Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: entrenous88From:
A Witty Watcher: joanwilder
blackmail situation that some readers may interpret as coercionWord Count:
When a bribe goes awry, Harry is forced to make a loathsome deal or face the consequences.Author's Notes:
Dear Recipient: I think I've included just about everything you asked for. Thanks for such an awesome prompt! To my longsuffering beta reader: we both know why you're to be especially commended for your effort. And thanks to S. for your read-through and support.Gentleman's Agreement
Harry held James' letter in his fist. "I know what this is about. He's Snape
, and James is a Potter," he said in disgust.
The Headmistress shook her head. "You're wrong, Harry. He deserves every one of those detentions."
"How could he deserve four
in less than a week? And a Quidditch ban!" He let out an exasperated breath. "It's over the top. Four?" he repeated in disbelief.
Minerva held up her hand. "All right. It appears James hasn't given you the particulars?" When Harry shook his head, she sighed. "First, he missed half of a Double Potions class." She raised a finger. "He failed to turn in an assigned essay." Two fingers. "When he did turn it in, it was word-for-word copied from Alicia Settles, including, I might add, Professor Snape's corrections." Third finger up. "Finally, when confronted by Professor Snape, James told him the girl lent him the essay. An outright fabrication, as Miss Settles verified. Caught in his lie, the fourth detention was added."
Harry's mouth sagged open. "He lied?"
"He did, although he clarified that he'd only borrowed
it while they were both studying in the library." She leant forward with a frown. "I support Professor Snape concerning the Quidditch ban. Plagiarism and lying are very serious offenses, ones that we not only will not tolerate, but for which we believe a stronger message is required."
"He's devastated," Harry murmured, gesturing toward the letter. "He's so excited about making the team."
"I'm well-aware of his disappointment, but he brought this on himself," she sniffed, then sat back in her chair. "There's a reason we don't normally allow first years on the teams, but occasionally an exception is made." She eyed Harry shrewdly. "The ban is for the first two matches. If he behaves himself, he'll be able to start up for the third."
"He was so proud, being the youngest Seeker since me," Harry said mournfully. "I just don't understand; I'll have to talk to him. It's not like James to do something like this."
"He's got Quidditch fever," she said more gently. "I've seen it in students before, especially the younger years. Everything takes a back seat—meals, sleep, personal hygiene, classes. He's not the first, and I doubt he'll be the last. But a lecture from you, supporting our decision, is in order, Harry. He mustn't be allowed to believe we're treating him unfairly."
Harry nodded as he stood. "I'll do that before I go. And I agree, he deserves the detentions. But is there any way—something else he might do—so you could see your way clear to let him play, Minerva? He's not a bad boy; he just got carried away." His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment. "I remember what it was like." He smiled. "Quidditch fever."
She picked up her quill and tapped it on the blotter as she thought. Pursing her lips, she said, "It was Professor Snape's idea, of course. Being a Gryffindor myself, I wouldn't argue if a suitable alternative could be found." She seemed to purposely avoid Harry's eyes.
"Ah. So I should talk to him, then," he said with a grimace. "Well, what could it hurt? I suppose he's mature enough to be civil, after all this time."
As he turned for the door, he heard Minerva snort. ooOOoo
Sitting across the desk from Snape, Harry noted that nothing much about the man had changed. Impeccably dressed, same sour, condescending expression, although his posture seemed less rigid than Harry remembered. Still with the power to unnerve and intimidate, but Harry wasn't intimidated. He was the Head of the Auror Department now, and little in life these days affected his ability to control and persuade others when he needed to. In spite of that fact, Harry didn't feel particularly hopeful. But he had to try, if only because he had a suspicion that Snape had a vested interest in crippling the Gryffindor team.
"I'm shocked by his behavior, sir. He's normally so focused and obedient, and lying, well, that's so out of character for him. He and I've just had a talk, and he's very sorry, Professor."
Snape's frown deepened. "Sorry is all well and good; the proof of that remains to be seen. As with all students, he must sort out his priorities. Studies must come first." His eyes narrowed as he leant slightly forward. "As a former student, and now a parent, you're of course aware that children should not be sheltered from the consequences of their actions. It's how they learn
, Potter. So…" He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Why are you here? Quite frankly, I expected you, but it won't do him any good for you to interfere."
Harry held up a conciliatory hand. "No interfering, I promise. He earned those detentions. But I was wondering if you might reconsider the Quidditch part of it? Perhaps an alternative could be found? A way that wouldn't punish the rest of the team."
Already shaking his head before Harry'd finished, Snape said, "Precisely the tack I thought you'd take, given that your own rule-breaking was never properly dealt with when you were at school. Barring him from the first two matches is the best way to fix his attention where it should be—on his education
, Potter, and the formation of integrity, which in your son's case already seems at risk."
Harry bristled slightly, but decided not to take the bait. "What about a year-long research project, or a long-term activity in service to the school? Something that would remind him of exactly what you've said—that his actions have consequences. So much better than missing two measly games," he finished.
Snape smiled slightly, and not nicely. "Admirable attempt. But I think not. And the Headmistress is in agreement with me. The ban will stand."
Not ready to capitulate, Harry tried again. "It's just that he's had such a hard time, since his mother left. Quidditch has been his escape, and I hate seeing him lose that, when he's lost so much at such a young age. None of it his fault," Harry said quietly, letting his eyes drift down to his hands in his lap.
"You and your wife divorced two years ago, if I recall. So he's hardly still mourning, as he's told me he spends two weekends a month with the Weasleys. Perhaps this is a projection of your own mental state, Potter, not his," Snape sneered. "In any case, the punishment will not be changed."
"And you don't care if people see this as a Slytherin maneuver, sir? The Head of House lambasting the other team?"
"Have I ever cared what other people think? If James' despicable behavior indirectly benefits the Slytherin team, he has only himself to blame; my conscience is clear," he scoffed.
Harry stood and smoothed his robes, wildly grasping for anything left to try; but nothing came to mind as he glanced around this room that he'd not set foot in for almost fifteen years. Funny how much the same it looked. Cluttered bookshelves, dirty cauldrons, the scratched, dingy chalkboard…
He offered a tentative smile when he refocused his attention on Snape, still sitting. "Not much has changed here." He gestured toward the supplies table. "Same old cauldrons. And that chalkboard should've been replaced years ago. And I imagine there are ingredients you'd like to have, ones you can't afford on what the Board gives you, not to mention new reference books." He paused, trying to read Snape's face, but the man was inscrutable; only a slightly raised eyebrow indicated a hint of interest, so Harry ploughed on. "I'd be more than willing to provide those for you, as a Hogwarts alumnus, of course."
Harry suddenly wished that he could unsay it all, as he watched the change in Snape's face: the glittering black eyes dilated, full of the scheming and malice that Harry remembered so well. And his face, spreading into a smile that could only be called gleeful, turned Harry's stomach as he realized his blunder.
Sitting up straight in his chair, Snape folded his hands together atop the desk as he skewered Harry with both his voice and his eyes. "Did you just offer me a bribe, Potter?" he asked softly and intently. "Did you just offer to furnish my classroom in exchange for Quidditch matches?"
"No, I didn't, that's not what I—"
"Oh, but you did. Think about it; you know you did." He lifted a hand and stroked his chin. "My my," he dragged out the words, "what will people say when they hear?"
"Oh, forget it, then; I really didn't mean—"
"But you did
," Snape said. "And now you're in a quandary, because neither your money nor your position can get you out of this one."
"All right, so I did. But I didn't think it out, and I'll tell you something, you miserable tosser! I'd do anything to protect my son from something as unfair
as a Quidditch ban! Hell, I'd serve the detentions for him if I could! You're only doing this because he's my son; everyone will know it, so go ahead and tell whomever you like. At least James will know I tried, and I made that offer because you drove me to it, you unreasonable bastard!" Harry was shaking, and uncertain of what would occur, now that he'd disgraced himself in front of Snape, he fell into the chair again, then put his head in his hands.
A few moments passed until Snape spoke. When he did, Harry was surprised at the lack of indignation. "If I were to tell anyone, it would be the Headmistress. But perhaps, as you mentioned, an alternative solution can be found. If you agree, we'll forget about your pitiful indiscretion. Although I must admit I now understand James' flawed character: he's inherited
it from you."
Harry made as if to stand. "That's enough, I’m not sitting here and listening—"
"Sit down, Potter," Snape growled, coming halfway out of his chair, then sitting again. "You're a pathetic parent, I see that now. Well, I'll tell you what I have in mind, given your desire to spare James his detentions. Oh, he'll serve his four, all right, but I’m willing to change the Quidditch ban to a research project, if you agree to serve four detentions for your bribery fiasco."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "What? You're joking."
"All right, I'm joking," Snape agreed sarcastically. "I'll just inform Minerva of your little stunt and let the chips fall where—"
"Wait, wait! What d'you mean? You want me to serve detentions?" Harry asked, still incredulous, but willing to do almost anything now, especially if James could play and Minerva would be none the wiser.
"Four detentions. Adult, mature detentions, you understand? No essays or homework. We're both adults
," Snape stressed, a nasty gleam in his eye that gave Harry pause.
"Adult detentions. Meaning what?"
"Hmm, I'll be thinking of something appropriate. But I will tell you this, so you have some understanding of my detention philosophy. There are four—how convenient, wouldn't you say?—basics tenets to which I subscribe, when it comes to repetitive detentions. One: obedience. Two: punishment. Three: humiliation. Four: evaluation. So far as these are concerned, I will treat you no differently than I would any student. Except for the content of the detentions, of course."
"Of course," Harry said wearily. "I suppose you want a wizarding oath for this?"
"Certainly not. That would produce official paperwork. I'd prefer a simple gentleman's agreement. A spoken one. However," he cautioned, "if you fail to comply with what's required, or disobey me in any way, then the agreement is null and void, and you forfeit any consideration on my part, as well as the revoking of the Quidditch ban."
Put that way, Harry didn't feel he had a choice. He'd do just about anything at this point. "All right."
"Four detentions to be served on the next four Saturday evenings; absolute obedience, no negotiation, and failure to meet any of the objectives set before you, the deal if off. Agreed?" Snape asked softly.
"Agreed," Harry sighed, slightly alarmed when the expression on Snape's face reminded him of a picture he'd once seen of Mephistopheles, just after he'd made his pact with Faust. Only this wasn't the devil; this was Snape, which was possibly worse.ooOOoo
Snape had arranged for Harry to Floo directly into his rooms on Saturday evening. Harry didn't ask how this had been arranged; he really didn't want to know what Minerva had been told.
Without a word, Snape led him into the classroom, then gestured to the long, low porcelain sink along the wall. "You remember how to clean cauldrons, hmmm?"
Harry knit his brows together. "This is an adult
Snape only sneered, then snapped his fingers. "Sookie!" he called.
The house-elf who popped into view seemed older than even Kreacher, with a wrinkled face and deep-set eyes that glittered like shrunken prunes.
"Take Mister Potter to your closet, and clothe him appropriately," Snape commanded.
Harry followed the elf with a shrug, stooping low to enter a half-door at the end of the room. There was a tiny bed and chair, and in the corner stood a box in which Sookie rooted until he pulled out a full-sized, stained pillow case. Flourishing it triumphantly, the elf held it out wordlessly to Harry.
"Not a chance," Harry muttered, then stepped to the door. "I'm not wearing this," he called out into the room.
"Forfeiting already, Potter? I assume you recall the terms of our agreement if you don't—"
"Oh all right," Harry sighed. "Turn around," he told the elf, then stripped and fitted his head and arms through the holes in the rag. It covered his arse and hung halfway to his knees. He supposed he should be grateful for that much.
Not a muscle in Snape's face moved as Harry and Sookie joined him beside the sink.
"I thought humiliation was the third step," Harry grumbled as he handed over his wand.
"This was a test of obedience, not humiliation," Snape told him curtly. "So far you've passed. Barely. Let's see how you manage the rest of the evening." Pointing toward the sink, he directed, "Six cauldrons. Standard cleaning procedure."
"What's with the house-elf living in your rooms? I thought they bunked in the kitchens," Harry said as he stepped to the sink.
"He is not a Hogwarts elf. I inherited him as part of Albus' estate. Sookie is mine
." Snape gave the elf a meaningful glance. "He will monitor your progress. You have an hour, Potter. Don't waste it." Turning on heel, he strode off for his office.
"Sookie is mine," Harry mimicked, then felt his heart sink as he examined the cauldrons more closely. They were lined up in a row, half-filled with gray sludge. He reached out and tried to lift one—these were silver, not copper, and would be heavy to carry. He knew he should empty what was in the cauldrons before he began, but the bin was on the other side of the classroom. He didn't relish lugging them all that way.
The sink had three taps. Harry considered, then thought, Fuck standard cleaning procedure. Only an hour means I have to improvise
Walking along the sink, he tipped each cauldron, pouring out the viscous sludge, then turned all the taps on full. Within minutes, the sludge was clogging the drain, so that Harry had to lean into the sink and clear it with his hands, steam billowing around his head. It was messy work, scrubbing with a soft-bristled brush to spare the sliver, and before long, Harry was splattered with muck and slime—he wiped at his face as he felt it drip along his cheek, coughed a few times, then felt an odd taste in his mouth. Realizing he'd got some of the potion into his mouth, he fervently hoped it wasn't poisonous or something that would alter his body parts.
He was half-hanging over the sink, putting the weight of his shoulder into the work, as he found a thick crust of sludge adhering to the bottom. "Shit. An hour. Never gonna make it," he muttered as he moved to the second cauldron.
He licked his lips, then took in a sharp breath. He was suddenly reminded of Honeydukes. The wafting of steam had a pleasant caramel smell, a hint of chocolate and cinnamon. "Mmmm, not so bad." He drew in a lungful of steam, and was instantly dizzy, but not unpleasantly so.
His skin tingled and flushed; Harry felt as if he were aware of every single one of his pores, drinking in the scented steam, making his hair stand on end. This wasn't so bad, he thought again, his eyes drifting shut, and for a moment he stopped scrubbing, suddenly filled with an urge to press his body against the cool flat side of the sink.
"Ohhhhh," he moaned, resting his forearms on the sink as he tried to identify the sensation. It was almost…it was nearly….
He straightened, eyes still closed, and smiled as he lifted his hands to his chest and tweaked his nipples through the pillowcase. "Oh mmmmm." He dropped his hands to his groin, up under the pillowcase and gave himself a squeeze. "What the fuck is
He didn't know; he didn't care. He was lost in the aromas, the steam, the sensations as he bent over the edge of the sink, breathing in deeply and rapidly. He vaguely remembered he was supposed to be scrubbing, and fumbled for the brush. Swiping idly at a cauldron bottom, he frotted against the side of the sink, his tongue lolling out.
How much time passed, Harry couldn't say. All he knew was he hadn't felt this good in months. Well, years, actually. He had three more cauldrons to clean…or was it four? He didn't care, although a small voice in the back of his head told him he'd be sorry, but sorry for what, he couldn’t remember.
He shifted his legs apart to make better contact with the sink, and was thinking he might actually get off this way, when he was startled by a booming voice at his ear.
Harry rolled his head to the side and gazed blearily at Snape. "What? Time already?"
Snape pursed his lips. "Yes, it's time." He eyed Harry from head to toe, then his eyes widened slightly. "None of these are clean. And from the looks of you, I suspect you took a shortcut, didn't you?" he sneered. "You didn't drain the cauldrons first. You filled them with hot water, created a steam of Lust Potion
, you idiot." He turned slightly and glared at the house-elf, who promptly popped out of sight.
Harry took a few faltering steps, then dropped onto the house-elf's stool. "Lust Potion. You had students making a Lust Potion?" he asked, still groping at his groin.
"No," Snape scowled, "not students, imbecile. Look at you. If you'd taken universal precautions, as you were taught as a first year
Harry smiled stupidly, then looked down at the poked-out point in his pillowcase. "I wouldn't have this lovely predicament," he said dreamily, then lifting the fabric, he wrapped his fist around his cock. "Why, hello there, stranger," he cooed.
Snape snorted and leant back against the wall beside the sink. Crossing his arms, he asked snidely, "Stranger?"
Harry shrugged. "Haven't been able to get it up in ages. Ruined my marriage, it did." His face darkened. "None of your affair, that."
"No, it isn't. But the state you're in now is. What are your intentions here, Potter?"
Shifting uncomfortably on the stool, Harry tried to resist the urge to stroke himself. "Well, I'm already in trouble, aren't I?"
"I'd say so," Snape said dryly, eyeing the cauldrons
"So, what I'd like to do is wank."
Snape's only response was a raised eyebrow and a single word. "Shameless."
Harry laughed, then bit his lip. He felt so giddy, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop if he started. "I suppose so. This is one of those things I'll hate myself for in the morning, but right now…" He shrugged almost carelessly.
"Oh, you will regret it; I guarantee it. But in the state that you're in, I don't see that you have much of a choice."
Sighing, Harry closed his eyes, spread his feet apart on the floor, then pulled the pillowcase up and gripped it under his arms. Throwing his head back, he fisted his cock with his slimy hand, all thought of consequences and who was watching him gone.
It was glorious, mouth-watering, and brutally short. How could it have been otherwise? He'd been flirting with orgasm for an hour, and it wouldn't take 'no' for answer any longer. Harry rutted forward once and let loose, almost propelling himself off the stool. He felt his legs shake violently as he came, and when he opened his eyes, he saw he'd shot a stream of spunk at least four feet in front of him, just short of a pair of scuff-toed black boots.
"Oops," he said, "I missed." Then it came, the laughter, even though he barely had enough muscle tone to keep to the stool. His shoulders shook, he wheezed and gasped, his eyes watering. And through it all, he was aware that Snape just stood there, watching him with a clinical stare.
It was amazing, how fast Snape could move. Suddenly his face was inches from Harry's. "Your detention is over, Potter. Clean yourself and my floor
before you go." He held out Harry's wand.
Harry took it slowly, rummaging through the fog in his head for a reply, but before he found one, Snape had the last word as he strode for the door.
"You recall what follows obedience in my detention programme? You've set the next one up perfectly."
The door slammed as Harry remembered: punishment
Harry wasn't laughing anymore as he soaked in the bath at home. Oddly enough, though, he felt no embarrassment either. He imagined he should. Strangely, though, Snape hadn't frightened him in the least.
James had played his first Quidditch match that morning, and that made it all worthwhile. Harry would gladly do whatever disgusting things Snape had planned. How bad could it be? And besides, it'd been ages since Harry'd laughed like he had.
Harry grinned, picturing the look on Snape's face as he surveyed the mess on his classroom floor. And just the thought of it was making him hard again.
He laughed out loud, grabbed at his cock, then slid beneath the bubbles as he stroked.ooOOoo
Harry realized straightaway that this detention was no laughing matter. Snape waited while Harry dusted the Floo powder from his robes, then motioned him to stand in front of his desk.
"Punishment, hmm? Shall we list the reasons why? The bribery, of course. Your refusal to follow instructions, failure to complete the assigned task, your lack of self-control. As you so heartily agreed, where James is concerned, actions have consequences."
"You should've warned me what you'd brewed in those cauldrons," Harry muttered.
"Always with an excuse, Potter," he said dismissively. Waving his hand, he said, "Place your wand on the desk, remove your outer robes, and undo your flies. Then drop your trousers and lean over the side of my desk."
Harry's earlier resolve to obey was shaken. "What? Wait a minute, there's no way in hell—" He stopped when he saw the smirk on Snape's face. "I'm a bit old to be spanked. Or is this how you get off?"
"Watch your mouth, Potter. I'm dangerously close to terminating our agreement; go on, defy me again, and we'll see how this will end." He stood and rested his hands on the desk, his lips twisted into a snarl.
There was a moment's standoff as they glared at each other, but Harry knew he didn't dare provoke the man. Turning his back, he shrugged off his robes and laid his wand beside them. He shuffled forward, his cheeks flushing as he fumbled at his flies, then let his trousers drop. Leaning over the desk, he was acutely aware of Snape standing close beside him.
"You might want to put your hands in front of you to protect your little—what did you call it?—stranger," Snape told him as he opened a drawer and removed a long wooden paddle, riddled with small holes.
Harry cupped his cock in his hands, then groaned as a hand pressed his shoulders into the wood of the desk. "Oh god," he breathed out.
"I doubt he'll intervene. Stay still. But shout if you must. Or…cry. Your choice," Snape said, separating the words so that Harry couldn't help but shudder.
The anticipation was terrible; Harry knew Snape was waiting on purpose. He had the briefest of warnings, a whistling sound just before the paddle struck.
It was worse than he'd thought it'd be. A streak of heat, the flash of a burn. Harry gasped out once, inhaling through his nose when the second strike came.One…two…three…
Harry clenched his teeth, but the only noise he made was a whooshing sound as he gulped air in and out.Four…five…
His arse was on fire, his body rocking against the desk with each swing of Snape's hand. He felt a moment of gratitude for having his hands where they were.Six…seven…eight…
Harry couldn't help it; he shouted with every single smack of the paddle now. He had to fight to keep his chest on the desk; he wanted to bring his hands up to scrabble across the top of it—anything to get away from the pain. Snape was timing the blows so they were irregular; Harry couldn't prepare himself; he tried to relax the muscles of his thighs, but it was almost reflexive to tense for the next whack.Nine…ten…eleven…
How much longer? Harry wondered, as his legs started to shake, his face flaming, his heart pounding a tattoo against the desk.Twelve…thirteen…
Harry's voice seemed connected to his arse. Each time the paddle struck, he made a strangled, gurgling shriek from the back of his throat. His backside felt as if a layer of skin were being flayed away.Fourteen…fifteen…
As his cheek slid against the wood with each stroke, Harry felt the dampness, and was suddenly mortified. He was crying.Sixteen…seventeen…
And if crying weren't bad enough, Harry felt his cock betray him, getting stiffer with every blow. Why? Why now? There's nothing erotic about this. I'll be damned if I'll let him see…Eighteen…nineteen…
He was sobbing outright now, clutching his fully engorged cock in his hands, as if he could hide it.Twenty...
There was a pause, and for a moment, Harry thought it was over. With a groan, he squeezed with his hands and rutted into the side of the desk.Twenty-one
. "One for good measure," Snape announced, the sound of his voice drowned out by Harry's muffled scream.
Harry was vaguely aware of the paddle being replaced in the desk, then Snape returning to sit behind it. Harry didn't move, even though Snape was just six inches away. How could he move, without Snape seeing?
"Potter? We're done for the evening." When Harry didn't move, Snape spoke again, more sharply. "Potter!"
Harry dragged himself backward, then slowly, still with his hands covering his shame, he lifted himself up, vertebrae by vertebrae. There was no way Snape could not see this, and something told Harry that trying to avoid the issue would only make it worse.
Meeting Snape's eyes, Harry said thickly, "You have the strangest effect on me, Professor." He dropped his hands, letting his cock spring upward.
Snape pursed his lips, his eyes drifting down to Harry's cock, then back up to meet his eyes. "Well, well. Interesting…development, Potter. Something I'll keep in mind, given that humiliation is next on my list. Get dressed and go," he bit out, waving toward Harry's robes.
It took Harry a few moments to make his legs work. His body seemed to creak as he walked. But when he looked back from the Floo, he was tempted—only tempted—to laugh. Snape was still watching him, his expression seeming confused.
His face still wet with tears, Harry smiled at him, but didn't dare wait for a reaction.ooOOoo
Two Saturday nights, one in which he'd humiliated himself, the other in which Snape had done it. On the horizon, the third detention promised more of the same; after all it was the
But Harry couldn't truthfully say he'd felt humiliated at all; perhaps a bit embarrassed, but as he thought back on what had transpired, he was tempted to smile, and idly noted a sympathetic twinge in his groin.
He didn't understand why, but for the first time in ages he was looking forward to something—something for himself. It didn't make sense, but there was a spring in Harry's step, and wonder of wonders, he'd remembered how to whistle.ooOOoo
Harry already felt humiliated; he was certain Snape wouldn't allow him to keep the coat on.
He glanced at the paper in his hand, before squinting up at the sign over the door of the Muggle club: Chains and Chattels. This was the place, then.
Yesterday, he'd received a package and instructions from Snape. After Harry'd stopped hyperventilating, he'd read the note again:Meet me at nine at Chains and Chattels, 12, Worthington Street, London. Wear the clothes, nothing underneath. Don't be late
He'd entertained refusing, after his initial horror had passed. But then, refusing would mean forfeiting, and he'd already been down that mental road before. He was halfway to his goal; why throw it all away because of a bit of fashion squeamishness? And after he'd tried the garment on and studied himself in the mirror, he had to admit he was intrigued. Just the feel of it against his skin, the way it hugged his privates made him sweaty and achy and needy in all the right places.
The interior of the club was dim, except for a stage that was spotlighted. Snape must've been watching for him, because Harry glimpsed him as he stood from a table at the side near the front.
As he threaded his way among the tables, Harry noticed it was an all-male establishment, some of the patrons dressed more outrageously than he was. The floor vibrated with the thump of music pumped in from somewhere, and he felt more than one pair of hands brush casually against him as he made his way.
"Take off the coat," Snape said when Harry reached the table.
"This is a gay club?" Harry asked as he shrugged out of his coat, holding it awkwardly in front of him, until Snape made a face and held out his hand.
Harry released the coat reluctantly, then made a dash for the empty chair, stopping when Snape ordered, "Don't sit yet. Let me see you."
Deciding to let Snape have his look and get it over with, Harry sighed, but stood tall with his arms at his side, fighting the urge to try to pull the edges of the fly placket together. He didn't know if it was too small or was actually designed to let a bit of flesh show.
It was a one-piece garment, made of thin soft leather. Sleeveless, with a V-neck that plunged almost to his navel. It was snug around his hips, the placket gaping open a good eight inches, from mid-groin to behind his bollocks; the trouser legs were short and tight, ending just below his knees. The shoes were suspiciously feminine—short black boots with no laces, but sporting a clunky wide heel that was at least three inches high.
"You'll do," Snape said at last, waving him to the chair. "Yes, it's a queer establishment. I am
queer, Potter, did you know?"
"No, I didn't, but I've figured it out now," Harry said, glancing around at the couples at the tables, then was distracted by the action under the spotlights. A man in a black mask was whipping another man with some sort of crop; it didn't seem to be painful, as the tails of the whip appeared to be made of fabric. Harry felt his mouth go dry as he watched—how the man being flogged pulled against his restraints, writhing and sweating, his cock and balls bound up with some sort of netting.
"Explain this to me," Harry said, his eyes riveted on the couple.
"That is a dominant and his submissive. Entirely consensual. A game, if you will, with very specific rules agreed upon by the two of them." He paused before asking softly, "Do you like it?"
How the bloody hell was he supposed to answer that? Harry wondered. He couldn't look away, but he sensed Snape was watching him, not the action. He felt his cock twitch and begin to swell, and of course, it popped right out of that placket, just as it was supposed to do. Harry suddenly understood that this was exactly why the garment was designed the way it was. He was about to pull his chair in closer to the table, but then stopped. Instead, he dropped his hand to his lap.
"Don't touch yourself," Snape snapped. "I suppose I have my answer."
Harry pulled his eyes away to meet Snape's. "Do you come here often?" He glanced to the couple again, then back. "Do you ever do…what they're doing?"
"Yes, I'm a regular here."
"And which one would you be?"
Snape snorted softly. "I prefer to control, so which do you think?"
"Oh, makes sense, then." He licked his lips, trying to ignore how his body was reacting. "I know about queers. Neville is."
"Hmm, yes, I know. He comes here every so often."
Even this astounding news couldn't make Harry look away, focused as he was on the couple in the center spotlight. It appeared there was a hammock suspended from the ceiling, and a bloke was slumped inside, his arms and legs fastened to each of the supports. There was a group of men around him: one at his head, one near his chest, and the last between his spread-eagled legs. Harry's breath was shallow, he was flushed, he felt a trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades….
"Potter! Are you deaf?"
Harry tore his eyes away and forced himself to focus on Snape's face. "Sorry."
," Snape emphasized the word, "I want you to pick a safe word. Not that you'll need it. But choose a word you can use to signal to me that you're uncomfortable and do not wish to continue."
"Continue with what?" Harry asked, suddenly alarmed.
"I don't know, Potter. That's the point. But this detention and the next might include elements of this game. Myself as the dominant, you as the submissive, so will you simply choose a word?
"You mean we're going to…" Harry's eyes widened. He wanted to protest; he hadn't agreed to anything sexual, but then he remembered the last two detentions. Snape wasn't the one who'd introduced a 'sexual element'. Harry was.
"No," Snape said testily. "But I will command, and you will obey, is that clear? As for what that will include, I haven't decided. I'm tailoring this to you, to what I observe, as I do all my detentions."
"Ah," Harry said, slightly aghast at the twinge of disappointment he felt, mixed in along with the relief. "So, you're the master and I'm the slave, that it? That's the humiliation part, I guess." He smiled. "Not feeling it yet, though." He looked down and smoothed his hand along the slick leather at his groin.
"Perhaps this will help," Snape said softly. Harry looked up, and there in the middle of the table sat what looked like a dog collar, an inch wide and studded with silver stars. "Put it on," Snape ordered. "Clasp with the O-ring in the front."
Harry felt a wave of revulsion and an instant reflex to jump to his feet, but he closed his eyes, concentrated on the beating of his heart, gradually aware of it pulsing in his cock too. He opened his eyes to find Snape staring at him intently.
Smiling again, Harry reached for the collar, and slipped it around his neck, that little click of the lock making him think of Faust again.
"Your safe word?"
"Hmm. Any word?"
"Yes. But a word that you wouldn't use in normal conversation with me."
Snape rolled his eyes. "No, that has too much potential for garbling. I might not recognize it as a word, but as part of a groan or a moan."
The thought of Snape making him groan or moan shouldn't have been arousing, but it was. Harry's voice was gruff when he said, "Snitch."
"Predictable, but adequate." Reaching into his coat pocket, Snape casually said, "Get up and come here."
Harry obeyed, stopping to stand in front of him.
Snape lifted up a slender silver chain with a loop of leather at the end. "Kneel."
This was it, then; Harry felt it fill him, humiliation
. Putting the collar around his neck had been different. Allowing himself to be leashed to Snape, tethered to him like an animal, bound to go where he led, obeying in the most physical sense of the word, he would be submitting himself to someone in a way he'd never done before.
For a moment his knees refused to bend; it took all of Harry's will to do it, but he knelt with his head bowed. There was a brief touch to his neck as Snape held it steady, then the snap of the clasp, sounding like a door slamming shut.ooOOoo
They were in a red-lit corridor of the club. Snape had led the way, Harry stumbling along behind him. There were dozens of men here, lining the walls, some standing, some kneeling, but by the time they reached the halfway point, Harry was heady with the sound of groaning and grunts, the smell of sweat, the unique odor of semen filling his nostrils.
Snape looped the end of Harry's chain to a hook on the wall, then leant in and growled at his ear, "Stay."
Harry watched as Snape took a position against the wall opposite him. He kept his eyes on Harry, who noticed that he neither beckoned nor signaled, yet within moments, there were two men on either side of Snape, one working at the buttons of his shirt, the other falling to his knees in front of the man, his hands already up, caressing Snape through his trousers.
Snape jutted his chin up, but kept his eyes fixed on Harry, while a mouth worked over his chest, sucking at his nipples; the man in front of him pulled Snape free of his flies, and after a moment of fondling, he grabbed Snape at the hips, sucked at the head of his cock, then swallowed the rest of it.
Without meaning to, Harry's hand found his own cock, but Snape's eyes flashed, and Harry read the silent command, and dropped his hand to his side again. Clearly he was meant to watch, in agony, in frustration, in aching, throbbing denial of what he needed.
Thrusting his hips forward, Snape's eyes finally closed as his mouth fell slightly open. His head rolled to a shoulder, and Harry watched, fascinated, as the two strangers brought Snape to the brink of climax.
"All by yourself, love?" a voice at Harry's ear murmured. "Can't have that, a pretty thing like you." Harry moaned, rutting forward as a hand took hold of his cock. It felt like nothing he'd ever felt before. And the fact that this was a man didn't matter at all.
"Yeah, ohgodyeah." Harry felt the collar dig into his neck as he rested his head on the man's shoulder. The hand was gripping him hard, sliding up, stroking down… It wouldn't take much, he'd be there in no time, it felt so good, he could taste it.
Harry's eyes snapped open at the vicious tug on his collar. Snape's face was so close, Harry could smell the whiskey on his breath. His expression was incandescent, as he shoved the stranger away.
"No, not tonight. He's with me." He stared into Harry's eyes, ignoring the apology as the man drifted away. "And I don't share."ooOOoo
The leash was gone, but the collar remained. The two of them were sitting across from each other in Snape's room, each with a drink in hand. Snape was moodily silent, gazing into the fire, until he crossed his legs, picked a spare thread from his sleeve, then finally looked at Harry.
"What happened with your wife?" Snape asked, his voice low.
Harry thought for a moment. "I told you. I couldn't get it up anymore. No sex life." He shrugged. "She wanted babies. She wanted a man. Since I couldn't give her what she wanted, she left."
"But you are
a man," Snape said, then paused as he studied the fire again.
Harry didn't disagree, but he thought of his wife and how everything had fallen apart. He also thought of these three nights spent with Snape, and how alive he felt. So strange. So unexpected.
"What did you think of what you saw tonight, Potter?"
"You mean the club? Well, I know what queer men do; I'd just never seen it," he said awkwardly.
"Answer my question."
Harry took a deep breath. "You already know the answer. You saw what it did to me—I was fucking aroused. I probably would've come just from watching you get sucked off."
Neither of them, Harry realized, had had a satisfying evening, so far as getting off. And suddenly he knew what he wanted to do; he didn't stop to consider, he didn't ask himself the obvious question. He just slipped from the chair to his knees, hobbled the two steps between them, and placed his hands on the arms of Snape's chair, almost smiling at the shock in the man's eyes. "I wanted to do more than just watch. I wanted to be the one to do it."
Snape reached out and firmly removed Harry's hands from the chair. But Harry noticed the flush in his face, the flash of what almost looked like satisfaction in his eyes.
"You think you're queer, do you?" Snape asked, uncrossing his legs so Harry was forced to back away.
"I don't know. I might be." Harry tilted his head to the side. "How would I know?"
Snape surprised him by taking hold of Harry's hair and jerking his head forward. "You think about your life, your marriage. You think about what you've experienced over the past three weeks. And then you
figure it out. No one can do it for you. I have an opinion, of course, but I'll not do your homework." He released him and made a motion for Harry to stand.
Harry obstinately stayed on his knees. "Fine. I'll do that. But in the interests of helping me figure it out, I'd really like to do this. For you. Tonight."
Turning to stand with his back to the fire, Snape crossed his arms. "No. We're done for tonight. The last detention will be here in my rooms. Next Saturday at nine, as usual." He leant down, placing his hands on his knees, his eyes level with Harry's. "I'm still making the rules, Potter, and as for what you want, remember that these detentions are about what I
"Evaluation next time?" Harry said slowly.
Snape made an exasperated sound. "Yes. For proof that you've learnt the lesson. My
Harry pondered his life that week. He thought of his relationships—with women, in general, his wife, in particular. Once James had been born, a lassitude had settled over their sex life; Harry had been distracted by his work, but he had to wonder why he'd almost been happy to have it that way.
Now he'd been pulled from his lethargy, something awakened in him by Snape and his bloody detentions. Not quite true, Harry knew. It was his own reactions that had him confused, agitated, and excited.
Excited, because for a reason he didn't quite understand, Harry looked forward to something besides a vicarious enjoyment of life through his son. He felt a compulsion to finally examine a part of himself that had been whispering in the back of his mind for years, and roared fully to life only recently.
Harry decided it was time to spend an evening with Neville.ooOOoo
Sitting in the same chairs as they had the previous Saturday, Harry waited for Snape to speak first, but Snape didn't seem to be in any hurry to begin. Instead, he stroked his chin, studied his fingernails, then got up to stand with his back to the fire.
"I must confess my surprise," Snape said. "Obedient for the most part; I expected more of the legendary Potter obstinacy. To your credit, the punishment phase was especially satisfying to me…and yourself, it seems." He lifted an eyebrow, but Harry didn't react. "As for humiliation, tell me—how did it feel?" He leant forward and caught Harry's eyes. "I saw
it, Potter, in your face, the moment the leash connected, hmmm? Difficult to submit, wasn't it? Especially to me."
Harry felt a flash of arousal as he remembered. "Yes. All of it." He felt compelled to be honest; he'd sworn to himself that he would be. "But I liked it too. It felt good. I sure didn't expect it." He lowered his eyes. "Especially with you."
Snape straightened, then smirked. "As I thought. And because of that, along with what I've learnt of you over the past three weeks, I decided to alter this final detention." He gestured for Harry to follow, then walked to a door at the back of the room: Snape's bedchamber, given the furnishings.
Harry stood just inside the door, watching warily as Snape began to unbutton his coat.
"My plan all along was to have James here for this detention," Snape said casually.
"James?" Harry asked, perplexed by this information, and Snape undressing.
"I was going to require you to tell him what you'd done: offered me a bribe. You see, parents do their children a great disservice by hiding their shortcomings. It's much better for a child to know a parent isn't perfect. However, I've changed my mind." He stopped and sat on the edge of the bed. "Besides, I knew from the beginning that you regretted it, that you instantly would've taken back the words if possible."
Harry nodded. "But if you knew that, why…the detentions?"
"For the same reason I've changed the programme tonight: because I could. I've never been able to treat you as you deserved, and let me tell you, I've enjoyed myself immensely. However, before we proceed, let me ask you something, Potter." He directed Harry to sit on the opposite side of the bed. "That matter we discussed last time—any progress?"
Since he'd guessed where this evening's detention was to be served, Harry bent over to untie his shoes; after he'd kicked them off, he started on his shirt. "I had dinner with Neville this week. Just to make sure of a few things. I already knew," he murmured, tossing his shirt to the chair.
"Ah. You knew…"
"That I'm queer. It's like the world's come into focus. I suppose I have you to thank for that." He'd started to undo his trousers. "So, what will it be tonight, sir? Seems like the evaluation is over, and this…" He let his trousers drop and pulled down his Y-fronts. "This'll be about what you want, won't it? I figured as much." He suddenly felt awkward and slightly afraid, watching as Snape finished undressing and slid onto the edge of the bed.
"Oh yes, this is entirely about what I want, and why shouldn't it be? We've a gentleman's agreement, after all." He rose up on his knees. "I had my suspicions after the second detention. And after last week, I was almost certain. All that remained was to see whether a week would be enough for you to realize the truth about yourself." He made an impatient gesture. "Lie down and bring your arms up over your head."
Harry lay back and slowly lifted his arms toward the headboard; he bit back a gasp as Snape securely fastened his wrists to the bedposts. The fear rose a notch higher, as did his cock, bobbing softly up toward his stomach. "Why're you tying me down? I'm willing without that."
Snape moved down in the bed and sat on his heels between Harry's legs. Leaning in, he rested on his elbows, his chest against Harry's cock eliciting another gasp from Harry. "So, what did Longbottom tell you? You know what men do with each other, I assume. Did he tell you it's uncomfortable the first time, hmm?" He reached up and made each of the bindings tighter. "Did he tell you how it burns, that you'll feel full? A bit achy?"
"Yes, he told me," Harry said breathlessly, trying in vain to restrain the urge to jerk his hips upward.
"And he told you that it would pass, that after a while there would be pleasure, that you'd like it? Well, perhaps not the first time, but surely the next?"
Harry licked his lips, watching as Snape sat up and wordlessly Summoned a small phial from the bedside table. Dripping its contents over his fingers, he sneered as he spread Harry's legs wide, then fumbled until he found his target. Eyes gleaming, he pushed in hard with a finger. "Am I correct?" he murmured, watching Harry closely.
"Yes," Harry gritted out, trying not to resist the invasion by sliding up in the bed.
It was uncomfortable; it burned like Neville said it would, and by the time there were several fingers up his arse—Harry thought it might be all
of them, but he couldn't be sure—there was actual pain.
"Well, Potter, it's my sorry duty to inform you that Longbottom lied," Snape said, twisting the fingers so roughly that Harry clenched his teeth together to keep from crying out. "Men always romanticize this part; I don't know why. Uncomfortable, aching…" Snape made a tsking sound as he pushed Harry's knees to his chest. Drizzling lube over his cock, he pushed the head of it against Harry's hole. "What fairytales," he muttered. "Pain is the only word for it. Not just this time, but the next and the next. Pain is always a part of it." He pushed forward slowly, and Harry, breached only by an inch, had to agree. He was already on fire; he panted and tried to relax, everything heightened and made worse by his hands being bound. "Eventually there will be pleasure, but not for a while." Snape leant in closer, one end of his mouth twisted up in the caricature of a smile. "Quite
a while, actually."
Staring into Snape's eyes, dark with intent, registering the leering expression, Harry didn't think; he mumbled, "Snitch."
Snape froze. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. You need me to say it again?" Harry's chest heaved up and down.
In an instant Snape was up and off the bed. With a wave of his hand, the bonds fell away, leaving Harry's arms to flop uselessly to the mattress. Harry sat up and rubbed his wrists, while Snape sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.
"You realize, of course, that this constitutes a forfeit?" Snape glanced to the side, but didn't look at Harry. "No choice but to inform the Headmistress. A shame, so close to the end, all for nothing."
"No!" Harry said. "No, listen, I'll do it, I will. I just…can't you see? I want to have my hands free, I want to be able to touch you, to feel you
. It's such a waste if I can't do
anything for you. I know I don't know much, but I'll try." He swallowed hard. "I want
Snape turned on the bed and skewered Harry with a look of disgust. "What part of 'this is about what I want' did you not understand? I don't give a rat's arse about what you
want. You want a modicum of tenderness, sentimental consideration, cuddling in the afterglow, no doubt." He snorted. "Well, you have the rest of your life to find that, Potter, but not tonight. Not with me. Ever."
Harry's mouth fell open. "I never said… I don't expect those things from you! I don't even want them. I just wanted my bloody hands free!" He huffed out a breath, squinting as he scrutinized Snape. It was true. He couldn't imagine the man extending any of those things to him; in fact, he realized, he liked Snape gruff and rough and a bit dangerous. "Listen, I'm sorry. Give it another go?" he asked, lifting his arms toward the bedposts. "Come on, sir. Please?"
Within a minute, Harry's hands were tied again. In the next moment, without any further preparation—and a decided lack of consideration—Snape penetrated him in a single brutal thrust that made Harry cry out as his head connected with the headboard.
Harry vaguely wondered why Neville hadn't been entirely truthful, as each slide of Snape's cock into his arse felt as if he were being filled by molten metal. Snape breathed noisily through his mouth, grinding his hips as if he were drilling a hole in the ground, fixing Harry so firmly to the bed that for a moment he felt bodiless, in control of nothing but his mouth, and with that he did what came naturally: he shouted, he cursed, he wailed.
When it was over, Harry realized they'd both come, not that Snape had taken any care to make sure of it. Lying stunned on the bed, sticky and sweating and feeling as if there were still a phantom cock up his arse, Harry listened dazedly to Snape's voice at his ear. True to his word, there was no cuddling, no tender caresses, just a solemn recitation of fact.
"You see, Potter? No romance, no affection. Just sex. Just me. And you'll remember, I promise. With everyone who might come afterward, I'll always be there; a ghost of me and what I did— taking your virginity—will be with you every single time. That's
what I wanted." He moved away slightly. "That's
what I took."
Harry rolled his head to look at him. "Actually, that's what you gave me. I think…" He shook his head. "No, I don't just think, I know
. I wanted it this way too." He laughed weakly when Snape scowled.ooOOoo
Over the days that followed, Harry thought about what he should do next. He supposed romance and affection would have a place in his life at some point, but for now, all he could think about was Snape.
The feel of those eyes on him as he'd wanked in the classroom…
The whoosh of the paddle, the stinging of his arse…
The flush in his face, the twitch in his cock as the leash tugged him along…
The sensation of pulling against the bonds as Snape pounded into him…
The murmur at his ear…I'll always be there. That's what I wanted…that's what I took.
On Friday, an owl arrived. Harry recognized the handwriting. He trembled slightly as he opened the parchment, revealing four succinct lines:Detention One (Obedience): Acceptable
Detention Two (Punishment): Exceeds Expectations
Detention Three (Humiliation): Acceptable
Detention Four (Evaluation): Exceeds Expectations
Gentleman's Agreement: Fulfilled.
He laughed out loud, then celebrated with a wank.ooOOoo
Harry took a deep breath, then knocked. His hopes were high, but with Snape, well, one could never be sure.
The door was flung open, and if Snape were surprised, he hid it well as he narrowed his eyes. "Potter. I expected you to be out hunting for your soul-mate. Yet, here you are on your first free Saturday night in a month."
Raising the parchment in explanation, Harry said, "Well, sir, it's about my marks. I know I've passed, but I think I could do better. A chance for Outstandings. If you're agreeable, I'd like to try. If you'll take me on, I mean."
Snape leant against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. There was the faintest glimmer of amusement—even interest— in his eyes, along with something definitely darker. "You've thought about this?"
"Oh, I really have, sir. All week, in fact. Well, I thought a great deal about our detentions." He looked down at his feet. "Hardly could think of anything else." He glanced up expectantly.
Tapping his finger against his cheek, Snape scrutinized him for a moment. "This would be a serious arrangement, Potter. Not a gentleman's agreement." He lifted an eyebrow.
"A contract. Eventually. After I've explored your aptitudes and predilections, your capacities and boundaries."
Harry flushed, his heart seeming to expand, while his cock actually did. "A contract?"
"Yes. One that will define our encounters. What you want, within limits, and what I want, with fewer limits."
"Oh. That sounds like exactly what I need. Sir," Harry breathed out.
Snape reached out and grasped Harry by the chin. "And you will never again use your safe word inappropriately, to secure what you want
. Because if you do, you'll regret it."
"Yes, sir. I realize that now."
There was a moment's silence as Snape studied him further, then seemed to come to a decision. "When would you like to begin?"
"Well, I was hoping you'd be free tonight, sir. If you're not, I'll come back whenever you say." Harry was more than hoping; he'd actually worked himself into a frenzy thinking about this all day: he was desperate.
Snape stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him. "Very well. Follow me." He was off at a fast pace, with Harry barely able to keep up behind him.
They took two sets of stairs to the lower dungeons, deeper than Harry had ever been before. At the end of the corridor, Snape recited a complicated verbal formula to unlock a dusty, scarred door.
Once they were inside and the lights had been spelled on, Harry had no time to examine the room. Snape wheeled around and pushed Harry against the door, crushing their mouths together. It was so totally unexpected that Harry reflexively fought for a moment, before opening his mouth to participate in the plunder, searching with his tongue, tasting, almost feasting, sensing that this was a rare opportunity. When Snape finally let him go, there was a brief moment of closeness. Harry breathed in the smell of him, felt the pounding of someone's heart, the tickle of hair against his cheek.
"You kissed me," he said in wonder.
"There's the carrot, and there's the stick. Be advised that I know how to use both of them, Potter." Snape stepped back and eyed him meaningfully. Harry shivered, then turned to look at the room.
It was a sexual playground; the walls were covered with things hung on hooks. Harry identified assorted sets of chains and manacles, paddles and whips, hooks and insertables. Tables against the walls were piled high with more of the same: bindings, ropes, collars and bottles of potions. Harry recognized the sling in the far corner, and hanging from the center of the ceiling were two long cables, falling to the floor on either side of an ominous drain. Harry shivered again.
"This is the workroom," Snape told him, seeming satisfied with Harry's sober expression.
Harry studied the room again. Turning to Snape, he squared his shoulders. "I don't understand it, you know. Why I'm here."
Snape nodded. "But I do, and for now that's sufficient." His eyes glittered in the candlelight, his lips curled in a suggestive sneer as he gestured toward the room. "Just for tonight, you
choose. What's your pleasure?"
"I wouldn't…know where to begin. I think I'll leave that up to you, sir." Harry wasn't certain, but Snape seemed pleased with his deference.
"Very well, then. Something erotically painful, hmmm?" Snape seemed on the verge of smiling, when Harry started to tremble in spite of himself. "Shall we begin?"FIN