"He's keeping Carl company," Poppy answered.
"Can I see Carl now?" Harry asked. He wasn't eager to do what he had to do, but Westfield's attacker was still on the loose out there someplace.
"Yes, of course. Follow me. Er," Madam Pomfrey turned to Hermione and Minerva, "I don't think we should crowd the poor dear at this time. Would you mind waiting here?"
Minerva and Hermione both nodded.
"Actually, it would probably be better if we went back to wait at the Headmistress' office," Hermione said.
"If we can help in any way . . . ." Minerva began. Harry could see her frustration with how helpless this situation had left them all feeling.
"I'll fire call you," Poppy assured. Then she took Harry's arm and led him out of the office, through the huge infirmary ward with its long rows of empty beds, to one of the private rooms in the rear.
She gave a soft knock and opened the door.
Harry followed, praying he wouldn't make a mess of this.
The room they entered was small, almost cosy. A hospital bed dominated the room. Its curly-haired blond occupant was propped up on pillows. Ron was sitting in a chair beside the bed.
The stone walls were covered with cheerful pictures of innocuous subjects that might please a sick child – a basket of kittens at play, a herd of zebras crossing a grassy plain, two young girls off in the distance flying a kite. A fire blazed in a small hearth to their right, filling the room with both heat and light.
The sight of Ron offering the boy one of his ever-present chocolate frogs as they entered the room went a long way in calming Harry's jangled nerves. Ron was a natural with kids. All the students loved him.
As the room's occupants became aware of the opening door, Westfield's round face twisted with fear. The chocolate frog in his hand took advantage of his momentary distraction to hop off the bed, and thence under the nearby easy chair.
Harry took quick stock of his student. Snape's memories of the detention had shown him that Westfield hadn't been visibly harmed, but Harry had no idea of the details of the attack, how brutal the molestation had been. With the type of assault he'd suffered, Westfield could be injured quite badly and not show it from the outside, but the boy appeared to be resting comfortably at the moment.
"Hello, Carl," Harry greeted him, staying within the door. "May I come in?"
Westfield gave a stiff nod. "Hello, Professor Potter, Madam Pomfrey."
Harry was glad to see his student responding so well. He'd feared the boy would have completely retreated after what had happened to him, but although the slightly-built teenager was visibly jumpy, he wasn't a basket case. Of course, that could have a lot to do with the potions Madam Pomfrey had administered to calm him.
"Is Madam Pomfrey taking good care of you?" Harry asked with a nervous smile. He had no clue how to even begin to address the issue that had brought him here.
"Yes, sir," Westfield answered.
Harry hadn't any idea what to say next. Asking a brutalized child if he could enter his mind to take a daytrip through the horror of his rape was beyond him.
To his astonishment, Ron came to his rescue. "Carl, I've asked Harry, er, Professor Potter, to come down to help me sort out your case."
"S-ort it out?" Westfield echoed.
"Yes, Harry's come to help," Ron said.
"How?" Westfield questioned.
"Do you know how sometimes when a Muggle has witnessed a bit of magic he shouldn't have seen, the Ministry will adjust his memories so that he forgets about the magic?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Carl answered and sprang to the natural conclusion to be drawn from Ron's words with, "Are you . . . going to make me forget what happened?"
Hearing the hope in that young voice, Harry winced. More than anything, he'd like to take this horror from the boy. And then he'd love to go out and hunt down the beast that had inflicted this pain on an innocent child and see what his newfound mage fire could really do.
Recognizing that such vengeful thoughts weren't going to help anyone at the present time, Harry attempted to calm himself. It was hard, though. The boy was just so damn young. No kid should have to go through this kind of nightmare.
"No, I'm sorry, Carl. That would make you feel better at the moment, but in the long run, it would do you more harm than good," Harry answered gently.
"Oh." Those confused blue eyes turned to Ron. "What does that memory adjustment you talked about have to do with me, then?"
Ron was good at his job. His poise never faltered. He answered the question in a matter-of-fact tone. "Well, we have reason to suspect that someone has done some type of memory adjustment in this case."
"W-what? I don't understand -" Westfield looked on the verge of panic.
But Ron persevered, going on in a soft, reassuring voice, "Nor do we."
"You think I'm lying, don't you?" Westfield demanded, tears brightening his eyes as he turned his face away from them both and hugged his arms across his chest. "He said no one would believe me if I told . . . ."
Harry reached out to stop Madam Pomfrey from flying to the boy's side.
Ron's voice was calm and yet determined, "We believe you, Carl. We just need to make sure that your memories haven't been tampered with. We want to guarantee that the man who hurt you goes to jail for his crime and never gets the chance to hurt anyone else again, not ever."
The boy rocked himself for a moment or two, before getting control of himself and looking back at Ron. "H-how are you going to do that?"
"By making sure that the court can't poke any holes in your testimony," Ron swiftly supplied.
"But . . . how . . . ?" Westfield asked.
"That's why I've asked Harry here to come help us. You've heard about how powerful a wizard he is, haven't you?" Ron asked.
Westfield nodded. "Yes, he's the one who beat You Know Who."
"Right. Well, Harry has some special skills that most wizards don't have. He's able to look into a person's mind and see what they're thinking."
"How is that going to help me?" Westfield asked, seeming more confused than frightened now. "W-what do you think is wrong with my memory?"
"We don't know that there is anything wrong with it. All we know is that Professor Snape was also questioned in a manner that would not allow him to lie or deceive. His testimony and yours conflict, so we need to check both memories to see whose is faulty," Ron explained.
Westfield stared down at the blue blankets covering his lap. "He said no one would believe me, that I'd just get into more trouble if I told . . . ."
Harry's heart twisted in sympathy for the boy. "We believe you, Carl."
"And you're not in trouble. I promise," Ron vowed. "We just want to find out the truth. Someone's memory has been altered, and we need to see whose."
"So, you need to make sure my memories are okay so you can prove that he's somehow lying?" the boy asked.
"Yes, something very like that," Ron agreed.
"What do I need to do?" Westfield's voice was brave, but his haunted eyes made a lie of it.
"First, I need you to give me your permission to look into your mind," Harry said. "I won't do or look at anything you don't agree to."
"Will it hurt?" the boy asked.
Harry gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Not in the least. You'll just be aware of my voice in your head for a while. It should feel like a . . . warm spot."
"That doesn't sound too bad," Westfield replied, seeming to calm.
"It shouldn't be bad at all," Harry assured.
"We're going to do everything we can to make this as easy as possible for you, Carl," Ron promised. "Madam Pomfrey is going to ask you to drink a potion. It will help you relax and put you in something called a hypnotic trance. Do you know what that is?"
Harry was both surprised and relieved by Ron's information. He hadn't thought of hypnosis. He'd dreaded the idea of having to ask the boy to relive the nightmare of his attack. But, then, Ron was a professional and had no doubt had to deal with situations similar to this before.
"That's when they twirl a watch in front of your eyes and make you quack like a duck, isn't it?" Westfield asked, his nervousness visibly increasing.
"Well, that can be done, but mostly the Hyptnoserum is used to help a person recall events that they might find too upsetting to think or talk about on their own. We don't want to do anything to further upset you or hurt you, Carl. We just want to guarantee that -"
"Snape is lying," the boy whispered.
Ron and Harry exchanged a troubled glance.
After a moment, Ron sighed and said, "Precisely."
"All right, I'll do it," Westfield agreed, his lower lip jutting determinedly out.
Obviously, Poppy and Ron had discussed this beforehand, for the mediwitch reached into her robe pocket and extracted a small brown bottle. She brought it over to the boy and said, "I want you to drink this down." She sat down on the bed beside him and reached out to stroke his sweaty blond curls back from his brow. "I'm going to be right here beside you the whole time. You know I'd never let anything hurt you, don't you, dear?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Carl answered, swigging down the potion in one long gulp, and making the expected face at its taste.
Ron stepped up to the bed, motioning Harry to come with him.
"Carl, I want you to take some deep breaths now and close your eyes," Ron said.
With a nervous look at them all, the boy complied.
Harry realized how much trust his student was placing in them. After the events of this afternoon, Harry would have fully understood the boy not wanting to ever be at a disadvantage with a male teacher again. But Westfield closed his eyes and followed Ron's instructions, although, he did reach for Poppy's hand before doing so.
"I'm right here, dear. You're going to be just fine," she murmured to the nervous student. Harry saw her give Westfield's smaller hand a squeeze and take a tight hold on his hand that she did not release.
"You're going to feel a little drifty as the potion starts to take effect," Ron continued. "When your body starts feeling light, I want you to tell me. All right?"
"All right," Carl agreed. A couple of minutes later, he said in a low and sleepy sounding voice, "I feel like I'm floating."
"That's good, Carl," Ron instantly approved. "Is it all right if Harry enters your mind now?"
Carl gave a dreamy sounding, "Yes."
Bracing himself, Harry reached out with his mind yet again. It was strange. He hadn't used this art in over nine years, and now he was employing it numerous times in a single day.
It was as disconcerting to find himself inside Westfield as it had been to share Snape's consciousness. Harry took quick stock of the physical. The boy didn't have any of the horrible tension that Snape did, but Snape hadn't been hurting the way Westfield was. Despite Poppy's potions, the boy's rectum was still raw and sore from the abuse it had taken.
Harry took a deep breath and tried to distance himself from both the discomfort and his own anger at what had been done to his student. Only when he felt calm did he reach for Carl's thoughts.
Unsurprisingly, the boy's mind was less guarded than Snape's. There were no metal walls or freaky white rooms. Harry painlessly sank past the outer guards and into the normal chaos of feelings and thoughts.
He'd dreaded what he'd find in here, the raw emotions that a rape victim had to be experiencing on the same day as the assault, but, if anything, Carl's mind was calmer than most. Harry realized that the tranquillity had to be an effect of the potions Poppy had administered. It had to be, for every time the boy moved, his body made him intensely aware of what had been done to him.
Getting a feel for Carl's mind, Harry relaxed and sent as many reassuring thoughts and feelings to his student as he could. Unlike Snape, Carl was receptive to him. The sedatives and Hyptnoserum were buffering Westfield from much of his emotions, but Harry could feel Carl relax at his mental reassurance.
"Is Harry there now?" Ron asked.
Harry focused his attention, and, therefore Carl's, on Ron's question.
"Yes," Carl replied in that same drugged tone.
"Do you feel all right with him being there?" Ron surprised Harry by asking.
Harry could feel Carl considering the question. After a moment, the low voice replied, "He makes me feel safe, like nothing will hurt me while he's there."
Warmed by the words, Harry opened his emotions a bit more, letting Carl feel how proud he was of his bravery.
Outside of them, Ron said, "Now, you're going to continue to relax. You're going to sink deeper and deeper into this nice, dreamy state. As you do so, I want you to picture a brightly lit staircase. These stairs lead to a good place and nothing will hurt you there. Do you see the stairs, Carl?"
Carl, and therefore Harry, both saw the winding staircase take form.
"Yes," the boy answered.
"That's great," Ron praised. "I want you to go down those stairs. As you descend, you're going to sink deeper and deeper into this dreamy state. Okay?
Impressed, Harry watched his best friend guide the boy into a deep hypnotic trance. Harry had never seen this part of Ron before. He was so used to his old friend being the comic relief in their group that he often forgot the serious job Ron did.
When Carl was sufficiently deep into the trance, Ron said, "You're doing very well, Carl. Now, what I'm going to ask you to do is to picture what you did this morning. I want you to try to think of it as a movie you're watching. Normally, I'd ask you to narrate what you're seeing, but since Harry is there with you, I'll ask you to just picture it. Can you do that for me?"
