Chapter 5: A New Boy

When the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, Aleksi Petrov, visited the Long-Term Misplacements ward at the London Relocation Center, he wasn't expecting much. There were ten caregivers and over a hundred and forty kids ranging from four to sixteen-years-old. They'd all been crammed into a six story house towering over a roiling grey ocean. Cheery, that view.

Each story was stacked haphazardly, one on top of another like a child's block set but twice as colorful and thrice as misshapen. Where the ward lacked in personnel, it made up for it in style.

"The children are in the middle of lunch," the head caregiver explained. She waved her arms around, pointing at places of interest. The playroom, the boy's floor, the girl's floor. At first glance, it was all wonderful with moving paintings and lovely child-friendly furniture. Upon closer inspection, the charms on the paintings needed to be redone- half of them weren't moving any longer- and the seats of the stuffed chairs just barely brushed the ground, sagging under the weight of thousands of grimy hands and dirty feet.

Underfunded. Understaffed.

He bolstered himself. That was why he was here. To make an appearance, to make a child's day. He'd lost his own wife and children not even four years ago. His wife would have wanted him to help out, to give back. Even if he himself obviously was not meant to have a family.

Aleksi could certainly help other children in his son's honor.

The caregiver led him into the dining hall, a conglomeration of tables and chairs set for children of all different sizes. There were so many little ones in the tiny space, some running around, others tussling good-naturedly. At least half of the caregivers were preoccupied with pulling kids apart or helping the smaller kids eat their food.

"We try to serve each child, but there are only ten of us on staff. Three stay with the children twenty four seven. The others alternate between days and nights. Would you like to eat at the staff table and then help distribute the gifts you brought?"

The prime minister hesitated, remembering his own son. He'd always eaten dinner with him, no matter what. How could he sit at the staff table, practically vacant, while the caregivers bustled around helping their children? "I'd actually like to walk around if that's okay."

The caregiver pursed her lips. She didn't want to say no to an official, but he knew she didn't particularly want him mucking around. "It really disrupts their eating schedule, but I suppose if you must…"

He was already making his way down the rows, stopping to chat with a few kids here and there. The older ones mostly ignored him, choosing to eat the simple fair before them. It was better than nothing. A few of the younger kids offered to share their biscuits or chips, telling him about their favorite quidditch team in the process. The Bulgarian National Quidditch Team was only mentioned once, and it was by a young girl who he suspected was part-veela.

He was nearing the end of his circuit when he caught sight of a little boy crammed as far into the corner of the room as possible. The kid hunched over his food, shoveling spoonful after spoonful in his tiny mouth as quickly as possible. Every few seconds his curse green eyes darted around from behind bottle cap lenses, as if expecting some phantom aggressor.

Or, perhaps, not so phantom. Abruptly, an older girl (who'd been lurking pretty innocuously near the table) snagged the boy's bowl and dumped it on his head. Aleksi didn't bother to search for a caregiver. He accio-ed the bowl immediately, well-practiced in the motion even after four years without his own child. It drew the attention of both children. The girl was red, perhaps embarrassed at getting caught. The boy carefully avoided Aleksi's gaze, fingers looping round and round each other.

"Excuse me," Aleksi nudged the girl aside. He performed a quick evanesco, vanishing the soup from the boy. "You should really apologize. That was neither nice nor kind."

The girl's color increased until her face was quite puce. So she wasn't embarrassed after all. Angry. He was familiar with that sort of anger. Aleksi waited.

"Sorry, Potter," she finally spit the words at the small boy before storming away. The bowl in his hands cracked, coming away in two pieces.

Aleksi honestly wasn't sure whether that bit of errant magic was from the boy, Potter, or the girl. The boy was looking rather pale, hands trembling ever so slightly.

"Hey, it's okay. Look," he set the bowl fragments on the table, capturing the boy's reluctant gaze. Drawing out his wand, he proceeded to push his baby blue sleeves up to his elbows. With a very serious face, he said, "Octoculous" and waved his wand quite dramatically.

The two shards quivered rather violently before pulling together and morphing to form a handsome dragon with eight wings and two heads. It blinked at the boy before letting out a tiny roar and tumbling into his lap.

Aleksi had never expected to feel that small blossom of warmth deep in his stomach again. Yet, when the boy smiled gently at the creature, Aleksi's heart soared.

It was a spur of the moment decision. In a blink, Aleski was offering his hand and asking, "Would you like to come with me?"

The child instantly withered. Both green eyes fixed on that hand like it was the most venomous snake alive. His knuckles grew white around the dragon, making it squeal in protest.

Aleksi let his hand fall, making sure to keep his stance open and friendly. It was like after his son had seen him avada the former prime minister. He had to be gentle, kind. Unfamiliar things easily startled children. Horrifying things did too, but he was sure the child had seen plenty of horrifying things. Otherwise, the boy wouldn't have flinched so readily.

"Don't worry. I'm not out to hurt you. My name is Aleksi. What's your name?"

"F-freak," he muttered softly.

"Ah, come now," Aleksi tried to coax the boy. "That's not your name. What did that little girl call you? Potter was it?"

The boy blinked and suddenly a big smile stretched across his face. It was like night and day, the change that overcame him. "My name's Harry. Harry Potter."

Aleksi Petrov almost had a heart attack. Harry Potter. As in the boy-who-lived? He was supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world, and yet…

And yet…

This was just a small, scared child. A small, scared child who needed love.

"Harry Potter," he spoke the name with reverence. Not for the boy-who-lived, but for the boy-who-continued-to-survive. "Would you mind accompanying me to the Head Caregiver? Guinevere I think?"

The boy fidgeted, stroking his new toy idly. "Are you going to report me?"

"No!" Aleski couldn't help the vehement reaction. The boy-Harry- flinched, seeming to shrink again. "You're not in trouble," he lowered his tone to a soothing one. "I just wanted to talk with you and her. Would you be more comfortable staying at the table?"

Harry watched him warily before standing. "Okay, then. Promise you won't get me in trouble."

"That, Mr. Potter, I can promise."

Caregiver Guinevere was not feeling particularly amenable to his request. She'd sent Harry away immediately when she'd discerned the nature of Aleski's intentions.

"Honestly, you can't talk about that in front of them like that. It gets their hopes up. It's cruel, senselessly cruel!"

He cleared his throat. "I mean what I say."

"But you aren't approved. Do you know how long it takes to get approved? He's the bloody boy-who-lived! And even then, it's almost a thousand galleons. Even as a minister, do you have that kind of money? Are you prepared to take care of him?"

"Yes."

"Just because he's famous doesn't mean he's some sort of token. Most people come here, excited to meet their savior. What they don't get is that he isn't a savior. He's broken! The kid's been through so much. His aunt killed his uncle right in front of him. He has nightmares about his parents dying. Wakes me up screaming almost every single night. He's got his own room because the other kids… well, they aren't very nice to him… And…"

The minister cocked an eyebrow. Of course, he knew the boy had issues. He wanted to help with those issues; he wanted to help heal the broken parts; he wanted to give Harry a place to feel safe. This relocation center was not a place for him to heal. The other kids would shatter him even more.

"And?" he challenged.

"And he has a thing. No one on staff has ever seen anything like it." The caregiver's eyes darted around, even though she'd already cast a silencing charm around the room. She lowered her voice, almost a hiss, as if she were afraid of the very walls. "He changes. Not like a metamorphmagus. His personality changes in a blink. It scared the other families away."

"Well, I don't care. So he's a bit bipolar? I still want him."

The caregiver bit her lip. "Some of his changes aren't particularly… pleasant."

Aleksi gritted his teeth. "Listen and listen well, Caregiver Guinevere. I. Don't. Care. I have money, plenty more than you lot. I'll get him a mind healer, the best in Bulgaria. Whatever he needs, I swear on my magic he will have. I want Harry Potter as my son. Not because he's Harry Potter, but because I had a boy like him. Quiet fellow. Bit prone to outbursts. He found us when he was three, wandering in the woods and calling for his mother. I'm not sure what he'd seen, but he wasn't ever quite right. I loved him anyways. So did my wife. He died when he was seven during the Bulgarian Uprising. My wife followed soon after. I'd like to think someone would've relocated my boy if the war had gone the other way. Please, I'll do whatever you want."

"Okay, but there's one more thing you should know."

"It doesn't matter. Tell me."

And his face slowly turned white.

I wonder what could have happened to Harry? How is he managing with Tom up in his head? We'll return to Harry's POV in the next bit. Looks like things are looking up for our savior, although... what happened with the other families? How can you scare death eaters off, I wonder?