Chapter 3: Harry at Fork's End
Good things did not await Harry and Sirius back at the school.
Looking devastated, Hagrid was waiting for them at the main gates.
"You're wanted in Dumbledore's office, 'Arry." he said
"Oh fuck, they've searched me trunk, haven't they?"
Hagrid nodded.
Harry felt his heart fall into his feet.
"Sirius, what the fuck am I going to fucking do?" he asked, in a panicky voice.
"You're going to have to go and face the music, Harry. Don't let them scare you with threats of Azkaban. You're not going there if I have anything to say about it. And I do. " Sirius told him.
"I'll 'ide yer, 'Arry. I won't let them send yer to Azkaban. Why you can 'ide wif me brother! Grawp won't 'urt yer none." Hagrid loyally volunteered.
Harry suddenly thought of Malfoy, of all people. If he could get a good enough sized chuck of cash into the little poof's hands, he thought for sure he could buy himself some fake papers, maybe a little polyjuice potion…
"I may have to take you up on that." Harry told Hagrid.
Harry had never felt so ashamed in his life as he did when he walked into Dumbledore's office.
The heads of all four houses were present, and all his contraband was neatly laid out on the Headmaster's desk.
Dumbledore looked sad, disappointed, dismayed and very upset.
That was the worst of all.
"Is this an Intervention, Headmaster?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Harry. All I can think to say right now is that I'm glad there is no Purple Doom in this collection. I'm sorry, Harry. We have failed you, shamefully." He said.
The Headmaster looked like he was about ready to burst into tears.
Harry had the sudden impulse to cry, himself, and literally fling himself at Dumbledore's' feet and say it was all his fault, and beg for another chance.
But, he was a man now, after all, as Snape was fond of pointing out to him, and decided to preserve what little dignity he had left.
Take it like a man.
"I suppose I'm expelled and off to Azkaban, aren't I?" Harry asked.
"Azkaban! Of course not! I think it would be best you were expelled, Mr. Potter, and sent to a treatment facility, but not jailed." Professor Sprout recommended.
"Not jailed? He performed an Unforgivable Curse this morning, without provocation!" Professor Flitwick huffed.
"But he was heavily under the influence! And he's just a boy. Not to mention that Azkaban is full of Death Eaters who would all love to get their hands, among other parts, on Harry Potter. I've been there. I know." Sirius protested.
"Oh. I hadn't thought of that. No, we don't want to impose a veritable death sentence on the boy. Or worse. But we must do something!" Professor Flitwick replied.
"Well, I, for one, agree with Professor Sprout that Harry should be sent to a treatment program, but suspended until he can prove he had his problem under control, not expelled." Professor McGonagall decided.
"Yes, Perhaps that might be best." Professor Flitwick agreed.
Harry looked at Snape.
His lip was twitching and he looked angry.
Harry tried not to panic.
Snape's on our side, Dumbledore said so. Don't panic. After all he's not some kind of monster, is he? He wouldn't want to see me go off to Azkaban so I could get passed around like a three galleon whore to every Death Eater in the place. Oh God, I fucking hope not!
Dumbledore turned to the head of Slytherin House.
"And what do you think, Severus?"
"I think that, with all due respect to my colleagues, I know a little bit more about the treatment of substance abuse than they do. Another thing I know, is that rehab centres, at least the ones this school can afford to send Potter to, would fall into two categories. The first would be some horrid and unhelpful New Age monstrosity where Potter would be locked up for thirty days with a lot of sanctimonious Ministry lawyers and tearful reformed Death Eaters, under the supervision of some witch who is even dizzier and less helpful than Sybil Trelawney. The others are virtual concentration camps where he'd be browbeaten and brainwashed, staffed by sadistic reformed Death Eaters that make Azkaban look like a vacation in Jamaica. Either way, all he would end up with is thirty days of sobriety, with no motive to remain so, and he will have missed a large portion of his classes in the year in which he is expected to take his NEWT's. No, I think what Potter needs is probation, and support from his home and his family. I have discussed this with Sirius, his godfather, and we feel as though this school is Potter's home and the teachers and students here his family. I think it is up to us, then, to assume the responsibility of helping him in his recovery. Which everyone in this room has been neglecting. You should all recall that I have been to this office several times over the past two years reporting Mr. Potter for drunkenness, erratic behaviour, for his class performance, and for fistfights and unauthorised hexing. Nothing was done. I have done what I could for him, even to the extent of carrying him to Gryffindor Tower and putting him to bed on several occasions. But I can't save the whole Wizarding World and Potter too on me own. There aren't enough hours in the day. Mr. Potter is our responsibility and although it is not all our fault he has degenerated into this condition, we have, as teachers, and as an institution, failed him. We can't simply shrug off that failure and pack him off to be someone else's problem." Snape pointed out.
"That's very true. I entrusted my godson's care to this school because I have been unable to look after him. It was my expectation, Albus, as his headmaster and Minerva, as his head of house that you would take care of him. Obviously, you didn't. All I can say is that I thank the gods Severus was looking out for Harry, as much as he could, given his extended duties. Or else Harry might not be standing here today for you to belatedly reprimand!" Sirius agreed.
"You're both right. I heard rumours about Harry getting into trouble, and I did see him looking a little tipsy after a few Hogsmeade weekends, but I never dreamed he was in so deep! Harry, I'm sorry, as your Head of House, I should have known better." Professor McGonagall apologised.
"Well I was doing me best to keep it all secret. And I really didn't get bad until after…"
Harry looked at Dumbledore and fell silent.
"Until you saw your Professor murder your Headmaster. Perhaps I bear the greatest responsibility of all, here. I have been so focused on this war, and its end and your part in it Harry, that I chose to ignore all the signs of your distress. I kept telling Severus that he was judging you by himself, and that things weren't as bad as he was making then out to be. I was wrong. Worse, I was the cause of the trauma that send you over the edge. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I will do my best, now, to help you in your recovery, as Headmaster, and as and old fool, who almost wasted the most precious life he had in his charge, and not just because you are the Boy Who Lived."
Tears were running down Dumbledore's face.
Harry didn't know what to say.
"To that end, Albus, we'll keep Potter here, on school grounds, for the first half of the term, except for supervised visits to WAND meetings in Hogsmeade. He'll be watched, and tutored and monitored. By me. Now, Mr. Potter has some charges pending against him by the Muggle authorities as well. Sirius and I have made an arrangement with those authorities that they will not take action against him for some rather serious offences if he obeys the terms of his probation. However, if Mr. Potter's grades have not improved and he hasn't stayed sober by mid-term, I'd say expulsion and turning him over to the Muggle authorise to face charges of assault, statutory rape, narcotics possession, indecent exposure, disorderly conduct and drunkenness in charge would an excellent way for Potter to learn what happens when you blow your last chance." Snape replied.
You could have knocked Harry over with a feather.
Snape was all for saving his arse.
"Severus, I think I like your idea the best. It gives Harry chance to redeem himself, but it also impose upon him how serious his offences are, and what their consequences will be if he doesn't take steps to reform himself." Dumbledore pronounced.
"That seems fair to me." McGonagall rejoined. "After all, Professor Snape is the local chairman of WAND, he would know more about this than we do."
"Professor Sprout and I are satisfied with that solution." Professor Flitwick announced.
"Very good, then. Harry, do you have anything to say for yourself?" Dumbledore asked
Sirius urged Harry forward.
Harry took two steps, and tried to speak, but a sickening feeling off vertigo overwhelmed him. There was a roaring in his ears, the room bean to spin around and around, and suddenly, the carpet was rushing up to meet him.
Alone in his bed at the infirmary that night, Harry cried a little.
They had him in a tiny little room all but himself, a bare little room with nothing in it but a bed and a chair.
He kept hoping someone would come to see him, and sit in the chair, and to that end he stayed up far into the night.
He was just falling asleep when he got a visit from one of his least favourite people.
"Good evening, Potter." Severus Snape greeted him, crisply.
"Hello, Professor Snape." Harry replied.
He was almost glad to see Snape, he really didn't want to be alone.
"I hope you're feeling better than you were in the Headmaster's office. The house elves had a lot of cleaning up to do after that performance."
"Did I throw up?"
"Yes, Potter. Copiously. But only after you passed out. You nearly choked to death right there on the floor, and lucky me, I'm the only member of the faculty who knows CPR. You have a very serious problem, Potter."
"I almost choked to death?"
"You were turning blue, and convulsing."
"And you saved my life?"
"Sirius assisted me. We saved you life. I have, at this point, lost track of the amount of times I have saved your life."
"Thanks, Professor Snape. And I know I have a serious problem. I'm a useless drunk and a filthy gutter junkie."
Harry wondered why Snape cared.
Snape was a mystery to him. There was no love lost between him and the Potions master, but, ever since he had first come to Hogwarts his father's old enemy and his mother's old friend had done much to help him; he'd even saved Harry's life on several occasions.
Now he was the only person to come and visit Harry at what was one of the lowest points of his life.
Guilt. It was probably guilt. Harry thought.
"Don't look so glum, Potter. Admitting that you have a problem is the first step on the road to solving it. Filth wipes off. And you are perfectly capable of making yourself useful. Don't thank me yet. In the coming weeks, what you are going to go through will make you unafraid of death, because Hell will hold no surprises for you. You will, of course, require extra help and tutoring in your major subjects, so I will keep an hour open, in my office, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from seven until eight in the evening. We will meet at the uual time in the morning, as well, except now we will meet every day. Considering the scholastic miracle you'll have to work if you really do want to be an auror, I suggest you show up, on time, every time. As you may recall, Potter, I am a member in long standing of the Hogsmeade Chapter of WAND. I am willing to be your sponsor. We have meetings every night at nine in the Shrieking Shack. As part of the terms of your probation, you are required to attend meetings at least twice a week, but if I were you, I'd go a little more often than that. "
Harry's mouth dropped opened.
WAND stood for Wizards Against Narcotics and Drinking. It was the wizarding world's answer to AA and NA.
"You, Professor Snape? I thought you were, like an honorary chairman, or something."
"I wish I was, Potter. Believe it or not, I bottomed out a lot lower than you have. But, I have been sober for as long as you have been alive. I quit cold turkey, and I advise you that there's no time like the present to do the same."
"I don't have to give up women as well, do I?" Harry found himself blurting out, much to his embarrassment.
"Certainly not. I haven't." Snape replied.
Fucking right you haven't. I wonder if Dumbledore knows about him and his unofficial curriculum with his apprentice.
"I guess not." Harry commented wryly
Snape raised an eyebrow. Then he took a book out from under his robes and opened it.
"I think you should get some sleep, Potter. It's been quite a day."
Harry couldn't believe he'd sunk so low that they were having a professor watch him in the infirmary so that he didn't steal any of the drugs.
Oh well, Harry thought as he rolled over and too off his glasses, at least I won't be alone.
Things became hazy for Harry over the next three days.
Someone was usually in the chair beside the bed.
Sometimes it was Sirius, sometimes it was Snape.
It could have been no one.
It could have been anyone.
All Harry was conscious of was a terrible pain.
It stemmed from the hot burning coal that crawled around in his guts like a virus, and chewed through him leisurely, eating his body alive with fire. His legs cramped and his arms, his muscles worked in spasms he couldn't control. His skin felt raw, like his whole body had been worked over with sandpaper soaked in corrosive acids. He scratched himself until he scraped off his skin, but he was still plagued by the burning itch.
It was like the Cruciatus Curse only there was no one you could beg to stop the pain, nothing you could do.
Sometimes it felt better just to scream, to scream and thrash around, and that's when whoever was in the chair would come and hold him down. Sometimes there were two sets of hands holding him down. When Harry was coherent enough to make out a face looking over him he'd beg the face to kill him.
If he'd had his wand he would have cursed himself to death.
He shook uncontrollably and his mouth was dry and he saw things that weren't there and his whole body itched and twitched and he threw up many times, until there was nothing left in his stomach and it as dry heaves and bitter green bile.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
Harry knew he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up, and when he did, the pain was gone.
He was so happy the pain was gone that tears ran out of his eyes.
There were three chairs by the bed, and he saw three indistinct faces swimming around him.
Someone handed him his glasses and he put them on and saw Sirius, and Dumbledore and Snape.
"Is it over with?" he asked.
"Erm, the withdrawal is, Harry." Sirius assured him.
"Yes. That was the easiest part." Snape said.
"I don't care. I know I have to work hard to stay sober, but nothing could ever be as bad as that."
"How do you feel, Harry? It's been three days." Dumbledore asked.
"Terrible. But if I could get a glass of water and take a shower and change, I think I'd like to try and eat something. Maybe some soup. And then I want to go to class. I don't even want to think about this bed anymore. I have to get out of here." Harry said.
Dumbledore and Sirius looked at one another like they didn't know what to do.
"Treacher!" Snape suddenly shouted.
The Potion's Master's house elf appeared, promptly.
"Get Harry Potter a glass of pumpkin juice and a bowl of chicken soup. Take it to the Gryffindor common room."
"Treacher will! And Treacher will tell Dobby that Harry Potter is feeling better!" the house elf enthused.
"Can you get out of bed, Harry?" Sirius asked.
"Sure." Harry said.
He made it look like it was easy for him to get out of bed and put on his robe, even though every step gave him vertigo.
"Well, I'll just floo meself to the Common Room and eat that soup. Maybe I'll have Dobby bring me some tea. Erm, cheers!" He said.
He put on his glasses, and made for the hearth.
Harry had left behind the clean socks, y-fronts, jeans and tee shirt that had been waiting by his bed.
"It's a start." Sirius said.
"At least he put on his robe." Dumbledore agreed.
The corners of Snape's mouth trembled, as though he might laugh, but he didn't.
Harry didn't realise that his two best friends and his old lady had indeed forgiven him. They had all been to see him in the infirmary, but Harry had no idea.
Ginny kept coming back to Harry's bedroom and to the Common Room to look for him after every class, in the hopes he'd get well enough to be released, so she was the first one to see the new clean and sober Harry.
He looked pale and drawn, thin and quiet, absently banging his bare leg against his chair as he sat opposite two anxious house elves slurping down a bowl of soup, which they kept refilling.
When they saw Ginny, both Dobby and Treacher made themselves scarce.
Harry set a teacup in front of her, filled it and kept eating.
"I'm sorry." He said.
"That's good enough for me. Don't go through any of that awful soppy bullshit, Harry. I forgive you. Ron forgives you, too. We came to see you in the infirmary, but you were way the fuck out of it. Mind, if you fall off the wagon, I won't have to break up with you, and you won't have to worry about getting expelled or going off to the nick. I'll just put you out of your misery. How do you feel?"
"Sad, tired, itchy, happy, hungry, paranoid and horny." Harry reported.
"All at once?" Ginny snorted.
"Yeah. It's kind of a nice change from feeling drunk, high, hung over, or strung out." Harry replied.
He kept eating.
Ginny looked different. Her hair was redder. So were his bedcurtains.
The sun was very bright and hot which was good because the breeze blowing in the window under his robes was freezing. There was some bird outside singing at the top of its lungs and he could taste all the ingredients in the soup, as he thoughtfully chewed and swallowed each mouthful.
"This soup is fucking brilliant. And you look really good today, Ginny." He said.
Harry drank the last of the soup and pushed the bowl aside.
Ginny came around to his side of the table and sat in his lap.
"So do you, Horny Pothead." She told him.
Ginny took Harry's glasses off and put them in her pocket.
"What are you-"
"Shut up, you tosser. You know what I'm doing."
Ginny looked at her watch.
Ten minutes until Advanced Divination.
She quickly warded the doors, and pushed Harry's robes aside, pushed her robes adide, hitched up her skirt and got on the Firebolt.
"Holy shit!" Harry gasped. "Don't you even want me to kiss you?"
"Later. We've got class in eight minutes. Push back."
