Secrets

Harry woke up on Sunday morning, feeling very rested. For the first time in a while, he felt truly safe and awake. He sat up in bed and stretched. When he looked around, the room was empty save for himself. “Everyone else must be at breakfast,” he thought. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped out of bed. He decided that it was going to be a good day. He could feel it.

As he walked into the common room, a barrage of strange questions immediately greeted him.

“Harry, I think you might be in trouble,” said Hermione. “Is there anything you might have done?” She looked at Harry, waiting for him to answer. Before he could, though, Ron ran over and began chattering.

“It’s rubbish, I tell you, rubbish. At breakfast this morning, Dumbledore and Snape wanted to talk to us. They asked us if you’d been behaving weird and such. It’s just a mad attempt to slander you. Snape’s just out to get you,” he exclaimed. He then looked at Harry expectantly. For the first time in a while, he looked concerned for his slender friend.

“It is rubbish, isn’t it Harry,” he asked, worriedly. “I mean, they were saying some awful things earlier, and I thought it was just Snape trying to be mean.”

“But Harry,” Hermione piped in, “we need you to tell us. Tell us anything that they could be talking about, anything that they think you could be doing that could possibly be reprehensible.” The two were met with silence as Harry’s mind began to race.

What could Snape have figured out? Harry shook his head and mumbled something that sounded like “fizzing whizbee bacon.” With that articulate response, he sat down on the sofa by the fireplace to think. Could it be possible that Snape had figured out that the Durselys were up to no good? Probably not, he decided. If that were the case, Harry hoped he wouldn’t be in trouble. He couldn’t remember if he had missed any homework. Hermione’s enchanted book yelled at him whenever he did, though, so he probably hadn’t. Either that or he had, since he didn’t want to open the blasted thing. He studied the patterns in the rug and thought some more. What could he possibly get in trouble for?

Suddenly, it hit him. His treatments. Someone, somehow, had found out. Of course, that someone had been Snape. Harry sighed. He would need to begin operation cover-it-up, of course. Luckily, living with the Durselys for eleven years had made him quite adept at hiding things. With that, he got up and walked over to Hermione and Ron.

“Shucks, guys,” he said, grinning, “I can’t think of anything I could’ve done” As he finished the statement, he saw the doubtful looks on their faces and thought, “Dammit, that was too saccharin.”

“If you’re sure, Harry,” Hermione replied. “If there is anything, though, you really ought to tell us. We could help you.”

“Believe me, guys, if there was something, you’d be the first to know.” He tried to smile reassuringly. Somehow, he had to dash up to his room and find a good hiding spot for his bag. Currently, it was sitting under his pillow. Just as he was about to head upstairs to do just that, McGonagall and Snape walked through the door.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, crisply, “You’re to come with us.”

Before Harry could attempt to buy some time, Snape grabbed him by the arm and said, “You are to come with us. Now.” With that, the pair escorted Harry out of the common room and into Dumbledore’s office. Harry tried to think of a way to run, but he simply couldn’t. Even if he could break away from Snape, which he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to run very far before he was caught again. Instead, he began to panic. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what they were going to do with him, do to him. “What if,” he thought, “they send me back to the Durselys? What if they decide that they don’t want me here anymore?” Frantically, he began struggling in Snape’s grasp, trying to get away.

“It would behoove you,” Snape scolded coldly, “not to struggle. I have been authorized to use force.” At those words, Harry looked up at Snape with apprehension in his eyes.

“Those beautiful eyes,” thought Snape. “If only I could do something to alleviate his fear.” He shook his head and chastised himself, thinking, “Fool, he’s just a stupid boy who’s arrogant to try moronic things to get attention.” He continued to drag the boy along the hallway, noticing his increasing panic. Part of the potions master wanted to chuckle, for it was quite entertaining to see the young Potter get his comeuppance. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a feeble attempt on Harry’s part to hit him. Instinctively, Snape slapped the boy, and then thought better of ever doing that again when he saw the look on his face. It was a look of complete fear and helplessness. The boy immediately quit struggling. “Obviously,” Snape pondered, “he’s experienced that before.”

Before Snape could consider the ramifications of that thought further, the trio arrived at Dumbledore’s office. With an utterance of “Pudding Pops,” the three found themselves welcome into the office.

Harry had, of course, been in here before. At one time, he had even found the room comforting. So many things had happened to change that. Dumbledore had lied to him, Sirius had died. The boy who lived found his eyes wandering about the office, taking in the portraits of every headmaster in Hogwarts history. It was strange, he thought, that the portraits were somehow able to keep on living. The office was cluttered with the belongings of Dumbledore, who apparently kept his every belonging here. Harry was afraid to actually look at anyone in the office, although he knew they were all looking at him. Instead, he chose to study the titles gracing the shelves of Dumbledore’s extensive library. The volumes of arcane magic were far more interesting than anything else in this room. As he looked at the books, his mind raced. “How,” he wondered, “had they figured anything out?” He’d used all of the proper precautions. He wore long-sleeved shirts to cover the track marks. He was careful to keep his supplies hidden at all times.

“While I’m sure you have all day to gaze at books in wonderment, Mr. Potter,” sneered Snape, “some of us have responsibilities to tend to.” Harry looked up, fear filling his eyes. He was in trouble.

“Yes, Harry, it seems that we have some questions regarding your recent behavior,” spoke Dumbledore. “An anonymous person claims to have seen you doing something,” he paused to retrieve something from his desk “with this.” Dumbledore pulled from hiding Harry’s secret bag, and emptied its contents on the table.

“But…but…that’s not mine,” Harry stuttered.

“We are quite sure that it is, Potter,” said Snape. “Now, if you’ll kindly tell us why you chose to act the part of an idiot and do this to yourself, we’d all appreciate it. It might even make your expulsion more expedient.”

It was then that Harry truly began to panic. Absolute terror coursed through his veins. Expulsion.

“Honest, I was just keeping it for someone,” he lied.

“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke sadly, “we know it’s yours. Furthermore, we have strict rules concerning this sort of thing at this school. I’m afraid we have no choice but to send you home.”

“No,” Harry cried, “you can’t…please…I’ll do anything…just please don’t make me go home.”

“I’m afraid we have no choice. While it is possible that the Ministry will overturn our decision, it is not possible for you to stay here,” spoke McGonagall. “You will leave tomorrow.”

Harry didn’t hear anything. He didn’t hear his feet hitting the stairs as he ran, didn’t hear the gaggle of girls that he nearly crashed into, and didn’t hear the wonderment in all of the voices commenting as he passed. Eventually, someone stopped him in his flight and he crumpled to the floor. He continued sobbing, uncertain of everything. The only safe place he knew was being taken away from him. Didn’t they understand? He needed the “treatments.” He wouldn’t use them otherwise. It kept him from thinking, kept him sane, kept him from remembering.

He didn’t want to remember. The only thing he had ever wanted was to forget. He had found that.
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Snape was to escort the sullen boy back to his home and hand him off to the Dursleys, who were, he was certain, doting guardians. This was not a task that he savored. It meant tolerating the boy’s malaise. Luckily, the boy decided to become even more withdrawn than usual. Part of Snape knew that he ought to be worried, but the greater part of his being didn’t care. His duty was to deliver the boy. He was no guidance counselor.

The pair traveled in silence, using oddly shaped portkeys in Hogsmeade. They reached Number 4 Privet Drive with few events. As Snape expected, the house was immaculate. Every blade of grass looked as if it had been placed there painstakingly by hand. The windows were glitteringly clean. There were warm lights shining in the windows, giving the place a safe feeling. It seemed a shame to unleash this unruly boy upon this place. “He might destroy it,” thought Snape. He practically dragged the despondent boy up the walkway and rung the bell. After a few seconds passed, a portly gentleman holding a carafe of wine answered the door. Upon seeing Harry, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Before he could speak, Snape ruptured the silence.

“I thought it would interest you, sir, to know that this boy is not to return to school.” Snape pushed Harry forward, nearly forcing him through the doorway. Grudgingly, the large man stepped aside to let him pass.

“All of the details are in this letter,” continued Snape, handing the man a letter from Dumbledore. “Any questions can be addressed directly to him. Good day, sir.” Without another word, Snape turned on his heel and walked down the path, his cape billowing ominously behind him. He hoped to never see the boy again.