As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
Harry Potter sat at the Head Table bemused at what his life had come to. He never would have foreseen it! Beside him sat his wonderful red headed wife as sweet as ever and still (apparently) madly in love with him. Equally astounding to the young man was the fact that this year the last of his four children was starting Hogwarts. What a ride! He grinned and felt foolish but happy that he could do so. It hadn't started out that way. It had taken him two years of hard work to get out of the depression that had settled immediately after that final battle. And then Ginny had agreed to marry him (much to Molly's very vocal exuberance) and they spent another year working out problems and having the twins. Around that time too, Harry had decided to get more involved with Muggle psychiatry and trained to become a psychiatric social practitioner specializing in dealing with children. Ginny was so patient with him and with having to live almost like Muggles (he was sure she cheated). Arthur, on the other hand was elated and spent a great deal of time visiting them.
Next came some training with the mediwizards at St Mungos, studying the psychological effects of various potions and finally working with the mediwizards to help treat some of the youngest victims of the war. Apparently he'd created a new field and everyone was eager to help children. Headmistress McGonagall, following his progress in astute silence, created (and convinced the Ministry to sanction) the position of School Counselor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a post for which she immediately invited Harry to fill. He was happy and he was helping!
As he did every year as the first years entered the Hall with Assistant Headmistress Professor Sprout, Harry squeezed the hand of his wife sitting next to him. And, as once more this year's crop contained another Potter, they both grinned "like idiots" according to the twins Fred (Frederika) and George (Georegina). And thus they watched the littlest students enter the hall, faces filled mainly with awe and curiosity. All sound hushed as the Sorting Hat was introduced. While it sang, Harry searched the young faces for his own youngest.
And suddenly his heart nearly thudded to a stop. His eyes came to rest on a dark head bent down so that black hair cascaded forward to hide the features. He saw a small child, certainly not one he would have thought to be eleven already. This child was the size of an eight year old, his once black robe more of a faded grey except for a darker spot where an old house patch had been removed. This was not an eager child. He saw the child flinch when one of the others jostled him as her name was called and she went to run to the stool in answer to the summons. He sighed, knowing that this was going to be work.
"Harry?" Ginny's voice whispered concernedly in his ear.
"Nothing, love. Just thinking." And then he saw little James and he waggled his fingers as discreetly as possible, grinning once more.
"Octavius Lastrange" Professor Sprout called out. A tiny boy emerged slowly from the remianing clutch of children and he scuffed his way to the stool and climbed, rather ungracefully, onto it. The Hat settled down around his narrow shoulders. Silence filled the Hall. And filled it and filled it. Someone's tummy rumbled and several giggles answered. Still nothing. Professor Sprout was about to turn back to McGonagall when she noticed two fat tears come sliding out from beneath the hat and splat upon the pale shaking fists in the small lap.
"Slytherin!" The Hat yelled and the small body suddenly relaxed and the herbologist heard a great relieved sigh. She gratefully removed the Hat and the child all but jumped down from the stool and, still shuflling in shoes clearly too big for him, headed toward the Slytherin table accompanied by belated, if stunned, applause. She returned to her list and called out the next name and so paid no more attention to the departing boy. But at the Head Table a pair of bespectacled green eyes did watch as the child found an empty seat and still kept his head down and his manner reserved.
More names were called and Harry clapped loudly when his youngest was sorted (into Gryffindor which rather surprised him actually). And finally after a few more names and sortings, the Headmistress gave her speech (not a great deal different from Dumbledore's as regards brevity, thank goodness) and soon there was only the sounds of eating and laughter and connversation.
Harry smiled and said all the right things, but more than once he caught Ginny frowning concernedly at him as she caught his gaze straying repeatedly to the small, pale, dark haired child at the end of the Slytherin table.
Later, as they prepared for bed, Ginny accosted him again. "I know what's bothering you Harry," she sighed with long suffereing patience. "It's that Lastrange child, isn't it. Can you handle his being here?" She shuddered at the thought that Bellatrix could ever have borne children.
"Whoever his parents are, he is his own person, Ginny."
"So why did you keep staring at him?"
"I don't know." He slid under the covers close beside her but lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head.
Ginny propped herself up on one elbow to look down over her husband. "Mmm, no. I am not buying that. You've got some thought in there," she tapped delicately on his forehead with one finger, "and it's bothering you."
Harry sighed. "He has Severus Snape's eyes."
Much to his great surprise Ginny laughed.
"Ginny."
"What a strange idea, Harry Potter! Snape died years before this child was even born."
"Yes, I can do maths, thank you."
"And we were up at the Head table and the boy kept his head down so I really don't know when you think you saw his eyes. Oh Harry! Don't read anything into this boy!"
Harry shrugged as best he could laying down as he was, "I think he's an abused child, Ginny."
"Well then, you'll find out -- and get to see his eyes -- when he comes for his first years' first week interview."
Harry rolled onto his side and pulled Ginny down so that they were almost nose to nose. "Mmm. I think I'll have Minerva put him near the top. I want to see him as soon as possible." He dropped the subject and forced a grin. "It's still early..." he leered.
Ginny giggled and tickled his ribs. Things deteriorated quickly after that.
--
Harry looked down at the small boy sitting in the large but comfortably plush, chair on the other side of his desk. The boy kept his head down and his hands folded neatly on his lap. His short legs did not swing even a little. He was stiff, he was rigid and he was clearly hating every minute of this. Harry looked back at the parchment in front of him. "So then, Mr. Lastrange, I know it's only the first day, but how do you like Hogwarts so far?"
"It's fine sir." Harry was not encouraged by the flat tone.
"What did you think of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall? That really stunned me my first time here."
"I... erm... I don't, I didn't really... erm..."
Harry smiled. "It's all right if you didn't really pay too much attention to it. I don't think you looked up once all evening."
The boy blushed.
"It can be a bit overwhelming, so much going on, so many people, first time away from home and your parents."
"Yes sir. I suppose."
"Miss your parents, do you?"
"No sir. My mother is dead. She died having me, sir."
"And your father?"
The boy shrugged.
Harry sat back and studied the dark head. Black hair, long, neatly combed falling from a natural part in the center of the boy's head. Falling forward to hide his face. "So why are you unhappy, Mr Lastrange?"
"Sir?"
"Well, most children come here excited and smiling. You, however, seem determined to sit there sunk in gloom."
The boy still refused to look up. He just shrugged again. This was going nowhere fast.
"All right then, let's set some ground rules, shall we? Do you know why you are here?"
"Of course sir. My Hogwarts letter came."
"Yes, and?"
"Father said I was the last chance. All the others had proved dismal failures--"
"What? All the others?"
"Yes, I'm the eighth child born. If I don't survive he isn't going to try again. He says it's not worth finding a suitable wife and he'll be damned if he's going to sire a bastard heir." All this without a single spark of emotion.
Harry nearly choked. "I... see." He finally managed. "Well so you aren't here by choice then. Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"
"No sir." Exactly the answer he was expecting and almost dreading.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"No sir."
"One of my jobs is to make sure that all first years settle in well. Another is to listen to students who have no one else to turn to, especially when they want to talk about things they'd rather not mention to anyone else. If you tell me a secret I won't reveal it. Unless someone's life is in danger, but then I won't tell who told me." He paused and looked at the bent head. "Do you understand, Octavius?" The head bobbed up and down unconvincingly. "I know you don't trust me yet, but that's fine. I'm here when you need me. Do you understand?" The head nodded again but he didn't believe the boy understood at all. "Well, now I am to take you to visit Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse. It seems your health records are woefully incomplete."
"I'm not sick, sir."
"Of course you aren't but there've been some changes since your father was in school. Now every child must have a physical exam before beginning and you don't seem to have had one. Ever." He could sense without even looking that the boy was blushing. "It won't hurt and it's rules that cannot be broken." He stood and went around the desk and lightly touched the boy's shoulder. "Come."
The boy flinched then slid out of the chair, careful not to stand too close to the man. Neither said a word the whole way to the hospital wing. They passed no one but Sir Nick who gave them a polite salute as he floated by in the opposite direction. The only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of Harry's shoes and the scuffing of the boy's too large shoes.
Madame Pomfrey tried not to appear as if ahe'd been waiting for them. She'd not changed much since Harry had been a student (after all wizarding folk aged somewhat diffferently than Muggles) but she was still concerned when it came to hurt children. And Harry had told her his fears over morning tea. She eyed the boy cooly, knowing that it would not do to appear over concerned. "Good Morning Mr Potter, Mr Lastrange."
"Good Morning Madame Pomfrey. Mr Lastrange is here for his physical examination."
"Quite right. You will stay of course. Now Mr Lastrange remove your robes please."
"I'd rather not, if you please."
"Young man, I cannot make a visual assessement through your clothing."
The boy now looked extremely anxious, almost as if he might run. "Poppy, why don't we save that til last," Harry suggested softly. The nurse made a disapproving sound (Harry winked at the boy).
"Very well." She moved around the boy muttering quiet incantations and making small sounds of displeasure. Finally she pointed to a chart on the wall. "Can you read the line, Mr Lastrange?"
"Yes, Madame."
Harry smirked at the mediwitch's waiting glare. "I think she means for you to do so, Octavius. Aloud please."
The boy recited the line. The words shifted and shrank. At her nod he receited the new set. This kept on until the boy was squinting. "That's enough." She gestured and a parchment already partly filled with tables and lines appeared beside her, a quill poised to write. "Now then, childhood diseases." She broke off. "Dear me, he might not even know, many children don't after all. Have you never seen a mediwitch before, child?"
"No, Father says they are a waste of time and galleons."
Pomfrey murmured something impolite but not loud enough for either Harry or the boy to hear clearly. "Well. Now there's no putting it off."
"Why don't we start small?" Harry suggested quickly. "Shoes and socks first."
The boy looked nearly ready to cry, but he sat down on the edge of a bed indicated by the mediwitch and pulled off his shoes. He wasn't wearing socks. Both adults tried not to look grim. The small feet were red and blistered. No wonder the child shuffled, it must have hurt greatly to take any steps at all. "Harry, enough. I want to see the rest." She turned her stern gaze to the boy, softening it to show it wasn't him with whom she was angry. "Off. All of it. Now. I know you are in pain and I won't let you stay that way."
The boy nodded and slowly worked the fastenings of his robe. It fell off to reveal equally old and poorly fitting trausers and shirt. Poppy was far to imaptient to let him continue fumbling with buttons and tatty buttonholes so she brushed his hands away and soon had him sitting shivering, and completely embarrassed, in his underwear. As both adults expected the small body was covered with bruises and, sadly, scars. "I'm sorry to have to ask you to go through this child. But adults are not supposed to hurt children."
"I was bad."
"No child is that bad that this kind of punishment is deserved." The witch sighed and gave Potter a guarded look. "I think you need to stay here and rest, Mr Lastrange. This has clearly been very traumatic for you. I have some pyjamas you can use." They watched the boy change reluctantly and clamber into the bed. They gave him tea with a weak sleeping draught and very soon he was relaxed and asleep.
"I hate to do this to him," Harry said watching the nurse make a more thorough examination of the deeply sleeping child. "I feel like I've lied to him.
"Better this lie than complete humiliation, Mr Potter, wouldn't you agree?" She finished and gave him an angry look. "If you suspected sexual abuse Mr Potter, you would have been correct. I shall, of course, write up a full report. That family should have been stopped three generations ago!"
Harry sighed. "I'll talk to Minerva."