"That was for your cheek," Harry realized that was an unintentional pun, though he wasn’t amused. He was in too much pain; physical and mental. "You do that again, and you will burn," he held up the candle-lighter that was on the coffee-table next to the leather couch. Harry paled and rubbed his chest absently. It was easy to feel under the thin baggy shirt the disturbances in the skin; the burning scars. He shivered in remembrance. "Now Boy, go get me crisps," he barked.