Draco was no stranger to the halls of campus after hours. Once an exercise in rebellion and comradery, sneaking out had long lost its childish thrill and become just another tool in his belt. But tonight, he felt all the nerves and anticipation of a first-year breaking the rules for the very first time.

His senses seemed to work overtime. Small sounds in the distance made him jump and grip his wand. The irregular flickering of the torches grabbed his attention repeatedly, even though the magic flames had danced for an eternity. Every shadow was a professor come to take him away, every corner an ambush.

Focus.

It would do no good to be a nervous wreck when he presented himself. Tonight, he would need to be his most poised, his most gracious. This ordeal would only be useful if Snape truly believed he was in control and Draco under his boot. If he went through with this, and their relationship did not improve, he... He paused. Well, he didn't know what he would do then.

It will work. He shook his head, pressing on. You disrespected him, and this is the resolution he demands. You can bear it.

At the sight of Snape's door, a peculiar training set in, and his hands ran over his appearance, searching for imperfections and making small adjustments to his hair, his robes, his tie. He didn't need to wear his uniform here, but any reminder of Snape's power or Draco's lack thereof would serve him well. He forced his hands to be still at his side, index finger resting on the seam of his pants.

Then the door opened, and without a word, Draco entered Snape's office for the second time that week.

One week earlier

"Oh, come, Severus, be serious-"

Snape's eyes snapped up with such a cutting look of displeasure that Draco's words died in his throat. "You are a student of this school, just like any other," he said, clipped and harsh. "You will address me as such." Draco swallowed.

"Of course, professor," he said smoothly. He knew that Snape was a formidable wizard and was vaguely aware that the other students found him frightening, but he had never been on the receiving end of the man's ire himself.

"You and I have always had a certain... understanding, but I see now that foregoing such formalities as student/teacher etiquette was a mistake."

Draco scoffed. "He was only a substitute. And an idiot. You should have seen him."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to darken. "You flagrantly defied my expectations before an audience, Malfoy. Do you think it is acceptable for my other students to believe that they may shirk their studies and let chaos reign?"

Chaos. Merlin's sake. He would hardly call it chaos. "With an instructor of that caliber, staying in the room a moment longer might have constituted shirking our studies. And we would have never pissed around like that if you were here-"

"Oh, you are a towering intellect," he said, eyes glinting as he set down his quill. "I see. Since I was gone, you could do as you please. Tell me, what do you imagine will happen the next time I am called away? Merlin knows it will happen again this year."

Draco paused.

"Well, speak up. It seems you've thought of everything."

He cleared his throat. "I suppose that depends on what you do next."

"Indeed. What did you imagine would happen next? Surely you did not believe I would allow such a thing."

To be honest, he hadn't been thinking about what would happen next at all. When the idea of a walkout had sparked, he'd mainly been thinking about how to get them to do what he wanted. Which classmates would respond to the idea of mischief. Which would respond to the abysmally boring lesson. Which would require extra pressure, and which were potential rats. It had been worth it in the end when he'd risen to walk out and they had all followed, every last one. A delicious thrill curled in his chest at the memory.

He supposed he'd thought that Snape would be amused, which he most certainly wasn't. They were assigned a particularly grueling potion upon his return. Snape had barely looked at him since. Regardless, he would have never dreamed that this was the way the conversation would turn when he was asked to stay after class.

"I don't know. I thought we would have to write lines or something."

"How quaint."

"What, then?"

"You will all have detention, obviously."

Draco gave a deferential little nod. Ugh. Fine. If this would get Snape back on his side, so be it.

"And as the instigator, yours will be served here. In my office."

His heart dropped. No.

"You don't mean-"

"Yes, Draco."

He blinked, stunned. It had been years since he'd been punished in school that way. He wasn't even aware it happened to upperclassmen.

"I hardly think that will be necessary, sir. It won't happen again. Besides," he said smoothly, "my father does not allow such methods."

A bold-faced lie. Corporal punishment was commonplace when Lucius was a student, and he had never objected to its continued use. In fact, the last time Draco had been disciplined at Hogwarts, he'd been caught drinking on the last day of classes and was paddled two days in a row: once at school, and once at home. He shivered.

"Something tells me your father wouldn't object to this particular line of action, actually."

He shrugged, even as the back of his neck prickled. "It's rather fallen out of favor in recent years."

"Well then, perhaps we should call him. Just to be sure." Snape stood and meandered toward the fireplace. He took the pouch from the mantle. Draco pressed his lips together at the absurdity of the bluff. Oh, for merlin's sake. What year am I in?

But then the fire roared with a flash of green light, and Draco jumped. Snape had actually drawn some powder and tossed it in. The professor gave him a reproachful look.

The indignity of the situation suddenly flared white-hot. His mind flashed with a colorful array of indecent images- maybe he would be bent over the very couch he sat on, squirming with discomfort. Or no, perhaps he would be asked to clear the desk as he so often did at home, trembling with anticipation as the... His heart jolted. Oh Merlin, which implement did Snape favor?

Perhaps a switch. Thin, stinging, precise. It seemed likely.

The feeling of being threatened in such a way in Snape's office, a room he had come to associate with peace, threw him thoroughly off-balance, but he snapped to attention.

"So you mean to tell him."

"Not necessarily."

Draco hummed, mind racing. Ever the negotiator, Severus Snape. So there was a deal here to be made. He just needed to find it.

"Then I'm sure I can find a way to make it up to you."

Snape gave him a frigid stare. "I've already said what I require."

Draco waved his hands. "Yes, yes, I heard the threat, and the blackmail, too. What is it you really want?"

"There is nothing you could possibly tempt me with."

That was likely true. For every channel of information or product that Draco had access to, Snape had a dozen more. He racked his brain. "I need time."

Snape paused, and then slowly inclined his head. "You may have one week."

Thus began a miserable quest.

Draco lay awake long into each night turning the problem over in his head. How to satisfy a man who had everything Draco did and more? How to slake his desire for repentance without going through something so humiliating?

He had sent out the usual feelers to poke around, but deep down, he knew it was futile. Even on a good day, Snape was inscrutable. It was, after all, his specialty.

He couldn't bear to spend time on his classwork with such a demanding situation before him. His grades would have to wait. By Wednesday, he was skipping meals, too, sick to his stomach with the possibilities. And he didn't care to feel Snape's eyes on him as he ate.

One late night, he even resorted to writing home in vague, desperate terms.

Father,

I write to you with a dilemma. I am at risk of losing a relationship that our family stands to greatly benefit from. This would normally not be an urgent matter, but nothing I can offer will sway him or smooth things over. What can I do? By the end of this week, the alliance may be too damaged to recover.

Draco

Mornings were the hardest. He couldn't seem to stay asleep these days, and a curious tenderness overcame him before the sun rose. It was then that he struggled to stay focused. It was then that he felt the ache of Snape's absence the most.

It could be strategic to give him what he wants, he thought one morning while staring at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. Pale light pooled under the curtain, washing his pillows in a soft glow. He grabbed one and held it close, squeezing with an almost violent grip. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

Normally on a week like this, with an enormous and difficult task before him, he would seek Snape out to break down the problem together. He had spent many evenings in that office drinking tea and whispering about things the other students could not understand. But that was out of the question now. It might be out of the question forever if he didn't find a solution.

Stop thinking like a Gryffindor. He rose, coming to his senses. There is no reason to just accept that kind of ordeal. Not when there are other options.

Thursday night, he received the response from home.

Son,

Under normal circumstances, I might remind you that cooperation is not always the most effective way to gain leverage. In the case of a valuable alliance worth preserving, however, things become more delicate.

No man wants for nothing. Uncover what he desires by any means necessary. Better yet, find something precious he already has and take it. Befriend his confidant and coax it out of them. Follow him day and night until something useful is revealed. Pore over his personal belongings and study them. You must hunt the answer ruthlessly, and then be careful how you package the gift.

At this point, I suspect you have already exhausted your channels. Perhaps you have uncovered information, but nothing usable. Maybe the cost is too high, or you can not fulfill it right now. That is a different problem entirely.

When the time is truly up, you will have to weigh the value of the alliance against the price and consider whether the relationship is indeed irreplaceable.

Lucius

Draco crumpled the note. Useless. He tossed it into the fire and buried his head in his hands.

A part of him knew it was true. This was not truly an issue of finding a suitable deal. He knew exactly what Snape wanted. He just couldn't give it to him.

He closed his eyes, head swimming, but he could not find the will to rise and go to bed. If he slept, he would wake the next morning and be out of time. There had to be another way. There had to be something.

He massaged his temples, mind drifting to the final sentence of the letter.

You will have to weigh the value of the alliance against the price and consider whether the relationship is indeed irreplaceable.

Was this an irreplaceable relationship?

Yes. The answer felt so strong and immediate that it startled him. He opened his eyes, and the world went quiet. I will not lose him.

To his surprise, a heady relief washed over him. There was a certain power in making the choice himself. If Snape desired a little revenge, if he wanted to see him overpowered, it was a small price to pay to maintain the relationship. This was a transaction he was well-versed in.

Present

As Draco entered, he longed to cast his eyes about the office for any clues of what was to come, but he resisted. These first moments would set the tone. Best not to look like he was scheming.

Severus was, as usual, scratching away at something with his quill. He was truly a sight to behold behind the grand beauty of that ancient desk, stained a deep, rich brown that was almost black. He, too, had decided to don his robes, and he looked positively regal, framed by the steady flame of the fire behind him. Draco's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his eyes on Snape.

The sight of him tending to his papers, spectacles sitting low on his nose, brought a staggering ache to the surface. Draco had successfully deluded himself into thinking he would only be playing a role tonight. But right now, although perhaps he didn't feel guilty in the traditional sense of the word, he felt small. The emotions he would grapple with over the next hour were very real.

"You've been busy this week." Snape said without looking up, and Draco jumped.

At the corners of his mind, he felt a small prying sensation, like the feeling of a ghostly fingernail hooking under a sheet of paper. Not overly aggressive, but a reminder of who he was with. If he were in a worse state, he might not have noticed it at all. With a deep breath, he banished the feeling. Keep a clear head. He had been utterly foolish to think he could deceive this man, a master of telling and detecting lies.

"Yes."

He sighed. "I assume you have brought me some half-brained offer."

Draco opened and closed his mouth. Making the decision was one thing, but verbalizing it... "I have not."

He put down the quill and settled back deeper into the chair, face betraying nothing. "Then why have you come?"

Draco pursed his lips, and a few snappy retorts bobbed to the surface. Because he was bored. Because he thought it would make for a good story. Because his dinner plans fell through.

The longer the silence stretched on, the more he indulged in his childishness, the more insistent grew the scraping at the edge of his mind.

He steadied himself. This was just part of the game. If the man wanted to drag it out and see him squirm, so be it.

Why had he come? Because he knew Snape was angry with him. And it was unbearable.

"I was disrespectful," he finally responded. It wasn't exactly an answer to the question, but it was enough of a confession that perhaps it would be acceptable.

Snape nodded but didn't respond. Damn.

"And this is the arrangement you proposed."

Nothing.

"And I decided that I will... I will do this if it is the only way."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "How noble."

Draco scowled.

"You'll forgive me if I am not entirely convinced by this little performance."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, if it is sincere groveling you require, you may as well send me away now."

"What I require is your respect. And your complete attention."

"You have them," he snapped. "We needn't go through this barbaric ritual."

"Then I ask you again." He leveled his gaze at Draco. "Why have you come?"

Draco stood rooted to the spot. Unable to leave. Unwilling to voice his infantile needs. The fireplace crackled loudly in the silence.

Focus.

"Because this is your price."

Snape gave a slow nod.

"And I can pay it."

The professor stood suddenly, and Draco took an automatic step back.

"It seems you've given this some thought." He circled the desk, and Draco stifled the urge to move again, even as every fiber of his being screamed to flee. He finally allowed himself to look around, eyes darting around the room until they landed on a bundle of canes in the corner. His breath quickened.

Snape stayed where he was, a fact Draco was secretly grateful for. "You will remove your robe and trousers."

"Yes, sir." He whispered. His arms betrayed him, frozen at his side.

"Then you will receive fifty over my desk."

He blinked. "Yes, sir." Absently, he realized he'd never been told the length of a punishment before.

Fifty. Fifty somehow felt like less than expected. Certainly in the sessions with his father, they far exceeded fifty.

Fifty. He clung to the number, forcing his disobedient arms into action. He removed his robe first, folding it carefully. Then he flushed as he fiddled with his trouser buttons, and mercifully, Snape took that moment as an opportunity to lock the door. He could only pray he had soundproofed it as well, but he didn't dare ask.

He stole a glance over his shoulder to look at the bundle again, wondering if it had been whittled by hand or by magic.

"I take it you're not familiar with the cane," he called from behind him. Draco forced his eyes forward.

He wasn't. His father favored heavier implements. Draco recalled the most recent session with that godforsaken paddle, the view of it tight in his grasp, the gleam of the well-polished wood.

Snape hummed in acknowledgement, and Draco started. Had he taken his silence for an answer? Or had he glimpsed into that humiliating memory?

He placed his folded trousers atop the robes, chastising himself. This experience could expose a whole host of uncomfortable thoughts he would rather his professor not see. He would need to be vigilant.

The professor re-entered Draco's line of sight, bundle in hand. Upon closer examination, he realized that it was not a cluster of individual canes, but rather, a single base handle with three stiff offshoots. Fear squeezed his heart.

"If you move excessively, the strokes will not count. If you attempt to block or evade a stroke, it will not count."

Draco couldn't help but feel a little insulted, but he only nodded, jaw tight.

"I expect you will struggle with this."

He shivered at that, the casual certainty of it. "Yes, sir."

Snape placed himself at the left of the desk, and Draco's mind flashed with images from home. He shoved the thought down before it could be witnessed and made his way closer. As he approached, he felt acutely the longing to be back in Snape's good graces, something he had distracted himself from all week but was starving for now. It made the stakes higher. It made him a little more afraid.

He bent over the desk, hands crossed. For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire.

"Tell me again why we are here."

Draco pressed his lips together. This, too, was a familiar game.

"Your memory fails you so soon."

"That is not the purpose of this exercise."

"I've said it twice now. Perhaps if you think very hard, you might recall it."

"Then indulge me a third."

Draco gave a dramatic sigh. "Hmm. Because you require potion ingredients? Perhaps the blood of a virgin?"

Snape whipped the cane through the air lazily, as though testing it. His heart rate kicked up. "You are bold to speak to me this way as I contemplate the severity of your coming punishment."

Draco swallowed. What in Merlin's name are you thinking? There is nothing to be gained here.

He could feel that wretched weakness overtaking his limbs that often infected him in these situations. He wished he could turn and whisper how badly he'd missed him. He didn't know what he would do with himself if Snape shunned him once more.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco exhaled slowly, heart pounding. His next words would determine his fate.

"We are here to repair a relationship that is suffering."

The irony of the statement was not lost on Draco as he watched Snape stretch and flex the object that would shortly inflict upon him a great deal of suffering.

"Very well."

Then Snape began, snapping the cane down with shocking intensity.

The first thing Draco noticed was the audible hiss of the implement cutting through the air. Then he sucked in a breath, surprised at the intensity of the pain. The stinging was a completely foreign sensation. He shifted back and forth on his heels.

Snape brought it down again, lower this time, and Draco grimaced. The burning was more urgent than the deep ache of a paddle.

The next few strikes grew steadily in force, and Draco struggled to maintain his position. He uncrossed his hands and pressed them against the wood, pushing himself higher.

Fuck, that hurts.

As Snape continued his ministrations and the stinging increased, Draco squirmed over the desk, trying to take slow, deep breaths. It was far easier to stay quiet than to hold still, but it hardly mattered since that wasn't part of the rules.

"That's ten."

Draco breathed out a sigh. Steady. The first few always feel intolerable.

But his relief was short-lived. A particularly stinging stroke landed on the back of his thigh, and Draco yelped. He turned to look at Snape, who whipped him again in the same painful spot.

"Professor!" He hissed, careful not to stand up all the way.

Another stroke landed on his thigh, and a cry escaped his throat. "AH- sir-"

Draco writhed, squeezing his eyes shut. The next stroke to the thigh made his hands twitch toward the edge of the desk, so he crossed them tightly.

To his relief, Snape returned to the earlier zone, and Draco let out a shuddering breath. A reward.

With a surge of pride, he forced his dancing feet to halt, and he took the next few strokes holding absolutely still before devolving into squirming again. Slowly, intentionally, he filled his lungs and let out a long breath. He dared to hope. It would be over soon, and things could go back to normal.

Not right away, he chided himself. Don't be foolish. But someday they would sit in this room and drink tea again.

"Twenty."

By this point, tears were starting to burn hot in his throat. Each strike seemed to hurt more than the last. His back and arms were pulled taut against the edge of the desk.

The pace of the strikes quickened abruptly. Three in a row landed in succession, and Draco cried out in surprise, twisting upward.

Suddenly, the blows ceased. His blood ran cold. Although his hands were still on the desk, without even realizing it, he had risen and was standing straight up.

"Hold your position," he drawled. Draco dropped to the desk, overcorrecting and pressing his chest against it.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry, sir."

"We will begin again at twenty."

Draco huffed out a breath.

"You'd prefer to begin again at one?" Snape asked.

"...no, sir."

"Mm. Then let us continue." Snape lined the cane up against his backside, and the feeling of him taking aim made Draco whimper, despite himself. He lowered his forehead, resting it on the cool wooden surface. It wasn't fair. He was sure he had almost made it to thirty, and now it was all for nothing.

Snape lifted the cane from his skin and Draco jerked in anticipation. He somehow sensed the next blows would hurt quite a lot more, as punishment for his disobedience. But the strike never came.

"Be still," he ordered. His tone was colder this time.

Draco's cheeks went hot. He curled his toes in his shoes and locked his knees. Do not move.

Snape began again with a flurry of rapid blows and landed the next ten strokes all in a row. Draco buried his face in his arms, muffling his hyperventilating, straining to stay in place. He ground his teeth and clawed at his elbows, whining under his breath.

"Thirty."

Merlin, that burns. He cautiously shifted his weight from right to left. It was impossible to hold completely still.

SNAP!

A cutting line across his thigh, and Draco was on his feet in an instant.

"No-" he cried, hand flying behind him to protect the swollen flesh. He ghosted his fingers over the thin, overlapping welts raised above his skin.

"Get down this instant, Mr. Malfoy."

His muscle memory kicked into gear and he bent over, even as the tears pooled and his throat swelled shut

"You will not move again."

He didn't trust himself to speak, so he only nodded, blinking rapidly.

"Thirty." The professor lined up the cane again, and Draco clenched the desk until his knuckles went white.

SNAP!

He cried out but did not dare rise even as his thigh blazed with pain. He busied himself with an internal litany of commands. Do not move. Do not move. Do not move.

The next few strokes were equally low, and he couldn't help but jerk his legs away between each one. Adrenaline surged as he feared it would be interpreted as disobedience, but Snape said nothing, only continued in his steady efforts.

SNAP!

A white-hot strike landed just above the back of his knees. Draco gasped and curled in on himself, squeezing his hands into fists.

The next blow was equally hard, and he let out a low groan. With hot tears trickling down his cheeks, Draco was suddenly angry with himself for pausing. Perhaps if they had carried on without starting over, he would be done by now. What had he really done but prolong his suffering?

SNAP!

He couldn't help it. He began to sob in earnest. He cradled his face in his palms, bouncing his leg in a frantic rhythm and just tried his best to avoid movements that looked like evasion.

"Forty."

Draco didn't know why, but that made him cry even harder. "Please, sir-"

"Ten more."

"I can't- I can't- AH!"

The next stroke was a line of fire across his thighs. He let out a strangled cry and buried his face deeper into his arms.

Snape continued to aim low, and Draco writhed and sobbed in time. "Please, don't. I'm sorry. Please, please-"

There was an animal panic buzzing in the base of his skull. He wished he could knock himself unconscious. He wished he could crawl out of his skin. It was agony.

"One more. Hold."

Snape raised the cane high and landed a final, blinding stroke to the upper thigh. Draco yelled into his arms and shuddered, heaving great, gasping sobs.

It was over.

He had done it.

And oh- beneath it all, a rush of sweet, sweet endorphins at the relief of being through.

He jumped at the weight of a cool hand on his back.

"Stand up."

Draco shook his head. How bizarre. Did Snape intend to stay?

"Come sit. You did well."

The praise washed over him like cool water on a burn. But he was rigid over the desk, humiliated by his tear-soaked cheeks and running nose.

Snape seemed to sense this and moved away, quietly pulling out his wand to restore the desk to its previous state. Draco shuddered with small weeping noises, willing himself to get under control. This was the worst part- when the fog of adrenaline had lifted, all the shame of losing one's composure came into focus.

You did well. He felt a glow in his chest, but he couldn't respond to such words, so he let the silence grow and just focused on his breathing.

The sounds of the office came back into his awareness slowly, as though waking from a dream. The crackling of the fire. The bubbling of a cauldron in the corner. Distantly, the telltale clinking of a saucer and cup.

He held his breath. Could it be?

"Come."

Draco stood and quickly put on his trousers, grimacing at the brisk movement. He did not want to face him yet, but he didn't dare disobey again. He wiped his face and nose with his robe and turned. Snape was sitting in the armchair, watching him with a mild gaze.

Draco made his way over and lowered himself gingerly into the opposite seat. He couldn't bear to look his professor in the eyes, so he turned his attention to the table, laid out with steaming water and green dragon tea.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks. Time seemed to slow down, and Draco basked in the heat of the fire, slowly regaining control over his emotions.

He stole little evaluating glances at Snape, whose face, as usual, revealed very little. Were things truly back as they were? Was the tea an olive branch, or a mere courtesy before sending him on his way?

He felt again that familiar, subtle probe of a skilled Legilimens. "Stop that," he muttered.

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched.

"Were you doing that the whole time?"

"Doing what?"

Draco scowled.

"You were very reluctant to say what you were thinking."

He made an indignant noise. "That is far from an invitation."

"Then you should practice your Occlumency."

"I was."

"It's difficult to clear your mind during high-intensity emotions. You'd do well to keep those in check."

Under different circumstances, Draco might have pounced on that infuriating little piece of advice, but he was out of energy. "What did you see?"

"Well," he said grudgingly, "your shielding was fairly robust. I saw memories occasionally. For the most part, I could only sense certain feelings."

Thank Merlin. "Such as?"

Snape thought for a moment. "I could tell when you were surprised. But it is difficult to know why. Perhaps things went differently than you expected." He left the implication of where he had developed such expectations unsaid. "I felt your frustration. Your fear. But only glimpses of it here and there."

"Hm." Draco leaned forward to refill his cup instead of answering.

Snape, too, returned to his drink, and Draco returned to watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Perhaps he had been misguided to think that a single night could undo weeks of disrepair in their relationship. This could be the mere first step.

You did break position multiple times.

That was true. Though Snape had said from the beginning that he expected him to struggle. And that he did well in the end.

What, then?

There was a pause, and then, barely audible, "I am sorry, professor."

Snape hummed. "Mm. I'm aware."

He brought his voice even lower, whispering with a melting of tremulous devotion. "Are you still angry with me?" He cringed at the broken tone of his voice, the childish intonation of the question, but he couldn't resist.

Snape took a moment to sip. "I am not."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. What a gift it was to know for certain. What a treasure it was to share in this fellowship again. He returned to his tea, wanting for nothing, and allowed himself to indulge in a feeling of peace.