I don't know why this chapter is up so quickly, but here it is. Just a heads up, there's a couple of chapters left in year 1 and I am going to take a break around chapter 30 or so. I'll be diving into brand-new content that will take a little bit to plan and I want to update another story of mine, in the meantime.

Chapter 26: Drowning in Self-Hatred

Saeviour laid in the hospital bed, on his back, counting the white tiles on the ceiling for what it seemed to be the millionth time. He huffed in annoyance, and turned his head to the side, looking at the various cards and candies that kept getting delivered to him daily. He had hoped that St. Mungo's had been scanning the contents of the letters, and packages, not just simply giving it to him. The last thing he really wanted was to get cursed and have the healers fix him up more.

He didn't mind the healers' attention. He didn't mind that he was in a private room, that no one but the select few knows where he was. It was the fact that he was practically in isolation for long periods of time.

It was great that his dad visited whenever he could. Though, that was mainly in the evenings and only for a short time period, which typically was an hour or two. It was never for long, and he would always leave, leaving him stuck in the stupid bed in this private room, alone in his thoughts and memories. It left him dealing with an invisible demon that seemed to lurk over his shoulder, whispering that this was his fault, he was not a good enough savior and how he was always going to be destined to be alone.

The fact that he knew his friends were busy, busy with their school work and their classes, but he couldn't help but feel like they abandoned him. Like all he was ever good for was the fact that he was simply the savior of the wizarding world.

And, when the savior of the wizarding world got hurt from a stupid stunt, there was no one here for him. It was like they all just see him as the hero, the boy-who-lived, but didn't really care that he iwas injured.

It was times like this where he simply wished that he was someone else.

Someone normal.

Of course he was asking a lot. There was nothing normal in his family. His mother died under suspicious circumstances, his ex-brother always was jealous of him and his fame, while his father was a little more distant, but still dramatic and spoiled him all the same.

Saeviour sighed. There was no use in feeling sorry for himself at this rate, when it could spiral into something possibly worse than he was already feeling. He needed something to distract himself. Something to distract from this pain and anguish he was feeling.

"Mr. Potter, are you ready to take your potions?" One of the healers asked, opening the door to the private room with one hand, while in the other hand was a bunch of potions.

"Do I have too?" Saeviour whined, making a face at the mention of potions.

"Come on, you know the drill Mr. Potter. The more you drink these potions and the sooner, you go back to Hogwarts," The healer pressed on,

"More like the sooner I comply in drinking these foul tasting potions, you'd stop worry about the boy-who-lived," Saeviour muttered underneath his breath.

"Why do you always have to be stubborn, Mr. Potter?" the healer wondered.

Saeviour rolled his eyes, and simply bit his tongue in response.

"Are you going to make my life difficult?" the healer huffed in annoyance, "You're going to make me force you to drink it, aren't you?"

The healer held up a vial of a dark-colored potion right up to Saeviour's lips. Saeviour looked at the neutral-colored potion vial and parted his lips. The cool liquid slid down his throat as he drank all of the contents from the vial. He nearly gagged as the after flavor on his tongue became apparent, and found himself making a disgusted look on his face.

"One down… Four more to go," the healer announced.

Saeviour rolled his eyes, and drank the rest of the vials, without any complaints. He watched the smile grow on the healer's face as he didn't put up too much of a fight on drinking the potions. He glared at the the healer.

"Come now, Mr. Potter… It's not so bad."

Merlin, he had no idea who was worse: Madam Pomfrey or the healers over at St. Mungo's. They were both pretty insistent on bed-rest, and making sure they would heal. It sometimes scared him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get far without them finding out.

Hopefully he wouldn't be in this place for so long.

…

Over the course of the week, Saeviour was relieved when he started regaining some feeling in his legs. It started out small like simply being able to move a toe and then a couple of toes. Eventually, he was able to start moving his ankles and his legs. He wasn't going to be some freak who couldn't use legs. He wasn't going to be some failure of the wizarding world, anymore. He was going to succeed even if it meant that he had to push himself harder.

The healers started pushing him harder- helping him to get off the bed, and walk around the room with small steps. He clung to the arms of the healers, his nails scraping through their skin as he gripped them, as he tried to get his feet to move, to comply with him.

He let go of their arms, his legs started shaking and Saeviour collapsed to the ground as his legs gave away underneath him. He sighed in frustration, gripping his hands together into tiny fists as he stared at them, wishing that for once- his body would listen to him. He hated this feeling. The feeling that even after all of this, he was never going to be great. He was simply going to be a person who was seen as weak in the wizarding world.

The healers held out their hands for him to grip, helping him to stand up from the hardwood floor. He took their hands, and gripped himself upwards. He felt the stiffness in his body, especially in the lower back and in his thighs, but he ignored it.

"Maybe you shouldn't be pushing yourself like this," one of the healers coaxed. "We can do this tomorrow."

"No… I need to do this," Saeviour said breathlessly.

He pushed his legs up from underneath him, his legs shaking from the immense pressure put onto them. Eventually, he managed to stabilize his legs for a moment, until he nearly felt them give them away. He clutched onto the healer's arms, tightly.

"Let's get you back to your bed, Mr Potter," the healers said, guiding Saeviour back to his bed. "You're going to over exhaust yourself and we don't want you to go back to square one… You've made some really good progress."

…

Another week passed. Saeviour spent most of his time trying to get his legs to cooperate with him. He was able to stand and walk, without any assistance. Granted, his legs would become weak and sometimes threaten to give away after long periods of time. He had to frequently take breaks as his grew exhausted from the effort of trying to stand and walk for long periods of time.

"I told you it was only temporary paralysis," his dad pointed out. "No… You didn't believe me. Do you believe me now?"

"A little," Saeviour pointed out. "It's still hard to walk."

"There's still a little bit of nerve damage," his dad commented. "With time, it would heal the wounds."

"Cliche," Saeviour muttered. He sat back down on the bed, and asked his dad, "Do you think I'd be able to get discharged soon. I am so tired of this place."

"I'll be back," HIs dad said.

He got up from the chair and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Saeviour stared at his dad's retreating form and the way the door closed behind. He tucked his head into his knees, awaiting for his dad to come back.

After a couple of minutes, his dad came back into his room. He had the biggest grin on his face. He was also holding a crumpled up parchment in his hand.

"I talked to the healers!" HIs dad announced.

"And?"

Saeviour's heart fluttered in his chest as he took in his dad's happy expression.

"You're able to go back to Hogwarts," HIs dad told him… "But…"

"But what."

"You'll have to attend a couple of check ups with Poppy and continually take the potions."

Saeviour groaned.

…

The winter wind whipped at them. Saeviour's face quickly turned a light shade of pink from the cold, even though he was standing out for only a couple of minutes. He clutched his dad's sleeve as they walked through the trudges of snow, and up the slippery hill towards the castle. Saeviour had to take a couple of breaks as his feet were starting to buckle underneath him, but he held on tightly- not wanting to fall into the snow.

They made up to the caste and Saeviour was about to let go of his dad's arm. He was going to head towards the grand staircase, eager to climb all those stairs and to the Gryffindor Common Room. He wanted to see his friends, his housemates and see what he'd miss (not school work-wise).

Before he'd have a chance to walk off, his father grabbed him by his black sleeve, and wrist. He had a serious expression on his face, with his eyebrows knit together.

Saeviour looked at him in shock.

"What did I do?' Saeviour demanded harshly. "Seriously… I'm not going to get myself hurt again, at least like that. You can let me go."

"I know, son… As much as I would love to let go of you, but Dumbledore wants to talk to you," His dad told him. "You don't think I don't want him to get his hands on you again, and purposely let you get hurt."

"Dad, Dumbledore's not going to hurt me… You're just being paranoid."

"I know… I'm just still a little angry that Dumbledore let this happen to you, and he didn't try to put a stop to it."

"I know."

Saeviour and his dad headed up towards the headmaster's office. Their footsteps echoed in the corridors, passing by the scattered students as they whispered towards their friends and pointed at him. Saeviour blushed a little bit, his face turning a shade of light pink as he ducked his head down, following behind his dad.

His legs were becoming insistent on buckling from underneath him, but Saeviour ignored the burning feeling as he simply clutched his father's hand tighter in response, afraid that his legs would soon give up on him.

"I still don't see why we can't just postpone this meeting with Dumbledore," Saeviour said.

"Neither do I, but Dumbledore was pretty insistent about it."

Saevoiur grumbled but continued walking for what it seemed to be like a minute. They stopped at a gargoyle and his dad said the password. The gargoyle moved out of the way, revealing circular staircases that headed up the door.

Saeviour and James walked up the stairs, with Saeviour following behind him. He held tightly to the stone walls, afraid that any moment, his legs would give up and he would be back to square one. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds before he continued up to the small flight of circular stairs.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you," his dad whispered to him.

Saeviour let out a small smile in response.

HIs dad knocked on the wooden door. He tapped the door three times and headed inside as soon as Dumbledore's voice rang through,

"Come in."

Saeviour looked around the room in awe. He had never been inside Professor Dumbledore's office. The walls were covered in red wallpaper, the walls covered with portraits of headmasters and headmistresses. There were various bookshelves filled with books and trinkets that Saeviour was a little curious about. He spotted the sorting hat on top of a shelf. Saeviour's brown eyes caught on a bird with vibrant red and orange feathers. His head tucked into its wing, its small, skinny legs perched on a bird stand.

"Saeviour, my boy!" Albus Dumbledore greeted from his desk. His pearly white beard and hair shone brightly, along with his baby blue eyes that were twinkling. He had a warm smile on his face as he stared at them both. "How are you? How are you feeling? You gave me such a fright. Sit down, my dear boy."

"Professor Potter, you can leave if you want. I just want to have a quick chat with young Saeviour here," he said kindly, looking up to look directly at James. "I promise you, he is safe in my care. You don't need to worry about it."

"Headmaster Dumbledore, with all due respect. He is my son, and I have every right to be here with him," James pointed out.

"You're quite right, my dear boy," Dumbledore let out a small laugh. "I was merely wondering in case Saeviour wanted to talk to me in private or if it's okay, if you're in here." He looked at Saeviour, who was busy fiddling with his black sleeves.

"Hmm?" Saeviour looked up, aware of two pairs of eyes that were on him. He shrugged, "I don't really care. Besides, dad. I can handle myself, just fine."

"Fine."

James left the office, his footsteps echoed on the wooden door as he slammed the door behind him. Saeviour looked up towards the headmaster.

"I was hoping you can tell me what happened that night, if you can remember anything?" Dumbledore started. "I know, it's been so long…. But try to remember."

Saeviour thought long and hard about that night. He remembered bits and pieces of that night, but there was nothing new to his memory. It was like there was nothing there, nothing that could pinpoint exactly what happened.

"I don't remember anything," Saeviour admitted.

Dumbledore's smile faltered a little bit, but he quickly recovered and pressed on,

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

Saeviour shook his head no.

"That's alright… Do you know anything about the philosopher's stone?"

"The philosopher's stone?" Saeviour wondered and saw that Dumbledore nodded. "I know Ron, Hermione and I were investigating. How there is a three-headed dog on the forbidden floor and the elixir of life… But what does that have to deal with anything, professor?"

"As you may know, the philosopher's stone gives you the elixir of life, which gives you immortality along with other things… Can you think of anyone who may want that?"

Realization dawned on Saeviour as his lips parted into a small 'o'.

"Voldemort."

"That's correct, my dear boy…"

"Sir, why do I feel like you're hiding something from me? Did the stone get stolen or something?"

"I'm afraid so. That's why I'm trying to figure out what may have happened. Is there anything you may want to tell me about?"

Saeviour sat silent for a few minutes. He thought about last term with how his scar was always hurting in Defense Against the Dark Arts when Professor Quirrell was around. Now, his scar hasn't even hurt once. It was just a weird coincidence, but it wasn't worth telling Dumbledore about it. That wasn't worth anything to fuss about.

However, the more he thought about it. It was strange how Peverell-Slytherin, that slimy snake, had apologized to him like that. The slimy snake had made it clear that he had always been jealous of him and his fame. Even now, as he strutted around Hogwarts like he owned the place, acting like he was better than everyone else. He was just as bad as his housemates who were all future death eaters.

"There is one person," Saeviour started.

"Whom?"

"It's Peverell-Slytherin, sir. He always had it out for me. Just like a day or two before that night. He came up to me and apologized to me. He always hated me, and he just did that," Saeviour pointed out. "SIr… Do you think he may have been the one that stole the stone?"

"It's plausible. Unfortunately, if he did. He was smart about it and didn't leave any evidence behind to suggest that he did it," Dumbledore explained to him. "I already questioned him and Mr. Malfoy and there was nothing too suspicious about it."

Saeviour bit his lip, and looked down towards his lap. A lump seemed to form in his stomach as he quickly thought of the what-ifs and everything else that may happen in the near future.

"Professor, if he is working with the Dark Lord and indeed, stole the stone. Would it be possible that Voldemort would get his body back and I'll have to vanquish him once and for all?"

"I'm afraid so, my boy," Dumbledore told him in a sad tone. "I'll be right behind you as you are the only one that can defeat the Dark Lord."

"I know, sir." Saeviour sighed in disappointment.

He was hoping that the stone hadn't been stolen. Now, he had to worry about the fact that if Voldemort got his hands on the stone, and regained his powers, he'd certainly try to kill Saeviour once and for all. He might even regain his body in a couple of months, all while Saeviour was only eleven years, and almost finished his first year at Hogwarts. Maybe he was worrying too much.

That was it. He was simply overreacting with the unknown. He was safe at Hogwarts. He knew this was his jb. He was the chosen one after all.

"Sir, about the stone… I can't remember if I tried preventing it, but… I am sorry…" Saeviour started, wiping away some of the tears that seemed to slip away from his warm brown eyes. "I'm sorry for not stopping it from happening."

"It's alright my dear boy," Dumbledore told him, "The important thing is that you are alive."

If everything goes right, I will have about 3 more chapters after this one and I will take a hiatus. The hiatus should only be a little over a month, as I will be updating another fanfic of mine, worth five chapters.