Harry was surprised that Tony hadn't yet made an appearance, even during dinner. He knocked on Healer Jordan's office door.

"Oh, hello Harry. You've arrived early. Is everything okay?" Healer Jordan asked as she opened the door and invited him in.

"Hi. Yeah. I just was wondering how Tony's doing," Harry said.

"He's still recovering, but he's doing better. I think he'll spend another night here, though. Do you want to talk to him? Professor McGonagall and I aren't quite ready to meet with you yet, so you have a little bit of time," she said.

"I'd like that, thanks," he said and she led him back to the room where he had recovered from his face plant… it seemed like ages ago, but it had been less than a week.

"I'll come and get you when we're ready, okay?"

"Sure, thanks," Harry said and then swept his staff in front of him as he entered the room, "Hey, Tony?"

"Oh. Hi, Harry," Tony said from a corner of the room. Harry walked closer, his staff's tip tinging against something metal in his path. He tapped his staff twice to get a description of what was in front of him—a rolly stool.

"Oh, sorry, I left that stool in the middle of the room," Tony said. "You could bring it over here, and then you'd have something to sit on."

Harry bent over and rolled the stool in front of him a bit awkwardly as he was also trying to use his staff to find his way.

"That's a good spot," Tony said shifting a bit on the camp bed and Harry sat down and collapsed his staff.

"How's it going?" Harry asked.

It was quiet for a bit. Harry wondered if Tony had shrugged. There was something familiar about all of this. Harry speculated that Tony was feeling weighed as he had earlier.

"Er. I've been better," Tony said.

"Yeah, I bet," Harry commiserated.

"Thanks for last night. Healer Jordan said that you and Mei helped me. I don't remember any of it."

"It sounded like you were in a lot of pain… so I guess it is good that you don't remember it."

"Well, I remember the pain. It's better now. So that's good. I haven't been able to wear my arms today, though," Tony said. "Healer Jordan gave me some potion to help with the pain, but it makes it really hard for me to use my magical arms… I guess they are connected—the use of my magical arms and the phantom pain. They told me I had to manage it carefully… but I didn't think it would be so bad."

"Mei told me about the potion," Harry said.

"Yeah, Arig was going on about how brilliant it is. Figures he would think so," Tony grumped. "I mean… it's different for him, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, his leg's got to work differently than my arms," Tony said.

"How would it be different?" Harry asked.

Tony was quiet as if he were deliberating. Finally, he said, "Well, you know, since werewolf bites don't ever really heal. He can't just have a magic leg that connects to his nerves like my magical arms. That's why he doesn't have one yet, even though he's been missing his leg for longer than I lost my arms."

"Oh, I didn't know that," Harry said.

"Yeah, well, he told me, didn't he?" Tony said. "I was a prat… drinking firewhiskey this weekend. I guess I should have stayed here. It would have been easier than going home. Less temptation. I just… " Tony trailed off.

"It was okay here this weekend," Harry offered.

"Why didn't you go home?" Tony asked.

Harry stilled, kicking himself for setting a trap like that.

"The Weasley's wanted to visit the Center and see everything and poke around London… " It wasn't a lie, he rationalized. "There are a lot of them. The Weasleys… "

"Right," Tony said, unconvinced. "You got some new clothes, though! They look like they actually fit you! Very nice."

"Er, thanks?" Harry said, uncomfortably rubbing the fabric of his new trousers between his thumb and index finger.

"Harry?" Healer Jordan's voice came from the doorway.

Harry was relieved for the excuse to leave, but then remembered what he was here for. He stood up slowly and shook out his staff. "Is it time?"

"Thanks for coming by, Harry," Tony said.

"Yeah, feel better, mate," Harry said and then turned, navigating to the door.

Healer Jordan guided Harry to the seat he had occupied before when he'd talked with Healer Jordan and Professor McGonagall and he felt his limbs grow heavy again… it seemed like a struggle to draw a breath. He wasn't sure what they could be discussing and the last two meetings had been hard.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall greeted as he walked by.

"Oh, yes, hello, Professor McGonagall," Harry said as he sat down.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Healer Jordan jumped right in. "Is something on your mind?"

"Er, yes and no," Harry said, tucking his hands under his knees to keep them from trembling.

"Okay. Thanks for meeting with us again. We were hoping that you might have thought about our discussion last week about sharing some key memories with us… concerning your… er… the Dursleys," Healer Jordan said.

"Oh, right. Um. I dunno. I've been thinking that… well, it wouldn't really help anything," Harry said, pulling his chin to his chest. His lungs felt as if they were bound in wire.

"I understand, Harry. It's okay," Healer Jordan said while Professor McGonagall made a slight hiss and he imagined that her lips were a tight, white line of grim disapproval. He tried to make himself smaller. "We are not here to pressure you, simply to check in."

"How was your day today?" Healer Jordan asked.

"Er. It was fine," Harry said, shrugging.

"Healer Geller said that you're a natural at milking goats."

"It was kinda cool," he admitted. "And kinda gross."

"Why on earth is he learning how to milk goats?" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. He could feel the wind as she whipped her hands in the air.

"It is just one aspect of our Practical Life curriculum," Healer Jordan explained.

"How is that practical?"

"About as practical as transfiguring beetles into buttons," Healer Jordan countered.

Harry had to hold back a giggle. It sounded like he'd hiccuped.

"I dunno. It felt good to learn how to do something that useful, actually. Like, make our own food. I mean, I already know how to cook and everything, but to be able to work with the animals and be outside, even though it was smelly, muddy, and there were flies everywhere. I mean, no offense, Professor McGonagall. I also like learning how to change rats into teacups—and other things, but this was nice, too," Harry finished quietly, realizing that he was digging himself in deeper.

Professor McGonagall grabbed her tea cup and stirred it vigorously, the spoon rattling against the china.

"Was there something else you needed me for?" Harry asked, edging forward hopefully. Maybe he could leave.

"Ah, yes, actually," Healer Jordan said. "We're going to bring in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to work with you. Given your history and new vulnerabilities, we believe that extra work in this area is prudent. You'll continue to work with Ms. Midgeon on self-defense and building balance and strength with your peers, and then also work with Professor Lupin one-on-one. There might be times when other students will join you as well. He will be working with other students in different subjects."

"Professor Lupin is taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts in September," Professor McGonagall added.

"Okay," Harry said, unsure how he felt about this news. "When will these new classes start?"

"They'll be added to your schedule next week. Professor Lupin has other commitments until then. You'll start with him on Monday," Healer Jordan explained.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He was feeling like his schedule was already pretty packed. He needed to go back to his room and work on his braille practice work that was due tomorrow.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Besel had asked Harry to bring a memory to the front of his consciousness as part of their mind-healing session on Wednesday. Harry had hoped that they'd be working with the herbs they had planted the week before, but the rain precluded that. It was too muddy and cold.

So as the rain drilled against the glass, Harry was sorting through his memories, trying to find one that he felt was safe enough to extract and examine. Besel had asked for something from his childhood, from before Hogwarts, before he knew he was a wizard. He thought about bringing forth one that involved his accidental magic… making his hair regrow after horrible haircuts, dodging Dudley and his gang and ending up on the roof of the school, the incredible shrinking sweater. He finally settled on vanishing the glass and speaking to the snake at the zoo. It was a mostly happy memory… he'd gotten ice cream.

He hesitated. Besel had recoiled the first time he'd told her about his parseltongue abilities, but she had recovered pretty quickly. He thought of Little Friend and breathed through the pang of absence.

"I have my memory… it is from the first time I knew I could talk to snakes, before I knew I was a wizard," Harry said. He was looking forward to that trip to the zoo again…

"Okay, hold the memory steady and I'll help you bring it forth to add to the pensieve," Besel instructed, placing her wand on his temple. It was a mark of how much he trusted her that he did not flinch.

He felt the tug as the slippery worm of the memory slid from his mind and resisted the urge to touch the place on his forehead where it had been extracted.

There was a small plop as if a gelatinous mass had fallen into a glass of water.

"Here, Harry, come closer to the pensieve," Besel instructed, her levitating chair making an airy noise as she maneuvered closer to him and grasped his hand, guiding it to the stone rim of the bowl. He ran his fingers over the surface finding the incised lines of what he guessed must be runes.

"Careful, rubbing the runes can enact the magic."

Harry stopped trying to discern what they meant, "Sorry."

"No worries. I know it is how you see… Okay, we're going to enter this memory of yours by leaning forward as if you're putting your face into water. I'll go first, but I'll keep a hold of your hand, so you'll want to join me as soon as I go in," she said, leaning toward the stone bowl.

Harry felt her arm moving as she was sucked into the bowl and her hand twist around in his as her angle changed. He leaned forward putting his hands together as if he were diving. It was similar to going through the painting on the HMS Eden to travel to Fernando Po. As soon as his face went through the gelatinous liquid, he realized that he could see something. His breath caught in his throat. At first it was just foggy, but fog with shapes behind it, shadows and faint colors and then his feet hit a concrete surface and the wisps of fog disappeared and he could see in vivid detail—absolutely everything around him. It was breathtaking. Mind numbing. His chest constricted.

He gasped. He was standing in the driveway outside of Privet Drive, the walkway was lined with Albus Agapanthus with the brilliant white round heads composed of miniature lilies. Harry noticed that he was still holding Besel's hand and he dropped it quickly and then looked at her. But he couldn't see her. All that was there was the walkway and the pavement beyond the yard. Grass like emerald shards lined the walkway.

"Where'd you go?"

He knew she was there because he'd been holding her hand. He reached out for it again and she grasped his hand.

"I can't see you," he said, then he held his own hand in front of his face. "Ugh. I can't see myself, either."

"That's because I wasn't there in the original memory. Your brain is looking at an image that was already stored in your visual cortex, so it can 'see' what was in the memory, but it has no imprint of me or yourself as you are now. But I'm here as are you. You can sense me as you do outside the memory," she said.

"This is pretty weird," Harry admitted. "So you can see me? I'm not invisible to you? Is it okay if I hold onto your chair, so that I know where you are?"

"Sure," she said, guiding his hand to the back. "So, where are we right now?"

"We're outside my Aunt and Uncle's house," Harry said as the front door opened and Vernon lurched out of it, belly first. He was yelling to Petunia to fetch his sunglasses. Dudley and Piers were on his heels, shoving each other jovially.

Ten-year-old Harry followed at a safe distance in an oversized faded T-shirt and threadbare trousers that made his thin frame look even more stick-like than it was. His thick black hair stuck out at odd angles, his glasses were held together in the center with cellotape, his trainers were wide on his thin feet and the soles were cracked.

He looks skittish.

They piled into the car. Vernon groused at Petunia for taking so long. Harry and Besel sat in the back, with the three boys, but it wasn't crammed as Harry expected it to be, and Besel's chair seemed to blend in with the rest of the car upholstery from what Harry could tell. He felt the faux leather seats, marveling at their texture and breathed in the new-car smell that always made him feel a little ill. He hadn't noticed all the tactile details in the memories that Tom Riddle had shared with him in the diary—probably because he was so focused on the events he was witnessing, but now he was more aware of his other senses, having depended on them so entirely for several weeks.

Harry realized that he was focusing on the tactile details because he was completely overwhelmed by all the visual information he was getting. Even though this was a memory and all this information was stored in his brain already—the amount of detail was dizzying. No wonder he hadn't paid much attention to the texture of his trousers or his cousin's clammy odor before—he had been bombarded by images. Outside the car, the landscape zipped by and he was hungrily trying to see everything. He was panting at the exertion.

"Harry, take a deep breath," Besel counseled. "Draw in through your nose, hold for a count of two, let it out through your mouth slowly."

Harry tried, but let out his breath in a ragged rush.

"Again, and close your eyes," she said.

"But I don't want to miss anything!" Harry protested.

"It's all here in your memory, Harry, you're not going to miss anything," Besel said.

He closed his eyes and sat back against the seat and breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth until his heart stopped pounding.

He opened his eyes and watched Piers and Dudley who had tired of their banter and started pestering memory Harry. Little Harry had pressed himself as close to the car door as possible to avoid contact with the two other boys anyway and now he made himself smaller and stared out the window.

Vernon was in the front seat bleating to Petunia in his usual litany of complaints, of which Harry figured prominently. It was different hearing the tirade of gripes with Besel next to him. He heard it differently, as if he weren't Harry… as if he hadn't heard this nearly his entire life. He felt shame creep up his neck and he started fidgeting. This was a happy memory—he'd gotten to go to the zoo, he'd been given more ice cream that day than he had in his living memory before that moment, he had the best kind of revenge (if fleeting) on his cousin, and learned he could talk to snakes.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Besel asked.

"Maybe this wasn't such a great memory to choose after all. Can we leave?"

"Sure, it's your call. To leave a memory before it has come to the end, you have to have to intentionality to leave it, more than when it naturally comes to the end. Of course, we can leave it when you're ready," Besel said. "Just focus on returning to my office."

"Can we fast forward away from this part and hop to when we're at the zoo? I don't know why I started it here, anyway," Harry said, hoping that their conversation was obscuring Vernon's particularly vehement whinging about the motorcycle in front of them, but then the conversation turned when Little Harry said, "I had a dream about a motorcycle—it was flying." Harry forgot all about fast forwarding and could only watch in horror as Uncle Vernon turned around and blasted Harry with his onion breath so hard that big Harry could feel the spittal landing on his face.

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" he screamed as the swerving car punctuated his anger.

Harry felt Besel flinched next to him, but Dudley and Piers snickered.

"I know they don't fly. It was only a dream," said little Harry and if it were possible, seemed to shrink even smaller.

Big Harry hugged the smaller version of himself, settling his arm around his shoulders, shielding him from the animosity in the car. He could feel his thin arms and bony shoulders under his T-shirt and the shaky breaths his younger self was taking. He wanted to protect him.

When they got to the zoo and as the Dursleys were debating about leaving little Harry in the car, big Harry kept one arm around his shoulder and the other hand resting on the back of Besel's chair. He leaned over to Besel and said, "the memory gets better from here," hoping to reassure her.

But as they were getting ice cream at the entrance, instead of the delight at the lemon pop that he remembered, here was biting truth. The Dursleys had intended to walk away without getting him anything and would have, except that the kindly woman serving the ice cream had noticed him. It was so much more painful to witness the events unfold in front of him in brilliant, unapologetic detail. What hurt the most was the repugnance on Aunt Petunia's face—the way she looked at Little Harry as if he were something stuck to her shoe. He was just a little kid.

Why does she hate me so much?

Harry stood between himself and Aunt Petunia as if he could shield himself from her—he who was invisible and absolutely powerless to change these events. This little kid didn't deserve to be treated this way.

"Let's leave now. It's just going to get worse. They really yell at me when I let the Python out," Harry said. "I got shoved in my cupboard with no meals after that."

Harry and Besel were suddenly back in her office, the vibrant colors of the zoo, the robin's-egg-shell blue sky, the verdant greenery of the shrubs gone in half a second. Rain pelted the window and he breathed in the antiseptic air of the hospital wing of the Center.

"I'll share my memories with Healer Jordan and Professor McGonagall. This one and others," he stated grimly.