Before the Dawn – Chapter 5

By jharad17

Disclaimer: What? No, no, no, don't put it there! The drapes are all wrong. . . .

Warning for language, and mentions of abuse and rape, but nothing graphic. Also, huge amounts of scientific research included in this chapter, which if I made mistakes in, is all my fault.

Previously:

Yet if this wasn't fixed, Harry would fall apart even more, emotionally and physically, with the hallucinations, psychosis and death to follow. What in the world were they going to do?

Harry sat on one of the beds in the Infirmary, hidden by a screen and a Privacy Charm, and waited for Madam Pomfrey to return. Snape had let him use his Invisibility cloak to come up here, and had walked alongside him, to make sure no one attacked him in the halls, with hexes, mind control or an illegal portkey. Harry knew he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help it. He didn't feel safe anymore, anywhere except in his quarters. His and Snape's.

Sitting on the bed, Harry rubbed his clammy, sweaty palms on his legs, which were covered by a light blanket. He also wore a hospital gown, which he had only worn a couple times in here, usually in between stages of injury: clothes he'd been injured in, then hospital gown if there were tests he had to undergo while conscious, then pajamas, until he was released. Usually, though, he went right from clothes to pajamas, since if he was injured badly enough, he would be unconscious, and any tests were bound to be of the life-saving variety.

He figured there was probably something really wrong with him, that he knew those stages.

Or really wrong with the amount his body got wrecked, anyway.

Last Spring, a little before the debacle at the Ministry, and right after he had suffered a weird backlash from a hex one of his DA students had cast, he and Ron had jokingly tried to calculate how many times, exactly, he had visited the Infirmary.

Too many times, from what he could remember.

He hadn't needed to be here, though, since Snape had nearly died in the broom accident, and then it was to bring Snape in. Of course, he'd been injured since, just he'd had Snape to look after him instead, and Madam Pomfrey probably didn't know as much about mind-blowing stuff like what he'd done to Draco's father.

Probably just as well.

He wiped his hands again, wondering where Snape and Madam Pomfrey were. It had been at least an hour - maybe two - since they'd left him here on the bed, saying they'd be right back.

He sighed. It was bad, he knew it. Whatever was wrong with him, whether from Uncle Vernon's choking, or from being raped, he knew it was bad. They wouldn't have looked at him like he was a kicked puppy otherwise, and then left, saying they "had things to discuss."

It was his fucking life! What could they possibly have to discuss that they couldn't talk about in front of him?

He was working himself up, and he knew it, but he could hardly stand the suspense anymore. He just wanted to know. Deciding getting yelled at was better than sitting still, if it got him some answers, or at least a break from the agony of waiting, he slid off the bed, pulled his cloak around his shoulders, and padded over to the curtain, ready to draw it back and seek out his guardian, consequences be damned.

His fingers were on the fabric already, when the screen was shifted aside by Madam Pomfrey, who glared at the empty bed.

"Mr. Potter," she muttered, looking around for him, though he was well hidden by his father's cloak, "I swear, I'll tie you to the bed next-"

Harry pulled off the cloak quickly, before she could get more wound up and declare she would hex him, and her expression instantly softened.

Oh god. It must be really bad.

"Sit down, Harry, please."

She didn't say 'Mr. Potter.' It must be even worse than he thought. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing we can't help you get through," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped. He still had not resumed his seat.

"Professor Snape should be back in a few minutes. We'll discuss your treatment then."

On the tip of his tongue was a number of protests to that remark, but he just sighed. Clearly, she did not think he could handle the news. And neither did Snape. Fine. He was clearly fucked.

"Sit down," she said again. "Please, Harry."

This time, he did.

At least she had told him the truth about how long Snape would be, as Harry had barely scooted backwards on the bed and started worrying again before the dour professor eased his way behind the privacy screen. He caught Harry's eye immediately, and Harry was glad to see the man frowning, rather than sporting the ill-fitting stricken look he'd had before he'd gone.

"Potter," he said, glaring now. Probably because Harry had sighed too loudly.

Still, unsure what he could have done to merit this level of irritation, Harry scowled back. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong with me now?"

"Watch your cheek," Snape snapped.

Harry opened his mouth to tell Snape that he'd love to watch it, except that his brain damage was getting in the way, but Madam Pomfrey interrupted him. Probably for the best.

"Is everything set?" she asked Snape. "Is he giving you time?"

Snape gave a sharp nod. "With strings attached, naturally," he added with a snarl. Apparently, whatever the strings were attached to did not meet with Snape's approval. Harry's greatest concern was over what the time given was for, however.

Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows shot up. "That's lovely," she said, and when Snape started to respond, she overrode him with, "But not really relevant at this moment." She jutted her chin at Harry, and Snape nodded sharply, looking away.

Great. More secrets.

The Medi-witch sighed and turned to Harry. "We did a number of tests on you this morning, as you know." He nodded, as she seemed to expect some sort of response. She gave him a little smile. "First of all, there are few residual effects from your captivity this summer-"

"So no diseases?" Harry dared to hope. With the way his luck ran, and after so much shit had happened . . .

"No diseases. No damage to your internal organs, either." She grimaced slightly. "There was a small amount of nerve damage from repetitive use of the Cruciatus, however. I'm afraid you may always experience light tremors or tingling in your extremities, especially when you're over tired or stressed."

Harry nodded quickly, well aware of that particular remnant. But there was obviously more; why else would Snape not be looking at him, still?

Madam Pomfrey drew a long breath. "The spell you were using to stave off sleep is an addictive one, but it can also exacerbate certain nerve defects. As it had done with you, with regards to the numbness and tingling." She regarded him severely. "You will not use that spell anymore. Agreed?"

When he hesitated for the merest second, Madam Pomfrey frowned heavily at the same time Snape growled, "Potter! We've already discussed this!"

"I know! I'm not going to, I told you! I just-"

"I know what you told me, Potter-"

"I hate when you call me that! You only do it when you're angry at me, and I don't even know why you're angry this time."

Snape glared. Harry glared back. He hated not knowing what he'd done to make Snape all nasty again. He wanted to yell at Snape to just tell him for pity's sake. But he knew Snape wouldn't, that he'd just sneer or something, and Harry would feel even worse.

"I said I wouldn't use it again," he mumbled. He just didn't know what he was meant to do instead. He could not sleep. Or rather, he could not deal with the nightmares that came with sleep. And he wasn't sure Snape understood that. Not really.

"There are treatments," Madam Pomfrey said calmly, now that he and Snape weren't yelling anymore, "that will hopefully heal some of that damage." She glanced at Snape. "There are two different potions that your professor knows of, and a few salves. But the best results have surprisingly come through a process of individual, specific muscle exercise."

Harry frowned. "Like physical therapy?"

"Is that the Muggle term?" she asked. When Harry nodded, she said, "Something similar, yes."

"Will I do that with you?" From what little Harry knew of physical therapy, it involved a fair bit of touching between therapist and patient, and Harry was not keen on anyone touching him. But if anyone was going to, she would be his only choice."

"No . . ." She glanced at Snape again, who was trying to appear as if he was ignoring the conversation, and suddenly, Harry knew why.

He drew in a sharp breath. "You?"

Snape gave one curt nod.

Oh, god.

Harry swallowed, starting to feel a bit nauseated. "What else?"

"I did discover a bit of damage to your visual cortex," Madam Pomfrey went on, relentlessly, "which I would attribute to repeated strangulation." Before Harry could turn to bright a shade of red for her bringing up the abuse, as Snape had called it, she continued, "The damage can be corrected with some specialized spell work." She held up a hand, "And no, I do not have the skill required. There are at least two Healers at St. Mungo's who do, though."

"But I'm not going to St. Mungo's, am I."

"No," she said and glanced quickly at Snape. Harry wished she'd stop doing that; it was like she wanted him to be part of the conversation, but he was refusing, and Harry couldn't figure out why. "Not at this time. Professor Snape seems to think it's not safe."

In response - or maybe because someone had stuck a bug up his nose - Snape curled his lips into a bit of a sneer. His attitude was really starting to cheese Harry off, but damned if he was going to say anything. It's not as if it mattered at all, if Snape was an arse.

"Anything else?" Harry asked, wondering if they were saving the best for last.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "There is . . . some other damage."

Harry's mouth went dry, but he made himself ask, "What is it?" For the first time, Snape looked at him without snarling or glaring. That, more than anything else, put the fear of the Medi-witch's next words into Harry.

And then she hesitated again. Harry wanted to scream at her to just get on with it, already. "There is substantial scarring on the frontal lobe of your cerebral cortex, as well as the cerebellum."

That sounded bad. But what did it mean? He waited for Madam Pomfrey to continue.

"I believe much of the damage itself was caused by repeated anoxia - lack of oxygen," she clarified when Harry gave her a questioning look, "- caused by your uncle."

"But not all?" Harry asked, still trying to figure out what this damage meant.

"No, not all. From what I can tell, and Professor Snape concurs, some of what is showing on the scans is much more recent and has a peculiar, magical signature to it. I think that the earlier scarring did not impair you unduly, although I might contest that your ability to control your impulses was affected more than we may ever know."

She huffed out a breath. "But after the mental battles you fought this summer, with both the Headmaster and You Know Who," and Lucius Malfoy, Harry added silently to himself, "we found odd bright spots on the scan surrounding much of the scarring . . . It's not anything I've seen before. Frankly, I don't know whether that old scarring will manifest now, because of this magical element, or if the magic will block that from happening." She gave him a long look. "We're going to have to find out one way or the other."

It took him a few moments to figure out what she meant. There was damage to his brain, but she thought it hadn't necessarily been apparent before. Now, though, it might show up, because of all he went through this summer. And what did Snape think? "Okay . . . but, the scarred part of my brain," Harry pushed her for an answer, his hands clenched together in the blanket on his lap, "what's it do? Or what's it supposed to do, if it's not damaged?"

"Your frontal lobe is responsible for your higher thinking functions, memory, planning, reasoning and judgment, as well as impulse control."

Harry gulped a breath. "And now that part is damaged."

She shook her head. "It's been damaged all along," she said softly. "But as far as I can tell, you've not suffered many of the effects. You are capable of retention, and reasoning and judgment, too."

Harry looked sidelong at Snape, who had on one of his best blank faces, though at least he was looking at him. "I bet the professor would disagree." He lifted his chin defiantly as the implications became quite clear. Probably Snape was all snarky right now because he was embarrassed at his previous behavior. Harry had actually not been as capable of planning and remembering stuff as other people, because of the damage to his brain, and Snape had been taunting him about it for years. "In fact, he's been saying for five years that I couldn't do any of those."

In his wildest dreams, Harry would never have guessed that Snape could actually blush. But when twin spots of color appeared on the professor's cheeks, Harry had to admit that it was possible. He also knew he was right about the embarrassment.

In addition, Snape did not deny the charge. So, Snape must have disagreed with Madam Pomfrey. He knew that Harry had been affected by the damage to his brain. Now they just needed to find out if the magic spots were going to help him, or if they would make everything worse.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed as she gazed at the professor. "Severus?"

Snape refused to meet her eye.

For some reason, Harry decided to rescue him. "Doesn't matter anymore, really. But hey, maybe I'll be better now, with that magical stuff in my head."

Snape snorted, arms still crossed over his chest protectively . . . defensively, Harry revised. But he nodded, a bit less curtly than before. "It is possible," he allowed. Then he met Harry's gaze head on and continued, "But it is also possible nothing will change."

"Yeah, I'll still be a impulsive idiot. But at least we'll know why."

"Pot . . . Harry, you are not an idiot." His earlier snarkiness apparently abating, Snape appeared to take this point very seriously.

Whatever. "No, I just can't remember things very well. Or organize my thoughts properly. Or plan worth a damn. But really, I'm fine." He shrugged. "So long as I'm a good little weapon for the cause, what does the rest really matter?"

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey gasped.

Snape's "Mr. Potter," was tinged with a much more disappointed tone.

Harry looked away from Snape, as shame made his face burn. He didn't think the Headmaster - or Snape - really felt that way about him. Just . . . a lot had happened this summer, especially with Dumbledore, and he wasn't sure he could ever look at the man the same way again. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"Mm," Snape said, sounding unconvinced.

Harry set his jaw, refusing to apologize again, and brought them back on track. "Erm, what about the serra- sara bell thing?"

"Cerebellum, dear." Madam Pomfrey seemed to have gotten over her shock of Harry's outburst. "The main part affected is the vestibulocerebellum, which is primarily responsible for your sense of balance and your gait, the way you walk."

Harry frowned, then grinned cheekily. "Could it have caused the problems I have Flooing? I always fall down."

"It's possible," the Medi-witch said slowly, "but I would be hesitant to say you were affected at all, given your prowess on a broom."

Sobering, Harry asked, "Well, do you think I'll have more problems with my balance now, or less? I mean, I was able to fly all right the day before classes started."

"It's possible there will be no changes, as with the other issues," she said.

"But it's possible things could get better, or worse."

"Correct." Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "We just don't know. Unfortunately, it looks like we'll just have to wait and see."

"More tests?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Not at present."

Harry took that in, grateful to not be at the business end of her wand again for a bit. He hoped they were done cataloguing his problems, but he had a feeling they were not. "So . . . was there any more damage in my brain?"

She nodded, and Harry's stomach sank. He didn't think he could take much more of this. Madam Pomfrey pinched her lips together, then said, "In addition to the problems in your frontal lobe, I found a number of perfectly round lesions in the pons Varolii."

"Pons what?"

"Varolii, after the Italian Muggle scientist who found it and named it."

"What's it do?"

"It has many functions . . . including, as Wizarding Healers have discovered, a rather large role in dreaming."

"Nightmares, too?"

"I believe so." She hesitated, then said, "The lesions you have on your pons Varolii are not as a result of anoxia, but solely from magical means."

"So my uncle had nothing to do with it, then?"

"No, nothing. I . . ." Her gaze went to Snape once more, "Rather, we believe that the magical visions and dreams you had with alarming frequency during your fifth year and this past summer, combined with the recent overuse of the Excito spell, as well as your current insomnia, are all contributing causes. These lesions are . . . pure magic."

She stopped, regarding him. He stared back, having no idea what she wanted from him. So he asked. "Does, erm . . . what's that mean?"

"It means they can only be cured by magic."

"Okay . . ."

"But I have never seen such lesions, have never even heard of them appearing like this, so perfectly round and . . . I will need to do some consultations - very discreetly," she added quickly when Snape threw her a glare that Harry was just glad was not aimed at him, "- with my colleagues at St. Mungo's, but it may take some time to figure out exactly what we can do to heal them."

"But you'll be able to?" Harry asked. Normally he wouldn't even question such a thing, but something in her tone made him wonder. "Or, well, someone can, right?"

"I believe so."

"But you're not sure."

She held his gaze. "No, I am not sure."

Harry nodded. His hands were still clenched together, and he stared at them, shivering slightly in the cool air of the Infirmary. This just kept getting better and better. "What will happen to me, if they can't be healed?"

"Look at me, Mr. Potter. Please." When Harry did, Madam Pomfrey gave him a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but it only made the whole thing more unreal. "We will do everything we can to help you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said quietly. He did know that; he just didn't like feeling so helpless. It was all just starting to sink in. Brain damage. Merlin. Uncle Vernon had really fucked him up, probably more than the obese man had ever planned. Harry didn't think, to this day, that his uncle ever really meant him harm. He just didn't like having Harry in his home, and was always in fear of what Harry's magic could possibly do to his precious family. He had resented Harry, and probably felt as helpless to protect his family as Harry felt right now.

And yet, Harry recalled with a sense of dread, this particular problem wasn't even his uncle's fault. It was solely Harry's, for using that damned spell. Well, and maybe Voldemort's, for sending him the visions.

Letting go of the lip that had made it's way between his teeth, he said, "So, what do the lesions mean then?"

Instead of answering his question directly, she said, "We only allow the use of Dreamless Sleep potion on a limited basis, even when a student suffers terrible nightmares. Do you know why that is?"

"It's addictive," Harry answered. It was what he had been told numerous times, by her and Snape both.

"Yes. But also, if any human's unconscious mind is not allowed to dream on a fairly regular basis, their mood can be adversely affected, as well as their long term memory retention. In the magical community, however, dreaming is far more important than even that. Dreaming replenishes your magical core. Not dreaming doesn't allow that to happen, and very quickly, you can be magically weakened to the point of being unable to cast even the simplest of spells."

Harry stared at her, almost tempted to laugh. Karma was a bitch. "So . . . unless we fix this, I'll be a Squib?"

"We will fix it," Snape said.

Harry rounded on him. "How?"

The professor sighed. "You and I are going to leave Hogwarts for a time. I will endeavor to help you to sleep, and to dream."

"Potions?"

Snape nodded. "Among other things. It will be . . . trying, for both of us. Which is why I am taking a leave of absence from teaching until we have this figured out."

Harry gaped at him, not sure if he had heard right. "What? You can't leave! What about the Slytherins? What about Draco?"

Snape's eyebrows went up in surprise. "What about them? I am your guardian, Mr. Potter, a responsibility I take very seriously. I will see you through this latest crisis. No other obligation of mine is as important."

Gobsmacked, Harry could only say, "But they need you!"

"So do you, Harry." He sighed and moved closer to the bed. Harry got the oddest feeling that Snape actually wanted to give him a hug. It was a weird sensation, but passed quickly, even when Snape sat next to him on the bed. The man kept his hands firmly in his own lap, but Harry was sure he wanted to reach for one of Harry's. To offer comfort? Harry could not wrap his mind around the concept.

As he regarded Harry, some kind of heavy emotion settled in the professor's eyes. Even his voice sounded choked as he said, "One day, you will learn that you are as worthy of receiving aid as anyone else. That you are worthy of others' time and attention. Perhaps I will be the one to teach you."

Harry didn't have it in him to tell Snape how very wrong he was. It was simply one revelation too many that day.

TBC….

A/N: Thanks to all who read and review! Please contribute to the Hugs-For-Harry Foundation. A local chapter is standing by to take your pledge.