Harshing sat down as soon as Tristan had taken his seat. He slid his glasses to the end of his nose and flicked through the humongous book containing the various discipline records for each and every student that had ever passed through Hogwarts. He reached Tristan's page and leaned back, his hand rapping on the thick paper.

"Refreshments?" He pointed to some water and a plate of oaty biscuits, still warm and moist from the Hogwart's Kitchens. He took one himself and bit into it leaving teeth marks on the edge.

"No thank you professor." *Tristan answered quietly. He had been out last night drinking and 'spending time' with Aiden, and he had a killer hangover. He had refused the refreshments out of fear of being sick. Tristan had awoken early in the morning to find that he didn't have all the ingredients to make a hangover remedy. So he had gotten dresed, taking special care to not look like a total slob since Harshing already hated him. Tristan wanted nothing more than to lean back inhis chair and relax, but he didn't dare.*

Harshing smiled then shrugged, his glasses vanished from his nose in a snap. He pulled his chair forward, coughed then dunked a quill in some thick black ink that looked like burbling tar. He placed quill to paper and wrote something in a strange language...probably latin or ancient greek.

"Ok, Tristan, thankyou for coming along. This is what we staff call a Personal Behaviour Meeting. It means that we have some concerns over your progress or behaviour in school. These meetings will cure those concerns."

"Alright." *He said, adjusting his position in his chair slightly* "What are the concerns?" *He had a feeling he already knew what the concerns were judging from past encounters he's had with Harshing. However, he tried to sound as though he really didn't know what Harshing could mean.*

"I'll be asking the questions," A flash of anger crossed his eyes before he blinked and returned to his kindly, kindly approach. "Our concerns are very, very severe Tristan." Harshing stood up and sat on the desk.

"As benevolent dictator of his nation I am trying to restore the values and traditions that caused the war we have just come out of. As headmaster I am trying to breed a nation that will adhere to these values." He coughed and poured a cup of water.

"Think of this cup of water as Britain. And my finger as you." He prodded the glass, the water swayed a little. "Now lets say there are millions of you." He took both hands and threw the glass against the wall, it smashed to smithereens.

"It takes only one person to rock the boat, and millions follow. Do you want a nice cool glass of water, or a smashed up one?"

*It was just as he had expected.* "But sir, I'm not trying to distruct Britain." *He argued, feeling as if he was pushing his luck. He wanted Harshing to be straightfoward and just tell him what exactly he was talking about, despite the fact that he already knew, but he didn't dare ask*

"Oh but you are, you are rotting it at its very core." He returned to his seat.

"I am talking, of course about your deviancy. Deviancy, or as you call it homosexuality, is infact not tolerated within the current British Wizarding Administration. Deviancy does not produce more wizard kind, Deviancy lures more people into evil, Deviancy does not unite. Deviancy is morally wrong."

He spoke informatively as if he was giving a mathematical lecture, however he spoke in a tone that suggested he didn't actually believe what he was saying.

"Yes, Mr Cavalli, you parade around my fine school making no secret of your sins. And as I always say - failure to listen is failure to live!"

*Tristan dropped his gaze o stare at his hands folded in his lap* "I can't change who I am." *He muttered* "I don't want to change who I am." *Tristan toyed with the idea of maybe just getting up and running, but he knew he couldn't hide forever. Especially from Harshing*

"We must all sacrifice for the good of the nation. I make sacrifices, everyone else makes them - you can. As for changing,you may not be able to, but I am sure I can." Harshing smiled at him.

"You will receive punishment on a weekly basis. At each meeting your dosage will be increased - this will happen for the next couple of years. We may play around with other forms of discipline and see what works for both of us." Harshing nibbled on another biscuit.

"We will try various things - Cruciatus, Caning of different parts of the body, incisions, lashings and possibly even Room 101 - depending on what kind of situation we are in in a month or so."

He leaned back in his chair and devoured the whole biscuit. "So, what do you think your first punishment should be?"

*Tristan could feel his insdides crawling at the idea of being punished so often* "I don't think I should be punished for something I can't controll.....sir..." *He only added the sir so he didn't sound too conceited.*

"As I said - what we think is unimportant, it is what we as a society think for the greater good... Quantum Bonus someone said once.. a man of no importance." Harshing took his quill and filled out the various information on Tristan's page.

"But you should be punished, we can all control our needs Tristan. All of us. For the sake of your country you should be glad to make this sacrifice."

Harshing opened a cabinet where there was an assortment of canes made from different woods and different thicknesses. He took a springy willow that was medium thickness and moved through the air. It cut and made that "Woohoo" sound.

"I think perhaps we will start on 20 strokes of the Willow to the stomach and 10 strokes to the back of the knees."

*Tristan sat rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on the cane.* "N..now?" *He stammered, unconsiously gripping onto the arms of his chair.* "I thinky ou're taking this much too far....you're not allowed to physically torture us..." *The horrible realization hit him that he didn't have parents to defend his rights...he just had himself.*

Harshing laughed quite loudly, "Oh but I am. When you control the government you are allowed to do anything. If you bothered to read the decrees in the Prophet you would find that I passed a bill months ago allowing me to do what I liked to the future protectors of this great nation!"

He moved around to Tristan. "Shirt up."

*Tristan felt helpless...and he knew the only thing he could do is listen...so reluctantly, Tristan stood, the fear playing plainly across his face. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt, folding them and setting them down so they wouldn't get wrinkles. He stood up straight and faced Harshing then, ashamed of his lean figure and lack of muslcles. Tristan remembered the hickey he had on his collerbone then from Aidenand groaned internally for letting that happen the night before*

Quickly, but with confidence Harshing dealt 20 lashes to the stomach. Afterwards he stepped away and cleaned what seemed like blood with a white hankerchief. "Well done, trousers down." He prepared for the back of the knee punishment.

OOC: Slight god there but I think its better than rping strike by strike as it can become unrealistic etc...

*Tristan had tried not to call out when he was beaing beaten. He had bled some and the bruises were already forming. Tristan wiped the tears that had invollentarily flowed down his cheeks away and unbuckled his pants. He let the drop so he was standing there in a pair of simple white boxers. He turned around and bent over Harshing's desk, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the pain*

Harshing sat down, a chair materialising out of nothing. 10 strikes - he begun with precision hitting the same place exactly at every thrash - the exact point of the joint. Walking would he , painful but not impossible. that was the key - don't paralyse, just ensure small pain.


He cleaned off the blood again and wrote down the "results" in the book.

"Please dress and return to your seat, we are going to discuss several things now."

*On about the second or third strike, tristan's knees gave out. He had to hold himself up with his arms. When Harshing was done and he was told to dress, Tristan bent, his eyes closed from the pain, and pulled up his pants. He buttoned them as quickly as he could, his hands shaking.He then put on his shirt and vest. He didn't tuck it in; just collapsed into the chair and leaned his head back, willing himself not to break down and cry, espically infront of Harshing*

Harshing's eyes widened, to see that lasting pain that he had caused was indeed a pleasure, he savored the memory before continuing. "Now Tristan, in future you and Aiden," he paused to ensure Tristan understood that he knew the name, "Will not be seeing each other again, in the sessions to come we shall find you a suitable girl friend whom you shall publicly be fond of."

"If you disobey your discipline shall be severely increased. Aiden too will receive a PBM in due course, of course his will be more severe. He's mudblood."

*Tristan now felt as if he wanted to throw up.* "It's not Aiden's fault he's a muggle-born.." *Tristan said weakly. He wanted to argue that Harshing couldn't keep he and Aiden apart, but was afraid of further punishment. All that mattered was that he was thinking it.* "Don't do this to Aiden...." *He begged. Exausted from being beaten, Tristan sunk further into the chair*

"How dare you order me around!" Harshing stood up and pointed his wand at Tristan. "Have you not listened? Have you not understood? Our personal systems and ideas are sacrificed for the greater good. It is Aiden's fault hes muggleborn, who else can be to blame but he, he who decided to be born."

"This world was founded on pure blood, it will remain pureblood"

Harshing sat down again. "Tristan, both you and Aiden are problems, glitches, bacterium in my perfect world. Admit that and we are on our way to the cure."

*When Harshing pulled his wand on him, Tristan shrank back as far from Harshing as he could. when harshing asked him to admit that he and Aiden were 'glitches,' tristan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, licked his lips and spoke in a voice that was ment to sould confident and defiant but was instead just argumentitive* "I'm sorry...I can't do that, sir."

"In the coming sessions, you will be able to. Together we can achieve great things Tristan," There was a tinge in his eyes, he licked his bottom lip which seemed to stain it a dark blue, like ice had just touched litmus. "Maybe at the end, if you still have not learnt I shall have to... reconfigure you." He tapped his wand twice, its nib glowed a hot red and smoldered the air.

"For now, you may leave."

*Tistan didn't need to be told twice. He stood, cringing at the pain in his stomach and legs and walked as quickly as he could to the door. Tristan didn't look back as he tore down the steps, going as quickly away from the office as possible. Tears were streaming down his face from the pain in his body and from the prospect of not being allowed to date Aiden again.*

Harshings smile turned to a frown, he looked into the chair where Tristan had been then opened his desk drawer and pulled out a crumpled photograph of the Dark Defense League: Harshing (only 16 years old), The Wittle Brothers, Grimes and four other faces were smiling at the camera. A tear splashed onto the page and smudged the monochrome finish. Harshing stowed it away and continued to write numerous letters, half of which were addressed to dead people.