School: Hogwarts

Year: Third

Theme: Dittany means healing, and the other side of the coin is injury. (Harry is injured by the Dursleys and healed by Mrs Figg. Her teaching also has a way of healing Harry's psychological abuse.)

Main Prompt: Emotion] - Trust.

Side Prompts: [Action] - Hiding/Stashing something, [Behaviour] - Authoritative.

Special Rule and Link: Birthday/Birth, Flashback to story two ( first birthday) groundwork for future stories of Harry learning to tap into his Slytherin tendencies. Link to story four - Birthday wish, frying pan incident and Mrs Figg. He may be a Gryffindor at heart, but his Slytherin side is also there: caution, self-preservation, lying, stashing items, acting, and biding his time to a better future.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3275 (+10%)

Warnings: Canonical Child Abuse

Nothing Lasts Forever

~June 22th 1985~

Excitement was high in the Dursley household at Number 4, Privet Drive. Tomorrow, little Dudley would be five, and his parents couldn't be prouder. Their nephew, Harry, was dutifully setting up the living room for the birthday party.

Four-year-old Harry got to work opening the packets of birthday garlands and balloons for the party. Petunia had had him scrub the room spotless, which included the arduous task of shampooing the thick creamy carpet until it looked brand new. Petunia had been so pleased with the results, she had forgotten to reprimand Harry for taking so long.

Harry took the time to think about what all of this meant.

Birthday. He had heard the word repeatedly for weeks, and he still couldn't understand it. What was a birthday, and why was it so important? Maybe Harry could have a birthday too? Harry got the ladder and laid it carefully against the wall; he couldn't risk damaging the floral wallpaper. Rolling some Blu Tack into little balls, he gingerly reached into the corners to stick the balloons and garlands up. When he was done, he quickly brought the ladder away.

When he returned, Petunia was still admiring the room, and Harry tentatively approached her. She was so distracted, she was smiling.

"Aunt Petunia?" asked Harry. Petunia made enough of a verbal sound for Harry to continue. "What's a birthday?"

Still transfixed by the room's setup, Petunia answered without realising it. "It's a celebration of the day you're born, by the people that love you."

Harry thought about the concept as best he could for a four-year-old and pushed his luck. "Will I get a birthday too?"

That snapped Petunia out of her reverie instantly, and Harry's face stung before he even realised she had backhanded him. Bringing his hand to his face, he stared up at his aunt, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. His aunt was back to normal, staring down at him with anger and disgust.

"Freaks don't get birthdays!" And with that, Harry was swiftly returned to the only bedroom he had ever known—the cupboard under the stairs.

Harry touched his cheek and felt the pain radiate to his ear. He knew it would stay red for another little while, but the pain would linger much longer. Under his ratty mattress, he reached down to touch the wooden floorboards. As they had been made with natural wood, they were riddled in tiny branches. Harry has spent over a year finding all the loose ones and removed them, so his floorboards now had little finger sized holes in them. Weeks of wedging at the boards had loosened them, and now they were a sort of chest of drawers for the little boy.

Pushing up the mattress, Harry lifted one of the floorboards and found a sleeve of painkillers. He had swiped them during shopping in his baggy clothes before Petunia even suspected they were missing; naturally, she assumed she had just forgotten to buy them, and Harry was thankful for that. Harry knew these would take away his pain and allow him to get some rest at night, or get on with his chores during the day. He shuddered at the thought of his aunt ever finding them.

Harry swallowed his pill and replaced the floorboard as quietly as he could, listening out intently for the sounds of his relatives. He could hear them in the sitting room, making a fuss of Dudley. Removing a second floorboard, Harry located some apples and leftovers and began munching as fast as he could manage. They could return for him at any moment, and he had to be finished by then. Harry knew if he stayed quiet, did what he was told and didn't do anything freakish, he would get to eat and return to his cupboard in peace. This was his sanctuary, the only one he could remember.

~June 23rd~

The big day had arrived, and Harry was dutifully tending the garden. He had waited in his cupboard while his aunt had welcomed guests to Dudley's party. When she had accepted all the gifts and welcomed the last child, she'd returned to let Harry out. She warned him to keep quiet.

Harry was so engrossed watching the ladybirds eat aphids on the rose stems, he never noticed the elderly lady watching him. As she stepped closer, her clear rain jacket rustled, and Harry snapped up in surprise. Who was this old woman, and why was she staring at him? Harry looked back at the roses uncomfortably.

"Hello there, having fun?" Harry stared. He didn't want to get in trouble, so he said nothing. "Cat got your tongue, lad?" Harry eyed the elderly lady with flyaway grey hair and her wheeled shopping trolley.

"I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, ma'am," came the quiet reply.

The lady smiled and winked. "Good thing I'm not a stranger then, I'm a neighbour. I live on Wisteria Walk, just over there. Where's your coat? It'll start raining soon." Harry glanced up at the sky and noticed the grey clouds overhead. "You should get inside before it really starts coming down, lad."

"I have to finish my chores first." Sounds of the party reached them from inside the spotless glass window.

"Is that why you're not in there having fun?" asked the old woman, as she nodded at the window. Harry looked away, even more uncomfortable than before.

"Freak's like me aren't allowed birthday parties, ma'am." Harry instantly winced as the old woman's face became thunderous. He was about to return to the garden when his aunt chose to make an appearance.

In a split second, Petunia looked at the woman's furious expression and Harry's fearful stance. Petunia was impressed and greeted the stranger.

"Petunia Dursley. I hope Harry wasn't bothering you." It took a moment for the woman to school her features back to normal as she smiled warmly at Petunia.

"Not at all. Arabella Figg. I live on Wisteria Walk." Harry remained stiff as a board and Arabella continued. "It's about to start raining, and I was wondering why he was out, but I see you have your hands full today."

Petunia's face lit up as she gushed about her big man turning five, and Arabella sympathised. "What if I take him for a few hours? I'll have him cleaned up for you in no time, and you can enjoy your day."

Petunia didn't hesitate, and Harry found himself whisked down the street with the scary lady, called Arabella Figg.

Arabella unlocked the door and was greeted by the insistent sounds of cats yowling. Four cats rushed up to him, and Harry didn't know what to do, but Arabella shooed them away. "Off with you, Mr Tibbles, Snowy, and Mr Paws. You too, Tufty. You'll get fed when you let me in the door." She swept off down the hall with her trolley, and the cats chased her enthusiastically as she muttered about cats and the bottomless pits they were. Harry crept along the hallway and noticed it smelled a little like cabbage.

The living room was cluttered, and dark wooden shelves of books and ornaments assaulted the boy. His aunt's living room was ordered and neat, and this was a clean, albeit chaotic mess. Plastic sheeting covered the green striped couch and large dining table. Harry took it all in with amazement.

"Now then, let me get a look at you." Harry glanced upwards as Miss Figg checked him over. "Bit thin, but we can sort that. Lovely eyes, but I notice you're squinting. Might need glasses, lad, just like y-" She stopped herself leaving Harry wondering what she would have said. He was quickly distracted when she patted the couch, and one of the cats popped down on his shoulder as he sat. He winced in pain as that shoulder hadn't healed properly, and Arabella narrowed her eyes.

"Are you in pain, lad?" She raised an eyebrow and pinned Harry with a look that said, 'Don't lie to me'. Harry heard the authoritative tone and obeyed as he had been conditioned to do. Shrugging off his baggy t-shirt, he revealed his chest, shoulders, arms and back. Arabella's mouth dropped in shock.

Harry's shoulder was an angry and swollen purple. It looked previously dislocated, but it seemed to be back in its socket now. His ribs were visible, and his back was littered with bruises and welts. Belt marks. Arabella was horrified, but she knew she had to help the boy or Lily and James would never forgive her. Their little boy looked up at her as if ashamed, but he had nothing to be ashamed of. She cupped Harry's face and made him look up. She smiled down warmly at him and kissed his head.

"You wait here, lad. I have something to make that all better." She squeezed his unblemished shoulder and proceeded to the kitchen. Harry blinked at her back with something akin to tentative trust. The smell of cabbage and bacon made Harry's stomach rumble. Figg threw him a backward glance on her way back and chuckled.

"Boys... always hungry, aren't they Mr Tibbles?" The black feline meowed up at her. She was holding a heavy looking chest. Harry looked at all the colourful vials and containers curiously. She selected a blue paste, and Harry offered her his sore shoulder, and she got to work rubbing the paste deep into the muscle.

They sat in silence until each and every swollen cut, bruise and welt had vanished. Arabella couldn't remove the faint white lines they left behind nor the imprint they left on the boy, but she vowed to try her best. Her hand shook as she replaced the lid on the paste and Harry relaxed in a way she had yet to see.

There were many things she could never tell him, due to his age and for his protection, but she wished for a moment, she could hang Dumbledore out to dry and raise the boy herself. She knew if she did, he would be denied the protection of the blood wards, and that would make both of them targets for Lord Voldemort's followers. Dumbledore said he was safest with his aunt from the Death Eaters, but Arabella knew he would never be safe from his relatives. All she could do was pick up the broken pieces from now on as best she could. That included feeding the poor boy.

Arabella finished her dinner with a hum of appreciation. Harry sat just over from her, and she swore she had never seen a child eat so happily. Even though he was stuffed and tired, he still shuffled to his feet and began clearing away the cutlery. Again, Arabella found herself fuming; Harry Potter was a bloody house-elf for Muggles! If the Daily Prophet ever found out, those Dursley's would find themselves facing down an angry mob.

She immediately patted Harry's chair, silently asking him to return to his seat. Again her face left no room for argument, and Harry wondered if she would stop being nice to him. Arabella made quick work of clearing the two plates and returned with chocolate cake and tea.

"Go on, Harry. Have some. Make your tea however you like it." She watched Harry obey, and she was glad to see a little smile on his face. When he glanced at the cake, he frowned but said nothing. "What is it, Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry sighed and hugged his tea. "Is it true what my aunt said? That freaks don't get birthdays?" Arabella frowned at the reminder of his comment, and she wondered how to explain it to a child so young.

"No, Harry. It's not true. There's no such thing as a freak, just little boys or girls. Freak is just a nasty word people say when they don't like someone, so don't believe it for a second, you hear?" Arabella looked back at Harry, and he seemed to have perked up.

"So, I do get a birthday?" he asked.

"Of course you do, my dear. You'll get your present, cake and some candles to blow out. Just like Dudley did." Harry smiled more widely than before.

"I will? A present and everything?" He was so excited.

"Yes, Harry. Obviously, your aunt will say no, but if we keep this a secret, you can have your party here. I won't tell your aunt. When is your birthday, Harry?" She had to act like she had no idea.

"July 31st. It was in my school letter for next year." Arabella smiled. She grabbed her calendar and marked the date. Giving it to Harry, she made sure it was concealed in his clothes. "This will tell you when it's your birthday, Harry, and make sure you hide this somewhere safe. Now it's time I take you back before it gets dark."

Harry's face dropped, but he nodded. She kneeled down to hug him gently, and the little boy leaned into the hug. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of the turf fire and enjoyed its earthy, woodsy scent, like freshly cut trees at Christmas. The crackling sounds seemed familiar, and Harry drifted off for a moment.

He was in a brightly lit room with a fire crackling away merrily. People were laughing and talking, but Harry couldn't make any sense of it. He was in someone's arms, surrounded by sheets of beautiful red hair. She was rocking him gently in her arms, and his eyes began to droop. She looked down at him, and he saw his own eyes looking back at him.

~July 31st 1985~

Weeks passed quickly, and Harry flourished under Arabella's care. He gained weight and every night in the cupboard, Harry faithfully ticked down the days until his birthday. He was careful to keep the pen and calendar hidden in the floorboards.

Mr Tibbles had adopted Harry and took every chance to bring him a mouse or bird when he arrived. Arabella explained to him that the cat was only trying to give him a gift of food and that cats only did that for those they really trusted.

Harry had learned a lot from Arabella, and she doted on him like a grandmother. He made sure to tell her if he was hurt or hungry, and they had a secret relationship. Arabella explained that if his relatives ever knew about how things really were here, he would be punished and never allowed to see her again. Harry kept his mouth shut and learned to act scared or bored when Petunia suggested he head over to Mrs Figgs house.

His relationship with his relatives had improved as Harry learned to treat his relatives very carefully. He acted perfectly obedient and stopped asking questions. Instead, he dutifully accepted his place and carried out his chores. This thoroughly pleased his aunt and uncle, and Harry was left alone most of the time. It also pleased Arabella, who had less injuries to heal.

Arabella was greeted by a flustered Petunia. Today was Harry's birthday and she had expected Harry hours ago and grew concerned when he didn't show. She knew something bad had happened, and when Harry emerged from his cupboard cowering, his eyes red and his cheeks streaked with old tears, it took everything she had to act indifferent. As she looked at Harry and he looked back at her, an unspoken trust carried between them.

Not here… it's not safe.

Arabella whisked him down the street and into her sitting room and watched as the dam finally broke. Harry burst into pitiful tears of pain and sorrow. Arabella kneeled at her couch and hugged him for all she was worth. It took several minutes of holding him and rubbing circles into his back for the little boy to calm down and his tears to become sniffles.

Looking up at him, she begged, "What happened, Harry?"

He trembled as he spoke quietly. "My aunt hit me with the frying pan because I burned the breakfast."

"Burned the-" she couldn't bring herself to understand the logic of child abusers and instead began inspecting his head. His hair was partly singed; she parted it gently to reveal the burn. Thankfully it wasn't blistering or cut. A little burn paste would clear it right up, but that didn't make it right.

"Harry, you listen to me. You did nothing wrong! Your aunt was wrong to do this to you and in no way do you deserve this, okay?" Lily's beautiful eyes stared back at her, and Arabella knew he trusted her enough to believe her. Harry was now starting to believe he really wasn't a freak or deserving of punishment.

"Now, let's get that sorted out," she said, gesturing at his head. Once again, Arabella got the chest of strange vials and this time she picked a sickly orange paste. She applied a very thin layer to his head, and he winced. With each layer, the pain began to recede, and soon, Harry was smiling again. Arabella cherished that smile because Harry knew she would always be there for him.

She left Harry in Mr Tibble's care and lit five candles on his birthday cake. The old squib had taken the only non-magical toy she had in her house that had belonged to her brother as a child and wrapped it in a box for him. She peeked inside the room to see Harry's lap taken over by the large black cat, and Harry was stroking him in all the right places.

Arabella grinned and nodded to Snowy. While he looked like a normal cat, he was actually one of the part kneazles that she bred for the wizarding world as familiars. They were incredibly smart and loyal. Snowy knew what to do and jumped off the couch and onto the dining room table. Picking up a box in his mouth by its ribbon, Snowy meowed at Harry. Harry accepted the gift and looked up to see Arabella nod.

Harry ripped through the paper with the enthusiasm of any excited five-year-old. Inside the box lay a set of metal figurines. There was a king and his knights as well as their horses. Each had been restored and painted, and Harry gasped. His first birthday present also held a little note.

'A King must lead his people wisely and justly. Knights fight for the side of good and banish darkness, for the protection of the King's people. I gift this to you in the hope you will grow up to be wise, just and kind. ~ Love Arabella'

Arabella read and explained the note to Harry and hugged him, before leaving him to play with his toys. As he settled down to play, she nipped off to the kitchen to add the final touches to this little impromptu birthday party. She put five candles on the cake and lit them. Knowing Harry was distracted, she did what any, self-appointed or not, grandmother would do; she sang.

"...Happy Birthday, dear Harry… Happy Birthday to you!"

Harry's smile was so wide, and his eyes were lit up in delight at the sight of the cake. She knelt down enough for Harry to come eye to eye with the candles.

"Make a wish, Harry."

Harry paused, took a deep breath and blew at the candles.

'I wish I didn't have to live with the Dursley's anymore, that I had a family to love me. I wish I had friends and that someone would come and save me. Please let things get better … please.'

Five little flames vanished.