He Who Lived
II
"In this world, it is not just one or two changes. It is many, with their snowballing effects, that have led to this present so distanced from the present you know…"
She accepted that her children would never recover, but she wasn't the brightest witch in her year for naught. So, Lily Potter knew not to bring up this fact to her husband again, lest she risk his wrath once more.
This thought was one she thought on the daily, whether at the cottage, at the castle, in her lab or even here at St Mungos. Fresh from the Curse Treatment ward with its pitiably quiet patients, beige walls and those narrow rickety beds. One of which had her son, her eldest child, with those green eyes just like hers and the scruffy head and handsome features of her husband.
Her baby boy. Just sitting there, staring at a wall unmoving. He barely blinked, he barely breathed, he just sat and stared. Weeks prone and her baby just wasting away.
Thank Merlin her little girl was faring 'better'. No spell having even grazed one of her little orange hairs, courtesy of her overprotective big brother.
But she did not escape undamaged.
It was like snakes in her stomach. Writhing and coiling in her stomach as they whispered wicked words, telling her how bad of a mother she was, how she'd abandoned her traumatised baby girl, focussed more on arguing with James and the Auror's to save her son and not spared a thought to her still terrified baby girl.
She'd never really been that attentive, so focussed on her research and study; and James's career had him out of the house more and more. The two of them had really just left Opal to be doted on by a grandfather (who also couldn't be about all the time for the kids) and a big brother who really shouldn't have been, effectively, raising a child at his age and on his own. And now her big brother was just… gone. No one could blame the darling for shutting down like she had.
It was all another vile stone of guilt that settled uncomfortably in her stomach.
Yes, she knew her babies, as she knew them at the very least, were gone. She knew that her husband was not ready to accept that fact in the slightest. He'd thrown himself into hunting for Harry, tracking the Lestrange's… so sitting here in the Healer's office having to fight back a feeling of 'I told you so' smugness…
What kind of person did that even make her?
"You said you had an 'update' on Harry's condition, you didn't say it had deteriorated!" Auror Captain James Potter roared from his seat in the sparse, dull hospital office. The head Healer, a gangly middle-aged man in white and red trimmed robes with waxy skin and gentle features, wincing on the other side of the table, "I don't know if this was some sick joke, keeping us in suspense or trying to give us false hope, but I swear-"
"James!" Lily snapped, and Head Healer Abernathy chose then to cut in with his own words,
"Mr and Mrs Potter, please, your son's condition has not deteriorated. I apologise if I did not explain myself clear enough."
"Perhaps you can collect yourself and try to explain it to my husband and I again, Healer Abernathy." Lily's tone was gentle and appeasing, keeping the peace in an attempt to ensure her husband didn't blow his top and the Healer didn't kick them out, "Please."
The tension in Abernathy's shoulders released a little and her husband settled back into his chair (pushed back down by a soft hand on his chest and shoulder) and an air of awkward tension settled over the trio like a scratchy blanket,
"As I previously stated." James bristled, and Lily's hand settled a little firmer on the man, she didn't appreciate it either but she would allow it in the face of getting information, "Your son's condition has not deteriorated, simply changed."
"As I'm sure you are both aware… 'exposure' to the Cruciatus Curse is rather difficult to treat. The physical toll it takes on the human nervous system is not easily countered, and, in many cases, the mental strain and injury is something only the individual can recover from themselves, meaning there is truly nothing we can do for those… 'tortured into insanity.'"
A scowl twisted the lips of both husband and wife, James doing only a marginally better job of fighting back physically showing the grief.
"The only effective 'treatment' per say, is time. The patient either recovers on their own time or
"You say that Harry's condition has changed but hasn't deteriorated, has he shown some signs of recovery?"
"We do not know if we can count them as recovery." He looked to the seething man across the desk who looked a hair breadth away from drawing a wand and blowing his face right off. So, done with beating around the bush and trying to come up with words, he decided to be blunt, "Your son has developed very broad Occulmency defences."
"How is that- when?!" The Head Healer picked up on Lily's disbelief and continued with a voice that oozed his immense fascination with the topic,
"Overnight apparently, the orderly monitoring his status noticed them when she took over this morning and I was immediately informed. The strength and sophistication of them is far beyond anything we would expect from a child his age, however the scenario is not entirely unprecedented."
The parents blanched, far from agreeing on the subject of unprecedented.
The amount of Occulmency masters in the country could be counted on fingers, and even the old families who practiced Occlumency and instilled it upon their children could not claim to 'broad defences'. Legilimency was an art that was illegal to commit without permission for a start, and there were so few people who could even do so to begin with, it was a skill you were either were or were not born with.
Common consensus was that if you could detect an attempted intrusion and fight it off then your defences were 'good enough'.
"This is, fairly common in cases of child abuse and neglect that we come across." A little gentler and placating, the Head Healer grimly laid out the facts, "In an attempt to compartmentalise, the child's magic and brain moves to fence off any negative stimuli and memories in order to allow them to function again. It is an instinctive practice which is not something to celebrate. Hence my rather, poor choice in words."
"So… from what I can gather is… he may recover enough to be coherent and functioning again." James began slowly, clearly still thinking as his wife finished the thought,
"But he will have developed a different psychological issue?"
"I'm afraid that is the best case scenario, as we currently see it." A grim but sympathetic response that left the couple unsure of how to feel or what to even think.
The next ten to fifteen minutes were spent discussing their options and anything that could possibly be done to help. If they were honest with themselves, the talks weren't making them feel any better, nor were they getting anywhere.
BEEP!
The conversation stalled.
BEEP! Again, from off to the side of the room. A small thimble-like device the size of a teacup, softly whistling like a train and letting off steam.
"Do excuse me."
His wand weaved a few circles in the air and the couple felt the familiar set up of a few small privacy/silencing wards before he tapped the magical object two times with his wand and began a muted conversation.
They turned to one another to chat quietly, the two offering whatever small comfort they could to one another until their attention was brought to the animatedly speaking- no, shouting Head Healer. Railing into whoever was on the other side of the line as an increasingly more curious pair of Potter's wondered what on earth was going on.
A slash of the wand and his wards fell, a few sharp taps of the thimble and it fell silent. An awkward, almost harsh, atmosphere settling over the room as the Potter's resisted the urge to ask what was going on and the muted Healer seemed to just be processing whatever he had just been told. He shook his head, blinking in bafflement and rubbing his stubbly chin between his forefinger and thumb. He cleared his throat a couple of times and looked like he was searching for words.
His eyes turned to them, blinking in clear confusion at whatever he was thinking before he uttered the words,
"It would appear that your son is awake…"
.
.
Their footsteps echoed through them as they sprinted through the corridors and they ignored shouts, crys and yelps as they weaved in and around patients, healers and other people in their rush to the ward two floors below.
They took the stairs two at a time and cleaved through the halls, flashing James's badge whenever the a minor roadblock occurred and their angry, impatient demeanour was intimidating enough to get people the hell out of the way.
Then they were there, the private rooms. A lovely little perk for the families of Wizagmot families who attended St Mungos for… privacy. A long, brightly lit and hyper-clean stretch of corridor with dark pine doors on each wall.
Room 211's door was wide open, a Healer they recognised (blonde hair still in its tight bun as she observed the room with curious, disbelieving brown eyes) standing just outside staring in.
They brushed by her to take her position, framed in the doorway by the light outside and their breathing hitched in their throats as they found their eight year old not just conscious and aware, but upright.
He stood in his thin white robe, barefoot and pale by the large, sunny window on the rooms left side. The boy seemingly marvelling at his body, looking at his hands and arms in disbelief as his little body shuddered shook in, presumably, cold from the chill in the room.
He cocked his head to the side, eyes never leaving the cityscape view behind the glass, before he blinked a little owlishly and made to rub his eyes and yawn. Stood in his small white hospital gown, stretching his arms above his head, mouth agape and yawning, Harry simply looked like he'd awoken from a deep slumber rather than a pseudo-coma. He ruffled a hand through his unruly hair and… rolled up his nostril and yanked his hand away in disgust,
"I need a shower." A croaky mutter as he wiped said hand on the front of his gown and shuddered. Not yet seeing the stretched and gaping faces of his mother and father who equally looked upon the boy with eyes that refused to believe and expressions that wouldn't dare to hope…
"H-Harry?!" a gasp, neither of them sure if the other spoke, way too focussed on their child who, just an hour prior, had been laid in bed staring forward regardless of what you did. The boy was catatonic and unmoving.
He couldn't possibly be up, talking OR moving.
And as they called out to him, his head snapped to around in alarm. The boy taking a few steps back towards the manila wall of his room, looking upon them as if he'd never seen his two parents before in his life…
.
.
Quick update, hope you like it.