Electric Avenue by DesertPlanet
Summary: Following the disasterous Third Task, Harry begins to notice two things about himself. First: his appearence has begun to change. Second: something is very very wrong. The Cruciatus shouldn't continue to be causing him pain this far out from having received it, should it?
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape > Severitus Challenge Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Remus
Snape Flavour: Snape is Kind
Genres: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Media Type: None
Tags: Disguised!Harry, Injured!Harry, New Identity!Harry, Physical Impairment
Takes Place: 5th summer, 5th Year
Warnings: Neglect, Out of Character
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 47 Completed: No Word count: 206126 Read: 296941 Published: 08 Jan 2021 Updated: 13 Jan 2023
Chapter 31 by DesertPlanet
Author's Notes:
Second birthday chapter!

Again, any questions you have, I'm more than happy to answer! This is my present to you!
Two months.

Harry Potter had been missing for two months.

And not a single one of his UTTERLY INCOMPETENT followers had any leads on where the boy might have gone.

“IMBECILES!!!” Voldemort roared as he paced the Great Room of Malfoy Manor. “How could you not have found him yet?! I gave you one simple task, and you fail me again and again! He is a fifteen year old child, yet he has managed to evade you. How?”

The inner circle of Death Eaters remained stoic and silent as their leader paced around, occasionally shifting uncomfortably as his gaze turned towards each of them. They had failed him again. Any more failures and they would no longer be in his inner circle; they would no longer be in line for a position of power in his new world order when the time came. They would be dead, and so would their families. Lines of powerful, pureblooded wizards would be wiped from the planet all because of one stupid child who continued to evade detection.

“Nott!” Voldemort hissed, motioning towards one of the silent, masked men. “Step forward and remove your mask.”

The man stepped forward confidently, removed his mask, and knelt in front of his master. Despite his grace and confidence in movement, those who knew him couldn’t help but notice the pallor in his face or the sweat on his brow as he knew what would be coming next.

Gingerly, he raised the hem of Voldemort’s robes to his mouth and laid a kiss upon them. “It is my honor to approach you, my lord.”

“You were a cursebreaker, were you not,” Voldemort said softly, though his voice was seething with rage.

“I was, my lord,” Nott said, knowing adding additional information as to why he was no longer in that position would only add fuel to his master’s rage against him.

“And your speciality was…?” Voldemort continued, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Ancient, rare, and dark wards,” Nott said, a slight quiver evident in his voice though he was still managing to somewhat maintain his air of unwavering confidence.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow as he stepped away from the man who bowed slightly lower and continued to pace, though his steps were slightly slower than they had been. “And you have been to Surrey, have you not?”

“Yes, my lord!” Nott said, beginning to grovel. “Anything you ask of me, I am willing to do!”

“And yet…” Voldemort said dangerously, tapping his wand against his lips. “And yet the wards around his house still stand, do they not?”

Nott froze and turned his eyes down in dismay. Hours he had spent trying to work on breaking the wards came to mind. Hours of combing desperately through the magical web only to find his efforts were in vain. He had tried. He had missed the anniversary of his wife’s death for this. He had missed seeing his son off on the train. He had worked on the wards until his own magical core had been depleted nearly to the point of no return.

“They do, my lord,” Nott said sadly, bracing himself. “A whole team of curse breakers…”

“SILENCE!” Voldemort roared, closing the distance between himself and Nott with two large strides and pointing his wand at the man’s jugular. “I did not ask for excuses, I asked for results! Something none of you have been able to give me, least of all you! Sectumsempra!”

A large wound opened from one side of the man’s neck to the other, blood pouring from the wound as the man scrabbled at his neck instinctively. His eyes widened with fear as he began to choke on the blood. He had done nothing wrong! He had done everything his master had asked for him to do, and this was his reward? To have his blood spilt like a common muggle?

Nott looked at his master in disbelief as his chest heaved desperate gasps before he finally collapsed onto his side, blood pooling around him.

Voldemort sneered at the man’s body in disgust. A loyal servant he may have been, but if he couldn’t do the task he was supposedly an expert at there was no point in keeping him in the fold. It was a pity his son was not of age nor had any useful experience; young blood was always easier to mold into the perfect follower than trying to manipulate an elder wizard. Gone were the days of simple propaganda to gain followers. Those days ended when that bloody Potter boy bested him.

“Malfoy,” Voldemort said calmly, turning towards the owner of the manor in which he currently resided. “Get rid of this filth.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lucius Malfoy said before levitating his former comrade in arms out of the hall.

“Ssssseverussss, step forward,” Voldemort hissed, beckoning the potions master forward. “Any word from the Order?”

Severus stepped forward quickly, robes billowing slightly behind him as he knelt quickly and bowed his head. “No, my lord. The headmaster has continued to send Aurors who are in the Order to investigate his disappearance, but no information on where he has gone has been obtained. There was one possible lead which led an Auror to a muggle hospital, however this turned out to be incorrect.”

“Why did you not bring this information to me as soon as you were told?” Voldemort hissed once more as he circled Severus like a hawk hunting its prey.

“The ‘Harry Potter’ found at this hospital was an elderly man from Kent,” Severus said flatly. “The order placed him under observation initially, but he turned out to be simply a muggle.”

Voldemort sneered as he swept to a stop in front of his servant. “What good is a spy if the information I receive is outdated?”

“I wish to only provide you with factual information, my lord,” Severus said, resisting the urge to sigh. He knew what was coming for his insolence. “So as to not waste our resources or expose our position.”

Crucio,” Voldemort hissed, watching in satisfaction as the dark haired man in front of him writhed in pain for a minute before cancelling the spell and lifting Severus’s head by his hair. “I want to know any information found on the boy’s whereabouts! ANYTHING! Any conjectures. Any possible leads. If Potter so much as breathes, I will be the first to know! Is that understood?!”

“Y-yes m-my lord,” Severus stuttered, his throat continuing to spasm painfully despite the curse no longer being used on him.

Voldemort threw Severus’s head back to the ground before resuming pacing. He needed to find that bloody boy! If it weren’t for the fact Severus was an invaluable asset as a spy and potions master, he would have faced the same fate as Nott. There was no reason to foster incompetence in his fold and Nott had been a good enough example for the night. Perhaps a little excessive, but his followers seemed to need some… motivation to keep going.

He had been too hasty before. He had thought the partial prophecy was enough to get rid of the children which threatened his rise to power. This haste had nearly led to his demise. Had it not been for the plethora of horcruxes he had created, the backlash from the killing curse surely would have been his undoing. There was surely something more to the prophecy than what he knew, but he needed Potter in order to find out what it was.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the rest of his Death Eaters to return to their assigned tasks. A rapid series of apparation pops filled the air as the majority of his inner circle disapparated away, leaving only those behind who were unable to apparate or who had no reason to yet. Severus slowly pulled himself off the floor and prepared to apparate as a familiar figure approached the Dark Lord.

“My Lord,” simpered a rather short, round man with a silver hand from the corner. “I believe I may have a possible way to find him.”

Voldemort sneered at the man before motioning him over, ignoring the potions master in the corner. “And what would that be, Wormtail?”

“While I was living as the Weasley’s rat, I overheard Potter say he felt as though there was a connection between you. Would it be possible to track him through this connection?”

Voldemort drew in a long breath before rounding on the man, fire burning in his eyes as though they had been replaced with glistening coals. His long fingers wrapped themselves around the man’s neck as he pulled the man in so their noses were nearly touching; his wand pointed directly at the man’s temple.

“I am aware of this connection, you idiotic rat,” he spat. “What I cannot figure out is where it’s gone! Even after he first disappeared, I could feel him, but even that disappeared! I felt him today but not for long enough to proceed with my plans. He is still out there, but I do not know where. So, since you know so much, would you care to enlighten me as to where he may be?”

“N-no, my lord.”

“I thought not. Crucio you imbecilic creature. Does your brain not change size when you transform?”




Elias’s eyes snapped open as he cried out. Waves of nausea immediately crashed over him as he struggled to roll over to the side of his bed. Every part of him thrummed with pain; the small movements he made to try to get up were agonizing. His head hurt, his back hurt, even the hair on his arms felt as though it was on fire. He hadn’t felt like this in months! What had happened?

What had happened?

Was that not a dream? Had he really been there? How had he seen that? What had happened to him? Why did his mind feel as though it were swimming in syrup again?

Trying once more to climb out of bed, he realized with some dismay that he had soiled himself at some point during the dream. He didn’t even have a chance to get embarrassed, however, before another wave of spasms rocked over his body leaving him twitching uncontrollably in his bed. He couldn’t release his hands from the fists they had made themselves into for several moments nor could he get his toes to uncurl. As soon as the muscles relaxed, he tried again to roll to the edge of the bed only to find the motion yet again set off a round of spasms.

Had it not been for the excruciating pain, he would have equated himself to a turtle who had found itself on its back.

“Ah!” he cried out, hoping his father had returned and would hear him. The monitoring spells on him were keyed to if he had a seizure or fell and was unable to get up on his own. While he was currently unable to stand, he wasn’t on the ground so the monitor wouldn’t send out its alert. But climbing out of bed and laying on the ground would require concentration and he simply didn’t have that.

Another wave of spasms rolled over him causing him to arch backwards painfully. His legs and arms trembled uncontrollably as his vision blurred into a single mass of color. His breath caught in his chest for a few moments before his muscles finally relaxed enough he was able to force himself to take a breath.

‘Breathe,’ he told himself, closing his eyes to prevent the tears from falling. ‘Just breathe.’

He had heard Draco and his father talking about his ‘relapse’ over the summer and what he was like at that time, but he couldn’t really remember it. Was this what he was like? Was this another ‘relapse?’ He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t think of what else to call it.

Whatever it was, it bloody hurt. At least he knew where he was this time… possibly. He was fairly certain he was at home, but couldn’t quite place which home he was at. It didn’t matter though; he may hurt but he knew he was safe and that his father would come for him soon.

He heard some rustling from the kitchen and assumed it was his father rustling through the cabinets for something. Possibly an anti-Cruciatus potion if what he had seen was not a dream, but rather reality. He really hoped it wasn’t reality, but couldn’t imagine a world where he would dream that kind of torture on his father or anyone else. And then there was Mr. Nott.

Elias shuddered involuntarily at the memory of seeing the man’s neck flayed open by that horrible spell. Poor Teddy would be devastated.

The shudder set off yet another round of spasms, contorting his body into strange positions as he tried in vain to fight against what his body wanted to do. His breath was coming in short gasps as the muscles between his ribs tightened. He couldn’t breathe! Was this going to be how he died? Gasping and floundering on a bed, surrounded by souvenirs of a life he wasn’t sure he had lived?

A whimper made its way out of his mouth when the spasm finally let up enough he was able to take another breath. It was terrifying. He felt as though he were suffocating and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t even reach over and grab his wand to call for help.

More shuffling was heard from near the kitchen before he heard his father’s distinctive footsteps walking down the hall and past his room to the loo. Elias’s eyes blurred once more as he managed to slowly pull his knees to his chest as it tightened once more. Why hadn’t his father come in to check on him? He needed him! He needed help!

He tried to cry out once more when he heard the door to the loo open once more but couldn’t force a sound out of his mouth. It was as though he was trapped in his own body, unable to do anything other than watch himself flounder.

Pain lanced through his spine as the muscles once again spasmed, fighting against their counterparts which were still locked pulling in the opposite direction. It felt as though the muscles were trying to rip themselves off of the bone. His skin felt as though it were on fire, every movement sending searing, burning, tendrils of flame over its surface. Surely this was how he would die.

A broken sob tore through his throat as the spasm in his chest finally let up, allowing him to gasp for air momentarily.

Where was his da? He needed him! He would help, he always did when he was alive. He was magic and made potions and took care of him. He would help.

He would help.

He would come.

He had to come.

Elias vaguely heard the door to his room open before losing consciousness as his chest seized once more.




‘No, no, no, no!’ Severus screamed mentally as he took in the appearance of his son. His lips were turning blue, as were the ends of his fingers. Was he choking on something? “Anapneo!”

Much to Severus’s dismay, there was no immediate result from the spell. He wasn’t choking, but he certainly wasn’t breathing either. In fact he seemed to have lost consciousness. This wasn’t a seizure, this wasn’t caused by him missing his potions, so what in the world happened?! If he had more time, Severus would have pondered the question further, but now was not the time for pondering anything.

His healing abilities were decent in an emergency, but he certainly wouldn’t be able to treat Elias on his own. Stabilize, yes, but not treat. And as he was, he was questioning his ability to do even that. His own magical core was rather depleted from healing the damage from the Cruciatus as well as apparating away from Malfoy manor followed by the walk back to the castle. He hadn’t even managed to take a Cruciatus reliever for himself before finding his son in such a state. He was weak and shaky and in no state of mind to properly perform the necessary diagnostics.

He would need help.

A gasp was heard from Elias as Severus quickly sent a patronus to the Hospital Wing. If it weren’t for the wards of Hogwarts, he would have apparated the boy to St. Mungo’s as soon as he found him in such a state. As it was, they would have to stabilize him here then floo with him to the emergency treatment ward. From there, it was anyone’s guess as to where they would want to put him.

Respirare penitus,” Severus said, flicking his wand over the boy and watching in dismay as his body contorted once more. Slowly, color began to filter back into Elias’s lips as the spell forced his lungs to expand. Something wasn’t right though, his chest would only expand occasionally, but most of the movement caused by the spell could be seen in Elias’s stomach. It was as though his chest couldn’t expand properly. “Come on, Elias. Breathe for me. That’s a good lad.”

“Severus?!” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was heard from the fireplace in the living room. “You’re going to have to let the wards down, I can’t come through.”

Shit.

Severus quickly spelled a bubble of pure oxygen around his son’s mouth and nose before sprinting to the fireplace and countering the wards he had begun placing over the hearth to prevent unwanted guests (namely the Headmaster) from visiting uninvited. He hadn’t thought about what would happen in case of an emergency and had completely overlooked needing medical assistance emergently.

‘Shtupid, shtupid boy!’ the voice of his father rose up in his mind unannounced, berating him. ‘Yer mum an’ I have more money then you have brains, an’ we’ve got nuthin!’

Severus bristled at the imaginary lecture, but couldn’t deny it was correct. His son was ill. His son would likely always be ill, and here he was blocking emergency access to his quarters. He should have known, he should have planned for this. Now his desire for privacy may have killed his son.

“Severus, where is he?!” Madam Pomfrey demanded, snapping her fingers in front of his face. Now was not the time for an existential crisis.

“Bedroom,” he said, quickly leading the healer back down the hall to Elias’s room.

“What all have you done for him?” Madam Pomfrey asked, throwing open her bag and pulling a variety of devices out as Severus collapsed into Elias’s desk chair and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Severus?”

“I tried to clear his airway, then, when that didn’t work, I placed a ventilation spell on him as well as supplemental oxygen,” Severus said, eyes widening slightly as Elias’s arms and legs curled towards his body and began to tremble as the muscles pulled and spasmed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded as she began her examination, occasionally casting a spell here or there to double check certain vital signs. “Have you given him any muscle relaxers yet?”

Severus shook his head before standing and nearly running to the cupboard to grab the muscle relaxer cream as well as an emergency antispasmotic which Healer Shannon had recommended. He had thought it would be for cramps when she had recommended it but hadn’t realized quite the severity to which the spasms could occur. Why hadn’t he thought of that first? What was wrong with him?!

“Severus, sit down and breathe,” Madam Pomfrey commanded as she began working the salve into Elias’s jaw muscles, noting the way her colleague swayed as he returned. “Have you taken any anti-Cruciatus potions?”

“No, I haven’t given him any,” Severus said, turning to leave the room to get yet another potion from the stores in his kitchen.

Madam Pomfrey looked up sharply and pointed at the desk chair. “Severus sit! Have you treated yourself yet?”

Severus reluctantly sat, rubbing one shaking hand over his face. He had forgotten he had moved his own personal stash of potions out of the kitchen when he had gotten home and had been looking for them when he had heard a sound. He had initially thought Elias may have gone to the loo and had gone to check on him as the sound he had heard was… off. Once he saw the open door to the toilet, he had turned around and found Elias not breathing. His son was nearly dead and he was off trying to be a spy for a war he wanted nothing more than to no longer be a part of.

“-treat yourself, Severus. I know you were at one of those blasted meetings; you’re still in your robes.”

“Elias…?” Severus said, looking at his son in concern rather than following healer’s orders.

“Now, Severus! I don’t need two patients right now!” Madam Pomfrey snapped, spelling half of the antispasmotic into Elias’s stomach while slowly coaxing the other half into his much more relaxed mouth.

Severus nodded and stood quickly, wincing as his own muscles shook at the movement. Elias had to deal with this every day; he could put up with it for another few minutes. Limping into his bedroom, Severus opened the top drawer of his night stand and pulled out the required potion and downing one dose himself before grabbing a second dose for Elias. While it wouldn’t help an exacerbation of his symptoms, it would help alleviate the pain caused by the misfiring of his nerves.

Much more physically under control and pain much more tolerable, he quickly strode back to his son’s room. Typically, he would have a bit of firewhiskey after a meeting such as that, but he needed to be able to speak to Theodore Nott in the morning and be able to put up with a rightfully emotional teenager in an empathetic manner. Tonight, he knew he wouldn’t be drinking anything other than an invigorating draught to keep him awake so he could care for Elias should Elias not need to be taken to St Mungo’s.

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her ministrations of gingerly rubbing the muscle relaxing salve into the poor boy’s chest in an effort to relax the intercostal muscles and nodded approvingly. This was the Severus Snape she needed at her side: calm, collected, delicate and precise in his movements. Even as a father, she knew something was amiss with the man as soon as she heard his message. He had done everything correct, but the level of panic she had heard in the patronus missive was unusual for the man.

“I apologize,” Severus said, casting a worried glance at Elias’s still spasming form and wincing as his knees locked and his toes curled downward. The spasms seemed slightly less forceful as the potions began to work, but there was no way he wasn’t going to be sore. “I had many things on my mind. What would you like for me to do?”

“I’m going to spell him so he is sitting upright. If you can work on his back while I work on his front, I would greatly appreciate it,” Madam Pomfrey said as she continued her work, occasionally casting other spells to monitor his status. “He started to come around a minute ago, but I placed him in a healing sleep for now. I can’t imagine the pain this is causing him.”

Severus nodded and picked up a second tin of the cream and began working it into the overwrought muscles along Elias’s spine.

Slowly the spasms grew less and less ferocious and the muscles which seemed to be locked in one position slowly released. Together they worked on him for over an hour, gently turning him and making sure every muscle they could reach was massaged. It was a long, arduous task, and one which left their hands aching, but finally Elias lay still. After months of continuously moving, twitching, and writhing, he seemed almost unnaturally limp.

“I’m going to leave him in the healing sleep and keep the ventilation spell for now,” Madam Pomfrey said softly as she finally closed her third tin of muscle relaxing ointment. “We will see how he is in the morning.”

Severus nodded slightly, an almost imperceptible frown on his forehead as he thought. What had happened? How bad of a relapse had this been? What would his function be? Would there be any lasting effects from him stopping breathing? What would have happened if he had been a few minutes later?

Severus shuddered at the thought.

“Would you rather move him up to the hospital wing or keep him here?” Madam Pomfrey asked, stretching her back.

“Not St. Mungo’s?” Severus asked in surprise.

Madam Pomfrey adjusted her healer’s cap and straightened her robes with a flick of her wand. “We’ll reevaluate in the morning. He’s stable enough here for now. Will you be able to give him the antispasmotic again in two hours or would you prefer I or someone else give it to him?”

“I shall do it,” Severus said softly, pulling Elias’s desk chair closer to the boy’s bed. “How often should I give it to him after that?”

“Give him a second dose four hours after the first one. I’ll be here at six and we will try taking him out of the healing sleep.” Madam Pomfrey stared at the boy pensively for a moment. “If he doesn’t respond well or starts to spasm like that again, I’m not going to lie Severus, you’ll have to take him to St. Mungo’s. If you had not studied healing during your mastery, I would have suggested we send him immediately. This is far beyond what I can safely treat at the school. Far, far beyond.”

Severus nodded solemnly as he stared at the boy on the bed. He didn’t want to send Elias to St. Mungo’s. He wanted the same things for him that Elias had yelled at him not two days prior. He wanted him to have a life to live. A life where he was safe and healthy. A life where he had friends and a social life. A life where he didn’t have to live in fear of being hunted by a mad man. A life where he and the Dark Lord weren’t connected.

But how? How were they connected?

Even Wormtail knew about their connection somehow. Yet, for some unknown reason, the connection between the two of them was no longer strong enough for the Dark Lord to feel. And if the Dark Lord could feel Elias, could Elias do the same?

But why? And how?

“I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you two.”
To be continued...


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