jharad17 - Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

By jharad17

Chapter Six

Disclaimer:None of this is mine. Honest. She's rich, blond and British. I'm not.

A/N:If you haven't read "Whelp" before reading this story . . . well, why not? Really, you should, 'cause otherwise, you're gonna be plenty lost.

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Previously:

"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!"

Once in his classroom, Severus was able to get a partial grip on his temper, even as he frantically started setting out potion ingredients. Hmm. Maybe he should start letting the students gather their own from the storage closet, he thought, as an added test of their skills. Not to mention, it would lessen the time he needed to prepare for each class. Time he should be spending with his son. His thoughts, as he set out jars of black beetles to be crushed, ginger root to be shredded, and monkey intestines to be chopped, returned to Harry, and the scene he had come upon in the sitting room.

What in the name of Slytherin had happened to make the boy behave so? It wasn't as if he didn't know where the toilet was, nor how to use it; he hadn't had an accident like that before, to Severus' knowledge. And his whimpering pleas had been utterly heartbreaking, as if he really feared Severus would hurt him. Severus closed his eyes briefly, recalling his harsh, angry words. Maybe . . . maybe Harry had reason to fear him.

But what had caused him to remain on the couch, when he was so obviously in distress . . .

Oh. Oh, no .

" I'll be in my lab. You are to remain on that seat until I return."

Oh, Harry.

Severus had ordered the boy to remain on the couch. And then, he had castigated Harry for doing exactly what he had been told. Ai, Merlin . How much more of a horrible monster could he have been?

More than anything else at that moment, Severus wanted to race back to his quarters and apologize profusely to the boy. How could he have been so dense? How could he have forgotten, even for an instant, how seriously Harry took any orders, how desperately the boy strove to obey in everything, every rule, even every hint of one? How could he have been so cruel?

He had no time, however, to make it up to Harry, as the students started to pour in from the corridor and take their seats. He bellowed at them for silence, then ran through roll call quickly, glaring at every one of the dunderheads that was keeping him from his son. After that, he started his little speech about how wondrous this class could be if only the students were not quite as stupid as he was sure they were. With that out of the way, he flung the day's potion instructions up on the board and snarled at them to get to it.

Over the course of the next double period, he assigned twelve detentions, took forty points from Gryffindor, and failed two students' potions outright, because they dared not follow his instructions to the letter. If Harry could follow his instructions, even to his own detriment, why was it these children, who were twice his son's age, could not? How dare they flaunt their arrogant defiance like that?

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Father was gone. Nelli was there, though, her voice soft, even with words that shamed him. "Youse needs to get out of these wet clothes, Master Harry. Master Snape wants you to wash now. Youse be wanting a shower, Master Harry?"

Harry nodded bleakly, hands over his face. How could she stand to look at him? He was such a freak! Peeing his pants, and now crying! No wonder his father had yelled and left him here. He was ashamed of Harry, he had to be. Probably didn't want such a freak for a son. No one could .

Gulping a few unsteady breaths, Harry did what he was told and peeled off the wet clothes. The smell made him want to throw up, reminding him of days spent in his cupboard with no relief but what could be had in a bucket, when the heat of the summer made the cloying smell unbearable. Balancing on his good foot – the other ankle didn't hurt at all, in fact he could barely feel it – he stepped into the shower.

Nelli helped him with the spigots, until the water was comfortably warm. But freaks like him didn't deserve warm water; it shouldn't be wasted on him. He should have only cold water, and hard scratchy lye soap instead of this nice foamy stuff, and no flannel, just fingernails, nails that scraped across his skin, scratching at where he had soiled, clawing hard enough to tear into his flesh and draw blood.

"No, Master Harry," Nelli said. Her tiny hands grabbed at his, pulling them away from his body. "Youse is not to be hurting yourself. Youse wanting Nelli to get Mistress Pomfrey now?"

Harry shook his head, his throat too thick to answer. What did it matter? His father hated him, and didn't even want him anymore, he could tell. He never should have talked to snakes, never should have lied about hurting his ankle, and should have held in his pee like a big boy, and never started crying like a stupid baby.

He was bad and never deserved to have a father at all. Uncle Vernon was right. No one could ever love a freak like him.

"Come now, Master Harry." Nelli had turned off the water, and was pulling him from the shower. She patted him down with a towel, and he stood, shaking, though not with cold, arms wrapped around his middle. No more tears, he swore. No more being a baby, even if he couldn't help being a freak who talked to snakes and wet his pants. He had to take care of himself, just like always. He had to, 'cause no one else would. He took the towel from Nelli's hands so he could finish drying. A little bit of blood from where he'd gouged his stomach stained it, and he just stared at the stain, wishing he knew how to get rid of the proof that he was a freak.

"Youse can sit down there," Nelli said, taking the towel and pointing at the little stool Harry stood on so he could see the mirror when he brushed his teeth and hair before bed. He noticed the wet clothes were gone, thank goodness, though he deserved to have to clean them himself, he knew. The House-elves shouldn't have to do it.

"Master Snape is not wanting youse to walk on youse ankle, okay? I brought youse clean clothes, see, Master Harry? Does youse want Nelli to help youse with your clothes?"

He shook his head again and, seating himself on the stool, started pulling on clean socks and pants. The hurt ankle felt very odd, and wouldn't bend, but he managed to get the sock on it anyway. Nelli handed him trousers next, which he wriggled in to, without putting any stress on his ankle, and then a shirt, the easiest thing to put on, though he made sure the bleeding had stopped on his scratches before he did, so the shirt wouldn't stain, too. The shirt was pale blue, with a collar and only a couple buttons, and was clean and soft, softer than a freak like him deserved.

"Youse wait here, Master Harry, and Nelli is going to get Mistress Pomfrey."

"Okay," Harry said and folded his hands in his lap to wait. "Thank you, Nelli."

It was only a few minutes later that Madam Pomfrey's voice came from doorway of the bedroom, "Harry? May I come in?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, but his voice was hoarse, and he coughed to clear it. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said a little louder. "Please come in."

The Medi-witch appeared in the bathroom door, her face creased with worry, probably because of his ankle. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, shall we?" she said, and drew her wand. An instant later, Harry was floating in the air, almost like flying, except without a broom. But he couldn't even get excited about that, not now.