This is a sequel to my 'Growing Pains', here on FFN, but I think it can stand alone. Again, I must caution readers and put in a very strong warning against severely graphic descriptions of caning. Let me put it this way – a previous reader told me that my "Growing Pains" made her want to throw up, and this is easily twice as graphic as that. So PLEASE BE WARNED. I'm a complete perv for whom there's no hope, but it doesn't mean that all my readers are. ;-)

This is for Leviathan0999, here on fanfiction dot net. One of Ron's lines is taken from his fabulous, but adult, fic on The Quidditch Pitch. If you want to read it, I'll have to ask you to PM him for the URL, as it really is over-18 stuff.

"Weasley!"

Of all the people he expected to waylay him in the corridor, Snape was definitely at the bottom of Ron Weasley's list. While the Potions professor's quick action to save Harry's sanity during their punishment at the start of the year had definitely earned Ron's respect, he nevertheless had a healthy fear of the man since the caning he'd received at his hands. Hermione's healing paste had eased the after-effects considerably, but Fred and George's "Don't Get Caught" motto had acquired new meaning for him. Still, the man was a professor, so Ron schooled his features into a mask of politeness and waited for the other shoe to drop, mentally running over a list of all his indiscretions over the past two weeks.

"A word with you," Snape rapped out, and swept off to his office. Ron followed him with a sinking feeling of dread. Goodbye, sitting comfortably, he thought resignedly.

The Slytherin dungeon was as chilly as ever, but Snape looked almost friendly. "Don't worry, you're not in any trouble," the master said, and Ron barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before Snape's next words chilled him. "But Mr Potter is."

"Harry? What's he done?" Ron asked breathlessly, thinking back to see if there were anything Harry had done which had not involved him.

Severus gauged the boy mentally. It was obvious from the overspill of young Ronald's thought that he had no idea what Potter had been doing. He'd had his suspicions about Weasley being involved, but now he was certain the boy had had nothing to do with it. "He has been slipping out regularly to the Forbidden Forest. He does not seem to be doing anything other than walking, but venturing into the Forest is strictly forbidden and each excursion into it is automatically punishable by three strokes of the cane. At the end of last week, the wards alerted us that Potter had been there…five times."

Ron's mouth dropped open. He had barely managed eight strokes; he'd hardly been able to walk afterwards. And he was healthy and fit! Harry, with his bony and skinny frame… "It'll kill him!" he gasped.

"No, it will not kill him, Mr Weasley, no need to be dramatic," Snape drawled, "but it will be exceedingly unpleasant for him, and this is why I am enlisting your help." He studiously avoided the word 'asking'; he would never ask a Weasley for help.

"Oh," the boy said. "Sir, is it true that…"

"Go on, Weasley, I haven't got all day."

"…well, that even if you wanted to cut down the number of strokes you can't, because the canes are charmed to detect it, and the charm won't let students back into class if they haven't taken their punishment?"

"Nine out of ten, Mr Weasley," Severus said approvingly, then clarified: "They are charmed to detect the number of strokes they have administered, though not to whose bottom."

"Right," the boy said disrespectfully, seeming to be screwing up his courage for something. "So h-how many strokes do you want me to take?"

Severus actually took a step back. "What?"

"F-for Harry," he said determinedly. "I mean, you're right, he can't take fifteen, I could barely take eight and he's built much smaller than me, so that's what I can do to help, right? Take part of it? I c-could take eight and leave him seven, or even nine, I suppose, nine's not much worse than eight. Then he'd get six. Can he take six, do you think, sir, or…"

"Weasley…"

"…I could take even more if you think he's not up to it. He didn't mean any harm, you know, sir, it's just, well, if I'd been raised by horrible people like that I'd have trouble sleeping too. Only could you not tell him? I'd be sort of, well, it'd be dodgy if he knew I'd taken part of his…"

"Silencio!"

"..punish-mfrgh!"

Once he'd shut Weasley up, Severus fixed him with a cold stare. "If you have been labouring under the delusion that I was about to ask you to take part of Potter's punishment, Mr Weasley, then you are sadly mistaken. If you will be quiet and listen, then I will lift the hex." Weasley nodded, so Severus lifted it. "Now," he went on. "You may remember the adverse hysterical reaction that Potter had the last time he was caned."

"Yessir," Ron blurted, not wanting to remember how horrible it had been to see Harry frozen, caught in the grip or a traumatizing flashback.

"I do not want a repeat of this attack, so I am – asking – you to be present at his punishment and physically support him." There it was, the word he'd tried to avoid. But, "You are free to refuse, of course."

"Oh no no, I won't refuse, sir, but… 'support'?"

"Yes," Snape hissed. He didn't much like the idea, but he had read of it in six psychology books, including one written by Guinevere the Elder. "You will just… be present for him to hold onto. The presence, the touch, of someone he trusts should be enough to ward off the reaction. That is, if you consent."

Ronald nodded vigorously. I'd still rather just take part of it for him, Snape could hear as clearly as if the boy were saying it out loud, but he ignored him. Gryffindors were given to foolish mental broadcasting anyway.

Which was how Ron came to find himself heading down to Snape's dungeon with Harry. "Did you get in trouble too?" Harry asked him.

"No," Ron said shortly. "Snape wanted me to come with you. I'm not sure exactly what for." Well, that was the honest-to-Merlin truth; he wasn't sure exactly how this would work.

But he hadn't banked on Harry's stubborn reaction. "No!" he was saying. "I don't need anyone to support me!"

"This is not a matter of choice, Potter," Snape said silkily. Ron had come to recognize that tone as dangerous. "I have better things to do than rescue you from your own demons every time you are here to take a punishment."

"But – but…" Harry stammered.

"It's all right, mate," Ron muttered.

"No, it is not all right!" Harry glared. "I don't want you seeing…"

"Mr Potter," Snape hissed. "This is NOT open for discussion. One more word out of you will add to your punishment. I do not want to do so, so please do not make me."

"Sir," Harry turned to Snape, "I can take my medicine. I don't need…"

"This is your final warning."

"But I…"

"One extra stroke." Severus sighed inwardly, but his voice was steel.

"Harry, shut up!" Ron hissed urgently.

Harry faltered, but went on, "Really, I…"

"And another. I will go on adding them, you know." Snape hated to do this, but the boy had to learn to obey authority some time!

Potter faltered, then fell silent. He looked from Snape to Ron, then back again. Then he silently reached under his robes to fumble with his pants.

"Weasley," Severus turned to Ronald, who was turning an interesting shade of green. "Sit up on the desk."

Weasley hopped up onto the desk easily. "Now turn sideways," Severus ordered. He intended to have Potter lay his chest across Weasley's lap. Seeing Weasley's legs dangling sideways off the desk, he remembered how high it had been for Potter last time, so he pointed his wand at the desk legs and lowered its height about twelve inches. Ronald wobbled but kept his balance. "Potter," Severus ordered. "When you have undressed, go and bend over the desk so that you are lying across Weasley's knees."

The boy was undressed, but he just had to argue. "Professor Snape…"

"Now, Potter."

He was grateful beyond words that the boy didn't give him a reason to add any more strokes. Moving to the desk, he seemed to understand what was required of him, as he laid himself face-down across the desk and the proffered lap; his stomach lay on the polished oak, his chest horizontally across Weasley's thighs, his chin resting on the redhead's far leg; his arm bracketed the other boy's torso, other arm hanging down his shins. He turned his head away from his friend, face set in embarrassment, shaking off Weasley's hand as it attempted to rest on his back. Severus regarded the hurt look on young Ronald's face interestedly. Potter's pride really would end up causing damage if it wasn't nipped in the bud.

"Robes up, Potter."

Weasley surreptitiously helped Potter raise his robes, as one of the smaller boy's hands was out of the way around his friend's waist. Severus followed the redhead's dismayed gaze. The buttocks were smaller than he had remembered; apparently Quidditch and nocturnal wanderings had taken more bulk off than they'd put on. There was barely a handful of flesh on each cheek; the thighs were wiry, skin and bone. Not, Severus knew, enough to absorb a terrible punishment such as this one.

And it would be terrible, he had no doubt about that. He had seen no reason to tell young Weasley the full extent of the charm on the cane. While Severus himself appeared to have full control of the instrument of punishment, in reality he had very little to do other than wield it; aim, angle and harshness were all primarily dictated by the bamboo itself. The Hogwarts school canes were rumored to have been charmed by Salazar Slytherin himself; the old wizard had been a great believer in 'spare the rod and spoil the child'. And the reason Severus' blood was running cold now was that they were charmed to recognize repeat offenders and hit harder accordingly. There was no way to fool the charm; last time Potter had collapsed after only six strokes, and Severus' head spun at the thought of what seventeen would do to him. He had only wanted to punish the boy, not whip him senseless or, Heaven forbid, cause permanent nerve damage. Perhaps he could control the cane to give a milder punishment?

Severus had no doubt he was trembling more than the boy himself as he tapped his bottom with the cane and felt the magic crackle through the length of the bamboo, stepping back to deliver the first stroke.

THWACK!

His heart sank. The stroke was vicious; it drove Potter forward with the pain, burying him deeper into Weasley's lap. As the flexible rod rebounded off the small mounds, he could already see bruises and blisters forming. Deuce take it, anyway!

Potter had grunted, head still turned away from his friend – stupid, stubborn Gryffindor – but as the other boy tried to pat him, he shrugged him away with the anger that comes with pain, fumbling for the desk's edge for something to hold. Looking away from the exchange, Severus took a firm grip on the cane and raised it, intending to bring it down less firmly.

The cane almost ripped itself from his hand as it cut through the air with a terrifying whine. THWACKK!

"Ah!" Potter cried out, and his hand fisted in Weasley's robes. Severus was sickened to see that the stroke had landed in exactly the same place, across the crown of the small bottom, and had split the skin severely; it was already bleeding, and there were fifteen more strokes to go. At a loss what to do, Severus aimed the third stroke without waiting, hoping he could fool the blasted enchanted cane. CRACK!

"Ungh!" No wonder this third lash – for lash it was – had drawn a cry; it had landed at the base of the thin cheeks, and split the skin on contact. The entire bottom was already one solid bruise, and beginning to be coated with crimson. Potter gave up, turned his body towards Weasley – who had whimpered with each stroke – and buried his face in the front of his robes; his free hand found his friend's and held on for dear life. Weasley bent over him and rubbed his back, petted his hair and murmured gently to him as his mind broadcast wildly: FOR MERLIN'S SAKE GO EASY ON HIM, SNAPE!

I'M BLOODY WELL DOING MY BEST, AREN'T I, BUT THE BLOODY CANE'S ENCHANTED! Snape, upset, mentally shouted back, barely seeing Weasley's head snap around to face him, eyes wide with surprise at the mental reply, as he raised the cane again.

His arm was almost pulled out of its socket by the force of the blow, which split the skin and instantly blistered the flesh around it. WHACK! Weasley gasped; Potter jerked convulsively and let out a terrible groan into young Ronald's robes, his free arm curled about his friend's waist, holding onto him for dear life. Weasley grabbed him in a fierce embrace, gripped him tighter, stroking his back, his hair, his face, anywhere he could reach, murmuring, "It's all right, pet, shush now, it's all right." He'll make someone a good father one day, Snape thought. Oh, right, what was I thinking, of course he'll make a good father, he's a Weasley, isn't he, that's their mission in life, to breed—He cut himself off as he raised the cane again. The all-too-meager fleshy area of the buttocks was exhausted now, whipped raw and bleeding. His bottom can't take any more, Severus told the cane sternly as he pulled back.

If anything, the stroke that smashed into Harry's bony thighs, practically hamstringing him, was worse than all the preceding ones. CRACKK! The boy was catapulted into Weasley's arms with the impact; he let out a strange, gurgling shriek, and young Ronald's cry rang out with Harry's. Still bent over, the whipped boy wrapped both arms about his friend's waist, his face buried into his stomach, and sobbed and sobbed. Ronald Weasley was crying too, now, his face streaked with tears, frantically holding Harry as though to protect him from harm. Severus grimaced as he withdrew the cane; it dripped blood onto the floor. What had made it so bloodthirsty today? Was there any way to stop young Harry from sustaining permanent damage? He was beginning to suspect there was only one way, but he would try to tame this blasted bamboo first.

There's too little padding on his thighs! Severus snapped at the cane. Any hits there will cut into nerve and muscle! I forbid you to touch his thighs again! It's too dangerous! With a heroic effort at control, he raised the cane again, and brought it down.

A piercing, inhuman wail came from Potter as the ridged bamboo buried itself into the deep welt already on his thighs, and ripped out, splattering blood. His entire body convulsed; Severus was sure the cane had hit a nerve, or – the lesser of two evils – muscle. Weasley had him now, had him in a death-grip, arms wrapped tightly around his upper body, holding him as he moaned and sobbed in agony and his body jerked uncontrollably. "There, there," he choked out, voice cracking with his own weeping, "it's all right, Harry, we love you, it's all right." But his mind roared: DO SOMETHING, DAMMIT!

And Snape, for the first time in living memory, acquiesced to a Weasley.

He lowered the cane, and blew out a breath from between tightly clenched teeth. Then he said gravely: "I am willing to take you up on your offer now… Ronald." The least he could do was give the boy the courtesy of being called by his own name.

Weasley's head whipped up to face him, and his jaw hung slack. "Really?" At least he did not pretend to misunderstand.

"Yes," Severus admitted. Weasley was much healthier and more muscular than Potter. Eleven strokes would hurt him, but they might actually maim the slight-figured, abused boy, he was just now realizing. That was, if the boy's offer still stood, of course…

Incredibly, the only expression on Weasley's face was one of frank, unalloyed gratitude. "Thank you… sir."

But with the mood the cane was in today… "I must warn you. It will not be easy. You may not be able to walk when it is over," Severus said, very seriously.

Ronald gulped, then shrugged and nodded. "It'll all come out in the wash, right, sir?" He seemed to be seeking reassurance, his friend still wrapped tightly in his arms.

Severus nodded. "Whenever you are ready."

"Can…" Harry's convulsions were just now beginning to die down, Ron's big hands rubbing soothingly up and down his back. "Can Harry go to the Hospital Wing?"

Severus grimaced. "Healing charms will not work on caning injuries until twenty-four hours have passed, surely your brothers have told you that much," he snapped. But young Potter needed emergency care, he could see that… "Wait a moment." He went into his supply cupboard and found a jar of healing ointment. "This should ward off nerve damage at least," he explained as he rubbed it into the deep cuts and spread it over the bruised and blistered flesh. Potter flinched as the ointment was applied, bubbling into the deep cuts and repairing the torn flesh instantly. Severus grimaced; he knew how painful the ointment was as it worked, but at least the skin would be unbroken again. Weasley held the shuddering boy securely, his embrace damping the convulsive movements; by the end, Potter had actually relaxed enough to wriggle out of his arms and lie limply across his lap again.

"Off, Potter."

But Potter was groggy and not inclined to obedience; it was Weasley who gently slipped off the desk, supporting Harry into a standing position as he slid off with him, steadying him until he stood upright and seemed to come to himself as the ointment took effect. "Th—anks, Ron," he said finally. "That didn't feel like seventeen strokes, though. Did Sn…" he broke off as Ron nudged him to let him know the professor was still in the room, "Did you let me off, sir?"

"Come on, Harry," his friend cut him off hurriedly. "Time you got out of here."

"No." Snape's voice was cold, but perfectly firm.

"But—" Ronald turned to Severus, betrayal in his eyes. Well, he'd never promised him anything.

"Potter," Severus said. "I have let you off most of your physical punishment. However, you need to learn that your actions have consequences, and that every time you break rules, someone may suffer for it – not necessarily you." He turned to Weasley. "Pants down, Ronald."

The Potter gene was not known for intelligence. He stood there, swaying slightly from the aftereffects of his whipping, and gaped like a fish out of water. "What?"

Weasley, bless his soul, was already stripping. "Sorry, Harry," he grinned. Then he turned away from him and assumed the position over the desk.

It was as he was pulling up his robes that the other idiot found his voice. "Ron's getting caned?" he asked Severus, but it was Weasley who answered him.

"Nooo, Harry, I'm taking a suppository," he rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm getting caned, you wally, what's it look like?"

Severus had to suppress a smile. It was getting harder not to like this boy.

"But what for?" God, he might be a better person than his father, but he was remarkably slow on the uptake.

"Potter," Snape said sternly. "You committed an infraction which earned you fifteen strokes. You then earned another two for insubordination, making the total seventeen strokes. Now, contrary to what you may think, I am not a monster. Six strokes nearly hamstrung you; eleven more would have caused lasting damage, perhaps permanently crippling you. It would have been too late for the Hospital Wing to repair the injuries. Thus, your friend Mr Weasley has volunteered to take the remaining eleven strokes that were your due."

"What?" Potter gasped. "No, I won't let him!"

"Potter," Severus said silkily, dangerously, "believe it or not, you are not Headmaster of this school, and as such are in a very unsuitable position to issue orders."

"But – but why should he be punished instead of me? I'm the one who went into the Forest! I should be the one who…"

Severus sighed. He really hated delivering moral lessons. "Potter," he began, "life isn't fair. We make mistakes; sometimes, others pay the price. You have a sworn enemy in the Dark Lord. Should he rise again, it will not matter who made the mistake, if a mistake is made. The price will be paid – by you, or by others. Perhaps by others willing to die for you. And do you really think this boy, who is willing be your whipping boy today, is likely to shy away from following you into battle – maybe into death?"

At Severus' words, Potter blanched. Of course mollycoddling Dumbledore had never spoken to him like this. But the sooner he learnt a few things the better; he wouldn't remain sheltered forever, and the Dark Lord, if and when he rose again, would see to it that he learnt them the hard way. And Severus didn't want to see young Weasley take a Killing Curse for Potter, as the girl with hair as bright as his had done. "Watch and learn, Potter. Today, because of your foolhardiness, for your sake, this boy will be flogged. Recklessness costs lives; prudence saves them. Witness this, and think of the lives you would rather were saved, and try to learn to be prudent."

"I'm nobody's whipping boy! Don't get any ideas, Harry!" Weasley called out, a smile in his voice. "And don't get used to it either!"

"No! I won't…"

Severus turned to the impertinent boy. "Petrificus Totalus," he incanted, not unkindly. Potter froze where he stood, eyes riveted on the scene. That took care of that. He turned to young Ronald. "Ready?"

The boy's eyes were frightened, but he fixed Severus with an impossibly cheeky grin. "Hit me."

And Severus obliged.

It was harsh and brutal. The cane was out for blood; the first stroke was more of a lash, rebounding springily off the soft cheeks and wrenching a gasp from Ronald. Severus could see every joint in the bamboo etched into the blistering buttocks. The second gashed the flesh and set the tone for what was to come. The flexible rod cruelly landed twice in the groove of each stroke, sinking and tearing into the swollen and ruptured flesh, and by the fifth cut, blood was sheeting down the boy's thighs. Seemingly prepared, Weasley was better able to control his vocalizing, but the groans that did come out of him were more painful to hear because suppressed.

Severus lowered the cane for a respite after the sixth stroke. Weasley's breathing was harsh and hitching with agony, eyes closed, hands desperately scrabbling over the oak for a purchase. He stole a glance at Potter, and immediately decided that having another suffer for his misdeeds was the way to handle things in future. Potter was not crying, but then he never shed a tear; Severus did not want to think about how one so young might have been cured of ever weeping. But the black-haired boy looked as though he were cursing the day he had ever set foot in the Forbidden Forest. His eyes were riveted on his friend, flinching each time he was hit. Despite his worry over young Weasley, Severus recognized the wisdom of his choice, and of the boy's sacrifice; Potter's health would not have survived this vicious lashing. He would have to have a talk with the Headmaster about the charms on the school canes.

Setting his jaw, Severus raised the cane again. Best to get it over with. "One set of five left, Ronald," he said as kindly as he could. "Brace yourself." As an afterthought, he added, "And please feel free to cry out. I'm sure Mr Potter's ears are not that delicate, and I," he sighed, mindful of the brand on his left forearm, "I have certainly heard worse things in my life than the cries of a boy getting a caning." As an afterthought, he looked over to Potter. "I shall release you if you behave," he said. The green eyes seemed to hold a message of acquiescence, so he lowered the rod and cast a "Finite." Not sparing Potter another glance, Severus raised the cane.

"Professor!" Potter's shout interrupted him. Severus rolled his eyes, wondering if he ought not to have released him. But all the boy said was, "Can't I take the rest of it?"

"Much as I might want you to, Mr Potter," Snape replied patiently, "I cannot wittingly endanger the well-being of a student."

"And I—wouldn't let you—you silly ass," Weasley rasped, voice tight with pain.

Potter's eyes were desperate. "Then can I at least hold him? Like he did with me?"

Snape lowered the cane, eyebrows raised. Considering the boy was taking a punishment that was not his own, the least he could offer Weasley was the same comfort Potter had taken. "Very well."

He manoeuvred the boy so that he was bent over cater-corner to his friend on the desk – he wouldn't risk Potter sitting down on buttocks that were still blistered and bruised – so that Ronald's torso rested on Harry's forearms, hands obliquely gripping Harry's shoulders. Then he raised the rod, and brought it down.

It smashed down into Weasley's thighs this time, wrenching a loud "Ah!" from the boy, and then a long, sustained, anguished whimper. Now it was Potter's turn to wrap his free arm around his friend and hold him through his pain. WHOCK! Another tremendously hard stroke to the thighs, gashing the already bruised muscle. Young Ronald burst into tears and sobbed into Harry's robes. Severus stood back, panting. Pretty impressive; Weasley hadn't asked for mercy or said anything except the involuntary vocalizations when the cane hit. It was a pity he had to hurt him so much. And what the deuce was wrong with this blasted cane today?

The next cut of the rod slashed the join of buttock and thigh. "Ahah!" Weasley shrieked openly as the cane landed on flesh already whipped raw and bleeding. He groaned with pain and kept on crying out as he sobbed, his body writhing. Potter's forearm slipped out from under the suffering boy's body to pull him in tight, chest-to-chest, letting Ronald sob and moan out his pain into his, Potter's, shoulder, holding him close through it as he shuddered and bucked. Potter was dry-sobbing too now.

Disgusted at the thought of having to deliver two more strokes, Snape gave him another, hoping to get it over quickly. "Aghh!" came the hoarse wail as the bamboo bashed into the previous welt again. The legs started to kick and convulse in involuntary muscle spasms. Potter was holding him in a crushing, if awkward, embrace, which he was returning just as hard. "Harry…" he sobbed into his friend's shoulder. "Can't…" but all Potter could do was keep holding him tightly and hush him comfortingly. Severus never remembered how he got the last stroke in, hardly able to look at the rod striking the savaged flesh, now completely sheeted with blood. His disgusting mission completed, he threw down the cane in disgust. He swore he'd burn it if Dumbledore couldn't fix whatever had got into it.

Blowing out an unsteady breath, he mustered his energy, fixed Potter with a look, and grated out: "I hope you have learnt your lesson, Potter."

The boy nodded brokenheartedly, still cradling the beaten redhead.

As Severus had predicted, Ronald Weasley couldn't walk. He couldn't even move. He lay limply across the desk in his friend's arms, tremors and aftershocks taking him. His own long arms clung about Potter like a lifeline. What on earth do you see in him, Snape thought, resentment suddenly flaring up in him – he just earned you a good hiding, and you're clinging to him as though he's your knight in shining armour. Fatal charm of the bloody Potters, he simmered, starting to get worked up as he crossed the room to get the salve. But it was hard to keep his anger alive as he turned back to Potter. He had never seen detestable James' eyes alive with such naked affection, never seen him holding anyone so tenderly, embracing more strongly as his friend twitched and shuddered, never seen him stroking anyone's back so soothingly, never seen him murmuring "It's all right, I'm sorry I was such an ass, I'll never let you do that again, you'll be all right, oh Ron, can you hear me, Ron? Ronnie old chap? …well, never mind, you'll be fine, old son, it's all right" – had never known the capacity could exist in any of James' offspring.

Of course, he was Lily's son as well…

Severus cut that thought off, stepping brusquely up to the whipped boy. "Steady him, Potter," he snapped. "Scourgify." As he expected, Ronald convulsed under the cleaning charm, but he couldn't apply the paste with the blood obscuring everything. "Hold on tight, this will be difficult," he snapped, unused as he was to repeating himself, and smeared handfuls of the ointment deep into the gashes and welts. He was grateful he had issued the warning; if Potter hadn't taken an iron grip on Weasley, he was sure the boy would have bucked off the table with all the involuntary thrashing about he was doing. As it was, it was all the slighter boy could do to hold him still as the salve bubbled into the slashes made by the rod. The ointment healed the cuts in seconds, leaving only the ugly tramline welts, blisters and bruises: painful enough, of course, but no threat to life and limb, at least not until tomorrow, when he would advise Pomfrey of the damage. And get Dumbledore to do something about this blasted cane, he fumed inwardly…

"Oh…" Weasley was coming back to himself. Potter hastily let go of him, but the groggy boy was a little slower to release his friend. "Ginny? That feels nice," he murmured sleepily, then his eyes opened fully. "Harry! Whu…"

"Much as I hate to interrupt this delightful reunion, Mr Weasley…"

"Oh, bollocks!" Ronald squirmed away from Harry as he came around fully and took in where he was. He tried to rise, but flopped back onto the table with a moan.

"Language, Weasley!"

It was Potter who helped him rise, with a grimace as the six strokes he had received made themselves known. However, once Weasley was upright there was little doubt as to who had got the worst of it. He put a brave face on it, but he was swaying, barely able to stand, and when Potter tentatively put out a supportive arm, he leaned on it gratefully. "Thanks, Professor," he grinned cheekily at Severus.

When you're on your feet again, we're going to have a little chat about this self-sacrificing tendency of yours, Potter was broadcasting with strong overtones of worry and affection, but Severus ignored it. "Can you walk now? Both of you," he added hurriedly.

Potter put one foot in front of the other experimentally, and although his face assumed a hard and set expression, he nodded. He was certainly adept at hiding pain, Severus thought, and grimaced when he thought how the child had come by his expertise. Then Weasley took an experimental step. Immediately, he whimpered involuntarily and his knees buckled. His face registered shock at the force of the pain. Potter had flown to his side and was supporting him, swaying a bit himself, before Severus had even pointed his wand to cast a strengthening spell. "Not sure yet," Weasley said to him, almost apologetically. "Maybe in a couple of minutes…"

"Never mind," Severus sighed. He always seemed to get stuck tending to these rotten Gryffindors, he grumbled inwardly, out of habit. Now he'd have to levitate them through the corridors to the Hospital Wing. "Wingar—"

But he stopped short in mid-incantation. What was he doing, making these boys soft? Severus gritted his teeth as he thought of the many Cruciatuses he had had to endure, the long and painful treks he had had to make, without a friend to lean on, he thought rather resentfully. No, it was better for the boys to get used to a bit of hardship, even things that seemed a bit cruel to their delicate childish sensibilities. He'd already toughened Longbottom up a little, and Potter would have to face ten times the hardship Longbottom would. And Weasley… well, if things went on the way they were, Potter would likely be adding another name to the list of people who'd taken an Avada Kedavra for him. "Er," he amended. "Go on to the Hospital Wing. I shall Floo Madam Pomfrey and excuse you from your classes tomorrow."

Amazing. Even though his face was red and swollen and his eyes were puffy from crying, Weasley brightened a bit. "Thanks! …Sir."

As the boys limped towards the door, painfully slowly, Severus could have bitten his tongue. Excuse them from their classes? What in the seven hells had possessed him to say that? He'd be honour bound to go through with it now. Although it wasn't unheard of for students – especially boys – to be laid up the day after a punishment, particularly in the olden days when students had often had to be carried out after a caning, he hadn't meant to show the two boys any leniency. It would have done them good, he tried to convince himself, to attend class standing up, and have everyone point and laugh, and perhaps - as had once happened to him - even faint from too much standing and be mercilessly ridiculed. School was cruel; he knew that better than anyone. But what was said could not be unsaid, and looking at the pair limping slowly towards the door leaning on one another, Weasley's arm unselfconsciously around Harry's shoulder, Potter's snugly around his waist, he couldn't find it in himself to regret it. "Thanks, Professor," Harry chimed in, addressing his professor, but never taking his eyes off the friend Severus had just thrashed for his sake.

"Get a move on, Potter," Severus growled. Of course, the resentment still flared when he looked at them, so young and innocent, empty heads full of nothing but childish pranks, girls and Quidditch, thinking that a caning was the worst thing life could possibly hold in store… but no, getting both parents Avada'ed by the Dark Lord and growing up with abusive guardians was all right to be getting on with in the suffering department, Severus amended.

His gaze lingered on the two boys fumbling with the heavy dungeon door. "Alohomora," he incanted under his breath to unlock it. As he watched Potter reaching unsteadily for the handle, and Weasley trying to help, only to stagger and almost fall, Severus had to quash the urge to run over and open the door for them. Nothing like thrashing your enemy's namesake within an inch of his life to take the edge off your anger, he was honest enough to admit to himself. If Dumbledore had relaxed his favouritism long enough to give the Marauders the hiding – hidings, plural – they deserved, he mused, he would have probably felt a good deal less lingering bitterness whenever he thought back to their daily torments. Half the pain that haunted him was because they had made his life hell and got away scot-free. He prided himself on being an honest man, and he didn't mind admitting that he'd felt the satisfaction of years' worth of revenge the first time he'd sent the cane whizzing towards the Potter boy, seeing James in his stead. Although Harry's skinny thighs and bottom were nothing like the substantial, muscled lower limbs of the vain, vacuous Chaser, Severus had fixed his eyes on the head of messy black hair that resembled his old enemy, feeling the sweet revenge of finally dealing James the spanking he had deserved all these years. There was, he couldn't deny it, a certain pleasure in seeing and hearing Potter writhe and moan, cry out and squirm beneath the rod, imagining he was beating the arrogance out of the disgustingly vain Potter the elder; the boy's cries of pain had been music to his ears. But then he'd lifted the child's robes and seen the scars, and any resemblance between Harry and James had fled, scattered to the winds…

The hollow thud of the slamming door reverberated through the dungeon as the boys finally staggered out of it. Severus stared at the door for a long moment. In a moment he'd Floo Pomfrey and ask her to prepare a couple of beds, but in the meantime, perhaps just a tiny little Listening Charm, so he could make sure the boys hadn't collapsed outside the door or something?

As he pointed his wand and murmured the charm, the first thing he heard was a feminine voice. Typical, he thought, and wondered why he was smiling. He hastily wiped the silly smirk off his face, but continued to listen.

"Harry! Ron! Oh, I came down as soon as I finished my homework, I've been standing out here for ages. Was it too dreadful? Was it worse than last time? I—Ron!" Granger shrieked. That girl needed a muzzle. "Oh, Ron, your shoes are soaking with blood! And Harry's too!" Severus braced himself for a round of 'what-did-that-monster-do-to-you', but it was not to be. "What happened to you?" She was beginning to sniffle. "Come on, we've got to go to Madam Pomfrey at once! Here, lean on me. Not like that, put your arm…"

"What do you think of the little charm I put on the school cane, Mudblood?"

Severus' mouth dropped open. Stunned, he listened to the familiar drawl with mounting horror.

"How absolutely delightful to watch Weasley perving over Potter. That was really something I didn't expect, two for the price of one. Don't waste your time trying for these losers, rabbit-teeth. They're too busy getting stuck in with each other."

Severus winced as he heard the girl's shocked voice forgetting all decorum and common sense to whisper: "…what?"

The boys' admonitions were far too weak to make much of an inroad into Malfoy's gloating monologue. "Oh, I just slipped into Professor Snape's study and cast an interesting little charm on the cane," he said airily. "Made it believe it was a prison cane whipping hardened criminals."

Severus was on his feet, staring at the offending item, barely listening as Weasley, in a whisper of breath, rasped, "You nearly killed him, you bastard, you…"

"What? I'm reporting you!" Granger's self-righteous tone rang out, but Draco cut her off.

"Report me, will you? Ooh, maybe you should report your two boyfriends instead. Naughty, naughty!" His tone became sickly-sweet. "So how did you like it? Did it hurt your ickle bottie then, Potter? Aww, did it cut you open, then? Did it make you bleed?"

Severus actually saw red for a fraction of a second. He drew in his breath with a hiss as Potter promised death by violence in a whisper. Cutting through their weakened tones easily, the oblivious Slytherin gloated on. "And then, would you believe it, the blood-traitor here jumped up and said," Draco's tones became artificially high and girlish, "'Oh no, I can't let my boyfriend suffer! Oh, hit me instead of precious Harry Potter!'" His tone became hard. "Does he spank you before he buggers you, you pathetic excuse for a pureblood?" Adopting the high, girlish tones again, he squealed, "'Ooooh, hit me harder, Harry! I get off on getting my bum whipped, ooh!'"

"That. Will. Be. Quite. ENOUGH." Severus wasn't sure when he'd wrenched open the door, but he found himself in the corridor, shaking with rage. It was all he could do not to drag the boy in for a taste of his own medicine. "Get out of my sight, Draco, before I do something I shall regret. GO!"

Malfoy didn't need to he told twice. "And YOU!" He stared at the trio, the girl now in the middle, supporting both boys with an arm around each of their waists. Potter's head was on her shoulder, Weasley's rested on the top of her head. All three were staring at him wide-eyed, as though he were a circus sidehshow, he thought exasperatedly, adrenaline still singing through his veins. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Hospital Wing?" Granger opened her mouth to say something, but Severus roared, "NOW!"

The comical hurried-limping-off effect was considerably less impressive than Malfoy's greased-lightning exit, but he had to admit he enjoyed it more.

Author's Note: The story, as you can see, ended itself here. I could write a sequel, wherein Hermione finds out what happened and Draco gets a bit of a comeuppance, but I could equally leave it here, so if you want one, let me know. Thanks again for your lovely reviews for 'Growing', they made my day.