[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.
Chapter 12: Facing Consequences
Soon after crossing the threshold, however, the flood of memories from Harry's own insolence surged back into his sound of shattered wood, the sickness in his stomach, the fury in Snape's eyes— all coalesced into a heavy pit of dread that settled in his stomach as he remembered he still needed to be punished.
Harry understood that despite the comforting conversation they had just shared, he was still in his own world of trouble. Snape's personal unwavering discipline and stern scolding awaited him, serving as a stark reminder of the household expectations that he had agreed upon, and broken.
"As you may have perceived, our conversation provides a decent segue into the latter half of this discussion," Snape said as he turned to close the metal door.
Harry swallowed, fidgeting with the hem of his long sleeve shirt. He still didn't feel ready for it, but responded with, "Alright, sir," anyway.
Snape walked a few steps forward, returning a hand to his pocket and pulling out a seat at the table with the other.
"Come sit, Potter." He said, moving to take a seat of his own.
Harry forced himself to walk forward and sit down, glancing first at his own fidgeting hands then up to Snape.
"I'd like you to give me a thorough account of the events that transpired yesterday, leading up to your outburst last night," Snape said, folding his hands and locking eyes with Harry in a way that sent a shiver down the young wizard's spine. "Bear in mind, if your account lacks the required specificity, you will find yourself draped over my knee for a preliminary discussion on my stance towards vague statements."
Harry's discomfort was palpable as he audibly swallowed and met Snape's stern gaze to respond.
"Okay," Harry said, forcing himself to sit up straighter, "Well, Ron and I got lunch then we shopped for a while. I got some new clothes, and we talked about some things," Harry paused, trying to think of the most important details from the day before.
Snape's dark eyes remained fixed on Harry, a steely intensity underscoring his unwavering expression. Despite the earlier conversation, the image Harry had held of a teenage Severus Snape, one who warranted sympathy for his experiences, swiftly evaporated. In its place sat the stern disciplinarian that Snape had become—the same disappointed and cross teacher who had come down on Harry many times before. Though this time, he had more to lose than measly house points.
Snape leaned forward slightly, his fingers tightly laced together.
"Go on," Snape said, his voice low and measured, loaded with the weight of expectation.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze briefly straying from Snape's punishing one. His voice wavered as he continued, "Um, Ron can't really sleep anymore, and his family is not doing well after losing Fred." Harry fought to maintain his composure, refusing to allow grief to resurface.
Snape's stern expression softened ever so slightly as he acknowledged the weight of grief.
"Indeed, the Weasley family's distress is regrettable," Snape replied, his tone firm as he continued. "Did this specific concern over their well-being contribute to your destructive outburst?"
Harry hesitated, his feelings swirling within him like rocks in a blender. He didn't want to cry again in front of Snape, especially sober, but he couldn't deny the truth and the feelings that accompanied it.
"Yes, it... it was the main thing that pushed me over the edge." Harry replied with a slight strain in his voice.
Snape hummed low, "Why?"
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and drummed his foot on the floor. Wasn't the answer obvious? He fought to keep his sadness from rolling into anger.
"Ron's my best mate, I care for him. For his family," Harry pulled his hand up and ran it across his pained face, "I… I cared for Fred."
Snape drew in a small breath, shifting his interlaced fingers slightly.
"Very well," Snape replied, pausing briefly to gather his response. "I must add, Potter, that Headmistress McGonagall also cares a great deal for the Weasley family, as she did for the late young wizard; though it seems, none of her home has been destroyed as a result."
Harry nodded, uncrossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table, "I understand, sir," he said softly.
"While I may recognize that you were under the influence of alcohol," Snape said, though his tone did not waver in severity, "it is hardly an excuse for the unbridled lack of restraint that you so foolishly demonstrated last night."
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape… I don't know what came over me," Harry said, not trying to excuse himself, but hoping Snape would believe him.
Snape paused, momentarily letting his disapproving gaze speak for him. Harry swallowed again, dropping his eyes down to the clean tabletop.
"You feel responsible for Mr. Weasley's death, do you not?" Snape asked without a hint of reservation.
Harry sucked in a trembling breath, how did he know that?
"Yes," he responded quietly. His voice strained with pent emotion.
"That is a needless guilt to bear," Snape replied, though his tone was less severe, "Fred Weasley, like many others, made a choice to engage in combat—"
Harry tried to interject, his pitch rising, "Because of m—"
"The Dark Lord— Potter." Snape snapped, "Congratulations, as last time, you've earned extra strokes for interruption. I would strongly advise you to control your emotions going forward." He warned, leveling the young wizard with a stern glare.
Harry huffed and swallowed his rebuttal sentence, "Sorry, Professor Snape."
Snape continued, his tone unwavering, "Listen carefully to me, the responsibility for the war and the subsequent death of those who fought lies with Voldemort and his followers, not with you."
Harry's eyes were cast down, his mind heavy with the weight of self-blame. He struggled to accept Snape's words, feeling hot anger and sadness wash over him.
Snape drew in a tense breath and shifted his approach slightly.
"I understand the burden of loss and the guilt it can carry. However, you mustn't let it consume you. The fight was a collective effort, and it was the choices of many, not just one, that determined the inevitable outcome." Snape said, his voice measured and firm.
He could see the turmoil within the young wizard, and he knew that it would take time for Harry to fully grasp the reality of his words.
"You have a valiant heart, Harry," Snape admitted, causing the boy's eyes to swell up with unshed tears. He paused for a brief moment, then continued with unwavering sternness, "Regardless, loss of emotional control that results in physical violence, will never be tolerated in my home," Snape finished, his tone low and resolute.
The resonance of Snape's unexpected words about Harry's character, coupled with the unfamiliarity of his first name on Snape's lips, stirred a tumult of emotions within him. As Harry's eyes glistened, he blinked rapidly in an attempt to compose himself. The unexpected shift in Snape's demeanor had struck a chord, evoking a response that Harry couldn't easily dismiss or conceal.
Harry tried hard, so hard, not to let the tears fall down his face; but he was ultimately unsuccessful.
Snape took a deep breath in, forcing himself this time to act upon the compassion he felt for the boy. He stood slowly and moved over to Harry's side, taking his chair with him.
Snape adjusted the front of his trousers and sat back down with a graceful ease.
He then pulled his hand up to Harry's back and began to rub it. Running his warm, calloused palm down Harry's trembling spine with firm, comforting motions.
Though Harry relished the solace, for some reason it made him cry harder. He pulled his hands up to his face and covered his tear stained cheeks, quietly letting the well of emotions come forth.
Snape hummed low, feeling a slight pain in his chest as Harry wept.
"Come now, Potter. Take a breath." He coaxed, pausing to rub up to Harry's neck. Snape's potion stained fingertips felt strong and soothing as they moved in firm stroking patterns, relieving the pent up tension in Harry's neck and back.
"S-sorry," Harry sputtered, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to wipe his eyes.
"We will revisit this discussion at another time. For now, do you understand why I must impress upon you the severity of your lack of control?" Snape asked, slow and steady.
Harry nodded after a long pause, regaining his composure and taking a steadying breath, "Y-yes, sir."
Deciding not to postpone the inevitable, Snape gave a curt nod and patted Harry's back. Harry drew in a deep breath and used his soft sleeves to dry off the rest of his wet face.
"Very well," Snape said, making Harry's stomach roll as the Potions Master shifted his approach back to the punishments at hand. With minimal movement he adjusted his chair to face Harry square on and interlaced his fingers.
"In terms of punishment, had you only returned home hours late and intoxicated, I would have draped you over my knee for a dose of the hairbrush as a potent reminder of the house rules," Snape stated with unwavering severity.
The words hung in the air, causing Harry to hold his breath, his face turning a deep shade of crimson.
His grief scurried away like a mouse fleeing a cat, utterly overwhelmed by Snape's authoritative presence.
"However, in light of your destructive outburst, you have undoubtedly earned the paddle as well," Snape declared, his voice a heavy, unwavering force.
Harry nodded, feeling as though his stomach had plummeted to the floor. His chest tightened, and he struggled to control the nervous flutters that surged through him. He wanted to cry all over again.
Snape steeled himself, prepared for Harry's inevitable clash with his next words.
"I do not indulge in prolonged punishments," Snape continued, "therefore, you will go over my knee twice before the day's end." The weight of his words hung in the air, signaling the impending storm of discipline.
Harry's head snapped up and his mouth dropped slightly, though tears were no longer streaming down his flushed cheeks, he looked utterly distraught at the sentence.
"Professor Snape—" Harry tried but was cut off by a firm halting hand.
"This is certainly not up for discussion, Potter," Snape said with a strong note of authority, despite the dread he also felt at the impending punishments, "You willingly violated our agreement, came home inebriated, and damaged my property. For that, you will be punished in the manner I see fit, without needless protest."
Harry felt a large lump in his throat, everything in him wanted to argue or plead but he knew he had no leg to stand on.
"Okay, sir." Harry finally responded, taking in a deep breath and rubbing his sweaty palms off on his trouser clad thighs.
He felt sick to his core. Two spankings? How in Merlin's name was he going to endure the humiliation of bending across Snape's knee twice?
"Very well," Snape said, rising from his seat. "Go upstairs immediately, take a shower and prepare yourself for the day."
Harry slowly nodded and pushed his chair back from the table, preparing to stand.
Snape smoothed out a few wrinkles in his pants, then straightened his dark cardigan. "Once you've finished, fetch the hairbrush and bring it to me. Your discipline will follow," he sentenced.
Rising to his feet, Harry's heart quickened, and a nervous tremor ran through his legs as he muttered an embarrassed, "Yes, sir."
"Um, Professor Snape?" Harry soon added but stopped when Snape leveled him with a warning glare.
"Sorry, I just have a question," Harry said, glancing uncomfortably at the waxed kitchen floor.
"And what might that question be?" Snape asked, lifting his brow down to Harry and giving him an expectant look while he repositioned the dining chairs to their respectful places.
"Um, when will I get… the other one?" Harry asked, keeping his eyes on the ground, feeling a sense of humiliation wrapping its hot hand around his chest.
Snape didn't answer, prompting Harry to glance up. He wanted to groan as a furious blush warmed his face again, realizing Snape wanted him to be more specific. "My other... spanking," Harry said softer.
"Just before you retire to bed." Snape sentenced, interlacing his fingers and bringing them to rest in front of his waist.
"Any more questions?" He asked, though the response sounded short, his voice lacked its typical severity.
"Well… yes, actually. I'm not arguing, but why do I have to take a shower right now?" Harry asked tentatively, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up uncomfortably at Snape.
"I'd like you to take some time to contemplate your actions. Considering you didn't shower after last night's antics, it will serve as a suitable place for reflection," Snape sentenced.
Harry couldn't stop himself from letting out a dejected sigh, prompting Snape to narrow his dark eyes.
"Perhaps you would prefer to reflect in a corner of the living room instead? I will gladly see you to a suitable area." Snape shot, his expression firm.
"A corner?!" Harry gasped, feeling the heat of shame wash back over him for the hundredth time today. "Come on— I'm hardly a child, Professor Snape," he retorted with a mix of disbelief and defiance.
"Really?" Snape quipped, "I hardly think a mature and capable adult would rationally wreak havoc upon an innocent staircase."
Harry clenched his teeth, but refused to dig an even deeper hole for himself.
"Are we quite through with your inquiries?" Snape drawled, his patience running thin.
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, his emerald green eyes ever so slightly narrowed as he glanced up.
"Very well. After you've had your first punishment, I shall consider preparing a light morning meal. Unless you have an inclination to eat beforehand?"
Harry shook his head quickly. "No, I couldn't... I'd rather eat after, thank you." His tone carried a hint of frustration, but he wisely maintained his respect.
"Go shower." Snape directed with a nod, watching as the young man turned and ever so slowly, disappeared from sight.
Harry was enveloped by the strong rush of warm water as it pelted against his thin frame. Everything was blurry under the water's pressure without his glasses. He ran his hands up through his soaked hair, vigorously scrubbing it with a slimy lather of mint soap.
As he washed away the dirt and grime from the last few days, bouts of trepidation welled up from his stomach to his chest, feeling like the tension in the air before a heavy downpour.
Harry let the warm pelts of water stream down his toned back.
He can sod right off, Harry thought as hot humiliation flooded his chest. There was no way– absolutely no way—he'd ever stand in a corner like a bloody three-year-old.
He finished scrubbing his body with vigor, letting his frustration with Snape come out on every patch of his soft, slick skin. He paused when he reached his bum, a small groan escaping his wet lips as he remembered the impending ache that would soon engulf the region.
A familiar glimmer of disdain for Snape welled up within him as he finished scrubbing and extended his wet hand to turn off the water at the shower's spigot.
Grabbing a fluffy black towel from the metal bar hanging by the shower, Harry patted himself dry and let out a shaky sigh.
Despite his annoyance, his mind soon wandered to how many of his previous misadventures might have turned out differently if he had exercised more restraint. After all, Snape had been a triple agent; if he could conceal such raw emotions, perhaps Harry could learn to control his temper in the same way. If anything, he would at least stop earning those dreadful extra smacks for interruptions.
As Harry stood there drying off, the once tight line of his shoulders eased. An audible sigh escaped him, and he shook his head slowly. It dawned on him that, in his peculiar Snape-esque way, the professor was doing this for his benefit, to impart a lesson Harry desperately needed to grasp, even if it meant enduring the impending painful consequences.
Despite his determination to submit to the correction, Harry decided, as he pulled up his pants and trousers on his damp legs, that he would at least try to endure the first spanking without crying.
He gave himself a small pep talk as he snatched up his glasses, drying off the layer of wet steam on them, and adjusting them back on his face.
With resolve, Harry slid on his long sleeve shirt. Taking a stabilizing breath, he moved to open the bathroom door letting the warm steam collide with the clear air in a little billow. Today was going to suck; but he was determined to face it with as much courage as he could muster.