That evening, the summons to the Headmaster’s office really didn’t surprise Ron. He’d deliberately gone to his room alone, so that he wouldn’t be forced to undergo tedious questioning by his friends when the summons arrived. Both of them would have a stroke if they found out what he’d done: Harry would be furious that he had put himself at risk on Harry’s behalf. Hermione would be furious that he hadn’t asked her for help. And both would be hurt that he hadn’t confided in them. But that was exactly the point: Ron couldn’t involve them. The likelihood of being expelled was just too great.

He had more or less assumed that, after his confession, Snape would instantly demand his expulsion, but he had had no choice but to confess. Snape had to understand why the cauldron had exploded in order for the threat to be effective, and that meant Ron had to admit what he had done. There was little chance that the evil bat wouldn’t then use the confession to get Ron kicked out of school, though he would not necessarily share Ron’s motivation with the Headmaster.

Ron knew that his parents, once they heard the whole story, wouldn’t be that upset with him, but he was pretty sure that Dumbledore wouldn’t excuse his actions regardless of what Snape had done to Harry. After all, Dumbledore was the one who had sanctioned Snape’s treatment of Harry in the first place. And hadn’t Harry’s first Hogwarts letter been addressed to him in the cupboard under the stairs? Obviously the Headmaster and the other teachers knew about Harry’s mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys, yet they did nothing. Why would they then do anything to protect him here at school?

Ron sighed. Better to keep it a matter among the students. If he was expelled tonight, he’d tell Hermione everything before he left – or in a worst case, he’d owl her afterwards. She could pick up where he left off, and Merlin only knew what inventive ways she would come up with to torment Snape. And even if she wasn’t willing to risk expulsion, she could enlist the other kids, like Seamus. Or he could just tell the twins – they’d take care of Snape, all right!

He walked slowly to Dumbledore’s office. No reason to rush. He looked around. Oh, he’d be back for his siblings’ graduations, but he was definitely going to miss the place. He realized that he would be the first Weasley in generations to complete his education elsewhere, and he had to swallow hard to force down the lump in his throat. It was for Harry, he reminded himself fiercely. To make him safe. Ron had so much compared to Harry – a family that loved him, friends both at Hogwarts and at home, no “KILL ME” scar on his forehead… Merlin knew Harry had a tough enough time of it, Ron was just glad there was something he’d been able to do to help his friend.

He knocked and entered, unsurprised to see Snape sitting back on Dumbledore’s couch, a sardonic gleam in his eye.

“Hello, Ron,” the Headmaster said kindly. “Sit down, my boy. Lemon drop?”

Ron shrugged and accepted. It would probably be the last one he ever got. Maybe he should keep it as a souvenir.

“Well, Severus, now that we are all assembled, perhaps we can begin?”

“Very well, Headmaster. I would like Potter to tell us –“

Ron’s head snapped around. Sure enough, there was Harry, sitting to one side and looking somewhat bewildered to be there. “Leave him out of this!” Ron leapt to his feet, furious. “I told you he had nothing to do with it!”

“Now, now –“ Dumbledore began and was completely ignored.

“Sit down, Weasley!” Snape snarled dangerously, though for once he didn’t try to get up and loom over the student. It was clear that he was far from fully healed from his earlier injuries. “We are not discussing your little indiscretion. Yet.”

Ron sputtered to a stop, his head swinging between Snape and Dumbledore in confusion. “What? Then why --?”

“Sit down and be quiet, before I decide to use your tongue in a potion,” Snape ordered coldly. “Potter!” Harry jumped in his seat, then – almost imperceptibly – winced. Ron saw it and got angrier at Snape for his brutality. Snape saw it and grew angrier at Harry for his manipulation. Dumbledore saw it and wondered what in Merlin’s name was going on.

“Potter,” Snape said, his voice angrier than Harry had heard it in a long time, “you are going to answer my questions and if you lie, I promise you, you will be a very sorry Potter.”

“You bastard!” Ron yelled. “Don’t you threaten him!”

Now Harry and Dumbledore were staring at Ron in utter shock, while Snape grinned humorlessly. “What did I tell you about your tongue, Mr Weasley? Sil—“

“Enough!” Dumbledore hastily intervened. He was pretty sure that Severus had merely been going to cast Silencio, but in the Potion Master’s present mood, Dumbledore wasn’t about to take any chances. “Ronald, you will sit down and remain silent. I am appalled at both your language and your disrespect.”

The Headmaster was then doubly shocked by the look of contempt Ron directed at him before sullenly throwing himself back into his chair. What had he done to deserve that?

Harry was as bewildered by all this as was the Headmaster. He’d been studying with Hermione, counting the minutes until he could escape to his bed without attracting undue attention, when a house elf had appeared and brought him directly to the Headmaster’s office. No explanation had been given for the summons, nor was one provided when he arrived. The Headmaster had merely smiled, offered him a ubiquitous lemon drop, and said that Professor Snape had something urgent to discuss. Harry had obediently turned to Snape and been badly shaken by the expression on the man’s face. Snape hadn’t looked this angry since Neville had melted three cauldrons in a single class, and Harry couldn’t even remember the last time Snape had directed such a glare at him. It threw him back to last year, when he had been certain that Snape loathed and despised him. “P-Professor?” he’d managed to gulp, but Snape had only waved him to a chair and snapped that they were still waiting for someone.

When Ron had arrived, Harry’s confusion only deepened. What could be wrong? He and Ron hadn’t done anything wrong since yesterday’s adventures with the brooms, and they’d already been punished for that. Even yesterday, Snape hadn’t seemed this angry about it, so why was he so incandescent with rage now?

“Potter, what did you tell Weasley about our encounter last night?”

Whatever Harry was expecting, this wasn’t it. He stared dumbly at Snape for a moment, then seeing the man get even angrier, he stuttered out a reply. “I – I just said that you’d been angry,” he offered lamely, trying to remember his exact words. Hadn’t he called Snape mental? But surely that wasn’t enough of an insult to warrant this level of fury.

“And?”

Harry felt the red creeping up his ears. “And that you had – erm – punished me.”

“And tell Mr Weasley: precisely how did I punish you?”

Harry suddenly found his thumb intensely interesting. Snape felt a savage rush of vindication. Here it came. The little liar having to confess his sins and eat his words. “You hit me.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Be specific, Potter. Very, very specific.”

Harry took a deep breath and forced the words out. “You spanked me. I told Ron that you spanked me.” At Snape’s growl, Harry reluctantly added, “With your hand. Over my trousers. Six swats.”

Snape glanced over at Ron triumphantly, but saw only a look of sadness and pity on the boy’s face as he watched his friend.

“Sir? Professor Snape, why – why are you asking me this?” Harry ventured.

“Because, Potter, it seems that someone,” Snape stressed sarcastically, “is convinced that I am unfit to be alone with you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he stared at the Headmaster. “What? But, sir, that’s not true!”

Dumbledore looked equally befuddled. “Well, that’s very nice to hear, Harry,” he began uncertainly.

Ron shot him a deadly glare. “I thought you were supposed to be such a great wizard,” he snarled, once again bringing the conversation to a screeching halt.

“Ron!” Harry gaped at him in horror. “What are you doing!”

“Harry, I can’t stand it anymore!” Ron yelled back at him. “You’ve got to tell him!” The famous Weasley temper had finally broken free. Harry’s habitual lies, Dumbledore’s all-too-willing acceptance of them, and Snape’s sneer of triumph had been too much. “Harry, tell him the truth!”

Harry stared at his friend in complete confusion. He knew Ron didn’t much care for Snape. Unlike Hermione, who could appreciate the man’s talent in the Potions lab, Ron just thought he was a greasy git with no redeeming features whatsoever. But he had never seemed to hate the man before. Now, though, from the way Ron was glaring at Snape, there was no doubt about it. Ron looked like he would be capable of casting an Unforgiveable at him.

“What’s wrong, Ron?” Harry tried to think of what Snape might have done to get Ron so angry. It couldn’t be the two foot essay, so what could have happened between the two of them?

“Harry, tell him! Just tell him!” Ron shouted in frustration. Misinterpreting Harry’s blank look, Ron groaned in dismay. “Please, Harry, just lift your shirt,” he begged. “Please!”

Ha! A way to prove just what a fraud Potter was. Snape leaned forward. “Yes, Potter,” he purred, “lift your shirt.” The expression of incredulous horror on Potter’s face signaled sweet victory. Obviously Potter had claimed Snape’s beating had left him black and blue, and Weasley, the moron, had believed him. Now Potter had realized that he was about to be revealed as the despicable little liar that he was.

Harry stared at Ron in utter dismay. How did he know? Harry had been so careful – He couldn’t show anyone, especially not Snape and Dumbledore. The Headmaster would demand details, which Harry couldn’t provide, not without fingering two members of Snape’s own house. If he did, the Potion Master would insist that he was lying and Dumbledore would get that patient look in his eye, and then Snape would start yelling about what a freak Harry was and how the entire house of Gryffindor wasn’t worth a single Slytherin, and it would just go downhill from there. Their fragile truce would be shattered beyond repair, Harry would never be able to learn occlumency or DADA, Voldemort would win, and the world would end – all because of Harry and his inability to keep quiet.

“Ron,” he whispered, clenching his fists so hard the knuckles shone white, “shut up!”

“Please, Harry!” Ron begged, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He knew how hard it was for Harry to admit when someone mistreated him. He knew it was unfair of him to have exposed his friend’s secret like this. But if only Harry would speak up for himself, Dumbledore might feel forced to do something, and then Ron’s sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain. “Please, Harry. I saw, okay? You need to tell. You can’t let him treat you like that, mate. It’s just wrong.”

“You didn’t see anything, Ron,” Harry hissed. “Nothing!”

By now, Snape had begun to realize that there was something amiss. Weasley had claimed to have seen fictitious marks on Potter? Could the brat have placed a glamour on himself to support his claims? But why go to such lengths? Something wasn’t right. “Potter,” Snape ordered again, “lift your shirt.”

Harry jerked his head up, his eyes hunted. “No!”

“Potter!”

“Harry,” the Headmaster intervened gently, “it seems there is some question as to your well being. You know how much I care about you. I’m afraid I must ask you to do as Professor Snape and Mr Weasley request.”

He’d been an idiot. He should have just begged, borrowed, or stolen some healing potions from somewhere. Then no one would have been the wiser. But he’d been too concerned about getting caught – and now look at him. Caught in a much worse position!

Harry clenched his jaw mutinously. They were all determined that he would show them? Well, he was just as determined that he wouldn’t. He had to get out of here, get himself healed, then they wouldn’t be able to prove anything. “O – okay,” he pretended to fumble with his robe for a moment, then as the others relaxed at his seeming surrender, he bolted for the door.

With surprise on his side, he managed to make it across the threshold before his arm was snatched and he was painfully jerked to a halt. “NO! NO! NO!” he yelled, twisting and fighting for all he was worth. Admittedly it wasn’t much, given how bruised and sore he was, but apparently Snape wasn’t feeling much better either, because he let out an involuntary exclamation of pain as Harry’s gyrations jerked him off balance.

Snape tightened his grip on the little monster’s arm and dragged him back into Dumbledore’s office. When Potter had sprinted for freedom, Weasley and the Headmaster had been caught flat-footed. Snape, by virtue of having gotten to know the boy over the past few months, had been instantly suspicious when that look of stubborn defiance had been supplanted by meek submission. Sure enough, Potter had made a break for it, and Snape had been sufficiently slowed down by his own injuries that the boy had nearly gotten away.

Now Potter was screaming like a banshee and fighting as if Snape were Voldemort himself. His patience, never very abundant at the best of times, had been seriously eroded by his own pain and fatigue, and when Harry’s latest bid for freedom nearly jolted his arm from its socket, Snape lost his temper. “Stop it!” he snapped, bringing his other hand down hard across Harry’s backside.

He was completely unprepared for the cry of genuine pain the slap wrung out of Potter and for Weasley’s reaction to it.

“Don’t you hurt him again, you bastard!” Ron cried, leaping onto Snape’s back, punching him and yanking at his hair.

Snape barely bit back a cry of his own as Weasley’s not inconsiderable weight slammed against his own injuries, and it was all he could do to keep hold of Harry.

“ENOUGH!” The most powerful wizard in the room finally lost his last twinkle. A second later, invisible hands flung the three combatants into their respective chairs, hard enough to make them all yelp.

Harry struggled to get to the door again, but the next instant he realized a sticking hex was holding him down. Oh. Well, at least they wouldn’t be able to see his injuries this way.

“That is quite enough!” The Headmaster, for once, was furious. “Severus, what on earth are you thinking to brawl with students?” Snape gasped in outrage but catching the steely glint in Dumbledore’s eye, he decided discretion was the better part of valor and forbore argument. “Mr Weasley, your language and conduct have been atrocious since you first arrived. And now, attacking a professor?” Ron couldn’t help letting out a half-laugh, half-sob at that remark. Obviously, the greasy git hadn’t yet shared the whole story with the Headmaster. Snape smirked at him, while Dumbledore gave the boy an odd look but let it pass.  “Harry,” he said, moving over to the third seated figure. His voice was noticeably softer than it had been with the other two. “it is clear that something is very wrong. Won’t you please tell me what it is?”

Harry just closed his eyes, holding back the tears, and shook his head.

“Harry, please? I want to help you.”

Dumbledore sighed when another mute headshake was his only response. “Harry, I must insist. I am very worried about you. Now, I can have Madame Pomfrey come and do a diagnostic spell, or you can show us yourself, but I will have an answer.”

Two tears slipped out from under the boy’s lashes, but he refused to speak.

Snape was beginning to worry. Dumbledore’s approach should have worked. “Potter,” he spoke up, conscious of the Headmaster’s sharp gaze, “you must tell us what’s wrong.” He made his voice calm and neutral, belying the anxiety that he felt, not to mention the pain.

That got the boy to glance at him, and not in a particularly friendly way. “You don’t want me to tell,” he said flatly.

“Ha! I knew it!” Ron said, only to be glared into silence by everyone else in the room.

“Harry,” Snape used his first name deliberately, “why would you think that?”

“Just – just trust me, all right? I can’t tell.”

“Harry, are you protecting someone?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry looked up at him in sudden hope. That was it! Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t ask him to put anyone else in jeopardy! “Yes. I can’t tell or someone innocent will get hurt.”

“Someone innocent has already gotten hurt, Potter,” Snape said, his teeth clenched. “It is obvious to everyone in this room that you have been injured, and the general consensus is that I am the person responsible.”

“What? But that’s not true!” Harry’s eyes flew open in shock and he stared at his professor in dismay. Ron’s stomach fluttered at the look of undeniable horror on Harry’s face. It couldn’t be…

Harry stared at Snape. “Someone said you had hurt me? But – but you didn’t!”

“I was seen dragging you off to the dungeons and by your own admission, I struck you,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow. “What do you expect the Headmaster to think?”

Harry stared at Dumbledore. “But it wasn’t him, sir! Honest!” He looked away for a moment, then back with a look of relief. “I just fell down the stairs.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter. If you’re going to lie, at least try to make it believable.”

“I did fall!” Harry snapped. “It’s true!”

“Harry, if it were true, why didn’t you seek help immediately thereafter? Why all this silence? Who is it you’re protecting?” The Headmaster’s eyes were kind but implacable, and Harry looked away. “Harry, you must see that this cannot go on any longer. Professor Snape does not deserve to have yet more unjust suspicions leveled against him. Stand up, and show us what it is you are concealing.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, but the Headmaster’s last argument was a telling one. He couldn’t be the cause of still more accusations against Snape, not after he’d treated him so well for the last several weeks. He rose painfully, barely noticing how effortlessly Dumbledore had canceled the hex, and took off his robes. He hesitated one last time, then turned his back on the others and slowly removed his shirt.

Snape’s jaw dropped when he saw the bruises on Harry’s back, and the icy lump in Ron’s belly grew. Surely no one, even Snape, could be that good an actor.

“Harry,” suddenly Dumbledore sounded much older, “I’m sorry to ask, but I need to see the rest of your body.”

Harry seemed to hunch in on himself, then he sighed and lowered his trousers, confirming that the dreadful marks covered him. Snape and Dumbledore went over and examined the small boy. A quick tug at the waistband of his underwear allowed them to glimpse the bruising over his backside, and Snape regretted the flare of temper that had led him to land a smack there.

Dumbledore didn’t even flick his wand, but an instant later, Harry’s trousers were back in place, and Snape turned him around. “Who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice tight.

Harry looked away. “I fell.”

Snape’s lips thinned. “Who pushed?”

Harry glanced back at him, then away. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Potter, you have been the victim of a vicious assault. Don’t tell me not to worry about it!” Snape snapped, tightening his grip on Harry’s shoulders. “Now who did this?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. He looked particularly defiant, which Snape now knew meant that he was acutely miserable.

“Do not make things any worse by lying,” Snape scolded him. “If this is the way you respond to concern and caring –“

Harry snorted and jerked away.

Now that was interesting. It had been a while since Harry had responded disbelievingly to a statement of Snape’s concern for him. What had made him revert to old behaviors, when he was convinced that Snape couldn’t care less about him? Snape eyed him calculatingly. “It’s not like it’s difficult to deduce, Potter. Who hates you enough to do such a thing?” He saw the boy’s shoulders flinch. “It would hardly be one of your fellow Gryffindors, and a Hufflepuff wouldn’t have the guts. You insisted that I wouldn’t want the truth known, so a Slytherin must be involved. So –“

“Draco!” Ron gasped. He hadn’t spoken for a while, too consumed with the realization that he had made a terrible, dreadful, unforgiveable, and irretrievable mistake. But now, as the conversation around him sank into his consciousness, he realized there could be only one person who fit the description.

“No!” Harry shouted.

Snape regarded him thoughtfully. “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me, Potter? Because Draco –“

“It wasn’t Draco!’ Harry yelled, tears starting to his eyes. His worst nightmare was coming true. It was all happening just like his attackers wanted, and now – thanks to him – they would never believe a word he said. He’d messed it all up, and now he wouldn’t even be able to save Draco. “That’s just what they want you to believe!”

“Who are ‘they’, Potter?” Snape demanded, and Harry groaned, realizing that this wasn’t going to get any better. He slumped down on the couch, his head in his hands.

“I can’t tell.”

“Did they threaten you?”

“Not me.”

“Who? Ron? Hermione?” Weasley looked shocked, then appalled.

Harry shook his head.

“Who then?”

Harry looked up at him, his face drawn with pain and despair. “Draco.”

Snape blinked. “They threatened Draco Malfoy? And you wouldn’t say anything in order to protect him?”

Harry held back a sob. “They set him up. Draco. They made it look like it must be him, and even if you think it isn’t and start looking then they’ll still be able to hurt him. And now you won’t believe me, and it’s all been for nothing.”

Snape seated himself next to the distraught boy and, much to his dismay, found himself gingerly placing an arm around his shoulders. “While I admit that your recent behavior has hardly enhanced your reputation for truthfulness, Mr Potter, there is a certain,” he sighed, “dunderheaded nobility to your actions that makes them difficult to doubt.”

To his surprise, this reassurance failed to lighten the boy’s mood. “It’s all ruined. Everything.”

“What is ruined, Potter?” Snape asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“Everything. You’re gonna hate me, the lessons will stop, and Voldemort will win.”

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged an amused look. “I wouldn’t concede defeat just yet, Mr Potter. Tell me why you think I will hate you.”

Harry shut his eyes. Here it came. He knew Snape didn’t really care about him. He knew it. But it was still going to hurt when he took his Slytherins’ side. Steeling himself against the insults which would soon start flying, he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak.

“There were three of them. The ones who attacked me. All boys. One was from Ravenclaw – I saw his scarf. The other two were from Slytherin, I don’t know any of their names.” Harry trailed off drearily. Here it came.

But all Snape said was, “And why did you say they set up Draco?”

Harry dug one hand into his pocket. “They put this button in my coat – I think it’s off something of Draco’s. It’s got his initials on it. And I heard them, after they threw me down the stairs. They thought I was still unconscious, but I heard them talking. They said that they’d used Draco’s wand to attack me, and that he didn’t know, but that everyone would think it was him since he hates me so much, and then when you checked his wand, you’d find proof. But that even if you believed Draco when he’d say it wasn’t him, they said that if you started investigating, they’d snap his wand so there’d be no evidence against anyone. They said that Draco’s father would… hurt him if he lost his wand, and that would be almost as good as seeing him expelled.”

“Harry,” the Headmaster asked quietly, “do you think that Draco was the real target of these boys? That they only attacked you to get to him?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They wanted me dead. They called me a cockroach and said it was a shame I was so hard to kill.” To his surprise, he felt Snape’s hand return to his shoulder and squeeze. He looked over in amazement. Why wasn’t he denouncing Harry and protecting his snakes?

“Potter, did you honestly believe that I would consider House loyalty so sacrosanct that I would side with would-be assassins over you?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted in his confusion. “Did their going after Draco violate the House rules, so that makes it okay?”

Snape frowned at him. “It there were a single square inch of unbruised flesh on you, I would swat it, you foolish child. Such idiocy! You are prioritizing a mere threat against Draco over their very credible attempt to kill you?”

“But – but they’re Slytherins,” Harry protested. “I’m a Gryffindor. And I’m the Gryffindor that you hate the most. You don’t have to pretend to like me. I know you’re only working with me because of the war. You don’t want me to be killed before I kill Voldemort. It’s okay. I understand that. You don’t even have to punish the others, just please keep teaching me, okay? For the war.”

“Harry…” For once even Snape was speechless. Yes, he favored his House. Yes, he said mean things about Gryffindor. Yes, he had let his godson get away with a great deal when it had been important for his spying activities to remain on Lucius’ good side. But he was still appalled at the realization that Harry continued to view himself as nothing more than a tool to defeat Voldemort and was willing to let brutal attackers go free rather than risk losing the tenuous bond he had crafted with Snape.

Snape mourned Lily’s death every single day. What’s more, however much he may have detested James Potter during their schooldays, Snape had to admit the man had – finally – matured and had died a hero’s death. So how had Snape managed to convince their only child that he cared more for two anonymous thugs than for their precious child, the one they died to protect? How had he not shown Harry that he was so much more than a vessel of destiny? That he was a person in his own right, and one that Snape actually had rather come to like – not that he liked any students, of course, but some were… tolerable. Merlin knew he was not a demonstrative man, but surely even this child could see that he wasn’t simply following Dumbledore’s orders. Didn’t the shortbread mean anything to the brat?

Harry sat watching him beseechingly. Snape forever after maintained that Dumbledore had hexed him, as he would otherwise never have acted as he did, but the fact remains – and there are witnesses – that Severus Snape reached over and hugged Harry Potter.

And when the boy didn’t immediately die of shock, he hugged him again. And only then did he return to normal and say, in very dry tones, “Your lessons will continue, Mr Potter, as will your numerous detentions to address today’s deceitfulness, disobedience, and poor judgment.”

Harry’s eyes were wide with astonishment, and both Headmaster and professor held their breaths as Harry processed Snape’s words. Both wondered if he would merely focus on the threatened punishments and take them as further proof of the Potion Master’s disdain for him. But after an eternity, Harry’s mouth twitched upwards, and he asked, “Will there be biscuits?”