A Promise Worth Keeping

Chapter Three

Harry didn't know what a secure centre was, but what with the high walls and the locked doors they went through to get into the building, it looked horribly like a jail. As Jenny led Harry into a reception area, the doors didn't quite clang shut behind them, but it was close. Harry's heart sank.

The woman at the desk looked harassed. As they entered, she looked up and an irritated expression flashed across her face. "Who's this?" she said to Jenny.

"Potter, Harry Potter. Didn't you get the paperwork? I sent it over first thing."

The woman shook her head. "Doesn't mean much. It can take up to a week before it all filters through. What's he here for?"

"Assessment," Jenny told the woman. Harry wondered what that meant. They were talking about him as if he wasn't there, or couldn't understand, but he wasn't about to ask them.

The woman sighed. "He'll have to wait, we're doing as many as we can at the moment. Does he have to be here?"

Jenny glanced at Harry before saying, "Yes, he does. Now, I've got a meeting in Guildford in half an hour, and the traffic was horrendous getting here, so can you sort it out?"

Without waiting for a response from the woman, she turned and left without so much as saying good-bye to Harry.

The woman behind the desk sighed again. "Well you'd better sit down, Harry. We'll get something sorted out. I'm not sure where…" The woman became aware that Harry was still standing there. "What is it? Come on, speak up."

Despite the fact that the woman was looking more and more like Aunt Petunia did when he asked questions, Harry desperately wanted to know what was going on. "Please," he said, "What's assessment?"

"Oh really!" the woman snapped and Harry jumped, but he realised she wasn't annoyed at him as she continued, "Didn't that woman explain why you're here?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well I don't have time to go into the ins and outs of it. The psychologist will explain tomorrow. Now sit down, and I'll try and get a room sorted for you." She pointed at the comfy chairs on one side of the room and picked up the phone.

Glumly, Harry went and sat down. He had to wait for nearly twenty minutes by the clock that slowly ticked its way round to half past three. The woman made several phone calls, and Harry knew she must be talking about him by the way she kept glancing over at him, even though he couldn't hear what she was saying.

Finally there was a buzzing sound and the door behind the receptionist opened. The long haired man who came in was wearing a crazily patterned jumper and tatty cords that would have had Uncle Vernon snorting into his breakfast tea about freaks and weirdoes.

"This him, Stella?" he asked the receptionist who waved a hand over at Harry.

"He's all yours," she said.

The man, who introduced himself to Harry as John, one of the care workers, took him down a long, narrow corridor into a different part of the building. They went through a set of fire doors, along another corridor, this time with glass on one wall that looked out onto a garden. It looked almost pleasant. The man pulled open yet another door beside a sign that said, 'Assessment Unit' and they went through. It was almost like going into a different building.

There was a carpeted reception area with pictures of landscapes on the walls. It didn't even smell the same, there was none of that horrible polished lino smell that the rest of the building seemed to have. A woman was on the phone at the reception desk, which seemed to double as a proper desk as it was covered in files she was working on.

"Uh huh, well you could have given us a bit more notice," she was saying. She waved to the man and indicated he should wait. "Right… okay… we'll do our best. Bye" she turned round to face Harry and the other care worker. "That was Ken," she told the man. "He doesn't want to take any chances after that business last year…"

She carried on talking to the man, but she might as well have been talking in Greek for all the sense she made. Harry looked about him. The reception area didn't have any windows but it did have three large skylights. Underneath each of them was a huge plant pot containing a veritable jungle of houseplants. He stared at the nearest one, trying to count how many plants there were in it, for want of anything better to do.

"Harry?"

He turned round and the man said, "Standing there in a day dream! Come on, I'll show you where you're going to sleep."

He lead Harry through yet more doors and into a short corridor. John opened a door into a plainly furnished bedroom, looking out onto the garden Harry had seen earlier. "Just dump your bag and I'll show you round the rest of the place."

Harry did as he was told, rather wishing he could have stayed in the room. He was shown where the bathroom was, and the kitchen, Then the man took him into a TV lounge where a boy a year or two older than Harry was sitting picking his nose watching a cartoon, and two others were lazily potting shots on a small pool table.

"Right, this is Harry," he told them," he'll be here for the next week or so. Remember, supper's at six."

As John left, three pairs of eyes turned and stared at Harry. They weren't immediately hostile, but measuring, assessing. Harry's gaze flickered nervously between them. "Um, hi," he said, walking a little way into the room.

The two boys who had been playing pool glanced at one another, some sort of silent message passing between them. One of them, a tall boy swaggered over and leaned on his pool cue staring down at Harry. He had mean, piggy eyes and a squashed up, flattened nose. "So, " he said. "What are you here for, assessment or rehab?"

The boy was standing too close to him and Harry automatically backed up against the wall. "I'm not sure, assessment I think," he said.

"What did you do then?"

"Do?"

"Yeah, to get sent for assessment, stupid!"

"I didn't do anything!" Harry declared forcefully.

The tall boy rolled his eyes and turned to his two companions. "Well, of course you didn't do anything. None of us did anything, did we?" The three of them sniggered. "What do they say you did?"

Harry squirmed. He really didn't want to tell these boys all about himself. But they reminded him forcefully of Dudley and his gang only worse, so he muttered, "They said I attacked my Uncle."

"What a little shrimp like you!" one of the other boys said. "What did you do, bash his head in while he was asleep?"

As the boy said this, the image of Uncle Vernon lying on the rug in front of the fireplace flashed into Harry's mind. He must have turned pale, as the tall boy remarked, "Looks like a lucky guess there, wouldn't you say, Nick?"

The other boy picked up his pool cue and prodding Harry in the chest with it, grinned as Harry tried not to flinch. "It's a special talent I've got, Kev. I can always spot the real nutters and like you keep saying you gotta be pretty bad before you get sent here."

"So, what's your name?" demanded Kev.

Harry tried to glare at them. "Harry Potter," he said.

"Well, Harry Potter, want a fag?" Kev asked, pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

Harry shook his head.

"No? Suit yourself," responded Kev, lighting up himself, and passing cigarettes to the other two. Then he walked back to the pool table.

Relieved that they had apparently decided to leave him alone for the time being - he had no illusions but that it was for the time being, Harry spent the rest of the day in a daze.

---

The next day there were more new people to meet. All the staff were different again except for Stella who appeared in the afternoon. After breakfast Harry was told to go with Pete (the boy who'd been picking his nose).

Pete made a face. "Looks like it's just us for school today, Potter."

"School?"

"What, you don't think they let us sit and watch telly all day, do you?" Pete was derisive.

Harry didn't know what he'd thought. "But where -?"

Pete sighed. "The teacher comes here, you idiot."

And so it appeared she did. Every day. Pete took Harry into a room he hadn't been shown the previous day. It was obviously a classroom. It was going to be really weird just the two of them, Harry thought.

The teacher when she finally arrived was a rather vague looking woman who told Harry to call her Jane. Harry had never called a teacher by their first name before. She asked him a few brief questions about how he was doing at school, gave him a quick reading test and then handed him a book called Elidor, telling him to read the first chapter. Harry didn't like to say he'd already read it. Somebody from school had given it to Dudley at his birthday party earlier in the year and he'd never bothered to even open it. Harry had borrowed it a few months later. It was a good story though and he didn't mind reading it again. Jane spent most of the morning sitting with Pete who didn't seem to be able to read at all.

After lunch there were more lessons or rather the teacher gave Harry another quick test this time in maths before telling him to work his way through a pile of worksheets and then spent the rest of the afternoon helping Pete to learn to count. The worksheets weren't as much fun as reading Elidor and Harry was relieved when, at half past three Jane told them they could go.

Harry didn't enjoy Wednesday at all. After breakfast yet another care worker appeared and took Harry to see the person who was going to be in charge of his assessment. This was a man called Richard who had an untidy office in another part of the building. It was hard to tell if Richard's office was untidy because he was untidy and couldn't be bothered to put files away or because there were simply too many files and not enough space for them.

As well as his paper-strewn desk he had a couple of comfy chairs with a low glass table between them. When Harry came in the comfy chairs were piled high with files. Richard stood for a moment and ran a hand through his thinning grey hair, screwing up his face. Then he picked up the files on one of the chairs and looked vaguely around for somewhere to put them. Eventually he gave up and dumped them on the floor.

He pointed at the now empty chair. "Have a seat."

As Harry sat down, Richard cleared the other chair by the same method and sat down himself. There was a pause. Harry wondered if he was supposed to say something. Eventually Richard cleared his throat and said, "So, Harry, do you know why you're here?"

Harry shrank back into his chair, dropping his eyes to stare at the half dead spider plant that sat in a pot in the middle of the table. He said nothing.

"Mmm?" Richard prompted.

Harry flicked his eyes up briefly to look at Richard again before mumbling, "Something happened to Uncle Vernon."

"Something happened to Uncle Vernon," repeated Richard slowly, then continued, "Well, you could put it like that. I don't know if I would though." There was another pause as Harry continued to stare at the spider plant. "What happened?"

"He, er hit his head," Harry responded eventually. He deeply, desperately did not want to talk about what had happened. He knew, from the policemen's reactions that if he told the truth, he would not be believed, and didn't think he was a good enough liar - despite what Uncle Vernon frequently said - to change his story.

"And how did he do that?" asked Richard pleasantly. But this question appeared to be rhetorical as he didn't wait for Harry to answer instead he carried on, "Did he fly through the air perhaps?" There was the expected note of incredulity in his voice as he said this and he looked at Harry expectantly then continued when Harry said nothing, "But he can't have done that, because people don't do things like that, do they? So perhaps he tripped and fell?"

Harry's eyes flashed up at Richard and he held his breath, since this was precisely what he had been thinking of saying.

"But he can't have done that, can he, Harry? Not if he was standing where you said he was. He would never have struck the mantelpiece with such force from that distance, so the police tell me. He wouldn't have hit the mantelpiece at all."

Harry looked back down at the spider plant relieved he hadn't tried to change his story, as it wouldn't have made things any better.

Richard leaned forwards in his chair and said in a different tone altogether, "You know Harry, sometimes when we do something that we know is wrong and we get found out, we try and pretend that something else happened, or that somebody else did it. It's only natural, because getting found out is never nice, especially when it was something really bad."

Harry must have looked puzzled as Richard muttered under his breath, "Or maybe I'm being too subtle?" He tried again. "Is it wrong to tell lies, Harry?"

Harry nodded miserably.

"And yet you told this incredible story to the police and expected them to believe it. Why was that?"

Harry stared fixedly at the spider plant and muttered, "It's what happened."

Richard sighed. "Harry, if you admit what really happened nothing worse is going to happen to you, but things will get better a lot quicker than they will if you continue to behave this way. It's not as if we don't know what really happened."

Surprised, Harry flicked his eyes up to Richard's face again. He was looking at him with an expression of kindness and exasperation combined. "What do you mean," Harry asked.

"Your Aunt told us what happened because she was there and the police say what she told them match the injuries to your Uncle's head."

An icy hand seemed to clutch at Harry's stomach and tears sprang into his eyes. "But," he began and then stopped. Richard certainly wasn't going to believe him if he said Aunt Petunia was upstairs when it happened.

"You know, your Aunt is being incredibly kind and understanding about this -" Richard broke off as the phone rang. "Oh damn! Excuse me, Harry." He got up and went over to his desk to answer it.

Harry barely heard him. When had Aunt Petunia ever been kind and understanding? Despite his best efforts a tear trickled down one cheek. And then another one.

Richard spoke into the phone for about ten minutes, during which time Harry sat with his back to him, tears trickling down his face. He was very good at crying without making any noise. When Richard finally put the phone down he hurriedly pulled off his glasses and wiped his face, hoping the man hadn't noticed. But as he walked past him, Richard shoved a paper hankie into his hands, so he hadn't been as surreptitious as he thought he'd been.

As he sat down, Richard wiped the irritated expression off his face and looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Now where was I?" he murmured. "Oh yes, your Aunt."

Harry gulped, suddenly afraid he was going to make a fool of himself again.

"Your Aunt, Harry has been quite insistent that the police don't press charges, despite the fact that your Uncle was badly hurt." Richard sighed. "Her obvious affection and concern for you -"

Harry blinked. He knew perfectly well that there was nothing obvious about Aunt Petunia's affection for him at all because it didn't exist.

" - have clearly blinded her to your faults. However she was eventually induced to accept that you are in urgent need of help, which is why you are here. How long it takes is up to you. But we can't move forward until you demonstrate you understand what you have done."

There was a pause. Harry was staring fixedly at the spider plant again. He didn't say anything.

"Right, you can go and see the psychologist now, who'll run some tests. It won't be difficult or anything, okay?"

Harry nodded.

The psychologist was a bad tempered woman who made him look at ink blots and do a whole lot of stupid questionnaires and word association tests. It took ages, most of the rest of the day in fact as she kept getting interrupted. It struck Harry that everyone here seemed to be run off their feet.

Later, instead of watching telly he went to his room, which he found luxuriously large. He curled up on the bed and stared at the wall. He knew perfectly well why Aunt Petunia hadn't wanted the police involved. Something might have got into the papers. While she lived for gossip about her neighbours, Harry knew his Aunt went in mortal dread of being the subject of gossip by her neighbours. He wondered what Uncle Vernon had had to say about it.

Harry also thought about what Richard had said to him earlier. Rather desperately he wondered if the only way out of this place was to say he had bashed Uncle Vernon on the head. But then he realised he didn't know what Aunt Petunia had told them or exactly what they thought had happened, so he couldn't lie and change his story.

Miserably, he tried to curl up into an even smaller ball. There seemed to be no way out. If he continued to tell the truth they wouldn't believe him and if he lied they still wouldn't believe him unless he got very, very lucky and picked the right lie to tell.

The next few days weren't much better, there were more tests interspersed with lessons from a range of supply teachers as Jane was now off sick. The weekend was more fun- Harry got to go outside. And he discovered there was a football pitch at the back of the building even if it was surrounded by a high, barbed wired topped fence. In one direction beyond the fence there were fields, and in the distance, rolling hills. There were woods on the other sides. Fallen leaves turned to sludge by the recent rain had been piled up by the wind against the bottom of the fence, and the occasional brown leaf blew across the pitch in the cold wind.

On the Monday afternoon though things got bad again. Richard told Harry that he had had a meeting earlier with Aunt Petunia, now that his assessment was complete.

"What that means, Harry, is that we have had to decide what to do with you, on the basis of the assessment."

They were back in Richard's office, so Harry was staring fixedly at the spider plant. He was afraid to ask what they'd decided.

Richard looked at him sadly. "You know, Harry, you seem to have a great many problems. Your school told us you're always getting into fights -"

But that's Dudley, Harry thought desperately.

" - you steal from your cousin -"

That had to be Uncle Vernon.

" - and you seem incapable of telling the truth." Richard sighed. "Well lots of families have to deal with children like that, but, Harry, your Uncle nearly died. We can't allow you to go back to your Uncle and Aunt, until we can be sure that you're not a danger to them, so as of today, you're going to be in our care and tomorrow you'll move into the main centre."

"How long for?" Harry managed to ask.

"Well as I said to you last week, that depends on you."

He might as well have said the rest of his life then, Harry thought because he couldn't see that anything would change.

Once Richard had told him he could go, Harry tried to go back to his room, but John, who was on duty again saw him and said, "On no you don't, Harry! Not on a lovely day like this. You can get your parka, and then I want to see you run some colour into those cheeks. Come on."

Harry sighed, but did as he was told. It was cold outside again, but John was right, the sun was shining even if it was dropping towards the horizon. "We've got time for a quick kick about," John told him dropping the football he'd been carrying onto the ground.

They'd been kicking the ball around for about ten minutes when the other three boys sauntered outside. "Phone for you, John," said the tall one, Kev.

"Oh, right, thanks, Kev." He looked round and then at his watch and said, "Right you'd better come back in by quarter to, okay?"

"Sure, John," said Pete.

As John walked back into the building, the three boys smiled at Harry. "Heard you was leaving us, Potter," said Kev.

Harry nodded. He didn't like the way they were smiling at him.

"Well come on, what are you waiting for? Kick the ball!" Nick shouted at him. Harry kicked it.

After a few minutes the ball rolled down towards the corner between the building and the fence. Harry went after it, but instead of waiting for him to kick the ball back to them, the other three followed him. Harry only realised this when he'd picked up the ball and turned to throw it back to them. He let it fall to the ground again. He knew what they were coming for and backed up against the wall of the building.

Kev grinned at him as he walked up. "Well, Potter you picked the perfect spot. Heard about this the last time I was here. This is a dead spot for the cameras." He pointed at the ubiquitous CCTV cameras. "They can't see us here, well the one on the other side of the pitch can, but it's too far away to make out what we're doing. As far as it's concerned we've stopped for a fag, right, Nick?"

Nick didn't take the hint, so Kev had to repeat himself before he jumped and said, "Oh, right, Kev." He pulled out a packet of fags and handed it round. They lit up.

Suddenly Kev gave Harry a vicious kick in the shins. Then he said, "We'd really like to know why a little runt like you is here."

But Harry knew whatever Kev said was just an excuse. It wouldn't matter what he replied, they'd still beat him up.

"Come on, speak up!" Kev hit Harry on the side of the head with an open handed slap and Harry saw stars, like he had when Uncle Vernon hit him.

And then suddenly, in the space of a blink, he was on the other side of the fence. He gaped back at the other three boys in astonishment. They looked positively gobsmacked.

Then, without pausing to think about why it had happened or how, he turned and took to his heels into the woods.