jharad17 - Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

"Yes?"

Harry's face took on a different sort of mask. Hard, yet almost brittle. "I thought . . . I thought I was dying."

Severus' heart skipped a beat. "Explain."

"At . . . at my . . . my Uncle's. I was so hungry, and it had been a long time since I'd even got water, and I thought maybe boys could only talk to snakes when they were dying."

"Just before I took you away from there, yes?"

Harry nodded, the slice of apple forgotten in his hand. His lower lip stuck out just a little. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't know I wasn't s'posed to talk to snakes. I won't do it anymore."

With a sigh, Severus rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I have not forbidden you to speak to them. It's a gift for wizards to be able to do so. I would ask, however, that you be a little . . . circumspect in your conversations." At the boy's confused expression, he added, "It means, you shouldn't let everyone know you are a Parselmouth. Some people would not understand."

Harry drew a slow breath. "Like with the Dursleys, and any magic."

Snape's gut reaction was to tell the boy that no one and nothing would ever treat him the way the Dursleys had, but he knew that he could not make promises like that. Not and be honest. He knew -- as did Dumbledore -- that the Dark Lord would rise again one day, and that Harry would be caught in the thick of it again. The very idea chilled him, and yet, he knew it was true. Too, the world was a fickle place, and those who sang praises over Harry's success in the past would be just as likely to condemn him in the future.

Thus, against all desire, he admitted, "Similar, yes. You must pay close attention to who you allow to see your special powers. I also want you to be very careful when you decide to befriend wild creatures, Harry. The snake you were talking to today is poisonous and the venom from its bite could have killed you. Made you very sick at least."

"Oh. But it wouldn't have bitten me."

"You don't know that."

"But it was nice!"

"Harry!" Severus took a slow breath. "Please. I don't . . . I don't want to lose you, son. Just please be mindful of the danger. There are all sorts of creatures around Hogwarts that are not nice, and will bite you, and poison you, given half a chance."

A mulish expression stole over Harry's face, and it angered Severus. How was he to keep Harry safe if the boy insisted on charging into dangerous situations with squids and snakes and who knew what else? "I am completely serious, Harry. You will obey me in this."

Cowed, the boy nodded. "Yes, Father. I'm sorry."

"Good. Now, eat your lunch. I'll be in my lab. You are to remain on that couch until I return."

"Yes, Father."

---

Harry watched him go, feeling stupid and in the way and not hungry anymore. He was a freak, even among wizards. He should have known it was weird to talk to snakes, but he liked them, and they were nice, all the ones he'd met. But Father had said to be careful of them, 'cause they might bite. Yet, how was he to know which ones would and which ones wouldn't, unless he talked to them first? He buried his head in his arms and curled into the corner of the couch.

Treacle didn't let him stay like that, but leapt onto the couch and butted at his arms with her head until he acknowledged her. He ran thin fingers through her fur, loving the softness of it. Sitting back up straight, he fed Treacle some of his lunch – she didn't want apples, but did want the slices of sausage and the pepper crisps, and he poured a little of his milk onto the tray for her to lap up, then finished the rest of that.

And then he realized he had to go to the loo.

How long till Father came out of his lab? Harry wondered. He could hold his pee in pretty well, had learnt how at the Dursleys, but it had been hours since he'd been last. And he really had to go. The lunch was gone, the tray and plates vanished, and Treacle had curled up against his knee on the couch, cleaning her whiskers by licking her paws and then rubbing them over her face.

How much longer?

It got to the point where he was gripping himself hard to stop from peeing on the couch, and biting his lip, too, 'cause sometimes pain let him keep his mind of awful things, like what would happen if he went all over his father's couch. He rocked back and forth, eyes squinched shut. Please hurry, please, Daddy, please hurry, please . . .

Suddenly Treacle jumped down from the couch, and the sound of her paws hitting the floor startled Harry enough to make him lose control. Tears welled in his eyes, to run in hot streams down his cheeks, as warm liquid spilled into his trousers and dripped down his legs. Once the flow started, he couldn't stop it until he was empty and sopping.

Sorry, I'm sorry, oh Father, oh, sir, please, I'm so sorry, please . . .

---

Severus had lost track of time. This was not an infrequent event when he was engaged in making potions, especially one as tricky as the Fidelity Draught. His lab was soundproofed, of course, and spelled to stay as fume free and humidity controlled as he could make it, with various bubbling cauldrons always going. The lighting was good for his eyes, whether he was hunched over books of potions or those same cauldrons, and, all in all, the room was perfect for his work, allowing minimal distractions.

Indeed, when he noticed the time again, he realized he had spent not only the whole lunch hour, but also most of his free period in his lab, and he still had to set up the ingredients for his next class. It was a Gryffindor/Slytherin combined class of second year students, who he just knew he would have to watch over every second to make sure they weren't hexing each other or blowing up their cauldrons. He had less than ten minutes to finish up here and get it all assembled for them.

Thus, he was rushed getting out of the lab, practically tripping over that damned kneazle, who was scratching at his door, and rushed when he burst into the sitting room, and he was not inclined to be understanding when he saw the boy sobbing with his head down . . . and possessed of a rather pungent, all too familiar smell.

On the couch.

"Merlin's pants, boy! Don't you know how to use the toilet?"

The only response came through chattering teeth, Harry's head still down, and now covered by his hands. "Sorry, sir, sorry, please, I'll be good, please don't hurt me, m'sorry, sir . . ." over and over again like some sort of litany of his failures.

"Good grief," Severus murmured, and reached for the boy's arm, only then recalling the bad ankle, and how he was supposed to take Harry to the Infirmary, and now there wasn't time before he had to be at class, and where were those infernal elves!?

With a grimace, Severus grabbed the tops of both of Harry's arms and swung him up from the couch and carried him bodily -- though keeping the boy's small, wet form as far away from his own robes as he could -- down to the bathroom, where he plunked the boy on the floor in front of the shower.

"Nelli!" he called, and when the House-elf arrived, hiding her face in her hands much like Harry still was, he growled at her, "See that he gets cleaned up, then have Madam Pomfrey come down and take a look at his ankle. I'm late for class." He was half way out the bathroom door before he added, "And clean up that couch as well!"

-----

A/N: Thanks for all the enthusiastic reviews and encouragement for this story! Thanks, too, to Miri for her heartfelt beta-ing, especially her ubiquitous, "You know you're mean, and sick and twisted and wrong, right?"

I should have a new chapter out in a couple of days. Harry Hugs for everyone! He's gonna need 'em.

*Chapter 6*: Chapter 6

Whelp II -- The Wrath of Snape