jharad17 - Whelp

The boy bit his lip rather than answer right away, and Severus cursed himself immediately. From his invasion of those Muggles' insect-like minds, he knew that same question – if answered in the affirmative, particularly – had almost always been jeered in response, by Harry's relatives. "Too bad, then, that you've been a horrid little boy and aren't getting any," from his aunt, and, "Only if there's any left after I'm done, right Mummy?" from the cousin.

So . . . "Have some eggs, Harry," Severus said, covering the awkward silence, and scooped a generous helping onto the boy's plate.

Harry gazed up at him with such adoration it made his heart lurch. "Thank you, sir."

"And bacon," and he popped three strips onto Harry's plate as well. "Toast, too." Two pieces of buttered toast followed, filling the plate.

"Thank you, sir!" Harry said again. He picked up his fork -- again in his fist, they were going to have to work on table etiquette soon -- but waited patiently for Severus to finish serving himself and lift his own fork.

"It's all right, Harry. You may eat now."

It took no more than that for the boy to cram the bacon in his mouth, with his other, forkless, hand, making it disappear faster than Severus would have ever thought possible, as if he were still sure that it would all be taken away. And, from the memories of his relatives, he knew it had been. Still . . . "Slow down, child. The food isn't going to vanish."

Looking chastised, Harry paused briefly with a second forkful of eggs only an inch from his mouth. The fork trembled as the boy eyed Severus, like he was waiting for the signal to start again.

"I just don't want you to be sick, Harry," Severus told him. "If you eat too fast, you will be."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and ate the eggs, actually managing to chew once before swallowing.

Severus suppressed a sigh. Manners would come better once the child wasn't so afraid of not being able to eat at all, he supposed. Until then, he could just avoid looking at Harry whilst at the table.

After breakfast, Severus showed the boy the rest of the house, including the kitchen, where Harry seemed rather too cheerful looking at where pots and pans and cleaning supplies were kept, much to Severus' dismay. And in the garden, he had to remind the boy that he was not a house elf, again , and would not be expected to do any gardening, but to play.

The image of the boy cocking his head to the side as if Severus had uttered a foreign word when he said "play" would stay with Severus forever. He recalled his own childhood, never a fond recollection at the best of times, which had been almost unremittingly gloomy and forlorn. Almost. This child . . . for him, the word "play" was foreign, but Severus vowed it would not always be so.

Thus, directly after they visited the clothier and had Harry measured and fitted for shirts, trousers, short trousers, pants, socks, sleepwear, shoes and robes, in various colors and levels of decorum, they toured the toy store next door, and Severus told Harry to pick out a few items. He watched the child's face as they went through the establishment, and the look of wonder as Harry took in all the magical toys and their noises and flapping wings and exhortations to "Play with me !" was pure gold.

Harry did not touch anything, but his gaze lingered on several toys that, when Harry tried to select toys that were small and inexpensive -- cheaply made, too, if Severus were to be honest -- with the obvious hope that if he didn't ask for more, that he'd at least get a little, Severus shook his head and led the boy back to their aisles. In no uncertain terms, he told Harry to take the brightly painted, fully functional flaming set of Romanian dragon figurines, the bag of blue and green gobstones, and lastly, the child's starter broom.

He imagined by the end of a week, he'd likely have cause to regret all the purchases, but for the moment, seeing Harry's unadulterated joy was recompense enough.

Like the clothes, he shrunk the toys and put them in his pocket, with a promise to hand them over to the boy as soon as they were home. Then they saw an Optician and had Harry fitted for glasses that had him exclaiming even more excitedly than he had for the toys. At last, they stopped in at the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry held the menu awkwardly in his little hands, up close to his face, but didn't seem to be actually looking at it. He stared at the table and mumbled incoherently when asked what he wanted to eat.

Severus frowned. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir, er, Father." His new glasses made his eyes brighter, rounder, and he wasn't squinting anymore, which was a definite improvement.

Another thought occurred to him. "Can't you read the menu?"

Red bloomed on the boy's cheeks before he looked away with a one shoulder shrug.

"Harry . . ."

"Sorry, sir!" He put down the menu and folded his hands in his lap, looked down at them miserably.

"Harry, I'm not concerned about your shrugging right now. I'm concerned about your reading. Didn't you learn when you were in school?"

The boy swallowed and shook his head.

"Whyever not?" He didn't seem addlebrained.

Unaccountably, Harry's eyes filled with tears. He swiped at them viciously with tiny fists. "'Cause I'm stupid."

"No. You aren't stupid. Anyone who could remember all the rules in my house is possessed of, at the least, a superlative memory."

" Am ," the boy insisted. "Aunt Petunia said . . ."

"I'm sure," Severus said quietly, when Harry didn't finish his sentence, "that your aunt has said many things to you over the years which are simply not true. I've mentioned as much before, correct?"

Harry still didn't look at him, but he jerked his head in a tight nod.

"Just so. Now, were there any subjects you liked at school?"

"Yes, sir. Maths."

"Good. What did you like about it?"

"I can count fast, and numbers're dead easy to write out. There's only ten."

Severus nodded. Tom came to their table to see how they fared, and Severus waved him away irritably. When the man had gone, he said, "See now, that's well done. Why does reading give you trouble? And mind, I won't take the answer you gave before."

Harry's shoulder hitched up. "It's hard to think about."

"The reason is hard?"

Shaking his head, Harry said, "No, sir. In classes, was ofttimes hard to think ."

"And why is that?" Severus asked, although he had a couple guesses.

"I'm easily distracted," Harry said, sounding like he was quoting something. "And after morning break, I'm often moody and unpredictable."

"Really. Who told you that?"

"Aunt Petunia."

Severus had mentally said the words along with the boy. He shook his head. "When did she tell you that you were moody and unpredictable?"

"When my marks came in, first year. She said the teacher told her so. And her Dudders was such a good student, 'twas a shame he had to go to school with the likes of me."

"Was . . . Dudders in your class?" He almost choked over the nickname. Merlin's drawers.

"Yes, sir.

"And when he was in class with you, did he ever distract you from your work?"

Harry finally looked at him, expression quizzical. "Sorry, sir?"

"Was he ever loud and obnoxious in your presence, to the point of keeping you from concentrating on your work?" He knew damn right well Dudders had been, but wanted Harry to see for himself. "Did he ever deliberately take your work and ruin it, or goad others into doing so?"

Very quietly, Harry said, "Yes, sir. Sometimes."

Severus nodded. "And during your morning break, after which you were so moody and unpredictable , did your cousin ever attack you or goad others into doing so?"