Harry is younger here. Harry is stimming as a kid and a teenager and not realizing it. TW for implied child abuse, young Harry having trauma responses, and Snape being a jerk.
Harry POV || 1990
The classroom is hot and stuffy. The walls are ugly and this chair is too hard. I rock back and forth in my chair, clutching my hair. I'm in detention, naturally. I can never behave, it seems. All I did was cover my ears in class because it was so loud.
"Mr. Potter, stop your fidgeting at once!"
The teacher snaps. I go still, hands still in my hair, staring at the floor. "S-sorry, Miss."
Next to me, one of the older kids sighs. He's a goth kid. He looks so cool. "Miss, he's not harmin' anyone. He's just... rocking."
I nod at him. I'm too nervous to talk. I get in trouble when I talk.
The teacher sighs, just as the intercom goes off. "Mrs. Henley, please come to the staff room."
She leaves without a word. The goth kid whispers, "Hey, buddy. You can do your thing now."
Phew! I go back to rocking, my hands playing with my collar. I hate my clothes. They're too big and stinky. This one shirt is the only thing that doesn't make me itchy and overwhelmed. Goth Kid looks so badass, I wish I had his clothes. I learned 'badass' from desk graffiti.
I timidly hide my face. "You...you look badass."
Oh no! Oh no! He's going to get mad! I cower and shrink away from him, but Goth Kid laughs. I sadly pout. I'm used to being laughed at. "I'm sorry!"
"No, no, no, kid! You're alright. Thanks for the compliment. Aren't you a little young to know that word?"
I look up in confusion, still rocking. Not mad? "I read graffiti..."
He chuckles, the smile fading. "What's your name, buddy?"
I obediently tell him, "Harry. Harry Potter."
He sticks out a hand, and I stare in confusion before remembering. I have to shake his hand. I don't like doing that. People's hands feel weird. I don't like sweaty hands!
Reluctantly, I shake his hand, quickly pulling away. His hands aren't sweaty.
He doesn't seem to mind. He grins. "I'm Derrick Abernathy. Nice to meet you, little man."
I nod. I never know what to do when people introduce themselves. Usually aunt Petunia or a teacher is right there. But they're not here. I don't know what to do. "Uh... hi, Derrick Abernathy."
He chuckles again. "You can just call me Derrick."
I nod once more. "Hi, Derrick."
~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1991
Harry POV
The Great Hall is too loud. I'm covering my ears and rocking back and forth. I want to cry and run away and curl up in my bed! But I can't do that because they'll get mad!
"Oi...quiet down, you lot. Quiet! You're stressing out the first years."
Percy, Ron's big brother, tells off the older kids. It quiets down, finally. Hermione and Ron are looking at me. Oh no! "I...I... I'm sorry."
Across from me, Seamus is looking at me too. "Why are you saying sorry? You looked...upset."
Percy smiles a little. "He's just overwhelmed. Still getting used to the noise. Harry, you should eat. You don't want a stomachache."
Oh yeah. I look at the food around me, still rocking. I find one of the napkins and play with it. It's so nice. Very soft.
Finally, I decide on mashed potatoes and beef tips in gravy. That's simple. It smells delicious too.
Once I've eaten it all, the dessert appears, including the treacle tart. YAY! I excitedly flap my hands.
Hermione giggles. "The treacle tart is here."
Ron is already eating some. "Can you blame him? It's great!"
I take as much as I can, eating it a bit too fast.
"I can't eat too much, my teeth, Ron."
Fred chuckles a little once I've eaten a little too much. "I knew the minute I saw those happy flaps. Do Muggles not eat dessert?"
George nudges him. "Harry's Muggle relatives are absolute sticks in the mud, Gred."
I have a slight tummy ache. But it was worth it! Hermione winces. "Oh, Harry, your poor teeth. Don't forget to brush! I know you didn't yesterday."
No! I unhappily start rocking again. "I don't like tooth brushing. Toothpaste is yucky."
Ron wrinkles his nose. "I've seen your weird Muggle toothpaste, mate. You need the Wizarding World kind."
Huh? I tilt my head. "Does it taste better?"
Hermione bounces on the bench with excitement. "YES! They do, Harry! They even have dessert flavored ones."
George snickers. "Even treacle tart ones. That's the newest flavor."
I flap my hands again. "Really?!"
Percy sniffs with disapproval. "Don't encourage him."
Fred rolls his eyes. "Perce, why not? He's missed out on so much of the Wizarding World."
George winks at me. "Next Hogsmeade weekend, Harry, we'll get you treacle tart flavored toothpaste."
YAY! I can't help giggling. "Thank you, Fred. I mean George."
Hermione beams. "That's genius! I just might have to try that myself."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, Harry. What are you doing, mate?"
I'm counting all the books on the H shelf in the library. I was bored and I realized counting calms me down. "Counting books. You should try it. It makes me feel better."
Ron comes over, wrinkling his nose. "I don't like counting."
I laugh a little. "That's okay."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Tie those shoes, Mr. Potter. Or I'll deduct House points for looking sloppy."
Snape leaves with a swish of robes. I can't tie my shoes! Ron and Hermione look at each other as I rock back and forth on my feet, clutching my hair.
Ron insists, "Just tie them, Harry. It's not that hard. We can't lose more points."
I'm getting close to crying. They're going to be mad at me! I can't tie my shoes and now they're mad! Despite knowing I can't do it, I kneel down and try my best.
When the laces don't cooperate with my stupid fingers, I pull at my collar. It's too tight. It's too tight!
"Harry, come on, mate..."
Filled with frustration, I angrily yell with tears in my eyes, "I TRIED!"
"Ron...I don't think he can tie them. Here, Harry. I'll do it."
Hermione bends down and ties my laces. I sniffle and flap my hands when she ties them snugly. I like my shoes snug. "Thank you, Hermione."
Ron joins us on the floor. "Mione, you did it too tight!"
I shake my head, and Hermione watches as I keep flicking my hands. "No, Ron. He flaps when he's happy or...he likes something."
Ron grabs my hand. "We're late, Harry."
I yank my hand away. I don't like being touched! "Okay."
After a walk where Ron and Hermione quietly let me fidget to calm down, we enter Herbology. I flap my hands again when I smell dirt and plants. It's green and outside. I like outside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mr. Potter! Stop fidgeting or I'll move you away from your friends!"
Snape yells at me. I stop rocking at once and sit on my hands, chewing on my lip. Next to me, Hermione whispers, "You add two beans to the potion next, Harry."
I nod, adding two beans to my potion. It makes a sudden hissing noise, and I jump back, my heart beating. Now it's making a weird smell. I hate it! And I can't rock or anything either! I'm being bad again.
I try to be good and not fidget or cry or yell. But it's loud, smelly, and my shoes just came untied. Snape is so mean!
My whole body tenses up, my feet pointing like ballerina ones on the floor. My tummy hurts. My throat hurts. I can't talk anymore. I bite down on my lip so hard that I taste blood. Yucky.
"Harry, your mouth is bleeding! Professor? I think Harry needs the hospital wing..."
Hermione raises her hand, talking to Snape. I don't look. I can't. Too. Much.
"Oh, what did you do this time, Potter? Very well, it won't do for him to bleed all over the place."
"Come on, Harry." Hermione touches my arm, and I violently flinch away, whimpering. I'm shaking.
"Ron, I don't know what to do! He's making himself bleed..."
"Wait. There's a napkin. He likes those."
Ron hands me a soft napkin I carried with me from breakfast, and I gratefully take it. Soft. Soft. It's soft.
I eventually get out of my chair, still shaking and my tummy aching as we walk to the hospital wing.
The hallway is much cooler. I don't let myself cry until we enter the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey sees me.
I step back in fear when she reaches to touch me. Her face is unreadable. "Mr. Potter, can you sit on a bed, please?"
I do that, confused and scared. She wets a washcloth, and I whimper. I still can't talk. And she won't want me to rock either.
She bends down a little. "I'm not going to hurt you, Mr. Potter. I just need to wipe blood off your mouth. Please stop biting your lip."
I stop biting, tentatively letting myself rock just a little. When she doesn't get mad, I keep doing it.
"What happened, you two? He looks awful upset."
Hermione blurts, "Professor Snape yelled at him and told him off for rocking. And he went all pale and started biting his lip..."
Pomfrey dabs my lip, gently. I'm tense and frightened, but she is nice. A nice grown-up?
"Thank you, I'm going to have a word with Professor Snape. Poor boy, he has so few ways to calm himself down..."
My lip is swelling up and sore now. I don't like it. I unhappily rub it with my thumb. "Puffy."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1995, end of 4th year after Cedric's death
Too. Damn. Much.
After I cry in front of everyone and Mrs. Weasley hugs me, I regress back to my eleven year old self. I curl up in my blankets, barely speak, and I'm so easily overwhelmed that Pomfrey puts up curtains around my bed.
Ron and Hermione are the only ones I let visit me. Each time, they're quiet, letting me stay curled up in my blankets. I've been wearing the same old Weasley sweater and a hospital gown. I just can't bear pants right now. The fibers are hurting me.
Two weeks into my stay in the hospital, Pomfrey is busy enough to forget to give me dreamless sleep potion. I wake up in the middle of the night, scared and alone. It's dark. I don't like it!
I sit curled up on my bed, rocking and silently crying as I bite my lip. When it's morning, Pomfrey gasps. "You're bleeding!"
I'm in deja vu as she dabs at my bloody mouth. When she pulls the wet cloth away, I find my voice again. "Puffy."
She sadly smiles as I begin rocking and pointing my feet. "Ron and Hermione wanted to visit later today, but I told them to come early because you'll be sleeping again soon."
I happily flap my hands for the first time in a long time. The sudden influx of positive emotions is a bit too much, and I temporarily can't speak.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1995
Remus POV
Sirius is staring into space next to me and I'm whistling to myself in boredom when Harry enters the kitchen. We both leave our reveries and watch our godson from the dining table.
When I taught the kid, it was no secret to me that he isn't neurotypical. Now it's even more clear to me. Sirius is getting worried about Harry too. Harry's untied shoes, his tendency to count books, the way he rocks when he's upset.
He looked at me with wide eyes when he first saw Harry need Hermione's help to do his tie. "Remus, you see it, don't you? Has he always been like this?"
I nodded. "He's been like that. And Minerva says he's always rocked, always played with napkins, never could tie his shoes. He just has certain ways of calming himself."
Sirius sighed and smiled a little. "Is that what the hand flapping is? He always does it when Molly makes treacle tart and after Quidditch matches..."
I grin, remembering when James would happily shout when his mother made a treacle tart. He always excitedly yelled and jumped around after matches too. Clearly Harry is taking after his father in that respect. "Who does that remind you of?"
Sirius grins. "James wasn't so different."
Now, Harry is tugging on his hair and rocking on his toes as he stares at the open refrigerator. "I can't eat that...too bitter. Too soupy... there's no mashed potatoes and beef tips..."
He apparently finds treacle tart, because soon he's hand flapping and scampering off with a container of his beloved dessert.