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Potions and Punishments	By : Veresna Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 8419 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3: The Predicament

Bridget brought both of her arms and legs up and pushed in an attempt to drive away the offending thumb. The motion failed spectacularly. Not only did it fail to move the digit away from her, but her legs slid against his smooth skin and the next thing she knew she was caught with his thumb still pressing against her, with the added indignity that she was now straddling it.
"Is that what you meant to do?" he asked, chuckling softly.
She quivered in anger and tried to lash out, but her small hands and fingernails seemed quite incapable of inflicting pain upon him. Finally, in desperation, she opened her mouth and tried to bite him, seeking out the soft skin right under his nail. That seemed to have more effect, but he merely shifted the position of the hand in which she was held as he drew the thumb away and she found herself lurching backwards. By the time she regained her balance, he had retrieved the quill and was holding it in front of her again. Except that this time she found herself facing the very nasty-looking, incredibly sharp nib and it was pointed at her throat.
"I suggest," he purred, "that you not try that again. After all-"
She found herself trying to back away as he brought the tip closer to her, the sensation made infinitely worse by the realization that she was now pressing her naked bum against the wall formed by his fingers.
"I can hurt you far more than you can hope to hurt me," he finished.
She held her breath as he raised the nib up, half-expecting him to poke at her face with it. Instead, he raised it slightly away from her and used it to tease her hair over her shoulders so that the curls cascaded down her front. She made no movement, actually rather glad of the fact that her own hair was now covering her breasts and giving her a modicum of privacy from his prying eyes.
"Yes," he murmured. "That is really much more becoming. Someone has pretty and vibrant as you are really shouldn’t be trying to impersonate an old bat like McGonagall with that absurd hairdo."
She managed to regain her footing so that she didn’t need to lean against him and stood rigidly, her hands balled into tight fists.
"And I am so glad to be able to confirm that it is indeed your natural color," he added, moving the nib downward again so that it was pointing at her tiny thatch of reddish pubic hair.
For a moment, her hands twitched as she considered cupping her hands over that part of her body. Instead, she contented herself with staring up at him and keeping her hands held stiffly against her sides. He smiled down at her and she found herself having to stagger and catch her balance again as he moved his other arm to the side to replace the quill in the inkwell. And she saw that the bottle containing the antidote was sitting next to it.
Snape placed his elbow on the desk and cupped his chin in it, studying her carefully.
She gathered up her courage again and lifted her chin up proudly. "All right, you have had your little fun, Professor," she began.
He raised his eyebrows slightly, but made no other motion or reply.
"I think you had better give me the antidote now," she warned.
"Or what?" he prompted, his tone sounding slightly bored.
"Or I will inform Headmaster Dumbledore about what you have done." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Everything that you’ve done," she added, trying to add layers of menace to those words.
He tilted his head to the side and the ends of his mouth curled up slightly. "Oh, yes, Miss O’Brien," he began.
She found herself falling to her hands and knees again as his hand abruptly descended. A moment later he had dumped her unceremoniously back unto the desk.
"Why don’t you run along and do just that," he prompted. He leaned back in his chair and smiled nastily. "I’ll even help you down to the floor," he offered, his grin widening as she abruptly jumped back as he reached his hand out towards her again. This time, he contented himself with placing his forefinger gently underneath her chin. "I might even open the door for you," he continued, his voice eerily cheerful.
"And, with good luck-which, of course you will be in urgent need of- you might even manage to make it up the dungeon stairs in about three or four hours time. Provided, of course, that Mrs. Norris isn’t prowling about. Or that one of the mail delivery owls doesn’t spy you and decide you look enough like a tasty little snack."
The images that his words had painted were hardly comforting, but she somehow managed to keep from shuddering as she contemplated the hopelessness of trying to escape from him at the moment.
"My whole class knows I was coming here tonight," she said, still trying to lend a threatening air to her own tone.
"Ah, yes," he said, nodding. "And I stayed in my office until nine-thirty but…..she never showed up, Albus." His own voice was theatrically puzzled. "Such a mystery, isn’t it, Flitwick? I wonder if anyone will ever know what happened to that poor Miss O’Brien." He sighed melodramatically.
He leaned down over her again. "Your clothes and your wand can be easily disposed of," he warned.
This time she was unable to disguise the shiver that ran through her.
"Now then," he said, standing up. "Since we have established that you are incapable of presenting any kind of threat to me in your current condition, I suggest you start behaving yourself and obeying me." He leaned down and loomed over her again. "The sooner you start cooperating with me, the sooner I will restore you to your proper form."
He reached down and brought the left-hand side of his robe up and placed it on the table, working open a zipper along the inner side of the garment. "Now, climb in my pocket please," he urged.
She stared up at him. "Go to hell!" she shouted.
"Well," he shrugged, moving his right hand to retrieve the bottle of the antidote. "I am leaving and….." he paused and moved to place the bottle into a pocket on his right hand side. "The antidote is leaving, so I would suggest that if you seriously want to be restored sometime tonight….." He moved his hands back and held the top of the pocket open for her.
For a moment she stood still and rigid. Then her shoulders slumped slightly and she walked slowly over to where he was holding the pocket open. He dropped the fabric over the edge of the desk and, taking a deep breath, she jumped into it, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of the zipper.
She had never been claustrophobic, but it was an unsettling sensation to feel as though you were jumping into your own trap. Adding to her distress was the fact that he had immediately zipped the pocket closed again. He apparently felt her frantic motions that accompanied her realization of what he was doing.
"Don’t worry," he urged, and she jumped back as she felt his fingers run along the smooth fabric. "I just want to make sure you don’t fall out."
She gave a quick ‘humph’ that she was sure he couldn’t hear and sat down, her arms tightly curled around her knees as she tried to get used to the sensation. She and the pocket swayed rather violently for a moment, and she realized that he had bent over. To retrieve her clothes no doubt. She wondered if that was a good sign-that he was taking her clothes with her because she would need them when he gave her the antidote. Or, she gulped, was he merely taking the evidence along so that he could dispose of it? She felt another motion and deduced that he had taken his wand out of another pocket and was murmuring a spell to retrieve her hairpins from the floor.
Then he turned and walked in another direction, and she heard the creak of the door as it opened. He marched quickly and silently on, and she banged lightly against the side of his leg as he walked. She continued to jostle softly against him for about five more minutes, then she felt him pause and heard the sound of wards being unlocked and heard another door swing open. He stepped across a threshold and immediately redid the wards, something that was not terribly comforting to her. He took a few more steps, and then she felt a distinctly weird sensation as she was suddenly whirled around and lifted in the air, belatedly realizing that he was removing his robe. She felt him cup his hand underneath the pocket as he placed the robe down upon a surface and waited for him to unzip the opening. Another minute passed however, and she felt a thump and felt a vibration as something else was dumped along side of the robe. Finally, she heard the loud ripping sound of the zipper being undone, and she crawled gingerly through the open teeth of the zipper as his fingers held it open.
She blinked as her eyes tried to readjust to the lighting of the room after her time in the darkness of the pocket. She heard him laugh and looked up at him, wondering what he thought was so funny now. Apparently, the other thud had been his heavy frock coat, for it was lying beside the robe and he was now dressed only in his black trousers and a white, crisply pressed shirt. He continued to laugh, and when she looked down she realized the cause of his amusement. She was covered in lint-bits and pieces of it sticking everywhere on her. She began to try and brush herself off, stamping and jerking her feet as she tried to make the debris fall off of them. That seemed to only add to his enjoyment of her predicament and a few seconds later she felt his hands pick her up again.
"No, no, that will never do," he clucked and strode quickly across the room and through another door.
The next thing she knew she was being dumped into a cool, smooth surface. She looked up and saw that she was sitting in a shiny and black porcelain bowl. Or rather…..
She sighed and stood up, looking behind her and seeing the golden circle of the drain that she had just been sitting on. And then she glared up at him mutinously.
She was in his bathroom. In his sink.
He leaned over and smiled as his hand moved towards the faucet. "I think you need a shower," he said.
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Potions and Punishments