The Producers

Harry stretched languidly and yawned. His breath ricocheted against the cold air and he shivered, firmly tugging the covers higher. Slowly he became aware of a solid, warm body beside him.

He snuggled closer to it, lazily trailing a hand back and forth across Snape’s chest, and he leant in to place a gentle kiss on the pasty cheek.

Snape had already been awake for at least an hour. He had felt an unusual contentedness, laying on his side, watching Harry’s chest rise and fall in slow, even movements. Marvelling at the sheer beauty of the boy sleeping next to him, he refused to pay attention to the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind that questioned how long he would be allowed to indulge in this pleasure.

Movement next to him broke his contemplation and without thinking, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He listened as Harry yawned noisily, almost exaggeratedly, and didn’t flinch when a small hand slipped onto his chest and began to stroke him idly. The soft press of lips to his cheek preceded a firmer press of fingers, finding and drawing tight circles around a hardening nipple.

Despite the combined warmth of the blankets and another body covering his own, goose bumps erupted from the nape of his neck, sheeting across the expanse of arms and torso. Snape kept his eyes firmly closed and continued to play dead.

Harry cracked open an eye as he felt Snape’s heart drum faster under the playful caresses. Glancing up at the expressionless face, he briefly stilled his hand, considering that the man might actually still be asleep and the reaction no more than an involuntary one. He reasoned to himself that if that was the case, then what he was about to do next would undoubtedly rouse the older man out of his slumber regardless.

Hauling himself up onto an elbow, Harry continuing to graze one dusky nipple with his thumb and dipped his head until he could taste the other. Both responded eagerly, and Harry smiled triumphantly before licking and kissing his way over pale flesh, steadily making progress via neck and chin until he reached the slack mouth.

Despite the obvious invitation the slightly parted lips were extending, Harry continued to work his way around them, ghosting them with excruciatingly light touches composed only of wispy breaths, firmer kisses placed at the corners, never breaching the mouth he so desperately wanted to taste again. He let his hand fall further beneath the covers, and caressed Snape’s thigh, being terribly careful not to brush the other man’s cock. If Snape wanted this, Harry was going to make him work for it.

Snape cursed himself for pretending to be asleep, because now he had to pretend to wake up, and he didn’t think he was capable of doing it in a very convincing manner, especially as his breath was now hitching reflexively. Surely the boy could feel his heart hammering against his chest? Why was he not making further attempts to claim his body, rouse it more violently from sleep?

Three more minutes of having his mouth and thigh agonisingly circumnavigated and his patience evaporated.

“Potter,” he groaned, trying to capture the evading lips with his own.

Harry smirked and dodged the kiss but continued to stroke Snape’s leg, his fingers carelessly slipping inside the pants and tangling in wiry, black hair.

“Good morning.”

“It will be if you seduce me properly,” Snape growled, still keeping his eyes closed.

“Who says I’m trying to seduce you?”

“My apologies. You usually wake up and rub yourself against people for no good reason do you?” Gods, those fingers were inches away from his very obvious interest. Snape shifted a little, intent on having them brush against his rising erection.

“Never woken up next to anyone before,” Harry said with startling honesty, moving his hand away from the blatant attempt at contact, “So I wouldn’t know.”

“Well I can assure you it is rather bad form to undertake the activities you are currently indulging in and not expand on them.” Snape groped around for the duvet and pulled it up until it covered Harry’s bare shoulders. He pulled the boy closer and absently stroked the taut muscles of his back.

“Am I a bottom?” Harry said suddenly, his eyes losing their mischievousness for a moment and becoming serious.

“Pardon?” Snape snapped his eyes open and regarded him in amazement. That had to be the last thing he had expected to hear out of Harry’s mouth. “Where the hell were you for 4 hours last night?” or “How dare you ruin my evening!” or even “Were you turned on by Draco’s pole dancing?” but not that.

“Draco said I would only ever be a bottom.” Harry emphasized his obvious concern about the subject with a sulky pout and Snape fought the urge to apparate naked to Malfoy Manor and hex the little bastard in his sleep.

“You make it sound like a punishment. Does it bother you?” he asked gently, simultaneously stroking Harry’s cheek and sternum.

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry wasn’t sure why he was mentioning it, but it seemed important. As much as he hated to admit it, Draco seemed to have had far more experience than Harry and it bothered him. Not that he would take his word on anything but still..

“Did you enjoy what we did yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Harry protested enthusiastically, “But do I always have to...I mean I don’t mind if I do but Draco said a man like you...”

“A man like me,” Snape interjected firmly, “Whilst admittedly having had limited practice of being a bottom, would not be adverse to letting his new young lover experience anything that he might so desire.” Snape tried not to think about the last person he had been subservient to; the very same person that continued to dominate him with harrowing recollections and nightmarish memories.

“Oh,” Harry thought about that for a moment. “What if I’m no good at it?”

Snape buried his head against Harry’s collarbone and kissed it, hiding his smile.

“I am sure you will become entirely adept at it, with sufficient practice.” Really, if they hadn’t been talking about something that sent fireworks through his belly he would most likely be guffawing into his pillow by now.

Harry fell silent and Snape tilted his chin to face him.

“What are you worrying about?”

“Just.. I want to..,” Gods, why was this so hard? “Have sex with you,” he ground the words out, not daring to use the simile he would have preferred, “but I don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

“That will not happen.”

“Can you promise me?”

“As far as I am able to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that in as far as I am able to, I will not intentionally cause you harm. But there are some things about me that you do not know, nor are they things that I wish to share with you. They are things that still deeply affect me and although I hope in time to conquer them, I cannot say for certain it will happen.” Snape sighed to himself; that was already far more than he had wanted to say.

“It’s okay, I think I know anyway. When you’re more comfortable about it perhaps you can tell me more, if you want to. When you trust me.”

And that was it, really, wasn’t it? The boy had hit the nail on the head. It was all about trust. Learning to trust someone again, trusting that they wouldn’t take your love and abuse it, abuse you, so horrifically that everything they did and said was warped and twisted and it had only ever felt like you had been the one to have done wrong, that you were to blame. To even consider opening your heart again after it had been ripped from your chest was a terrifying prospect.

But that had been Lucius, not Harry, Snape reminded himself, and thank Merlin the boy in his arms was about as different from Lucius as it was possible to be.

Snape gazed at him with such intensity that Harry felt himself falling into those black, pained pools, helpless to swim against the rising tide that surged around him.

When Snape nudged him forward, Harry did not hesitate. It was a kiss that staked a claim, passionate and assertive, promising him the affection and closeness he so craved; the affection and closeness that Snape had been so fearful of relinquishing for an eternity. How could he not fall love such pure innocence? Harry didn’t have an evil bone in his body, he would find no pleasure in causing Snape humiliation nor any joy in the destruction of his mind, piece by agonising piece.

He coiled his leg round Harry’s, gathered the intoxicating smell and warmth of him as tightly as he could in his arms, willing himself to let go. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, perhaps in anticipation of simply being allowed to just feel again, after many lonely decades spent solitary.

And then Harry knew what it was to make love properly; not the act of sex itself just yet, but the slow burning sensation of being worshipped, of having Snape’s mouth and eyes and hands all over him, on his skin and underneath it, and more than that, the connection that bound them together in mind, body and spirit as every fibre of their beings fused.

Snape found truth and desire in the sparkling emerald eyes; they smiled at him reassuringly and promised to heal a lifetime of mistrust. He wanted to possess every part of the boy, wanted to be possessed by him, to surrender once more and let himself feel everything again. Harry wouldn’t lie to him, he wouldn’t hurt him or ridicule him or force him to do things against his will. Harry was gentle and kind. He was warmth and truth.

“Harry...”

“Oh God... Severus.” Harry was firmly but gently rolled onto his back in one fluid movement, never losing skin contact with the man holding him. Snape’s weight on him was crushing, electrifying, and Harry could feel his cock pressed hard against his abdomen, blood and veins and rock hard flesh all singing from the rapidly escalating pleasure.

Snape cradled Harry’s head in his arms, sweeping his lips over the boy’s hair and forehead, landing fluttering kisses on his eyelashes, down the delicate cartilage of his nose, firmly arriving at welcoming lips where he stayed for long, delicious minutes before feather licking his way to the sensitive skin behind Harry’s ear.

“Please!” Harry cried out, dangerously close to abandoning his sanity under the barrage of tender mercies being inflicted upon him.

“I want you inside me,” he breathed, wanting to add, ‘make love to me.’ He knew it sounded ridiculously soppy and most certainly wouldn’t be appreciated but that didn’t make it any less appealing to him. Harry, after all, hadn’t ever had his heart broken; he was a hopeless romantic and, he thought to himself now, hopelessly infatuated with the profound man blanketing his body.

Snape broke away from the delicious earlobe to look at him.

“I thought you wanted to...”

“No,” Harry interrupted, “Not yet. I need you inside me. Make me yours, Severus, please?” he begged.

The sincerity, the uniqueness of the words caught him in the chest and he swallowed a small lump before it formed in his throat. Lucius had never asked to be made his; Snape had been the one to beg for devotion, such a twisted, sickened devotion he received that he now knew was no true fidelity at all.

In silent agreement he reached towards the drawer and before Harry had time to blink, he had removed his pants and poured the slick oil into his palm, slipping it between their closeted bodies. He caressed Harry’s cock with it, closing his eyes against a new wave of arousal as it responded to him, twitching and straining in his hand.

Harry moaned, long and low, a reaction Snape knew was irrepressible, as was his own when it joined in a moment later, a harmony of encouraging sighs and gasps, both men powerless to stop the pleasure escaping their lips.

His fingers reluctantly released the rigid shaft, skipping lightly over Harry’s balls nestled behind it until they trailed into the cleft of his arse. With single-minded determination, he no longer teased, determined to seek the fiery heat that would brand the boy his.

Snape pushed a slick fingertip into Harry, watching his face as it wrestled the shock of intrusion with the pleasure of being breached. He carried on, exploring deeper a little at a time, waiting until Harry was comfortable again, slowly fucking him with expert digits until he was spread wide, the delicious walls enveloping his fingers in greeting.

Harry made small grunting noises in time with the rhythm and pace Snape had set until he suddenly found himself empty. He meant to protest the loss but smiled instead when he found Snape gazing at him with smouldering intensity.

“Do it now, make me yours.” Harry begged, lifting his hand to stroke his cheek.

Snape experienced a brief rush of collective fragments, something akin to seeing his life flash before his eyes, but only images of Harry filled his mind.

“You are mine,” he confirmed, physically proving it by easing himself into the stretched, hot hole.

Harry lifted his bottom off the bed to get more of the wonderful length inside, wrapping his legs around Snape’s back and locking his ankles so that he wouldn’t be able to let go, not even for a second. Snape rocked into him, gently at first, reading Harry’s face and responding to it. He angled himself so that he might give the beautiful boy beneath him all the exquisite pleasure he deserved.

Snape lowered his body onto Harry’s and possessed his mouth urgently, wanting to say so much but not daring to trust himself to words. Harry knew though, somehow he knew what remained unspoken and with each thrust he murmured soothingly, Snape eventually responding to his words.

“I’m yours.”

“You’re mine.”

“I promise you everything, I’ll never hurt you.”

“I trust you.”

“I love you,” Harry blurted, as a particularly skilled stroke hit his prostate.

He knew it was an absurd thing to say; they were in the middle of having sex for the second time ever, yet it felt like something he could not live without if it was taken away from him. For years this man had protected him, cared for him, and for Harry, the love had always been there, he just hadn’t recognised it before now. This was a natural progression.

Snape faltered in his rhythm just for a second as the words battled against his natural reaction to repel them. He thought about the years he had watched the boy grow up, nurtured and encouraged him in his own strange way, how so much history between them had inadvertently brought them together, into this new phase of their relationship. If Harry said he loved him, then Snape knew it must be true. He also knew he felt the same way and that to deny it would serve no further purpose. Still, it went against his better judgement to admit it, but for Harry, he would, because he deserved to hear it.

“I love you too.”

Unable to the stop flood gates buckling under the mass of finely tuned sentiment, Harry slammed himself hard against sweaty thighs and cried out as the hot spurts left him, pooling between their stomachs. Tears filled green eyes, spilling from the corners and running down his cheeks to plop onto the pillow beneath his head, but Snape didn’t notice because Harry’s orgasm seemed to shake the very room around them, and he was spurred over the edge by it, eyes closed, thrusting one final time before filling Harry with the symbolic reckoning of the love he proclaimed. He collapsed against Harry’s shoulder and pressed his lips to the flushed skin whilst the tremors pulsed through him.

A warm splash hit Snape’s cheek as he lay motionless. He lifted his head in consternation to find Harry silently sobbing, rivers pouring from his eyes. Snape jumped up in alarm and Harry thrust his arms open, beseechingly.

“No, don’t leave me!” he wailed, his face carved in terror beneath the slick tears. Snape pitched himself forward again and wrapped him up in a crushing embrace.

“I will do no such thing,” he soothed, mystified by Harry’s reaction. “Did I hurt you?”

Despite his choking, Harry managed a small laugh. “No, nothing like that. It was just.. you said..”

“I love you.” Snape recounted a little dully, fearful that having let himself finally say such a thing might have proved a jinx.

“Yes, that’s what you said,” Harry sniffed, comforted by the strong, warm arms surrounding him. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

It took a while for the gravity of the statement to sink in. No one had ever told this beautiful, gentle, kind hearted boy that he was loved. It seemed absolutely ludicrous. And no doubt it was horrifically true.

“They should have done,” Snape said angrily, “There is no one more deserving of love than you.”

Settling down against the pillows, Snape pulled Harry onto his chest and stroked his hair, attempting to soothe away his sadness. For one sick instant, he recognised a glimmer of something in the boy that was reminiscent of himself at the same age. Would he end up treating Harry’s devotion and love the same way Lucius had treated his? By first mocking it, then encouraging it and finally breaking it in a vicious circle of imposed control and heartless misery? He shuddered at the thought. He would rather Obliviate himself than become a living embodiment of Lucius.

Harry rested his head against Snape’s chest and listened to the erratic heartbeat housed just beneath layers of skin and muscle, mere inches below his ear. Honestly, why did he always have to cry? But on this occasion he supposed it was forgivable; he had been desperate to hear those words for so long, from someone; the fact that it had been Snape was unbearably delicious. He prayed silently that he would hear them again soon; that they hadn’t just been uttered in response to his own declaration, that Snape had truly meant what he said.

Large fingers gently swept his cheek of any remaining sorrow and Harry sighed in thanks.

“Harry..”

“Hmm..”

“I do love you.”


“Potter!”

“You said you wouldn’t leave me!” Harry protested, locking surprisingly strong legs around Snape’s waist, despite the other man’s attempts to extricate himself.

“I did not mean for you to take it quite so literally!”

Every time Snape managed to unhook a leg, an arm would slither back round him. Then the arm would be pried loose and the leg would simultaneously reclaim his waist.

“Nuh uh, you said. Now you have to stay here in bed with me, forever,” Harry sounded so damn sincere Snape couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“As much as the notion appeals, it is not practical. It is the first day of term and I must be seen at breakfast. Merlin knows what everyone must think of me! I haven’t so much as left these quarters the past two weeks!” There was the possessive leg again...

“Yeah, because everyone is so used to you being a social butterfly,” Harry snickered, finally releasing his captive and flopping back in exhaustion.

“That’s as maybe, but it is still highly suspicious that I have not so much as crossed the staff room threshold once since Boxing day. The last thing I need is a room full of witches nosing into my private affairs.” Only partially relieved to have been turned loose, Snape disappeared into the bathroom.

“Well I think I shall just lie here all day,” Harry shouted to the thick stone walls, “This bed is ridiculously comfortable!”

“And I shall enjoy the futile efforts of second year Gryffindors and Slytherins,” Snape shouted back, mouth obviously obstructed with a toothbrush. Harry immediately wished something else was obstructing that mouth and his cock twitched in fervent agreement.

“Be nice!” he yelled, “I bet if they checked back over the last eight years you would be single-handedly responsible for Gryffindor losing enough points to surrender the House Cup!”

“Yes, but then Headmaster Dumbledore in his infinite love of foolish children just handed them back in triplicate.” ‘Daft old codger,’ he muttered under his breath. “Besides, what would I have to look forward to each day if not the sublime pleasure of taking points from Gryffindor?”

Harry shook his head and groaned. “Why do you teach if you don’t enjoy it?”

A towel clad Snape appeared in the bathroom doorway looking genuinely surprised.

“What makes you think I take no pleasure from it?”

“Umm.. well I don’t know.. maybe the fact that you always looked like you were bored stiff when we were in class. Either that or ready to hex one of us.”

“Ah, that was merely the frustration one experiences when trying to educate a group of incompetents. I take great pleasure in teaching when I have a class of interested, hardworking children. Unfortunately for you, your class was not one of them.” Snape hid his smirk as he rummaged through the wardrobe.

Harry pointedly ignored the slur. “Ooh,” he mocked, “What shall I wear today? The black robes, or perhaps, the black robes? Decisions, decisions.”

“Insufferable brat. Have you nothing better to do than ridicule me in my own bedchamber?” Snape settled on a robe and set about dressing himself.

“Nope. Our classes don’t start again for another week. Though strictly speaking it is meant to be study time so I should probably head to the library later.” Harry tested the air with one toe and recoiled it in disgust. “Bloody hell it’s freezing out there!”

“Perhaps if you refrained from existing in a perpetual state of undress you might find the climate more acceptable.” Snape finished the last few buttons and bent to retrieve his shoes. Harry made a pfft sound, knowing full well what Snape’s reaction would be if he insisted on remaining clothed in the bedroom.

“I’m quite happy being naked, thank you very much.”

“I had not noticed.” Snape said sarcastically, standing upright and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Harry reached out to him and Snape let himself be caught up in a hug.

“It’ll be weird here today without you.” Harry murmured pensively. They hadn’t been apart since the night at the club and he was starting to seriously worry that he might experience some weird kind of withdrawal. It was amazing how quickly they had adapted to the changed relationship. Harry particularly.

“Hmm, it has certainly been an interesting couple of weeks,” Snape agreed, inclining his mouth to taste just once more, the succulent little patch of skin on Harry’s neck. Harry shivered and leant into the kiss.

“Do you really have to go to breakfast?” he moaned, only just managing to stop himself from adding ‘Couldn’t you eat me instead?’

Snape left Harry’s neck and found his mouth, blazing a trail of wet heat across his lips until Harry parted them in offering. Snape immediately broke the kiss and was gratified when Harry whined in protest.

“Really Potter, anyone would think you had been denied sexual gratification for far longer than...” Snape glanced up at the clock, “forty-five minutes.”

“Go on then,” Harry grumbled, “Go and eat your bloody breakfast.”

“Merlin knows I need it!” Snape planted a quick kiss on his forehead. “I shall see you tonight. Try to stay out of trouble, I would hate to have to take points.” The bed adjusted to the loss of weight as Snape stood up and crossed to the door. Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“Surely you can’t...”

“Oh yes, indeed I can.”

“But I’m eighteen!” Harry spluttered, as if that should somehow exclude him from any form of discipline. “And you’re not even my Professor!”

“Any student found breaking the rules can be reprimanded by any member of teaching staff, in any way the Professor concerned sees fit.” Snape threw him a look that said points weren’t the only the thing that he could take as punishment.

Harry watched him leave and muttered a goodbye before flopping back against the pillow in disbelief. He’d spent four months on this course and although he hadn’t done anything to warrant having points taken away, being grown up and all, he hadn’t actually known it was possible. The thought was ever so slightly disturbing.

Snape pulled the door shut behind him just as his lip curled in amusement. There was really nothing like it. Potter baiting was a vastly superior form of entertainment.



Harry woke up again a few hours later, having accidentally fallen asleep after Snape had left for breakfast. The last two weeks had been blissful but absolutely exhausting. They had not set foot outside of the dungeons, preferring to partake of the food the house elves brought to them when summoned. Harry had stubbornly refused to leave the bed, except for bathroom necessities and matters of personal grooming.

Snape had done his best to prepare for his return to classes and to continue the cataloguing of his personal library, but Harry would always find some creative way to lure him back to the bedroom.

He still hadn’t taken his lover up on the offer of topping; in fact it hadn’t been mentioned since that first morning together. The idea still appealed greatly to him, but part of him still felt worried about attempting it, and another part was enjoying the immense pleasure he got out of having Snape inside him.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder how his life had changed so dramatically in such a short space of time. He had never even entertained the idea of sleeping with another man before October, and here he was, a mere four months later, readily confessing to being in love with one, and enjoying, no adoring, the physical side of things that accompanied it. Harry grinned happily to himself as he paid a brief visit to his own largely redundant bedroom to retrieve some fresh clothes.

His plans for the day were no more strenuous than visiting the library and writing some long overdue letters.

Sitting down at Snape’s desk, Harry opened the drawer to look for some parchment and a quill. A tightly compressed stack of papers made a bid for freedom and he scrambled to keep them in place, his eyes reading the bold type before he realised he was doing it.

“The Potions Master Cometh,” the title read. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and giggled. It erupted into a full blown guffaw when he spotted the familiar red scrawl of Snape’s handwriting in the top right hand corner: “9 out of 10, one point deducted for extraneous use of the word ‘sneer’.”

Harry took the bundle out of the drawer and sat it on the desk. Skimming through, he guessed there must have been at least twenty different stories and none of them he remembered having seen before. Someone had obviously developed a little fondness for ego boosting fiction. Or not, as the case may be when Harry picked out one in particular:

“Harry Potter vs. Severus Snape: A tale of triumph as good defeats evil.”

He wasn’t really sure what that one might be about, but it didn’t seem to bode favourably for Snape. The marking confirmed it. “1 out of 10, and that is only because you spelt my name correctly. Utterly ridiculous premise for a story. Unsubstantiated, OOC, and dreadfully dull.”

“Detention in the Dungeons!” shouted another one, causing Harry to roll his eyes; he’d already read plenty of those; not that he could deny wishing his own detentions had been half as much fun as Fiction Potter’s were. Snape obviously disagreed with him: “10 out of 10. A truly remarkable piece of work. Excellent character assessments, believable plot, and a rather pleasing outcome.”

Harry, curious as to what Snape had found so riveting about it, settled back into the chair and began to read.

“Harry Potter is due here for detention in seven minutes. It is the third time this week! It almost seems like he is deliberately attempting to incur my wrath. I cannot imagine why he would want to do so; surely the bloodied knuckles he left with yesterday evening would have been enough to deter any more insubordination. I made him scrub the insides of seventeen cauldrons until the original metal was flawlessly polished. I am not by nature a cruel man but I do believe that it is imperative that children are disciplined and taught to have respect. Potter is neither disciplined nor respectful. The child is blatantly spoilt by all who encounter him. He will not receive such leniency at my door.”

Harry gaped incredulously. If a snitch had happened by at that moment, it would have stood little chance of avoiding flying into Harry’s wide open mouth. He thinks I’m undisciplined and disrespectful. Loath as he was to do it, Harry carried on reading.

Ah, here he is now. That tentative little knock of his. It pretends to be humble and self-effacing but there is a torrent of rebelliousness scarcely harnessed inside of it. I will leave him to wait outside until he thinks I am not here and then call him in just as he is about to depart. It is mildly amusing to imagine his unfounded hopefulness at having escaped punishment. Yes, there he goes, he has taken two uncertain steps away from the door. I can almost hear his sigh now I have finally commanded him to enter.

Look at him. Scruffy waif. I would wager his hair has never seen a brush in its life. And as for a decent meal... Saviour of the wizarding world indeed. I do not mind admitting my pessimism regarding his chances of defeating the Dark Lord. Still, if defiance were any sort of weapon against dark magic then Potter would have had us all living in the bright light of righteousness long ago.

I do not actually have any chores for him to do this evening. He has already fulfilled them all in his previous nights’ work. I tell him so. He does not reply but I can see how he clenches his jaw. He is irritated at having to be here. Again, I tell him it is his own fault for continuing to be belligerent. I ask him if he thinks his behaviour in class today was acceptable. He shakes his head slowly, indicating no, but I am no fool; his eyes are burning with rage, he believes I have persecuted him unjustly.

I tell him to sit at the desk opposite me. This appears to confuse him since I have never had him serve detention this way. Usually I send him to the classroom or the Potions stores where he will carry out various tasks that I set. Tonight though, there are no tasks to be completed. I give him parchment and a quill and tell him to write me a one thousand word essay on what method would best serve as punishment and actually succeed. Obviously scrubbing out cauldrons isn’t working. I look at his knuckles as they grip the quill; they have been healed from his exertions last night. He glances up and catches me scrutinizing him. I swiftly remind him that it would not take much effort on his part to be awarded another night’s confinement. He has the audacity to scowl before returning to his work.

Carrying the manuscript with him, Harry moved to the sofa. The story was leaving a nasty taste in his mouth and he couldn’t think of a single reason why Snape had found it so compelling. It was certainly not particularly flattering to either of them.

I continue to watch his pained efforts at writing. I do not believe it is the subject of the essay he finds troubling, nor the actual composing of it, but something is clearly disturbing him. He continues to glance up at me every so often, no doubt out of insolence more than anything else. I pretend not to have noticed and carry on with my own work.

Now he has stopped writing altogether and I can feel his eyes burning into me. Such antagonism. I slam my quill down and challenge his gaze. He says he has finished his essay, adding ‘Please sir, may I go now?’

I want to laugh but then he might think I actually enjoy his company. As if anything could be further from the truth. I fix him with a sneer instead and tell him to read his essay to me. Intriguingly his cheeks flush and he says he would prefer not to. Prefer not to! As though he has a choice! I order him to bring it forth, for now I am interested to see what he has written. If there is a form of discipline that will be effective on the boy, then he himself must know of it.

He is rising from his seat now, painfully slowly, taking tiny steps towards me, his small hand clutching the parchment as if his life were dependant on it. He is staring at the floor, no longer irking me with confrontational eye contact.

I snatch the paper from his hand and he whimpers in protest but does not attempt to reclaim it. My eyes scan the parchment but there is nothing to read. He has not written one single word on it. I can feel my blood start to simmer as it rushes through my veins. The child has made a fool out of me, or at least, tried his very hardest to. He is not tall for his age but he still towers over me as I sit in my seat, barely able to control my anger.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ He looks terrified and confused and mumbles that he does not know what has happened. He pleads prettily that I saw him writing it! I tell him I saw no such thing; indeed I witnessed him dancing the quill over the parchment but I did not physically see him mark the paper.

His bottom lip trembles and a single wet tear slides down his cheek. I almost feel sorry for him until I remember that he has earned this detention, he has brought it all upon himself. I remind him that I am not a man to be taken in by such shows of weakness and that he will have to recount what he had written verbally to me.

He starts a little at that; tries to protest but I have had enough of this charade and I slam my hands into the desk which makes him jump. He begins to gibber incoherently and I have to tell him to calm down and take a breath. He starts again and I cannot help it when my eyes widen and my mouth falls open in disbelief. His theory for being disciplined by my hand is to be spanked! He says he is used to physical punishment since that was what he received at the unmerciful hand of his uncle. For a moment I think he is being facetious again but his eyes are solemn and clouded and I realise he is deadly serious.

Nodding once, I instruct him to remove his robes and for the first time ever, he complies without protest. It is gripping to watch how obedient he has become as he follows my every request until his clothes are pooled around his ankles and he stands only in his pants, eyes eager for the next demand.

I stand up from my desk and realise with horror that I have become aroused. I think it is more because of his subservience than his state of undress but it does not matter how it occurred, only that it did. He pretends not to notice and I am absurdly grateful for that. Standing behind him I roughly push him over the desk and pull his pants down until the sweaty cleft of his arse is revealed. He was indeed telling the truth of his past beatings; the scars are evidence enough. I will not be so hard on him, marking him will not compound the message any better.

He shakes a little; out of fear or maybe excitement or perhaps a grim concoction of both; I do not know. I tell him to brace himself and he does so, gripping the desk either side with his petite hands, knuckles whitening with the effort of it.

Harry stopped reading and realised his heart was pounding; small beads of sweat had formed along his brow and he wiped at them disconcertedly. This was not like the other stories he had read; they were mostly light hearted bits of fluff with a good sprinkling of humour. This was dark and disturbing and Harry wondered how on earth Snape could have thought the characterisations were accurate. Surely he had taken offence at his own portrayal? A terrifying idea ghosted through his mind but he pushed it away, not wanting to entertain it for even a second. Reluctantly, he read on.

I firm my palm and bring it down heavily, the loud smacking sound seems to echo through the room and he cries out, more in shock than pain, I think. Without waiting for him to recover, I strike him again and this time he loses his grip on the desk; the force of it sends him slamming into it and he yells angrily. My lip curls in disgust; clearly he needs a firmer hand. And then I cannot restrain myself, I welt his skin over and over again until it is bright red and he begs me to stop. I can hear how thick his voice is with unshed tears. I step away then and tell him he can get dressed.

He turns around and quietly says ‘Thank you sir,’ Once again he has rendered me speechless and I am certain I have never met this meek, humiliated boy before. It is then that I notice he has made no move to retrieve his clothes from the floor even though his eyes remain fixed there. I tell him again to put his clothes back on but he seems to be rooted to the spot. I wonder briefly if his bottom is too sore to endure the rub of fabric against it. I verbalise my concern but he shakes his head and surprises me by taking a step closer. I suddenly see his problem; he has become unendurably aroused and I conclude that his punishment was indeed no punishment at all. The realisation makes me angry.

I grab his shoulders tightly and he winces though he does not look up at me; rather he is looking down and now he nods his head a little, as if to taunt me with my own growing erection.

Harry got off the sofa and returned the story to the pile, messily pushing them back into the drawer. He really didn’t want to read anymore; something about the story had unsettled him and he felt annoyed when he recalled Snape’s protestations about being vilified as a person who would take advantage of a student. Clearly he had chosen to ignore that fact when he had critiqued this particular prose.

Feeling disturbed by the unearthing, Harry decided to forego his letter writing and retrieving his rucksack, left for the library instead.

***