Harry: Through the Looking Glass
Harry awoke, rubbing the crust from his eyes. Could it have been a dream? No, the dank smell of the cell reminded him of where he was and what his reality was. The clicking of the doctor's hard black shoes grew louder as they came closer and closer to Harry's locked door. With the turning of the latch the man entered. Dressed in his usual white, clean coat that covered his normal clothes, the suit that he wore for the respect of his peers-his persona he used to fit in with the other Doctors. Dragging the wooden chair across the coarse concrete floor like so many times before, then he sat. Just as he always does, prim and proper, so professional.
"Well Mr. Potter how are we felling today?" The doctor asked, already knowing the answer.
"Fine I suppose," answered Harry. The Doctor asked in his usual superior tone:
"Are we still having these dreams about your fantasy world?" Potter said no, having learned to say what the Doctor wanted to hear.
"I'm just fine," answered Harry.
"No more talk of muggles and wizards and the like then?"
"There are no such things as wizards Doctor, we both know that." The words burned his mouth as bitter as hot shit as he spoke them.
"Since we found you under the stairs last year that's all you've been talking about." The Doctor spoke coldly. "I must admit your delusions were so elaborate, at times I almost believed them myself. Such detail about the wizard school and the teachers, not to mention your accounts of your friends and all those evil antagonists that beseeched you at every turn. I'm happy you've begun to come around. The medications are definitely making a big difference in your recovery."
"Do you think I will be released soon?" Eagerly almost begging, asked Harry.
"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves now, young man. You still have a long way to go." Then as always the Doctor got up and dragged the chair back over to the corner, and adjusting his tie in the two-way mirror he says: "We shall see how things go." Then out the door he, was gone again. Even though Harry knew he was never really gone. So, Harry began his daily routine, all the while fighting against the power of his medication intended to correct his faulty thoughts and kill his so-called "imaginary" world to make room for this new world they call "reality". Harry sat in his room, that had been his home for a year began to go through his usuall daily activities. In his head he went over all the memories the Thorazin and Haldol hadn't blurred.
'I know these memories of Ron , Hermione, and Dumbledor were real.' Yet the words of his Psychiatrist, Dr. Russi rang in his mind. 'Of course the terrible treatment you endured under those people, the Dursley's, while they kept you locked away under those stairs for all those years would naturally cause you to construct a more ideal world than the one you had. There isn't any wonder you developed the Dissociative Disorder you are now plagued with.' "God everything seems so real."
In Dr. Balick Russi's office, an important meeting begins. A tall, dark man enters the office and sits down in one of the comfortable leather chairs.
"I am so glad we could finally meet, Dr. Spane. This case I have been working on for the past year has come to a cross-road. Are you familiar with the case history of Mr. Potter?" In his deep controlled voice Dr. Spane replies:
"Yes, I have been very anxious to get started working with the patient." Dr. Vesseur Spane, PhD, was a leading expert in dealing with patients with Dissociative Fugue (A unique dissorder in which the subject "forgets the past but travels to a new location and may assume a new identity".)
"The last year of treatment with Haloperidol and Chlorpromazine have been very effective," Dr. Russi exclaimed with pride. comments:
"Why did you use two different types of anti-psychotics?"
"Because of the young age of the boy I wanted to avoid the dangerous side effects of Tardive Dyskinesia," explained Dr. Russi.
"We here at the Institute feel the patient has made such progress over the past year, it is time to start a psychodynamic approach to his therapy, and we feel you are the best one for the job. Of course you will check in with me on the progress, but we feel with your qualafications you should have a free hand in this case."
"I thank you for your confidence and I shall give it top priority," Dr. Spane replied with almost no affect. "I shall get started immediately." The two professionals shook hands and Dr. Spane left the office. Harry sat on the edge of his bed like he had done every morning. It was time for his morning medications. The nurse entered as always, her squeaky shoes, the smell of antiseptic, and her usuall raspy breathing.
"Time for your medications, now be a good boy and take them for Nurse Dismal." Harry always took his medications with no trouble, still the old woman said the same thing every day. First he took his Xanax, then he took his Zoloft, and last he took his Haldol. "Now there is my good boy." she said as she shuffled out the door. Most of the day Harry thought of his friends and the adventures they had together. Sometimes he felt guilty, if these things never happened, he was only continuing the delusion. The memories were so strong how could it be they never happened?
His concentration was broken by the sound foot-steps coming down the long hallway. There was something different about them this time. He didn't recognize them. The steps were smooth and even in stride, with an air of discipline to them, a sound of determined purpose. The latch creaked open the door, and in walked the stranger-well not really like a stranger. Even though Harry didn't recognize the man he seemed strangly familiar. His tall, dark frame, emotionless face, and the way he carried himself made Harry feel uneasy yet comfortable at the same time.
He picked up the chair and carefully placed it by the bed, and sat down, all without speaking a that voice: that familiar deep, calm, controlled voice began to speak.
"My name is Spane. I've been asked by to continue your therapy."
"Are you a Psychiatrist?" Asked Harry, meekly.
"No, I am a Psychologist, the Doctorate is a PhD. I've been asked to speak to you about the particulars of this fantasy you've been involved in for some time now." Harry nervously replied:
"It was only a dream, I suppose."
"Perhaps it was and perhaps not," replied the dark, intimidating man. "I am familiar with your complete case file, unless there is something you neglected to disclose to Dr. Russi." Fidgeting with the edge of his shirt nervously, Harry asks,
"What do you wish to know?" Dr. Spane stared at Harry for what felt like minutes, then he spoke.
"I understand you thought you were a wizard?" Dr. Spane asked without emotion. "Yes, yes sir, or so it seems I dreamed it or something. I'm not really sure." Dr. Spane leaned his face forward and said,
"Was it a dream you were forced to live under the stairs by the Dursley's for many years?"
"Yes sir," Harry replied quietly.
"Well there's a start," Dr. Spane said slightly louder. "I want too make one thing clear Mr. Potter. I will not be a determining factor in whether you are released or when. You do not have to guard you answers with me. When we talk about this event or events that you believed occurred, speak to me frankly, or there is no reason for me to continue. You're wasting my time and your's. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Harry replyed, this time with an ernest truth.
"I understand you had an Owl as a familiar," asked the Doctor.
"Yes," answered Harry. "Her name was Hedwig. She delivered messages to me, but she was more than just a pet or an animal. She was like a part of me, maybe the best part of me. It's hard to explain-it was like she was all the best of my personality. Loyalty, bravery, self-conviction."
"What happened to this Owl?" Asked Dr. a short pause Harry answered.
"She died…died trying to protect gave her life so I might get away from danger. So many wonderfull people died to protect me."
"How does that make you feel, Mr. Potter? All this death for your benefit." Asked the Doctor quietly, almost in a whisper.
"I felt terrible, of course, but you don't understand, we all had to make sacrifices. It was for the common good, good must overcome evil whatever the cost, so there will be a future for our children that will be worth living. I miss all those who were lost for the cause, but we all willingly made our sacrafices, none walked away un-singed by the flames of the crucible."
"That's enough for today Mr. Potter, I can see that you are emotionally drained. Either you truly believe in everything you've told me to be pure truth, or you are indeed the most deranged person I have ever encountered. We shall continue tomarrow, get some rest."
"Dr. Spane," Harry hesantly asked, "why aren't you taking down notes like Dr. Russi?" Leaning in Dr. Spane replies,
"I'm not here to evaluate you Mr. Potter. I am here to free you from whatever has you trapped within yourself. Good day, Mr. Potter." With that, Dr. Spane replaced the chair and left the room that Harry once thought was his prison, now he thinks that maybe the prison and prisoner are one in the same. That night Harry got the best night sleep he had had since realizing he was in this place.
Chapter two, Friend or foe, the voice behind the door
Harry awoke from his sleep. At the foot of the bed stood Hermione. She stood there, just looking at Harry as if she had been there for some time.
"Hermione," Harry spoke with quiet surprise, "what are you doing here?" She spoke with a whisper of urgency,
"Harry, things are not as they seem. Trust your feelings, do not trust your senses." "Help me, Hermione, I don't what's happening to me."
"We are trying to help you, Harry. We have sent someone who will show you the way. Be careful; the danger is great. There is only one you can trust. Follow your feelings." Harry raised up from his bed and she was gone. There came a light tapping at his door, after a few seconds the tapping again. Harry whispered:
"Who is there?" Then a gruff, yet quiet voice sounded.
"Harry, it's me Wittie,Wittie Pegepeter." He was the orderly that had been sneaking contraband items to Harry. "I've got some more chocolate and writing paper for you." He slipped them under the space between the door and the floor. "How are you this evening, Mr. Potter?" Slightly startled Harry responds,
"I'm fine Wittie, I don't feel like talking tonight."
"Quite alright, just checking, remember, if you need anything or perhaps to talk, remember, I'm you man, sir."
"Thank you, I'm fine." Harry whispered back. Then he heard those strange footsteps almost scamper away back down the hall. Willie was nice to Harry but he gave him the creeps. He seemed too friendly, too helpful. Something about him didn't seem right. That funny smell that followed him, he reminded Harry of a rodent, in appearance and nature. However, he was always kind and helpful. Harry's thoughts went back to the nocturnal visit from Hermione.
'Could have I been dreaming?' It was as real as the memories he was being told were not real. And what she said, "we are trying to help you". " We have sent someone to show you the way". 'What could this mean? Should I tell someone about this?' Hermione's visit and words confirmed the feelings he had been having for some time. 'Trust, who could I trust? She said: "trust your feelings". Perhaps I shouldn't over-think things-just be careful and observant.'
After the morning routine of the visit by the old nurse and breakfast, Harry sat on his bed. Using the paper and pencil old Wittie had brought him he began to draw. He felt compelled to draw what looked like lightining bolts, one after another until he had an entire page of them. Then suddenly he remembered, the birthmark. He had a birthmark of a similar design on his head. Going to the mirror and looking, it was gone. As he sat there, rubbing his forhead he also remembered pain associated with the mark. Could this too be part of the dream-life? He heard footsteps coming down the hall. He knew who they belonged to. Then came a knock at the door. Dr. Spane entered quietly and moved the chair over to the bed and sat down. Looking at the notebook covered with row upon row of this strangely identical marks, he turned a curious eye towards Harry, still standing in front of the mirror.
"What are you doing Mr. Potter?" Asked Dr. Spane in his usual voice.
"This mark," Harry replied, "This mark, I remember having it here on my head all my life, yet now it's not there. It feels like it had always been something very significant; very important to my identity." Harry walked to the bed and sat across from Dr. Spane. "It was more like a scar than a birthmark." Explained Harry. "Like a scar I'd had since I was an infant."
"What kind of sensations do you have when these memories occur?" Asked Spane.
"Pain, sorrow, joy, and love," described Harry. "Sometimes I get a warm comfortable feeling when I remember my friends, a sense of belonging. Sometimes I feel great fear, not just towards myself, but for those I love." Dr. Spane spoke:
"There is a phenomina called constructed memory were we invent memories that are more pleasant to replace negative memories that cause too much pain; pain we wish not to deal with. I can't see why you would replace painfull memories with new painful memories. These sound more like suppressed memories of real events forceing there way to the surface."
"Are you saying my memories are real?"
"I can only tell you what my training supports," reports Dr. Spane, "and this seems to be what is occurring here." Harry looks at Dr. Spane and says,
"You remind me of someone who I know I knew, he was my profess-" Dr. Spane interrupted Harry before he could finish,
"That's enough for today, Mr. Potter. I would like for you to do some cognitive exersizes until our next meeting. Are you familiar with anagrams?"
"Yes." Replied Harry. "It's when you take the letters of a word or name and look for other words or names from them." Dr. Spane said:
"I would like you to write down any words or names that come into your mind and work anagrams out of them. Our unconscious holds secrets that are repressed, this is a way to reveal may answer some questions about these feelings you have." As Dr. Spane sat there looking at Harry, it was as if there was something he wanted to tell Harry, but for some reason he could not. Upon leaving the room Dr. Spane shook Harry's hand and said: "I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. Potter." With that same look in his eyes as before. After the Doctor left, Harry was puzzled by the way he acted during this session. He couldn't stop thinking about how he felt he knew him and how he interrupted him when he mentioned it. Things were growing more and more peculiar each time he met with Dr. Spane. Memories became more real and vivid. The faces of the people he remembered became clearer and clearer. Perhapes Hermione was right,"trust your feelings" kept entering his thoughts. Harry sat on the bed and tried to remember all the things that stood out in his mind.
Chapter three, The Face Behind the Mirror
Dr. Russi came into the room startling Harry as he sat on the bed. This time there was no warning footsteps to announce him, perhaps Harry was too caught up in his thoughts. This was not like his usual visits, no chair, no friendly greeting, he stood there looking almost nervously at Harry.
"Hello Dr. Russi," Harry spoke with his usual cheery greating.
"I am afraid this is not a social call Mr. Potter." Russi spoke in a stern voice. "I am here to inform you that we have come to a decision. The psychiatric review board, and myself have determined your course of treatment with Dr. Spane should be terminated. His theraputic methods have been determined not to be in your best interest. You will be receiving a visit from Dr. Mildred Doosurge this afternoon. She wishes to have a consultation with you about some possible alternitive therapies." Then he left the room without his usual pleasantries. Harry was beside himself. He didn't know what to make of this complete about-face in his treatment by Dr. Russi and the end of treatment by Dr. Spane.
'I thought we were making progress,' thought Harry. 'I've finally felt certain about my feelings and began to believe in the validity of my memories.' Then it hit Harry, 'That's why,' he thought, 'that's why they've stopped my sessions with Dr. Spane. They don't want me to remember, but how could they have known?" That's when Harry looked at the mirror; that two-way mirror. 'They've been observing everything.' It's no wonder Dr. Spane behaved with such reserve and acted so strangely. The last time we spoke he almost ordered me to apply certain names to anagramns. Something about the unconscious revealing secrets. Also, he shook my hand as if to say goodbye.' Harry fetched his notebook and pencils and began to work. All the while he felt their eyes on him from behind the mirror, studying him, making their plans for him, but why-why was I of such importance to them for all this subterfuge? Harry began work in his notebook. 'Where shall I start?' thought Harry. Then it hit him. His little nocturnal visiter. There was always something familiar about him. His odd odor, how he seemed to scamper about, and he was always too helpful, too friendly. Harry began to write the letters of his name down, always keeping his work concealed from the mirror. the last four letters stood out in Harry's mind. Peter P E E. 'No, that's not right.' However, he was sure about the name Peter. That's when it struck him, Pettigrew: Peter Pettigrew, that little rat of a man. But how? Then he worked on another. 'D R, no I will leave off the titles.' E, then the word's of Hermione came to him."Follow your feelings". 'He reminded me of someone; the way he carried himself, that voice, and the way he looked at me. He reminded me of Snape, but that was impossible, Snape was dead. Still, he couldn't escape the feeling. I'll see if the letters work.' E. 'Yes, the letters fit perfectly!' Harry became excited, as if this confirmed his memories and the validity of his past. He tried another: I. 'I can see the word or name black in there.' The only letters left juggled into Sirius; Sirius Black. 'No, this couldn't be right. Hermione said follow my feelings. Dr. Russi didn't remind me of Sirius in any way despite the fact I saw him must be some sort of confound to confuse me, or to throw me off. Who is the most important person here, the one with the control. This Dr. Mildred Doosurge, whom I haven't meet yet, but it seemed I was almost threatened with by Dr. Russi's tone.' As Harry worked with the puzzle the name Doloris appeared in the mix. Using the remaining letters the name Umbridge appeared. Harry's fear turned to terror as he looked down at the paper and seeing Doloris Umbridge staring back at him. Everything made sense to him now. His power wasn't weakened by the medications-it had been stolen by Umbridge and the remaining Death Eaters. This whole ellaberate construction was a ploy to get rid of Harry and destroy his identity. Harry was alerted by the quick clicking of foot steps coming down the hall. The door opened quickly an in stepped Dr. Mildred Doosurge. With Harry's eyes now opened, he saw her for who she really was: Doloris Umbridge. She walked up to Harry's bed, he stood immediately facing her as an opponent. Then she spoke.
"Mr. Potter, we here at the institution feel you have relapsed. Since the Drug therapy, nor the Psychodynamic therapy have proven successful, we have no alternative but to try our last resort: Electro-Convulsive Shock Therapy to start immediately." While these words were streaming from her mouth, Harry couldn't take his eye's off of the locket around her neck. It had a symbol on it Harry recognized, but from where he could not remember. Suddenly he grabbed the locket from her and as it did it opened revealing the scar that once was on his forehead. The scar flew to Harry's head like a magnet drew it. Then all the memories came flooding back into his mind. Without thinking, as if it were instinctual, Harry spoke
"Expecto Patronum!" As Doloris flew backward the room began to spin. Harry found himself in the maelstrom of a vortex, spinning him away from the prison in which he had been held for so long.
When the commotion stopped, Harry found himself outside the grounds of Hogwarts. The sun beamed down on his face, confirming he was finally free; but better, he was home. A crowd of people came running towards him, cheering and calling his name. Tears of relief rolled down his cheeks. It was good to be safe and out of that awful place. Harry readied himself for the oncoming mass of loved ones making their way across the meadow towards him. They crashed against him like a warm, loving ocean wave engulfing him in a wave of love. The faces came into view; Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and all the others. From the midst of the crowd stepped Snape, walking up to Harry. He hugged him.
"I thought you were dead," pled Harry.
"I am an expert in potions, Sibyl warned me of the events, and I prepared a potion to counter the effects. I stayed in hiding waiting for their plot to unfold. Being dead they wouldn't suspect me." The head of the Ministry of Magic said:
"Doloris Umbridge and her accomplices are in custody. I predict a long sentence in Azkaban for them." They all made their way back home to Hogwarts in a colorful mass of laughter. As they walked together, Harry thought how wonderful how things had turned out. In the battle between good and evil, there are always casualties, but those who fought for good didn't die in vain.
The End