“It’s actually quite good,” Marsha said. “Symptoms typically last anywhere from an hour to a couple of weeks, and for most people, the symptoms disappear as abruptly as they arrived.”

“Tis great news, Sevvie,” Covey said, turning to Snape, her eyes alight.

“Let’s hope it holds true for wizards as well as Muggles,” Snape said, feeling less optimistic. This was Harry Potter after all, and the rules that applied to the rest of the world didn’t seem to apply to him.

“How can we help him?” Covey asked.

“You are doing it,” Marsha said. “Psychoanalysis and therapy, along with an individual who is willing to participate in the therapeutic process, yield the best outcomes.”

“Plus, he’s young,” Roland added. “Younger patients are typically more amenable to treatment. Their brains are more elastic too, more able to be rewired, so to speak.”

“Are there any other known treatments?” Snape asked. “Since Harry is a wizard, it is best that we cover all of our options should we need to try an alternative.”

“Of course,” Marsha said.

“I believe antidepressants and antianxiety medications have been used with some success,” Roland reported.

“Potions, aye,” Covey said.

“Potions?” Roland asked.

“Our version of medications,’ Snape clarified. “Anything else?”

“Hypnosis has been used,” Marsha added, “but without psychoanalysis, resolution of the primary symptom often results in its manifestation elsewhere. For instance, a person’s blindness could be resolved, only for them to become deaf.”

“We wouldna want that,” Covey said.

“I can check in the literature to see if anything new has come out, but the only other treatment I know of is TMS—transcranial magnetic stimulation. It uses magnetic fields to stimulate the nerve cells in the brain and can sometimes help to resolve the symptoms of conversation disorder,” Marsha informed them.

“It’s also been used, with some success, to treat anxiety and depression,” Roland added.

Snape nodded. “Thank you, this has been very helpful. And if you could review the literature for us, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Absolutely,” Marsha said. “If anything turns up, I will let you know right away.”

Snape paused, assessing the therapists seated before him. “Assuming Harry has conversion disorder, are you qualified to treat him?”

The Stanleys both nodded.

“Yes,” Marsha confirmed. “The treatment is not unique. It is the standard therapeutic approach that we use. In fact, almost all therapeutic methods will work.”

Roland nodded. “The important part is helping the patient to work through the trauma. In that regard, his therapy won’t really change, other than we will now be working through the added challenge of his vision loss and how that affects him emotionally.”

Snape nodded, then asked, “Is there any way to confirm that this is indeed what he is suffering from?”

“As long as Healer Covey is one hundred percent certain that there is no biological basis for his vision loss, and based on the preceding traumatic event and Harry’s history of being abused, it is safe to assume that he has conversion disorder,” Marsha said.

“And even if he didn’t,” Roland assured, “the treatment protocol is the same either way as there is no special treatment for conversion disorder.”

“It sounds as though we have a workin’ hypothesis, then, aye?”

“One more thing,” Snape said. “As I mentioned earlier, the head injury he suffered should have been fatal. Whatever happened to him when he was nine was enough to make him completely shut down. After we resuscitated him, he went into a coma of sorts. We had to use rigorous magical methods to coax him to come back to us, and when he did, he came back blind.”

Snape paused, gazing intently at the Stanleys, trying to impress the importance of this point to them. “Whatever that memory holds, I do not believe that Harry is strong enough to handle it at this point in time.”

“We understand, Dr. Snape. We will proceed with extreme caution,” Roland said, “as we do with all of our patients.”

“Yes,” Marsha echoed. “Most of the patients we treat have been abused and many have repressed memories. We help the patients work through the memories they bring to us. We do not attempt to recover memories, as that is a very dangerous practice. The mind releases blocked memories only when it is able to process them and not before.”

Snape nodded, satisfied with their answer. He glanced toward Covey. “Did I miss anything?”

‘Nay,” she said, touching his arm, “Ye covered it all.”

Covey grinned mischievously as she caught Snape’s gaze. “On ta the fun part now?”

Snape chuckled. “Go ahead.”

Covey glanced back at the Stanleys, a gleam in her eye. Tugging on her nose ring, she asked, “How would ye like ta visit a magical castle?”

“Appa-what?” Roland said, his eyes wide.

“Apparition,” Snape repeated. “It’s the fastest way to get where we are going, though it may be a bit disorientating for you, as you haven’t done it before.”

“Is it safe?” Marsha asked.

“Aye, it is that,” Covey said.

Snape awaited their decision as Marsha and Roland looked at each other. Snape knew Roland was on board—he found magic fascinating, and the allure of a magical castle was too much for him to pass up.

“You only live once, right?” he said to Marsha. “Let’s give it a go.”

Marsha was much more reluctant but, once her husband took Snape’s arm, her only choice was to hold onto Covey or be left behind.

“Front entrance, aye?”

“Yes,” Snape said, as he and Roland Disapparated on the spot.

Snape and Roland spun into being at the front gates of Hogwarts. Covey and Marsha appeared a moment later.

“Bloody mother of Jesus,” Roland swore, swaying unsteadily on his feet. “Bugger me if I ever do that again!”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Marsha proclaimed, her face deathly pale.

Snape looked over at Covey and grinned.

“Look,” Snape said, pointing to the grand castle beyond the gates. “What do you see?”

Roland was still pacing around, stamping his feet, and slapping his hands against his thighs. Marsha was standing bent at the waist, one hand on her stomach. At Snape’s question, they both looked up.

“I see a bloody ruin,” Roland said. “You put me through that for a bloody ruin?”

“It says, Danger, Keep Out,” Marsha said. She looked first at Covey, then at Snape. “Is this some sort of joke? Why are we even here? This place doesn’t feel safe at all.”

Covey smiled and patted Marsha on the shoulder. “Ye see a ruin and feel uneasy because ye are Muggles, aye? The castle has a bunch o’ spells an’ enchantments on it ta warn away non-magical persons like yerselves.”

Roland looked doubtful, Marsha flat out disbelieving.

“Are you sure we are at the right place?” Roland asked.

“Positive,” Snape said. He reached up to unlock the gates. They swung wide upon recognizing him, allowing him and the others entrance. “Trust me. Once you step through these gates, you will see the castle in all her glory.”

Roland and Marsha shared a glance, clearly worried they were being tricked.

“Would it help if I transfigured one of these rocks,” Snape pointed to the ground, “into a rabbit? Or maybe an elephant?”

“No, no,” Roland said, “that’s quite alright.” Tentatively, he stepped over the threshold and gaped. “Marsha,” he said, his voice filled with awe, “you have to see this. It’s absolutely amazing…”

Marsha looked warily at the gate, likely worried about being locked in once she stepped through the archway.

Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

Finally, her fate decided, she took a cautious couple of steps forward to join her husband. Soon, all reluctance vanished from her features as the same childlike glow she’d had when she’d held the bunny rabbit swept over her face. “It really is magical,” she whispered.

Covey sidled up next to Marsha’s side as Snape closed the gates. “Tis only the beginning, ye ken?” Covey said with a wink.

“It is Sunday, so the students won’t be in class right now,” Snape informed the Stanleys. Checking his watch, he said, “It is not dinnertime yet, either, but I imagine we will still run into a few students in the corridors. They may or may not be in uniform, since it is the weekend.”

“Right,” Roland said, looking eagerly at Snape. “A magical castle,” he said, shaking his head. He looked to his wife and grinned.

“This way, then,” Snape said, leading the group forward. “We will enter through the main doors and turn right. At the end of the long corridor you will see The Great Hall, which is where the students and staff eat their meals. We will be turning left and taking the stairs to the dungeons.”

Marsha stopped mid-step. “The dungeons?”

Giving her a deadpan expression, he said, “That is where my living quarters are.”

“You live in a dungeon?” Marsha asked, clearly alarmed.

“Sevvie,” Covey said, batting his arm, “Stop scarin’ them.”

“What?” Severus said with a straight face. “I do live in the dungeons.”

“Dinna fash,” Covey said, rolling her eyes as she took Marsha by the arm. “Tis really quite beautiful. There‘s nothin‘ ta be afraid of, I promise.”

They made their way up the front steps before Snape stopped and turned to face them. “I must remind you both that you have signed a confidentiality agreement. Anything that you see—from the time you entered the gates until the time that you leave them—is strictly confidential. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“In addition, you may see a variety of things that are unusual to you. Please save your questions until we are in the sanctity of my quarters, or until your return journey, understood?”

Again, they both nodded.

“Finally,” Snape said, “Harry will be there, as will his friends, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. While magic is new to you, it is normal for them. I would therefore like to remind you that you are here, by our invitation, in a professional capacity.”

Choosing his words carefully, Snape continued. “Harry is still quite fragile at present and is struggling to come to terms with the loss of his vision. Therefore, I ask that you keep Harry’s needs at the forefront of your mind, regardless of the uniqueness of what you will experience here today. You are of course welcome to share your questions or comments with either one of us,” Snape gestured to Covey and himself, “at a later time.”

“Absolutely,” Roland said.

“Yes, of course,” his wife responded.

“Very well, then. Are you ready?” Snape asked.

“Ready,” Roland replied, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Marsha merely nodded, clearly more unsure.

Snape took the last few steps and pulled open the large wooden doors. “Please follow me.”

He led them past the jewel-filled hourglasses, several statues, and a few moving portraits to the intersection of the entrance hall and the main thoroughfare. This was the main transfer point in the castle, and several stairways ascended to the various floors of Hogwarts, a few of them moving occasionally to shuttle students to a different location. Snape watched as the Stanleys, eyes wide with wonder, tried to keep their reactions in check.

“This way,” Snape said, leading them down the main corridor toward the Great Hall. Suits of armor saluted them along the way and a few students in Slytherin robes greeted their head of house, while others just looked curiously at the group of them. A couple of first years were playing a game of gobstones in an alcove, while farther along, some older students were waging war across a game of wizard’s chess. A ghost floated by and, unable to see it, the Stanleys just shivered. A stray owl was perched on a windowsill, hooting dolefully. Another student passed by levitating a cauldron in front of him with his wand. Said student promptly grabbed it and shoved it behind him when he noticed Snape. Hagrid the half-giant walked by, dwarfing them all and greeting them jovially as he passed. Two Hufflepuffs holding brooms skidded to a slow walk upon seeing Snape, heading to the Quidditch pitch, no doubt.

Snape glanced at Covey, who was clearly enjoying the Stanleys’ stunned expressions.

“The Great Hall,” Snape announced. They all stopped for a moment as the Stanleys peered inside at the raised dais where the staff sat, and the four long house tables. Several students were scattered throughout, working on homework or socializing.

“This way,” Snape said after a few moments, leading them to the stairway to the dungeons. As they descended deeper into the castle, sconces lit the windowless corridors, giving the stonework a yellowish glow. It was cooler down here, as well. Fewer students were in the halls, and the atmosphere was more subdued. Snape liked it that way. He had enough energetic students to last him a lifetime.

“Down this passage, if you please,” he said, leading them to one of the entrances to his quarters.

Standing in front of a stone wall, set apart from the rest of the corridor by a decorative stone archway that seemingly led nowhere, Snape tapped his wand against a particular stone in the wall and said, “Moonwart.”

Instantly, the stones slid apart to reveal a heavy wooden door. He placed his palm on the door and it, too, slid aside, admitting them into his private living space. He led them through a short passage and into the sitting room.

“Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the grouping of furniture surrounding them. A fire burned in the grate, taking the chill out of the air.

“I’ll make some tea, aye?” Covey said, winking at Snape as she made her way to the small kitchen.

Marsha and Roland remained standing, taking in their surroundings with dumbfounded expressions.

“Incredible,” Roland said.

“This is beautiful,” Marsha said, admiring the high cream arched ceilings supported by thick wooden beams, the tasteful decor, leather furniture, matching wooden bookcases, desks, and tables, and the large off-white fur rug that lay upon the flagstones.

Snape gave them a moment to absorb what they’d seen, smirking at their childlike wonder.

Everyone jumped when an unexpected voice rang out.

“I thought I heard voices.”

They turned to see Harry, standing in an adjacent doorway, arms outstretched to either side, holding onto the doorframe. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger stood behind him looking nervous.