Friday, 8th of February, 1996. 10:45 AM
SEVERUS SNAPE
Two days had passed after Potter’s accident before I was given a chance to come back to the Hospital Wing. I had heard no news from neither the Headmaster nor Poppy about the boy’s wellbeing. But then again, I wasn’t asking. It was early on Friday afternoon, just before lunch, and I was on my way back there to quickly drop of a delivery for Poppy.
The spell used on Potter wasn’t fatal. He would live. All Goyle had known about the spell was that it was supposed to disable one’s opponent for a very long time. He had seen the spell in an old book of this father's. Not a Dark Arts book, surprisingly, knowing what I did about Goyle Senior’s so called “light reading” habits. Gregory had even provided the name of the book. Terri Torts’s Book of Disabling Spells. From what I knew, the spell magidissipatum was supposed to drain only three quarters of your opponent’s magic. Gregory had actually mispronounced the spell as magidisipatum which was actually closer to a cosmetic spell, of all things, which was supposed to regress one’s appearance to a younger state not the actual age. It was a simple glamour-rank spell gone wrong.
I shook my head in disgust. The boy was an idiot for trying to use a spell he knew nothing about and his father was an idiot for leaving a book about the house for his idiot son to read.
Growling out some choice obscenities under my breath, I entered the Hospital Wing. I helda small box full of newly brewed nutritional potions. Why Poppy needed them was beyond me, but I wasn’t one to ask why a duck squawked.
But, despite Poppy explicitly requesting the potions be delivered by 11 a.m., there were no signs of life in the Wing. The curtain drawn around the bed where Potter had been two days before was still closed and there was no movement from behind it. No doubt the boy was still resting from his encounter with the magic draining spell.
“Pomfrey?” I called out. I waited for a moment before walking over to the supply cupboard and placing the nutritional potions inside. She would find the potions immediately upon returning. The woman had an unnatural sense as to what was in or out of the cupboard.
I was just on my way towards the door when I heard the clink of a curtain being drawn and then quickly shut. I glanced back at Potter’s bed. The curtain hadn’t been closed all the way and the upper portion of his bed was exposed. Neither Potter’s head, nor his torso was there. Curious, I walked towards the bed; even though a fraction of my better judgment told me it was probably a bad idea.
I pushed aside the linen curtain and came face to face with Potter sitting cross-legged on the bed with some coloring books surrounding his legs. Only it wasn’t Potter. I couldn't help but stare at the little boy who had once been a fifteen year old snot-nosed student.
The little Potter smiled shyly up at me, no anger, fear, or resentment evident in his very large green eyes. “Hello!” he said brightly, “Are you a wizard too?” I only nodded, not really sure what to think about, much less say the child. He grinned at me, as if we were sharing a secret. “Me too. That’s was Mr. Dumbledore told me, anyway.”
By the size of him, and considering that Potter was always short for his age, he couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old. “How did this happen?” I said it to myself more than to the boy, but he answered regardless.
“Mr. Dumbledore said it was a spell gone wrong, I’m supposed to be fifteen but I can’t remember being fifteen, I only just turned seven,” he said this in a way that made me think Potter didn’t really believe the Headmaster.
“You do not recall anything about your life here at Hogwarts?” I asked hesitantly.
The boy shook his head. “No, Mr. Dumbledore said my memories were suppressed.” His face twisted into something akin to a smelling something rotten. “I didn’t really understand his explanation though.”
I nodded and turned to go. This was getting a bit too unusual for my tastes.
I heard him say a cheerful “Bye!” before I swept through the Hospital Wing doors and stalked to the Great Hall for lunch.
The hall was a busy as usual. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Apparently, no news of the state of Potter had reached the extensive Hogwarts rumor mill. And if it hadn’t by now, it probably wouldn’t for some time. The headmaster had his ways of keeping things under wraps if he so desired. The castle listened to him.
However, I did overhear Trelawney say that she had seen in her crystal ball that the boy was suffering a great deal right now and would soon be released by the fates to rejoin his parents in the spirit world. I caught Minerva rolling her eyes behind her coffee cup, and then exchanging a secretive look with Albus.
So, Minerva knew about the boy. I pursed my lips and stared down at the soup and sandwiches being served for lunch. It was more amusing to find out how Albus could keep something secret when he wanted to; but more disturbing to find out that he was keeping Potter’s renewed childhood a secret. I had only found out on a stroke of chance.
Albus was keeping this under wraps. It was obvious that if such information was leaked the Ministry, or worse, the Dark Lord would try to take advantage of the situation. I took a sip of my coffee and began eating my lunch, not even taking the time to really taste it.
I spent the rest of the day lecturing, very much ready for the weekend when I could spend as much time as I wanted in my rooms and not be bothered to look into the blank faces of the students. Umbridge was making things supremely difficult as well, so avoiding the toad-like woman would be a welcome respite. I’d already had enough of her standing over my shoulders questioning every single aspect of my job as teacher.
I’d nearly made it all the way back to my private chambers when I remembered that it was the second Friday of the month. Every second Friday was the staff meeting. Snarling, I entered my rooms through the portrait of the Blind Wandmaker and set down my lecture notes on the desk in the sitting room.
One hour later I was in the Staff Room trying to ignore the inane chatter of Pomona Sprout and Sybil Trelawney next to me. Umbridge was in a corner of the room looking like she was a queen overseeing her subjects. Every now and then she would jot down a note on her clipboard and direct a sickening smile around the room. Luck be with anyone they caught her eye when she was looking their way. I kept my gaze centered towards the door that led into the headmaster’s office. He was being unusually slow tonight. The other staff had all trickled in after dinner and were participating in idle conversation or were sampling whatever treats were left for the staff by the house elves.
Finally fifteen after the hour the Albus and Minerva stepped into the room and conversation dropped off. The headmaster started off with the usual announcements, Filch’s updated contraband list, and a roster of particularly troublesome students to keep an eye on. “And lastly,” he said, “Mr. Harry Potter has taken ill and has been quarantined in the Hospital Wing for the time being. Any of his assignments are to be given to Minerva and she will pass them on to Mr. Potter. That is all, and have a good evening.”
The rest of the staff began leaving, conversation starting up again. “Severus, if you could, I would like a word with you in my office,” Albus said quietly. Umbridge was making her way in our direction.
“Hem hem, Dumbledore, what particular disease does Mr. Potter have? And why is he quarantined? Is it that bad?”
“Ah, Professor Umbridge, I’m afraid I have some pressing business to attend to at the moment, if you would like to make an appointment with me later next morning I would gladly answer all your questions.” He twinkled his eyes at her.
“Yes, yes, lets.” She smiled her toad smile again before turning on her heel and briskly flouncing out of the room. I only just managed to resist using a tripping jinx on her.
I followed the headmaster back into his office and stood in front of his desk.
“You’ve seen Mr. Potter, have you not?” The headmaster asked abruptly.
“Yes, just this afternoon.”
“He mentioned someone with your description coming by.”
“Albus, what’s happened?”
He frowned, the twinkles in his eyes smothered by worry, “The curse used by Mr. Goyle depleted his magic to a point where his body could not cope. In order for it to completely restore itself his body has inexplicably de-aged itself along with his memories.” He sighed and sank to his chair, making him look much older. “I’m afraid that we know of no way to return him to his original age. Some of the healers I’ve brought in believe it to be permanent, even though it is clear that his fifteen year old memories are intact, just suppressed. ”
“The healers found indications of this?”
“Yes, Mr. Potter’s test results show something akin to Occlusion surrounding a large part of his mind. Healer Yao believes that the Occlusion is some sort of mental defense mechanism induced by his magic during the deaging process to prevent his mind from overloading.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I need you to research the particular spell used on Harry. Plus, Harry is in need of some magic stabilizing potions. While his body is young enough to use what little magic he has, it’s unstable and could have some bad future effects if not taken care of now.” Albus, picked up an empty platinum hourglass on his desk and turned it over and over in his hands. “Severus, I’m worried that somehow Voldemort–” I couldn’t help the flinch, “–has his hand in this.”
“How so?” I sat down, realizing that for the first time in years that Albus hadn’t offered a lemon drop or tea for the first time in nearly a decade.
“Mr. Goyle was contacted by his father not two days before the incident. And I’ve heard from other sources that Voldemort has been in conferences with Goyle Senior for some days now.”
“I see.”
“Severus, if Voldemort–” I only flinched a little bit this time, “–asks you about this I want you to tell him the truth. Let him know that we are keeping it under wraps, and trying to find a cure.”
“Yes, sir.”
I spent the rest of the night pacing the stone hallways of Hogwarts wondering when the summons would come. The halls were blissfully empty, and I caught no student out of turn. But by five in the morning, pure exhaustion was the only thing that was able to drive me to my bed.