“Mr. Potter, it could easily have been worse.”

Yeah, maybe, but he didn’t see how that was supposed to make him feel better. It was pretty bad, and he had been told it was -- barring a miracle -- permanent. He had woken in the hospital wing over a day after being slipped that blasted potion, and been informed by Madam Pomfrey of the damage before she bustled off to tell his head of house he was awake.

“Are you paying attention, Mr. Potter?”

Harry refocused on the professor before him, giving her a small nod.

“As I was saying, the potion you were slipped was meant to cause your body to shrivel, starting at the outer limbs and working its way in. Fortunately, it was not brewed very well. That, coupled with…”

Harry did not catch the rest of what she said as she turned her head to look to her left and behind her, toward the door to the hospital wing. He followed her gaze to see Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey striding into the room, with Snape trailing behind like a shadow.

“...nking him.”

He turned back to face her as he heard the last word, trying to piece together what he had missed. His confusion must have shown on his face because he saw her chest heave in a sigh.

“I am sorry, Mr. Potter. How much did you miss?”

Harry frowned, frustrated, and said, “I got something about the potion not being brewed well?”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, you are fortunate the… …but that our Potions Master is. You owe your life to Professor Snape’s quick thinking.” As she said this, Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey joined her in a cluster on one side of Harry’s bed, Snape positioning himself on the opposite side.

Harry decided he had caught enough of that not to ask McGonagall to repeat herself again. Her gaze, along with Snape and Madam Pomfrey’s, turned towards Dumbledore, and Harry followed suit.

“... are you doing, Harry?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

“OK, I guess,” Harry mumbled sullenly, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Madam Pomfrey has informed us of the… …As you likely know, you were very lucky--”

“Lucky,” Harry snorted, cutting Dumbledore off. His anger and frustration were swelling inside him, and he clenched his hands into fists in an effort to contain it. He was still grieving Sirius, reeling with the knowledge of Voldemort’s final demise, scared of the remaining Death Eaters who were already worming their way out of jail, and now this…

“Yes, Potter, lucky,” Snape snapped out. “It could have been significantly worse.”

“But it’s bloody well bad enough!” Harry suddenly burst out, his control shattering. “I can hardly hear! My eardrums are gone! My ears look like bloody dried-up peanuts! I’m-- I’m--”

Suddenly all of his energy was gone as quickly as the wave of emotion had broken over him, leaving him feeling empty and scared in its wake. He shivered slightly and hugged himself around his torso.

Madam Pomfrey began bustling about, gathering potions, while he saw Snape and Dumbledore begin conversing over him. Watching them, he realized all of the professors must have been speaking somewhat loudly for him thus far (though it had sounded rather quiet to him), because he could make out only the faintest sounds of the conversation going on above him. And considering that McGonagall appeared to be following the conversation even as she moved to help Madam Pomfrey, they could not be whispering.

Madam Pomfrey handed him a vial, telling him, “You need your rest.” He obediently drank it, content to slip back into sleep and hope that when he woke up this would all be a bad dream.

xxXxx

Harry woke to bright and orange light hitting his eyes, filtering in through the tall windows from the setting sun. His felt his stomach churn, and he realized it had probably been a while since he ate. He looked around the room, and saw Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall standing in the corner by Madam Pomfrey’s office. It looked as though they had been conversing, but they now turned and began walking towards him, Dumbledore in the lead.

“Ah, Harry!” Dumbledore said brightly as they approached his bed. “Hungry, are you?”

Harry felt his stomach churn again, and Dumbledore smiled at him.

“I think your stomach just answered for you, Harry. Minerva, would you fetch Poppy... …foods for Harry, I’m not sure… …restrictions.”

McGonagall nodded curtly and turned back towards the matron’s office. Dumbledore faced Harry and addressed him.

"Harry, we have a few things we need to discuss. You may know already that all of the other students have left for summer holidays. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger were quite worried about you, and asked that you write them as soon as you wake up."

"Did anyone tell them that...?" Harry asked, trailing off.

Dumbledore gave him a small but kind smile. "No, we thought it best to leave it up to you to tell whom you would like. Madam Pomfrey also could not be completely certain of the extent of the damage until you woke.

"Now, given the circumstances, I have decided that it may not be the best for you to return to your relatives while you are still learning to adjust to all of this. Although there are still a few Death Eaters on the loose, I believe that you will be quite safe staying with Professor Snape for the duration of the holidays."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, dumbfounded. "I'm sorry Professor, could you repeat that? I thought I heard you say I'll be staying with Snape." Harry gave a nervous laugh.

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore chided him gently, "and you heard me correctly, Harry. I believe that this will be a very beneficial situation, for both of you." He glanced at the scowling Snape as he added this last part.

Harry stared at him. "But-- but--" he spluttered.

"It will make sense in time, Harry. Now, I must be going. I will leave Professor Snape to explain logistics."

Dumbledore stood up, and began to bid them farewell. Slightly dazed at all of the revelations, Harry nearly forgot to ask the question that had been niggling at the back of his mind since waking earlier that day, and he hurried to ask, “Professor, do you know who poisoned me?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore faced Harry again. “I believe we do.”

“Well?” Harry asked, impatiently.

Dumbledore sighed. “I will tell you if you insist, Harry, for I do not believe it fair to withhold the information from you. However, I do not think it will be beneficial for you to know.”

“I want to know,” Harry insisted.

“Very well.” Dumbledore clasped his hands before him, looking solemn. “It was Draco Malfoy. It was his attempt at revenge for his father’s imprisonment.”

Harry nodded, angry but unsurprised. “Is he going to be expelled?” Harry asked, somewhat unsure whether he wanted the answer to be ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

“No,” Dumbledore stated rather firmly. “He will be punished, and rather severely, but he will not be expelled.”

Harry nodded as Dumbledore once again said goodbye and strode out of the hospital wing, and his thoughts turned once more to what he had learned just before the talk turned to Draco Malfoy. He and Snape were silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts and each reluctant to break the uncomfortable silence. Harry was rather glad not to be returning to the Dursleys, but was not sure Snape would be any better. He supposed he would at least probably let him eat, which was an improvement, but he also was not happy at simply being pawned off on someone else, especially another someone who did not want him. Didn't he deserve some choice, some say in the matter, especially after all that had happened? He had defeated Voldemort, Sirius had died, the Ministry was still trying to decide whether he was a nutjob or a savior (though they fortunately seemed to be leaning towards savior this time around, which while not ideal was better than being called crazy)... He was growing tired of it all.

Finally, Snape spoke. "Madam Pomfrey has said that you can leave tomorrow morning. We will spend a day or two in my quarters here and then leave for my house. I will be by tomorrow after breakfast to walk you down." With that, he swept from the room, robes billowing.

xxXxx

Snape did not say a word to Harry as he led him to his quarters in some forgotten corner of the dungeons. Harry trailed behind him silently, lugging his trunk and owl’s cage. When Snape had opened the door to his room, presumably speaking some password Harry did not hear, and they stepped through, he motioned for Harry to sit at the small round table situated in the middle of the room they had entered into. Harry dropped his belongings near the door and complied, seating himself across from Snape.

Snape examined his fingers for a moment (if Harry had not known better he would have thought he was gathering himself), then met Harry’s eyes and began speaking.

“It has been left up to me to explain the finer details of your… situation. If at any point you have trouble hearing or understanding me, please let me know and I will endeavor to speak louder or if necessary write things down. It is important that you understand all of this.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, looking away. Feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger, he mumbled, “Why can’t you just speak loud enough in the first place?”

He heard Snape growl, “Look at me… …Harry.” Harry obeyed, defiance in his eyes, and Snape added, “Would you care to repeat that?”

“I said, why can’t you just speak loud enough in the first place?”

Snape glared at him. “Because I might not know how loud is loud enough.”

Harry bit down a retort, not wanting to enrage Snape too much when he would have to live with him for the rest of the summer.

After a moment, Snape continued his explanation. “The potion you were given was designed to, as you know, kill, disfigure, and essentially shrivel your entire body, beginning with your outermost limbs and working its why in to vital organs. If the brewer had been competent, it would have started at your fingers and toes and you would have been dead within thirty seconds. As it is, it began at your ears and moved much slower, allowing me time to halt its progress.”

Harry nodded. He had gathered most of this by this point.

“The potion has permanently affected your auricles, or the outer fleshy part of your ear,” Snape fingered the tip of his own ear as he explained this, “your ear canals, and your eardrums. This has reduced your body’s ability to conduct sound waves to the nerves deeper inside your ear, and has left you with a significant conductive hearing loss. It also likely reached some of the hair or nerve cells in your inner ear, though the damage to your inner ear was quite mild in comparison to your outer ear. This has resulted in a… …hearing loss in both ears.”

Harry frowned. “Sorry, Professor, what kind of hearing loss?”

Snape looked slightly pained as he said, “That’s alright, Potter. I imagine the term is unfamiliar to you.” He slid a scrap of parchment and quill over to him from one side of the table, where a small jumble of parchment and old-looking quills resided. He jotted something down quickly, then showed Harry the paper.

55-60 decibel (dB)

“Dec-i-bel,” Harry sounded the word out. “Did I pronounce that right?”

A brief flicker of emotion crossed Snape’s face before it returned to its usual impassive mask. “I believe it is close enough, Potter. Decibels are a way of measuring or characterizing the loudness of a sound. The average teenager has a threshold of about 0 decibels, while normal speech occurs at around 50 decibels. There are degrees of hearing loss, and your falls around the moderate to moderately-severe category."

Harry thought for a moment, then asked in a resigned tone, "So I'm deaf?"

Snape's eyes flashed a bit at that, and he snapped, "No you are hard-of-hearing."

"Sorry, what?" Harry asked.

"Hard. Of. Hearing." Snape bit out. He hesitated for a long moment, holding himself rigidly still almost as though trying to contain fidgeting. Harry was just starting to wonder if the conversation was over when Snape spoke again.

"The Headmaster has decided that it would be best if I... helped you through this period of adjustment... because I also have a hearing loss."

Harry stared at Snape, wide-eyed.

"I inherited the condition, although neither of my parents were deaf, and I lost my hearing when I was around seven."

Harry swallowed. "So you're hard-of-hearing too?"

"No, I am Deaf," Snape angrily corrected him.

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the difference, sir." He tried to keep his voice polite.

Snape sighed. "It technically refers to degrees of hearing loss. Generally, someone who has a severe or profound hearing loss is considered deaf, while someone with a mild or moderate hearing loss is considered hard-of-hearing. However, it also reflects what culture you identify with. Someone who identifies more with hearing culture is more likely to consider themselves hard-of-hearing, while someone who identifies with Deaf culture usually considers themselves Deaf."

Harry was not sure he had caught that entire explanation, but he thought he had understood the gist of it. "So your hearing is worse than mine?" He asked, curious but also wary of offending Snape.

Snape sneered at him. "Yes, I dare say it is quite a bit worse."

Harry frowned, but before he could open his mouth to ask his next question, Snape interrupted him.

"I am quite exceptional at lip-reading, I have been told impossibly so, and I have had very extensive speech therapy. Speech therapy is one of only a few areas where the Deaf Wizarding community seems to have surpassed it's Muggle counterpart. And no, I do not have better eyesight than a hearing person, I simply pay more attention to my visual field, and likely have more developed peripherals."

Harry thought for a moment, putting the pieces together. He recalled Snape's overly-precise speech, his uncanny ability to know what they were saying even when they were whispering across the room, his hatred of mumbling, even his order earlier that in that same conversation to look at him when he spoke.

When he glanced back up, Snape was looking even more uncomfortable. He said, "That is also why I must ask you to let me know if you cannot understand me. I have difficulty judging my own volume, and have been informed I tend to speak rather quietly as a result." Then he stood, shaking out his robes slightly as though trying to shake off the awkward conversation. "I will show you to the guest room. Do not get too comfortable. I will be in my lab or my office all day finishing up some things, and we will leave for my house tomorrow morning."

xxXxx

Snape glanced at the closed door to the guest room as he passed it on the way to his own room much later that night. He was trying his best to be civil with the boy; Dumbledore had made it quite clear that he expected him to set aside his childhood grudges in order to help Potter through this period of adjustment. But the boy could just be so infuriating… If he were truthful with himself, he would have to admit that he was not entirely certain what it was about the brat that irritated him so thoroughly. He had realized a while earlier that year, during those disastrous Occlumency lessons, just how un-spoiled Potter was. In fact, it was partly his reports to Dumbledore that had led the old man to decide against Harry returning to his relatives that summer. But there was still something about the boy, perhaps the way that he so thoughtlessly and recklessly got his hands into everything (like his Pensieve...), that rubbed him the wrong way. And now he had to introduce the boy to his world, his culture. Snape sighed. It was going to be a long summer.

xxXxx

The next morning, Snape told Harry to dress in muggle clothes (himself dressing in dark slacks and a black button-down) and apparated them to a rundown-looking neighborhood. He hurried Harry, who was still a bit dizzy from his first experience apparating, inside a small and dingy house. Before Harry had time to look around too much, Snape had deposited his trunk at the foot of some dusty stairs and was back at the front door, beckoning Harry to follow. Harry scurried after him, stuffing a battered cap he had found at the bottom of his trunk earlier that morning low on his head in an attempt to cover his odd-looking ears.

They walked in silence for a few blocks, Harry looking at his surroundings curiously. Most of the houses near Snape's had a similar look of long-time disrepair, but as they walked on the neighborhoods grew nicer and newer-looking. Eventually, they crossed a busy street and entered a shopping center.

It was the first time Harry had been in such a crowded and noisy area since being in the hospital wing, and he was disheartened to realize how indistinguishable all of the noises were, and how few of them he could hear. Harry felt like he was walking around with a fishbowl on his head; everything seemed muffled and distorted as though he was underwater. When they entered the grocery store and began shopping, he was dismayed to learn that he could hardly understand a word Snape was saying. Snape, however, seemed to have expected this problem, and quickly resorted to writing small notes on the shopping list he was carrying with a muggle pen, or simply raising his eyebrows as he held up an item to ask if Harry wanted it. Harry’s own voice sounded loud in his ears compared to the muffled or deadened sounds around him, and he was quite self-conscious at first, but he relaxed a bit as he realized no one was paying them any attention.

After several minutes, they got into line at the single open check-out counter with a small pile of basic necessities. However, when they reached the front of the line, the cashier was busily chomping at a mouthful of gum, blowing bubbles intermittently between her words. Harry's face grew hot as Snape patiently asked the girl to repeat their total a couple of times, finally resorting to having her write it down. Snape, however, seemed genuinely unperturbed as he brought out the correct number of pounds.

As they left the shopping center, each carrying a bag of groceries, a young man looking to be in his early twenties came rushing up to them, startling Harry somewhat. He did not speak a word but began enthusiastically gesturing in what Harry vaguely recognized as sign language. Harry was quite surprised when Snape shifted his bag to his left arm and responded in kind.

After a few back-and-forths, the man turned to Harry and spoke as he signed. With the many cars rushing past, Harry did not catch much, only the words "you" and "name." He glanced at Snape for help, unsure of himself. Snape began signing again, presumably explaining who Harry was. After a couple more minutes of conversation, with Harry awkwardly shifting from foot to foot as he waited, the two said their farewells and Harry and Snape continued back to the house.

When they at last entered the blessedly quiet house, Harry followed Snape into the kitchen, setting his bag down on the grungy countertop. He watched Snape begin unloading groceries into the muggle refrigerator (though Harry noted that the inside appeared much larger than the outside would indicate), waiting for Snape to look at him again.

When Snape finally made eye contact and opened his mouth to speak, Harry cut him off. “What did you tell him about me?” he demanded.

Snape frowned. “What?” he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “The man you were speaking to outside of the store. You were talking about me, weren’t you?”

Snape waved his hand nonchalantly. “I was just explaining that you are a student of mine who recently experienced some hearing loss, and that I will be helping you adjust.”

“Well, why couldn’t you have said that part out loud so I knew what you were saying?”

Snape sighed, annoyed. “I assumed that the cars passing by would be loud enough that you would have difficulty understanding anyway. Did you not have difficulty understanding Daniel?”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I did,” he admitted, chafing at Snape’s dismissal of him and at his new limitations, but also realizing how logical Snape’s thought process had been.

“Sit,” he said, seating himself in one of the chairs situated around the round table in the kitchen and pointing to the chair across from him. The expression on his face was one of long-suffering and thinly-veiled annoyance, and as Harry sat he got the impression that Snape was only barely tolerating the situation out of his (apparently) extreme loyalty to Dumbledore.

“It, most unfortunately, again falls to me… …thorough explanation of what you can expect going forward.” He sighed, then continued, “You have spent most of your time since… …in quiet environments with adults who know how to speak clearly and loudly, and to face you when they speak, in order to help you hear and understand better. Because the majority of your hearing lo… your problem is mainly one of amplification, so people… …helps you a great deal.”

“Sorry,” Harry interrupted, embarrassed. “I didn’t get all of that. The majority of my hearing loss is what? And people doing what helps me a lot?”

Snape pulled a small muggle notebook and pen out of a pocket in his trousers, wrote something down quickly, and showed it to Harry.

majority of your hearing loss is conductance-based

people speaking slightly louder

Harry nodded, and Snape took the notebook back, leaving it in front of him on the table.

“But if I just need amplification, why can’t I just get a hearing aid?” Harry queried. “Isn’t that what they do?”

Snape looked mildly surprised at his knowledge. “Yes, Potter, that is their primary function. However, since devices such as hearing aids and cochlear implants are rather delicate, they tend to have an even more difficult time around magic than most other technology. Wizards have not been able to find a suitable magical substitute.”

Harry nodded again, and Snape resumed his previous explanation. “In general life, you will likely have a much harder time understanding speech since people tend to… …and mumble their words, and will not know or will forget to speak loudly and to face you.”

“Why does it make such a huge difference?” Harry asked. “Didn’t you say that normal speech happens at around 50 decibels, and my threshold is 55?”

“We measured your threshold at somewhere between 55 and 60,” Snape corrected him, “although this changes somewhat for different frequencies. But this is a threshold, meaning that sound needs to be at least this loud for you to be able to really hear it. Additionally, decibels do not work on a linear scale, so increasing a sound by ten decibels is actually making it ten times louder.

“Noisy situations are a bit different than a conversation in a quiet room, however. Sometimes, the noise may help you, in a sense, because while you will not be able to hear the background noise, your companions will and will naturally speak more loudly. Other times, the background sounds may interfere with you hearing their speech.

“I think you will also notice that your own voice seems louder, is this true?” Snape asked, receiving a confirming, if slightly surprised, nod from Harry. “That is because, again, your main difficulty is with sound conduction, and the sound from your own voice can actually be conducted through the bones of your face and skull.”

Harry thought for a moment, taking in all of this new information. Then he asked, “But you said most of my hearing loss is conductance-based?”

Snape inclined his head slightly. “I halted the progress of the potion just as it had reached your cochlear hair cells. I believe you will find you have a much more difficult time hearing higher-pitched sounds, but I do not think this should affect you too much. The only speech sounds that may fall in your affected frequency range are ‘fff,’ ‘sss,’ and ‘thh,’ and perhaps ‘hha,’ ‘ggg,’ and ‘shh.’” Snape drew out each of the sounds as he spoke them.

Eyes widening, Harry asked with a slightly shaky voice, “What sounds were those?”

Seeming unconcerned, Snape picked up the notebook and pen once again.

definitely f, s, th

possibly h, g, sh

Harry nodded vaguely, staring at the paper.

"As I was saying," Snape continued, "I do not think it will affect you overly much." He cleared his throat. "We do need to discuss the holidays. We will only be staying here for about a week. Early next week, we will be leaving for a summer camp at which I am usually a counselor."

“A summer camp?” Harry echoed, distracted from his dismay by the odd visions of Snape in swimtrunks which were now floating through his head.

Snape’s eyes flashed as he bit out, “Yes, for Deaf Wizarding children. There is one for ages five to ten and one for ages eleven to eighteen. The Headmaster believes it will be beneficial for you to attend.” Snape did not look very happy about this decision.

Harry nodded. He supposed he did not have much choice in the matter. “Sir?” Harry began, gathering his courage. His next question was perhaps a bit nosy, but he felt that he needed to know, and Snape had been rather helpful, if irritable, so far. “Do people know that you’re deaf then, is it just at school…? And who was that man, from earlier at the shopping center?”

Snape paused for a moment, then answered slowly, “Daniel is the son of a muggle couple who lives down the road. When they found out that their child was deaf, they came to me for advice. I have grown to know the family… rather well.”

“So people do know that you’re deaf then, outside of Hogwarts?” Harry clarified.

Snape shook his head slightly. “Not in the Wizarding world, at least not outside of the Deaf Wizarding community. Professor Dumbledore and a few other members of the staff know, but that is all.”

“And in the Muggle world?” Harry prompted.

Snape frowned slightly. “The Muggle world is slightly more advanced than the Wizarding one with regards to certain things, such as deafness. The Wizarding world remains prejudiced and ignorant when it comes to deafness, much like the Muggle world was a century ago. Most wizards still view deaf people as dumb, and view sign language as little more than gestures. They view deaf wizards as little better than squibs because of the difficulty we tend to have with verbal incantations. Some, particularly the younger generations and muggleborns, are a bit more enlightened, but the Wizarding community as a whole is very highly influenced by the old Pureblood families, and they cling to the old ways like barnacles on a rock.” Snape sneered nastily as he said this last part. "Although," he continued, "the American Wizarding community is more open-minded; they even have a Deaf school of magic near the American school Gallaudet."

Harry looked concerned, but let the subject drop, deciding he had pushed his luck far enough.

Later that night, he sat at the small desk in the guest room (which was as dingy-looking as the rest of the house), contemplating the two pieces of blank parchment before him. How much should he tell Ron and Hermione? And how could he tell them what had happened to him? He sighed. He knew they were great friends; they had stuck by him (except for that brief period in fourth year), they had guarded his back on his many exploits, they had faced Voldemort with him just this month in the Department of Mysteries. But how could he tell them this -- especially in a letter, and especially if what Snape had said was true? And at the same time, how could he keep it from them?