[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. Mention of spanking in this chapter. If you are sensitive to puking scenes, you may have to skip / skim through some of the post-pub action.
Chapter 9: Drunken Defiance
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 Firewhiskey 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 firewhiskey 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 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 firewhiskey 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 firewhiskey 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.
Author's notes: On to chapter ten! More notes from this week will be at the end of the next one.