As the three walked down to the dungeons, Harry glanced over at Ron, who was limping a bit, one hand to his bum. “I’m sorry about your wand,” he offered softly.

Ron gave a big sigh. “Yeah, I dunno what my mum and dad are gonna do when they find out. I mean, we really don’t have any extra money for me to get a new one.”

“Where’d you get your old one?”

“It belonged to my great-great uncle Hieronymus, and Charlie used it when he was here at Hogwarts,” Ron explained. “In a lot of old families, wands are handed down to the next generation, yeah? So when it’s time for each of us kids to get a wand, we always go to the family collection first. This one was the only one that even fizzed a little for me,” he sighed.

“But I thought Mr Ollivander said that the wand chooses the wizard,” Harry offered.

“Yeah, well, he’s trying to sell you a new wand, isn’t he? I mean, you can use pretty much any wand, so long as it’s not cursed or protected or anything, but if you don’t have a good connection to it, you’re not going to get good results.” Ron sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to do the best I can with Great-grandma Millie’s wand. I thought it might have got warm when I touched it.”

“I’m really sorry,” Harry repeated guiltily.

“Hey, mate – it wasn’t your fault. It was that stupid troll, all right?”

Harry glanced back to Professor Snape. “It was partly my fault,” he admitted. “It was a really stupid idea not to tell anyone and I’m sorry I asked you to lie.”

Ron shrugged. “Won’t be the first time I’m in trouble, and I’d still rather catch it from your professor than Percy or McGonagall.” He leaned close and whispered, “Think he’ll still whack me, even though I’ve already got a sore arse?”

Harry bit his lip. “I don’t think so. I mean, he’s always saying that he’s not hitting to really hurt, and if he whacks you on your cut, it would really hurt, right?”

“Yeah!” Ron said feelingly. “A lot. Not that Perce would care… Well, I guess he’d care, but I think he’d still whack me.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, you can’t say that Percy doesn’t care about you anymore. Not since the Battle.”

Ron grinned back. “Yeah, though the twins say that maybe it was all a show to impress Jones.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “They say that?”

“Yeah, but not really loud. They’re pretty scared of Jones.”

“Everyone is scared of Jones,” Harry pointed out.

“Even Percy!” The boys dissolved in sniggers.

“I am glad to see you are taking your disgrace so lightly,” the cold tones of Professor Snape halted the merriment. “Now that we are here,” he went on, opening the portrait to his quarters, “I expect you to wash and change into nightclothes. Mr Weasley, as the guest, you may shower first.”

“Yes, sir,” Ron scooted straight into the bathroom.

Snape glared down at Harry, who hung his head and played with the hem of his sleeve. “Did you have dinner?”

“Erm… Ron was going to bring me a sandwich. With salad in it!” he added quickly.

“Hmf.” Snape huffed. “Get into the kitchen. I will call for something.”

“Y’s’r.” Harry hurried to do what he was told. His heart was full of happiness. Even when Snape was completely disappointed in him, he still cared enough to worry if Harry had eaten. Harry knew he was going to get smacked – the second he’d seen Snape’s panicked face in the corridor, he’d known he was in for it – but he didn’t really care. He figured the scolding was going to hurt a lot worse than the smacks, and he suspected that Professor Snape wouldn't be satisfied with writing lines as punishment this time, but it was all okay, because he knew that his professor still cared about him.

Harry turned from washing up at the sink to find the professor sinking into a chair, a plate already on the table with some shepherd’s pie and broccoli, along with a big glass of pumpkin juice. “Sit down and eat,” Snape snapped.

That horrible little brat. Snape was quite certain he’d burst several vital blood vessels during his terror-filled sprint through the castle. How on earth was he supposed to survive Potter’s adolescence? The brat had already tried to obliterate himself on a broomstick and had taken on a full-grown troll. At this rate, he’d be challenging Voldemort by Christmas! He wondered if he could take a Calming Draught without the little horror noticing. Never let them see your fear – wasn’t that one of the key rules of parenting? Or was that for rabid dogs, not children? Was there a difference?

Dear Wizarding Parents Monthly, I find myself the guardian for an abused and neglected child who also happens to be prophesied to battle the most powerful Dark wizard of our time. When I find said child engaging in potentially life-threatening activities should I (a) give him a smack on the bottom and tell him not to do it again, (b) give him a smack on the bottom and tell him not to do it again until he’s standing in front of the abovementioned Dark wizard, or (c) tell him to live it up because he’s doomed anyway?

Snape sighed. No withholding food. No painful corporal punishment. No cleaning chores. No confinement to his room. What on earth was he supposed to do to punish the Potter brat for such an insane act of folly? And Weasley? Why in Merlin’s name was he having to punish the youngest Weasley boy? He’d never agreed to that, no matter what Minerva and Molly might think. He gloomily decided he was lucky Granger had hurt her wrist and needed to be taken to the Infirmary, or he might have been landed with her as well, and he was not going to start swatting female students. Oh no – therein lay madness, or at least angry fathers and Ministerial investigations.

He became aware of a presence at his elbow. The Potter brat was standing there, solemnly watching him. “What?” he demanded grumpily.

“I’m really sorry I scared you before.” Harry said quietly.

Snape huffed silently. Trying to ingratiate yourself before a punishment? You should have been sorted into Slytherin. “You’re an impossible, insufferable brat, clearly placed on this earth to torment me,” he retorted stonily. “Now eat your food before it gets cold.”

Harry nodded obediently and then – ignoring the perfectly good chairs ringing the table – had the effrontery to climb onto the man’s lap to eat his dinner.

Snape gaped in astonishment and fury. How dare the little monster expect to sit in his lap like that? As if nothing was wrong! As if Snape wasn’t going to discipline the little brat in just a few minutes! As if everything was fine!

He growled and went to move the fiend to another chair, when Harry glanced back over his shoulder and smiled shyly at him. As always, the look in those green eyes pinned his soul, and Snape found his hand gently patting the boy’s back instead of roughly dumping him in a different seat.

Harry let out a sigh of contentment – or was it relief? – and settled down to eat his food. He was nearly done by the time a well-scrubbed Ron appeared in the doorway, wearing a set of Harry’s pyjamas. Luckily, the sizing spell worked so that they fit the larger boy without a problem.

Ron grinned at the professor. He had Harry on his lap, and he was absently patting the boy’s shoulder while Harry finished up the last of his shepherd’s pie. “Shower’s all yours, Harry,” Ron said.

Harry started to hop up, only to find the hand on his shoulder holding him down. “Finish your broccoli, young man,” Snape said sternly.

Harry rolled his eyes but stuffed the last few florets into his mouth and then, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, hurried into the bathroom.

Snape rose to his feet and glared down at the redheaded menace. “Go into the living room and wait for me, Mr Weasley.”

Ron gulped but obeyed. A moment later, Snape reappeared. “Drop your pyjama bottoms and bend over the couch.”

Ron's eyes widened to the size of soup plates. “But, Professor,” he wailed in dismay, “I thought you didn’t whack on the bare!”

Snape stopped and scowled at the brat. “I’m not about to ‘whack’ you, you ridiculous child. I’m going to put some salve on your cut so that I can heal it.”

Ron’s mouth formed a perfect “O” of surprise. “R-really?”

Snape’s glare intensified. “I suppose I shouldn’t, so that you can carry a reminder of how foolish it is to place your wand in your back pocket like that, but your wife might someday accost me and demand to know why I allowed your youthful stupidity to leave a permanent scar on your behind, and since I have no desire to get into an argument with the future Mrs Weasley, yes, I am going to heal your backside. Now bend over!”

Ron was over the arm of the couch before the last echo of Snape’s shout had finished vibrating around the room. He felt the professor’s cool fingers carefully smear some salve over his cut, then heard Snape quietly chant a healing spell. A moment later, and the pain was gone.

Snape spun away, taking the jar of salve back to his supply closet and leaving Ron in privacy to hike up his pyjama bottoms. Ron rubbed his bum, delighted to find it completely back to normal.

“Now, Mr Weasley,” Snape said sternly, reentering the room. “I understand that today’s foolishness resulted in the utter destruction of your wand. Is that correct?”

Ron nodded, shamefaced.

“And this situation will either place a financial strain on your parents or cause you to have to use a relative’s wand for which you have little affinity?”

Ron nodded again.

“Obviously neither of these is a satisfactory solution, Mr Weasley. Nor does either one force you to take responsibility for your actions.”

Ron frowned. “Sir? I don’t understand.”

“Expecting your parents to fix everything is fine for a younger child, Mr Weasley, but you are rapidly approaching the age where you should at least attempt to rectify your own mistakes.” Ron blinked uncomprehendingly. Snape sighed and translated, “Fix what you broke.”

“But sir, the wand is too badly damaged to be fixed.”

Snape sighed again. Why did I get stuck with Gryffindors? “I am speaking metaphorically, Mr Weasley. You must come up with a solution to obtain a new wand.”

“Erm… well, I have a couple of galleons in my bank account,” Ron offered uncertainly.

Snape nodded. “That is a start. I am certain your parents will give you an advance on your Christmas or perhaps birthday gifts, since I assume you would rather have a proper wand than anything else?”

Ron looked wistful. “I was kinda hoping for a new broom,” he admitted, but at the scowl on Snape’s face, he hastily added, “I probably wouldn’t have gotten one anyway. They’re awfully expensive and my old one still works. Besides, without a wand, I can’t do anything.”

“Precisely. And I trust you have been at Hogwarts long enough to see how important it is to learn to use your magic in an efficient way – particularly if you are going to be in close proximity to Mr Potter.” Snape sighed. “He seems to attract trouble.”

Ron grinned. “It’s really not his fault, you know.”

Snape gave him an old fashioned look. “It never is, is it? But as I was saying, Mr Weasley, it is necessary for you to obtain an adequate wand as quickly as possible. Towards that end, I will take you to Ollivander’s tomorrow and we will obtain an appropriate wand for you.” He ignored Ron’s dawning look of incredulous joy. “You will of course pay me back in full, Mr Weasley, and I will expect you to spend one night each week in my laboratory, preparing potion ingredients, until the debt is repaid. Furthermore, for the first two months, your partners in crime will make their own amends by joining you in my laboratory and therefore in helping to pay off your debt.”

“You mean it, Professor?” Ron said, his voice shaking. “I can have a new wand? From Ollivanders? Honest?”

“No, Mr Weasley, I am in the habit of making extravagant promises to random students then neglecting to honor them. Are you trying to be offensive?”

Then once again a student had him in a stranglehold. Snape was quite pleased with himself for not going for his wand this time. Instead, he merely patted the sobbing boy on the back a few times. “Yes, yes. All right, Weasley. Honestly, such a fuss over a little wand. Enough of that now. Enough, I say.”

Ron sniffled and dragged his sleeve across his eyes. Snape grabbed his arm before he could repeat the process with his nose. “There are handkerchiefs in Potter’s top drawer, you ill-bred child. Go make use of one, and I suggest you keep it handy, as we have not yet come to your punishment for this evening’s activities.”

Ron gulped and nodded, scurrying off to Harry’s bedroom.

Hmf, irritating children – always leaking something disgusting all over my robes, Snape scowled. And I still don’t know what I’m going to do to the little wretches as punishment!

Ron hurried into Harry’s bedroom and found the handkerchiefs. He honked his nose in one and stuffed it by his pillow, then stashed another one on Harry’s bed. He wasn’t sure how hard Snape smacked, but he figured the rough edge of the man’s tongue alone would be enough to start them both bawling. He’d seen the Potion Master in action enough times in class to know that, when he wanted to, Professor Snape could make you long for a Bludger to the head rather than another minute of him haranguing you. And of course, the legends his older brothers had brought home from their Potions classes (not to mention their detentions) were enough to make him green with apprehension about the next few minutes.

Harry came out of the shower and gave him a sharp look. “What’s the matter? You been crying?”

Ron blushed. “Sorta.”

Harry looked alarmed. “What did he do?”

“Well, first he healed my bum, and that was pretty embarrassing,” Ron admitted, “but then he said that he’s going to get me a new wand. One that’s all my own – from Ollivander’s even! I’ll pay him back but he’ll let me get it tomorrow even though I won’t be able to give him back all the money for months and months and months! Oh,” Ron abruptly looked guilty. “And, erm, well, I have to help to pay off my debt by going down once a week to help him prepare potion ingredients and, um, you and Hermione have to help for the first two months on account of you were involved in my getting it broken.” He looked apologetic. “It wasn’t my idea, honest.”

Harry grinned and punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be daft! Of course Hermione and I will help. I just think it’s great that he’s letting you get a new wand.”

Ron bounced on the spare bed. “I know! Just wait til you see what I’ll be able to do once I’ve got a wand that’s chosen me.”

“What’s this?” Harry picked up the hankie from his pillow.

“Oh, erm, your dad – uh, professor – said we’d better have them handy when he comes in to punish us.”

“Oh,” Harry said in a small voice.

“Erm, he’s not going to use a hairbrush or anything, is he?” Ron asked nervously. “Not that we don’t deserve it, and he’s still brilliant for bringing me to get a wand tomorrow an’ all, but, erm, I was just wondering.”

Harry shook his head reassuringly. “Just his hand. And you keep your clothes on. Well, for this anyway,” he grinned.

“Ha, ha,” Ron sniped back.

Then they heard the professor’s footstep at the door, and suddenly nothing seemed very funny. Both boys huddled on their respective beds and waited for the storm to break over them.

“So.” Snape entered the room and surveyed the two trembling miscreants. Oh yes, now you’re all puppy dog eyes and apologies – rotten little brats. “You not only determined to break the rules, but you colluded on the best way to avoid detection and punishment, thereby placing yourselves in extreme danger.”

“But we didn’t know there’d be a troll,” Harry pointed out half-heartedly.

“But there could have been some other kind of emergency, young man! And that is why your whereabouts are to be known at all times. Rules are there for a reason – to protect your sorry skin,” Snape retorted furiously. “You placed yourself and Miss Granger in jeopardy for no good reason, you foolish, foolish child.”

Harry squirmed.

“And you, Mr Weasley. Having the temerity to lie to my face! What would your parents have to say about that?”

Ron paled. “I’m sorry, sir!”

“Oh, I’m certain you’re both very sorry now that you’ve been caught!” Snape said scornfully. “Your behavior has been atrocious! Sneaking around, lying, breaking any rule you see fit – is this the sort of character you wish to develop? Untrustworthy? Deceitful? Do you have any idea how hard it is to regain someone’s trust once you have lost it?” Now both boys were leaking tears. “I trusted you, and each of you deliberately lied to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry sniveled. “I wasn’t trying to make you not trust me.”

“I’m sorry too,” Ron choked.

“I cannot express strongly enough my deep disappointment in both of you,” Snape continued harshly. “You have demonstrated to your Head of House and the Headmaster, as well as to me, that you cannot be trusted to follow the rules. You have proven yourselves unworthy of the high regard we held you in.” Now both were overtly sobbing.

“It will be a long and hard road back to where you started,” he lectured. “You will, I am sure, never again forget how tenuous and fragile trust can be.” He paused and regarded the tear-sodden bundles of misery. “I am extremely tempted to have you spend the next two weeks escorted to and from all classes and meals by a prefect, since you have demonstrated that you cannot be trusted to appear on your own.”

Ron gasped in dread. Oh, Percy would be intolerable! And the twins would never let him hear the end of it.

Harry hunched his shoulders in woe. It was all his fault. Ron and he would be humiliated in front of the whole school, and he had got his best mate into this mess.

“And as for your appalling, Gryffindorish tendencies to risk your necks, do you have any idea how lucky you were tonight? Three first years up against an adult mountain troll?” Snape heard his voice becoming shrill with alarm and forced it back down. “You obviously had Merlin’s own luck tonight, but it is extremely unlikely you will ever again be so fortunate, and I intend to demonstrate how foolish it was to have taken your lives in your hands like this!” He scowled fiercely at Harry. “What have I told you about thinking before acting, Mr Potter?”

“Th-that it’s really important,” Harry sniffled unhappily, then honked into his handkerchief.

“And did you do so tonight?”

“No, sir,” he admitted, hanging his head even lower.

“Do you imagine I say these things for my own edification or amusement, you reckless, thoughtless child? You will learn to listen to me!”

“Yes, sir.”

“And as for you, Mr Weasley, just because you come from a large family does not imply that you are interchangeable in your parents’ eyes. If something were to happen to you they would be devastated!” Snape caught sight of Harry’s expression of naked longing.

“And they would be just as distraught if something happened to you, Mr Potter,” he added, hoping to erase that look of pain from the child’s face. Curiously, Potter didn’t seem all that heartened by the comment, and the brat continued looking at Snape, half-frightened, half-expectant.

Oh no. No no no. How did he get himself into these situations? Snape gritted his teeth and said what he knew he had to say. “And I of course would be extremely… displeased… as well,” he finally managed to choke out.

Harry beamed.

“Now, for your dunderheaded impulsiveness, not to mention blatant disobedience, mendacity, and disregard of instructions, you will be punished,” he announced awfully. Harry lost his smile and Ron’s freckles stood out on his ashen face. “Since it is obvious that you cannot be trusted in an unsupervised setting, you will be on restriction for the next week. That means that when you are not in class, at meals, or otherwise supervised by a staff member, you will remain in your dormitory or common room. If you are found outside of these areas, I will not only enlist the prefects as your escorts, but you will also be turned over to the Headmaster for discipline,” Snape threatened, his tones dire. The boys looked like they would faint, and Snape hoped they never found out that discipline Dumbledore-style meant cozy chats and plenty of lemon drops.

“Furthermore, you will use this time to write a three foot essay on what you should have done when you found yourself isolated in the library with a troll loose in the castle. I expect careful attention to all the mistakes you made as well as better choices at every decision point. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused.

“To ensure that you find your time on restriction acutely unpleasant, you, Mr Potter, will be prohibited from all flying during that time, while you, Mr Weasley, are to abstain from all sugary treats and desserts.” Now both boys were staring at him, eyes wide with anguish.

“A week?” Ron squeaked, his tone making it clear that he considered this appallingly cruel treatment. “But my mum never keeps me from pudding for more than a night!”

Snape smirked evilly at him. “Then perhaps next time you will apply to your mother for punishment.”

“N-no flying at all?” Harry gulped.

“None. You will surrender your broomstick to me in the morning.” Snape forced his voice to remain stern, even as the boy’s downcast expression caused an odd ache in his chest. “If I cannot trust you to go where you are told with two feet on the ground, how can you expect to be entrusted with a broom?”

Harry sniffled some more. “’M sorry,” he said, voice thick with remorse.

“Hmf,” Snape huffed. “And as I am sure you are well aware, you have earned a spanking. Lie down and roll onto your stomachs.”

Harry and Ron exchanged unhappy looks and obeyed. Snape went first to the redhead, who was clutching his pillow for dear life. He placed one hand on the boy’s back, feeling the little wretch quiver in trepidation. “You do not disobey and lie to your professors,” he intoned sternly, then brought his other hand down in a crisp smack across the upturned bottom.

Ron squeaked and clutched his pillow tighter. “You do not place yourself in jeopardy.” A second swat landed, and Ron gulped out a shaky, “Yessir.”

“Get under your covers and go to sleep,” Snape ordered brusquely. Ron hurried to obey, and Snape roughly tucked the covers around the boy.

“Good night,” he snapped.

“G-g’night, sir,” Ron ventured back timidly, and Snape’s hand – traitorous appendage! – gave him a rather awkward pat on the head. Snape ignored the boy’s sigh of relief and turned menacingly to Harry.

Bright green eyes had watched like a hawk his every move with the Weasley boy, but Harry dropped his gaze as Snape approached his bed. “I’m sorry,” he said so softly that the Potion Master nearly missed it. “I didn’t mean to worry you or disappoint you or lose your trust. I just – “ he sniffled “ – I just messed everything up.”

Snape huffed in annoyance and seated himself on the bed next to the distraught brat. “You made a mistake,” he said quietly, his tone firm but not condemnatory. “You will make many more during your childhood, though I sincerely hope no others will contain a troll. However, your duty is not to avoid all errors, but rather to learn from those you make. In particular, I expect you to remember to think before you act from now on.”

Harry nodded, but those green eyes were still dark with pain. “Will you ever be able to trust me again?” he whispered. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Melodramatic brat! “Idiot. I don’t hate you. You are an impossible, naughty, unthinking child, but as children go I find you to be less offensive than most.” Harry blinked, processing what was said, then his whole face lit up as he worked it out.

“Really? You like me? Still?”

“Did I not just say so?” Snape demanded crossly. “Foolish child. You will learn to listen to me. Now stop talking.”

Harry ducked his head into his pillow to hide his smile. He felt his professor rise and place one hand firmly on his back then – thwack! – the first swat stung his backside. Harry jerked his head up and stared at his professor in surprise. That had hurt!

Oh, it was nothing like the whacks his relatives used to dole out, but it was a respectable swat - significantly harder than the perfunctory tap he'd received at the Weasleys - and created a definite sting and burn in his bottom. “Do not risk your neck again!” Snape whispered fiercely and administered another smack, even harder than the first.

Harry winced and wiggled. “Ouch!” he complained, and this time there was no artifice in his tone. He pouted at Snape as he snaked one hand back and rubbed at the stinging spot.

“If you do not wish to suffer the penalty, then do not violate the rule,” Snape retorted unsympathetically. “Get to bed.” He helped Harry under the covers, then gave him a good night pat on the behind.

Harry grumbled to himself as he settled beneath the quilt. Why'd Professor Snape have to pat him there? His rear still burned from the swats, and even the light tap served to reinforce the punishment - which was, he guessed, precisely his professor's intention. He sighed. He knew he deserved his punishment - including the spanking - and he had been incredibly relieved to learn that Professor Snape didn't hate him. He just wished his professor hadn't chosen this night to overcome his aversion to giving anything more than token swats. He didn't want Ron to decide that his guardian wasn't very nice after all.

Snape smirked at the boy's grumpy expression. “Remember what I said,” he admonished, and swept out of the room, nox’ing the lights as he did.

There was a minute or two of silence in the room, then: “You okay, Harry?” Ron whispered.

“Yeah. My bum still stings, though.”

“Mine too. Blimey, he takes safety stuff seriously, doesn’t he?”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. He doesn’t smack nearly so hard for other stuff.”

Ron gave his backside a tentative rub, then winced. “Well, it’s not that bad. I mean, a wooden spoon hurts worse.”

Harry sighed. “Or a hairbrush.”

Ron choked. “I thought you said he didn’t use a hairbrush on you!”

“He doesn’t,” Harry said swiftly, not wanting Ron to get the wrong idea about his professor. “But my relatives did. A lot. And the belt.”

There was a moment of silence. “Is that why you’re with Snape now? ‘Cause your relatives hit you?”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I don’t really want anyone to know – I mean, ‘cept for you and Hermione – but they were pretty awful. I didn’t think it was so bad, but when I got here and Professor Snape found out, he went kind of mental. He said that they were terrible and I shouldn’t have been treated like that.”

“Is that why he had you write all those lines about how stupid they were and how you weren’t to listen to them?”

Harry couldn’t help smiling as he thought of those 500 lines. Even Professor Snape’s lips had quirked upwards when Harry had handed in the parchment and he’d skimmed the contents. “Yeah. I still make that mistake sometimes, and then he gets all protective.” He paused. “He’s really pretty great,” he admitted, even as he rubbed his still-smarting backside.

“I guess that’s why he gets so mad when you do something stupid and put yourself in danger. It’s like when you do that, you’re still listening to your relatives.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He hadn’t considered it like that before. “Yeah, I guess. No wonder he gets so mad, then. He must’ve told me not to listen to my relatives about a million times already.”

A few minutes of quiet ensued, broken by: “Still hurting?” Ron asked.

“Not really,” Harry confessed. “You?”

“Nah. I’m glad we don’t have to go sit in class right now though.”

“Me too.”

“Still... it was a really big troll, you know?”

Harry grinned. “And going down the stairs on its back? That was actually pretty cool – I mean, since we weren’t killed or anything.”

“Yeah! And that idea with the pikestaff? That was brill–“

“Go. To. Sleep.” The stern voice from the doorway halted all further chatter, as with identical gulps, both boys ducked under their covers.