Severus Snape was always watching.

This was a fact the students of Slytherin house were well aware of. If a child in his house needed something, anything, it would appear on their bed before the day was up. If a student were being bullied, it was only a matter of hours before the perpetrator would be caught and punished. And if a student were ill or injured, the potions master would personally escort them to the hospital wing if they were unable to make it themselves.

The Slytherins knew this and appreciated their Head of House greatly for his vigilance. It was difficult being in the most reviled house in the whole of Hogwarts, if not the wizarding world. Having someone paying such close attention to their needs was a rarity, especially for those who had learned their cunning via unfortunate home experiences.

For the potions master, this was a level of alertness which he had achieved via years of his own misfortunes. And it was a skill he was unable to, and unwilling to ignore.

The first time he saw Harry Potter utilize the floo, he honestly thought what he observed was a fluke. The boy had come stumbling out of the fire into the Leaky Cauldron and promptly fell over. He was followed shortly by the massive cohort of red-heads he was always seen with, leading Severus to promptly quash any concern he may have had for the boy.

But the feeling something was odd remained.

He could have sworn he saw a latency in the child’s left side’s movement. It was very subtle, but the responsiveness to falling the child should have had was not there. It almost seemed as though his left side was a fraction of a second slower than his right.

Severus tried to explain it away as ‘the boy was not used to using the floo,’ or ‘Potter is clumsy on the ground,’ but there was still a thought in the back of his mind that he should pay more attention.

The boy was clearly able to run around the castle fine and Quidditch was not a problem for him. If it wasn’t bothering him, there wasn’t a reason for Severus to get involved.

Besides, Mr. Potter was not a member of his house; Minerva could deal with the problem if it was truly an issue.

His curiosity was piqued, however. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but observe the boy. And he wasn’t disappointed. He could see it when the boy was working on cutting ingredients for class in how much extra effort he took to move his fingers out of the way and change his grip on what he was holding. He could see it in how the child went up the stairs, a slightly uncadenced trot almost as though he were locking his knee to prevent himself from falling.

The more Severus saw, the more he kept looking. And the more he looked the more he saw.

It was so subtle.

As the years drug on, Severus noted little change in this condition. There was the occasional trip or dropped object, but nothing too out of the ordinary for a growing child.

Then came the Tri-Wizard Tournament. When Harry Potter had returned with the body of the now deceased Cedric Diggory screaming about the return of the Dark Lord, Severus had been called to the Dark Lord’s side. While Harry was receiving treatment for his injuries in the hospital wing, Severus was being tortured for being a spy. No amount of begging could convince the Dark Lord that he had been loyal; Severus knew he was going to die.

By some miracle, there was still an emergency Portkey in the pocket of his Death Eater robes from his actual spying days. And by an even larger miracle, it still worked. A twist of the top of the ring and he found himself whisked away to a safehouse and a notification sent to Albus that the portkey was used.

It had taken him several days to recover from his injuries and several more weeks for his nerves to be free of the residual pain caused by repeated use of the Cruciatus. By the time he was physically able to return to Hogwarts, the school had already closed for the year.

The first few weeks of that summer passed rather peacefully for the potions master. He relished in the freedom given by no longer being a spy, though the Dark Lord did continue to torment him routinely through the Dark Mark. It was better than in person, however, and a few pain potions did wonders.

This peace, however, was shattered when Dumbledore summoned him to Grimmauld Place. Apparently, Mr. Potter had gotten himself into trouble yet again. A dementor had been seen in the neighborhood his aunt and uncle lived in; it had attacked both Potter and his cousin. The cousin would be fine, though was quite shaken by the ordeal.

Potter, however, was not as lucky.

The dementor had not managed to get the boy’s soul, thankfully, but it had come close enough the boy was struggling with maintaining consciousness. And every time he would lose consciousness, he would only be still for a short period of time before the screaming would begin. The boy would arch his back, scream, writhe, and shake as though under the Cruciatus himself.

Even with the chocolate the damn wolf was shoving down the boy’s throat every time he was awake, there was minimal improvement for several days. When he finally did come to in a more meaningful way, the decision was made to move the boy from Grimmauld Place to the safe house Severus had been using. Despite having his friends and his dogfather at the historic Black manor, he needed more one on one care.

Naturally, Black and his friends were not supportive of this idea.

“He’s going to kill Harry! He’s going to use him as potions ingredients!” the youngest Weasley boy had yelled before stomping out of the room.

Severus was not fond of the idea himself, but he understood the rationale. Keep the boy in a place unknown to anyone in the Dark Lord’s company and in a house whose soul purpose was to be a place of rest and healing. Close enough to France to allow for international apparation if necessary but also close to London and the main hubs of the British Wizarding World.

Harry himself didn’t say much one way or another. He didn’t like Snape, that much was for certain, but he was too out of it and felt too tired to fight Dumbledore’s decision.

Besides, there was way too much going on at Grimmauld place.

Harry had always had difficulties with studying in large groups or in noisy areas, and, since the dementor attack, he was finding it more difficult than normal to focus.

Severus flooed to the safe house ahead of Harry to make sure the wards were ready to receive the boy as they had been keyed into his magical signature to protect him should his position as spy be compromised. He was given a few minutes to cast a series of strengthening wards and key the boy into the wards before Harry came crashing through the floo.

Severus only sneered as Harry pried himself off the floor, noting the slight stumble and lean to the left Harry initially presented with. Severus felt a queasiness in his stomach; there was something more sinister to this. There had to be. Using the floo was one of the safest forms of travel for wizards to use. Even the healers of St Mungo’s would use the floo when transporting patients to the hospital rather than apparation or Portkey if it was a possibility.

If tripping and falling out of the floo was a common occurrence, there would have been regulations on hearths and spells required to prevent injury that would have been put in place when the floo network was created. But people didn’t just fall over in the floo.

Watching the boy alight the stairs to the bedrooms, the feeling grew. While at Hogwarts, Potter had always taken the stairs like every one of his classmates: one foot per step. While his steps were never even, unlike his peers, he was able to go up and down the stairs with relative ease. Now, it seemed that was a struggle.

The first few stairs, Severus watched as the boy attempted to go up them in the same manner he always had, only for his left knee to buckle slightly every time it bore his full weight. Potter then switched how he was going up the stairs so he was taking each stair one at a time and locking his left knee so he wouldn’t fall. He was also hanging onto the railing with his right hand as though his life depended on it.

Something was wrong and Severus was going to get to the bottom of it. But that would involve trying to have a civil relationship with the boy.

The next morning, Severus awoke to the smells of breakfast being made, or rather breakfast being burned.

‘What in Merlin’s name is that boy doing?’ he thought as he went down the stairs, hoping to find the kitchen still in one piece.

While the kitchen was in one piece, Potter was not. The boy was an emotional mess, tears evident on his face while also seething with anger. He was sitting on the ground in front of the stove and slamming his head against the cabinets behind him.

“Potter, what are you doing?” Severus asked fiercely, his mind trying to wake up without caffeine. “We have limited food rations and you decide to destroy them for what? So you can prove your ineptitude at cooking as well as the fine art of potion making?”

Harry seethed at the man’s voice. What did he know? Harry had always been a good cook, Aunt Petunia had made sure of that. But for some reason the steps weren’t making sense anymore. He knew what end result he wanted, but it was getting from the raw ingredients to the cooked that he was struggling with.

“Maybe if your stove wasn’t so bloody strange, I wouldn’t have burned the food!” Harry yelled back, struggling slightly to stand up. He didn’t get it. Why was his leg not wanting to work right? It never really had, but it was so much worse than usual.

Severus looked at the boy questioningly as he stood. The stove shouldn’t be strange to the boy, it was a muggle style gas stove after all. Maybe he was used to electric? Gas stoves did tend to heat faster, but there was something more.

Severus looked at the disaster that Potter had made on the stove and quickly realized what had gone wrong. Complete ingredients were missing. The timing of the elements being added to the breakfast was so off some of the food would have been nearly raw while others were burning to the pans. There was a thought on what was being made, but the execution wasn’t there.

And from the look on Potter’s face, he knew it too.

Severus sighed and quickly cleaned up the mess with a flick of his wand. Another flick and a kettle was filled with water and placed on the stove to begin boiling.

“Have you ever made anything before in your life, or was Prince Potter so spoiled he has never seen the inside of a kitchen?”

Harry was immediately furious, screaming, “It was my bloody job to do all the meals, you bat bastard.”

Severus looked at the boy in confusion, then looked at the kitchen. There was absolutely no way the teen in front of him had ever made a damn thing in his life. The disastrous breakfast had been proof to that.

“Potter, go set the table. I will make us breakfast then we will discuss the rules of living in this safehouse as every house is different.”

“Not hungry,” Potter said abruptly, though his stomach audibly growled, and stomped out of the room.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the outburst. While he was known to goad such behavior out of the boy, the extremes in emotions he noticed were significant.

‘He witnessed a friend die,’ Severus thought to himself, trying to find a reason for this. ‘He met the Dark Lord, witnessed a friend die, and was attacked by a dementor in the span of a weeks. Of course his emotions will be frayed.’

But the twisting feeling in his stomach continued despite this rationale. There was something else going on. There had to be.

Despite the animosity between the two males, Severus continued to observe the boy, first out of habit, then curiosity, then concern. That ‘something’ Severus kept feeling was wrong kept slamming itself in his face over and over again. It was subtle, and Potter tried extremely hard to mask any difficulties he was having, but Severus could see it. And the more he looked, the more he saw.

They had only been there for two days when Potter began screaming at night. Severus first thought someone had gotten through the wards as Potter was screaming as though he were being tortured. Immediately, Severus grabbed his wand and went to the boy’s room. Upon opening the door, he found the room empty other than the boy writhing in pain on the bed and clawing at his scar.

“Potter! Wake up!” Severus yelled, shaking the boy in an effort to rouse him from his sleep.

Despite Severus’s valiant efforts to wake the boy, including attempting to spell him awake and even using smelling salts, it still took Harry nearly half an hour to wake. When he did finally awaken, he promptly rolled over and vomited before passing out. Severus quickly spelled the boy clean of the vomit but felt compelled to check under the covers when another acrid scent hit his nose. The boy had soiled himself.

Severus spelled Harry’s lower half clean, then grabbed the chair from the desk and sat in silent observance of the child in front of him. The boy’s frame was wracked with continuous tremors even in his sleep with his left arm spasming the worst. Severus watched for several hours as the jerks and spasms finally slowed and abated entirely.

Nightmares don’t do that, but the Cruciatus does.

Severus gave up on sleep for the night and brewed the strongest pot of coffee he could manage. He needed to think.

Harry woke up very late that morning feeling as though his head were buzzing and his left arm was underwater. He could move it, but there was a resistance he wasn’t expecting.

Pulling back the covers, he was mildly surprised to find he hadn’t wet the bed during his dream. It wasn’t a dream though; it couldn’t have been. That poor muggleborn and his family, they had done nothing outside of exist and were being tortured for it.

Harry’s hand spasmed at the memory of the torture. It had felt so real.

He got out of bed, got dressed, and made his way to the toilet as quickly as he could without making much noise. He noticed his left leg was more uncooperative than usual and rather sore. He shrugged it off, it wasn’t the first time his leg had caused him problems. If only he could shrug off the weird feeling his arm was giving him in the same manner.

Severus was sitting in living room reading a book on curse scars when he heard the sound of someone falling down the stairs. Potter was up and injuring himself already. Immediately, guilt washed over him at the thought. If his suspicions were correct, little of the boy’s failings had to do with his relation to James Potter.

Severus found Harry lying at the foot of the stairs looking rather dazed at having just fallen. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of his pants rather than out where it could’ve helped prevent the fall. Harry’s feet were only clad in socks and the fly of his pants was undone.

“Are you injured, Mr. Potter,” he asked, trying to prevent himself from angering the child. There was no reason to antagonize the boy, especially if his theory was correct.

Harry shook his head and attempted to right himself despite having one leg pinned. He struggled for a few minutes before finally lashing out at the man standing watching him struggle.

“A little help here?” Harry spat. Why did Snape hate him so much? Why did he always have to be a bastard?

Severus flicked his wand and levitated Harry off the ground and into a more proper standing position. As soon as he let go of the spell, he immediately reached out and supported the boy’s weak side. Despite being upright and having his feet under him, Severus could tell his leg was not going to properly support him.

“What did you do to me?” Harry demanded as the man silently grabbed his arm. “You did this to me, didn’t you Snape!?”

Severus took a deep breath and reminded himself to control his temper. He needed Potter to answer some questions for him.

He let Potter scream abuses at him as he guided the boy to the kitchen and sat him down at the table. He then set out all of the items for a bowl of cereal in front of the child.

“Mr. Potter, if you would kindly stop yelling at me. I have some questions for you about your nightmare last night, but I would prefer you to have eaten before I begin asking you questions.”

“And what makes you think I’d answer your questions?” Harry said, ignoring the cereal and leaning back in the chair, fumbling slightly as he crossed his arms.

“I may have something that will help you with them,” Severus said. While having food in one’s stomach wasn’t necessary for any sleep aids, it was very helpful for better results with nerve potions. Particularly ones which were diagnostic in nature.

Harry immediately stopped complaining. Anything to stop the nightmares would be welcome. And if it kept him from going into Voldemort’s mind, even better.

“Now, eat,” Severus said, motioning to the cereal box and milk.

Severus could see the wheels in the boy’s head spinning as he looked at the two objects. Harry stared at them for a moment too long before finally grabbing the milk and pouring it first then looking at the box of cereal. It was as though he forgot what he was supposed to do mid action.

“Eat, Mr. Potter,” Severus reminded him gently.

Harry blinked a few times, then grabbed the box of cereal and poured some into his bowl and finally began eating. Severus nodded and poured himself another cup of coffee. The easy thing to do would be to blame the forgetfulness on still being sleep deprived, but that feeling of trepidation was still there.

Severus summoned his book from the other room and continued reading while sipping on the coffee. Finally, he found the information he was afraid he would find. There, in black and white on the page of the old text, was the piece of the puzzle everyone had been missing about the Boy-Who-Lived.

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed something stronger than coffee. But first, he needed to speak with the boy to verify his suspicions.

He looked over and saw Harry had finished his breakfast and quickly spelled the dishes into the sink.

“Mr. Potter,” he started civilly. If he looked at the boy’s eyes rather than his hair, it was easier to not let his temper flare up. “Have you ever seen a neurologist?”

Harry’s head shot up and looked at the man. This was not the line of questioning he was expecting. Why would Snape be concerned about his doctors anyways?

“Dunno,” Harry said, looking at his hands. “The Dursley’s didn’t like taking me to the doctor, and I don’t remember seeing any specialists ever.”

Severus frowned at the implications of that statement. He would have to ask Poppy to double check the boy’s vaccination records and do a more intensive physical.

“How long have you had problems with your left side?”

Harry shrugged slightly lopsidedly, “I’m right-handed, doesn’t everyone have one hand that’s weaker?”

“Less dexterous, yes. Weaker, no. But your left side is not only your hand. How long have you had problems with your left leg?”

“It’s always been different from my right,” Harry said, blushing slightly before his mood shifted suddenly. “Why do you care though? You just want me off the Quidditch team so your house will win this year! You’re going to tell your house to aim for my left side, aren’t you!”

Severus was rather taken aback by the ferocity of the mood change. Maybe it would be better for Madam Pomfrey to continue this line of questioning?

“Potter, I care less for Quidditch than I do for Divination. I attend Quidditch games because I am required to as Head of Slytherin house. My desire for my students to do well in a sport, however, does not supersede my duties as a staff member. And one of those duties is to make sure the students of the school are receiving medical attention if they need it.”

Harry’s mood shifted again as he looked at his hands. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Of course Snape didn’t like Quidditch. Why would he like anything fun?

“You said you had something that would help with the nightmares?” Harry asked, tears suddenly in his eyes.

“One more question, your nightmare was quite violent. What were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing.”

“Mr. Potter, I sincerely doubt you would scream for nearly an hour and soil yourself if it were nothing.”

Harry blushed a deep red. How did Snape know about that? He hadn’t been wet when he woke up…. Had Snape cleaned him up? Had Snape seen anything?

“What were you doing in my room?” Harry asked, indignantly.

Severus snorted lightly, “You woke me with your screaming. I honestly thought someone had come through the wards and was torturing you.”

“You could have left me. It was just a nightmare.”

“A nightmare about what?”

Harry immediately shut his mouth and stared at his hands. He sat there in silence for so long, Severus was beginning to fear he had forgotten the question.

“Harry?” Severus said, trying to snap the boy out of his thoughts.

“I dream I’m Voldemort and I’m torturing people. I see them through his eyes. I feel his happiness as he tortures them. If he cast’s Cruciatus, I feel it. It’s horrible, sir.”

Severus sat in shock. This was worse than he could’ve ever imagined. Could this ability go both ways? Would Voldemort be able to see from Harry’s perspective? Then there was the whole issue of feeling the Cruciatus.

A flick of his wand and Harry was lit up like a Christmas tree. Peripheral nerve damage. Thankfully, while there was damage, it was only a small amount and spread over his whole body. What concerned Severus the most though was what he couldn’t see. He was no healer and therefore not trained to view the brain or any damage done to it.

“Potter, drink this,” Severus said, summoning a Cruciatus relief potion. “I need to speak with the headmaster.”

Harry looked at the potion he was given and swallowed it quickly, grimacing at the flavor. It tasted like raspberries and horseradish with a hint of dung.

Almost immediately his head began to feel slightly less foggy and his arm felt less like it was being pulled through sludge. It tingled slightly, like a limb that had fallen asleep but almost completely reawoken. In fact, there was a slight tingle in both of his feet as well. It felt almost as though his shoes were full of ants. He shuddered at the idea.

Severus quickly strode to the floo, setting up wards to make sure Potter was safe, wouldn’t leave the house, and would alert him if Potter attempted to use any of the kitchen appliances. He had to speak to the headmaster immediately.

Plunging his head into the fire, he was quickly greeted with the sight of the office of the Headmaster, though at a rather odd angle from being in the fire.

“Albus! Where are you old-man?”

The headmaster finally walked into the main room of the office and immediately sat by the fire.

“Problem, Severus?” the headmaster asked, smiling as though he already knew.

“Immense. May I come through?” Severus asked, though he was planning to come through anyways.

Albus nodded his head in acquiescence and moments later Severus was standing in his office, a worried frown on his face.

“Has Potter ever been checked for residual damage from the killing curse he survived as an infant?”

Albus felt his blood run cold. He had been expecting complaints of Harry’s behavior, or demands to remove him from the safe house. This line of questioning was completely unexpected.

“He has never shown any signs of residual magic left from the curse…” Albus began.

“Has anyone ever examined the boy’s brain?” Severus growled. He had reason to believe there was residual magic, but he needed a baseline.

“Not that I am aware of. What is this about, Severus?”

“I need you to vet a mind healer for the boy. Preferably one who specializes in spell damage. I have reason to believe he has some residual damage from the killing curse as well as a mental connection with the Dark Lord.”

The ashen look on the headmaster’s face confirmed Severus’s fears. Not only had no one looked into this, but that the possibility of this had never been considered.

“This is a serious accusation, Severus. What evidence do you have?”

Severus sighed and settled down into an armchair and summoned a house elf for some tea. This would be a long story as he had been witnessing subtle signs something was amiss for years. Sipping on his tea, he told the Headmaster everything he had witnessed over the years. The ever so slight weakness to his left side, his difficulties with the floo, and the many flaws in his thought processes: everything added up to a brain injury. One which was then exacerbated by the dementor attack and Cruciatus exposure.

“I believe that he grew up with and grew into the initial damage, that’s why it was missed,” Severus finished.

Albus sat back, folding his hands over his chest. If this were true, it would certainly complicate things.

“I know several healers on the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s,” he said finally. “I’m sure they would be more than happy to take a look at Harry. I trust your observation skills, but I must admit, I have my doubts Severus. Doubts or no, I will find a healer to examine the boy.”

“Thank you, Albus,” Severus said, rising from the chair and heading back to the fire to floo back to the safe house.

“I shall contact you in the next few days as to when the healer would be coming by to examine him,” Albus said as Severus stepped into the flames.

Albus had managed to get a hold of one of the healers from Ward 49 who was willing to come out to visit them, however it would be a few days before the healer had time off that he would be willing to come do the assessment. Four days to be exact.

Four days and Harry was rapidly wearing Severus’s patience thin. Severus had to admit he was exceptionally good at hiding weakness and difficulties from those around him. Harry would routinely hide himself away in his room, acting the part of the sulking teenager. He would lean against walls in a way that made it less obvious his left side was weaker. If Severus didn’t know what he was looking for, he would have missed it.

Two days before the healer was to arrive, Harry was taking a nap in the living room having complained of a headache earlier in the morning while Severus read through some potions manuals and worked on his syllabus for the upcoming year. A sudden sharp cry from the boy brought Severus hurrying into the living room.

At first, Severus noted only the facial expressions on the boy’s face. A look of fear crossed it, followed by a grimace. Severus watched for a minute more, hoping this was only a normal nightmare. When no more twitches occurred, Severus turned to leave the room. Just a normal nightmare then.

No sooner had he left the room and Potter let out a blood curdling scream. Turning back to the room, he saw Harry in the midst of what could only be described as a fit. His back arched in pain, hands grabbing desperately to anything around him. He screamed again as all of the muscles in his body began spasming sporadically.

Severus tried in vain to wake the boy, but when he couldn’t he settled for trying to keep him as comfortable as possible.

Almost as suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped. The twitching and spasming, however, did not. In fact, it seemed worse than before. A quick spell showed Severus what he feared, the peripheral nerve damage from the Cruciatus was back and worse than ever. He wondered if Harry would even be able to move that side of his body at all this time. And that was only the nerves, Severus had no idea to what extent the brain was damaged by this.

“Harry?” Severus tried to rouse the boy. “Harry, wake up please.”

Slowly Harry came to, eyes unfocused as he blearily looked around the room. Where was he? What happened? Where was he? What happened?

“Harry? Can you talk to me?”

Harry blinked slowly, left eyelid moving slightly slower than his right giving the impression that he was blinking with each one individually.

“Can you tell me your name?” the man in black said. What was his name again? Where was he?

“Harrrrrry,” Harry slurred out. For some reason his mouth felt strange too.

“Do you know where we are, Harry?” the man said.

Harry looked around the room briefly before looking at the man again. Snake. That was his name. Wait. There had been a question, hadn’t there? What question was it again? Where were they?

“Harry, where are we?” the man demanded again.

“School?” Harry said, reaching his hand up to wipe his eyes. His left hand was pure dead weight. He could barely make it move.

“What year is it?” Snake asked.

“You know what year it is!” Harry spat out suddenly, having no idea what the big deal was.

“But I want you to tell me.”

“1975, are you happy?”

Severus felt his heart sink. Hopefully these new symptoms would go away with another dose of the Anti-Cruciatus potion.

“Potter, stay on the couch please. I need to fetch a potion for you.”

Severus quickly ran to the potions lab and grabbed the only remaining Anti-Cruciatus potion he had left. He only hoped that Potter would be able to swallow it.

When he got back to the living room, he found Potter sitting on the couch staring into the distance. His right knee was pulled to his chest, right arm wrapped around it, and his chin resting on his knee. His left side lay as though it had been forgotten.

“Sir,” Harry said suddenly. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

Severus resisted the urge to scoff. That was the understatement of the century. Instead, he uncapped the Anti-Cruciatus potion and prepared to give it to the boy, then paused. He didn’t know if the boy could swallow properly right now. With everything else he had going on, breathing in the potion would certainly cause more harm than good. Instead, he spelled it into the boy’s stomach, hoping for any sign of improvement.

“Harry,” he said as he waited. “There is going to be a healer from St. Mungo’s coming to visit you in two days. There is only so much I can do for you to help you right now.”

Harry suddenly grimaced. “What did you give me?”

“A potion to combat the nerve damage done by the Cruciatus curse. Your nightmares are exposing you repeatedly to the curse. I also have reason to believe you may have suffered… brain damage from the killing curse. Are you in pain?”

“My left side is tingling really badly,” Harry said, wincing as he tried to move it. “It feels like it’s just waking up.”

“I see,” Severus nodded, taking mental note of the effect. “I’m going to ask you those questions again, ok?”

“What questions?” Harry said, looking puzzled. The last few minutes had been a blur.

“Can you tell me your name please?” Severus asked, hoping for a better response.

“Harry Potter?” Harry said, unsure of the logic behind the questions.

“Where are we right now?”

“Um,” Harry thought about it for a long moment. They were by the sea, he knew that, but where. In England, surely, but there was a lot of coastline in England. Maybe when he was feeling better they could go to the beach? He doubted Snape would take him there, but it would be a nice treat.

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “What?”

“Where are we?” Severus asked again, taking a deep breath to control his frustration and making another mental note about the obvious memory problems.

“Somewhere near the sea?” Harry said, questioning his answer. He wasn’t sure where exactly they were, but he could smell the salt spray.

“What year is it?” Severus said, nodding. He would accept that answer, but only just. Harry had yet to be outside of the building and hadn’t been allowed to wander around. Nor did he know the floo address for the name of the cottage they were in.

“1995? No, it’s ‘96 now,” Harry said, stumbling over his words.

It was better than before, but he still was struggling with some recall. If only they could break the link between Harry and Voldemort, then they could prevent the damage from becoming worse. But how to break it? Until Harry was cleared by the healer, Severus didn’t want to risk attempting to teach Occlumency to the boy as it could further compartmentalize and damage his brain.

They would have to figure something out.

It was harder than expected for Healer Tanner to keep the level of professional stoicism he was expected to maintain when he saw the results of the scan. If he had seen these results without knowing who it was he was scanning, he would assume it was a case study of an autopsy from the first war against You-Know-Who.

The concussions he saw on the scan were not unusual for a teenage boy. The damage to the entire right side of his brain was. It looked as though something had ricocheted through that side of his brain years ago. In fact the damage was reading as nearly as old as the child itself. There was no doubt in his mind what caused it, especially given who the patient was lying on the bed in front of him.

It was honestly a miracle the boy had been hit by the killing curse as an infant as his brain had had the time to rewire itself.

What was more concerning that that, however, was the evidence of recent Cruciatus damage to the boy’s already damaged system. His peripheral nerves showed evidence of repeated trauma from the curse, as well as the areas around the lesion caused by the killing curse. While his brain had managed to find work-arounds for most of the damage, these repeated exposures to the Cruciatus were fracturing those connections in a far more rapid fashion than in most of the other patients he had who were victims of the same curse.

“Honestly, I don’t see any problem with you attempting to teach Mr. Potter Occlumency, professor,” Tanner said as he packed his bag. “But…”

“But, what?” Severus snapped. The test results were terrible, but if Occlumency would work to lessen the strengths of the attacks and visions and prevent further damage, what was the problem?

“Occlumency is a skill that is difficult for even the most skillful wizard. It requires time, dedication to the study, and, above all, concentration,” Tanner said, looking at Harry who was still asleep due to the study. “I don’t know how able he will be to learn this skill.”

“Potter has been able to learn anything he put his mind to,” Severus said rather confidently.

“I’m not saying he cannot learn it, I’m saying he may not have the ability to concentrate on it. Even with the restorative potions I’m prescribing, he may continue to have difficulty with concentration, memory recall, and impulsivity. None of these lend themselves well to learning a difficult topic.”

“It may be his only chance to keep the … You-Know-Who out of his mind and prevent further damage.”

“Exactly why I’m not expressly forbidding it,” Tanner said, frowning. “I just want you to keep your expectations based within reality, not on what he should be able to do or what you were able to do as a teen.”

Severus sighed exasperatedly. He had no doubt in his mind that the boy would be able to learn it if he put his mind to it, he was a Potter after all. In all likelihood, even without the brain damage the boy had, he would have struggled to learn it the proper way and would have either given up or made up his own technique. Yes, teaching the boy would be a struggle, but it couldn’t be much different from teaching the boy normally, could it.

“Here are the potions he is going to need to take,” Tanner said, handing the potions master an extensive list of potions. “I’ll be coming by every other day for the next few weeks to check his progress and, if necessary, apply additional nerve stabilization spells. Should he have another ‘episode,’ please contact me immediately.”

Severus nodded as he looked over the list of potions. None of these would be overly difficult to make, it would just be time consuming to do so. And the more time he spent away from Potter, the more time the boy had to get into trouble. Especially now as his mental capacities seemed to be … less optimal than normal. Not only would he have to make these potions, he would have to make sure the boy actually took them.

“Are there any techniques which could be used to give him more independence?” Severus asked as he continued to peruse the potions list, creating a mental list of the ingredients he would need.

“Keep a schedule complete with pictures of the activities which need doing and the time they need done. If a task requires multiple steps, list them out individually. It may also help to have an additional person or two to help monitor him and make sure he stays on task. A patient friend would be best. Keep additional stimulation to a minimum; the fewer distracting factors, the better,” Tanner said, continuing to pack up his examination tools. “Oh, and avoid sarcasm.”

That was going to be problematic.

---

When Harry woke up from what felt like a long nap, he was surprised to find someone sitting by his bed. It took a moment for him to realize who it was, though the shock of red hair should have been obvious.

“‘Lo, Ginny,” he mumbled, struggling to sit up. “Time izzit?”

“Hi, Harry,” Ginny said, grabbing his shoulders and helping pull him into a sitting position. “It’s just past four in the afternoon. Hermione is here too. She’s downstairs with Snape helping make some potions.”

Harry nodded as he focused on scooting over to the side of the bed, his left foot getting tangled under the sheets. How did that happen? His brain felt rather fuzzy, more so than from just waking up. He stared at it for a minute before pushing at the sheets in an effort to get them untangled. It was hard though, his left hand didn’t want to grab the sheets nor did his arm want to cooperate. And the more he struggled with the sheets, the more frustrated he got.

“Ugh!” he cried out, trying to kick them off his foot, becoming more angry when the leg didn’t want to move either.

“Harry, do you need some help?” A voice sounded from behind his right shoulder.

Whipping around, he was surprised to find someone sitting by his bed. It took a moment for him to realize who it was, though the shock of red hair should have been obvious.

“‘Lo Ginny,” he said angrily. “What’s the big idea, tying me down?! Is this a bloody joke to you?”

Ginny smiled sadly as she gently helped free his leg. She had been warned he would be more… emotionally unstable, she just didn’t expect it to be directed at her immediately. When Professor Dumbledore had approached Hermione earlier about coming to help out, she had immediately volunteered to come as well. She had initially thought it strange that the headmaster didn’t ask Ron to come as well, but after hearing what was happening, she couldn’t say she disagreed with keeping Ron at a distance for now. His patience was thin at the best of times and his temper could be explosive.

Putting Ron in to help take care of Harry right now seemed like a spelling a timed explosion: only a matter of time before something bad happened.

Once Harry’s foot was free, Ginny set about the task of trying to get the boy downstairs for dinner. It quickly became apparent that this was going to be far more of a monumental task than she expected and she understood why the additional assistance was needed. Four false starts, several more greetings, one crying jag, and ten minutes of just figuring out which shoe went on which foot, they were finally up and limping to the loo.

“You can leave me alone, Gin,” Harry said, trying to convince Ginny to give him some privacy. “I just need to use the loo.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Then why are you trying to take off your shirt?”

“Because I need to shower,” Harry said confidently. That was what they had come to the loo for, right?

“Harry, there isn’t a shower in here. Leave your shirt on,” Ginny said, exasperatedly. It was exhausting trying to track where his brain went.

“What? There’s always been a shower in here!” Harry said, looking around the room, seemingly shocked when he couldn’t find a shower in the half-bath.

“Harry, just use the loo,” Ginny said, gently pushing the boy towards the toilet and shutting the door to give him some privacy. Hopefully he would just use the loo and be done with it.

Minutes crept by, and still she didn’t hear anything from inside the toilet.

“Harry? You ok?” She called out, knocking on the door before cracking it open. Thankfully, Harry was still standing, however he hadn’t really moved from where he had been. “Are you done with the loo?”

Harry looked at the toilet once more and frowned slightly. “Yeah, I’m done.”

Ginny was skeptical of this, but didn’t push the issue. “Did you wash your hands?”

Harry nodded, though Ginny again doubted that he had done anything during the time he had been in the loo. At least he had remained clothed! She was rather worried that when she opened the door he would be completely naked.

Making their way downstairs, Ginny felt another pang of sadness as Harry leaned heavily on her in an effort to not lose his balance. He had always been so strong and agile before: soaring through the air during Quidditch, playing in the snow with Ron and Hermione, conquering all of the tasks in the TriWizard Tournament. She even remembered some of what happened during his fight against the Basilisk during her first year. To think this was the same boy was heartbreaking. Watching him struggle only strengthened her resolve to help him, even if it meant helping him with everyday tasks like tying his shoes.

Ginny had just managed to get Harry settled at the table when Hermione and Professor Snape emerged from the basement, crates of potions in hand.

“Hi Harry,” Hermione said as she sat her crates down and began unloading them into one of the cabinets in the kitchen. “How’re you feeling.”

“Weird,” Harry said, looking at his hands. His head felt fuzzy, like he hadn’t slept in days. He knew he had just woke up, but … Where was he going with this? Where even were they? He could feel his blood begin to boil as Snape joined Hermione in putting the potions away. He had something to do with this, Harry could just feel it.

“Did he have any nightmares, Ms. Weasley?” Snape asked, not looking at the boy sitting next to her.

“None that I saw,” Ginny said, looking at Harry who had a death glare at Snape. “He’s been really confused since he woke up though.”

“Hmm,” Severus hummed thoughtfully. “Better to start on the potion’s regimen now than wait any longer. Most of these have to be given twice a day and…”

“I’m NOT taking a BLOODY THING from YOU!” Harry burst out suddenly, pushing himself to his feet.

“Mr. Potter, sit down,” Snape said with the same acidity as if Neville had melted yet another cauldron. “You will take your potions as prescribed by the healer.”

“I’M not going to take them from YOU! You did this to me!” Harry said, wobbling slightly on his feet and desperately hanging onto the back of the chair for support. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead with the effort. “I know you did!”

“Mr. Potter, sit down now before you fall down.”

Ginny and Hermione made eye contact briefly, both knowing Snape would never be able to get Harry to calm down. They could both see the windows beginning to rattle as Harry’s magic prepared to lash out at the man he believed had done this to him. While neither Hermione nor Ginny had seen Harry perform accidental magic, they had both heard the stories of the outcomes of his outbursts. Hair coloring was one thing, but the story of what happened to Aunt Marge left both of them wondering what state Snape would be left in if Harry continued this outburst.

“Professor!” Ginny suddenly exclaimed, drawing Snape’s attention to her. “You said there was a book on ancient hexes here, would you mind showing it to me?”

Snape looked at Ginny as though she had grown two heads, however the look she was giving him made him understand exactly what she wanted. He needed to leave the room immediately and drop the argument.

Sighing exasperatedly, Severus put the last of the potions in the cabinet before checking the schedule of potions he had been given by Healer Tanner and removing the three the boy was supposed to take tonight. Thankfully, they could be spelled into his stomach should he be unwilling to take them, but that wouldn’t win him any favors in the long run.

Hermione nodded in thanks as Ginny led the potions professor out of the kitchen.

“Harry?” Hermione said softly. “Can you sit down for me please?”

Harry tried to cross his arms in defiance but quickly felt himself falling as his knee gave out. A different chair was suddenly under thrust under his knees, causing him to flop rather ungracefully into it. The shock of the feeling of falling scared him more than anything and he immediately felt his eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, wiping his cheeks with a napkin. “Hush now, it’ll be ok.”

“Why’d you do that to me, ‘Mione?” Harry said, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Why’d you knock me over?”

Hermione sighed, at least he wasn’t angry anymore. For now. She wondered how Harry and Snape hadn’t blown up the house yet with the way they got on. Now she, Ginny, and Snape could tag team his mood swings until the mood-stabilizer potions took effect. She just had to get it in him.

“Harry, what do you know is going on?” Hermione asked softly, hoping she wouldn’t trigger another mood swing. Maybe sad-Harry would take this information better than angry-Harry would? That was her hope anyways.

“I…” Harry started then paused for a long moment. “I don’t know. Do I have a concussion?”

“Of sorts. There is a lot of damage to your nerves,” Hermione said. “It is what’s making it hard for you to do things like walk and focus.”

“Oh,” Harry mulled this over for a long time. “Do I have a concussion.”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said, feeling they would get stuck in this loop for a while. “It’s not a concussion, it was started by the killing curse that hit you when you were a baby. It got worse after You-Know-Who’s return and the apparent connection to him that you have.”

Harry sat in silence for a moment as he tried to process what happened. It was so confusing. None of it was adding up in his mind. How had he gotten here? When did Voldemort give him a concussion? He kept adding one and one and getting five. Five. Fifth. He was going to be a fifth year this year. Was he going to be able to attend classes? Had classes started?

“Hermione!” Harry suddenly whispered. “Why are we in Snape’s house? We need to be in school!”

Hermione tried hard to not laugh. She and Ginny had been warned that he struggled the most with wrapping his head around the location he was in more than anything. And, as much as she wanted to try and get him more oriented, she knew her priority would be convincing him to take the potions. The ones he was supposed to take tonight were to help with his peripheral nerves, protect his brain from further damage, and one that would help create new connections in the most heavily damaged parts of his brain.

There was also a mood stabilizer he was to take in the morning as it would last for roughly 18 hours, a potion to help with the awful tingling as his nerves reawoken, a sleep aid he could take as needed, an anti seizure potion, and a muscle relaxer. All in all, she and Snape had spent roughly six hours brewing, with her working on the more basic potions and him brewing the most complex potions she had ever seen. It wouldn’t do for any of the potions to be spit out or destroyed.

“Harry, we’re at a safe house right now,” Hermione said, smiling. She had to stay serious. “We need you to take some potions.”

“For the concussion?”

Hermione sighed, he was back on the concussion. “Yes, for the concussion. Can you take them for me? Please?”

“Do they taste bad?” Harry said, scrunching up his nose slightly. An action Hermione noticed was slightly lopsided as well.

“Horrible,” she said honestly, glad when he nodded in agreement. “Always do, don’t they.”

Harry nodded, taking the first of the potions and swallowing it down with a grimace. It tasted horrifying. Like cheddar cheese, ear wax, and dirty socks. He then looked skeptically at the other two, before sighing and taking the second one and third and downing them quickly. He had never had to drink so many potions in his life.

“You ok there, Harry?” Hermione asked, noting his slight green tinge.

“Yeah,” Harry said as his stomach settled finally. “I really have to go to the loo though.”

“Did you not go to the toilet upstairs?” Hermione asked.

Harry frowned as he tried to remember. Did he? He vaguely remembered walking into the loo and… And what? Did he go? It felt like there was a haze over his mind still. A fog that didn’t want to let go and made it so hard to focus.

“Harry? Did you need to use the loo?” Hermione asked again.

“Yeah,” Harry pushed himself up, staggering sideways as his knee immediately buckled.

Hermione quickly wrapped her arm around his waist and helped steady him as he got his leg straightened out underneath of him. As hard as it was watching him struggle, she knew it wouldn’t be long before the potions started working and he would start to feel slightly more steady on his feet. She just hoped Voldemort would ease up on the connection until Harry was stronger so they weren’t constantly taking one step forward and several steps back.

Together, they walked through out of the kitchen and through the living room where Ginny and Snape were waiting. Ginny was perusing the book collection in the large bookshelf by the fireplace and Snape was sitting on the sofa. Both Ginny and Snape looked over as Harry trudged past and into the downstairs loo with Hermione assisting in supporting his bad side.

A few moments of shuffling around and Hermione returned triumphant.

“He took the potions.”

A collective sigh was heard from the rest of the room. Hopefully, if there were no more setbacks, he would be more easy to take the potions without the need for them to tag team him.

“I believe, Ms. Granger, had this occurred during the school year, I would have been forced to give points to Gryffindor,” Snape said, not looking up from his book. If they looked hard enough, both Hermione and Ginny could swear they could see a small smile on the man’s face.

---

“Well, Mr. Potter, how are things going?” Healer Tanner asked, crossing his legs.

It had been four days since Harry had started on the potion regimen to hopefully save his brain and his life. Four long, grueling days. Some days were filled with emotional outbursts, leading to Severus having to ward the kitchen and all sharp objects to prevent them from flying around when Harry’s magic got a hold of them. Other days were filled with memory lapses, difficulty with walking, and poor judgement, which Severus was increasingly glad he had extended the invitation to the two Gryffindors to help him deal with.

“Ok, I guess,” Harry said, shrugging.

“Care to elaborate?” Tanner said.

Harry stared at his hands and picked at a hangnail. It was so hard to talk about himself and how he was feeling. He didn’t want anyone to think something was wrong with him, but since moving here that was nearly impossible. He still wasn’t sure what happened, but his memory was slowly getting better, as was his strength. His leg was still giving him fits but he could walk better now than just a few days ago.

“I just feel… like I’m in a fog. Or I have been. I think… I think my memory is getting better? You should ask Ginny.”

“I have. Your friends and professor say you are doing much better than before. I’m quite chuffed with the progress you have made even in these last few days, I must say.”

Harry nodded. If this was how he felt now, he must have been really bad off a few days ago. Was he even awake then? Was he awake now?

“Harry, I’ll tell you this now. I’ve already gone over this with your friends, but I want to tell this to you as well. You will need to be on these potions for the next few weeks then we shall re-evaluate which potions you need. If you have one of your visions, you absolutely need to notify your friends. There is only so much more damage your nerves can take before the damage cannot be repaired, even by magic.”

Harry nodded again. He hoped he would remember that. It was important. He should write it down. Hermione probably did.

“Does Snape know, you know, what’s wrong with me?” Harry asked.

“Mr. Potter, he was the one who noticed there was something wrong in the first place. I am aware that there is a lot of bad blood between you, but you truly owe him your life. Had he not gotten you help when he did, you would be facing much more permanent damage.”

Harry looked at the healer in shock. Snape had saved him? Snape had been the one to see something was wrong? How?

---

School had been in session for several weeks and a strange few weeks it had been. Hermione and Ginny were keeping a close eye on Harry, not fully trusting him to be fully compliant with the potions regimens he was supposed to be on nor trusting him to remember his schedule or homework. Some of their vigilance he was grateful for, but often he found it extremely overbearing. He was feeling back to normal. He was fine. He didn’t need their help all the time.

Snape was acting strange too.

Every so often, Harry would catch him reeling back his temper before berating any of Harry’s friends or classmates. He by no means was a changed man, nor had he suddenly become “nice” to the Gryffindors, but his temper wasn’t nearly as explosive. Unless Harry wasn’t around, then it seemed there were no holds barred.

“He doesn’t want to get into a senseless argument with you, Harry” Hermione had explained one night. “He knows your mood swings may not be entirely under your control.”

“He doesn’t want you blowing up his classroom,” Ginny clarified.

Even at dinner, when Harry’s potions would appear on the table, Snape would sit and glare at him until he drank them. It felt so odd to have someone invested in his health in this way.

Then there was one of the fourth year Ravenclaws, who kept asking about his Wackspurts and why there were so few of them this year. Ginny said Luna was a bit loony, but after the strange summer he had, Harry wondered how much truth there was to her looniness.

But now they were well into the school year and Harry was feeling fine. Quidditch practice had started up again, giving Harry something to do in his free time outside of trying to study. He had been afraid someone would have something to say about him flying, but so far no one had said much of anything. Ron was now the keeper, a fact which Harry was extremely excited for as he hadn’t had much time with his best friend this summer due to … everything.

He was healed. He was feeling fine. Life was back to as normal as it could have been with Voldemort back. Why should he have to keep taking the disgusting potions if he was feeling ok?

“Potter?!” Snape snapped as he wrapped on the workbench with his knuckles. “How many ocelot whiskers does this recipe require?”

“Um…” Harry said, frantically looking down at the recipe. When did Snape get there? “Six?”

“Then why have you cut up twelve of them? Are you planning on doubling the recipe?”

“No sir, I just…” Harry paused, sadness beginning to bubble to the surface. He had forgotten. He had stopped taking the potions a few days ago, pretending to drink them, but actually spitting them into the goblet he had been drinking juice from. But he felt fine!

“Potter. My office. Now,” Snape said. “Mr. Weasley, finish preparing the rest of the ingredients and potion.”

Harry quickly grabbed his things and headed for the professor’s office, stumbling slightly as his left foot caught on a loose flagstone. He was caught, there was no doubt about it. As soon as he made it into the office, a few tears escaped his eyes in frustration. It was so stupid; this whole thing was stupid.

“Mr. Potter, have you had another vision?” Snape said as soon as the door to the classroom was closed.

“No, sir,” Harry said, hanging his head. “Normal nightmares only.”

“Have you been taking the potions?”

“I was.”

“But you aren’t anymore?” Snape raised an eyebrow. He had been afraid of this. He knew the potions tasted terrible, but to stop taking them in the middle of the treatment would rapidly cause the symptoms to return.

Harry shook his head and whipped his eyes, wishing just this once his emotions would remain under control.

Severus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Healer Tanner had warned him of the possibility of Potter refusing to take his potions once he started feeling back to normal. He had hoped the Gryffindors would have actually kept Potter in line. That was a bit much to expect from teenagers, even his Slytherins would have struggled with that type of responsibility.

‘Lily, give me strength to deal with your Potters,’ he thought as he summoned a repeat set of Harry’s potions from that morning and set them in front of the boy.

“Potter, drink,” he said, staring at the boy as he drank the potions. “Good. Stay in this office. Do not leave. I need to make sure your cohorts haven’t exploded my classroom yet.”

As soon as Snape left the office, Harry laid his head on the back of the chair in misery. He had screwed up. He should have just kept taking the potions. He should have just sucked it up and done it. Yeah, the flavor was bad, but was it as bad as not walking right? Or forgetting everything? Or being an emotional wreck? Not likely.

Had he caused himself irreversible damage? He vaguely remembered the healer saying something about that, but he couldn’t quite recall what the man had said. Was that what he had been talking about? Harry ran his hands through his hair in frustration as he tried to recall what the man had said.

Thankfully, Harry only had to stew for a few minutes before Snape re-entered the office and sat behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry immediately blurted out. “I just… I just thought there wasn’t any reason to keep taking them if I felt ok. I just want to be normal and not have to worry about remembering to take potions all the time. Or be the only person in the Great Hall taking potions every morning and evening.”

Severus sighed and folded his hands in thought. Adolescence was a frustrating time to be alive. Hormones and emotions raging, trying to fit in, developing friendships and social groups. Anything out of the “norm” was looked down upon. Maybe it was a bad idea to send the potions to the boy in such a public setting.

“Potter, do you know why it is so important you finish these rounds of potions?”

“So my brain heals?”

“More than that, so your brain is protected from further damage. Once these potions are finished, I would like to begin teaching you Occlumency so you will be able to protect yourself from additional attacks. Do you know what Occlumency is?”

“No sir. I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it in class.”

“Occlumency is a form of mental magic, enabling one to protect themselves from attacks on their mind. The opposite being Legilimancy, which muggles know better as ‘mind reading,’” Severus said, looking the boy in the eyes. The child would have a long way to go in order to be a proficient occlumens; he consistently wore his emotions on his sleeve and nearly projected his thoughts to those around him!

“Oh. Would it help?” Harry said, highly interested. Anything to make the nightmares stop.

“That is the hope. But first, you must finish the potions. You still have two months left, provided you do not have any more visions,” Severus said. “Considering you have already stopped taking them once, I am afraid we will have to change the way you go about taking them so you are under direct adult supervision at the time.”

Harry nodded and sighed. He would have to go to the Hospital Wing every day now, he could just feel it.

“I shall administer them to you every day. I shall be in the Great Hall for breakfast and dinner and will deliver them to you at that time.”

Harry hung his head. That was even worse, but he deserved it. He had done this to himself, not anyone else. And Snape had been the one to notice something was wrong anyways, and long before it was actually causing problems. If ever there were someone who would be good at making sure he was taking the potions and not cheeking them, Snape was it.

“Yes sir,” Harry said, looking at his hands.

“You are free to leave. I shall see you this evening.”

Harry immediately grabbed his bag and walked to the door of the office, pausing for a moment as his hand made contact with the door handle before turning around.

“Thank you, sir,” he said before rushing out of the office.

Severus sat in silence for a few moments after the boy left. It wasn’t every day he was thanked by a student, let alone for forcing them to do something they didn’t want to do. And to think, the son of James Potter was the one thanking him.

‘Undoubtedly the man is rolling over in his grave,’ Severus thought with a smirk before returning to his classroom to prepare for the next round of dunderheads to attempt to blow the school up.

“Dad? How come you walk with a cane?” a small voice pulled Harry’s attention from the book he was reading. “Mum won’t tell me. Was it from the war? James says it is.”

Harry smiled wistfully at the child standing in front of him. Named for the two most important men in his life, Albus Severus Potter was far more like his middle name-sake than his first. For being just shy of ten, he was already extremely observant, quite reserved, and more sensitive to change than either of his siblings. Of course he would be curious as to why his father walked a little strange and acted ‘funny’ sometimes.

“Come here, Al,” Harry said, patting the sofa cushion next to him lightly. “The story as to how I ended up with a cane is a long one. James knows some of it; we told him a few details before he started school, but I know you won’t just accept a few details.”

Al climbed onto the sofa, sitting cross legged and facing his father. His dad had walked with a cane for as long as he could remember. The few occasions he didn’t use the cane, he limped extremely badly and would lean on things around him for support. It never stopped him from playing or flying though. Some of Al’s favorite memories were of his mom yelling at his dad for doing things that ‘would get him killed’ like flying his broom super fast.

But once he realized his dad was different from the other dads, he was worried.

“You know how there are people out there who call me ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice?’” Harry started.

Al nodded and leaned in, “Because you survived the killing curse when you were a baby, right? And then again during the war?”

“Yes, and won against Voldemort. What most people don’t realize is what the killing curse did. You see, the first time I was hit by it, it left my scar. No one had ever survived it before, however, so no one thought to check for any damage.”

Al gasped. Even at nine years old, he knew that getting hit in the head could cause damage. There had been a lot of muggle news reports from America about muggle American-football players having horrible brain damage from getting hit in the head. It scared him to think that something like that had happened to his dad.

“Because it happened when I was so young, I grew up with the damage done. It caused me some problems with my left side, which caused me to get teased a lot when I was in primary school, but I learned how to hide my weaknesses rather quickly. When I got into Hogwarts, everyone was expecting a healthy boy to be there, so that’s what they saw. Everyone except for Professor Snape ignored the slight weakness I had on my left side.”

Harry paused for a moment as Al smiled. The boy loved hearing any stories about his name-sakes, particularly ones about Severus Snape as the man was still considered to be a rather controversial figure.

“Did he figure it out, dad?”

“Sort of, though he didn’t realize what exactly was wrong until after my fourth year. That summer, I started having visions of Voldemort and his followers. If he tortured them, I could feel it too. I hope you never, ever have to feel the Cruciatus curse, Al. It’s terrible,” Harry said, shuttering.

“Over and over, I would fall into these visions. Over and over, I would be tortured. And every time I woke up, there was damage done to my brain and nerves. Every time this happened, it further damaged the areas that had been damaged by the killing curse as well as causing damage to other nerves in my body. After Dudley and I got attacked by a dementor, it destabilized some of the magic that was protecting my brain. Professor Snape figured out pretty quickly it was the Cruciatus I was going through after I was taken to a safe house to live with him and Professor Dumbledore got me help.”

Al looked at Harry with wide eyes. Everyone knew some of the timeline of events which had happened to his dad; they even talked about it some in his history class last year! To hear his dad talk about it and fill in the gaps was scary. But now that he had started talking, he needed to know the whole story. He had to know.

“I continued to have visions periodically throughout the school year and had to keep being put on potions to combat the damage these visions were causing me. Professor Snape even tried to teach me Occlumency, but I was so rubbish at it we stopped after a few lessons. I couldn’t focus on anything for a long period of time and would routinely forget things by that point, despite the potions. After one particular vision, I tried to get my friends to go with me to the Department of Mysteries because I swore up and down that Uncle Padfoot was being held there by Voldemort.

“He wasn’t, and thankfully Professor Dumbledore got a hold of him and brought him to me. Otherwise, I would have likely found a way out of school and gone to the Department on my own to rescue him.

“That summer, I spent much of it in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's as they pumped my stomach full of potions trying to counteract the damage that was being done during my visions. At one point, before they discovered a potions cocktail which worked for me, I was completely paralyzed on my left side, I could only see out of half of each eye, and was refusing to acknowledge my left side even existed. I was also having seizures after a vision.

“Your mom would come every day and help the healers take care of me. She actually blames me for her getting interested in healing and not trying to pursue a professional Quidditch career.”

Al was in shock. He had never thought his dad had been that bad off. He was always so strong and worked so hard, to think of him as anything other than that was difficult. And to think of his mom as being a Quidditch player was equally strange. She had always been so happy working at St. Mungos, it was hard to think of her ever playing sports and being good enough to think about playing professionally.

“What happened then?” Al said, leaning in.

“Professor Dumbledore discovered that Voldemort had been creating Horcruxes. He had been splitting his soul so he could live forever. During my sixth year, the visions lessened up and allowed me to get on top of all of the problems I was having. Professor Dumbledore took me around with him to destroy many of the Horcruxes as I was better able to draw them out, though we weren’t alone. Professor Snape and Uncle Padfoot came with us a lot.

“Eventually, it was discovered that the connection I had with Voldemort was not simply due to the killing curse backfiring. I had a piece of Voldemort’s soul stuck in me by accident.”

Al gasped in horror. Voldemort was the most evil being ever and he had been inside of his dad? Did that make his dad evil? Was Voldemort still stuck in him?

“You got him out though, right dad?” Al said, nearly begging.

“Yeah, though not on purpose. You see, shortly after we found out I was a Horcrux, Professor Dumbledore got cursed by a different one of them. He ended up losing his battle with the curse mid way through my sixth year. By that point, Voldemort had regained much of his former power and decided to attack the school. We all put up a good fight, but in the end Professor Snape ended up going against him. See, Professor Snape had been a spy during the first war and knew how Voldemort liked to fight.

“Professor Snape was a fantastic dueller, but Bellatrix LeStrange attacked him from the side. I ended up being the next person to fight him and he tried to kill me too. But he ended up only killing his Horcrux. I was dead for several minutes as well, but Uncle Padfoot had found the Resurrection Stone of the Deathly Hallows during our searches for the Horcruxes. While Voldemort was gloating over my death, he snuck over to me as a dog and put the stone in my mouth and brought me back to life.

“By some miracle, I managed to fight Voldemort one last time and he was finally destroyed.”

Al let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He knew his dad would win, but it was still a scary story.

“But then what happened?” Al asked, knowing the story wasn’t over.

“Bellatrix tortured me for several minutes before she was apprehended and killed. I still don’t know who killed her; no one will tell me. I spent the next few months in the intensive care unit followed by a whole year in the Janus Thickey Ward. I ended up graduating a year behind Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione because of it. No one thought I would be able to do it, but I worked really hard and your mom helped me study even when my memory was giving me problems.”

Al sat in silence for a few minutes as he mulled over the story. He had known his dad was incredible, how could he not, but hearing the story out of his dad’s mouth made it even more unbelievable how amazing he was. To have survived so much and only come out the other side with a limp and needing to take several potions every day was a miracle. It was no wonder then that people were always so in awe when he said he was a Potter.

“Dad?” Al finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“How did Professor Snape know something was wrong before everyone else?”

“I couldn’t use the floo without falling over,” Harry said, laughing slightly. "Of all the things to tip that man off, my inability to use the floo was it."