“Albus, might I speak with you?” Severus asked once the meeting had ended. They both watched as the other members left the kitchen, disappearing to either Hogwarts, other rooms in the house, or to assigned tasks. Once they were alone in the kitchen, they turned to each other.

“What’s on your mind, my boy?” Dumbledore asked.

“It’s about Potter,” Severus said, his mind instantly conjuring an image of the boy he’d spent the day with, the boy so unlike the one he’d dealt with for the last five years. He frowned at the odd niggle of worry he felt as he thought of the boy.

“Is everything alright?” Dumbledore asked.

“I am uncertain,” Severus said. “I spoke with him and he—”

“You talked to Harry?” Dumbledore interrupted and Severus nodded with a frown. “Severus, I believe I told the guard not to speak with Harry or reveal yourselves to him.”

“Yes, you did, but it was unavoidable. He knew I was there,” Severus said. “However, it appears to be for the best as he expressed loneliness and he is clearly depressed. I do not believe it wise to continue isolating him which does beg the question of why you have chosen to isolate him.”

“I decided it was for the best after what happened at the Ministry,” Dumbledore said. “As a result of Voldemort’s possession, Harry’s magic became erratic and impacted by his emotions. I decided giving him time alone would help his magic settle.”

“You made this decision even after Potter expressed suicidal thoughts,” Severus said.

“He was simply grieving Sirius,” Dumbledore said, nearly shrugging with his casualness.

“And you thought then was also the best time to tell him the prophecy?” Severus said, a slight air of disbelief.

“It was time for him to know as he would have come to wonder about it now he’d found it at the Ministry,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve only ever done what I believed was best for Harry.”

“Albus, I disagree,” Severus said. “The boy needs help. He needs a core examination and he cannot be left alone. He is depressed, angry, and suicidal.”

“He is stronger than you give him credit for, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “I am confident he will be alright. He only has to hang on until his birthday in two weeks and then he will come here for the rest of the summer.”

“Albus—”

“I must ask you not to speak to Harry again,” Dumbledore said. “He needs to have his magic under control before he is around more people.”

Severus frowned.

“I must be off,” Dumbledore said with a smile that did not fit the sternness he'd just spoken with. “Have a good evening, Severus.”

Severus watched the headmaster leave, filled with inner conflict. He wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t agree with Dumbledore’s ways of handling Potter, but he wasn’t sure he could push aside his hatred for the boy. Yet, even that deep-seated feeling wavered as he remembered the dull green eyes, the acceptance of his relatives’ horrible treatment, and the pained, resigned comments.

“And who is going to help me, Professor?”

“Thank you for talking … it was nice not to be alone for at least a couple hours.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he remembered Potter’s words, an odd stirring in his gut.

“Oh, Severus?”

He looked up, finding Dumbledore in the kitchen doorway. He gave a questioning look.

“Did Harry receive a letter while you were with him?” Dumbledore asked.

“He did,” Severus said.

“Good, good,” Dumbledore said and Severus’ eyes narrowed slightly.

“What was it that is so important Potter have?” Severus asked.

“A letter from Sirius and his will,” Dumbledore said simply and Severus fought not to let his eyes widen until the headmaster had disappeared from the kitchen again.

Severus was tense as he listened for the Floo activating, waiting for the sign that Dumbledore was gone. He wasn’t sure he could explain it, but he suddenly had a wave of worry wash over him and he needed to check on Potter. Once he heard the fireplace flare, he immediately left the kitchen and headed to the sitting room.

He threw Floo Powder into the fire, loudly saying, “Number Four, Privet Drive!”

He stepped in and swirled away in the green flames. On the other side, his eyes widened as he took in the scene. The room looked like a tornado had torn through it and saw tornado was still circling. Parchments and books were scattered around the floor while other books and quills were flying around. The desk and its chair had been knocked over and the window was cracked. Potter was sat on the floor, his back against the bed, his knees pulled to his chest, and his hands buried in his hair. Despite the boy’s head being bowed and partially obscured by his arms, Severus could still see the tears, the purple bruises, and the red that was clearly blood. He could see the tremours wracking the thin body and could hear the quiet sobs.

Most of him wasn’t sure what to do; it was Potter, after all. However, there was a small part of him that was louder and stronger as it tugged painfully on his heart.

He took a small step forward, unsure how to get through the boy’s tornado only to find himself surprised when the flying objects moved around him. He moved slowly, the tornado creating a path for him so he could reach the Gryffindor. Once he was through the tornado and in front of Potter, he knelt down. He spotted crumpled parchment on the bed and sighed, knowing it was Black’s letter and will.

“Potter?” he said quietly.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Potter whispered, so quietly Severus almost didn’t hear it. “I…I can’t stop it.”

Severus glanced over his shoulder at the still swirling books and quills before turning back to the boy. “I can help you.”

Potter shook his head, fingers tightening in his hair. “No one can help me. No one wants to help me. Just let me die, please.”

“Why? Why do you want to die?” Severus asked, the despair in the boy’s voice pulling at him in a way he’d never experienced before.

“Because I killed him,” Potter said brokenly. “Because I’m worthless. Because I can’t do it anymore.”

Severus was startled by the familiar sentiments, stunned by the guilt. “Potter, look at me.”

The boy shook his head again and pulled viciously at his hair. He choked on sobs he tried to hold back. Severus didn’t think, he just reached out and gently grasped Potter’s chin, carefully but firmly bringing the boy’s head up. The hands were dislodged from the messy hair and tear=filled, dull green eyes met his. The left eye was blackened, a gash ran the length of the left cheekbone, blood had trailed down from the nose over the lips, mixing with the blood flowing from the split bottom lip.

“Potter, what happened?” Severus asked.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” Potter whispered.

“You don’t deserve this,” Severus said, pushing back images of another young boy in much the same condition.

“Doesn’t matter,” Potter said, defeated. “I can’t change it. I can’t stop it.”

“You can,” Severus said. “You just need help.”

“There’s no one to help me.” The green eyes drifted shut as tears poured down the boy’s cheeks, pooling around Severus’ fingers with the blood still trickling from the nose and lip.

Severus released Potter’s chin, moving to sit beside the boy with his back against the bed as well. He reached out and put his hand on Potter’s knee, his arm pressed against the trembling body.

“I can help you,” Severus repeated.

“Why?” Potter asked.

“Because I know what it’s like,” Severus said, sighing very slightly as his memories forced their way forward.

Potter shuddered as he devolved into harsh sobs, falling against Severus. The Gryffindor pressed his face to Severus’ shoulder, hands coming up to clutch at Severus’ sleeve. Severus looked down at the messy hair and squeezed the boy’s knee.

He couldn’t explain what he was doing or why, considering it was Potter. He couldn’t explain the stirring in his gut or the pang in his heart. He couldn’t explain how he was willingly comforting Potter after the year they’d had. He had hated Potter more than he ever thought possible that year, yet, sitting there with the boy, watching his tornado and listening to him cry, it was as though the year hadn’t happened. In that moment, he didn’t see Potter, son of his enemy and most hated student. Instead, he saw a boy left alone in his pain, so similar to himself. He saw all the ways Potter was different form Lily and James, saw the things that made him Harry, a completely separate person.

He didn’t see the hero destined to save them all. He saw the child that had been ignored and forgotten.

So, he sat there, and he watched and he waited. How long, he didn’t know. Eventually, though, Potter’s trembling calmed, his sobbing quieted, and his tornado came to an end. The books and quills clattered to the floor, and the rushing air finally settled. They were left in silence and darkness. Severus pulled his wand and waved it, conjuring a small orb that floated in front of them, emitting a soft blue light, just bright enough to see the room and Potter.

“I like your magic,” Potter mumbled and Severus glanced down at the top of the boy’s head.

“Is that so?” Severus said, feeling a kind of nod against his shoulder. “What does it feel like?”

“Sharp,” Potter said, “but in a good way.”

“And how is that?” Severus asked, intrigued by Potter’s new ability and satisfied that the boy seemed to be calming. He felt Potter shift slightly.

“Mm, I dunno. It’s hard to explain,” Potter said. “It makes me think of third year when you protected us from Lupin. You were furious and hurt, but you helped us. There’s a hardness, a sharpness, but, beneath that, it’s protective, it’s…warm.”

Severus was fascinated, but that wasn’t what Potter read in his silence.

“Sorry, I’m sure that sounds weird,” Potter said. “Just add it to the list of what makes me a freak.”

“You are no freak, Potter,” Severus said, hearing the familiarity with which Potter said the word. Clearly it was something he’d heard, thought, and said a lot. “On the contrary, your ability to feel magic is quite unique.”

“Maybe,” Potter said quietly. “Why did you come back?”

“I had a…feeling you could use company,” Severus said vaguely.

“Thought I was going to kill myself because I got Sirius’ will?” Potter said, sitting up so he was no longer laying on Severus’ shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to babysit.”

“Not to worry, Potter,” Severus said. “I was obviously correct.”

“I’m fine,” Potter said shortly.

“I think we can agree you are anything but fine,” Severus said.

“Right, I’m an idiotic suicide risk who’s out of control,” Potter said bitterly.

“I do not recall saying such things,” Severus said.

“Why else would you be here?” Potter said.

“Perhaps I am concerned,” Severus said.

“Which means I’m really useless if the person who hates me is the one expressing concern,” Potter said, letting his head fall back to lay on the bed, letting him stare at the ceiling.

Severus looked down at him again now he could see the boy’s face. He frowned at the injuries. “Was it your uncle?”

“Yeah, my magic threw all the doors and windows open,” Potter said. “Uncle Vernon wasn’t thrilled with the display.”

“I can heal you, if you would permit it,” Severus said and Potter frowned slightly.

“Why would you want to?” Potter asked. “You hate me. I appreciate the company, but I’m not sure I even understand why you’re here.”

“I’m not sure I do either, but let us agree our…relationship is…complicated,” Severus said honestly which seemed to surprise the Gryffindor.

“Yeah, guess it is,” Potter said after gazing at Severus curiously for several seconds. “You don’t have to heal me, though. This is nothing, really.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed at the implication. Rather than respond, he raised his wand and turned just enough to face Potter a little more. Potter sat up a little straighter and just waited, a slightly curious expression still on his face. Severus lightly ran his wand tip over the cut on the boy’s cheekbone and lip, and vanished the blood.

“Bruising will have to remain, I’m afraid,” Severus said. “I have no Bruise Paste available.”

Potter shrugged. “I’ve never had any help in general before, so I think I can handle a couple of bruises,” he said. “Thank you, Professor, really.”

“This treatment is common?” Severus asked, hating that he seemed to have missed an abused child due to his own personal biases and judgements.

Potter nodded.

“Have you ever told anyone?” Severus asked.

“No,” Potter said. “There was never anyone to tell and I learned pretty fast no one wants to help me anyway.”

“Potter…”

“Just forget about it,” Potter said dismissively. “I’m sorry about the, uh, tornado, by the way. I couldn’t stop it. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“I believe you need a core examination,” Severus said. 

“You mentioned it earlier,” Potter said with a nod. “Do you really think it’ll help?”

“Yes,” Severus said. “It will tell us what state your core is in which can then inform a treatment plan.”

“Am I dangerous?” Potter asked with a small frown.

“Your magic could become dangerous if left to spiral as it has been,” Severus said and he watched the boy chew his lip in thought. 

“Are you able to do it?” Potter asked.

Severus looked at him in surprise. “I am capable, yes.”

“Will you do it?” Potter rephrased. “It’s just, I don’t think anyone else is going to be willing considering you are the only one to mention it or even speak to me.”

Severus stared at the boy, tempted to tell him to find someone else. It had been a strange day and now evening with Potter, a mere twelve hours cracking his perceptions. There was little he could explain of his thoughts, feelings, and actions from the day, suddenly unmoored from his beliefs that had held fast for the last five years. Yet, there was a tiny, nearly indecipherable voice in the back if his mind telling him this changed path needed to be followed.

“If it is what you wish, then, yes, I will perform the examination,” Severus said.

Potter gave a small smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Lay on the bed,” Severus said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “It is a far easier process if you are comfortable.”

The both rose to their feet, Potter moving onto the bed and Severus grabbing the toppled desk chair. He watched as Potter moved Black’s letter and will, the boy’s face twisting with pained sadness briefly.

“He left me everything, including Grimmauld Place,” Potter said, placing the pages on the nightstand. “I don’t want it. Honestly, I’d like to burn it down.”

“I’m certain Black felt the same,” Severus said and was surprised to see a tiny half-smile tilt the Gryffindor’s lips.

“Yeah, he did,” Potter said. “He hated staying there, looked for any reason to leave, no matter how dangerous.”

Severus just waited, sensing the boy had more to say. He was surprised again when the Gryffindor turned his head on the pillow to look at Severus.

“I know you tried to make him stay, to not go to the Ministry,” Potter said. “Thank you for trying. At least someone tried to save him rather than just let him die like I did.”

“You are not to blame, Potter,” Severus said. “We all make mistakes.”

“Most don’t get people killed,” Potter said sadly.

“And some do,” Severus said easily and the glint in Potter’s eye told him the boy had realized he was talking about the prophecy.

“Right,” Potter muttered. “Why are you helping me? You hate me and we were awful to each other this year.”

“Even people I hate need help,” Severus said.

“You do a lot for people you don’t like and who don’t like you. Must be hard,” Potter said.

Severus didn’t know what to say so he said nothing, just waiting again.

Potter propped himself up on his elbows. “You said you know what it’s like. What did you mean?”

Severus gazed at the boy for a long while, considering what to say in such unfamiliar territory. “I know what it is like to lose someone dear to you, to feel you are alone.” He wasn’t sure he understood the expression that crossed the Gryffindor’s face.

There was another long silence as Potter continued to give him that curious look.

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Potter finally said, pushing himself up to be sitting. “I’m sorry, for all of it. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything coming from me, but I’m sorry for what the Marauders did to you, what Sirius did, what my father did. I’m not stupid enough to think what I saw was a solitary event. I’m sorry about what my mum did too.”

“She did nothing wrong,” Severus said. “I called her that terrible name.”

“But you apologized and she didn’t do anything to stop the Marauders. Hell, she laughed,” Potter said and Severus was surprised at the disgust he saw in the boy’s face. “Friends don’t walk away the second something goes wrong. So, I’m sorry for them because they never can be, even if it doesn’t mean much.”

Severus found himself so stunned and puzzled that there was no room for the rage and indignation that normally would have risen up at the mere mention of his childhood tormentors and Potter’s violation of his memories. He could do little more than just stare at Potter, unsure how to respond.

“I’m sorry for me, too, for everything I’ve done,” Potter continued, dropping his gaze to his lap. “Turns out you were right all along. I am just like my father.”

“No, you’re not,” Severus found himself saying before he could even realize and Potter looked back at him. “Not in the ways that matter.”

There was that look again, the one Severus couldn’t identify. They stared at each other for a long while again, their words hanging uncertainly between them. Eventually, Severus cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

“Lie back now and remain still,” Severus said.

Potter nodded and did so, settling back down on the bed. Severus waited until the boy had relaxed, surprised at just how relaxed Potter seemed to be considering it was Severus with him. He pushed it aside and began the exam’s complicated spell work. As he did, he couldn’t help but glance at Potter as the boy stared at the ceiling. He found himself frowning slightly at the bruises caused by the Muggle and the dull, green eyes caused by loss and abandonment. That look he knew, bruises, dull eyes, and all, having often looked the same at Potter’s age. The dim, almost lifeless eyes had remained, getting more and more distant with every loss, every hurt, every moment of loneliness. He found himself hating the idea of Potter looking the same, of the light never returning to the green eyes that were usually so expressive. While the anger and defiance that had sparkled in Potter’s eyes in each and every one of their interactions had caused rage to burn in Severus, he didn’t want that to be replaced with this lost gaze. Sighing quietly as he became conflicted wondering what he could do to help Potter while also wondering why he cared, he finished the spell and watched a glittery sphere of colourful threads manifest over Potter’s body.

“Whoa, what is that?” Potter asked, staring at the ball hovering over him.

“This is a representation of your core,” Severus said, flicking his wand just slightly to make the sphere spin very slowly.

“What do all the colours mean?” Potter asked.

“Everyone’s core is different, with different colours and even a different appearance,” Severus said. “Yours being threads indicates a natural flow and connection to your magic, and it is adaptable. You can excel at all forms of magic.”

“Really?” Potter said, looking at his core in wonder.

“As for the colours, they each mean something different or are magic attached to you in some way,” Severus said and looked at the tangled colours. “You can see how all the threads are attached to your core, except for these red ones.”

“What does that mean?” Potter asked.

“It is someone else’s magic, someone who connected with you with so much magic, they left some behind,” Severus explained. “It explains your excess magic and power. All magic wants and needs to be used, but also tethered for control. This magic is floating freely and is coming out whenever it can.”

“Voldemort,” Potter said, his voice hard, “from the possession, it has to be.”

Severus nodded. “A likely explanation.”

“What about everything else?” Potter asked, sounding more despondent now.

“The purple is your newfound Mind Magic. Blue is Empathy Magic and explains your ability to feel magic. It is an exceptionally rare type of magic,” Severus said.

“Of course it is,” Potter muttered and Severus’ lips twitched with amusement.

“Gold is your regular magic though the black spots are indicative of Dark Magic use. If one were to use excessive Dark Magic, they would develop more black,” Severus explained, thinking of his own core.

“And the green?” Potter asked, gesturing to a tight, pulsing bundle of lime green threads.

“That I am unsure,” Severus said, frowning at the threads himself.

“So, is there anything wrong, aside from having Voldemort’s magic just hanging out?” Potter asked.

Severus moved his wand to spin the orb until the right spot was in view. He pointed to a spot under the threads. “Do you see this crack?”

Potter nodded.

“This is the cause of your lack of control,” Severus said. “Your core was cracked likely as a result of Bellatrix’s torture and the possession. It is essentially allowing power and magic to leak from your core, causing a lack of control.”

“Can it be fixed?” Potter asked.

“Regretfully, no,” Severus said, seeing distress in the Gryffindor’s face. “However, it is easily managed by simply training your magic and using it regularly or for magically taxing tasks to deal with the excess you are now producing.” He waved his wand and made the orb disappear, ending the exam and allowing Potter to sit up again.

“Well, that’s not going to happen. No one’s going to help me with any of this. It’ll freak everyone out, honestly,” Potter said with a huff. “So, what happens if I can’t deal with my magic?”

“Your magic could turn inwards and attack you or it could lash out and harm someone else,” Severus said, raising an eyebrow when Potter blew out a harsh breath and let his head fall back against the wall.

“So, I’m a ticking time bomb,” Potter said, “again. Freak, as always.”

Severus frowned, feeling a tug in his chest.

Potter sighed. “Thank you for helping, Professor. You can go now. It’s late and I promise I’m okay.”

Severus watched Potter grab his wand and wave it over himself with a quiet incantation, changing his clothes into pajamas, each in terrible condition and clearly far too large for the small boy. Severus stood as Potter laid back on the bed, returning the chair to the desk that he righted. Severus moved to the fireplace, intending on leaving, only to find something holding him back. He turned back around to look at Potter, the boy gazing up at the ceiling once again.

“Potter, in the interest of avoiding disaster, I would extend an offer of training,” Severus said, somewhat awkwardly. He watched the Gryffindor prop himself on his elbows again and look at Severus with a frown.

“Why?” Potter said, clearly confused.

“What good is a Chosen One if he’s dead or in Azkaban?” Severus sniped, unsettled by his offer and the entirety of the past fifteen hours with Potter. He felt the need to have at least one foot back in their regular relationship even if it was no longer genuine for some reason.

“Right,” Potter mumbled and his expression told Severus that the boy knew what he was trying to do. “I mean, if you really are willing, I’d appreciate it. Like I said, no one else is going to help me.”

“We begin tomorrow,” Severus said shortly, still unsettled by his offer and Potter’s acceptance, holding him to the offer. “Get some sleep, Potter.”

He stepped into the fireplace and disappeared before he could see or hear the boy’s response.