Using corporal punishment was at the discretion of the teacher. He looked down his colleagues. McGonagall used it, if rather sparingly in his opinion. Gryffindor had quieted right down, and put their energy out on the quidditch field. Especially when a very annoyed Minerva had absolutely refused to let it wait until after the match, and Gryffindor had lost due to their best Chaser being benched. Ha. He couldn't bloody sit down, reflected Snape. Only what he deserved.
Others, of course, didn't choose to avail themselves of the privilege. Trelawney, the old fraud. Flitwick. Vector and Sinistra sent theirs to Filch, who was often to be seen with a contented grin on his face and a miscreant's collar in his grip. But Snape insisted on dealing with his, personally. It would never be said that he did less than his duty.
He had rules set up. You very rarely got the honor of personal correction from him unless your first offense was egregriously AWFUL. They might say many things about him, but it could not be said that he chose his victims at random. Longbottom had barely sat down with a wince that day in class. He'd probably blow something up again just about the time his arse healed. Snape had begun to wonder if he enjoyed it. Weasley had done it precisely once, as, he thought, an experiment. Now, THAT was a pleasureable memory. He let himself drift in it as he applied himself to a really excellent steak and kidney pie. He only wished that he'd been able to deal with the twins. Alas, they'd left just a little too early.
His miscreants were standing in the front of the classroom, waiting for him. He looked them over with a smile. Draco Malfoy. All the little small digs... oh, he was going to enjoy this one. And Malfoy was standing there with the slouch that said, "He's not really going to do it to ME, you know." He'd gotten in a fight. In class. The fight had wrecked a good bit of equipment, resulted in the waste of an entire period, and set them back a good three days in the schedule of practicals. There was no other consequence for this, really. Not one that would make such an excellent impression on the combatants. Inwardly, he smirked.
Ah, yes. The other side of it. Harry Potter. He'd not had the pleasure of having Potter under his switch yet. He'd skated so close to the line. But, after Weasley got it, he'd managed to stay out of trouble. Until he yielded to the temptation to hex Malfoy. And the hex fired in return had hit Granger's cauldron and blown up her lovingly nurtured potion.
She'd ducked automatically, then stood up, surveyed and said, "You two gobshites, do you know what you just did?" And proceeded to tell them with a command of invective that would make a Knockturn Alley prostitute proud.
"Miss Granger, you're out of line."
"You can bloody well fuck off too," she'd said, and returned to her invective.
His voice cracked like a whip. "Miss Granger!" and returned her to an awareness of who and where she was. "I am impressed and surprised," he said softly. "However, I believe that falls under the category of "grossly disrespectful language to a teacher". Your appointment is tonight."
"As," he continued, "is yours, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. I am hoping that the soreness of your arses will enable you to gain a certain amount of control over your tempers."
Potter blushed, Malfoy looked disconcerted, and Granger looked quite stunned, as if she herself did not quite believe she'd done that.
Ah, now, what order to take them in? After much consideration, Snape said, "Malfoy."
Draco raised one brow. "Sir, I thought..."
"You thought wrongly, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, enjoying this immensely. He did not, however, let that show. "Robe off, trousers and pants down, and over the desk."
"My father would never let you...."
"I have a letter from your father that authorizes me specifically to administer corporal punishment when I deem it necessary."
Draco paled. Snape slewed his eye sideways and caught fading smirks from the two Gryffindors. He sympathized. Let them have this little pleasure.
He stepped to a cabinet and took out the birch rods that he preferred to use. Well within the guidelines, they had enough sting and snap and edge to leave the miscreant sore for a good solid week. "As you have never had the privilege of recieving correction from me, Mr. Malfoy," he said, softly, "be advised that you will be weeping when you leave. I shall make sure of it. And do not think that you will go back to your dorm and heal this with a wave of your wand. This is a charmed twig. It will heal on its own. You will be just as sore and miserable as the others you've laughed at, rest assured of that." He chose a nice whippy one, giving it a test snap through the air. Potter's face went much more solemn, Granger went pale, and Malfoy's eyes widened with something that might have been panic.
"But the match!" Draco said, frantically.
"Maintaining order is more important than my house winning their Quidditch matches," Snape said. "Look at it this way, Malfoy. Gryffindor's seeker will also be sidelined. You'll both be using the reserve."
This appeared to give Malfoy no comfort at all. He approached the desk like a condemned man the block, wasted moments folding his robe, and tried to find somewhere to look instead of at the grins of the Gryffindors as he slowly lowered his trousers and pants, modesty preserved by his shirt tails as he bent over the desk.
Snape realized that Malfoy expected more invective, more talk, and decided to disappoint him. He instead strode quickly into position, whipped the shirt tail aside, and brought the birch smartly down across the pale ass revealed, delighting in the choked cry and tremor that went over him, even as much as in the blossoming welt. He laid the welts on with almost clinical precision, watching as Malfoy went from disbelieving the pain to fighting it, to the moment when he gave in and simply shivered and wept as the blow fell. Perfect. Beautiful, in fact. Almost as beautiful as watching him struggle back into his clothes, and, red-faced and humiliated, hurry back to his dorm.
Potter didn't resist and didn't beg. He handed his robe to Granger, walked up, and dropped trou and bent over the desk with an air of resignation.
Snape looked at him, and narrowed his eyes. There were thin lines across the young man's arse, old white scars that went up his back, and down his thighs. He'd heard rumors, but disbelieved them. But these.... suddenly he relished his duty just a little bit less.
"I am a just man, Potter," he said. "I will give you exactly what I gave Malfoy."
"Nice change," Potter said, with an air of clamping his mouth shut on more words.
Snape's response was the first blow.
Potter, by contrast, dampened the shudder that everyone gives at the first blow, and merely inhaled sharply. It was damned tempting to see what it would take to make him cry, but Snape thought about the criscrossed scars, and the limits of the policy, and controlled himself. He laid on Potter precisely the same number as he'd given to Malfoy, and watched as the pain of standing was limited to a sharp breath, the clothes done up quickly, and he turned to take the robe from Granger. Something was traded between them in a glance, and she smiled, tentatively, as though to give him comfort.
"I'll see you later," he said, and she nodded, turning back to Snape as the door shut behind him.
"Well, now, Miss Granger, you surprise me. I would have thought you would be begging for mercy."
"No, sir," she said. "I don't think it would do any good."
"In that you are quite right," Snape said. "So. Robe off, skirt up, bend over the desk."
She did exactly as he told her, and he paused.
"Those," he said in a careful, level tone, "are not ordinary knickers. Where ever did you get those?"
Where indeed? She had a very good arse, and he liked to think of himself as a connoisseur of arses. Especially the female kinds, although he found most of them neatly swathed in white cotton under these circumstances. These knickers had no real back. A thin strip of material covered the crack of her arse, rising up to meet the waistband, and neatly framing the cheeks, which were left entirely bare. He had not seen anything this erotic for a long, long time. The fact that they were made of black satin merely added to it.
"Marks and Spencer, sir," she said, quite calmly, although there was a small wobble to her voice.
"They do rather make keeping your knickers on for this a moot point, don't they?" he commented.
"I considered this about the time you told me to bend over the desk, sir," she said. "But I thought transfiguring them would be more disruptive."
He could not help letting out a laugh at that. "Well, Miss Granger, if you want to be one of the boys, then you shall be."
She yelped and twitched at the first blow, and swore again.
"Miss Granger, that language will earn you another appointment tomorrow."
She fell silent, and he admired the way the red welt lay across her left buttock. He very carefully placed his following blows to evenly cover the entire area with a nice network of welts. Soft skin, skin that reddened quite attractively and warmed visibly. He stopped before he drew blood, as that wasn't in his plans.
She had shuddered with each blow, finally breaking control and sobbing. But it sounded a little different from the other girls. He furrowed his brow. Her breathing was easing slightly, but there was still that curious tension in her back.
"I'm through, Miss Granger," he said, hastily.
She put her robe back on, shrouding herself in respectability, shooting him an odd glance before she left.
He was always a little tense after these things... positively sweating after doing three... and really, he had nothing more planned tonight. The hot water cascaded down, and he let it run over his face, running his hands over his hair to wet it thoroughly, with a sigh of pleasure. He became aware that he was hard. Well, then, he could just deal with this here, too. A little more soap, and a little indulgence in the best tension release there was. Short of sex, and he wasn't going to pay for that any time soon.
Besides, he had such nice fantasy material. All the pretty teenagers in his classes, robes not concealing the curves of breasts and hips and arse... and his mind went immediately to the arse that had been bared that night, in those improbable knickers. Soft, soft satin, framing that perfect arse, barely concealing that sweet space between.... His mind drifted, imagining how it could have gone...
"I'm through, Miss Granger," he said, hastily.
She didn't move. Carefully he laid his hands on the absolutely sizzling skn of her arse, and heard her moan. He got all the way hard, arousal hitting him in his gut. That had not been a moan of pain. Carefully, he slid a finger under the thin band of the knickers, following the split down and down and oh, Merlin, absolutely fucking soppingly wet, and she sobbed when he touched her. "Please," she whispered..."I need you, need to come..." Her face was turned, giving him a half-glimpse of the tearstreaked face, the bitten lip, and the way her eyes closed and she looked almost angelic as he ran his finger over her clit, before her head dipped and her entire body shuddered, right on the edge, and just waiting for him, one more move, one more touch...
He groaned low in his throat, and felt the orgasm gather and wring itself out of him, so hard he collapsed against the wall of the shower, mind entirely blank with receding pleasure for a long, long moment. He slept very well that night.
"Today, we are going to begin brewing the Augmentarium potion. Again. Those of you who made it correctly last time know what you are doing. Those of you who did not have been given the unexpected grace of a second chance. Don't waste it."
The selkie hair that went into this was quite perishable, and so he took it from a sealed container when each student reached the point of adding it. The plain seal hair it degenerated into was magically useless. Potter sent Weasley up to get theirs, unsurprisingly. Equally unsurprisingly, Granger left Longbottom carefully stirring while she came up. He extracted four hairs from his supply, and placed them into a small glass beaker using tongs. Instinctively, his other hand came up to steady hers where it held the beaker. Her hand quivered, and she gasped slightly. He felt something nearly electrical, and raised his eyes from the vial to hers. A flush came up over her face, and then she pulled away, and walked quickly back to her seat. Throughout the class, he felt her eyes on him. She was flushed. He was feeling the heat...lower, and was rather grateful for the concealing drape of his robes.
"I... wanted to ask you some questions about the Augmentarium potion," Granger said, a surprising degree of uncertainty in her voice. He looked up, and wished he hadn't. School hours being over, she had doffed the robe, and was wearing Muggle clothes... jeans, rather tight ones, and a jumper that followed the lines of her body rather closely. He looked down at the paper and thought very hard about Albus Dumbledore, naked, to make his traitorous body behave itself.
"We will be discussing it further tomorrow once the second titration has been done, Miss Granger," he said, still staring at the red ink scribble of Have you learned nothing?! in the margin of Patil's paper.
"But, I...."
"No. I have work to do tonight.Your questions will be answered tomorrow."
"No, they won't," she said very quietly.
There was a long hushed pause. Now he did have to look up. She was blushing, and he was immediately reminded of last time he'd seen her face flushed. He rather imagined she had another one of those pairs of knickers on today. Oh, hell. He didn't need to be thinking about that.
"Miss Granger, I have no idea what you're blathering on about."
"I said, I don't think you're going to answer what I was going to ask you tomorrow," she said. "Because I don't think I'd have the nerve to ask you if you got as turned on by switching me as I...Oh, fuck," she ended, and went even more crimson.
There were a number of things he could have said. This is inappropriate or Leave immediately or Have you spoken to your Head of House about this or do you want to get me fired. As it was, it all snarled itself into a great knot on his tongue, and he couldn't say anything, and to his horror, he felt himself flushing. Meanwhile, his unruly body was making its opinion known, and he desperately needed to adjust himself.
She looked up at him after a long moment, and her eyes went wide. "Oh," she said, softly. "Because, if...
"If you are going to finish that sentence, girl," he said in a low soft voice, "lock the door. And if you lock the door, be very sure you know what you are doing." He couldn't do any more. He was only human.
"I knew when you touched my hand today," she said. "Two more months, and I leave school. I'm Head Girl, and no one ever checks on me. And I'm not... I mean, I've had sex," she admitted in a rush, "but I've never... I left here yesterday night and lay in bed, and wished to God you'd just slid your hand under the back of my knickers... I probably would have...have come just from that. And all day... every time I've felt the ache, I've got..."
He stood up, cutting off the incoherent words. "If you mean this," he said. "Follow me." And he turned around and walked towards the back of the class, up to his sitting room. When he turned to spell the door closed, she was there, breathing just a little deeper, looking around.
"This way," he said, taking off his robe and tossing it over a chair, moving towards his bedroom. She followed him, wordlessly.
"I..." she said, as they stepped into his bedroom and the door shut behind her.
"I believe," he said, "at this point I am Severus and you are Hermione."
She nodded, looking a little bit relieved at the sheer normality of his bedroom. A good large four-poster, with a nice heavy duvet on it, an armoire, a dresser. Door to the bathroom.
"Strip," he said, quietly, undoing his waistcoat and tie, loosening a few buttons at his throat, and adjusting his very painful erection. "I want to see your arse."
She flushed, and then nodded. But she wasn't shaking now. She reached up and pulled the jumper off over her head, shaking her hair to fall over her shoulders. She'd grown it longer, and the weight pulled much of the frizziness out. Underneath, she was wearing a black satin brassiere, and oh, my, she DID have nice ones. She reached behind her, one handed, and with another little head-flip she undid it and slid it off. That right there was wanking material, Gr....Hermione, standing there, pale breasts shining through the long strands of hair, skin looking all the more naked for the heavy denim covering her from the waist down. He just looked, unaware that the sheer fascination was showing on his face. She smiled, and undid the jeans, pushing them down, stepping out, leaving herself dressed in just...oh, fuck, she was. She was wearing them. He made a noise in his throat when she began to push those down too.
"No, leave them on a moment," he said. "Go... lean up against the bed, I want to..."
"Oh, yes," she said, with a smile. She turned, leaned on the bed, bent over the edge. Against the dark coverlet, her skin looked absolutely perfect. And long, long legs, and the contrast of the red welts against the white skin of her arse...Fuck. He could come just looking at that.
She turned her head. "I can feel you looking at me," she said. "Go on, then. Do it. Do what you wanted to do. Did you come back here and lie on this bed and imagine..."
She drew in her breath with a gasp when she felt her hands on her waist, fingertips resting carefully on the skin just above the top band of her knickers. Silently he laid his hands down over the welts, and she moaned.
"You liked it," he said, half to himself. "Liked being laid over my desk and spanked. Liked knowing I got a good look at these tart's knickers you had underneath your robes..."
"Oh, God, yes," she said, breathlessly.
"Do you want me to do that again, just my hand on your arse, heating you up?"
She shivered, and he reached up, gathered her hair up in his hand, moved it off her back. She was breathing fast, eyes shut, and the flush was creeping down her back. "Oh, please," she finally got out.
He moved where she could see him, rolling up his sleeves in a languid and leisurely manner, drawing it out. Echoes, for both of them, of yesterday, but the charge of knowing what had been just subtext had his hands shaking, had him almost fainting for all the blood that had headed south.
He moved behind her. "So shall I make that arse nice and red, just like yesterday? Tell me what you did when you left," he said, laying a hand over the welts, rubbing them assessingly.
"Ohhh.... I went back to Gryffindor, talked to Harry...he was worried about me, I had to pretend I was more upset than I was so he'd leave me alone, and went back to my room, and....Ahh!" she yelped as he brought his hand down.
"Go on," he said, undoing buttons, letting himself out.
"Oh, and I got undressed, and I looked at it in the mirror, and I touched it and it hurt but it made me want...AH!" she yelped again, breathing deeply for a moment.
"Oh, that's looking nice," he said approvingly. He delivered two more hard smacks, reddening the area properly. She yelped each time, the last one shading into a moan. "And did you touch yourself, because you were so wet and miserable for release? "Yes," she moaned.
"Did you imagine what would have happened, of me sliding one finger under the back of your knickers, running it down...." He suited action to words. Her skin was very soft, and hot.
"Oh, yes, and your touching...." her words faded away into a sob as he did slide a finger into the heat and dampness of her.
"Just like that..." he said, bringing his finger down hard over her clit and feeling her quiver and stifle a noise of pure need. "Oh, you're so bloody hot." He stripped his shirt off, reached over, and tapped his wand on the silly little excuse for knickers, muttering a quick vanishing spell. It occured to him to cast another spell considering where this was going. He shoved his trousers and pants down, kicking them aside and stepped closer to her. Fuck.
She gasped when she felt his cock free against her, and said breathlessly, "Oh, yes, please, S..Severus, I want that, please, I..."
"Yes," he said, grasped her hips and pulled her into position. It would have been rough save for her own eagerness. He meant to go slow, but she was so very wet that he slid deeper than he'd intended, pulling a guttural moan from Hermione, and he saved a regret for fucking in this position... he would have loved to see the nice composed swot of a girl falling apart on his cock. She was not quiet. He could tell every time he bumped her sore arse, every time he sent a jolt of pleasure and pain through her, and he leaned on the bed with one hand and did her the courtesy of reaching round her hip and finding her clit and rubbing it, hard and fast, because his control was just gone about now, and she was so bloody good...He was babbling, and she was making vague animal noises until she sobbed and finally screamed and when she clamped down on him he gasped and came, hard, almost blacking out and bowing over her back.
For a moment, there was silence. He pulled himself upright, pulled out, gasping at the separation, leaning against the bed for a moment before he could sit down on it. He patted it, and she crawled on up onto the bed, flopping on it bonelessly, face down.
"Fuck," she said, in a dazed voice.
"Not now, please, I'm not recovered," he said. She snorted with laughter, and shoved herself up on her elbows to look at him. She absolutely shone. He dropped his eyes. He was never good at this part.
"I..."
"Look," she said, in a reasonable approximation of her practical tone, "you enjoyed it, I enjoyed it. I think I know you well enough now to know that it won't make sod-all difference on my potions NEWTs. And I hope you know me well enough to know that I'm going to keep this very much to myself.
He nodded.
"Now," she continued, "given that, can we...um, could we do this again sometime?"
He couldn't help himself. He laughed.
"But," she added, "I much prefer your hand. That birch rod stings like fucking hell."
"Language," he said, vaguely. "It's supposed to."
She giggled, then sat up. "I should go," she commented "Next time," he said,"You don't need to go through all that."
She grinned. "Oh, I don't know... I personally don't mind at all being over the desk."
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