Promises (Temporarily on Hiatus)

"You may," Snape allowed. He was gazing expectantly at me, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed expectantly.

If I had been cold earlier, I wasn't any longer. His hands upon my knees sent a jolt of electricity straight to my centre. Though the wounds hurt and now itched miserably, I believed it to be worth all the trouble I was in.

"Well you see, Professor, n the entrance hall this morning Marjorie and I got in a... tiff. Apparently she thought I was being overly friendly with Victor, whom she fancies, but she went with Markus to make him jealous. I know, I know." Snape did not look amused. "It's ridiculous. Anyway, Marjorie takes me aside on the way over to Hogsmeade and says that I'm to ‘behave myself.’ I tell her that I have no intention of doing anything with Victor and that I considered him a friend, nothing more. Obviously, she didn’t believe me. After popping into The Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer, Marjorie starts going on about you. Sir... she was saying the most horrible things about you, that—well, that you deserved to die in... in the Shack.” I paused for a moment and looked away embarrassed. Though I in no way echoed the sentiment, it was difficult for me to even say. “I called her a foul little bitch and reminded her that the War was over. Oh, she didn’t take that well. I was about to lunge at her, to defend you against her loathsomeness, when Victor, the stupid boy, pulled me back. Professor, I feel so stupid telling you this.” He only arched an eyebrow. “Well—well, that only made Marjorie even more upset and accused him of siding with me. Victor assured her that he wasn’t taking any side, but Marjorie started wailing that he was cheating on her... I really don’t know why I associate these people.”

Of course, I did know: I needed human contact. I was too weak to alienate myself from them, to say “no,” even if it was for the best. An abusive relationship, to me, was better than none.

“Nor do I,” Snape snipped.

“Anyway, Victor tells Marjorie that he will do anything to prove that he isn’t cheating on her with me. She tells us that there is no way, but there is, of course. She concludes that we, Victor and I, must go up to the Shack and spend an hour there, so we can ‘get out all of the pent up sexual frustration we have for each other.’ Her words, not mine. Only then can we both be forgiven. What I think she was trying to do was coerce us into doing something so she’d have an actual reason to be mad at us. And believe me Professor, I said no. Oh how I said no! But she wouldn’t let it be. She kept picking and bossing until I snapped and agreed with her, just so I could get her to shut her hideous mouth. I think that you can figure out the rest. We were up there for ages in the miserable, freezing house. We talked—that’s it. Those sheets, sir...” I trailed off at the thought of the bloodied, grimy bolts of fabric that were heaped on the floor. I tried to imagine the man in front of me lying helpless on the floor, blood spurting out of a gash in his neck. “You know, in a very roundabout way I did this for you. You’re the reason I ended up there, so you should take that into consideration when deciding what to do with me. Erm, yes. And so there it is.”

I was mortified; cheeks ruddied, flushed, averted my eyes. It was all so childish, and I knew that. But I couldn’t help it; in so many ways, I was still a child: impetuous, rash, eager to please.

I couldn’t read the look on his face, a fact that frightened me immensely. I could usually label people’s emotions quite well; the briefest flash of a particular mood was enough to tell me exactly what to do in a situation. But Professor Snape’s face was such a mixture of things; I thought I detected anger (obviously), wry amusement, contempt, and another thing that I couldn’t discern.

“Indeed, Miss Harper. Your explanation in no way exonerates you. If anything you've only affirmed my opinion that you must be easily led astray or extremely dull."

I believe I said that the entire incident was due to my stubborn nature rather than anything else and that this proved I wasn’t some common tart.

“You've been a very ill behaved girl, Miss Harper," he drawled slowly, causing me to bite my lips and fidget in my seat.

"I have," I assented.

"And you must be reprimanded."

"I must."

Snape walked slowly behind my chair and placed his hands weightily on my shoulders, his long fingers reaching past my collarbone. He informed me that I was going to have ten detentions with him, and that I was going to serve my first one right then, cleaning cauldrons. I was so cold and exhausted and thought I would surely faint if I was forced to do anything along those lines.

"But Miss Harper," he almost pressed his mouth against my ear, "Don't you agree that by sparing the rod, I would in fact be spoiling the child?"

“Yes," I practically gasped the syllable.

"I am giving you one final opportunity to end this, Miss Harper. You can go into my classroom and clean cauldrons if that is what you truly wish."

"I want this.” And I did. More than I could ever hope to express

“Please bend over the edge of my desk, Miss Harper,” he commanded suddenly becoming cold. I didn’t mind the sudden change and thought it more appropriate to the scene that was about to unfold.

It was all so surreal, the way he spoke and stood there so straight and erect. It was just like I had pictured, only a thousand times more vivid. I walked resolutely over to his empty desk and braced my palms flat on the desk.

“It is obvious, Miss Harper, that you’ve never done this before. All the way over.” He pushed me flat down onto the desk, my cheek pressed against the cold, smooth wood. I was acutely aware of how high my arse was and how my dress stretched across my round posterior. The angle I created with my body was achieved by my long legs and the low tabletop, which made me feel infinitely more vulnerable. “There you are, much better. Legs farther apart.” He tapped the inside of my thighs with his wand and obliged him. “Perfect, Miss Harper. This is the position you will assume from now on. If I’m ever forced to do this again that is. Whether it is by another transgression or sin of yours, I expect not to have to repeat myself. Now, lift up your dress.” I bit my bottom lip and reached for the hem. I slowly pulled it up over my thrusting bottom, and Snape tutted appreciatively. “I am a generous man, Miss Harper, though some may contest it, and I will allow you to keep your knickers on. This time. Unfortunately for you, you chose a rather unhelpful pair.” I thought of the sheer, lacy panties I had on and suddenly wished I had chosen the thick serge bloomers my mother had purchased for me. Curse my fixation with insubstantial unmentionables! “One last thing before we begin: first, I need you to take an oath that you will not share what transpired here with anyone.”

“I swear, sir.” A thin ribbon of blue flame slithered lazily from the tip of Snape’s wand and coiled itself around my wrist, locking them together. However it didn’t dissolve like most troth-related tongues of fire. “Sir?”

“Oh just a precaution, Miss Harper. I once had a girl try to punch me after the first slap. Just to be safe...”

And with that, he delivered the first blow. It was not very hard, soft and teasing, but I still pressed my lower abdomen forward into the edge of the desk. “Oh Miss Harper, you are to count each one and thank me as well.”

“How many will there be?” I inquired, wanting to know exactly how long this would go on.

“No definite number. I think we’ll both know when you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I am sorry, Professor,” I said softly.

“I’m sure you are.”

The next blow was much more severe. A stinging, burning sensation spread over the flesh of my bottom. A loud crack, then heat and pain. I was startled more than anything else and whimpered loudly. As the heat seared, I muttered a pitiful “two.”

“What was that, Miss Harper?”

“Two,” I said as loud as I could muster.

“Two, sir.”

“Two, sir,” I repeated, my speech impaired by my awkward position.

The next one was even harder and I instinctively tried to jump away from it. Snape pushed me down forcefully. “Do that again, and I will be forced to start from the beginning.”

I nodded and shut my eyes.

Crack!

“Three, sir. Thank you, sir,” I moaned.

Slap!

“Four, sir. Thank you sir,” I hissed.

Whack!

“Five,” I sobbed.

In my fantasies, in those dark recesses of my mind, I had pictured this. Only it was intensified by a hundredfold; they hurt more than I could have imagined, each slap, crack, and assault on my smouldering arse stung like nothing I had ever felt. Eventually he had me stop counting, the blows becoming so quick and sharp I hardly had time to breath, let alone number each one. He began lecturing, as though this was nothing more than another potions class. “Miss Harper, your rude, unseemly, dangerous actions put all of us at risk today.” He paused. “Never.” He slapped ruthlessly along. “Ever.” He brought his hand down violently again. “Do anything so stupid, foolish, and dangerous ever again. And I am sick of that obscenely supercilious smirk you march around with. You haughty, arrogant, spoiled, rotten little chit.” He punctuated the last word with a particularly harsh clap across both my cheeks. “You may stand, Miss Harper.”

I righted myself, slowly and cautiously, wincing as the now welted flesh of my bottom smoothed. My back was sore, I was sure my face now mirrored the grain of the wood, my legs had gone to sleep, but... there was an undeniable warmth that was spreading from my arse to my nether regions. I blushed thoroughly, my face matching my abused derrière. I sniffed and wiped my eyes, flicking hot tears of my cheeks, as I had been sobbing silently for a good portion of the castigation.

Professor Snape gripped my shoulder and led me to a corner of the room. “You did very well, Harper. Better than I expected, which isn’t really saying much. But I have no doubt that I’ll be able to humble soon enough and dismiss these ill-tempered fits you seem to have.” His words made me bristle and sent an intense pang to sear through my lower regions. I, thankfully, was not a naturally vocal person and had little difficulty restraining a moan of satisfaction that threatened to burst forth. Snape continued, “You will now complete the second part of your punishment. Remove that thin scrap of material you call an undergarment.

"Oh, well I..."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, and I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, slipped them down my legs, and held them in front of me. This entire ordeal was made even more embarrassing by the fact that they were quite damp from the juices that pooled from my dripping lips. But there was one consolation. There, at the fly of his pants, I saw a very noticeable bulge. I flicked my eyes upward, undecided if I wanted him to know I had seen his trouser clad erection. If he did notice my ogling, he didn't let on.

"Oh don't worry, Miss Harper. I'm not a pervert... Well not that sort anyway. I'll give them back to you when you're finished."

"When I'm finished with what?" I asked suspiciously.

He spun me to face the cold stone wall, lifting my dress up even higher. "You will stand here until I instruct otherwise. No slouching," he barked, tapping my bottom cruelly.

I stood there mortified; he had my knickers, was staring at my welted backside, and watched me snivel like a pathetic little girl. I never cried in front of anyone (save that one instance with Marjorie), let alone a professor, and least of all Professor Snape

I had been standing there for some time, trying to rub my thighs together without him noticing. The sting on my cheeks was slowly subsiding, but the ache between my legs only increased with time, as I replayed the scene over and over in my mind. Professor Snape was grading essays, I assumed, and could hear the scratching of his quill on parchment. That instantly made me think of the incident in class, about my essay. I had thought that my face couldn't possibly get any redder but I was wrong. I had never apologised for my outburst and felt as though bitterness would begin to fester if I didn't mention it.

"Sir," I said quickly.

"I don't recall saying you could speak, Harper," Snape hissed.

"Oh, well, it's—well it's something I'd like to talk to you about."

He groaned. "I knew the silence couldn't last. I suppose you may sit down, Miss Harper.”

I had pulled my dress down over my bottom and minge, clenching my teeth as the fabric slid over the abraded skin. I also picked my robes off the floor, and wrapped them tightly around me. Though it was frigid in the room, I didn't necessarily feel cold all over. My extremities were frozen, but I was still hot in other places. In addition to this, I had a headache, my stomach growled, and my hair and face were a mess. It was altogether a very trying experience and I'm sure my appearance reflected that.

"So what is this vital matter that you wanted to discuss—sit down, Miss Harper."

I soon realised what the women in those trashy romance novels were talking about, their complaints regarding not being able to sit down for weeks; I had thought it an exaggeration. As soon as I made contact with the seat, a jolt of heat and pain shot up my spine. I yelped and sprang back up.

Professor Snape smirked snidely. "I said 'sit'."

"Oh don't look so pleased with yourself." I lowered myself slowly down, forcing myself onto the chair. Once I settled myself in the seat and shifted most of my weight onto my hip, I began. "Sir, I wanted to say I'm sorry—"

"Yes I think we've established that. You were moaning it quite loudly when you were over my desk. Or have you forgotten? Do I need to remind you?"

"No," I said tartly. "Not about that... About my essay."

His head snapped up from the papers he was huddled over, and he met my gaze for the first time that night. He leaned back in his chair. "I never thought you the sort of pathetic little tart who would beg for a higher grade—You can leave." His voice was cold and hard.

Upset by his misinterpreting my intentions, I became flustered. "No! No, sir. That's not at all what I was talking about. I'm sorry. Oh God. Please don't think I'm some horrible... I would never—don't give me that look!" Snape looked all too bemused at my frantic explanation. "Professor," I began again, trying to calm myself, "I'm sorry for acting so childishly that day. Really, I feel so guilty about it. I was just so... humiliated. Oh my God, I swore I'd never look anyone in the eye again."

"I was in the right, Miss Harper. That essay was, in comparison to your other compositions, absolute rubbish."

"So I suppose that's not the one I should submit to Oxford then?" I was relieved that he wasn't angry or upset.

"No... When is the application due?”

“My birthday, actually: January fifteenth. You should get me something.”

“Go to bed, Miss Harper. You have had a long day, I'd imagine."

"Oh yes, Professor. Thank you." He opened the door to his office and I stopped before exiting. "Thank you," I repeated, trying to put as much meaning as I could into the two syllables.

"Yes well, as much as I know you enjoyed it," he pressed my knickers into my palm, and I bowed my head. "Let's not let it happen any time soon." He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my face up towards him. "Goodnight," he said, looking me fully in the eye; I felt something in my mind shift infinitesimally, but the sensation soon fled. "Stay out of trouble." These were his parting words, before he shoved me carefully out of the room and shut the door behind me.

I smoothed my dress and decided that I would go to the Prefect’s lavatory to take a relaxing bath. I prayed that no one would be in there, as I had some... business to take care of.

“Oh, Miss Harper,” Professor Snape said from behind me, opening the aperture only a crack.

“Yes?”

“Same time tomorrow night,” he said smoothly before shutting the door a final time.

I blanched.

--/--

My night with Miss Harper was intensely pleasurable, the most satisfying I had experienced in some years. She was really just the perfect sort of girl: pert bottom, eager to please, and not entirely unattractive. Slender and fair, she was pleasant to look at, her comeliness only slightly dimmed by a splotchy spattering of freckles across her nose and a rather dull hair colour. The latter qualities, though they made her somewhat plain, made it easier for me to like her; I found that overly pretty girls were too concerned with physical appearance and less focused on other, more important things. I once had a girl ask me for a mirror in the middle of her punishment so she could check her hair.

After I had shut the door on Miss Harper for the last time that night, I strode expediently over to a low cabinet in the corner of the room. I removed the heavy Pensieve from its shelf and set it on my desk. Dragging the memory from my mind, I watched the fibrous strand of memory settle into the ornately carved basin. Just as I was about to lower myself into the sordid scene, there was a curt rap at the door.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, wondering who it could be, as it was past curfew. Upon opening the door, I was assaulted by the sight of Malfoy grinning broadly.

"Hello, Severus. May I come in?"

I stepped out of his way and he strolled slowly into the room.

"Ah, what's in here?" he said, stalking gracefully towards the Pensieve.

I cursed under my breath and stepped quickly in front of it. "Absolutely none of your business, Lucius. Now please, I've had a long day and would like to sleep some."

"Severus, I think you know you better than that. You were about to do something obscene weren't you?"

I was spluttering, incoherent.

"How dare you—" I began.

"Don't pretend to be offended, Severus. So which memory is it? The time you and Bella nearly tore each other apart? Or, should I be so lucky, the one where I let you and Narcissa have a go?"

"Out," I growled. "Out, out, out!" I pressed the tip of my wand into his chest, forcing him to step back towards the door.

"All right, all right. We'll talk when you're in a more pleasant mood. Perhaps some port will loosen you up."

I pursed my lips and jabbed him again. "Out."

"You sound like a broken record, Severus,” he sighed. Lucius was almost out the door, when he paused. "You know who I saw walking down the hallway a few moments ago?"

I remained calm and refused to show any traces of recognition or knowledge. "I have no idea, Lucius."

"The Delaney girl, Evelyn. You didn't..." He scrutinised me for a moment. "No, I don't think you'd be foolish enough to entangle yourself in the affairs of that clan. Goodnight."

After he exited the room, I promptly locked the door behind him, emptied the Pensieve, allowing the memory to resume its place in my already cluttered mind, and returned the stoneware to its proper place. I was no longer in the mood for such a base action as self-gratification. Lucius' words echoed heavily in my mind. I came to the conclusion that I should stay away from that Delaney girl, my promise that I wouldn't treat her differently all but forgotten. I had a very strong urge to pour myself a glass of Firewhisky, but quashed it brutally. I wouldn't become a slave to the bottle, nor would I let Malfoy be victorious in his scheme to usurp power. I went to bed, despondent, drained, and thirsting for something to calm my restless mind.