Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

'Do you really think that?' Father asked again. 'Or is it possible that your aunt was just a very angry person and she took it out on you?'

Harry shook his head wildly. 'I was bad!' he cried. 'All the time! I broke the rules and ruined their family.'

Father's eyes glittered darkly in the gloom of the room, lit only by the ball of light by Harry's bed, cycling through its colors. 'I know that's what they told you. But, Harry, the rules they wanted you to keep . . . no one should be held to those rules. You were meant to be cared for, not hurt by them. They never should have burned you or beaten you or chained you up. One does not do that to children in their care, no matter what.'

Harry stared at his father. 'Not even if they're bad?'

'Not even then. Remember when you and Draco went up against the squid, and how we had that talk afterwards, and you were punished?'

Harry nodded. The fear he had that day had been overwhelming, but Father had not hit either of them, and had not confined him to a cupboard or taken away his meals or anything.

'You were not allowed to use your broom for a week. That is the kind of punishment that is acceptable to use on children. In comparison, if you dropped some silverware in our home, I would expect you to apologize, and that's all. At most, I might send you to your room for an hour so you could consider better how to handle other people's things.' Father paused, his gaze boring into Harry, and Harry squirmed, trying not to look away, but it was very hard.

'Do you understand the difference?'

'I . . . I think so.' He didn't, really, but Father seemed to want him to.

Father nodded. 'Your aunt over reacted. She treated you poorly. It was not your fault that she did so.'

'Even if I was bad?' Harry whispered.

'Even then. But Harry, dropping silver isn't really bad. It was an accident. And accidents are rarely bad.' He was quiet for a few moments then added, in an even quieter voice, 'They were the ones who were bad, Harry.'

Not knowing what to say, Harry remained silent, resting his head on Father's chest again, and Father let him, smoothing his hand over Harry's head again, until Harry's yawns grew more frequent.

'Do you think you can go back to sleep now?'

'Mm hm.'

Father helped him lie back down, and covered him with his blanket, tucking him in. Tree settled next to his head on the pillow. 'I want you to clear your mind, Harry. Think of the sky and the clouds, remember how to do that?'

'Mm hm.' Eyes closed, Harry reached blindly for Father's hand, and held it on his chest. The weight of it was soothing, and made him feel safe. 'I forgot to do it before,' he admitted, waiting for Father to pull back in anger. But Father didn't.

'I thought maybe you had. We'll have to make sure of doing this each night,' Father said. 'I'll sit with you now, and we'll practice, all right?'

'Yes, Father.'

Over the next few minutes, Father worked with him on breathing, and picturing the sky, and the clouds, and clearing his mind of all other thoughts. No more aunt or burning flesh. Just peace, and breathing, and his father's low, soothing voice.

---

Once the boy was asleep, Severus rose from Harry's bed and made his way to his own bedroom. He was drained. Exhausted. Angry -- at those miserable Muggles. But he was also hopeful for the first time, that maybe he could help his son get past the damage they had done to him. Harry had trusted him enough