Harry Potter sat in a straight, hard backed chair at the end of his eldest son's hospital bed, staring at his pale, limp form on the verge of tears. There was something he needed to think about… something he needed desperately to do, to say, to tell his little boy, but he couldn't. The edges of his brain felt fuzzy, a fog so dense he couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't act through it. It was killing him. And it was worse at Hogwarts. So much worse at Hogwarts. Which scared him. But just enough that he could feel it, not quite enough to get his adrenaline pumping, to heighten his senses, to push him over the edge of that fog.
Someone is in danger, thought the boy who lived, now an adult. Someone is incredible danger, and I think it's my family. And I think it's because of me.
Then the door opened, and in hurried his wife, and his two other children, looking hurried and scared.
Not half as scared as they should be, a tiny part of the back of Harry's mind registered as he stood to greet them, as Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall and Neville rushed over. And deep in the back of his brain, that tiny part laughed.
Harry's spine tingled, and his hand lurched towards his wand. But he pulled it away. He wouldn't.
It moved there again, and this time he grabbed it. But then he wrenched his fingers apart, and it fell to the floor. Moving quickly, before he felt the urge to grab it again, Harry kicked it, letting it clatter across the floor, going unnoticed.
Harry Potter was now wandless. He could neither hurt, nor defend, his family.
His son stirred as his wife turned to him. "It's time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's time to tell them everything. This can't go on any longer."
And Harry Potter's brain exploded into a million pieces.
The murmur of voices washed over James like a tide, and he lay still as death in the hospital bed, his eyes lilting half open, then closed, watching the colors, the people, blur and distort.
James decided he must be hallucinating. He had no family at Hogwarts, yet he could see them seated around him. It was rather nice, he supposed. His Dad- a black blur in green robes- who wasn't attacking anyone. His Mum- a fiery red smudge in purple Ministry Press robes- who wasn't panicking, acting overly calm and rational, or obliviating anyone. His brother- a black splotch in a green t-shirt and… jeans?- not crying. His sister- An orange shape in pink leggings and a purple t-shirt- not bleeding. And Teddy- today he was a periwinkle haze in Hogwarts robes, shirt, and Gryffindor tie, but James couldn't remember what periwinkle indicated, mood wise. Peace? Worry? Concern? No- that was mauve. Or was that fear? He wasn't sure- Teddy wasn't grabbing James's wrists and frowning. Or was he frowning? James squinted, grimaced, and peered as best he could, but he couldn't quite make it out. Any more than he could make out the voices. He tried to sit up, but his head had barely left his pillow before darkness clouded the edges of his vision, and he slumped back into sleep.
"You said it started- mildly- the day after you picked James up at the platform for Summer Vacation?" Professor McGonagall asked, frowning, as Neville beside her shut his mouth abruptly; it had been hanging slightly open since the middle of his friends' tale.
Ginny nodded, and her voice was shaky. Harry reflected vaguely that this should concern him- Ginny never cried, but he was preoccupied. In the back of his head, the steady beat of rapid footsteps growing closer overwhelmed him, and he stared about apprehensively, prepared to shout out a warning. Something was wrong. Someone- Him- was coming closer. And closer.
"That next morning, he lost his temper, screamed and shouted for a moment, then just- stopped. He couldn't remember what he'd done, or why he'd done it." Ginny told them. "As I said, he didn't start getting physical until… Maybe mid-July, and he started using his wand at the end of August or beginning of September."
"What-," Neville began, frowning, that familiar look of befuddlement across his brow.
"Stop," Harry said suddenly. Loudly. "Just stop."
He clutched his head in his hands, breathing deeply, his heart racing.
"I need to warn you-," he gasped.
But pain erupted in his spine, in his head, and he had to swallow a scream.
But then his head cleared, alarmingly. For the first time, he could think clearly, and it was almost a shock. But parts of his brain seemed inaccessible, and he couldn't understand why, and then-
And then the door swung open.
And someone walked in, his wand drawn.
"A bedside staff party? Without me? I'm disappointed…"
And an alarming sense of Déjà vu roped Harry, filling him with a sense of… almost… irony, with little room for the prickle of betrayal, as he gasped, "You!"
The feeling intensified as the person stood in the door way, though not Quirrel, responded with precisely the same warped smile.
"Me."