Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

*Chapter 20*: Chapter 20

Whelp II -- The Wrath of Snape

Chapter Twenty

Warnings for: Language, memories of child abuse -- not graphic

Previously on Whelp II -- the Wrath of Snape:

As the two went up the couple steps to the backdoor and inside the house, Padfoot settled on his haunches in the dirt with a light sigh. He could hardly wait till tonight. He would get his godson out of this slimy git's clutches, and Harry would be safe once more, with him.

And Snivellus would not be able to come after Harry again. This time, Sirius would take him down as he should have done, ten years ago. This time, Sirius would not leave him alive.

HPSSHPSS

That evening, Harry ate his dinner quickly, so he could have extra reading time. Father said if he was ready for bed early enough, he could have two stories at bedtime, instead of just one, and then Father would let him read aloud, too, to show how much he was learning with Mrs. Weasley, or, as she liked to be called by him, Aunt Molly. Father said it was okay to call Aunt Molly that, if she said to, even if she wasn't really his aunt, and Harry didn't mind, anyway, because the woman who was really his aunt, Aunt Petunia, had never wanted him to call her anything but 'Ma'am,' and had been real angry if he called her anything else.

The one time he had really messed up, after he had fallen out of the tree while trying to prune it and hurt his arm, then called her 'Mum' when he cried for help, he had been hit over and over with a long-handled spade from the shed, then shoved into the potting shed for a week with no food or water. It had been easy to count the days in the shed, because sunlight peeked through a loose board in the roof, so he knew when a new day started. It had been awful hot in there, and he'd had to drink water from the light rain that had fallen the second night, collected in a metal can he'd dumped out which had been full of roofing nails. But he'd gone without food the whole time. Late in the week, he had eyed the spiders who made the shed a home a few times, thinking if his punishment went on too long, he could at least put something in his belly. Fortunately, Aunt Petunia had let him out of the shed and given him a slice of stale bread before he had to decide whether to eat the spiders alive, like the song about the woman who ate them to catch the fly inside her, or to kill them first instead.

Sometimes, when it rained really hard outside, his arm still hurt where he'd jarred it, in the fall from the tree.

Tonight, though, he wasn't going to think about Aunt Petunia anymore. He was going to read to his Father, so Father could see that he wasn't as stupid as the Dursleys said.

From a little blue and white book, with a blond boy sitting down for tea on the cover, Harry read the second verse of his selection, ''Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, / A rih-deck-luss--'

'Ridiculous,' Father corrected quietly.

'Rih-dick-you-luss kitten with silky fur. / And little black Pinkle grew and grew / Till he got as big as the big Tattoo. / And all that he did, he did with her. / 'Two friends to-, um, to- together,' says Pinkle Purr,'' Harry continued, glad he knew most of these words by sight, and the ones he did not, he could 'sound out' like Mrs. Weasley taught him.

The boy on the cover was called Christopher Robin, and Father had several books about him and his friends. Some of the poems and pictures in this book were about the boy's silly, old bear named Pooh, whose name Harry giggled over until Father gave him a cross look. But there were other poems, too, like this one. 'Pinkle Purr' was about a cat, and Harry liked cats, since Treacle Tart was kind of like one, except even smarter and special-er. Harry knew Treacle enjoyed reading along with him, like now. She was sitting in his lap and batting her paws at the pages when Harry tried to turn them. They were all reading together on Harry's bed, with Harry in Father's lap, while Father leaned his back against the headboard.

When he had given Harry the book several weeks ago, Father had told him that Now We Are Six was one of his own books from when he was a boy. Now it was Harry's favorite, even more favorite than the book Professor McGonagall had given him, because just last week, Father had needed to read this poem to Harry, but this week, Harry could read it to Father. He nearly burst with pride when he reached the end of the poem's last line and Father kissed the top of his head and murmured, 'Wonderful job, Harry.'

Harry grinned up at his father, and when Father squeezed him in a tight hug, Harry hugged him back. Father even smiled, too; Harry could feel his thin lips moving against his hair.

'Time for bed, child.' Father eased Harry off his lap and stood, before pulling the bedclothes up to cover Harry's legs and chest. Treacle turned around twice and settled down again, and Father kissed Harry's forehead, right next to his scar.

'I can read to you tomorrow, too, Father.'

'I know you can.' Father brushed the fringe off Harry's forehead, and Harry closed his eyes briefly, relishing the gentle touch of Father's affection. He'd never known anyone like Father before. Before Father had taken him from the Dursleys, no one had even touched him in kindness. No one had smiled at like Father did. No one had cared.

Father sat on the edge of the bed, and they spent the next few minutes on the relaxation and mind-clearing exercises to help keep Harry's nightmares away. The bad dreams had gradually been easing up. He didn't wake Father every night anymore, though when he did, it was awful. Finally, Harry covered his mouth, yawing wide enough to make his jaw creak.

Father stood. 'Good night, Harry.'

'G'night, Father.'

'Sleep well.'

'You too, Father.' Harry bit his lip for an instant, then said, 'I love you.'

The skin around Father's eyes crinkled in that way he had of smiling inside, even as his eyes darkened with emotion. His fingers brushed over Harry's fringe once again. 'I love you, too, son.'