A summons to the Headmaster’s office didn’t take Harry by surprise the next morning. He figured that eventually Dumbledore would want to talk to him about the drinking incident, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Harry wasn’t going to pretend that nothing was wrong, but he also wasn’t going to ask for the man’s help. He knew better than to put himself in the position of asking for help from an adult. Not one adult had ever followed through for Harry.

Professor Dumbledore motioned for Harry to have a seat in his office, and then sat behind his own large desk.

“Hello, Harry,” Dumbledore said, pushing a bowl of sweets forward, his eyes searching Harry’s face for answers. “Please, tell me what happened the other evening when Professor Snape found you intoxicated.”

“Well, sir, I was drunk,” Harry answered. He made no move toward the candy. Instead, he shrugged, a gesture which was quickly become his signature move. “Firewhiskey will do that.”

“Did something happen over the summer, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“Sir?” Harry was confused. “I was at the Dursleys' house and then with the Weasleys. I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, Harry, sometimes when a person feels a need to drink, or find some other way to alter reality, it is because they’re in pain. You didn’t appear to be in emotional upheaval when you left Hogwarts for the summer holiday, but perhaps I am incorrect in that assumption,” said the Headmaster.

Harry leaned back in his chair and gave this some thought. The Headmaster appeared willing to give him a few moments of contemplation. The first thoughts to run through Harry’s mind were based in anger – was it a secret that his Muggle family was neglectful and cruel? Did Dumbledore think that it had somehow been a better summer because he’d turned twelve? Should he be celebrating his move from the cupboard to Dudley’s second bedroom? Dumbledore knew that Harry had been freed from captivity due to a rescue mission involving the Weasley twins and Ron showing up in Surrey with a flying car. Harry had been writing about those experiences in his journal and knew he was upset on more than one level just from that alone.

As for when he left Hogwarts at the end of the spring term, how could Dumbledore have adequately judged his emotional state? This is something else Harry had written about in his journal. He was nearly killed, along with his two best friends. After a childhood where he was treated like an outcast, as though he were subhuman, he was suddenly involved in the rescue of the Sorcerer’s Stone, from a professor taken over by fucking Voldemort, the mass murder responsible for the death of his parents. So, yes, Harry did think it was a little presumptuous for Dumbledore to assume it was all peaches and cream for Harry leaving off for the Dursley home directly after the most terrifying and dangerous experience of his life.

“Harry?” Dumbledore’s expression was full of concern.

“Sir, I have no idea how I can talk to you about this right now, truly I don’t,” Harry said, impassively. “If I even begin to address it I fear I’ll need to smash everything in your office. I might need to even strike you, sir, and that doesn’t seem like it will solve anything.”

Dumbledore took a long, slow breath. “Harry, we will need to talk about this, we must not pretend that there is no issue.”

“No offense, Professor, but why bother?” Harry asked, his voice rising in anger. “I think I’ll just take my chances and deal with it myself. Thanks for your concern, though.”

“I cannot allow you to continue breaking the rules, Harry. Please remember that there will always be consequences for your actions,” said the Headmaster.

“Oh, I know all about consequences, yeah?” he spat in anger. “I hate my life! I hate everything about it, and don’t pretend like you care, or that you’ll help, because you won’t. No, I’ve heard people make promises to me before and it’s always complete bollocks! The social workers in my old primary school? We’ll help, Harry, we’ll see if we can get you new clothes, or enough food, but NO! Nothing ever changed. I’m here and it’s the same.” Harry stood up and turned to leave.

“Please, Harry.” Dumbledore stood and reached out for Harry to look him in the eyes, but Harry refused, shaking his head violently. Harry left the office as quickly as possible and ran down the hallway.

Harry slipped into an empty classroom and slid down to the floor with his back against the wall. He placed his head in his hands and tried to calm himself. It seemed like he should be crying, but he wasn’t. He was even more confused than before he’d seen Dumbledore. Instead of simmering in anger, or punching a wall, he took out his journal in a hasty attempt to piece his feelings together. He began taking notes.

Dumbledore – did something happen over the summer? Why escape from my feelings?

It’s so obvious. Is he completely daft? Locked in a bedroom? No access to my friends? Treated like a house elf? Rescued by a flying car?

Last term? Is Dumbledore mad? I was nearly killed! Nearly got Ron and Hermione killed!

What is it like to be a regular person? What is it like to have a parent?

I will eventually come of age with no real parent or family member. I have no one who will always be there for me. No one. And you ask what’s wrong? Piss off!

Harry put down the journal and wrapped his arms around his knees with his back against the wall. He would stay curled this way until it was time for dinner.

Dumbledore had asked to see Professor Snape in his office after the meeting with Harry, because things were dire, much more so than he’d originally thought.

“Severus, I must ask for a favor, and I fear you will not be able to look past your history with James Potter,” said Dumbledore. “But I will ask anyway. I need you to speak to Harry Potter, to understand what is happening with him emotionally. He is in a dark place -”

Snape cut him off. “Yes, who better to assist Potter than someone else who is familiar with being in dark places? I am not going to hold Potter’s hand and allow him to cry on my shoulder for you!”

Dumbledore tightened his facial muscles and his eyes grew darker. “He will not speak to me about the pain he is experiencing, but he might speak to you.”

“Are you mad, Albus?” Snape nearly laughed. “The boy hates me, and I can’t stand him, either. He’s an insolent, arrogant little idiot, who has decided to buck authority and drink in order to solve his problems. I won’t be a part of this plan of yours.”

“Severus, you have the opportunity to see him every evening in detention. Surely you can see your way to speaking with him in a civilized manner,” said Dumbledore.

“Sadly, I was planning to start sending him to Filch for detention after tonight, because I have better things to do than spend each evening with Potter.” Severus had never meant to suffer through Potter’s detentions alone.

“Please, I am asking you for a personal favor,” Dumbledore said slowly.

“I will spend this evening with the boy in detention and make a decision concerning his future detentions by the morning,” said Severus. He stood, bowed slightly to the Headmaster, and stalked off to the dungeons. He’d be damned if he was going to play therapist to Potter.