frame, locking on to the neck rubbing. 

“Tell me,” he tucked the umbrella under his arm and interlaced his fingers, bringing them to rest in front of his waist. “What exactly are you up to?” 

“Up to?” Harry’s body snapped to attention, his eyes instantly refocusing on Snape’s. He couldn’t stop them from widening ever so slightly as he swiftly removed his hand from the back of his neck. 

“Yes.” Snape lifted a brow, “You’re undoubtedly up to something you shouldn’t be.” 

“No ‘m not.” Harry shot back, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. “Why would you think that?”

Oh fuck. 

Humming low Snape unclasped the strap on the umbrella and moved to open the front door. 

He read my mind— had to have. I knew it. Harry thought, feeling his breath grow shallow. 

“Our relationship during your time at Hogwarts may not have been optimal,” Snape uttered in a low and deliberate tone, "but rest assured, I always knew when you were up to something .”

Harry’s stomach tightened but he halted the confession threatening to spill from the tip of his lips — something? Wait, maybe he doesn’t know. I would have gotten an earful by now if he knew. Right? 

Harry swallowed his nerve and forced out a little chuckle. 

“I think you’re just missing the double agent days, Snape.” He walked a few paces forward to see him out the door and flashed a forced smirk. “I’m a saint now you know, no horcruxes to hunt down or forbidden forests to explore.”

Snape raised a brow up at Harry, allowing a small tense silence to build in the stillness. 

“Is that so?” he eventually asked after watching the young wizard try to not squirm under the unspoken scrutiny.

Harry gave a nod, stretching his thin frame in the doorway. 

“Sure thing. And hey, do me a favor, will you? Tell Malfoy I hope he's stuck with this sickness for ages . Can’t have him thinking we’re about to be mates just cause we called a truce.” 

Snape eyed Harry with a sharp gaze which only brought him a cheeky grin in return. 

“What a joy it is to have facilitated such lasting camaraderie between you two.” he remarked dryly, his tone lipping with sarcasm.

With that, he stepped down off the porch and opened the umbrella, leaving Harry to chuckle at the thinly veiled mockery.

“Behave yourself this evening and be a good little wizard.” 

Harry scrunched his nose at the childish nickname, something Snape seemed to reserve for sparse moments. 

He moved to respond but stopped when Snape paused and said smoothly over his shoulder, “And don’t be so foolish as to believe I have never met a saint with a secret, Harry Potter.”

He didn’t look back, leaving Harry to watch his cloak billow in familiar flicks down the muddied courtyard. 

Harry’s chest constricted; a swallow breath hitched in his throat. He shut the door and his back hit the wooden frame in a thick thud. Tilting his head against the tall barrier he let out a low groan. 

Bloody hell. He’s gonna kill me for this. 

The gravel path winding up to the base of Malfoy Manor glistened with remnants of the recent downpour. Fresh puddles of rainwater caught the dull light, reflecting dim fragments of the gray skies above the drenched earth.

Snape’s meticulous stride crunched through the saturated pebbles, reverberating in the aftermath of the storm. It had been a quiet walk, accompanied only by a familiar trickle of rain striking the umbrella above his head. It was his turn to ponder—become lost in thought, as Harry kept putting it. He could have floo’d to the Manor, Apparated or even twisted in a violent spin through the air, but these days he seemed to prefer the muggle approach to daily tasks, appreciating the way they made him slow down and focus. 

Pausing, he drew in a smooth breath. A cold chill brought on by the rain enveloped his lungs in a cleansing rush. He shook off the wet umbrella and collapsed it with a sharp snap. Then, with careful precision, tucked it under his arm and resumed his stride, lingering back in his pace. 

Are you sure? Harry’s tentative voice replayed in his mind for the third time that hour. Even if I did something awful?

How incriminating that word was— awful . Snape twisted it in his mind, sliding his hands down deep into the pockets of his sweeping black coat. 

All week he’d fought off the urge to dig a bit deeper and uncover whatever scheme or mischief Harry had tucked haphazardly up his sleeve. Yet each time he started theorizing— connecting dots— Minerva’s firm reminder rang through his hoard of suspicions. 

“Now that he’s agreed to these summer accommodations, you must do away with this tendency to assume Harry is always seeking out trouble. The war is over now and the boy desperately needs time to convalesce without your overbearing eye of scrutiny.” 

“Minerva—”

“I am quite serious, Severus Snape.” She said, adopting a familiar stern tone, taking a lengthy pause to purse her lips. “You will give him the benefit of the doubt, no assumptions without clear evidence, agreed?”

“Very well.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well.”

Snape hummed low and shook his head. The looming silhouette of the Manor gradually sharpened against the wet horizon as he approached. Whether Minerva would want him to look into this, or not, the evidence was building rather naturally in his mind. Harry had withdrawn but showed no signs of anger. He claimed grief to be the culprit of his shift in demeanor but Snape didn’t buy it, not fully, anyway. Harry struggled with misplaced guilt, yes, and did indeed harbor a wave of grief, no doubt, but for a boy that could be read like a book, he was hardly exuding the typical signs of sole disparity. No, he was planning something . He was pensive and jumpy, rubbing his neck or tapping his foot when he thought he wasn’t being watched. He was thinking up some mischief, clearly, and whatever it was, he had briefly feared earning the cane for it.  

“Troublesome boy.” Snape muttered to himself as he neared the Manor. 

True, Harry Potter had killed the Dark Lord— followed through with the impossible task to save the Wizarding World and bore the scars to prove it. Though when Snape looked at him, he still saw the same mischievous young boy with a strong will and penchant for trouble. The one whom he’d watched breaking rule after rule at Hogwarts for years without anyone to rein him in or reprimand him for putting his life on the line at every turn. Harry was the same teenager that Minerva, Molly, and every capable adult who had known him growing up still recognized. 

Snape contemplated the exhaustive measure to dismiss such obvious signs of insolent antics and disregard his trusted instincts. They had never failed to lead him to the disobedience his students were up to before, and heroic Harry Potter was no exception. Well, save for the time he was convinced the boy was robbing his stores with his little friends to create polyjuice potion only for it to later be revealed as Barty Crouch... 

Perhaps I should listen to Minerva. Snape sighed, conflicted again. 

He swiftly withdrew his wand and tapped the large black gate to enter the courtyard of the Malfoy Manor. It slowly grated open, the metal creaking in forced submission. 

“A saint now, are you?” Snape muttered to himself, sliding his calloused thumb against the cool glass of the potion vial in his pocket. “Hard to fathom, Potter.” 

No, the boy was indeed up to something . 

“Harry!” Ron called, rapping on the wooden door again. “It’s bloody ghastly out here.” 

Finally, he heard the unmistakable thuds creaking down the old staircase and Harry’s faint, “Coming,” ring out from the closed off home. 

Ron was exhausted and wet, his shoes were caked in mud and his patience for life was wearing thin. 

Harry soon dragged open the front door with a smile that instantly dropped.

“Merlin, mate, what’s happened to you?” 

“Life’s kicked me in the bollocks that’s what.” Ron snapped back, droplets of rainwater drizzling down the streaks of his disheveled red hair. 

Harry withdrew his wand to cast a drying spell, but Ron was already charging into the house, his sopping wet boots muddying the entryway in five slippery steps. 

“The trip was that bad, eh?” Harry frowned, eyeing his exasperated friend from head to toe. “You’re back early.” 

Ron was not only soaked but he looked downright awful. The dark circles under his eyes had grown deeper and his face was a fair bit gaunt. It had only been three weeks, but he looked like he’d lost a bit of weight too. The sight of him made Harry’s chest clench, this was all his fault. 

“Oi, bad? It was a nightmare.” 

He gave Harry a quick nod of thanks as the drying spell hit him in a warm flurry, comforting his shivering torso in sappy heat. 

“Really?” Harry said, crossing one foot over the other and leaning against the stair railing. “What happened?” 

Ron filled him in with every detail imaginable and halfway through Harry wished he’d asked the question sitting down. The poor Weasley family had been through the wringer, starting the trip off strong with a portkey mix up that had landed them in the wrong country, moving into seven long days of sickness that took Ron, Ginny, and George out first, then the rest of the family the following week. By the time they reached the beach where they intended to relax and spend some time processing Fred’s passing, magical weather anomalies wreaked havoc on their tents by the pier. Rainbows followed them inside, snowstorms appeared out of thin air and Harry dared not ask Ron for more details about the fish incident, which he had compared to an aquatic uprising that defied even magic itself. 

“Blimey, Ron,” Harry finally said, pulling him into a hug. “That sounds dreadful. I’m sorry.”

Ron returned the embrace and clapped Harry on the back a few times before he pulled away. 

“Yeah, well,” Ron paused, and despite the black circles under his eyes and pale skin, he couldn’t stop the subtle grin drawing up his exhausted features. “George seemed to come ‘round though. I reckon that much made it worth it.”

“He did?” Harry perked up, feeling a tidal wave of relief flood his chest. 

“Oh yeah, I mean some of that stuff felt… well, above magic or rather. Bloody rainbows following Mum all over the place? Snow ruining Dad’s horrible breakfast ideas every time he tried to make ‘em?” 

Harry cracked the widest smile, suddenly feeling a swell of emotion flood his emerald eyes as he let out a little laugh. 

“Fred was pulling one over on us— least that’s what George said on the last day.” Ron cleared his throat and shook his head.  

Harry nodded, still smiling. “Course he was.” 

Ron returned the grin, shoved off his urge to succumb back to grief, and glanced over to the muddied footprints he’d left by the doorway. 

“Er, say,” he whispered, motioning to the footprints and leaning in close to Harry. “Where is your peachy summer host, hm? Don’t imagine he’ll care for the mess.”

Harry glanced over and chuckled, instantly removing the mud with a flick of his wand. No, Snape wouldn’t care for the mess… or what he was about to do either, for that matter. 

“He’s out,” Harry replied through a sigh. His gaze returned to Ron, lingering on the darkness beneath his glossy eyes.

 “Come on.”

He strode past him in a hurry and motioned for Ron to follow. 

“What are we doing?” Ron asked, moving to catch up. 

Harry swung open the black door leading to the rain covered yard. A cool breeze enveloped the pair of longtime friends as he gazed out at the stone potions storage. 

“We’re getting you some sleep.” 

Narcissa's pinpoint heels echoed in sharp clicks up the grand staircase with Snape following closely behind, his heavy clacks ricocheting in tandem with hers.  

“Should you find him sleeping,” Narcissa glanced over her shoulder, her wine-colored lipstick catching the light. “Do let him rest, Severus. I’ve supplied some reading material by the hearth for you.”

Snape shot a brow up at her, suppressing his urge to scoff. 

“He is seventeen, Narcissa, not seven. I hardly wish to treat him as the spoiled prince he parades around as due to your frequent pampering.”

Narcissa let out a soft, airy laugh. 

“Well, imprison me for believing he deserves a bit of attention after the harsh years his father and I put him through. I merely wish for him to get some rest and time with you after the spectacle last week with Harry Potter.” 

Snape lifted his brows as they reached the top of the marble staircase and turned down the hall. 

“Was the outing he accompanied me on in Diagon Alley unsatisfactory?” He asked, maintaining his brisk click-clack stride against the marble flooring. 

Narcissa’s deep red nails glimmered in the sunlight streaming in from one of the large windows. With a flick, she swept her hair back, the sharp clicks of her high heels resounding off the walls as she continued down to Draco's room.

“Certainly not, though I must admit he was a bit taken back at your hidden devotion to Lily Potter. He seemed to be unwilling to believe you were looking out for the boy all these years... quite the shock.”

Snape nodded, his dark eyes briefly reflecting warmth from the pools of afternoon light that bathed the corridor as they walked past.

A subtle smile graced Narcissa’s pale skin as she traversed his expression. 

“Despite the revelation though, he thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with you. Which is why, in such a poor state, I assumed a visit would bring him some comfort.” 

“Poor state?” Snape drawled, pausing with Narcissa when they reached Draco’s towering door. “Based on the potions you requested I presumed we were dealing with a cold. Has he fallen under a more severe duress?” 

“Well,” Narcissa paused, tightening her velvet cloak around her thin frame. “I suspect his mentality after all the trauma he has suffered has somehow made the sickness worse. He’s fussed quite a bit.” 

Snape hummed low, “An interesting conclusion to arrive at considering what a rarity it is to hear Draco complain.” 

“Yes, well… I appreciate that you came,” Narcissa responded in a softer tone, leaning over to collect Snape’s umbrella from his hand. “You’ll be staying for dinner, yes?” 

Snape interlaced his fingers and brought them behind his back, he supplied a small nod in her direction. 

“Indeed, as I confirmed in my response to your letter.” 

“Excellent,” she reached out, giving his arm a small squeeze. “If you'd like wine or any sort of meal or refreshment, do summon a house elf; they'll fetch you anything to your preference.” 

“Very well.” 

Snape then bid her a polite goodbye and reached to clasp Draco’s door handle, listening to Narcissa parting words: 

“I’ll return in a few hours.” 

Despite the years of hardship, Narcissa Malfoy still managed to possess the same air of sophistication with every step she took. Within moments she’d clicked her way back down the grand staircase, sweeping her velvet cloak in a graceful swirl, ready to meet her errands with her head held high. Disgraced husband or not, she had a life to live— an image to repair. 

Smoothly pushing open the door, Snape was greeted with a sight that severely tempted him to retreat back down the stairs and reprimand Narcissa for her excessive tendency to pamper Draco far beyond reason. 

He was assaulted first by the faint strumming of an enchanted harp, playing a soothing melody that rang out into the expansive bedroom. Overpowering aromatherapy charms exuded copious amounts of eucalyptus into the humid air prompting Snape to roll his dark eyes. An ornate tissue box hovered next to Draco’s bed, preventing him from reaching more than a milliliter to retrieve a tissue. His personal fireplace crackled in a low hush and his black drapes were drawn down, giving the room a shadowed, soothing appearance. The space remained warmed by the flickering candles gracing the marvel shelves. 

Moving towards Draco's bed, Snape observed its elegance—a rich black hue with a towering frame adorned with intricate carvings. His gaze fell upon the resting boy beneath the lavish covers, noting a delicate blush on his cheeks and a reddened rim under his nose. He could hear the thick congestion through Draco’s faint snores, filling the room with a certain sick hum. 

Gently, so as not to wake him, Snape rested his palm to Draco’s forehead, feeling for a temperature. He was warm but not overly hot. Not dying as the accommodations in his room suggested. He then slid his hand under the bedding, feeling to assess if the plush comforter held a familiar, expected charm. Confirming his suspicion, Draco’s blankets were indeed enchanted to adjust their temperature in accordance with his comfort. 

With a small shake of his head Snape strode over to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. He removed his cloak and draped it over the velvet armchair positioned across from the one he soon settled into. He pulled one leg over the other and snatched up the Daily Prophet mixed in with the slew of rare books and aged parchments left by Narcissa on the small oak table. He supposed a moment without Draco’s inevitable whining would be worth allowing him to sleep a little longer. 

As Snape immersed himself in the newsprint, a subtle shadow crossed his features, a slight unease that refused to be banished by the comforting embrace of solitude. Harry came to mind yet again, lingering like a pin in Snape’s thoughts. 

“A bit more, Ron.”  

Harry’s stomach scraped across the ledge of the stone window, he huffed, wiggling into the musty potions storage in a nosedive through the small opening. 

“Blimey, Harry,” Ron hissed after maneuvering him the rest of the way through with a hard shove. “Careful! What if he’s got it bugged in there or something?”

Harry stood to his feet and swept off the dark line of rubble left on the center of his verdant green hoodie. While it was no surprise that the front door failed to open under the Alohomora spell, he didn’t presume Snape had any other traps set for intrusion. He hadn’t even noticed the little window left unlocked from the owl. Besides, none of Snape’s stores at school ever had traps, it seemed unlikely that any other barriers were placed. 

“Well, if it’s bugged,” Harry whispered, moving quickly to the shelves of glass jars housed with ghastly creatures and ingredients. “Then you’ll have to take a potion in my room and hope it gives you a bit of rest while Snape scolds me into the ground for this.” 

Ron let out a nervous laugh, he felt rather bad asking Harry to do this for him, despite his insistence that it was no big deal. He supposed the theft wasn’t all that grand compared to strolling out into the forest to be executed willingly by the Dark Lord. Still though, Snape could be terrifyingly stern, and he wouldn’t want to be on his bad side if he found out, especially living with the greasy git. 

Darkness seeped into the corners of the musty store, conjuring an eerie atmosphere normally absent when Snape was present. Harry flicked his wand, casting lumos in silence. The soft blue glow radiated from the tip reflecting against the glass jars and bubbling vials that littered the stone shelves.

Harry felt his heart thump, blood pooling up in his face from the rush of adrenaline. He scanned the shelves, fumbling with vials, rummaging through sacks of dried ingredients. Maybe he’ll forgive me for this, Harry tried to reason with himself. He’ll beat my arse, yeah, but maybe I won’t have to move out. Maybe he won’t hate me again. Maybe I can make it up to him. 

Did he feel terrible breaking Snape’s trust? Yes. Undoubtedly. Was he going to sit idly by while Ron suffered miserably after all he’d been through on account of him? No, not a chance. Ron had his loyalty— he would for the rest of his life. If getting him what he needed put Harry in trouble with Snape, then so be it. Bloody hell , it wouldn’t be the first time their Potions Master narrowed his piercing gaze and unleashed a tongue-lashing fit for a sinner. He would take the awful strapping, those ‘bedtime spankings’ too, if it meant Ron could find some much needed relief. 

His resolve was solidified but his stomach still coiled, dreading the day he’d face the consequences for such a transgression. He knew it’d be painful, bloody hell—so painful, but he could handle that. It was the thought of disrespecting Snape that seemed to suffocate him, making his chest constrict tight if he lent too much time to the thought. So he didn’t, not then anyway. 

Finally, after what felt like ages of searching, Harry located a box with familiar looking vials tucked behind a collection of dried fluxweed. The glasses clinked together as he pulled out five containers. He held the potions up to his lit wand, examining their appearance under the iridescent blue glow.

“You get them, mate?” Ron called, his voice clear but hushed.

Harry twisted the shimmering vials in the light of his wand. 

“Sleeping draughts are purple, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Ron confirmed.

Harry quickly closed the lid of the box and tucked it back into place. 

I’m sorry, Snape, he nearly whispered, shoving off the distress coiling around every corner of his sweating skin. 

He moved fast through the shadowed storage, handing over the vials to Ron through the small window, glancing down at them in his friend’s pale hands. 

“These are them.” Ron said with a confidence Harry didn’t quite hold. 

“You’re sure?” Harry pushed, his green eyes narrowing at the potions in the light of day. “They look a bit faint in color, don’t they? Sleeping draughts a darker purple, yeah?”

“I don’t think so, mate,” Ron said, pocketing four in his tattered jeans and pulling the cork off the remaining one in his hand. He sniffed the swirling liquid at the rim of the glass and grimaced. “Blimey, uck , smells right to me. Here.” 

Harry pulled the vial back from him and took a deep inhale. He was hit with the lavender first, then a faint trail of asphodel petals lingered behind it intermixed with the nauseating scent of flobberworm mucus. 

“Alright,” Harry corked the potion and attempted to relax the bundle of knots in his stomach. “Just wish they were labeled like the others.”

Ron shrugged, “Makes sense they’re not. The man’s spent his whole bloody life bent over a cauldron, what’s he need a label for?”

A nervous chuckle filled the air as Harry tried to swallow his building guilt. 

I’m so dead for this. He’s going to rake me over the coals. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again. 

“Come on, mate,” Ron said, extending his hand in through the small window. “I’ll pull ya out.” 

A surge of comfort enveloped Harry, quelling the swell of anxiety building in the pit of his stomach. He grasped Ron's offered hand, pulling himself up to the window. Right, this will help him, Harry thought as he shimmied forward through the tight, dirty window. He needs sleep.

This was Ron, after all—the same mate who had fearlessly fought alongside him in the Battle of Hogwarts, facing down the Dark Lord’s forces with an unmatched bravery. The friend who sacrificed himself when they were just children to terrifying chess pieces so Harry could press on. The friend who had rescued him from the Dursleys in his father's stolen car without giving a thought to the consequences he’d face for it.

There was no other mate in the world like Ron Weasley, few possessed such fierce loyalty. If he needed something, Harry would step in and get it, even if it came with a high price to pay.

Chapter Text

[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent ] This is not a slash fic, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you. 

Author’s notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1. 

“Snape?” Came the faint whisper trailing out from the mountain of black velvet covers. 

He was reading over an excerpt in the Daily Prophet, navigating through a blend of accurate reports, biased narratives, and sensationalized stories that offered insights into the ongoing efforts regarding the rebuild of the wizarding world when he heard Draco’s quiet call. 

Snape collapsed the newspaper in a seamless fold and set it gracefully on the ornate table. He stood, interlaced his fingers behind his back, and slowly approached. 

“Well, good afternoon,” he uttered, reaching the bedside of the flushed blonde. “What a miracle to hear your voice, Draco. Upon arrival, I presumed this was a viewing for your untimely demise rather than a bedroom for your recovery.” 

Draco sucked in a mucus laced sniff and groaned. 

“I don’t feel well. Everything aches, I’m positively miserable.”

“Clearly,” Snape drawled, flicking his wand to silence the uncalled for self-strumming harp. 

“Did you bring the potions?” Draco asked weakly, still lying flat on his back, smothered by the heavy comforter.

Snape gave a slow nod and motioned for him to sit up. Draco coughed, moaning as he forced himself to move. 

“What needless fussing, Draco,” Snape muttered, reaching out to feel the boy’s forehead. He was warmer now, indicating the onset of a fever. 

Draco leaned into the touch of Snape’s palm, huffing as he tired, and failed, to breathe through his nose.

“I hate this.” He croaked; his voice muddled from the congestion. 

Snape pulled his hand away and sighed. 

“So I surmised. Rest assured, you’ll live to see another day.” 

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the first of three vials. Uncorking a crimson glimmering potion, he extended it out. Draco eyed it with a glossy gaze. 

“Will it taste dreadful?” He reached over and snatched a tissue, blowing his nose with gusto. 

Snape frowned at the snot-laced, trumpet-like sound coming from the boy.

“Its primary ingredient is beetle eyes,” he motioned for Draco to take the waiting vial. “Assume what you will.” 

Draco groaned and tossed his used tissue into the air. Snape watched with disapproval as the enchanted room intercepted it, popping it out of sight. 

Leave it to Narcissa not to even make him use a waste basket, what utter nonsense.

“Will you flavor it?” Draco asked, pulling the comforter up close to his chin and shivering. 

“Absolutely not,” Snape scoffed. “Despite this confounding treatment from your mother, you are no longer a child.” 

Draco frowned, reaching for another tissue, still not taking the potion. 

“Never mind then,” he paused to blow his nose aggressively once more. “I hardly wish to throw up from the horrid taste. My throat already hurts.”

Snape leaned in closer, his dark gaze turning flinty. 

“You are taking this,” he tapped the glass vial with the side of his thumb. “Either willingly, or after I correct you for this ungrateful streak of defiance.”

Draco’s glassy eyes widened slightly as he tossed the tissue into the magical void. 

“You wouldn’t while I’m sick.” He muttered, tucking himself down lower into his cocoon of comforters.

Snape lifted a brow. A second later he re-corked the vial, slid it into his pocket and snatched the edge of Draco’s comforter, tossing it back. 

“Wait—” Draco croaked out when the covers flew off his fevered body. “I’ll take it, I’ll take it. Snape, don’t.”

He reached out and grabbed Snape’s warm hand now fastened around his bicep. 

“Please, no— don’t. I’ll drink it.”

Draco felt a surge of panic; the thought of adding a sore bum to his already achy body was unbearable. Illness also rendered him strangely emotional each time it struck, so it came as no surprise when hot tears welled up in his stinging eyes.

“Very well.” Snape released his arm, watching with dull amusement as Draco snatched back the layers of covers and threw them over his silk pajama clad body.

Snape leveled Draco with a pointed look and sighed. While he hadn’t actually planned to give him a spanking, he was satisfied nonetheless that the bluff had done its job. 

Draco extended his hand out for the potion, sniffing as he did so. Collecting his outstretched palm, Snape turned it around to look over his previously battered knuckles. 

“Let me see your other hand,” he instructed, motioning for Draco to pull it up. 

Relenting to the inspection, Draco groaned. 

“I want to go back to sleep.” 

Snape didn’t respond, taking his time to survey the back of Draco’s knuckles. They were healed now, much to his satisfaction. 

Shortly after, Draco squeezed his eyes shut as he downed the potion in a thick gulp. Despite Snape's reluctance to indulge him in unnecessary comfort, he found himself rubbing Draco’s back in firm circles when he leaned forward to nearly cough his lungs out. 

“I— think— going— to— be sick.” Draco sputtered through a slew of violent coughs. Snape grimaced and instantly transfigured a book on the nightstand into a waste basket, handing it to him. 

“If it is within your capacity to keep yourself from—”

His ask was cut short by Draco’s upheaval. 

Brilliant, Snape glared down at the vomit, wasted ingredients and time. Sighing he rubbed Draco’s back with firmer strokes and muttered a few steadying words in response to the pitiful moaning. 

“Come now, Draco,” Snape said, moving his hand to hold the back of his sweating neck. “Enough with the needless dramatics. You’re fine.” 

He reached over and offered Draco a tissue to wipe the corners of his mouth. He accepted it, grimacing down at the wasted potion in the basket. Though his expression soon turned to one of horror.

“It’s red.” Draco croaked, “What if I have internal bleeding? Snape, that is—”

“Merlin above, you’re not bleeding internally you absolute nitwit.” Snape glared at Draco with a thin thread of remaining patience. “Are you honestly so stricken that you failed to notice the color of the vial I handed you?” 

“Oh,” Draco relaxed, pinching his eyes shut against the headache now wrapping around his temple. 

“Told you that would make me sick.” He muttered after a moment. His throat burned, his body ached, and he truly hated feeling so utterly miserable. 

Vanishing the mess with a quick flick of his wand, Snape took the basket away then leaned over and pulled the covers up closer to Draco’s chest. He rested his hand against the boy's forehead again, feeling the heat radiating up from the clammy skin.

Snape hummed low.

“Have you felt nauseated throughout the day?” 

“Yes.” Draco groaned, titling his head into Snape’s open palm. “I threw up this morning.” 

Exasperation fell over Snape’s stoic features. 

“Perhaps then, it would have been prudent to inform me of that instead of blaming your resistance on the taste of the potion .”

Draco gave a congested attempt at a snort, ending in a gargled sound. 

With a quick call Snape summoned a house elf, requesting a glass of water and a ginger tonic for nausea. He made Draco drink both despite the protests then waited a bit before pressing for him to take the other potion. 

“You will take the Pepperup when this fever has cleared.” Snape said, then reached into his pocket. “Let’s try the other now, shall we? Or will you waste this one along with my remaining patience?” 

Draco frowned and dropped his head back dramatically into the goose down pillow propping his neck. 

“Maybe if the other one was flavored it wouldn’t have hurt my stomach.” 

“Taste doesn’t change the ingredients, you whiny child.” Snape sighed, pulling the other two vials from his pocket. 

Draco reached for another tissue and blew his nose, refusing to lift his head. “You just told me I wasn’t a child . Changing your mind, are you?

Snape tapped the vials with his wand, set the Pepperup potion down on the nightstand then uncorked the other shimmering container and extended it out. 

“Don’t presume I will take your cheek, Draco Malfoy. I’ve merely adjusted the flavor to mitigate the risk of waste, not to bow to your insolent preferences.”

Tossing the tissue into the air, Draco shot a weak smirk in Snape’s direction. He took the potion and glanced down, suddenly anxious to throw up again. 

“Is it—”

“That dreadful apple, yes.” Snape finished for him, picking up the transfigured waste basket. “Now, take it.” 

Draco felt a comforting warmth, content that Snape recalled the potion flavor he preferred, especially considering it had been many years since he last made such a request.

“I shall turn it back if you fail to obey me this instant.” Snape snapped, pursing his lips in a tight line. 

Letting out a long deep breath first, Draco then tossed the potion back and chugged fast. As he pulled the circular bottle from his lips, the familiar hint of apple lingered on his tongue, soothing him with a nostalgic embrace. 

Snape watched him closely, ready to intervene again with the basket if necessary. 

“Feeling settled?” 

“Yes,” Draco confirmed, handing the bottle back. 

Within seconds he felt a trickling warmth flood his body, easing the chattery feeling brought on by his fever. Moments after his sinuses reopened, allowing a welcome breath to flood his previously stopped up nose. 

Relaxing into his soft sheets Draco sighed in relief.

“Brilliant.” He murmured, nestling back down in the covers and rolling to his stomach. “Thanks.” 

A small smirk tugged up the corners of Snape’s lips, going undetected by the sick blonde. 

“I presume you’re feeling better.” 

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled, succumbing to the onset of sleep again. “Perhaps you could, uhm—well, will you stay with me? Like, you know, you used to?”

Snape rolled his eyes, but to Draco’s hazy delight he settled himself in the velvet armchair to the side of his bed. 

“You are far too spoiled,” Snape shot, trying to lace his tone with the typical note of disdain. “I detest such needless fuss over a mere cold and stomachache. I’ll be speaking to your mother about this ridiculously excessive treatment.”   

“Considering the last time you were in here,” Draco mumbled through a yawn, the warmth in his cheeks driven more by embarrassment than the fever. “I disagree. Neither of you spoiled me then...”

Snape scoffed. 

“Enforcing discipline is a sign of your mother’s capacity for genuine care, Draco.” Snape said, leaning down to drop his voice into a silky whisper. “I certainly hope you’re not already deceiving yourself into believing you didn’t deserve it.” 

Draco’s pale skin warmed with a darker flush, but he kept his eyes pinched shut and smirked. 

Snape surveyed him with a scrutinizing gaze but soon found himself looking down with a hint of compassion as Draco’s breathing evened out. A memory of the young Slytherin, curled up in his office, seeking comfort during a previous bout of the stomach flu, flashed vividly through his mind. He tried to shake off the growing inclination to provide more needless comfort. It was ridiculous really, the way Narcissa spoiled him so. 

Yet, as his mind drifted to the hardships Draco endured under the influence of the Death Eaters, every anxiety-laden moment haunted by the fear for his parents’ and his own life following the Dark Lord’s demand for him to assassinate the headmaster, Snape yielded begrudgingly to a sense of pity.

Leaning over, he traced his warm hand up and down the soft silk of Draco's pajama clad back, soothing the boy's fevered body and guiding him into a restful sleep, just as he had many years ago.  

“Level with me, mate,” Ron said, ripping off a bite of red licorice. “Why do you stay with him?” 

“With Snape?”

Harry shook his head when Ron extended the bag of chewy sweets in his direction. They were strolling leisurely down the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, heading back out of the bubbling town after a day spent browsing in the rain covered shops. Each step Ron took clinked the potion vials in his pocket, tightening the hand of guilt around Harry’s chest. 

“Well—”

“Look! Look! It’s Harry Potter!” 

The shrill squeak of a little girl rang out through the cool afternoon air, echoing down an alleyway in the distance. Ron elbowed Harry, a smirk growing across his freckled face. 

“Here we go again ,” he whispered, making Harry groan under his breath. 

Not one, but three little girls soon careened down the stone paved steps in their direction, splashing puddles of water every which way. Harry was instantly swarmed, nearly knocked over in the siege of ribbon laced ponytails. 

“Er,” Harry glanced down at the small girls after regaining his balance. “Hi.”

Two of them giggled and the first little girl, who had spotted him initially said, “Hi!”

“Is it true you killed you-know-who?”

Harry moved to speak but was soon cut off by a slew of chaotic questions from the trio, none of which he knew quite how to respond to. 

“Were you scared?”

“Did you strangle him with your bare hands?”

“Did you dive off a building?”

“I heard you shot lightning out of your eyes!”

The last one had Ron wheezing, nearly choking on his licorice. Harry shot over an annoyed glare at his doubled over friend, trying to politely gain a bit more personal space from the giggling girls.

“Oh, well, no I didn’t— wizards don’t shoot lightning from their eyes.” 

The emerald eyed girl with the dark brown ponytail frowned at that.

“But you’re different,” she said, shamelessly taking Harry’s hand in hers. “My mummy says you’re a hero.”

Harry let out a tight breath at that, guilt twisting his stomach with death grip. He gave her little hand a squeeze, trying to think of something to say.

“Alright,” Ron straightened up to save him, wiping a few stray tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. 

“How come not one of ya have asked me any questions? Hm?”

The little girl still holding tight to Harry’s hand, cast a very dismissive glance at Ron. 

“Who are you?”

The other two other girls couldn’t be bothered to even look, deciding the heroic Harry Potter was far more worthy of their attention. 

“I’m Ron Weasley,” he said, walking a few steps closer to Harry. “I helped him destroy you-know-you, ya know.” 

“Oh,” said the green-eyed girl, glancing back up at Harry. 

“Mummy didn’t tell me about him.” She whispered.

It was Harry’s turn to burst into a string of light laughter. 

“Well,” Ron said, pulling his arms up to his hips, his paper licorice bag smacking his leg in the process. “Tell your Mum—”

“Girls!” A stout woman called from the other side of the street, carrying multiple shopping bags. With a sigh of relief, she stalked over to them through the puddles, her sweeping cloak flurrying in the cold breeze.

“Just where have you been ?”

The three girls spun around. One of them let out a hushed, “Blimey.” 

“Look,” said the one little girl holding Harry’s hand. “It’s Harry Potter!”

The stout woman spared a fast glance at Harry, offering a warm smile that quickly evaporated as she glanced back down at the girls. 

“Spotting Harry Potter in the street does not constitute an excuse to run away from me, young lady.”

The little girl slid her hand from Harry’s, suddenly finding the tops of her wet shiny shoes far more interesting. 

“It is not only disrespectful to scurry away from me after all this shopping I’ve treated you to, but it is dangerous to be running about the town unsupervised. I’m disappointed in you girls.”

Harry felt his guilt growing larger, the scolding somehow pinning him too, in its own strange way. He couldn’t help but feel bad for the trio, seeing their bright faces suddenly fall so grim. 

“I’m sorry.” He interjected, making Ron raise his brow as he chomped down on a new piece of licorice. 

“I think I distracted them too long with my stories. They were about to go find you, weren’t you, girls?” Harry asked, glancing around the group of children. 

All three jumped to agree hastily, “Yes!”

“Honest we were.” Said one little girl, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the stout woman.

The woman hummed low, narrowing her hazel gaze down at the little girl. 

“Very well. You and I will certainly be having a little discussion, Caroline Grindle. Your mothers will be hearing about this as well ladies, come along.” 

At her words, all the wind seemed to be sucked out of their sails.

“Say goodbye to Mr. Potter now.”

Three solemn ‘goodbyes’ floated up in the rainy streets as the girls moved to follow the stout woman. 

A few splashing steps out and the emerald eyed girl turned back around, running to envelope Harry’s waist in a hug. 

“Thank you for saving everyone!” She said, squeezing extra tight. “I think you’re the best person ever.” 

The stout woman turned back, pulling her hands to her hips and tapping her toe on the glistening stone path. 

“Come along, Ebony.” 

Harry offered the woman an apologetic smile, which she met with a discrete wink before bringing back a sharp glare of disapproval. Harry quickly bent down to the girl’s level, giving her a fast and proper hug. 

She seemed to like that, squealing with a peppy delight. 

“Be good for your mu—, er, her.” Harry said, moving from the embrace to stand back up, motioning to the stout woman. 

“She’s my mummy’s best friend! She takes care of me when my—”

“Ebony Matthews.” The stout woman snapped. 

“I’m coming , Aunt Sereia!” She said, giving a little eye roll that made Harry pull his brows up in surprise. 

The tone apparently didn’t sit well with Aunt Sereia as she set the shopping bags down on the wet street and made a quick advance. 

“Oop,” said Ebony, a soft flush coming over her button nose and round cheeks. 

Aunt Sereia snatched her hand quickly, muttering down a quiet, “You are testing my patience today, little lady.”

Ebony whined under her breath but allowed herself to be towed away. 

Blushing deeply, Harry instantly remembered Snape smacking him earlier that morning, using nearly the same phrase to scold him with. 

“Bye, Harry,” Ebony said over her shoulder, “I love you!”

Harry chuckled through his second-hand embarrassment, offering a warm goodbye despite his surprise at the words. 

“Nice to meet you, Ebony.” He said, watching her blush as she was hauled away. 

Ron shook his head, digging back into his paper bag of sweets. 

“Crazy little devils.” He muttered under his breath, withdrawing another long rope of licorice. 

Harry smiled and shook his head, watching with a hint of sympathy as the little girls disappeared back down the wet alleyway from where they came. 

“I hope they’re not in trouble.” Harry said later, turning back to look at Ron as they made their way out of town. 

“Oh, they are.” Ron replied, laughing through his licorice. “That woman rules with an iron fist. Didn’t even spare the scolding in front of the heroic Harry Potter.”

Harry frowned, feeling a bit bad for the group, especially the chatty one. She was a sweet little girl, a bit cheeky too, and though normally he felt horribly uncomfortable with all the attention the end of the war had brought him, something about his interaction with her felt good… familiar in a way. 

“I’m using a glamor next time we come out.” Harry grumbled, suddenly deciding to have a go at the licorice. 

Ron rolled his eyes but smiled when Harry reached into the bag. He loved sharing a snack with someone as it gave him an excuse to buy more later.

“Not loving this celebrity life, eh?” Ron asked, grabbing his tenth piece of licorice from the bag. “Would’ve thought you were used to it a bit. I mean, you are the Boy-Who-Lived, just, uh, twice now.” 

Harry sighed, looking at the whippy piece of red licorice in his hand. 

“I never used to get this sort of attention.” 

His trainers sloshed through the wet path in sloppy crunches echoing in stride with Ron’s firm thuds.

Ron nodded, that much was true. Everywhere they went people were coming up to Harry to congratulate him, shower him with thanks, some seemed to even worship the ground he walked on. He could hardly pay for anything anymore, whether it was drinks at the Leaky Cauldron or Ron’s big bag of sweets, everything was on the house these days. 

“Right,” Ron nodded, “Oi, speaking of celebrity ,” he dropped his tone down low, doing his best to imitate Professor Snape. 

“Why do you like living with the greasy git? Don’t just say cause he saved your arse a few times, you’ve told me the grand Pensive tale.” 

Harry sighed, twirling the licorice through the air as the pair continued their slow stroll. 

“I just… I don’t know.” Harry said, watching the storm clouds crawl in the distance. 

Ron finished his last piece of licorice and scoured the bag for a new treat. 

“What’s even decent about him besides his food?” Ron tried, fishing out a chocolate frog. “Start there because that’s the bloody question keeping me up every night.” 

Harry snorted, feeling his stomach clench again as the potions clinked with every step Ron took. Where could he even start that would make sense? 

Well, Ron, he lets me brew potions with him now. He rubs my neck and asks how I’m doing. He’s actually bloody funny in this sort of deadpan way. I feel closer to my mum somehow, just living with him. He’s hard on me but it’s comforting, like I finally have a parent. He even hugs me after… bloody hell, no, that’s too much.

“He’s… calm.” 

“Calm?!” Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate.

“See, this is why I can’t explain it to you.” Harry shot back, twirling his licorice around.  

“Right, sorry.” Ron shoved the rest of the frog in his mouth. “Calm how?” 

The question came out muffled by the chocolate, but Harry still caught it. 

“He’s steady,” Harry said, smacking the licorice rope in the palm of his hand. “I know what to expect from him.”  

Ron didn’t say anything for a moment, eyeing the uneaten licorice in Harry’s hand. 

“He’s really different then?” Ron finally asked, narrowing his gaze in suspicion as they walked. 

“Yeah.” Harry replied, relieved that they had made it out of town and away from onlookers. “Insanely different.”

“I don’t know, mate. I reckon I was a bit too sloshed that night he dragged us out of the pub, but hell, that lecture he gave us wasn't exactly a soothing experience, ya know?” 

Ron grabbed another frog from the bag and popped the whole thing in his mouth this time. 

Harry snorted and shoved his arm. 

“Yeah, well, I think you’re still a bit cross that he made you do chores that morning.”

Ron paused and held up a finger, chewing vigorously to finish the chocolate so he could speak.

“Damn right I am!” He finally choked out, swallowing hard. “He’s a bloody menace.” 

Although summer had arrived, the rain ushered in a cold breeze that chilled Harry’s exposed skin. He drew in a deep breath and tried to focus on the sound of the wet road beneath their feet, trying to stop feeling so downright horrible for the clinking potions in Ron’s pocket. The growing concern for Snape’s inevitable fury continued to build too despite his attempts to squash it down low and forget about it. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that the punishment awaiting him for a stunt like this wouldn't compare to the reprimands he received for lesser offenses, like staying out past curfew or accidentally breaking a stair railing. 

“What about at dinner?” Ron tried, taking a break from eating to give Harry a pointed look. “He got after you at the table and made me leave quick. I saw your face, Harry. You were whiter than Myrtle.” 

Harry pulled his hand up to the back of his neck and started to rub. Merlin, he didn’t even know what to say.

“Well, it was just a long day,” Harry shrugged, “I wasn’t keen on a lecture and chores for pissing him off.”

“That’s what I’m after though.” Ron said, furrowing his brow. “Why do you want to live with him when he makes you do chores for givin cheek and stuff?” 

Huffing Harry tried to deflect, “What you don’t do chores at home, Ron?”

“Well—”

“Does your mum have no house rules? Is there not some consequence for when you break them? I’ve heard her scold you more times than I can count.” 

Ron felt the tension starting to seep into Harry’s words. He had no idea where the defense was coming from, but he tried to shift the energy. 

“Are you going to eat that?” He quipped after a small pause.

“What?” Harry snapped, turning to look at him with a perplexed look. 

“The licorice.” Ron motioned to his hand, “You’ve been swinging it forever.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, glancing down. “Sorry, here.”

He extended the drooping piece of candy out. 

“Well you can have it if you’re going to stop foolin around and eat it.” Ron said, motioning for Harry to keep it. 

“I’m really not hungry, just take it.” 

“Alright.” 

No one had to tell Ron to take food twice, especially not candy. 

“I still do chores, ya know.” He said casually, hoping to defuse the unexpected tension. “I get an earful from Mum too when I’m out late or cheeky. Hasn’t happened since the war but I reckon she’d still scrounge up a punishment if I mouthed her off.” 

Harry nodded, still rubbing his neck. He doubted he’d ever find the right words to tell Ron about the smackings. It all felt too complicated to explain—how do you justify living with someone who disciplines you like a child? Especially after a history like the one they shared with Professor Snape. To Ron’s credit the situation was entirely complicated even without that little piece of the puzzle. Of course he was confused, so was Harry… a little.

“I have to put up with Mum though, Dad too, since I’m living at home for now.” Ron took a bite of the licorice then said through a chew:

“I don’t have the kind of opportunity you do, mate. I mean, you can afford to live alone. They’d probably give you a house for free if you wanted, any privilege you could think of after saving everyone’s arse.” 

Harry sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, then gradually, an idea began to form in his mind. He’d thought of a reason for living with Snape, one that Ron might understand. A new thought that made some sense to him as well.

“That’s it, though,” he soon said, glancing over. “Snape doesn’t treat me like the rest of the world.”

Ron squinted slightly, chewing on the piece of licorice with a puzzled expression.

“I’m just Harry to him. The same old insolent, prat who needs a firm hand and direction before I fall off the rails.” 

Harry felt himself flushing at the phrase, he dropped his eyes from Ron’s and glanced at his muddy trainers. 

“I guess I want that.” He admitted, “I want to just be Harry for a while. Not a hero, just… me. Even if there are rules and bloody awful consequences to go with them.”

Ron stopped chewing for a moment, his eyes widening ever so slightly. 

“Awful consequences?” He reiterated, his tone adopting a sharper edge. “What does that—”

“Chores,” Harry blurted out. “Having to prepare gross ingredients for potions, consequences like that.”

“Huh,” Ron finally said after a long pause. “Well… huh.” 

Harry hoped Ron could sort of understand, at least not push him for more reasons. 

Thankfully he did. 

“I reckon that makes a lick of sense… but it’s going to take a bit for you to convince me you’re not right mental for picking Snape to be the one giving you direction now. I mean, bloody hell, Harry. What a tosser he’s been to the lot of us.”

“I know but just give him some time.” Harry smiled, relieved to see Ron’s accepting expression even if it was laced with a bit of disdain. “You’ll see, he’s not all that bad anymore.”

That is if he still lets me live after he finds out what we’ve done. Harry mused, feeling the cold hand of dread take hold of him once again, plunging him into the depths of regret. 

The hum of Draco’s faint snores filled the grand bedroom as Narcissa and Snape sipped on glasses of wine by the warmth of the fire. 

They shared a late meal together, with Narcissa insisting they dine in Draco’s room in case he woke up and required anything. Snape offered his customary sarcasm and disdain over the pampering. However, his words could hardly sway her after she had walked in to find him rubbing Draco’s back as he slept. Witnessing it filled her with such a swell of maternal appreciation that she sent for the best bottle of wine left in the Manor, wanting to subtly thank Snape for the care she always knew he provided her son when no one was looking.

The fire crackled and popped, warming the room with a faint orange glow. Narcissa let out a sigh, taking a delicate sip of her wine. 

“I should think I’d like to leave this place soon.” She said in a hushed tone, her hazel eyes set on the burning logs in the fire. 

Snape glanced over, surveying her still frame in the flickering light. 

“Is that so?” He asked in his silky low tone, sipping his wine. 

“Yes,” Narcissa replied, gliding her fingertips across the velvet lined chair. “It isn’t good for Draco to stay hidden away in this place tainted by such wicked memories.”

Snape didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking over her words with a thoughtfulness that often evaded his interactions with Narcissa. 

“I would venture to presume this sentiment extends beyond Draco’s well-being, does it not?” He soon asked, eyeing her with a knowing dark gaze. 

Narcissa took a lengthy sip of wine, glancing back at the fire. She pulled her cup down and ran her red nail against the rim of her glass. 

“I’m… haunted here, Severus.” 

Snape hummed low, pausing to listen for Draco’s snoring. He considered casting a privacy charm in case he woke up but decided against it as Narcissa pressed on. 

“I’d like something smaller. Perhaps something quaint and private. Your little spot in Silent Hollow for instance.” 

The crackling of the fire filled the comfortable silence following the remark. Narcissa possessed a talent for subtle inferences that Snape was quite familiar with. Her casual comment spurred a concerning notion that made him shift in his chair. He straightened out a wrinkle in his trousers and pursed his lips. 

“What precisely are you inferring?” He asked, conjuring the hell of a time he’d have if Narcissa was implying what he suspected she was implying.

“There’s a property across from yours, I’m considering purchasing it.” 

Salzar, you shall kill me, woman. Snape thought, he glanced and the climbing flames in the spiking fire. Harry and your son can’t stand to live miles away, you assume they can handle minutes? 

“If you were to seriously consider such a perilous move, you must know that Harry Potter and your son—”

“Would learn to get along, I’m quite sure.” Narcissa interjected, taking another sip of wine.

“Very presumptuous of you to assume. I don’t dare hold your confidence.” Snape drawled. 

“Oh, they’re young.” Narcissa waved her hand, her nails glistening in the low light of the fire. “They just need a bit of time together to sort out their differences.”

Snape scoffed at that, leaning over to take Narcissa’s wine glass from her thin fingertips. He replenished her drink and his as well. 

“Need I remind you the last time I left them to their own devices I returned to find the pair beating one another into the ground.” 

Narcissa let out a hushed, airy laugh, glancing over to Draco’s bed. 

“They needed to get it out of their systems, I suppose. They wouldn’t dare such a transgression again.”

“To reiterate,” Snape replied, handing her back the glass of wine. “I don’t dare hold your confidence.” 

Narcissa leaned back in her chair, crossing one smooth leg over the other.

“Well,” she began, pausing to adjust her luxurious dress. “Draco was so impacted by the punishment you gave them, he refused to say a word to me regarding it.” 

Narcissa took a sip of wine then continued.

“Normally after any sort of conflict with Harry, he’s quick to defend himself, telling me how unfair he was treated. I should think something has changed between them given his silence.”

Snape followed Narcissa’s gaze to Draco’s bed and let out a little sigh. 

“Sharing a moment of discomfort and vulnerability may have curbed a bit of his typical bravado but it doesn’t mean Draco won’t resort to the same antagonist behavior once the memory fades.” 

“He’s a good boy, Severus. You know his motives for such behavior are hardly malicious. He ought to be properly behaved the remainder of the summer.” 

Snape hummed low, allowing his expression to speak for himself. 

“I’ve known your son for too long to be duped into believing he’s suddenly resigned himself to appropriate behavior.”

Narcissa merely flashed a small smile, drawing her hazel gaze back to the fireplace. 

“I’m going to take him to have a look at the property in a few days, perhaps you and Harry would like to accompany us?”

Despite Snape’s initial inclination to immediately refuse the obligation, he reasoned that Narcissa required support in her current circumstance. While her exterior maintained perfect composure, he recognized a subtle undercurrent of exhaustion. Though this may have been something he would have ignored during the war, he now felt reluctantly compelled to offer a hand of support. 

“Very well.” Snape soon agreed with a nod, and then, far against his better judgment he followed up with: “You and Draco are welcome to join us for an evening meal after, if you’d like.” 

“We would,” Narcissa replied, running a bony hand up to her collar bone, tracing its rigid frame. “Thank you for indulging me these days. I’m glad to have you as a friend, Severus.”

He inclined his head down a touch and offered a small smile. 

“And I you.” 

“To possibly becoming neighbors,” she said, extending her glass of wine out. 

Snape shot a characteristic brow up and shook his head. 

“Indeed.” He muttered, extending his wine glass forward. 

He internally hoped the property would sell in the next few hours, robbing her of the ability to add such a headache to his life. 

Their glasses met with a faint clink that reverberated out through the grand room. Narcissa laughed and Snape merely rolled his eyes, though they both took a sip of the deep red wine, letting the moment of camaraderie linger in the light of the fire. 

Harry twisted in his covers for the hundredth time, breathing out a guttural sigh. Relentless knots coiled in his stomach as he struggled to relax and surrender to the elusive concept of sleep. 

The night had grown late, Snape still wasn’t home, and a sense of dread blanketed his mind. The thunderous echoes of the storm reverberated through his room, the rain pelting against the roof with a rhythmic drumming. A faint blue hue surrounded him, crawling across the flooring from the droplet covered windowpanes. 

Though the summer months had descended upon Silent Hollow, a distinct chill brought on by the relentless days of rain wrapped its cold breath around Harry's shoulders. 

Tossing the covers back in a flurry, he sat up and let out a sigh. Clad only in his boxer pants, Harry propped his feet on the lower rung of his bed frame, rested his elbows on his bare thighs, and dropped his head into his hands. Cold shivers ran through his legs and chest in the absence of the bedding. Drumming his foot in a hurried bounce, he wondered how soon Snape would discover the missing potions.

Bloody hell, he let out a tight breath. Maybe I should have asked him instead. He might not have said no. 

Harry tightened his grip in his hair, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea come over him at the swishing sound of the floo activating in the living room. 

He listened to the faint steps of Snape making his way around the house. A few clinks and clanks rang out through the kitchen, followed by the sound of water running through the creaking pipes of the old home. 

Staying perfectly still, Harry heard the unmistakable path of Snape’s evening routine. The teapot soon screeching, the fire stoking followed by faint crackles, Snape’s book on potions thudding on the oak living room table.