Whelp

*Chapter 16*: Chapter 16

Whelp -- Chapter 16

By jharad17

Disclaimer: I'm not blond, nor rich. 'Nuff said.

A/N: In honor of the 500th review (Holy Cannolis!), here's a newly minted chapter for your enjoyment. Next one really will be Wednesday. Or Thursday, depending on how fast I write. Thank you all, so much!

---

Daddy came for me. That was Harry's first thought upon waking. The second was that his head hurt. He was in a bedroom, not chained in the backyard, and when he opened his eyes, just to peek, he saw he was in his bedroom, the new one at the castle. His glasses were on the nightstand and he stretched out for them and pushed them onto his nose.

That's when he heard the voices. Loud ones. Angry ones. Out in the sitting room, down the hall. Father, and . . . and the Headmaster.

"—want him dismissed, Albus! The way he manhandled the boy . . . almost choked him to death. I won't have him near Harry. I won't have it!"

"Don't you think you've done enough to the man already, Severus? Be reasonable! I know Argus was harsh, but he didn't know who Harry was—"

"In Merlin's name, why not? You knew we would be here today. Didn't you tell him?"

"I informed the entire staff, of course. But I suspect he didn't--"

"Didn't what? Care a whit who the child was or that he had every right to be there? If Nelli hadn't come to me immediately, I don't know what would have happened."

There was a long pause, and the Headmaster's voice was much quieter when he spoke again. Harry crept to the doorway and listened, like he'd always done back at the Dursely's, from within his cupboard. "What of the Patronus message?"

"Harry sent it. A cry for help." Father sounded sad all of a sudden. Harry couldn't remember sending any message, just the bright shock of light and then his father, there, saving him. "It would have come too late. He had passed out when I reached him, as it was."

But you saved me, Daddy, Harry wanted to tell him. It wasn't too late.

"I doubt he would have let it go further than that. He's already powerful--"

"Albus . . ." There was a warning note in his father's voice, that Harry could hear loud and clear; it was rarely so low and sharp at the same time. "You have no idea what those Muggles put him through. It went on quite far enough without his magic kicking in to save him. It's quite possible Filch could have killed him without Harry fighting him at all. You'll notice his spell work has not been geared toward getting him out of a situation, but towards mitigating it instead. The Silencing spell, to keep his suffering to himself? And then sending a message instead of just striking that bastard dead!"

Harry couldn't contain his gasp. He knew they were talking about him, and his accident magic, and he hated that his father sounded so upset about his Silencing, when he'd thought it was okay for him to do it now. But he couldn't kill anyone, even if they were really, really mean! Even the Dark Wizard who killed your parents? a little voice wondered. Harry told the little voice to shut up, even as the door opened wide to reveal his father staring down at him.

"Did you hear enough?" Father asked, his voice still cold and hard as glass.

Making himself stand his ground instead of darting behind the bed to hide, Harry nodded shakily. "Y-y-yes, sir."

Father lifted one eyebrow and took hold of Harry's shoulder, propelling him into the sitting room. He was angry. And Harry deserved his anger, he knew, for eavesdropping and for being in the Great Hall. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I'm sorry."

But his father didn't answer, just kept that one hand on his shoulder, kept moving them inexorably toward the Headmaster. Just like that scowly man had said he was doing. And the Headmaster would hang him in chains! He dragged his feet and tried to push back against his father. "I'm sorry! Please, sir, I didn't mean to look at the sky! Please, don't put the collar on again!"

The hand abruptly left his shoulder, and he fell backwards, against the wall of the short hallway. He gasped again as the ache in his head pounded harder.

"What?!" Father asked. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"The man – he – he said – Headmaster would – would put – put me in chains, sir," Harry told him, between gasps. But he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't! "Please, don't, sir. I'll be good, I promise!"

"Oh, child." His father crouched in front of him, where he was half curled up on the floor. When he tried to put a hand on Harry's head, though, Harry jerked sideways, away from him. Father withdrew his hand. "There will be no collar, never again. Mister Filch is . . ." Father gritted his teeth; Harry could hear them grind against one another. "He is not a nice man. He will never do any such thing to you. And neither would the Headmaster."

"No, sir," Harry said, because he was supposed to, but he couldn't help making it sound like a question.

"That's right. I would never allow it." Father sat back on his heels and held out his hand. "Please get up, Harry. I am not angry with you."

Harry bit his lip and looked into his father's dark eyes again but didn't take the hand, not yet. "I didn't know I couldn't look at the sky, sir. Is it a new rule?"

"No. It's not a rule at all. Mister Filch acted inappropriately." He threw a look over his shoulder. "The Headmaster will punish him for laying hands on you when he should not have. Or else I'll do it myself."

"Really, sir?"

"Really," Father said. "And what are you supposed to call me?"

"Father," Harry whispered.

"That's right. Now, would you like some water or something to eat?"

"Yes, sir, but . . . Father, aren't you mad at me?"

Father dropped his gaze to his hands and shook his head. "I was worried about you. When I saw . . . I am very angry with Mister Filch. But not you, Harry, you did nothing wrong."

"But I listened. At the door. It's like spying and only sneaky little bastards do that."

Father paled and jerked back. "Where did you . . . who said such a thing to you?"

"Aunt Petunia. In my cupboard, I listened to them when they yelled, 'cause sometimes it was about me, and I . . . I had to know." He didn't want to say why, that if he didn't know what they were yelling about, or what they were planning to do to him, then he couldn't be prepared. Whatever happened, it was always easier to deal with if he was prepared. "But she caught me at it, and told me I was spying on them. Said it's only for sneaky little bastards like me."

Father was quiet for a long moment, and didn't meet Harry's eyes. Then, finally, he looked up. "This is a difficult one, Harry," he said. "First of all, you are not a 'sneaky little bastard.' That's another one of her lies. But . . . it's true that it's rude to listen in on conversations that you aren't involved in. It's just not your business. But sometimes . . . sometimes, it can be very important to do so. Remember how we were discussing how you have to be very careful around some people?"

Harry nodded. "Like the Malfoys."

"Yes. And, sometimes, listening to things you aren't meant to hear can save your life. If those people mean you harm. Do you understand?"

"I think so, si – um, Father. But if it's not to keep me safe, I shouldn't eavesdrop, 'cause it's rude?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Okay. I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

Father put out his hand again. "Will you come with me now, Harry? I'm sorry for frightening you."

Surprised to hear an apology directed at him, Harry took his hand and, though he still trembled a little, went with his father to meet with the headmaster without balking again.

---

"Harry, dear boy. I hear you had a bit of an adventure today."

Severus nearly snorted at the Headmaster's audacity, but managed to keep it inside, not least because he was still furious with him. Why Albus thought he would reverse the hex he'd placed on Filch, he had no idea. The odious man would be unable to put hands on anyone, literally, for a month. He only wished he would be let to have another go, so he could remove the man's legs, too.

Harry looked up at him now, still fearful, and needing reassurance, and Severus swore his retribution was not yet complete. "It's all right," he told the boy, however. "The Headmaster is a bit barmy."

Half of the boy's mouth quirked up, and Severus' gaze softened, even as Albus chortled at the dig.

"Yes, sir," Harry said to Albus, and Severus squeezed his hand.

"I dare say you shouldn't have to go through that again. Let's make sure of it, shall we?"

"Sir?"

"We'll have you at dinner tonight, and you can meet the rest of the staff."

"No. Absolutely not," Severus told him. "I won't have you showing him off like some prized poodle. He'll eat here with me until I determine he's ready for such company."

Albus held his gaze for a long moment, and Severus didn't waver in the slightest. Two can play at this game, old man, he thought uncharitably.

With a sigh, the Headmaster acquiesced. "Very well. Term begins in three weeks. Surely before then?"

Severus inclined his head. Feeling generous -- and not stupid, despite his current aggravation -- he offered, "Tomorrow, we shall be gone to tea," he said quietly. "At Lucius Malfoy's invitation. I believe his connections at the Ministry have given him some information he wants confirmed."

"What do you plan to tell him?"

"The truth. Some of it. Harry is my son through adoption. Nothing else need be said." And though he wouldn't say anything more, Lucius would have ample opportunity to draw his own conclusions.

"Be careful, Severus . . ." Albus' blue eyes twinkled, just a little. "Though I hardly need say that, do I?"

"No," Severus murmured. "You never do."

That night, Harry suffered some of the worst nightmares he'd had since Severus had first rescued him, and could not be soothed for over an hour. It was his uncle, this time, and that horrid leash the bastard had tied him to, and Severus nearly cried himself, listening to Harry's whimpering and pleas for his uncle to let him go. He rocked the boy in his arms, swearing vows to anyone who might hear that he would see Harry to the other side of this, that he would never give his son any reason to fear him, nor ever allow anything like that to happen to him again.

He almost canceled the visit to the Malfoys, but decided not to, after much contemplation the next day. Lucius would not take kindly to being rebuffed, and Severus' own standing was not so secure that he wanted to insult the older, more influential man. Besides, perhaps Harry could use a playmate, and though Draco was a bit of a spoilt brat, he was at least well mannered. Mostly.

So it was that at half-three, he took Harry on another Floo trip, this one to Malfoy Manor.

---

Though he stumbled a bit coming out of the Floo, Father caught him before he fell, and Harry looked around at the huge room he'd landed in with wide eyes. Father cleaned them both off of soot with a wave of his wand, even as a tall woman with pale blond hair tied back in a single braid stepped towards them and offered her hand to Father.

"Severus. So good to see you again." Though her words were nice, her face was cold, and her mouth barely moved.

Father took her hand and bent his head, touching his lips to it. "Narcissa. A pleasure as always." Then his hand sought Harry's shoulder, and Harry moved forward, into the woman's regard. "This is my son, Harry. Harry, this is Madam Malfoy."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Harry said, just as he'd been instructed.

The woman's face was very still, but a spark of something gleamed in her eyes. "So polite," she murmured. "You may call me Aunt Sissy, Harry."

He looked up at Father, who inclined his head. "Thank you, ma'am . . . er, Aunt Sissy."

She turned and beckoned to someone by the door. "Draco, come and meet your uncle's son."

A boy about Harry's age came into view. He had the same pale hair as his mother, a pointed face and clear, gray eyes. He looked Harry up and down, almost like Aunt Petunia did sometimes, and he felt really uncomfortable, like he was wanting in some way. But he was wearing new clothes, too, ones Father had picked out, even though Harry complained he wouldn't be able to play in such nice things, not in a garden, surely! Father had explained that they were due for tea, and, at least this time, it was unlikely there would be any playing with Draco.

But Harry made himself return the boy's stare, instead of looking at his shoes like he wanted, and finally Draco seemed to decide something, 'cause he held out his hand. "I'm Draco," he said.

Harry smiled and shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Draco. I'm Harry."

Draco gave him a brief smile. "Mother, I'm going to show Harry my room."

"Very well, darling. Tea will be in half an hour."

Draco heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes a little. Harry stared at him, astonished. "Yes, Mother." He grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him towards the door. "Come on! You've got to see my new broom!"

Harry laughed, delighted, as the two of them ran towards a huge set of stairs that would have done Hogwarts proud. "You like flying?"

"Of course!" Draco scoffed, taking the stairs two at a time. "Who doesn't?"

"My father." Harry wrinkled his nose a bit, trotting up behind his new friend. "He says if we were meant to fly, we'd have wings. I like flying, though," he added quickly, in case there was any doubt. "I got my own broom just this week!" He didn't mention that he'd never even seen a flying broomstick before he's gotten his own. Draco didn't need to know that, surely.

"Is it one of the baby brooms?" Draco led him along a wide hallway to a tall door of some kind of dark wood, and pushed it open.

Harry frowned. "No . . ."

"Is it a real one, then?" Draco turned and gave him another appraising look. "Can you go as high as you want?"

With a sigh, Harry admitted, "No. But I'm not a baby. I'm seven!"

"Don't look seven," Draco countered. "Here. This is my room." He gestured to the huge space, with dormer windows hung with sheer curtains in silver and green. A tall, massive four poster was in the middle of one wall, and had drapes around it that were pulled back with heavy silken cords. One of three wardrobes gaped open, showing it to be full of clothes. Shelves lined the room, filled with books, toys and trinkets, and Harry stared at it all.

"Here, look." Draco grabbed a broom from one corner and shoved it at Harry. "Cleansweep 400. Newest one. Father says I'll be the best player Hogwarts has ever seen. You play Quidditch?"

"Not yet." Harry ran his hand along the broom's handle in awe. It was much bigger than his, and he desperately wanted to try it out. "But I can fly good."

"Well. You can fly well," Draco corrected, and Harry scowled at him. To his surprise, Draco grinned. "Mother's always telling me that one."

Harry grinned back, and reluctantly handed over the broom. "Have you any Gobstones? I can play those."

"Gobstones are for ba--" Draco stopped as Harry scowled again. "I mean, wouldn't you rather play a nice game of Wizard chess?"

TBC . . .