Harry descended the stairs four by four not caring who he had to push out of his way. He had almost forgotten about his detention. And he was not looking forward to another one.
He turned a corner a little too fast and “Humph!” He collided with a purple wall, and a soft white beard? The weight of the hands that steadied him lingered a little longer and he looked up.
“Professor Dumbledore! I am so sorry! Are you alright?” He stammered, mortified as he gently extricated himself from the caring hold.
''I am fine, my boy, I am fine. No need to apologize.” “Are you alright?” he asked, smiling gently.
“Hum! yeah!” He started sheepishly, as he looked down the corridor past the headmasters’ bright robes, impatient.
He didn't have time for another one of the headmasters' mystical conversation, right then. So, at the risk of sounding brisk, he tried to resume his running, before he ended up too late.
“Alright then, have a good evening professor!” He said with an anxious lopsided smile.
“Harry!... We need to talk!” Announced the old wizard with his usual gentle but authoritative tone.
“Crap!” thought Harry as he bit his tongue. His eyes flashed a panicky look at the headmaster’s serene blue ones.
''But, I have detention with Snape, Professor Snape, sir!''
"I know Harry,...that can wait."
''Wait? You know how he gets when I don't get where he wants me, a minute earlier!'' ''Please, professor Dumbledore, I have to go, now.'' He pleaded with his last string of self-control.
Dumbledore studied the giddy ticks of the gryffindor, and sighed, defeated. He didn’t want to cause the skinny boy more discomfort than he was already showing.
''Alright, then. Lead the way." He finally relented.
"Huh?” “You don't have to go with me professor.” “I..I can survive another detention with Snape..erh.Professor Snape!'' He forced himself to utter the unfamiliar title once more. It left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
Harry never considered Snape as a worthy professor. At least, not worthy of his admiration enough to call him professor without wanting to vomit. But, if he wanted to avoid a long scolding, he had to do the right thing in front of the headmaster.
"It's alright Harry, he has to know at some point, and he might be the only one capable of helping you.'' He said calmly.
“Help me? Help me with what?” He whisper-shouted, against his better judgment. That might make him look suspicious, as if he had something to hide.
With that realization, color left his face, and with it was gone any semblance of calm, as it dawned on him.
“Know, know what? “wwhat is going on professor?”
Harry heard his voice tremble and he bit his tongue again. “Don’t make it worse, you idiot!” hissed the voice of panic in his head.
“We will talk in Professor Snape’s office, Harry!” said the headmaster, unfased.
The hint of sadness in his voice scared Harry more than if he had shouted at him, and he suddenly wished he didn't have to deal with that, with all of it then. Harry wasn’t ready to face what happened yet. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what exactly happened, or if he would be able to process any of it, in his current state. Harry's defeatist querk kicked in again, and he felt a little lightheaded. One thing was clear, though. The fact is, he was caught.
Harry wished he could run to his room in the Gryffindor tower, cover his head with the warm blankets and roll into a ball on his bed. He wished he could remain there, all his life, undisturbed. However, he had no other choice but to walk quietly, alongside the old wizard toward the dungeons.
Harry dreaded the encounter with the angry potion master more than ever and his heart thundered in his chest. What if they discovered that he basically fried his friends' pet rat, with a single touch? What if they learned about his darkest fantasies? and what if they decided to send him to Azkaban? Just the thought of it twisted his stomach in painful knots.
How could he survive the dementors? Those wretched creatures populated his worst nightmares, even in the safety of these walls. So, what would he do if his nasty thoughts were discovered and his arse thrown to that hellish place?
Harry's lips looked pale and felt like sand paper. His fearful thoughts swirled in his mind like ominous ravens, and his Gryffondor courage fled his trembling body. Harry could barely walk on his wobbly legs, at that point.
“Who knew that fear could make your limbs go all limp like noodles.” He pondered, before all clear thoughts were chased by his blooming anxiety attack!
Harry's panic reached its peak as they reached the ominous closed door of Snape's office. Harry hesitated in the dark hallway. So, Dumbledore was the one to knock.