The Other Potter: Book One

Chapter Three: Social Skills.

[Chapter Three: Social Skills. Edited.]

I was not surprised when I woke up in the hospital room. The sun was no longer peering through the window and dancing on my skin. I tried to sit up, but it was futile. I felt weak and seemed to be glued to my bed.

"Hello, again, Willow," The old man was sitting beside me. He was slightly further back this time, but he was still too close. He could have been a mile a way and still been too close. I wanted to vomit. Or cry. Maybe scream. I didn't know. I tried to move again but was strapped down by invisible means. It wouldn't stop me from fighting against them. I'd struggle until the magical binds were gone.

"A simple binding spell. We don't want you running away again," My breathing increased, even though his words were spoken with an unprecedented calmness with which I bore no familiarity. I was scared at what he might do to me. If these people could scare my parents, they must be horrible.

"Please."

It was the only word I could muster. It wasn't a demand, rather a plea. Show mercy on me. If my father had known how pathetic I'd just been, I'd be punished.

"We are not going to hurt you, Willow. We are here to protect you. To help you." He studied my face before continuing. "This is Hogwarts. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster."

"Hogwarts?" My voice was no louder than a breath. He nodded, his eyebrows raised. "B-but I'm – I'm a – a squib, I – I'm n-not — I –––-"

"You are very much a witch, Willow," Professor Dumbledore observed me with such concern that I looked away. "Who told you otherwise?"

I didn't answer. I felt horrible for not answering, but I couldn't betray my parents, not even for the man Dobby claimed was kind. They must have known something Dobby didn't.

"You are now eleven, Willow, you start school this year." I cringed at the constant use of my name. It didn't fit. I was not Willow. I was the pitiful squib. I had questions, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to irritate him. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. He left a long enough pause for me to speak, but I didn't. "Willow, when we found you – and thank goodness we did when we did – you were badly beaten and ill. Why were you alone on the outskirts of Hogsmeade? Your parents said they didn't know where you'd gotten to – how did you get nearly a hundred miles away?"

I didn't answer again. I knew the answer to the question, but that would get my parents in trouble. This man didn't know that what they did to me, they did out of love. He wouldn't understand. And I couldn't lie to him. I felt utterly ill.

"Willow," Professor Dumbledore reached forward and took my small hand in both of his. I was so startled that I met his eye. I would have jumped away from him, but I was still bound to the bed. "He can't get you in here. You're safe."

He knew. Professor Dumbledore knew. I couldn't fathom a single sentence in my parent's defence and the nauseous feeling grew.

"It is almost time for sorting, Willow. I will take you down to the train station so you can blend in with everyone else." The binds on me were released and I wasted no time in getting out of bed and walking the two paces toward the window so I could distance myself from Professor Dumbledore. He raised his wand at me and I let out a shriek, diving out of the way and hitting my head on a cabinet in my haste to escape him.

"I'm sorry!" Professor Dumbledore cried, rushing around the bed to help me off the floor. "I didn't mean to startle you, Willow, I just wanted to change your clothes." He reached out a hand to help me up, but I'd been given a false one of them too many times – I clambered to my feet, with no assistance. "I'm going to try again. You don't have to be afraid." I still flinched when he raised the wand, but I didn't try to escape. "There you are."