Harry ran his hand along the wall of the dungeon corridors, enjoying the feel of cold stone brushing across his fingers as he made his way down to Professor Snape's classroom. It was for detention, as Professor McGonagall had explained to him as she adjusted his pocket watch earlier that afternoon. For shouting at a teacher. He hadn't meant to shout, but nobody was listening to him! The blond boy had stolen his friend's ball and was going to break it. And Professor Snape had said untrue things. Harry paused. That wasn't quite true. He remembered that Professor McGonagall had explained what Madame Hooch meant by her instructions, instructions Harry had misunderstood because of how his brain worked. Professor McGonagall had made sure he knew that he wasn't getting in trouble for that, though. Professor Snape had given him detention for shouting at a teacher, something he could control, not misinterpreting poorly worded instructions.

He sulked as he continued walking down the corridor, the rough stone soothing his fingertips as he went. It was a rather pleasant sensation, almost as nice as running his hand along chain link fencing. He had hoped that coming to a magic world would make him less of a freak, less of a target, but it just seemed to make things worse. Finding out he was a wizard had explained some of the stranger things he'd been able to do, but it didn't make him normal. The only thing magic had changed was where he lived and went to school. He was still different, still broken, still "Handicapped Harry" or "Har-tard" like his cousin and the kids at school always called him. Magic didn't make it easier for him to understand people. He still couldn't tell figurative from literal. His socks still had to be worn inside out because the seam still itched his toes.

Magic didn't make it so he was able to tie his shoes instead of wearing velcro like a baby, he finished in the voice Dudley and his gang used. He couldn't even move his wand the way his books showed him, so magic didn't fix whatever made it hard for him to write or use scissors or button up buttons. Magic didn't make it so he could tie his tie. He had to have a Prefect help him with that and his buttons. Harry flushed as he remembered Dean and Seamus from his dorm room laughing at him after they saw Percy help him with his shirt and tie. Percy had made them shut up and had even taken points, but once Percy had gone, they had started up again. Harry didn't like it, but accepted it. Professor McGonagall told him that Gryffindor House was his family while he was at school. The Dursleys always made fun of him instead of being nice like families on the television or movies, so it made sense that his Hogwarts family would be that same way. He still liked it when Ron or Hermione made people stop being mean to him, though. In that respect, he had a family like on the television.

It seemed to Harry that the magic people even seemed to blame him for being so weird. His Hogwarts teachers didn't seem to understand why he was having such trouble using a wand. They kept saying he just wasn't trying hard enough because surely The Boy Who Lived wouldn't have any sort of issue with magic. Harry hated it when people called him that. He didn't understand it, for one, and for two, it was like they were seeing a fake Harry, not the real Harry. The fake Harry was the one they had made up in their minds, so when he couldn't get his wand to swish the right way it was that the real Harry was just being a spoiled lazy brat who wasn't trying hard enough.

It wasn't fair.

He was trying. He was trying hard. Harry figured that the only teacher at the school who didn't see Fake Harry was Professor Snape, and Harry was ashamed that he had shouted at him. Maybe now Professor Snape was going to see Fake Harry, too, even though Harry had no trouble at all with potions. Potions didn't need him to move his wand a certain way. Potions wasn't exactly like chemistry, but it was close enough. Harry read his entire textbook before potions class because he had wanted Professor Snape to see that Real Harry wasn't as big of a freak as the rest of the school seemed to think. He had wanted Professor Snape to keep being the calm understanding teacher who helped him get Sorted, and showed him around school, and who listened to Harry talk about chemistry for over an hour without getting annoyed.

It just simply wasn't fair.

"What isn't fair, Mr. Potter?" a silky voice asked, startling him.

Harry looked up from his feet and found himself staring at Professor Snape. He felt his cheeks flush when he realized he had said that out loud. He waited for Professor Snape to shout "look at me!" and grab his chin to force eye contact like his other teachers, but it never happened. His professor seemed to know that when people asked Harry to look at their eyes that he couldn't do anything else, not think, not talk, not anything but get frightened. But his Professor Snape did not force him to look at him, he just stood there, patiently waiting for Harry to speak. Harry smiled. Now he knew his Professor Snape would always see Real Harry even if there was shouting or crying or needing help with buttons and ties and wands.

"It isn't fair that magic doesn't fix me, Professor Snape," he said. And waited. And waited. Harry looked at his pocket watch and started counting the seconds, growing more and more nervous as seconds turned into a whole minute.

"That is because you aren't broken, Harry."

Harry frowned and furrowed his brow, trying to puzzle out what Professor Snape meant. Of course he wasn't broken! He had broken his arm before, and he knew what that felt like. He didn't feel that sharp pain that made him sick up and see stars, so nothing was broken. He remembered what Professor McGonagall had instructed him to do when he was confused about something.

"I don't know what you mean, Professor."

Instead of an answer, he felt a hand on his shoulder and found himself being guided inside the potions classroom. He took a seat at the bench closest to the blackboard in case he needed to read it, and was surprised to see Professor Snape pull up a stool and sit facing him.

"Why do think you need to be fixed, Harry?" his professor asked in a soft voice.

Harry liked that voice. It was a calm voice that set him immediately at ease. Harry had never heard a voice quite like it. And so Harry found himself telling his professor about Fake Harry and Real Harry, and how his Gryffindor family was like his real family, but that Ron and Hermione made it like a television family. He explained about buttons and ties and "Har-tard" and "Handicapped Harry" and velcro and how he couldn't get his wand to swish and flick like his books said. And he kept waiting for Professor Snape to interrupt him, to make him do something unpleasant for detention like Ron had said he would, but it never happened. Professor Snape just let him talk.