Whelp

Severus felt cold all over and held the boy more tightly. Lily. He'd dreamed of his mother's death. 'It's all right,' he murmured.

'S'not all right,' the boy argued. 'She's dead, and I never got to know her.'

'No,' Severus said. 'No, you never did.'

After that, there was some more back patting, and Dappin brought them cocoa, which the boy said he'd never had before in his life but pronounced 'Brilliant!' and then tucking in again. Severus left a small ball of light, about the size of a Remembrall on the side table, which Harry could watch as it flowed through various colors, if he wanted.

'Try to sleep again, though,' he told his son as he started to shut the door. 'Tomorrow will be a busy day.'

'Father!' the boy called. 'Please . . . leave it open?'

Severus nodded and did so, making sure his own was open a bit, too, when he returned to bed, in case the boy sought him out during the night. The rest of the night passed fairly uneventfully, although Severus got up several more times, just to make sure the boy was all right, one time needing to cover him up properly, as all his bedclothes had been kicked off.

In the morning, he sat on the edge of the bed, still tired, and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. How comfortable he'd become in such a very short time with the idea that Harry was his son now. Smiling faintly, he performed his morning ablutions and met the boy as he was coming down the narrow stairs to the sitting room. The boy was in the clothes he'd worn yesterday, though without the robes, and his dress shoes clacked menacingly on the steps.

'Clothes, today,' Severus announced, looking the boy up and down. 'Directly after breakfast.'

Harry's eyes widened, but he said nothing except, 'Yes, sir.'

Severus' lips thinned, but he nodded once and led the way to the dining room where breakfast was already laid out. Once the child settled himself in a chair, Severus lifted it for him like he'd done before. Instead of looking horrified, this time Harry laughed with glee as the chair shot up, even though his fingers closed spasmodically on the arms of the chair. It was the first time he'd heard the boy laugh, and Severus resolved he wanted to hear the sound more often.

Harry looked over the table, naked hunger in his eyes, but did not reach for a single scrap. Severus picked up the platter of eggs and served a helping to himself, and Harry watched, eyes flicking from platter to spoon to plate and back in nervous anticipation. 'Would you like eggs, Harry?'

The boy bit his lip rather than answer right away, and Severus cursed himself immediately. From his invasion of those Muggles' insect-like minds, he knew that same question – if answered in the affirmative, particularly – had almost always been jeered in response, by Harry's relatives. 'Too bad, then, that you've been a horrid little boy and aren't getting any,' from his aunt, and, 'Only if there's any left after I'm done, right Mummy?' from the cousin.

So . . . 'Have some eggs, Harry,' Severus said, covering the awkward silence, and scooped a generous helping onto the boy's plate.

Harry gazed up at him with such adoration it made his heart lurch. 'Thank you, sir.'

'And bacon,' and he popped three strips onto Harry's plate as well. 'Toast, too.' Two pieces of buttered toast followed, filling the plate.

'Thank you, sir!' Harry said again. He picked up his fork -- again in his fist, they were going to have to work on table etiquette soon -- but waited patiently for Severus to finish serving himself and lift his own fork.

'It's all right, Harry. You may eat now.'

It took no more than that for the boy to cram the bacon in his mouth, with his other, forkless, hand, making it disappear faster than Severus would have ever thought possible, as if he were still sure that it would all be taken away. And, from the memories of his relatives, he knew it had been. Still . . . 'Slow down, child. The food isn't going to vanish.'

Looking chastised, Harry paused briefly with a second forkful of eggs only an inch from his mouth. The fork trembled as the boy eyed Severus, like he was waiting for the signal to start again.

'I just don't want you to be sick, Harry,' Severus told him. 'If you eat too fast, you will be.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said, and ate the eggs, actually managing to chew once before swallowing.

Severus suppressed a sigh. Manners would come better once the child wasn't so afraid of not being able to eat at all, he supposed. Until then, he could just avoid looking at Harry whilst at the table.

After breakfast, Severus showed the boy the rest of the house, including the kitchen, where Harry seemed rather too cheerful looking at where pots and pans and cleaning supplies were kept, much to Severus' dismay. And in the garden, he had to remind the boy that he was not a house elf, again, and would not be expected to do any gardening, but to play.

The image of the boy cocking his head to the side as if Severus had uttered a foreign word when he said 'play' would stay with Severus forever. He recalled his own childhood, never a fond recollection at the best of times, which had been almost unremittingly gloomy and forlorn. Almost. This child . . . for him, the word 'play' was foreign, but Severus vowed it would not always be so.

Thus, directly after they visited the clothier and had Harry measured and fitted for shirts, trousers, short trousers, pants, socks, sleepwear, shoes and robes, in various colors and levels of decorum, they toured the toy store next door, and Severus told Harry to pick out a few items. He watched the child's face as they went through the establishment, and the look of wonder as Harry took in all the magical toys and their noises and flapping wings and exhortations to 'Play with me!' was pure gold.

Harry did not touch anything, but his gaze lingered on several toys that, when Harry tried to select toys that were small and inexpensive -- cheaply made, too, if Severus were to be honest -- with the obvious hope that if he didn't ask for more, that he'd at least get a little, Severus shook his head and led the boy back to their aisles. In no uncertain terms, he told Harry to take the brightly painted, fully functional flaming set of Romanian dragon figurines, the bag of blue and green gobstones, and lastly, the child's starter broom.

He imagined by the end of a week, he'd likely have cause to regret all the purchases, but for the moment,