Disclaimer: The characters belong to C.S Lewis. The plot is mine.

Now Look at What You've Done

Author note: Graphic violence ahead. Please skip this chapter if you dislike stong violence towards minors and/or blood and gore. WARNING for abusive corporal punishment.

The walk to the Professor's office seemed longer than usual. Peter's feet seemed to feel leaden. Each step was like a step to doom. He knocked tentatively on the door.

"Who is it?" The deep baritone of the Professor's voice penetrated the dark oak door.

Peter licked his dry lips. Forcing himself to be strong he said, "It's Peter, sir."

"Ah. Come in." The Professor was sitting behind hid desk. His polished cane was on his table and he was fingering it with a smile.

Peter opened the door with sweaty hands. His feet seemed cold all of a sudden. His stomach was in knots and his hands shook.

"Peter Peter Peter." The Professor said mockingly. "It's such a shame that I will have to punish you. You're a fine young lad."

Peter swallowed and wisely held his tongue.

"I will give you 10 strokes of the cane for breaking the window…"

The tall teenager could feel his heart beating faster and faster in apprehension.

"…and 10 with the belt for lying."

Peter's head snapped up. His blue eyes were wide with surprise.

"Oh yes, my boy, I know." The Professor approached him. "I know you didn't break the window. I could see the guilt written all over that brat's face…hmmm Edmund was it? He looks like a troublemaker. Susan's nudges? It gave it all away. Oh Peter, did you think I was stupid? Answer me boy." He held Peter's chin in his hand, gripping the fair face. He was excited to see that the boy was thoroughly frightened.

Peter had blown out the candles before he left but everyone was still awake.

Susan felt so restless. I hope Professor Kirke doesn't punish Peter harshly, she prayed, he doesn't deserve it. She felt a spike of anger towards Edmund and sighed loudly.

"Will Peter be alright?" Lucy asked. Her childish voice made the question all the more heartbreaking.

"Of course he will be darling," Susan said. "He'll be just fine." She didn't know if she was trying to convince Lucy or herself. "Just go to sleep Lulu."

"Okay, Susan," Lucy answered sleepily. She was placated by Susan's use of Peter's pet name for her.

Susan got up to kiss her sister goodnight. "Sweet dreams." Susan knew that she could never sleep well until she knew Peter was fine.

Peter twisted his shirt in his hands. "No, sir."

"Take your shirt off. Kneel. I will not tolerate any pleas to stop. Under no circumstances are you to try and stop the punishment. Remember to count the strokes. Violations of these rules will only result in more punishment. Understood?"

The blonde teenager nodded nervously as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He knelt down not knowing what to expect. He had never been beaten before. His parents had grounded him, made him do extra chores and things like that, but he had never been physically punished before. Not even at school. He had been a role model student. He had only heard of it from the other students at school and from what they said it was terrible.

The professor was pleased at the boy's obedience. The boy had obviously never been beaten before seeing as he was already trembling. His fair skin was unmarked and in the candlelight he seemed paler than ever. Peter was well built but still slender. His broad shoulders were rigid with tension.

CRACK. The sound of the cane was loud and it made Peter start. There was second before intense pain burst across his shoulders. He gasped as he bent over forwards. It took all the air out of his lungs.

"You forgot to count Peter," The Profesor's said smoothly. "Pity. Now we have to try again."

Peter cursed himself for forgetting but it had hurt a lot more than he had thought.

CRACK. There was now another red weal across his shoulders, an inch below the last.

Peter closed his eyes. "O-One."

CRACK. The sudden movement was so sudden that he could scarcely catch his breath.

The Professor clicked his tongue in disappointment. "One what, my boy?"

"I'm sorry, sir, one, sir," Peter forced out. He sounded like he was mumbling but it was hurting a lot.

The Professor smiled. "Much better." The boy's a fast learner, he mused. He saw the three strokes on the boy's pale back. He watched as the skin went from white to red to a dark welt that spread across his shoulders.

CRACK. Peter tensed as the pain flooded through him like never before. "T-Two, sir." He had bit his lip to avoid crying out.

The professor paused between each stroke, to draw it out. Peter wished that he would just hurry up. The time in-between each stroke was torturous.

CRACK. He struggled to maintain upright. "Three, sir," he said more clearly in fear of more pain.

CRACK. Another stroke burned his skin and another and another. Peter had fallen on his palms now. His breathing was heavy and his voice was filled with pain.

CRACK. Peter bit his lip harder but he couldn't stop a small cry of pain. It sounded like a strangled whimper. Tears filled his eyes but he struggled to hold them in. Strong Peter, strong, he told himself. "Eight, sir."

CRACK. Peter gripped the edge of the rug tightly. "Nine, sir." His knuckles turned white from the intense grip.

CRACK. He arched from the waves of pain. "T-ten, s-sir," he panted. He tensed but there was no more. Yet.

"Are you learning your lesson, Peter Pevensie?" The professor admired his own handiwork. He had not broken the delicate skin yet.

Peter's porcelain skin was now marred with dark red welts. Each red stripe stood out clearly against his pale complexion. They throbbed horribly with each breath he took. He took a shuddering breath and felt his muscles protest at the movement. "Yes, sir," he answered dutifully. He could feel the lines on his back smart. He knew it wasn't over yet.

In her room, Susan was praying.

Dear God,

I'm sorry that I helped Peter lie about breaking the window. I'm sorry.

Please God, please, keep Peter from hurting too much. Please let the professor be easy on him. Mother and father never hit Peter. It wasn't his fault. Please let him be ok.

In Jesus' Name,

Amen.

She was startled when she realised that tears were running down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly and closed her eyes. All she could think of was Peter.

"Hurts doesn't it Peter? I hope you will learn your lesson well my child, so I need not teach it to you again."

The slim boy leant heavily on his palms. He did not bother pushing up so that he could be upright. It hurt too much. He focused on his breathing and tried to block out the pain. His jaw clenched as he shifted slightly.

The Professor momentarily took pity on the boy. He seemed so small. "I shall release you from counting, since this is your first punishment. Be grateful, my boy. I shall not be so merciful again."

"Thank you sir, " Peter rasped out. He could her the sound of the professor undoing his belt, the heavy leather sliding though the belt loops.

He braced himself and his shoulders tensed for the first blow.

TWACK. Peter gasped as the buckle of the belt hit his lower back. TWACK. It had hit the same tender area twice and Peter yelped in pain. TWACK. TWACK. The two strokes were aimed at his upper back and it opened up a deep cut and started bleeding. The buckle had dug into his shoulder blades and was dragged across his back.

I must be imagining things, Susan thought. She thought that she could hear Peter's cries of pain. Is he crying? She could see him hunched over on the floor, tears leaking from blue eyes. The thought was too much for her to bear. Oh my sweet brother, she thought despairingly.

Edmund too thought he could hear Peter. He could hear his brother trying to stifle his own cries of pain. He felt so guilty. It was meant to be me. He prayed for his brother's forgiveness. Oh Lord, please forgive me for my sins. I am sorry now, but it's too late.

TWACK. The tears threatened again and this time Peter could not hold them back. He cried in earnest. TWACK. TWACK. TWACK. There was a flurry of strokes. Two more to go thought Peter, then no more. He was sobbing openly now. Each stroke elicited a loud cry though he would not dare beg for mercy. TWACK. Oh God, please no more, he cried in his mind.

The professor could see that the boy was now a shivering bleeding mess. He was crying. He had fallen on his elbows and was prostrate. Peter had no look of defiance about him at all, he never did, the professor observed. Right now he was a pitiful heap of pain. Now look at what you've done, the Professor thought. No, I am doing the right thing, he convinced himself.

"You will not lie to me again." The Professor put all his strength into the last stroke. TWACK. Peter was hoarse from all the crying and could only sob brokenly. The blood ran down his back in rivulets. He shivered from the cold and pain.

"I am sorry, sir," he whimpered. His normally strong voice was weak. It was thick with pain. The sobs choked in his throat as he forced them down and his eyes were full of tears. He looked at the professor tearfully, his blue eyes glistening with its saline contents.

The professor hardened his heart.Peter's eyeslooked at him with such mournful innocence.I did what was right, he told himself. He tore his gaze away from the pained eyes of Peter and threw the boy's shirt at him.

Peter gathered his shirt from the floor and gingerly put it on. There was a sharp intake of breath as it touched his wounded back. His trembling hands clumsily buttoned the shirt. Peter was nauseous with pain.

The professor grabbed Peter's face and spoke to him harshly, "Go. Do not ever cause trouble again in my house." Peter winced and was relieved when the professor released him.

"Yes, sir," the teenager answered stiffly. "Goodnight, sir."

He hobbled painfully to the bathroom and washed his face. He leaned on the basin as he panted from the burning across his back. Peter managed to kneel on the ground in frontof the bowl before retching violently into the basin. He rested his forehead against the bowl and wheezed. He could taste blood in his mouth.

He made his way slowly back towards the bedroom. It is over, he thought. Peter wrenched opened the door and collapsed on his bed.

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