Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

Father.'

Father gave one of his thin smiles. 'That's all I can ask.' He nodded at Harry's bowl. 'Finish up, please. Then I would like you to get dressed.' He paused. 'Do you need any help?'

'No! I can get dressed myself.'

Father shook his head, that slight crinkle around his eyes. 'I did not mean to impugn your ability to dress yourself, Harry. In truth, I was inquiring whether your ankle was well enough, or whether you required any assistance.'

Oh. That was different. 'No, Father. It feels fine today. Madam Pomfrey fixed it real good.'

'She fixed it really well.'

'Yep.'

Father laughed softly and reached for his cup of coffee. 'Finish your breakfast, silly imp.'

Harry giggled and hurried through the rest of the porridge.

---

He was dressed for play, with his hair combed and teeth brushed, waiting in front of the Floo for Mrs. Weasley to come through. He had met her several times, of course, the week that Ron was here, and Charlie, but she had mostly been talking with Father, and what he remembered most about her was that she kept reaching for him like she wanted to smother him in a hug. She never actually did, he told himself. But the mere possibility still frightened him. He'd only let Father hug him, up to now. Father was the only one he knew would not hurt him.

'All right, Harry?' Father asked.

Harry nodded tightly, and gripped Father's hand in his own. Father squeezed back gently, and Harry was very, very glad that he didn't have to go through this alone. Father had classes coming up very soon -- in less than a half hour, actually -- but he had promised to stay until the Weasleys got here.

At that moment, the fireplace roared with green fire and Mrs. Weasley stepped out, her arm curled around a small girl with red hair. Well, she wasn't small compared to Harry, but compared to Mrs. Weasley . . .

'Good morning, Severus,' Mrs. Weasley said.

'Molly.' Father inclined his head slightly.

The bulky woman turned her gaze on Harry and smiled warmly. Harry pressed himself closer to Father's leg. 'Good morning, Harry.'

Father gave his hand another squeeze, and he mustered up his courage for manners. 'G'morning, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for coming.'

She grinned. 'You're very welcome, young man. It's good to see you again.' As the Floo flared again, behind her, to spit out Ron amongst a gaggle of other arms and legs and red hair, Mrs. Weasley said, 'This is my youngest, Ginny. Ginny, say hello.'

The girl, who Harry had noticed was staring at him with her mouth open, blushed a shade of red brighter than her hair. 'Hullo,' she said quietly.

'Hi,' Harry said, and glanced up at Father, who nodded.

Mrs. Weasley turned to the fireplace, and said, 'Ronnie you know already, of course. The other two are my twins, Fred and George. Boys, straighten your shirts, please.'

'Yes, Mum,' they chorused, and their was a bit of a scuffle as the twins -- who looked exactly alike, as far as Harry could tell -- tried to straighten Ron's shirt, twisting and pulling at him between them, while he pushed them away and cried out, 'Gerroff! Do yer own!'