by Mo Tickleson, Features
With summer comes a longing for the next Harry Potter book. I spent many a July afternoon with a mojito in one hand and J.K. Rowling’s latest, much-awaited tome in the other. Needless to say, I’ve been in withdrawal since publication of the final book last year.
And then one day I came into work with a mojito in both hands to find that a colleague had stumbled upon some unpublished pages from the Harry Potter series. Joy of joys! This brief excerpt (apparently cut from the final book) introduces a new character and captures an alternate ending to the Harry Potter saga. I now share with you these never-before-read scenes. You can get your own mojito.
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| Alan Rickman as Professor Snape |
“That’s 10 points from Gryffindor for goofing off in class, Potter,” snarled Professor Snape. He loomed over Harry’s desk with an indiscernible glint in his black eyes. “And five more points because I’m sick of looking at that scar on your face.” The Potions Professor jabbed his wand at Harry’s forehead.
Harry felt the anger rising up through his body, flooding his chest, filling his ears. He was tired of all the taunts and jibes. He desperately wanted to let Snape know what he really thought of him and just what he could do with that wand.
“Harry, don’t!” Hermione hissed from behind him.
Snape seemed smug, waiting expectantly for Harry to explode just so he could pounce on him with a week’s worth of detention. But Harry’s anger wouldn’t quit. He had visions of his hands wrapped around Snape’s skinny neck causing his eyes to bulge with fear. Of putting the dreaded Cruciatus Curse on his teacher and watching him writhe on the floor in pain. All the Gryffindors were cheering him on...
But then a deep, calming voice interrupted his thoughts: “Harry, count to ten. Breathe, Harry. Find your happy place.”
It was the voice of Albirius Snookerdoone, Harry’s therapist.
Harry had been seeing Dr. Snookerdoone almost since he entered Hogwarts in order to deal with the overwhelming feelings that stemmed from the sudden discovery of his wizardry as well as the truth about his parents’ death.
He must learn to manage his anger, Dr. Snookerdoone told him. Anger was just energy; it could be transformed into something more pleasant rather like that time in Transfiguration class when Harry had changed Professor McGonagall’s pet cockroach into a giant fudge sundae.
Harry let out a deep breath and met Snape’s stare. “I imagine it is very frustrating for you to have to deal with me and my problems. I apologize for any inconvenience I have caused the class, Sir.”
Snape’s mouth dropped open and he stood there for several minutes completely at a loss for words or punishment. It seemed to Harry that his professor nearly skulked back to the front of the classroom.
“Yes, well, let’s continue with, um, my grandmother’s cure for tea kettles that won’t stop whimpering — I mean, whistling...”
Several kids snickered, including some Slytherins, and Harry felt loads better when he related the incident to Albirius Snookerdoone in his session that afternoon.
“Ah, very good Harry. You are making tremendous progress with anger management and Rosenberg’s methods of non-violent communication. You broke the power struggle between you and Snape and brought it back to a level of basic communication and empathy. Excellent!”
Dr. Snookerdoone beamed at his client through thick, black-framed glasses, which gave his eyes an oversized, googly appearance that never ceased to amuse Harry. “Let us continue with last week’s analysis of your relationship with your uncle.”
“Uncle Vernon?”
“Yes. Now you spoke of his rage, his control tactics, his cruel treatment of you — these are all outer defenses. What do you think Uncle Vernon needs underneath?”
Harry stared blankly at his therapist. He never thought of his uncle as needing anything besides a swift kick in the rear end, but he wanted to impress Dr. Snookerdoone with a better response. “Um, he has a need to squelch my happiness?”
“Hmmm...” Dr. Snookerdoone leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together beneath his nose. “What would you say if I told you Uncle Vernon has a need for security and safety, and that your wizardry and connections to all that is Unknown severely threatens that?”
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| The Gryffindor Quidditch team without Harry |
“Umm, okay.” Harry was distracted by the whizzing brooms he now noticed in the distance, which meant another Quidditch game was being played without him.
He had not meant to abandon the sport but had missed so many practices because of hours spent journaling and reading Dr. Snookerdoone’s book selections (Therapy: Not Just for Muggles Anymore and Beyond Dysfunctionalism: How to Deal With Life When the Dark Lord Has Killed Your Family and Remains in Pursuit of You) that Harry had been kicked off the team. He was only slightly mollified by Dr. Snookerdoone’s theory that his role as Seeker was just a metaphor for his life and that he would find the Snitch a pale substitute for the deeper meaning he truly sought.
Their session was interrupted by a knock on the door and Professor Dumbledore swiftly entered, nodding his pointy hat in the direction of Harry’s therapist.
“Albirius.”
“Albus.”
“Forgive me for the intrusion, but I must speak with young Potter.”
Dr. Snookerdoone grunted and left the room with some reluctance. He did not like to defer to anyone let alone a man who dressed in moon-covered silk pajamas and held an odd fascination with birds.
“Harry, you must open this immediately,” declared Dumbledore, handing over a roll of sealed parchment. “I believe Voldemort has finally responded to your letters.”
Harry gasped as he accepted the proffered parchment. At Dr. Snookerdoone’s direction, he had been attempting to appeal to the Dark Lord’s deep need for compassion and understanding, but every month his letter had gone unanswered ... until now.
He glanced hesitantly at Dumbledore who urged him onward with a smile. Harry unrolled the parchment.
“It’s blank,” he said looking up at the Headmaster in confusion.
“Ah,” Professor Dumbledore pulled out his wand. “Sorry about that. I bewitched the letter with an Invisibility Charm in case it fell into the wrong hands. Voilarmus!” He tapped the parchment lightly and dark cramped handwriting filled the page.
Harry Potter,
For seventeen years you have haunted my dreams with your self-righteousness, your undeserving powers and that stupid cowlick. I murdered your parents and I swore I’d kill you too. This obsession brought me back from the brink of death and was the only thing that kept me going. It blackened my heart and consumed my every moment.
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| Ralph Fiennes as Lord Voldemort |
That is, until I began receiving your letters last winter. Words like yours have never before been known to me. I believe they offer kindness and compassion. Nobody has ever tried to understand me. They all labeled me as incorrigibly evil and what else could I do but live up to those standards?
Harry, you have shown me another way. Even though I made your life a living hell, you did not give up on me! You’ve shown me that grieving of my past and my unmet needs is not only necessary, it is possible.
I have recently begun seeing a highly recommended psychotherapist who has prescribed lithium for my intense mood swings. It does help, although nobody knows what to do about my hideous, red-slitted eyes. One day at a time, however.
I do hope you will continue to write me while I am in rehab at an undisclosed location. I am not yet ready to deal with the infuriated outcries of my Death Eaters who, it seems, could all use a bit of therapy themselves.
Give my regards to Dumbledore and my apologies to Ms. Rowling.
Yours, Tom
Harry tore his eyes from the page to meet the Headmaster’s triumphant gaze. “It’s Voldemort, and he wants to be ... friends.”
“Well congratulations, Harry! You have conquered the Dark Lord, and you have done it with words, not violence. I imagine this calls for a celebration.”
And with a swish of Dumbledore’s wand they were both transported to the Great Hall surrounded by friends and well wishers who had already heard the news.
“Of course, I knew it would all turn out this way,” declared Professor Trelawney, Hogwarts’ Divination teacher, who had been predicting Harry’s death for years.
“Blimey!” exclaimed Ron. “I never thought it’d actually work.” And then added with a thoughtful expression, “Do you think if I wrote some of those letters to Mum, she’d lay off me for once?”
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| Daniel Radcliffe as Harry Potter |
Harry felt a massive hand clamp down on his shoulder. “Alrigh’ there, Harry?” Hagrid stepped forward, a grin lighting up his face. “I don’ know as much about all this thwirpy bizness, but sounds like yeh dun us a good job.”
“It’s ther-a-py, Hagrid, not ‘thwirpy’,” Professor Snape corrected coldly. He glared at the group. “And for all those who might be interested, I’ll be teaching a class on Marshall Rosenberg’s Theories of Non-Violent Communication next semester.”
Harry stared in disbelief as the Potions professor turned to leave, but he was pretty sure he did not imagine it when Snape made eye contact with Harry and gave him a little wink.
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