BEGGING

As I stood naked before Professor Snape and the assembled Masters, a sense of dread settled over me like a heavy shroud. Snape's cold gaze bore into me with an intensity that made my skin crawl, and I knew that whatever he had in store for me would be nothing short of degrading.

"Down on your knees, {if S = 1} Neville Longbottom {elseif S = 2} Percy Weasley {elseif S = 3} Cedric Diggory {elseif S = 4} Colin Creevey {elseif S = 5} Oliver Wood {endif}," Snape commanded, his voice laced with malice. "If you wish to earn the privilege of wearing torn cloth, you must first beg for permission from each Master in this room. And you will do so by licking their shoes clean with your tongue."

My heart sank at Snape's words, the humiliation of his command threatening to crush me beneath its weight. But I knew that I had **** but to obey, for to defy him would only invite further punishment and humiliation.

With trembling hands, I lowered myself to the ground, the cold stone floor pressing against my bare skin as I knelt before the Masters. With each Master in turn, I bowed my head and pressed my lips to their shoes, my tongue darting out to lap at the dirt and grime that coated the leather.

The taste was bitter and acrid, a sickening reminder of my own degradation. But I dared not protest, dared not show any sign of resistance in the face of Snape's cruelty. For to do so would only prolong my suffering and invite even greater humiliation.

As I performed my **** act of submission, the laughter of the Masters filled the air, a cruel chorus of mockery and derision that echoed off the stone walls of the classroom. They watched with amusement as I groveled before them, reveling in my humiliation like a pack of wolves feasting on a wounded animal.

"Look at him," one of the Masters sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A pathetic excuse for a servant, reduced to nothing more than a groveling worm. He truly is a pitiful sight."