[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. Spanking of Harry in this chapter.
Chapter 14: Pity
"Potter," Snape said, glancing up at Harry from his plate of salad, "if prisoners, awaiting dawn's execution, can muster the will to eat a meal, surely you will survive a bite."
Harry frowned at him, skewering a piece of lettuce and dragging it lazily along the plate.
"I'd trade places with them if I could," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes downcast as thoughts swirled about his cluttered mind.
Harry hadn't really meant that, but still, he hoped it would give Snape a smidge of regret for the state of his sore backside.
The afternoon following his first punishment had been uncomfortable but decent enough. Snape had allowed him to take a short nap on the couch before insisting they meet the day's responsibilities with an exhausting vigor.
Despite Harry's efforts to appear nonchalant, the persistent throb in his backside made every move and twist a subtle challenge, prompting occasional winces. Snape observed him keenly at the most inopportune moments, casting an unwelcome spotlight on Harry's discomfort.
During those watchful gazes, Harry detected something in Snape's eyes, an elusive emotion that lingered briefly before retreating behind the professor's stoic facade. It left Harry with a lingering sense of curiosity, uncertain about the depths of Snape's thoughts.
After completing their household duties, Harry and Snape parted ways to indulge in more private afternoons. Snape lingered in his potion storage, immersed in the hushed clinking of bubbling vials as he organized. Meanwhile, Harry had sprawled across his bed, absorbing the secrets of a captivating book he'd found on rare magic.
The spring evening came quickly, with the sun gracefully descending beyond the emerald hills, casting a warm glow on the stone houses in the neighborhood at the end of the sprawling driveway.
In stark contrast to the beauty of the evening's soft approach, trepidation had latched its cold teeth into Harry's chest; taunting him with nervous bites of energy as he sliced a bundle of wet lettuce for Snape. He most definitely did not want the night to come and the prospect of facing Snape's knee a second time made his stomach roll and his palms sweat. The first one hurt so, so bad, how could he handle another?
As Harry glanced up, returning to the present moment and away from his cluttered thoughts, Snape leveled him with a stern look.
"Your talent for turning a meal into an extraordinary display of self pity is truly remarkable." Snape said slowly, taking a bite of his salad and dismissing the inclination he possessed to pity the boy.
Harry set down his fork, fidgeting his fingertips as he reached out to snatch up his water glass.
"I'm not trying to make you feel bad for me," Harry lied, pulling the glass of water up to his lips and taking a sip, "I just have a reason for being upset is all. I, uh, my… um… "
Harry trailed off taking another slow sip of water, pulling his emerald eyes away from Snape's dark gaze. He briefly wondered if he'd ever be able to talk about his own spankings without getting gravely embarrassed.
Snape drew in a small breath, hating the detective role he had to play whenever Harry stumbled through expressing his thoughts.
"Stop stammering, Potter," Snape chided in his silky tone, "What childish complaint are you attempting to cast?"
Harry furrowed his brow, his ears turning a little pink, "Well, I… I'm still sort of... sore."
Harry flushed furiously after admitting so, staring down at his plate as he stabbed up a few neglected pieces of lettuce.
"Pity," Snape replied slowly, "it appears that the punishment is fulfilling its intended function."
Despite the silky sarcasm, Snape did indeed harbor a bit of buried sympathy for the young wizard—though Harry would never know it.
The internal conflict had clawed at Snape's usual stoic resolve after Harry's physical struggle to endure his morning spanking, a display of emotion that rivaled even Malfoy's trips over his knees.
Snape found himself questioning his unwavering commitment to administer an evening dose of the paddle, caught in the crossfire of responsibility and an unexpected sense of empathy for Harry.
Guiding Harry back into position to complete the remainder of his discipline had proved more challenging than Snape could have anticipated. Harry's shaky sobs and desperate pleadings disrupted Snape's usual stoic routine, leaving him briefly questioning his own conviction.
Personal experiences had shaped Snape's view that physical punishment, when applied properly, was necessary— even if others couldn't agree. He firmly held the belief that a well-disciplined backside served as a powerful incentive for promoting positive conduct and genuine remorse.
Indeed, many of his Slytherins required no more than a single trip over his knee to realign their behavior. Given the unruliness of Potter and his lot in Gryffindor, Snape had criticized Minerva over the years for discontinuing her use of corporal punishments after he left Hogwarts as a student.
They had even bickered about it many years ago, after Ron and Harry crashed into the Whomping Willow, with Snape believing that if they weren't to be expelled, they deserved to feel the sting of the damage they inflicted on the grounds. Minerva, however, didn't quite agree.
Now, years later, as Harry finally found himself subjected to trips across Snape's knees, Snape battled an entirely unsuspected discomfort over spanking the young wizard.
Harry flashed Snape a frustrated glance as he swallowed the bite of salad and shifted for the millionth time in his chair. Of course, Snape had shot down his polite request to stand.
Bloody tyrant, not a bone of sympathy in his body, Harry thought as he stared down at his salad.
Realizing that extracting compassion from Snape was a futile endeavor, Harry shifted tactics.
"Can you tell me more about the duel?" Harry asked, "And more about what happened, um, after?" He finished softly, punctuating his questions with a failed stab at a small cherry tomato.
Snape's eyes narrowed sharply when Harry's fork missed its target, producing a clear clink as it struck the fragile plate.
Snape took a slight breath, concealing any trace of emotion from his outward appearance as he considered Harry's question, forgoing, for now, the urge to scold him for his poor table manners.
In truth, he had wished for this conversation to remain dormant, but a lingering suspicion realized its potential resurgence given Harry's oh-so sentimental nature.
"Your insatiable curiosity, Potter, recognizes no bounds of propriety, does it?" Snape snipped, his tone cutting through the air with characteristic dryness.
Harry furrowed his brow slightly, making another half-hearted attempt to spear the cherry tomato, which resulted in another grating clink as it slid away.
Snape's dark eyes shot up to meet Harry's but the young wizard didn't catch the warning they held.
"I'm not trying to pry," Harry muttered, moving the large pieces of lettuce swimming in dressing. "I just want to understand more… about you, what you went through."
Snape paused to consider the sentiment. It was a rare moment where words eluded him, his gaze fixed on Harry with a mix of faint surprise and contemplation.
Harry's chest swelled with nervous anticipation, akin to the tide gently lapping against the shore. Despite the undeniable surge of anxiety, the truth remained — his desire to understand Snape had intensified more than ever before.
Snape was taken aback by Harry's admission. Despite his commitment to giving the boy a fresh start, dismissing his tendency to project his hatred for James Potter onto him, he hadn't imagined that Harry cared to know much about him.
Harry didn't give Snape much time to reflect though, as he missed stabbing the slippery tomato once more, resulting in a third sharp, scraping clink of his silver fork against the glass plate.
Snape scowled and instantly withdrew his wand from his pocket. With a swift flick, the tomato, accompanied by a healthy bite of leafy greens, forcefully stabbed onto Harry's fork.
Harry blinked in surprise, his gaze shifting from the now-loaded fork to Snape's stern expression.
"Should your dining utensil strike that fragile tableware again, I assure you, the rest of your meal will be far less enjoyable," Snape warned, deftly stowing his wand back in his trouser pocket.
"Sorry, Professor Snape." Harry muttered, forcing himself to take the prepped bite.
It wasn't that he didn't like the salad, it was actually one of the best he'd had. The produce was crisp and refreshing, while the dressing that accompanied it was a delicate blend of savory and sweet. Unfortunately though, with a tender bum that was soon to be in throbbing pain again, he could hardly commit himself to eating as he normally would.
Swirls of hot trepidation jolted back up in his gut every time he thought about his upcoming introduction to Snape's paddle. He feared the paddle would be worse than the brush—truly believing it might be the end of him, or at least the end of his backside.
Snape observed the sulking boy for a moment longer before finally choosing to relent to Harry's questions.
His approach would, as always, be guarded with skepticism regarding Harry's intentions. Nonetheless, he resolved to try and open up. Though like a clam that's been snapped shut for decades, it would prove a challenge
"Very well, Potter. Be succinct in your inquiry regarding the duel. I have little patience for unnecessary details." Snape said, causing Harry's face to brighten despite the sharpness of his tone.
Finally, Harry thought. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and looked up to Snape with his bright green eyes.
"Well," Harry began, "to start, what did your classmate say that made you want to slash them to pieces in the Forbidden Forest?" Harry asked, shooting the pent up sentence out with gusto.
Snape leveled Harry with a stern look, his eyes communicating a blend of seriousness and lack of enthusiasm.
"Your ability to address sensitive topics in an eloquent manner never ceases to amaze me, Potter," Snape snipped, pausing for a moment to reluctantly refocus his thoughts on that fateful evening.
He vividly recalled the final taunt from his dueling partner on that ominous night. Even after many years passed, he would never fully forget it.
After stumbling from a painful, powerful blow that nearly concluded the battle, the ego-battered Slytherin had jeered at Snape's retreating figure and the crowd: "Been practicing, eh? It seems losing that mud-blooded little cooper-top girl did wonders for you, mate."
Snape's blood had boiled, his fingers twitching, and his jaw clenched to suppress the surge of anger. He maintained his stride, but the taunt lingered in the air like a poison, eliciting not just cheers but a crescendo of mocking laughter from the small crowd.
"What's your hurry?" The injured Slytherin boy had shouted after him, "Hoping to catch Potter bending her over for a go through the peephole?"
That had done it. It was one of those rare moments in Snape's life where he acted without a second barbarous curse flew past the tip of his cold lips before he could even think twice.
The once soft snickers and laughs from the crowd were immediately replaced by distant screams of horror as Snape retreated, without so much as a glance back.
Snape looked into Harry's wide, expectant green eyes and expelled a sharp exhale, the memory's impact subtly etched on his stoic features. He deemed it inappropriate for Harry to be privy to that particular insult.
"I did not emerge from a family of wealth or any notable prestige and my classmate decided to make it a spectacle, provoking me into losing my temper." Snape lied, infusing his words with a deceptive air of assurance.
"Oh," Harry said, falling for it without doubt. "Well that was low of him."
Snape almost smiled at Harry's quick defense but opted for a customary nod instead.
Harry reflected for a moment, and his sympathy for Snape resurfaced. A taunt like that from an opponent would have irked him too. Probably not to the extent of inciting a desire to cast something as brutal as Sectumsempra, but it certainly would have frustrated him.
"Were you scared when you found out you had to go home?" Harry asked after a moment, his thoughts drifting back to the horrible consequences Snape had endured following casting the curse.
Snape let a short pause hang in the kitchen, his eyes drifting to a distant point as if retrieving memories from the past.
"Indeed." Snape finally replied, returning his gaze to Harry, there was a faint glint of honesty transparent in his dark eyes.
Harry nodded, looking intently at Snape. He didn't have to ask for more details, his bright, nervously curious expression pleaded for him.
Snape shifted ever so slightly in his chair, reaching for his glass of water and taking a sip. He felt a fresh swell of discomfort at Harry's intense interest in his past. In all his years, he believed anyone asking personal questions did so only to gain an advantage over him. It proved a challenge not to assume the same intentions lie with Harry.
Regardless, Snape cleared his throat and met Harry's eager eyes.
"I knew to expect the cane when I returned home," Snape said slowly, his voice was measured and sure.
Harry noticed the way the corners of his eyes shifted, almost in an undetectable wince.
"My father did not allow any pleading or emotional expression that may have impacted the severity of punishments, which I suppose, increased my trepidation," Snape admitted. He paused to stand, his movements measured and deliberate, grabbing his empty plate and water glass.
A somber understanding settled in Harry's expression, connecting the dots between Snape's reserved demeanor and the scars of his past. Harry speculated that this might be one reason why Snape rarely displayed emotions. If he couldn't express outward pain during something as severe as a beating, he likely didn't come from a home that embraced emotional displays for anything.
Harry then thought back to his own spanking that morning and Snape's insistence on his emotional submission to it, his expression softened as he glanced around the room in brief contemplative silence.
Snape's boots click-clacked on the tile kitchen floor as he moved to the sink. "Had my father possessed less discernment, I might have considered bringing along a remedy to alleviate the consequences of his displeasure and my trepidation," Snape continued.
Though Snape held his tall stance and stoic demeanor well, his jaw clenched ever so slightly, hidden from Harry's view.
Harry considered his words for a moment, after taking the potion that relieved his headache earlier, he wondered if Snape may have been referring to an early prototype of it.
Snape caught a subtle shift from Harry out of the corner of his eye as the boy moved to take his dishes too.
"I won't stand for you pillaging the kitchen tonight, because your stomach is empty, Potter," Snape said over his shoulder, placing the used dishes in the copper sink.
Harry didn't feel like finishing, but with consideration to Snape's words, he shoveled in the remaining bites of his salad.
"I'm good," Harry said, his words muffled by the mouthful of dressing-coated lettuce.
Snape turned back to give him an unenthused look, motioning for Harry to hand over his dishes.
Harry complied and swallowed the large bite quickly. He felt another swell of dread bubble up in his stomach, noticing how the warm light filling the kitchen had begun to dwindle, bringing him back to his impending fate.
The last lights of the evening sunlight had completely receded behind the winding hills of the quiet neighborhood. A faint blue hue now encompassed the dark kitchen space, underscoring the sleek, jet black countertops and copper toned appliances.
The open pantry door excluded a strong scent of familiar lavender. The top bushels of the delicate purple flowers hung still from the pantry ceiling, having been replaced by Snape that afternoon.
The scent they emitted gave Harry a sense of comfort amidst the creeping anticipation of his evening punishment.
Harry crossed his arms and leaned back against the stand alone island in the center of the kitchen, letting his gaze wander up to the hanging copper pans and pots above his head on the steel pot rack. In all his years at Hogwarts, he would have never imagined Snape to live in such a quaint home.
Harry soon glanced back over to Snape, who had his back turned to him at the sink.
Licking his lips before continuing, Harry probed tentatively, "So… you think your father would have found out if you took a potion, or something, for the pain?"
Harry held his breath a little, sure that Snape would characteristically wall up and close the conversation.
"Indeed, he would have," Snape replied, letting the cold tap water from the sink's copper spigot rinse over the dishes.
Harry pondered for a moment, recognizing the pain dwelling on those memories might cause Snape. Though he still wanted to know how Snape had conjured up the near supernatural resilience to endure a week of thrashings, he chose prudently to redirect.
"Did you take healing potions when you got back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, pushing himself off the island and sidestepping to Snape's left, reaching for a dish towel.
Snape raised an eyebrow at the unexpected move.
"I can dry them for you," Harry offered, gesturing toward the rinsed plates and utensils.
"Very well," Snape acquiesced, handing over one of the cleaned plates.
In Snape's estimation, Harry's well-timed, helpful gestures, seemed a subtle ploy to encourage discussion about his past, a manipulative attempt at persuasion in his mind.
Nevertheless, Snape acknowledged the unprompted assistance with a certain level of appreciation.
The cool splashes of tap water filled the otherwise dark, quiet kitchen, accompanied by small clinks as Snape moved a few of the wet items from his side of the sink to the countertop by Harry.
Finally, as the wash side of the sink had begun to grow soapy, Snape turned to Harry to answer his question.