Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

those who have wished me well of late. You guys are the best, truly. A writer could not ask for truer friends.

Previously on 'Whelp II -- the Wrath of Snape':

With that look of rage, everything clicked into place. Sirius grinned at Snivellus, baring his teeth, and as the greasy git opened his mouth to cast some vicious curse at the two of them, Sirius spun on his heel and Disapparated, his godson hugged close to his chest.

Harry was safe now, with Sirius. They were both safe and happy and free.

Treacle Tart, clinging to the hem of the smelly, dirty cloth that covered the Enemy, was righteously miffed. With the Enemy and Her Boy, she spun over and over and over until she was sure she would be sick, or perhaps die. But then, suddenly, the spinning was over as if it had never been. They were in a dark, gloomy place with strange smells -- and the scent of rat! -- and crates and boxes and a big bed nearby.

Her Boy was upset. She hated for him to be upset, and when Her Boy was upset, she was always quick to action, doing first and apologizing later. Thus, as soon as she had her balance, Treacle Tart lashed out at the Enemy again, clawing the delicate skin near his eyes so that he would let go of Her Boy to protect himself.

The Enemy did drop Her Boy, but only because he batted her away again, this time harder than before, hard enough to knock her into a wall. Hard enough to hurt.

--HPSSHPSS--

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his white-furred Treacle Tart fly through the air and slap into a wall, where she lay still. 'No!' he cried. He tried getting his legs under him, but his stomach was lousy with churning and his head hurt like Uncle Vernon had taken a belt to it. He stumbled and fell to his knees, then scrambled toward his kneazle kit. 'Tree! Tree!'

'Harry,' said a man's voice, the man who had taken him from his Father, and Harry scurried even faster to get away.

He reached Treacle Tart just as the man tried to grab him again. 'Leave Tree alone!' Harry wrenched his arm out of the man's grip, and half turned to glare at him while using his body to protect Treacle from further attack. His throat felt thick, like it was full of syrup, and he could hardly breathe for fear of what this man would do to him. Was this the man everyone said killed Harry's parents? He swallowed hard, swallowing his fear, then backed up a few more inches, till his hand touched Treacle's fur. She nosed the palm of his hand, so he knew she was alive, if hurt. And the man had not killed him yet. 'Where are we? Where's my Father? What'd you do to him?'

The man crouched right in front of him. He smelled awful, as if he hadn't washed in a long, long time, as if his own uncle had chained him in the backyard. The man's scraggly beard and the hair on his head were both matted with grime, tangled in knots and nasty looking. His clothes were stained and torn, and his eyes . . . his eyes were the bluest blue Harry had ever seen, but they were wild. Crazy eyes, like a madman.

'Your father died a long time ago, Harry. That man was not your father.'

'Yes. He is.'

'No, he's not. He kidnapped you--'

'He didn't!' Harry yelled in his face. 'He rescued me, when the Dursleys were going to kill me.' He swallowed thickly and lifted his chin. 'Are you gonna kill me, too?'

'No!' The madman staggered backwards as if Harry had hit him. 'No, Harry. I'm your godfather.'

'Sirius Black.' Harry spat the name. Father had told him what Black had done, how he had betrayed Harry's parents. Black had told the Dark Lord where James and Lily were, so he could kill them, and try to kill Harry, too. His eyes stung, and he blinked back any tears before they could fall. 'You killed my Mum and Dad.'

The man shook his head and moved forward like he might try and touch Harry again. 'No. No, I didn't. It was Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew--'

'YOU KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!' Harry shrieked.

'No, no, please Harry, please, I didn't, you have to belie--'

'YOU KILLED THEM! YOU KILLED THEM! IT'S YOUR FAULT THEY'RE DEAD!'

The mad stumbled away from Harry like he was drunk. Like Harry had punched him in the gut. It felt good, so Harry screamed some more, 'THEY TRUSTED YOU AND YOU KILLED THEM AND Then--' When his throat gave out, Harry went on, yelling in scratchy tones and almost sobbing at the same time. He had never given voice to this particular anguish before, and now he could, to the one person he hated more than anyone in the whole world. 'And then the Dursleys starved me and chained me in the yard, and they beat me and broke my ankle, and they hurt me, and my Father came and he saved me. He - he adopted me, and he LOVES me, and WHERE. IS. MY. DADDY!?'

Harry then started bawling for real, for a long time, with a kneazle in his lap. The madman looked on, mouth hanging open.

--HPSSHPSS--

Severus stared at the place where his son had been a moment ago. He still held his wand in his hand, and for a brief instant, he considered the possibility of tracking an Apparation. He knew it was impossible, but then, so was the idea of SIRIUS BLACK in his house!

In the next instant, Severus had wordlessly summoned a glass wall sconce into his hand for the express purpose of throwing it at the hearth to shatter in a million pieces while he shrieked incoherently for his son. His heart was shattering. How in the world had this happened? How had that monster come inside their home and taken Harry? And where could he have gone?

Albus. Albus must know something.

Severus spun in place and grabbed a handful of floo powder to dash in the hearth. Green flames sparkled around the slivers of glass from the sconce as Severus yelled, 'ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! Wake up this moment! Albus, wake up!' He could not rage about his son being missing, not over the Floo system, which might be monitored by the Ministry, not to mention Lucius Malfoy or his minions. Thus, when Albus appeared in his view seconds later, he said only, 'What we worried about has come to pass. That . . . that foul beast has taken . . .' Here he faltered, not wanting to say 'the boy,' as Harry's execrable relatives had called him, nor could he call