Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

beautiful.

And scary.

Father looked over at him when his knees started shaking, and put one of his narrow-fingered hands over Harry's where he had them laced together on the table top. 'All right, Harry?' he asked. His voice was smooth and rich, and the way he said Harry's name made him want to smile. Father was the first person he remembered ever saying his name like that. Like he cared. Like he really wanted to know if Harry was all right.

'Yes, si -- er, yes, Father.' He'd almost messed up again. He did that when he was upset sometimes, or scared, but Father never yelled at him when he made the mistake of calling him 'sir' instead. Sometimes he looked terribly disappointed, though, and Harry hated that. It always made him feel small and stupid, like he still deserved to be locked in a cupboard and screamed at by Uncle Vernon.

'We can leave, if you want,' Father said softly. 'I can have Nelli stay with you downstairs. There are a lot more people here that you're used to.'

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. But sometimes, everything was just overwhelming. 'I'm all right, Father,' he said. 'Honest.'

Father's brows dipped down into a small frown, but then he nodded and let it go. The tables were almost full up, now, and Harry saw a flash of bright red hair amongst the sea of new faces. He sat up straighter, and lifted his hand in a little wave. At the table on the far left of the room, Charlie grinned at him and waved back.

A warm feeling infused Harry. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

'Happy now?' Father asked, with a twitch to his lips that Harry knew was like his laugh. 'You see he's not forgotten you.'

Harry nodded, a contented smile on his face. His Charlie was back. Maybe they could play Quidditch tomorrow, or Esploden Snape, and he could show Charlie the new passageway he'd found with Fern on the third floor, behind the statue of a witch with a humpback. Fern hadn't let him go dow n the passageway, but he bet that he could, with Charlie there. Then they could have tea with Hagrid and talk about dragons again. Harry loved the idea of dragons, but until Charlie started asking Hagrid all he knew about them and how to train them, he'd never actually thought they might be real! Now he really wanted to see one for himself, but Father said that was Not Going to Happen.

Peering out at the tables again, Harry saw Charlie talking with a boy to his left, with dark hair and a tanned face. Both were laughing, and Harry frowned at them, wondering what they were saying. Were they talking about dragons?

'Ah. Look there,' Father said, and gestured with his chin toward a door to the side of the table. 'Here comes Professor McGonagall.'

'What's that?' Harry asked, and pointed at her. Professor McGonagall set down a small stool and put a battered cone of cloth on top of it.

'That is the Sorting Hat,' Father said.

'What's it do?'

'You'll see.'

Harry looked up at his father, the dark, fathomless eyes suppressing mirth. What kinds of things did the hat sort? he wanted to ask, but when Father got all mysterious like this, it was usually because he wanted Harry to see something without any 'preconceived notions,' whatever those were. But sometimes, he just liked to see Harry be surprised. Harry figured it wouldn't be anything scary, because Father knew not to surprise Harry with scary things.

Harry was going to change his mind, though, when the Professor left for a moment and then came back into the Great Hall, leading a line of terrified looking new students. Some of them were whiter in the face than Sir Nicholas, and at least one of them was actually crying.

'What's