'You're welcome, dear. Now, let's try something else—' Then she was leaning over his shoulder and reaching for his arm . . . and suddenly Aunt Petunia was grabbing for him because he had dropped the forks while setting the table, and she would smash his hand onto the hot stove burner and he could smell the meat of his hand burning and oh, god it hurt . . . and the jolt from the memory was so fierce that the boy scrambled away from the grasping hands, darted under the table and was running, running, till he reached the door, scrabbled at the knob, and was gone.
Before anyone else could move, a streak of white followed him through the door and disappeared, too.
TBC . . .
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A/N: I very much appreciate all your kind words of encouragement as I continue to have to
Yeah, a little bit of angst at the end of this chapter, 'cause, well, it can't be all fluffy bunnies and bakus. In the meantime, Treacle purrs for everyone!
*Chapter 11*: Chapter 11
Whelp II -- The Wrath of Snape
By jharad17
Chapter Eleven
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Honest. She's rich, blond and British. I'm not.
A/N: I'm terribly sorry there's been such a delay getting this new chapter out, but with my work schedule of late . . . and several medical problems, it's been a challenge getting the time and energy to write. I will continue to try for at least one chapter a week, but please forgive me if I cannot maintain that schedule for a wee bit. Hopefully, circumstances will improve soon, and I can go back to my two-three updates a week routine. I enjoy that as much as I imagine my faithful readers do. :-)
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Previously:
'
Blindly, the boy raced through the castle. He barely noticed the classroom door behind him slamming open against the wall and Mrs. Weasley's plaintive, 'Harry, come back!' He barely heard the voice of Filch as he stumbled past the man, and his growled, 'Running in the halls, are we?' All he knew was he had to get away, and he had plenty of room to run, far more than one short hallway that led to a cupboard. Far more than the length of the backyard or a leash.
The sun glared in the boy's eyes as he reached outdoors, and kept running, racing all the way down the hill, and toward the trees, where he could get lost, and lose those who wanted to hurt him. He was The Boy, the Freak, and he would be punished if he did not escape.
His breaths were coming hard, and his lungs hurt and his hand, too, with remembered pain. His flight slowed as he neared the trees, and he realized how dark, how forbidding they looked. He had enough energy to jump and yelp, however, when a dog barked from just behind him.
'Fang!' someone shouted, and before the boy could turn fully around, he was
