Had he been a man of lesser observational skills, Severus may have failed to notice it at all. As it were, it was only towards the end of his second lesson with those infernal Gryffindor first years that it came to his attention.

The Potter boy was odd.

He rarely spoke, and the few words Severus had heard from him had emerged as faint whispers that even Severus, with his superior sense of hearing, could barely make out.

Severus had witnessed many of the boy’s housemates attempt to draw him into conversation, both during class and at mealtimes, to which he would reply with whispered, one-word responses.

Many had ceased trying altogether, and the few who persisted would undoubtedly abandon their overtures before long.

Well, the boy was a far cry from his father, Severus had to admit, but that simply made it more difficult to hate the boy.

During that dreaded first lesson, the moment Severus had met the boy’s bright green eyes, hidden behind those ridiculous eyeglasses that were situated upon that smug, Potter face, he was helpless to contain the pent-up anger that had been brought forth due to the boy’s presence in the school.

He’d been compelled to spontaneously quiz the boy, if only to wipe that superior look off of his face and replace it with the twisted expression of confusion that Severus knew would surely appear.

But no.

The boy had averted his eyes, an action for which, despite its rudeness, Severus was eternally grateful, and he’d not said a word, despite Severus’ best efforts to provoke a response.

Severus had latched on to that opportunity to assign the boy a detention, if just to avenge upon James Potter for all that had transpired between them. Now, however, he was more interested in making use of that time to determine exactly what was wrong with the boy.

Because it wasn’t only his silence.

The boy’s right shoulder twitched several times a minute, in a movement that resembled a shrug, though in a quicker and jerkier motion. It seemed to adversely affect the boy’s activities as well. Admittedly, the boy worked diligently in class, precisely chopping ingredients in smooth, steady movements and adding them to his cauldron in a timely manner. However, his efforts were often interrupted by that twitch of his shoulder, forming jagged cuts along his ingredients, and several times, nicking his own fingers.

Severus had never seen anything quite like it before.

So here he was, at seven-twenty-one on Friday evening, grading a stack of essays written by dim-witted second years who seemed to have retained barely a scrap of knowledge obtained during the previous school year, and awaiting the Potter boy’s arrival for his detention.

At precisely seven-twenty-eight, there was a hesitant, though steady knock on the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened slowly, and the boy walked in. His eyes were trained towards the left side of the room, away from Severus, his hands in the pockets of his robes, and his shoulders hunched tightly.

Severus cleared his throat, pointing to the chair before his desk.

“Sit.”

The boy walked over and sat quickly, eyes on his lap.

“Well,” Severus began. “I presume you know why you are here?”

The boy gave a slight nod, his eye still downcast.

“Speak up,” said Severus sharply. Had the boy learned nothing thus far?

The boy looked up quickly, his startling green gaze piercing Severus’ face.

“Y-y-yes sir,” the boy finally said, in a voice a few decibels shy of a whisper. His right shoulder twitched.

What is the matter with this boy?

“Clearly,” Severus drawled, “due to the necessity of my prompting a verbal response, you understand very little of why you are here.”

Severus watched the boy carefully. He seemed frustrated; his nails were digging into his palms, his jaw was tight, and his eyes, which darted quickly from side to side, seemed to swim in frustration.

His shoulder twitched.

This is no ordinary defiant behavior.

Severus raised an eyebrow. He felt almost guilty for what he was about to say next, but it had to be done should he have any hope of discovering what it was that plagued the boy.

“If you disagree,” he said smoothly, “perhaps you can provide me an explanation for your current predicament."

If the boy had looked troubled before, he seemed positively panicked, now. His hands curled into fists and he stiffened in his chair, his chest heaving so that Severus could see the movement through the boy’s robes.

His shoulder twitched again.

Severus merely waited, his eyebrow still raised in askance.

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Finally…

“I-I’m here b-b-b-because I-,” the boy paused to draw a shallow breath, then forced the rest of the words out as though they caused him physical pain. “I d-d-didn’t answer y-y-y-your q-questions.”

Once the stilted, faint response emerged from his mouth, the boy immediately tensed further and looked down, as though braced for something unpleasant.

Merlin’s beard.

For the first time in many a long year, Severus was unsure of what to say next. What could he say? Sure, he was a cold man who paid little mind to the delicate sensitivities of idiotic children, and he took pains to maintain his reputation as such, but he wasn’t heartless. Well, not quite as heartless as most students believed him to be.

He directed his focus back upon the boy, who was still staring at his lap. The boy’s position did not disguise the tension in his body.

“Potter.”

The boy looked up quickly, hands clutching at the sides of his chair so tightly his knuckles were white, and Severus was once again assaulted by the vivid green of his eyes.

However, it was not only Lily he was reminded of.

It was the child, years ago, near the start of his teaching career, whom he had failed. The young boy had been placed in Severus’ house, under his care, and he had failed to make the slightest effort in understanding the boy’s difficulties. Angered and bitter, he had ignored the signs and ridiculed the child for his struggles.

What had resulted in his cruelty was something Severus took great pains in forgetting.

And here was young Harry Potter, displaying such similar behaviors it was haunting. And the pain was plainly written for Severus to see beneath the green of his eyes.

“Potter,” Severus repeated, “You will be writing lines this evening.”

The boy’s facial expression shifted slightly. His shoulder twitched.

Severus pushed a scroll of parchment, quill, and inkwell towards the boy, who took unrolled the parchment and hesitantly grasped the quill.

“You will write: I will attempt to provide others with vocal responses.”

The boy clutched the quill more tightly, but made no other response.

With a raised eyebrow from Severus, the boy dipped the quill into the inkwell and began writing, his hand shaking slightly.

It was then when Severus noticed that the boy was writing with his left hand.

Odd, I did not think the boy was left-handed.

Severus’ confusion intensified when he saw how awkwardly the boy was holding the quill, the ink splatters on the parchment, and the rough, shaky handwriting.

The boy’s right shoulder twitched, and Severus understood.

It was then that the boy seemed to notice Severus’ stare, and he quickly stopped writing, a blush of shame making its way up his face.

“I-I,” the boy started. Severus waited, sitting perfectly still. The boy huffed in frustration, then closed his mouth and made to continue his writing.

“Speak,” Severus said in a carefully modulated tone. “You will not be ridiculed for your efforts.”

The child met Severus’ eyes, then, and the sheer confusion and surprise the boy felt at Severus’ statement was plain to see.

“I-I’m b-b-better with a p-p-pen,” the boy finally managed to choke out, his shoulder twitching yet again.

Ah, he must have trained himself in using muggle writing utensils left-handed, but has not had to chance to do so with a quill.

Severus made a firm decision.

“Set down your quill, Potter.”

The boy let the quill drop from his fingers, the anxiety plainly written on his face. His shoulder twitched.

“For precisely how long have you been experiencing difficulty with your shoulder?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the question, as though no other person had ever asked it of him. By evidence of the child’s behavior, it most likely had not been.

“N-n-not sure. A l-l-long t-time.”

Odd. I shall have to look into the matter. There must be something to be done about it. And an explanation as to what may have caused it.

“You attended a muggle primary school, I assume?”

The boy nodded slowly.

“And how did they respond to the difficulties you display?”

The boy flushed, though, Severus noticed, more out of anger than shame.

“T-they p-p-put me in c-class with th-the d-dumb kids,” he muttered, clutching his right arm tightly.

“They made no attempt to procure assistance for you?”

“M-my-u-u-u-u-uncle-” the boy stopped, unable to force the word past his lips. But he tried again.

“He w-wouldn’t p-pay. T-told them n-n-not to. S-said I w-w-was b-b-born s-s-stupid.”

Severus felt a terrific surge of anger, and only with considerable effort did he manage to prevent it from showing. The boy was anxious enough as it was.

“And what do you believe, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked, nearly whispering.

The boy swallowed several times, his left hand pressing down on his right shoulder.

“He’s right,” the boy whispered. “I c-c-can’t even d-do s-sp-spells p-properly ‘c-cause of my s-s-stutter and-and-” unable to go on, the boy gestured sharply towards his shoulder.

The anguish that had been so plain on the child’s face then abruptly faded, leaving behind a tired, almost blank expression. Severus recognized it as hopelessness.

“That is entirely false, Mr. Potter.”

The boy looked disbelieving. “W-which bit?” he asked in a tone that, under other circumstances, Severus might have docked points for.

“All of it.” Severus leaned forward in his seat, his palms flat on the desk. “You are not stupid, and you most certainly can do spells properly, despite your current limitations.”

The boy gave him a tired, skeptical look, twisting the fabric of his robes in a frantic motion.

“Return to my office at this time on Monday,” Severus said.

The boy’s eyes widened. “W-why?” he asked, confusion and panic lacing his tone. His shoulder twitched.

“You require assistance, and I can provide it to you,” Severus said briskly.

The child stared, the fear ebbing slightly but the confusion only growing. As though he could not comprehend the idea of being helped. As though he was certain that it was too good to be true, too good for ­him, and that there was certainly a price to pay for any kindness done for him, and, perhaps, the price was too steep.

Severus heaved a breath.

“All that is required of you is your cooperation and effort,” he said calmly.

The boy nodded, still clearly lost and not a little fearful.

“You may leave for today.”

As he watched the boy go, it was clear to Severus that he was embarking upon a path that he never would have expected to encounter. But he found, somehow, that he didn’t really mind.