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Harry settled into the comfy chair in the Gryffindor Common Room. Today marked the fourteenth day in a row that Harry didn't have detention.

Ever since Harry came to Hogwarts, Snape had tickle tortured him in his detentions. This latest detention had involved writing lines with a quill that tickled Harry’s feet when anyone wrote with it. For weeks he had suffered through hours of tickle torture by the Tickle Quill every night, but finally, finally he had written all of the sentences to Snape’s satisfaction.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Snape gave him detention again, but for now, Harry enjoyed a normal, tickle-free school experience. Happy and relaxed, Harry opened his Herbology book and began to read.

XXX

Snape sighed. He hated being a teacher. He hated dealing with adolescent dunderheads, he hated documenting their negligible progress, and he hated grading their idiotic papers. Unfortunately, this was what Dumbledore required of him. With another sigh, Snape grabbed the stack of students’ papers, the inkwell with red ink, and the nearest quill and began to grade.

XXX

Harry started, dropped his book, and made a very high-pitched noise that drew the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. Ears red, he waved away their concern even as his heart rate picked up. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. His time with the Tickle Quill was over. He wasn’t supposed to feel the ticklish scratching on his feet. Not now. Not in the safety of the Gryffindor Common Room.

But there it was again. The horribly tickling feeling of someone drawing an oval and then the furious scribbling of a sentence. Harry only just stopped himself from letting out a shrill whine and knew that he couldn’t stay in the common room.

“Sorry. I just – I need to – I’m not feeling – need to be alone – ”

Harry gathered up his things, barely holding back a squeak as an invisible quill drew a bold X on his right sole. He couldn’t hear his friend’s worried questions and comments through the roaring in his ears. Harry raced up the stairs to his dorm as quickly as he could without running. Every time a tickle hit, it caused him to jump, hop, dance, and trip in a comical way, but he managed not to fall until he reached his bed.

Harry closed the canopy curtains around him and threw up a quick silencing charm so no one could hear him. He fumbled to remove his shoes and socks, even though he knew it would do no good. Sure enough, there was nothing visible or tangible to stop once the shoes and socks were gone. No matter how much Harry covered, rubbed, and scratched at his feet, the tickling continued unhindered.

Harry curled up in a ball and pressed his face into his pillow, giggling, and tried to think this through. Snape had to have picked up the Tickle Quill by accident. Harry knew the quill was keyed to tickle him no matter who wrote with it. He had no idea the quill was able to tickle him when he was in Gryffindor Tower and Snape, presumably, was in the dungeons. The implications of this thought frightened Harry, and the panic of knowing he’d never be safe from tickling as long as the Tickle Quill existed coupled with the actual tickling Harry was currently enduring effectively derailed his thoughts for a few minutes.

Finally the tickling stopped for a bit, and Harry calmed down. This tickling wasn't like what Harry experienced in his detentions. That had been a constant, unrelenting scratching on his feet, each letter slowly drawn out. This time the tickling came in quick, short bursts: a line here, a circle there, a single word written quickly. There were longer breaks between these tickles, ranging from a couple seconds to a couple minutes.

I can do this. I can endure it. It’s not that bad. Snape challenged this opinion by writing a longer sentence on the arch of his left foot, but his decision remained the same. What else could he do besides endure? Snape wasn’t likely to have mercy if Harry let him know he was tickling Harry. More likely, Snape would be delighted and torture Harry more deliberately.

Besides, what if he’s doing it on purpose? Harry wondered, screwing his eyes shut against another tickle. He wouldn’t have believed it, but he supposed it was possible that Snape knew exactly which quill he was using. If he knew that he was tickling Harry and Harry went to him, begging pathetically --

Anyway, the decision was made. Harry would just have to stick it out. He picked up the school book he’d been reading in the Common Room and tried to concentrate.

Easier said than done. No matter how much Harry tried to distract himself with homework, the time passed slowly. The fact that Harry couldn’t see Snape even to know when he lowered quill to parchment worked like a blindfold, keeping him in suspense as to when the next tickle would hit. The nature of the Tickle Quill meant it never tickled the same place twice, jumping between arches, heels, balls, and toes. These surprise elements wore down Harry’s nerves to a frazzle and seemed to amplify his sensitivity.

Harry rubbed his feet together compulsively, desperately trying to get rid of the maddening sensation. He giggled and laughed and squeaked, safe in the knowledge that no one could hear him through the silencing charm on his curtains. He rolled back and forth and kicked furiously. He even began to speak.

“Nohohohohot thehehehere! Pleeeeheeheeheehease stohohohohop! Okay. It’s stopped. Please let it be a longer breaheaheaheaheaheak! Oh, come ohohohohon! ”

Again and again he talked himself out of doing anything, running over the same arguments in his mind. He was nearing the end of his rope, but there was nothing he could do. It couldn’t last much longer, could it?

XXX

Snape groaned and stretched his arms. He hated his life. He was nowhere near through the papers he wanted to grade tonight. Next up was Potter’s paper, followed by Longbottom’s. The two papers would both be dripping with red ink by the time he was done. He lowered the quill and began to grade.

XXX

Harry pressed his pillow over his head. He was starting to feel desperate. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

The tickling started again, and Harry clutched at his face. “Juhuhuhuhust hohohhohohold ohohohohon! Juhuhuhuhust hohohohohold ohohohohon! It tihihihihickles so bahahahahahahad!”

Harry was so focused on enduring that it took him a bit to notice that it was different this time. There were almost no breaks. The longest break before the tickling began again was two seconds. Then his feet were assaulted by circles, lines, X’s, and longer and longer sentences.

Tears began to leak out of his eyes. He simply couldn’t stand the tickling any longer. He had to try and get Snape to stop.

With half-formed plans of surprising Snape and snatching away the quill or begging for mercy on his knees, Harry pulled his shoes back on. He gasped in a large breath when the quill didn’t tickle him for one second and left the bed.

Harry still giggled softly as he stumbled out of his dorm room, but he managed to hold in the worst of his laughter. He ignored the looks he received as he went through the Common Room and Ron’s cry of, “Harry!”

Once Harry exited the Common Room, he made his way to the dungeons. It was not easy. People are not meant to walk on their feet while said feet are being mercilessly tickled. More than once he resorted to crawling on his hands and knees. He slid down the stairs on his rear because he was afraid of falling.

He made it down a couple of floors when the quill attacked the inside edges of his toes. Harry collapsed into a ball of ticklish agony.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH PLEEHEEHEEHEEHEEASE!”

“What’s this then?”

Harry squeezed his tear-filled eyes open. Hovering above him with a mischievous grin was Peeves the Poltergeist.

“Gohohohohohoho awahahahahahahay!” Seriously, what was Snape writing?

“But Peevesy wants in on the joke!”

Harry jerked as he felt lots of little Xs on his feet.

“Ihihihihihit’s tihihihihihihickling my feeheeheeheeheet! Nohohohot a johohohohoke!”

Of course, if Harry’s brain hadn’t been scrambled by tickling, he would have known better than to tell this to Peeves.

“Tickling!! That sounds fun!”

Harry just laughed.

Peeves grinned evilly. “Then Peeves should help Wee Potty!”

With this, Peeves lowered his hands and squeezed Harry’s sides.

Harry shrieked. His upper body was much more ticklish than his feet. This officially took the tickling beyond his limits. He frantically tried to shove Peeves away.

This was a mistake. For less than a second it exposed his underarms. Peeves quickly dove in, scratching in the hollows like he was mining for something.

Harry snapped his arms down, trapping the tickling inside and stopping him from effectively fighting off Peeves. “NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE! TOOHOOHOOHOOO MUHUHUHUHUCH! NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!”

“Is Potty ticklish? Is he a ticklish wittle baby?” Peeves teased.

Harry’s school jumper had ridden up during the tickling, leaving his belly exposed. Not stopping the underarm tickling for a moment, Peeves lowered his head and blew a raspberry into Harry belly button.

Harry's eyes bulged out. He screamed and thrashed, but the Poltergeist must have been using magic to keep Harry pinned. Harry’s belly button was his death spot. It was excruciatingly ticklish, and he couldn’t bear tickling there for even a second. Luckily, Snape had never tried to tickle Harry’s belly button. Harry would never know this, but it was because the belly button wasn’t a significantly ticklish spot on either James or Lily, and Snape had never wondered whether Harry had different tickle spots than his parents.

Unfortunately, right now Peeves had discovered his secret. The raspberry reverberated unbearably through his belly button, and Harry needed it to stop like he needed air to breathe.

“I found Potty’s tickle button! I found Potty’s tickle button!” Peeves crowed.

He proceeded to blow several more raspberries into Harry’s belly button.

Harry was in ticklish overload. The Tickle Quill continued to torment Harry’s feet. Peeves’ fingers tickled and tickled Harry’s extremely ticklish underarms. The raspberries continued to send ticklish vibrations rocketing through his belly button. He fell in and out of silent laughter and struggled feverishly, but he was forced to take it.

“Such a cute little tickle button! Potty must be enjoying it! He’s laughing!”

Peeves finally took one hand out of Harry’s underarms. He took his finger and tortured Harry’s belly button, circling the rim, scratching, digging, and twisting ticklishly inside it. With the other hand he continued teasing one of Harry's underarms.

Harry went berserk. He pulled at Peeves’ hand and slapped it, but this didn’t seem to even perturb him.

“MEHEHEHEHEHERCY! MEHEHEHEHERCY! I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T! AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The Tickle Quill wrote several sentences right underneath Harry’s toes.

“PEEVES!”

The tickling stopped. Harry continued giggling as he curled up on the floor, barely registering McGonagall scolding Peeves and Peeves' mocking replies. However, Peeves finally flew away.

Professor McGonagall helped Harry to his feet. “It’s after curfew, Potter.”

“Sorry. I had to – ” Harry gasped.

“Had to what, Potter?”

Harry didn’t answer. The Tickle Quill was no longer tickling Harry’s feet. Did he tell Professor McGonagall about that? Snape would make the tickling he’d just endured seem like nothing if Harry got Snape into trouble with McGonagall.

“Very well. 15 points from Gryffindor, and detention with Professor Snape tomorrow evening. Get back to the tower.”

Harry bit back a groan. Great. More tickling tomorrow night. McGonagall walked him back to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry went quietly.

Harry completed his nighttime routine and got into bed in peace. Thank God Snape seemed to be done for the night. Harry was so rattled he didn’t take the silencing charm off his curtains.

XXX

Snape felt refreshed after taking a break to use the lavatory, stretch, and grab some food. He took a potion to keep him energized for several more hours. He wanted to finish grading papers, refine his lesson plans, and work a bit on a paper he was writing for a prestigious potions publication. No one would care but him if he wrote all night, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’d pulled an all-nighter.

Snape picked the quill back up and began to write.