Whelp II The Wrath of Snape

when Uncle chained me up. Hurt, 'cause it was too tight. The metal cut in my neck and hurt a lot. Left awful scabs.'

Finally the man was listening. He had stopped rummaging and was staring at the boy, gray eyes wide. 'Those bastards chained you?'

'In the back yard,' the boy agreed. 'And Ma'am,' he swallowed down the automatic fear he had of saying her name aloud and continued, while holding up his hands to show the man the scarred flesh on the backs of them and on his forearms, 'Aunt P-p-petunia, I mean, she burnted me sometimes, with hot grease if the bacon got burnted, and she put my hands on the cooker when something got dropped on their floor. It hurt bad, too, and She didn't care, and neither did He.'

'He?'

'U-u-uncle V-vernon,' the boy whispered, as if telling a secret, feeling like he was choking. His vision swam, as if Uncle was choking him like the freak he was, but he went on, 'He hates the freak. Calls him names, hits him and calls him . . .' He gulped a breath and pressed his hands into his eye sockets to hold his head together as he hunched over his stomach so no one could punch him or kick him there, and even if he couldn't recall his real name just now, he had to make the Black man understand. 'Me, I mean. He called me a freak and useless and worthless and a gutless whelp who shoulda been put down with his foul, stinking parents. He kicked me and hit me with his belt and the stick he got from the Smellings school. He's the one what chained me in the backyard after he caught me . . . he caught me--'

'Doing what?' the Black man's voice was tight.

The boy squeezed his eyes tighter shut, ashamed. 'Going through the bin, looking for food. Was hungry. Did all my chores, whitewashed the shed and pruned and swept and weeded all the beds, but Dudders messed up the patio again with his boots, and so He said th'whelp'd get nothing to eat.' The boy looked up at the Black man again, and saw tears in the man's eyes, and wondered at it, even as he felt them streaming down his own cheeks. But no one was hitting him now, and maybe the man was listening. So he went on, telling the man about other things the Dursleys had done, but that he'd told no one: about the foul blue drink Ma'am had given him that burned his throat for days and made even his vomit hurt; about the weeks spent in the cupboard, with no more than a damp towel to suck on for sustenance, and his stomach stopped growling after a while, and he couldn't move anymore; about being beaten by Dudley and his gang until he puked all over himself on the first day of school, so the other kids called him 'The Smelly Kid,' from then on; about many other instances of hurt and wanting and need.

When he stopped speaking, it wasn't because he had run out of things to say; far from it. But the Black man had tears streaming down his cheeks, and was mumbling, 'Harry, oh, Harry, I'm so sorry . . .' and the boy -- Harry -- wondered if the man had been telling the truth, not just about Sev'rus not really being his father without being given permission, but about not killing Harry's parents. Would someone so sorry about what happened afterwards have caused it to begin with?

'That's why I have to stay with Sev'rus, see?' Harry said finally. ''Cause they say I'm the whelp, and stupid. Worthless. They hate me and they'll kill me, and, and, and . . . I don't wanna die.' He swallowed around his own tears. 'But Sev'rus saved me when I was gonna, and he fixed me up and he hugs me and reads to me, and calls me his son. You can't . . . you can't make me go back to them. You have to let me stay with Sev'rus. Please.'

'No, Merlin, I don't . . .' Mr. Black looked like he was searching for words, but did not get a chance to say them before a blinding light erupted in the room.

The boy covered his head with his hands and ducked under the chair.

HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS

In the Shrieking Shack, Albus Dumbledore turned the knob on an upstairs bedroom after having checked it for magical energy. The door eased open quietly, and Dumbledore's shoulders slumped in relief when no attack came from within. But Severus Snape knew there would be no attack. He knew Black wasn't here, and knew Harry wasn't either. But Dumbledore had made them come all the same.

The Headmaster had suggested this stop first, before any others, and Snape had balked. Badly. He wanted nothing to do with the Shrieking Shack, not after what had happened to him there, little more than ten years ago. Still, when the Headmaster insisted that Black might have been able to get there with Harry, in a wandless Apparation, Snape finally agreed to check it out with him. Even though Dumbledore took the front in their search -- and would thus bear the brunt of any ambush from within the house -- Severus could do little more than count his breaths to keep himself calm, and hope they would leave this terrible place -- where Black had nearly gotten him killed by a werewolf -- soon.

Albus turned to him and shook his head. 'Alas, he is not here.'

The words soothed some of Severus' anxiety, but it was not till they were back out under the stars that he could take a full breath without feeling like his chest was in a vise. He hated this shack, and everything it stood for.

But, above all, he needed to find Harry . . .

'What is it, my boy?' Albus said quietly.

Severus stared off into the distance, southwest, if he had to put a direction on it, and shook his head, but could still hear the chant in his head. Please, Daddy; please, come help me. 'I feel . . .'

'Yes?'

Daddy! Come help me, Daddy. PLEASE COME! 'Harry's calling for me.'

'I imagine he is,' the Headmaster said, his tone soft. 'Can you hear him?'

Please, Daddy; please, come help me. Severus nodded, and his throat tightened. 'He needs me. He's scared.'

'We'll find him. I swear this to you.'

Severus darted a look at the old wizard. Dumbledore never swore anything. He knew what it was to give someone your oath. But, of course, he had not said they would find Harry alive. Always leaving a . . . Daddy! Come help me, Daddy. PLEASE! 'He's calling me,' Severus repeated. He pointed to the southwest. 'From there.'