[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 10: Drunken Defiance
Snape and Harry reappeared instantly at the front door to the stone covered house. Harry kept his eyes shut, focusing on steadying himself while Snape smoothed out the front of his black button up shirt.
The pair remained silent, Snape searching the folds of his cloak for his wand and Harry glancing at his feet. The soft embrace of the night's silence settled around them, amplifying Harry's feelings of dread and guilt now that they were alone.
With Ron absent, the day's conversations and events hit Harry hard. The weight of Fred's death and the loss of others in the war resurfaced. Harry had tried to push his grief away at the bar for Ron's sake, but without him now, he felt like crumbling.
As he and Ron had strolled through Diagon Alley earlier in the afternoon, they delved into a well of emotions and concerns. Ron shared how George was hardly functioning without his other half, and how the weight of it all, coupled with vivid nightmares, kept Ron awake at night. He told Harry how the house felt emptier as their parents wept often behind their bedroom door, leaving a broken silence in their wake.
Then there was Ginny, Ron admitted that his sister had been processing everything in her own way, quietly. Harry missed her, he wanted to kiss her all over and hold her close again. Yet, he understood the importance of giving the Weasleys some space and time to grieve, as Professor McGonagall had suggested.
The long-time friends had reminisced about Dumbledore, Dobby, and Sirius, reliving fond memories with mixed emotions. Ron had started the conversation, his voice wavering and eyes glistening with unshed tears. Harry joined in, the dam of emotions breaking as they shared stories and laughter, even though a profound sense of loss hung over them.
Amidst their conversations, Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of grief and guilt that had overtaken him since the day the Dark Lord fell, threatening to engulf him once more.
Harry sucked in a shaky breath, glancing down to his feet. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped low.
Snape, still simmering with frustration from the events of the evening, noticed Harry's subdued and somber demeanor. It pleased him to see that the disobedient adolescent had, for the moment, adopted a modicum of humility after his recent severity of the emotions that enveloped them both hung heavy in the dark morning air.
Snape cast an unlocking charm over the front door, and the two listened to the heavy clunking sound as the metal shifted around the iron lock.
"After you, young man." Snape said curtly, opening the door and holding it for Harry.
Harry swallowed hard as he stepped through the doorway, his motions wavering and unsteady.
Snape followed swiftly behind him, shutting the door with a firm thud and shifting the metal latch with a loud clunk to lock it.
Harry felt the rise of his chest extend and fall as nervousness and grief enveloped his core. Too many emotions rained down on him like a violent storm of dread and sadness, the alcohol amplifying everything to an intolerable level.
Overwhelmed, Harry made his way up a few steps of the wooden staircase, eventually taking a seat on one of them, the aged wood protesting with a subtle creak. With his head buried in his hands, Harry allowed the tears, long restrained, to finally flow. He detected the lingering scent of firewhiskey on his breath, mingling with the comforting aroma of lavender and cedar wood that filled the house.
The alcoholic haze enveloped him like a protective shroud, offering solace and shielding him from the customary shame that accompanied crying in the imposing presence of Snape.
Snape peered up at the trembling boy and felt a slight pang of empathy, beckoning him to show some semblance of comfort. The war, perhaps, made them all more vulnerable and Harry had a lot of grief to bear.
Crossing his arms behind his back and interlacing his fingers, Snape slowly approached Harry. His boots click-clacking the distance between them.
"Potter," Snape began, "I trust you know a deluge of tears won't change the impending consequence for disregarding a set house rule," Snape said, characteristically dismissing his inclination to be lenient.
Snape felt a slight pinch in his chest as Harry cried a bit harder, offering no response. A pause hung in the soft herbal and wood scented air as Harry continued to let his emotions out.
Snape considered his options, his gaze shifting up to the ceiling. While he couldn't fully comprehend why Harry was crying so persistently, he assumed that the alcohol was largely to blame. Though perhaps something had transpired with Weasley that he was unaware of.
Humming low, Snape glanced back to the young wizard on the stairs. Disregarding the modicum of compassion he felt and opting for a more direct approach to the situation.
"Are these tears solely connected to your expectation of punishment, or is there an underlying reason for your incessant turmoil?" Snape questioned.
Harry shook his head, choking out his next words, "N-no, just— everything is s-so messed up."
Snape scoffed, rubbing a weary hand over his aged skin.
"Indeed, the world is not a fairy tale, Potter. It's unfair, and sooner or later, we all have to learn how to face it." Snape replied, his tone firm, determined not to provide false comfort when the truth was stark.
Harry's voice trembled, his fresh frustration masked by tears as he retorted, "Right, because you've faced life so well."
Though the tears in his eyes blurred the edges of his vision, making his glare appear more like a desperate plea for understanding.
Snape took in a sharp breath. He felt a wave of frustration bubble up in his chest like a pluming cauldron. Though given Harry's emotional and intoxicated state, he forced himself to remain civil with the boy.
Snape propped himself up against the wall and crossed his arms, sighing at the sounds of Harry's wet, quiet cries as they filled the otherwise silent space.
"Please, Potter," Snape instructed, his tone stern yet not overly harsh. "Do not stoop so low as to insult me in order to derail this conversation. Why are you sniffling so?" Snape pressed for an answer, though he was beginning to piece things together.
Harry's chest tightened as he grappled with a surge of buried anger provoked by Snape's question. He was weeping, not sniffling— and the tears were hardly from the anticipation of punishment, but rather the overwhelming guilt and grief that had been festering within him for weeks.
With trembling resolve, Harry managed to mumble, "I-I'm fine," though it was a blatant lie.
He didn't want to tell Snape the depths of his feelings, it was too much for him to bear without dealing with sarcasm and harsh truths Snape would surely dole out.
"Yes, clearly you're fine. A paradigm of self control," Snape said, his voice dripping with annoyance.
Harry's eyes were red and raw, as he used the collar of his shirt to wipe away the evidence of his anguish.
"Just forget it." Harry replied curtly, sniffing loud as he regained control of his tears.
A moment of silence settled between the agitated pair as Harry took a few deep breaths. He was exasperated, reeling from the hit of alcohol and emotional fatigue.
Snape shifted his arms ever so slightly, his gaze narrowing as he closely monitored Harry's shifting demeanor.
"You should recognize, Potter, that you're not the sole bearer of suffering these days. The entire Wizarding World has endured post-war hardships. It's time to acknowledge that reality and rise above your self-indulgent displays. You are a survivor, whether it suits your preferences or not," Snape concluded, his tone firm but carrying a note of understanding.
Harry found himself at a loss for how to cope with his drunken cluster of thoughts and feelings.
Snape's words suddenly stirred a strange, compelling desire within him, an impulse to receive his impending punishment and get it over with.
"Fine. I know you're going to smack me," Harry said, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. He gingerly rose to his unsteady feet, the room swaying around him, "Just tell me what you want to do it with, and I'll go get it."
A flicker of confusion crossed Snape's face, and his voice softened for a brief moment as he raised his brow up at Harry.
"You will do no such thing. You are excessively emotional and gravely inebriated. I shall not be doling out your punishment anytime soon," Snape declared, his questioning gaze sweeping from Harry's head to toe.
Snape found himself pondering the source of this unusual outburst. Drunken individuals were often challenging to comprehend, yet something about the way Harry approached his punishment this time, intoxicated or not, baffled him. At the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had appeared as though he wanted to cry when Snape had threatened him with impending chastisement. Why was he suddenly resigned to it?
A surge of intoxicated anger coursed through Harry, driving him with drunken defiance.
He wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to face his consequence, hoping it might provide an outlet for the grief and pain he'd suppressed for so long.
In a rash, split-second decision, Harry decided his best option would be to provoke Snape, knowing that his potions master's famously short fuse could be easily ignited by certain actions.
Harry glanced around the spinning room, looking for a target; soon spotting a wooden dowel that supported the railing to the staircase.
"I have asked twice now why—" Snape started but faltered as he witnessed Harry's unexpected reaction unfolding before his eyes.
Summoning all his strength, Harry delivered a fierce, bone-rattling kick to the fragile wooden dowel, shattering it into splinters with a deafening crack.
There was a weight in the air, a slight pause, before the storm as Snape leveled Harry with a venomous glare.
As Harry had anticipated, Snape was on him in seconds, his eyes ablaze with fury at the sudden outburst of destruction. Snape instantly pushed himself off the wall and stormed up the steps, the creaking wooden stairs amplifying the rapid thumping of Harry's heartbeat as Snape made his way up, carefully avoiding shards of the wood scattered.
"That does it," Snape hissed, his voice dripping with anger, as he snatched Harry's upper arm in a painful grip. "You've pushed your luck, Potter."
Harry's sharp intake of breath was stifled by a sudden knot of fear tightening in his chest as Snape latched on to him, forcefully pulling him down the creaking steps.
Every hard yank felt like a plunge under cold water; for the second Harry had seen Snape's terrifyingly dark eyes lock onto his, he wanted to take that stupid kick back.
Their footsteps reverberated, each thud accompanied by the loud creak of the timeworn wood as they finished their descent down the stairs. A hot rush of regret washed over Harry as he drunkenly stumbled over the splintered wood pieces as Snape hauled him down the remainder of the steps.
Snape's face contorted in a mix of anger and disappointment as he forcefully dragged the unsteady boy into the living room and deposited him roughly in the Russian green armchair.
"You insolent little prat," Snape gritted out through clenched teeth.
He took a deliberate step back, fingers curling into tight fists at his sides as he grappled with the urge to unleash his anger upon the young wizard.
Memories of his own father's brutal discipline— the searing pain of each cane stroke, flooded his mind as he remembered an incident where he had unintentionally brought destruction on the man's property. In contrast to his mere mistake, which he had been punished severely for, Harry willingly destroyed a section of his home without restraint. It made Snape's blood boil as he fought to stop himself from subjecting Harry to the same torment his father had rained down on him.
After a long moment of tense silence, Snape grabbed either side of Harry's armchair and bent down low, his dark, rage filled eyes boring into the young wizard's.
The intensity of Snape's gaze immediately caused any remainder of Harry's bravado to crumple.
"If you dare to move even an inch from this spot, you will find yourself draped over my knee every night this week," Snape hissed, his voice dripping with menace as he pushed himself up and strode out of the living room.
Harry's jaw dropped in sheer shock. Bloody hell, every night? he thought to himself, his stomach churning at the grim prospect. He instinctively raised his hands to cradle his face, overcome by the weight of his actions. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
A heavy gulp accompanied the sudden well of fresh tears in Harry's eyes.
In the haze of spinning and numbness, Harry realized what a colossal mistake he had just made. Breaking curfew and vomiting on Snape was bad enough, but now he had caused damage to the ill-tempered man's property. Harry let out a groan of despair, hanging his head low in remorse. This was a nightmare.
Snape shot the back door leading to the yard open with his wand. Allowing the heavy metal screen to slam behind him after gliding through it.
He was furious.
Not only was he exhausted from the lack of sleep but he had spent the entire night consumed with Harry. Where was he? Was he safe, or had he indulged in too much liquor? Did he go looking for trouble or was he behaving in a mature manner?
Instead of retiring to bed, as he rightfully should have, Snape had ventured out into the chilly morning, driven by a relentless concern for Harry's well-being. He had sacrificed his evening and sleep just so the ungrateful prat could disrespect him, vomit on his shoes, and wreak havoc upon his antique staircase.
Harry was in trouble for this one, grave trouble.
Snape smacked the door to his potions storage open, igniting the blue light on the tip of his wand with a fast flick.
His dark eyes scanned the gleaming potion bottles reflecting against the blue cast of his wand's light.
In a matter of minutes Snape discovered what he'd come for. He collected the bright green vial in the contorted container followed by a small circular black one, then snuffed out his wand and strode back for the house.
Snape was beyond finished with Harry's foolishness and uncontrolled hysterics. He would not have his home suffer the effects of Harry's undisciplined emotions, no matter where they stemmed from.
Clutching the potions tight in his right hand, Snape resolved himself. One way or another Harry was going to yield to his line of questioning, no matter what lengths it took.
The hearth's fire dimmed, intermittently crackling, while Harry immersed himself in the oppressive silence of the living room. The violent slam of the screen door as Snape departed moments ago sent his heart racing. A wave of dread washed over him—dizziness, nausea, and anxiety entwined in a tormenting mix, making every passing moment horrible.
He knew from the minute Snape had thrown him in his chair that he'd made a grave mistake. The strange torrent of grief had subsided and was now replaced by trepidation.
His arm ached from Snape's firm grip and everything inside him felt rattled. What was he thinking trying to get spanked? The first one was terrible, and he hardly had enough time to get over the embarrassment of it. Harry regretted every minute of his outburst as he awaited his former professor's return.
He didn't have to wait long though. Soon the back door snapped open and Harry heard the sound of Snape's boots clicking across the kitchen floor. A trickle of sweat leaked down Harry's back as he grimaced at the sound.
Snape reappeared in the living room in seconds, looking like a hot kettle bubbling on a stove. Harry glanced down at Snape's hands, half expecting to see a whip of some sort. Instead, he noticed the potion vials Snape was carrying, making him swallow hard.
Snape kept his eyes off Harry, firmly setting the potions down on the silver tea cart with a reverberating clink. He then turned to the fire and reignited it with a spell. The flames roared to life and filled the room with warmth and light.
Grabbing the back of the second Russian green armchair, Snape yanked it up and deposited it closely in front of Harry's. With precision Snape removed his travel coat, setting it down on the back of the armchair.
He took a seat and brushed out a few wrinkles in his trousers, then looked at Harry with a cold, determined stare.
Harry's heart fluttered in his chest as his knees touched Snape's. He couldn't bring himself to look into the furious dark eyes, so he kept his glance on Snape's lap. He wrapped his arms around his chest and tapped his toe nervously. Terror seized him as he considered the broken dowel by the stairs. What was he thinking?
Snape let his disciplinary gaze traverse the ashamed young wizard. Thankfully, Harry had come to his senses. The boy's shoulders sagged low and the glint of defiance in his eye was now gone.
Snape extended his hand to pick up the black, circular bottle. He uncorked it with practiced ease before passing it to Harry.
"Ensure you finish every drop," Snape directed, his countenance maintaining its usual austerity.
Harry glanced up at him then down at the potion. He wanted to argue, or at least ask what it was, but he was in too much trouble to protest.
Harry took the bottle carefully and pulled it up to his lips. Despite his hazy state, he could still smell the rancid earthly scent emitting from the black potion.
Harry's mouth grew salty at the smell and he feared he wouldn't be able to keep it down. But one glance at Snape told him arguing was off the table.
Harry threw the potion back like a firewhisky shot and chugged hard. Forcing himself to think about anything but the horrid taste.
Harry finished quickly, gagging and sputtering as he yanked the glass vial away from his lips. Snape gave a curt nod, taking the empty container back from the sour faced young wizard.
Harry glanced up at Snape, his body began to tingle slightly and he felt a surge of nervousness.
"You will sober up momentarily," Snape admitted, seeing the fear in Harry's eyes.
Almost on cue, Harry felt his haziness begin to dissipate. The room stopped spinning and everything came into clear focus. The earthy, lavender, and cedar scents of the room enveloped Harry, bringing him back to a sober state of mind.
Harry looked up at Snape in astonishment. "What was that?"
"How do you feel now, Potter?" Snape asked, ignoring the first question.
"Um," Harry glanced at his feet and shuffled them some. "Like I shouldn't have kicked the rail." He tried, looking up to meet Snape's punishing glare.
"That goes without saying," Snape snapped, leaning over to grab the green contorted vial on the tea cart.
"Physically and emotionally, how do you feel? Besides being intoxicated, what precisely was the cause of that obscene, childish outburst," Snape asked, suggestively tapping the green potion. Harry recognized it immediately and grimaced.
"You don't have to use Veritaserum, Professor Snape. I'll tell you the truth." Harry said, eyeing the green potion with dread. He was terrified for Snape to know the depths of his thoughts on things he'd rather keep private, especially when it came to his drunken desire for pain.
Snape squinted his eyes but withdrew the truth serum and leveled Harry with an expectant look.
Harry sucked in a deep breath and sat up. He was relieved to have his drunkenness gone, though mystified by how Snape had managed to come up with a potion like that.
"Ron and I lost track of time," Harry started.
"Obviously." Snape countered, his tone low and slow.
Harry swallowed hard and licked his lips, "We talked about everything. The war, life… everybody who's gone now."
Snape nodded, his expression neutral. Though Harry swore he caught it softening some.
Now without the alcohol swimming in his thought, it was easier for Harry to conceal his grief and control his emotions. He cleared his throat and continued.
"Um, well I guess… I guess I just couldn't handle those feelings while drunk." Harry finished, hoping his response was enough for Snape.
Snape hummed low, sitting back in his chair. He shifted his gaze to the crackling fire, his exhaustion evident. He interlaced his fingers together and contemplated the young wizard's admission.
"I've been having a bit of a hard time processing everything." Harry added in a near whisper.
Harry followed Snape's gaze, letting himself slide back in his own chair.
As sobriety washed over him, Harry's dread deepened. His heart sank, and a torrent of guilt and fear surged within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The thought of Snape spanking him every day made his stomach churn, and he desperately hoped that was just an idle threat.
"Physically I feel good now," Harry admitted softly as he glanced back over to Snape.
Snape remained silent, as he drew in a slight breath and trailed his eyes up with each flicker of the fire's flames.
Grief had been his longtime companion for years, propelling him into dark paths and painful lessons of his own. He could sympathize with Harry's turmoil and understand why the young wizard struggled to control his emotions, especially while inebriated.
However, being under the influence of alcohol couldn't excuse unrestrained loss of self-control, especially when it involved physical violence. Harry's actions had warranted severe consequences, and now, in the boy's sobriety, the impending pain was bound to be effective. Still, Snape's enduring frustration compelled him to postpone the punishment.
"Very well," Snape began, looking back to Harry, "It goes without saying that your behavior the last few hours has been abhorrent."
Harry glanced at the floor, nodding, "I know, sir."
"You were in for a reminder of the house rules for staying out late, but after your recent destructive outburst, you now face more than one punishment," Snape stated, his tone unyielding, as he remained unaffected by Harry's dejected expression.
Harry nodded again, glancing away from Snape as trepidation overran his senses. He swallowed, bouncing his knee a bit harder. Please, not a week of them, was all Harry could think, his mind racing with possibilities of what Snape meant.
"Retire to your bedroom immediately, Potter." Snape said, his voice low and commanding.
Harry rose from his seat with a heavy heart, determined to hold back the stinging tears that threatened to well back up.
"Are you coming up with me or…" Harry trailed off, unsure of how to ask if Snape was planning to spank him now or not.
"I will retire to my room shortly. Your punishments, however, will have to wait until after you've rested." Snape sentenced.
Harry sighed, some relief came over him despite the dread of it all.
"Okay, I'm sorry, Professor Snape," he uttered softly, as he turned and headed for his room, his words laced with sincere remorse.
Snape, weary and vexed, watched Harry's retreating figure. He sighed inwardly, a twinge of concern hidden beneath his exterior of stern disapproval. "Get some sleep, Potter. We'll discuss the matter further in the morning."
Harry's footsteps echoed as he moved towards the staircase, the broken dowel a stark reminder of his impulsive actions. "Alright." Harry said nearly under his breath, his head hung low as he retreated from sight.
Snape's gaze lingered on the crackling flames, the orange and crimson tongues dancing in the hearth's heart, casting flickering shadows across the room.
The weight of responsibility pressed upon Snape's shoulders as his anger began to dissipate.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he reflected on his own past, the harsh lessons that had shaped him into the man he was today.
Snape refrained from being abusive, firmly committed to never perpetuating his father's cruelty, regardless of his own anger. Nevertheless, he grasped the significance of discipline, recognizing its role in guidance and education. It offered him solace to know that Harry remained under no compulsion to stay and accept such consequences.
With a deep breath, Snape steeled himself.
He had committed to walking an unconventional path with Harry, well aware of the challenges that lay ahead. Regardless of how demanding it might become, he remained resolute in his determination to guide the young man, establish boundaries, and help him grow into the responsibilities of adulthood, for as long as Harry desired.
As Snape gazed into the fire, he resigned himself to address Harry's transgressions. The coming day would prove challenging, but he was unwavering in his resolve to shape the young wizard into a person who could truly realize his potential.
Exhausted, Snape rose slowly and restored the green armchairs to their proper places. With a flick of his wand, he extinguished the crackling fire, leaving the room in soft, smoky darkness as he silently departed from the hearth.
Author's notes: I tried my best to finish the chapter following this one and post them in a trio for you all, but unfortunately, I wasn't able to get it fully flushed out today. If you're here for the discipline, I promise it will be worth the wait. We have Snape's own history of CP as well as Harry's punishment(s) in the upcoming chapter – I've written half of it, but still have quite a bit to unpack. I don't want to cheat you on the depth of these discipline scenes after such a build up by shorting on aspects I could fine tune.
As always, I'd like to thank each and every one of you for following along with this story. Your excitement and thoughts mean the world to me! You're never obligated to leave a comment, but I'm truly grateful when you do. Wherever you are and whatever you're doing, I hope the week goes well for you; more to come soon. Much love to you and yours!
