Chapter 8

~*~ Present day ~*~

"Had you ever seen the people who cursed you before?"

"No," Harry said, craning his neck around the living room door and trying to see if he could see what Ron and Severus were up to in the kitchen.

"You're sure?" Bill pressed.

"Yeah, I told you. They were relatives of the house owner. There'd been some pretty vicious disputes over the will and I guess…they thought I was there to rob them."

"Were you hired by the executor?"

"As far as I was aware. The owner had been heavily into dark magic and had a healthy dose of paranoia too. Hardly anyone could set foot near the place, that's why I was called in."

Bill nodded. "Will disputes can be tricky, that's for sure. How many attackers were there?"

"Three."

"And do you know which one hit you with the curse?"

"No idea."

Bill pulled out a stack of notes from the bag by his side and said, "The trace results show that the curse is Bulgarian but I've yet to find anything that matches your symptoms exactly. We might be looking for something older. Do you have your case file on the family?"

"I can have it sent to you," Harry replied, straining his ears to see if he could hear what Severus and Ron were saying.

"Mate, why don't you go and talk to him?" Bill said with a gentle smile, reminding Harry of all the times he had wanted the man to be his big brother. He had wanted a family so desperately and now he felt more cut adrift from a sense of belonging than he'd ever done.

"Which one?" he asked moodily, stretching his legs out to try and ease the ache in them.

"Well, I meant Ron. Problem with Sev too?" Bill asked, and Harry would have told him to go to hell were it not for the fact that he respected the man so much.

"Problem with everyone," Harry said with a tired sigh, wishing he could get a moment's relief from the pain that was becoming more unbearable by the day. "I don't know how to make things right, Bill…and I'm running out of energy to care."

"That's not true," Bill said with a certainty that Harry didn't understand. "You've always cared, sometimes too much. Don't tell me you don't care about Ron and expect me to believe it."

"He won't listen to me, Bill," Harry said, feeling his frustration turn into a dull thud behind his eyes. This wasn't going to be a good day, he just knew it. "He's so angry with me and it just makes me defensive and cross. I don't know how to talk to him anymore."

"I don't know what to tell you. I've never been able to work out the way Ron's mind works…he's always been more complicated than the rest of us. What I do know is that this won't do your health any good. All this stress will only exacerbate things."

"I know," Harry said, rubbing his face agitatedly. The stubble growing on his chin was irritating him and he felt an overall sense of frustration with his body, like the damn thing refused to do anything right.

"We'll get you some answers, Harry, I promise," Bill said, reaching out and giving his knee a comforting squeeze. "Just hang in there. In the meantime, talk to Ron, would you? He's like a bear with a sore head and you're not much better. You'll be able to cope with this so much more easily if your head's in a better place."

Harry didn't know what to say to that so he settled for nodding, avoiding Bill's eyes as he did so. The pounding behind his eyes was getting worse and he wanted someone to hit him with a sleeping spell so he could get a few moments of peace.

"I'd best get off. I'll be in touch when I've had the chance to do a little more research. Take care, eh?"

He got up and ruffled Harry's hair as he left the room, making Harry smile in spite of himself. He let his head fall back against the chair and listened as Bill said his goodbyes to the others. He'd hoped the man would have more answers for him by now but it seemed, as with everything in his life, it wasn't going to be straightforward.

All they could do for the time being was manage his condition, although Harry wasn't sure how much success they were having. The Valerian root mixture that Severus had concocted had provided him with some relief but he wasn't sure he could bring himself to put himself through its application again.

He and Severus had barely spoken since he'd made his escape from the cellar a few days ago and he had no idea how to make the situation better. What could he say? I'm sorry, Severus, but the feel of your hands on my skin makes me remember things I've tried so hard to forget and I'd rather live in pain than confront the past. He wondered if there was any hope for his recovery at all.

"I need to examine you," came Ron's voice, jolting him from his thoughts.

He looked up at the man, who was standing in the doorway with his arms folded, his head tilted high. He was looking at Harry as though he was just another patient and it stung more than Harry wanted to admit. He levered himself slowly out of the chair, wincing at the sharp, stabbing pains in his legs as he did so.

"Hands by your sides," Ron instructed, standing in front of Harry with his wand out.

Harry did as he was told and continued to follow each instruction Ron gave him, feeling more and more unhappy with each one. This was his best friend, the person he'd been through so much with, the person he should be able to speak to about anything and yet, as he stood there, he found himself wishing he'd sought help from a stranger.

The pain felt as though it was building. His hips were throbbing and the pulsing behind his eyes was starting to crescendo. It was worse than it had been for some time and Harry hated standing there feeling like a specimen under a microscope. It was all too much and, to his horror, he felt tears begin to prick his eyes.

He dipped his head, trying to hide it from Ron, answering his questions as shortly as possible to try and disguise the wobble in his voice. He wanted it to be over as soon as possible so he could make his retreat and hide from his childhood friend. He was praying for a swift end when a finger curled under his chin and tilted his head upwards.

He tried to resist; the last thing he wanted was for Ron to see him crying, he didn't think he could handle it, but Ron persisted. He tried to wrench his head away but Ron held his chin firmly and forced him to meet his eyes. He tried to will the tears to stop but it only seemed to make it worse and he felt them begin to fall hotly down his cheeks.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ron asked before he pulled Harry into a hug faster than Harry could blink.

He was so surprised that, for a few moments, he just stood there, his arms by his side as his brain tried to process the fact that Ron was hugging him. Something eventually kicked in and he brought his arms up to circle Ron's broad back, holding on tightly as he began to cry without restraint.

Ron held him close, one hand snaking up to cradle Harry's head gently. Harry buried his face in the man's shoulder and continued to sob, his head thudding and pain radiating throughout his whole body. Ron brushed his fingers through Harry's hair and the tender gesture was more than Harry could bear.

"Ssh, you daft sod," Ron said gently, and Harry never wanted him to let go.

He had no idea how long he cried for but he heard Ron and Severus have a hushed conversation over his head and, eventually, he felt himself moved to the sofa. He was still attached to Ron like a limpet and began to feel dizzy and light-headed. He hadn't realised how completely starved of affection he'd been and he drank it in like his life depended on it.

Eventually the tears waned and he found himself breathing heavily, still clinging to Ron like a life-raft. Ron continued to stroke his hair and the action was so comforting that, despite his exhaustion, he actually felt a little of the pain subside.

"What's going on, Harry?" Ron asked, his voice still quiet and soft.

"I can't answer that," Harry whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm lost, Ron. I'm so lost."

"I know. Sit up, come on," Ron coaxed, and Harry reluctantly disentangled himself. He shifted himself into a sitting position, sniffing as his face felt dry and sore. He was too embarrassed to meet Ron's eyes and so stared at the sofa cushions instead. "There's more going on here than just the curse."

"I'm just…I'm tired," Harry said, knowing it was a lame answer.

"Harry – "

"Please, Ron. I don't want to talk about this now. I just want to get this bloody curse out of my system and – "

"And what?" Ron asked sharply. "Bugger off out of the country again? Leave us all to deal with everything like you always do? When are you going to realise that nothing will be solved by running away?"

"I'm not…God, Ron, I'm so exhausted. I can't think straight…and I know…I know you want something from me, that I should…but I can't…not yet."

"Fine," Ron said with a defeated sigh. "I expected nothing less."

"Ron – "

"No, let's not do this now. I can't have another argument with you and I need to think of your health. I'm not much of a doctor if I let myself upset my patient."

"I'm not just your patient," Harry protested, wishing he could go back to being in Ron's arms. He desperately wanted to feel that closeness to him again, to feel that things weren't as far beyond repair as he feared.

"You have to be," Ron said, shaking his head sadly, "or else we'll drive each other mad."

Harry wanted to argue with him, to refute the claim, but he had no energy left and it seemed Ron wasn't to be budged. He settled for nodding instead, wondering what had happened since Ron had come in the living room.

"We will beat this curse, Harry, I promise you. As for the rest…Merlin only knows."

He reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder then got up and left the room. Harry heard the front door go and then a few moments later Severus appeared in the doorway. He paused then took a seat on the sofa next to Harry, handing him a glass of brandy.

"Drink," the man instructed.

"I thought I was banned from alcohol," Harry said, taking a sip and letting it sit on his tongue for a moment.

"Special exception," Severus said. He was quiet while he watched Harry take a few more sips then said, "I know we're keeping potions out of your system but I think you should take a sleeping draught and get some rest."

Harry was too tired to argue and the idea of a proper sleep sounded like bliss to him. He'd only had snatches of broken rest for months and he just wanted a chance to block everything out for a few hours.

"Oh, this came in the post for you," Severus said, extracting a letter from his pocket and handing it to Harry.

"It's from my assistant," Harry said, recognising the handwriting. "Probably just an update on how things are going."

Severus nodded and said, "How is business? Curses aside, that is."

"Fine, great," Harry replied. "It's busy, always got new cases and…the work is usually intense, varied."

"Are you still in touch with your mentor?"

"Matthias? Yeah, we speak from time to time. I sometimes consult him on cases and we exchange the odd letter. He was supposed to retire last year but it didn't suit him," Harry said with a smile, realising he hadn't actually spoken to the man for a while. Perhaps he should drop the old boy a line.

"You've built up quite a reputation for yourself."

Harry snorted and said, "Yeah, because I was such an unknown before. Still…at least I can say I've earnt this reputation."

"I rather thought you earnt the last one," Severus said gently and Harry gave the man a smile he knew didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Maybe," he said, downing the rest of his brandy and trying to remember how the hell his day had started.

He was startled when he felt a hand on his cheek and he looked up to see Severus looking at him so tenderly it made his chest constrict. The man's thumb brushed over his skin as he said, "Time we tried to banish these dark circles under your eyes."

"I wish you would," Harry said, basking in how glorious it was to feel the man's hand touching him with such affection.

"Come on, let's get you settle and try to get you some rest."

Harry was pulled to his feet and helped upstairs, too giddy at being taken care of to question the fact that Severus was essentially putting him to bed. He sat on the edge of his bed, watching as Severus drew the curtains, then gathered all his courage and said, "Could I…could you…could we try the Valerian root again? I think it helped last time and I'd really like to ease some of the pain in my back."

Severus looked at him for a moment before his expression softened into something almost indulgent and he said, "Of course. I'll go and fetch it. Strip to the waist and lie down on your front."

He left the room and Harry complied quickly with the instructions, wondering what he was actually doing. It was true that the Valerian had helped last time but he'd barely been able to cope with having Severus' hands on him. He wanted it though, no matter what he tried to tell himself, and he was prepared to put himself through the turmoil to be close to Severus again.

He heard the man re-enter the room and then the bed dipped as Severus sat beside him. He held his breath while he heard Severus undo the lid on the jar and then he felt the mixture being spread over his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to steady himself as those long, familiar fingers began to massage the Valerian in.

He tried to block out any thoughts of the past this time and focused solely on how wonderful Severus' touch felt. He hadn't felt another person's touch in so long, not that he wanted anyone else's anyway, but his body felt almost starved of it. He lay with his eyes closed and drank it in greedily.

The gentle massage was actually easing the horrible ache that had been pulsing dully in his back all day. It felt wonderful to have just a modicum of relief from the pain and he couldn't stop a little sigh from escaping his lips.

"Is it helping?" Severus asked, his voice soft.

"Mm," Harry said into his pillow.

Severus gave a soft chuckle and said, "What a glowing review." He continued to work his fingers into Harry's sore muscles and said, "I'm going to try and revise the formula to see if I can provide you with more pain relief. Of course, this kind of…physical therapy will help…in some ways."

"It helps, Severus," Harry murmured into the pillow. "I'd…be grateful if you'd do this again for me…with the mixture I mean."

"Of course I will, Harry," Severus said, his voice so gentle that Harry felt tears prick the corner of his eyes.

The massage continued for a blissful fifteen minutes and Harry relished every second of it. He refused to think of anything but how wonderful it felt and how the pain actually felt ten times better than it had done in a while. When Severus' movements eventually stopped, Harry had to bite back the disappointed moan that threatened to escape him.

"That should do for now. Turn over and take this sleeping draught and get some sleep."

Harry reluctantly complied and accepted the vial Severus handed him. He downed it in one, the chalky taste unpleasant, and rested his head against the headboard.

"Thanks," he said with a smile, one that felt surprisingly genuine. He felt less pain than he'd felt in a while and the tension that had been pounding behind his eyes was slowly receding.

"Sleep," Severus instructed, brushing the hair from Harry's forehead in a gesture that was so familiar Harry felt transported back eight years. "Things will look better when you're rested, I promise."

~*~ 8 years ago ~*~

Harry looked up from his book as Severus entered the living room with a frown. "Problem?" he asked as Severus eyed him suspiciously.

"I thought it had been unusually quiet for a long period of time. I came to check you were still alive."

Harry grinned and said, "Thank you for your concern. I've been rather engrossed in this book on wandless magic you gave me."

"If only you'd been such an attentive student at school," Severus said, folding himself neatly into the armchair opposite.

"Don't be daft, you'd have been terribly bored if I'd behaved myself."

"Don't be so sure," Severus replied darkly, and Harry chuckled.

"Did I hear voices earlier?" he asked, turning the page and squinting at a diagram that made very little sense.

"That odious Fletcher creature came to pick up the potions. I had to wash my hands for fifteen minutes before I felt sufficiently clean."

Harry snorted, turning the book sideways to see if that made the picture make any better sense. He'd been hoping it would be Ron who was sent to fetch the potions; he was missing him sorely and, with all contact prohibited, he couldn't even send an owl to catch up with him. As much as he was enjoying his time with Severus, (and wasn't that an odd notion?) he missed his friends and felt cut adrift from them.

"What are Goldberg's three principles of wandless magic?" Severus asked and Harry hid his smile. The man never stopped teaching, despite his constant protests that he despised the profession.

"Magical energy has no need for a conduit if it can be maintained at a constant level; to be able to cast wandlessly the caster must be able to channel magical energy through their wand arm continuously and steadily; the caster must be able to demonstrate a mastery of the balance of transferable energy."

He looked up from his book and affected an air of innocence at Severus' look of disbelief. "Surprised?" he asked, trying not to look too smug.

"Only to find that you can actually read," Severus replied dryly. "You've decided to explore the wandless magic route then?"

Harry nodded and placed his book to one side. "It makes sense. I feel like the wand is just holding me back and…if I can just focus on the magic rather than a sodding wand movement I think it will serve me better."

"Are the books helpful?"

"Hugely. The theory makes sense and it's so much more instinctive than other magic I've learnt. Perhaps I favour magic without foolish wand waving after all," he added with a smirk and Severus' lip quirked.

"Come on then, let's go outside and you can show me what you've got."

They spent the next three hours honing Harry's wandless magic skills. It came far more easily to him than previous magic had done and it left him feeling invigorated rather than exhausted. Severus insisted that, for this session, they wouldn't focus on offensive or defensive magic but instead spend their time getting Harry comfortable channelling his magic effectively.

Harry felt more connected to his magic than he'd ever done before, he felt like he understood it better, that he could use it like an extension of his own body. He couldn't understand why anyone had ever put a wand in his hand, why they'd saddled him with an impediment that just made life more difficult.

"Because," Severus said with a sigh, "using wandless magic for anything and everything is a great way to burn yourself out. A conduit is a useful tool to steady one's energy. Now sit down!"

He'd been a bundle of energy after their session and hadn't been able to properly unwind. Severus had growled at him several times to behave himself and he'd had to take himself off for a long walk to try and burn some of it off. It didn't really work and he found himself lying wide awake in bed in the small hours, staring up at the ceiling in frustration.

He gave it up as a lost cause and threw the covers aside before creeping out into the corridor. He briefly toyed with the idea of waking Severus up for a little midnight chat but decided, with a grin, that it wasn't worth the hexing he'd undoubtedly receive.

He made his way quietly down the stairs and paused as he debated what to do. He considered doing a little baking but decided he didn't have enough focus for it. He took himself off to the study instead and scoured the shelves for something to read.

Nothing seemed to take his fancy and he found himself rifling through the huge cabinet that dominated the far wall. He had no idea what he was looking for but he found a stack of photo albums wedged in the back of one of the cupboards. He fought to extract them then carried them over to the ornate table and spread them out. He flicked through the first one and found they were pictures of the family.

He smiled as he examined them, each meticulously labelled with neat handwriting. The McGonagall family looked like a happy bunch; each photo had someone grinning up at the camera and the family's summer holidays in the cottage looked like great fun.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw a picture of a very pretty young woman dressed in a pale blue sundress blowing a kiss at the camera with the caption, Minerva, aged 18, summer 1954. Of course, he'd known McGonagall hadn't been born a mature woman, but it was bizarre to see her his own age, her whole life ahead of her.

"What are you doing?"

Harry jumped and covered his thudding heart with his hand. "Jesus Christ, don't do that! You're a fucking cat, you know that?" he asked Severus, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.

"I can't help it if I possess stealth. What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"I rarely sleep through the night. I'll ask again – what are you doing?"

"Snooping through the McGonagall family albums. Did you know that Minerva was kind of a hottie?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Severus replied with a shudder. He grabbed a chair and came to sit next to Harry, Harry trying not to notice that the man looked sort of adorable in his appropriately tartan dressing gown.

"Minerva at 18," Severus said, looking at the photo. "I'd assumed she came out of the womb with her hair in a bun and a scowl on her face."

Harry laughed and said, "I know right? Formidable from birth."

He flicked through a few more of the photos, smiling as the family summers stretched out before him. "Must be nice," he said softly.

"What must?"

"Having a family, a happy one."

"I wouldn't know," Severus said, and Harry looked across at him.

"Your father?" he asked tentatively, and Severus gave a stiff nod. "I understand. My relatives were…it's only when I look back as an adult I realise they were abusive."

"You were…mistreated?" Severus asked with a frown.

"Yeah," Harry said with a sigh, not sure he really wanted to go into this now. "I was never beaten or anything like that but I was kept in a cupboard under the stairs until I was 11, they withheld food, treated me like a dirty secret, made constant threats. I had no idea what affection was until I met the Weasleys. What you said about your father really resonated with me. I don't know what kind of path I might have ended up on if I hadn't experienced what love could be."

"I…had no idea," Severus said, looking uncomfortable.

"Why should you?" Harry said with a shrug. "You saw me as the embodiment of my father, no doubt you thought I had a privileged upbringing."

"I shouldn't have made such assumptions," Severus said, not meeting Harry's eyes. The conversation was making Harry feel awkward and he was unused to seeing Severus apparently so on the back foot that it made him feel twitchy.

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively. "Water under the bridge now."

"If there's one thing I've learnt about families it's that trauma rarely becomes water under the bridge," Severus said, his voice low.

Harry ran his fingers over the edge of the album and said quietly, "I guess we've got more in common that I thought."

"Traumatic childhoods? Wonderful," Severus said dryly, and Harry laughed, feeling some of the tension break.

Feeling a sudden and no doubt insane impulse, he reached out and placed his hand over Severus'. The man looked surprised but he didn't pull away and his hand felt warm against Harry's palm. He was about to do something incredibly stupid and his brain was shouting at him to put the brakes on but he was almost certain it was too late.

He leant forward, his pulse crashing in his ears, and pressed his lips against Severus'. He hadn't been hexed or punched but that didn't give him the confidence to kiss the man properly. It was just a soft press of lips, more a suggestion that anything else, but Severus was holding himself still against Harry.

He pulled back and looked at Severus for a moment before he pushed his chair back and made a bolt for the door, saying, "Fuck, I'm sorry," as he face felt like it was on fire.

"Harry," Severus said, and Harry gritted his teeth before he paused in the doorway and turned back to face the man. Hopefully he would make the rejection as painless as possible; Harry wasn't sure he could cope with any cruelty.

"Sleep on it," Severus said eventually, "then tell me in the morning whether you regret it or not."

Having no idea what to say to that, indeed too shocked to say anything, Harry swallowed hard before he turned and left.

AN: Hey guys, a quick note from a slightly disgruntled author. I had a few reviews (anon, so I didn't approve them) moaning and grumbling that this is dark, it's depressing, it's hard to read...that's the point. This is a story about PTSD, mental health, trauma and isolation; it isn't going to be rainbows and sunshine and it will feel quite bleak at times. I've put so much work into this and tried to craft something realistic, so to get reviews saying "boo, too sad" is really fucking disheartening.

I say this for this story, but also as a kind of blanket piece of advice for all fics (not just mine) - if you don't like a story because it's not particularly your cup of tea, move on and don't read it. I and many other authors put their heart and soul into their work and it's so bloody rude and cruel to leave us feedback like that.

For those of you that have embraced this story and taken the time to analyse it and come at it from a position of critical thinking I say a massive THANK YOU. I know it's a slog, I know it's not a happy tale but I've worked hard on this and I appreciate intelligent and well-thought out feedback.