Tentative fortifications

  As the day moved on, Harry felt physically better. The monotonous drone of History of Magic gave him a rare respite from thinking. At dinner, being surrounded by his friends and hearing their idle chatter about the earlier lessons was comforting. Daphne and Hermione offered to let him copy their notes on what he’d missed from transfiguration. Luckily, it was just additional guidance on casting Den Saro and tightening wand movements. Dinner was winding down as students began leaving for their dormitories. As they exited the great hall hall, Snape put his hand in front of Harry. “A moment of your time Mr. Potter. The rest of you are dismissed.” They knew better than to protest Snape, so they quickly said goodbye and headed off. “The headmaster has requested your presence in his office this evening. Follow me.” They walked in silence, only the sounds of their shoes pattering against the stone floor echoed. “Licorice Wand” Snape said placidly, stepping forward as the staircase coiled upwards. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had learned anything from the examination earlier. He hadn’t noticed they’d reached the top until snape firmly pushed him forward into the office, stepping inside behind him. “Welcome Harry, a good fine evening for us to have a chat. Professor Snape will be joining us in this discussion as to the matter from earlier. I fear I have no clear indication on what we observed this morning, but I have thought deeply about your circumstances. You, my boy, have suffered not only physically, but mentally as well; and as such, I believe we are seeing manifestations of those injuries today.” Snape stepped forward, producing a small flask of bright blue, almost crystalline, liquid.

  “You are to drink three ounces of this concoction every morning until instructed further, Mr. Potter.” Snape’s tone stayed flat and disinterested. “Professor Snape here has been so kind as to supply you with a holy potion tonic. It is only an educated guess, but I believe your mind, after being introduced into a world so vastly different from your previous reality, is unable to consolidate the differences between your upbringing and your new environment. It is my hope that this potion will allow your mind to heal and adjust.” Harry listened intently. In his heart he knew there was more to his situation than they could possibly understand, even beyond what Dumbledore had discovered in the medical ward. A familiar anxiety rose in his chest; his breathing quickened. A black robe swept between the desk and him as Snape stepped forward. A sickly-sweet liquid was poured into his mouth. “Swallow it quickly Mr. Potter.” Harry choked it down as best as he could. His throat and stomach felt as if they were being frozen suddenly. The chill extinguished the smolder in his chest and crept further into his body. As the potion entered his mind, he could feel the fragments inside him being pressed together.

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  A Space In-between

  “...tter...M...ter!” Harry could hear someone calling him, but his mind felt stunned. For a split second he locked eyes with the professor before his mind gave out. He found himself on a grassy knoll beneath what appeared to be a much smaller Whomping Willow. A hollow wind blew through, shaking the branches but not reaching him. There, lying against the trunk, sat the other him. He didn’t look fully solid, but he wasn’t a ghost either; more like thickened air. Harry could see him trying to speak; his lips moving but no sound coming out. The older version stood and walked towards him, still trying to reach him with silent words. “I can’t hear you!” Harry mouthed, noticing no sound came out. The older him embraced him tightly, glimpses of unfamiliar faces flitted through his mind. A young redheaded woman, a gaunt, dark-haired man with a wide smile, a large home that looked as though it were held by magic, dark locations he couldn't decern. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of despair, loss, love, happiness - a lifetime’s worth of emotion.

  The images and emotions continued to pour into him. Amid it all, his mind clung to small memories: relief learning he was a wizard, his friends, the fear he felt in DADA, the imposing figure of Threnody. His older self suddenly pushed him away, staring at him with sudden uncertainty. Regaining his resolve, he clasped Harry’s arm again. This time Harry saw Diagon Alley for the first time, the friendship with Hagrid, the moment he received his wand and Hedwig. His older self’s eyes filled with tears, while all he could do was stare at him. “All wrong!” Was all Harry heard before he gasped awake in his dormitory bed. The sun was barely crawling over the mountains, its light not yet touching the loch. He got out of bed and changed, thinking over what he’d seen. It looked exactly like the same Diagon Alley he’d gone to with Miss Figg, but he seemed so much happier, even got a bloody owl. “Don’t know what he’s playing at, foul git” He descended the tower and walked out to the field overlooking the Dark Forest, sitting against the edge of a large stone planter. “Had it so good he thought he’d get to do it again. What an absolute knob!” He took out his wand and a nearby stone. Breathing in deeply, he lobbed the rock high and in front of him. In a quick motion he wordlessly cast Den Saro, compressing the rock into a pebble midflight and landing with an unnatural “thud.”