NOTE: If you like this, you need to thank excessivelyperky and an anonymous reader who goes by Appreciative, who both asked me, way back when I was doing the 'Growing' series, to write the Severus punishments I'd hinted at in those stories. Part of my self-declared Abandoned Fics On My Computer Amnesty Month. Also Leviathan, who explained to me in a PM that the Dumbledore of the Growing series is probably much darker, possibly as a result of capture and subsequent torture by Grindelwald.

Can be a standalone, but I think will have another chapter. Eventually.

"I'm very disappointed to see you here again, Severus."

The cold words dropped from Headmaster Dumbledore's thinning lips and hung, reproachful, in the sunlit air. Head bent, he turned away from Severus, leaving him standing alone in his study as his disappointed mentor went to prepare for his punishment. Severus showed no emotion, though; he never did. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, a tiny ladybird scurrying along a crack absorbing all his attention. His mouth twisted; such a sunny creature of the light would never find its way into the depths of the Slytherin dungeons. Only here, in the windswept, sunkissed Gryffindor towers, did these lucky talismans deign to appear. Lucky, indeed. It's just an insect, he growled to himself, working hard to keep the fear of what came next out of his chilled veins and pounding heart. Just a stupid ladybird, he insisted as his eyes slid gently over the smooth, bright, red-spotted wings. How intent it was upon its purpose, oblivious to the danger that threatened. With a tiny movement of his foot he could put an end to its life…

"Over here, Severus."

He wished Dumbledore wouldn't call him by his own name at a time like this. If only he would call him anything, even 'James' – especially 'James', he acknowledged. If only he would, he could pretend it wasn't him taking the punishment – that it wasn't he who was being proved bad, unworthy, with every step. That it wasn't he who was forever falling, falling further and further out of favour with his beloved mentor, the one who had smiled at him and said he'd had 'potential' that first day—before he was sorted into Slytherin.

"No dawdling, Severus."

He shuffled over to the punishment cross, a broad, heavy wooden X, fumbling awkwardly with his robes. His eyes burned. He'd wanted to be strong and firm in front of Dumbledore, perhaps, he'd desperately hoped, earning back a measure of his respect, but even that was denied him as his freezing fingers became clumsy and slow.

"Nearly causing grievous bodily harm to a student. Twelve strokes, I think, Severus, don't you?"

Each repetition of 'Severus' planted him ever more firmly in this miserable, unfair abyss, precluded the possibility of him shutting it all out, fleeing the room on the wings of his imagination. Each time he tried, another 'Severus' would bring him back to earth with a bump. Sometimes he grew heartily tired of his own name. Finally he was naked, his clothing folded neatly on the chair in the corner. Embarrassed, he stepped up to the wooden X, standing spread-eagled facing it, hoping for a measure of modesty, to manage to be quick enough to hide his front at least.

"You know better than that, Severus."

Genuinely confused, he nevertheless did not ask for clarification. Prudence meant not blurting out every stray thought that popped into your head. He tried to think, to deduce what Dumbledore thought he knew better than to do. But the one idea that tickled at the edges of his mind was too awful for him to contemplate – it had happened only once before, and then the punishment had been only two strokes with the junior cane – surely his so-called crime didn't merit…

"Back to the post, Severus."

He was genuinely chilled now as he turned to place his back against the X, his chest facing outward. And now, now Dumbledore stepped up to him, looming over him, his eyes devoid of the warmth they had when addressing his precious Gryffindors. Well, his eye, technically—he'd lost the other, as everyone knew, as a consequence of the terrible torture he had undergone for a month in Grindelwald's clutches. Those who had known him before it sometimes spoke of the kind, gentle man he had been before…

The voice prodded. "Don't you?"

"Yes, Headmaster. I'm sorry." Severus had wanted to remain silent, to be hard and defiant, but it was impossible. For all that he stood there naked and humiliated, for all he was about to be whipped across his chest, he somehow still craved this man's affection, forgiveness. He was the only one who had ever shown him respect, admiration… "I never wanted to disappoint you."

"And yet you have."

A little more of his soul shriveled up inside, but he managed to meet the icy blue gaze. "I never meant to."

"Then what did you mean by hexing Potter's homework to blow up in his face?"

Potter, Potter. He ground his teeth, shame forgotten. "He played a worse trick on me just last week, and got off scot-free."

"I thought we had established that at the time, he was nowhere near…"

"He was!" To Severus' horror, tears of frustration threatened to spill down his face. "I told you and told you, but you didn't believe me…"

The voice became low, menacing. "And so you decided to take matters into your own hands."

"Why not, they always have before," he grumbled. "And get away with it."

The blue eye flashed, the pupil pinpointing. "Six more, I think."

Severus barely had time to gasp before the familiar Incarcerus. Ropes materialized and wrapped firmly against his arms and legs, immobilizing him against the wooden X. While he was used to being bound face-down, he had only had a few experiences with this position. His body was sick with fear and cold and apprehension, and he tried to quell the goose-bumps, but there was no control any more. And when Dumbledore turned, the sight of the split bamboo cane in his hand made Severus glad, in an abstract sort of way, that he'd thought to go to the toilet before coming here.

The headmaster didn't waste time. He swung the bamboo, in a great whining arc, to smash against Severus' chest.

There was no stopping the shriek of anguish, no stopping the next inexorable cut of the razor-edged cane. It was as though his lungs were on fire, the very air he breathed poison. Another wicked crack and he was howling like an animal, his head lashing from side to side, as the sharp edges sliced through him and the agony shivered through his body. Again and again the stick cracked against his bones, and he was choking and screaming—another bone-breaking whack, and he groaned gutturally like an animal, and wanted to leave his body, but there was nowhere to go…

…and his eyes met Dumbledore's. There was a glint in them he was seeing for the first time, now he was facing the headmaster. The eyes were burning with an incandescent, unnatural fire. He's getting his revenge for the times he was tortured. The thought sprang unbidden. But then Severus saw him raise the stick with savage glee and his soul was like a bird battering at the bars of its cage and the stick came down and suddenly everything went blank.

It was a moment—several moments—before he realized that the caning had stopped. His limbs were all water, but his soul was no longer straining urgently at the confines of his body. A voice muttered healing charms on the periphery of his consciousness, and his impending soul-flight receded a little more. Curiously, he forced his eyes open. Dumbledore was bending over him, still incanting urgently.

In spite of everything, the most delightful emotion stole over Severus as he watched the bent white head, the aged figure bending over him, wand outstretched, healing him. He loves me, he cares for me, the voice in his head sang. He does, he does, he's healing me…

But then his logic brought him up short. How could Dumbledore be managing to heal him? Everyone knew, Severus knew, that healing charms didn't work on caning injuries until twenty-four hours had passed. But working these were, definitely. His breathing was easing, no longer feeling as if the air knifed through his bronchial tubes, slicing them open on its way in. Dumbledore was the greatest living wizard, but Dumbledore himself had said that it was impossible to bypass the charms inbuilt in the school cane. How, then…?

It's not the school cane.

The thought, again, had come unbidden. But Severus had barely had time to process it when Dumbledore stepped backwards, raked his eyes over him, nodded once, and liberated him, flipping him over and binding him with another charm. This was the position he was familiar with, and as though the surreal event had not just happened, as though he had not almost died, Dumbledore was speaking. "Six down, twelve to go." He laid down the bloodstained bamboo, picked up the regulation cane, and without a pause, without a word, coldly, automatically, with horrifying strength, raised the rod high over his shoulder and proceeded to methodically flay the skin off Severus' buttocks and thighs.

There was no way on earth he could have kept his trembling body from collapsing to the floor as his enchanted bonds were released. His flayed legs simply gave way, and he went down, clutching at the wooden X on his descent to the floorboards. Cheek pressed to the flagstones, he dully noticed the cheery red ladybird wending its way across the floor.

"Get up," the headmaster's voice sounded coldly above him. Slowly, by will and nerve alone, he staggered to his trembling feet, and stood there shaking, hoping as always for a smile, for some word of forgiveness. Affection, even. He should stop daring to hope, but somehow he couldn't.

His mentor's mouth opened.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Severus," he intoned. "See that it doesn't happen again."

Severus' eyes searched the old face for some trace of kindness, of sympathy, found none. "Yessir," he mumbled. His face was drenched with his tears, but he held the fresh ones back. He didn't cry. Wouldn't.

"And you will apologize to Potter."

"What?" His head snapped up, eyes flashing. Instantly, he regretted it, eyes down, hands clasped before him.

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. "If you had not just received chastisement, you would certainly have deserved a flogging for that insolence alone," he began. "Tomorrow after dinner I shall Truth Charm Potter to see if you have apologized. If you do not, I shall make you do it in the Great Hall at breakfast the next day. Do you understand?"

The bitterness threatened to choke him worse than the pain, but he nodded and turned to go, staring intently at the floor. The ladybird fluttered across his path, making little jumps of happiness. His vision washed into a haze of red.

Lily would have cried to see him do it. She would probably not have spoken to him for ages. Only Lily was James' girlfriend now. She wasn't here to intercede on the ladybird's behalf.

He put out his foot and crushed it, ending its happy, oblivious life. He raised his frayed shoe from the floor and saw the minute darkening of the little creature's blood, seeping into the pores of the flagstone.

It ought to have made him feel better, but he only felt crushed.