Harry felt sick to his stomach. He was going to live with Snape, of all people. Yes, Healer Covey would be there, and his friends too, but not all the time, not every minute of the day. It was true that Snape had been rather decent to him as of late, but Harry knew all too well that people acted very differently behind closed doors. And without his eyesight, if Snape turned mean, he wouldn’t even see it coming. Harry shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Fine,” Harry said, “Just… just cold.”

Harry was pretty sure that Ron and Hermione were exchanging glances about him, but without being able to see, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t like this one bit. He couldn’t even walk by himself. Ron and Hermione had to guide him to the Floo in Madam Pomfrey’s office and one of them went into the fire with him.

Instinctively he closed his eyes in the cool tickling flames that he knew were green and felt himself hurtling through space until they stepped out of a different fireplace onto something soft. A rug of some sort, he guessed.

He heard Ron gasp beside him, while Hermione murmured, “It’s beautiful.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Snape’s place,” Ron said in awe. “It’s not at all what you’d expect.”

“What’s it like?” Harry asked.

Ron tugged him. “Tell ya more later, mate,” Ron said as he tugged Harry to the side at the sound of two more people coming through the Floo. “But it’s cool. Not Snape-like at all.”

“I heard that, Mr. Weasley,” Snape said.

Healer Covey laughed. “I believe Mr. Weasley was complimentin’ Professor Snape’s talent fer interior design, which is quite sophisticated, I might add.”

 “You wouldn’t even know you were in the dungeons,” Hermione said. “No offense, sir,” she added.

“None taken,” Snape replied.

A moment later, Harry tensed as something bumped into his leg.

“I see you’ve met Earl Grey,” Snape said.

“Who?” Harry asked.

“My cat.”

“You have a cat?” Harry asked. He couldn’t imagine Snape with a cat.

“Obviously,” Snape replied.

“So he’s grey then?” Harry asked, bending down to stroke the cat he couldn’t see. The cat arched into his touch, purring loudly.

“No, he’s black. And skinny.”

Harry paused, not knowing if Snape was joking or not. It was so hard to tell people’s intentions when you couldn’t see their expressions.

“Why did you name him Earl Grey if he’s black?” Hermione asked.

“He has a certain obsession for tea,” Snape replied, and Harry heard a note of fondness in Snape’s voice.

“Harry,” Covey interjected. Harry stood back up at the sound of her voice. “We will spend some time getting ye acquainted with the layout of Professor Snape’s quarters later. But fer now, let’s get ye settled in yer rooms, aye?”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“Right this way,” Covey said as Ron on one side, and Hermione on the other, started walking him forward.

Harry stepped carefully, in case the cat was still nearby. He wanted to ask Snape how he ended up with a cat in the first place, but now didn’t seem to be the right time.

Suddenly, Ron and Hermione stopped walking.

“This is brilliant!” Ron declared.

“Harry, your rooms are gorgeous!” Hermione added.

“Why donna ye two show Harry around his rooms, aye?” Covey said. “We’ll just be in the study if ye need us.”

“Harry, you’re gonna love this!” Ron said. “Well, as soon as you can see again. Your room is huge! You’ve got a big bed, just like the ones in Gryffindor, the same curtains and all, but I swear my whole family could sleep in that bed! And you’ve even got a window,” Ron paused, “though how you’ve got a window when you’re in the dungeons, I don’t know. And then, over here,” Harry felt himself being turned to the right, “is your fireplace. You’ve even got your own sitting room!”

“And bathroom,” Hermione chimed in. “With a shower and a bathtub. And there are no rugs to trip on, either in the bathroom or in the main room. You’ve got a wardrobe for your clothes, and a table by your bed.”

“Can you walk me around so I can get used to where everything is?” Harry asked. He felt ashamed to have to ask, but what else could he do?

“Of course, mate,” Ron answered. “The fireplace is over here,” Ron said, taking Harry’s hand and placing it on the mantelpiece. “This is where we’ll Floo in. And it’s separated from your bedchambers by a wall, so no one can just pop in on you while your dressing or something. And here,” Ron said, leading Harry forward, “is a sofa and two arm chairs.”

“There’s also a large table with six chairs, which I’m guessing can be used for eating or studying,” Hermione added.

After Ron led him around his room in what felt like a random, zig-zag tour, Harry said, “Umm, this is great, but I’m going to need a better way to get from one place to the other.”

“You can follow the walls, Harry,” Hermione said. “They are empty and there is no furniture against them, probably so you can find your way from the bed to the bathroom and out into Professor Snape’s quarters.”

“And for things in the middle of the room, you can count your steps,” Ron said. Harry felt Ron let go, and then heard Ron say, “If you walk straight out of the bathroom, the table with the six chairs is about…. ten steps forward. And it’s another ten steps straight ahead to the sofa.” A moment later, Ron added, “And ten steps between the bed and the table, and ten steps between the table and the door.”

Harry could practically hear Ron thinking.

“They must have really planned this out for you,” Ron said.

“Of course they did,” Hermione said. “They wanted Harry to be able to get around on his own in his own room.”

Harry heard a man clear his throat. He turned toward the sound but didn’t move as he didn’t quite know where Ron had left him in the room.

“There is someone else who’s been pestering me all morning to see you,” Snape said.

Harry felt something hit him hard in the legs, and nearly toppled over backwards. “Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is so happy to be seeing you, sir. Dobby is wanting to help Harry Potter, sir.”

Harry felt something warm settle in his chest as he smiled. “Dobby, I am very happy to see you, too.”

Dobby made a sound that sounded to Harry like someone swooning.

“Anything Harry Potter needs, sir, anything at all, you is just having to call Dobby’s name sir, and Dobby will be here. Master Dumbledore says that Dobby can stay with Harry Potter all the time, sir, and not work in the kitchens, if that is what Harry Potter wants, sir.”

“Thanks, Dobby, I appreciate it.”

“Dobby is bringing lunch for Harry Potter and his friends, sir. Dobby is a good house-elf.”

“That you are, Dobby,” Harry said, reaching out for the elf he couldn’t see.

Harry felt his hand encapsulated by a small, knobbly one. “Dobby is right here, sir,” the elf said. “Dobby will be Harry Potter’s eyes, sir, until Harry Potter’s eyes works again, sir. If Harry Potter wishes it.”

“That would be great, Dobby.” Harry smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t have to ever be alone with Snape after all. Still holding the elf’s hand, Harry said, “Did you say you brought lunch? I’m starving.”

Snape and Covey left the trio and Dobby to fend for themselves as they went to meet with the Stanleys.

“A pleasure, as always,” Roland said, shaking both of their hands.

“How’s the rabbit doin’?” Covey asked Marsha with a wink.

“She’s doing great,” Marsha said with a childlike smile. “We named her ‘Bunny’.”

After greetings and handshakes were exchanged all around, Marsha led them from the waiting area back to their office.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet us early,” Snape said. “We have had a bit of a development, as I indicated earlier, and we could use your professional advice.”

“We’d be glad to help,” Roland responded.

“As you might imagine,” Snape proceeded, “we do things a bit differently in our world. For the sake of time and brevity, we ask you to delay your questions on how our world works until another time.”

“Of course,” Marsha said.

“What we have told you about Harry so far has all been true, although many of the details have been left out to avoid confusion between our worlds. Suffice it to say that you may not understand everything I’m about to tell you, but the essentials are all the same and should not affect what we need your help with.”

The Stanleys nodded and Snape continued.

“As you know, we became aware that Harry was abused only very recently. In our world, our magical essence, for lack of a better word, is intertwined with our physical well-being. Our healers, what you might call physicians, heal not only the physical body, but also the magical essence.” Snape observed his listeners to make sure they were still with him.

“Healer Cook, here, has been working with Harry once a week to heal the physical injuries from Harry’s past. In Harry’s case, it appeared that, after his injuries, he was not taken to any doctors, but rather, he used his own untrained magic to heal himself, subconsciously I am sure.”

“He healed himself?” Roland asked, looking stunned.

“It appears so,” Snape responded. “But as I said, he had no training and did not even know he was a wizard, so he was unaware of it.”

“How do you know he healed himself, then?” Marsha asked.

“Healer Cook found his magical traces around the injuries. In order to properly heal him, she had to undo his untrained magic and start the healing process from the bottom up, you might say.”

The Stanleys looked on in wonder.

“We worked as a team during these weekly healing sessions. We found that, when treating his past injuries, it tended to bring the memories of the injury to the surface, thereby unlocking the memories he had blocked.”

“Which is why you started bringing him to us,” Marsha surmised.

“Correct,” Snape affirmed. “These healing sessions, however necessary, proved to be immensely traumatic to Harry. He experienced flashbacks and uncontrollable panic attacks.”

Again, the Stanleys nodded.

“During yesterday’s healing session, Harry nearly died.” Snape felt Covey shift beside him, and he took her hand in his, squeezing it. “It seems that Harry had a very serious head injury when he was around nine years old, an injury that should have been fatal. Indeed, he did die on the cot yesterday while we worked to heal him.”

Marsha gasped, covering her mouth.

“But he survived?” Roland asked urgently.

“He did,” Snape assured them. “However, he has no memory of the abuse that caused his head injury, which is atypical of his response to the healing sessions. Much more troubling, though, is that when he awoke, he was—is—completely blind.”

“Blind?” Roland repeated.

“How so?” Marsha questioned.

“His vision is absent in both eyes. His pupils are responsive to light, although his brain does not interpret light or other visual stimuli. He complains of complete blackness, with no ability to distinguish shadows or movement.”

Snape gave them a moment to process his words before he continued. “Healer Cook confirmed that there is no physiological damage. His optical nerves are not damaged and his cortical brain centers are functioning properly. In other words, there is no physical reason why he should not have the capability of full vision.” 

“Pardon me for asking this,” Roland said, “but could have anything have been inadvertently damaged while you were healing him?”

“Nay,” Covey responded. “The way healin’ works is that I take the child back ta the original injury, ye ken, an’ then I heal it from the ground up. I heal in layers, so ta speak, usin’ magic as I go. If somethin’ wasna healed properly, I’d feel it.”

Covey noticed their uncertain expressions. “Think of it like an electrical circuit,” she explained. “If the wires arna all hooked up properly, the electricity willna flow, aye? Tis the same with magic. If anythin’ was wrong in Harry’s body or brain, his magic wouldna flow an’ I’d know it.”

“You will have to trust us on this,” Snape said.

“Ok,” Roland agreed. “Go on, please.”

“As we can find no physiological reason for his blindness, and as this particular memory and healing were particularly traumatic for him—he has no memory of either—we are left to conclude that the reason for his lack of vision is likely psychological,” Snape concluded.

“We wanted ta know if you’d ever heard of somethin’ like this happenin’ before. If there’s a name fer it, aye?” Covey added.

Marsha shared a meaningful glance with Roland. “There’s conversion disorder. I did my master’s thesis on it.”

Roland stroked his beard and studied his wife and partner thoughtfully. “That’s what I was thinking, too,” he said, “but it’s so rare.”

“It all fits, though,” Marsha said before turning back to Snape and Covey.

“Conversion disorder is a psychological disorder that has a physical manifestation with no identifiable physical cause. It typically occurs in individuals between the ages of 10 and 30, and it occurs immediately after a particularly traumatic event.”

“If I remember correctly,” Roland added, “children who were physically or sexually abused are at higher risk.”

“That’s correct,” Marsha affirmed. “It is also seen more often in individuals who suffer from anxiety or depression.”

“And blindness is a symptom of this condition?” Snape queried.

Roland nodded and Marsha said, “It can be, yes. Classical symptoms include either physical ailments such as partial or total paralysis or weakness in a given limb or set of limbs, or sensory deficits such as a loss of vision or hearing.”

Snape took a deep breath, steadying himself for the answer to the question he must ask. “And if Harry has this, what is the prognosis?”

Snape felt Covey squeeze his hand, whether in worry or support or both, he couldn’t be sure.