jharad17 - Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

"Dunno what to say," Harry whispered.

With a smaller sigh, Father cupped the back of his head with one of his long fingered hands. "It's all right, Harry. Just tell me what you remember."

"I . . . I . . ." He felt tears prickle in his eyes and blinked hurriedly to make them go away. Crying was for babies.

"It's all right," Father said again. "You can tell me anything. I still love you."

"She hurt my hand," Harry said in a rush. "It burned."

"Your aunt?" Father asked softly.

Harry nodded against his chest.

"What happened?"

Hesitating even more, Harry said, "I was bad."

Father's arms tightened around him. "Did she say that?"

"Uh huh." Harry sniffled a little; his nose was running. "Said I was disgusting and I ruined everything."

"You are not disgusting," Father said. "And you could not possibly have ruined everything ."

"Did," Harry countered. "The pot boiled over, and messed up the cooker. And I dropped her Mum's silver. Deserved to be burnt."

"No. You. Did. Not." Father's voice was sharp, even though his arms were still holding Harry close. "No one deserves that. No one. Least of all you."

"But I was bad!"

"Harry. Do you really think dropping silverware is a valid reason to burn someone? To cause them so much pain?"

"I dunno . . ."

"Harry . . ." Father held him away from his warm, safe feeling chest, far enough that he could look Harry in the eyes. "Look at me, son."

Doing as he was told, Harry couldn't help but gnaw at his lower lip and hunch his shoulders even more.

"Do you really think that?" Father asked again. "Or is it possible that your aunt was just a very angry person and she took it out on you?"

Harry shook his head wildly. "I was bad!" he cried. "All the time! I broke the rules and ruined their family."

Father's eyes glittered darkly in the gloom of the room, lit only by the ball of light by Harry's bed, cycling through its colors. "I know that's what they told you. But, Harry, the rules they wanted you to keep . . . no one should be held to those rules. You were meant to be cared for, not hurt by them. They never should have burned you or beaten you or chained you up. One does not do that to children in their care, no matter what."

Harry stared at his father. "Not even if they're bad?"

"Not even then. Remember when you and Draco went up against the squid, and how we had that talk afterwards, and you were punished?"

Harry nodded. The fear he had that day had been overwhelming, but Father had not hit either of them, and had not confined him to a cupboard or taken away his meals or anything.

"You were not allowed to use your broom for a week. That is the kind of punishment that is acceptable to use on children. In comparison, if you dropped some silverware in our home, I would expect you to apologize, and that's all. At most, I might send you to your room for an hour so you could consider better how to handle other people's things." Father paused, his gaze boring into Harry, and Harry squirmed, trying not to look away, but it was very hard.

"Do you understand the difference?"

"I . . . I think so." He didn't, really, but Father seemed to want him to.

Father nodded. "Your aunt over reacted. She treated you poorly. It was not your fault that she did so."

"Even if I was bad?" Harry whispered.

"Even then. But Harry, dropping silver isn't really bad. It was an accident. And accidents are rarely bad." He was quiet for a few moments then added, in an even quieter voice, "They were the ones who were bad, Harry."

Not knowing what to say, Harry remained silent, resting his head on Father's chest again, and Father let him, smoothing his hand over Harry's head again, until Harry's yawns grew more frequent.

"Do you think you can go back to sleep now?"

"Mm hm."

Father helped him lie back down, and covered him with his blanket, tucking him in. Tree settled next to his head on the pillow. "I want you to clear your mind, Harry. Think of the sky and the clouds, remember how to do that?"

"Mm hm." Eyes closed, Harry reached blindly for Father's hand, and held it on his chest. The weight of it was soothing, and made him feel safe. "I forgot to do it before," he admitted, waiting for Father to pull back in anger. But Father didn't.

"I thought maybe you had. We'll have to make sure of doing this each night," Father said. "I'll sit with you now, and we'll practice, all right?"

"Yes, Father."

Over the next few minutes, Father worked with him on breathing, and picturing the sky, and the clouds, and clearing his mind of all other thoughts. No more aunt or burning flesh. Just peace, and breathing, and his father's low, soothing voice.

---

Once the boy was asleep, Severus rose from Harry's bed and made his way to his own bedroom. He was drained. Exhausted. Angry -- at those miserable Muggles. But he was also hopeful for the first time, that maybe he could help his son get past the damage they had done to him. Harry had trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with the cooker. He hoped such trust was not a one off thing. He would have to make sure it wasn't.

He left his bedroom door open, in case Harry had any more nightmares, but he hoped for both their sakes, that it was an unnecessary precaution.

---

Harry woke, feeling achy and tired, when someone touched his shoulder. Before he could draw breath he was out of bed and in a crouch halfway across the room.

"Harry," said a familiar voice. "It's all right, it's just me."

Opening his eyes for the first time, Harry looked up and up to see his father staring down at him. Harry's face flushed and he looked down at his feet. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his pajama top. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Come on then, time to get ready for the day." Father didn't sound angry or even annoyed, so Harry chanced another look. His father's face was calm, but with that particular crinkle of his forehead that meant he was thinking hard, or maybe upset, and didn't want anyone -- like Harry -- to know. And then he held out his hand for Harry to take. "Breakfast is waiting."

With a huffed breath, Harry smiled a little and took his hand, letting Father pull him upright.

"All right there, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Father. Was just startled, is all."

"I understand." They walked down the short hall hand in hand. "What kind of juice would you like?" he asked as if he didn't know.

"Pumpkin juice!"

Father chuckled softly. "I thought as much." He led Harry to the table and waited while he climbed into his chair. Then he piled eggs and toast and several sausages onto Harry's plate before he poured a good sized portion of juice. "The Weasleys will be here in less than one hour, so I suggest you get started."

Harry grabbed up his juice, holding the cup -- which Father called a goblet -- in both hands so he wouldn't spill. He took a long swallow, savoring the cool sweetness of the drink. He had yet to pick up his fork. "Will I have lessons again?"

"Yes." Father peered at him from where he sat. "And today Mrs. Weasley has promised to help you with your writing. I told her you were still working on forming letters, and basic quill skills, so she will know better how to proceed."

Harry bit his lip and did not answer.

"I want you to tell her if you are having any difficulty with the tasks she assigns." Father paused. "Harry, look at me."

Harry snapped his head up, with a quick, "Sorry, Father." He knew he was supposed to look at Father's face when he was speaking, but it was so hard to remember sometimes.

Father waved a hand to dismiss the issue. "Do you understand me, about Mrs. Weasley? She cannot help you to the best of her ability, if you do not tell her when you need her help. She wants to help you with your writing an reading and maths, but you have to let her. Understood?"