Harry Potter loved the castle of Hogwarts. He couldn't think of a more fascinating place to grow up. The only problem was that he was often so busy with Molly during the day, learning to read and write in the early evening with Hermione, and spending time with his father, he didn't get to spend the time he wanted exploring the castle.

Draco was very good about taking him exploring, but his time with his bodyguard was usually erratic and not always long enough for a good exploration.

On his very first ever detention (Draco was certain Harry had broken some sort of record for being the youngest person to ever get a detention) Harry was actually looking forward to cleaning cauldrons with Ron. Harry was very sure that Ron had done some exploring of Hogwarts and he was going to ask him for some stories.

Unfortunately, what he didn't know was that he and Ron had once been very fast and close best friends. Just when Ron hadn't gotten used to the idea of Harry being a little kid again.  His dislike towards young Harry only increased after seeing the child with Draco. What's more, little Harry practically appeared to worship Draco and that caused anger, and an old jealousy to worm its way like rot into Ron's heart.

When Ron arrived right after his last class of the day for detention with Snape, he was not at all pleased to see Harry sitting, of all places, at the desk he, Hermione and Harry used to share. Ron immediately sat as far away from the little boy as possible.

Harry had intended to greet Ron politely as he recalled the wonderful day he'd spent at the Burrow and the chess game he and Ron had played. He thought Ron liked him like Fred and George did. Unfortunately, the scowling look sent his way by the redhead almost felt like a physical rebuff. Just in case his perception might be wrong, he smiled tentatively at Ron.

"What are you doing here, you prat?" snarled Ron.

"I got detention for flying," replied Harry cautiously.

Ron snorted, "Great so I'm babysitting you?"

Before Harry could reply Snape emerged from the supply closet. "On the contrary, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter will be your assistant as you scrub cauldrons. You know how this goes, so begin. Take Mr. Potter in hand and show him what needs to be done."

Now, Ron really wasn't a bad person, but sometimes he just didn't think things through and that, more than anything else, is what caused him the most trouble. He was just about to make his life a hundred times more unpleasant as he showed Harry how to scrub the cauldrons and purposefully neglected to tell the child to wear the pair of dragon hide gloves next to the sink. There were caustic substances in many of the cauldrons and no one, not even Snape, was dumb enough to clean a cauldron without a good pair of dragon hide gloves.

Harry did wonder why Ron put on a pair of gloves, but he didn't ask. Although he had figured out that Ron was annoyed with him, he had no reason to think the older boy would be mad enough at him to hurt him. He began scrubbing cauldrons and at first he ignored the weird tingling on the skin of his hands.

Ron's conscience, trying to do its best to get Ron to fix things before it was really too late nearly kept his tongue quiet a minute too long. One second before Harry was about to stick his unprotected hand with the scrubber into a cauldron that had some yellowish and greenish gloppy substance in it, Ron's conscience won and he snatched the cauldron out of the boy's hands.

Ron knew he didn't completely escape trouble, though, because some of that icky glop had been smeared on the outside of the cauldron. Before Harry could even start to cry out, Ron shouted for the Potions Master, grasped Harry's little hands, and shoved them under now cold water.

Despite the cold water, the tingling escalated into an itchy, painfully sharp burning that hurt a LOT! Harry cried out and tried to wrestle his hands from the older boy's grip, but Ron's fingers were wrapped tightly around his wrists as his hands were being doused by the cold water. His arms were just short, little six-year old arms, so the edge of the sink was digging painfully into his ribs.

"DADDY!" screeched Harry, and Ron knew that scream to be his death knell.

The little kid within Ron advised him to run and get the hell out of there, but Ron didn't listen to that little kid anymore. He knew enough to keep Harry's hands under the cold water before the pain turned into something very ugly and scarring.

Snape, heart in his throat at hearing his son's scream, dashed back into the classroom and to the sinks at the rear of the room. His eyes had only a moment to assess the problem and he had his wand out and cast a spell over Harry's hands to stop the physical damage before it got started. A second's glance into the older boy's eyes told him precisely that the Weasley boy had neglected to instruct Harry to wear his dragon hide gloves on purpose.

The damage was averted, but the pain was still there and Harry was crying profusely now. Snape picked his son up and levelled what his Slytherins called his 'Death Eater glare' upon Ron. "Get to the Headmistress' office and wait for me there, Mr. Weasley. This does not bode well for you."

Snape swept out of the Potions classroom like some great black bird protecting its young. As Ron trudged up to the office of the Headmistress, he fully expected that black bird with his great beak to eviscerate him. In other words, he was dead.

Ron waited and waited and waited some more until the Floo in Headmistress McGonagall's office flared to life, depositing the dark figure of Snape onto the hearth. Snape automatically cleaned away the soot, glanced at the rigid Headmistress and then pierced the redhead with a deadly look.

Ron should have died, but thankfully looks that could kill was a magic Snape did not possess. Even so, Ron gulped audibly and his voice squeaked, "How's Harry?"

Snape bent over and leaned in so close to Ron that his nose was almost touching Ron's own freckled nose. "Perhaps you'd like to first explain your abominable actions towards my son, Mr. Weasley? At the moment, I don't believe you care one whit about his welfare, so prove it."

Snape rose to his full height and glared dangerously down at the quivering teenager. "Severus, I do believe you're not allowed to kill any of the children for their wretched behavior anymore. The new minister, Arthur Weasley, tends to frown upon such medieval actions," Minerva said with a chiding voice.

"Pity," sighed Snape in mock disappointment and without removing his glittering black eyes from Ron's, he continued his questions, "An explanation, Mr. Weasley. Why did you neglect to warn a six year old child about what was needed to handle filthy cauldrons coated with dangerous substances?"

"I...!" Ron bit down, literally, on his tongue to stop the lie that was about to shoot out of his mouth. Knowing that despite the Headmistress' warning, he was a dead man, he figured the embarrassment the truth would cause was a minor thing. So, with some reluctance, he explained.

"Ah," Snape began tersely as he swept like a predator back and forth in front of the Gryffindor. "Since Harry has shown affection towards Draco Malfoy, one of my Slytherins, you thought to punish him for disloyalty towards you and Gryffindor House."

Ron knew he hadn't quite said things that way, but it was, more or less, what he'd done. "I suppose I'm expelled now," he rasped, half looking at McGonagall and half looking at Snape.

"Severus?" questioned Minerva. He stopped his pacing to give her his attention. "I leave Mr. Weasley's punishment up to you." She rose to her feet and stepped away from her desk. "I trust you to do the right thing." The stately woman then left her office for the inner sanctum of her private quarters above her office.

Ron's heart tightened in his chest as McGonagall left. Now he knew for sure he was dead and Snape could very easily dispose of his body and no one would be the wiser.

"Much as I would like to do what you're thinking, Mr. Weasley, your death would hardly teach you anything, and before you sigh with relief, you will be getting a detention, a week's worth. That and I will be sending a letter home to your parents explaining everything, so I'm certain your mother's eventual Howler will make a most indelible impression upon your mind."

Ron sagged. Molly's Howlers were worse than death.

Snape then sat down across from the redhead and to Ron's surprise, the anger was gone from the depthless black eyes. If he wasn't mistaken, there seemed to be a tiny glimmer of concern. He blinked rapidly. That couldn't be.

"Mr. Weasley... Ronald, I know that you and Harry were the best of friends from the day the two of you met. With the exception of that one day at the Burrow, you have purposely kept your distance from Harry and there is not a day that goes by that I catch you throwing rather sad and wistful looks in Harry's direction. Why?"

Ron bit the inside of his cheek at the tears that were hot behind his eyes. "I lost my best friend, Professor. Harry only thought about himself when he took that de-aging potion. He never once thought of what him being a little kid was going to do to those he left behind. He doesn't remember anything!" A tear did escape and before he could wipe it away with his hand, Snape had pressed a clean handkerchief into his fist.

"All the talks we had, the things we did. Studying, riding on the train together, talking about girls, flying... he doesn't remember any of it. Professor Snape, my best friend died. Playing chess with Harry, I kind of hoped that maybe I'd see a little of the Harry I knew, but there wasn't anything.  And then..."

"Then you saw Harry with Draco, your sworn enemy," Snape concluded.

"Yeah, but not just that! Harry was having fun with Malfoy! Didn't he remember all the times that git sabotaged his potions, or hexed him in the corridors, or pelted him with snowballs that were icy? Malfoy's dad nearly killed Harry when his trick with You-Know-Who's diary didn't kill Ginny! How can he LIKE Draco?" Ron's voice had steadily risen until he was shouting at the Potions Master.

"Harry cannot go back to who he was, Ronald. There is no way to reverse the potion he took, so, in a way, I do understand the loss you are feeling for your best friend. Harry has a new life now, one in which he gets to be the happy little boy that he always wished to be without the Boy-Who-Lived celebrity. He is going to make new friends and I am sure he would have wanted you to be his friend."

Ron crushed the handkerchief in his hands and slumped in the chair. "Well I've bollixed things up now. After what I did, he isn't going to want to come near me."

Snape huffed. "Actually, you're quite wrong. Once Madame Pomfrey was able to stop the pain in his hands, Harry was quite worried that I might... 'smush you to death'." Snape sneered. "My son made me swear to keep from doing so, so alas, I can only punish you, not kill you. That, and Harry hopes you'll visit him in the Infirmary. He loathes it there."

Ron lightly smiled at that. "Yeah, Harry never did like the Infirmary. Madame Pomfrey has a bad habit of hovering."

"Hm. That she does." Snape rose to his feet and moved his chair back to where it had been. "Detention will be delayed until Saturday morning, Mr. Weasley." He started to turn away, but then stopped. "Oh yes, I very nearly forgot. Harry wanted to give you a punishment as well."

Ron's jaw dropped in indignation at the Potions Master's son giving him a punishment. "Wh-what would that be?"

"Harry would like for you to write him a story about Hogwarts. He specifically requested that there be a monster in it. It will be due on Friday."

Snape was gone before he saw the slight grin on Ron's face. Writing a story wasn't bad. In fact, he a few in mind.