jharad17 - Whelp

Nelli was gone.

Harry staggered several steps before he had to stop to breathe. Then he managed a couple more steps. By the time he reached the main doors to the castle, he was in a right state, shaking and tearful and ready to do anything to make his father keep him, even for just one more day.

---

Severus paced the sitting room and glanced at the clock on the mantle. Where was that infernal child? He'd sent Nelli to get him more than half an hour ago. Surely he couldn't have wandered that far afield. He should have specified, in his directions to the house elf this morning, that Harry should stay indoors today, preferably in their quarters. But he hadn't been thinking clearly, after the night's events.

Where was he?

"Nelli!" he called.

The house elf appeared, looking distraught.

"Where is my son!"

"Master Snape, sir, Master Harry is fallen outside, and his hand is hurting!"

"Show me."

Snape hurried along the corridor after the elf, his black robes billowing out behind him. He was almost at the main doors when one of them clicked open, and Harry fell inward from the breach and hit the floor with a dull thud.

His face was pasty and white, and trembles wracked his frail body. Blood had soaked the bandage on his left hand. Severus gathered the boy in his arms and ran back down the hill.

---

TBC . . .with Snape and Harry seeking healing, and the long awaited arrival of Draco . . .

A/N:Been trying since early today to get this chapter out. Better late than never, I suppose. :-) Thanks, as always, to everyone who reads and reviews, or offers commentaries or corrections or what all. You guys are the awesomest! Next chapter Monday or Tuesday.

*Chapter 20*: Chapter 20

Whelp -- Chapter 20

By jharad17

Disclaimer: I'm not blond, nor rich. 'Nuff said.

A/Nat end.

---

The Muggle hospital was white and clean and horrible. Severus sat, cradling his son to his chest in an Emergency waiting room, wanting desperately to Imperious someone just to get their attention. All around them were others as desperate as he, some with wounds caused by Muggle weapons, some suffering from falls, or on-the-job injuries, and one little boy, no older than Harry, was struggling to breathe through an asthma attack. His mother was gently solicitous of her son, but looked resigned to a long wait.

Severus had none of the paperwork necessary to actually see someone here, but a light Compulsion thrown at the receptionist kept him on the proper list. It had been over two hours already since they arrived, and Severus had done everything he could to make Harry comfortable, feeding him ice chips and mopping his brow with a cool flannel, immobilizing the injured hand, and speaking to him in soft, low tones, promising it would all be better soon.

Finally, they were called in to a curtained off area much like Madam Pomfrey's stations in the infirmary, and a nurse had him lay Harry on an adjustable bed before she took his temperature and pulse and blood pressure. Severus could have told her that all three were high, but didn't bother, as he wasn't about to explain how he knew.

When she unwound the bandage, which the child had somehow managed to get dog hair and dirt all over, and inspected the raw looking wound, she frowned. "How'd this happen, then?"

"He has night terrors," Severus said, figuring it would not help his cause to lie, not now. "And he screams, but last night he bit himself instead."

The woman looked dubious, inspecting the taping up he'd done with butterfly stitches from the Muggle First Aid box he always kept for emergencies like this. Her continued frown didn't give him much confidence.

"The doctor will be in shortly," she said at last, and left him alone again with his son.

He brushed hair off the boy's forehead, hair very much like his, and quickly conjured a new cloth to wipe away the sweat while no one was watching. Harry whimpered a little, and he leaned over, whispering, "It will be all right, Harry. Everything will be all right."

"Daddy?" Harry whispered back, his deep green eyes hardly open a crack. "Please don't go. Don't leave me."

"Never." He kissed the boy's forehead. "I never will."

---

After another two hours, they were ready to leave. Severus had received specific instructions on how to change the dressing on Harry's hand, how much of the antibiotics he was supposed to give the child, and how often, when they should return for a follow up appointment, and when to schedule the first of several surgeries. Harry had bitten clear through the tendons around his thumb, and it would require physical therapy, as well, to repair the damage.

Harry had also been referred to a child psychologist.

Aside from the medicine and dressings, however, Severus had no intention of following the rest of the "plan". There were fully qualified Wizard surgeons who could perform any operations, and between Madam Pomfrey and Madam Hooch, any physical therapy could be dealt with at Hogwarts. The psychologist was completely out of the question, although one might be worth looking into, at St. Mungo's, say.

Thus, after thanking the doctor and the nurse who had first ushered them behind the curtain, Severus Obliviated them and took Harry home.

Nelli was waiting for them, with lunch all set up and kept fresh with containment charms, and the little house elf looked positively miserable. Harry was still sleeping, as he had been, mostly, since they left Hogwarts, and Nelli's voice was quiet as she said, "Is Master Harry being all right, sir?"

"He will be," Severus said quietly. "But he will need to take it easy for a few days. No unsupervised trips outside. No running, and he'll have to be very careful of his hand." The hand in question was swaddled in several layers of Muggle bandages and a splint, so as to prevent as much movement as possible. Still, there was no sense in being careless.

Taking the child into his bedroom, Severus allowed himself to really think, for the first time, about what he had discussed with the Headmaster this morning. Harry was his and Lily's son. His , and hers , borne of that one night of compassion and empathy and -- dared he think it? -- love. And then, she had immediately run to James. The "prat." Severus had seen little of them over the next year, and only once or twice after Harry was born, and he tried to remember if Lily had been happy in her marriage, if there had been any signs at all that she wished for something -- some one -- different.

Severus removed Harry's shoes and pulled a light quilt over him on the bed. In his sleep, the boy curled into his habitual ball, cradling his injured hand close to his chest. Severus sat with him, carding fingers through the boy's fine, soft hair and watching his face, even now etched with lines of tension that no seven year old should ever have. Especially not his son.

"Was it worth it, Lily?" he whispered in the quiet. "All this pain. Was this what you wanted?" He neither expected nor received an answer. But when Harry murmured a little in his sleep, Severus began a story, to quieten him. This one began with a little boy with few friends, and the green eyed girl who captured his heart.

---

Harry woke to the soft sound of his father's voice, and he relaxed for a little while, just listening to the sound and not really hearing the words. But then he reached out with his good hand, trying to touch his father, and the voice stopped. A hand captured his and squeezed gently.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

"Mm-hm," Harry said and blinked his eyes open heavily. He yawned and tried to cover his mouth with his other hand, but it felt weird. He brought it up in front of his eyes and looked at the bandage that was wrapped from finger tips to wrist, and tried to bend his fingers, but they wouldn't bend. He looked to his father, then, and frowned at the look he saw on Father's face.