S is for Sacher-Masoch

“Mischief managed!” Harry whispered hurriedly, and put out the light of his wand with a: “Nox.”
A little while later, the corridor was lit by professor Snape’s wand.
“Potter!” the professor spat, “What are you doing, wandering the corridors at night?”
Harry trembled.
“I was sleepwalking.” he blurted out, well aware that Snape would never believe it.
“How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter.” Snape remarked, “He too was exceedingly arrogant, strutting about the castle.”
“My dad didn’t strut, and nor do I!” Harry protested, against all sense.
He just couldn’t help himself. Nobody insulted his father, not even the school’s most feared teacher!
“If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you could lower your wand.” he added foolhardily, annoyed by the light in his face, which risked to reveal how little courage he had to back up his cheek.
Instead of the expected reprimand, professor Snape did lower his wand and let his gaze follow down Harry’s figure. Harry immediately regretted his bold request.
“Turn out your pockets.” the teacher commanded.
Harry obediently took out the marauder’s map, which Snape snatched from his hand and put in his own pocket without as much as a glance on it.
“Turn out your pockets.” he repeated.
Harry didn’t move. He had already handed over the only thing he’d had in his pockets. Yet the professor’s gaze remained fixed at the same spot.
“Is that your wand you have in your pocket, Mr Potter, or…?” he asked in a voice that was completely deadpan apart from the curious emphasis placed on the word “wand”.
He didn’t finish the sentence, merely raised an interrogative eyebrow. Harry blinked. He could hardly believe his ears. Had Snape really suggested…? The professor’s face was frozen in a rhetorical question. Before Harry had the chance to reply, he had spun on his heel and walked away, putting out the light of his wand as he walked. The only thing suggesting he had just been there was the faint swishing of his cloak, which soon died away.
Harry swallowed, painfully aware of the bulge in his pants. It was there, it had been there when Snape had remarked upon it. In fact, it had been there ever since Harry had spotted the professor’s name on the marauder’s map. What in the heavens did it mean? Fear? He had heard fear could have that effect.
He clenched his jaw, furious to be humiliated once again by one of Snape’s poisonous remarks. The nocturnal escapade had lost its charm and he hurried back to the dormitory, only to toss in bed, unable to sleep.