Disclaimer 1: I am not JK Rowling. I own none of this. I'm merely babysitting and giving out punishements to bratty characters.

Disclaimer 2: By writing this fic, I am not condoning or recommending spanking as a form of discipline. This is fantasy and does not necessarily reflect my views of punishing children (or in this case, teens). So be forewarned, that anti-spanking flamers will be soundly paddled.

Disclaimer 3: This story is a one-shot deal. Don't be fooled by chapter 2, it's only a 'thesis' chapter.

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Snape was a generous man. To be precise, the mere fact that Potter was now in alive in his commons room eating candy rather than a being smoldering crater on the DA classroom floor made Snape eligible for sainthood.

"Come now, Severus," Dumbledore said sagely. "The boy has just lost his godfather, after all. He's bound to be a bit on edge. Here, have a sweet."

Dumbledore nudged the dish towards Snape. In a long-practiced movement, Snape took the first sweet that came in reach but did not eat it. He placed it on the arm of his chair, along with the other sweets that Dumbledore had offered.

"Besides, I would like to have him this Saturday evening-"

"Professor, with all due respect," Snape said in a dangerously low voice, "that boy has you wrapped around his little finger. You can't just keep rewarding his poor behavior-"

"-I rather think he'd like some ice mice-"

"-he contributes nothing but cheek-"

"-or maybe lemon drops. He did live with muggles for some time before-"

"-and that confounded Army he taught last year has only made him haughty and arrogant-"

"-or some sugar quills. You can suck on those in classes, you know-"

Snape slapped the arm of his chair so hard that the sweets that he had placed there went flying in all directions, except for one; it laid trapped under his palm. "SIR!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily, showing no sign that he was shocked by Snape's actions. "His lack of respect is atrocious! It cannot continue!" He let out a huffed breath. "One more provocation from him and I will not be responsible for my actions, Professor."

Dumbledore, humming to himself, leaned back and observed the man currently glowering at him. "Whatever you feel is best, however I will speak to him on the matter, Severus." He held out the candy dish again. Snape took another sweet and placed it on the armchair.

"Now, as I was saying. I'll be needing Harry this Saturday. Perhaps you may postpone your detention with him until next week? Good lad, good lad," Dumbledore said. "Buck up, Severus," he said with a smile. "He'll get better. You will see."

The problem was, of course, that Dumbledore had a blind eye when it came to his precious Potter. Much like a deluded mother, the headmaster seemed to think that Harry could (and would) do no wrong. Any bad behavior was to be excused, since it seemed to be the direct result of the large amounts of stress being put on the boy.

Snape knew children. Give them an inch and they will take a mile. No matter what the boy had been through, Harry knew that he was protected from 90 percent of his punishments and he took full advantage of that fact. Harry Potter was young, not stupid.

Harry, himself, confirmed this fact at the next Defense class. It was nothing the boy said (more cheek) that indicated this but the smug smile that he gave Snape the moment he walked through the door, knowing that he could detain his punishments with Snape with Dumbledore as an excuse. Now Snape understood what kind of behavior the other staff had to endure from Draco for the past five years.

Absentmindedly, Snape reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk and felt for a broad, flat handle. Smiling with a greasy sneer, Snape thought lovingly of the polished wood and the effect it had on his more difficult Slytherin students. There was a reason why his students treated him with great respect.

Harry caught his eye, and the boy gave him a curious look. The gleam in Snape's eye must have been unsettling. When the boy saw it, he stopped laughing with Weasley and went oddly pale.

Oh yes, Mr. Potter, Snape thought with a mad twinkle in his eye. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

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On the postponed night of his detention, Potter sauntered into Snape's classroom in his jumper and jeans, looking sour. Snape held out his hand and Harry obediently handed him his wand. They shared a look of loathing before Harry landed his gaze on the cauldron on center floor. Larger than the normal desktop size, it came up to about waist-height, the opening was rather narrow; enough for the upper body to slide in, but not much room for movement. Peering in, Harry gave a disgruntled sniff. "What did you brew in here? Ogre shit?"

"Language, Mr. Potter," Snape all but growled. "And in my classroom, I expect to be addressed as 'sir'."

Harry made a great show of rolling his eyes. "Well, sir, why am I cleaning out cauldrons? You're not the potions master anymore."

Snape's eye twitched. "Am I not allowed to brew potions on my own time, now that I no longer teach the subject?" There was no response, but Harry's look of utter disgust at the caked-on blue goop gave Snape a pleasant level of satisfaction nonetheless. "We don't have all night, Mr. Potter."

Harry sneered, rolling up his sleeves and grabbing the bucket and brush from the classroom closet.

It didn't take long for Harry to start complaining. Bent in half, the sounds of vicious scrubbing echoed out of the cauldron, along with a litany of muggle cursing. Snape looked over his magazine and gave a wry smile as Harry threatened the cauldron, but met with little success. Another moment of cursing passed (this time, colorful phrasings that could have only have been passed on by the Weasley twins) before Harry emerged.

It couldn't be physically possible, but the boy's hair was even a bigger mess than it was before. He was dripping with soap and grime, glasses mussed. He threw down the brush. "What the fuck is in here?"

"Language Potter," Snape replied, ruffling the magazine. "And address me as 'sir'."

"Ok," Harry said. "What the fuck is in here, sir?"

Snape lowered his magazine enough to fix Harry with a glare. "You have been told twice. You will not be warned again." He lifted his magazine. "Get back to work."

Grumbling, Harry bent forward into the cauldron.

Ten minutes passed in relative peace. Harry's cursing diminished, if for no other reason, because he was only swearing quieter. The sounds of the scrub brush faded into a pleasant white noise as Snape began the article on dragon's liver.

From inside the cauldron, there came a bang. "FUCK!" Harry bellowed.

Snape stood up and went over to the cauldron as Harry re-emerged. Harry was holding onto his elbow tenderly, biting his lip. Finding a displeased Snape coming up on him, Harry clutched at his injured arm tighter, as if to prove a point. "I bashed my elbow on the side. The cauldron doesn't give a lot of room-"

"What did I say about language?"

"Ah, c'mon!" Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's see you jam your elbow and see how polite you are!"

"Yet you have spent the last ten minutes doing nothing but cursing, Mr. Potter. And adding in some rather unflattering comments about my mother, which is very distasteful, no matter how creative. Dumbledore might allow such blatant acts of disrespect, but I am not Dumbledore." Harry scoffed, and Snape leaned into Harry's space, almost touching nose to nose. "Back into the cauldron, Mr. Potter."

Harry hesitated, narrowing his eyes. There was something off about this conversation. Again, Harry was young, but he was not stupid. "No," he said. "I can't scrub out this cauldron. It's laid on too thick." He held out his hand expectantly. "Give me back my wand. I'll spell it clean and we'll consider this detention over and done with."

There was a split second where Harry wasn't sure what hurt him most- his elbow or his scalp. Snape's hand was twisted in his hair. The man looked livid. "You will not order me around in my own classroom, Mr. Potter!"

Harry felt himself being bent forward, Snape forcing his upper half back into the narrow passage of the cauldron in front of them. Fully expecting to be let go to finish scrubbing, it came as a complete surprise as he heard a muddled swish of air, followed by a sharp smack. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, jarring his elbow again against the side of the cauldron, his other hand landing in some of the potion that had congealed at the bottom.

"OW! FUCK! SHIT!" he cried as Snape spanked him again, leaving no time between the second, third and fourth blows. "What the hell?"

Snape pressed his hand down on the base of Harry's spine as the boy tried to stand upright. "For six years I've had to deal with you!" he said, swinging his arm back for another series of terrifically pounding smacks. "And every year I've had to look out for you! Every year you've avoided any real punishment." Harry jerked after each smack, loud grunts and cursing coinciding. "Dumbledore and McGonagall are more than happy to accommodate you, I'm sure, but rest assured, Mr. Potter-" Snape paused a moment to lay in a round of painful wallops to Harry's sit-spot "-that I would have done this your first week and It. Would. Have. Saved. Us. A. Lot. Of. Trouble!"

Snape, who had been spanking Harry all throughout this speech, made sure emphasize his last message with a smack for each word. By this time, Harry was beginning to squirm. "You will learn proper respect, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his hand beginning to sting past his endurance. "If it is the last thing I do!"

With that, he let removed his hand from Harry's back and stalked off to his desk. Harry laid still, gasping for air, his breathing rattling in the cauldron.

Snape grabbed his chair, his magazine and his paddle from his desk, setting himself near Potter. Eventually, Harry slowly unfolded himself from the cauldron. Snape looked up from his magazine with a bored expression. However he felt a great surge of self-pride. The look on Harry was priceless. His face was beet-red, flushed with anger or embarrassment- or both. His hands clenched, the sickening squelch of rotted potion stained his fingertips. His jumper was completely soiled.

"I don't believe I told you to stop scrubbing, Mr. Potter."

If looks could kill, Snape's body would be incinerated. However Harry, still young but not stupid, eyed the vicious-looking length of wood on Snape's lap and bent back into the cauldron. This time though, facing his rear in the opposite end, away from Snape.

Snape's mouth twitched upwards, rusting the magazine again. Better, but not quite there yet.

The sounds of scrubbing resumed, albeit slower than before. Snape knew the reason perfectly. Who was to say that Snape wasn't the type of disciplinarian to sneak up and begin again?

Setting down the magazine and gripping the wooden paddle, Snape decided that it wouldn't do well to disappoint young Potter.

Harry's scrubbing paused as he heard Snape move around the room. "What are you doing?" he asked, starting to ease his way out of the cauldron. "I'm scrubbing it out!" he said, panic edging in his voice. "I swear, - AH! FUCK!" he cried as the paddle hit hard enough to drive him back into the cauldron.

"LANGUAGE, MR. POTTER!" Snape bellowed as he drew back his arm again. Harry let out an angry yell. "I. WILL. NOT. TOLERATE. THIS. LOLLIGAGGING!"

Harry began dancing on his toes, violent hisses erupting from his lips.

"And don't think that I don't know that you're cursing in Parseltongue!"

"Yea, I'm sure you've heard it enough from Voldemort, you over-grown bat's arse!"

Snape put his full weight behind the blow, which served as an effective end of that line of thought. Harry let out an involuntary whimper. "You were saying, Mr. Potter?"

Holding the paddle in the air, he paused, waiting for Harry's reaction. All that could be heard was the sharp breathing of the student below him. Then, from deep inside the cauldron, he heard a very small, yet very distinct "fuck you."

Snape's bid for sainthood was thereby revoked. He had been perfectly willing to let Harry off with a brief paddling if that meant an apology and a respectful 'sir'. But as generous of a man as Snape was, part of him really wanted to see how much this Potter boy could take.

As he reached over to pull down Harry's jeans and shorts, doing his best to avoid the flailing legs, Snape thought about how very nice it was to indulge on one's whims every now and then.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" Harry cried out, completely bared from the knees up and squirming to be let out. He let out a series of wild kicks that did no more than frustrate Harry further. "I'LL GO TO DUMBLEDORE ABOUT THIS!"

"I plan on telling him myself, Mr. Potter." Snape pressed a firm hand on the base of Harry's spine. The boy automatically tensed. "So feel free to tell him all that you like. But as for now-" Snape set down the paddle and raised his arm again "-he is not here, so do not think that he will get you out of this punishment."

Taking aim, Snape began spanking Harry's thighs.

From experience, Snape knew that this was a sensitive spot. Even though Snape couldn't trust himself to use the paddle on such an area, that didn't mean that the hand couldn't do some fair damage.

Harry let out an audible gasp, jerking violently as Snape turned the pale skin into a shade of deep rose. Snape worked his way back up, getting called a number of nasty things along the way. Snape let out a sigh as he paused only long enough to retrieve the paddle. Over the years, Snape had been called a lot of things, by smarter and cleverer people. If Harry wanted to insult him, he might as well make the effort to do it properly.

Snape brought down the paddle again with an enormous crack, sending Potter onto his toes. He yelped in pain, twisting his exposed rear helplessly. Taking hold of Harry's hip, Snape adjusted him back into position and continued.

For a moment, Snape was almost impressed by the boy's endurance. After a while, Potter stopped his yelling- the last few rounds of swearing were broken by a crackling voice and unmistakable strain. The sounds that he made sounded harsh and muffled, as if he was biting his lip, desperate not to give Snape the satisfaction of acknowledging his pain.

Snape stood back and observed his work. As it was, it didn't seem that Potter would be sitting comfortably for the next few days. His rear was a deep red color, almost to the point of burgundy. The lines from the paddle were obvious; there was some mild bruising lined the edges, but were not much of a concern.

But he considered this punishment far from over. Harry was a stubborn boy with a streak of pride that ran a mile long. Not to mention that the boy endured a lot of physical pains in his short life, and did no more than turn pale at the lips.

There was, indeed, more to this lesson than just physical pain.

As Snape eyed his handiwork, Harry made no move to get out of the cauldron. He was coiled like a spring, and probably the position of being bent in half was hurting his back, but he kept his place.

Holding the paddle in a resting position, Snape waited out the battle of wills as Harry tried to recapture his breath.

Slow moments ticked by as nothing happened. Harry began to squirm again, becoming impatient.

"What do you want from me?" he finally said, voice sounding forced.

"Many things, Mr. Potter," came the reply. "At the present, a sincere apology and a little respect would do nicely." Adjusting his hold on the paddle, Snape held it against Potter's skin, giving it a few stinging taps which made him squirm. "A little appreciation as well. Not just for me, mind you, but for everyone else who has gotten you here so far." Snape drew back and gave Harry a wallop. Potter cursed again.

"You mean all the people that want me alive long enough to do their dirty work for them," Harry gritted out, taking the next blow with the same ill grace as the one before. There was a brief pause.

"Please continue, Mr. Potter," Snape said, cracking down the paddle again. "I will not repeat myself."

Harry took a few gasping breaths. "That's all it's about, isn't it?" Harry croaked out as another spank echoed through the classroom. "What am I worth to anyone if I can't get rid of Voldemort for them? It's all a crock of shit."

Snape felt anger pulse in his blood and delivered a smart series of smacks that made Harry yelp out in pain. Wiping the hair from his eyes, Snape took a step back.

"Don't be so sure, Potter," he spat out. Taking careful aim, he landed the paddle on Harry's sit-spot. "What about Lupin? He did not teach you to conjure a patronus- waste his time and his health- just because he wanted to train you to be a soldier." His spanks came slower, emphasizing his words. "Or Dumbledore, who dotes on you? I'm sure the old coot sees you as the grandson he never had." Another smack rang through the room. "Or Mrs. Weasley? A woman who has all but adopted you as one of her own sons? What would she say if one of your disobedient stunts got you killed? For that matter, if one of her own children were killed? What would you say to her then, Mr. Potter?" Harry gasped out as Snape wasted no time in waiting for an answer. "And do you honestly believe that your godfather came and risked his neck simply because he wanted a bit of time outside the house? Because you were 'the chosen one'? Out of duty?" Snape caught a bit of thigh on the next swing and he had been tempted to wince in sympathy. Tempted only. "No, Mr. Potter. Black, as well as your parents, died because they cared about you. Not because of some prophecy. You."

With that, Snape picked up the pace, wielding the paddle with the precision of a metronome, driving the point in. "And what about Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger? Do you honestly think that they have stayed by your side because you're famous? Do you think they've waded through your temper tantrums, your punishments, your challenges just because they wanted to say they were there? There to see the great Harry Potter die in front of the Dark Lord?" Snape began to lean into the blows, putting more and more power behind them. "And I cannot count how many times Mrs. Weasley has broken down during Order meetings, crying because you are so young and have been chosen to stand alone. These displays are even worse when you put yourself in needless danger, and believe me Potter, if I have to sit through another such meeting, you will be paying for it out of your hide.

"Many people have put their safety, their family and even their lives in jeopardy to protect you, Mr. Potter." Sweat began to drip into Snape's eyes. "Yet you continue-" another smack rang out "-to trivialize their work by sneaking off-" another spank echoed "-walking away from the safeties of the castle-" Harry scrambled to gain his footing "-putting yourself in harm's way-" another deafening crack resounded "-and you still feel that you're treated unfairly when we tell you to stay put for your own good."

Snape took a moment to focus on the paddling, keeping the same even measure before pausing again. "You think life is unfair, and you think that you love the people that are gone from your life." Harry jerked as the paddle continued its relentless rhythm. "But tell me, Mr. Potter; how can you love them when you put so little value in their sacrifices to keep you alive?"

Snape's speech ended there. He picked up the pace again but remained consistent.

His words (perhaps more-so than the paddle) it seemed, hit Harry were it truly hurt. As Snape paddled him, Harry went limp, no longer struggling, no longer cursing. He simply rode out the blows, his breathing harsh.

Long minutes ticked past, Snape keeping his rhythm steady as ever. His shoulder burned, begging for rest. But as long as he could raise the paddle he would continue this assault that Potter's unbelievably red bottom until he got the results he wanted. Submission was not enough. Harry- young but not stupid Harry Potter, knew what Snape was after.

Surrender.

Another moment or two past, and Snape began to reconsider his opinion. The ache in his shoulder was spreading down his arm. He felt his grip begin to weaken; an eerie numbness coursing through his veins. Perhaps Potter would actually outlast him.

Snape had just picked out a spell to use to bewitch the paddle to continue when he heard Harry sob, babbling in a rush of incoherent words.

Holding the paddle in mid-air, poised to strike, Snape froze. "What was that, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm sorry!" Harry cried out. "Sir! I'm sorry! Please! You win! I'm sorry!" The reddened cheeks trembled. "I'm sorry! Please!"

Snape didn't say a word. Slowly lowering the paddle, he took it back to the desk, locking it away for its next use. Snape, in an effort to regain his sainthood, decided to keep his vague promise to stop when Harry called a halt to it by meeting his demands of an apology and a show of respect.

Keeping his back turned from the cauldron and Harry, he instructed very clearly: "You may get up, Mr. Potter."

He turned just in time to see Harry slide his torso out of the cauldron. The reddened cheeks and thighs glowed brightly in the dim candlelight, and it seemed that Harry could not move his legs without re-awakening the pain.

Sliding down to his knees in front of the cauldron, Harry rested his forehead on the edge of the body-warmed metal surface and wept quietly, his pride still hanging in the balance despite his vulnerable position.

Snape circled Harry, who seemed to not notice him. The boy was filthy, covered in old potion grease, dirt, sweat and soap. Parts of his face and clothes were stained a faint blue from the potion, his hair was plastered to his head and tears making muddy pathways down his face. The spectacles were missing; probably stewing in the muck inside the cauldron.

Walking to the classroom door, he moved for the knob. "I will give you five minutes to compose yourself, Mr. Potter. By that time, I expect you fully dressed." He did not wait for a reply before striding out into the hall.

Sainthood could not be that far away, seeing that Snape gave Harry roughly eight minutes instead of the allotted five. But Snape knew punished children and felt no desire to come in prematurely and have to comfort Potter.

Eight minutes seemed to suffice. Harry stood silently, clothes back to their proper place. Harry quickly moved his hands away from his aching rear, embarrassed to be caught rubbing some level of relief back into them. He ducked his head as Snape entered the room, letting out a great sniff.

Snape approached him slowly, giving Harry a thorough walk-around. Harry remained still, obedient for once in his life. Snape gave a brief nod, seemingly satisfied with his work as he sat down in the chair, still only a short distance away from the cauldron, and picked up where he left off on his magazine. "Mr. Potter, I never told you to stop scrubbing."

Harry's eyes grew wide. "You can't be serious!" Snape shot him a dangerous look. "Sir!" Harry added on hastily.

Snape ruffled his magazine. "One of the failings that we've had with you, Potter, is that people seem to think that they do not have to follow through their punishments with you. They figure that you're about to die soon anyway, or that you've been through enough. Either way, it is not the proper way to go about things. The key to punishments is consistence, Mr. Potter. Upon entering this room, your responsibility was to give me a nice, clean cauldron. And you will deliver, even if it means working all night with a swollen posterior." Snape flipped casually through his magazine, ignoring Harry's curious glaze. "When you grow up and have children of your own, you will understand the importance of following through with their rewards, as well as their punishments."

For a moment, Harry did nothing, just stood there and gawked. "Potter," Snape said, warning clear in his voice. "Don't make me reconsider my decision to end the spanking for tonight."

Harry moved, kneeling beside the cauldron and fishing out his glasses. He set them aside, not wanting to do anymore damage to them and resumed scrubbing the cauldron methodically.

Potter and Snape stayed in relative silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Midway through cleaning, Harry paused. "Sir?" he said in a voice that seemed much younger than that of a sixteen year old's, "Do you really think I'll live old enough to have kids?"

Snape lowered his magazine, narrowing his eyes. "Not if you don't finish cleaning."

Harry went back to work.

It seemed that threatening the boy you were supposed to look after meant forfeiting the title of 'saint'.

Snape did not see this as such a loss.