Whelp

inches away from the pointed, elfin face was the nasty chain the Muggle had put around his throat. That had to go. Now.

A number of the links, each as long and round as his thumbnail, had pierced the boy's skin and dug in. In some places, a scab had formed over the embedded links, making it impossible for him to just banish the collar unless he wanted to scar the neck horribly. Severus' gaze flicked to the child's forehead. Harry already had one scar too many.

Slowly, with painstaking patience -- the likes of which he would never had admitted he possessed -- he removed the chain collar link by link from Harry's neck. The wound bled sluggishly; the boy was rather too dehydrated for more than that. After the bone breaking and salve rubbing he had done earlier, Severus was surprised that this job caused the boy to moan and attempt to turn away from his hands.

So Severus found himself speaking in a low tone he might use with an injured bird, soft meaningless words meant only to soothe ruffled feathers. The boy seemed to hear him, though, and subsided.

At last he was done, the last link freed, the chain's clasp released and the collar removed. He healed the last wound and inspected his work, wiping sweat from his forehead. A quick cast of Temporus let him know he'd been almost four hours at work on the child. He was as weary as if he'd been dueling all that time. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed for a moment before summoning one of his own nightshirts. He shrunk it down before cautiously dressing the boy in it, mindful of the recently healed limbs. Even shrunk, the shirt swamped the boy, made him look almost like a doll. With another silent vow to pay back the Dursleys for their kindness, Severus tucked the child into the bed and pulled one of the heavier quilts up to cover him.

He considered a moment longer. He would like to leave the boy in this deep sleep a while longer, to let his body continue healing, but he knew Harry needed fluids. Not food yet, perhaps; it was possible his stomach was too small or damaged for that. But watered milk, certainly, and some broth. It had also been long enough for the Reviver potion to have worked out of his system, so a vial of pain reliever would not be amiss.

After giving Dappin instructions on what he wanted, he brought Harry out of the deep sleep to the edge of consciousness while waiting for the house elf to return. He put a hand on the boy's injured arm as he did so, to prevent any flailing, if the boy was frightened when he woke.

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TBC

*Chapter 6*: Chapter 6

Whelp -- Chapter 6

By jharad17

A/N at end

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I make no money from this. The characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I only borrow them for a brief while.

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Everything hurt. Arms, hand, back and shoulders. His neck . . . oh, God. And his ankle throbbed, the one Dudley's friend had stomped on. Not for the first time, the boy considered just not waking. But he had dreamt of the burning sun and a snake who whispered to him in the dark, and wrapped itself around his neck, coiling tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe.

He didn't want to dream any more, and he was used to pain. As he decided to face what lay ahead, and come awake, he felt a light pressure on his arm and heard gentle words encouraging him. When he opened his eyes, the man was sitting beside him. The boy could see his face, still curtained by dark, shoulder length hair. He looked weary, his mouth a thin line.

The boy averted his gaze immediately and looked at the clouds on the ceiling.

Moments later, the man helped him to sit up a bit, plumping big pillows behind his back. It hurt a lot, bones rubbing together and bruises twinging, but he knew to not make a sound. Uncle Vernon didn't like complaining, not a bit. Before he could really catch his breath, though, the man held a thin glass bottle to his lips.

'Drink up,' the man said. His voice was smooth and low, just like it had been before. 'It will help with the pain.'

Lips pressed together, the boy shook his head and kept his face turned away. He knew this game.

'Open your mouth,' the man said, a note of annoyance in his voice.

A thrill of fear went through the boy, but he knew better than to drink things offered to him when he'd been bad. Last time Aunt Petunia had told him to 'drink up,' and had given him something yellow that smelt of lemons, it had burned his throat and his stomach. He'd been sick for days, and not allowed in the house. He'd deserved it, thought. She'd said so. He shook his head again, hoping the man would not hit him for his impertinence, even though he hunched his shoulders, expecting a blow.

The man was quiet for a long time, then took the bottle away. 'I'll take a sip first, shall I?'

Surprised, Harry cut a glance at the man and nodded slowly. He watched as the man put the bottle to his mouth and drank a long pull of the thick blue fluid. After the man swallowed, he held up the bottle so Harry could see that the level of fluid was definitely lower.

'All right then?'

Gaze still on the bottle, Harry nodded and let the man hold it to his lips again. This time, before drinking, he flicked a glance at the man's face. An expression appeared there that he was unfamiliar with, at least when directed at himself. Aunt Petunia had looked at Dudley like that, though, when Dudders fell off his bike and she was cleaning his scraped knees.

Harry wasn't sure he understood that look, but when the man tilted the bottle up so he could drink, he took a mouthful. The medicine was chalky and kind of bitter. He gulped it down quick and shuddered at the taste, but it