Paralysis; the inability to move part of the body. Elementary in its definition, yet a grown man would find himself troubled to comprehend the word. How then were they going to tell an eleven year-old child he had this life-changing diagnosis? Harry would not be able soar through the skies again, would not be able to run. The little boy’s life was forever changed.

In time, Harry would learn to cope, but that could take a lot of time and patience. Severus hoped that the child’s inner-Gryffindor would be up to the challenge. Also, what of his friends? Kids that age were cruel. Would they still stand by the boy? He figured that Granger would be able to get past her friend’s disabilities, but was not sure that the youngest Weasley boy would. The child had already began a fight over something inconsequential as mittens. It would be a miracle if Weasley could look past this hurdle.

Severus carded his hand through the little locks of hair sticking on the pillow. Despite doses of Painless Sleep, Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and his face twitched with obvious discomfort. Poppy and the Potions Master had intended to answer the Gryffindor’s questions upon the discovery of Harry’s plight, but the boy had fallen asleep before they had returned to the main room. Severus had flicked his wand and spelled the Painless Sleep into the skinny boy’s stomach. It was all for the best though. No one was ready to tell Harry and most likely the child wouldn’t be able to understand yet. Without being ordered to, Severus had taken up the task of watching the child. Lily’s child.

Two hours after Poppy’s discovery, the Slytherin was still sitting in a hard wooden chair, potion-stained fingers still grasping the boy’s tiny ones. He had gone numb from sitting on the unforgiving chair, but he refused to transfigure it to something more comfortable. It hadn’t escaped him that if he had been only minutes earlier, the child would be safely snug in his own bed dreaming of Christmas delights, not lying in a hospital bed with horrible injuries. Even though he had disliked the Gryffindor, he had made a vow to protect him, and he had failed miserably. There was nothing for it now. No going back.. This was the hand of cards he’d been dealt, and the wry Slytherin was determined to win this game. He would settle for nothing less. It was his job, no honor, to help the young Gryffindor through the child’s hell.

As he had done numerous time that hour, the Potions Master held up black sheets of a charmed parchment. This was no ordinary bit of a roll parchment , but one that worked in a similar manner of a muggle x-ray. He traced his finger along the ridged line of Harry’s vertebra. Though the dour man already knew the child’s prognosis, he could not help but shudder at the visual evidence. The child’s neck, vertebrae C2 and C3 of the cervical spine, had fractured. The two vertebrae showed hypertension, indicating the lad had landed in such a manner that his neck had extended forwards and took all of Harry’s weight. This injury, commonly known as the “Hangman’s Fracture” had been the one to cause the Gryffindor to cease breathing. Despite the worry Severus felt over the injury, over time the child’s neck would heal. It was a blessing that the injury had not extended to the C4 vertebra in his spinal column; such an injury would have almost guaranteed suffocation. As it was, it would take months before Harry’s neck would not need the hard brace that was fitted around it.

In addition, to expedite the healing process, his head was encircled in a muggle halo, a device that was fitted around the Gryffindor’s forehead. The halo used pins that pierced his head and connected at the Gryffindor collarbone with beams on either side leading to two metal poles. . It looked akin to a torture device. As Severus studied the child, he realized that the Halo was indeed causing Harry discomfort. Flecks of blood dotted out from the entrance sites. Severus set aside the parchment concerning the child’s neck and flicked his hand to the right.

“Accio flannel!” The clothe floated onto his hand. “Aguamenti.” Severus took the damp cloth and worked his hands gently around the boy’s head. It wouldn’t do for the child to catch an infection. It was a small thing, but Severus could not help but feel relief that he could do something to aid the child. He took his time cleaning around each puncture, making sure no foreign materials had fallen near the sites. He would not allow Harry to get sick on top of everything else that the boy would have to deal with. Soon, the sites ceased bleeding . “Envisco!” Severus murmured and the flannel disappeared forever.

He lifted the heavy parchments and flipped through the papers until he stopped at the parchment containing Harry’s spinal column. This news was far more troubling, as this was to blame for the child’s paralysis. Harry had managed to break vertebrae T11 and T12. While the breaks would heal, the damage to Harry’s nerves was done and complete. Poppy and he had managed to place some charms on the spine to aid in Harry’s comfort but no charm would restore his ability to walk.

Lils, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there sooner, that I didn’t stop your child from being injured I promise you I will care for him as if he were my own. He won’t go back to your sister and her lout of a husband.

The child would never return to 4 Privet Drive. He would do everything in his power to see to that. Even if he had to stand up to the Headmaster himself, he would not allow the child to be sent back there. A letter had come in reply to Poppy’s missive about Harry’s injuries. The Potions Master did not have to reread the terse scrawl as he had already memorized it.

The Freak got himself injured. Too bad. Don’t be sending him here; he’s not worth the trouble. We’ll consider it his Christmas gift to us. Best one he’s ever given. They hadn’t even bothered to sign the letter. Merry Christmas .

Bah Humbug! Severus folded up the letter. He waved his hand, ready to banish the offending piece of paper, but then paused. If the Dursleys treated Harry as bad as was feared, there might well be a trial in court and the missive could be used as supplemental evidence. Severus forwent his earlier impulse and instead tucked it into a pocket for safe-keeping until he could find a better place.

Severus used his free hand and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He refused to sleep though, Harry needed him too much. Harry’s guardianship was just one more hurdle they would have to get through. Flicking his wrist sharply to the right, he summoned a quill, hastily followed by a sharp swish of his wand to conjure a scroll. If he were to help the lad at all, there had to be a plan.

A trip to the London Library of Wizarding Affairs would be in order, but he was loath to leave the child. No doubt, the popular boy would have many volunteers to be his nursemaid, but very few people who could really look out for the best interests of Harry, and not the “Savior of the Wizarding World.” A house-elf would have to attend the errand for him. Another trip, this one to the England Medical Sciences Library, was another necessity. It was operated by muggles, however, so a human substitute would have to fill in for him. Another problem. There weren’t many witches or wizards who could pass as an everyday muggle. He’d have to find a muggleborn or at least one who could think like one. A wizard unfamiliar with Hogwarts and her professors would nominate the current Muggle Studies professor, Chastity Burbage, but Severus knew better. Kind person though she was, she was too emotional, and given to blubbering vital information to total strangers in her distress. Hagrid, the kind-hearted oaf that he was, would also not fit the role. McGonagal, that was a thought. She would jump at the chance to help the Golden Boy.

With his plan decided, he turned his attention to the slumbering child lying motionlessly in the bed. Harry’s hair was fanning his face in an effort to keep out of the child’s way. A single lock of hair had swooped down dancing across his face and tickling his eyes. Severus ghosted his hand near the child’s forehead. Hesitating, he paused a moment, before gently resting his hand on the child’s head and moving the wayward lock back to its proper place. If the Potion’s Master had never spied in his life, he would have missed it, but he caught the ever-so-slight hitch of breath emanating from the Gryffindor.

Severus moved his potion-stained hand back to the child’s mitten-clad one and squeezed it gently. “Harry,” He took care to keep his voice gentle as to not frighten the lad. A barely noticeable pain-filled groan had Severus frowning and he shifted his weight to his feet, standing. “Harry, I am going to get you a pain-potion, I’ll be right back, child.”

SESESE

Harry was drifting, gliding through time as if it were water softly rising up and down on waves. The white noise of the lake, a calmness that balmed his soul. There was no light, total blackness, a midnight ride. He had never boated in his life, though the Dursleys had gone often with friends. Harry smiled. Here there was no time, past and present and future floated together. Neither were there problems, no family who hated him, no professors who harassed him like Snape did on a daily basis, the git.

Though, a dim memory pricked at him. Something.Snape.being nice to him.something so recent yet seemed so long ago. No, that had to be a dream. The Slytherin was never nice, but wasn’t this the dream? Or was this reality? It seemed too far-fetched to be real, but Harry could barely fathom it not being. Whatever it was, Harry was loath to leave the river. The gentle ride soothed his soul, a feeling he had never really felt. It warmed him, thawing the ice that years of abuse had heaped on him. Even the vague smell of sea salt graced his nostrils, and calmed him completely.

Yet.something was not right. A wave, more deeply sated than the ones that came before. One that jarred him ever-so-slightly. A sensation that tossed him and threw his stomach, upsetting it. A feeling of unease wisped through the boy. He wasn’t sure that he liked the waves now. He swallowed, hoping that it was a rare, peculiar movement. Yet.no Harry was again tossed. He moaned. He hated this movement. Something gentle, perhaps a breeze settled against his forehead and then tightness on his hand.

A voice, far-off in the distance, miles or more. Harry. The voice knew his name! Maybe the Voice could help him, take him from the choppy waters. He groaned again. The pressure on his hand lessened and his ears prickled at the sound of a soft thud. The Voice again, “I’ll be right back, child.” No! He didn’t want the Voice to leave. It was maddening to think about having to face the stormy lake alone. He grinded his teeth to loosen his jaw. Oddly it was sore, everything was.“No..don’t,” he squeaked, his throat throbbing. Perhaps he had swallowed the lake’s water. He tried again. “No. don’t leave me,” he ground out, he felt ashamed for begging, freaks like him weren’t supposed to complain, or voice their opinions. Ha. Freaks weren’t supposed to exist. The lake was fading. In its blurry place was white light.

The white grew stronger and mixed with different shades of brown and oddly, a black blob. “Harry!” The voice again, though this time much closer to him. A familiar voice, though in his foggy mind he could not place it. Something gently was placed on his face, lightly touching the bridge of his nose and behind his ears. The image sharpened in an instant. Professor Snape. The dour man was standing beside Harry’s hospital bed.

Bed? Why was he in the Hospital Wing? Falling. He then remembered. The stairs had shifted on him. He remembered then that Snape had been nice to him earlier and had even admitted he was wrong about him. Harry shifted his eyes again, locking in on the slender hand still holding on to his much smaller one. Moving his eyes again, he glanced at his professor. The Slytherin shifted, releasing his hand and seemed to pause. “I’ll get your next dose of pain-medication. You are due for one.” The man stated, as he began to shift away from Harry.

“No please stay.” Harry hated feeling so weak, but he was so scared. Even in that second of being on his own, he had trembled. “I don’t want you to go!” He admitted, strange tears filling his eyes. “Harry, it’s only a few feet away.” The man chided, he paused and Harry felt a hand run through his hair. “Professor…please!” Harry begged. Some part of him knew that he was being a baby, but he felt secure with the professor.

“Very well then. Accio No Pain Children’s Potion!” He wandlessly waved his left hand towards the cabinet. A calculating look danced on the teacher’s face., “Poppy!” he nodded his head towards the office.

“Yes Severus,” the reply came not a moment later By then the potion vial had reached the Potions Master’s outstretched hand. Harry watched as the Potions Master uncorked the vial. The soft hiss reminded him of the bottles of wine his relatives had forced him to open, too lazy to do the deed themselves. “Take one small sip, Harry.” Oddly, he didn’t hand it to him but rather held it to his lips and upturned it like an infant’s bottle. Harry complied, finding it hard to swallow against the lump in his throat. A hand reached up and moved up and down, massaging it. The potion swallowed, he realized that he felt weighted down. He found it was impossible to move his neck and back, but he lowered his eyes to his arms, both were in casts. Oddly, his head felt pressured down as well, with a dull ache all around it. He guessed that he should have felt the sensations earlier but he had been too fuzzy-minded to really notice much of anything. The eleven year-old returned his attention to the conversation between the two adults.

“Harry’s awake.” Not much in the way of conversation, but it was enough as a scuffling was heard and the Medi-witch stood by his bed. The two adults seemed to play a nonverbal game of tennis with their eyes, almost as if they were urging the other to tell him something, something that he would not like. Harry grew tired of the match and tried to clear this throat. Gathering up some of the Gryffindor bravery that he was known for, he interrupted the two.

“Please, what is wrong? Why are both of my arms in casts? Couldn’t I have been given Skelegrow?” Harry tried to look from each adult but noticed that it seemed difficult. Something hard was surrounding his neck and in his peripheral vision, he noticed a stand that had connectors that led to the brace. He must have been hurt horrible.

Red hot anger danced in his eyes, this was not how Christmas was supposed to go! He was supposed to be lying in bed, laughing over the latest stupid thing that Ron did. He should to be planning snowball fights, and figuring out how to postpone the homework that Hermione nagged him about! If possible, this Christmas was shaping out to be even worse than all of the ones he had spent with his relatives.

For a moment, the adults seemed to ignore him, though it was apparent they had tired of their non-verbal batter. “It would have been unwise to give you Skelegrow, as it would adversely affect a few other injuries you sustained.” Once again, Snape’s voice was soft in a way that Harry would have never guessed the strict teacher able to have.

“Severus, shouldn’t we wait for Albus?” Madam Pomfrey questioned, her eyes resting on Harry.

“No, you know Albus. This will change things…change plans,” his professor responded, gazing at him with sadness…and an odd sort of relief when he had announced it would change some plans.

“Please, tell me. I know it’s about me!” Harry ground out, still polite but with a touch of forcefulness. Harry saw the adults exchange one final look before Professor Snape moved even closer to him.

“Harry, we have something to tell you, something that isn’t pleasant, but nonetheless, it’s imperative. First of all, do you remember why you are in the Hospital Wing?” Harry nodded. He had fallen from the stairwell. “Well, after you fell I found you and with Madam Pomfrey’s help, we brought you here. It was serious for a long time, and it took a bit of time to treat your injuries-“ ,

“-But I’m ok now, right? I mean, I’m still alive!” Harry interrupted. Instead of the scolding he was almost certain he was getting, the Professor’s face flickered into a frown before just as quick, returning to its normal stoic expression.

“You are going to live, correct.” The man replied soft yet cryptic. “Harry…the fall, it damaged your neck and spine a bit. We did surgery but,” Snape seemed to swallow and his face twisted into an grimace, “there is a chance you’ll never walk again.”

Silence. The world spun as Harry grasped onto the professor’s meaning. “I’m…paralyzed.” His face drained of all color and he fought the incoming bout of nausea. No more walking, running…no more Quiditich…how was he supposed to even get to Gryffindor Tower? Now he would never ever be considered normal. Another reason to be stared at, pitied. “No! You’re lying. Adults always lie to kids. I’m not paralyzed! I can’t be paralyzed! I’m fine! See?” Harry shifted his elbows to prepare to get out of the bed. Two sets of arms shot out and held him back. Not that he needed the resistance. His legs hadn’t obeyed his command to move. Two skinny twigs that he could no longer move or control.

“NO!” He screamed. “It’s not true, it’s not true!” “You’re lying, I’ll be ok! It’s just a dream-a nightmare!” Several things happened at once. A jet of white light flew from Harry, it seemed to him that it burst from his heart.

A crashing sound and then a muttered, “Reparo,” from Snape. Harry felt an hand on each of his arms, and his nostrils filled with spices and ingrediates he would normally consider very vile. Somehow, it worked and Harry felt his anger deflate. Somewhere it registered to him that he heard the Professor summon a vial of Calming Draught With Stomach Soother. Once again, the bottle was placed on his lips and he was helped in swallowing.

A minute passed before he felt the potion, tasting of lavender and milk and honey, seeping through his veins. Cloaked in the false sense of calm, he cleared his throat again. “Paralyzed? But I can still feel my hand when you squeeze my fingers. Madam Pomfrey frowned and bending down, she looked him in the face.

“Mr. Potter, your paralysis affects the lower half of your body, your thighs down.”Still under the clutches of the Calming Draught, Harry thought it odd.

“How’s that? I thought once you were paralyzed, it affects your arms too?” He pressed on.

“Mr. Potter, we wished to have this conversation later, as even this much information is unsettling at best upon waking. However, I will allow you to know that while you are unable to walk, you retained upper-body control. Your injuries would have caused lack of bladder and bowel control, but when we did your surgery, I placed permanent charms that restored that. Your neck, while it’s broken, is expected to fully heal without any complication,” the witch explained while Harry felt a warmth spread across his cheeks. He still wasn’t sure if this was all a cruel joke, because there was no way he could paralyzed. No way could they be talking about his loo habits. It wasn’t true! Yet, both of the adults acted like it was.

Harry wished that he had a free, uninjured hand so he could run his fingers through his fringe as he always did when he was scared or confused. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Bladder, bowel control. Even the thought of not having it, was embarrassing. Scary too, as what would the Dursleys say if he fouled up in their house. Forget surviving the fall, he would be dead after that! Harry swallowed, a new worry surfacing. He could feel his heart fighting the Calming Potion as it sped up and moist droplets of sweat covered his brow. Any way he looked at it, he was dead. The Dursleys would never take him back, not unless their goal was to kill him.

“The Dursleys…have they been told?” he asked, his voice meek with worry. Some part of him hoped they had not, but guessed that it was probably protocol when a student was severely injured. He felt a long hand squeeze his own and he looked into the obsidian eyes of his teacher.

“Harry, you’ll never go back there.” Harry blinked in confusion. He thought that they would be shipping him off tonight, as he had never heard of a paralyzed wizard. True, he could still cast spells and do potions, but out of a thousand students, none were paralyzed. What was he going to do? If this was the truth, and this was his life and he really was paralyzed, how would he cope? He wasn’t strong enough. Heck, who could be eleven, and face this without parents to love and support him.

More than ever, Harry’s heart ached. His Mum and Dad should be there. They should be holding his hand, kissing his cheek and hugging him. Telling him it would be ok and that they would be there for him. Ron always complained that his Mum embarrassed him with her displays of love, but Harry would do almost anything to have that. No one would ever hug Harry though. Well, Ron’s mum might, but she was Ron’s mum, not his. It wasn’t and would never be the same. Why did he care though? He had been an orphan for ten years, all his remembered life, had known he was unloved for that equal amount of time. But. He couldn’t shake it, logical or not, he wanted someone to hug him, someone to comfort him. Professor Snape was helping, all of people, but he so longed for a hug. He doubted it was possible though-the Halo and not to mention his other injuries would make physical contact like that impossible. So, no matter he had no one to give him any hugs. He sighed and refused to think any more on that topic, it could not be helped.

Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy. He must have attracted the attention of Snape and Pomfrey as he saw them inch closer to him. “Sleep now child.” The low tone of his Potions-Master and the Calming Draught he had earlier consumed lulled him to the land of slumber. The last thing he heard were the cling clong of faraway bells.

SESESESESE

Something was not right. In the far-off distance, bells tolled, welcoming in another early-morning of Christmas, but that was not what had awakened her. A sense of forbearance seeped into her veins, spreading throughout her entire body. She rubbed her eyes, attending to the sleepies that had crusted up in her hours of slumber. A pause. And then…she knew what the feeling was. Her friends had dubbed it her monitor, a peculiar sense that allowed her to know when something was wrong.

As to what was the problem, she did not know, but she would find out. Sitting up, she grasped for her wand, lying innocently on her bed stand. Once she had palmed it, she softly whispered an Lumos. Her wand lit up with a soft yellowish light and she peered at her roommates. All were asleep, so the problem was not with them. Nothing for it, she would have to disobey the curfew rules and leave her dormitory. She sighed and lowered her wand to search the floor for her house shoes. Upon locating the small lilac set, she slipped them on and cast a final glance at her friends. Satisfied that she had not awoken anyone, she tiptoed to the door.

The handle creaked as she grasped the door and she paused. A moment later, she cracked it open and tiptoed out. She took each step soft, and soon arrived in the common room. Hermoine swished her lit wand around the scarlet and gold room. She smirked when she realized that Ron was still where she had left him. She was still angry with him, but knew if something had happened, the redhead would have noticed.

“Ron!” She knelt to be eye-level with the prone boy.A blink was all he could manage and Hermione realized her mistake. “Finite Incantantum.” The witch watched as Ron’s muscles relaxed and his face less rigid. A few minutes later, Ron had recovered from the curse. In a rare moment of sympathy, the bushy-haired child, held out her arm and waited for the redhead to grasp it. Then she led him to the couch. “Are you all right?” She toyed with a lock of hair.

Ron’s face twisted, his disbelief etched in angry lines over his face. “What, are you daft? Of course I’m not all right! You cursed me!” He squeaked, sliding away from the witch.

“Well, you deserved it. Listen, I have a task for you. I need you to check on Harry for me. Something, I don’t know, is wrong.”

Ron blanched, “I already know that Harry’s not in our dorm. He crept out several hours ago. About an hour or so ago, McGonagall came in, took a look at me and left after a few minutes. Funny, she sort of half-smiled when she saw me” he trailed off, and looked at Hermione. “You think something’s wrong with him?”

Hermione only nodded and headed towards the door. Ron scrambled to join her and they journeyed into the darkened corridor. The Fat Lady was asleep, a drunken sleep it seemed for her goblet was empty and she was sprawled on the floor of her painting.

The pair , silent as mice, walked to the stairwell and stopped with a jerk. A sudden force had forbidden them to set even a toe on the top stair. The witch looked at the wizard, who returned her questioning glance. Hermione took one step back and sat down on the cool stone floor.

“Now what?” Ron turned to Hermione, confusion written all over the redhead. She pondered the problem and as she was famous for, offered her input. “Well, it’s obviously charmed so no one can go down the stairwell, but why?” The two first years were oblivious to the dark figure, crouching in the dark.