“I don’t want it!” the boy wailed, throwing his arms over his face and shaking his head in emphatic refusal.

Harry had never been in hospital before, and he was finding the experience increasingly frustrating. Mostly, it was extremely boring, as he needed to lie on the bed, resting all day long, and afterwards it was evening, and he had to go to sleep! The first day wasn’t so bad as he kept dozing off anyway, but as his energy gradually began to return, the forced bed rest started to gnaw away at his patience.

Father was getting annoyed as well, every time the healer came over, his face would darken with a fearsome scowl, and he would fold his arms tightly across his chest, grinding short responses out through clenched teeth when necessary. They didn’t argue in front of the boy after that first time, but the tension between the two adults was so palpable, that it left him shaking with nerves. Harry instinctively knew that father would eventually snap, and take his anger out on him.

Among the myriad of small and large frustrations, the worst were the medications that the healer prescribed for him. Every four hours, a chatty medi-witch would bring a tray of four tiny vials that contained the most foul-smelling, vomit-inducing substances in existence, and he was supposed to drink them all with a smile on his face and a thank you!

Then, there was the pain that bloomed out of nowhere, making him shake and whimper as his entire body seemed to burn from the inside out. It came on mostly late in the afternoons, and father would rock him in his lap, telling the boy stories in a soft, calming voice as they waited for the healer to approve another dose of pain potion. Harry both dreaded and looked forward to these awful attacks, only when it was hurting like that, father treated him so gently and he could almost believe that he was wanted and loved.

Invariably, the throthing green potion which tasted like ice would arrive, and father would send it straight into his stomach with a spell. The boy sometimes pretended that it still hurt, just to be held for a little longer, but his body got so mellow and relaxed that the man didn’t believe his act.

“Go to sleep, Eliot,” father said sternly, tucking the covers around the child securely.

Harry sighed regretfully, he closed his eyes obediently, and listened as the man walked out of the room. This was always the same pattern, and he knew that father went to argue with the healer, and in the morning they would be even colder towards each other.

The spaniel girl was discharged after two days, good as new except that now she could do her half-transformation at will rather than accidentally. A teenage boy took her place, he was awfully dodgy, refusing to say how half of his face melted off, even when the policeman came asking questions. The boy’s father was a rotund man with narrow eyes, he reminded Harry of uncle Vernon so much that he cringed every time the man shouted at his son. Fortunately, he only stayed for a few minutes at a time, not all the time like his father did. The burned boy only stayed overnight, and went home with an ugly scar across his nose and cheek, but nobody was saying when he could go home, and he was getting frustrated by that fact!

On the fourth day, Harry was sitting against the bed frame, amusing himself by drawing figures on a piece of yellow parchment. Last time he visited, grandfather had brought him coloured pencils that were charmed so that whenever he finished drawing, the boy’s picture would become animated. Harry had already drawn the vampire man, and the moment he lifted his pencil the figure folded its hands and scowled at him, in a similar manner to the actual man. The boy really worried that he’d get in trouble for that, but father merely snorted at his likeness, and shook his head.

He was drawing grandfather, thinking how nice it was to have gotten a present, when before he’d only ever gotten anything for Christmas, and never toys but necessities like clothes or school supplies. Dudley always had piles of gifts for his birthday, but Harry’s were overlooked by everyone. Wasn’t his birthday coming soon? He started counting in his head, the Dursleys left on holiday on the 25th, so his birthday should be to-, he gasped aloud! If he had been sleeping for five straight days, then he had turned seven years old before he even woke up!

The boy’s chin wobbled in distress, every year he marked his birthday by gifting himself with a pretty rock or an unusual leaf, he couldn’t believe that he missed the special day this year! Harry was so upset by having slept through his birthday that he was cranky and irritable for the rest of the day, making his father even more snappish than usual.

“I don’t want it!” the boy wailed, throwing his arms over his face and shaking his head in emphatic refusal. He didn’t want any more stupid, disgusting concoctions, he wanted to go home! Aunt Petunia would never make him drink stupid medicine, and he didn’t need it anyways! He was perfectly fine!

“That’s enough, Eliot!” father shouted for the fifth time, grasping the boy’s wrists and pulling them away from his face. “You’ve been impossible today!”

The man held the child around the middle with one hand, and delivered a hard smack to his seat with the other.

“You’ll drink the damn potions, or so help me, boy!” he ordered harshly, a vial was pressed to his lips, and Harry almost gagged at the foul stench.

He struggled, angry tears filling his eyes, he managed to free one hand and knock the little container away from himself. It shattered on the floor, sending black sludge spraying everywhere.

“NO!” the boy raged, not caring that he was making a horrible scene, he wouldn’t drink any more nasty potions. Ever! “I won’t! You can’t make me!”

Suddenly, father took a step back from him, and Harry blinked his eyes clear, astonished that he wasn’t being punished yet. The man was pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and his jaw was clenched so hard that the boy was sure his teeth would break.

“Father?” the boy asked in a whisper, scared that he had pushed the man too far.

The man inhaled deeply, as if he was trying to restrain his failing temper, he picked up a second vial, the yellow one for inflammation, removed the cork and wordlessly held it out to the child.

Harry swallowed, meeting the cold gaze of the man with apprehension, he had just sworn never to do it again, but as he stared into icy blue eyes of his father, any more defiance was impossible. The boy’s hand shook as he brought the vial to his lips, this potion was oily, it smelled like petrol and was so bitter that his tongue went numb as he choked it down. He set the vial down with a grimace, usually, at this point father would give him some water to clear the taste from his mouth, but today he only held out the next vial for him to take. The boy whimpered as he opened his mouth for the blood-red potion that made his body produce more blood, it made his stomach roil with nausea and he had to fight not to throw up. The last one was the throthing green potion for pain, and the boy shuddered as the icy liquid travelled into his stomach.

“Wait here,” father said coldly. “I need to fetch another dose of Cleansing Solution for you, and then we will discuss your behaviour, child.”

Harry stood rigidly next to his bed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, he could see in father’s expression that he was in huge trouble. The man’s words had been so frigid that they made him shiver, and his eyes filled as he realised just how horrendously rude he had been.

“Here,” father’s reappearance made him flinch, and his hand trembled so badly when he clasped the last vial that the man had to help guide it to his lips lest it be spilled.

The black potion tasted like rotten leaves, and he hunched over, needing to vomit, but father made him sit down and take a drink of water.

“That’s terrible!” he sobbed when the awful bout of nausea passed, and he could breathe.

“I know,” father said softly, sitting on the bed next to the child and putting an arm around his shoulders. “So why are you so upset this evening?”

Harry sniffled, he was surprised that father cared to ask when he was so obviously angry at him. He was feeling miserable and unhappy, he didn’t want to talk about his birthday with the man, though. It was a private matter, and nobody would care anyways, but there was something else he thought he could confide in his father to explain himself.

“I just want to go home,” he cried pitifully.

“I understand,” father sighed, slumping his shoulders a little. “I do as well, but we must stay until the pain stops coming back. It shouldn’t be much longer.”

The boy hung his head, his vivid imagination painting scenes of growing old in hospital, choking on nasty concoctions four times a day for the rest of his life.

“It does not excuse your reckless behaviour, however,” father stood to clean up the mess on the floor with a wave of his wand, and with another weary sigh started unbuckling the belt from his trousers.

Harry’s eyes grew round with horror, and he shook his head.

“No. Please, don’t,” he pleaded, tears running down his cheeks in rivulets as he realised what was about to happen. “‘M sorry, father, don’t do this...”

“I don’t have a choice, Harry,” father said in an exhausted voice as he sat back down, and the boy knew that a silencing screen must have been erected for his real name to be used. “I am your father, and it is my job to keep you safe. Refusing medical treatment is dangerous and unacceptable, and it must never happen again, child.”

“But I won’t do it again!” the boy cried desperately, beginning to tremble all over.

“I believe you, Harry,” the man murmured softly, his grim face set with determination as he wrapped the leather strap around his fist. “Your consequence for today, however, will not be changed. Come.”

Harry couldn’t move, he must have lost all feeling in his legs or something, he just perched on the edge of the bed and cried quietly, his eyes glued to that dreaded leather belt.

“I don’ wanna be whipped!” he wailed miserably, curling into a protective ball.

Father sighed impatiently, standing and crouching in front of the frightened child.

“I know you don’t, Harry,” he said solemnly. “And I don’t really want to do it, either, but I cannot allow you to think this isn’t a very serious matter.”

Harry wanted to protest that he wouldn’t think any such thing, but he couldn’t stop crying long enough to say anything coherent, as father lifted and laid him across his lap. The boy almost threw up in sheer terror as he was positioned, face-down with his posterior sticking up for punishment. He wrapped both hands tightly around father’s leg and buried his face in his trousers, trying not to think about his first horrible experience with the belt.

“Refusing medicine is utter idiocy, Harry,” father told him severely, as he slid the boy’s pyjama bottoms down to his knees. “No son of mine will be a fool, you’re seven now, so you’re getting seven licks of the belt, and applied with feeling,” he growled, and without further ado, father swung the strap down across the child’s exposed buttocks with a loud crack of leather, eliciting a howl of pain from the boy.

Harry thought he knew what to expect, but he must have forgotten how bad it had been, as it hurt much more than he remembered. The boy cried and cried, promising that he would never refuse any potions ever again! It hurt! It hurt so much that he felt sure that his backside was cut open with each lick, and he doubted he would ever be able to sit again. Father paused after each time, letting the searing pain reach its peak, before hitting him again, and the boy thought he’d prefer it to go faster! It seemed to last forever, but probably only took a few minutes before father put away the belt and gently replaced Harry’s pyjamas. His backside was burning, from his tail bone to his thighs, he seemed to be on fire!

The man rubbed the child’s back until he sobbed himself into a semblance of control, before pulling him up to talk.

“This will happen every time you put yourself in danger, Harry,” father told him sternly, his face was completely devoid of anger, but it was utterly serious. “Without exceptions, I won’t allow you to be harmed again. Is that understood, child?”

Harry was shaking, he was completely exhausted from the ordeal, and the prospect of it happening ever again was unbearable. He’d rather be spanked three times, and he must have lost his mind to even think that way!

“But it hurts so much,” the boy whispered, ducking his head to hide how frightened he really was.

“Yes, a whipping is a very painful punishment, so take care not to earn it too often, child,” father commented dryly, handing the boy a handkerchief to wipe the snot from his face. “Time for bed, I think.”

Father released him from the trap of his legs, and the boy climbed in bed, taking great care not to bump his burning rear into the mattress. Harry collapsed on his stomach, turning his head away from the man so he couldn’t see he was crying again. He winced, as the covers settled over him, but he managed not to make a noise. It wasn’t fair, whatever father wanted to believe, and alongside his battered posterior, anger at the man burned in his chest, making it very hard to fall asleep for the longest time.

To his great disappointment, Harry’s bum burned with only a little less intensity when he woke up in the morning, and sitting down was quite unbearable. His eyes actually filled with tears, when he had to sit on the bed for the healer to examine him. Healer Loyd started to shout at father for punishing Harry so harshly, and he was made to lie down, with his pants pushed down so the man could oggle the distinctive dark red stripes the belt had left on his backside.

The boy cried into his pillow, completely mortified to be exposed like that. Never in his entire life had he been as embarrassed as he was now, lying with his sore fanny bared to the air. It was a worse punishment than the whipping had been, and he wished the healer would just leave him be. Blind to his distress, the adults continued sniping at each other, and he learned that the healer had complained about his father to the police, and he had received a fine for the Blood Weed incident, but only for not securing the plants well enough, as apparently it was not anyone else’s business how father wanted to discipline him.

That last part was the most upsetting to Harry, and he barely paid attention to the rest of their shouted argument, he wasn’t in the least surprised that father withheld his consent to the offer of bruise balm for his bum.

“Eliot needs to learn his lesson,” he said in a voice like ice.

It was little wonder that for the next two days the boy drank all his nasty medicine without a word of complaint, hardly daring to grimace lest it be enough to earn him a remedial lesson. He thought a mouse must feel the way he was doing now, too afraid to make a noise in case the cat noticed and pounced on him.

The pain inside didn’t return, and on the third day father announced that they were going home. Three days ago, he would have jumped for joy that he’d finally be freed from the stupid hospital bed, but now he was extremely uneasy at the prospect of returning to that gloomy house with his father, and he fervently wished the Dursleys would hurry up coming back from their holiday.