"I'm sorry," she said as they got closer, and Harry spoke at almost the same moment, "I apologise for -"
They broke off and looked at each other, and then the salesgirl laughed a little. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble with Professor McGonagall," she said. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "I hope she wasn't too awful to you."
"Della!" said Professor McGonagall, sounding scandalised.
"Bag of gold," Harry said to his pouch, and then looked back up at the salesgirl while he counted out five Galleons. "Don't worry, I understand that she's only awful to me because she loves me."
He counted out five Galleons to the salesgirl while Professor McGonagall was spluttering something unimportant. "One Emergency Healing Pack Plus, please."
It was actually sort of unnerving to see how the Widening Lip swallowed the briefcase-sized medical kit. Harry couldn't help wondering what would happen if he tried climbing into the mokeskin pouch himself, given that only the person who put something in was supposed to be able to take it out again.
When the pouch was done... eating... his hard-won purchase, Harry swore he heard a small burping sound afterward. That had to have been spelled in on purpose. The alternative hypothesis was too horrifying to contemplate... in fact Harry couldn't even think of any alternative hypotheses. Harry looked back up at the Professor, as they began walking through Diagon Alley once more. "Where to next?"
Professor McGonagall pointed toward a shop that looked as if it had been made from flesh instead of bricks and covered in fur instead of paint. "Small pets are permitted at Hogwarts - you could get an owl to send letters, for example -"
"Can I pay a Knut or something and rent an owl when I need to send mail?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall.
"Then I think emphatically no."
Professor McGonagall nodded, as though ticking off a point. "Might I ask why not?"
"I had a pet rock once. It died."
"You don't think you could take care of a pet?"
"I could," Harry said, "but I would end up obsessing all day long about whether I'd remembered to feed it that day or if it was slowly starving in its cage, wondering where its master was and why there wasn't any food."
"That poor owl," the older witch said in a soft voice. "Abandoned like that. I wonder what it would do."
"Well, I expect it'd get really hungry and start trying to claw its way out of the cage or the box or whatever, though it probably wouldn't have much luck with that -" Harry stopped short.
The witch went on, still in that soft voice. "And what would happen to it afterward?"
"Excuse me," Harry said, and he reached up to take Professor McGonagall by the hand, gently but firmly, and steered her into yet another alleyway; after ducking so many well-wishers the process had become almost unnoticeably routine. "Please cast that silencing spell."
"Quietus."
Harry's voice was shaking. "That owl does not represent me, my parents never locked me in a cupboard and left me to starve, I do not have abandonment fears and I don't like the trend of your thoughts, Professor McGonagall!"
The witch looked down at him gravely. "And what thoughts would those be, Mr. Potter?"
"You think I was," Harry was having trouble saying it, "I was abused?"
"Were you?"
"No!" Harry shouted. "No, I never was! Do you think I'm stupid? I know about the concept of child abuse, I know about inappropriate touching and all of that and if anything like that happened I would call the police! And report it to the head teacher! And look up social services in the phone book! And tell Grandpa and Grandma and Mrs. Figg! But my parents never did anything like that, never ever ever! How dare you suggest such a thing!"
The older witch gazed at him steadily. "It is my duty as Deputy Headmistress to investigate possible signs of abuse in the children under my care."
Harry's anger was spiralling out of control into pure, black fury. "Don't you ever dare breathe a word of these, these insinuations to anyone else! No one, do you hear me, McGonagall? An accusation like that can ruin people and destroy families even when the parents are completely innocent! I've read about it in the newspapers!" Harry's voice was climbing to a high-pitched scream. "The system doesn't know how to stop, it doesn't believe the parents or the children when they say nothing happened! Don't you dare threaten my family with that! I won't let you destroy my home!"
"Harry," the older witch said softly, and she reached out a hand towards him -
Harry took a fast step back, and his hand snapped up and knocked hers away.
McGonagall froze, then she pulled her hand back, and took a step backwards. "Harry, it's all right," she said. "I believe you."
"Do you," Harry hissed. The fury still roaring through his blood. "Or are you just waiting to get away from me so you can file the papers?"
"Harry, I saw your house. I saw you with your parents. They love you. You love them. I do believe you when you say that your parents are not abusing you. But I had to ask, because there is something strange at work here."
Harry stared at her coldly. "Like what?"
"Harry, I've seen many abused children in my time at Hogwarts, it would break your heart to know how many. And, when you're happy, you don't behave like one of those children, not at all. You smile at strangers, you hug people, I put my hand on your shoulder and you didn't flinch. But sometimes, only sometimes, you say or do something that seems very much like... someone who spent his first eleven years locked in a cellar. Not the loving family that I saw." Professor McGonagall tilted her head, her expression growing puzzled again.
Harry took this in, processing it. The black rage began to drain away, as it dawned on him that he was being listened to respectfully, and that his family wasn't in danger.
"And how do you explain your observations, Professor McGonagall?"
"I don't know," she said. "But it's possible that something could have happened to you that you don't remember."
Fury rose up again in Harry. That sounded all too much like what he'd read in the newspaper stories of shattered families. "Suppressed memory is a load of pseudoscience! People do not repress traumatic memories, they remember them all too well for the rest of their lives!"
"No, Mr. Potter. There is a Charm called Obliviation."
Harry froze in place. "A spell that erases memories?"
The older witch nodded. "But not all the effects of the experience, if you see what I'm saying, Mr. Potter."
A chill went down Harry's spine. That hypothesis... could not be easily refuted. "But my parents couldn't do that!"
"Indeed not," said Professor McGonagall. "It would have taken someone from the wizarding world. There's... no way to be certain, I'm afraid."
Harry's rationalist skills began to boot up again. "Professor McGonagall, how sure are you of your observations, and what alternative explanations could there also be?"
The witch opened her hands, as though to show their emptiness. "Sure? I'm sure of nothing, Mr. Potter. In all my life I've never met anyone else like you. Sometimes you just don't seem eleven years old or even all that human."