Whelp

*Chapter 18*: Chapter 18

Whelp -- Chapter 18

By jharad17

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

A/N at end.

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Over the remainder of the weekend, Harry must have asked Severus at least twenty times if he had yet sent the request for Draco to come and stay. Whilst he was very glad that Harry was starting to feel comfortable asking him for things, especially things for himself, by the time he finally got around to sending the thank you note for tea, along with the request, on Sunday afternoon, he was quite ready to tear his hair out. But then, Harry just had a new thing to ask about: had the Malfoys responded yet?

In between these questions, the boy chattered on about the game of Wizard chess and Draco's broom and how funny his new friend was, and Severus was too grateful to see him more animated than he'd been since being taken from the Dursleys, to mind overmuch. Still, he was more than weary when bedtime rolled around Sunday night.

As had become their ritual, Severus tucked Harry in after he'd had his shower, dressed in clean pajamas, and brushed his teeth. He brushed the boy's hair off his forehead, briefly exposing the lightning scar. Harry caught his hand, and held it still, while his bright green eyes searched Severus' face.

"What is it, child?"

"I love you, Daddy," Harry whispered.

Severus caught his breath as bands of steel wrapped around his chest. How could he feel so much for this child, in such a short time? He felt his lips curve up in a smile, and he curled his hand to cup the boy's face. "I love you, too, Harry. Time to sleep, now. Tomorrow will be busy."

Harry smiled back. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

"Tell me a story about Hogwarts tonight, Father. Please?"

"All right, then. Settle in." He waited while Harry curled into his customary position on his side, knees drawn up to protect his belly. "Ready?" At Harry's nod, he started, "When I first came to Hogwarts, I was met at the train, like all first years, by a giant of a man named Hagrid, with a bellowing voice but as genial a disposition as you'll ever find . . ."

"What's geenal?" Harry interrupted softly.

"Genial. It means kind, Harry. Hagrid is a very kind man."

By the time he'd finished a particularly poignant -- in his opinion -- tale of the dangers of Hagrid's obsession with dangerous beasts when mixed with the curiosity of young new students, Harry had already drifted off. Severus smoothed the dark hair out of his face again, and briefly touched his lips to the child's forehead. Never mind his own feelings, how in the world had Harry decided that he, Severus Snape, was worthy of trust. Of love?

It made his heart ache for Lily, and for her son. His son, now. After spelling on the ball of light on the bedside table, he set the charm that would let him know if the boy woke or suffered any bad dreams, then rose and quietly made his way to the door. There, he turned back and watched Harry in his tangle of covers. As he'd told Albus, Harry did not look much different to his eyes than before the blood ritual that bound them, father and son.

But what, then, had caused the pain that had woken the boy from sleep that day? In the dim shadow cast by the nightlight, Severus watched his son sleep, and considered his slim nose and lips, and the arch of his brows, and Albus' enigmatic words, "He could be your son."

Turning from the room before he drove himself madder still with questions, Severus went back to the well appointed sitting room, selected one of the books he had already unpacked and settled in to read. These were questions that he was sure Albus had the answers to, and he would get them from the Old Codger, and sooner, rather than later. Without even thinking, he summoned a glass half filled with Ogden's finest brandy and took a long swallow. The rest of the glass he sipped at slowly as he paged through his book.

Harry managed almost two hours before the alarm went off, and Severus upset the glass of brandy as he jumped out of the chair. Not stopping to clean, he tossed the book down and rushed to his son's room to wake him from his newest night terror, ready to give him the comfort and reassurance of his arms.

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The woman's cries cut off with the flash of light, and Harry screamed, "Mum!" but it was too late; she was dead, one arm outstretched on the floor, reaching for him, always reaching for him.

Red eyes bored into his, and a man laughed jabbing his wand in Harry's face. He tried to bat it away, but the man spat horrible words, and there was more green light and pain and screaming, except this time it was his own voice, and his head was exploding into pieces all covered with blood that got all over the telly, which had a fashion program on. Blood spattered the pink and yellow dresses, white shoes and clean white faces of the models, and one of them was Aunt Petunia and she was shouting, "Not on my nice clean rug!"

The telly grew bigger and wider until it was Uncle Vernon, and the Silencing must not have worked since Uncle Vernon was yelling at him to, "SHUT UP!" and he tried to, he did, by biting his own hand. But his head hurt, everything hurt so bad, and he knew he was still making sounds, so to stop them, he bit down until his mouth was filled with blood. But Uncle Vernon was there, grabbing him and yanking on his arm, and he'd been drinking, Harry could smell it all over him, and he knew he was in for it now, and he curled into the smallest ball he could and protected his head and waited for the hurt to be over.

Some time later, he realized he wasn't hurting so much, really, except for his head and his hand, and someone was holding him, rocking him, and saying his name softly, almost a whisper. He couldn't smell the drink anymore so maybe Uncle Vernon was gone.

He opened his eyes.

And he was gathered close in Father's arms, and Father's head was bent low over him while they rocked together, and there were tears on his cheeks. Harry reached up with his good hand to brush them away. "Don't cry, Daddy. Please. Don't be sad."

"Harry . . ." Father's voice sounded thick and he bent lower, so his forehead almost touched Harry's, squeezing his eyes shut before he blinked them open again. He cleared his throat. "You're awake."

Harry nodded, and his father smiled. Obviously, he was.

"I couldn't . . . you were having a nightmare, and I couldn't wake you," Father explained.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"No . . . no, it wasn't your fault. I think you . . . I think I gave you reason to think I was your . . . that I was that Vernon creature." His eyes were dark, like midnight, like the inside of a cupboard. "I swear to you, I will never have another drink. I . . . I didn't realize."

"Sorry," Harry said again, not knowing what else to say.

"Please, don't apologize, Harry. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have understood . . ." Father broke off, his voice thick again, and Harry frowned, trying to understand, himself. Uncle Vernon was gone now, so it didn't matter, right? "How does your hand feel?"

Harry brought it up in front of his eyes and saw a new bandage wrapped around it. It ached fiercely, and he tried to move his fingers, but they felt stiff and wrong. With a cock of his head, he asked a question, and Father nodded. "I healed the bite the best I could, Harry, but it's . . . because you did it to yourself, it has to heal on its own, for the most part. You'll have to be careful of it for a few days."

"Yes, sir, um, Father. It's fine." The lie came easily, like always.

"Good. Do you . . . I could have Nelli bring us some cocoa if you like."

"No, thank you. I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep?"

"Yes, of course. Would you like me to stay with you a while?"

"Yes, please." Father helped him snuggle back under the covers, and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on Harry's side, while Harry stared at the ball of light on the little table, and watched it spin through red and gold and green and pink, over and over, until his eyes were heavy enough to stay closed.

In the morning, Harry rolled out of bed sleepily and was half way to the kitchen to start breakfast before he realized that here, he didn't have to do that. In the sitting room, he turned round a couple times, but his father wasn't to be seen. The door to his bedroom was closed; maybe he was still asleep. Rubbing his tired eyes, he winced at the sharp stab of pain that shot through his left hand, then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace and stared into the banked coals.

Maybe Father had gone Flooing. He could wait.

A while later, Nelli appeared beside him. "Master Harry, sir. Master Snape says you is to have breakfast and then Nelli is to be watching you this morning."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Thanks, Nelli. Where is he?"

"Master Snape is talking to the Headmaster Dumbledore. Master Snape also says Nelli is to be making sure you is wearing play clothes today. But you is not to use your hurt hand, Master Harry. Master Snape is coming to look at it again at lunch time."

Harry sighed a little, wanting his father now, but said, "Thank you," again. He peered at the hand, and wondered what it looked like under the bandage. Aside from the one he'd had on his ankle when he first woke up at Spinner's End, he couldn't remember ever having a bandage before. He'd used shirts, old towels, and even pieces of newspapers to cover up cuts and keep them from bleeding, when he'd had to tend to his own hurts. It was weird that Father had done this for him. But nice.

"What is youse wanting for breakfast, Master Harry?" Nelli asked, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

"Ummm, I'm not sure," he said. "Toast?"

"And juice and eggs and ham, Master Harry?" Nelli suggested, bobbing her head up and down.

Harry grinned as his stomach gave an impatient growl. "Yes, please. Thanks, Nelli."

Nelli grinned back, showing her teeth, and disappeared with a pop. Harry returned to his room to dress. Selecting the clothes was easy, since Father had told him which ones were for play and which were not, and socks and underclothes took no time at all to get into. But when he tried to button his trousers, his injured hand wouldn't work right for him, still. And pain lanced through it, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He clenched his jaw against it and tried to do the buttons again. He just had to ignore the pain, like always.

With a last twinge from his hand, the button slipped into the hole, and he let his breath out in a gasp. There. No trouble.

He'd picked a pullover shirt, and that was easy, too, and he went out to breakfast a bit sweaty, and maybe lightheaded, but dressed. Nelli was already back with more food than he could ever imagine eating, but she made sure he took some of everything, and made sure he at least had some juice and milk and toast before she let him get up from table again.

"What is youse liking to do until lunch, Master Harry?"

"Can we go outside?" Harry asked the house elf.

Nelli hopped from foot to foot. "Not the pitch, Master Harry. Master Snape says no pitch without--"

"His express permission. I know. But can we just go walking?"

"Oh, we can go walking, yes, Master Harry! Youse be getting your shoes on now and we can be going outside walking."

Shoes. He wasn't going to be able to lace them. When all he'd had was Dudley's old shoes, he never had to worry about tying and untying, since they were always too loose and just slipped on over his feet. He looked at Nelli and took a deep breath. "Can you help me?"

Nelli grinned. "Yes, Master Harry! Nelli is helping you all day long. Here is your shoes!"

In moments, he was wearing shoes that seemed to lace themselves, and he gasped, watching them, then laughed. "That was wicked!"

"We is ready to go outsides now, Master Harry?"

"Yes, please." He led the way out of the dungeons, as Father called them, and to the main doors near the Great Hall, which he skirted around. Outside, the sun was shining, and though the air was warm, a nice breeze was blowing, so it wasn't hot. Harry shaded his eyes from the sun with his right hand and peered off toward the forest where he had been expressly forbidden to go. But near the forest, that was where Hagrid's hut was, supposedly, and he wanted to meet the half-giant.

"This way!" he shouted to Nelli and took off at a run, down the hillside. He heard the rise and fall of her voice calling behind him, and then beside him, cautioning him to be careful. "I am," he promised, and tucked his hurt hand closer to his chest.

He heard a dog's booming bark, before he ever saw the cottage, and the sound brought him up short. Ripper! He crept closer, much more slowly now, over the last little ridge, with Nelli trotting alongside him, looking worried. The round house with round roof sat toward the edge of the dark forest. A garden was spread out behind it, and Harry smiled, not recognizing any of the plants as ones he'd kept at the Dursleys, and liking it already for its differentness.

But the dog had a much lower and louder bark than Aunt Marge's Ripper, so he was pretty sure it wasn't him. Still, he was cautious as he approached the cottage. The door was standing open, he saw, and he sidled over a bit, to peek inside.

Just then, a big brown shape hurtled toward him, and he put up both hands to stop it from crashing into him. It didn't work. The mass of tongue, fur and drool knocked him completely over and snuffled at his ears. Despite the shock, he couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Stop, please! Oh, stop!"

"Fang!" someone shouted. "Geroff there, ye great beast. W'at ye have there?"

With a last sniff and lick of Harry's eyebrows, the huge dog leapt off him and circled around to go to an even huger man. Harry, lying on his back, looked up and up and up . . .

"Harry?" the man said, and his face showed surprise. "Is it you, now? Harry Potter?"

"Harry Snape, sir," Harry said, getting to his feet. He ran his shirtsleeve over his face, to wipe some of the drool off. Sticky! Fang had collapsed on the front stoop of the cottage and laid his head on his paws. "My name used to be Potter, though," he admitted.

"Ah, righ'. Professor did mention som'at about tha'." The man smiled at him and took a step closer. Each of his hands looked the size of a platter, and his feet were covered in shoes as big as dustbins. His beard looked large enough to use as a blanket. "Was wondrin' how long it'd take ye to find yer way down 'ere."

"I've just got in, sir," Harry told him. "On Friday. Father says you're gamekeeper, and that you're genie-all."

"Oh, now, call me Hagrid, lad. What's he mean, genie-all?"

"He meant you're kind, Hagrid, sir. He told me a story, about when you tried to keep Streelers, for bedtime last night. And how you wanted 'em as pets, even after the Headmaster wanted them all gone, 'cause of the wreck they were making of the gardens. They sound brilliant!"

"Ah, well, that was a long time ago." Hagrid had turned a bit red, but he was smiling. "Care for a bit of tea, Harry?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Righ', then, come on in and I'll set th'kettle on. Fang, move your lazy hind end!"

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TBC . . . with Snape's conversation with Dumbledore . . .

A/N: Thanks, as always, to everyone who reads and reviews, or offers commentaries or corrections or what all. You guys are the awesomest! Next chapter, probably Monday.