The Hidden Hero

The wizarding world was buzzing with the news that Harry Potter had been found. Daily Prophet reporters were hounding any Ministry official they could find for news about the teen hero. Was it true that he had been found living on the streets? Was it true that he was on the verge of death? What was the Ministry going to do with the boy? Was he going to return to Hogwarts? Was it true that people were offering to pay for the privilege of fostering the boy until he was of age?

When Rita Skeeter suggested in her column that Harry Potter might be at St. Mungo’s, the hospital found itself flooded with wizards who insisted that they be allowed to see the boy and thank him personally for defeating You Know Who. They seemed to believe that, if they just explained to Harry that they were truly grateful, Harry would be happy to return to the wizarding world. Buried under the onslaught of wizards who were camping out in waiting rooms, the hospital administration begged the Ministry for extra security to help control the crowds.

There were so many flowers and balloons sent by well-wishers, the hospital had to hire extra help to cart them away to share with other patients. Even within the hospital, there was trouble maintaining control. Hospital staff from other wards were caught trying to sneak into Harry’s room for a glimpse of the famous wizard.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, forced himself to stay away from the hospital. While he desperately wanted to visit Harry himself, he knew he would not be welcome. And, as much as he greatly wished to express his regrets to Harry once again, he was wise enough to know that Harry was not ready to be receptive to his apologies. His presence would only hinder the medical evaluation, so he forced himself to be content with the knowledge that at least Harry was in the hands of the best Healers in the wizarding world.

Scrimgeour made the mistake of visiting Harry the day after the boy arrived at St. Mungo’s. The Minister had wanted to be the first to welcome the little hero back but was unprepared for the hostile reception he received.

“Harry?” The boy had been napping, but, at the sound of his name, he opened his eyes and blinked blearily at the face hovering above him. Reaching over, Harry grabbed for his glasses, which were sitting on the table next to his bed and put them on. It was the Minister. Harry recognized him from some of Voldemort’s memories. Harry also remembered that he had been present at the final battle, sitting next to Dumbledore at the staff table.

Harry hastily sat up in the bed. The Minister was wearing an overly hearty smile and was holding out his hand to shake Harry’s. Harry glared at the man, and the Minister let his hand drop to his side. “Harry!” He began what was obviously a prepared speech. “Let me be the first to welcome you back to the wizarding world. I want to thank you both personally and as Minister for defeating You Know Who. We can hardly convey the depths of our gratitude…”

Harry cut him off. “You can start by letting me go,” he said through gritted teeth.

The interruption threw Scrimgeour for a brief moment. Then he continued as if Harry had not spoken. “You will be awarded a special citation and the Wizengamot has declared that the day you defeated You Know Who will be henceforth known as Harry Potter Day!”

Harry snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

Scrimgeour pressed on. “We look forward to your taking your rightful place in our world…”

“I want to leave!” insisted Harry.

The Minister hesitated and then said, “All in good time, Harry. All in good time. We just want to make sure that you are well.”

“Hypocrite!” Harry accused, angrily. “Where was the wizarding world when I was being abused by my aunt and uncle? Where were they when I was thrown into Azkaban? You didn’t care if I was well, then!”

“We’re sorry, Harry! We are anxious to make amends. These were terrible mistakes! By my predecessor,” Scrimgeour hastened to add.

“You can stuff your apologies!” said the boy, rudely. “I just want to be left alone!”

The door opened and a few healers entered. Harry grimaced. They were back to poke at him again. Scrimgeour greeted the healers with relief. “I better be going, Harry,” he said, backing away from the angry teen. “The healers will need to examine you and…” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. Reaching the door, he gave another hearty smile and called cheerily, as if he and Harry had just exchanged a pleasant talk, “Talk to you soon, Harry. Get well, now!” He ducked out of the door.

Harry glared at the retreating Minister. Damn! It was obvious the Minister wasn’t prepared to let him go. It was too bad he was underage. It wouldn’t surprise him if the Wizengamot insisted he return to Hogwarts. Well, if they did, he’d just have to escape again. There wasn’t any way they could force him to stay, right? But, at worst, he’d be out of there as soon as he turned seventeen.

Of course, if he had to return to Hogwarts, he would see Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George and some of his other friends. He wouldn’t mind that. But he’d also have to see a whole bunch of other people he would prefer never to see again. There would be the other students who had been quick to turn on “Mark Twist.” There would also be Dumbledore, who, he had no doubt, was behind Harry’s forceable return to the wizarding world.

That old man! He was as ruthless as Voldemort! Okay, so maybe Dumbledore’s goals were not evil but did the ends justify the means? And, for Merlin’s sake, who died and appointed him king? Dumbledore seemed to think that he, and he alone, knew what was best for everyone. Well, he was wrong! He didn’t know what was best for Harry and neither did the healers!

The next few days were difficult for Harry. Every time he turned around, someone was poking and prodding at him, asking him questions and waving wands over his body in some weird diagnostic doctorly way. He had a headache from the need to constantly push away the mental probes that sought to peer inside his head. What was wrong with these people? Why couldn’t they leave him alone?!

Okay, he had lost weight. So what he had nightmares? It was his business. The way they all hummed around him, muttering in concern about his health was infuriating. Didn’t they understand that he wanted to die? What was so wrong about that? People died everyday. He certainly had witnessed death time and time again, while “living” inside Voldemort. He just wanted some peace. He wanted this horrible feeling that clenched his stomach and clouded his mind to go away. He wanted the screams that haunted his dreams to stop. Everyone should leave him alone. They couldn’t help him. They couldn’t make him feel clean again. They couldn’t turn back time so that he could live his life all over.

A few days after Harry had arrived at St. Mungo’s, at the request of the hospital Board, the Wizengamot convened an emergency meeting to discuss the “Potter situation.” At Dumbledore’s request, Arthur and Molly Weasley were permitted to attend, but they were asked to keep quiet during the proceedings.

A team of five Healers entered the chamber. The senior Healer, Lucretia Moulson, was the spokesperson for the group. After greetings had been exchanged, she began, “I thank you all for agreeing to see us so quickly.”

Scrimgeour responded. “You said you had important information about Harry Potter. You know we are all eager to hear about the boy’s condition.”

The Healers all looked grim. “The reason we asked to speak with you is that the boy’s condition is grave indeed.”

Everyone leaned forward in their seats to listen closely. “The boy is ill. He’s malnourished and suffering from exhaustion. More critically, he’s suffering from depression and anxiety.”

“This was not unexpected. Dumbledore,” the Minister gestured to the headmaster sitting to his right, “was worried about this months ago and that was one of the reasons we spent so much time trying to find the boy.”

“As it turns out, these fears were well-justified. It’s clear that Harry’s on the edge of a breakdown. He’s an obvious danger to himself.”

Scrimgeour asked, hesitantly, “Healer Moulson, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that it’s only a matter of time before the boy succeeds in killing himself,” said the Healer, ominously.

The witches and wizards in the Court were aghast. Molly Weasley started to cry. Arthur patted her arm awkwardly.

Scrimgeour burst out, “Well, can’t you fix him?”

The Healer explained. “We are trying our best. But, unless we can treat the underlying cause of Harry’s pain, there is little we can do. Treating the symptoms is a temporary measure at best. Cheering Charms last only about an hour. And, we can’t keep giving him Cheering potions. Not only are they highly addictive, they lose their efficacy after a few weeks.”

Dumbledore spoke up. His tone was calm but anyone looking at him could see the deep concern in his eyes. “Can you treat the underlying cause?”

“Yes, in theory. We know that Harry has witnessed or suffered himself a series of traumatic events.” A pall settled over the room as everyone recalled all too clearly what those events were. “If we can loosen the hold those events have over his memories, we believe he can improve. As it stands, they are taking control of his life.”

“How can you treat this?” asked the Minister.

“That’s the problem, sir. At the moment, we simply cannot treat it. When Harry’s awake, he refuses to allow us access to his mind. His occlumency skills are superior. This is not surprising considering how he spent most of his teenage years pretending to be someone else. He’s honed his skills in keeping his real self hidden behind an impenetrable wall. Unfortunately, as you all are no doubt are aware, legilimency doesn’t work very well when someone’s asleep or drugged.”

One of the other members of the Wizengamot signaled to be recognized and, at Scrimgeour’s nod, asked, “Why not obliviate him, Healer Moulson?”

“Obliviation only works if there’s a defined memory or memories that we’re trying to erase. Here, we are talking about months, maybe years, of memories that are part of Harry’s life. Obliviation is not an option.”

The wizard pressed, “Are you saying that, if you could read Harry’s mind, you’d be able to loosen these memories?”

“That would be the hope, sir,” confirmed the Healer.

“How?”

“I’m sorry to say it’s a painful process. We would need to enter his thoughts and pinpoint the traumatic memories. They are typically very easy to identify, as they tend to be dark in color. These have to be carefully pried away from the healthy thoughts. It’s like separating a vein of poison from otherwise clear water.”

“And then this memory is removed? So, he won’t recall what happened?” asked Scrimgeour.

“No, Minister. We wouldn’t remove the memory entirely. To do so would be too dangerous. The memories, while …strangling…Harry now are too much a part of who he is to remove. They are part of his life and must remain. What we would aim to do is loosen the hold those memories have on him. Traumatic memories are usually seared deeply into the brain. If we can pry the memories loose, slacken their grip, the patient is usually able to remember the painful event without being overcome by it.”

Dumbledore spoke again. “How is this accomplished? How long does it take?”

“Each memory has to be separately isolated and pulled free. How long this takes depends upon how deeply the memory has been scarred into the brain. The deeper the scarring, the longer the process. The patient has to be conscious so that the true memory can be located, and not some dream or false vision, and so that it can be properly separated from healthy tissue. Since the process of extraction is quite painful, sessions are no longer than one hour. Our experience has been that we can remove up to fifteen minutes of a memory in that time if we are lucky.”

“Fifteen minutes!” ejaculated Scrimgeour. “That will take months!”

“Yes, sir,” nodded the Healer. “Depending upon the number of memories, and the depth of the scarring, we may very well be looking at months, if not years. Years of a treatment that will cause the boy pain. Years to help him enough so that he can live his life without drowning under the weight of his memories. But, sir, worst of all, is that we have no way to even start the treatment. He is an unwilling patient. As I’ve just explained, we need the patient to be coherent. Our usual patients are those who are eager to get past one or two traumatic events in their lives. They are cooperative with the treatment. Harry is not. If he won’t let us into his mind, we have no way to help him.”

An appalled silence fell over the chamber. “There must be some way to make him cooperate,” said Scrimgeour hoarsely. “Can’t we order him to do what he’s told? He’s underage!”

“There’s no spell that I’m aware of that would force him to our will other than the Imperius Curse and we all know that Harry is adept at throwing off the effect of that spell.”

Dumbledore had been thinking hard. His hands, palms together, were raised to his lips as if in prayer. He lowered them and said, “Essence of tricolor poppyweed.”

“What?” asked the Minister. Healer Moulson looked interested.

“Hmmm,” she thought aloud.

Dumbledore explained. “It’s the juice of a plant that, when drunk, will make the person receptive to any suggestion. It acts like the Imperius Curse, but its effects are much more temporary. It’s not likely to last more than an hour or two. Unfortunately, like the Cheering potion Healer Moulson mentioned a short while ago, the poppyweed potion is not a long term solution. People build up resistence to its effects almost immediately.”

“So, how will this help?” demanded Scrimgeour.

“It should enable us to penetrate Harry’s mind at least once. We can see what the damage actually is. We will have a better idea what we’re dealing with.”

Scrimgeour threw his hands up. “Fine! I don’t think anyone would disagree that you should try to see just what we’re up against. But, if we can’t fix it, I’m not sure where we’re going with this!”

Dumbledore spoke calmly. “At the moment, I have no suggestion as to the course of treatment for him. But, perhaps, one step at a time?”

Nodding, Scrimgeour turned to the Healers. “We’ll want an update as soon as you’ve been able to use the poppyweed potion. Is it hard to get? When do you think you’ll be able to administer it?”

Healer Moulson conferred briefly with her colleagues. “Good news, Minister. We believe we may have some of the potion on hand at the hospital. If that’s the case, we’ll try to administer it tomorrow.”

Dumbledore interjected. “I beg your indulgence Healer Moulson on a request I would make. As we may have only this one chance to penetrate Harry’s mind, I would like to be present when the poppyweed is administered so that I may assist. I have no little talent in legilimency,” he said modestly. Even as Healer Moulson was nodding, Dumbledore continued, “And, I would also request the presence of Professor Snape.”

Scrimgeour’s face set in hard lines. “Snape! That Death Eater!”

Dumbledore said calmly, “Minister, we’ve discussed this before and you know that Snape was a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix. And, most importantly to us now, he is one of the most skilled legilimens I know.”

Healer Moulson hesitated. “If you believe that this is wise, Professor Dumbledore, I will not say no. After all, you are technically Harry’s guardian since he’s a school-age minor who was enrolled at Hogwarts before he was…” Healer Moulson trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence tactfully. Finally, she settled on, “… taken from the school.”

Scrimgeour looked unhappy as he stood up in dismissal. “Let’s plan on reconvening the Wizengamot tomorrow night, then, to discuss the results. In the meantime,” he said grimly, addressing the other members of the Court, “everyone better start thinking about how we’re going to handle this situation.”

*

Harry was a bit nervous that morning. The nurse on duty had told him that Ron and Hermione would be permitted to visit him today. He knew that he should be happy to see them but, mostly, he was dreading the visit. He wasn’t sure what to say to them and he was afraid of how they would react to him. Would Ron treat him in the same sycophantic way he had treated the fake Harry Potter in their third year? Would he be just a famous face to them now?

He fleetingly wondered whether he should ask them for help in escaping from the hospital. He rejected the thought almost as quickly as it came. There was no way Hermione would ever agree and, considering that it was Ron’s father who had come to get him at the diner, it was unlikely that Ron would be any more receptive than Hermione.

When Harry noticed two heads peering around the door of his room, he couldn’t help smiling. Now that they were there, he realized he was glad that they had come, after all. Hermione entered the room first, in a blur of bushy hair and squeaks of welcome.

Ron followed behind, his face slowly turning as red as his hair. After Harry had hugged Hermione (which was a bit awkward, since he was sitting down in a chair), Ron held out his hand to shake Harry’s. “’lo, Harry.”

“Hi, Ron.”

“I…I just wanted to say,” he began in a rush, “I’m really sorry I was such a prat about everything. You know. How I treated that fake Harry Potter! And, how I treated you, when I thought you had entered yourself into the Triwizard Tournament and all.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” said Harry.

“Yes, there is,” said Ron fiercely. “I’m embarrassed at how I behaved.”

Hermione piped up. “Everyone is. Now that we know you’re really Harry Potter, everyone is pretending that they always knew that Mark Twist was something special.”

Ron snorted. “Even those who thought you had killed Cedric.”

Harry turned pale at the mention of Cedric’s name and Ron immediately looked sorry for having brought up the subject. Trying to turn the topic to something more upbeat, he said, “Anyway, when you return to Hogwarts, you’ll finally be able to be on the Quidditch team. You don’t have to hide who you are any more or spend so much time studying! Maybe Gryffindor will finally have a chance to win the House Cup.”

“Of course Harry still thinks studying is important!” objected Hermione.
Harry found himself smiling at the typical byplay between his friends. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ron, but I’m not returning to Hogwarts, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to be on the Gryffindor team.”

“Not returning? Why not?” asked Ron.

“Oh, Harry, you can’t neglect your studies!” warned Hermione.

Harry smiled wryly. “For one thing, I don’t think they’re letting me out of this hospital so quickly. For another thing, once they do let me go, I’m not staying. I have no place in the wizarding world. I’ve already told everyone this.”

Ron and Hermione looked upset at these words. Hermione began, tentatively, “Harry, we understand that you’re angry at everyone. But, you’re a wizard and I don’t think pretending you’re not is the best approach.”

Before Harry could argue, Ron interjected. “Besides, everyone really wants to say they’re sorry and to thank you for getting rid of You Know Who. It’s very selfish of you not to let them do that.”

“Selfish! Of me!” Harry was shocked at this accusation.

Ron nodded firmly. “Yes. If someone wants to shake your hand and you won’t take it, don’t you think that’s pretty rude? Well, it’s the same thing. Everyone wants to pat you on the back and say thanks. You saved our world, for Merlin’s sake! Just a little thing like that! It’s not right not to accept our gratitude.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “So now I’m the one to blame for having been treated so poorly I don’t want to stay around?”

Hermione looked stricken. “That’s not what Ron means! Of course no one blames you for anything!”

Ron didn’t back down. “You’re turning it around. You know I didn’t mean that! I’m just saying that you shouldn’t reject our…overtures of friendship!”

Harry felt his annoyance fade and he couldn’t help smiling slightly. “Overtures of friendship! You sound like a politician.”

Ron blushed but smiled. “Just don’t repeat that to the twins. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

A nurse wheeled in some lunch for the three. As Harry took a bite of his sandwich, he thought that it was a relief that Ron didn’t seem to be treating him with kid gloves. Ron had been willing to disagree and argue with him. Maybe Ron could handle being friends with the famous Harry Potter after all.

Harry took a deep gulp of the pumpkin juice. It had been years since he had tasted it. He had forgotten how refreshing it was. He had finished his second glass of juice when he felt a strange lethargy start to spread over him. He noticed that Hermione and Ron had the same glazed expressions starting to cross their faces. The door opened and a number of adults entered. On either side of Ron and Hermione, nurses gently suggested that the teens come with them and the two obediently left the room without protest. Harry watched without alarm. He felt so relaxed. He noticed with a slight sense of surprise, but no concern, that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape were entering the room now too.

“Professors!” he said. “Why are you here?”

Snape didn’t answer. Dumbledore said soothingly. “We came to say hello, Harry.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you lie back in bed? You’ll be more comfortable.”

As soon as Dumbledore made the suggestion, Harry thought it was the most sensible suggestion he had ever heard. “Sure,” he said agreeably, and he stood up from his chair. A nurse helped support him as he climbed into bed. He usually found such assistance annoying but, this time, it didn’t bother him at all.

Harry had met all of the Healers present at one time or other over the past few days. He didn’t remember all of their names but the eldest Healer he remembered was named Moulson. He noticed that she was holding her wand, and he asked her with slight interest, “What are you going to do?”

Softly, she said, “Don’t worry, Harry. I want you to relax.”

Harry felt his body relax completely. It was a marvelous sensation. He didn’t remember ever feeling as relaxed in his life. He gave a little moan of relief.

“That feels good, doesn’t it, Harry?” she continued, still using a soft, calm voice.

“Now, I don’t want you to be alarmed, Harry. Everyone here is interested only in helping you. I want you to carefully lower the wall around your mind.”

Harry had a fleeting thought that this was not a good idea but the thought vanished before he could hold on to it. He reached inside his mind and found the wall blocking access to his thoughts. He considered it for a moment, wondering what to do.

“Can you take down that wall, Harry? Or put a door in it?”

That was a good idea, Harry thought. With a mental sweep, he put a door in the wall. He felt a slight push at his mind. He turned around and saw that Healer Moulson was there with him, inside his head. Before he could become alarmed, he heard her say, “Very good, Harry. Just relax. That’s it. Relax. Take a deep breath, Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath and relaxed.

In his mind, he saw Healer Moulson try to open the door. It was locked. She gave a little huff, and said, “Would you mind unlocking the door, Harry?”

“Oh,” he said. And, with a click, the door in the wall in his mind opened. Healer Moulson pushed the door open but did not enter.

“Now, Harry, I’m going to go inside. Everyone here is going to be joining me. We’re just going to take a look around and see some of your memories. I want you to just keep relaxing. No matter what we see, you are not to become alarmed. I want you to keep your mind wide open. As open as you can. You are not to shut that door. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Harry.

It was a strange sensation to feel so many people in his head. He had never let anyone in before and now he was permitting unlimited access. As they poked at various memories, they flooded back to him. But the thoughts were a jumble. There were too many people poking at different sections of his thoughts for him to grab onto any one memory clearly. But, since they appeared to only be interested in unhappy or frightening memories, there rose in Harry a sense of sadness and pain. He started to moan. He heard Healer Moulson tell him softly again, “Remember, Harry. Relax.” He relaxed.

They had been curious to see how the boy organized his mind. Everyone visualized their thoughts in slightly different ways. For example, some people’s minds were a series of different shape and size ropes, twisted together. Other people’s thoughts manifested themselves as little bubbles, of different sizes and colors, stacked on top of each other. There were innumerable ways for people to envision their mind at work.

Harry had organized his mind into rooms, connected by hallways. The damage was worse than they expected. The walls of each room gleamed gold and white. But, running down the walls, like blood seeping through the very foundation, was a dark, tar-like substance.

Snape approached one such patch and, curiously, poked it with his wand. An unearthly scream rose from the goo. Unprepared, he took a hasty step back. Then, slowly he approached it again and tried to wipe it away. The splotch remained where it was. Irritated, the wizard remembered what Dumbledore had told him about Healer Moulson’s recommended course of treatment. Turning his wand upon the stain, he carefully tried to scrape under one corner, lifting it from the wall underneath.

Harry groaned loudly and arched his back. Healer Moulson said quickly, “Harry, lie still! Calm down! I know some of this might be painful. We’re truly sorry. But, lie still!”

Harry felt as if his brain were on fire. He lay still, as directed, and panted with his mouth open.

Inside his head, Healer Moulson and the others continued looking through the various rooms in Harry’s mind. Snape stayed in the first room he had found and continued to attack the goo with a dedicated fury, as if its presence were a personal insult to him. He had hesitated briefly when the boy had first groaned but, had soon resumed his fight with the stain, scraping away at the patch. Finally, when Snape stood back, he was surprised to find that he was breathing heavily. He was vaguely aware that a sheen of sweat covered his brow. His fight with the stain had taken a lot of work. But, he saw with satisfaction, the stain was no longer stuck to the wall. It hovered, instead, a hairsbreadth away, floating so closely to the wall, it was hard to tell that it wasn’t stuck there. The wall itself had a slight shadow on it where the patch had been, but the golden color was able to shine through.

The professor poked his wand at the patch again and watched the memory unfold. He saw, as if looking from Voldemort’s own eyes, the Dark Lord casually torture a muggle woman. The woman was sobbing and screaming, begging Voldemort to leave her alone. Snape’s mouth tightened. He could have told the woman to hold her breath. Voldemort never responded to begging. If anything, it had made him more cruel. A young child ran out of a room behind the woman. The woman called to the child to run away, but the little boy ran at Voldemort, beating him with his tiny fists, yelling at Voldemort to leave his mother alone. Voldemort, laughing wildly, killed the child. The woman’s shriek caused the hair on the back of Snape’s neck to stand on end. Smiling happily, Voldemort killed the woman too. The memory ended.

Dumbledore appeared at the door to the room where Snape was standing. “We have to leave, Severus. The effect of the poppyweed will be wearing off soon.”

Without a word, Snape followed Dumbledore out of the room and through the door in the wall protecting Harry’s mind. The other Healers had already gone through. Leaving Harry’s mind, Snape gave himself a little shake to clear his head. He noticed that the Healers and Dumbledore were all looking very pale from the experience.

Healer Moulson was bending over the teen, who lay still in the bed. Harry’s skin was cold and his eyes were open and glassy. He was breathing in short little bursts.

“What’s wrong with him?” demanded Snape.

“You freed him from one of his memories,” explained one of the other Healers, as Healer Moulson continued to look over the boy. “As we’ve said, it’s a painful process. He’s in a bit of shock from the pain. We’ll give him a soother and he should be alright soon.”

A nurse hurried up with a potion, which she handed to Healer Moulson. The woman took the cup and held it to Harry’s lips. “You’ve been very good, Harry. Just one more thing. I want you to drink this all up. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Harry hesitated. It was clear that the poppyweed was wearing off.

Healer Moulson sharpened her voice, “You heard me, Harry. Drink this up, now!”

Harry drank. He gave a little shudder and relaxed into a light sleep. With a sigh of relief, the elderly wizard, lay the boy’s head back on the pillow. “He’ll be fine when he wakes,” she said. “Of course, he’ll be furious that we intruded into his thoughts. Just one more reason not to trust us.”

One of the other Healers tentatively suggested that it would be best to leave the boy alone. Nodding, Healer Moulson gestured for everyone to follow her. They convened in one of the hospital conference rooms and looked miserably at each other.

Dumbledore finally said what the others were thinking. “Your diagnosis appears to have been accurate, Lucretia. Harry does indeed appear to be overwhelmed by memories so foul that they are sucking the life from him.”

Healer Moulson nodded, sadly. “I’ve never seen a case like this. I don’t know what to suggest.”

Snape interjected, “What do you mean you don’t know what to suggest? The memory I scraped off the…wall…of his thoughts came away eventually. That’s the treatment you had suggested to the Wizengamot, wasn’t it?”

“In Harry’s case, it’s clear that this will take months, if not years, before we can see an appreciable difference in freeing his mind.”

“Then the sooner we begin, the better!” said Snape harshly.

“Yes, but, as I also told the Wizengamot, we need a patient willing to let us into his mind.”

“There must be a way to insist!” snapped the teacher.

Dumbledore interjected, speaking quietly to diffuse the tension in the room. “Severus, I know you are concerned for the boy…”

“I’m not concerned!” objected Snape hastily. “I am irritated…irritated that an underage wizard is defying what Healers and other adults around him are telling him to do! It’s for his own good!”

There was a knock at the door and a nurse apologetically stuck her head inside. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger are no longer under the effects of the poppyweed potion and they are very upset. They are concerned about Harry and insisting on seeing him. What should I do?”

Snape looked angry and opened his mouth to say something no doubt very cutting. Dumbledore held up a hand to halt the teacher. “Why don’t you bring them in here? I think they deserve to know why we used them as we did. I have been learning that we make a mistake when we don’t communicate with our young.”

Snape looked as if he disagreed, but he held his tongue.

Ron and Hermione entered the room clearly in a fighting mood. They both stopped short when they saw so many adults. “Professor Dumbledore!” Hermione gasped. Ron’s mouth fell open a bit.

The headmaster inclined his head. “Mr. Weasley. Ms. Granger,” he said in greeting. “You are, understandably, upset about what has just occurred. I’d like to explain, but I must ask that you not interrupt until I am done.”

The teens exchanged concerned looks. Looking worried, they both nodded in agreement.

“You both are too smart not to realize that people can be injured both physically and mentally. Physical injuries are often easy to see. While we do not always see mental injuries, their effect is no less real. Sometimes, we can see the manifestations of a mental disturbance. In Harry’s case, the manifestation is clear. He is slowly dying.”

Hermione gasped and raised her hands to cover her mouth in horror. Ron shook his head in denial and clenched his hands into fists. But, neither teen spoke. They continued to look intently at Dumbledore.

“In order to help Harry, we needed to look inside his head. Harry was not prepared to let us into his mind. His defenses are too strong for us to use force. We used essence of poppyweed to pull down those defenses temporarily. In order not to have him try to fight its effects, or put up some other defense to keep us from entering his mind while it was still in his system, we didn’t want him to suspect that he had taken any potion. We knew he wouldn’t suspect that we’d put anything in a drink that you both would be drinking as well, so we put the poppyweed in the pumpkin juice. We are sorry to have had to involve you in this scheme.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Ron burst out. “I don’t care that you made us drink the potion.” Hermione nodded. “What about Harry?”

“We were able to enter Harry’s mind. We have confirmed the Healers’ fears; his memories are overwhelming him. We must find a way to loosen their hold on his mind, or he will not be able to be free of their strangling effect.”

Dumbledore’s explanation seemed at an end, so Hermione chanced a question. She gulped and asked, her voice shaking, “What are you going to do?”

Dumbledore hesitated and, apparently thinking it best to be open, continued. “We don’t know. We need Harry to let us into his mind in order to start working to pull the memories loose. That’s the best way I can describe it. It’s a long term process and there doesn’t seem to be a way to convince Harry to let us into his mind so that we can do what needs to be done. The Imperius Curse doesn’t work on him and the poppyweed potion is just a temporary measure.”

“If you explain to him…” began Hermione.

She stopped at Dumbledore’s raised eyebrow. Under her breath, she completed Dumbledore’s unspoken message, “He won’t listen. He doesn’t trust anyone.”

“He’s underage,” offered Ron.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, but even children can’t be forced to open their minds, as much as some parents wish that they could!”

“So, no one knows how to make him listen? And, if he doesn’t listen, he’ll…die?” Hermione almost whispered the last word.

The silence in the room was all the confirmation needed.

“He’s got to be forced!” said Ron, fiercely. “He can’t die!”

“Mr. Weasley, we are trying our best!” interjected Healer Moulson.

“It’s too bad he’s not a house elf,” Ron muttered. “They do what they’re told.”

Hermione said desperately. “It can’t be that only house elves have to obey. What’s the magic that binds them?”

“It’s old magic that no one really understands,” said one of the Healers.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had a strange look on his face. Hermione’s question had obviously sparked a thought.

“What, headmaster?” demanded Snape. “I can tell you are thinking of something!”

He hesitated, then said slowly. “Ms. Granger is right. House elves are not the only beings that have to obey. Servants do, too.”

There was a heavy silence. Then Snape repeated, his voice considering. “An indenture.”

Dumbledore nodded. “It could be done. He could be bound.”

“Yes,” said Snape softly. “It could be done.”

Hermione looked in puzzlement from the headmaster to the potions teacher. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?” she asked.

Speaking in a low voice, as if still thinking aloud, Dumbledore explained. “There are times when a wizard is bound to a family as an indentured servant. Sometimes, it is to pay off a debt. Sometimes, it is in punishment for a crime that doesn’t warrant Azkaban. That wizard is bound to follow the orders of the family until the period of the indenture ends.”

“Like a slave?” asked Hermione, shocked.

“No, Miss Granger. The rules governing the relationship establish firm limits in what a master can order a servant to do. But, I believe the master could order the servant to open his mind.”

“Yes,” whispered Healer Moulson, looking appalled even as she agreed.

The other Healers started speaking excitedly among themselves. Ron, looking so pale his freckles stood out vividly, stepped forward. “You would make Harry a servant? You would do this to him? The savior of the wizarding world!” Despite his best efforts to control himself, his voice rose sharply at the end.

“And what do you suggest?” snapped Snape, reminding Ron why the professor was his least favorite teacher. “Do we let the ‘savior of the wizarding world’ die? Do we stand aside and wring our hands and wonder what to do as he is eaten up by the memories of the horrors he has witnessed?”

“It would be like an intervention in the muggle world. But, he will never forgive us. Never.” Hermione’s voice was low. She couldn’t help the tear sliding down her cheeks.

“Maybe not,” dismissed Snape brusquely. “But, he’d be alive!”

Dumbledore brought the conversation to a close. “I must ask you both not to discuss anything you have heard here with anyone else. It is a confidential matter for the Wizengamot at the moment. There is an emergency session already convened for this evening to discuss what we have learned today. We will make our recommendation to the Court.”

Ron shook his head cynically. “They’ll do whatever you suggest.”

Dumbledore’s mouth tightened. “Mr. Weasley. Any recommendation I make regarding Harry will be with his best interest in mind.”

“Like when he was a baby?!” accused Ron.

Dumbledore drew in a shocked breath. “Insolent boy!” shouted Snape angrily.

Ron looked astonished at his own daring but he didn’t retract what he had said. Dumbledore nodded slowly and then said, “I deserved that. You are right to question my motives. Harry certainly does. I have lost his trust but I hope that I can still ask for yours. It is true that I did not always put Harry’s interests first. I had to consider the needs of the wider public. But, I have always been concerned about Harry. I deeply desire his well-being and happiness. I will do everything in my power to help secure for him a future where he can finally find the peace and love he so richly deserves.”

Dumbledore had spoken from the heart and Ron’s anger subsided.

Hermione, in a squeaky voice, laden with tears, asked, “How long would the indenture have to last? To whom would he be indentured?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I think at this time, any further discussion on this matter will have to wait until the Wizengamot has made its decision.”

Looking miserable, but no longer protesting, the teens were ushered out of the room. The Healers bade the Professors a good day as well, knowing that they would see each other later that night at the Wizengamot.

Dumbledore and Snape were the last remaining in the room. The headmaster seemed as burdened with care as Snape ever recalled seeing him. “It will be for the best,” Snape said softly.

“Ms. Granger is right,” said the older wizard, sadly. “He will never forgive us.”

“Then he’s as much a fool as his father ever was,” said Snape dismissively.

Dumbledore smiled wryly. “I don’t imagine that you would be thrilled if anyone chose to play around in your head, Severus.”

Snape refused to give the headmaster the satisfaction of agreeing, so he kept silent.

With a sigh, the headmaster swept from the room to return to Hogwarts.