[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic, 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.
Chapter 34: Tears of Resilience
The summer evening fell gracefully below the horizon, a tapestry of hazy golden rays fading with the heat of the day. The ride back from the Burrow had been quiet, with only the murmurs of a lulling breeze to keep Harry company. Oscillating between a sense of apprehension over his evening punishment and relief to be getting back to Snape's, he had flown at a measured speed through the sunset. He loved Hermione, Ron, and the Weasley family too, but it wasn't easy trying to defend the life he'd stepped into now that the war was over. A life that he'd grown more fond of with each passing day, despite its challenges.
Harry set his broom down and leisurely strode up to the home he shared with Snape. His fingertips met the cool bark of his wand, tucked in the band of his trousers. With a smooth swish, he wordlessly cast the unlocking spell on the door and pushed his way in.
Snape had seemed taken aback to find Harry home an hour earlier than expected, clinking through the kitchen cabinet in search of the short water glass he favored.
"Back rather early," Snape remarked, raising a slight brow. "Still struggling to tell time, I see."
He languidly flicked his wand, and the glass Harry was looking for settled in his palm. Another flick, and a white ceramic plate flew into his other hand.
"You can still manage that?" Harry retorted with a smirk, deflecting Snape's sarcasm and biting back with his own. "I almost forgot magic existed, what with all the Muggle chore handling around here." He waved the dishes in his hand and turned toward the meal on the stove.
"Considering you've never possessed much capacity for retaining information," said Snape casually while sifting through the cutlery drawer, "your forgetfulness is of no surprise to me." He cast a smirk at the green squint Harry shot over his shoulder.
Unlike Snape's cold grins at Hogwarts—filled with the harsh amusement he used to flash after insulting Harry in the class—his smirks these days were relaxed, even affable. Harry had come to covertly like them.
Determined not to let the nerves over his approaching punishment steal his appetite, Harry piled his dish high with the savory braised beef, slopping two overflowing spoonfuls of mashed potatoes onto the plate beside it. He tore off a sizable piece of butter bread and plopped it on top of a serving of food that would've made Ron proud.
Snape glanced down at the overflowing plate when Harry moved to pass by him, narrowing his eyes in put-on scrutiny.
"Ah, quit pretending you're not secretly smug that I prefer your cooking over Mrs. Weasley's," Harry quipped, a smirk playing on his lips despite the slight sting when Snape's wand smacked his backside.
"Go sit down and eat that enormous amount of food before I vanish it with the magic you forgot existed," said Snape as he served himself. Harry rolled his eyes and filled his glass with water, sliding hastily into his seat at the table soon after.
Following a bit of small talk regarding his time spent with the Weasley's, Snape pried, though not invasively, for more of Harry's reasoning behind stealing. Their conversation took many detours, ebbing through various aspects of Harry's thought process over the course of the month. Snape felt an unexpected pang of dismay listening to Harry's insistence that he couldn't have risked asking him for help. He could hardly blame the boy; he wasn't the most approachable person. He knew that. But somehow it still stung to hear. Dismissing his own feelings, Snape refocused the conversation on his concerns.
"Though Weasley was the one who suffered initially for the stunt you two pulled," said Snape as he prepped a bite of his meal. "You are the one bearing the extended consequences."
Harry's face flushed. "I know," he murmured, hastily lifting his water glass to his lips and taking a long gulp, hoping to conceal his hint of embarrassment.
"You mentioned feeling quite distressed before the incident, and after," Snape continued, reaching for his own glass of water. "Yet, your upset still wasn't a deterrent for your behavior. Did you underestimate the severity of the consequences?"
Harry considered it for a moment, biting into a large scoop of potatoes.
"No," he said through a chew, keeping his eyes on his plate. "I knew it'd be rather horrible, my punishment."
Snape gave a slight nod, brows creased.
"That is concerning to me."
"Concerning?" Harry reiterated, glancing up.
"Yes." Snape leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingertips, briefly lost in thought.
"I presume the headmaster's final plan for the defeat of the Dark Lord further instilled within you the ideology that your life was a small price to pay for the rest of the world's safety," he finally said, "did it not?"
"Yeah, I reckon so." Harry nodded, shoveling in another mouthful of the beef and potatoes.
"The continued acceptance of such a mindset will be detrimental to you, Harry." Snape said, his tone firm. "You faced death admirably when you had to, but my concern lies with the repercussions of it all. I dread the notion that you shall spend the remainder of your days in an unending cycle of self-sacrifice, regardless of what the cost of your actions brings upon you."
The last bite of food seemed to drag down Harry's throat at Snape's words.
"Draco, for instance," Snape added, "and the majority of my students, avoid a reprimand with the strap at all costs. You, on the other hand, rationalized such a consequence for weeks despite the stress it brought." He paused deliberately, fixing Harry with a piercing gaze before continuing, "To me, that is indicative of this dangerous martyr mentality you had to accept, not just at the close of the war, but leading up to it as well."
"Well, being the 'Chosen One' aside," Harry paused, and in an attempt to lessen the severity of their conversation, he continued with, "I'm a Gryffindor, you know. It's a bit of a house trait of ours to face things, isn't it?" He flashed Snape a cheeky smirk in response to his narrowed black gaze. "Besides, the war's over now. I hardly think I'll be in a spot to die for the world again."
Snape hummed low and meticulously rearranged his utensils, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each action was punctuated with his disapproval. Gryffindor bravado would be the bane of his existence, he was convinced.
"The foolhardy boldness of your house aside, Harry," Snape said coolly, his tone tinged with a hint of sarcasm, "you plan to pursue a career as an Auror, do you not?"
"Yeah," Harry tapped his fork along the side of his plate, the clinking filling the space.
"In that occupation, you may find yourself in a position to disregard your life for the sake of another." Snape took a bite, wiped his mouth with a table napkin and continued, "However, there's a distinction between necessary risk and willful recklessness."
Harry set his fork down and trained his attention on Snape, deciding it was better to treat the conversation seriously, given his incoming bedtime smacking.
"The latter is something you're prone to after years of taking matters into your own hands. You never had a proper guardian looking after you, showing you the difference between taking a calculated risk and acting on impulse."
"Yeah," Harry sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair. "The Dursleys didn't care to show me much."
"No. Clabberts could have raised you with more competence," Snape retorted, his words laced with a dryness that made Harry chuckle. "This summer serves to compensate somewhat for the lack of guidance you've suffered for seventeen years. When you first moved in with me, I warned you that I am strict, but it's not without reason. And while I don't doubt that submitting to my method of discipline is challenging,"
Harry turned a bit pink, glancing away from the sternness in Snape's gaze.
"I believe it will help restructure your mentality on recklessness," Snape continued, drawing Harry's attention back with a light tap of his fork to his plate. "A bit of physical discomfort can be quite effective, Harry. You're still adjusting to it, but we're attempting to make up for over a decade without such measures."
"Well yeah," Harry let out a nervous laugh and reached up to rub his neck. "Takes a bit to get used to, doesn't it?"
"Indeed."
As their conversation continued, Harry found himself hesitant to answer certain questions, particularly regarding the reasoning behind his fear that Snape would evict him or his desire not to 'ruin things' between them. He maneuvered around those inquiries with the cunning of a Slytherin, rather than the expected boldness of a Gryffindor. It curled a bemused smirk up the corner of Snape's mouth, but he chose to allow the conversation to pass. Perhaps Harry had simply feared they would return to a volatile relationship after his theft. A part of their history they'd only recently moved past, Snape reasoned. Anticipating an eviction for such a crime fell in line with that train of thought.
In truth, though, Harry merely found it challenging to vocalize the depths of his feelings. Seeing Hermione and chatting with the Weasley family had reminded him of the... well, he wouldn't say strangeness of his situation with Snape, but the oddity of being an adult who willingly submitted to rules and consequences. Admitting that he didn't want to leave, didn't want to lose the closeness he'd gained with Snape and face the world alone, felt vulnerable. Embarrassingly vulnerable, really.
Snape had prompted Harry to express his other thoughts between big bites of potatoes, patiently listening, even when frustration crept into the boy's tone over a few clashes of opinion when it came to what was classified as 'reckless behavior'. Snape took advantage of the moment to emphasize the significance of safety, highlighting its importance not only for those Harry sought to assist but also for his own well-being. Thoroughly explaining that though Harry had been conditioned to believe the world's well-being was above his own, such a notion was no longer the case. It never should have been, Snape clarified. It was going to take Harry some time to get used to—hearing Snape encourage him to think of himself, to prioritize his needs, after years of the man criticizing him for being 'arrogant'. It was a welcome change in perspective, though on some level, difficult to comprehend. Even so, it made Harry feel cared for. Looked after following years of bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He wished Snape had been decent like this when he was in school. It made him wonder what his life would've looked like if Snape had been the one to take him from Godric's Hollow, sparing him landing on the Dursleys' doorstep. What would it have been like to grow up with Snape? Harry pondered it while the man droned on about the natural consequences of recklessness. A small smile crossed Harry's features as he crunched into his warm bread. Snape would have been strict, no doubt. Yet he was clearly capable of a protective kind of affection. Maybe life would have been better for Harry growing up with the cantankerous potions master. He wouldn't have had to sleep under a damn staircase—that much he was convinced of. Maybe he would've acquired a knack for potions. Brewing in Snape's storage was actually enjoyable (even though he often just handed over the ingredients Snape pointed to). Reading in the evening was relaxing as well. He loved the lavender tea and the greenhouse. Somehow, he hadn't been so burdened by the close of the war over the last month. His grief having been kept at bay, buried under the new life he was adjusting to.
Maybe Snape would let me come back over break. Harry entertained the idea momentarily but ultimately shook it off and shoveled in another bite of his meal. He reminded himself that his stay with Snape was temporary, so he would be permitted to assist a professor next term. Yeah, no need to dwell on other ideas, he told himself. He wouldn't burden Snape by asking if he could stay longer. McGonagall wanted him to receive 'structure', and that's what Snape had agreed to give him—for three months. Come Christmas break, he'd find a flat of his own. Perhaps even fix up Grimmauld Place. Though the mere thought of the latter brought with it a surge of grief, threatening to overshadow his appetite. Harry battled it down with another bite of the savory meal and refocused on Snape's lecture.
Their conversation proved to be a pivotal one, a testament to Snape's newfound commitment to guiding Harry into the next phase of his life. He was grateful for it and made a point to offer his heartfelt thanks on more than one occasion.
After finishing, Harry stood casually at the sink, cold water trickling down his sudsy hands. The scent of apple and spice saturated the air from the bar of soap he was using to clean up. Pushing his resurging nerves down as best he could, he set the slippery soap aside and collected a wooden scrub brush. Harry focused on running it across each dirtied item. Of course, Snape had instructed him to wash the dishes by hand. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hadn't the faintest clue why Snape even cared how the dishes got clean. Perhaps not using magic was part of his punishment.
Right, punishment…
Harry swallowed hard, refocusing on the cold water numbing his fingertips.
When the last of the suds had swirled down the drain, he shot a glance at Snape. Content to see him preoccupied with clipping the lavender bundles in the pantry, he carefully slid his wand out of his back pocket. A magical burst of heat poured over the dripping dishes a second later. And another silent flick of his wand dampened the drying towel to erase the evidence.
Snape arched his brow when he turned and caught Harry setting his wand down on the counter.
"If those dishes have managed to clean themselves, you are in trouble," he warned, catching the glint of mischief in Harry's eye when he looked up.
"They didn't," Harry replied with confidence, soaping up a rag and heading for the stove.
Snape narrowed his eyes slightly and plucked another stem of lavender. He left it, though, harboring no desire to escalate Harry's impending punishment. A clear drying spell on the dishes or not.
Harry did try, more than once as he cleaned the stove, to convince Snape that a bedtime smacking was unnecessary. He learned after yesterday, really, he had. But after being shut down with a stern warning that any more protests would turn his light spanking into a full reprimand, Harry reluctantly gave it a rest.
As the evening wore on, the two of them fell into their nightly routine. Settled in their respective armchairs by the hearth, they were embraced by the comfort of the room. The scent of smoky firewood blended with the freshly brewed tea, easing Harry's climbing trepidation.
Snape immersed himself in a text detailing the disposal of lethal potions, while Harry flipped through a worn book on herbology.
The rhythmic sound of pages turning suffused the air, punctuated only by the occasional pop of the firewood or clink of a teacup being set back to its saucer. Time seemed to stretch as the minutes ticked by, the room growing quieter with each passing moment. Nearly an hour slipped by as they read in silence.
Releasing a small sigh, Harry strummed his foot against the bone rug below their feet. For the third time, his emerald eyes glazed over what would be a boring paragraph on the properties of Devil's Snare if the knot in his stomach hadn't kept him from focusing.
He didn't want to be spanked. Not again. The strap was thoroughly horrendous, and he'd cried his soul out over it yesterday. Today had been good—really good— and he didn't want to end the night all teary and sore. He tried to recall what Snape had said about evening punishments, how they were more about reflection and less about physical chastisement, but it hardly settled the pit in his stomach. They'd discussed his behavior ad nauseam by now; how much more reflection was he supposed to do?
"Harry," said Snape, glancing up from his book.
"Yeah?" Harry answered, his foot still tapping against the rug in a nervous rhythm.
"If you strum your heel any harder upon that rug," Snape peered down at Harry's bouncing heel, "you may burn a hole straight through it."
"Oh." Shooting him a sheepish smile in response, Harry stopped fidgeting. "Right, er, sorry."
Snape offered a slight nod and returned his attention to his book, Harry following suit. A hush encompassed the room again as the fire dwindled, the last of the flickering flames escaping from beneath the blackened logs. It was Snape's turn to pause; his attention pulled from the tedious steps required to destroy a soul-shrieking serum. He hardly wanted to give Harry another smacking. Though it would be lighter than others, he had a feeling the teenager was overthinking it.
Not ten minutes later, his point was proven correct when Harry's foot went back to strumming in a cascade of jittery thuds. His nervous energy clashing with the quietude of the living room.
With a sigh, Snape reluctantly closed the pages of his text and leaned over. He smacked Harry's bouncing knee with the hardcover, catching his startled attention.
"Oh, uh, sorry." Harry said, stilling himself and looking back to the same paragraph he couldn't move past.
"Go on up." Snape motioned to the staircase, drawing Harry's attention again. "Commence with whatever preparations you need to make before bed."
"Now?" Harry pulled his head from his closed fist, which had been nestled against his cheek. "It's rather early still."
"Quite so." Snape stood, tucking his book under his arm. "However, I am unwilling to watch you feign interest in reading and become increasingly unsettled. The rug beneath your heel has suffered enough abuse."
Harry sighed and gradually closed the herbology book.
"Well, I wouldn't be so unsettled if you'd just cut me some slack," he muttered.
Snape leaned forward, his dark gaze fixing on Harry with stern intensity.
"I'm disciplining you, Harry," his words sent an instant flush to the younger boy's face, "not making you kneel for the Cruciatus curse. And, as you are aware, I am not one to extend leniency where it is certainly not due. This is simply part of your punishment."
"Yeah, I got it." Harry said brusquely, pushing up to stand. "No leniency, never. I'm aware."
"Considering the tone you've adopted, never, is hardly accurate." Snape's words were sharp and low. "Did I not warn you what further protests would garner? Perhaps you need more than a light smacking after all."
"No, I," Harry huffed, attempting to quell his rising frustration. His emerald eyes were tinged with fresh dejection when he met Snape's gaze. "I'm sorry."
Snape offered a slight nod, motioned toward the staircase and nearly turned away before Harry mustered the courage to try once more.
"Wait, Snape, please just listen to me. I'm not trying to be, er, disrespectful or anything. It's just…well, yesterday was really tough. I don't want— I don't think I need another one. Another two, for that matter. I swear I've learned from all these talks and...yesterday."
The sternness in Snape's expression faltered momentarily, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his features. That look—that sad, Lily-eyed look from Harry—never failed to move him. He cursed it for the pools of empathy it conjured, almost making him say, 'Very well, ensure you never break such a serious rule again.'
But he couldn't do that. No, he didn't grant pardons after sentencing a well-earned punishment. Not before the war, and certainly not after. Schooling his expression, he maintained his dark gaze of disapproval. Discipline was important in life, and Harry needed it. He had certainly earned it, and he was going to get it. As he should have at Hogwarts.
"What you need is not up to your prerogative in this instance, Harry." Snape replied dismissively with a motion towards the stairs. "Now, go. I shall meet you in your room shortly."
Harry's stomach sank at that. The final spark of hope doused with icy water. An argument was hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he knew Snape. He knew that if he pushed back, Snape would double down. And that wouldn't do him any good, would it?
"Fine, all right." Harry tossed the herbology book into the armchair he'd vacated. "I'm going, sir."
He added the 'sir' for good measure and tried to avoid sounding too lippy as he made his way towards the staircase, his emerald eyes fixed on the floorboards.
Perhaps he should have felt more frustrated. Should have given Snape what for and reminded him who the bloody hell he was. He had defeated Voldemort, killed the Basilisk, and survived the killing curse twice. Yet, Harry ascended the staircase with solemn resolve instead. I agreed to this, he reminded himself. He knew he could leave if he wanted. But he didn't want to. So he'd comply. He'd earned it, after all.
Harry glanced down and strummed his thumb along the wooden rail of the staircase. A wry smirk ghosted across his lips when he reached the top floor, thinking back to all his accomplishments— knowing now that Snape had been watching far closer than he ever realized. It was a bit humorous, really, to think of the man nearly pulling his hair out every time he flirted with death. Every time he was 'reckless'. Harry swung open the door leading up to his bedroom and trudged up, his thoughts trailing back to what Snape would've done about his escapades if he had been in Slytherin for the last six years. Or, if he had lived with him... been raised by him.
Snape's dark gaze had trailed after Harry, watching with a twinge in his chest as the boy dragged himself up the worn steps.
They'd had a fine evening—an enjoyable one at that. And though Snape would rarely dwell on it, he'd grown quite fond of Harry's presence in his home. His afternoons in solitude were, of course, welcome, whether he was immersing himself in the tranquility of the greenhouse or working on potions. But he couldn't overlook the warmth Harry brought back each time he returned from his outings. Even his cheeky retorts and thin attempts at sarcasm had grown on Snape, amusing him rather than presenting a threat to his authority. Harry was strong-willed but humble. Possessing humility that stood in stark contrast to the arrogance of his late father. Snape shook his head and glanced over to the fire, watching it glow with nothing but hot ash. It was unfortunate they had to end the night like this. Unfortunate but necessary, Snape reminded himself. Given Harry's plan to become an auror, the discipline provided now, though uncomfortable, would hopefully make him slow down. It would teach him to consider the consequences thoroughly before acting on impulse. With luck, these lessons would help protect him now that Snape would not be watching over his shoulder as he had at Hogwarts.
Pursing his lips into a resigned line, Snape stepped into the kitchen. He flicked his wand, gliding a drawer open with a resonant click. A pine wooden spoon flew up from its resting place amidst the other serving utensils and snapped into his palm. The sturdy handle slid against the front of his thigh as he tucked it into his trouser pocket.
He set his book down on the counter with a muted thud. Every surface had been wiped clean, but he grabbed a wet cloth, cast a soap spell, and ran it across the metal stove anyway. Snape scrubbed back and forth, the wooden spoon shifting in his pocket with each movement.
Muggles had a saying for corporal punishment, one he'd heard at times during his youth: 'This hurts me more than it hurts you.' Snape had scoffed then. And would continue to do so for the next thirty years whenever he heard it offhandedly, holding tight to the belief that such a notion was utterly preposterous.
And it was.
Preposterous.
But tonight, as he worked the foaming rag over the metal edge of the stove for a third time, the sentiment behind the phrase settled over him. He took a small breath and paused, glancing down at the soapy surface of the fabric clutched between his fingertips. He used to carry out discipline formally, without much lingering conflict. There once was a line in the sand; if the Slytherins crossed it, over his knee they went, and back in place he stood them, with a stern reprimand on the way out the door. But with Harry... everything had changed with Harry. Or perhaps with the end of the war. Snape reasoned for what seemed like the millionth time.
Memories of disciplining Draco over the years flickered in his mind. Reminding him that he hadn't been completely heartless during punishments, not entirely unmoved by tears of pain. Glancing out the kitchen window, Snape's dark eyes wandered out to the log the boys had fought over weeks ago. As much as he cared for Draco, loved him even, punishing the boy was a different matter than Harry. Draco never laid down without a fight, undeniably guilty or not. That made it easier. Their interactions didn't quite hold a candle to the distress Snape experienced when disciplining Harry. Not hardly.
Lily's surviving son carried with him a weight that seemed to magnify every chastisement. Harry possessed a certain depth of character, a willingness to take accountability at the onset of a punishment, making the act of discipline all the more challenging for Snape. It was as if Harry's ultimate compliance, his humility, cut deeper than any defiance or rebellion could. Proving many of the assumptions Snape had made about the young man during their time at Hogwarts utterly wrong.
He couldn't help but assume his own past actions contributed to this internal struggle he now faced when punishing the young man. They had a turbulent history. And like the night after their initial talk in the garden, Snape still felt as though he didn't have the right to take this role in Harry's life. Not after what he put him through growing up.
Upstairs, the distant sound of Harry's footsteps echoed across the floorboards of the house, breaking through his train of thought. The bathroom door clicked shut, and the faint sound of water poured against the porcelain tiles above. Snape's brow knit in contemplation as he recalled the countless times others had to rescue Harry from his own recklessness, himself included. He requires discipline, Snape reiterated. His current manner of living is untenable. Even if he didn't feel as though he had a right to guide Harry and correct him, it didn't change his belief that the young man desperately needed a guiding hand. Just as Snape pondered each heart-stopping scenario Harry had gotten himself into over the years, a loud crash followed by a muffled curse echoed from above, making him tense.
"Uhm, Snape?" Harry's call echoed from the bathroom, its faint sound reaching to the kitchen below. "Could you levitate my wand up here? I sort of, uh, broke a bottle of… something…. It's oozing."
Oozing everywhere, Harry cringed as he surveyed the mess. His curiosity had gotten the best of him while waiting for the shower water to warm up. Combing beneath the cabinet under the sink, he had located a life-like goop in a jar. It all but knocked on the glass in his palm making him drop the container in reflex. It smelled strong, oddly reminiscent of Christmas. The color was a pale red, and it seemed to crawl across the floor with a life of its own. Harry grew oddly uneasy, his eyes darting to the door.
With an exaggerated sigh, Snape tossed the dishcloth in the sink. He could levitate items. Obviously. But he was curious to know what Harry had broken, given that he'd spelled all the bottles to be shatter resistant before the boy moved in.
"A moment, Harry," Snape called back, snatching up the boy's wand.
Seconds later, as he ascended the creaking stairs to the bathroom, he heard Harry gasp in pain. Another quiet curse rippled out from behind the bathroom door.
Snape's expression tightened with concern.
"What happened?" He snapped, his urgency evident as he quickened his pace up the stairs.
"Stepped on a shard of blasted glass," Harry said, his voice echoing against the stream of shower water.
Snape knocked on the door twice, and Harry told him to come in. He was glad for the towel protecting his modesty when Snape opened the door and glanced around.
Glass covered the tiles, coated in the squirming red goo.
Ah, prowling peppermint pain salve. Apparently, he had missed charming a bottle. Ironic for the occasion, Snape mused. He glanced down at Harry's foot. He was elevating it, heel down, sole up, and leaning against the wall. His hair wasn't yet wet, and Snape bit back on the urge to criticize him for letting the water run. If he wanted the water warm before stepping in, he should've brought his wand up and spelled it that way.
"Pray tell, what compelled you to wander about a glass ridden floor?" Snape drawled, clearing away the mess with a flick of his wand.
"Well, er," Harry paused, glancing at the smudge of blood underfoot now leaking onto the tiles. "I wanted to open the door for my wand."
"You presume I lack the skill to direct it under the slat of the door, do you?" Snape rolled his eyes and gestured to the closed toilet lid. "Sit down, Harry. Let me see your foot."
Tossing aside the damp towel tied around his waist, Harry reached into his dresser drawer in search of some sleep clothes. He pulled on a fresh pair of boxer pants and rummaged through bundles of cotton shirts. While he often went to bed without one, he hardly thought it'd be appropriate to go over Snape's knee shirtless, only to then pull his pants down. Harry scrunched his nose. Yeah, no. The idea of getting smacked in the buff held no appeal. So he withdrew an old favorite, worn thin in places after many years of use, and slid it over his head. The gentle fabric settled across his warm skin, hugging him with a familiar comfort.
Harry padded across the room and sank down on his bed, the springs creaking beneath his weight. He absentmindedly ran his hand through his damp hair and swallowed. This would be fine, a light spanking, he reassured himself. Snape was right; he wasn't about to 'kneel for the Crucio'. He could get through a simple smacking without collapsing into tears. He hadn't even cried under the torture curse when he faced it—screamed, yes, but cried? No. Not during, not after. This was just a smacking; he needed to pull it together.
Harry's thoughts drifted back to Snape's words: kneel for the Crucio. How horrid that would be. The Dark Lord had subjected him to it by force, but he couldn't fathom willingly submitting to it. Did Snape have to endure that? Harry wondered briefly, his mind turning over the possibility of Snape facing such agony at the hands of Voldemort. Agony to keep spying for the Order… to ultimately keep him safe... He snapped his eyes shut, dispelling the troublesome image.
Now was no time to get worked up over the war.
Drawing in a deep breath, Harry puffed up his cheeks, then let the air out slowly. He pulled up his foot, tracing his finger over the spot where Snape had pulled out the glass, then cast the healing charm. That was decent of him.
Too soon for Harry's liking, a knock sounded on his bedroom door, prompting him to look up.
"Yeah," said Harry, dropping his foot back to the floor. "You can come in."
"May come in," Snape corrected as he stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar.
Harry glanced down, away from Snape's stern gaze. He caught sight of the wooden spoon and his stomach tightened. Ah, bleeding hell. With an audible groan, he collapsed back onto the bed, his legs dangling over the edge while his torso sank into the soft comforter.
"Merlin in heaven," Snape rolled his eyes as he approached. "Sit up. Your dramatic antics tonight have been nothing short of absurd."
"Snape," Harry's tone came out laced with dread, his eyes pleading, "really, a kitchen spoon? You said this wouldn't hurt."
Failing to suppress a soft scoff, Snape motioned for Harry to sit back up. "I said no such thing."
Harry folded his arms across his chest and pulled back up, watching Snape take a seat next to him on the bed. The mattress dipped down, sinking low like his stomach. He didn't want to be smacked at all, but he'd resigned himself to Snape's hand. Not a bloody wooden spoon.
"I said you were receiving a light reprimand," stated Snape plainly. "But at no point did I imply it wouldn't hurt. Discomfort is an integral aspect of this form of discipline, you know."
The lantern on the end table flickered, its brightness trembling as the room fell silent. Harry drew a sharp breath and glanced down at his lap.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I know."
It was a strange dichotomy, to be anxious over a smacking, but also feel marginally comforted to have Snape sitting so closely beside him. Snape often sat in the wooden chair or on the couch, watching Harry stand before him while they talked about his behavior. However, tonight, sitting side by side, Snape's presence felt less intimidating and more supportive.
Glancing down at the wooden spoon, Snape tapped it faintly against his potion-stained palm.
"Why, do you suppose, do I assign multiple detentions?" His deep voice broke through the quiet hush. "As opposed to only one?"
Silence stretched on for a moment, Harry chewing the inner fold of his cheek.
"Well, um," he hesitated, swaying his healed foot off the edge of the bed. "I suppose it's so the lesson sticks."
"Indeed." Snape offered a slight nod when Harry met his gaze. "Now, let's reiterate once more. What lesson must 'stick' with you after this infraction?"
Fidgeting with the comforter on his left, Harry briefly glanced away. His emerald eyes shifting across the lantern cast light on his wall.
"I need to put more thought into the choices I make." He looked back over, moving slightly to face Snape, mirroring his posture.
"Correct," said Snape. "And?"
"I need to follow your rules," Harry added, "er, well, rules in general too."
"Why?" Snape pressed. "You've achieved remarkable success in defeating the Dark Lord himself without strict adherence to rules. Why should you abide by them now?"
He fixed Harry with an even gaze, his eyes unwavering, causing the younger man to fidget.
"Because," Harry shifted, feeling his stomach tighten. "Many rules are in place for reasons. Um, like your storage being off limits because of the sorts of questionable things you've got on hand. I need to take others' safety into account, my safety as well, and breaking rules often doesn't fall in line with... safety. And, um, the self-sacrifice cycle isn't a good one to stay in."
"Correct." Snape gave a small smile, one that Harry returned. "I have forgiven you, as you know. Tonight's reprimand and tomorrow's are not about eliciting anymore apologies over the incident. Rather, they are meant to help the overarching lesson 'stick', as you so aptly put it. You understand?"
"Yes," said Harry quietly, tapping his fingers on the front of his thigh. "But… uh, bloody hell, I'd rather be sorting rotten flobberworms without my gloves again than get smacked two more times," he muttered, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "I'd take weeks of your special detentions over this."
"As would the Slytherins, no doubt." Snape gave a wry smirk at that. "Hence why this ought to be more effective in curbing your behavior going forward, no?"
Returning his question with a pitiful frown, Harry, more or less, gave his rueful agreement.
"Come then, let's get this over and done with." Snape motioned with the wooden spoon for Harry to stand up. "Set your glasses over there and come stand here."
Letting out a final groan of protest, Harry slowly moved to comply. Setting his glasses aside, he felt Snape's strong hand grab hold of his wrist and guide him to stand between his knees. He balked momentarily, resisting the tug to bend over Snape's right thigh. He'd expected to talk more, maybe. Or... something, anything to delay this a second longer.
"Harry," said Snape, his tone deep and assertive. "Enough. You need to bend over now. I've put up with far more from you tonight than I ought to."
"Right, okay." Harry sighed, obediently draping himself over Snape's knee, his hands almost touching the wooden floor below. This position felt undeniably childish to him, and he didn't like it. He would have much preferred to lie chest-down on the bed while Snape occupied the chair, as they had done for his previous punishments. But no matter now, here he was, nose to the damn floor.
He harbored a faint hope that he wouldn't have to bare his bottom this time, but it vanished when Snape pulled his pants down with a quick yank. Harry didn't hide his huff at the action, feeling the familiar chill of the room wash over his exposed skin.
Snape's warm palm rested briefly on his exposed skin. Great, Harry thought bitterly. This, and then that bloody spoon. Fucking brilliant. He had a feeling then that Snape's definition of a 'light' spanking differed greatly from his.
A few warning pats, and then Snape's palm left its resting place. Harry screwed his eyes shut at the movement and bit back a gasp when the first smack hit. A sharp sting blossomed across his bum, followed by a series of strong, biting swats.
Snape's jawline tightened as a flood of red imprints quickly coated Harry's pale skin beneath his hand. This spanking wouldn't be lengthy, but contrary to Harry's hopes, it would hurt. It had to hurt. That was the point. The young hero needed to learn; he needed to remember how uncomfortable this was the next time he thought to shove aside rules. So, Snape administered the painful smacks, one after the other, ensuring he applied enough force to make them memorable.
"Ow, oww," Harry muttered to the floor, wincing as the burn intensified. A prickling heat spread rapidly across his entire bum, extending to the sensitive area where his arse met his thighs. He flinched between swats, squirming at the growing pain.
Snape didn't reprimand him for moving, but he did tighten his grip on Harry's hip, keeping him held firmly in place.
"This stings, I know," said Snape in response to Harry's pained murmurs. "However, you will reflect back on this discomfort when tempted to break rules again, yes?" He brought down a few harder smacks, making Harry wince.
"Y-yes," Harry replied, twisting a little to dodge the burning smacks. "Ow, ow! Snape. Not to h-hard. I've l-learned. Ah, I promise."
"Settle down," Snape warned, smacking Harry's upper thighs, turning them a dusty red like the rest of his smacked bum. "You promise to behave going forward?"
"Yes!" Harry blurted, desperate for the spanking to stop before he cracked.
He didn't want to cry; he shouldn't, but he felt the urge. The brokenness seemingly split down his chest, stirring a whirlpool of emotion. There was no reason to cry. Snape wasn't smacking as hard as he had yesterday, not hardly. Stop, Harry told himself, pinching his eyes shut tighter. Stop, stop. Don't fucking cry.
"Yes, what, Harry?"
"Yes, sir." Harry corrected, swallowing thickly.
"You will cease this impulsive tendency of yours to break rules?"
"Snape," he gasped at a particularly sharp swat. "This is not light."
"Answer my question."
The sharp snaps of skin meeting skin reverberated through the room, each one stinging with renewed intensity.
"Y-yes. I will stop breaking—ah, rules."
"Why?"
"Because I hate this," Harry groaned, squirming in a futile attempt to evade the relentless barrage of smacks.
"Why else?"
"Because natural c-consequences matter," Harry added, the words strained as he recalled their earlier conversation. Despite his flinching and squirming, the spanking continued, each impact sending waves of discomfort rippling through him.
"Indeed," Snape eased up on the strengths of the spanks as the color of Harry's skin deepened to a more pronounced shade of red. "Consequences matter, Harry Potter. Weasley isn't bearing the brunt of them any longer, but you are. Because you chose to jeopardize your hide for his sake. I wouldn't have to do this if you'd just chosen to obey. Chosen to handle this situation correctly."
'I wouldn't have to do this', looped in Harry's mind, making his chest tighten. He couldn't suppress the hitch in his breath or the break in his words, no matter how much he tried.
"I k-know. I'm sorry, Snape."
Embarrassment mingled with the overwhelming regret of getting himself into this position. At that moment, Harry oddly longed to go back to hating Snape, if only briefly. To shield himself from tears. To wall off the pain of disappointing him. If he could just see Snape as the heartless git of the dungeons once more, maybe he wouldn't cry. Maybe he could fume with anger instead, as he did when facing Vernon's belt. Then, driven by anger, he could endure each smacking stoically.
But no.
He couldn't pretend that Snape was who he used to be. Not anymore. Not from the moment he dipped his head into the Pensieve. It was impossible to ignore the depth of emotion that disappointing the man stirred within him.
Snape spanked mildly for a few more seconds, then stopped. Moving his hand from Harry's hip to his lower back, he rubbed steady circles and shifted to collect the wooden spoon beside him with a pained expression.
He encouraged emotions during spankings, insisting that no student felt forced to suffer in silence as he had under the lash of his father's cane. Tonight, though, he silently hoped Harry would be alright.
"How many weeks did you plan to steal those potions for Weasley?" Snape's tone was as stern as ever.
"Um-m." Harry sucked in a shaky breath when he felt the wooden spoon come to rest against his heated skin. It felt cold and hard. "A little over three," he swallowed, narrowly forcing the emotion down. "I reckon."
Twenty-one days, give or take, Harry thought solemnly.
"Very well," Snape tapped the spoon lightly on the left side of Harry's disciplined skin, his voice steady. "Three smacks for three weeks, I think."
Harry didn't have time to feel relieved at the minuscule number. "For the first," Snape stated, pulling the spoon back and swiftly bringing it down with a hard crack.
"Ow!" Harry cried, jerking forward at the burst of pain.
Fuck.
"Now the second," Snape pronounced. Two taps on his right cheek, then the sound of wood meeting flesh bit through the room again.
Owww. Harry grit his teeth.
Warm tears flooded his eyes, a ragged breath escaping his lips at the circle of pain now mirrored on the other side of his heated bum.
Just one more, he silently counted. One, it's fine. Don't cry. This doesn't even hurt badly. Not like yesterday.
"Last one," Snape tapped the spoon in the center of Harry's stinging bum. "I need you to remember that your safety—what happens to you—natural consequences or otherwise—is as crucial as that of the person you're trying to assist, Harry. Consider your own well-being. Reflect on the consequences of your actions before you act impulsively. You're quite capable of making intelligent decisions. Use that intellect wisely."
The last smack came down harder than the others, making Harry jolt. It broke then—the stream of emotion he'd fought so hard to damn up. He hung still over Snape's knee, tucking his head in the crook of his bent arm, stifling his tears as best he could—his stoic resolve dashed to pieces.
Tossing aside the wooden spoon on the bed, Snape let out a breath. His expression tightened with consternation when Harry's upper back began to shake with constrained sobs.
"All through now," said Snape quietly, compassion in his tone. "Shh, Harry. We're finished."
He drew up the pants that had pooled around Harry's ankles, covering the three dark imprints left by the wooden spoon against the red-tinted skin. The entire ordeal had lasted less than three minutes, but Harry's broken cries left no doubt about the impact of the punishment.
Snape rubbed Harry's back up and down in a soothing rhythm, patiently waiting for the composure that didn't seem to be coming.
"Shh, shh," Snape found himself murmuring once more, "it's quite alright. Breathe deeply. You're forgiven, remember?"
After a moment of enduring the continuing sobs, Snape felt a growing sense of disquiet. Surely the spanking hadn't been overly painful. He moved to guide Harry back up, but the boy resisted, unwilling to show his face.
"Come here," Snape's tone was firm yet gentle as he placed a warm hand under the boy's shoulder, applying slight pressure upwards. "Stand up, please."
Harry's tear-stained face flushed red as he gingerly pushed himself up. Snape moved to steady him, but he pulled away, refusing to meet the dark eyes once he got to his feet. Harry couldn't look at him, couldn't let him see how pathetic he was being. He moved over to the large bedroom window, his path blurred by tears. This was humiliating; those smacks were nothing compared to yesterday. The bite from Snape's palm and the spoon swats left his skin stinging; a bit heated to the touch, but the pain didn't penetrate deeply. There was no throbbing ache, no real soreness when he moved. Harry found himself without an excuse for his torrent of emotions, without a valid reason for such a loss of composure. Snape must think he was so weak, so horribly fragile. Harry clenched his jaws, sucking in hard breaths.
He yanked the collar of his faded green shirt up, coughing as he attempted to scrub away the tears. A warm hand settled in the center of his shoulders, but he pulled away. All he wanted was to hide his tears from Snape, who had now joined him at the window.
"Just a moment," said Snape in a calm tone, preventing Harry from leaving with a gentle grip on his elbow. "Harry, are you al—"
"I'm fine," Harry spat out, his eyes still covered by the wet collar of his shirt. "I-I shouldn't be, t-that wasn't…"
Snape didn't say a word about the interruption; his expression masked by concern. Such behavior was unlike something he'd dealt with before. Typically, after a smacking, Harry sought out reassurances—a hug, some levity to lessen the seriousness, and whatnot. This withdrawal was unexpected, and Snape couldn't fully comprehend what was going on, so he waited. Waited patiently for Harry to speak, releasing his elbow. Had he been too tough on him? Perhaps he had smacked harder than he intended. Snape glanced up in contemplation. That didn't seem likely; he had only given Harry three with the spoon, a lesser number than he would've given to anyone else. Recalling yet again what Minerva had said about Harry's need for emotional release, Snape attempted to regulate his growing concern.
Finally, Harry emerged from behind his tear-stained shirt collar but avoided meeting Snape's gaze. He leaned his elbows on the cold, stone windowsill, dropping his head into his open palms with a huff. Warm breath fell from his lips, fogging up the corner of the glass. Outside, the askew orange lantern from the porch step flickered, casting a faint glow against the condensation.
"I," Harry cleared his throat, "you might think I cried all the time at school, but I didn't." His tone was hushed, dripping with embarrassment. "I've never been this fucking emotional."
Snape parted his lips to respond, but Harry charged ahead, keeping his eyes downcast.
"I didn't sob like that when I used the resurrection stone to bring back my parents." He let out a warbled breath and sucked in a drippy sniff. "Not when I walked out to meet Voldemort to die, either."
Drawing in a small breath, Snape remained silent, listening carefully.
"I didn't cry when I went home every summer." Harry pulled his arms away from the window, cross his arms. "Never cried at my uncle when he whipped me or at my aunt when she nearly drowned me once."
Before Snape could say anything, Harry tightened his arms across his chest and poured out truths he'd long kept buried.
"I didn't cry when the Dursleys starved me."
"I didn't cry when they locked me alone in the cupboard for weeks at a time."
"I didn't cry when Dudley broke my nose and his mate cracked my rib."
"I didn't cry."
"I didn't cry when Aunt Marge told me I was a waste of fucking space."
Snape felt the air grow thin, his chest constricting with every admission. There was a great deal about Harry's childhood that he didn't know before—neglect, abuse—both physical and emotional. The 'arrogant little hero', whom he'd always beat down in class, came from a home as awful as his own growing up. Perhaps worse. Snape at least had a few good memories with his mother, many with Lily.
While he had pulled his hand off Harry's back some time ago, respecting his desire for space as he listened to the recount of the young man's memories, he instinctively reached out again when the room fell silent. This time, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder and tucking him close to his side. Harry leaned into his touch, blinking his eyes when they washed over in a thick blur of tears again. He realized then how exhausted he felt in that moment, tired to his absolute core. His arse hardly ached, but his chest did. Everything felt heavy and burdensome.
"Well." Snape's voice tightened; his words momentarily stolen by such deep regret. "You must realize that you possess remarkable resilience, Harry. It is regrettable that your childhood was marked by such neglect. Such abuse… I wish I had been aware of your circumstances, truly. I hadn't known, which is no excuse for the years of hardship I put you through in my classes."
For a moment, he wasn't sure what more to say. But then he felt compelled to add, "Many individuals, I suspect, were unaware of your homelife. Minerva had an inclination, but there wasn't a thing she could do at the time, and Albus... perhaps even he was unaware." Willfully unaware, Snape added silently. A bitter taste for the late Headmaster's final 'plans' regarding the war and Harry coming back full force. "I hope you know you never deserved such appalling treatment."
Harry hiccupped. "Yeah, 'so-kay," the words came out in a short sob.
Snape pulled Harry into a real hug then, his pained gaze roaming out the circular window. Harry held on to him tightly, tucking his head down low. Snape rubbed the boy's back, his chest absorbing the warm tears. Glimmering stars blanketed the night sky, but their distant twinkling offered little solace amidst the turmoil within the room. Drawing in a small breath, Snape closed his eyes and silently apologized to Lily. How could he have treated her child so terribly? How could he have been so blinded by hate before? Harry wasn't his father's son, but his mother's. Lily's resilience shown in Harry, her kindness, her unwavering love—traits he had failed to recognize in the boy until this summer.
"I'm not a crier, though; it's... it's j-just," Harry tried to speak, but the words were taken by another round of tears.
"Shh, Harry, listen to me." Snape guided Harry back, his green anguish meeting the calm depth of Snape's dark gaze. "You needn't defend yourself. Crying does not diminish my opinion of your strength."
Harry nodded, pulling his shirt collar up to hide his tears again.
"Perhaps," said Snape, gently tugging Harry's shirt away from his eyes, "it is because you hardly cried as a child, or during these appallingly stressful years, that the emotions within you are more intense now. That would certainly make sense, would it not?"
Sucking in a trembling breath, Harry nodded, keeping his gaze down. A wave of warmth enveloped his neck as a drying spell took care of the wetness stained on the collar of this shirt.
"Such spells are useful for more than dishes, you know." Snape offered Harry a faint smirk.
"How do you always see everything?" Harry croaked out, a small snort mixing with the tears in his voice.
"It's a consequence of my tenure as head of Slytherin. Now, enough hiding behind that worn shirt collar," Snape added, replacing his wand and withdrawing a satin handkerchief from his pocket. He tenderly cleared off the mess of wet tears from Harry's face before extending the handkerchief out to him. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Thanks," Harry murmured, accepting the black handkerchief. These moments with Snape were so contrary to what he had ever received after a punishment, or, in general, they nearly made him cry harder. But after another breath in, a steadier one, he felt better. His chest expanded to let in a rush of cleansing air as he regained his composure, squeezing the handkerchief in his palm.
"I dunno…" Harry finally muttered, looking back out the window. "I don't think my emotions, er, the crying, is only 'cause I didn't cry much growing up."
"Perhaps not." Snape quietly agreed, looking over Harry intently. "Is there more on your mind? Something additional you'd like to discuss?"
Harry nodded, wanting to tell him how he felt but not having the words yet.
"Come along, then," said Snape after a long pause, steering Harry to the door. "You'll have some water or tea. We'll discuss this further after, if you'd like."
Harry took a small breath and nodded. "Yeah, okay."
A wand flick later, and Harry's glasses nestled themselves into his palm.
"Thanks, Snape."
For all of this.
Happy Saturday night, all! Agh, I wish I could have gotten this out to you sooner, but life had other plans. Your incoming comments over the last few weeks have been so lovely; they gave me the stamina to continue writing through a touch of burnout. So, thank you so much! (I'll be able to reply individually to you FFN folks in my AN next time. I was so excited to hear from a few new readers!). I may not be able to get the next chapter posted by next Sunday, but I will try my best. Much love to you all, as always! This story has been so fulfilling to write thanks to readers like you, so please know I will never abandon it. Even if my updates take a few weeks in between, I'll finish this work to the end. Have a great weekend & be back soon :)