Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter universe belongs to me.
A/N: I'm sooooo sorry that this chapter is so short and that it's taken so long to get up. I've been so caught up with schoolwork that it's been really hard to get any writing done. Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed and to everyone who is still keeping up with this story.
Chapter 8 - Conversations Born From Anger
Peter Petrovitch shared a bewildered look with Dr. Rami. "Is there … does he have a … behavior problem as well?"
Dr. Rami frowned. "No – he's generally a very sweet boy." The doctor got up and hurried out, letting the door bounce off the wall. Peter watched as he ran out into the waiting room and then into the hall in pursuit of Harry. He was beginning to have second thoughts about taking in James and Lydia's son.
"Harry?"
Ogden Rami ran through the halls, displaying much more agility than he should have at his age.
I never volunteered for this! he thought angrily. All I wanted was to spend a nice quiet summer with Alice and the grandkids – I come in to do a bit of paperwork and suddenly I end up a babysitter!
Better me than someone else, Rami reminded himself.
Although St. Brutus's was a school for "problem kids", it had been clear to all the staff upon Harry's arrival that Harry should not have been sent there. He was quiet, well mannered, and polite – which was more than could be said for the other boys, or for the girls at St. Agnes (their sister school) either.
The only troubling thing about Harry had been the way he was … so quiet. He never talked, not even in class when he was called on. None of the other boys would talk to him, so Harry remained in solitude.
The first time Harry had been brought into the counselor's office for a regular "checkup" was the first real indication the staff had found that something was amiss. The records said that Harry had begun spewing nonsense – something about "owls", "feathers", "troll", and "Quidditch".
The counselor had asked Harry to elaborate, but he hadn't seemed to hear her. Harry had continued his babbling until the counselor, frightened, asked him to leave.
Or, in Rami's opinion, shoved him out the door with a "Suggested Treatment" slip shoved into his hand.
News of Harry's "insanity" spread, and the counselors decided that it was all a ploy for attention. So they gave it to him – in the form of extra detentions and punishments – many physically grueling, and some humiliating. His teachers were instructed to insist that he speak up in class.
And the more they pressed, the more Harry withdrew.
"Harry!" Rami called, hurrying up to flights of stairs to Harry's dorm, hoping to find him there. But the dorm was empty.
"Harry, where are you?" Rami whispered anxiously as he ran back downstairs. Maybe he's in the lounge, he thought desperately.
And there he was – sitting in his favorite chair by the television, breathing hard and watching the screen avidly.
"Harry?"
"It's Pettigrew!" the dark-haired boy burst out. "Peter Pettigrew. I thought you believed me about him, Dumbledore! Or is it really someone from the Order," he asked sarcastically, "pretending to be Pettigrew so the idiot Ministry will let him take care of me?"
Rami approached the chair. The television wasn't on, but Harry kept his eyes trained to it as if the most riveting program in the world was being broadcast. "Harry, this pretending has got to stop."
"What pretending?"
"Harry, you have to stop this act. You know as well as I that this world you've created for yourself is not real." Not necessarily true, but if he repeated this enough times, Harry would have no choice but to believe him.
Harry drew a deep, shuddering breath. "You sound like Uncle Vernon."
"That's because he was telling the truth, Harry."
"HE WAS NOT!" Harry yelled "MAGIC IS REAL!"
"Certain kinds of magic are," said Rami patiently. "The magic of a waterfall or sunset. The magic of music. The magic of friendship and the magic of falling in love. And … the magic of family."
"My family's dead."
Rami shook his head. "We can always make our own family. We want you to have a special place with Peter and his daughters."
"With that murderer?"
Rami sighed. "You know what?" he said softly. "I'd love to believe you. I really would. But the fact remains that you still haven't shown me any magic."
"I can't," Harry reminded him. "Not until I'm seventeen."
"And isn't it your birthday soon?"
Harry's eyes grew wide. "Thursday."
"There you are," said Rami. "Let's strike a deal, shall we? You can stay here until your birthday, and then if you can't do magic, you'll move in with Mr. Petrovitch. All right?"
"All right," Harry said, sighing. "Okay. Till Thursday. But I don't want to see … that man until then. Deal?"
"It's a deal."
"I don't know if I can do this," Peter confided to Dr. Rami. "I loved James and Lydia like my own brother and sister – I don't think I could stand it if Harry thought I was responsible for their deaths."
"Please, we just need to wait a little while longer," Dr. Rami pleaded. "Just until after his birthday. I'm sure things will go much smoother after that."
"I just don't think I can do this to Anna and Michelle right now. They're really upset over Dana leaving, and –"
"-I understand," Dr. Rami cut in. "You have to take care of your own life first. But I think taking care of Harry will be just the thing to help them out."
"Possibly. I'll have to talk it over with them before I decide anything."
"Of course. Do you think you could come back on … Friday afternoon?"
"Definitely," Peter replied.
"Would it be possible for your older daughter to come along as well?"
"I'll see if Anna wants to," promised Peter. "I hope everything works out for Harry."
"So do I," said Dr. Rami. "I just thought you should know – you're Harry's last option."
Peter grimaced sadly. "Doesn't give me much of a choice, now does it?"
