Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

Severus set his jaw. 'I believe that is a question you should have asked before accepting Hagrid's gift. I have no desire to share quarters with a kneazle.'

Harry's eyes opened wide at Severus' tone. They managed a combination of sorrowful and guileless that hit Severus in the gut, and yet he vowed to remain firm. He didn't like cats or kneazles. In fact, he was sure he was quite allergic to them.

A faint flush colored Harry's cheeks before he ducked his head. 'Yes, sir,' the boy whispered. 'I'll bring her back.' Avoiding Severus' gaze, he gathered the bundle of fur and claws in his arms and pressed his nose to the top of her head, then rubbed his cheek along her ears as he slid off the bed.

'It's late,' Severus told him with some asperity. 'Too late to pester Hagrid tonight. You can go down in the morning.' He glanced at Fern, and then at the rumpled bed where Harry had been resting and asked, 'Have you eaten dinner?'

'Umm . . .'

'Did you at least have lunch?' At Harry's blank look, Severus rounded on the House-elf. 'How long have you and Harry been sleeping?'

'Master Snape, sir?' Fern's face wrinkled further briefly before she said, 'Two hours and thirty-five minutes, sir! Master Harry was very tired from exploring the castle and--'

Sighing again, Severus turned away from both of them and strode back down the hall. 'I would like dinner on the table, and Harry washed and straightened up by seven-thirty, if you can manage that.' He retreated to his shower and very hot water, and quiet. Perhaps Severus would have more of a chance to eat, too, here in the privacy of his own chambers, than he had been given in the Great Hall, full of loud, gawking children.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged, still cross but clean. At the table, Harry was standing beside his chair, clothes straightened and head down, with neither Fern nor the kneazle in sight. Dinner was laid out -- roast beef, potatoes and peas -- and smelled inviting.

At Severus' place was a glass of red wine. He sat, unfolded his cloth serviette and draped it across his lap, then surveyed Harry where he stood stalk still, fists bunched by his sides and arms trembling. 'Harry, sit down,' he said mildly.

The boy's head came up. His eyes were dilated, his mouth drawn tight. His gaze skimmed over the table and a breath hitched audibly in his chest.

Severus was rapidly losing patience. He knew he should get up and walk away while he was in a fractious mood, but he was hungry and tired and just wanted to relax after a long, arduous day. What was it about dinner that was so hard? 'Harry, talk to me. What is it?'

Harry gave a short shake of his head. It may have even been just a twitch. The trembling in his limbs grew more pronounced.

Severus' eyes narrowed. What the hell? He had no idea what might be wrong, and the boy seemed unable to tell him. Well, fine then. 'Look at me.'

Harry met his gaze at last, and Severus whispered, 'Legilimens.'

A barrage of images bombarded him. Severus sifted through them carefully, easing past this memory or that, dismissing his own attitude toward the kneazle surprise as of no consequence, then the boy's afternoon's activities of mucking around in dusty corridors and running himself almost sick on the fields with a leaping kitten, searched back past Filch's terrorizing taunts, back days and then a week, then further and further in time, seeking reasons for the boy's behavior.

Ah. There they were. . . .

The remnants of a meal, roast and peas and potatoes, laid out on a white table top, and Harry pulls dishes down, one by one, to clean them, staring hungrily at every bit of food he is not allowed to have -- wipes down counters -- wishes for water, just a moist cloth to suck on in the darkness of a cramped, claustrophobic room -- rummages through a garbage pail -- the taste of potato peels, mealy but wet, barely chewed and swallowed quickly -- bright light, yelling and screams, Harry's screams -- the cold of a night outdoors, the coppery taste of blood on his lips -- the hose and blinding cold water, more water than he wanted and Aunt Petunia's cold words, 'Vernon will sort you out, boy' -- kicks and punches of Dudley and his friends, aches in his ribs, his hand, crushed -- Uncle Vernon, 'On your knees,' with the collar, latching it tight, metal links cutting into his skin -- 'If you're a good dog, you'll get dinner tonight . . .'

Severus withdrew from Harry's mind, feeling sick. His gorge rose and he struggled to keep his composure. If Dursley wasn't already on an express train to insane thanks to his previous visit, Severus would have gone directly to that damn Muggle's house now and flayed the skin and meat from his bones.

With a flick of his wand, Severus banished the unfortunate meal on the table, and turned his attention to Harry, who was on his knees, arms wrapped tight around his middle. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks as he rocked himself back and forth, mouthing words Severus could not hear, hunched over his knees.

Severus dropped down beside him, and his heart broke when Harry flinched away. The boy was cowering from him, and no wonder, with Severus' attitude over the last half hour. Cursing both his stupidity and lack of patience under his breath, he had to force his hands to stay by his sides and not reach for the boy, not wanting to frighten him again.

'Harry. I'm sorry . . . Harry, you're at Hogwarts, do you remember? Please look at me, Harry . . . Can you hear me? Son?'

Unable to stand the boy's silent keening, Severus reached for him again, but his hands were knocked away by a white blur that streaked across his field of vision.

--

'Disgusting, filthy animal!' Uncle shrieks and grabs the boy by the neck, shaking him hard enough to make his teeth rattle. 'I told you, boy, no food. I'll teach you to disobey me! No good FREAK!' Uncle shoves him to the back door. 'Outside with you! If you behave like a dog, you'll be treated as one. Should've know you weren't fit for living indoors with decent folk. Get out of my house!' . . . . .

. . . . Later, Uncle's eyes are frightening. But the boy's legs tremble weakly, so it is no hardship to sink to his knees. In seconds, his uncle has slipped the chain around his throat and cinched it tight like a collar. In the next moment, he clips the end to the black rope. A leash! the boy