The Secret

The Secret

His life is a slow and soothing routine he came to appreciate during his stay within castle walls. He would choose this quiet present over his wretched past any day, but the past keeps creeping back in nightmares like an old enemy scratching at the back door. Did you forget about me, you foolish insignificant beast? Did you think you could leave me just like that? The past whispers in hissing tones of Lucius Malfoy.

Every morning he struggles awake to the loud chatter of others. Every morning he almost snarls back at them as his dreams are still fresh in memory. Don't like me, do you? Think I am strange? Think I am trouble? Sure I am, and more so than you imagine. So go on, cast the traitor among you aside, do not utter a word to me. Go on, naive little things, see if I care. For I possess something you do dare to dream of. A secr . . .

Only a gasp escapes and he is mute, he is quiet. He has the Secret, and if he tells, it would be gone. No, he has to be strong, he has to wait, he has to remain silent. He has the Secret to live for and a debt to pay.

He bakes apple pies every third Tuesday of the month for supper and practices wandless magic at the lake shore every afternoon. He knits often, always something of the strangest colors and shape, mixing Gryffindor golds and crimsons with Slytherin greens and adding a Ravenclaw blue to mismatch it all further. He trips over Hogwarts, a History forgotten on the common room floor. So he blows the dust off its cover and takes it to its rightful place in the third row, firth shelf of the library, between a copy of Hobgoblins and Other Beasts, edition IV, by Flippendus Timbre and Holiday Cheer Charms by Eglinda Flitwick. And all the while he remembers the Secret.

He sneaks into Dumbledore's office every night to restock the supply of sweets on a shiny bumblebee-striped candy dish. Sometime he feels ornery and fills it with all-toffee-flavored Bertie Bott Beans, just to show that he can pick them out better than the Headmaster seems to. Then he cackles at his own cleverness while perched on top of the office desk.

Orange phoenix chick tweets at the noise, the grumpy hat on top of a bookshelf gives him a dusty glare, and the little picture of the badger on the candy dish dances playfully around its edges avoiding the rainfall of honey- colored drops. He almost lets out a hearty laugh but gasps -- not yet. Do not forget the Secret. So he leaves the hat, the phoenix, and the badger to their tasks and returns to his own at the lake shore. The Secret is calling.

It's dark, but he hits the oak branch on the other side at the first try. He watches the settling ashes and readies himself for another round, then another one. He is not skilled enough yet, but the Secret will wait; it is patient. Another hit, and another. Avada . . . he mutters, but no, he is strong, he can do without: without words, without a wand, without regrets. He tries again and the magic shines green at his fingertips.

He returns to his bed at 3AM tripping over Winky's empty butterbeer bottles and his own mismatched pairs of socks. Before the sleep claims him, he wonders if everyone harbors a secret of their own, even the Headmaster, tired and sleepy, with his head bent over the Order's urgent last minute plans; even the sour and unapproachable Snape who always waits to be left alone in his dungeons before clutching his burning forearm and wincing in pain at his own uselessness; even the persistent, clever Hermione and cheerful, clumsy Ron.

Even Harry Potter hides a secret.

Then he thinks of Voldemort and wonders if Voldemort is afraid of being Harry's Secret. Then he thinks of his own Secret, breathes it in, savors every thought, for he knows the day will come and he will be strong and his Secret would be there on the other end of his curse. And the Secret would fall and burn out, like the floating ashes at the other shore of the lake. Lucius Malfoy would fall. And the Secret would be over with.

The first thing he would do afterwards, Dobby decides, is laugh -- laugh to the fullest after refilling Dumbledore's candy dish. And live -- live the slow and calming routine day by day as if it was the greatest adventure of his life. With that thought on his mind he smiles and falls asleep at last.

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