Disclaimer…which I forgot last time: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters that might appear. I do, however, own any unfamiliar characters or objects.
Oh, I was so happy with all the reviews I got. You people are quite wonderful.
Something I noticed though was that a few of you didn't want H/H, and some did. Well, here's the thing. It *will* be H/H. Sorry, folks, but that's the only Ship I can write and don't find repulsive…though I *can* read other fics, as long as they don't have much romance. But anyway, though it is H/H, there won't be a lot of romance. Very little, actually. At first we have Harry who has to sort a *lot* of things out and then, only then can he start a relationship. And trust me, that will take a while. So, for those who like H/H, it will come eventually, and for those who don't, it will take awhile. Hope that satisfies you guys.
About L/J. This fic is *not* a L/J. It starts out like it, I know, but that isn't the main ship. H/H is, though there won't be much of that for a while. First they have to become better friends and then they can start getting together. So the L/J moments aren't the main relationship and I doubt there will be many L/J moments, that is, moments where they're doing anything romantic.
Another prospect that came up in the reviews was that the first chapter was confusing. Good. I *wanted* it that way. And this chapter isn't much better, or at least I think so. You *will* get answers, but be patient because some are long in coming.
To everyone else who reviewed: Thanks so much for the praise. I'll leave you to the chapter now…
Chapter 2: The Old Woman Next Door, With Her Funny Cat.
The day started out normal. It was hot, almost unbearably and Harry had decided that being woken by the sun shining in your eyes at six thirty in the morning was *not* so nice. Actually, it was downright irritating. On the good side, it meant that Aunt Petunia wouldn't have to wake him. Pounding on the door, screeching like a harpy, it was *not* a nice scene to wake up to. So, at six-thirty, Harry climbed out of bed, threw on some clothes, which, though they were terribly too big in the waist, fit him in the length and a muggle t-shirt of Dudley's from when he was eleven.
In the mornings, Harry never bothered to do anything to his hair, or even to look in a mirror. There was no reason to. He already knew that his hair was a mess and seeing himself in the mirror wouldn't make any difference, or so he thought. Actually, what Harry didn't realise, is that he had grown. Quite a bit, really, but let's not get into that now.
The morning had proceeded as usual. Harry had cooked a rabbit's breakfast, Aunt Petunia had yelled at him a bit, Uncle Vernon had given him some odd looks and Dudley complained about his food. Harry was sent out to do work, usual things like painting the house and weeding the garden. Dudley went off with his friends and Aunt Petunia stayed in and straightened up.
Harry wiped his brow as he finished weeding the garden. Aunt Petunia thought very highly of her flowerbeds and didn't let *anyone* near them. Except Harry, when he was weeding them. In a way, Harry should have been highly honoured that Aunt Petunia let him, and only him alone, near the flowers. But in the bright sun, Harry was wishing more that she liked him enough to have him work in the house, the coldest part of the house.
Harry sighed as he wiped his brow. Something he had noticed from the very beginning was that there were no lilies in sight, though ample petunias. Harry considered planting a lily in there, just for a joke, but then decided against it. He didn't want to know what Petunia would do. And in a way, it *was* interesting, working in the garden. He got to see all the neighbours, which meant Uncle Vernon had to stop the heavy beatings that left bruises in places where one could see and though the neighbours weren't *that* talkative, a few were. For instance Mrs Figg.
Mrs Figg loved chatting with Harry. She always had at least one cat curled around her feet and would stand over the bordering fence keeping an eye out on Harry. For the most part Harry just listened and made noises of understanding, such as 'hmm', 'oh yeah', 'right' and so on. It was really quite a one sided conversation, but Mrs Figg didn't seem to mind.
"Hello, Harry dear.' She called out, carrying a watering can. "How are you doing today?" She always wore a long dress with a little lace collar and lace on the cuffs. Her white hair was always up in a bun and she wore black boots. Harry thought she'd fit into 'Little House on the Prairie' quite well, especially with the white pinafore-apron combination.
"I'm fine, Mrs Figg. And how are you and Minnie?" Minnie was a new cat Mrs Figg was watching over for. She had told Harry it belonged to her brother and she was watching it for the summer. Actually, Harry thought the cat looked quite familiar, but wasn't sure. He decided to ignore it. It was quite temperamental; it hated to be petted and seemed to *cringe* every time Mrs Figg told someone it *belonged* to her brother.
"Just wonderful, Harry dear. And Minnie is also wonderful. She doesn't seem to get on with the other cats though, but I know she'll be fine. Right, Minnie?" Harry blinked as the cat glared up at Mrs Figg. Boy, that cat really looks like Professor McGonagall…or Hermione… But then Harry realised that cats *can't* glare at people. Odd… But then Mrs Figg brought him out of his thoughts. "Tell me, dear, how are your Aunt and Uncle?"
Harry thought for a second. Having fun abusing me? Getting fatter every day? Getting *stupider* every day? "They're fine, Mrs Figg. Aunt Petunia's straightening up at home, Uncle Vernon's at work and Dudley is by friends." He smoothed his hair out of his eyes, shoved his glasses further up his nose and made a note to ask Madam Pomfrey how to get a new prescription. He was having a lot of trouble making out things only five feet away.
"That's nice. Greet Petunia for me, Harry, and please stop by anytime you want." Mrs Figg smiled. "Minnie and Sniffles and Snuffles and Crabby and Socks and Mr Tittletoms and Buttons and Charcoal and Safety Pin and Tommy and O'Malley and Lucifer and Figaro and Coffee and Tea and Tiny and Patch and Libby and Abbey and Ziggy and Aurora and Calie and Lily and I all would be thrilled if you ever visited." Mrs Figg turned around, and then stopped as she reached her walkway. "Harry, I'd start watching out for doorways if I were you."
Harry stared after her. Doorways? Whatever did she mean? "Bye Mrs Figg." He continued to weed the garden. He was about halfway done and it was ten in the morning. He had already been working for the last two and hoped that he would be finished before lunch, though he knew that his portion would most likely consist of a piece of lettuce and half of a carrot. Like normal.
"What did Mrs Figg want, boy?" Harry looked up from his dusting. Aunt Petunia was standing over him, whisk in hand. Her dress had bits of flour over it and from the smell in the kitchen; it was obvious she had been baking.
"She just said hello to me, Aunt Petunia. She has a new cat and she also invited me over, when I want to come." Though visiting Mrs Figg definitely wouldn't be as thrilling as visiting Ron, after all, what old muggle lady could be more fun than a fifteen year-old wizard, but he couldn't see Ron, so he'd take Mrs Figg over the Dursleys any day. Of course, he highly doubted that Aunt Petunia would let him go, but he could still talk to her over the fence and-
"She offered to have you over there? She'll feed you? Fine. Spend as much time as you like over there, but *no magic*. If you do, I'll have Vernon flay you to an inch of your life." She turned around and went back to the kitchen. Harry stared after her. Had she just let him go? He wasn't going to wait and find out. He hurried with his dusting, wanting to get out of the house before Aunt Petunia could change her mind.
"Oh, before you go, take some cookies to her for me. What a dear old woman, and if she has to put up with you over the summer…" Aunt Petunia called out, and then went out of earshot. Harry stood there, unbelieving. It wasn't just a joke, Aunt Petunia actually *meant* it. The last time he remembered his Aunt allowing him out of chores was well- *never*. Even if he was bloody and could hardly move, like earlier on in the summer. He shook his head. Remembering *that* particular beating was not something to do when faced with the prospect of freedom. Not *freedom*, but a few hours away from the Dursleys made any day brighter in Harry's opinion.
Finished with his dusting, he washed his hands dutifully-Aunt Petunia was checking them all the time, and any spec of dirt anywhere near them got no dinner and usually a beating to match- he walked into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was gone, but a platter of cookies stood on the counter with a note.
Harry picked up the note, making sure to do it left handed, his right hand still hadn't healed from a beating a few days ago, and raised his eyebrows when he read it. 'Dear Mrs Figg, I shouldn't wish to trouble you with my nephew; he can be quite a handful and sometimes needs discipline. Send him home whenever you tire of him. And if you ever need help in the house, he's excellent at chores and he's too lazy. Some extra chores wouldn't be amiss. -Petunia Dursley'. Instead of beating him and making him help out at the Dursleys', Aunt Petunia wanted to send him somewhere else? But then who would paint the house? Or clean all the windows? Or every other chore he did. But then again, Harry wasn't about to protest. Mrs Figg's house might smell like cabbage, but anywhere away from the Dursleys was heaven to him.
He picked up the cookies and left. As he crossed over into Mrs Figg's yard, he almost stopped short. It was almost as if he could *feel* something different about the place. He shook his head, walked up to the door and was about to ring the door when something crashed.
"Honestly, Minnie, there's no reason-" Came Mrs Figg's voice.
"No *reason*? Don't misunderstand me, I love your house and cats, but *being*-" A voice who was very familiar to Harry, but one he couldn't place spoke in indignation. Harry frowned. The remark should have told him who it was, but he just couldn't think for the life of him who it was. Maybe the last hit in the head had done something to his memory.
"I'm sure it's not *too* awful. Figaro seems to enjoy your company." Mrs Figg again. Harry wondered if he should knock or leave when there was a crash.
"Arabella! Figaro is a nice cat, but then again, I AM NOT A *CAT*! And the only reason he likes me is because he wants to- wants to- how do I say this- he wants *kittens* from me!" Arabella? There was another name he should have remembered.
"Come, Minnie, you know that you are here for a *reason*. My brother wouldn't have done this for any old reason." Another crash. "But I am about to castrate that *dog*!" Suddenly silence. "Thank you, my dear dog. Now, why don't you go join my brother and leave Minnie and I here." Harry was wondering what was going on. The entire conversation was making no sense.
He made up his mind to ring the doorbell when it opened for him. He eyed the door with hesitation. But then, this was a *muggle's* house, and what could be there that was dangerous for a wizard. He entered and then almost dropped the cookies. Mrs Figg was standing there with a very disgruntled Professor McGonagall.
Before he could say anything, Professor McGonagall started to speak. "And you say I *belong* to your brother. Honestly, Arabella, I *work* for your brother. I do not *belong* to him. That's quite an inappropriate association, I must say."
"Now, Minerva, these are *muggles*. I need a reason why I have a new cat, especially a new cat that isn't going to stay here very long. And since it was my brother's idea-"
"Albus is a great wizard, don't get me wrong. I highly respect him and believe him to be very talented and wonderful. But the idea of having me play a *cat* for the summer to watch Harry is ridiculous. I'm going to start burping up hairballs soon and-"
But what Professor McGonagall hadn't noticed, was that Mrs Figg's attention wasn't on her any more, but on the fifteen year-old boy standing with the platter of cookies in his hands. "Why hello, Harry dear."
*Crash*! Harry finally dropped the platter of cookies, causing Professor McGonagall to turn back into a cat and to send all the other cats in the room running. Harry stood there, not even caring that the platter had dropped and all the cookies were dirty. He was more concerned that his Transfiguration teacher and Head of House was standing, or, as the case was, ready to pounce in his old *muggle* neighbour's house. Of course, if Professor McGonagall was there, he highly doubted Mrs Figg *was* muggle. "You- you're a witch!"
Mrs Figg nodded, smiling. "Right, Harry dear. Arabella's my name and a certain Headmaster of yours happens to be my older brother. Figg is my married name." And with that said, there was another crash as Harry landed on the floor next to the cookies.
"Oh dear, I really shouldn't have said that now, should I?" Mrs Figg said, crinkling her forehead.
***
"I really don't understand how he could get in such a condition. Fainting on the floor doesn't cause bruises and fractures to *this* degree. Arabella, you really should send for Madam Pomfrey."
"Oh, Minerva, he'll wake up any time now. And to the injuries…I suspect most of them are old, as in since the beginning of summer. Most people wouldn't have noticed it, but I *am* an old busybody who happens to have many charms on the Dursleys and from what I've heard, I'd say the boy was getting beaten. Badly."
"And the reason you haven't said anything was-?" Harry tried to open his eyes, but found he couldn't. He was just so tired, and to be able to lie in a bed, which actually had a sheet between him and the mattress was a blessing in deed.
"Any time I made up my mind to do something, he was fine. Healed. To this day, I don't know how he does it. I'd say he was a Healer, but that's ridiculous. Healers are very rare, if there *are* any left, and he is untrained."
"Aurora Potter had Healing Abilities to an extent, as did James. And Lily also had a bit. Not enough to do anything big, but a bit all the same. Maybe Harry inherited the entire Healing ability. Now I think of it, there are times where it seems Harry should be in a lot worse condition than he is." Harry thought it was Professor McGonagall again. He wondered what a 'Healer' was.
"Minerva, if this boy turns out anything like his paternal grandmother of father, I'd say beware. Or even like Lily…poor dear. I always did have a soft spot for her. And I was so *glad* when she and James started courting. And the wedding was gorgeous."
"Yes, Arabella, it was. But the matter at hand is that Harry is lying in your guest bedroom unconscious, severely bruised and with fractured bones. I'm surprised he can write at all. Now I think of it, I haven't received a reply to the request in his Hogwarts letter."
"That's because you still haven't sent out the letters to returning students. But you might as well give Harry his in person. No reason to tire out an owl when he's staying a room away from you." Harry tried to open his eyes again, but still couldn't succeed. He wondered why he was having so much trouble. But before he could contemplate, Professor McGonagall spoke again.
"Won't those relatives wonder where he is?"
"No. Petunia sent me a note with the cookies. Apparently he's free to stay as long as I wish. She even offered to have him do chores for me." Silence, and then she clucked again. "Petunia Evans was such a nice girl once. I remember how she and Lily used to get along. And then Lily was accepted into Hogwarts and the friendship disappeared. Petunia became jealous and spiteful. But even still I can't believe that she allows Vernon to do such things to the boy. Poor Harry."
"I know what you mean. Lily didn't have a spiteful or mean bone in her body, and she still didn't care for Petunia. And Lily sometimes had to hold James back from getting too mad at Petunia. It was so tragic when the Evanses died. I didn't know them personally or anything, but the fact that Lily had to spend a summer with her sister was awful enough in my opinion." Harry could almost sense sadness in Professor McGonagall's voice. Harry knew that his parents had went to Hogwarts, and that they had been Head Girl and Boy, but other than that, he knew absolutely nothing about Lily or James Potter. He wondered how well Professor McGonagall knew them.
"You know, Minnie, I was wondering about that letter you sent Harry a few weeks ago. What was that about? I knew it was no school letter, but other than that I did not know."
"Harry's been sending Albus letters about staying with Mr and Mrs Weasley. After the fifteenth one landed in my tea, I decided to request him to stop sending them. I know Albus wasn't going to change his mind, and the constant owls were beginning to get annoying."
"I see. You can't blame the boy, though. I know how awful it must have been. I just thank the stars he has more of Lily's personality than James'." A dry laugh. "Though I must admit James was never dull. I remembering in training he and young Sirius attempted to dye my hair pink. Thank goodness Albus used to play pranks. Growing up with an older brother *did* help me some in life, at least." Albus? That must have been Albus Dumbledore. But Professor Dumbledore didn't have a sister, did he? And then Harry realised that he knew almost nothing about Professor Dumbledore, except that he had a brother Aberforth who had experimented on goats and that he had taught Transfiguration during Voldemort's school time.
"Harry's changed. He's a lot different at Hogwarts than he is at home. He seems to have a knack of getting into trouble with out trying to."
"He reminds me Aurora. James took after his uncle, than goodness not his father. And Harry takes after his grandmother. It was really tragic when she died. I remember training her. She wouldn't let any thing get in the way of her friends and she was so noble."
"She could have gotten into Slytherin. The hat asked her, but since her brother was in Gryffindor, she also wanted to be in there…it makes me wonder what might have happened if Aurora had been in Slytherin…" Mrs Figg finished off. "I'll go check on Harry now." Harry again tried to open his eyes. He had so many questions for her. But his eyes still didn't open. He shut them as tight as he could, and then, with great determination, his eyes flew open to see the face of Mrs Figg leaning over him.
"Hi, Mrs Figg. I should, er- be getting back now. They're sure to worry." He tried to get out of bed. He *hated* staying in bed, and he knew that the Dursleys would skin him if they thought he was opposing on Mrs Figg in anyway. But then again, from what Harry had heard, he rather thought that the Dursleys wouldn't care a thing about 'dear old Mrs Figg' if they knew she was a witch.
"You aren't going anywhere, Mr Potter. I have a letter, which you need to receive. Not to mention there are several bruises and fractures which need to be explained. You *will* be staying with Arabella until other arrangements can be made for you." Harry looked up to Professor McGonagall, standing in a pair of rumpled wizarding robes.
Harry looked towards her and the old woman. "I fell down the stairs. It was quite clumsy of me, but I *did*. Something else Professor Snape can find fault with me for. And my Aunt and uncle will be very worried if I don't get home soon. Especially if they fear I am imposing on you, Mrs Figg." Harry directed the last statement to Mrs Figg. Hopefully she at least understood the meaning of the sentence and would let him go. The beating would be ten times worse if he wasn't allowed to leave.
"First thing, Harry, call me Arabella. And since I am the one maintaining the wards at your house, I believe you will be perfectly safe in my company. There is also the meaning of your bruises. I keep a very careful eye on that house, and though I can *not* see nor hear *exactly* what is going on in that house, I can safely say that if you *did* fall down the stairs as you claimed, it was because you were pushed. I cannot allow you to stay there very long, and therefore I suggest you go into your room, pack your things and tell your relatives you are to stay with me. That way Minerva can return to Hogwarts and must not be constantly in cat form. And I can also help you with your magic, and possible with your clothing situation." She eyed the clothes Harry was wearing. "They don't seem to fit you very well, and it was blind of me to not notice such a thing."
"Mrs Figg, there's no worry. I'll be fine at the Dursleys, and I know that you are next door…by the way, since when were you a witch?" Harry looked at her with a certain sternness he had inherited from either his mother or his grandmother, Arabella couldn't tell which.
"Harry-" But she stopped as he was already out of the door. She turned to Professor McGonagall. "I didn't-"
"I know, Arabella, I know. There's something about that boy."
***
Harry sighed as he was thrown into the cupboard. He had been spending a lot of nights in there this summer. He wondered whether or not his relatives had gone to bed or not. It didn't matter really; Harry was at least locked in with his schoolbooks, though his wand he had removed. Packing for the summer, a feeling told him to remove his wand and other valuables. He had done so, sticking then inside his over sized pockets, and had watched Uncle Vernon throw the rest of his things into a metal safe and throw *that* into the garage. Harry had managed to hide his wand and invisibility cloak upstairs in his room, and had also managed to save a few schoolbooks, which he had shrunken.
The problem, which Harry had realised early on in the summer, was that while his wand had been saved, it was in his room. Upstairs. He was downstairs. Locked in the cupboard. And though the prospects had seemed very dismal at first, Harry had learned something about himself. He could do undetected magic. Without a *wand*. He didn't even need to use a spell. All he had to do was *think* what he wanted. And he could also do much more advanced magic than he could do at school.
The summer hadn't been so bad. Or at least, it could have been worse. He was still beaten, but he seemed to heal himself somehow. And when he needed food, he could just *wish* for it, and it would appear. And he could also get out of his cupboard. But first he had to be sure that his relatives weren't up. If they were, well, he could kiss any form of freedom good-bye. He sighed.
He liked Mrs Figg. Really. But he also knew that she had no idea of the situation at the Dursleys. They blamed *everything* on him. And when they did, they beat him. Or really, Vernon did. Dudley too, when his father told him so. And Aunt Petunia just watched. When she didn't leave the room. When she didn't say she was busy with something else. Come to think of it, Aunt Petunia had only watched once, and then she had fled, claiming to have to check the dinner in the oven. It had been three in the afternoon.
He wondered what was wrong with his Aunt. She seemed to try to keep him busy. She had endless chores for him, but she never really criticised them. And she also let him go to Mrs Figg's. Which is how he had ended up in the cupboard.
He hadn't realised how late it was, when he left Mrs Figg's. But it was very late. And the Dursleys had all ready finished dinner. Uncle Vernon had asked him where he was. Aunt Petunia had answered for him. Uncle Vernon had seemed to think that that was okay, until he decided that Harry had been pestering Mrs Figg and that he had overstayed his welcome. Harry's answer of asking Mrs Figg herself about why he had stayed so long hadn't pleased Uncle Vernon.
Uncle Vernon had beaten him repeatedly. He had screamed things at Harry, and when Harry had lost consciousness for a few minutes, he had broken one of his legs. Then he had thrown Harry into the cupboard. And that is where Harry had stayed.
Harry had fixed his leg, wincing in pain as it healed and had also healed his headache. And now he was waiting for the Dursleys to be fast asleep so he could leave. That is, until he heard a sound.
"Don't- be quiet!" Someone whispered. It was a woman, but not his Aunt. Nor Professor McGonagall, or Mrs Figg.
"I'm trying to! But the house is pitch black and-" Another voice, familiar, but again implacable hissed.
"Noctus video. Noctus vides." The first voice again. "Honestly, I can't believe you didn't think of that."
Crash! "Well I'm *sorry*, but I'm obviously not as intelligent as you are."
"Be careful! We wouldn't want to wake anyone up!"
"Memory Charm. Quite a simple piece of magic. And then we also can ask about Harry." Harry? They were talking about *him*! He may despise the Dursleys, but he didn't want them dead by Voldemort's hand. And it would have to be Death Eaters there, *that* must be why the voices were familiar, because of Voldemort's 'gathering' after the TriWizard Tournament.
"Don't be daft. We can't use magic *here* and if he lives in a room like *that*, then it must not be a good situation. It's almost like he's a prisoner. I can't believe Petunia would do such a thing…"
"Oh come off of it, we have to find him. Where could he be? I still say we should use a Searching Charm-OW!"
"I *told* you not to use magic. We're in a muggle house, and do *not* need the Ministry on our backs." Harry was very confused. At first he was sure they were Death Eaters, and then they seemed almost nice. Sort of like-like something he knew, but couldn't place. He wondered if his memory was failing him. He seemed to forget a lot over the past few weeks. But then the two wizards had not wanted to be noticed by the Ministry of Magic and that was what made up Harry's mind.
If they don't want the Ministry of Magic to know they're here, then they must be doing something bad. And summoning up all his courage and concentrating on his magic, he swung the door open and barged out into the hallway where the two people stood.
Harry blinked up at them, frozen. The man was tall with unruly black hair, glasses and dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown. The woman was petite with dark red-hair, and pale green wizarding robes. Neither of them had a wand, which made Harry wonder how they were planning on doing any magic. But it was their faces, which were suddenly highlighted in a pane of moonlight. "*Mum*? *Dad*?"
You know, almost all of the reviews couldn't wait for the reactions of Harry and the Dursleys when they see Lily and James. And I admit I had lots of fun leaving you guys here. But just wait till next chapter…where you *do* find out Harry's reaction. It won't be what's expected, let me tell you that.
And don't forget our dear Mrs Figg, she *will* be coming back. And I suggest keeping her conversation with Professor McGonagall in mind in later chapters…just a hint.
-Myra
P.S. Don't forget to review…