Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

Father sighed and squeezed Harry back, but his voice was tinged with sadness as he spoke. 'Please, son. I promise to return in . . . in just four hours, all right? I'm sure Mrs. Weasley will give you some sort of timer, if you ask her. But we have to do this. I need to work, and you need to make new friends, and to learn your lessons so you'll be ready for Hogwarts in a few years. You want to learn as much as you can, don't you?'

Harry wanted to tell him about Ron hating his brothers, and how Fred was a bully just like Dudley, except not really, since he seemed truly sorry afterwards, and how Ginny was a tattler who would get Harry into trouble plenty, he knew, and he wanted to beg his father to let him go home with him. But Father had asked a direct question, and he knew he was being a clingy baby. And he was no baby.

He loosened his grip and slipped out of his father's arms. 'Yes, sir,' he said, looking down. 'Sorry, sir.'

'Look at me, Harry.'

Harry made himself look up into his father's face, expecting to see disappointment, or worse. But he didn't. Father merely shook his head a little with a fond glimmer in the depths of his dark eyes. 'What are you to call me?'

Harry smiled back. A little. 'Father.' He shifted from one foot to the other. 'Sorry, Father.'

Father's eyes wrinkled at the corners, the way Harry knew his smile deepened. 'Don't be. This situation is strange for both of us, I daresay. Neither of us has had anyone else we cared for so dearly before that we would fear missing them so much in just four hours.'

'I'm not afraid,' Harry burst out, before he could think.

'No?' Father's lips twisted up briefly at the corners. 'I am.'

'You?'

'Yes, me. I will miss you while I'm at home correcting abominable essays written by cretins or the worst kind, when I'd far rather be with you, reading one of our stories or playing chess or taking a walk in the orchard together. But those essays must be done.' Another twist of those thin lips. 'And I fear to start them.'

To his chagrin, Harry knew he would rather be here than at Hogwarts, if Father was only going to correct essays and not read with him and all that.

'Like homework,' Harry said with a grimace.

'Exactly like.' Father opened his arms, and Harry stepped into another hug, this one not as frantic as the last. This time, Harry could breathe. 'But I will come get you when I finish, and you will have fun here until I do. I believe Mrs. Weasley has lunch ready for you, too.'

'Yeah, I guess so.'

Father gave a soft chuckle and scolded lightly, 'Mind your manners, child. I'll be back before you know it. Come now,' he said, standing up and taking Harry's hand. He led Harry back towards the kitchen and big dining table that could seat most of Slytherin House, probably. In the kitchen sink, pots were washing themselves, and with a sudden spray of water, rinsing themselves, too. He wondered if they had House Elves here, but they must be invisible, if so.

Mrs. Weasley approached them with a plate and a bowl. 'Harry dear, sit down right there, there's a boy. Here's tomato soup and sandwiches for lunch. She placed the bowl of creamy red soup and a plate with two ham and cheese sandwiches in front of Harry, then waved her wand to make a spoon and a glass of milk appear. Harry gawked at the display, but then tucked into his meal -- everyone else was already doing so; Ron was almost done with his second sandwich, in fact, just cramming it into his mouth.

'He'll be fine, Severus,' Mrs. Weasley said. 'Don't worry about a thing.'

Father gave her one of his hard looks, like the ones he gave Headmaster Dumbledore sometimes, but she just laughed and waved him away before she turned back to the table.