AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter is a little short compared to most of the others in this story, but next chapter will—again—be a series of vignettes revolving around some elements set up during this chapter. So… think of this chapter as an appetizer to give you a taste of the next one.

Chapter 5

A part of Harry had been vehemently hoping that the size of his party was being exaggerated but when he was startled awake on the morning of his birthday by the sounds of shouts and fireworks going off, Harry knew that Sirius had been correct.

After getting up and having a quick shower, Harry went up to the kitchen where Remus was making breakfast.

"I've been told to keep things light this morning," Remus explained as he set a plate of toast, eggs, and fruit salad in front of Harry. "—since there's a veritable feast being prepared for your party later this afternoon."

"I really didn't need all of this," Harry reiterated, gesturing to the noise and fuss going on outside.

Remus gave Harry a warm smile and nodded. "I know, Harry. But this isn't just to celebrate your birthday, remember. You've been through a lot in the past year and you've come out of it far better than we thought you would. I think everyone just wants to make this as cheerful an occasion as possible."

"I suppose I can't really argue with that," Harry agreed, looking at the wheelchair he sat in. Taking a sip of orange juice, he gave a start when he heard more fireworks going on behind him.

Remus saw that Harry seemed rattled by something but just as he was about to inquire about it, another firework went off and Harry's hand tensed around his glass of juice so much that the glass broke. "Harry!"

Harry looked down at his bleeding hand, trying to shake off the feeling of… whatever it was. "I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Remus grabbed up his wand and quickly removed the glass fragments before healing the cuts. "It's alright, Harry. Can you move your fingers?"

Harry moved his hand once all the cuts were closed up and he nodded. "I-I'm okay. I just—" But just as he spoke, there was a loud roar outside and Harry's eyes widened in fear as his heart started racing.

"Harry!" Remus exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to the teenager. "Harry, what's wrong? Talk to me!"

But Harry couldn't hear Remus's voice or feel the other man's hand on his shoulder.

He wasn't even aware of passing out and falling out of his wheelchair and onto the floor.

All Harry could think of was the First Task… and the dragon.

The First Task

For a brief moment, all Harry could hear was the crowds of people shouting his name triumphantly as he swooped upwards on his Firebolt broomstick, the golden egg tucked under his arm.

In those few seconds, he could just imagine the party in Gryffindor Tower as he held up his prize.

At that instant, Harry beamed with pride as he thought of his victory.

He didn't see the dragon's tail swinging towards him until it was too late.

The spikes caught him just below the stomach and Harry felt like something was shredding his insides. He suddenly found it hard to breathe and his legs became numb and limp.

Still impaled on the spikes, Harry tried calling for help as he was thrown backwards against the rocks, but all he could hear was the sounds of the dragon and people screaming.

When Harry's back collided with the sharp edges of the rocks, he briefly registered a complete explosion of pain in his upper body before all sensation below his shoulders went dead.

He was only dimly aware of falling to the ground as he slid off the dragon's spikes.

Now the people shouting his name sounded panicked and it was getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

"Harry! Harry, say something!"

Before Harry completely lost consciousness, he could have sworn he felt himself being levitated onto a stretcher.

Present Day

"Harry? Come on, now, little brother…"

"Sweetheart, it's Mum. Can you hear me?"

"Harry, it's okay. You're safe."

Harry gave a small moan as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking in confusion as he realized that he was not in the hospital as he'd expected, but rather in his bedroom at home. "What happened?" he groaned as he started to sit up, surprised when his back didn't hurt. Pulling up his shirt expecting to see bandages and blood from his healing wounds, he instead found a set of puncture scars and a surgical scar going from his abdomen to the middle of his chest. "What…?"

"Harry, you're okay," Hermione assured him, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her boyfriend's hand.

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes trying to pull himself back to the present. He was at home in his own bed. It was almost 10 months since the first task and the dr— Harry gave an unconscious shudder as he thought of the Hungarian Horntail. "I-I-I-I'm so s-sorry," he stammered, rubbing his face and neck with both hands. "I-I didn't meant to—to ruin everything."

"Harry, it's alright," Lily assured her son, sitting on the other side of the bed. As she put a hand on his shoulder, she could feel Harry still trembling slightly. "Oh, honey…" she murmured.

"I-I heard the fireworks and it just… then that roar…" Harry's breathing grew ragged as he began hyperventilating, his memories threatening to overrun him again.

"Fred and George already took them down and put them away," Hermione replied, quickly, squeezing Harry's hand. "You're safe, Harry. Trust me."

Harry slowly started to take a deep breath, nodding as he felt tears streaming down his face. Apologizing once again, Harry stammered, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Lily's expression was heartrending as she pulled Harry into a hug, holding him close as he wrapped his arms around her, crying. "Oh, sweetheart… you're alright. You're alright," she soothed, rocking her son gently like when he'd been little and had woken from a nightmare. "Shhh… It's okay."

x

While Nick, Lily, and Hermione took care of Harry, the rest of Harry's family and friends milled about the kitchen and living room. Party preparations were put on hold and Fred and George looked devastated that their attempt to cheer Harry up had sent him into a panic attack.

When Hermione came up from Harry's basement bedroom, everyone looked at her, worriedly.

"What happened?" Sirius wanted to know as James headed downstairs to check on his son.

Hermione sat down at the kitchen table, looking grave as she accepted a glass of water from Molly Weasley. "I think Harry had a PTSD attack. Post traumatic stress disorder," she explained when Ron looked puzzled. "The fireworks must have triggered memories of being stabbed by the dragon and he had an anxiety attack and passed out."

"But he's going to be alright, yeah?" Dominic wanted to know. "This was just some one-time thing?"

Hermione shook her head. "There's no way of knowing. PTSD can kick in without warning at any time."

"Hermione, you said it yourself," Ron cut in, recognizing his best friend's guilty expression. "This thing can come on with no warning. None of us knew this could happen."

Taking a pragmatic approach, Remus studied the teenage witch and inquired, "What should we do now?"

Hermione shrugged, sipping her water. "Harry is going to need psychological help to deal with the PTSD. With time and counseling, he should be okay. As for the party… maybe tone things down a bit?"

"We took all the fireworks back to our shop," Fred reported, ignoring the glare from his mother.

"And I modified our birthday gift, just in case," George added, thinking of the Indonesian Autumn Adder they'd gotten Harry. The snake had an almost dragon-like appearance and at first, the twins had thought it would be a good second animal companion, especially after Professor Riddle had shared the charms he'd used on Merope to allow her to speak.

But after Harry's anxiety attack, Fred decided that they should exchange the adder with a more harmless looking snake.

"Harry's resting," Lily reported a few moments later as she joined the others along with James. "He'll be back up around 4."

"That's perfect," Molly assured Lily with a warm smile. "Don't worry. We'll make sure everything is calm and relaxed for Harry."

Lily gave her friend a grateful smile and quickly asked what she could do to help.

x

"I feel so mortified right now," Harry confessed as he moved from his bed to his wheelchair.

"Harry, it's not your fault," Nick assured his little brother. "There's no way you could have known."

"I've thought about the d-dragon before today, but…" Harry looked away as he ran his hand through his messy black hair. "I could practically feel the flames from the thing's breath," he went on. "I could hear it roar… feel the spikes."

Sitting on Harry's bed, Nick studied his brother for a while before he said, "Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't had any PTSD symptoms before this. I remember when you were little, anything scary—movies, Halloween costumes, whatever—they gave you nightmares for weeks or months afterwards."

Feeling tears welling up in his eyes again, Harry wiped them away furiously as he sniffed loudly. "Everyone's going to be treating me like I've gone completely off my rocker."

"They're going to be treating you," Nick countered, calmly. "—like you've been through a traumatic event which has left a serious psychological impact. You're not crazy," he insisted. "People deal with this all the time. Mum, Dad, Dominic, Isabelle, Camille… The Weasleys… everyone is going to help you through this. You are not alone in this, alright?"

Harry sniffled again, trying not to start crying openly again. "Just stop. Please?"

"Stop what?" Nick inquired, not quite understanding.

"Stop being… you," Harry whispered. "You just… You don't get it and… and you don't know how this feels."

"Then talk to me," Nick replied, pulling Harry's wheelchair closer and waiting until Harry looked him in the eye. "Explain it to me, Harry. Because right now… All I know is my little brother is hurting and when I see him in pain, I want to make it stop. So help me, alright? Help me… by telling me how I can help you."

When Harry leaned forward, Nick pulled his brother into a tight embrace, listening as Harry sobbed into his shoulder.

x

The atmosphere as Harry's party kicked off was considerably more subdued than originally planned.

Although Harry mingled about, he said very little and as soon as he could, he went into the study, closing the door behind him. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he berated himself for acting so foolishly. It felt like there was a sign on his head announcing to the world that he was insane. Even after talking with his family and friends, he felt like they were trying to understand what he was going through even though they didn't really get it.

Hearing the door open, Harry wheeled about to see Professor Tom Riddle coming in, closing the door again behind him. "Professor Riddle," Harry said, a bit surprised. "Wh-What are you doing here?"

"Much the same as you, actually," Riddle confided, sitting down in the armchair in the corner so he was more face to face with his student. "I care very little for crowds these days. I haven't been sleeping lately. And every morning I wake up wondering if my dreams were in fact just dreams or if they're memories of things I've done while I was under the Imperious curse."

"Right now," Harry admitted. "Just thinking the word 'd-dragon' is…" Harry stopped to take a few moments to calm down. "It's just a word, but…"

"Dumbledore asked me if it was alright to hire a counselor for the upcoming year," Riddle said, giving a dry smile. "For the entire student body and staff—he says—but I have a feeling he's thinking about the two of us in particular."

"Because we're the two that are off our rockers?" Harry ventured.

Riddle shook his head insistently. "You're not crazy, Harry. You're as sane as I am."

Harry raised an eyebrow at his professor and countered, "No offense, sir, but you're not exactly inspiring confidence at the moment."

Smirking slightly, Riddle nodded once. "Fair point. What I meant, Harry, is that we each have our demons to contend with. And I believe that Dumbledore's suggestion of hiring a counselor is his way of helping us deal with them so we're not fighting them alone."

Unable to argue that notion, Harry leaned back in his wheelchair, thinking. "Fred and George gave me a grass snake with the same speaking charms as Merope," Harry mused, smiling at the garter snake peeking out of her master's coat pocket at the mention of her name. "I haven't named him yet, but I think I might keep him with me at Hogwarts. Teach him to recognize when I might have another anxiety attack, you know?"

"I think that's a splendid idea," Riddle replied, nodding. Standing up, he put a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll weather this storm, Harry. We will get through this. Now… I understand that there is a rather impressive chocolate cake to be devoured. Is that correct?"

Harry smiled as he turned around and headed for the door to the study. "As Remus always says, "Chocolate makes everything better."."

"I always did like that boy," Riddle said as he followed his student back to the party.

The morning of September 1st, Sirius took charge of getting Isabelle, Dominic, and Harry ready to go to King's Cross Station, much to James and Lily's surprise.

"I swear," Lily threatened as she stared down Sirius. "—if you put any sort of flying or levitation charms on Harry's wheelchair, you'll be the next one who can't walk. Am. I. Clear?"

"As clear as freshly washed glass," Sirius assured her while Nick helped take the trunks out to the van parked in the driveway. "Don't worry, Lily. Dumbledore has been working on putting teleportation charms on the staircases to help Harry get up and down."

Once everyone was in the van along with all their school items, Sirius got behind the wheel and drove off, leaving James and Lily alone.

"How are you doing?" James asked his wife as she went to sit down in the living room.

"Alright, I suppose," Lily muttered, putting her feet up. "Looking forward to the peace and quiet."

"Amen to that," James agreed, conjuring a tea tray for the two of them. "We've got enough to worry about this year."

Lily put a hand to her baby bump and nodded. "Speaking of which, I want to talk to you about what we're going to do when the girls are born."

Setting his tea aside, James gave Lily an inquisitive look. "Regarding our daughter's disability?" he presumed.

Lily nodded again. "I know we've got a long time before I give birth, but I want us to figure things out now, and not in the spur of the moment."

"Fair enough," James replied.

Thinking on what had been going through her mind the past few weeks, Lily said, "If our daughter's leg deformities are serious, I don't want to put her through countless surgeries. If it comes down to it, we should consider amputation."

James sat up, looking baffled by his wife's decision. "So instead of fixing her legs, just chop them off? That's a little drastic, don't you think?"

"Is it?" Lily countered. "She could be in and out of hospitals, having who knows how many operations, and spending her nearly whole life with one or both of her legs in casts and braces. Wouldn't it just be easier for her to learn how to walk with prosthetics from the start?"

"I don't know," James replied, objectively. "I think we should consider reparative surgery first and foremost. If it comes down to it," he went on. "—I will agree with removing the limbs but only if it seems to be in our daughter's best interest."

"Of course," Lily agreed. "Now… About Harry returning to the Gryffindor quidditch team…"

Once through the barrier onto Platform 9 ¾, Harry was caught off guard by the number of students greeting him and wishing him well in the upcoming year.

Making his way through the crowd and towards the ramp set up near the end of the passenger cars, Harry stopped when he saw Ron and Hermione ahead of him.

"You're looking well, mate," Ron observed. "You ready for this year?"

Harry nodded and wheeled up the ramp and onto the train which was somehow wider than he remembered.

Finding one of the compartments empty, Harry thought it a tight squeeze at first, but the second he entered, the room grew to nearly three times the original size.

Once everyone was settled, Isabelle closed the door and studied her brother. 'So, how does it feel to be going back?'

"Good," Harry replied, honestly. Glancing at his wheelchair, he shrugged. "Definitely different… but good."

"As Bill told me once when I was young," Ron mused, "'There's going to be a lot of changes in your life. But it's not the changes themselves that matter—it's how you react to them. That's what makes you who you are.'"

"Well, I'll be hoping for a quiet, uneventful year," Hermione stated, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek before taking his hand in hers. "There was far too much stress last year."

"According to Professor Riddle," Harry piped up. "—Professor Dumbledore is hiring a counselor this year for any students who want to talk about… whatever."

'I think that's a great idea,' Isabelle replied right away. 'I know Professor Riddle has always encouraged us to come to him with any problems, but he's just one man. And there are some problems he can't really help with, you know?'

"Like what?" Ron wanted to know, giving her a puzzled look.

Isabelle didn't respond for a moment, but finally, she signed, 'Like the fact that I actually hate signing sometimes.' After trying to think of the best way to sign what she meant, she eventually gave up and pulled out one of her notebooks, taking nearly five minutes writing out a more detailed response.

'Sign language truncates sentences and while that's fine with most casual conversation, when I'm trying to explain how I feel about something… just saying I'm scared or angry just isn't enough. I want to scream or whoop with joy. I want to cry out loud or laugh. I miss laughing! I miss making some sort of sound to really express how I feel!

'And none of you understand how left out I feel all the time. You lot are always talking about things and I start to feel invisible because I can't speak aloud. I know none of you mean to, but it's like I'm being pushed aside. In classes it's the same thing! I'm a great student but all the professors see are my homework and exam grades. When Professor McGonagall asks a question in class, I want to raise my hand but I don't because no one knows sign language. And I'm almost always done first in Potions, but Snape takes forever to check my progress.

I know that none of you really see my inability to speak as a handicap, but it is! It's awful and it makes me feel like a freak because I can't do something that everyone in school takes for granted!'

By the time Isabelle handed the notebook to her brothers, she was sobbing silently. While Hermione comforted her, Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder and read the words out loud.

"Isabelle…" Harry breathed, staring at his little sister. "Why didn't you ever tell us this? Not just me or Nick or Dominic… Mum and Dad or Sirius?" When his sister signed her response, Harry's eyes grew wide in dismayed shock. Looking at Ron and Hermione, he asked, "Could you give us a few minutes?"

Ron nodded, pulling Hermione out of the compartment with him, making some comment about checking in on Fred, George, and Ginny.

"Isabelle Savannah Potter, how could you ever feel like you're not important?" Dominic exclaimed. "You're the smartest person in the whole family! Maybe we don't talk about it all the time, but that doesn't make it any less true! During summer holiday, Mum and Dad go on and on about your grades and how proud they are of you!"

"And I know for a fact that Hermione—a sponge of knowledge if ever there was one—is jealous of how easily you do magic without being able to speak," Harry added. "Apparently, some full-grown wizards have problems with that."

"And you're right," Dominic agreed. "None of us understand what it's like to go our whole lives not being able to speak. But that doesn't make you a freak."

Isabelle sniffed, wiping tears away as she signed. 'I just want to be normal.'

Harry gave a dry laugh and when Isabelle gave him a look, he shrugged. "None of us are really normal. Even if you could speak, you're still a witch. That's not traditionally 'normal', is it?"

"And Dad's an animagus," Dominic threw in. "Not every witch or wizard can do that, right?"

"And speaking of things that other people take for granted," Harry added, gesturing to the wheelchair. "And before you say anything—I do understand that it's not the same. You've been aphasic all your life. I've only been paralyzed for 10 months."

'I get what you're trying to say,' Isabelle signed, giving her brothers a small smile. 'No pun intended.' After taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes again and hugged Harry and Dominic. Pulling away, she added, 'I love you.'

'We love you, too,' the Potter brothers signed in unison.

As the students got off the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade Station, Harry rolled his eyes when he heard Draco Malfoy shouting at him. "And here I was hoping you wouldn't be showing your face here this year, Potter," Malfoy sneered as he strutted over to Harry and his pack. "Isn't a little embarrassing to be taken out by a dragon?"

Hermione immediately looked at Harry who was tensing up but before she could interject, Harry's pet snake, Conrad, slithered out of the pocket of his robes and settled in the neckline space before whispering something in Harry's ear. Harry closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before snapping, "Out of my way, Malfoy."

"Not up to your usual standard, Potter!" Malfoy sneered and Ron and Hermione followed after their friend.

"Well, then what about this?" Dominic replied, stomping hard on Malfoy's foot before Isabelle got him in the face with a right hook, sending the Slytherin falling backwards into the waiting arms of the Weasley twins.

"Best be more careful there, Malfoy," Fred chided gently as he and his brother got Malfoy standing again.

"You keep saying things like that," George picked up, his tone light and friendly despite the look of warning in his eyes.

"—and you'll be needing a wheelchair yourself," Fred finished, giving the younger student a hearty slap on the back.

xxxxxxxxxx

Taking their seats at the Gryffindor table, Harry and company scanned the staff table to see who the new school counselor was and were surprised to see not one, but three new faces.

Once all the new students had been Sorted and seated, Dumbledore stood to give his welcoming speech. "I know you all are curious about our new staff additions, so I will get straight to the point," the headmaster began, gesturing to the trio sitting to the left side of the table. "Ms. Miranda Baxter, Mrs. Alexandra LaCroix, and Mr. Lachlan Duquesne will be joining the staff as student and faculty counselors. They will be here to help with any problems, either personal, academic, or in regards to career advice for our 6th and 7th year students. Their office locations have been posted in each House Common Room and there will also be a private mailbox outside of each office in case someone is not available at that time."

After a wave of brief murmured discussion rippled through the student body, Dumbledore carried on his speech with the usual notices before yielding the floor to Lachlan. "Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore, for the warm welcome and introduction. To all students, I would like you to know that over the course of the next month, you will be given workbooks with various questionnaires to fill out. Please fill them out honestly and leave them with your Heads of House when you are finished. These workbooks have been charmed so that the only ones who can read the responses are yourselves and I or one of my two colleagues. This is for privacy purposes so that anything written down will remain confidential. The purposes of these workbooks is to learn more about you all so that we can help you to the best of our abilities. Thank you."

As the feast began and everyone started eating, another wave of conversations started up regarding the workbooks.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable revealing a load of personal information."

"Do you think they're going to pass along our comments about our professors?"

"Is this some Ministry of Magic ploy to recruit us?"

"What if I don't have any problems? Do I still have to fill that stupid workbook out?"

"We're not getting graded on this, are we?"

"Well, that's certainly unexpected," Hermione observed as she passed a platter of roasted potatoes to Harry who gave her a nod of gratitude. "I wonder if they're screening for something in particular."

'Why do you say that?' Isabelle inquired as she snagged the extra roll off of Harry's plate.

"Suspicions of abuse?" Hermione mused aloud. "Maybe when Mad-Eye Moody was digging into Professor Riddle's past they saw what some of the students have been living with and this is the best way for those who need help to get it."

"Maybe," Harry muttered, thinking of when he'd have to confess about his anxiety attacks and what had happened during the First Task. Glancing at his sister who was laughing at some joke of Ron's, Harry wondered if she'd tell one of the new counselors about how she felt about her aphasia. Isabelle had always had a way with the written word after all…

x

The aforementioned workbooks were passed out as the students filed out of the Great Hall after the feast and Harry noted with interest that each of the professors was given a workbook as well.

Professor Sprout took hers with mild interest while Professor McGonagall looked at the book with skepticism. Snape glared silently at Lachlan who seemed almost amused and Professor Trelawney looked as though she feared the book would bite her.

Once Harry got up to Gryffindor Tower and changed into his pajamas, he was surprised to find an envelope in his trunk from his father addressed to Fred and George Weasley. Making a mental note to pass it along at breakfast the next morning, Harry turned down his bed and lifted himself up, setting settled before grabbing his own workbook and skimming through it.

There were twenty-four questionnaires in total, divided into six separate categories: Personal, Academic, Family, Physicality, Likes, and Dislikes.

Not sure of where to start—or even if he had to go in order—Harry set the book and his glasses aside and decided to begin tackling the book the following morning.

A/N: If anyone is willing to share information—personal or otherwise—on anxiety attacks, PTSD, or aphasia(loss of voice), please feel free to drop me a message. Google can only tell me so much and I promise to leave names out of the story. Thank you.