..
Bent over the desk, Mulciber's trousers and underwear were down to the floor, his clothes hanging around his ankles. Even from this distance, he could see his mate wincing in pain.
On the desk in front of him, a number floated in the air. "12," signifying he'd already been thrashed twelve times.
Severus managed to raise his stiff arms, clasping them behind his head, and settled into an unfamiliar waiting position facing the wall.
Avery, standing beside him, glanced at him. There was curiosity about where he'd been, glee on his roommate about to receive an extra lashing for his tardiness, and a touch of concern. Severus bit his lip tightly and closed his eyes.
A few minutes later, behind him, out of his line of sight, the sound of a cane cutting through the air pierced his ears.
CRACK!
"Aaahhhh!"
Mulciber's shriek echoed through the air. It was like the scream of an animal, a far cry from the pureblood student who had been bravadoing and discussing dignity and honor late last night.
Peverell waited for the boy's howl to subside.
Ten seconds, twenty seconds... after what felt like a minute, he heard the cane strike again.
CRACK! Severus unconsciously tensed his hips.
"Aarh!" It was a sob. Mulciber couldn't even bother to stifle it.
The professor didn't slow down or postpone the next stroke, as if he hadn't heard the cry at all. He waited about thirty seconds, and then swung the cane again, no less fierce than the last time.
Swish - CRACK!
"Ahhhhh!"
Mulciber howled two more times before the professor put the cane down.
"You may put your clothes on now, Mulciber. 20 points deducted from Slytherin for your part. Your individual tally now stand at 36 points in the negative. And be warned : if you are caught bullying again in the future, both the number of strokes and the point-off will be doubled."
"...Yes, sir..."
The number '18' floated in front of Mulciber and disappeared a moment later. So, it's been eighteen strokes in total.
Severus felt like a brick had been thrown into his stomach.
Mulciber fumbled with his trousers and underwear, put them on, and stumbled out of the detention office.
Before he left, he made a point of glaring at his halfblood roommate, who was about to be punished far more harshly than he was for being late to detention. It wasn't quite as intimidating as he wished with his tear-stained face.
"Avery, come and get over the desk."
The professor promptly called the next student over. Avery stood in front of the desk like Mulciber, with a depressed look on his face and slowly unbuckled his belt. Peverell flicked his fingertips. In an instant, the boy's trousers and underwear were down to his ankles.
Apparently, Peverell had already finished his verbal admonishment before Severus arrived. He didn't bother to open his mouth for further reprimand.
"Eighteen strokes for you, Avery, just like Mulciber."
"...Yessir..."
The professor raised the cane high and brought it down swiftly.
Swish – CRACK!
Gulp!
Swoosh – CRACK!
"Aarhh!" Avery howled by the second stroke.
'I heard purebloods abhored pigs,' Severus muttered in his head, 'but they sure know how to make a good pig squeal.'
THWACK!
"Aaahhhh, Professor, please-!"
By the third stroke, the boy stamped his foot with an unbearable cry.
Fifteen more strokes to go, and only at the third he is whining. A sneer crossed Severus's lips as he thought that this was what he would expect from Avery, who was a notorious wuss, but it was gone the next moment.
A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of that cane coming down on his bare bottom in a moment.
Without any sign of relenting, Peverell asked coolly, "Would you like the restraint be used, Avery?"
Avery sucked in a breath. Severus's eyes darted reflexively to the wooden frame propped up against one corner of the wall.
The burly boy declined hastily.
"No, no, Professor. I'll take the caning as I am."
Being strapped to the whipping block was something students dreaded more than the caning itself.
The professor let out a short breath and gave Avery's arse a light tap with the cane.
"Next time you whine at me, I'll use the restraint, and no questions asked."
"...Awhhhyesssir..."
Without any hesitation, the professor moved back half a step and raised the cane high in the air.
THWACK!
"Ahhhhh!"
Avery began to wail out again, but whether the boy was making a pig squeal or a monster howl, Peverell didn't show any signs of slowing down; he continued to swing his tool of punishment.
Swhoosh-
CRACK! The sharp sound of the senior cane cutting through the air, the sound of Avery's fleshy bottom being whipped.
Avery's howls, growing louder and louder, mingled with sobs.
The sound repeated a total of fifteen times before it stopped.
"Wooooooooh..."
"You may get up. Twenty points off from Slytherin for your part. I'll be keeping a close eye on your conduct from now on, so I suggest you behave yourself."
Avery stood up with difficulty, pulled up his shorts and dressed gingerly, pouted his lips at Severus, who was still waiting in the corner, and stalked away. His gait was as shaky as ever.
"Snape."
At the sound of the call, Severus turned slowly. He felt like he had lead on his arse.
In Professor Peverell's hand was a huge, thick cane that he had just used to whip his roommates. It was nothing like the slender switch he'd seen in the classroom a few times during his lower years: more than three feet long and thicker than a finger.
Eighteen strokes soon to come down on his bottom. And he didn't know how many more would be added as he was late.
If he had to guess, it was double the eighteen that Mulciber and Avery had gotten, for a total of thirty-six. As student lore goes, double the original punishment was the norm for disobeying an angry professor's disciplinary call.
No, "one stroke for every minute you are late," the professor's stern voice warned last night, so there was a possibility of 22 extras for being late, for a total of 40.
If the professor thought he was late because he was being deliberately defiant, he could be handed over to the formal Disciplinary committee.
Twenty, no, thirty strokes of the cane would be sentenced to Severus Snape in front of the Slytherin-hating Headmaster Dumbledore; and in the presence of all the heads and deputy heads of the house, Severus would be bent over the caning block, his bottom exposed, and the cane would be administered to him. He will be beaten until his arse tear and bleed, and then he will be summoned back here to receive the original eighteen strokes.
And the next day, on the notice board at the main entrance to Hogwarts, Lily will see the results of the formal disciplinary proceedings against Severus Snape, the delinquent of the fifth year Slytherins.
Severus sniffed involuntarily.
I should have pretended I didn't hear the girl near the lab last night and went my way.
Professor Peverell's hand on the cane loomed in the corner of his vision. The same hand that held and swung his wand so fluidly in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The hands that had fought the most graceful wizarding duel he'd ever seen.
The cold, clear gaze of his. The same green eyes that, when he'd been casually hexed by Potter in the middle of the classroom, instead of smiling indulgently at the bastard's excuses and getting him off with a slap on the wrist, like the other professors had, had pierced through Potter and turned icy and unforgiving, handing down the unthinkable punishment of wand confiscation without any hesitation.
"Snape."
The low, deep voice that lectured in Potions class. The voice that illuminated a world he'd never known about potions and revealed the wackiest, newest, and most profound reverence for them of any Potions lecture.
Severus's lips trembled slightly. He dreaded the punishment, but it wasn't the only thing that made his heart feel like a stone.
It was the man standing before him. He'd wanted to earn Henry Peverell's favor, and now he'd completely screwed it up.
The boy dropped his head.
"Why were you late, Snape?"
Severus snapped his head up. The professor's voice was level, not a stern voice admonishing him. What the hell?
The professor placed his cane on his desk and opened a file Severus hadn't realized he'd summoned, looking through it. He looked up at the boy and spoke again, in a calm voice.
"You've had no record of corporal punishment since you entered Hogwarts, now in your fifth year; and you've had no major point deductions or detentions this term, though your points are not high in total. I'm honestly surprised that you were late for your first disciplinary summons. Did a student, or any other events, interrupt you on your way?"
"..."
"If you have an understandable excuse, there will be no additional punishment."
Severus felt his eyes heat up. If his disciplinary record was unremarkable, it wasn't because Severus Snape was a model student. It was the result of the indifference of his professors and his own behavior, ducking low and keeping out of their eyes.
The young professor, unaware of that, seemed to think he was just a case of a good student temporarily falling off the wagon, even after the mess he made for himself last night. Professor Peverell, whom he had known for less than a month, had shown more interest in him than Slughorn, who had been his Head of House for over four years.
He felt a lump in his throat as he answered the professor's mild inquiry. It was now completely and utterly out of question to gain Professor Peverell's favor.
"...I forgot... and was lazy. I apologize, sir."
The professor was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"I see. I will have to give you an extra punishment, then."
"..."
Peverell kept his gaze on the boy, not picking up the cane just yet.
"It is the opinion of the Headmaster... that mere quarrels between students need not be meticulously punished."
"...Sir?"
The deep green eyes bore into him.
"But there are some things that cannot be overlooked as student quarrels, Snape. Was what happened yesterday a quarrel?"
The boy's gaze darted downward. It was a mild voice, a question that, on the surface, seemed to offer a way out (and one that his brainless pureblood roommates would have happily answered in the affirmative), but Severus had at least some sense in his brain.
"...No."
"Then what was it, Mr. Snape?"
"...Abuse... and assault, sir."
Professor Peverell nodded briefly.
"Yes. And did Miss Macdonald have any cause for such an assault?"
Severus affirmed without hesitation. "Yes. She is a muggleborn."
The man's calm breaths suddenly paused.
Have I said something wrong? Unnerved, Severus glanced up.
The professor's lips pressed tightly together. There was a chill in the professor's calm face. The boy's dark eyes fluttered uneasily.
The next moment, Peverell's eyes blinked a couple of times, and a strange gleam appeared in his steady green ones.
"Mulciber, Avery, and Wilkins. Your dormitory classmates, they look down on you quite casually, while their school records and behaviors are far worse than yours. Do you notice?"
Severus chewed on his lip, then nodded. It tasted bad to admit it, but he couldn't deny it.
"Yes, sir."
"Is there any reason you should be disrespected like that?"
Severus furrowed his brow. Why does this professor keep asking such obvious questions?
"Yes. Because I'm a half-blood."
The professor's expression turned to stone. After a moment, he let out a long, deep sigh.
"I see what you mean, Snape. There's a difference between ought and is."
"..."
"Well, since I'm the Slytherin Deputy Head... I suppose I need to more get used to the Slytherin way of thinking."
Severus only blinked. He had no idea what Professor Peverell was talking about.
The professor's face remained expressionless as he asked a question.
"Snape, I understand that you take it for granted that you are discriminated against based on your blood status. So, do you feel comfortable with that treatment, that discrimination?"
"..."
Severus remained silent. He couldn't bring himself to say yes. He was as much a Slytherin as anyone in his house, but something in his very being of Slytherin prevented him from affirming the question.
The professor didn't chastise him for not answering, but asked again.
"Do you also understand that that kind of discrimination leads to violence, and that it is the basis for abuse to be taken for granted? That's what you said yourself."
"...Yes, I understand. Violence is bad, I know that."
Severus replied without any inflection. He couldn't keep the slightest hint of sarcasm from creeping in.
The professor looked at him with calm eyes. "Well, that's good to hear."
"..."
"Snape, I don't feel the need to lecture about 'violence is bad' to the fifteen-year-olds, not five. Of course, there are a few who seem to be in desperate need of that lesson even at the age of fifty, but that's their damn business."
...Well, actually more than half of the fifteen-year-olds in our school are in dire need of that lecture, Severus shut his mouth quickly before he could put the voice to the thought in his head.
Honestly, he couldn't count on his both hands the number of assholes he wished he could line up in the detention room every day and carve a hundred "Violence is Bad" lines onto their thick skulls with a blood quill. If he were the headmaster, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
Put the sodding Gryffindorks gang in the first row, of course, and oh-so-pure Slytherin superiors in the next, and I'd have a peaceful school life indeed, and my own quality of life would go up two notches, he thought.
One corner of Professor Peverell's lips twitched, then quickly snapped back into place.
"So, let's save the lesson about how hitting people is bad for the kindergarten textbook, and for now, I'll talk about other kinds of violence."
"..."
"'The tongue is like a sword,' they say. It's in the Muggle Bible, as well as in the Eastern scriptures."
"...Yes."
"Those who use their tongues as swords deliberately, and those who wield them without realizing they are swords, are both quite common, and you, Snape, fall into both categories."
Severus remained silent. His fifteen-year-old self recoiled at the professor's assertion of being 'quite common', but he couldn't argue.
"Perhaps you believe you are the former, and are proud of it as your wit."
He winced. Because he was.
"Just so you know, the school code punishes verbal assault for a reason. Ten years, or twenty years from now, the pain from a cane may be forgotten, but some words will stay with you and wound you until then. And the most lasting wounds will be the ones that come from your own tongue."
Severus dipped his head. The faintly hoarse sound of Peverell's voice overwhelmed him.
He had a gut feeling. Peverell was telling him the dry truth now. Not a speculation, but what he had seen, what he had experienced in person.
His heart pounded uneasily, he could think of no objection.
"Accio!"
A short summoning spell later, a flat wooden ruler appeared in the professor's hand. It was about a foot and a half long and about two fingers wide, and though it was obviously made of thin wood, it remained resiliently upright in the professor's hand, not sagging downward.
Peverell's eyes grew stern, taking on the air of a disciplinarian. Severus swallowed hard. He knew it was time for the real punishment.
"Put your hands up, Snape."
Severus hesitantly held his hands out in front of him. The professor raised an eyebrow.
"Right hand first, palm up, left hand in support."
Severus lowered his gaze and assumed the position. The flat side of the sturdy ruler tapped his outstretched hand lightly, starting at the wrist.
"Four on each hand, for your tardiness." A low voice announced the sentence, and the wooden ruler was raised upward.
There was a snap, like a pistol shot, and a second later, his entire right hand was on fire. Severus squeezed his eyes shut. The ruler on hand was a common form of punishment in the classroom, even for primary school kids, but it never felt light in the perspective of the student being struck.
There was another SNAP, and intense pain shot from his fingertips to his wrist.
SMACK, third stroke. Severus bit his lip. The fire that had started in his palm seemed to have spread to his elbow.
CRACK, the fourth stroke. The burning pain in his palm tingled up to his shoulder, wetting the inside of his tightly closed eyes. His entire hand felt like it was on fire, and he wanted to drop his hand immediately, but he knew he couldn't.
"Now your left hand."
A cold voice commanded, and Severus switched hands, barely suppressing a shudder. The palm touching the back of his left hand didn't feel like his own. His right hand felt swollen twice its size.
SNAP, the sound of a bullet striking again. He clenched his lips, but a short cry escaped.
SMACK, the wood lashed from the inside of his wrist to the tips of his fingers. Pain shot up his arm, and his hand felt like it was on fire.
CRACK!
The pain was terrible, he felt as if he were immobilized, like a muggle machine below his shoulders. What if his arm turned to stone?
The professor nonchalantly raised the ruler again.
CRACK! A gasp burst from Severus' lips as his hand met the lash, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. His pale cheeks slowly turned damp.
"You may put your hands down."
A calm voice commanded, and Peverell flicked his hand, returning the ruler to its original place.
Severus lowered his hands. Both hands were burning from the inside of his wrists to the tips of his fingers. The inside of his eyes and nose stung with tears. He barely managed to open his fluttering eyes and glanced up at the professor.
The professor's stoic eyes held the air of a disciplinarian, unwavering, as he picked up the cane from the desk- a bouncy, black rattan stick that looked twice as long as the ruler.
Severus sucked in a breath. The professor's steady voice was without emotion.
"Now it's time for the real punishment. You saw the position your classmates took. Take off your robes, pull down your pants and trousers, and bend over the desk."
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