Year 1 - Chapter 17
For the next month, Harry floated through life. He was in a constant state of survival. Harry was attentive in class and handed his essays in on time. When Harry wasn’t in class, he was working. He was studying the theory of magic and spending long nights in the library or curled up in front of the fire in the common room. His nose was always in a book. When he was reading, no one was bothering him. The only time that Harry spent in his dorm room was late at night when he knew the other boys would be fast asleep. He would wake early, get dressed in the bathroom and head down to the common room until class began. He felt so alone in a place filled with people.
Hermione felt like she was missing something. Ever since she woke up in her bed a month ago, unsure and uncertain of how she ended up there, Hermione felt like she couldn’t make the pieces fit anymore. It felt too complicated to try and put back together so she just carried on. Hermione went to classes and did her work. She read all the books and did all her essays. She was top of the year and perfect at everything. But Hermione felt so alone in a place filled with people.
Harry had not heard from Professor McGonagall since that night. Harry had gone to her classes expecting her to pull him aside and explain what would happen next. Harry hadn’t been looking forward to that conversation, but he had been expecting it. So, every time Harry walked into transfiguration, his stomach was in knots and every time he left the classroom without having that conversation, the knot loosened slightly. And, over time, that knot disappeared when class after class, that conversation never happened. And, slowly, Harry realised that it never would happen because no one cared. This realisation made the knot return. Harry had opened up and explained too much and now he’d scared people away.
Hermione was ignoring him too. He’d frightened her too. She didn’t care either. Harry remembered the morning after his confession, when he’d woken up early and headed down to the common room. He’d curled up in a comfy armchair and began to read his book. Harry waited. And he waited. And Hermione never turned up. Worry began to eat away at him. Hermione was never late. She always came down early and they would go down to breakfast together. So, when the common room started filling up with people and the morning sun streamed through the windows, Harry’s worry began to dissipate. Maybe Hermione was just late. Harry looked through the crowd of people for her and then he spotted her. Her bushy, untameable hair was bobbing through the stream of students. Harry stood up from his chair and walked over to her, tapping on her shoulder.
“Yes?” Hermione started and turned around, looking at Harry quizzically. Harry began to scribble on the notepad that his friend had given him.
[Did you sleep late? I waited for you]
“Um, no. I slept how I normally do and now I’m going to breakfast. Are you coming as well? Harry, isn’t it?” Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry. Harry was confused. She knew his name. She knew him. Why was she acting like she didn’t.
[We go together. You meet me early. We walk down together. That’s the routine. That’s how it works.]
“No. I go to breakfast alone. I sleep as late as I can because I am always up late studying.” Hermione answered slowly. “Look. Are you coming or not because I’m going to be late?” Hermione began to walk away, and Harry was left frozen, alone in the Gryffindor common room.
Severus had not heard from Minerva since the night she’d stormed into his office and demanded his help. She smiled cordially at him in the corridors and exchanged pleasantries, but his colleague made no attempt to talk to him about her request. So, Snape continued about his days. He attended his classes, marked all the essays and the Potter boy did not cross his mind again. Until Snape stopped noticing him come to breakfast, or lunch, or dinner. He observed the boy in his classes and noticed that he no longer was following around after the Granger girl, and the Granger girl no longer seemed so attentive towards the boy. Harry wandered the halls of the castle alone.
After a month of doing nothing, Snape decided to do something about it. Harry was a shell of a person. He was like a ghost that inhabited the castle. Snape could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Harry in the great hall since the beginning of the year and the boy was wasting away. He needed help. After his last class of the day on the 10th October, Snape made his way to Minerva’s office. He knocked sharply on the door and opened it.
“Severus? What can I do for you?” Professor McGonagall was sat behind her desk and looked up from her work, casting her steely glance over Severus. Snape resisted the urge to fiddle with his hands and opened his mouth to speak.
“Good evening, Minerva. I’ve come to talk to you about the request you made to me last month. About the Potter boy.” Snape watched the professor’s body language. Confusion flashed across her face and her eyes were glassy and clouded.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean Severus. I have not asked anything of you.”
Snape was confused now as well. A month ago, Minerva had been so adamant about Harry and about helping him and now, it seemed like she didn’t care. It seemed like she had forgotten about everything.
Forgotten.
She had forgotten.
This thought gnawed at Severus. Had she forgotten? Had someone made her forget? And if so, why? Snape looked at Minerva and eyed her carefully. Her face had gone slack and emotionless at the mention of Harry. So, Snape did the only thing he could think of.
Snape felt himself burrow into Minerva’s mind. Before going deeper, he pushed a fake conversation to the forefront of her mind, making her believe they were talking about students. Instead, Snape was observing Minerva’s memories, trying to establish what happened. Her mind was muddled and there were no memories about Harry, or the conversation that she said that she’d had with the boy. It was just a black hole of nothing. Snape retreated and came to one conclusion. Someone had obliviated her.
The man left Professor McGonagall’s office angry and perplexed. Why would someone go to the trouble of obliviating the woman? Snape now knew that Minerva was not about to start helping Harry and Snape was reluctant to as well. He knew that he’d promised to help him but with Minerva off his back now, he had no obligation. He didn’t need more work on his plate. Snape returned to his quarters and pushed the boy from his mind.
Harry was sat in the common room. The fire was crackling in the grate, and everything was quiet and calm. But Harry did not feel quiet or calm. His body was buzzing with anxiety, the feeling creeping up on him and clawing at him from the inside. Harry squirmed in his chair, unable to get comfortable. He felt trapped. The castle walls were closing in on him and Harry had to escape. Harry scrambled up from his chair and ran out of the common room, his breath speeding up. He couldn’t explain what caused these feelings. Nothing had triggered him. Nothing had happened. But maybe that was it. Nothing had happened. Everyone had promised him help, but nobody did anything. Hermione was ignoring him which meant he had lost his only friend. Harry was feeling lonely and sad and angry. Angry at himself. Angry at his relatives. Angry at the world. So, Harry kept running. He ran from his problems and his anger and his feelings. Harry wasn’t sure where he was going. As he turned a corner, he heard footsteps and Harry panicked and wrenched open the closest door, throwing himself in and slamming it behind him.
His breath was coming in fast and as Harry’s eyes adjusted to the low light, the boy saw that he was in a dark room. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and the only light came from a small torch. It hung on the far wall and the fire that crackled from it cast eerie shadows. There was no warmth exuding from it and Harry shivered, his hair standing on end. Harry crept through the room, spotting a small door on the other side. His curiosity got the better of him and Harry’s hand reached out for the handle. The handle was ice cold. Harry shivered again but he turned the handle and walked inside.
The room was larger than the one he had just left, but beside that, Harry noticed nothing else. Instead, his eyes landed on the large, dark mass curled up in the centre. The mass was huge, and a loud snarling sound came from it. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he reached for the door again, his hand stretched out behind him, groping blindly for the handle. At the movement, the mass began to stir, and Harry watched in petrified horror as the mass grew and grew until it touched the ceiling. It turned to look at him and Harry saw three pairs of huge yellow eyes landed on the small boy. The animal had three ginormous heads, and each head had a gleaming pair of teeth. The teeth protruded from its mouth and globules of saliva hung from the largest ones. Harry would have screamed if he could and suddenly, he came to his senses. His wide eyes were fixed on the animal before him, but he tried to break the contact, worrying that the animal would attack. Harry dropped his eyes as he continued to fumble for the door handle. Harry remembered every interaction he’d had with Aunt Marge’s dogs – because that is what Harry decided this animal was, some large, mutated dog – and he remembered that you never make eye contact with a rabid canine. Harry’s eyes fell to the dog’s feet. Each one was as large as a dustbin lid and long, sharp, yellowing claws. But Harry was shocked to see what it was standing on – a trapdoor. Harry was confused but was snapped from the confusion when a guttural snarl came from above him. At that, Harry finally turned on the spot and ran from the room, eventually grabbing hold of the handle.
Harry heard the door slam behind him, and he found himself back in the dark entry room. He leant against the door and collapsed against it, sinking to the floor. His head was spinning, and Harry took deep breaths to regulate his breathing. He pulled at his fingers. Harry was thrown back into the memory of Aunt Marge’s dog chasing him.
The dog was barking loudly, it’s noise gripping Harry in fear.
“You stupid wretch! You kicked him! You hurt him! Get the freak, Ripper!” Aunt Marge’s voice called after Harry as he ran from the house and into the garden. Harry clambered up the nearest tree, his foot slipping. Harry felt his knee scrape against the rough bark, and he felt blood soak his jeans. Harry hadn’t kicked the dog. He had been carrying food to the table and the dog had got under his feet. Harry had tripped and fallen, smacking his head on the table as he fell. He had felt the blood trickle down his forehead and Harry had groaned at the pain. Before he could register anymore, Harry had felt himself be picked up roughly by his hair. He had felt strands of hair be ripped from his scalp. When Harry had opened his eyes, ignoring the pain, Harry had been face to face with the bulging eyes and reddening face of his uncle. That’s when Aunt Marge’s voice had rung out and Harry had been dropped unceremoniously to the ground. That’s when Harry had scrambled to his feet and ran to the garden. The blood thirsty dog was snarling from the ground, jumping up and scratching at the tree trunk.
“You can’t run, freak!” Aunt Marge was on the ground too and reaching for Harry. Her hand made contact with his leg, and she pulled. Harry tumbled painfully to the ground, landing hard on his back. That’s when the kicking began, and Harry remembered nothing else except the blinding pain.
Except the cane.
That was the first time the cane had been used.
Harry remembered the cane. He always remembered the cane
Harry felt the memory end and reality return. Harry blinked and noticed his surroundings. He was now curled up in a ball on the dusty floor. Harry pushed himself up and winced in pain. He looked at the arms. They stung and now Harry realised why. In his state of fear and terror, Harry must have reacted and scratched at his arms. They were bleeding and deep gouges littered them. Harry shook his head and pulled his sleeves down to cover it up. Harry stood up unsteadily and walked out of the room, still shaking. His eyes were trained on the floor, but he stopped when he came across a pair of shoes.
The shoes were a shiny black, perfectly polished. Harry slowly raised his head and made eye contact with the man standing before him. Snape. The man’s face was cold, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“This means detention, Mr Potter.”