Whelp

'You fell? Harry, that's not --'

'Why are you interrogating my son?' asked a cold voice from the doorway to the sitting room. Harry's father stood there, and Dappin stood just beyond him, wringing her hands.

'Professor Snape!' Madam Collin turned, and Harry let out a relieved breath. 'I was certainly not interrogating him. But those marks concern --'

'They are no one's concern, except for mine, and my son's.' Harry's father's face was blank, but his dark eyes snapped fire. 'I will thank you not to waylay him when I am otherwise occupied.'

'Children's welfare is my concern!'

Harry's father opened his mouth again, but the Headmaster interrupted. 'Enid, we will discuss the matter further another time. Not at present.'

Harry watched their faces from under the fringe of his hair. Madam Collin looked tense and unhappy, but then she let out a gusty sigh. 'Very well, Headmaster. May I expect a full report?'

The Headmaster, smiling, nodded. 'I believe lunch is served.' He moved into the room, having to push Harry's father in front of him, and took a seat at the table. He glanced at Harry's father, who frowned back. Something was going on, Harry knew, and it didn't feel right, but his father sat down, after helping Madam Collin into a seat beside the Headmaster.

'Everything smells wonderful,' the Headmaster said, and Harry had to agree with that. Maybe if he was really quiet, they'd let him stay in the room while they ate, and he could at least still smell everything. He concentrated on making himself small, and unnoticed, hiding behind this chair, so they'd forget he was there. But then the Headmaster looked at him directly, over his glasses. 'Why don't you sit down, Harry, and we'll celebrate your new family with a delicious dinner.'

Instead of sitting down, though, Harry looked at his father. 'I can stay?' he asked, scarcely allowing himself to hope. Though his father looked suddenly as if he'd been slapped, his face going white, except for patches of color on his cheeks, he gave a curt nod.

'Thank you, sir!' he said, and climbed into the chair. Dappin pushed it a farther in, so his face was level with the table, but he could still barely see the tops of the platters and bowls, and couldn't see his own plate except for the side. But he had a plate!

The chair shook suddenly, and he shot up into the air, then jerked to a stop. His chest was now at table level, and he could see everything! Eyes wide, he gaped at the table, and then at his father, who was just tucking something that looked like a brown pencil into his sleeve. What had happened? How had the chair gone up like that? He bit his lip hard, and looked at his plate. His father had said he could ask questions, but he knew better than to ask about how freaky things happened. Sucking in a quiet breath, he waited for the yelling to start.

But it didn't.

Instead, when he glanced up again, he saw that his father had taken his plate. Oh! No food then. Disappointed, but not surprised, he looked down at his hands and clutched them together to keep them from shaking. He wasn't really hungry; he wasn't! He'd had breakfast, after all.

'A little of everything, I think,' his father said quietly, and Harry looked at him, cocking his head to the side, not sure what he meant.

But then his father put some of the carrots on his plate, and a spoonful of beans, a slice of ham, two small potatoes, and one of the rolls. He put the plate in front of Harry as he said, 'All right then?'

Harry's mouth hung open, and he almost forgot his manners. But his father raised an eyebrow, and Harry blurted, 'Yes, sir, thank you, sir!' He grabbed one of the potatoes off the plate, and was about to cram it in his mouth when he caught his father's frown.

'Wait until all have been served, Harry,' he said very quietly, so probably only Harry could hear him.

Harry nodded and dropped the potato on his plate. 'Yes, sir.'

In an even softer tone, his father continued, 'And use the silver.'

'Yes, sir.'

His father offered him a small smile, and Harry basked in it for a moment. When he looked at the silver, though, his stomach tightened. There were two of everything: forks, knives, spoons. Which was he supposed to use? Instead of ask, though, he watched his father, after everyone was served from the bowls and platters, as he picked up his outermost fork and used it on his carrots. Harry followed suit and took his outermost fork, too. Noting what he'd done, Harry's father winked at him covertly, and Harry gave him back a little smile.

'Harry,' his father said, while Harry stabbed at carrots with a fork gripped tight in his fist, 'now that you're my son, do you want my surname as well?'

Harry frowned. 'Surname? You mean 'Snape'?'

'Yes.'

'I'd be Harry Snape?'

'Harry James Severus Snape, actually. If you are amenable.'

He remembered what 'amenable' meant. It meant, if he wanted to. Harry nodded quickly. 'Yes, sir, um, Father,' he corrected, remembering that, too. Finally spearing a bite of carrots, he scooped it into his mouth before it fell off. They were tangy and juicy and really, really yummy. He chewed, swallowed and nodded again. 'I'm 'menable.'

When his father gave him a smile that reached his eyes, he felt sure he could fly.

Late in the afternoon, after Madam Collin had gone with all the papers his father had been signing, Harry drowsed on the settee in the sitting room, head back, feeling pleasantly full. The Headmaster was still there, talking with his father. The Headmaster was in the overstuffed chair by the fire, and Harry's father perched on the other end of the settee. Their voices were quiet, and lulled his eyes closed. His chin bobbed against his chest several times before he felt someone lift him up, and settle him on a lap.