[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent]
In my previous chapter disclaimers, I've stated that this is not a slash story, specifically meaning it does not feature a romantic relationship between Harry and Snape. However, in this chapter, it is revealed that Draco has a physical relationship with Blaise Zabini. If you would prefer to skip this brief scene showcasing their interaction, it begins with: "On the back side of the bar, with only Merlin and the summer night as their witness," and ends at the next scene break. Skipping this scene will not affect your understanding of the main plot, as it primarily establishes Draco's physical location before the main events.
I may write a Drarry fic set in this AU once this story is complete, but this scene should not be interpreted as a shift in the story's focus. The main focus will remain on the platonic relationship between Snape and Harry. With the outline for the conclusion of this fic now in place, there won't be any time to develop a Drarry relationship in this story. I'm a fan of slow burns, if you couldn't tell ;) So, rest assured, the focus will stay on Snape and Harry's platonic bond. Also, my dear FFN readers, I've been making edits to this work in my spare time. If you enjoy re-reading between updates, I recommend doing so on Ao3, as it is far more fine-tuned. FFN is my raw, first draft, but Ao3 has the enhancements.
Time had a talent for marching Harry on, shoving him from one season to another without so much as a breath in between. During the final stretch of the war, it grabbed him by both arms—its grip relentless and painful—ushering him through summer days fraught with nerves and running him through the rest of the year with a speed that made him stumble in autumn, brace in winter, and muster every last fiber of courage in spring.
This season though, time… shifted… changed. It released Harry's arms and slid softly into his palm, gently slipping through his fingers like powdery sand on a sun-kissed beach. Its grip that once pushed and shoved was finished with him. July ended, and he couldn't understand how three brilliant weeks had passed him by like honey pouring from a spout: fading slowly enough for him to savor the best moments he'd had in years, but still spilling out in a continuous drizzle he wished he could stopper up.
True to his self-made promise in the living room, he followed the rules. He was 'good,' and his relationship with Snape only improved for it. He did still find himself on the receiving end of a wand smack here and there, but to be fair, he'd worked his wit for those. Snape's tolerance for cheek had widened since the end of May, but there seemed to be a line Harry couldn't help but waltz across some days. He covertly enjoyed it though—riling Snape up just enough to remind him that he was still very much Professor Severus Snape and hadn't been swapped with an imposter who was actually enjoyable to be around and attentive to his needs.
His eighteenth birthday had come and gone, marking itself as the best one he'd had yet. The Weasleys had thrown him a grand party, and he'd managed to coerce Snape into going. Thankfully, he didn't come to regret it either. Mr. Weasley spent plenty of time engaging Snape in conversation about the war. Despite Snape's naturally cool disposition, Harry could tell he wasn't annoyed but genuinely interested. Even the terror Harry felt when Neville walked in and made eye contact with Snape didn't last long, as everything went quite smoothly. Good, even. Neville didn't look ready to pass out, and Snape remained as impassive as ever.
They arrived home late, and Harry discovered a set of high-quality Quidditch gear on his bed, along with a slew of new books to read at night, all of which Snape denied purchasing and refused to get 'sentimental' over. Harry teased him enough about it to earn himself a few wand smacks and a quick, begrudging hug from Snape, accompanied by a dry, "Fine, you are welcome. Now enough of all this."
Everything had been fantastic.
Everything except for a few strange occurrences with Hermione that he couldn't quite get past…
For one, she'd given him a new broom for his birthday, prompting him to finally broach a conversation he'd been pondering for weeks:
"This is really too much," Harry said, his expression radiant as he ran his finger down the sleek wooden length of the broom. "Let me pay you back for half of it."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione glanced up at the sunset-bathed sky and shook her head. "You do know the definition of a gift, don't you?"
Harry smiled and carefully leaned the broom against the side of the house. Inside, the sound of the Weasley family's jubilant voices reverberated, signaling that the party was still in full swing. With a sense of contentment warming his chest, Harry enveloped Hermione in a tight embrace which she pleasantly returned.
"So what," he began as they pulled away from each other, "you needed to research what the most expensive broom in the world was, or something?"
"What?" Hermione slightly furrowed her brows.
Crossing one foot over the other, Harry leaned against the house, his expression masked by faint amusement and a little suspicion.
"Y'know," he smiled with a little glint of tease in his eye, "all the research you had to do for my 'birthday present', with those massive books I wasn't allowed to see."
Hermione let out an awkward laugh and waved her hand dismissively. Before she could get a word out about all those heavy books she was carrying that day, the tomes Harry had certainly not forgotten because how could he?, Snape appeared on the porch, making him:
"Come in," his tone infused with its typical clip, "at least two Weasleys have pestered me over your whereabouts, and I am quite through playing the role of your personal messenger."
"Alright, fine," Harry pushed himself off the house and let Hermione off with a light poke to her arm. "I guess you'll have to tell me about whatever you were up to with those 'romance novels' turned 'birthday' books later."
He sidestepped Snape and headed inside, snatched away by Luna and Neville almost immediately. Their excitement to tell him about some odd conspiracy and the noise of the party nearly made him forget his curiosity when the front door behind him closed and neither Snape nor Hermione rejoined the party for some time.
That was rather odd, he thought. But nothing seemed amiss between them when they came in as the cake was brought out, so Harry let it go.
It was a brilliant night, but his suspicion over Hermione's behavior resurrected the following week. Besides carefully evading his questions about the books on numerous occasions, she had turned into a mother hen of sorts. For nearly a month, she was constantly on him with:
"Are you sure Snape won't mind if you come along?"
And,
"Do you have any chores you have complete before we go?"
And,
"Harry, don't you have to be home by ten? It's nine twenty. We ought to leave now."
And so she went on.
And on and on.
Harry was not only exhausted but also growing steadily more convinced that she knew more than she let on. Somehow, just maybe, she'd figured out that Snape was smacking him and consequently, she had taken a desperate interest in keeping him out of trouble. His efforts to subtly prove his point were in vain at first, but after weeks of consideration, the answer came to him one heated Friday afternoon in early August.
Harry sat cross-legged on the roof, chewing ripe cherries and spitting the pits into a metal bucket with a clank. He glanced down when a swish of air drew his attention to Ron and Hermione flying up the driveway on their brooms.
"Oi, up here!" he grinned at them from his spot perched on the sun-soaked tiles.
"What are you doing, mate?" Ron called, squinting into the sharp light.
"Are you supposed to be on the roof, Harry?" Hermione added, her face painted with that persistent look of concern.
The sweet juice of a cherry burst over Harry's tongue and teeth. He chewed, spit the pit into the bucket, then waved them both closer to the edge of the roof.
"Well, actually," he said in a hushed voice, leaning down, "Snape said this is my last warning, but I figure I'm safe since he's not home yet."
Ron smirked but Hermione placed her hands on her hips, morphing into her new mother hen mode.
"Is that really worth it to you?" she chided, squinting up at him with a gaze of hazel accusation. "Why must you always push your luck with him?"
Rolling his eyes to the blue sky, Harry popped another cherry into his mouth, chewed, and clanked the pit.
"Come on," he said, swinging his bare foot off the roof and tapping his bedroom window with his heel. "Leave your brooms there by mine and come up through here."
Ron was already on his way to the front door, setting his broom down by the steps but Hermione didn't budge.
"I don't understand you," she huffed. "You make absolutely no sense to me, Harry Potter."
Two pits hit the metal bucket and Harry ran his tongue along his teeth to clear away the tart cherry juice.
"Y'know, these days," he paused, sifting through the bag of cherries, "I don't understand you either, Hermione Granger."
She sighed in response, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like a scold to herself as she stepped off her broom and headed for the front door.
Ron's red hair popped out the window then.
"I don't fancy getting on Snape's bad side today, mate," he said as Harry pulled him up onto the roof. "When's he due back, anyway? It's too bloody hot out here for chores."
"He's home, and he doesn't care if I'm on the roof," Harry shot back quietly. "I'm only messing with Hermione. What's up with her lately?"
"Oh let me in on it then," Ron whispered with a devilish grin; he loved poking fun at her these days. Anything to keep their minds off the war and spirits up. "And beats me, really," he continued, "she's been reading an awful lot before bed, but that's just her, innit?"
"What's she reading?" Harry asked hastily, hearing the stairs to his room creak with little thuds.
"Not sure," Ron shrugged. The cherry bag crinkled as he grabbed a huge handful and plopped down next to Harry. "Couple a big books that look like they'd give me a banging headache."
"You haven't caught a glimpse of the covers?"
"No, she—"
"Harry," Hermione popped her head out of his window and craned her neck up. "I'm quite serious, please come down— you too, Ron, this is a terrible idea."
"Oh, lighten up," Harry tried to nudge her with his toe. "Come on."
"No. Plus, it's dreadfully hot out," Hermione frowned, glancing up at the boy's dangling feet. "You'll go red as a lobster, Ron, and I'm not going to lather you with salve this time if you don't come back through this window right now."
"Bit harsh there," Ron said through a mouthful of bleeding cherries. "Scared Professor Snape will make you weed the garden with us, are you?"
Five clanks rang out as he spit the pits into the bucket. Harry lifted a brow, a grin plastered on his face as he watched a few cherries tumble out of Ron's next heaping handful.
"Hardly," Hermione snapped, her tone growing quite sharp. "Come along, both of you. I mean it, I'll use this."
She waved her wand, poking Harry's bare feet and tapping Ron's shoes. He laughed through a fresh mouthful of cherries while Harry furrowed his brow. This wasn't like Hermione. She'd always go along with them, even if it was a bit 'dodgy', if you could even call it that in this case.
Harry snagged a cherry and flung it toward her hand, but missed as she snatched her arm back inside the window with unbelievable speed. A plodding sound echoed from the backyard, trailing to the side of the house just as the cherry landed with a small splat on the driveway. Harry cringed, remembering Snape's distaste for—
"Flinging seeded fruit off the roof again, are you?" the deep voice drifted up as Snape came into view.
Clad in a lightweight navy t-shirt that accentuated the sharp lines of his frame, and with neatly pressed trousers that demonstrated his dedication to precision no matter what the weather, Snape flashed Harry a familiar, unenthusiastic expression. Then shifted his gaze over to Ron.
"Or, perhaps, that was your clumsy handiwork, Weasley?"
Ron stopped chewing and frowned at Harry, "Wasn't me, Professor Snape."
Snatching the bucket from beside him, Harry leaned over the edge and rattled the seeds inside it. Freshly sucked cherry pits struck the side of the metal pail with a jumbled echo of clanks. "Relax, will you? I've been spitting the pits in here like you told me."
"Clearly," Snape's gaze slid pointedly from Harry to the splattered red mess on the ground.
"That one by your foot was a defensive toss," Harry replied, popping another cherry into his mouth. Rolling it to one side with his tongue, he muttered between chomps, "Couldn't get to my wand in time when Hermione whipped hers out, threatening to hex my bloody ankles off."
Snape's dark eyes were slit against the sun, roving over to Hermione, who was standing hesitantly in the window with her wand out.
"Threats are useless on him," Snape drawled, looking up at her, "next time, I advise you save your breath and simply cast the spell."
A look of surprise crossed both Hermione and Ron's face, but Harry simply chuckled as Snape withdrew his own wand and vanished the splattered cherry from sight.
"If a fruited tree sprouts anywhere on this property, Harry," Snape said, meeting the boy's smirk with his usual flat expression, "I shall allow it to grow to full maturity, then locate the smallest shovel known to wizards and make you dig it up by the roots."
He turned on his heel then, black hair flowing in the wind, as he made his way up the short steps of the house and thudded the front door shut behind him.
"There, alright?" Harry said down to Hermione as he extended his hand by the window. "He doesn't actually care if I'm up here. Now come on before your boyfriend eats all the seeded fruit."
Hermione let out a held breath, tucking her wand into her jean band. She pinned her hair back then clasped Harry's hand and pushed her way out of the circular window.
As the cherries dwindled and the summer sun grew hotter, Ron frowned at the scene in the distance. Landscaping wizards were levitating a grand fountain into place in the yard across the road, while house-elves carried what appeared to be antiques up the driveway. A magical architect was reviewing her floating blueprint on the left of the freshly expanded house.
"Trust the Malfoys to buy a perfectly reasonable house and then tack on bits until it's as big as the ruddy Ministry of Magic," Ron groused.
Harry shrugged and cracked a small smile. "Makes more sense to me than watching them try to live like humble muggles or something."
Hermione played with the stem of a cherry in her fingertips, her gaze trailing after Narcissa, who was clicking around the property and speaking with what appeared to be an interior enchanter for decorating.
Leaning back on his palms, Ron looked over at Harry. "You're sure you don't want to move out now, mate?"
"No," Harry responded, savoring the sweetness of another cherry. "I still like it here."
"I dunno," Ron said, narrowing his eyes at the grand home. "If Malfoy moved across from me, I reckon I'd end up in a few scraps with him."
An idea popped into Harry's mind at that. For weeks, he had been trying to find a way to test Hermione on what she really knew about his life with Snape. Now, thanks to Ron, an opportunity had finally presented itself. Harry cleared his throat and expanded the floating cloud charm overhead, providing them with a wider blanket of shade.
"Yeah, but after our fight in June," he ran a hand through his wild hair and stretched his arms out, "I doubt we'll be going after each other again."
"What?" Ron's attention snapped away from the lovely sight of Hermione absentmindedly sucking on a cherry. "You fought with Malfoy?!"
"Yes," Harry glanced around the ground to be sure Snape wasn't in earshot again. "Thought I told you a few weeks back when we got pissed in the Lucky Cauldron?"
"You two went to the pub without me?" Hermione interjected, spitting the pit of her cherry into the bucket.
"Well," Ron started hesitantly, glancing back at her with guilty eyes, "um… you were in town with Mum, you see, so I didn't reckon you'd want to interrupt a shopping binge."
"Two Fridays ago?" Hermione narrowed her gaze. "The night you specifically told me you weren't sloshed, just especially knackered, and perfectly fine to take a potion before bed?
"Eh… anyway," Ron turned away from her and gave Harry a little cringe, silently pleading for him not to say more. "I'd have remembered if you told me about a row with Malfoy, mate. What happened?"
Harry glanced out to a point in the distance, rolling a cherry in his sweating palm. "He was jealous that I moved in with Snape," he said in a quieter tone than before. "Real jealous, I guess."
"Really?" Hermione whispered, scooting in a bit closer.
"In'n that a surprise," Ron snorted, smugness plastering his freckle-covered grin. "I'm sure he hates that you two are getting on now. He's always been Snape's little pet."
"Yeah, who would've thought?" Harry replied with a wry smile. "Completely blindsided me."
Ron shoved his arm, and Harry chuckled, shifting his gaze to Hermione, who looked at him with a slightly troubled expression.
"We had a row because he made some snide comments about my parents," Harry hesitated for a moment, "basically said I'm only with Snape because I need him to, y'know, replace my dad or something. I can't 'make it' on my own after the war, apparently."
"What a git," Ron's blue eyes shimmered with freshly sparked rage, "a fat load of rubbish, that is. I'm telling ya, we should've let him roast in the fire. The lot of them."
"Oh, Ron," Hermione smacked his arm, "you're not serious."
"Malfoy's a major prat and you know it."
Ron chomped a cherry, chewed, and spit the pit in the bucket with such a harsh clank, it seemed to ricochet between Snape's roof and the Malfoys' property.
"Well," Hermione took a breath, "that was a terrible thing for him to say, Harry. I'm sorry you had to put up with that. But wishing him to burn alive, Ron, really?"
"He's just sore about his own father, I think," Harry said, running his finger along the hot tile of the roof. "Snape's like a godparent to him or something, and he's never liked me, so I reckon he's just miffed that I stole some of their time away."
"Doesn't give him the right to say something so bloody out of order to you, though," Ron added sharply.
"Thought so too," Harry smirked a little. "I split his lip that day."
"What?" Hermione gasped.
"You decked him?!" Ron sat up straight, beaming with pride.
"Yeah," Harry popped a cherry in his mouth and muttered through it, "he screamed louder than when Buckbeak kicked him."
Ron grabbed Harry by the shoulder and gave him a shake, nearly making him swallow the cherry pit.
"That's brilliant, Harry!" he clapped his back hard. "Bloody brilliant!"
"Blimey, Ron," Harry coughed as the cherry juice slid down the wrong pipe of his throat, the slap of enthusiasm stinging his back. Despite his coughing, he cracked a sly smile.
Hermione's pensive look had faded into shock. "You punched him here? In Snape's house?"
"In the yard," Harry drew in a breath and stomped down his nerves, saying, "Malfoy got a couple of good shots at me too. Cracked my glasses and bruised my face… Snape wasn't all that happy with us."
"Let me tell you right now, it was worth it," Ron affirmed, clapping his back again like he'd won the Quidditch World Cup. "Hell, I would've done those chores with a grin on my face after that. Feel good, did it?"
Harry spit the pit out with a quiet clink. Hermione's hazel eyes met his green ones, and he glanced away. This was it, the setup he needed. He had to get over his embarrassment and take it.
"Sure," Harry's gaze wandered down the lengthy driveway as he pinched his thumb and index finger over his palm to stop himself from flushing. "Felt great until Snape got a hold of us and handed out more than chores for a punishment."
"What d'you mean?" Ron reached into the cherry bag and pulled out the last one. "Anyone want it?"
Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads.
"How did he punish you?" Hermione asked, her tone dropping to a hush.
Alright, alright, alright, Harry thought, glancing over his shoulder and willing his blush away. He knew he had to say it in a way that sounded like he was pulling their leg and not admitting to the most humiliating secret of his life. "See that willow tree over there?"
Hermione followed Harry's gaze over his shoulder, and Ron did too, spitting the cherry pit into the bucket and chewing.
"Snape made us cut down some branches," Harry said, doing his best to sound sarcastic and not nervous. "We stripped off the leaves and then he whipped us with them."
Ron, as expected, snorted, then collapsed into laughter, but Hermione— Hermione gave herself away instantly, making Harry's stomach plummet as she confirmed his growing suspicion.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sure that was dreadful," she said, her voice filled with genuine sympathy. "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner? You know, psychologically speaking, the process of cutting switches yourself—"
"Hermione," Ron cut her off through his laughter, "come on, you're the smart one here, aren't ya? Harry's not bloody serious. Merlin's pants, love."
Harry joined in with Ron's light chuckling and leaned back flat against the roof, keeping his gaze away from Hermione.
I knew it. I knew she knew. How?! And psychologically speaking? Harry wondered through his fake laugh, what is she on about?
"Hearing Draco take a switch would be great though," Ron leaned back against the roof with Harry. He thought for a long moment as his laughter faded, then said, "Y'know, I'd even take a whipping from Snape myself, if I knew Draco would get it next."
"Come off it," Harry snorted, glancing up at the cloud floating above his head.
"I would," Ron grinned. "I doubt he's ever gotten smacked in his life. Not only would I pay with my own arse, but I'd toss Snape a few sickles for doing it too."
"Oh, you're unbelievable," Hermione said, frowning at him.
"You'd want to see it too, you would," Ron poked her rib and she batted his hand off.
"No, I certainly would not."
"Right, well, maybe not see it," he said playfully, "but you'd at least want to hear it. Mum used to make us turn around when we'd get it together, you could do that."
"No, I wouldn't want to hear it either," Hermione snapped, then turned her body slightly to face the two boys sprawled on their backs.
"Did you get smacked a lot growing up, Ron?" Harry asked, trying to sound relaxed as he maneuvered out of the shade and into the hot sun.
"Loads of times," Ron smirked, still relishing the imagined picture of Draco getting whacked. "Still not as much as the twins, though. You get it from your aunt and uncle much?"
"Or anyone else, Harry?" Hermione cut in, watching him closely. Ron chuckled and rolled his eyes. The glare of the sun on Harry's tanned skin didn't hide the flush of red trailing up his neck.
"Yeah, my uncle would strip off his belt and get after me," said Harry, drawing in a small breath. His mind then flashed to each trip over Snape's knees. And Snape smacks me, like you bloody well know, Hermione, he internally added with a grimace.
"That sounds right awful," Ron frowned. "I've never been belted before."
"He didn't have enough energy to make it bad," Harry said, tapping his knuckle on the hot tile of the roof. He glanced at Hermione and asked, "Did your parents ever smack you?" Then, mirroring her hushed tone from earlier but with a layer of sarcasm, he added, "Or anyone else?"
Ron snickered and Hermione flicked his thigh in annoyance.
"No…" she replied, watching Harry curiously. "I would simply be sent to the naughty step if I was being too cheeky."
Two deep chuckles filled the air, both boys finding that rather funny despite Harry's private discomfort.
"Oh, honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was well-behaved most of the time, but the technique proved quite effective. Just because you haven't heard of it doesn't make it uncommon. Many muggles use it for their children."
"I've heard of it!" Ron smiled wide, the memory of a classic family story coming back to him. "Dad tried to get mum to give it a go with us," he shook his head, the bright sun catching the depth of his red hair, "worked for a day, dad said, before the twins started hopping up and down the staircase like chocolate frogs making mum run for her wooden spoon."
All three of them chuckled at that. Harry's discomfort eased a bit—his upset over Hermione knowing about everything moved to the back burner as his curiosity was piqued by the thought of what discipline had looked like in the Weasley home.
"Your dad never smacked you, then?" questioned Harry, surprised.
"Never," Ron motioned for Hermione to lie back next to him. "He's not in favor of it."
"Really?" Hermione asked, her hazel eyes trailing between both boys pausing a second longer on Harry.
"Yeah, but come to think of it," Ron glanced up into the fluffy cloud above his head, his brows furrowing, "he didn't stop mum when she was on a warpath with the hairbrush so I reckon he's not completely against it."
Hermione settled herself beside Ron, using her wand to let some of the sunshine in through the shade cloud. "Why do you think he wanted her to try a different method then?"
Ron shrugged. "Muggle reasons, I reckon. Charlie says they don't fancy smackings as much these days."
"Don't you think they're right, Hermione?" Harry plastered his face with a fake smirk. "You know, what will all your effective time spent sitting on the 'naughty' step?"
"I'm not sure, from what I've," Hermione stopped herself, fiddling with a cherry stem in her palm. "From what I've heard, wizards have a different method for handling spankings in their homes and schools. Better, I suppose you could say, than how some muggles handle it. I would think your dad might favor the method, growing up wizard, Ron. But perhaps he had a poor experience..."
"Could be," Ron shrugged, tossing his hands up lazily, "you know Dad's fascination with muggles though, he tends to think they have good ideas."
Harry pushed up on the flat of his forearms so he could see Hermione better over Ron.
"What do you mean by 'wizards have a different method' for handling it?" he asked, his embarrassment warring with his curiosity.
Hermione glanced away, closing her eyes against the brightness of the sun trickling through a patch in the clouds. She'd been dying to share her newfound knowledge with Ron, and now she had the perfect excuse. Convinced that Harry had been getting spanked himself, a sense of relief had taken hold of her when he mentioned the willow tree, assuming he was finally opening up. But then he backed out, laughed it off with Ron like she had gone mental or something. That didn't make sense. Not at all. Watching Harry closely afterward, her suspicions grew. Why wasn't he being honest with them? Was he simply too embarrassed? He'd been quite flushed, and it didn't seem to be the sun's doing. They had come so close to the conversation she'd been hoping for before Harry slammed on the brakes. Maybe if she showed him she wasn't appalled by what she'd read, he'd finally open up about what was going on and how he was handling it.
"Well, you see, in some private muggle primary and secondary schools," Hermione began, turning slightly towards Harry, "students receive six strokes with a cane for misbehaving, or twelve if their offense was especially bad. It's quite severe and can result in bruising when administered with too much force."
"Blimey," Ron turned to face her, "they did that at your primary before Hogwarts, did they?"
"Yes," Hermione drew in a breath. "I never received it though."
Harry shifted back under the shade of the cloud and drew his knees up. He rested his forearms on them and clasped his hands.
"How do you know wizards smack differently than that?" he eyed Hermione suspiciously.
Did she talk with Snape about this? Harry's stomach twisted. He hoped to Merlin not; how embarrassing. How horribly embarrassing. She better not have nosed around like that. No, Snape wouldn't tell her… right? But dammit, they'd been alone outside at the party… maybe that was why. A punishing wave of shame crashed over him then, its cold hand of humiliation dragging him from the shoreline of pride and leaving him soaked with embarrassment.
"I spoke with George about it when he mentioned that he and Fred took more hits from their mum than a bludger growing up," Hermione said, pinching a discarded cherry stem between her fingertips. "I told him that sounded dreadful and he disagreed."
A small chuckle echoed off the roof from Ron. "That's accurate. Smacks weren't the biggest deterrent for them."
"Yes, well, he told me it wasn't all that 'bad', actually," Hermione continued, "then said wizards spank differently."
"Differently how?" Harry asked again, his brow tightening in tandem with the Windsor knot in his stomach.
With a tentative look, Hermione tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her expression relaxing as she cleared her throat.
"There's a significant emphasis on love and guidance in their approach. They don't condone bruising or welts as a result of punishment. In fact, there are magical enchantments placed to ensure it never happens in the classroom, if corporal punishment is permitted," she said, her eyes briefly following a pair of witches bustling across the road, her thoughts returning to her books.
"Spankings in wizarding schools and homes aren't administered as swiftly or as formally as they are in muggle schools," Hermione explained, her tone softening. "There's a stronger emphasis on discussion and a greater display of physical affection afterward. It fosters a sense of closeness, making the experience more… intimate, I suppose."
"Right, but it's still intimately painful," said Ron, sitting up. Hermione followed suit.
"I know, but," Hermione paused, stopping herself from pouring out all the details from her books, "if it's applied properly, the pain is hardly intended to outweigh the validation offered afterward and the overarching lesson."
At least that's what my books say, but who knows, perhaps if Harry would discuss this he could offer more insight, Hermione glanced at Harry but he was looking away, out towards the Malfoy's property.
"How would you know if it 'hardly' outweighs it?" Ron challenged her. "You've never been on about your day with a smarting arse that lasted through supper."
"I hardly need hands-on experience to understand—"
"Eh, on this you do, love."
"There's such a thing as educating yourself and drawing logical conclusions, Ron—"
"Not with something like this, there's not."
As Hermione and Ron began bickering about love and pain in wizarding discipline, a pit grew large in Harry's stomach.
He effectively changed his mind at that moment. If Ron ever discovered that Snape was 'intimately' spanking him… he cringed outwardly at the thought. Ron's own dad had never done that to him growing up. How could he understand? Sure, he was no stranger to his mum's spankings, but they couldn't be the same as Snape's, right? Harry had a strong suspicion Ron never sat on her bloody lap afterward. He ran a hand over his flushed face—drowning in an ocean of shame at the thought of Hermione finding out about all this in such… detail.
No— no, no. He didn't want to confirm it, or tell Ron, or any other soul in the world for that matter. No wonder Draco went mental when he'd threatened him and of course the Slytherins kept this so bloody private. It was embarrassing just having your mates know.
"What did you mean by 'intimate'?" Harry interjected over Ron and Hermione, strumming his thumb on the side of his knee.
He hoped to dissuade her from the idea that he was being smacked by acting oblivious, but he knew once Hermione figured something out, it would take a mountain of evidence to change her mind. And right now, he wasn't sure if he even had a ruddy hill.
"Well," Hermione shot a little glare at Ron, silently reminding him that they weren't through with their spat, then continued to Harry, "for one, it's not as common for students to bend over furniture for punishment like they do in muggle schools," she said, drawing her knees up and casually wrapping her arms around them, mirroring Harry's posture. "Instead, students are placed over a teacher's knee or lap. Being held in such a way creates a sense of safety rather than detachment, you know."
No, Harry did not know.
So that was why bending over the branch felt worse than being draped over Snape's knee. A hot flush crept up his neck and he averted his gaze from Hermione, desperately trying to rein in his rising embarrassment.
Meanwhile, Ron was indifferent as ever. This was not news to him. Not at all. He'd been smacked like that since the first time he'd screamed 'no!' at his mum when she told him to help her feed the chickens at five.
"Canes are used at times, but they're not recommended like paddles or smaller implements because of the over-the-knee position," Hermione continued, feeling relieved not to be keeping this completely to herself anymore. Really, sitting on information was never her thing.
Palming his neck Harry glanced at Ron, who met his gaze and shrugged nonchalantly.
"An open hand is recommended to start off the spanking before using any implement, so the student is less shocked by the increase in pain," Hermione explained, her voice lowering as she continued, "and unlike at muggle schools, trousers and pants come off for the punishment so the teacher has a visual of how red the skin has gotten."
"George told you all that, did he?" Ron said, his tone incredulous. "Bloody hell, I know he's laid back, but I'd think he'd feel right uncomfortable tellin' you all… that."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his neck now a pink that trailed clear up his face. "How's he know how wizards do it anyway? Er, how wizard professors—teachers, at schools, do it?"
"They used to do it at Hogwarts, believe it or not," Hermione said gently, noticing Harry's discomfort. "It's not a shameful thing, really. Wizards practicing this method of discipline spank students all the way through seventh year. In families, it's recommended that parents don't concern themselves with age either. Teenagers, young adults— it's normal for them to get in trouble just like at school as long as they're living at home."
"Did you know that, mate?" Ron interjected, "they whacked everyone when our parents went to Hogwarts."
"No," Harry said, his voice wavering slightly. "That's news to me."
Hermione knew he was lying, and he knew she knew he was lying, but Ron knew… nothing.
"I almost wish they still did it," Ron went on, elbowing Harry. "I reckon the Slytherins would get knocked into place right quick. Mum said any teacher could smack a student back then. I bet McGonagall would have given pricks like Malfoy what for."
Harry shook his head and glanced over at Draco's house. "Yeah… er, that'd be brilliant."
Thankfully, Snape's voice echoed from the second floor of the house interrupting them.
"If you three have finished with your sunbathing and fruit consumption, perhaps you might consider coming inside for a proper meal."
Ron scrambled to his feet so quickly Hermione startled.
"Ron," she drew in a breath and snatched him by his trouser leg, "don't tumble off the roof!"
"I'm fiiiine," he rolled his eyes. "The one good thing about him living here," he nodded towards Harry, "is getting to enjoy Snape's shockingly decent cooking."
As Ron helped Hermione to her feet, Harry rose with a tightness gripping his stomach, causing his mouth to grow dry.
Brilliant, he thought sarcastically, snatching the bucket of cherry pits and sliding in through the window after his friends. Just brilliant, Hermione.
Bright stars splattered the night sky, casting a pale blue light over the quaint village of Ottery St Catchpole. The trio were nestled amidst the lively bustle of the town's newest pub: Edge O' the Witches Glass. Within its brick walls, the air sparkled with laughter and conversation, the scent of creamy butterbeer and cinnamon laced firewhiskey looped through the crowds as wizards and witches left their marks on sloshed countertops and boot-stomped floors.
Tipsy patrons filled every corner of the large pub, their voices rising in a cacophony of jeers and cheers as they gathered around famous Harry Potter and his heroic friends. The magic of the evening intertwined with the camaraderie of those who had not only survived the war, but were welcoming better days with open arms.
"Give it a solid toss, lad!" a witch with a crooked smile shouted against the melodies of enchanted folk music.
"Here, here," slurred Harry's drunken dart opponent, "to losin' the games to me, Potter, but wiiiinnin' the war for the lot of us!" he hiccuped, and the pub erupted in cheers, raising their glasses with his in a toast.
Cold butterbeer poured down Harry's throat in a glug, a smirk on his lips. After feeling horribly embarrassed, then stressed, then eventually resigned to everything Hermione had figured out about his personal life, he decided that tonight he wasn't wearing a glamour in town. No, tonight he was hitting the streets as Harry fucking Potter— the hero everyone else remembered and not the child who needed watching after.
Ron gave him a little shove when he set the empty glass down with an unsteady clink.
"I bet two sickles on you," he whispered, his breath laced with firewhiskey spice. "Don't muck it up, mate."
Hermione took a small sip from her frothy glass and glanced around the crowded space.
"Have you got the time?" she asked a stout woman who was far too close to her.
"Wait a moment, love," five pudgy fingers wagged up at Hermione, "he's about to double my money."
Leaning against the wooden table, Harry snatched up his wand and aimed it at a hovering dart above his head. A hush fell across half of the pub, everyone watching with bated breath against the spirited music. He flicked his wrist and the dart went zippingthrough the air. It speared the board— whirled in a vicious spiral— then burst into a shimmering sparkle of red flames before vanishing into nothing but a faint trail of smoke.
Ron groaned in defeat with a fourth of the pub while the others laughed and clapped and clinked their glasses.
"Sorry," Harry chuckled, shrugging a little. "Good thing it wasn't a life-or-death match against a dart board in the end."
"Yeah, thank Merlin," Ron groused, handing over his money to a cackling witch with stubby fingers.
People began swarming Harry left and right then, either congratulating him on the defeat of Voldemort or consoling him with offered drinks for losing to Portkey Pete twice in magical darts.
Hermione pushed her way through the sardine-like crowd and snatched Harry's wrist.
"Harry," she practically had to shout, "it's rather late, you know."
Instead of replying to her thirdcall to him that he needed to get home that night, Harry tossed Hermione's arm up and shouted to the pub, "Hermione, here, started Dumbledore's army, did the lot of you know that?"
Cheers burst from all around and Hermione was enveloped by the crowd of fans. Harry took the opportunity to let her go and slip away.
"Oi!" Ron yelled, diving in after her when a handsome looking man wrapped his arm around her waist. "Oi! Off— get off her. Hermione, Hermione."
Harry chuckled to himself and accepted another overflowing glass of butterbeer thrust into his palm.
"We're in debt to ya, lad," exclaimed a curly-haired wizard as he clinked glasses with Harry and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "My dear old mum's a muggle, you see. Can't rightly fathom what would've become of her if you hadn't done away with that blighter. Me either, for that matter."
Harry didn't have time to offer a modest response before the man clanked his glass and disappeared back into the whooping crowd.
"Harry," Hermione popped up behind him, making him slosh half the drink in his palm. How did she get out of there so bloody fast?!
"Really, showing back up to Snape's late and drunk, is hardly a good—"
"Alright, I'm over this," Harry cut her off and grabbed her forearm. He slid his glass of butterbeer across the wooden counter to Ron, who was perched on a stool. "Have that, we're going for a little chat out back."
"A chat 'bout what?" Ron slurred, leaning over the bar to order another roast chicken kabob.
"Some personal business of mine," Harry yanked Hermione along and shouted over his shoulder to the crowd, "Ron over there," he motioned to the bar, "destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul with the sword of Gryffindor!"
Another burst of celebration boomed from the pub as more tipsy wizards and witches crowded in, plopping down on the stools next to Ron. Ten more kabobs were ordered on his behalf, their savory smoked aroma making his mouth water, and about twelve more pints of sweet butterbeer came clanking down in a row beside him. And Ron, wrapped in a shroud of hazy delight, felt like a king.
On the back side of the bar, with only Merlin and the summer night as their witness, a pair of Slytherins were entangled in a stolen moment of secrecy.
"Take this disguise off," whispered Blaise, slipping his finger into the band of Draco's trousers and sliding it across the soft skin of his hip.
Draco shuddered at the touch, his breath catching in his throat as he leaned into it, his back lifting from the cool brick wall. "No," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, "Potter and his fan club are being worshiped in there. I'll be hexed if I take off my glamour."
Blaise shook his head and pulled Draco closer, murmuring, "What kind of Slytherin are you? Start playing it up, Dray. Your family forced you into the Dark Lord's arms. You were an innocent little lamb led to slaughter," he pulled his palm up to Draco's cheek and slid his thumb across his thin bottom lip, "Spin the tale, and give yourself a break already."
"It is hardly that simple," Draco released a held breath, wandering his hand up Blaise's shirt.
"Take it off first," Blaise looked down at him, his cheekbones catching the moonlight. "I fancy stuck-up blondes, not humble brunettes, remember? It hasn't been that long since we've done this."
Draco hesitated, glancing around the dimly lit alley. He moved his hand to his back pocket for his wand then paused, listening. The muffled sounds of laughter and chatter from the pub seeped through the walls, mixing with the occasional clink of glasses.
With an impatient sigh, Blaise swished his own wand, and Draco transformed back into himself. He started to protest, but the press of Blaise's full lips against his parted mouth swept his words away like fall leaves against the breath of autumn air. He stumbled back, his upper body pressing into the crumbly brick wall as Blaise fisted his shirt, pulling him flush to his lean body. Draco kissed him in return with passion, sinking into the familiar warmth —the rush— the sensation of practiced hands sliding across his needy skin.
Their lips met in tender smacks, breaking only for the sound of slight breaths. Engulfed by Blaise, Draco failed to notice the faint, distant voices echoing down the alley. It wasn't until a loud scoff ricocheted off the walls nearby that Draco tensed, pulling back.
"Someone came out," he muttered, his eyes shifting to the left.
Blaise frowned, hands resting on Draco's hips. "It's just the crowd inside. Relax."
Before he could ease back into their intimate embrace, Draco's sharp features twisted into a sneer upon hearing two horribly familiar voices growing louder:
"Harry, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right, because you're always so clueless."
Blaise slid in closer, his hand encircling Draco's neck, but with the flat of his palm Draco pushed him back when he leaned in for another kiss.
"Wait, listen," he said, craning his head to the side of the building. "It's Granger and Potter."
Blaise let out an exasperated sigh, tugging Draco by the band of his trousers, "They're on the other side. What's the big deal?"
"Shh, hush," Draco brushed aside Blaise's roaming hands. "They're arguing."
"Oh, excellent. That's far more interesting than what we were up to, isn't it?" Blaise rolled his eyes, but Draco wasn't paying attention anymore.
Not in the slightest.
"Just what exactly are you implying?" Hermione glanced away to survey the empty alleyway below as the sounds of the music-filled pub bled out behind Harry and into the night air.
"You know," he retorted, swaying a little as he snapped the door closed behind him and stomped down the short steps out to the alleyway. "How the bloody hell did you find out?!"
"I didn't find anything out."
"Stop lying, Hermione." Harry crossed his arms, his green eyes flashing with frustration. "You're terrible at it."
Hermione glared down the steps at him and placed her hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm terrible?"
"I know George didn't tell you all that technical stuff about," Harry paused, glancing around as he whispered, "wizard discipline. So, who did? Snape?"
Charging down the steps, Hermione strode up to him, her face flushed from drinks and pent-up emotions. "No," she said in a hushed tone. "I figured it out on my own. Snape wouldn't confirm anything about you."
"Wouldn't confirm? So you actually went behind my back and talked to him about this?!"
"No, Harry, it's not like that at all… look, I'll tell you, but we should talk about it later, not in public," she said, looking around again. "Plus, it's late, you have to get back before—"
"Stop," Harry snapped, his eyes narrowing and his brows knitting into a tight line. "I've had enough of your hovering this month. I can manage my own decisions, thanks. I can't do this—I shouldn't do that— 'Harry, what will Snape think'? Enough, Hermione. My personal life is none of your bloody business anymore."
"Well," she said, fresh hurt shining in her eyes, "forgive me for wanting to spare you more pain after everything we went through."
"It's not— I," Harry tossed a hand up, running it through his shaggy dark hair and gripping it at the roots. "Just tell me how you figured all this out. How do you know I'm in for 'pain,' huh?"
A small huff filled the night air between them as Hermione briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not daft, Harry," she said, not bothering to whisper anymore. "Honestly, cleaning the roof as punishment? You expected me to believe that?"
The muted music playing back in the pub blanketed the tension growing between them. Harry said nothing and Hermione crossed her arms.
"I heard some things from Charlie and George about how Snape disciplines the Slytherins, and I did a little digging, alright?" said Hermione.
On the back side of the pub, Draco's mouth fell open, his face confronting in shock and anger. "Fuck," he whispered, wrenching away when Blaise snatched his hand. "The Weasleys know?!"
"Quiet," Blaise murmured in a low voice, blocking Draco from rounding the corner. "We always knew they knew. Charlie and the twins wouldn't spill a word to the rest of the Gryffindors."
"Are you deaf, Zabini?! They told Granger," Draco spat in a hushed, urgent whisper. If Granger knew, then Ron fucking Weasley knew. And if he knew, it was over for Draco. Completely over. He wouldn't be able to go back to school next term for sure. His social life was nearly destroyed as it was, but this would be the final nail in his coffin.
A vivid anger fell over him as he drew closer to the edge of the wall and held up a finger to Blaise, silencing the start of another defense.
Tightening his arms around his chest, Harry let the silence between him and Hermione stretch a little longer. A creak sounded from the stairs above, unnoticed by both of them as they remained engrossed in their heated confrontation.
"I read through the official Slytherin scroll that goes out to parents when their children are sorted in," Hermione continued boldly, "it explicitly detailed that Snape uses corporal punishment instead of taking house points and assigning detentions."
"That doesn't mean that he—"
"Smacks you too?" Hermione interrupted, growing more upset. "Really, Harry, do you think I'm that thick? That highly specific 'joke' about your trip to the willow tree with Draco Malfoy today, am I supposed to believe you actually made that up?"
"Hermione, you're out of order with this. It's none of your—"
"Business?" she finished for him with the same look of hurt from before. "Well, whether you want it to be or not, I figured it out. I know and you might as well stop lying to my face about all those 'chores' you do for breaking rules. You can be honest with me, Harry, I won't tease you about this. You don't have to be embarrassed about Snape smacking you, I—"
A violent string of coughs interrupted them as Ron inhaled a bite of his chicken kebab down the wrong pipe in horror at her last words.
Spinning around, Hermione felt the wind deplete from her lungs. "Ron," she gasped, "how long have you been standing there?"
"Brilliant," Harry threw his hands up in frustration.
Ron, still unable to speak from the chicken in his windpipe, continued with his violent coughs as a drunken cluster of emotions came over Harry. It was over. It was out. No point in denying it anymore. Right? So what if it left him without a scrap of pride? Hermione wouldn't let him have anything private. No, of course not. Merlin forbid he get to keep anything to himself.
"Well, there you have it, Ron," he admitted over the coughing. "Hermione with her fantastic love of prying into everything she can, figured it out. So, yes, I got the right privilege of hearing Malfoy take a switch to the bare arse and yeah, Snape—"
Before he could finish his thought, Harry's knees buckled, hitting the dirt as a searing jolt of pain lashed across his thighs like the crack of a whip. He hissed through clenched teeth and looked over just as—
"You're dead, Potter!" rang out through the night air, echoing off the walls of the alleyway. White-blond hair was in Harry's face seconds later as a slew of vile insults flew down at him.
Hermione balked between the sudden mess, turning from Ron coughing on the railing, to Draco now towering over Harry with his wand drawn— then to… Blaise Zabini? Who'd rounded a corner with a look of sheer frustration. Then finally up to the crowd pushing through the back door of the pub desperate to know what the commotion was about.
Harry yanked his wand out, blasting Draco clean off his feet into Blaise, making the decision easy for Hermione. She spun around and flew up the stairs after Ron, who was leaning on the railing, still coughing his lungs out.
"Ron," Hermione exclaimed, patting him firmly on the back, "Merlin's beard, are you choking?!"
Ron shook his head and struggled to speak. His watery eyes darted to the duel now unfolding between Draco and Harry in the alleyway below. Spells of vibrant blue and white streaked through the air, casting vivid flashes against the darkened walls. Despite the tipsy haze clouding their inhibitions, both boys continued to throw and block spells with uncanny accuracy.
"Where's- your- wand," Ron finally coughed out to Hermione, waving down at Harry, who had just got hit in the side with another stinging jinx that made him curse.
"I left it at home!" Hermione felt frantically around his pockets, "where's yours?"
The hollering of the crowd drowned out Ron's next words as he and Hermione were nearly separated by the flood of people shoving through the back door.
"Oi!" yelled a sober wizard, "that's the Malfoy boy!"
"That little bugger is attacking Harry Potter," hollered a witch, "the Aurors! We need the Aurors!"
Draco glanced up, his heart hammering in his chest with a terrible flood of realization. Damnit, Zabini. He shot out a final hex to Harry then apparated from sight, narrowly missing a string of disarming charms from the crowd.
Huffing with adrenaline, Harry looked up at the army of pointed wands aimed down where Draco used to stand. His thighs were burning terribly, and the side of his stomach sizzled as if struck by a fiery rod. Despite the pain, he stood up straight and forced a relaxed smile at the gawking wizards and witches.
"It's all right, everyone, just a bit of a duel," Harry said, gesturing with his wand for everyone else to lower theirs. "Er, a friendly one, mind you. No need to get the Aurors involved, okay?
With a loud crack, he disappeared from the alleyway with one destination in mind.
"No!" Hermione shouted, grabbing Ron's arm, "don't you dare try to Apparate drunk too, you'll splinch for sure!"
"Right, fine!" Ron said through a raspy voice. He handed his half-eaten chicken kebab to a bewildered stranger then grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her through the crowd. "We've got to get to the floo at the house."
"It is poor social grace to peek out of a window at this hour," said Narcissa firmly. "They will surely see you and deem you the neighborhood busybody."
"I do not care."
"You ought to," she retorted. "You are a former spy for the Dark Lord; you must avoid any behavior that could be misinterpreted these days."
Snape scoffed and moved to stand up from his armchair. "Very well, then, I shall walk out and investigate myself."
"Ah, no," said Narcissa, pointing with the tip of her red nail for Snape to stay seated.
"This has gone unchecked for a quarter of an hour," Snape retorted, his brows knitting as he cast a disdainful glance at the drapes drawn over the bay window, spells backlighting it in an array of color. "And contrary to your woefully misguided perceptions," he added, inclining his head in a curt nod behind her, "that is a legitimate duel."
"Oh, please, it's nothing but harmless play—disarming spells and stinging jinxes." Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. "I saw a pair of girls on my way over here. They're of age, Severus. It is perfectly legal for them to have some fun. Honestly, do you ever relax?"
Another flash of white illuminated the outline of his drawn drapes for the third time in one minute, making Snape frown deeply. It was particularly suspicious that these so-called 'girls' had yet to utter a single sound despite their close proximity to his house.
"Do not get up and go out there," Narcissa said, taking a sip of wine and still holding a finger up at him. "You're only halfway through thirty-eight; you cannot possibly turn into a Mr. Davies yet."
Snape's narrowed gaze shifted from the window to her. "If you think I care to know who that is, prepare to be thoroughly disappointed."
Narcissa clicked her nails across her glass and raised a slight brow. "He was my childhood neighbor," she took a delicate sip of wine, unfazed by his irritation, "an elderly man who took pleasure in ruining all the fun of freshly legal teens practicing their magic."
"Well," Snape stood up, his tone dipping into a vat of sarcasm, "perhaps he would have been able to concentrate on this invigorating conversation without the distraction of spells backlighting his front window." Snape snatched his wand up and motioned to the fresh flash of blue bursting around the drawn drapes.
Narcissa let out a soft sigh. "They are clearly closer to my home than yours, Sev. It is unreasonable to—"
"Unreasonable?" Snape interrupted; his tone laced with frustration. "I fail to see how looking into an obvious duel at this hour is unreasonable, Cissy."
Spell after spell flashed against the drapes, the slow crackle of the fire amplifying the tense silence settling in the living room. Rolling her eyes, Narcissa finally relented and ushered Snape away with a short wave.
"Fine, then. Go play the old codger if you must, but do not swing that door open wide enough for the young ladies to catch a glimpse of me," she retrieved her wand and with a flick, a bottle of red wine floated up to refill her glass. "I refuse to be associated with a Mr. Davies protégé."
As Snape made his way across the living room, Narcissa's next sharp remark halted his steps, "Do not think for a moment that I don't know what you're up to with this fresh diversion from our conversation."
Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, a tension crept back up Snape's shoulders. "Would you kindly turn around and witness the rapidity of the spells flashing," he said, casting a pointed glance back at her. "Looking into this, as I am obligated to, hardly qualifies as a diversion."
"Oh, no, surely not," said Narcissa with exaggerated sincerity.
Briefly torn between a desire to lambast the apparent teenagers tossing spells out in front of his window and a deep distaste for Narcissa thinking she had the upper hand with this, Snape took a small breath.
Narcissa clicked her nails on the glass expectantly, making Snape clench his jaw. Releasing the doorknob, he strode slowly back over to the chair across from her.
"Very well, I suppose I shall attempt to ignore the light show in my yard for the next few minutes," he snapped, pouring a substantial glass of wine and sitting back down. "What was your question about the boy that you believe I am too unnerved to answer?"
"Unnerved?" Narcissa took a sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass. "I never implied you were unnerved, darling. Just evading my question."
Snape took a thick sip of wine, then set his glass down with a clink. "I was unaware a person could evade a question they do not recall," he shot back, interlacing his fingers on his lap.
"It was simply an observation, Severus," said Narcissa, knowing full well he had not forgotten. "One that I find rather… touching. For a boy who never had a father, it is quite sensible for you to—"
Wind whipped through the living room, green flames erupting from the floo, stealing Narcissa's breath in a start as Ronald Weasley came barreling out between them.
"Good Merlin," Narcissa flew a hand across her chest, her blue eyes trailing over the redheaded boy now stumbling towards the front door, his shoe smacking the coffee table with a thud on the way.
A look of sheer shock masked Snape's expression, but before he could find words, Hermione Granger was brought forth with another whirl of emerald flames.
Hardly collected enough to step out gracefully, she tripped over the tea cart. "Wait, Ron, don't!" she called after him just as he sloppily pointed his wand at the unlocked front door and enchanted: "Alohomora!"
When nothing happened, he wrenched it open and charged out, casting a blast of white from his wand with a: "Take that, Malfoy!"
"Malfoy?" Narcissa repeated, shooting a fast glance at the wide-open front door then back to Hermione.
"Yes," Hermione swallowed, slightly nauseous from the journey through the floo network and the butterbeer. "Draco and Harry got into a spat at the pub and apparently brought it back here."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed, a flash of indignation crossing her features.
"They were fighting in public?" she questioned sharply, her voice a mix of worry and disdain when Hermione confirmed with a nod. Standing gracefully, Narcissa's hand moved to her dragonhide bag for her wand.
She clicked halfway across the living room then paused when she noticed Snape wasn't beside her.
"Severus," she called, her tone tinged with disapproval, as she motioned for him to stand. "Did you not hear the girl? This is utterly undignified behavior. I will not stand for it."
Just then, Draco's snide voice taunted from the distance: "Look at that. Can't even cast a proper disarming charm, can you, Weasley? Ow! Stop, Potter!"
Snape glanced at the door then back to her, his expression inscrutable. "And what am I to do?" he intoned as he reached for his wine glass. "Intervene on the 'harmless play', I suppose?"
"Ah!" Draco cried out as a blanket of white illuminated the entryway. Narcissa turned, maintaining composure despite the fervent clicking of her heels across the wooden flooring.
"You were right, I should think. They are indeed casting stinging jinxes," said Snape dismissively in her direction. "How… unfortunate that thirty-eight is far too young to be meddling in the affairs of neighborhood teenagers innocently practicing their magic."
"You are absolutely unbearable," said Narcissa halfway through the front door, leaving Snape to glance over a flustered Hermione.
Flash after flash lit the drawn drapes as a cluster of chaos infused the summer night:
"No, Ron, let me handle this!" came Harry's voice, firm and determined.
"Handle what, mate? He's on his arse."
"Draco, darling, are you quite alright?" Narcissa called out from the porch steps. "Boys, lower those wands. What on earth is transpiring here?!"
A brilliant burst of white streaked up from Draco's wand— Ron dropped, grunting in pain. Color after color continued to outline the drapes, pouring in through the front door and holding Hermione's anxious attention.
"Miss Granger," said Snape, taking a tight sip of wine.
"Hello," Hermione muttered, listening to the boys yell at each other as spells zipped through the blackened sky.
"Wine?" Snape offered coolly, motioning to an empty glass on the tea cart. "Unless, of course, you and the other three dunderheads have had your fill this evening."
Spells continued ricocheting across the yard, painting a light show through the front door that affronted the warmth of the living room.
"Um, Professor Snape," Hermione looked over to the flashing window. "You should know, Harry, he… well, he knows that I know about how you discipline the Slytherins… and presumably him."
A burst of turquoise crawled across the floorboards and a slew of arguments broke out through the air:
"Some friends you have, Potter!" yelled Draco.
"Coming from someone with none, that's rich, mate," spat Ron.
"Ron, go home." Harry demanded. "You and Hermione are so far out of order it's a wonder you haven't been hit with a bloody Confundus Charm!"
Hermione pinched her eyes shut and sighed. "He's not particularly pleased that I looked into things."
"Really?" Snape drawled, making her suck in a breath as the boys continued yelling.
"What is with you, Potter?" Draco's sneer infused the living room as the spells stopped momentarily. "Always the shining beacon of honesty, aren't you? Can't keep anything to your fucking self!"
Narcissa's instant gasp echoed from the porch.
"Draco!" a fresh sharpness laced her words, "how dare you speak in such a vile manner, like some sort of commoner. Enough of this display; lower your wand this instant."
"Yeah, listen to mummy, Draco." Ron taunted through a victorious chuckle. "Snape's inside, y'know, wouldn't want him coming out now, would we?"
"Ron!" Harry yelled, frustration lacing his voice.
Hermione released a troubled breath and snatched Narcissa's glass of wine, downing it in two gulps while Snape's subsequent scoff filled the room.
An explosion of spells started up again, followed by a cluster of insults flung between Ron and Draco. Snape sighed deeply, a familiar scowl darkening his features. He finished his wine and set the glass down with a decisive clink, the lines on his forehead deepening.
"You and your nosy little girlfriend can fuck off, Weasley," spat Draco, hitting Ron with a stinging jinx across the chest that made him crumple, hardly having time to block the next disarming charm from Harry that followed.
"Draco Malfoy!" Narcissa's voice carried a stern edge. "I will not ask you again. Lower your wand this instant, young man."
Hermione glanced away from the growing irritation in Snape's black eyes. "Draco seems to have overheard my private chat with Harry…" she tapped her knuckle to her collar bone, "he knows that I know too."
Snape shook his head and stood up.
"Bothered now, are you, Malfoy?" Ron taunted through the pain burning his sternum. "Miffed you can't stick your nose so high in the air now that I know Snape's been painting your pale arse red?"
"Oh," Hermione closed her eyes briefly as all three boys started yelling at each other again. Harry sounded as furious as Draco, making her stomach sink. "It appears Ron overheard me as well."
"How surprising," said Snape icily, heading towards the front door, his wand slipping seamlessly into his hand. "Well done, Miss Granger."
Author's Notes: Happy Sunday! I hope this chapter was worth the wait again. Much love to you all- I'm so grateful to have such wonderful readers like you. Have a safe and enjoyable week! I hope to be back with an update sooner this time around.
SophieSnape06
It was wonderful to see your kind comment come in when I first posted the last update! I'm so glad you're enjoying the emotional portrayal of the characters. Thank you, as always, for the love and encouragement!
Jenna
Thank you for jumping into the comments to tell me you've been loving the fic! Snape's witty and sarcastic side is fun to write—I'm looking forward to including more of his edge. Lovely to know you enjoy the spanking scenes and are excited for more Snape & Draco moments :) Your English is great! You did not sound rude at all. Much love to you! Thank you so much for the kind words you sent my way.
Hamlet
Your fabulous comment, unsurprisingly, had me cracking up! I'm sure being the designated driver for your dram-loving family has its moments. It's always a war for who has to stay sober in mine at holiday parties for the drive home 😂. I'm delighted to know you found the house viewing funny in Chapter 36. While writing it, I thought, "I bet Hamlet will enjoy this scene," lol. I have a dear friend who reviews my work prior to posting (as I do for her), and she saw your comment about Trickwell squishing into Snape like "a fat wombat toddling past a ravenous panther"—we both had a good laugh over it! Such a great way to phrase it 😂👏. I'm delighted you enjoyed the background story on Snape and Draco's relationship. That scene was one of my favorites to craft. Your thoughts on Harry's comment and confidence in asking Snape about Narcissa were enjoyable to read. I loved your thoughts on the smacking and your comment on Snape avoiding a dip into 'milksop' territory 👏. Your psychological analysis of Harry and Snape's vulnerability is spot on, too. I've said this before, but your engagement with the plot and thorough write-up review is something I look forward to with every update! Thank you so much for being here since the beginning and never missing a comment—you're the best! Much love & have a great day.
VictorianChik
It was such a delight to read your comment and see that you've started following this story. I adore your HP works! They were the first fics I read that sparked my interest in the discipline dynamic between Snape and Harry. I poured through your collection on your personal website first, then had to bookmark them here as well. I can't say enough about how much I love your portrayal of Harry and Snape. Their relationship in your stories always brings a smile to my face, especially their banter, which is the best, hands down. Happy belated birthday, as well! I hope your time spent gardening and reading was a wonderful way to welcome in 42. Thank you for your kind comment. I'm delighted to know you enjoy the slow burn feel of this story. The best version of this fic, as I mentioned in the introduction notes, is on Ao3 (if you ever read on that platform). Many of the spanking scenes were revised, as well as some of the dialogue throughout the work. FFN is my raw draft since, for the life of me, I can't find a simple way to make edits on this platform. I'll conclude my monologue here. Thank you once more! It is such a joy to hear from you.
Frogeyes411
Ah, your comment was wonderful! I love that you were reading along and the update happened to pop up (that's the best, isn't it?). I'm so glad you enjoyed both chapters! I loved reading your thoughts on the plot development and hearing how you feel about Draco and Narcissa as potential neighbors. Harry is in a tender place—I'm touched by your love for his relationship with Snape. Old wounds healing is an overarching theme, and I'm excited that you appreciate it. Harry is still caught up in some insecurity and wrestling with his abandonment issues, but he's feeling more comfortable with Snape despite it all. Thank you for your thoughts on the bedtime spanking! I loved reading them. Your compliments on the foreshadowing warmed my heart, as did your comment on smaller, token punishments, which was spot on. I agree—they are impactful. I hope you enjoyed this new development! Thank you, friend, for all the love and encouragement. It means so much.
Dear Guest
It is incredibly validating to know this story has sparked such genuine emotion in you. Thank you for sharing that with me! I absolutely loved your comment. I so appreciate your excitement and support! It means so much. Thank you again.
MusicMelis
It is always a pleasure to hear from you! Both of your reviews were wonderful. I loved hearing your thoughts on each chapter. I'm looking forward to exploring a bit more character development between Harry and Draco in terms of a friendship (or, at the very least, an understanding of each other that puts some of the rivalry to an end). I enjoyed reading your thoughts on the plot development with Draco and Narcissa! Your review of the punishment scene was fantastic—I'm delighted you liked the way Snape handled it. lol, I'm sure you're smacking your forehead after this last chapter as it didn't take Harry long at all to find trouble again 😂. Narcissa's intentions with Snape are a little vague, but you're spot on with her desperate desire for help with Draco. He is a lot to handle, lmao! Hoping you enjoyed this last update. Thank you, as always, for your lovely reviews!
Ava
Ah, your comment was great to read! Congratulations on finishing your coursework and final exams. The sweet relief of having the stress of school behind you is unmatched, I know. It's wonderful to know you're looking forward to the boys being neighbors! I chuckled reading your comment, '[this arrangement] is going to be awful for their ability to sit,' lol! Your compliment on my portrayal of Draco made my day—thank you! So happy to know you enjoyed the heart-to-heart with Snape as well. Re: the bedtime spanking, ah, yes—Snape is strict. The sinking feeling, as I mentioned once, I think, in another comment, is my goal for those scenes, so it's incredibly validating to know the moment pulled you in so viscerally! I loved your point on the comfort of being taken care of through consequences. That was so well said! Thank you for your kind words and love for this fic. It means so much to me! I'm so thankful for readers like you.
Ishmeet
Welcome back! No worries at all—you're never obligated to comment. I love hearing from you but 100% understand the train rush of life and all the busyness it brings. I hope your travels were enjoyable! I'm touched you liked the portrayal of Snape's administration of spankings. I love fleshing out the softer sides to his character in this AU. I might write a one-shot of Snape spanking Pansy. A flashback doesn't quite fit this timeline, but I might explore it in another. I've also wanted to construct a few scenes (one-shots or even a short story) about Snape's relationship with a younger Draco. Perhaps once this story is finished! I'm happy to know you'd be interested in reading both. Thank you for stopping in to share your lovely thoughts! It's always great to hear from you