𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹 || 𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗦𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟖.

As the next couple days passed, Snape and Harry fell back into their normal routines. Harry was becoming quite the crawler and Snape was realizing more and more his inability to effectively discipline the tiny boy. The exception came early one morning when Snape and Harry were in the living room, playing with blocks. Snape sat with his back against the couch, mentally going through the contents of his potions cupboard to assess whether or not he needed to restock anything and keeping an eye on Harry.

Just as Snape had come to the decision that, yes, he would need to get some more powdered wormwood soon if he was going to assign the Reflexis potion to the next day's fourth years, a block hit him in the chest.

"Don't throw, Harry," Snape said, shaking his head. No matter how many times Snape instructed Harry on this point, it always seemed to slip the little boy's attention. True to form, Harry paid no mind and continued throwing blocks. Snape fixed him with a stern look, but this too did not dissuade Harry. Suddenly one of his missiles hurtled through the air and to the glass end table by Snape's armchair, shattering a cup which had been resting upon it.

While Harry's reaction to this was wonder and delight, Snape's was quite the opposite. As Harry went to pick up another block to throw, Snape grabbed Harry's wrist.

"Stop."

"No!" squealed Harry, reaching out and hitting Snape on the nose.

"We do not hit, Harry, and he do not throw," Snape said, irritation mounting. There was a mess of glass all over the carpet and red liquid had spilled on the floor. Snape realized his fault in leaving the glass out, but he'd been tired from a day of teaching the night before, and Harry knew he wasn't supposed to be throwing his toys.

Snape picked up Harry abruptly, Harry still lashing out, hitting and crying.

"Pot play!" Harry protested, kicking his little feet into Snape's side.

Snape didn't have enough hands to hold Harry and block all his blows, and was getting beyond annoyed with Harry's behavior.

He dumped Harry into his crib and, forgoing a lecture, turned and walked right out. He told himself to take deep breaths and calm down, but he was overwhelmed and the spark of irritation sitting in his chest refused to go out.

He rather unceremoniously flopped down in his chair, a headache already pounding in his temples, as Harry shouted from his crib, not calling for Snape, but insisting that he needed to play. As soon as Snape sat however, he jumped back up. A small shard of glass had stabbed him, reminding him of the mess he had to clean up. Luckily, magic made what would normally be a painstaking task of gathering up the miniscule glass shards a quick process. Snape was also able to lift the stain, but as his job was completed, his temper was still high.

Harry hadn't stopped screaming, his cries getting louder and higher in pitch, which did nothing to calm Snape's nerves. Snape sunk to the floor, surprised at how angry he felt. He truly had been starting to care for the little Potter boy, no matter how often he denied it. Perhaps too much. Perhaps he'd started to spoil Harry. After all, when he'd first taken charge of the young boy, he hadn't been this temperamental. Harry had changed, almost as much as Snape had.

A painful thought twisted into Snape's mind. Was Harry going to grow up just like his father, because Snape had been too lenient? The idea that his style of bringing up a child would lead to the same arrogance, insufferability, and cruelty that James Potter had displayed made his insides harden.

He would not let that happen. He could not bear to see someone who had become his responsibility turn into the kind of person who tormented others for amusement.

As his resolve hardened, the thought which nagged at the back of his mind, telling him to check on Harry, dissolved completely. Harry was going to learn to behave.

Snape went into his study and shut the door. He had work to do. Harry could cry. Snape had cried plenty during his childhood and he'd survived. Taking out a roll of parchment on which he'd started notes and a thick potions book, Snape began devising a new potion that he needed to test.

Stubbornness gave way to panic as Harry realized Snape was not coming in to check on him. His cries changed from those of an irritated child to those of a frightened infant. Maybe Nape just didn't know he was sad. It wasn't nap time. Why wasn't Nape coming? Harry clutched his stuffed animal, his cries subsiding for a few moments. He sucked anxiously on his fist, hiccupping from the exertion his crying had brought upon him. Tears still dripped down his chubby cheeks, as he waited. And waited.

"Nape?" Harry whispered. It was like a bad dream. Once he'd been with people who made him happy like Nape did. But then those people had gone away. Something scary had happened and the smiling faces disappeared and he was all alone. Then there were new faces. Sometimes those faces smiled, but they smiled at a different baby. They only glowered down on him. Harry began to cry again when those faces surfaced in his mind.

"Nape!" he called. But no Nape came. Was Nape going to get rid of him and give him back to those people who spoke to them in angry voices and shoved him away. Was Nape going to do what they'd done? Why didn't anybody want him?

Harry began to wail once more in earnest. And still no Nape came to lift him from his crib and rock him in the nice chair and talk to him quietly till he fell asleep. The chair stayed empty, and Harry buried his face into the owl's belly, certain that it was his only friend left in the world.