Sitting lightly on the edge of the window sill, Harry touched his throat carefully, but the chain was gone, just like the other times he'd checked. Master Snape had healed his neck, probably, like he'd done with all the rest. Harry knew he'd have to earn that out, too. Medicine was not for worthless little whelps, Aunt Marge always said, that should've been drowned at birth. He ought to be grateful he got anything at all.
Turning back to the room, he decided to make the bed, and then he could get dressed. But he didn't know where his clothes were, hadn't seen them since he woke up. Maybe they were being laundered? Maybe he could ask Dappin for them; she probably knew.
It took a little while to make the bed, as it was almost taller than he was, but he finally got the pillows in order, and the quilts smoothed out and straightened. He was just reaching for another of those cloths when the door opened and Master Snape stood framed in the space.
"Good, you're up. Hungry?"
"Yes, sir, um, I mean, yes, Father."
Harry's father actually smiled, and the darkness in his eyes softened. He was dressed in day clothes again, but none like Harry had ever seen. Like a housecoat, except longer and thicker, this one was dark green with black piping at the edges. "Come downstairs then, and Dappin will have breakfast ready for us." He waited in the hallway for Harry to follow him, and when Harry reached the door, he added, "We'll need clothes for you, for the ceremony today. And in general, too, but especially for today."
"Yes, Father, but, um . . ."
"What is it?" Father asked as they reached the top of the stairs.
"Clothes are expensive, and I'm not--"
"You let me worry about clothes, Harry," his father said sharply, and Harry made himself nod.
"Yes, sir." Harry hunched his shoulders. He'd made his Father angry, and they hadn't even done the ceremony yet.
The silence stretched on for a long moment, before his father spoke again. "Let me help you down the stairs. That ankle shouldn't be walked on."
Harry looked at the tall, lanky man who was going to be his father. He stood with his arms out, as if he expected Harry to go to him, but Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, really. Biting his lip, he stood, undecided and still worried about what his father would do, now that he was angry. The man stepped toward him, and without even thinking about it, he backed away.
"Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to carry you downstairs." This time his voice was soothing, not harsh at all, and maybe a little sad. Feeling stupid and embarrassed, Harry turned his face away.
"Would you rather eat in your room?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Please."
"Very well. Go on back in, and I'll let Dappin know."
"Yes, sir," Harry said again, and returned to the room alone.
---
TBC . . .
A/N: Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! You guys are wicked cool. And motivational! And deserve chocolate!
Didn't get to the ceremony in this bit. Sorry 'bout that. But it'll be in the next one. If you're having trouble getting the story on as they seem to have had protracted problems the last couple days, you can find it on Potions & Snitches, under my same user name: jharad17. Happy reading!
*Chapter 10*: Chapter 10
Whelp – Chapter 10
By jharad17
A/N at end
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was mine, never will be mine.
-----
Severus paced the dining room, downstairs, wrestling his temper back under control. He wasn't angry with the boy, but with himself. What was he thinking to have towered over the lad, when the boy had obviously come to fear those bigger and more powerful than he? And the look of terror in Harry's eyes when Severus has moved toward him . . . it cut him to the quick.
Doubts swelled again about this course of action. He'd spent a restless night, pouring over all the ways this adoption could turn out horribly. He'd reminded himself, again, that he had no idea of how to raise a child, especially one with such a history as the Boy Who Lived. He'd anguished over whether he would truly be able to put aside his loathing for the child's natural father, and treat Harry as his own son. Would he grow to resent the boy, as his own aunt and uncle had done? And what of Harry? He had no idea what he was getting into. How could he, at so young an age? He was so quiet, fearful, and at the same time, almost stoic and resigned. It was haunting, really.
But the more his doubts swirled, the more he realized Albus was right. He could not let the boy go back to his relatives, even if he did hate the machinations of the elderly Headmaster that forced this other choice upon him. He wondered, though, what Albus was thinking, truly? Hadn't he loved Lily enough to take her only son into his family? Did it all come down to a former Death Eater and spy?
None of these thoughts were conducive to settling his temper, so Severus spent another few minutes emptying his mind. When he was ready, he called Dappin and told her to bring them breakfast upstairs in Harry's room.
"Then I will need you to go to Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley," he told her. "Harry needs clothes appropriate for a formal ceremony today. Dress robes in blue. Have her put a Sizing spell on them and mark the cost down to my Gringott's account."
"Yes, Master Snape, sir." The diminutive elf bowed low and disappeared to the kitchen, presumably, with a POP.
After another minute of pacing, Severus could not justify staying away from the boy – or breakfast – any longer, and he headed back upstairs.
Harry was back on the bed, looking down at his hands, which were folded primly in his lap. He had the air of one who was resigned to a particularly unpleasant fate, and did not look up when Severus entered the room.
"Harry?"
Still the boy stared at his hands, but his shoulders hunched the slightest bit. Slowly, Severus moved closer to the bed, but was careful to remain more than an arm's length away. "Won't you look at me?"
"Not 'lowed," the boy whispered.
"You are allowed to, here. I'd prefer it, actually, if you looked at me, especially when I am speaking to you."
The boy's hands were trembling, and then he clenched them into tiny fists, as though trying to keep his fear from showing. And why should he not be afraid of you? Severus berated himself again. After the way you growled at him. "Please, Harry. Look at me."
Harry hesitantly lifted his gaze, though his head was still lowered somewhat, peering through the unruly fringe of hair that covered his forehead and bright green eyes. Lily's eyes, he realized with a pang. Lily's eyes, looking already older than even he felt on some of his worst days. What had the boy been through, beyond the terrors of the latest treatment, for such a haunted look to imprint upon his mien?
"Thank you," he said to the boy. Then, "I'm sorry, Harry, for frightening you earlier."
"I wasn't –" The boy cut off his own protests and looked away, and Severus felt a surge of anger in his chest, at the boy's relatives who had reduced the Savior of the Wizarding World to such a state.
"It's all right, Harry." He tried to keep his voice – and bearing – as non-threatening as possible, and the boy nodded slowly, but didn't turn back to him, as his hands twisted together on his lap.
He was saved from having to say anything more by the appearance of Dappin with a breakfast tray. The house elf settled it on the table by the bed, and from there, Severus handed out food to himself and the boy. Harry and he each had a bowl of porridge, though the boy had a half-sized portion. Severus had coffee to Harry's juice, and there was a platter of lightly buttered toast for the two of them to share. Fresh strawberries and blackberries rounded out the meal.