[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 / detailed spanking scenario described in this chapter.
Chapter 3: Close Call
Harry turned to look back at Snape as they reached Hagrid's hut, breaking the silence that had accompanied their stroll on the way over.
"Are you not going to come in and greet Hagrid?" Harry asked.
Snape remained still, refusing to budge from his position a few paces behind Harry. He crossed his arms behind his back, his long, black-clad figure appearing ominous in the pale moonlight.
"As much as I would relish the opportunity for frivolous chit-chat with the Gamekeeper and yourself, I have more pressing matters to attend to," he replied dismissively before turning and walking away.
"Oh, come on now, Professor. I know you have no papers to grade, and your potions classroom is in ruins," Harry said, offended by Snape's disregard for Hagrid.
Snape paused, only half-turning back so Harry could hear him as he continued to walk away. "You can expect my letter tomorrow morning. Ensure you read it carefully, Mr. Potter. I will await your decision by day's end." With that, he concluded, refusing to engage in further conversation for the evening.
Harry parted his lips to say something more, but the potions professor had already vanished into the night, dissolving into the shroud of the evening's darkness. Harry was left standing alone on the dirt path. He glanced up at the bright, shining stars and suddenly felt a pang of sadness that ricocheted through his body without warning.
Though he often thought of his mum and dad listening in on conversations, this time he thought of Fred Weasley. He wondered what George's redheaded counterpart would say about his mental state if he agreed to live with Professor Snape. He smiled at the thought, finding a brief moment of comfort in the memory of his late friend.
Just as he felt the threat of tears assaulting his green eyes, Hagrid burst through the front of his cabin door with a lamp.
"Harry?" he called, a tinge of concern laced in his gruff voice. "You alright, lad?"
Harry took a deep breath and regained composure of his emotions. He stifled his urge to tell Hagrid about Snape's dismissal of his invitation. Instead, he turned around and gave the man a genuine smile.
"Everything's fine, Hagrid. I was just telling Professor Snape to have a good night."
Hagrid eyed the young wizard with suspicion, his face riddled with it, as he motioned for the boy to come in. "What are you doing out here so late with ol' Snapey, anyhow?" he asked with concern.
Harry sighed and gave Hagrid a half-smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets and followed the Gamekeeper inside. "You might want to pour us some of that Old Firewhisky for this one, Hagrid. I've got a lot to tell you."
In a different quadrant of the grounds, Snape continued his brisk pace along the moonlit path that led back to Hogwarts Castle. A coolness lingered in the night air, a gentle reminder that summer had not yet taken hold in the final month of spring. Off in the distance, the faint hooting of an owl added to the atmosphere, mingling with the deliberate tread of his boots on the winding dirt path.
As he strode onward, Snape replayed the moments from his conversation with Harry. Apprehension seeped into the forefront of his mind, crawling like the Forbidden Forest spiders. While he had undoubtedly understood the boy's resistance to the proposition, something about the final moments of their conversation left Snape with an unsettling sense of foreboding.
As he walked, Snape's steps became slower and more hesitant. Harry hadn't accepted, nor had he outright refused, and the mere thought of his possible agreement churned Snape's stomach like one of his boiling cauldrons. He tried to divert his thoughts, shifting his focus to the supplies required for rebuilding his potions lab.
Soon, though, his mind circled back to Harry.
Flickers of doubt and a haunting sense of inadequacy crept into Snape's thoughts, gnawing at his self-assured facade. Could he really provide proper support for Lily's son? What would she think of this? Surrounded by the profound silence of the night, the weight of his inner turmoil pressed upon him, constricting his chest and making his breaths shallower.
Snape glanced down at the ground, trying to steady himself by focusing on the foliage of the path. With the night as his only witness, he sighed and slumped against a tree, the gravity of his commitment sinking in.
The dawn arrived too early for Harry, as the sharp clinking of tin pots and the rustling of Hagrid's movements about the cabin jolted him awake. His head throbbed from last night's whiskey, and he longed to return to the blissful embrace of sleep. As fond as Harry was of Hagrid, the man's thunderous snoring could easily keep the entire Forbidden Forest from getting any rest, and the consecutive sleepless nights were beginning to wear on him.
"Good mornin', Harry!" Hagrid stooped over to rustle the boy's hair. "Sleep well, did ya?" he asked, his tone warm and friendly.
Harry gave a half-smile and nodded. "Yeah, not too bad. You?"
"Good, as usual," he replied cheerfully. "Care for a bite to eat?" Hagrid asked, the comforting sound of water boiling in the teapot filled the small cabin.
Harry nodded, stretching as he grabbed his glasses from the side table and scanned the floor for his t-shirt.
"Thank you," he replied kindly, "You know you don't have to always make me something, Hagrid."
" 'Course I do!" Hagrid laughed as he cracked a large egg on the side of the cast iron pan, "What kind of host would I be without offerin' you breakfast?"
Harry chuckled as he spotted his shirt and slid it on, he quickly rolled up his cot and set it in its usual resting spot beside the clutter Hagrid had accumulated in the west corner of the room.
"Oh! 'fore I forget," Hagrid wiped his hands on his earth-toned pants and reached for a small envelope beside the tea kettle, "O'l Snapey dropped this off for ya this morning."
Harry furrowed his brow as he accepted the outstretched envelope from Hagrid. "He dropped it off?" Harry asked, as he rolled his eyes at the official Slytherin seal securing the envelope shut.
"I thought he was planning to send an owl?" He said curiously, popping the seal on the pristine letter.
"No, hand-delivered it. 'Said he was sorry he couldn't stay for a visit last night," Hagrid continued as he poured Harry a large mug of tea, "Had a decent conversation with him, talked about the weather, and your arrangement."
Harry took a sip of his tea and nodded without looking up, his eyes scanning the introductory part of Snape's letter.
"Did he give you any more details about what we'd be doing over the summer?" He paused, looking up to see anything telling in Hagrid's expression.
"Oh, nothin' too much," Hagrid replied as he mixed some sugar into his mug. "He mentioned that the two of ya would have some shopping to do for potion ingredients or something rather."
"Huh," Harry paused to consider this, "I guess that would be fun." He replied, satisfied with the new bit of information, and turned his attention back to the letter.
A few moments went by, and nothing but the sounds of the two scraping their forks along the tin pans reverberated in the small wooden space. Harry quietly read his letter while Hagrid focused his attention on the pile of food before him. Fang, Hagrid's loyal pup, ventured over to the pair, giving them a morning greeting of his own kind.
"Today—" Hagrid started, but his words came to an abrupt halt as Harry coughed violently, causing tea to erupt from every corner of his mouth in a chaotic spray.
Hagrid immediately abandoned his sentence, rushing to Harry's side. "Merlin's beard, Harry! Ya alright?" Hagrid asked, delivering a few firm blows to Harry's back.
Harry continued to cough as he fought to catch his breath, waving his hands dismissively in response.
"That ain't brought ya bad news, has it?" Hagrid motioned to the now slightly wet paper grasped tightly in Harry's hand.
"S-sorry, Hagrid," Harry shook his head as he moved to hide the letter. "No, ah, tea just went down the wrong pipe." He finally finished, his voice raspy.
"Here, let me help you wipe this up." Harry stood in search of a rag to clean the spilled tea from the table.
"Oh, don't worry about that." Hagrid wrapped his hand around Harry's shoulder and gave it a pat, "I'll get it dried up." He smiled, relieved to know everything was fine.
Harry quickly folded the letter and shoved it forcefully into his back pocket, "Um, Hagrid," He began, "I need to go…"
He paused, fervently thinking of what to tell the man.
"See Professor McGonagall." He finished, trying to appear nonchalant.
Hagrid eyed the boy, a little suspicious of the timing. "You sure you're alright, Harry?"
Harry nodded and abruptly rose from the table. He moved swiftly around Hagrid. "Yes, I'm fine. I'll help you with the cleanup as soon as I return."
He adjusted his glasses and hastened to the door, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be quick!"
Hagrid observed Harry's departure, a lingering doubt in his eyes. After a moment, he dismissed it with a shrug and called after the boy, "Alright, Harry. No rush!"
As the door to the small cabin gently swung shut, a draft of morning air swept in. Hagrid redirected his attention to their shared plate of bacon, letting out a hearty chuckle. "I'll keep your breakfast warm."
The first light of dawn painted the sky with delicate shades of red and orange, casting a serene glow over the garden. Snape sighed softly then drew in a deep cleansing breath as he sat alone on an intricately wrought iron bench. Despite his features bearing the unmistakable marks of a sleepless night, Snape had risen with the first light of dawn. He composed Harry's letter with calm determination before proceeding to Hagrid's hut and later returning to the garden.
In the tranquil solitude, Snape had found a fleeting respite from his relentless thoughts. With careful precision, he had meticulously manicured the garden, pruning overgrown vines, weeding the flower beds, and even casting the Impervious spell around the perimeter to protect it from pests. Each deliberate action had provided a momentary escape from the daunting possibility that Harry would accept the proposal to live together.
Snape immersed himself in the tranquil stillness of the garden, his senses ensnared by the morning air and the faint sounds of doves' wings flapping.
However, the peace was short-lived as he caught the unmistakable sound of familiar approaching footsteps. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"P-Professor," Harry suddenly appeared from around the bend, huffing and clearly out of breath. "I-I had to, – wanted to, um…"
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Snape said sternly, opening his eyes to observe the young wizard. "Up rather early, aren't we?"
Harry rested his hand on the garden railing across from Snape and nodded, still catching his breath. He retrieved the letter from his pocket and waved it pointedly at Snape. "You, um, I just, how…uh–"
Snape raised his strong, calloused hand, displaying the potion-stained tips of his fingers as he effectively cut Harry off.
"As eloquent as your breathless mumbling is, Potter," Snape leaned forward and knitted his brows in scrutiny, "cut to the point. What about my letter compelled you to rush over here," his eyes glanced up to Harry's wildly unkempt hair, "looking so disheveled?"
Though hidden from Harry, he had a strong hunch of what had spurred the boy into such theatrics.
Harry swallowed, his breath caught, realizing how nervous he was to speak. "Well," he began hesitantly, "I just didn't know that you, uh, well…you did that."
"How precisely vague of you." Snape rolled his eyes and leaned back against the bench. He motioned for Harry to continue speaking, circling his hand in a pointed manner.
Harry took a deep breath, "Did Dumbledore know, that you, you sp-smacked the Slytherins?" He hurriedly asked, blushing slightly as he looked away from Snape's stern glare.
A brief silence stretched between them as the morning sounds of the garden grew slightly more prominent.
Snape raised an eyebrow, "Do you honestly think, Mr. Potter, that I would discipline a student without the headmaster's approval?"
Harry looked up, matching Snape's intense gaze, "Well," he hesitated initially before finding his nerve, "Yeah, you know I could see it." He countered, feeling a bit braver.
In response to Harry's bold statement, Snape let out a low, dry chuckle, his expression a mixture of exasperation and thinly veiled annoyance.
"Your imagination truly knows no bounds," he retorted with a dejected sigh. "I assure you, my methods, unconventional as they may sometimes appear, always reside well within the boundaries of the rules set forth by the headmaster. Your skepticism, however, is duly noted."
Harry dropped his jaw, simply stunned.
"I just, I can't believe none of them ever told." He said, his voice carrying the astonishment he felt.
Snape hummed low in response, "Well, Potter, I doubt that even you would have so little discretion as to go broadcasting your discipline to your peers, much less your rivals."
Harry contemplated the point Snape made; he found himself in a tailspin of thoughts as he considered just what this new revelation meant. Snape eyed him, practically seeing the cogs in the boy's mind turn.
"I doubt you've smacked Draco though, him being your little pet favorite and all," Harry prodded, desperate now to know.
"Mr. Malfoy's discipline is of no concern to you, Mr. Potter," Snape scolded, his tone quiet and low.
"Ah, come now, Professor. I saved his life, you know. I think I have a right to ask," Harry protested, his audacity growing. "So how did you do it? Did you have to tie him down or something?"
Snape glared at the boy, "My patience is wearing gravely thin with you, young man." He warned, with an unmistakable threatening tone.
Harry's caution around the topic, however, had melted away as it was replaced by a vindictive satisfaction. He couldn't help but imagine his rivals, especially Draco, squirming over Snape's desk for a well earned thrashing.
He moved slightly closer to the entrance of the garden as he questioned the brooding potions professor, "What about Crabbe and Goyle? Surely they found themselves in trouble with you at least once?"
There was a grating hint of glee in Harry's tone that didn't sit well with Snape.
"Potter, this incessant line of questioning is not only inappropriate but also tiresome. Consider this your final warning to cease such inquiries or face the consequences," Snape threatened, narrowing his eyes at the young wizard as he leaned back on the bench.
Disappointed, Harry mumbled one final, obstinate thought as he kicked a stray twig on the ground, "I'm sure they squealed like stuck pigs–"
"That does it, Potter." Snape snapped. He immediately uncrossed his legs and smoothed the wrinkles from his silky black pants. He crooked a finger, motioning to the disobedient wizard across the fence, "Come to me, young man."
Uh-oh. Harry's heart rate rose as he opened the gate and walked tentatively over to the potions professor sitting on the iron bench. A sense of impending doom came upon him, and he began to wish he'd heeded the first warning.
As Harry reached the intended spot, he couldn't help but avoid Snape's disciplinary gaze. His heart continued to thump hard, and his palms began to sweat; he quickly pulled his arms across his torso, nervously wrapping them around his midsection.
Snape let his firm gaze hang for a moment, fixed on the young wizard's downcast eyes.
"Since, Mr. Potter," He began slowly with a terrifying sternness in his voice, "you seem to have such an interest in your peers' disciplinary proceedings, I am obliged to give you a hands-on demonstration of the matter," He said as he wrapped his hand tightly around Harry's wrist, directing him to stand by his right side.
Harry's feet seemed to follow against his conscious will. He glanced down at Snape's perfectly pressed pants and felt a swell of butterflies flurry in his chest. He wanted to speak—to protest or beg—but his throat tightened, and no words would come.
Snape peered at Harry with a cold, calculating gaze, then gestured towards Harry's baggy jeans. "Can you, Potter, handle the task of disrobing yourself, or shall I be forced to extend my assistance?"
Harry blanched, a cold shiver crept its way up his spine. His stomach dropped so hard it felt like it had hit his shoes. Snape gave the boy's wrist an encouraging tug, prompting Harry to find his voice, "Wait, wait, wait! Professor, I-I'm sorry. I haven't agreed yet, remember?"
Harry tried to sound mature, but his voice came out in a desperate whine.
Snape merely scoffed at the pleading and reached up to the boy's bicep. He gave it a hard tug forward, knocking Harry off his balance seamlessly. After all, if the young wizard were one of his snakes, he would have met this fate years ago.
Harry landed flat on his stomach in a heap. He coughed at the sudden thud of his torso hitting the potion professor's outstretched knees. His breath spilled out in quick huffs, as he lay motionless across Snape's lap. Fear coursed through him as his bottom lay upright, presented in perfect striking range. Merlin, why didn't he just shut his mouth?
Snape paused his proceedings, taking in the scene. He placed a surprisingly warm hand around Harry's hip, pulling the boy closer to him, which in turn elicited an anxious plea from Harry, "Professor Snape, please you can't just—"
Snape decided to torture him no longer, "Enough of the theatrics, Potter," He directed, effectively cutting the boy off. "Take note, if any of your sniveling classmates deserved reprimanding of this unfortunate nature, they would find themselves in the position you are in now."
Harry remained quiet, he nodded at the professor's words but kept his eyes on the garden ground in front of him. His glasses threatened to fall off his face from the low stooping of his head. He felt the heat of shame rise from his chest as he stabilized himself with his left hand on the ground. He drew his shaky right hand up to hold his glasses in place.
"However, as you astutely pointed out just moments ago," Snape sighed, "you have not yet agreed to our proposal. Given that you are now an adult, consider this a preemptive glimpse into the position that may await you if you disobey my explicit instructions again."
Harry tilted his head up and turned it slightly towards Snape's distant voice, trying to comprehend what he had just said.
"As to your inquiry," Snape shifted a bit, still firmly holding the boy in place, "I rarely use canes." Though voice remained low and authoratitive, Harry detected a momentary break in the sternness as he said it.
"However," Snape soon continued, "if a cane or otherwise severe implement became necessary due to the magnitude of the infraction, a student would first find themselves in your position."
Harry nodded and faced forward again, keeping his right hand on his glasses. To say he was shocked by Snape's preference for such an intimate position would be an understatement. He felt a knot of discomfort coiling in his stomach, leaving him slightly nauseated in apprehension.
"All discipline is directed towards…" Snape paused, struggling to find the appropriate word as this was his first time ever breaking down a spanking, "an unclothed bottom."
Harry swallowed hard, this was dreadful. "Come on, Professor Snape," he quietly moaned, "why is that…necessary?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.
Snape arched a disdainful eyebrow at the boy's deficiency in critical thinking, "Must you always speak before thinking, young man?"
After a moment he sighed in acquiescence, "It is done to ensure that the pain is never dulled," his voice reflected a hint of exasperation
Harry cringed, and though Snape was unable to see it from his vantage point, his face grew crimson red with embarrassment. He wanted to die. At that very moment, he decided that he'd rather be back in the forest, at the mercy of The Dark Lord, rather than upended over Snape's lap.
Recognizing the silence and the absence of protest from the boy, Snape added, "As you may deduce, crying and blathering are hardly indicators of proper punishment."
Harry remained quiet, his anxiety grew as he considered the gravity of Snape's words.
"In terms of implements," Snape continued with unwavering sternness, "you may consistently anticipate the use of my hand as a primary choice, complemented by more substantial items such as a brush, paddle, ruler, or, in particularly unfortunate instances, a strap."
Harry nodded, his stomach churning at the thought of the implements and Snape's hand in such an intimate place. He relinquished the brief moment of triumph he'd experienced earlier at the thought of Draco and other Slytherins sharing his fate. This was horrible.
Satisfied with the provided description, Snape relaxed his grip on the boy slightly, instinctively patting the young wizard's back as he spoke. "Do you have any further inquiries, Mr. Potter?" His tone was unmistakably softer this time, and Harry couldn't help but feel strangely comforted by the gentle, reassuring pats on his back, as if they offered an unexpected solace in the midst of their conversation.
Harry licked his lips and shook his head fervently, more than ready to get up and be done with this...conversation.
Snape drew in a deep breath as his hand itched to give the boy a smack. "You should also note, Potter," his voice regained its sharp edge, "that if I pose a question to you audibly, you are required to respond with a respectful, audible answer."
Harry quickly found his words, "Sorry."
Snape let out a deep sigh of disapproval and moved slightly, shifting his legs underneath Harry's stomach. "Wait!" Harry exclaimed, nervous at what the movement might mean, "I meant, um, I meant, I'm sorry, sir."
Snape stilled, letting a moment go by before he offered a low hum of approval at the correction as he gave Harry's back a few more reassuring pats.
"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Snape remarked, a sardonic edge creeping into his characteristic sternness. He moved his left hand to Harry's chest, giving it a slight push as he released his hold on the boy's back. "You may stand up."
Harry sprang to his feet, nearly startling Snape, who characteristically responded with a disapproving tsk as Harry stumbled in his haste. "Kindly exercise more control next time." He remarked dryly.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry replied, receiving an approving nod from Snape. Facing the Potions Professor's stern gaze after his previous state, left Harry feeling a profound sense of discomfort. He shifted uneasily on his feet, unable to hold eye contact.
Snape observed the discomfort etched across the young wizard's face, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It was a rare sight, a trace of humility from the defiant Harry Potter, and Snape couldn't help but find it intriguing.
"Take a seat," Snape's voice, though still laced with its customary sternness, held a subtle undertone of approval as he gestured to a spot beside him.
Harry promptly complied, his movements swift and precise, as if determined not to grant Snape even a moment's doubt about his willingness to cooperate
"Your inability to finish the letter does not escape my notice, Potter," Snape remarked with a touch of disdain, though not entirely harsh. "Am I correct to assume that you merely perused the first two paragraphs?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by the professor's raised finger, "As you should know," he added, his low stern voice serving as a warning, "I do not tolerate lying."
Harry swallowed as he dropped his head down slightly, "Well, no. I didn't get to read the rest of it yet, I sort of just ran all over trying to find you once I read, um, that you…" Harry trailed off, not wanting to continue with the topic of spankings.
Too drained to correct the boy for his unspecific blathering, Snape merely nodded. "See to it that you finish the letter," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. He stood, prepared to walk to the gate, but then turned back with a final, pointed remark, "You'll find me in the headmistress's office this evening, awaiting your decision."
"Wait, Professor!" Harry blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could think.
Snape, maintaining his usual composure, turned to look down at Harry with a hint of detached curiosity.
Harry swallowed hard, his nerves taking over. "Um, you know I always have questions...so maybe..."
Snape rolled his eyes as he adjusted his robes, his patience spent for the day. "Mr. Potter, you might want to work on your approach to discussions; this vague blathering can be rather tiresome–"
"Don't go yet," Harry cut in quickly. "I want to talk to you more about whatever you wrote in here." He pulled the letter from his pocket and waved it in Snape's direction.
"Do not interrupt me," Snape's voice dripped with frustration as his measured footsteps carried him towards Harry with deliberate intent.
However, much to Harry's surprise, Snape settled back onto the bench, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to a hint of resignation.
Their eyes met, holding a silent exchange filled with unspoken complexities. Snape eventually sighed, a subtle softening in his expression, as he closed his eyes briefly, succumbing to the persistent presence of the expectant young wizard before him.
"Start reading, Potter."
Author's notes: I know this was a bit of a longer chapter, but I hope it paid off for you at the end. While I admit this introduction has been a bit of a slow burn, I promise it will pick up in the coming scenes. More to come soon, hopefully over the weekend (if I can manage it with my studies).