It was later the next week that things changed completely.
There'd been an odd tension between us since we got back from the wedding. I wondered if it'd been my admission to the severity of my punishment with Alecto Carrow that sent him into a silent, dark mood. He was edgy, and it seemed like every single thing I did was wrong, whether in truth or just in his perception. It made me feel like I was nothing more than a little second year again, and though I didn't like the treatment, I certainly didn't want to make it worse by asking him why he was acting like a complete and utter bastard.
It happened when I was in his private lab, brewing Draught of Peace for the hospital wing while he was working on his own project – he was trying to increase the effectiveness of Skele-gro and so far had not been successful. When my cauldron began to spew grey muck I realized I'd been so distracted by his mood that I'd made a very basic mistake by forgetting to lower the temperature of the cauldron before adding the hellebore. Now I did feel like a second year, as this was such a basic potion that I should have been brewing it blindfolded, in my sleep, with my hands tied behind my back.
When the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end I almost groaned – I knew he'd seen the mess and was watching me. His disgust was palpable.
"Miss Weasley," he said, walking up behind me. "What, pray tell, did you do wrong this time?"
"I forgot to lower the flame," I said softly, like I would have done at the beginning of the term.
"What was that? I'm sorry, but I couldn't hear you in this completely silent room with the absence of any noise threatening to overpower your non-existent voice," he sneered.
"I forgot to lower the flame, sir," I said, louder this time.
"You forgot to lower the flame," he repeated. "You just wasted fifty galleons of my ingredients, because you didn't do what?"
"Follow the instructions," I said lamely before I looked at him. The anger radiating off of him frightened me, making me freeze solidly in place.
I heard him take a breath. "You make me regret hiring you more and more with every mistake you make. Careless, stupid mistakes could cost a student their life," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Did you ever think about that?"
"No," I admitted, ashamed. I probably had realized it, somewhere in my mind. But I hadn't pondered on it enough for me to take it as seriously has I should have.
"You should be brewing this without supervision. Why should I trust you to do it correctly from now on, or even trust that you brewed the previous ones correctly?" he asked.
I couldn't answer. He had a very valid point, and I knew he was right.
He flicked his wand at the dungeon door. It shut with a loud bang, the lock clicking firmly into place as his wards settled around the perimeters of the room.
"Put your hands on the desk in front of you." He summoned a copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, and it opened to page 209. "Lean forward, place you nose as close as you can to the textbook, and look at the instructions," he said.
I did as I was told and leaned forward, looking at the page in front of me.
"Read it, out loud," he said.
"To brew the Draught of Peace, follow these steps: To a standard potions base, add powdered moonstone until the potion turns green," I recited.
I felt the sharp sting on my arse, the sound of the strike of his hand fading in the silence of the room, before I realized what he had done.
Professor Snape had just spanked me like a naughty child.
Tears pricked my eyes, sliding down my cheeks and neck in a cool trail as I turned my head around and looked at him.
His face was calm, controlled, and almost concerned.
"Continue," he commanded. His eyes were glittering like they used to, before the end of the war.
Instead of running away, like I would have done when I first came back, I merely nodded. Looking back at the textbook, I leaned further down on the desk and continued.
"Stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise and wait seven minutes, until the potion turns blue, adding powdered moonstone until the potion turns purple."
Another spank, on the other cheek. I gasped at the pain, feeling the good hard sting of his hand on my wool-covered skin.
"Go on."
I nodded again, my breath hitching a little before I continued. "Allow to simmer for seven minutes until the potion turns pink, lower the temperature and add syrup of hellebore and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise, until the potion turns turquoise."
"Don't stop," he said.
He started spanking me without waiting for the breaks in between steps. Over and over I felt his hand sting my skin, switching sides and changing positions until every inch of my backside had been touched.
"Allow to simmer for seven minutes until the potion turns purple. Shake powdered porcupine quills vigorously until they are ready and then add until the potion turns red. Stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns orange. Add more porcupine quills and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns turquoise. Allow to simmer till the potion turns purple. Add powdered unicorn horn and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns pink. Allow to simmer until the potion turns purple. Add more powdered moonstone and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns grey. Allow the potion to simmer until it turns orange. Add more syrup of hellebore and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns white."
He continued past the point that I had finished reading, spanking harder and faster until he collapsed over me, his hands covering mine. I lifted my hands against his, letting our fingers lace together. His breaths came in heavy pants against my neck, matching the rhythm of my own shallower ones. Though his body was completely rigid, I was boneless for the first time that could remember.
I arched my body against his, seeking the warmth I'd felt the day of the wedding, but froze when I felt his hot erection against the small my back. I moved away from it quickly as my mind became overrun with thoughts.
Was that the end game of this?
Would he want to fuck me, now that he had rendered me senseless?
Who had he done this with before?
But he did not make any sexual advance towards me. Instead, he drew me into his arms and pulled me down to the floor with him. Holding me very gently, he patted my back and stroked my hair while he whispered to me how brave I was, how intelligent I was, how much I'd grown since I came back to school.
I nestled myself into his comforting warmth and hummed a tuneless song as his words washed over me like a sweet, soothing balm. When I looked into his still glittering eyes, and saw my own bright eyes reflected in them.
I realized, for the first time in years, I felt alive.
And my skin was still intact.
"Ginny?" he asked softly, in that voice I'd started to crave.
"Sir?" I replied.
"Are you upset about what I've done?" he asked. He stroked a stray piece of my hair from my face.
"No," I said. I meant it.
He closed his eyes and hummed an agreement. "Good," he said.
"Sir?" I asked.
"Hmmm," he responded lazily.
"Have you ever done this before?"
Professor Snape opened his eyes and regarded me briefly before he shook his head and spoke the word I'd wanted to hear.
"No," he said, closing his eyes again.
"Good," I said and laid my head back on his chest, closing my eyes with relief. For some unexplainable reason, I wanted this to be something that only he and I had shared.
We sat there like that for an age until he spoke again. "I want you to get up and brew your potion again. And I want the ingredient list and instructions for your next new potion on my desk by Christmas." He removed me from his lap and stood. "Am I clear?" he said, holding out a hand to help me up.
"Yes, sir," I said. I took his hand and stood, looking back at the mess. I Vanished the contents of the cauldron and began again.
I refused to think about what happened between us while I was brewing. Indeed, I couldn't. My mind was still, as though I'd just had a dose of the same Draught I was brewing.
When I was finished, I brought it to his office for inspection. He looked up at me, blankly, his eyes flat again when he looked from me to the potion.
"Do you really need me to examine it?" he asked before returning to the parchments he had been marking. He dipped his quill in the deep, crimson red ink and made a long gash.
I shook my head, but continued to stand in front of his desk.
"What?" he barked when he realized I had not left.
"Will I have to find a new Apprenticeship?" I asked.
"No," he said after a beat, and shook his head. "I do not 'grade' any of your work. As you have seen I am more of a guide. As long as your work is sound and you pass your exams, the society will not interfere if a Master becomes … involved with their Apprentice. It was a decision I made when I was our Chief Warlock," he said before dismissing me with a curt nod as he went back to his parchments.
Relieved, I nodded and returned to the classroom to bottle my work. I delivered the new stock to Madam Pomphrey myself, then walked back to my quarters to ready myself for dinner.
When I raised my skirts and looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw the red stain where his hands had been, still very clearly marking my milky white skin. I laid my own hands over them, imagining his hands were under mine, and sighed happily.
It started out as punishment for my mistakes – misspelled words on my essays, mismarked papers when I helped him grade student work, though I made sure never to make an error with a potion again.
Professor Snape would call me into his office after his last class and commence with pointing out every single mistake I'd made that day. Then he would spank me until my body screamed in pain, leaving me completely soft and limp in his firm hands. Afterwards, he would hold me just as he had that first time.
In his arms, I felt more at peace than I'd ever felt in my life.
By the winter holidays, he no longer needed a reason, for I'd stopped making mistakes altogether.
But still, every afternoon between his last class and before dinner, I would go to his office and place my hands on his desk, lean forward, and wait for him to touch me.