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Normally, Harry was a big boy who can do lots of things himself. But it had been a rough couple of weeks, and he needed extra snuggles from his Barty. He had spent the entire day demanding that Barty do everything for him, from spoon-feeding him to holding a cup up to his mouth so Harry could drink from it to dressing him. He wanted to be constantly carried around the cell, cuddled, and kissed by the ever-obliging Barty. Dinnertime found him sitting in Barty’s lap, facing Barty while the man spoon-fed him roast beef and mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy. Harry bounced happily on Barty’s lap as the two talked about Quidditch, Dora and Diego, and their favorite breed of dragons. Every now and then, Harry gave Barty a quick hug and kiss.
“Have some green beans, please, Lamby,” Barty said, spearing some vegetables onto the fork.
“I want more milk first,” said Harry. Barty held the goblet to Harry’s lips, and Harry took a few sips before pushing it away. He frowned down at the string beans. “Dip them in the mashed potatoes.” Barty obliged. Harry inspected the fork again. “Get some more gravy on it.” Barty dipped it into a puddle of gravy. Satisfied, Harry opened his mouth to allow Barty to feed him the string beans. He was glad that Barty was snuggling him again; it had been a difficult couple of weeks without Barty’s cuddles.
For the past few weeks, Barty and Sirius had been talking in whispers, breaking off when they caught Harry listening. Barty always distracted him with sweets, so Harry made sure to get caught at least once a day. Still, how was he supposed to be Barty’s Dark Prince if the man was keeping secrets from him?
Then, instead of turning into an owl and picking up enough groceries and supplies to last them about a week, Barty had spent the entire day transforming into an owl, rushing out for supplies, checking on Harry, and immediately rushing out for more supplies. Barty had spent the entire day repeating this process, leaving them no time to play together that day. True, he could play with Sirius, but Padfoot lived on the other side of the bars. He couldn’t pick Harry up, snuggle him, and toss him into the air the way Barty could. The two had enjoyed seeing who could climb up the bars the fastest and having pretend battles in the chocolate castle, but Harry was still glad when Barty returned. Right now, there was a lot more food in their cell than usual, allowing Barty to go longer without going out to the store.
But when Barty came back, he wouldn’t hug, kiss, or snuggle Harry like he usually did. He wouldn’t even hold Harry on his lap during Harry’s bedtime story the way he used to. Instead, Barty had bought Harry a special storytime chair, a small navy-blue armchair with glowing dragons, for Harry to sit in during storytime. And instead of kissing Harry’s forehead, cheeks, and lips, Barty would only kiss Harry’s boots and the hem of his robes. And he always cast a Disinfectant Charm afterwards, saying he didn’t want to mess up his Little Lord’s clothing.
“Kiss me the normal way!” Harry demanded, opening his arms for a hug.
“I don’t want to make you sick, Lamby,” Barty had said.
“Why would that make me sick?” Harry asked. Harry only got sick when he didn’t get what he wanted. When he was a baby, the Dursleys didn’t feed him as much as he wanted, so he got sick a lot. Barty had said this was from not having enough vitamins and promised that the Little Prince would never go hungry again. Despite the arctic weather and the presence of several Dementors, Harry had been much healthier since arriving in Azkaban, thanks to Barty catering to his every whim. If Harry was ever upset about something, Barty always begged him not to cry, saying that Harry would make himself sick. Barty always gave Harry anything he wanted in an effort to avoid this. Harry knew that as long as Barty kept giving him anything he asked for, he wouldn’t get sick. And Harry wanted snuggles!
“A lot of people are sick outside of Azkaban,” Barty explained. “I’ve been going out to get toys and groceries. I might have picked up the sickness. If I have, I don’t want to give it to you by touching you.”
“Are you sick?” Harry asked worriedly.
“No, Lamby,” Barty reassured him.
“Then how could you make me sick?” Harry reasoned.
Barty closed his eyes in thought. The Coronavirus had been affecting both the Wizard and Muggle worlds for the past few weeks. People who caught the disease often didn’t show symptoms for two weeks, meaning they could pass on the potentially fatal disease without even realizing it. There was no cure, but some people were saying that taking a nasty-tasting Vitamin Potion could help prevent it by boosting the immune system. Barty, of course, had gotten a bottle for Harry. Harry had been in Azkaban for a year, meaning he wasn’t exposed to other Wizarding children. Barty was worried that this weakened Harry’s immune system. But he had no idea how to explain it to his Little Prince without frightening him.
“It’s only for two weeks after the last time I went out,” said Barty. “We have only ten more days to go. I can’t be too careful with my Young Lord,” Barty added, bending down to kiss the hem of Harry’s robe (which hung low enough to cover Harry’s boots, not even touching Harry’s skin) again, then casting another Disinfectant Charm. He smiled adoringly up at Harry.
Harry scowled. He was of the opinion that Barty was being way too careful. Seeing Harry’s frown, Barty quickly added, “This is how I used to kiss the Dark Lord.”
Harry supposed he could live with that, although ten days was a long time, and he thought the Dark Lord was stupid for not wanting to be kissed the normal way. Harry promised himself that when HE became a Dark Lord, he would make Barty hug and kiss him all the time.
Ever since Barty spent the day making all those trips, Barty constantly worried about Harry getting sick, rushing to take the boy’s temperature every time Harry coughed or sneezed. Harry hated having his temperature taken, even when Barty bribed him with lollipops.
And Barty had been insistent on Harry taking a spoonful of vitamin potion every day after dinner. It tasted disgusting, but Barty always gave him dessert afterwards. On one hand, it got rid of the potion’s disgusting taste. On the other hand, Harry didn’t get dessert until he drank the yucky medicine.
Barty had even been making Harry sleep in his own bed, with only a few dozen stuffed animals for company.
“I wanna share a bed with you, Barty!” Harry said.
“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” Barty promised, positioning his own bed a few feet away from Harry’s.
“I want you in my bed in case I need anything!” said Harry, pointing to the spot between him and his stuffed Diego the Dragon doll.
“My Lord deserves a warm, cozy bed all his own,” Barty tried. “You’re getting to be a grown-up Prince. You need lots of room in the bed for you and your stuffed animals.” Barty attempted to distract Harry by magically making the stuffed animals jump around, dance, and duel each other. Harry giggled happily, bouncing on the bed. It seemed he had forgotten the indignity of being banished to his own bed. That is, until he started to feel tired.
“Barty!” he called. “I’m ready to go to sleep! Make the animals stop and get into bed!” Harry patted the spot next to him. With a magically charged gesture, Barty made the animals lie down. With another wave of his hand, he tucked Harry into bed- nice and tight, just the way the Little Prince liked it.
Harry scowled as Barty magically summoned Harry a glass of warm milk and set up a glass of water on the bedside table in case Harry got thirsty during the night. “I want to share a bed with you! And you’re supposed to do what I want!”
“I have to keep my Little Prince safe,” said Barty. “It’s only for another week.”
“I’m tired of sleeping by myself! If you won’t share a bed with me, I won’t go to sleep!” Harry proceeded to jump up and down on the bed, screaming. Barty tried to calm him down by offering snacks, toys, and games, but Harry refused to be quiet until Barty gave him the snuggles he wanted. He could do this all night if he had to!
All night was a long time for a little boy. By three AM, despite Barty’s attempts to soothe him without cuddles, Harry had cried himself to sleep, surrounded by stuffed animals and feeling neglected.
But now, it’s been 14 days, and neither Barty nor Harry had gotten sick. Barty could cuddle, kiss, tickle, and spin Harry around again. Harry spent the entire day in Barty’s arms, and Barty promised him that they could share a bed again tonight. As Barty finished feeding Harry dinner, Harry promised himself that he would never endure those miserable two weeks again. No more days without Barty’s cuddles, no more nights without Barty sharing his bed, and no more of that yucky Vitamin Potion.
“Time for your medicine, Lamby,” Barty cooed as Harry finished his last bite of dinner.
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. Barty was pouring out a spoonful of that yucky potion Harry had been forced to take for the past two weeks. “No, Barty, I don’t have to take that anymore,” Harry reminded him. “I’m not sick.”
“I know, dearest, but this will keep you from getting sick. You can have chocolate cake afterwards.”
“No!” Harry yelled, pushing the spoon away. “I’m tired of that icky medicine! I don’t want to take it ever again!”
He Summoned the bottle and, before Barty could stop him, hopped off Barty’s lap and poured the potion out the cell’s barred window and into the North Sea.
Barty had tried to wandlessly Summon the potion back, but it was too late. The icky potion was already mixed in the treacherous arctic waters. Harry felt himself being scooped up and placed on a cushion in the corner of the cell for a time out. Harry screamed in protest. He hated time out!
“Harry,” Barty said over the screams. “That potion is supposed to keep you from getting a sickness that a lot of Wizards are getting. Tomorrow, I have to go out and get some more, and there might not be any left, because lots of people need that potion. Every time I leave Azkaban, I risk bringing back germs that can make you sick. Sit here for four minutes and think about what you’ve done. And, since you didn’t take your potion, you won’t be getting chocolate cake tonight.”
At this, Harry screamed even more loudly, reaching out and slapping Barty. The chocolate cake that he helped make that morning as Barty cooed over what a good chef he was? That cake was HIS! Barty didn’t say anything, only going to another corner of the cell and beginning to cry.
Harry was shocked into silence. Was Barty in time out, too? He knew how hard and cold the stone floor of the cell could be without a cushion, so he stood up and brought his pillow over to Barty.
Barty was so distracted with worrying about his Little Prince getting sick and the fear that he might carry Coronavirus back to Azkaban on one of his errands that he didn’t notice Harry until the boy was right next to him.
“Here, Barty,” said Harry. “Sit on this pillow. It makes time out more comfortable.”
Barty obeyed, attempting to compose himself.
“It’s okay to cry, Barty,” said Harry, climbing into Barty’s lap and wiping away the man’s tears. “Nobody likes being in time out. But after four minutes, we can play games again.”
Barty managed a weak, watery smile.
“I know you wanted to eat chocolate cake tonight,” Harry continued. “But when you take away dinner dessert, you always let me eat dessert for breakfast the next morning. We can have chocolate cake for breakfast!”
Barty pulled Harry into a hug. Harry squeezed Barty tightly, squeezing out the last of Barty’s tears.
“And even though you’re in time out right now,” Harry continued, “I still love you very, very much. But sometimes, we have to take four minutes to be quiet. After four minutes, we can go back to playing and having fun.”
The timer rang, signifying that four minutes had passed.
“See how quickly that finished?” said Harry, giving Barty a hug. “Now we can play! Do you want me to read you a book?”
Barty nodded, smiling adoringly at his sweet little Prince.
Harry hurried over with a picture book about the Appleby Arrows, his and Barty’s favorite Quidditch team. The two spent the evening snuggling and looking at the moving pictures while Harry sounded out the smaller words. Barty kissed his Young Lord’s forehead, grateful to have Harry in his arms, safe and healthy. He felt the Dark Lord’s spirit invade his senses and prayed that the piece of the Dark Lord that lived in Harry would be enough to keep Harry from getting sick.
He took a deep breath, clearing his head. Of course the Dark Lord’s spirit would keep the Little Prince safe. To think otherwise would be to doubt the Dark Lord, which would be disloyal. Still, the Dark Lord was contained in such a small, delicate body. Barty had to keep Harry safe. He had lost Regulus, had lost his Master, had lost his mother. Prince Harry was all he had.
He grinned broadly as Harry finished reading a full sentence and looked up to him for approval. Barty squeezed Harry tightly and covered him with kisses. Barty didn’t know any other newly four-year-old boys, but he was sure Harry could read better than any of them. Spurred on by Barty’s praise, Harry finished the book, pausing every now and then to admire the pictures.
Barty clapped and cheered when the book finished, while Harry smiled proudly. “My Lamby read a book all by himself!” exclaimed Barty. “I think this calls for some chocolate cake, don’t you?” he asked Harry.
“Yes!” Harry agreed enthusiastically. He didn’t understand this sickness that Barty had been so worried about, but he was sure that chocolate cake and cuddles would keep them happy and healthy.