The morning proved despicably bright and painful. His skin felt extremely tender, underscored with a pulsating ache he could not pin down, while the bright sun burned at his uncovered face and arms. It took him three tries to sit up, ignoring the pain and annoying muscle spasms. Merlin, he hadn’t felt this miserable since the time Voldemort became displeased with his breadth of knowledge when it came to Dark Curses and had found it necessary to discipline him in the Madman’s sick techniques. And if it wasn’t for the bright whites of the infirmary, he would have been tempted to believe such a tutoring session was what had in fact occurred.

His vision was still blurry too, he noticed, as he peered around for anyone in his vicinity. He had ignored it yesterday (was it yesterday?), as he even found the short conversation with Lea draining, but his sight should have kicked in by now. He did find a single black blur next to what he knew was the water cup on his bedside table, picking it up in hopes of getting some rational explanation for the situation. What he did find, were glasses, and after arguing with himself for a good long while, he put the blasted things on before sliding off the hospital bed. These weren’t just any old glasses, either, but the despicable rims that had plagued his youth. Upon putting them on however, seemingly for the sole purpose of adding insult to injury, the world slid back into an acceptable level of focus, though still a far cry from the honed Asp sight he was used to.

“Hello?” he experimentally called out, checking if anyone was near, though nearly feinting at the sound of his voice. Merlin, what the hell was going on? He had never thought his voice overly deep, but this… this was ridiculous! He sounded twelve for Merlin’s sake!

Okay, don’t panic. he thought to himself, in his soothingly familiar mental voice. Probably just a side effect of some potion… not that he knew of any healing potion with such side effects, and his father had taught him most of the bloody things, but there might be one, and he might have taken it… And that was bloody well enough for him to cling on to so as not to fall into a full panic attack. Not that his theory helped when he looked into the lavatory mirror. And that’s where his twelve-year-old voice released an awfully girl-like scream. For there, in that damned mirror, the scrawny face of one Harry Potter stared right back at him.

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

The boy heard people rush in, either scared by the scream or the loud crash the mirror made shortly after. He, however, didn’t so much as look up. He had slumped against the wall as soon as his back had come in contact with it, and that was where he wanted to remain indefinitely. There were large shards in his left hand, he knew, but he made no effort to remove them. Their added pain simply melded with the ongoing ache, both of which were being ignored in favor of the unadulterated horror that threatened to overtake him.

The people were talking now, asking him things, but he didn’t hear them. Didn’t want to hear them. He wanted to disappear, wanted for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He wanted to be himself again. He wanted, no, he needed his dad. Where was his dad? Why wasn’t he here? Why!

Someone had levitated him over to the bed, probably realizing there was no point in trying to get him to move of his own accord. He hadn’t heard the spell being cast, he hadn’t felt the looseness of levitation, and he hadn’t noticed himself floating from the bathroom to his bed. Or maybe he had… and simply didn’t care. Funny, how he felt so detached all of a sudden, how he hadn’t even noticed that there was no more glass in his hand and that all the cuts had been healed.

“Are you all right?” a familiar voice asked him some time later, though he hadn’t a clue just how much time had elapsed. “Please, please say something.”

“How?” he asked her, how did all this happen?

“Oh Harry!” she cried with relief, hugging him tightly. “You’ve no idea how worried we’ve all been!”

How could she? He asked himself for the second time in just as many days. How could she of all people not realize how not all right he was! How could she of all people insist on calling him that and expect him to be happy? Didn’t she understand that Potter was the reason he was in such a state? He was in pain, he was emotionally spent and none of the people he needed were by his side but her, and she had the gall to twist the knife!

She must have felt his annoyance and anger, for she loosened the embrace enough to look at his glaring eyes, giving him enough room to pull the rest of the way out of her touch.

“Harry?” she asked uneasily,

“NO.” he snapped, ignoring how it ignited his throat, “Not Harry. Never Harry! Damn it Lea, I thought you, at least, would understand!”

“Understand what?” she asked, shocked.

“How can I be okay when I look like this!?” he growled at her. She must have seen that he was serious by now… it was impossible for her not to!

“Like what?”

“Like POTTER!” Damn it, didn’t she understand anything? Hadn’t he told her almost the same thing yesterday?

“Harry,” she said softly, after a long silence, “who else would you look like?”

“Like me, damn it!” he growled in frustration, “and for the last time, don’t call me Potter!”

“You… you’re not making any sense Ha-” she cut herself off, taking a deep breath, as if collecting herself, “you’re not making any sense. I’m going to go get Pomfrey, okay?”

He glared at her, having only felt this betrayed the night Weasley switched sides. She could jump off the North Tower for all he currently cared. Damn it, he had thought he could at least trust her not to leave him once she found out. What was she doing anyway, pretending he wasn’t Horris? Why did he look like Potter, anyway?

“I do believe that will prove unnecessary, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore’s voice calmed, stepping into their line of vision. “Though I do remember you promising a certain old man to come and notify him as soon as Harry’s condition changed…”

“Oh! Merlin, Headmaster. I’m sorry! I was going to, honest I was, but… when he… and then …”

“Quite all right, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore appeased, both thoroughly ignoring the fact that he was still very much in the room. “If you could kindly leave me to speak with Harry however…”

“Oh, of course, Headmaster.” she nodded, still flushed from having failed to do as Dumbledore had told her, before walking briskly out and leaving him alone with the Headmaster. Damn her. Since when was Lea such a teacher’s pet?

“Now, Harry my bo-”

“Oh cut the crap old man.” he cut the Headmaster off, not in the mood for any of his crap. “Just tell me what the hell’s been going on.”

“I beg your pardon, Harry?” the old man asked incredulously.

“You heard me. And for the last time, will everyone stop with all the Potter shit? Where’s dad?”

“Harry, are you feeling all right?”

“No. I’m in pain, everyone is trying to piss me off, and I need to see my dad!”

“Harry, I insist you calm yourself. I realize you have yet to be given all the pain potions but as you ought to know, they would interfere with the regrowth of your tendons. Now, though I understand your discomfort and would honestly like nothing less than to have to restrain you, I will do so for your own safety if you cannot control yourself.” Dumbledore warned, which the boy translated into something closer to ‘behave or I’ll have to punish you’, but figured against voicing his interpretation. “Now, what do you remember before you woke up in the hospital wing?”

He took a moment to weigh his options, deciding that complying might just be his best option, at least for now.

“Fighting Voldemort.”

“Excuse me? I thought you said you were fighting Voldemort.”

“That’s what I said.”

“In… the Department of Mysteries?”

“The what?” he cried in outrage, he had never fought the bastard there.

“Oh dear… the situation might be more serious than I thought… you must have… ” Dumbledore was muttering, looking quite old. He seemed to actually fall into a daze for a while, looking at a certain spot on the wall for what felt like an hour to the boy.

“Sir?” he finally spoke in frustration, annoyance clear in his voice, “would you mind, terribly, if I asked you to explain just what you think has happened to me?”

“I suppose you are in the right to know. Yes… yes of course you do..” the old man sighed, looking even older than before. “Now, during Voldemort’s first reign, before you were even a fleeing thought in your parents’ mind, Tom found a way to make himself a group of followers that would become his-”

“Asps.” he finished for the old coot, annoyed. He had wanted answers, not a day of watching the Headmaster dance around the matter. “ I know.” he added for good measure, seeing the look on Dumbledore’s face before pressing the matter. “Could you please get to the point?”

“You are aware of the Asps?” The headmaster asked, baffled, while switching topics completely. How thick the old man could get, the boy wondered with an exhausted sigh. How could he not know about his own charges! “But, my boy, you said that you did not even remember fighting Voldemortat the Ministry.”

“I’ve never fought him there.” he repeated blandly… what was with these people and their lack of input absorption? His father would have flocked them by now!

“Do you remember Fighting him at the Graveyard then? His resurrection?”

He nodded, annoyed at the old coot for stirring up such memories.

“Do you remember Umbrige? Auror Tonks even?”

He shook his head. Either the Headmaster was jumping topics like an Atlantic Ice frog, or the world on the whole had just adopted the old man’s crumpling psyche.

“Then, I fear,” the old coot continued, seemingly flipping the subject matter once more, “that the death of your Godfather has pushed you into a state that forced you to suppress events surrounding the unfortunate occurrence.”

The death of his-

“Sirius’ Death!” he nearly screamed at the Headmaster, as soon as he caught onto the man’s latest leap, “Sirius died?”

“Yes my boy…” the man nodded, speaking softly, “the anniversary is already approaching.”

“How could he have died months ago when he was here, not more than a few weeks ago?”

“As I’ve said Harry, you’ve suppressed a good amount of time it would seem. Almost two years, perhaps.”

“If all this is some case of suppressed memories,” which he severely doubted, but held his urge to say so, “then why can’t I simply receive the counter potion?”

“You must understand my boy, if such a thing existed-”

“Existed. Existed! By Merlin Dumbledore, what kind of mindless imbecile do you take me for?” he demanded, unable to hold it in any longer. “You know there is a counterpotion, you know I known about the Asps, and you damn well know I know of the antidote!” he growled, “So why in Hades, by Pluto’s call, are you standing there trying to tell me there isn’t?”

Well, the boy mused absently, that certainly shut him up…If the man thought a thin lie like that would allow his ass to be covered, he obviously bit too deep into the Potter features that were unwelcome but now present on the boy’s face. Big mistake

“Harry,” the Headmaster started when he had finally regained his vocal capacities, “I do realize you have not trusted me for the last year or two-”

year or two?

“- but I assure you that even if I have kept some things from you in the past, I would never outright lie.”

Yeah, right.

“Furthermore, I know not how you found out about the Asps, or how the concept of such a counterpotion materialized in your mind as a reality, but I must inform you it is in fact not a reality. If it was, I would not have kept you in pain and confusion for even a moment before administering it.”

“If that is the case, sir, then there is nothing further the hospital ward can offer me, and thus there is absolutely no point in me staying here.” he stated flatly, forcing himself to stand. Dumbledore wanted to be difficult? Fine. He only hoped the old man remembered which of them was the Snape.

Wisely, the old man didn’t protest.

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

A painfully long half hour later found the boy in what could only be called a sorry excuse for his father’s tertiary potions lab. The location and the room were the same, in either case, thought the similarities seemed to end there. Filth, the kind of filth his father would have killed a first year for, seemed to stick to everything; the walls, the desks, the cauldrons and even the damn door.He wondered how his father had allowed it to fall to such a state (or what had forced him to ignore the lab); it was despicable. Still, he needed the blasted potion.

About half way to the storeroom he felt another’s presence in the room, but as it was neither his father’s nor Dumbledore’s, he chose to ignore it until he could deal with it without the pain. He pulled out the wombat toes and the freshest pint of a goat’s stomach acid he could find.

“Damn it, where are the bloody Whomping Willow seeds?” he cursed in frustration, not seeing the horned orbs anywhere. “There they are! Who in Merlin’s name puts Whomping Willow seeds behind Adder Forks?!” This was not, in any way, his father’s lab. It was a mess, pure and simple. Merlin, his dad was going to curse whomever was using this lab into the next coming!

The other ingredients, thankfully, were at least close to where they were supposed to be, and with most of the jars, he made his way back towards where his cauldron had been set up. The flame was set to a quarter’s way between ‘medium high’ and ‘high high’ (favoring the ‘medium high’) and the pint of goat’s stomach acid was poured in a figure eight along the pewter walls as they heated. When the first sound of sizzling happened, he started his hum while pulverizing the wombat toes. It was a trick his father had taught him a while back, a way to get the timing just right (far more enjoyable and precise that counting in one’s head, especially when trying to ignore an ailment). Depending on the desired time allotted and the number of turns the potion was to be mixed in said time, a certain tune was to be hummed. At present, he was humming away the two and a quarter minutes before the heat was to be turned down and the toes added in a counterclockwise circle.

The boy smirked, despite himself, humming to the tune of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ as he mixed in several more ingredients. Who would have thought that he of all people would need to know how to brew Asp venoms? Thank Merlin his dad had insisted he know them! After all, after the way Dumbledore had acted (and the fact that he was almost sure it was an Asp venom that was hurting him), he didn’t quite fancy asking Draco to inject him directly. He looked over at the other cauldron, where he had dumped the ingredients that would change a portion of the synthetic healing venom into a modified version of his lost truth venom, which undid all sorts of mental barriers; voluntary or subconscious. He was thankful that the venoms had only two core recipes, and the last ingredient or two was what changed it from one to the other. He had to only work on the base venom, and use a bit to make a dose of the memory retriever by adding mermaid hair with crushed elephant tusk to it.

He was now quite glad that he had been so keen on watching his father brew, as the memory potion was a very recent invention. His presence in his father’s lab had taught him how to make a lot of the potions, though his real reason for wanting to watch him was to listen to his father hum. It was the only time Severus Snape would allow himself to hum, and as the best tunes to keep time were nursery tunes…

Thankfully, thinking about his father was calming him. Otherwise, he was sure he’d probably smash something by now. The pain and spasms were barely allowing him to force the cuts to be regular enough or the turns to remain more circular than oval. His father had demanded perfection, and would probably sneer at his current progress, but now more than ever the boy saw the need for it. If you can do the motions flawlessly and without needing to put great thought into it normally, it becomes far easier to do them well enough while in an emergency situation or while not at your best. With an extra groan, he knew which potion he’d have to concentrate the most on, if the other had any chance of working.

The base potion was turning the familiar milky white now, thankfully, which gave him exactly half an hour to let it simmer before he had to take it off the flame (now set a notch below ‘low’) completely and split it into two concoctions. He had noticed another presence walk in a bit back, but as it was not the best moment during the brewing to confront the Headmaster for annoyingly checking in on him, he had once again ignored it. Now however, he was quite ready to hear what the two onlookers were up to.

“-ve never seen anything like it, Headmaster.” he heard as he stretched his hearing, pretending to be cutting some of the left over lizard scales into tiny triangles.

“Are you sure, Fergal?” Fergal? Ferguson McWhirr? What the hell was he doing watching him?

“Positive Headmaster, in all my years of potions brewing, I’ve never come across any such concoction. Unless, of course,” McWhirr added, “the boy had simply botched his attempt to a degree from which the original cannot even be deduced.”

Or, the boy countered mentally, perhaps you simply know as much about potions as I do about keeping those exotic fish you seem so fond of…

“Do you think it is safe to allow him to use it?” the Headmaster asked, making the boy glare at the damn scales in order not to whip around and tell him exactly how much he needed the man’s permission to ingest said potion.

“I cannot say sir, as I’ve never come across this brew.” McWhirr answered, proving to the boy that the man’s potions skills truly were abysmal. Damn it, even at his age, the boy knew that all the toxic properties were counteracted in the potion by their most common counters! What would McWhirr do when faced with a recipe for an unknown potion? Brew it and ingest it? How thick could he get? “Though if I would be allowed to test the potion on a rat first, for the boy’s safety… and perhaps be given a written recipe?”

No, no, NO! There was no way he’d give the recipe to the idiot if the guy was not even smart enough to have attempted to write the recipe from watching him brew it! And testing it on rats? Despicable! Anyone with half a brain could see how different rat reactions were to human ones! Why, he wouldn’t be surprised if the potion did kill the blasted rodents in its present concentration!

He took the potion off the flame, careful not to be noticed, and decided to end McWhirr’s annoying presence in the lab after pocketing three vials, one with the simmered mermaid hair and ivory, the other two with chamomile and ground beaver teeth.

As soon as this is over, he vowed, I am putting repelling charms on me against a certain Headmaster and his pet professor.