jharad17 - Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

But Harry didn't want to go to the Weasleys again. He liked them all right, and he kind of missed playing with Ron, but he liked learning from his father more, with his big words and kindly near-smiles and the blinking green and silver stars he magicked onto the top of Harry's papers when he did a good job with his writing or sums. Harry liked sitting in Daddy's office while Daddy taught his classes next door and listening to him lecture. He was as close to his father as he could be. And when Daddy returned to his office with his own papers to grade or lessons to prepare, Harry was quiet as a mouse so Daddy could concentrate. He knew how to be quiet and out of the way. It was of the things he did best.

Not that Daddy was anything like the Dursleys; he wouldn't hurt Harry if Harry wasn't quiet. Not at all. But his father seemed to really appreciate it when he had uninterrupted time to study and work. He didn't have that stressed look in his eyes when Harry gave him time each day before asking for anything. Besides, Harry was used to never asking for anything anyway. He also knew when quiet and out of the way were the best things to do, and he did those very well. During Daddy's classes, for instance, Harry could hear his low, smooth voice in the next room quite well, and sometimes, when it got too muted in there, Harry could tiptoe to the door and peek out to make sure his father was still there.

Harry wouldn't do anything that might keep him from being able to stay near Daddy all the time, like he wanted. He certainly didn't want Mr. Black to take him away again, and he never ever wanted to be taken back to the Dursleys. As long as he was with Daddy, he was all right. Everything was all right.

At night, though . . . the nights were very bad.

Harry had a hard time falling asleep because he knew Daddy would leave him alone then, and he did not want to be alone. Alone was when the bad man came and stole him away. Alone at night was when the dreams came, about Uncle Vernon catching him eating biscuits that were meant for Dudders, or being out of the cupboard after hours. Alone was frightening .

Having Treacle Tart in his bed helped some, but not much, since she was so small. She couldn't stop the bad man, just slow him down. She couldn't keep the dreams away like Daddy could.

So rather than fall asleep, Harry tried his best to stay awake, since as long as he was awake, Daddy would stay by his side. It was hard to stay awake, though, when he was so very tired. When he did eventually fall asleep, he always woke again soon after, startled by a noise or movement or something , and when he found his Daddy gone, he always crawled into his clothes cupboard to hide. No kidnappers would never find him there.

Treacle always climbed in afterwards, and the two of them huddled close together, wary as could be, hiding from dreams and bad men, until Daddy found them in the morning.

The third night after this happened, Daddy did not take Harry to his room, but to his own room instead. After Harry's teeth were brushed and he was in his nightclothes, Daddy said, "How about you try sleeping in here with me? That way you needn't worry I'm gone, or that you'll be taken away."

Harry nodded solemnly, and then smiled a little more when Daddy took out his wand and waved it around. In a trice, his big bed divided into two smaller ones, both with sheets and blankets. The bed farthest from the door had a green coverlet with little golden snitches on it, being chased by brooms. Harry looked up at his father, who nodded. "That one will be yours, all right?"

"Yes, Dad," Harry said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He tucked Harry in, and sat with him until Harry fell asleep that night, knowing his father would always be with him.

-- WHELP II EPILOGUE--

Six Months Later:

On the steps leading up to the main entrance of Hogwarts, Severus Snape stood braced against the chilly March wind and watched his son at play on the lawn. Hagrid's great hound was chasing Harry, and the boy's kneazle -- now full grown -- was chasing both of them. Harry's shrieks of laughter carried to the steps, and Severus was warmed by the sound of it. A few times over the last several months, he had not been sure he would ever see Harry playing and laughing like other children.

Every so often, Harry glanced up the hill, ostensibly to wave at his father or to make a silly face, on the off chance he could get Severus to laugh or wave in return. In truth, Severus knew that his son was simply making sure his father was still there. It was the single biggest issue they had dealt with over the winter. Due to the angling of both Harry and himself, Severus had barely been out of sight or hearing range of his son since the boy's kidnapping six months ago. Neither of them wanted to lose that sense of contact.

Severus waved back, careful to use the hand not holding a much abused letter.

A minute later, a rush of red-haired children raced past Severus to join Harry in outdoor play. Far more sedately, Molly Weasley joined Severus on the bottom step. In comparison to his plain black cloak and robes, her outer robe was bright yellow, making her looking rather like a plucked canary. She pulled it more tightly around herself, to ward off the cold, then clasped her gloved hands together at her waist.

"Good morning, Severus."

"It's half past one," he replied curtly.

She smiled, well used to his chilly greetings. "Of course. Time does fly, after all."

"Only on winged clocks," he murmured, but she had a point. The winter had truly flown by, what with schooling Harry on top of his other classes, and taking care of his son, especially his beautiful, yet still fragile, trust. It was a wobbly thing, easily bumped and bruised, but thus far still intact. Severus aimed to keep it that way.

"March is blowing in like a lion, indeed," Molly continued, hitching up her robe again.

Severus had heard enough. "Spare me your old wise woman mantras. If you have something constructive to say, by all means, spit it out. Please."

A spark of something lit Molly's eyes, but Severus did not think it was anger. Not really. "How has Harry been this week?" she asked finally.

It was the question he had expected, yet he still didn't know how to answer. This week was the first one since last fall where Severus was actively encouraging Harry to do things independently. Though still "incarcerated" at St. Mungo's, Sirius Black had all but ruined Harry's sense of security at Hogwarts or Spinner's End, and the boy had worried for all this time that he would be taken again, and worst of all, taken back to the Dursleys. Today was the first time Harry had voluntarily gone down the hill to play instead of staying within grabbing distance of his father.

"He keeps one eye on me at all times."

Molly nodded. "Soon enough he'll look away. I know it's been taxing. . . ."

Severus made a sound that, from anyone else, might have been called a snort. "You have no idea."

Molly corrected him immediately. "I have seven children, Severus. Seven. I rarely get to use the loo alone, never mind have time to read or create potions. If one of my lot doesn't need me, it's a fair bet one or more of the other six does. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I wasn't surrounded at all times--"

"Maybe that works for you," Severus snapped, "but I am a solitary man. I lead a solitary life--"

"Not anymore." Her gaze was on the children and, as if on cue, four heads of red hair and one of black turned towards them, and all the children waved.

All the fight washed out of Severus. Molly was right. "No. Not anymore."

"Do you wish it were different?"

Instead of snapping at her again, Severus thought back over the last half year or so, from when he had rescued Harry from the Dursleys to when he'd discovered (for the second time) that his son was a Parselmouth, to seeing him fly on his broom, to the incident with the Squid. To more recent events, like Harry's first Christmas, to the thousand times he might have wanted a bit of privacy or more sleep or less noise, but knew that Harry needed him more. To Harry's questions about Sirius Black, (some of which he had referred to Dumbledore, unable to answer with anything less than the bile-laced vitriol Black deserved) and what it would mean to them, now that Black had been exonerated, cleared of any wrongdoing in the deaths of Lily and James Potter.