jharad17 - Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

"No."

"Pardon?" Molly asked, taking a sip of her own tea.

"I don't want him doing chores."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Whyever not? I've always found chores to be a great way to build a sense of responsibility and it certainly helps keep this fam--"

Severus cut her off again. This was an issue he was not going to budge on, but he would try his best to make her understand. "Harry was treated worse than a House Elf by his relatives. They worked him like a slave, with food as his only reward, though starvation was the norm, and beatings as punishment if he did not get their impossible-to-finish lists done. I won't have him think he's gone back to that now."

"But Severus, you know we would never--"

" I know you wouldn't treat him like that, of course not, and neither would Arthur. But Harry doesn't know it. He doesn't know you well enough. All he would understand is that I had left him somewhere, and he's being told to work again, by people he has to obey or else." He kept his tone as steady as possible, but he could feel his anger rising. Could she not understand? His fingers clenched around the teacup. "I will not let him think for one moment that he has gone back to being someone's slave, not for a heartbeat, even if I know it isn't true."

Her blue eyes narrowed as she peered at him, trying to read something in his expression. Whatever it was she was looking for, she must have found it because she nodded shortly and said, "Very well. I would, however, like to revisit the possibility of chores at some later date, Severus. I still believe they are a good learning tool."

"Perhaps," he acquiesced, "once he no longer has nightmares about those horrible Muggles."

"Every night still?" Her moment of pique vanished and she was all concern again. When Severus nodded, she sighed. "That poor boy."

"Indeed." He smiled a little into his cup as he considered her words. Frankly, he thought Harry was one of the strongest willed people he knew, or had ever known. In spite of all he had gone through, he still had the ability to laugh and smile, to trust and to love. His son's resilience was both humbling and awe inspiring. Harry made every minute of lost sleep worth losing and every moment of worry worth dealing with, so long as he was allowed to spend time with his son, the greatest gift he had ever been given.

TBC . . .

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A/N: Thank you to everyone who offered me condolences about my job, and some good news: I'm re-employed! My new position starts January 7th, and is with the local school district. Yay!

Happy holidays to all -- mine is a whole lot happier, what with the new source of income and all -- and big ol' Snapey and Harry hugs all around!

*Chapter 15*: Chapter 15

Whelp II -- The Wrath of Snape

By jharad17

Chapter Fifteen

Previously:

After greeting them both warmly, Molly shooed the children outside with a, "Show Harry around, dears, and don't forget the pumpkin patch. There you go."

With only one backward glance at his father, Harry followed the Weasley boys and Ginny outdoors for the grand tour.

Despite what Harry had expected, the yard outside the Weasleys' front door was nothing like outside the Dursleys' door. The Dursleys had a perfectly manicured lawn, perfectly trimmed hedges and perfectly weeded flower beds, all in perfect little rows. Harry ought to know, having done almost all that work himself -- though Aunt would never in a million years have told him it was perfect. The Dursleys' drive, where they parked their clean and shiny sedan, was asphalt, with only a couple tiny cracks in it, and the door was painted bright white, with a black "4" hanging just to the right of it on the front of the house.

The Weasleys' yard, however, was nothing like that. They didn't have a drive, nor even a car. They hadn't any hedges to block the view into the next yard; there was no "next yard" at all! No neighbors to peer over the fence and pry into their business, or to yell at The Boy for making too much noise while working outdoors in the early morning. Their front yard was part chicken coop, with several chickens scratching at the earth and squawking in their odd voices, and part odd collection of brooms and wellingtons.

Standing by the coop, Harry gaped around him, mouth hanging open, wondering what they were going to have to fix first, when Ron said, "Never seen a chicken before, Harry?"

He shook his head. "Only in a book," he admitted. At his primary school.

"Wish I had," Ron said. "These stink, and they'll claw your eyes out if you're not careful."

Ginny came up beside him and said, "Nuh-uh. Mum said that wasn't true. I asked. Mum says the chickens are doss-ull."

Ron puffed himself up. "Well, George told me they . . ." He trailed off and glared at his older brothers, who were giggling together by the corner of the house. "You said they'd claw my eyes out!" he yelled.

George snickered harder. "Don't believe everything--"

"--you hear, little brother," Fred finished his sentence for him.

"You oughtta know that by now."

Ron turned back to Harry and rested his head on his arms. Under his breath, he muttered, "I hate those two."

Harry bit his lip, not knowing what to say. Dudley often screamed that he hated Harry -- though what he said was, "I hate that freak!" -- and Harry did not doubt it for a second. But Ron didn't seem to really hate his brothers, not for true. He often played with them and laughed with them, especially when they were playing Gobstones or something like that. Dudley had never played with Harry or laughed with him, only laughed at him, and beat him up with his friends.

It was very confusing.

The next moment proved even more so, when Fred and George called for them from around the corner of the house, and Ron perked up with a grin and a laugh and ran alongside Harry to see what the twins were up to.

Harry rounded the corner of the building to see both boys up on brooms, a good ten feet above Harry's head. He stared up at them, wanting to be up there with them. Flying was the only time he felt free, and sure that no one and nothing could hurt him. When he was in his father's arms, he felt safe, but there was always that niggling fear that someone could still get to him.

Even if he wanted to be up in the air with the others, he could never ask for such a thing. He was not allowed to ask for anything. He was learning, slowly, that if someone -- like his father, or Mrs. Weasley -- offered him something, he could accept. But even that was oft times hard to remember, since Dudley had often played the trick on him of offering something -- food, a toy, a shirt that had no rips in it -- and then swiping the thing away when Harry said yes. He would then run to his parents and tell them that Harry was trying to steal his stuff.

Harry had learned his lessons very well, though from the beatings he still got, until his father came, no one would have known.

Ron could ask, though. Obviously. He jumped up and down, hands in the air as if he could catch one of his brothers if he leapt high enough. "I wanna play! I'll be Chaser, okay? Okay, George? I can be Chaser, right?"

"I dunno, Ronniekins. Chaser?" one of the twins said and grinned, turning to the other. "He'd make a better Bludger, wouldn't he?"

"Right you are," said the other, who Harry was pretty sure was George, really. "The way he knocks into things."

"You want to be a Bludger?" They both asked Ron at the same time.

"No! That's stupid . I wanna be Chaser!"

The argument went on a few more minutes, until Ginny shouted that she would be a Bludger, and the boys all stopped fighting, looking horrified by her suggestion. Harry didn't really understand the situation. Nobody could be a Bludger, he didn't think, 'cause that was the ball the Beaters hit. Wasn't it?