Several months rolled by, the approach of Christmas break casting a festive glow over the castle. Throughout this time, Harry had become something of a nocturnal explorer. He prowled the corridors and secret passages of Hogwarts in search of... he wasn't quite sure. An answer? A purpose? Some elusive piece of the puzzle that was his existence?
Despite the distraction of these explorations, Harry found himself unable to shake off a particular memory that clung to his consciousness like a stubborn barnacle. The memory of that fateful night in Snape's office was as raw and fresh as if it had just happened. The harsh discipline had been severe, his backside could testify to that, but it was the rare display of affection that was truly haunting. Very few people had ever hugged him, and the unexpected display of warmth had left an impression that was hard to shake off.
Life at Hogwarts carried on in its usual pattern of meals, lessons, Quidditch practices, and the odd unexpected excitement. But there was a new cautiousness to Harry's demeanor, a wary circumspection born from the hard lesson learned in Snape's office.
However, it seemed trouble had a way of seeking out Harry, as though he were a magnet for mischief. Just a week before the term ended, during a routine late-night exploration, he stumbled upon a cordoned-off corridor. Despite his newfound caution, Harry's curiosity was piqued. Encouraged by the tantalizing mystery, Harry decided to delve into the uncharted path.
The path took him down a winding staircase, the cobblestones slick and cool beneath his feet. He navigated cautiously in the dim light, guided by the gentle glow of his wand. The chill of the stone seemed to seep into his very bones, yet he pressed on, heart pounding with the thrill of forbidden exploration.
Suddenly, the tip of his wand was extinguished as a powerful hand gripped his shoulder. Harry froze, his heart pounding in his chest like a frenzied snitch. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The cold, sharp voice was unmistakable. "Mr. Potter, it seems you have not learnt your lesson," Snape said, his voice heavy with both irritation and a strange undercurrent of concern.
The flick of a wand, and the light was back, illuminating the dank corridor with its cold glow. Harry turned around to face Snape, mustering a defiant glare despite the pit in his stomach. "I was just-" he began, but Snape cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Save your excuses, Potter," Snape said, a grim expression set on his face. "This area is off-limits for a reason."
Snape didn't need to elaborate further. The danger that lurked in the dark corners of Hogwarts was well-known to Harry. It wasn't the first time his curiosity had landed him in trouble, but this felt different. His typical antics had never warranted a visit to the dungeons before, and the cold anticipation coiling in his gut was a new sensation altogether.
As they made their way back towards Snape's office, Harry felt a strange mix of fear and gratitude. Yes, he was caught, and yes, he was likely to face another round of harsh discipline. But there was something else too, a feeling he couldn't quite identify, intertwined with the relief that he hadn't been left to face the unknown dangers lurking in that corridor alone.
Snape was silent as they descended into the depths of the castle, the air growing colder with each step. He didn't look at Harry, his gaze fixed on the stone pathway before them, yet his grip on Harry's shoulder never waned.
Once they reached the dungeons, Snape released Harry's shoulder to open the heavy wooden door to his office. The room was dimly lit, the glow from the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The familiar sight of the office was both intimidating and oddly comforting. Shelves of peculiar ingredients, stacked parchments, and an array of bubbling potions filled the room, creating an ambiance of focused study and serious discipline.
Stepping inside, Snape moved towards his desk, his robes billowing behind him. He paused for a moment, looking around the room, his gaze lingering on the wooden chair where Harry had sat during their last meeting. With a flick of his wand, he lit a few more candles, casting a warm glow in the otherwise chilly room.
The office was filled with the familiar, bitter scent of potions ingredients, creating a heady atmosphere that seemed to seep into Harry's senses, heightening his nervous anticipation. Snape took a seat behind his desk, his piercing gaze fixed on Harry who stood near the door, his own eyes flitting around the room, looking anywhere but at the stern professor.
"Potter," Snape began, his voice deathly quiet as he closed the door behind them, "I had hoped that our last encounter would have instilled a sense of discipline and responsibility in you. It seems, however, that you are intent on proving me wrong."
Harry looked down, unable to meet Snape's icy gaze. He felt a knot of dread in his stomach, a familiar feeling that he hadn't missed in the months of somewhat well-behaved tranquility.
Snape sighed, a sound that was more of disappointment than exasperation. "I thought I had been clear, Potter. Reckless behavior will not be tolerated." He walked over to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a paddle. But instead of floating it to himself, as he had done last time, he placed it back in the drawer.
His gaze returned to Harry, stern and unyielding. "However, it seems that a paddling did not make a lasting impression." Snape paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "This time, perhaps a more traditional and personal form of discipline will remind you of the gravity of your actions."
Harry felt a cold rush of fear. The paddle had been painful enough; he didn't want to imagine what Snape meant by a 'more traditional form of discipline.'
Snape walked over to a chair and sat down, gesturing for Harry to approach. "Come here, Potter," he ordered, his voice firm. "Bend over my knee."
In the stifling silence of Snape's office, Harry found himself locked in a moment of hesitation. His heart pounded against his ribcage, a relentless drum echoing his internal turmoil. His gaze shifted towards Snape, his dark eyes unreadable and unwavering. The stern lines on his face were etched more deeply, his lips pressed into a tight line of impatience and disapproval.
Taking a step towards Snape felt like wading through molasses. His legs were heavy, seemingly reluctant to carry him forward. Each footfall on the stone floor reverberated in the chamber like the toll of a bell, a countdown to the impending punishment.
Standing next to Snape, Harry drew in a shaky breath. The potion master's presence was overpowering, his aura cold and commanding. His green eyes flickered down towards Snape's knee, the simple wooden chair suddenly appearing as an instrument of discipline. The stark reality of the situation was all too evident: he was about to bend over Snape's knee, a position that felt more personal, more intrusive, more humiliating than the previous punishment.
Harry's hesitation drew out a bit too long, and Snape's patience, always precariously thin, wore out. "Potter," he called, the icy edge in his voice slicing through Harry's thoughts. His words held an undertone of sternness, of undisguised authority, that made Harry's blood run cold. "Bend over my knee. Now."
His command reverberated through the room, snapping Harry out of his fearful contemplation. He swallowed hard, a dry lump sticking in his throat. Slowly, as if time had decided to drag the moments out, Harry moved. Lowering himself onto Snape's knee, he could feel snape's warm lap beneath him, the rough fabric of Snape's robes against his palms. The position felt exceedingly vulnerable and he was, once again, at the mercy of Snape's stern discipline. His heart pounded harder, his chest constricting with anxiety as he braced himself for the punishment to follow.
Harry could feel the distinct weight of Snape's hand on his lower back, an unyielding reminder of his place. The cold but firm touch made his skin prickle, and he involuntarily clenched his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. His body felt rigid, as though frozen in an uncomfortably delicate tableau of vulnerability and penitence.
In this position, Harry felt dwarfed, both physically and emotionally, as though he'd been reduced to a small child about to face a harsh parental scolding. His heart pounded in his chest, not from fear of physical pain, but from the intimidating aura Snape emanated. The feeling of being completely at the mercy of his stern professor, coupled with the childhood-like disciplinary method, made him feel smaller than he had in a long time.
He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, a hero to the wizarding world, but in this moment, he felt none of that. He was just a boy, a student who had crossed a line, awaiting the firm hand of discipline. His stature felt inconsequential compared to the looming figure of Snape.
Snape's voice sliced through the thick silence, his tone icy yet oddly tranquil. "Remember Potter," he said, each word falling like a drop of liquid nitrogen, "you are to remain still and accept your punishment. Do you understand?"
Harry swallowed hard, the action causing a harsh scrape in his suddenly parched throat. He tried to respond, but the words caught. After a moment of wrestling with his disobedient voice, he finally managed a whisper, as faint as a moth's wing flutter, "Yes, sir."
His voice echoed weakly in the room, seeming to accentuate his feeling of being small, his vulnerability amplified under Snape's stern gaze. The acknowledgement of the imminent punishment left a bitter taste on his tongue, an unshakeable reminder of his errant behavior and the consequence he was about to face.
With his free hand, Snape unfastened Harry's trousers and pushed them and his undergarments down to his knees, revealing his backside. Harry closed his eyes, a shiver running down his spine as the cool air hit his skin.
"This will serve as a reminder, Potter," Snape's voice echoed in the silent room. "A reminder of the consequences of reckless behavior."
With that, Snape raised his hand high, allowing a momentary silence to amplify the sense of anticipation. Then, with a swift and calculated movement, he brought it down sharply on Harry's backside. The contact was immediate, a fiery sting that spread across Harry's skin like a swarm of incensed bees. Harry couldn't suppress a gasp as the surprise of the first smack caught him off guard, and he clenched his fists tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. He bit down hard on his lower lip, willing himself to remain quiet, to maintain some semblance of dignity amid this highly uncomfortable situation.
Snape, however, showed no signs of easing off. His hand, hardened from years of brewing potions and holding a wand, came down again and again, a relentless rhythm of stinging rebukes. Each smack echoed ominously in the silent room.
With each spank, Harry could feel his bottom growing increasingly warm. The heat seemed to intensify, gradually turning into a searing sensation that radiated outward with each subsequent smack. He could almost envision the gradual change in color, his skin growing redder under the firm hand of discipline, an unwanted memento of his reckless actions.
Gradually, Harry could feel his composure wavering like a flame in the wind. He tried to remain impassive, to internalize the burning sensation, to reduce it to something manageable. But the unyielding rhythm of Snape's hand, combined with the raw sting spreading across his backside, tested his resolve. His breath hitched, his green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He pressed his face into his arm, trying to muffle the involuntary sounds that threatened to escape his throat.
As the minutes stretched on and the sting continued to gnaw at him, Harry found his resolve crumbling. The combined humiliation and pain were proving more challenging than any duel he'd ever fought, the sting in his bottom a constant reminder of his transgressions and the consequences they bore. It was a hard lesson in self-control and responsibility, and Harry knew he was far from forgetting it.
As the painful spanks continued, a newfound desperation took hold of Harry. The ceaseless rhythm of Snape's hand, each smack a stinging reminder of his foolish actions, was pushing him beyond his limit. With a jolt of rebellion, he tried to squirm away, to shield his burning backside from the unrelenting discipline. But Snape's grip on his lower back tightened, keeping him firmly in place. His attempts to escape were futile, further increasing his feelings of helplessness.
When Snape observed the glimmer of tears in Harry's emerald eyes, he adjusted his approach slightly. With a firm grip on Harry, he repositioned the boy slightly so his hand could reach the lower part of Harry's backside, his 'sit spots'. Snape resumed the punishment, now focusing on the area that would serve as a continuous reminder of this lesson each time Harry sat down.
The sharp, intensified pain of each smack on his sit spots elicited a new level of discomfort. Harry could feel his resistance crumbling, and before he could stop it, a strangled sob escaped from his lips. The tears he had fought so hard to contain spilled over, streaking down his face as the reality of his situation - the raw sting on his backside, the relentless discipline, the profound humiliation - overwhelmed him. He was sobbing openly now, his body shaking with each breath as he surrendered to the consequences of his actions.
Harry Potter, the brave hero of the wizarding world, had been reduced to tears, the consequence of his reckless behavior reminding him that he was, after all, just a boy learning to navigate the labyrinth of responsibility and consequence. As he sobbed, he realized that the lesson he was learning over Snape's knee was one that he would carry with him, a harsh but necessary reminder that every action has its consequences, and sometimes, those consequences can be painfully profound.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Snape stopped. He let his hand rest on Harry's now hot and stinging backside, the heat radiating off it. "We're done, Potter," he said, his voice as firm as ever.
Harry's sobs continued to echo through the room, each hitched breath a testament to the severity of the punishment he had just endured. The weight of Snape's hand was a reminder of what had just occurred, the warmth of his skin contrasting sharply with the cool touch of his professor's hand. Snape, in an unexpected move, let his other hand wander towards Harry's upper back, starting a soothing rhythm amidst the lingering sting. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, a startling contrast to the firm hand that had just disciplined him.
The gentle touch did little to soothe the stinging pain in Harry's backside, but it seemed to have a calming effect on his mind. The once-tense muscles in his back began to uncoil, his sobs slowly diminishing as Snape's hand moved rhythmically over his back. His sobbing turned into quiet sniffling, the harsh reality of his punishment sinking into his very being.
Snape remained silent, allowing the young wizard to regain his composure at his own pace. His hand never stopped its ministrations, the steady rhythm serving as a calming background to the events that had just transpired. The punishing hand had transformed into a comforting presence, a reminder of his professor's dual role as both disciplinarian and mentor.
The cold austerity of the room felt a little less overwhelming with the gentle touch. Harry, too, felt a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders. He was still the Boy Who Lived, the hero who had faced Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. But he was also just a student, a young man navigating his way through life and learning from his mistakes. Today, he had learned a hard lesson, one that would stay with him for a long time.
As Harry's sobs finally quieted down, Snape removed his hand from the boy's back, his robes rustling softly in the silent room. His voice, when he finally spoke, was devoid of any malice or satisfaction. "Potter," he said, his tone neutral, "you may get up"
Harry pushed himself up, pulling up his trousers with shaky hands. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead. His backside was on fire, a constant reminder of his actions.
Snape looked at him, his gaze hard but not unkind. "I hope this lesson will stay with you, Potter," he said, his voice devoid of any pleasure in Harry's discomfort. "I won't tolerate such reckless behavior again."
Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He had learned his lesson, and the painful reminder was something he wouldn't forget anytime soon. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, avoiding Snape's gaze.
Snape pushed back his imposing chair with a slow and deliberate movement, his robes billowing around him as he did so. His usually harsh features softened just slightly as he turned his gaze towards Harry, a hint of unexpected tenderness flickering briefly in his normally cold, black eyes.
With a deep breath, he stepped forward, breaking the space between them, his tall figure casting a large shadow in the dimly lit room. Uncharacteristically, Snape extended his arms, his usually clasped hands reaching out towards Harry. The gesture was hesitant, almost as if he was afraid of the boy flinching away from him. But Harry didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned into the professor's embrace, his small frame seeming even smaller in comparison to Snape's towering stature.
Snape's arms encased Harry in a hug, his touch warm against the chill that seemed to have seeped into Harry's very bones. Snape's hold was firm but not crushing, a level of restraint clearly visible in the way he maintained the contact. Yet, there was a stiffness to it, because of the rarity of such a gesture from the usually cold Potions Master.
Harry clung onto him, his arms wrapped around Snape with a desperate grip that caught the older man off guard. Harry's shoulders shook, his sobs becoming more pronounced as he buried his face deeper into Snape's robes. The intensity of the boy's reaction seemed to resonate through Snape, causing him to hold Harry even tighter.
After a few moments, Snape felt his own breath hitch as he finally broke the silence. "What is it, Potter?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he gently nudged the boy to look up at him. His gaze held a certain level of concern that one would find hard to associate with the stern professor.
With teary eyes, Harry looked up at him, his lips trembling as he struggled to articulate his feelings. A choked whisper finally escaped his lips, echoing softly in the silent room, "Why...why do you care? Nobody else does."
Snape paused, surprised by the depth of Harry's words. The room was silent for a moment, save for the soft sounds of Harry's sniffling. Slowly, Snape let out a sigh, his grip on Harry not loosening in the slightest.
"What makes you say that?" He asked quietly, keeping his gaze steady on Harry's tear-streaked face. "You have a lot of people who care for you. Your family, your other professors, even your little fan club."
Harry just buried his face into Snape's robes and shook his head, his voice muffled as he spoke. "Only Ron and Hermione really care."
Snape sighed and looked up at the ceiling, contemplating the complexity of the situation. He hadn't expected this to take so long. He had just expected to spank the boy and send him on his way. Now questions had to be answered.
Snape gently led Harry over to a couch he had in the corner of the room, normally reserved for his Slytherins, and sat down next to him. Harry winced as he sat, the painful reminder of his punishment still present.
"Potter," Snape began, his voice even. "Feelings of loneliness and being misunderstood are not uncommon at your age. However, it is incorrect to say that nobody else cares for you. You have allies, even if you don't recognize them."
Harry stayed quiet for a long while, his gaze fixed on his shoes. When he finally lifted his gaze to meet Snape's, the rawness in his eyes took the older wizard aback. "You don't understand, sir..." he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "They... they aren't really my family. They never wanted me. I... I don't belong there."
Snape's face hardened at Harry's words, his eyes becoming colder than Harry had ever seen them. But it wasn't a coldness directed at Harry, but rather a simmering anger, directed elsewhere. "Potter, are you referring to the Dursleys?" he asked in a deadly calm tone, his black eyes narrowing.
Harry's only response was a small nod, but it was enough to confirm Snape's suspicions. He felt a surge of regret, not for the punishment he'd delivered, but for the lack of knowledge about Harry's living conditions. He had known the Dursleys were muggles and that they were not particularly fond of magic, but he had never considered the possibility that they might abuse or neglect the boy.
Heaving a sigh, Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. His mind was already spinning with the steps he would have to take to protect Harry, something he had sworn to do all those years ago. "I see..." he murmured quietly. "I was not aware that it was that bad. I apologize, Potter. We... I should have done better by you."
Harry stared at him in surprise, his green eyes wide. Snape apologizing? This was a side of his professor he had never seen before, and it made him feel strangely hopeful. Maybe he wasn't alone after all.
Snape met his gaze squarely, his eyes reflecting a determination that caused Harry's heart to flutter with unexpected relief. "I will not allow this to continue," Snape promised, his voice as firm as steel. "I will talk to Headmaster Dumbledore about this matter immediately."
But before he could do that, Snape had one more thing to do. He stood from the couch, straightening his robes and pulling his usual stern mask back into place. "Potter," he said, turning to face the young boy, "it's late. You need to get some rest. And remember, stay out of trouble or we will be having another chat."
Harry nodded, climbing to his feet. His legs felt shaky, his backside still ached, but there was something else in him now - a lightness. Like a burden he didn't know he'd been carrying had been lifted. He gave Snape a small nod and a quiet, "Yes, sir."
With that, Harry was dismissed. He left the room, his mind still reeling from the past events. His professor, the man he had so often considered his enemy, had shown him a new side. He had been firm, yes, but also caring in his own strange way. Harry was still processing it all as he walked back to Gryffindor tower, the echo of Snape's words lingering in his ears.
In the quiet that followed Harry's departure, Snape allowed his stern mask to slip away, revealing a troubled frown. He had much to consider, the main thing being how to protect Harry from his abusive relatives. A promise had been made, and Severus Snape was a man of his word. He would make things right, no matter what it took.
After all, he owed that much to Lily.