Severus Snape was always watching.

This was a fact the students of Slytherin house were well aware of. If a child in his house needed something, anything, it would appear on their bed before the day was up. If a student were being bullied, it was only a matter of hours before the perpetrator would be caught and punished. And if a student were ill or injured, the potions master would personally escort them to the hospital wing if they were unable to make it themselves.

The Slytherins knew this and appreciated their Head of House greatly for his vigilance. It was difficult being in the most reviled house in the whole of Hogwarts, if not the wizarding world. Having someone paying such close attention to their needs was a rarity, especially for those who had learned their cunning via unfortunate home experiences.

For the potions master, this was a level of alertness which he had achieved via years of his own misfortunes. And it was a skill he was unable to, and unwilling to ignore.

The first time he saw Harry Potter utilize the floo, he honestly thought what he observed was a fluke. The boy had come stumbling out of the fire into the Leaky Cauldron and promptly fell over. He was followed shortly by the massive cohort of red-heads he was always seen with, leading Severus to promptly quash any concern he may have had for the boy.

But the feeling something was odd remained.

He could have sworn he saw a latency in the child’s left side’s movement. It was very subtle, but the responsiveness to falling the child should have had was not there. It almost seemed as though his left side was a fraction of a second slower than his right.

Severus tried to explain it away as ‘the boy was not used to using the floo,’ or ‘Potter is clumsy on the ground,’ but there was still a thought in the back of his mind that he should pay more attention.

The boy was clearly able to run around the castle fine and Quidditch was not a problem for him. If it wasn’t bothering him, there wasn’t a reason for Severus to get involved.

Besides, Mr. Potter was not a member of his house; Minerva could deal with the problem if it was truly an issue.

His curiosity was piqued, however. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but observe the boy. And he wasn’t disappointed. He could see it when the boy was working on cutting ingredients for class in how much extra effort he took to move his fingers out of the way and change his grip on what he was holding. He could see it in how the child went up the stairs, a slightly uncadenced trot almost as though he were locking his knee to prevent himself from falling.

The more Severus saw, the more he kept looking. And the more he looked the more he saw.

It was so subtle.

As the years drug on, Severus noted little change in this condition. There was the occasional trip or dropped object, but nothing too out of the ordinary for a growing child.

Then came the Tri-Wizard Tournament. When Harry Potter had returned with the body of the now deceased Cedric Diggory screaming about the return of the Dark Lord, Severus had been called to the Dark Lord’s side. While Harry was receiving treatment for his injuries in the hospital wing, Severus was being tortured for being a spy. No amount of begging could convince the Dark Lord that he had been loyal; Severus knew he was going to die.

By some miracle, there was still an emergency Portkey in the pocket of his Death Eater robes from his actual spying days. And by an even larger miracle, it still worked. A twist of the top of the ring and he found himself whisked away to a safehouse and a notification sent to Albus that the portkey was used.

It had taken him several days to recover from his injuries and several more weeks for his nerves to be free of the residual pain caused by repeated use of the Cruciatus. By the time he was physically able to return to Hogwarts, the school had already closed for the year.

The first few weeks of that summer passed rather peacefully for the potions master. He relished in the freedom given by no longer being a spy, though the Dark Lord did continue to torment him routinely through the Dark Mark. It was better than in person, however, and a few pain potions did wonders.

This peace, however, was shattered when Dumbledore summoned him to Grimmauld Place. Apparently, Mr. Potter had gotten himself into trouble yet again. A dementor had been seen in the neighborhood his aunt and uncle lived in; it had attacked both Potter and his cousin. The cousin would be fine, though was quite shaken by the ordeal.

Potter, however, was not as lucky.

The dementor had not managed to get the boy’s soul, thankfully, but it had come close enough the boy was struggling with maintaining consciousness. And every time he would lose consciousness, he would only be still for a short period of time before the screaming would begin. The boy would arch his back, scream, writhe, and shake as though under the Cruciatus himself.

Even with the chocolate the damn wolf was shoving down the boy’s throat every time he was awake, there was minimal improvement for several days. When he finally did come to in a more meaningful way, the decision was made to move the boy from Grimmauld Place to the safe house Severus had been using. Despite having his friends and his dogfather at the historic Black manor, he needed more one on one care.

Naturally, Black and his friends were not supportive of this idea.

“He’s going to kill Harry! He’s going to use him as potions ingredients!” the youngest Weasley boy had yelled before stomping out of the room.

Severus was not fond of the idea himself, but he understood the rationale. Keep the boy in a place unknown to anyone in the Dark Lord’s company and in a house whose soul purpose was to be a place of rest and healing. Close enough to France to allow for international apparation if necessary but also close to London and the main hubs of the British Wizarding World.

Harry himself didn’t say much one way or another. He didn’t like Snape, that much was for certain, but he was too out of it and felt too tired to fight Dumbledore’s decision.

Besides, there was way too much going on at Grimmauld place.

Harry had always had difficulties with studying in large groups or in noisy areas, and, since the dementor attack, he was finding it more difficult than normal to focus.

Severus flooed to the safe house ahead of Harry to make sure the wards were ready to receive the boy as they had been keyed into his magical signature to protect him should his position as spy be compromised. He was given a few minutes to cast a series of strengthening wards and key the boy into the wards before Harry came crashing through the floo.

Severus only sneered as Harry pried himself off the floor, noting the slight stumble and lean to the left Harry initially presented with. Severus felt a queasiness in his stomach; there was something more sinister to this. There had to be. Using the floo was one of the safest forms of travel for wizards to use. Even the healers of St Mungo’s would use the floo when transporting patients to the hospital rather than apparation or Portkey if it was a possibility.

If tripping and falling out of the floo was a common occurrence, there would have been regulations on hearths and spells required to prevent injury that would have been put in place when the floo network was created. But people didn’t just fall over in the floo.

Watching the boy alight the stairs to the bedrooms, the feeling grew. While at Hogwarts, Potter had always taken the stairs like every one of his classmates: one foot per step. While his steps were never even, unlike his peers, he was able to go up and down the stairs with relative ease. Now, it seemed that was a struggle.

The first few stairs, Severus watched as the boy attempted to go up them in the same manner he always had, only for his left knee to buckle slightly every time it bore his full weight. Potter then switched how he was going up the stairs so he was taking each stair one at a time and locking his left knee so he wouldn’t fall. He was also hanging onto the railing with his right hand as though his life depended on it.

Something was wrong and Severus was going to get to the bottom of it. But that would involve trying to have a civil relationship with the boy.

The next morning, Severus awoke to the smells of breakfast being made, or rather breakfast being burned.

‘What in Merlin’s name is that boy doing?’ he thought as he went down the stairs, hoping to find the kitchen still in one piece.

While the kitchen was in one piece, Potter was not. The boy was an emotional mess, tears evident on his face while also seething with anger. He was sitting on the ground in front of the stove and slamming his head against the cabinets behind him.

“Potter, what are you doing?” Severus asked fiercely, his mind trying to wake up without caffeine. “We have limited food rations and you decide to destroy them for what? So you can prove your ineptitude at cooking as well as the fine art of potion making?”

Harry seethed at the man’s voice. What did he know? Harry had always been a good cook, Aunt Petunia had made sure of that. But for some reason the steps weren’t making sense anymore. He knew what end result he wanted, but it was getting from the raw ingredients to the cooked that he was struggling with.

“Maybe if your stove wasn’t so bloody strange, I wouldn’t have burned the food!” Harry yelled back, struggling slightly to stand up. He didn’t get it. Why was his leg not wanting to work right? It never really had, but it was so much worse than usual.

Severus looked at the boy questioningly as he stood. The stove shouldn’t be strange to the boy, it was a muggle style gas stove after all. Maybe he was used to electric? Gas stoves did tend to heat faster, but there was something more.

Severus looked at the disaster that Potter had made on the stove and quickly realized what had gone wrong. Complete ingredients were missing. The timing of the elements being added to the breakfast was so off some of the food would have been nearly raw while others were burning to the pans. There was a thought on what was being made, but the execution wasn’t there.

And from the look on Potter’s face, he knew it too.

Severus sighed and quickly cleaned up the mess with a flick of his wand. Another flick and a kettle was filled with water and placed on the stove to begin boiling.

“Have you ever made anything before in your life, or was Prince Potter so spoiled he has never seen the inside of a kitchen?”

Harry was immediately furious, screaming, “It was my bloody job to do all the meals, you bat bastard.”

Severus looked at the boy in confusion, then looked at the kitchen. There was absolutely no way the teen in front of him had ever made a damn thing in his life. The disastrous breakfast had been proof to that.

“Potter, go set the table. I will make us breakfast then we will discuss the rules of living in this safehouse as every house is different.”

“Not hungry,” Potter said abruptly, though his stomach audibly growled, and stomped out of the room.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the outburst. While he was known to goad such behavior out of the boy, the extremes in emotions he noticed were significant.

‘He witnessed a friend die,’ Severus thought to himself, trying to find a reason for this. ‘He met the Dark Lord, witnessed a friend die, and was attacked by a dementor in the span of a weeks. Of course his emotions will be frayed.’

But the twisting feeling in his stomach continued despite this rationale. There was something else going on. There had to be.

Despite the animosity between the two males, Severus continued to observe the boy, first out of habit, then curiosity, then concern. That ‘something’ Severus kept feeling was wrong kept slamming itself in his face over and over again. It was subtle, and Potter tried extremely hard to mask any difficulties he was having, but Severus could see it. And the more he looked, the more he saw.

They had only been there for two days when Potter began screaming at night. Severus first thought someone had gotten through the wards as Potter was screaming as though he were being tortured. Immediately, Severus grabbed his wand and went to the boy’s room. Upon opening the door, he found the room empty other than the boy writhing in pain on the bed and clawing at his scar.

“Potter! Wake up!” Severus yelled, shaking the boy in an effort to rouse him from his sleep.

Despite Severus’s valiant efforts to wake the boy, including attempting to spell him awake and even using smelling salts, it still took Harry nearly half an hour to wake. When he did finally awaken, he promptly rolled over and vomited before passing out. Severus quickly spelled the boy clean of the vomit but felt compelled to check under the covers when another acrid scent hit his nose. The boy had soiled himself.

Severus spelled Harry’s lower half clean, then grabbed the chair from the desk and sat in silent observance of the child in front of him. The boy’s frame was wracked with continuous tremors even in his sleep with his left arm spasming the worst. Severus watched for several hours as the jerks and spasms finally slowed and abated entirely.

Nightmares don’t do that, but the Cruciatus does.

Severus gave up on sleep for the night and brewed the strongest pot of coffee he could manage. He needed to think.

Harry woke up very late that morning feeling as though his head were buzzing and his left arm was underwater. He could move it, but there was a resistance he wasn’t expecting.

Pulling back the covers, he was mildly surprised to find he hadn’t wet the bed during his dream. It wasn’t a dream though; it couldn’t have been. That poor muggleborn and his family, they had done nothing outside of exist and were being tortured for it.

Harry’s hand spasmed at the memory of the torture. It had felt so real.

He got out of bed, got dressed, and made his way to the toilet as quickly as he could without making much noise. He noticed his left leg was more uncooperative than usual and rather sore. He shrugged it off, it wasn’t the first time his leg had caused him problems. If only he could shrug off the weird feeling his arm was giving him in the same manner.

Severus was sitting in living room reading a book on curse scars when he heard the sound of someone falling down the stairs. Potter was up and injuring himself already. Immediately, guilt washed over him at the thought. If his suspicions were correct, little of the boy’s failings had to do with his relation to James Potter.

Severus found Harry lying at the foot of the stairs looking rather dazed at having just fallen. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of his pants rather than out where it could’ve helped prevent the fall. Harry’s feet were only clad in socks and the fly of his pants was undone.

“Are you injured, Mr. Potter,” he asked, trying to prevent himself from angering the child. There was no reason to antagonize the boy, especially if his theory was correct.

Harry shook his head and attempted to right himself despite having one leg pinned. He struggled for a few minutes before finally lashing out at the man standing watching him struggle.

“A little help here?” Harry spat. Why did Snape hate him so much? Why did he always have to be a bastard?

Severus flicked his wand and levitated Harry off the ground and into a more proper standing position. As soon as he let go of the spell, he immediately reached out and supported the boy’s weak side. Despite being upright and having his feet under him, Severus could tell his leg was not going to properly support him.

“What did you do to me?” Harry demanded as the man silently grabbed his arm. “You did this to me, didn’t you Snape!?”

Severus took a deep breath and reminded himself to control his temper. He needed Potter to answer some questions for him.

He let Potter scream abuses at him as he guided the boy to the kitchen and sat him down at the table. He then set out all of the items for a bowl of cereal in front of the child.

“Mr. Potter, if you would kindly stop yelling at me. I have some questions for you about your nightmare last night, but I would prefer you to have eaten before I begin asking you questions.”

“And what makes you think I’d answer your questions?” Harry said, ignoring the cereal and leaning back in the chair, fumbling slightly as he crossed his arms.

“I may have something that will help you with them,” Severus said. While having food in one’s stomach wasn’t necessary for any sleep aids, it was very helpful for better results with nerve potions. Particularly ones which were diagnostic in nature.

Harry immediately stopped complaining. Anything to stop the nightmares would be welcome. And if it kept him from going into Voldemort’s mind, even better.

“Now, eat,” Severus said, motioning to the cereal box and milk.

Severus could see the wheels in the boy’s head spinning as he looked at the two objects. Harry stared at them for a moment too long before finally grabbing the milk and pouring it first then looking at the box of cereal. It was as though he forgot what he was supposed to do mid action.

“Eat, Mr. Potter,” Severus reminded him gently.

Harry blinked a few times, then grabbed the box of cereal and poured some into his bowl and finally began eating. Severus nodded and poured himself another cup of coffee. The easy thing to do would be to blame the forgetfulness on still being sleep deprived, but that feeling of trepidation was still there.

Severus summoned his book from the other room and continued reading while sipping on the coffee. Finally, he found the information he was afraid he would find. There, in black and white on the page of the old text, was the piece of the puzzle everyone had been missing about the Boy-Who-Lived.

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed something stronger than coffee. But first, he needed to speak with the boy to verify his suspicions.

He looked over and saw Harry had finished his breakfast and quickly spelled the dishes into the sink.

“Mr. Potter,” he started civilly. If he looked at the boy’s eyes rather than his hair, it was easier to not let his temper flare up. “Have you ever seen a neurologist?”

Harry’s head shot up and looked at the man. This was not the line of questioning he was expecting. Why would Snape be concerned about his doctors anyways?

“Dunno,” Harry said, looking at his hands. “The Dursley’s didn’t like taking me to the doctor, and I don’t remember seeing any specialists ever.”

Severus frowned at the implications of that statement. He would have to ask Poppy to double check the boy’s vaccination records and do a more intensive physical.

“How long have you had problems with your left side?”

Harry shrugged slightly lopsidedly, “I’m right-handed, doesn’t everyone have one hand that’s weaker?”

“Less dexterous, yes. Weaker, no. But your left side is not only your hand. How long have you had problems with your left leg?”

“It’s always been different from my right,” Harry said, blushing slightly before his mood shifted suddenly. “Why do you care though? You just want me off the Quidditch team so your house will win this year! You’re going to tell your house to aim for my left side, aren’t you!”

Severus was rather taken aback by the ferocity of the mood change. Maybe it would be better for Madam Pomfrey to continue this line of questioning?

“Potter, I care less for Quidditch than I do for Divination. I attend Quidditch games because I am required to as Head of Slytherin house. My desire for my students to do well in a sport, however, does not supersede my duties as a staff member. And one of those duties is to make sure the students of the school are receiving medical attention if they need it.”

Harry’s mood shifted again as he looked at his hands. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Of course Snape didn’t like Quidditch. Why would he like anything fun?

“You said you had something that would help with the nightmares?” Harry asked, tears suddenly in his eyes.

“One more question, your nightmare was quite violent. What were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing.”

“Mr. Potter, I sincerely doubt you would scream for nearly an hour and soil yourself if it were nothing.”

Harry blushed a deep red. How did Snape know about that? He hadn’t been wet when he woke up…. Had Snape cleaned him up? Had Snape seen anything?

“What were you doing in my room?” Harry asked, indignantly.

Severus snorted lightly, “You woke me with your screaming. I honestly thought someone had come through the wards and was torturing you.”

“You could have left me. It was just a nightmare.”

“A nightmare about what?”

Harry immediately shut his mouth and stared at his hands. He sat there in silence for so long, Severus was beginning to fear he had forgotten the question.

“Harry?” Severus said, trying to snap the boy out of his thoughts.

“I dream I’m Voldemort and I’m torturing people. I see them through his eyes. I feel his happiness as he tortures them. If he cast’s Cruciatus, I feel it. It’s horrible, sir.”

Severus sat in shock. This was worse than he could’ve ever imagined. Could this ability go both ways? Would Voldemort be able to see from Harry’s perspective? Then there was the whole issue of feeling the Cruciatus.

A flick of his wand and Harry was lit up like a Christmas tree. Peripheral nerve damage. Thankfully, while there was damage, it was only a small amount and spread over his whole body. What concerned Severus the most though was what he couldn’t see. He was no healer and therefore not trained to view the brain or any damage done to it.

“Potter, drink this,” Severus said, summoning a Cruciatus relief potion. “I need to speak with the headmaster.”

Harry looked at the potion he was given and swallowed it quickly, grimacing at the flavor. It tasted like raspberries and horseradish with a hint of dung.

Almost immediately his head began to feel slightly less foggy and his arm felt less like it was being pulled through sludge. It tingled slightly, like a limb that had fallen asleep but almost completely reawoken. In fact, there was a slight tingle in both of his feet as well. It felt almost as though his shoes were full of ants. He shuddered at the idea.

Severus quickly strode to the floo, setting up wards to make sure Potter was safe, wouldn’t leave the house, and would alert him if Potter attempted to use any of the kitchen appliances. He had to speak to the headmaster immediately.

Plunging his head into the fire, he was quickly greeted with the sight of the office of the Headmaster, though at a rather odd angle from being in the fire.

“Albus! Where are you old-man?”

The headmaster finally walked into the main room of the office and immediately sat by the fire.

“Problem, Severus?” the headmaster asked, smiling as though he already knew.

“Immense. May I come through?” Severus asked, though he was planning to come through anyways.

Albus nodded his head in acquiescence and moments later Severus was standing in his office, a worried frown on his face.

“Has Potter ever been checked for residual damage from the killing curse he survived as an infant?”

Albus felt his blood run cold. He had been expecting complaints of Harry’s behavior, or demands to remove him from the safe house. This line of questioning was completely unexpected.

“He has never shown any signs of residual magic left from the curse…” Albus began.

“Has anyone ever examined the boy’s brain?” Severus growled. He had reason to believe there was residual magic, but he needed a baseline.

“Not that I am aware of. What is this about, Severus?”

“I need you to vet a mind healer for the boy. Preferably one who specializes in spell damage. I have reason to believe he has some residual damage from the killing curse as well as a mental connection with the Dark Lord.”

The ashen look on the headmaster’s face confirmed Severus’s fears. Not only had no one looked into this, but that the possibility of this had never been considered.

“This is a serious accusation, Severus. What evidence do you have?”

Severus sighed and settled down into an armchair and summoned a house elf for some tea. This would be a long story as he had been witnessing subtle signs something was amiss for years. Sipping on his tea, he told the Headmaster everything he had witnessed over the years. The ever so slight weakness to his left side, his difficulties with the floo, and the many flaws in his thought processes: everything added up to a brain injury. One which was then exacerbated by the dementor attack and Cruciatus exposure.

“I believe that he grew up with and grew into the initial damage, that’s why it was missed,” Severus finished.

Albus sat back, folding his hands over his chest. If this were true, it would certainly complicate things.

“I know several healers on the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s,” he said finally. “I’m sure they would be more than happy to take a look at Harry. I trust your observation skills, but I must admit, I have my doubts Severus. Doubts or no, I will find a healer to examine the boy.”

“Thank you, Albus,” Severus said, rising from the chair and heading back to the fire to floo back to the safe house.

“I shall contact you in the next few days as to when the healer would be coming by to examine him,” Albus said as Severus stepped into the flames.

Albus had managed to get a hold of one of the healers from Ward 49 who was willing to come out to visit them, however it would be a few days before the healer had time off that he would be willing to come do the assessment. Four days to be exact.

Four days and Harry was rapidly wearing Severus’s patience thin. Severus had to admit he was exceptionally good at hiding weakness and difficulties from those around him. Harry would routinely hide himself away in his room, acting the part of the sulking teenager. He would lean against walls in a way that made it less obvious his left side was weaker. If Severus didn’t know what he was looking for, he would have missed it.

Two days before the healer was to arrive, Harry was taking a nap in the living room having complained of a headache earlier in the morning while Severus read through some potions manuals and worked on his syllabus for the upcoming year. A sudden sharp cry from the boy brought Severus hurrying into the living room.

At first, Severus noted only the facial expressions on the boy’s face. A look of fear crossed it, followed by a grimace. Severus watched for a minute more, hoping this was only a normal nightmare. When no more twitches occurred, Severus turned to leave the room. Just a normal nightmare then.

No sooner had he left the room and Potter let out a blood curdling scream. Turning back to the room, he saw Harry in the midst of what could only be described as a fit. His back arched in pain, hands grabbing desperately to anything around him. He screamed again as all of the muscles in his body began spasming sporadically.

Severus tried in vain to wake the boy, but when he couldn’t he settled for trying to keep him as comfortable as possible.

Almost as suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped. The twitching and spasming, however, did not. In fact, it seemed worse than before. A quick spell showed Severus what he feared, the peripheral nerve damage from the Cruciatus was back and worse than ever. He wondered if Harry would even be able to move that side of his body at all this time. And that was only the nerves, Severus had no idea to what extent the brain was damaged by this.

“Harry?” Severus tried to rouse the boy. “Harry, wake up please.”

Slowly Harry came to, eyes unfocused as he blearily looked around the room. Where was he? What happened? Where was he? What happened?

“Harry? Can you talk to me?”

Harry blinked slowly, left eyelid moving slightly slower than his right giving the impression that he was blinking with each one individually.

“Can you tell me your name?” the man in black said. What was his name again? Where was he?

“Harrrrrry,” Harry slurred out. For some reason his mouth felt strange too.

“Do you know where we are, Harry?” the man said.

Harry looked around the room briefly before looking at the man again. Snake. That was his name. Wait. There had been a question, hadn’t there? What question was it again? Where were they?

“Harry, where are we?” the man demanded again.

“School?” Harry said, reaching his hand up to wipe his eyes. His left hand was pure dead weight. He could barely make it move.

“What year is it?” Snake asked.

“You know what year it is!” Harry spat out suddenly, having no idea what the big deal was.

“But I want you to tell me.”

“1975, are you happy?”

Severus felt his heart sink. Hopefully these new symptoms would go away with another dose of the Anti-Cruciatus potion.

“Potter, stay on the couch please. I need to fetch a potion for you.”

Severus quickly ran to the potions lab and grabbed the only remaining Anti-Cruciatus potion he had left. He only hoped that Potter would be able to swallow it.

When he got back to the living room, he found Potter sitting on the couch staring into the distance. His right knee was pulled to his chest, right arm wrapped around it, and his chin resting on his knee. His left side lay as though it had been forgotten.

“Sir,” Harry said suddenly. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

Severus resisted the urge to scoff. That was the understatement of the century. Instead, he uncapped the Anti-Cruciatus potion and prepared to give it to the boy, then paused. He didn’t know if the boy could swallow properly right now. With everything else he had going on, breathing in the potion would certainly cause more harm than good. Instead, he spelled it into the boy’s stomach, hoping for any sign of improvement.

“Harry,” he said as he waited. “There is going to be a healer from St. Mungo’s coming to visit you in two days. There is only so much I can do for you to help you right now.”

Harry suddenly grimaced. “What did you give me?”

“A potion to combat the nerve damage done by the Cruciatus curse. Your nightmares are exposing you repeatedly to the curse. I also have reason to believe you may have suffered… brain damage from the killing curse. Are you in pain?”

“My left side is tingling really badly,” Harry said, wincing as he tried to move it. “It feels like it’s just waking up.”

“I see,” Severus nodded, taking mental note of the effect. “I’m going to ask you those questions again, ok?”

“What questions?” Harry said, looking puzzled. The last few minutes had been a blur.

“Can you tell me your name please?” Severus asked, hoping for a better response.

“Harry Potter?” Harry said, unsure of the logic behind the questions.

“Where are we right now?”

“Um,” Harry thought about it for a long moment. They were by the sea, he knew that, but where. In England, surely, but there was a lot of coastline in England. Maybe when he was feeling better they could go to the beach? He doubted Snape would take him there, but it would be a nice treat.

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “What?”

“Where are we?” Severus asked again, taking a deep breath to control his frustration and making another mental note about the obvious memory problems.

“Somewhere near the sea?” Harry said, questioning his answer. He wasn’t sure where exactly they were, but he could smell the salt spray.

“What year is it?” Severus said, nodding. He would accept that answer, but only just. Harry had yet to be outside of the building and hadn’t been allowed to wander around. Nor did he know the floo address for the name of the cottage they were in.

“1995? No, it’s ‘96 now,” Harry said, stumbling over his words.

It was better than before, but he still was struggling with some recall. If only they could break the link between Harry and Voldemort, then they could prevent the damage from becoming worse. But how to break it? Until Harry was cleared by the healer, Severus didn’t want to risk attempting to teach Occlumency to the boy as it could further compartmentalize and damage his brain.

They would have to figure something out.