Snips And Snails And Puppy Dog Tails Title:Snips And Snails And Puppy Dog Tails
Authors: sevs_lil_secret and unbroken_halo
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company belong to JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is meant.
Summary: A summer day at the Wolffe house in Echo, sometime in May of 1935. Marion and Damon hold down the home front while John is serving their country in Germany.
Warnings: evil swans and a naughty little boy
AN: Is it really any wonder Grant has had his hands full all these years?
Snips And Snails And Puppy Dog Tails
Marion Wolffe stood in the kitchen of the farmhouse she shared with her husband when he was home and their now eight year old son. She'd wheeled the new Maytag washing machine over to the dry sink where she could scrub truly dirty items and run the drain hose out the window. The young mother watched her son playing out in the yard, chasing chickens as he screamed he was Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers... some one of those nickel show heroes.
She began to unload the pockets of her boy's overalls, when she ran her hand in on something cold and slimy. Marion threw the things across the kitchen and screamed, "Damon Nolan Wolffe get in here this instant!"
Damon froze when he heard his mother's voice... and she had used all three names so he knew he was in trouble. He let the evil, biddy hen, chicken pod that he had just caught go and ran up to the house making certain to wipe his feet on the doorframe before stepping into the kitchen. He looked up at his mother and blinked blue eyes at her. "Yes, Mama?" He rocked on his heels and put his dirty hands behind his back.
Turning her blue eyes on her boy, she just pointed at the heap of brownish mud covered denim in the corner. "Get whatever you've got in your pockets out of them, Damon. How many times do I have to tell you to empty your pockets out? I ought to send you to bed early and not let you listen to the Dodger's game tonight on the wireless," she said as she watched her mischievous boy tramp barefooted across her kitchen floor.
Shaking her head, she drew her wand and waved it over the muddy footprints and the child's feet. At least they'd be clean for a few moments.
Damon wrinkled his brow and picked up the short pants in question. His tongue slipped out as he tried to remember what he had left in the pockets and stuck his hand down into the holes in question. He pulled his fingers out and opened his hand to reveal nothing but more mud and one stone in the middle of the slimy cold mess. "Oh. It's a bezoar, Mama. I saved it for you. Tinklebell coughed it up yesterday." He held out the little stone to her.
Chuckling to herself about her son's odd sense of chivalry, Marion reached down and plucked the round stone from her little boy's hand. "Thank you Damon, that was very thoughtful of you. Not many boys your age would have thought to look for one," she said and bent down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.
Bezoars always came in handy when you were raising a little boy that wasn't afraid to put anything in his mouth on a dare. She gave the newest one a quick once over with a damp cloth before she dropped into the small mason jar with about four others. Marion supposed John had been right when he said they needed to keep goats.
"Go on out and play until it's time to do your chores Damon and then we'll have supper after," she said as she ushered the little boy back out the kitchen door to terrorize more barnyard creatures.
Damon ran for the fields stopping every now and again to hiss at one of the barn cats. He chased a stripped tabby up the old oak tree and rounded the corner of his Father's wood shed. He carefully opened the door and got the bucket to feed the hens he had been trying to capture earlier. He dragged the metal pail across the dirt floor and then filled it with the chicken scratch and tugged it to the door once more.
As he made his way over to the chicken coop he turned to find that the bucket had a hole in it and there was now a trail of chicken feed from the wood shed to where he had stopped. So much for getting his chores done early and getting out of trouble. The ducks, the old goose and several of the songbirds his mother put out suet for were lined up along the ground eating the hen's food. Damon pulled his sling shot out of his back pocket and bent to carefully pick up a small clod of dirt. He eased his way around and to aim at the big goose. It had chased him just yesterday from the pond while him and Seth had gone looking for frog spawn. He would get his revenge on the evil, mean bird right now. He pulled back on the piece of rubber and then let the dirt fly.
The goose honked loudly as the clod hit home right on its brown tail feathers then it took flight. Damon laughed, took up the pail again and began dragging it back to the hen house. What he didn't see was the clod break and hit the big white swan that had been behind the goose.
Hearing a ruckus and then "Mama!", Marion hurried to the kitchen door to find her son attempting to fend off the big male swan that had him cornered between the hen house and fence. The bird flapped its impressive wings and snaked its head out once more, catching her Damon in a fierce bite on his arm.
Marion was out the door, down the steps and across the yard with a broom in no time flat. Her baby needed her. She cocked the broom back over her shoulder like Staff and let fly with a swing that caught the bird in its belly and sent it a good fifteen feet.
Brandishing the broom at the swan once more, she turned to the upset boy. "Damon, honey, are you alright? Show Mama where it got you," she said as she pulled him to her and hugged him close.
Damon clung to the older woman trying not to cry out at one; being nipped by the swan and two; for not paying attention and letting the swan get him. He sniffled softly and pulled away from her and showed her his arm. The swan had gotten him three times before he had called out to her while trying to load his slingshot to fend off the bird.
He scowled and pointed with his other hand as the bird started to make its way towards then again. He bent, picked up the slingshot and a rock this time and reared back to launch the rock at it this time. "Damn evil sumbitch." He muttered one of his Da's phrases and let the rock fly.
Marion grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a good shake. "Young man, you know better than to use language like that, or that contraption. Hand it over," she demanded of the sulky boy. She snatched the sling shot and rock from his hand, stuffing the sling shot in her apron pocket before slinging the rock at the advancing goose.
"Get now, before I turn you into a pillow!" she snapped as she clapped her hands at the bird to send it scurrying. She turned to Damon with her hands on his hips.
"Young man, take yourself to the woodshed, you know better than to use a vulgarity," she said and watched as he kicked at the dirt. Inside she was sighing, she hated whipping the boy, but John was in Germany and someone had to keep Damon in line, she couldn't let him run wild over the mountain.
Damon sighed as he made his way over to the woodshed. "Da calls it that all the time." He muttered softly. He hadn't done anything wrong except exact revenge on the swan. He leaned up against the back on the shed, looked up at his mother and blinked as tears filled his blue eyes.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she followed her boy over, opening the door to the small building and taking out the old leather belt that John kept on the back of the door for discipline.
Marion looked at Damon and tried not to cry herself at what she was about to do. "Turn around and drop your pants Damon," she said as calmly as she could, trying not to see his tears.
Damon sniffled a little louder this time and did as she asked, unbuckling his overalls slowly. As the denim hit the ground he howled loudly even though she hadn't even touched him yet.
Gritting her teeth at the wailing, she took him by the shoulder and stood to one side of him. "Three swats for that language Damon or one swat and no ballgame tonight. Which one do you chose?" she asked the belt feeling like it weighed a ton in her hand.
Damon cut off his wailing and looked over his shoulder at his mother. He bit his lip and he closed his eyes. "Three." He said softly and leaned forward against the woodshed, braced for the impact of the strap.
"So be it," she said and delivered three quick swats with the belt, leaving faint red marks on the boy's tanned bottom.
Damon bit his lip and clenched his fists as the swats were delivered, gasping slightly in shock because she had actually given him all three. When she stepped away from him he bent and pulled up his denims and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Mama,” he said softly turned and flung himself at her.
She held her son close to her and stroked his blond hair. "I know you are, baby, now let's go finish feeding the animals so we can have some supper, alright?" she said soothingly before she fastened his straps and led him back around the woodshed where she hung the belt back up.
Damon ran ahead of her opening the door to the chicken coop and tossing his hands into the nests to see if there were any eggs they missed this morning. He chased them away from the door when his mother finally got to the hen house and began spreading out the feed for them.
He ran off again from her and kept a wary eye out on the swan as he fed the ducks and the geese. He left the birds alone and took off for the barn pulling out the milking stool for his mother, knowing she'd catch up with him and then standing on the second smaller stool to get down the pitchfork to scrap off some hay into the horse and cow's stalls.
Marion followed along in the wake of the small blond tornado, a small basket over one arm with several eggs in it that she would fix for breakfast. Smiling as she saw Damon had already set out her stool, she took the tin pail over and began to milk the old Guernsey that kept them in milk and butter.
"Thank you Damon, you do such a good job of being the man of the house when your daddy is away," she praised as she finished the evening milking and nodded to the egg basket. "Would you carry that for me?"
Damon grinned a big toothy grin at her and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am." He grabbed the basket and wrapped his little arms around it and walked slowly to the house, stopping to look back at his mother as if to hurry her along.
Marion smiled at her son, thinking how he looked more and more like John with each passing day. "Don't forget it's bath night Damon, so you'll need to start filling the wash tub for me, alright?" she reminded him as she climbed the porch steps and entered the kitchen to strain the milk.
She looked at the full washing machine and groaned, she'd forgotten all about the laundry. With a little smirk, she drew her wand and muttered a few charms and piles of clean folded laundry were on the kitchen table. Marion knew John preferred her not to magic the housework... but he wasn't here, now was he?
Damon giggled at his mother. "I'm gonna tell Da." He sing songed and skipped out of the room then returned dragging the big silver tin tub with him. He moved it over by the sink and looked at her with wide eyes. "You aren't going to stay and watch are you?" He held tight to the straps of his overalls and rocked on the balls of his feet.
Marion finished straining the milk and looked down into the indignant little face, with a smile, she swirled the tip of her wand in the bath water, heating it gently. "Damon, I'll wash down to 'there' and up to 'there', but I'll trust you to wash 'there'. Is that a deal?" she asked as she took the straps from his hand and let the denim clothes drop before she picked up a wash cloth and a bar of lye soap. "Now get in."
Scowling, Damon placed one hand over 'there' and the other on the side of the big wash tub and climbed in. He sat down in the heated water and glared at his mother. "You promise?"
"Yes Damon, I promise," she said with a weary laugh. She dumped a bowl of water over his head and began to scrub his hair, rinsing it from clean water in a bucket next to the tub. Soon she had him as clean as she could get him and she lathered up the washcloth once more and handed it to him. "There, now you do the rest before you rinse and get out. I'll set your pyjamas on the chair."
She stepped away from her too grown up little boy, setting his cotton pyjamas out for him before she left the kitchen.
Damon waited until the swinging door had stopped moving before standing up and cleaning himself. He rinsed off quickly, shivering in the cool evening air. He towelled off and slipped on his pyjamas then yelled out to his mother. "Okay, Mama." He bounced on his feet and waited for her to come back in then remember his chore. "What's for supper?" He started to drag the wash tub over to the back door so the water could be emptied out.
Marion returned to the kitchen in time to banish the water from the heavy tub. "We are just going to have corn bread and milk Damon, something light tonight. If you like, you can have a slice of pie afterwards."
The young mother busied herself with the simple meal, it was too hot to cook anything heavy, despite it being late May. "Why don't you go turn on the wireless so we can listen to the pre game show," she suggested to her son. She didn't really like the game, but her husband and son had a passion for it and she loved to see them both happy.
"Chocolate?" Damon licked his lips, grinned and threw his arms around his mother's waist then quickly let go of her and ran to the sitting room. He climbed up on the sofa and turned on the radio, listening to the announcer's voice for a moment then he ran back into the kitchen, propping the swinging door open with a chair to let the sounds in. He pulled another chair over to the cabinet and stood on it carefully to get the plates and glasses down out of the cabinet.
"Just bowls Damon," she called out as she cut a large square of sweet cornbread from the pan to crumble in his dish.
Marion took the bowls from him and filled each one with the bread and then topped them with fresh milk and cream. "Would you like some sugar on yours?" she asked as she set one at each place at the table and waited for him to sit down. She poured him a glass of milk as well.
"Yes Ma'am." Damon got two spoons from the drawer and handed one to his mother then sat down at the table. He leaned over the bowl smelling the sweet fresh cornbread then bent even further and slurped up the frothy milk.
She sugared his bowl and shook her head at his manners, but didn't have the heart to scold him. They listened together to the radio as they ate and laughed at the commentary of the radio personality.
After they finished, she did up the few dishes and they went to sit out on the front porch to listen to the ball game and the crickets sing. "We should be getting a letter from your daddy soon," she said during a commercial break.
Damon crawled up into his mother's lap and nodded then yawned greatly. He covered his mouth as an after thought and laid his head on her chest listening to the steady heartbeat. "When is he coming back?" He asked sleepily as he reached down with his legs to set the porch swing to swaying then pulled his long limbs back up under him.
"Daddy will be home in two months Damon, before you start back to school most likely," she said softly as she rocked him. "You know he'll be out soon and home all of the time, won't that be wonderful?"
Damon looked up at her and nodded then laid his head back down on her and played with the pockets on her apron. "Do I have to go back to school?"
"Yes you do. Do you think we're going to let you run wild all over West Virginia?" she asked with a laugh as she stroked her son's back. "I think it's bed time, my darling little man." She stood up with him in her arms and opened the screen door to carry him in.
"You'll have to go up the stairs on your own, I can't carry you up them, you are getting too big," she said gently as she set him on his feet and went to turn off the radio.
Damon pouted and trudged up the stairs to his room. He flung the bedroom door open and went to the tank by the window. He poked at the grindylow and fed it then wiped his hands on his pyjamas. He pulled the top off of his chest and then climbed up onto the big feather tick mattress and scooted under the blankets from the end of the bed and lay sprawled completely under the covers. He sighed and pulled the pillow under the blankets as well and rubbed his face in the clean fresh scent.
Marion followed him up as she turned out all the lights and locked the doors, she paused in his doorway, smiling down at the wriggling under the blankets. She walked into the little boy's room and sat down on the edge of his bed, one hand on his back to rub his shoulders until he went to sleep.
"Did you have an exciting day, my Damon?" she asked as she did every night when she tucked him in. "Do you have plenty to do in your dreams tonight?"
Damon mumbled under the blankets and settled down as his mother rubbed his back. He sighed and stuck one hand out to pat her leg then vanished under the blankets once more. "Night, Mama."
"Good night Damon, sweet dreams," she said and leaned down to press a kiss to the blanket covered lump. She turned the light off as she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Merlin only knew what adventures he'd find come morning.