Whelp

against his chest to prevent jarring, and stood with Harry in his arms. Though side-along Apparition was often hard on the passenger, Harry would not be up for floo travel or portkey either. It had to be done. But he would be back here soon, there was no doubt in his mind. He would return with a vengeance.

Forming an image in his mind of the sitting room at the house on Spinner's End, he Disapparated with Lily's son, and the soft echo of a crack.

--HPHPHPHPHP--

TBC: next chapter-- Let the Healing Begin!

*Chapter 5*: Chapter 5

Whelp -- Chapter 5

By jharad17

A/N: Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers! You guys rock!

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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Several things happened all at once when Severus Apparated into the sitting room at Spinner's End. The least of these was the half-stifled squeak of a surprised house elf going about her chores. The elf -- Dappin -- popped out of the room and returned a moment later with a thick blanket to cover the nearly naked child Severus was carrying. This was just as well, because the most traumatic of events was that Harry had stopped breathing.

Cursing himself in seven distinct languages, Severus summoned the blanket with the wave of one hand, while with the other he eased Harry onto the settee. He drew his wand in a quick motion and cast a complicated spell over the boy's chest and head. A blue light flared briefly in the air over Harry's body, then vanished. From Harry himself there was no response. Nothing.

'Accio Revivifier Potion!' Severus called and from down the main hall, a cabinet door slammed open and a bottle of translucent yellow fluid hurtled into his outstretched hand. He poured it down the boy's throat, or tried to, holding Harry's head up slightly. But the potion just filled his mouth and dribbled out the corners, and no amount of pressure on his throat would make him swallow.

Frantic now, Severus tried the spell again. 'Respiro Coactum!' Still nothing. Harry's lips were blue against skin bright red from exposure, but even as he watched, both lost color, changing to a waxy hue. He prodded the boy's throat with his fingers, and felt a pulse, weak and thready, but if he couldn't get the child to breathe . . . He tipped Harry on his side and let the potion spill onto the settee, completely unconcerned with the mess, then closed his eyes and lifted his wand a third time. Tracing the spell with utmost concentration, he growled the words through gritted teeth. 'Respiro Coactum! '

The blue light flared again, but faded this time, too, without affecting the boy. The heavy weight of guilt pulled Severus down into the dark part of his soul. The adrenaline of his rage at the Dursleys drained out of him, leaving him shaking, spent and boneless. He gathered the boy close and rocked him back and forth, bowing his head over the tiny, concave chest. Oh, if only he had gone to Privet Drive when Dumbledore first asked him! Perhaps the damage done to this poor boy would not have been so horrible. And why had he Apparated them? He should have walked, or taken the Knight Bus, anything! He'd known the boy would been worse off for it!

Merlin, he'd killed the child.

An ache so deep he never knew he had the capacity for it, swamped his chest, and his head swam with a million self-recriminations. He whispered over the poor, broken body, 'Oh, child. Harry, I'm so sorry . . .'

----

The darkness was comfortable, and he was without pain or want for the first time in forever. The boy rested, weary, and knew his torment was at an end. The yard was gone, and the hated leash. The sun had set, he thought, but he wasn't cold anymore. He could stay here forever, buoyed by the soft, forgiving darkness, at peace. Left alone.

A jolt of something went through him, then another, but the prickly sensation ended quickly, so he paid it no mind. He was safe here, in the quiet.

But then something eddied at the shore of the darkness, a shape blacker still. He shied away on instinct, heading for the deeper, calmer quiet of this place. The shape followed him, rippling the darkness around him like a stone tossed into a stagnant pool. Then, quite clearly, he heard a whisper of his name.

'Harry, I'm so sorry.'

Harry was his name, not whelp or boy or freak. And someone was saying it. No one had since . . . since Miss Egglestrom in day school when he'd been allowed to go. She had called him Harry and he didn't even realize she was talking to him at first, not till she'd crouched in front of him and asked if he had a hearing problem. He didn't, but she told his aunt and uncle about his eyes, after he'd squinted at her all day, and made them get glasses for him.

This voice didn't sound like Miss Egglestrom at all, though; it was lower and gruff, and kind of sad. Who could it be?

Harry wanted to open his eyes and see, then, but it was like they were glued shut. His chest started to hurt, as if it were swollen, and he couldn't breathe! The darkness, far from comforting now, reminded him of the close, smothering feel of his cupboard. But there wasn't any light at all around the edges of the door. There was no door!

Panic seized him and a wind like a hurricane whipped through the dark. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to see. Sudden warmth engulfed him, stretched his muscles and tightened his bones. His heartbeat thudded in his ears and he smelled moth balls, close by. For one long, aching moment his heart stalled. Then the warmth returned and the beat resumed.

With a little sigh, he opened his eyes.