All families wish to attain perfection, but that never happens. Children get bored, distracted, and when that happens, the ideas begin. Ideas, especially those concocted by the Dastardly Trio, have the unfortunate ability to transfigure into trouble. Although the weather was doing its best to warm up and usher in the spring, it was just a bit too chilly for the boys to venture outside. Homework was completed and none of them were interested in any form of studying. Ron had trounced both Draco and Harry in chess, and they'd gotten bored with Exploding Snaps and Gobstones after only a half hour of each game.

They were now lounging upon the grand staircase trying to wake up their brains to some other activity they could do in the house. Harry sat on the second floor gallery with his legs through the railings and dangling over the edge. Ron was lying on his back, his ankles crossed, and his hands clasped beneath his head as he lay stretched out upon the landing. Draco was halfway up the main part of the stairs, his legs stretched over three steps as he leaned back on his elbows with his head thrown back as his grey-eyed gaze surveyed the huge chandelier of crystal above them.

"I expect this was used as a ballroom at some point," the blonde mused. "Of course, we have a family ballroom and a formal ballroom at Malfoy Manor."

"Seems a bit excessive," muttered Ron.

"It is," Draco languidly agreed. "So are the six dungeons Lucius favours." Ron grimaced and Harry's legs stopped swinging.

"Six?" gulped Harry.

"Lucius locked Elydree and I in one of them and left us there for two whole days and nights. He never came back for us." With his head so far back, Draco was beginning to experience a bit of woozy dizziness. He kept his head bent backwards awkwardly to see if he might pass out.

"How did you escape?" asked Ron.

"Severus. That's the first time he took us to Spinner's End." Draco felt his vision tunneling and lifted his head. The blood rushed upward, flushing his pale cheeks. "Elydree was three years old and I was six? I think?" He smiled wistfully. "I don't remember where my mother was, but Lucius was off doing something for the Dark... for Voldemort. We stayed with Severus for two weeks. I really was hoping neither Lucius or my mother would show up. I hoped they had abandoned us."

"You were happy there?" asked Harry with a smirk.

Draco snorted as he caught Harry's expression. "Yeah, we were. Severus was... well, he was strict but he spent a lot of time with us. Read stories to us, took us flying, and he showed me how to make my first potion."

"Oh yeah, that's fun," Ron quipped sarcastically.

Draco laughed. "It was! Bet you can't guess what we made?" He was met with silence and a questioning glance from Harry. "Lemon drops!" All three boys laughed for several long seconds and then they were silent again.

The silence was broken by Ron speaking as he rolled over on his side. "Did I tell you Fred and George are planning on dropping out of Hogwarts?"

Draco let his head fall back again so that he was looking at Ron almost upside-down. "Why?"

"Their joke shop idea?" asked Harry.

"Yeah. They've got all sorts of plans and have created lots of potions and charms for when they can rent a shop. Fred's been selling zit salve and hair creme all this summer to save up. George created this perfumed shampoo... well, I think it just reeks, but Ginny and Mum really seemed to like it and George has been selling a bit of that, too."

"How close are they to their goal?" asked Draco as he sat up straighter and blinked away the stars that had returned to his vision as his head had hung back.

"It's gonna take awhile. Fred figures they need at least a thousand galleons to get started and that doesn't even cover the cost of renting the shop." Ron began drawing designs in the thick carpet with his finger.

"D'you think Fred and George would like an investor?" asked Harry as he flopped back on the floor.

"Probably," Ron shrugged one shoulder.

"They're creative, your brothers," Draco mused. "As one who has been on the end of one too many of their pranks." Ron sniggered, as did Harry, and the Slytherin scowled at each of the Gryffindors. "Still, if they're that organised, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to invest in them."

There was more silence until Draco spoke again with a wicked smile, "There's a lot of room up there."

"What are you thinking of?" asked Ron.

"Flying." His mischievous smirk met Ron's puzzled expression. "We could have a really good race around that chandelier."

"Snape would bury us right up to our necks back in that barrow," muttered Harry. He had just pushed his head through the bannister railings and was pretending his head was stuck.

"Only after skinning us alive, if he caught us," added Ron.

Draco sat up abruptly and clapped his hands together once. "Well then, gentlemen, I think it's agreed. We fly!"

"What?" Harry tried to yank his head from between the railings and only succeeded in nearly choking himself. It took him a minute to release himself and just as he stood on the stairs, he had to duck as Draco and Ron's brooms were sailing down the stairs.

A moment later Harry had summoned his broom and they were starting, slowly, to fly around the large chandelier. Ron leaned toward Harry and chuckled, "You know, mate, sometimes I have to agree with Snape. We really are idiot children!"

"Let's hope we're not dead ones!" Harry, more daring, flew ahead of Ron. As he passed Draco, the race began in earnest.

The joy of flying and the irresistible thrill in the danger of being caught infused all three of them. Gone from their heads were any words of wisdom that might have warned them further of their folly. Consequences be damned; they were having fun!

In the library Hermione was working on a Transfiguration essay. As usual, she was surrounded by a number of books, parchment, ink and she had the quill Snape had given her for Christmas in her hand. She was just consulting a passage in one of the books when the floor of the library trembled. At the same moment there was a thunderous crash accompanied by the sound of glass shattering into millions of pieces.

Shock at the noise kept Hermione frozen in her chair for a few breaths of a second. As soon as she thawed, she dropped her quill, pushed her chair away and ran out of the library out into the entryway and immediately wished she hadn't left the room of books. The sight that greeted her was a true horror. The chandelier, that massive fixture of crystal, silver, and candle had fallen to the floor. Plaster fell like snow from the gaping hole in the ceiling above and nasty cracks spread out in a ghastly network from the chandelier's impact point on the floor.

The sight that tore Hermione's eyes from the wreck were the three boys who stood on the second floor landing. Harry, Ron, and Draco were frozen in shock, their mouths agape as they stared at what they had created. Just as Hermione was trying to say something, a door opposite the library slammed open and Snape was running full tilt into the entryway. The tall man literally skidded to a halt, narrowly missing taking a tumble into the dangerous wreckage. The look on his face went from concern to absolute rage as he took in the three, unharmed boys who could only stare helplessly back at him.

Snape took in their guilty expressions and the brooms they held in their hands. One more look at the chandelier and with a silence that spoke terrifying volumes, he stretched out his arm and pointed toward the library. The condemned, for that's what they knew they were, fell to in single file and shuffled woefully into the library. Snape's gaze then dropped onto Hermione and she thought she might melt right then and there.

"Miss Granger," he said in a very low, severely restrained, and eminently polite voice, "would you do me the favour of placing a stasis field around the potion I was working on when I was so rudely interrupted?"

"Yes, sir," she barely managed to squeak out. As Snape turned away from her, Hermione chanced a quick look toward the library and then ran to the lab, leaving her friends to their fate. Her last, hysterical thought was that she hoped Snape would let her know where their bodies would be buried so she could leave them flowers.

It felt like years to all three boys as they awaited the arrival of Snape in the library. "We're so dead," rasped Ron.

"He's an ex-Death Eater, Weasel," snarled Draco. "Death would be a blessing."

"We really are..." began Harry.

"IDIOTS!" Snape's voice exploded over them like the blast of Thor's Hammer and they cringed. He turned a moment and with a wave of his wand, slammed the doors of the library shut. "Have you any idea what you've done?" Snape's robes billowed dangerously as he swept past each of them.

"Can't we just..." Ron took an involuntary step backwards as Snape's face loomed down into his. Ron blinked wildly and did his best to control the bit of hysterical laughter that threatened the back of his throat as he focused his gaze on the older man's large, hooked nose.

"Reparo, Mr. Weasley? Was that what you were thinking of?" Snape's voice was deceptively conciliatory and Ron shrewdly did not reply. Snape rose to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back. "Not all objects can be repaired. The ceiling and the floor can be, but that chandelier was a priceless antique. It was also ENCHANTED!" The anger in his voice rose smoothly until the last word assaulted their senses. All three boys stepped back a step and crowded closer together. "You cannot repair an enchanted object with MAGIC!"

That revelation only served to pile on the horror that arced through their veins like lightning. It had been an awful thing to see the chandelier swinging so abruptly when Draco and Ron had crashed into it. Quick thinking kept them from breaking any bones, as did Harry's levitation spell. Unfortunately, as concerned with each other's well-being as they had been, none of them thought to wonder what the chandelier was doing. When it was too late, they could only stare in paralysed terror- tinged with a perverse bit of amazement- as the plaster in the ceiling cracked and the heavy object of crystal and silver fell to the marble floor. The impact was enough to lift each of them an inch off the ground. Later, much later (probably when we're in our 80s, mused Harry), they would look upon the memory of that great, old antique falling from the ceiling with exclamations of wonder. But, that was quite far in the future and the futures of Harry, Ron, and Draco were currently hanging by a thin thread.

"Idiot children," Snape's voice cut like a razor. "You have absolutely no idea the cost you've incurred... not to mention you imbeciles could have broken your foolish NECKS!"

"We can pay..." Draco tried feebly to offer.

"You may not be alive in the next ten minutes, Draco, to pay for anything." Draco couldn't help himself as he ducked behind Harry. Snape's voice was a bloody knife wrapped in velvet with Draco's name etched into the blade.

"Wh-wh-what are you going to do?" Harry's voice was a strangled whisper as he grabbed Ron's sleeve and yanked the boy closer to his side.

For several, agonizing minutes Snape paced before the three doomed teenagers before he faced them. There was a forbidding smile upon his face that could melt bone. The smile widened as he advanced upon them slowly. Backing away was no longer an option for the boys as Snape's desk was now behind them. "I trust, that the punishment I have planned, none of you will ever forget."

It had only taken Hermione a wave of her wand to put the potion Snape had been working on in stasis. She had thought to return upstairs, just to make sure no one was hurt, but she was rather afraid to. She knew the boys hadn't been hurt, but Snape had been so very angry. She was sure... maybe... that they deserved whatever punishment they had coming, but then again, punishments had been essays and extra chores, or a few hours stuck in one's bedroom. Somehow, thought Hermione, destroying an enchanted chandelier isn't easily punished by doing the dinner dishes. Hermione recalled the time when she was eight years old and had disobeyed her mother's wishes not to touch a beautiful, handblown vase on the fireplace mantle that had come from Germany. It was a dazzling thing that had caught her eye and tempted her for years, but always it was just out of reach. She had finally grown, enough, to reach the vase with her tiny, questing fingers. Little Hermione had never meant to break the vase, but she never disobeyed her mother again; not after the blistering spanking she'd received.

Hermione's heart leapt up to her throat and she coughed. "Oh no! He wouldn't!"

The Gryffindor had no illusions that she'd be able to stop Snape in any way. In fact, she wasn't really sure she intended to try to stop him, but he'd been so angry her worry was that he might actually hurt them. As fast as her legs could carry her, she ran up the long, twisted tunnel and burst through the same door Snape had come running through almost forty-five minutes before. It was Hermione's turn to skid to a halt. In the entryway were three, very subdued figures working in silence and without magic to clean up the ruin of the antique chandelier.

"Harry?" He ignored her as he scooped up broken glass with a broom. "Ron?" The redhead scowled briefly at her and continued to salvage what he could of the crystal drops. "Draco?" Draco, wearing a pair of dragon scale gloves, was removing the silver from the remains of the chandelier. He looked up and Hermione could see the remnants of dried tears in his red-rimmed eyes. "Oh no! What did he do?"

Draco sniffled self-consciously and bent back to his task. Harry replied bluntly. "Spanked us."

"But you're too old for that!" she protested.

"My dad was still spanking Bill until he came of age," sniped Ron.

Draco spoke softly, "Snape said if we were going to behave like five year olds then he'd treat us that way."

"At least it was only ten swats," muttered Harry.

"TEN?" groused Ron. "Man's got an iron hand he does! I may never stand straight again!"

"Oh shut up, Weasel. You're always slouching anyway." Draco tried to rest back on his heels as he knelt on the floor, but the touch of his heels to his backside sent a flame of pain through him. Resisting the urge to rub at the pain, he muttered darkly, "Thank Merlin he doesn't punish with curses."

There was a long stretch of silence as Hermione watched the three penitent boys continue to clean. "Where is he?"

Harry sighed heavily. "After he took our wands, he went for a walk outside. He's going to Floo Lyrica this evening so we can apologise. If she has any additional punishments..." he shrugged and went back to work.

No family is ever perfect and Severus Snape's family, as he now firmly considered the four children as more than a simple responsibility, but individuals he cared about, was certainly not perfect. He could have wished for a bit more perfection, but that was a wasteful delusion.

After leaving the three hooligans to clean up the remains of their fiasco, he had retreated outside for some fresh air and a walk. Spring was on the horizon, but there was still a nip in the air. The snow was gone and here and there, as he followed a winding path through the upper garden, he could see tiny signs of growth.

Snape hated having to punish the boys the way he'd done. Never, in all his years as a teacher, had he ever had cause to raise his hand to a child. Even now, he wondered if he'd done the right thing. A part of him worried that all the trust they'd built up since arriving in 1898 might have eroded with the spankings. Yet, wasn't that what any parent feared when taking their son or daughter to task?

With a heavy sigh, he seated himself on a stone bench as he considered the Floo call that he would have to make to Lyrica that evening. The chandelier was as old as the Arcahnum family, yet Snape had no idea what sort of attachment Lyrica had to the object. When she had finally spoken to him of her parents, she had explained to him that with the exception of a painting of her mother she kept in her apartment, Lyrica had eradicated all evidence of her parent's existence in the house. Books were her passion, as was the lab she had so painstakingly put together. Had she gotten bound to Phineas Nigellus Black's son, the reception would have been held in the grand entryway of her family home as part of a ritual to turn over the property to her new husband. Such recollections that she shared were rarely pleasant and it seemed the only truly happy memories began with their arrival back in time. That, of course, didn't mean there was no sentimentality at all to speak of for Ashmere and its furnishings. Lyrica would not be thrilled about the loss of the chandelier.

"Uncle Severus?" Hermione's soft, worried voice was carried on the breeze to him. Snape looked up to see her standing a few feet away in her winter robe. The breeze fluttered through her curls and she pulled her robe closer against the slight, March chill in the air. He could hear the worry in her voice, and see the shadows of fear upon the child's face: fear of his anger. Knowing that he'd frightened her gave him a sharp pain in his heart and he winced.

Patting the space beside him, he invited the girl over to him. Hermione quickly made her way to Snape's side, and he draped his cloak and a protective arm over her shoulders. Hermione leaned in close to Snape's warmth.

"I am very sorry for frightening you, Hermione."

"I'll be all right, Uncle, but are you?"

Snape blinked in astonishment. She was concerned for him? For a moment, he wasn't certain how to answer her. "I question... my actions, but I saw no alternative."

"There was always a rumour going around the school that you took a switch to your Slytherins to keep them in line. Draco's told us, though, that you never raised a hand to them, but that you have a yell as strong as any binding charm."

A sideways glance caught the girl's small grin. He smirked, "I believe everyone knows I'm quite adept at yelling. And, no, I've never raised a hand to a child. I never thought I would..." his voice faded as he looked toward the house where the trio were still cleaning up.

"Are you worried they don't like you anymore?" she asked tentatively.

Snape snorted. "I am certain they are plotting my death in the worst way possible at the moment. Perhaps that's why I took their wands." He scoffed at the notion, but inwardly his insides churned at the thought; had they gone back to hating him? And what of the fragile relationship he'd been forging with Harry? That was certainly all destroyed now.

Hermione slipped her hand into Snape's and squeezed it in assurance. "They're as mad as their backsides are sore, Uncle Severus, but they don't hate you. Not even Harry."

"Tell me, Hermione, do you approve of the spankings they received?" he asked, genuinely interested in her answer.

Hermione shifted under Snape's cloak and he adjusted himself to accommodate her. She slipped her hand into his. "I do think they're a bit old for a spanking, but these were extraordinary circumstances. All three of them knew they were doing something stupid that could have gotten them killed and they did it anyway." She smiled and let out a small chuff of mirth. "Just as I left, King Henry was threatening to take them all to the Tower where he'd put their heads on pikes and let the ravens peck their eyes out." She felt Snape's thrumming chuckle and smiled. "I think you did the right thing, Uncle. Neither Ron, Harry, or Draco will soon forget this; next time, they'll think twice before doing something moronic. And, I know they don't hate you. I promise."

Snape leaned over, and to Hermione's delight, he lightly kissed her forehead and gave her a one-armed hug. "Thank you, my dear child," he whispered. "Thank you."