Discipline and Redemption: Snape's Guiding Hand

by C.S.Cooper'90

In the aftermath of the Battle at Hogwarts, Severus Snape miraculously survives and takes on a unique disciplinary role in Harry's life, guiding the young wizard into the uncharted territory of adulthood. While their new relationship may be unconventional in the muggle world, Harry discovers a profound sense of solace in Snape's firm guidance. [TW: Disciplinary Spankings and (CNC)]

40. Narcissa Draws the Line

[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 40: Narcissa Draws the Line

"Mother?" Draco called down again, listening intently for a response.

A hush constricted the shadowed staircase for the first time, heightening the crawl of his unease. Such emptiness was something he'd grown accustomed to in the manor; it flooded the halls, trailing through the rooms and ghosting over cold fireplaces, carrying the faint scent of aged stone and overly polished furniture with it. But in Silent Hollow, things had been different; he'd found reprieve from the terror of solitude and ease within its cozy walls.

Why, why, why did Blaise have to take his glamour off last night? What a tosser. After pulling a stunt like that, he was never going to answer a midnight owl for a meetup again. Never. Screw Potter. Screw Granger. Screw Ronald fucking Weasley— and Snape too. All of them could sod off.

His hand slid down the stair railing, the raised grain running under his palm. Sock-muffled thuds hit each step. Where was she?

Surely mother wouldn't have left without sending her Patronus or at least leaving a note. He sucked in a breath. Muggle sailors would have been impressed by the knots in his stomach today. From the moment his feet hit the floor, he'd been a ball of unease. Despite his anger last night, his wounded pride and loss of control, he wished he hadn't spoken so harshly to his mother.

He quickened his pace, a cold sweat whispered down his neck. Where was everyone? He hated being alone, especially with no notice. Had something happened? What if the Aurors— no — what if the remaining death eaters they'd betrayed to the ministry came — fear ushered him down the stairs with a finger of panic.

Three hurried steps from the bottom floor, the front door swept open. Draco lost his footing, slipping with a jolt of shock. "Christ!" he gasped, his palm death-gripping the railing as he tumbled, his socks slipping out from under him.

Narcissa startled, nearly dropping the basket in her hand.

"Draco, what on earth—" she began, eyes widening slightly as he recovered from the semi-fall down the stairs. He pulled up on his stretched-out arm, his knee smacking the dowel with a thump

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," he stammered, swallowing a gulp of air. "I— I was looking for you," his zipping pulse struggled to slow. "There are no servants— I got…. where were you? Where are they? You could have let me know you were going to be out, mum."

Her face softened as she took in his anxious state. Hearing him call her "mum" instead of the formal "mother" pricked at the tears she had shed at Severus's table. This was going to be a challenge, she steadied herself. But she was going to do this. I have to.

Remembering his disrespect from last night, she slid back into a mask of cold indifference with ease. Her hand clutched the basket handle, and the dried reeds crackled quietly under her renewed grip.

"I was in the garden," she said, stepping inside and clicking the door shut behind her. "And I sent the elves out for the day."

Out? Taking another steadying breath as he straightened his sleep shirt, Draco watched her sweep past him without another look. His relief at seeing her was overshadowed by a foreboding 'Why?' but, "Where did they go?" came out instead.

"Wherever they pleased," she said over her shoulder. Her steps echoed down the hall. He stood still on the stairs, eyes shifting through the living room in thought. Wherever they pleased? Since when has she ever given them a day off? The presumed answer made his mouth go dry. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, fingers tugging at the blonde strands. They had to talk again. He had to do something to fix this. Anxious steps took him after her.

The cloudy day offered minimal light to the kitchen, the sparkling countertops and newly tiled floors dulled without the warmth of the bright summer sun. He stepped in hesitantly and found her standing by the stove, sifting through the wicker basket on the counter.

"Can we chat?" Draco asked, quietly tapping his knuckle along the cold kitchen island.

Silence.

Freshly harvested herbs rustled in the basket as Narcissa pulled out bundles of lemon balm and chamomile. There were also a few sprigs of parsley and rosemary, but their savory scents could hardly settle him.

"It's rather gloomy today," he tried again. "Isn't it?"

Narcissa withdrew her wand and flicked her wrist. Tall candles scattered about the veined countertops ignited with a burst of shimmering flames. He tapped his knuckle more fervently. The nerves in his stomach were fluttering and he wished she would at least look at him, at least turn and talk to him as she normally would.

Her hair was down today, falling in loose waves across her shoulders. Was she truly so angry with him that she hadn't bothered to fix it the way she liked? A thimble of guilt pricked Draco but was soon replaced by a bout of concern for how she intended to punish him. She had to care about what he said last night, right? If they could just talk—just get back to some semblance of normalcy—she'd calm down and see his perspective. She had to. She always did. This wasn't like her. She was the one that comforted him, never the one to hurt him.

"We should purchase some lanterns." He looked at the melting wax that would have fit the tension better had they been lit sticks of dynamite. "These remind me of the great hall."

Silence.

Damnit.

He shifted, rocking back on his heels. "I'm… sorry for the way I spoke to you last night, mother."

Still, she remained quiet. Another rustle sounded from the basket as she collected a bundle of fuzzy, gray-green leaves. The musky scent was familiar, reminding Draco of the medi-witch shop they frequented in town. He watched her step over to the sink, twist the squeaky handle and hold the long leaves under the splattering tap. He chewed on a small piece of dry skin on his bottom lip.

He found it strange, watching her do such things. She turned the bundle, soaking the underside of the leaves. The house elves had always done the domestic work growing up, and it wasn't as though they had stopped during the war either. She used to stay dressed-up in her best attire, sipping tea or wine, reading or writing. Pacing the halls with a white expression near the end. Yet this… this muggle-mum sort of role, doing servant tasks herself, was hard for him to grasp.

"Why aren't you having an elf harvest your herbs?" he tried.

Snapping off the water she ran her hand through the downy petals, wet fuzz smoothed against her fingertips.

"Why aren't you out looking for properties?" Narcissa countered, shaking the last droplets from the leaves.

She set the bundle of fragrant sage on the countertop and finally looked up at him, her gaze steady and cool.

"Properties?"

"You'll need to tour them, or flats," she said, moving across the kitchen and drying her hands with a luxurious towel draped over a peg by the pantry.

"Considering I am, as you so eloquently put it, not sane for wishing to correct you traditionally, I would like to be kept informed of your search for a place of your own. Somewhere you can escape such a—what was it you called it last night, dear? A draconian method of discipline? Yes, that was it. I believe I recall 'obscenely barbaric' being uttered at one point as well, no?" She shrugged a cold shoulder. "Either way, I'm sure you're quite eager to be off on your own, out of reach of my heartless, lazy parenting."

Her reiteration of his words settled across the kitchen, their sharpness lingering as she continued to dry her hands with deliberate care. Tense silence followed.

Draco shifted on his feet, eyes flicking from the sage on the countertop to the towel in her hands.

"Uhm… well," he began, his voice faltering slightly. "About that," he hesitated on his next words, pinching the back of his hand. Without sparing him another glance, she walked to the other side of the kitchen and continued with the servant tasks in the thin silence that followed.

Often his mother wore heels, form-fitting coats, and designer accessories, projecting an air of sophistication. Today, her steps were muted in soft flats, and her arms moved freely, unrestrained by the tight blazers she once donned for oppressive meetings at manor. An evergreen dress with flared sleeves and a hem that skimmed the floor hugged her frame, with light taupe buttons cascading in a delicate line down the front. She walked with her usual elegance, yet there was an unmistakable shift in her demeanor. A change Draco had noticed as the summer neared its close. Her confidence, once subtly overshadowed by his father's presence, now shone with a newfound strength. He had admired it before, but now, as he stood there with clammy palms, it filled him with uneasy apprehension, as though the balance of his world had irrevocably shifted.

"I… forgive me, mother. For saying such… things," Draco stumbled out, trying to maintain his composure, though his gray eyes dropped under her stern gaze. "About moving out," he added, his cheekbones dusted with pink. "I do not find you insane for wanting to… to, you know," he huffed and muttered, "correct me."

"No?"

He shook his head, pressing the pad of his finger into the countertop until it turned white and the joint cricked. He wasn't leaving. Waking up in a panic to an empty house had solidified that much. Being alone meant being left with his thoughts and being left with his thoughts meant having his hair stand on end. He couldn't leave her by herself either, not with his father gone and her nerves frayed so thin after the war.

"I want to stay with you," he said, finally meeting her gaze. "But, uhm, can't Snape come here… and, you know," he shifted uncomfortably. "I understand what I did… I know you want to punish me for it, but, Mother, I— I'm eighteen, and you've never— well, you've never… I don't want things to…" change. His face heated, and the words he'd rehearsed, with such strong conviction before he'd fallen asleep, failed him.

He crossed his arms and let out an anxious breath, prepared for her to say—

"No, Draco. If you wish to stay, I will not be calling on Severus to discipline you." She refused to let herself take it back when his face turned crimson. "He was not the one who went to great lengths, week after week, for two entire months, speaking with every possible person we know to provide you with a fresh start in life. One that you utterly destroyed last night."

"Destroyed? Mother, you're not being reasonable! Those who saw me were so filled with liquor they were barely conscious."

He struggled to push aside the memory of the pub's chaos beneath her fresh glare— the wands pointed at his chest, the shouting, the unanimously sober demand for Aurors. He glanced down at the counter. "Honestly, you're exaggerating this entire thing."

"Exaggerating?" Her icy tone tightened the knots in his stomach. Brushing past him, her dress ghosted over the base of the counter. He tensed when her hand disappeared into the wicker basket but let out a breath when she withdrew a newspaper from its depths and not a strap.

She unfolded the print and thrust it out. Draco's eyes locked onto the front page and his stomach plunged, swirling with a sick funnel when it crashed at his feet.

Fuck.

---

"Snape?" Harry called from down the hall.

When silence answered, his brows lifted. The door was open, for the first time since he'd moved in, come to think of it. Why not? This was a distraction at least, and a bloody good one at that.

He didn't want to talk about last night. But maybe Snape didn't either. He hadn't been up glaring when Harry rolled off the couch and fumbled for his glasses. Odd. He loved scolding him for crashing on the couch. Where was he? Often the man beat wild roosters to the dawn, but not today it seemed. Snape hadn't been sipping tea at the table. Hadn't been watering in the greenhouse. Writing in his study. Or answered Harry's knock on the door to the potions storage. Maybe he left a note in his room or something? Not likely, but…

With little hesitation, Harry strode past the line where the hardwood met a thin rug, and his nerve shook hands with his curiosity.

Snape's bedroom was a mysterious contrast to his dungeon quarters. A slate blue comforter cradled the bed, and a string of empty potion vials scattered a Victorian dresser. The cream walls were relatively bare, save for a few charmed paintings that moved with a life of their own. Harry crept over, his gaze roving between them. One depicted a rocky coastline splashed by crashing waves at midnight; the other, groves of autumn aspens obscured by drifting mist on a stormy day. Looking at the waves rolling then glancing to the hovering mist, brought with it a chaotic and calm feeling. The scenes were messy, dark, eerie even, but Harry felt a longing to stand on those wet rocks and stroll into that forest. He lingered, lost in the feeling they evoked, before shifting to the rest of the room.

A heavy door opened to a modest loo hidden in dim shadow. Directly across from it, another door stood barely ajar, revealing a sliver of daylight. Gentle rain flung droplets at the windows, pitter-pattering alongside each of Harry's creaking steps. It felt good, nerve wracking, even, to explore something. He'd missed this curious side of his life.

A leather ledger and two stacked books lay on the nightstand next to a quill and bottle of ink. He paused, running his fingertips along the covers. So, this was Snape's room? Well, it fits him, he thought. More than the rest of the house, really. Weeping wax from tall candles pooled in their metal holders on the mantle of a lit fireplace across the bed.

Harry's feet soon came to a halt at the edge of a wooden desk pressed against the wall. Its deep scratches sparked his interest. Were they from spells? He leaned over and slid his thumb across a deep gash. Did Snape carve them in? Circular bottles rested atop its slashed surface, containing unfamiliar substances: green powder, dark water, a lifelike liquid rocking in its glass. A burlap sack held herbs and other ingredients, some familiar to Harry, others not. The hard-backed journal in the center of it all caught his attention, bookmarked by a few stems of dried lavender. His fingers inched toward the tattered cover. Was Snape creating more spells? Making potions at night? What could he be—

"Do not touch that."

"Bloody hell!" Harry jumped, knocking a corked bottle over. It clanked, liquid flew up the sides beginning a barrel roll for the floor. He snatched it hastily.

"Have I interrupted your prying?" Snape raised a challenging brow from his place amidst the walk-in closet. Harry swallowed as he set the bottle back. Shit. Snape was in there the whole time? He shouldn't have come in. What was he thinking? What if Snape thought this was as bad as looking in the pensive? Anxiety trekked up his nerves.

"I… er," Harry trailed off, crossing his arms. Snape stood in a black, lightweight shirt with one hand resting against the flat of the open door, the other on his hip.

Harry looked over him cautiously. Why isn't he going mental? Two months ago, he would have expected to be hauled out by his arm and lambasted for this; but Snape's expression today held a hint of ease. Shocking, considering he'd strolled into his room for a browse. All right, keep it light, Harry decided. He didn't want to chat about yesterday. Didn't want to think about it. Maybe Snape would let it go. Maybe.

"Can't really blame me," Harry motioned to the bedroom doorway with his thumb. "What with you being Hogwarts' cheeriest professor and all, how was I supposed to know you're not into the whole 'open door' means 'come in for a chat' thing?"

Snape's palm slid down the wood, and a scoff shoved air through his nose, but he didn't scold, turning Harry's hesitant grin into a real smile.

"What are you doing in there?" he asked, watching Snape stoop back over stacked boxes and piles of paper.

"What does it look like?" came the bored reply.

Snape's face, though stern, betrayed a hint of contemplation as he returned to sorting through the clutter. Harry strolled over, stepping above a box in the doorframe and landing amidst the papers strewn about the floor. Snape clacked a small trunk shut. "I did not give you permission to come in here."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Good thing I'm already in."

"Not for all of you," Snape snapped, glancing around for something stingy to smack him with.

Harry blew off the threat despite the coil in his stomach. "What is all this anyway?"

Minus the normal-sized items, there was a magically shrunken couch, chairs, even a table crammed in the back corner. Was there a tiny mattress back there too? Huh.

He pushed his glasses up his nose and peered up at the overflowing shelves stacked high with aged boxes and random objects that looked more muggle than wizard. "It's as messy as the Room of Requirement in here, Snape."

"In that case," Snape drawled, testing a wire hanger with a swish before begrudgingly hanging it back. "I suppose I shall work tirelessly to tidy it up before you decide to start stashing away items you shouldn't be touching."

A mischievous smile tugged up Harry's lips, and he shot him a sideways squint. "Bet you wouldn't even notice if I did."

"Do not be so sure." Snape pointed beyond the door, scanning the top shelves. "Out. I need a moment to locate my wand to sort this mess before l tend to yours."

Harry chuckled, hiding the bout of distress the tail end of that statement caused. His 'mess' was not something he wanted 'tended.'

"No, come on. Let me help." He toed at a heavy box, inspecting a crumbled pile of men's clothing. "You clearly need a hand."

"I do not," Snape's deep voice filled the closet. He rummaged around, picking up the handle of a broken pot. Too splintered. A flimsy stirring stick. No, that would surely snap. A hard-backed book? Too cumbersome to swing. More items were inspected with a calculating eye before being set aside with a sigh. Where was his wand?

"What I need is a moment to collect myself before I give you a hand." Finally, Snape located a worn slipper peeking out from behind a box. That'll do. Snatching it up, he grabbed Harry's arm and delivered a firm swat, the dull thud muffled by the fabric of his joggers, yet still stingy enough to make him flinch. "Out."

"Oi— ow," Harry popped upright and craned back to glare at the thick-soled shoe. Well, that stung. Damnit. He'd thought—hoped—that they'd drop the whole thing. Wishful thinking.

"Seriously," he hesitated by the doorway, resisting the urge to rub out the sting. "Are you actually upset about last night? Why can't we let that go?"

"Why?" Snape crossed his arms, slipper in hand. "Let's see. You came home late and drunk. You fought with Draco yet again. Via a duel, no less, which I explicitly told you was not permitted on my property after your little games with Weasley in June."

"So?" Harry crossed his arms tight. "I wasn't that late, and I only had a couple of butterbeers." Snape snorted. "I'm serious!" He splayed his hands in exasperation, "and Draco started it, again. If you can bloody well believe that."

"So," Snape countered back in a stern tone. "Regardless of who started it, you disobeyed me. For that, you will be disciplined. Must I spell it out?"

"But—"

"No."

"Snape,"

"Harry," the warning was there, bright as a flood lamp. "Get out. You go sit on the chest there before my patience runs dry."

With a reluctant mumble, Harry shoved a box out of the way, and headed over to the indicated spot.

"Opening my mouth to breathe runs your patience dry," he muttered.

The chest he slumped down on was hard and unyielding, a long wooden box that contested the comfort of the bed behind it. He shifted, casting a glance back at Snape who had returned to sifting through papers.

Afternoon light fell in through the square window in the closet, catching the faded cardboard boxes and aged stacks of parchment. Snape didn't set the slipper back, Harry noticed with a frown. Just brilliant. It had been a whole month since he'd last gotten smacked. The irony of this happening, because of a fight over this happening, made him huff. First with Draco. Now with Hermione and Ron and Draco. He was never going to utter the words: "spank" or "smack", to anyone else, ever again. They were cursed or… something.

The large windows on either side of Snape's bed brought the muted daylight through, offering a glimpse to the overcast morning outside. Harry's heel knocked against the chest beneath him with a steady beat of hollow thunks.

He ran his knuckles down the front of his faded gray joggers. Lying awake for hours last night had led him to the decision that Hermione's owls would go unanswered for the rest of August. Ron wouldn't get a word from him either. Not that he would bother to write. Harry rolled his tight shoulders. Thunk, thunk, thunk drummed his heel along the wood. Snape glanced over in irritation.

What had given Ron the right to question his loyalty like that? He thunked the chest harder. Glaring distantly at the autumn painting. Because he'd forgiven a man for being a prick after finding out he had kept him alive for seventeen years? Because he didn't yell at Draco for getting angry? Rightfully angry, in Harry's mind. Had Ron been thinking all of that since he moved in? Thinking that he was betraying everyone who'd died by getting closer to Snape?

It left him sleepless, gnawing like a Monster Book at his heels. Worst of all, he couldn't shake the nagging question: what if Ron was right? What if Sirius, Lupin, and his dad, especially his dad, were angry with him too? What would they say about him living here? About Snape s— disciplining him? His mum might understand, maybe, at least she'd been friends with Snape at one point.

But the others?

Lupin would shake his head. Harry could almost hear Sirius: "You're letting that git strike you, mate? Him? Snivellous?!" The thought of his dad's expression too, if he knew the way he felt about Snape now, made him feel as though he deserved to be thrown in the trunk he was sitting upon and locked in there. With no food. No sympathy. Just shoved in a dark space and left. He slumped with the same grief he'd tried to bury between bites of soggy cereal at breakfast.

Back in the closet, Snape tapped his forehead with a stack of unpaid muggle bills his father had left him. Paperwork he'd written off years ago. He took a breath and tossed down another page. Harry's relentless knocking thumped in tandem with the thoughts he was struggling to set aside. Deeply personal emotions Narcissa had delicately stirred with her shiny red nails before slipping away with the dawn. That woman. Snape tossed another paper down and swallowed. Not even the physical act of sorting and organizing could distract him from the impact of her words. Relief warred with self reproach. Acceptance with inadequacy. Thunk, thunk, thunk, echoed. Harry shifted, palming his blasted neck, reminding Snape of the misbehavior they needed to address. He had to focus on that at the moment. Not… not what Narcissa implied nor what she directly said… not the underlying shift that seemed to be taking place between— thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk—

"Boy, if you put a hole in that, you will be fixing it without your wand."

Harry's heel halted when Snape stepped out of the closest, slipper still in hand. He walked with firm steps, his shoulders in a tight line. A short huff escaped Harry's chest, preparing for the lengthy lecture.

Though to his second surprise of the morning, Snape tossed the slipper on the bed. He sat down beside him, the old chest creaking under his weight. The buzz of thoughts in Harry's mind quieted. The closeness to Snape plucked him from his sea of distress and took him back to a month ago, when they'd sat on his bed and talked side by side. The night he'd rattled off his childhood secrets and cried for no real reason. The memory of support eased his stress, pulling the tension locked in his back.

For a moment Snape remained silent, thinking through his approach. He stared at his hands folded in his lap, tapping his thumb to his knuckle. While he could hardly offer Harry a counter to Weasley's words, he could offer him his patience. In truth, he needed to understand what transpired. What had that conversation with Granger looked like, how had she approached it? How in the absolute hell had it turned into the mess Narcissa couldn't stop crying over. Studying the life-like photo on the article had given him a vague idea of what happened. But he needed to hear it from Harry.

"Tell me what happened last night," Snape said, meeting the weary look from Harry with a comforting steadiness.

"Start from the moment you three left the house."

---

"Is that all?"

Narcissa tucked the last of her unpinned hair behind her shoulders, a hint of black peeking through the white-blond strands. They sat on the edge of her bed, once draped in a black duvet, now covered with a cream goosedown. Lit pillar candles in ornate holders rested on the end table; below them lay a heavy hairbrush. Its dark wood back, polished smooth with age, was vintage and uncompromising—a silent reminder of what was to come. The fragrant scent of white gardenia, once associated solely with his mother's comfort, now made him long for the only version of her he'd known since childhood. This was unbearable.

Is that all? Draco wrung his hands, pausing to pinch his boney fingertips. Yes, stuck in the back of his tight throat because yes, would end their talk. Yes, was the last word keeping him from the inevitable pain and humiliation he'd agreed to endure not fifteen minutes ago. His stomach sank. His heart thrummed against his chest.

He had told her everything he could think of that would drag this out longer. Needlessly walking her through the diminutive details of his entire evening yesterday. Most of it, anyway. She was one of the few people he confided in with his sexuality, but he hardly felt it would be appropriate to give her a drawn out version of the snog Blaise planted him with that made him forget all bloody reason. He did ensure she knew though, more than once, that Blaise had swished his glamour off against his will. Against it. He hadn't even wanted to go to that pub in the first place. And Potter had followed him home and struck him across the neck with another hex before he could so much as stumble up the walkway. He'd practically given her a play by play of the duel that she'd seen half of herself. So, yes, that was all.

Draco was back to pinching his hands, staring down at The Daily Prophet. What a pathetic excuse for so-called 'news'. If it hadn't been the first time his name was in it, but it had certainly been the worst. All thanks to that cunt Rita Skeeter and her fucking slander. She'd ruined them.

Or rather…

He had. By giving her the makings for the article. Draco sucked in a tight breath and traced his finger across the edge of the paper. His mother was right. He'd spit all over her work to mend their reputation. His fury in the kitchen over the article had been put out with a heavy bucket of guilt when he looked up to find tears in her eyes. In a rare moment, burdened by regret, he set aside his pride and agreed to be punished. He tried to focus on that now, in the heavy silence.

Narcissa watched the interplay of emotion in her son. His anxiety was palpable, his embarrassment even more so. Every fidget and shaky word from him had her wishing it hadn't come to this. Her eyes came to rest on the paper laying across his lap, trembling under the bounce of his knee. She wished it hadn't, but, oh, had it. A single glance at the title gracing the cover stonewalled any sympathy daring to change her mind.

"I said, is that all, Draco?"

He ran a hand up his face and covered his eyes. His cheekbones dusted with a cardinal red that rivaled her nails. He stopped bouncing his foot and exhaled a held breath.

"Yes."

With a nod she collected the paper from his lap and said, "Stand up, please."

Nausea rocked in his stomach and his legs felt shaky but he made himself comply. A monumental moment for a boy who never faced punishment willingly.

Collecting her mother's hairbrush, the one Narcissa had endured the pain of herself during her teenage years, she set it in her lap and placed the paper on the nightstand where she could see it.

"Uhm, I," Draco clutched at his verdant silk shirt, just above his stomach. "I should change first. I shouldn't," his words jumbled and his face grew hot with shame. "You're dressed and I-I'm in my pjs. It's not proper."

"Those bottoms will be more comfortable for you after, darling," she said it practically, but there was a hint of compassion in her face.

"Mum," his voice cracked then. He felt despairingly desperate. Desperate to plead his way out of this and find the comfort in her that had never failed him. It wasn't solely the anticipation of pain that brought unshed tears, but the fear of one more change in his life that he felt powerless to stop.

Seeing the start of emotion she had prepared herself for in the garden, Narcissa reached out and collected his fidgety hands. The warmth of her touch made him swallow hard. His eyes l pinched shut and he took a breath. "I'm sorry, I… I'm trying,"

"Shh," she drew him closer until their knees touched. "I know this is difficult, but I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

He looked down, the tears he had been fighting back dared to spill over. He reminded himself she had been there the last time. She held his hands, steadily like this, when Snape took that bloody strap to him. As awful as that was, he'd been okay. They'd been okay after, nothing had changed.

"Listen to me," Narcissa continued, her voice soft but firm, "this is not simply about punishment. It is about understanding the impact of your choices—on our family name, our reputation, and the trust between us. You must understand how critical your actions are in the public light. You once grasped that, Draco." Her grip tightened on his hands. He nodded before dropping his gaze to the floor. "You have the right to be angry with me, with your father too for what we involved you in the last six years, but you will not give me less respect than you gave him."

She tugged gently, urging him to look back at her. "I need you to commit to making a better name for yourself. I will help you, but you cannot undermine my efforts or speak to me the way you did last night again. Do you understand?"

Draco bit down hard on his inner lip, remembering her words in the kitchen. This was the first time she had ever drawn such a firm line. If he didn't comply, he'd have to move out. The weight of her resolve, combined with the tears he had seen in her eyes, made it clear how serious she was. This wasn't just about punishment; it was about restoring their bond, their trust. He understood. "Yes, mum, I-I am sorry, I'll respect you… I'll… I'll better myself."

"Good boy," she squeezed his hands. "For that, I will give you a choice. You may bend over here," she patted the bed to the left of her and the trepidation shot like lightning back up his stomach. "If you would prefer to have space between us."

Draco exhaled a trembled breath, staring at the pillowy comforter.

"Or," she continued, drawing her wand from the end table and tapping two of her hair clips. One transfigured into a thin, nearly flat, pillow that she draped across her lap. The other, a small foot stool that she rested her feet on, drawing her knees up just enough to make her lap sturdy. "You may lie across."

Bloody hell, this was hard. Much harder than with Snape. But he had to— he had to do this. He loved her. He was closer to his mother than anyone else and he'd been an absolute prick last night. He said everything he could to make her change her mind about this. Even playing into what a horrible person his father was and going as far as to say he wished for both of them she'd never married the man. That was awful to say. It hurt her. This was different from the summer when Snape had come armed with that strap. Seeing how he'd crushed her again, how he'd ruined all the work she'd done for him and said things he couldn't take back, reaffirmed his resolve.

"Do you," clenching his hands by his side, Draco exhaled another anxiety-ridden breath, "do you want me to take them down now?" He motioned to his silk trousers and kept his eyes averted. Embarrassment consumed him but he did his best not to think about it.

"No," she said quietly. "Lie down first and I'll take care of them once you're situated."

The urge to start crying came without warning and he decided not to prolong it another minute. His mother picked the hairbrush and he stepped to her side. Hesitantly, he laid down across her lap. It felt far different than bending over Snape's knees, she was smaller but still sturdy beneath him. The warmth of her hand came to rest against his lower back and he pinched his eyes shut. Merlin, he wanted to fight this. He wanted to yell that this was all Potter and fucking Granger's fault. He wanted to storm out and tell her he hated his father again. More than that though, he wanted to… fix this.

"Now," she rubbed gentle circles on his back, "I'm going to place a sticking charm around your waist,"

"No, don't, I'll stay still," Draco pleaded in a hushed voice, pinching the comforter, "please, you don't need to."

"It's not up for debate, Draco," she picked up her wand. "This way, you can kick a bit and move your arms, but you'll stay held securely until I'm finished."

He groaned but said nothing. Typically Snape had to fight him to some degree every time they did this. He wouldn't care how much Draco complained, kicked, yelled, or cried, the result would be the same: Snape, unsympathetic and Draco, worn out but eventually compliant. But this, with his mother, this was uncharted waters. This was different. Truly remorseful for the distress he caused her, he had made up his mind to take it without protest. He wished she trusted him to stay still on his own, he'd made it this far, hadn't he?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of her wand tapping his back and magic wrapping around his waist. Its pull was strong, making him unable to move his hips beyond a wiggle. Panic pumped a new beat to his heart. The anticipation for it hurting kicked in. He tried to pull up on the magic's hold to no avail.

"It's alright," Narcissa soothed, sliding her hand under his sleep shirt and tucking the flap up in a precise fold. The tender touch of her hand on his back eased the tension held tight in his body but did nothing for the ball of nerves in his stomach. "Mother, wait, I," I can't do this.

"Hush. Now normally you wouldn't get this much say in your punishment, but I will respect your wishes given your age. Are you comfortable with me starting with my palm or would you prefer I use my brush for the entirety?"

Anticipation halted his unshed tears and embarrassment stole his words. This was dreadful, Snape never talked this out. Draco never thought a day would come where he wished he was over Snape's knees, but today was that day.

"Draco," her voice grew stern, "if you do not give me your answer, I will decide for you."

"Your," he swallowed the break in his voice and said as clearly as possible, "your hand is fine."

"Good." She patted his back approvingly, comforted by his choice. "I'm going to take your pants down now."

Humiliated once more, he tucked his head into the crook of his arm, burying his cherry red face in the pillowy comforter beneath him and muttered, "O-okay."

Two of her nails grazed his skin, sliding into the band of his silk sleep bottoms. In a smooth tug, she pulled the fabric of both garments down. The air drifted over his exposed skin, making him feel all the more ashamed. Stripped bare physically and somehow emotionally too. Merlin and Godric this was fucking awful.

Just as his pride decided to usher him into a pathetic plea, her hand came to rest on the base of his spine and she said,

"You're a good person, Draco, but your temper and loss of poise has cost us dearly. It is not my wish to see you holed up in this house, alone and unwilling to face our world, day after day," she inhaled slowly, looking back at the headline of the paper to stop the shake daring to steal the severity from her words. "You must have impeccable control over yourself in public going forward. You cannot afford to have an outburst, magical or otherwise. You understand?"

"Yes." He pinched his eyes shut and whispered, "I'm s-sorry, truly."

"I know, but I must make you a little sorrier," and with that, she pulled back her hand.

---

"He wanted to continue?" Snape reiterated, his tone reflecting the suspicion he felt.

"Yeah," Harry said, "er, well, it seemed like it."

"It seemed like it?"

"He cast the silencing spell." He thought back to the look Draco had flashed him before they started up again on the lawn. "I thought he wanted to go on and let off more steam. Like I did, I guess."

Snape hummed low, studying him with a stern look. "You think that excuses you from defying my specific instructions not to fight?"

Harry glanced down at his joggers, pinching a roll of the fabric between his fingertips. "I wish it did."

"I'm sure," said Snape. He flicked his dark hair off his shoulders and gave Harry a resolved look. "Are there any more details I should be made aware of?"

Harry wracked his brains, trying to think of something else that could delay this. Nothing came. He swallowed hard, pushing the gnawing guilt over disappointing his dad and everyone else to the side. That was a feeling he couldn't deal with now. Not on top of everything else.

"No," he said, crossing his arms and thunking the chest with his heel. "Er, no, sir. I mean."

He didn't want a sore bum, but he also couldn't stand to talk about this anymore. If they could get it over with, then at least he could feel stable. The relief he found after the pain, the sense of being comforted and forgiven, was something he relied on. Something he needed today. He could deal with what Ron said later, when he wasn't exhausted and Snape wasn't frustrated with him. The embarrassment over Hermione and Ron knowing this happened to him tried to resurface but he thunked the wood intentionally and forced it away.

"Stop," Snape said, grabbing Harry's knee and giving it a squeeze. "This chest is old and I do not want to pry your heel out of the broken boards."

Harry let out a breath, "Sorry."

Snape released his leg. "Is there anything else from last night you wish to discuss with me?"

"No," he rubbed his neck, his eyes darting away from Snape's penetrating gaze.

Nodding, he leaned back and collected the slipper. Harry frowned at it, his brow dipping in concern.

"Is that thing worse than the hairbrush?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Y'know, you could at least try to sound sympathetic," Harry muttered, eyeing the threadbare shoe. He didn't know if he should feel concerned or relieved. The smack had stung in the closet, but not terribly. Then again, he had his pants and joggers to absorb some of the bite. His fingertips fumbled with the gray fabric covering his legs. The familiar roll started in his stomach, setting him on edge.

Snape clicked his tongue, not looking forward to this, but firm in his conviction that Harry needed it. By all counts, he ought to be strapping both boys for such blatant disobedience, but his understanding of their situation had tempered his severity. Public humiliation—embarrassment, he understood the hold such feelings had when they took the reins. More than most.

Harry wasn't getting off scot-free though, not a chance.

"Tell me why you need to be disciplined." Snape rested the slipper in his lap, looking him over with an expression that betrayed no leniency.

The words spooked flutters in Harry's stomach and his face warmed. "I fought with Draco again."

"And?"

"I came home late and pissed."

An eyebrow raised, making him squirm. "What else is there?" He searched Snape's expression.

"You apparated drunk, you foolish boy," he sounded severe now, like he used to in classes. Harry cringed. "You are fortunate that I did not have to go back to the pub and collect your bloody arm and leg."

Hearing Snape say 'bloody' would've been amusing under different circumstances, but not today. He shifted. His heel drew up for a kick, but he stopped it in time. "Yeah," Harry sighed. "I reckon that wouldn't have been enjoyable for you."

"It wouldn't have been enjoyable for you," Snape chided. "Get up."

The instructions sent a jolt through his body, but he took a breath and stood. He wanted it over with. Ron's words swam to the forefront of his mind, Hermione's research popped up too, both fueling too many conflicting thoughts. Why did Ron have to say what he did? Why did Hermione have to look into this? He shook his head, his brows knitting tight. Bloody hell, why did they both have to find out about this?

Picking up on the pained look in familiar green eyes, Snape asked, "What is it, Harry?"

"What?"

"Something more is troubling you."

Refocusing his attention, Harry snorted. "Yeah, I wonder what it could be," he said, lamely gesturing to the slipper.

Snape squinted and Harry looked away. He scuffed his bare foot on the cool floor. A gust of rain flicked the windows, tapping a delicate dance on the glass. As far as he knew, Snape hadn't entered his mind since their occlumency lessons. He preferred to keep it that way. Especially today. Snape couldn't know his thoughts, couldn't feel his attachment to the memory of Sirius, Lupin or his dad. Snape had hated them after all. Yeah, Harry ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. He hated them. The memory made him feel even worse. His gaze settled on the feet of the antique end table. Why did they all have to hate each other? Why did the bloody 'Marauders'—

"Harry," Snape snapped his fingers lightly and he looked back up.

"I'm fine," Harry muttered. "Can we just get this over with? Please?"

Glancing him over for a moment more in contemplation, Snape relented. Harry often opened up during punishments or after. He hadn't wanted to discuss Weasley's remarks last night. It seemed he was reluctant today as well. Snape had more to say on Granger's prying, but that could wait for now.

Very well," he reached out and guided Harry to stand between the V of his knees. "Take these down." He motioned to the joggers, the loose fabric resting casually on his hip bones. Harry flushed but complied. The soft material slid down his legs in an easy sweep. A chill from the bedroom wrapped around his bare legs. He moved to pull his pants down with his thumbs, but Snape said, "You may bend over first."

"Alright," Harry hesitated for a moment then with a small breath in, laid down.

Leaning over Snape's left thigh, he felt his stomach tighten. The edge of the bed lay in front of him, but his elbows rested on the old chest. The natural scent of aged wood mixed with the faint smell of Snape's comforter—a blend of clean linen and the subtle, familiar scent that was uniquely his—brought him an unexpected sense of security. Being tucked into Snape's side, close and snug, was reassuring today. It felt better than lying with his chest on his bed or going across Snape's lap on the couch. Held tight like this, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, helped comfort him despite the dread heavy dread. Hermione had said something about that, hadn't she?

"Drop your weight," Snape instructed, tapping the back of Harry's leg. "And bend your knees in." Harry's feet left the floor, the pressure of Snape's thigh dug deeper into his stomach.

"Why have you been doing it this way?" Harry asked in a thin, uncertain voice. He shifted forward, letting his hips take the pressure.

Looping an arm securely around him, Snape said, "What are you talking about?" His tone was calm, almost indifferent, as if this was merely routine.

"Just…" Harry sucked in a breath, his face warming. "Er, never mind."

Snape paused, a faint frown creasing his brow as he considered the hesitation. "I've always put you over my knee, Harry," he said conversationally. "This 'way'."

"Yeah, but," Harry shifted slightly on Snape's thigh, the sensation of the neatly pressed trousers brushing against his hanging legs. "You never used to let me keep my pants up before lying down."

Snape's grip subtly tightened as he adjusted their position, the rustle of clothing the only sound in the quiet room. "I suppose I see less need, now that you've proven yourself to be compliant," he remarked, his right palm resting on Harry's thigh before giving it a light pat. "For the most part."

Despite the embarrassment of being in this position again, Harry found comfort in the lightness at the end of Snape's words. The subtle humor helped ease his trepidation, grounding him in the moment.

"You understand, I think, why I cannot dismiss your behavior though," Snape said, his tone hardening with characteristic sternness. "Being provoked and reacting is one matter; apparating after Draco, inebriated, to continue an inexcusable fight is another."

"I know." Clasping his hands together, Harry bent his head down. His glasses shifted. Snape's leg beneath his hips served as a sturdy brace, and his arm locked around his waist squeezed tighter. Waiting for the pain to hit made Harry's hands damp and his stomach sick. Set on edge, he tried to take in a deeper breath. "I'm sorry, Snape."

"I know you are. Settle down," he said softly when he felt Harry's breaths coming quicker. He glanced up at the coastline painting above his dresser, watching for a fleeting moment as the familiar waves struck the jagged rocks. He felt the strange need to give Harry more reassurance today, if only a little. "The slipper is less painful than the brush, you dramatic boy. Stop hyperventilating like I'm about to whip you senseless."

With that, Snape tugged Harry's pants down. Ignored the preemptive flinch when he pulled his hand up and brought it down with a forceful smack.

---

"Ah!" Draco jolted, gasping into the puffy comforter. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt worse than he could have possibly expected.

Any hope he held that his mother's punishment would be less severe than Snape's diminished the moment she finished with her hand, patted his bum with that horrible hairbrush and brought it down with a snap that made him cry out. It was mercilessly painful. He wasn't being dramatic (least he didn't think so). It hurt— it really hurt. Another hard swat propelled his hand back to block her.

"Mum!"

"Move your hand, Draco."

"Please," he begged. "Please, I- I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"I'm not finished." Narcissa rested the brush on his thigh and patted firmly. "Obey me, right now."

With a pitiful groan he tucked his arms back under his chest.

"I know," she rubbed his reddened bum with the brush then pulled it up. "I know you're hurting, but you must learn."

Four cracking smacks rang out and Draco flailed. That hairbrush was evil. Evil. It was heavier than Snape's!

"Owww! M-mum! Oww-ah!" He struggled against the hold of her magic; face contorted in pain. Oh this was horrible. Two more hard pops came down in response, pulling a strangled sob from his chest. His bum was throbbing, and the heavy slaps kept coming.

"Ow! I'm s-sorr—Ow— oww! Please- p-leeaasse!"

"Settle down," Narcissa said, adding pressure to his lower back with her palm. She aimed the hairbrush down lower, tapping the under curve of his aching bum and saying, "You earned this. Your outburst was inexcusable. Utterly inexcusable." Looking back at the cover of the paper, she tightened her grip around the wooden handle.

"I k-know," he cried, holding back another sob. "I know. I know!"

"We are going to feel the repercussions of your foolishness for years," she continued, pausing to press the brush down on a sore spot. He moaned and she quelled the guilt trying to rise over the deep redness spread so thoroughly across his upturned bottom. "How on earth do you plan to fix this?"

He grappled with the pulsing pain, the pressure of the wood, though light, felt scorching and the distress of it all tightened his throat. "I- I," more tears were in his eyes as he said, "I don't know."

"Well, I suggest you start thinking," she pulled the hairbrush back up.

"N-no, no, wait!" he begged, clenching his teeth. "Th-this isawful, stop, please— you don't k-know how bad this hurts!"

"I grew up in a pureblood household, my dear boy," she said calmly. "I most certainly do."

Slapping the hairbrush down again with a forceful flick of her wrist, she ignored his restarted begging and began her rhythm. Left twice, Draco yelped, right twice, his hands twisted the bedding. Three in the center, he choked on a cry. Left again, and the tears he'd been barely forcing down spilled over in a flood.

The relentless pops of heavy wood meeting reddened skin resounded in the room. His wet pleas grew more fervent. More desperate. She was smacking fast and the pain was becoming horrible— bloody hell! She was hitting harder than Snape!

"Ah!" He cried out, struggling to no avail. Her sticking charm tightened around his waist and his shoulders shuddered from the tears. Her hairbrush thudded deep into his aching skin and he jerked with each loud pop. "M-mum! Mummy, please, please! S-stop!"

She didn't, continuing to rain scorching smacks down against his fiery skin until his resolve to endure this for her shattered.

"Owww! Ah— why! W-why, mum," he muttered through tears. The pain in his chest strangled the rest of his words, leaving him unable to finish.

Pausing, Narcissa rested the hairbrush on his crimson bottom. One pass over his smacked skin told her they were nearly through.

"Draw a breath," she said softly, making him weep all the more. His trembling palms pressed tighter into his wet face.

His arse hurt terribly but the deeper pain of this felt worse. Her gentle words, reminding him to breathe, had once grounded him through panic attacks. Steadied him before forced meetings with the Dark Lord. Eased his nerves going into his sixth year— but they were never uttered because of the pain she was causing him. Never. She mended him after everyone else ran him ragged. He couldn't bear this other side of her.

Narcissa ran her hand up and down Draco's warm back, feeling the slight tremors as his sobs shook him. Splotchy imprints on the edge of his bottom, from where she'd swung the brush hard, hurt her stomach. Tears clouded her eyes and she put more effort into soothing him. She wanted to finish this, desperately so, but more than that, she wanted to teach him. He needed to be properly sore. Properly apologetic. He had to learn.

"Calm down," she muttered, pausing to put light pressure on his trembling frame. "Tell me what you were intending to say, darling." Patting her palm across his back, she felt him take a ragged breath in.

He couldn't handle this. "Why," sputtered out, "w-why are y-you," he paused and coughed, "doing this to me? Y-you've never hurt me like t-this," the words came out with a bitter sob, crushing Narcissa.

She felt her own tears threaten to fall then. "Draco, I have never wished to hurt you," she said earnestly, "I take no pleasure in doing this, but you must see the gravity of your actions last night. Not from Severus's hand, or anyone else's, but from mine, as you should have as a child." She looked back to the headline of the paper, taking in a breath.

"I love you more than anything in this world, but I cannot allow you to continue down a path that harms your future. You have a chance at a new start in life. I care too much to stand by and watch you make mistakes that are detrimental to your future happiness."

Draco's breath hitched as he processed her words. They helped. Despite the aching pain, they pulled him back to his resolve in the kitchen. He couldn't make her feel bad for this. It wasn't fair. Sucking a breath through his runny nose, he swallowed hard. The letters she'd pulled out of the basket and tossed on the counter drifted through his thoughts. They'd been owled in that morning by nearly everyone she'd visited over the summer, taking back any ounce of support they once offered. He had caused a bloody mess and he owed it to her to take this like the person he wanted to become.

"Okay, I-I understand," he sucked in another breath and tilted his head on the wet comforter beneath his face. "I'm so sorry. I feel t-terrible, mum." His arse throbbed but he forced himself to say, "You can go on. I'll stop c-crying at you. I know," his pain tolerance screamed at him in protest, but he finished with a whispered, "I know I deserve it."

The relief at his words put out a touch of the pain in her heart. "I'm so proud of you, Draco," she said, patting his back. One more look at the paper and she straightened her shoulders. They were nearly through, but she had to finish with the severity she'd promised herself to deliver. This was the first, and hopefully only, time she'd be doing this. It would be a disservice to them both not finish thoroughly.

"A few more and then we'll be done, sweetheart," she said, collecting the hairbrush and tapping it on his upper thigh. "Think carefully about why you're in this position, and how you will avoid it in the future."

His legs twitched when the weighty wood met his untouched skin. Fuck, this was going to fucking hurt. Uh, he hated having his thighs smacked. It was the worst, the worst. He sucked in a breath and she pulled the brush back.

---

"Ah!" Harry jerked at the stinging smack. Snape's arm tightened around his waist, the clap of his palm never breaking its painful barrage.

"Oww," he groaned, struggling fruitlessly, "you're—ah—smacking too har—ah! Ow."

"Oh, what fuss." Snape replied unsympathetically, snapping his warm palm across the undercurve of Harry's pink bottom. He'd hardly heated the skin but the desperate complaints from the struggling boy across his knee would say otherwise.

"I'm serious!" Harry kicked his legs, toes striking the floor in dull thumps. "You're throwing your arm out on m— ah!"

His words were met with a scoff and six biting smacks to his upper thighs, three to each. Harry gasped and squirmed to shift out of the line of fire. He'd forgotten just how intense the sting of a Snape's palm could be.

"Bloody h-helll," grimaced at the next swat, rocking his hips to the side.

"Stop it." Snape snapped, pausing to pull him in closer. The tighter hold left Harry immobilized, but he still squirmed in silent protest. Merlin, Snape looked down with creased brows. What had gotten into the boy today? His backside wasn't nearly the appropriate shade of red for a show like this.

"Enough, Potter. I've hardly smacked you yet."

Yet. The scolding break was a small relief, but Harry groaned anyway. It was true, Snape hadn't spanked him all that long, but it did bloody well sting. He tightened every muscle in his body, bracing for the next round.

"Alright, cease the theatrics. Relax this instant, Harry."

"I am."

"No, you are still rigid as a plank."

"Well my arse hurts!" Harry complained, stretching his legs and balling his fists. "And you just said don't move. Make up your bloody mind, would you?"

"Harry Potter,"

Oof. He knew he was in for it. Smack after smack cracked down leaving a deep burn in their wake. Harry screwed his eyes shut. Bad idea, that.

"Okay! Okay!" he shouted, writhing under the assault. "Stop, stop. Ouch! Snape, come on, 'm sorry!"

In response, Snape aimed another ten hard smacks across the boys' sit-spots. Harry yelped appropriately as each slap darkened the bright pink prints across his bottom.

"Where you get the nerve to be such an insolent little prat today," Snape paused, shaking out the sting radiating in his hand, "is beyond me. I ought to take away the luxury of my palm and slipper you for the entirety of this."

"No, don't. 'M sorry, sir," he said again, this time with genuine remorse.

His bum was hot and stingy, but the show was more for his own benefit. His emotions were getting harder to brush off. Bellowing and squirming helped, somehow. Maybe this is why Draco went so mental under the willow? Harry waited, feeling the burn spread across his skin. He rubbed his palm along the rough chest. The thought of letting himself cry today felt unendurable. What if he couldn't stop? What if it made Snape want to know why he couldn't stop?

Bloody hell. He wished he could keep up the dramatic fight for his own sake. But it wouldn't work. Not with Snape. He'd end up with a blistered arse and the tears would come anyway. Better give it up. Harry finally sagged, leaning more into Snape's side, surrendering to the whole thing.

"There," Snape let out a deep sigh, tapping his index finger on Harry's back. "You stay like this and stop flailing like I'm wearing a paddle out on your backside."

"I'm not sure you haven't transfigured your hand into one," Harry muttered over his shoulder.

The following scoff sounded like it held a hint of dry amusement. Which would have made Harry smirk any other time, but today everything was a twisted mess. This was miserable.

It wasn't that he had fully forgotten the pain of a spanking; it had just been nearly a month since he last felt it. Nearly a month without trouble. A month filled with great memories. A fleeting reprieve from the haunting shadows left by the war—a war that shattered every person it struck. Repressed grief clawed its way back up his chest. The hanging thought of disloyalty tightened his throat. Memories of dark days, lives lost, and his father's imagined betrayal threatened to overwhelm him.

"You will speak to me respectfully for the remainder of your punishment, Harry Potter."

"I just," Harry shook his head and snapped his mouth shut. Sinking back into the present moment and away from his thoughts. "Er, I mean, yes, sir."

"I may tolerate more of your cheek these days," Snape poked his back with firmer thumps, "but now is not the time to run your mouth with me. You are in trouble."

Harry pinched his eyes shut and worked to compartmentalize his distress. Think about dad later. Think about Ron and Hermione later. Think about this now.

"I know," he said. "I'll be respectful."

"You had better be," Snape warned, resuming with firm, measured smacks. They stung, though not harshly. Harry flinched with each impact but laid relatively still.

"Are you learning your lesson?" Snape asked after a steady rhythm of thirty seconds, propping his knee up to deliver a series of stinging smacks to Harry's already sore sit-spots.

Owww-uh.

"Y-yes, s-sir."

"I should hope so."

Harry scrunched his toes at the next hard set of swats. They struck that tender area above his thighs again and his bum was starting to get throbby. Holding back a cry, he shifted his hips.

Snape's palm connected with his heated skin again—and again—and again, prompting him to grab the comforter at the end of the bed, squeezing the plush fabric hard in his palms. Observing the reaction, Snape eased the force of the next three smacks. Harry hadn't shed tears yet, but he seemed to be taking it harder today than he normally would. Perhaps the events of yesterday were troubling him. While they weren't done, not by a long shot, Snape adjusted his technique, flicking his wrist more and pulling his arm back less, reducing the intensity.

Harry couldn't notice. His mind was elsewhere. The pain was building and so were his buried feelings. Guilt suffocated him. Ron was right, Fred could never come back. He didn't mean to make it seem like he didn't care. He cared. He did. It tore him apart if he thought about it too long. It wasn't his plan to get close to Snape like this, it just… happened. He didn't think of it as disloyalty. Not until now.

It wasn't, was it?

The thought of his loved ones looking down, angry with him, burned his throat. It was all too much to think about. Too much. Tears filled his eyes without warning and he fought to stifle them.

"I, I'm sorry," Harry whispered to himself, a deep ache settling in his chest like it had last night on the couch.

Dropping his knee down, Snape reached for the slipper. Harry's skin had taken on an even red, though not a dark one, and his cracked voice hinted at the start of tears. It was nearly enough.

In June, Snape was convinced the best way to impart a lasting message on him was through severity. Entering August, after long talks and more time spent in each other's company, he had begun to see it didn't take as much as he once thought. It was truly easy to leave an impression on Harry. It didn't take an overly heavy hand to bring forth an earnest change in behavior. At times, a wand smack or two was all he needed to straighten out. He seemed to crave approval, a notion Snape would have scoffed at three years ago, but not these days.

Tapping the slipper against Harry's upturned bum, Snape said, "Next time you fight with Draco, it will be fifteen strokes with the strap. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Fifteen. If he had been listening, that would've sounded bloody horrible. The slipper patted his stinging skin, coming to rest at the sorest part of his smacked bum. Harry circled his thumb on the comforter still clutched in his hands.

"The only reason you escaped harsher consequences today is due to the circumstances," Snape said, his tone firm. "Make no mistake, I am thoroughly disappointed in your actions, but I acknowledge the difficulty of the situation you found yourself in."

The difficulty of being told my loyalty's been split in two or the difficulty of having Hermione and Ron find out about all this? Swallowing Harry tried to push his feelings down. He wrestled humiliation. Warred with guilt. Battled down anguish. No, no, no. He didn't want to start sobbing— he couldn't. He was stronger than this during the war. He felt stronger last night, throwing spells out at Draco and taking the blasts in stride. His fits clutched tighter to the bed's comforter.

"You do not come home late," the slipper thwacked down hard and Harry jerked. Fuck.

"You do not drink excessively." The heavy sole struck his heated skin with two fast thuds.

Oww, Harry held his breath.

"You. Do. Not. Fight. With. Draco,'" Snape punctuated each word with a harsh swat.

Owww-uh. The forceful snaps burned his sore bottom and Harry was emotionally drained. Exhausted with too many thoughts. Tears still clouded his eyes making him bite down painfully on his inner cheek.

"And you never," three blistering smacks, "ever," three more, "ever, apparate anywhere drunk, you reckless boy."

Snape spanked him in earnest and Harry struggled with the sharp bursts of pain.

"Ah! Snape— oow!"

"You do that again, and you'll face my knee every night for a week."

"I won't, I promise!" Harry tensed his backside as the thuddy swats continued their assault. Oh, this was worse than he thought it would be. Damn that slipper. "Please, s-stop. Nooo, ow—ahh, no m-more, I'm sorry. Snape, I'm sorry."

"You are?"

"Yes!"

"Sorry for disobeying? Sorry for nearly splinching yourself?"

"S-so sorry," Harry gripped the bedding tightly. "I won't Apparate drunk again." He sucked in a shaky breath. "I won't even walk anywhere drunk. Or fight with Draco or do a-anything to disappoint you like… like this. I was wrong, really wrong. It won't happen again."

Taking in the words, Snape stopped smacking. "That's my boy," slipped out before he could think to stop it. Inhaling a breath, he rolled his eyes at himself, who was he, Albus Dumbledore?

Hearing Snape say it though brought forth a swell of much needed comfort and a guilt so heavy Harry couldn't deal with it anymore. This wasn't fair. Why did he have to care about Snape so much? And why wasn't it okay for him to want this sort of thing in his life? He loved his parents but they weren't here anymore. He never got disciplined in a way that made him feel steady and cared for growing up and he wasn't there when Sirius and dad knew Snape. The man wasn't the same person. He was better. Mum had to know that if she was watching. But still, still, all of this was so… so….

Content that this had been a well-delivered punishment, Snape pulled the slipper back for a final few just as Harry muttered through tears,

"This is so f-fucked up."

Mid-swing, Snape stopped.

---

"What?" Narcissa asked, tilting her head to look at him with a hint of concern.

"I just thought, you know, because I had really upset you—"

"Oh, sweetheart. No, I would never."

Draco let out a sigh of relief as he pulled away from her tender embrace. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but the relief he felt was palpable.

"Well, I suppose that's why I went a bit mental," he shifted, reaching back to rub at the throbbing soreness in his bum and thighs. "I was worried that you might."

"Spank you in front of the house-elves?" She let out an airy chuckle. "Oh please. Darling, that's preposterous."

His face heated slightly, but hearing her laugh was reassuring. "You looked absolutely furious, you did. I thought you might, you know, do it in the front room or something."

"Oh, no. Never." She patted his leg, another chuckle escaping her. "I was cross, yes, but not cross enough to make Mitsy scream in sympathy."

"Merlin," Draco muttered, turning beet-red at the thought. He stood up from the bed, rubbing out the ache more fervently. "You didn't have to strike me so hard, Mother. You're worse than Snape with a brush."

"Well, perhaps I won't have to use it as often as he does then." She gave him a little wink and stood.

"No, never again." Draco said with a swallow of lingering embarrassment. "I mean, I'll be good, or—well… behaved in public, I mean. Uhm, here too."

"I'm quite certain," she said, tapping her wand to the pillow and returning it to the original hair clip. She did the same for the makeshift footstool. Then, collecting her hair off the back of her shoulders, she pinned it.

Watching her straighten up the scene felt surreal. Had that really just happened? Draco resisted the urge to rub his bum again, it hurt terribly. He never would have thought she could be so harsh with him. The thought still settled a small ache in his stomach.

As the rain began to pelt the windows and a light breeze made the house creak, Narcissa leaned over and ignited more candles with a flick of her wand. Draco's glassy eyes drifted back to the paper on her end table.

"I am… sorry, really," he murmured, giving her an apologetic look. "I wish I hadn't ruined everything you did for me this summer."

Narcissa's red-stained lips curved into a broken smile. "So do I, but we have plenty of time to make things right."

"I will," he said, running a hand through his hair as he returned her sad smile. "I promise, Mum."

She stepped over and drew him into another comforting hug. He tightened his arms around her, releasing a shaky sigh. Okay, they were okay. They would be fine. She would never have to do that again— he would make sure of it. He was going to be a better person. There had to be a way to fix this. He just had to find it.

"I love you dearly, Draco." Pressing a kiss to the side of his forehead, Narcissa pulled back. "I'm sorry I had to discipline you so harshly," she took his hands and gave them a warm squeeze. "But I am certain you have learned from this experience."

"I did." He swallowed, his face coloring a touch. "I love you too."

She gave his hands another gentle press then let go. He glanced back down at his pjs then at her door. "I, uhm, I think I'll go have a lie down."

"Stay in here, if you like." She stepped back to the bed and collected the hairbrush, setting it on the nightstand with a dull thud.

"Here," pulling the comforter back, she motioned to the vacant spot. "You've been sleeping with those low quality sheets again, they're hardly a match for Egyptian cotton."

A small scoff sounded from Draco but he stepped over anyway. Lovely to know she cared about the comfort of his sheets when he stood there with a battered bum and well whacked thighs because of her. Mothers.

Narcissa let out a held sigh, relieved to have that experience behind her.

"Join me downstairs when you're rested, and I'll make you a spot of coffee," she swept past him like a green butterfly in her flowing dress, determined to figure out how the pressing contraption he'd purchased for chilly coffees worked. There had to be a spell to simplify such an audacious process.

"I thought you didn't like me drinking coffee," he said, sliding gingerly into the bed and rolling onto his stomach with a hiss.

"I don't like it when you drink twelve glasses and behave erratically, Draco."

"I work my best when I'm erratic." He smirked at her scowl, thinking back to last week when he'd launched into a manic, caffeine-fueled burst of creativity and taken it upon himself to remodel the loo while she was out. Suffice to say, his interior design spells needed some… work.

"Come find me when you're up, cheeky boy."

The bedroom door clinked shut behind her and he buried himself deep into the billowy bedding. Candles flickered across the room, the walls lit gray from stormy squalls outside. Gentle rain tapped against the windows. Reaching back around to soothe his burned skin, Draco grimaced. Bloody fucking hell, she'd hit him hard, hadn't she? With careful hands, he rubbed up and down. His bum felt hot to the touch, a tad swollen even. The soreness etched a deeper grimace on his face. A familiar temptation to feel sorry for himself arose, but the paper on eye level effectively squashed it. Whatever, he'd manage the pain. Maybe when he woke up, he'd feel better. He hadn't a place to be today, and he could probably get a house elf to pick up a cream in town or something to ease the soreness. Not that he'd ever dare tell them what it was for.

Lost sleep from the previous night called softly to him, and his eyelids grew heavy. He pulled his arms up and under the pillow beneath his face, tucking it close as his thoughts began to wander.

As he nodded off into welcome rest, Draco's mind drifted back to Potter. How was he faring, answering to Snape again for their fight? Hopefully worse than him. That bastard. How dare he tell Granger they got switched together? How humiliating. How unforgivable. How… decent, actually, that Potter hadn't told him to shut it last night when he let Granger have it. That had felt… good. Why did he do that? Draco shifted in the bed, the stress in his tear stained face easing a bit.

Had Potter genuinely forgiven him, like Weasley said? Like Weasley accused? Maybe he was just angry. Yeah, it's not like he was loyal with this. He told Weasley it was a right 'privilege' to hear him take a switch. Bastard. What a pathetic wanker.

But… well, Potter had gotten rather cornered, though, hadn't he?Granger figured it out on her own. He hadn't told her to begin with. Hadn't even told Weasley until she forced him. He'd bellowed that it was personal last night, when they all stood there in the living room. It was personal. Maybe Potter respected that, or tried to, before getting accosted in the alleyway.

Draco yawned, his body sinking deeper into the pillowy comforter. Maybe… maybe Potter just felt as embarrassed as he did. He'd been confronted, cornered, called out on those abysmal lies. Cleaning a roof as punishment—Draco scoffed faintly. Why the hell would he say that? Typical Harry Potter, always saying something stupid.

Draco felt like he ought to be furious still. But the more he wrestled with it, the more he realized Potter had tried to keep it from them. Hadn't he? His lying was terrible, but he'd tried. Maybe mentioning they got it together made Potter feel less embarrassed, less awful about it. They were in this… together, sort of… kind of.

Perhaps even Potter didn't deserve that mess last night. Maybe he was faring all right with Snape. The rain's pitter-patter on the window pulled Draco deeper into sleep's embrace.

Draco's last thought, as heavy ease enveloped him, was of Harry's eyes—the gleaming green pain he'd seen in the living room yesterday. They still carried burdens, just like his own when he met his reflection in every shiny mirror—ruining the perfect surface with a lingering look of brokenness that ran deep.

---

Harry's hand was clamped over his tear-splattered glasses, and he was trying to stop himself from sobbing.

Damnit. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. He hadn't meant to let it slip out. Snape's response, the way he had stopped smacking him immediately, rightened his pants and pulled him up to sit on his knee had burst Harry's poorly damned floodgates.

"Let me see those," Snape rubbed slow circles across his back with one hand and motioned to Harry's glasses with the other. He scolded himself for not having made the boy take them off earlier.

Harry pulled them from his face, clenching his jaw. The minute he'd passed the frames over, his hands were back pressing against his eyes. He shouldn't have felt comforted to be perched there on Snape's knee, but he did. They sat quietly, the firm rubs across his back settled him down. Soon he was catching his breath, the harsh tears slowing.

"Harry," Snape's voice carried a hint of concern. "What, precisely, is so 'fucked up'? Tell me what is troubling you beyond your sore backside."

"I—" Harry held his breath, trying to stifle the hiccups that had started. "I dunno. It's c-complicated."

"Complicated?" Snape echoed. "And just what is so unfathomably complex that you think I cannot understand?"

Sniffing, Harry tried to ground himself back to the hurt in his arse and place he was sitting. He should stand up, this was childish. Embarrassingly childish.

"Ah, no," Snape stopped him. "You will stay put and tell me right now."

"Just," Harry croaked out, "it's just, w-why do I… is, is this wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"Yeah," he pulled his shirt up to mop his wet face. "Am I mental for living here? For letting you… for…" he let out a pained sigh and Snape's concerned expression faded.

"Look at me," he grabbed Harry's chin and tilted it to meet his face. "It is perfectly normal for you to seek out structure in your life."

"You think?"

"Indeed," Snape released him gently and pointed his finger to Harry's chest. "Do not forget, you made the decision to live here for your future pursuits at Hogwarts, did you not?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, and no, he sniffed, wondering if he should tell Snape more of what had happened after the battle. Tell him why he thought McGonagall set this all in motion. No, no, that was too much for today. He had made a point though, didn't he? He was here because McGonagall set it up. It wasn't like he just came out and asked to live with Snape.

"Yeah," Harry repeated to himself, his voice steadier now as he wiped his face again with the hem of his shirt. "I wanted to help out, but McGonagall reckoned I needed a bit of straightening out first."

"There you have it," Snape patted the side of Harry's thigh, tucking him in closer without thinking twice. "You needn't over complicate things simply because Granger decided to play detective and Weasley lashed out in his own grief."

Harry shifted on his sore bum, letting out a breath of relief as the wave of worry that had been drowning him since last night finally began to ebb. It seemed like Snape was right. Maybe he was just overthinking things again. "That helps, actually."

"Good," Snape patted the side of Harry's leg a few more times. He was about to say more, to add in his thoughts on Granger's research and his intervention with it, but Harry leaned against his shoulder before he could and muttered, "Thanks for everything."

Outside the windows, a gentle breeze ghosted across rain-dripped glass. Heavy droplets shifted under its breath. The slow pelts of wax on metal from his slew of messy candles on the hearth plinked.

"For everything?" Snape forced faint amusement into his tone. "And just what is everything?"

"Well—"

"My years of ridicule over your lamentable potion skills?"

"No," Harry smirked.

"The hearty point deductions I took from Gryffindor? With the greatest pleasure."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, no, again."

"Perhaps for the slew of smackings you have so richly deserved then?"

"Definitely not."

With a light poke to the boy's ribs, Snape smirked at the playful green eyed scowl. "You are most welcome for them anyway."

Harry scoffed and bumped him with his elbow. "You know what I meant."

He did, but he hadn't deserved more thanks. Had he? Tightening his arm around the boy, Snape was set back to Narcissa's words in the kitchen. His attention fell to his cluttered desk where dried lavender peeked out from his notebook.

"His mother would be grateful for this, for all you have done for him."

Closing his eyes briefly, Snape hummed low. The soft wind gusted outside, more rain pitter-pattered down the windows. His past said Lily could never forgive him like Harry had. Would never thank him as Narcissa did. Not after all the wrong he'd done…but, perhaps… Snape let out the sigh he'd been holding for seventeen years. Maybe one day he could believe it.

---

Author's Notes: I hope you're all doing well, dear readers! I've missed you and missed uploading. I hope the update was worth such a long wait. Much love.

Ishmeet: I hope you've had an enjoyable few months and your travels have been safe! I'm sure being the oldest of six is a huge responsibility. My uncle & aunt have 14 kids (sometimes even I can't believe it). The older siblings were always running after and helping out with the younger.

It's good to know that you appreciated the warning for the slash moment with Draco & Blaise. I didn't want to catch anyone off guard since this has been a relatively platonic fic. No worries about your spelling! I love to hear you're reading back through the fic on Ao3. It's by far the better version of this story with the live updates I can do. I've made quite a few changes that I can't seem to manage on here. Thank you for sharing your love for my portrayal of Snape! And the other characters as well. You are too kind. To answer your questions: yes, Narcissa lives across the road from Snape now. Things between Draco & Snape & Harry will progress in a positive way! I'm not sure how many spankings the boys will earn, or if I'm going to write another spanking scene with them together. We'll see what my muse does lol. My summer did start! Though I haven't had nearly as much time for writing as I used to. I recently got a promotion at work and my free time has been cut some. Your sweet encouragement always makes my day! I'm more than touched to know this story is your comfort fic. I might write the Pansy & Snape spanking scene as a one shot down the road. Not so sure yet! Reading any fic with a coffee and churro sounds fantastic ;) I'd like that too. Thank you again for sharing your thoughts! Hope you're well, friend.

Hamlet: Hello! I hope your holiday was lovely. It sounds amazing to relax on a balcony in Austria (I am jealous!). Your comment on the ruddy football cracked me up too. I know I've been MIA, trying to get these chapters ready and dealing with other stuff in my life, but I'll say, I've missed reading your comments like I used to every Monday! Thank you for sticking with me despite the longer wait time for updates.

Your thoughts on my last chapter were fabulous! I re-read them a few times over the last month when I hit low patches with my creativity The enthusiasm you always bring into my comment section is amazing. Your reflections on Harry and Snape's relationship are always on par with how I intended them to read. Harry loves poking the bear—the bear is begrudgingly starting to enjoy it. Lmao. Or I suppose I should say 'the bat'. He can be such a reclusive curmudgeon. I laugh sometimes thinking back to your comment about him acting too much like the royal family with guests lol. Sometimes I think Snape is an introvert and recluse at heart; other times, I like imagining him as someone who is at ease in social settings (even if he'd rather be elsewhere). It's interesting to wonder if his spy life had an effect on him in that way. I think it probably did! I looooved your comments on Cissy! ;) I'm looking forward to your thoughts on her after this scene. She squared her shoulders a bit, eh? I typically shy away from writing any sort of maternal smack scenes, but I really enjoyed this one. I love how you dubbed her 'deviously clever'; I've always imagined her like that. She's as cunning as they come, even if she seems innocently helpless at times. Do you think she's still got romantic plans for her and 'Sev' after this update? Curious to know your thoughts on their relationship. Hermione should've dropped the discipline convo on the roof—agreed. I laughed out loud at your 'Usain Bolt on new shoes' comment . That was too funny! And the 'Dark Horseman of the Apocalypse,' equally hilarious. I like the German expression you shared—haha, it's better than 'shit hits the fan.' Hope you liked the untangling of some of this mess! More to come soon. Have a wonderful few weeks! Thanks again for all the love on this story. It makes the writing process so rewarding!

Librarymom4: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed these chapters equally as much :)

Guest: Vielen Dank für deinen sehr netten Kommentar zum letzten Kapitel! Es tut mir leid, dass es ein paar Monate gedauert hat, bis ich ein Update gebracht habe, aber ich hoffe, es hat dir gefallen! Vielen Dank für deine Unterstützung meiner Arbeit und der Darstellung der Charaktere. Zu hören, dass du sie nicht oberflächlich findest, sondern im Gegenteil als Charaktere mit Tiefe empfindest, ist für mich so belohnend! Ich hoffe, diesmal schneller etwas Neues posten zu können.

Guest 2: ah, yes. Harry is no prisoner. He wants to be here with Snape even though it's an unconventional set up for his age.

MusicMelis: It's always great to hear from you! Yes, I agree. I'm with you and Harry lol Hermione put this all in motion with her need for answers. Narcissa finally did it! Which felt good to write. Now that she's recovered some from the war, has her new house and new life, she felt ready to step into a new role with Draco too. I enjoyed writing it & it was nice to write an 'I love you' for a change after a spanking scene lol. A little sympathetic/empathetic moment finally happened for Draco which was satisfying to get penned down too. He and Harry can relate, probably even get along, Draco just needs to get his act together and grow up a little more. Hope you're doing well :) thank you for always sharing your thoughts with me!

DMLucas: I absolutely loved your comment on my last update! I enjoy your in-depth dives into not only the plot but also the characters. Your thoughts on the rooftop scene were fantastic! I agree, if there was ever a moment for everyone to clear up the whole situation with Snape and Harry, it was then and there. Hermione knew, Harry knew she knew, and then we have Ron soaking up the sun in a state of indifference—lol. Until chapter 39. Then we see the lid pop off the pot. I loved your 'when in Rome' reference. I share your seasoned opinion on a sore backside; it can't be fully appreciated unless you've experienced it! lol.

I'm happy to know you're enjoying the lighter side of Snape. It's refreshing to soften some of his edges now that he's not under the stress of discovery and death 24/7. I still can't fathom how he worked both sides as a double agent. One slip-up with Voldemort finding out where his loyalty lay, and he was not just a dead man—I imagine a tortured one too. I can't tell you how validating it is to hear that you think my depiction of Snape is perfect (I'm genuinely so touched!). Dry humor is delicious, and I love that you relate to Snape with it. I hope you enjoyed some of his sarcasm in the last few chapters as well!

The pub is closer to the Burrow than it is to Snape and Narcissa's homes. I imagine the trio fly there or apparate (or use the Floo Network like Ron did ). Ron took a wild, drunken guess that Harry and Draco went back to Snape's️ I think Hermione and he saw the flashes right when they popped into the living room. Ron went: bingo! I loved that you enjoyed that scene and saw the humor in it! It was so fun to write. I would love to know what you think of Cissy after these developments. I do imagine she's a cunning woman (the Slytherin in her comes out when she decides what she wants ). Public perception is her whole world; she cares about it in a way that most would find objectionable, I think.

I can absolutely imagine Snape in the 'sorry I'm late, didn't want to come' shirt—lol! Yes, that's his whole vibe. Thank you so much for your support and thoughts! It's always a treat to hear your take. I can't thank you enough for the kind words on my writing either.

Emma: It made me smile to read that you've never written a review on FFN before but decided to for my story. I'm so grateful for that! Thank you so much for saying I'm a talented writer. It's wonderful to know that some of the hard work is shining through. I'm also so touched that you favor my story, especially after reading this trope in many others. I'm delighted to know you're looking forward to more updates! Thank you again :)