Anticipation

AN: Two stories. One week. Who is nifty? Anyway. Yeah. Read and enjoy.

~Now edited.

Stop. Take a deep breath. This will be okay- it always is. Just take it slowly. You have to be ready. You know what’s coming: you’ve prepared for this. I’m right here, we’ll do this together. Calmer now? One more breath. Slowly exhale. Okay? Next step- push open the door.

Whoa! I’m sorry. Too big of a step. We’ll go back. Start over. Deep breaths. In. Out. Careful though; you’re close to hyperventilating. Focus on your breathing. Let’s find a pattern, something that will distract you. The door isn’t going anywhere. It can wait.

In-two-three-four.

Out-two-three-four.

Good job. Your heart rate is slowing, no longer audible and your shallow gasping has finally abated.

The silence is getting to you, becoming heavy and oppressive. You can almost feel the noiseless void pressing in on you. Hum something, anything. Softly though, under your breath. You don't want to call attention to yourself.All you need is enough to break through the silence. You’re strong enough to defeat silence.

Aww, a lullaby, though not one of your own childhood. How fitting! You’re finally loosening up. Let’s try this again, shall we?

Baby steps.

Look at the door. Slowly- take it in. If you feel overwhelmed hum your lullaby and breath. It’s a door and the door isn’t what you are terrified of. You like the door. It’s heavy and wooden, solid. A old-time creation. The brass knob and hinges are tarnished and discolored and you know they will squeak out eerily when the door is opened. After all, you’ve opened it countless times in the past. You’ll open it again.

Still calm? Okay, move on? Touch it. The dark wood shows its age. Don’t let its scars bother you. It has stood a long time. You can’t fault it for showing it its wear. You are far younger and you most certainly do. Think about how strong the door has been: you share that strength. Nothing is able to destroy this door. It will keep everything that is in- in and everything that is out- out. That’s what terrifies you, isn’t it?

Deep slow breaths. Don’t think of that or you will never make it past this point. Inhale. Exhale. It’s a door- just a piece of wood, nothing but wood.

Are you ready? You have to get that way soon! The hallway won’t be deserted forever. People will think you are crazy if they see you out here, just you and this door. Push it open. Come on, stop dallying and open the door. Slowly though. Don’t spook yourself.

You knew that squeak was going to happen! It’s just an un-oiled hinge- nothing to lose progress over. Maybe before the next time, you should take care of it. Then we could avoid this step. Well, what are you waiting for? Go inside.

Or continue standing there- stiff and frozen from fear. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were beginning to tremble due to a chill- but it isn’t cold. You’ve allowed yourself to become frozen by fear. You need to stop this. You have to go inside, now! You are already so late.

Just one step. One foot- that’s all I want. You made it this far, surely you can take another step. After all, now you have the added pressure of him watching.

See, that wasn’t so bad, now was it? You made it into the room. Now you just have to cross it, stand before him. Study the room as you take those steps- same as with the door. You have to get there. He is tracking every second of your tardiness. The clock is ticking faster than your heart.

Step. The stone floor is scarred from a past full of boisterous children and moving desks.

Step. A layer of dust has settled into shelves that once held student's potions ingredients.

Step. A textbook lays opened in the corner, doubtfully ever to be opened again.

Step. The chalkboard still carries instructions too faint now to read but never washed away

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step. How long does it take to cross a room? You’ve drawn this out long enough. Go to him!

Well golly gee! Let me stand here and applaud, bow, and shout encore. You walked across the room. You are finally standing before your angel. Feel blessed and rejoice- at least stop shaking and greet him properly.

This is foolish. You’re here- you need to greet him. He is still counting, seconds piling up, punishing you by giving you time. Standing before him you are forced to take him in as you struggle to control your breathing, control yourself. He is strong- that’s all you can register. His height, width, and build create a wall of strength you are helpless to push against. You’ve never tried. It would not be in your favor.

It seems like ages before you muster up the guts to choke out “Hello, Master.” Congratulations, you speak. You have now set the night in motion. You would take it back for nothing, yet you hate yourself for being here and doing this.

He smiles at you- a smile you have dreamed of and dreaded for all its implication. Stop panicking! This is what you wanted, what you demanded.

“How many seconds are in eighteen minutes, my pet?” His smooth voice sets your nerves on fire. Stop that. Focus on the question. You know the answer. It’s child’s math, so speak up. Tell him.

“I don’t know, sir.” Stupid boy! One thousand and eighty. That’s the answer. One thousand and eighty but you are too stupid to figure out such things. How idiotic do you get? You deserve the night before you.

“You don’t know, my dear Harry? That’s so… disappointing.” He doesn’t sound disappointed, does he? His tone is completely unaffected, as though he could care less- but that’s okay. You don’t need the verbal cues- you know what comes next.

“Undress.”

Well, you’ve prepared for this already, haven’t you? Start undressing- begin with the shoes. It’s a good thing you went without sock or you’d be here forever. Now the robe- pull it off. It’s a robe for goodness sake, not a three piece suit- just take it off. The difficult part comes next, or at least for you it does. Take off the underwear. Why did you bother with it in the first place? You always have the most trouble removing them. It seems a convoluted salute to conventionality, especially coming from you.

Finally you are naked before him, standing bare to his scrutiny. You must feel as though his gaze is tearing you apart, shredding you into itsy-bitsy pieces. Don’t worry; you’re still whole, at least for now; the night is young, yet.

“One thousand and eighty.”

That’s going to hurt, you know. It’s doubtful you will leave here with skin upon your body. One thousand and eighty. This is what happens when you are late, you knew that. One thousand and eighty. Why did standing out in the hallway, staring at that damn door seem like a good idea? One thousand and eighty. You should have controlled yourself better. The punishment has never been so bad: you’ve never been so late. One thousand and eighty. If you see the sun tomorrow, it’ll be a miracle, certainly more than you deserve.

“The desk.”

Why are you shocked? He is being considerate. The old teacher’s desk is the only piece of furniture in the room not caked in dust and grime. You should thank him for this.

Whoa! You need to get yourself calmed down once more. Of course the desk is unstable. It’s old and abandoned; it stands to reason it would be slightly wobbly and rickety. You’re not really that worried over the stability of the desk, are you? It is instead what is to come, what you have come here for, that has you anxious and jittery. Give it up already. You ceased to be in control the minute you walked through the doorway. You chose to be at his command and will.

Your flinch when he lays his hand on your back is a predictable sign of weakness. You’re so tense, a bundle of coiled nerves.

Oh! You cry out at the feel of the first swat. It was only a swat- his hand on your ass. You were one thousand and eighty seconds late: you have now paid him back for one and already you are crying out. Tonight will be fun for you.

You’re jerking as he continues to spank you; your body bumping against the hard unrelenting surface of the desk. How delightfully sick! You’re becoming hard. That must be making the situation all the more pleasant for you, no?

For the love of the good lord! You’re screaming. What the hell do you have to be screaming about? Did you think he would treat you to the love of his hands on your skin all night? You paid him back for a minute of his time; seventeen more to go and now you must suffer through the heavy wooden paddle. Poor baby. If only you could see your skin. It’s red and blistering and he is still going strong. You always did admire his strength.

Three minutes and you’ve been reduce to nothing more than a babe’s wailing and flailing. You probably couldn’t even take that if it weren’t for his hand in the middle of your back holding you to the desk, effectively creating a painful prison for your erection. The skin on you backside is an angry red and beginning to break and bleed and still he continues.

Four minutes before you’re silent. Four minutes until he stops.

You’re whimpering like a pathetic infant as he cuddles you close to him. How sweet! It seems as though he may care about you after all. Are the words he is whispering into your hair comforting? You are aware your punishment is not over, aren’t you? He is a thorough master: it would be lax of him to let you off having only repaid four minutes. How stupid are you to assume that it is over?

You seem more together again- still hard and in his lap. Will you have to be pieced together after every event? This is getting tiring and growing old.

Oh big fucking deal! He’s placed you back in position, you knew it wasn’t over. We’ve been through this before. A click behind you has your heart racing but, damn it all, what doesn’t? He is giving you a shortcut. There’s no fucking way someone like you would have made it through the punishment you should be given, the punishment you earned. You still have eight hundred and forty seconds left to pay back and bastard that he is, he is giving you an easy out.

How the hell do you still have a voice to scream? You must practice- because there is no other plausible conclusion to be drawn as you begin screaming like no other while he pressed the blade into your shoulder and begins scarring into your skin the number eight. How you make it through the next two numbers, the world may never know.

He’s done; you may stop your pathetic whining now. You shiver as he again begins to sooth you. You come here, asking for this, and still you make him out to be the bad guy in your head. You are a twisted individual. That he tolerates you is a small fortune.

Again with the mewling as he runs a finger through the blood that flows freely from you shoulder. With any luck, he’ll forget to close the wound. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

A gasp- finally some variation in the sounds you emit. Surely, deary, that burns like a mother fucker? Blood is hardly a sufficient lubrication. Another gasp and yet another fill the room as subsequent digits are added, each coated in your filthy blood. You must feel so special as he uses his fingers to fuck you. It’s sickening to watch you push back, trying to take him in farther.

When he finally shifts, removing his fingers and instead shoving his body into yours, you return to your crying out. You really must work on your vocabulary. You emit the same squeak every time his hips are slammed into your raw arse as when he rubs against the still bloody numbers. The most disturbing sound has to be when he comes. You keen, you honest to goodness keen. It’s an unheard of sound and yet somehow you manage to produce it.

He pulls out sharply and the sight you make with blood and come dripping from you is nothing short of perverted art. You shiver as he kisses you softly before zipping his pants and walking away, leaving.

Congratulations, you made it through the night. And as Draco walks through the doorway, leaving you a broken and battered heap in a dusty abandoned classroom, you immediately begin planning ahead. Nest week is right around the corner, you want to start preparing now. After all, anticipation is all part of the game.

AN: Before you go, it's not too much trouble, maybe, possibly consider leaving me a review? It doesn't take much- just a few seconds of your time and I'll love you and be happy and then maybe I'll write a story with a happy ending. It's just a suggestion... but you know.. if you have the time... might as well.. right?

Thanks for reading.