AN: I am really sorry for the incredibly long wait between postings (on all stories). Now that school's over and I've improved my writing skills (a lot, I'd like to think), I'm hoping to update more quickly. Thank you for sticking with me, and a special thanks to every who's already reviewed!

Chapter 9: Convincing Conversations

Harry and Dumbledore sat together on the floor of the dormitory. They silently watched the clock on the wall as it ticked closer and closer to midnight.

Harry was excited. Something was going to happen tonight. He knew it. Once he turned seventeen and Dumbledore saw the magic Harry could do, he would finally be convinced that there really was a magical world. Maybe Dumbledore would even remember some of the magic that Voldemort's spell had taken away from him. Maybe he would know how to undo the curse Voldemort had put on Harry …


Ogden Rami waited patiently. Neither he nor Harry said a word. Once Harry saw that there was no such thing as magic, they could move him in with the Petrovitches, no questions asked and certainly no resistance. And if Rami had anything to say about it, Harry would never be sent to this school again.

Finally, the minute hand and the hour hand were lined up.

Harry took a deep breath. "It's my birthday," he said simply.

Rami nodded. "Yes, I know, Harry. Go on. Show me something! I've been dying to see some of it."

"Right." Harry picked up the stick that had been lying by his side for the past hour. "Ready?"

"Why don't you tell me what you're going to do beforehand?" Rami asked. "Just so I won't be too surprised when it happens."

"Okay," Harry said in a complacent tone of voice. He'd waited days; he could wait a few minutes more. "Well, this is something really advanced. It's called a Patronus. It's supposed to keep these horrible creatures away from you if they attack. It always takes an original animal form for each wizard."

"What's your form?"

"A stag."

"Hmmm," Rami said, pretending to take this ridiculous notion seriously. "Well, let's see it!"

Harry got to his feet and moved to the center of the dorm. He stood still for several minutes, and while he did so, a sudden thought struck Rami. What if Harry was right and a giant stag shot out of his "wand"?

That would be surprising.

To say the least.

Harry screwed up his eyes, pulled the stick up in the air, and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Nothing happened.

Harry didn't open his eyes for several seconds. He seemed disappointed but not discouraged by the lack of stag.

"Maybe that was too hard," he suggested.

"Harry," Rami began.

"NO!" he shouted. "Let me do this, I know I can! Okay, I'm going to levitate the blanket off that bed. Ready?"

"Harry, you don't have to do this!"

"I'm NOT going to live with Pettigrew! I'm NOT!"

Rami shook his head. "All right, one more go at it, Harry, and then … well, we'll see what we can do from there."

Harry nodded. "Right. One … two … three … WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

Rami closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life. Please let me be wrong … please let it work

He and Harry opened their eyes at the same moment. Nothing was hovering in midair – nothing had happened.


Harry stared aghast at his wand. Something was wrong. Voldemort must have done something …

The walls were closing in on him …

Harry barely registered the painful way his head hit the floor as he fainted.


Harry's fingertips scrambled at the frosted glass surrounding him. They tried to seek an escape, but the opaque walls yielded no way out. He was going to go mad in here, watching darkened shadows leap beyond the confines of his box …

I won't, I won't …

And then suddenly the walls collapsed.

No, not really. The frost merely melted away, piling like the Invisibility Cloak in a shimmering heap on the floor. The frost-dust coated Harry's shoes, but that was okay because he could finally see what was happening outside the box.

He was back at Hogwarts – finally! – in the Great Hall, watching the Sorting. The first years were so tiny. Standing near the Hufflepuff table was one boy who looked like he might belong in Ron's family; he certainly had the hair to prove it! Or – was that …?

Was that Ron?

Yes, yes it was! There was first-year Ron and there was first-year Harry next to him and first-year Hermione standing a little farther away, and there was first-year Malfoy and his entourage, and a small group of first-year Ravenclaws … Well, soon-to-be Ravenclaws. They hadn't been Sorted yet.

The frost resurrected itself, rising from the floor of Harry's glass box to swathe the walls again. This time, Harry knew it was useless to try and get out; the magic of the box was probably jinxed not to let him. He sat down and leaned against one wall, closing his eyes to try and block out the awful whiteness of swimming through memory. The white was blinding him, even with his eyes closed.

When the frost fell away again, Harry stared out at the Quidditch pitch where he and Ron zoomed after one another thirty feet in the air; Hermione sat disconsolately in the stands with a book.

How old are we? Harry wondered. It must be at least second year. I already have the scar on my chin that Voldemort gave me when I tried to get the Philosopher's Stone away from him.

Harry was flung in and out of memories quicker now. He mostly saw images of regular, daily life around the castle, or what passed as daily life for him. His last memory was of waving goodbye to a grieving Weasley family this past June as Uncle Vernon led him away from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters.

Grieving – Mr. Weasley …

Harry knew without knowing that he didn't have much time before the pressure of all his memories forced its way into his box and no frost in the world could keep it out.

He would drown.


After Nurse assured him that Harry would be all right and would awake sometime the next morning, Dr. Rami retreated into his quarters for the nights. He was reclining in the bathtub now, something he hardly ever did, trying to muster the energy to pull himself out, dry himself off, and put himself to bed.

For a second in Harry's dormitory, for just one second, Rami had himself convinced that Harry really could do magic. Absolutely nothing would have made him happier than to find out that Harry was some sprite, some magical being switched at birth. He would have loved to believe that Harry's true place in life was in fairy court; Rami would have loved to believe that all he had to do was restore the prince or duke or jester to his rightful place and then all would be right in the world.

At least that option was now out of the question.

Rami took a deep breath of the steam rising out of the hot water as he mentally composed a to-do list.

One, help Harry slowly abandon the imaginary world he'd built for himself. That meant destroying Harry's image of himself and most of the imaginary people he knew and trusted. That meant ensuring that Harry had someone near him he could trust. A real person.

Two, help Harry deal with the issues facing him in this world, namely feelings of abandonment and neglect. The boy's family had never seemed emotionally supportive. They never stopped by to see him or sent packages, or letters, even! The emotional neglect was probably what had led Harry to create an imaginary world for himself in the first place.

What happened to Harry at school certainly didn't help matters either.

I told the Headmaster not to be so hard on him …

Three, help Harry adjust to living with the Petrovitches. Who were all recovering from their own emotional devastation over Peter and Dana's divorce. Who were, by the way, coming over to the school again later that afternoon.

Four, Rami added, write to Alice and tell her I might not make it to her house this summer after all.


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