Harry Super Senses

Summary: Fourth Year, after the Third Task, Harry reacts peculiarly to the Crucio-exposure. Really peculiarly.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

XXX

Harry woke up to the sound of someone pounding on the door.

It was early morning, if the light was anything to go by, and he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. This meant that it was very strange for someone to be pounding on a door in his vicinity, but he shrugged the thought off. Maybe someone was in desperate need of Madam Pomfrey? It would most likely not be the first time that it'd happened at this early hour.

Taking a breath that seemed to echo inside of the empty room, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. He wasn't sure why he was here, his head still feeling quite fuzzy about it all, or how he'd gotten hurt, or what day it was, but he wasn't in excruciating agony so he was probably safe to be moving. Possibly.

His limbs didn't complain as they would've had he been sent there with broken bones, so it was unlikely that it was a Quidditch related injury. That left... basilisk, hexes, Voldemort, Death Eaters, and random illness.

Knowing his luck, he was guessing on Voldemort.

Speaking of which, had he ever actually been ill since he was introduced to the Wizarding World? He had vague memories of being ill during his time at the Dursleys, but that might've just been starvation. Maybe he was just really healthy? That would certainly explain why his luck believed that he should encounter so many life-threatening situations. It was a way of compensating for its inability to leave him bedridden for days due to more mundane issues.

Frowning slightly as he pondered this newfound revelation, Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed, just as someone began playing around with super-sized sandpapers – or at least that's what it sounded like. His frown deepening at the oddity of sandpaper being used at Hogwarts, Harry stood up, with a deafening bang.

His feet hit the floor, and the sound of an explosion startled him into falling back on the bed. Which responded with the sound of super-sized sandpapers.

Harry was now confused. But he had a theory. A very silly theory, hopefully, but a theory that he really should get around to testing.

"Ah." He breathed, and screamed in his own ear.

Jumping at the pain of the sudden noise, Harry whimpered very very silently, and was left wondering who'd invited the whimpering Cerberus into the infirmary.

His theory had been proven accurate, much to his horror. His hearing had somehow been thrown completely out of whack. The pounding on the door was his heartbeat, the sandpapers was the rustling of his sheets, and the explosion was his feet hitting the ground.

For the first time in Harry Potter's life, he really wished he'd woken up deaf.

And as he lay there, he chanced a glance out the window, and saw the stars.

So, apparently, whatever had screwed up his hearing to the painful extremes, it'd also given him the ability to read in starlight.

Considering the amount of pain he was in as he suffered from sound, he really wasn't looking forward to daybreak and suffering from light as well.

Hopefully, these two senses were the only ones that would be driving him mad. He could probably Transfigure some kind of sunglasses to use against the brightness that would come, and he could...

Earplugs. He needed earplugs.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any earplugs currently available, so he would be needing his wand, and then spend some time experimenting to get them right.

Sighing heavily – and ignoring the sound of giant bellows filling the room – Harry set to work.

XXX

Madam Pomfrey stumbled into her workplace along with the Headmaster, not really sure if she was hoping or not hoping that Mr Potter had woken up yet.

She didn't want the Headmaster to interrogate one of her patients, but she really was hoping that the young man was recovering properly.

Of course, most thoughts came to a halt when she finally spotted him.

Black glasses covering his eyes, strange shapes emerging from his ears. The young man winced at their entrance, but seemed to calm down quickly.

"Mr Potter?" She inquired.
"Harry?" Albus asked curiously.

Harry whimpered softly, curling into a ball at their voices, his hands clutching at his ears.

Gesturing for Albus to be quiet, Pomfrey opened her mouth again, much more quietly this time. "Mr Potter? Is there something wrong with your ears?"

The young man still winced briefly at her words, but nodded slowly.

Pomfrey frowned. That wasn't good. She wasn't sure what it meant that her patient's ears would hurt, or why he'd felt it necessary to...

"Mr Potter, what is wrong with your eyes?"

"Too bright." He answered very quietly. "Starlight was early morning, morning was like staring into the sun."

She'd never heard of such a thing, but she was a professional. "And your glasses?"

He paused, his lips twitching briefly at the first hint of a smile. "Don't need them."

"I see."

And she did see. Somehow, the young man's nerves must've been overcharged with the Cruciatus Curse, which would normally leave him very numb and very much in pain, but instead of that happening, his body must've fought it off like a disease, and the magical backlash of that confrontation seemed to have made a few of his senses hypersensitive.

"Is there anything else? Touch, taste, smell?"

He shook his head. "No, touch is normal, smell is normal..." He paused, then put his finger in his mouth. "Taste seems normal too."

It was peculiar, talking to someone who's eyes you couldn't see, but it was obvious that he was in need of them if he'd thought that the early morning light had been like staring into a sun. His eyes wouldn't have been able to handle the sunrise.

"Where did you find those black glasses, and what have you put in your ears?" She finally asked, still using her most professional voice.

"Sunglasses, a muggle thing. And I tried to make muggle earplugs, but they didn't seem to turn out quite right..." He shrugged. "They kind of work anyway, and it's better than being unable to talk without feeling pain."

Pomfrey nodded, accepting his answer. "A sensible action, Mr Potter, though I don't approve of wand-waving whilst you are bedridden. If you would describe the use of these muggle devices, I'm sure we can find someone capable of making a few for your use."

"How did I get here anyway?" He finally asked.

"Harry my boy, you don't remember?" Albus finally reminded them of his presence.

The young man shook his head, turning towards the Headmaster for an answer.

"The Triwizard cup was a portkey, and you returned with news of Voldemort's resurrection." Albus informed him carefully, obviously hesitant at poking on new wounds.

"Triwizard?" Harry tilted his head. "What's-... a dragon? I out-flew a dragon." He mused with a hint of horrified awe in his voice. "What the hell was I thinking?"

Albus' chuckle at the young man's words was quickly disguised with a cough, before worry took over his expression. "That was the First Task, Harry. You completed the Third yesterday. A maze." He tried to nudge the disoriented student's memory.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't remember any maze..." He frowned. "My head is fuzzy."

Both adults present frowned at that, not very pleased with the news that it was fully possible that Harry James Potter suffered from amnesia. Pomfrey because it was another symptom of whatever had happened to her patient, and Albus because it meant that his chief witness no longer had any memory of the event.

XXX

Harry was a bit worried at how he didn't seem to remember a Second Task, let alone a Third. If the the Tasks were designed to last through the entire year – which they were – then his last memory seemed to be located almost six months ago.

He'd just lost six months of schoolwork, and apparently Voldemort had come back to life.

All of this added up to the absolute certainty that he would be needing to study a lot more than he was willing to. Partly to catch up to wherever his year-mates were right now, and partly to keep himself alive when Voldemort finally decided to try and hunt him down.

It wasn't that he believed that Voldemort had to pay attention to him, but rather it was the knowledge that the wizard was insane, uncomfortably focused on Harry's existence, and liable to kill people for little to no reason. The odds of the Dark Lord not holding a grudge over being banished for over a decade were very very slim, no matter how accidental it might've been.

Therefore, he would be needing to study. And...

"Sir? Would it be possible for me not to return to my relatives this year? I'm not sure how they'd react to this." He made a gesture to his glasses and the things sticking out of his ears.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to shoot down that line of thought, because he would need his mother's protection, but Pomfrey interrupted him.

"You will not be leaving my care until we have made certain that your condition will not worsen." She declared with the heated and tempered steel of a woman that really wasn't afraid of beating in an old man's head with a bedpan if he disagreed with her – she'd heal him afterwards, slowly enough that he would only just be back to normal by the end of summer.

Dumbledore closed his mouth, he knew when to cut his losses.

Harry nodded, a smile finding its way onto his lips that made something buried deep in the old man's subconscious twitch.

It was not the smile of a muggleborn believing that they could be spending their summer playing with magic, and exploring Hogwarts, it was the smile of someone who'd just watched someone remove the noose around his neck.

Dumbledore hadn't been expecting that Harry would enjoy spending time with his relatives, Magic Haters that they were, but they'd taken him in. The sight of Harry's relief, coupled with the briefest glimpses of behavior that had been confusing him a bit, coupled with Hagrid's insistence that they were horrible people – something that he in hindsight should've paid closer mind to, considering the gentle giant – a picture was being painted that Albus Dumbledore did not approve of.

It was a picture that he would be talking with the Dursleys about over this coming summer.

Possible hexing might be included.

XXX

Harry wasn't sure why the Headmaster had looked so determined when he'd left, but he wasn't going back to the Dursleys, and he really wasn't planning on coming down from that high in a few weeks yet.

Still, he would be needing to study, in order to catch up to his classmates at the very least.

Frowning at the sudden memory of being forcibly placed under Madam Pomfrey's care, and how this would mean that he'd be very lucky to get out of the hospital wing for any reason whatsoever, Harry tried to figure out some kind of loophole.

He wouldn't be able to leave his bed without being caught, he wouldn't be able to convince her to let him go, and her comments about wand-waving weren't very encouraging for her aiding him in catching up to his schoolwork. Therefore, he would need to gain the aid of someone else to bring him his wand, and as many books as possible to keep him from being driven mad from boredom.

As he sat there, pondering who would be willing to aid him in his defiance against the medi-witch, Harry began to make a mental checklist.

Not Ron. Whilst he might've apologized for being a prat about getting into the tournament, the boy wouldn't be willing to drag books to and from the infirmary, since that would be almost as bad as learning himself, and that went against the redhead's principles.

Not Hermione. Whilst she was supportive, and would immediately understand his need for catching up on his schoolwork if he mentioned his amnesia, she wouldn't dare defying one of the faculty members – that wasn't Snape – in their home territory.

That was probably bad. He had only two friends, and neither of them would be willing to aid him in his time of need. They were still good friends, but this meant that he really had no clue on who to convince to help him, or why those people would help him.

Maybe the twins? They would enjoy the chance to break the rules, certainly. And they didn't seem to mind learning, as long as it could be translated into something funny. Yes, that would work, but how was he supposed to talk to them? He doubted they'd be visiting him without prompting, which meant that he would have to send a message through one of his friends whenever they showed up.

If he told Hermione that he needed to talk to the twins, she'd be very disapproving, and might lecture him about the importance of rules. If he told Ron that he needed to talk to the twins, he would still need to explain his situation, and Ron might feel bad about not being reliable, or how he trusted his brothers more than he did him.

A dilemma, then.

Sighing heavily, Harry stared up at the bright ceiling through his transfigured sunglasses, wishing really hard that someone might come along to solve this problem for him for once.

There was a loud pop right next to him, and then Dobby was there.

"Mister Harry Potter Sir called for Dobby?" The mad house elf inquired cheerfully.

Harry was a moment away from saying that he hadn't, but then he realized that he'd just found someone that could help him.

"Ah, Dobby, just the elf I need. I need your help with something you see." A grin spread across his face as the elf looked absolutely ecstatic about helping him. This would be easier than he'd have thought.

XXX

It was surprisingly easy to hide his books and his wand whenever anyone visited.

In fact, Harry was starting to realize just how useful it was to be able to hear someone coming by the sound of their breathing on the other side of the infirmary door. Their footsteps were more regularly the giveaway though.

Thankfully, despite having lost his memories, his body seemed to remember the exact motions and pronunciations for whatever spell in the curriculum that he wanted to cast. This meant that he was quickly catching up on the needed material, and without the need to stop and try to comprehend how magic was supposed to work through endless essays, Harry was actually starting to enjoy learning a bit.

He didn't understand why he knew the compass spell, or how it worked, or what its history was, but he knew it. He knew it like he knew his arm, or leg. He didn't need to understand the thirty-something muscles that he used when frowning, he just needed to get annoyed. Magic seemed to be working in a similar way, he was discovering.

He'd always known he was better at practical things than theory, but he'd always chalked it up to comparing himself to Hermione's completely logical approach to magic. Turns out that it might be a bit more instinctual than their teachers seemed to be insisting.

He'd considered running some manner of test for this newly acquired theory, but then that seemed to be contradicting itself.

Besides, according to Madam Pomfrey he should be dazed and in pain, not amnesiac and hyper-sensitive. Magical laws of the Universe, tremble in terror, Harry Potter will accidentally trip over you and bump his head on physics one of these days.

Stifling a snicker at the thought, Harry tried to will the pages of his book to turn. He didn't know any page-turning spell, but he figured that it might be a good place to start if he wanted to play around with his newly found theory of non-logic. There were no wand-movements, no incantations. All he did was stare at the pages as he tried to touch upon the feeling that he usually assorted with using magic.

If someone had been present and aware of what he was doing, they would've told him that there's a reason why wandless magic is barely even taught in the first place. Too much effort for too little in return, resulted in people settling for a wandless summoning charm in order to get their wand back and leaving it at that.

Harry didn't know any of this, but was intrigued by the idea. And so, with his theory that magic was all about not believing that you couldn't do something, Harry threw his head back and sighed.

He wasn't really getting anywhere with it, and whilst he knew that he shouldn't focus on the process, but rather the feeling or intent, he just wasn't getting anywhere.

So he turned the page of the book that was on the other side of the room and picked up another book to play with.

It took him a long moment before he realized what exactly he'd just done.

Blinking away his disbelief at how easy it was when you simply did something, Harry grinned widely enough to almost resemble Dobby.

This was going to be awesome.

XXX

Summer was coming to a close, and Harry had actually gotten far enough with his theory on magic to forgetting to use his wand on repeated occasions.

Of course, knowing his luck, if he were to actually admit this fact to others they'd probably label him a Dark Lord and lock him up somewhere. Possibly Azkaban, you know, for being annoying or something.

It was amazing how disillusioned you could become to a society once its leaders decided to start a smear campaign on you. And whilst Harry might not remember having said that he'd met the Dark Lord Voldemort at the end of the year, Dumbledore had confirmed his earlier words and Harry trusted in himself not to lie outright, and in Dumbledore to dodge the subject rather than be untruthful.

Therefore, Harry felt further vindicated in his belief that the Ministry was quite simply too stupid to live. But, aside from making a mental note not to interrupt a Death Eater attack on the general Ministry without good cause, Harry didn't think his attitude towards it had changed at all.

Fudge had been an idiot in his second year towards Hagrid, Fudge hadn't listened to Sirius' innocence in third year, and Fudge didn't believe in Voldemort's return by the end of his fourth year. Basically, there was good odds that if Fudge was on fire, Harry wouldn't piss on him.

Still, he was sorry to hear about how Cedric died. He was a good guy from what little Harry had seen. It also made him feel distinctly uncomfortable about having a crush on Cho Chang, as acting on his crush and asking her out after her boyfriend had been killed, seemed kind of Malfoy-ish.

Of course, from what he'd managed to pick up from his friends whilst they were still around, he'd gone to the ball with Parvati, which if Harry was honest with himself, wasn't a bad girl to go to a dance with. At least not in the looks department.

Unfortunately, Harry also knew that he didn't know how to dance, that he didn't really get along with Parvati on a more talk-related basis, and that he'd apparently blown her off in favor of talking to Ron – something that sounded a lot like something he'd do.

Needless to say, Harry was both ashamed, embarrassed and amused that he'd made a complete ass of himself, and was only partially grateful that Ron had blown up on Hermione over her date, since it made him seem a lot nicer in comparison.

Sighing, Harry wondered at his own immense lack of attention when it came to girls. He knew Hermione because she was his friend/sister, he knew Ginny because she was his friend's sister, he knew Cho because she was his rival Seeker, he knew Parvati and Lavender as well as he did only because he kept overhearing their giggling in class, and he knew Pansy because she was a rude Slytherin.

Other than that, he'd picked up a few names from the rest of his year, admired a few pleasant views, and generally been too busy trying to do whatever he was doing at the time to pay much more attention than that.

Harry hoped very very much that he wasn't gay. He'd heard Hermione once mention something about how 'opposites attract' and how arguing could be a result of sexual tension – she'd been blushing a lot at that for some reason – and Harry could only imagine one male that he argued with enough for this observation to matter. Draco Malfoy. Harry suppressed a shudder.

Therefore, Harry hoped very very much that he wasn't gay. Because whilst he wouldn't have minded being Sorted into Hufflepuff, Harry would probably do the honorable thing and just kill himself on the spot if he was attracted to Malfoy of all people.

It was partially this wary panic over his sexuality that had led Harry to try to name every last girl in Hogwarts.

He'd failed, obviously, but he knew just as few male names, so that was somewhat inconclusive.

Of course, Harry being the kind of guy he was, wouldn't take failure without fighting back, and so he'd managed to acquire a list of all the students of Hogwarts and their Houses.

He'd then proceeded to copy all the females on the list, before crossing over the names of everyone he disliked. Never let it be said that Harry couldn't do his research without Hermione. She made it easier, and she researched better and quicker than him, but he could totally do it too.

Now armed with a list of girls that were at the very least distantly tolerable, Harry began to cross off the names of the obviously unattractive witches that he could remember, before making small signs next to the names of everyone that he knew was already dating someone else, or that Harry felt would be too weird to date – like Hermione, Ginny, and even Cho as he figured that it wouldn't end well.

This all left him with a reasonably long list, as he'd thankfully crossed out the names of all girls below third year as well as all those of seventh year. Harry didn't really mind the thought of dating an older witch, but since they wouldn't be in school by the time it started again, they were something of a moot point.

Armed with a list of four years of either unknown or reasonably attractive females, Harry decided that if he timed it right with all of this mudslinging that the Ministry was doing, he'd be able to avoid all those turncoat gold-diggers that Sirius had once warned him about.

It was his best plan ever.

It was also the only plan he'd never even consider showing to Hermione, as the girl would most likely hex him for even considering it.

XXX

Harry stared at number forty-two on his list, one Luna Lovegood, and wondered to himself how he could have not noticed her previously.

She wasn't amazingly pretty, or by any stretch ugly, but she was... bizarre, was probably the best word for it, if not the most polite one.

Classes had started earlier that week, and Harry had been dismissing all of the so called sheep that had made their way onto his list. He'd succeeded in his attempts to keep his peculiar senses a secret, partly through wearing much more discreet earplugs, and partly through charming his glasses so that they looked the same as always, but cut off the light that made its way to his eyes. Kind of like clear sunglasses, actually. He'd also managed to keep his precious list hidden from both his two best friends and the twins, a notable feat if there ever was one.

Other than working on his list, Harry was pleasantly surprised that he was easily keeping up in all classes but Potions. Defense Against Dark Arts wasn't really a class, so much as it was an attempted brainwashing session, so Harry wasn't even bothering with paying attention to it.

The fact that the toad of a professor was trying to provoke him just led Harry to the obvious conclusion that she was trying to fulfill the purpose of all Defense teachers. Killing Harry Potter.

First year, steal the Philosopher Stone and kill Harry Potter if he got in the way. Second year, remove Harry Potter's memories and leave him to die before taking credit for the entire thing. Third year, accidentally forget to take the Wolfsbane Potion when apprehending a traitor in Harry Potter's vicinity. Fourth year, enter Harry Potter's name into the Goblet of Fire so that he can either die in the tournament or be used to revive Voldemort in a ritual.

Clearly, there was a pattern emerging, and Harry figured that the toad wanted in on the action.

Regardless, he'd managed to play it cool, so far. Mostly through distracting himself by considering all females nearby.

He'd actually tried to consider Malfoy like that, and had almost thrown up, which he'd celebrated with doing an odd jig in his dorm. On an unrelated note, most of his dorm-mates were having doubts about his sanity.

Shrugging lightly as he guessed that number forty-two must have a good reason for having radishes as earrings, Harry figured that he might as well ask her about it.

XXX

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, his eyes staring at something unseen, several hours after he'd first decided to inquire about Luna Lovegood's earrings.

"Harry? Mate? You okay?" Ron looked at him strangely.

Blinking dazedly, Harry tilted his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I can't believe I didn't see them before..." He whispered in amazement. "There must be hundreds of them..."

"Hundreds of what, mate?" Ron tried to follow his gaze, only to get more confused at the lack of anything in particular.

"The nargles." Harry whispered silently. "They're everywhere."

Ron blinked, frowning in confusion for a moment before an understanding dawned in horror on his face. "You've been talking to Loony Lovegood. And you've been infected!" He pointed accusingly at his friend.

Harry absently smacked his friend over the head with a pillow – not really noticing that he hadn't used anything but magic to do so. "Her name's Luna, and just because she seems crazy doesn't mean that she isn't right." He gestured towards the ceiling and the hundreds of the small creatures fluttering around up there.

"Mate! There's nothing there!"

"Of course you can't see them." Harry sighed. "You don't have the proper equipment to do so." He paused. "I don't really understand why I can see them so clearly, but then normality doesn't seem to like me very much."

This didn't seem to satisfy Ron, who finally decided to find reinforcement against Harry's recently contracted Loony-ness.

"Harry, Ron's telling me that you're seeing things that aren't there." Hermione asked him hesitantly.

"Just because you can't see, feel or hear them, makes them no less real." Harry pointed out.

"Well..." Hermione paused, considering this declaration. "That's what religious people say about God." She admitted. "But they usually don't talk about seeing him on the ceiling."

Harry blinked. "Hermione, I'm not crazy, nor am I religious. But the nargles are right there." He gestured to the ceiling again. "They're as real as magic and thestrals."

"Thestrals?" Hermione tilted her head as a slight frown made its way onto her face.

"The things that pull the carriages." Harry explained absently. "They can only be seen by those who've watched death." Harry made a face. "Apparently it has more to do with seeing than remembering, though."

"What are you-?" Hermione's face turned pale. "... Cedric?"

Harry nodded, not really comfortable about talking about the death of his fellow champion, but still distant enough to shrug it off.

"So, these 'nargles'..." Hermione returned to their subject. "Can only be seen in special circumstances?"

Harry nodded again, a brief flicker of annoyance passing over his face. "Luna had a pair of glasses that helped, but once she told me how to look I didn't need them."

Hermione pouted thoughtfully. "How do you see them?"

"You look beyond, and a little to the left, and then they're there." He shrugged. "It doesn't make much sense, and I don't think I could've done it before, but well..." He gestured to his light-obscuring glasses. "I got an upgrade."

The smartest witch of their generation looked at him for a long moment, before glancing back up at the ceiling. "So, what do they do?" She finally asked, ignoring Ron's indignant spluttering behind her.

"I don't have the faintest clue." Harry admitted with wide eyes as he too stared up at the hundreds of the nargles infesting the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room.

XXX

The news that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had been infected with Loony Lovegood's lunacy spread quickly along the Hogwarts rumor mill.

Gryffindor was beginning to believe that there might be some truth behind the Daily Prophet's proclamations of his insanity, Slytherin was mocking him loudly, Hufflepuff was breathing sighs of relief as this probably meant that Voldemort wasn't actually out there, and Ravenclaw spent a lot of time glaring at Luna.

Oddly enough, this stopped quite suddenly after Harry had absently mentioned that he would always keep an eye out for her. Luna was even finding that her roommates were anonymously returning all things that they'd 'borrowed' from her over the years.

When Hermione finally managed to corner one of the ravens about it, the answer she got was simple.

"Harry Potter has given Luna Lovegood his protection. The protection of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. Any raven worth their brains would back off."

When Hermione later cornered Harry about his statement, he'd looked very confused, before mentioning in a very casual way that there was a book that she might want to read on his bed.

The book explained what it exactly it meant for Harry to be the last Potter, and what exactly it meant to be the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House. Hermione spread the word to Gryffindor, and soon all of Hogwarts stopped calling Luna Lovegood 'Loony'. They still called her insane though, but neither of the two did anything about that but smile, so they figured it was alright.

Hermione did question him on where he got the book, but well, Harry wasn't going to tell her that he'd been using Dobby's services for free all of summer. The mere thought of doing so gave him nightmares. Hermione was scary.

XXX

A/n: I like the idea of Harry with Super Senses, but I don't really know what to do with it, so I kind of just ended it without going anywhere.