Written for Laura Granger's "autism challenge" in friendsqueen216's "Writing challenges" forum

Harry Potter was trapped.

Oh, not really, of course. Hermione would be back, soon. But the plan had been for her to loiter outside for sixty seconds. Less. All he had to do was go into the stupid Dursley house and come back out. Should not have been difficult.

But it was, of course. Nothing came easy for him. Someone-he didn't know who-had seen them Apparate in, and then dashed off to round up others. Allies.

He could have Apparated away by himself, of course, but that never crossed his mind. He had been surrounded by honor from his first day at Hogwarts, and couldn't imagine betraying it.

Would Hermione even have time to round up other help? Or would she just bring Ron from the makeshift base they'd established in Godric's Hollow?

Or…would they not make it in time? Would he face the Death Eaters alone?

Yet even as he verbalized such thoughts, another part of him shot them down. Whoever it was would surely have Disapparated like Hermione, unless maybe they were a Muggle. Then why would they have run?

To get some of their technology…proof of us freaks.

But with no other options, why not follow?

Ambling at first, then breaking into a run, he followed the path that the little figure had taken until he wound up in front of a familiar house…Arabella Figg's.

Glancing around and holding his wand at the ready, he knocked.

After exerting herself reaching it, Mrs. Figg amicably opened the door. "Hello, dearie, how are you?"

Flustered and not knowing what to say, he stammered, "Fine."

"Come in," she waved impatiently as a cat curled itself around his ankle. Unwilling to shake it off, he forced back a smile as he entered. Mrs. Figg closed the door behind him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I…I thought I saw someone. Come in here."

"Most likely," she said coolly.

"Was that you?"

"No."

"Who was it then?" he demanded angrily.

She smirked. "Mark?"

A small boy came hopping down the stairs, eyes darting from Mrs. Figg to Harry. "Yeah?"

"Harry saw you outside."

"Hullo," he muttered shyly, looking down at the floor. "R'you Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry almost laughed as to how easy it was to say, instead of snapping like he often did. The boy put him at ease.

They stood there awkwardly until Mrs. Figg intervened. "Mark, introduce yourself properly."

"I'm Mark," he muttered.

"It's okay," Harry said gently. "I know my cousin's been a bully."

For the first time, he raised his gaze. "Your…cousin?"

Harry nodded, tilting his head curiously. "Dudley Dursley."

Mark's mouth made an O. "I didn't know you were related!"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not proud of it." When Mark didn't respond, he continued. "Why were you watching me?"

"I wasn't watching you," he blushed.

"You ran away when you saw me. Why?"

"I was scared…two real wizards coming, I didn't know why."

Harry tried to do the math-would Mark have started Hogwarts yet?-and failed. "Are you a wizard?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I-" A frenzied glint appeared in his eye. "I gotta wizard chessboard, though."

"That's…nice," Harry said vaguely.

"Mmhmm."

Harry turned and looked out the window. Hermione wasn't there. There was nothing to lose in continuing the conversation…"So what are you doing here?"

"Living," he responded casually.

Trying to parse that, Harry forged ahead. "How long have you lived here?"

"Twelve years?" he quizzically answered.

Harry turned to Mrs. Figg, face blank in shock. She nodded wistfully. "Mark's father isn't available to take care of him."

"He is so! Just because everybody else thinks he's hopeless doesn't mean I do!" Mark raged with emotion that seemed unable to fit in his body.

"The Healers have tried-"

"HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE HEALED!" Mark turned around and ascended the stairs.

Mrs. Figg turned apologetically to Harry. "It's a touchy subject for Mark."

"I can…" Harry tried to fill the silence. "see that."

"You can go and try to talk to him if you'd like," Mrs. Figg suggested, "seeing as you're-more likely to help than I am."

Harry was halfway up the stairs when he turned back. "Mrs. Figg? If you don't mind me asking, how did…you and Mr…." He bit his lip. "Evans meet?"

"Evans was his name, yes, Sharon Evans."

Harry restrained himself, and simply echoed "Sharon?"

"Yes, it could be used for both genders at one point. Anyhow, Rubeus Hagrid had brought him by to visit once, and we…I lusted for him, that is the simple truth. He did not know what I wanted, and I took that for agreement. It…was too fast."

"I'm sorry." Harry didn't know what to say.

She smiled. "It's wrong to say it, but I'm not."

Harry nodded and finished climbing the stairs, knocking on the only closed door. No answer.

He tested it and found it opened easily. Mark was kneeling on the floor, hunched over the heralded chessboard.

"Hey," Harry whispered. "It's just me."

"Hi." Mark didn't look up.

Harry lowered himself to Mark's level, lying across the floor. "Could I play?"

"Sure!"

"You can go white," Harry volunteered (rather gallantly, he thought).

"Nah." Mark began setting up the black pieces on his own side of the board.

Shrugging, Harry commanded his queen's pawn to advance two squares.

Mark played well for his age, although more defensively than Harry was used to. When Harry seized a material advantage, capturing Mark's knight without recompense, Mark looked up expectantly. Not understanding what he was supposed to do, Harry twirled the piece between his fingers.

Finally, Mark managed to speak. "Can we keep going?"

"What? Sure. Of course."

"When I play my dad, I know he's too good…If he gets an advantage, it's like it's over."

"But there's still a chance, isn't there?"

"Of course! Just like there's a chance…" Mark trailed off, cheeks reddening.

"Yeah?" Harry asked quietly.

"That wizards will actually come around and appreciate…people like him."

"Hey," Harry tried to smile reassuringly. "Just because he's a Muggle doesn't mean he's not important: you're a Muggle, and you're pretty cool."

"It's not that he's a Muggle, it's that he's…different."

Harry paused, trying to give Mark time to collect his thoughts while reasoning it out, but was stumped. "How so?"

"He's…autistic, that's what the Muggle doctors call him."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know that word."

"He doesn't talk, or write, or do magic, but he's brilliant." Mark dove under his bed, back half exposed as he rummaged through newspaper clippings. "Here."

Harry took them, fingering only the edges. Evans places first…Autistic champion emerges…The final one was from The Quibbler. Conspiracy? Harry looked at the subtitle. How the wizarding social structure is alienating our brightest minds.

In the magical publication, wizards and witches could walk through the pictures, but Sharon stayed still, his vapid face staring without recognition at the boys who hunched over it.

"Hi, Dad," Mark whispered, tears forming involuntarily.

Harry, too, could have stared indefinitely at the oddly familiar image had he not been interrupted. Hermione had entered without them knowing, in a well-deserved frenzy. "Where have you been? Who saw us? Who's this?"

Harry smiled. "Last question first, Hermione-this is my cousin Mark."