Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

'It will have to, Severus. Unfortunately, I have little choice in the matter.'

'Spare me your theatrics. You're the Headmaster; you could let him go.'

'To what end? He is, unfortunately, better served under my watchful eye than not.'

Severus fumed, in silence, for several long minutes. It was obvious that Albus was not going to bend on this issue, and just as obvious that he would not allow Severus to do as he pleased and rip the caretaker into tiny pieces and feed them to the squid. And so, he decided on a third alternative. 'Then I will brew a Fidelity Draught for him to take. It's the only way I will stay here while he is also on the grounds.'

'Severus!'

'No, Albus. That man is a danger to my son, and I will not have it.'

'At least consider other options.'

Severus was surprised to hear the pleading note in Albus' voice. He frowned. 'I will give you until Friday, noon. The potion will be ready by then. If at that time, you have no better solution to offer, he will be bound to the utter protection of Harry. Else you will need to find yourself a new Potions Master.'

Albus sighed again, and slowly nodded. 'Very well. Let us hope it does not come to that.'

Severus seconded the sentiment, wholeheartedly.

---

In the end, regarding his Head of House duties, Severus did the only thing he could. With Harry swaddled in a blanket, Severus clutched him close to his chest, and went to the Snake den as planned. Harry was far enough under the effects of the potion that he barely noticed, though lines of tension still creased his face in his sleep. The Slytherins, however, never ones to pass up a perceived weakness, watched them both with close scrutiny.

To compensate, Severus increased his scowl by a factor of ten, at minimum, and added extra menace to his voice. By the end of his speech on their responsibilities, his expectations, and the list of rules they needed to follow to escape his wrath, they appeared sufficiently cowed that he expected little in the way of problems from them, at least not in the near future.

One of the sixth year girls approached him afterwards, though, and offered to baby-sit Harry, if he ever needed the help.

He looked the girl up and down. 'Miss Parkinson, correct?'

'Yes, Professor Snape. Rose Parkinson.'

Though his instinct was to refuse her offer, with the excuse that familiarity bred contempt, he was all too aware that, currently, only a Gryffindor – in the person of Charlie Weasley – exerted any influence on his son, and he would be shortsighted to dismiss aid from one of his own House. Thus he spoke in measured tones, 'I will consider it. I appreciate your interest.'

'Thank you, sir.' She smiled at the boy in his arms, her pug-like features softening. 'How old is he?' she asked, and Severus sighed, resigned to holding a conversation.

'Seven.'

'I have a little sister that age.' She frowned a bit. 'But he's so little,' she murmured.

Severus snorted. 'Don't let his size fool you; he's quite a terror when up and running.'

The girl laughed. 'Pansy is as well.' She looked over her shoulder to where some of her year mates were gathered, watching her and waiting. 'I should go; Prefect stuff, you know? But thank you, Professor.'

With a muttered hmmph, Severus left his Snakes and returned to his quarters, knowing he'd lost something in the interaction with Parkinson, but unsure exactly what.

---

Harry's nightmares were horrid, and neither of them got much sleep that night. In the morning, the boy was clingy and fretful, and Severus despaired of getting either of them to breakfast on time. Finally, he had to call in both Nelli and