The hurried conversation with Poppy hadn't really prepared Harry for the sullen faced child that waited for him in the hospital wing. Harry's stomach turned over, when he saw the boy give him a death glare and heard the child call him "Mr Potter". Tim hadn't done that in years. That was what he had done when he'd first come to live with the Potters, fearful of any informality that might signify he believed his placement was permanent.

Tim stared at Harry through narrowed, untrusting eyes, his mouth set into a firm line, "What do I generally call you?" His wand was in his hand, almost as if he expected to have to defend himself.

"You've generally called me 'Dad'," Harry told him, gently, "Since you were seven."

Tim stared at Harry as though he were trying to look through him. He didn't seem reassured, in fact, he even looked more wary.

Harry stayed sitting on the bed, so he wouldn't tower over the child, "Madam Pomfrey says you're having trouble remembering things." Harry told him gently, "She said you hit your head when that potion blew up."

Tim nodded, cautiously.

"But, you remember me? A little?" asked Harry, coaxingly, "And your sister?"

Tim crossed his arms across his chest and raised his chin, but he looked very uncertain, "My...sister?" he finally asked, quietly.

Harry hoped Lily wasn't eavesdropping. He nodded, "Lily." Harry told the confused child.

A flash of something dark and sad reflected in the bright eyes and then was gone.

Harry suppressed a sigh. He recognized this mood of Tim's far too well. This shutting down was Tim being frightened and trying not to show it. If he couldn't remember his adopted family properly, that had to be very frightening, indeed.

Poppy had said that Tim had sustained a concussion. When the potion had exploded in his face, he had been thrown backwards and apparently cracked his head on the stone dungeon floor.

Fortunately, concussions were not serious in wizards, but they could cause temporary memory loss and confusion, or so Poppy had warned Harry. Tim's magic would mend the damage in a few days, a week or two at most, she'd said. In the meantime he was to be kept calm and quiet.

Harry hoped she was right. He couldn't help but feel frightened for his son, though. Tim was still a bit fragile, in many ways. He still woke from nightmares, once in a while and he had outbreaks of accidental magic when he was stressed. There had been a time when they'd feared that Tim would be too delicate to go to Hogwarts, but the admissions book duly generated Tim's letter last summer. Since arriving at school, he had done at least as well as the other Potter children.

The boy looked skeptical, "I don't remember that." He still crossed his arms across his chest, not putting his wand down. Poppy had told Harry that Tim hadn't let go of the wand the whole time he was unconscious. It was likely that Tim's magic was using the wand to organize itself to heal Tim's injuries.

"That's all right." Harry was quick to reassure him, "Madam Pomfrey said there was bound to be gaps. She said you remember Hogwarts?"

Tim nodded.

"Do you think you can manage a floo trip?" asked Harry, "You remember the floo, do you?"

Tim nodded tightly, "Fireplace." he grunted.

Harry relaxed a little. He'd feared that Tim wouldn't remember anything about magic.

Harry stood up, extended his hand to Tim who stared at it a second before he took it.

Minerva had come down to speak with Poppy by now. Tim stopped, when they rounded the curtain. His eyes were huge again.

"Tim?" asked Harry quietly, "All right?" he tugged a little on the boy's hand to get him to move forward.

"Is that...mmm...Professor McGonagall?" asked Tim, quietly, as if he worried that asking would get him into trouble.

"Yes, that's the headmistress." replied Harry, trying to be matter of fact, but he sounded worried to even his own ears. It was a little upsetting that Tim remembered Minerva, but couldn't remember his family.

Perhaps, it was an encouraging sign, though. It might be related to environment. Perhaps, when they got Tim home it would all come back to him.

Minerva heard her name and came over to them, "Tim? How are you feeling?" she asked, kindly.

"I'm all right, Professor." Tim's back was stiff as he answered her.

Minerva glanced at Harry, before saying, "Professor Bulstrode tells me that you very likely prevented a much worse explosion."

Millicent had told Harry this. It seemed that one of Tim's classmates had been intent on seeing what would happen if they threw an unwanted ingredient into someone else's cauldron. Tim had seen it and pushed the other first year out of the way and cast a very good cooling charm on the cauldron. It had still ignited, and Tim had caught the brunt of the explosion.

"Fifty points to Slytherin, I should think." said Minerva, pleased.

Tim blinked and smiled a little; a strangely mature, ironic smile, "I don't remember what happened." he admitted.

Minerva nodded, "Madam Pomfrey tells me that you hit your head. You'll be fine in a few days, she said." Minerva sounded the slightest bit anxious. It had been a long time since there had been a serious potions accident at Hogwarts. Not since Professor Snape had taught, and Millicent ran her classroom with the same iron hand.

"We'll get Ernie to have a look at him over the break." Said Harry, firmly to Minerva.

She smiled at Harry,"A very good idea." she said, "Come along, then, you can use the floo in my office."

Harry smiled at the other two and beckoned them with a jerk of his head, "Come on, Mum will be waiting for us." Harry kept hold of Tim's hand, more to comfort himself than the child. Tim didn't pull away though. Albus and Lily fell into step beside them.

Lily and Albus talked to each other animatedly, as they wended their way up to the headmistress's office, arguing about Quidditch. They both played on their respective house teams, which were currently neck-in-neck in points.

Minerva and Harry shared a worried look over Tim's head, but didn't speak. When they got onto the moving staircase, Harry glanced down at Tim, who was still looking very dazed, but at least walking without stumbling.

Tim stopped short of the door.

"Tim?" asked Harry.

The boy glared at him again, then shook his head, as if shaking off a disturbing thought. He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, as if gathering himself.

The head's office didn't change much, over the years. Minerva had added some personal touches, but it was still dominated by the portraits of the past headmasters and headmistresses. The whole gallery of them eyed Harry and his children benignly, as they came in.

Except for Professor Snape's portrait, "Potter?" He asked with a bit of a sneer, "Why does that child have my wand?"

Tim stiffened and brought the tip of the wand up defensively, as if he feared that someone would attempt to take it.

It was Minerva who answered, slightly amused, "You left it to the school, Severus. WIth instructions to give it to a promising potions student. The wand chose him."

"And, is he promising?" the portrait asked Minerva.

"Promising enough that he remembered a third year cooling charm in time to prevent the whole potions classroom from exploding." answered Minerva smugly.

"Hmmph." The portrait glared beadily at Tim, "What's the difference between monkshood and aconite?" he snapped at the boy.

Harry was opening his mouth to tell the Portrait to go pick on someone else, when Tim said, coolly, "They're the same thing."

Nothing was wrong with Tim's recall of what he'd read, apparently, because Snape's mouth turned up at the corner, "So, one Potter is not completely hopeless at potions."

Al and Lily looked affronted. Harry just shook his head, amused, "Don't let him worry you." He told the children, "Anything less than an Outstanding was a disappointment to him. But he did manage to get me an Exceeds Expectations on my O.W.L." Harry smiled at the portrait, unable to help himself, "Everyone in Professor Snape's classes always got an O.W.L. in potions, including someone in my year who was the record holder for melted cauldrons." Harry wasn't going to name names on that one.

"Dad?" asked Albus, suddenly, "Is he the 'Severus' I'm named after?"

Harry nodded, "Yes."

"You named your son after him?" Tim sputtered, "But, he..."

The oddest things upset Tim sometimes. At least it had gotten Tim out of that sullen, frightened silence.

"He's a war hero, wasn't he, Dad?" Albus put in. Then he turned to Tim, with no little pride, "I'm named after two former headmasters." he said.

"Was he a friend of yours, then?" asked Tim, observing Harry through puzzled eyes. He probably couldn't imagine anyone being friends with the unpleasant man in the portrait.

Harry laughed, "Hardly. I was too much like your brother. Drove him absolutely mad. But, ask your Auntie Roz about him. He was head of Slytherin, when she was in school. His house members were very fond of him. And, he was my Mum's best friend when they were in school."

Minerva sighed and gave Harry a sad smile, "I still miss him. I was always sorry he couldn't tell me, during that horrid year..." she trailed off, shook herself, "I'm getting maudlin." she said apologetically to Harry, "It's the holiday. One always thinks of absent friends."

Harry nodded understanding. He glanced at Tim who'd gone very pale again, "Come on, you lot." he said briskly, "Tim, I think I better carry you. You look like your feeling a bit woozy again."

The child nodded and let himself be picked up without protest.

Harry threw the floo powder into the fireplace and said, "Grimmauld Place!"