jharad17 - Whelp

"You're welcome." His father's face softened and he held out a hand. "Come here, Harry."

Swallowing thickly, 'cause nothing good ever came from being to told to 'come here,' he nevertheless did as he was told. But rather than put him over a knee, or lock him in a cupboard, his father gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Father led him out of the library and into the sitting room, where they both sat on the settee, and Father turned to look at him. "This is your home, Harry, and you are allowed to go anywhere you want within its walls. Except where?"

"Your study, sir, um, Father."

"Correct. I have other rules, some of which we have already discussed. Do you remember?"

"No saying, 'freak,'" Harry recited dutifully. "And I'm to be obedient and polite, but not to call you Master Snape, but Father. I can look at you when you're talking to me, and can use the loo whenever I need to, without . . ." he swallowed again, not quite believing, "without even saying thank you. I must use silver at the table, and wait till everyone's served before eating." He thought a moment more. "I'm 'lowed to ask questions and say the word 'magic.' And Silencing's okay."

Father stared at him, his mouth a small O. He must've said it wrong. Oh, no, he'd gotten the rules wrong! But which one? He tried to remember if any of them had changed, but maybe Father changed one while he was gone! Harry braced himself, but his father just looked at him another moment, then blinked, hard, like he was waking up.

"That's . . . very good, Harry. I'm glad you remembered all those rules. Now, the only one I think there's been a misunderstanding on is the Silencing, as you call it."

Harry's stomach sank even lower, and he tried really hard to keep looking at his father, 'cause that was one of the rules, but he knew he'd been bad to do such a freaky thing, and it was awfully difficult not to stare at his feet instead. "Yes, sir. I won't do it again."

"Good." Father paused, and his eyes narrowed. "You think I don't want you to do any magic anymore, don't you?"

"Yes, s – Father. I know it's bad."

Father sighed. "That is not the case. I only wish for you not to Silence yourself when you are hurting. Remember what we said earlier?"

Harry shrugged up one shoulder and then hastily dropped it again. "Oh! And no shrugging!"

The corners of Father's lips drew up, very faintly, in what Harry realized was his smile. "Correct. No shrugging. But we were talking about Silencing. Do you remember why I don't want you to do that when you're hurt?"

"N-no, sir."

"Because I want to know if you're in distress. If you are hurt, or having a nightmare, I want to know, so I can help you."

Harry frowned, confused, and decided to ask a question. It was kind of scary, though, and made his stomach see-saw inside. He drew a deep breath. "Help me do what, sir?"

Father's face crumpled a little, like he was sad or upset. "Help you feel better," he said softly, and something inside Harry crumpled a little, too, at the sound of the words, and the sadness in them.

He stared at his hands, now, folded in his lap again. "No one's . . . I don't know . . . Why, sir?" He looked up at his father, feeling oddly adrift and not understanding how he had gotten here.

"Because you're my son, and that's what fathers do."

Harry thought about it for a minute, and remembered how Dudley was allowed to crawl into bed with his parents when he had a nightmare, and how Aunt Petunia always made a fuss over Dudley if he scraped his knee or fell off his bike, and he nodded. "Mums do, too, right?"

Father snorted a soft laugh. "Mums, too, yes." Another pause. "Harry, your Mum was . . . was a good friend of mine in school. I . . . I loved her very much. And I promise you, I will take care of you to the best of my ability. I owe it to her . . . and to you." Father waved his hand in a gesture Harry was beginning to learn meant he was done talking about something and wanted it to go away now.

"But, other rules," Father said sternly. "No Silencing, understand?"

"Yes, Father."

Father spared him one of his thin smiles; it was the first time Harry hadn't stumbled over what to call him.

Harry's answering smile was quick. He liked making his father happy, even if he couldn't do real magic.

"Good. And you will be responsible for keeping your own room neatened. No toys or clothes on the floor."

"But, Father, I haven't got—"

"Any toys, or clothes. I know. You will have them, before the week is out."

"Really? Of my own?"

"Yes, child. Of your very own. Now, you must not be late for meals. If you can't yet tell time, then Dappin or myself will call you."

"I can tell time! Only, not when I can't see the clock."

"That would make it more difficult." Father tapped his lightly upturned lips with one slender finger. "Perhaps, at first, we'll just make sure to call you for meals, until you learn where all the clocks are."

"Thank you, sir."

"You will have a bath every night – or a shower," Father amended, after seeing that Harry was going to protest. He'd told Dappin that baths were only for babies, but really, he just didn't like what happened in them. Showers were much safer. Faster. He was relieved when his father allowed for showers, instead. "And clean clothes each morning. Dappin will help you with selections."

"Yes, Father."

"You are allowed time in the back garden each morning, but as it's rather hot there in the afternoons, I would prefer your time after lunch to be indoors. Dappin will show the garden to you tomorrow."

There was a garden in the back? That must be where he would do his house chores. He nodded enthusiastically. He hated doing outdoors work once it got really hot, especially if he wasn't allowed drinks or shade. "Thank you, Father," he said.

His father reached over and patted his knee, which Harry thought was kind of odd, but since it didn't hurt, he didn't flinch away. Well, not too much. "I think that's enough for now. Why don't you go get washed up for supper, and meet me in the dining room in ten minutes?"

"Yes, sir!" Supper, too! This had been a very good day.

----

Severus watched the boy scramble toward the stairs and suppressed a sigh. The pure moment of glee he'd experienced at forcing the Dursleys to take on all the punishment they had dished out to Harry over the years, had vanished quite completely when he'd come face to face with the reality of a boy who thought he wasn't allowed on furniture and who had no memory of ever being comforted when he was hurt. Once again, he wondered how he had ever thought he was cut out for this. What did he know, anyway, of damaged children? He had been one himself! Hardly a glowing recommendation.

Before supper, though, he had one more errand. Going into his study, he closed the door, and tossed a bit of Floo powder onto the hearth. Emerald flames shot up, and he called, "Albus Dumbledore!"

Moments later, Albus' head appeared in the flames. "Good evening, Severus. How is everything? No troubles, I hope?"

"No. Not really." Severus sighed. "May I come through?"

"Of course, dear boy." The Headmaster's head vanished, and Snape tossed in a bit more powder, called for the Headmaster's office and stepped into the flames. After spinning around for the time it took to say the password, he slid gracefully out of the Floo and into Albus' circular office.

"Thank you," he said, cleaning his robes with a wave of his hand.

"Please, please sit down. Lemon drop?" the Headmaster offered, holding out a tin.

"No, thank you," Severus replied, although he did take a seat. "I visited the Dursleys," he said, bypassing all the annoying chit chat that might otherwise have gone on. "And performed the Priori Malum Res ."

"Ah." Albus steepled his fingers in front of his face and peered at Severus through the tent.