Sorry
Arabella Figg had perhaps the hardest duty any Order member had ever received. She was the one assigned to watch Harry Potter grow up. She was best for it of course, no chance of her magic exploding when she was enraged, no way that Voldemort's followers would be able to detect her if they ever came snooping around the neighbourhood. But then, this was precious little reward for a Muggle in a Magic world.
She stood by the net curtains, ready for her daily duty. Sure enough Petunia Dursley appeared at the end of the street bang on time. The four year old Dudley Dursley was sat in his push chair like a small fat prince. His thick winter coat made him look like a small red tomato. The effect was further heightened by the mauve shade of his face, which was currently scrunched up and bawling.
Exactly two paces behind the Mother and her son a smaller boy trotted nervously along. He wore a coat which was much too small for him, forcing his arms outwards. He had a shock of untidy black hair and, although you couldn't see from this distance, the most unusual green eyes. He slipped repeatedly on the icy pavement, banging his small knees on the hard stone. He didn't seem to be bawling like his bloated cousin. He remained silent as he stoically struggled onwards.
Harry Potter- The boy who lived. Walking, frozen, tired and unloved through the drab suburbs of Surrey. It was an outrage, what would Lily and James have thought if they could see their son now? It was at times like this she dearly wished that she was a Witch and that she could curse that evil woman clear out of her Muggled brain. She breathed out slowly, trying to calm herself. Any minute now Petunia would present herself at her front door and apologise as she always did for having to "foist this ill-mannered, slow witted nephew of mine on you." She never discussed the reason that Harry was living with them. So far Arabella had been able to resist the temptation to prod.
The doorbell rang. Straightening her hairnet she proceeded into the hallway. She could hear that wretched son of Petunia's squawking even through the double glazing. As soon as she opened the door she was met with a simpering smile and sweet, sugary words of apology from her bony faced neighbour.
"I am terribly sorry we're late, the boy wouldn't behave you know." Petunia twittered, casting a dark look at Harry who positively shrunk out of view. "Dudders is going to be late to the nursery and Vernon and I must get to this conference. It's for his drills you know," she said earnestly, "they might make him a foreman if he keeps climbing the ladder, quite the business man Vernon." She smiled again, that horrible self satisfied smirk of one who thinks they are better than the person they address.
Arabella suppressed the urge to tell Petunia what she could do with her drills and instead smiled forcibly back.
"When are you coming back for him?" She asked, nodding casually at Harry.
"Would you mind feeding him? It's just that Vernon and I will be late and I haven't arranged for the Polkiss's to take the boy as well."
"It's no trouble, if he doesn't behave I'll make him."
Harry seemed especially eager to escape from his relatives that morning. He stepped across the threshold and glanced meekly up at her.
"What do you say to Mrs Figg Boy?" Petunia asked sharply.
Harry jumped as if he'd been stung, but he didn't say anything. Petunia sniffed airily.
"Never talks, he's backwards that one, just like his good for nothing parents."
It was a very good thing that she picked that moment to swing her pushchair vigorously around and proceeded swiftly down the path, chirping sweetly to her son. Arabella stood stunned in the doorway not knowing quite what to do with herself. That sanctimonious, stone hearted creep of a woman! How dare she? How dare she talk about Lily and James like that? It was almost too much to bear.
"Come on Harry," she said thickly, wiping her eyes discreetly. "Let's feed you up, are you hungry?"
Harry nodded shyly. He sat down on the floor of her living room playing with the cats while she stood in the kitchen, gripping the worktop very hard. A torrent of rage, hurt and disbelief rattled around her head. Albus must have been mad, how could he condemn a child to a life like that? How could she call herself a friend to Lily and James if she didn't help their son? She had to do something, but what could a mere Squib do?
Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen shelf, his spare wand! Did she dare? Could she? Squibs couldn't do magic, came the familiar voice in her brain, she'd been told that often enough. It wasn't strictly true, squibs could do magic, but they weren't powerful enough to merit magical training. Lily and James's faces appeared in her minds eye, they were smiling, they'd always been smiling. Would they smile now if they could see what was being done to their beloved baby boy. Then she knew. She would do it, she didn't care if she was landed in Azkaban, she would make that child smile.
"Harry, I've brought you some sweets..."
She pressed the chocolate frog into his small hands, his eyes grew round as saucers as it hopped onto his head. He reached up and looked at it incredulously before opening his mouth to cautiously chew.
"Do you like that?"
Another nod.
"Harry do you like your Aunt Petunia?"
He froze, as if uncertain how to answer. Then he shook his head slowly. She couldn't sit there, so calm anymore. She crossed the room and caught him up in her arms hugging him tightly. For a moment he was rigid, as if he didn't know how to react. Then instinct took over and he relaxed, knowing she wasn't going to hurt him. She sat down, cradling him in her lap. "I'm going to tell you a story Harry," she said softly.
"Most people don't know this, but Magic is real, there are lots of Witches and Wizards and dragons, and even the odd castle or two. Your Mum and Dad were magic Harry, they could cast spells. You can too."
Harry looked utterly thunderstruck, she couldn't stop herself. She had to tell him everything, she couldn't bear to see him so unhappy for another second.
"Don't believe your Aunt, she never knew your Dad and she didn't like your Mum. I knew them both Harry, they loved you very much. They miss you a lot, they can see you up there in heaven and they wave to you."
Harry made a small indistinct noise, he was crying. She was probably the first person in years to tell him about his parents. She went on, her voice low and fierce.
"They weren't good for nothing, they were brave and young and clever. Your dad could ride a broomstick better than anyone else I knew. And your Mum, well she had eyes just like yours."
"Why aren't they here now?" Harry said suddenly.
Arabella fought to control herself, he had talked. He had a soft, clear voice...Lily's voice. How did you tell a child about Voldemort?
"They died, a bad wizard came and wanted to hurt you, but your Dad tried to save you and your Mum, the bad wizard killed him. Then your Mum loved you so much that she saved you by dying instead."
It seemed very strange to be having this conversation in the sitting room of a suburban house. It should never have been this way, if only Sirius hadn't done what he did then Harry would have been happy. The world was so full of unfairness and pain, why was it made like this? Arabella was startled to find her face was wet with tears, she hadn't thought about Lily or James in so long. She reached over towards an old dusty cabinet that she hadn't opened in years and extracted an ancient looking photo album.
"There's your Daddy," she said hoarsely, watching as James waved merrily up at them, he was circling the garden of Godrics Hollow on his broomstick. Harry pressed his hands against the surface of the photo, leaning as close as he could to the image of his Father. His eyes were filled with a sadness that no four year old should ever experience. He knew and understood that he would never meet the man in the picture. Arabella closed her eyes remembering James, bouncing into a meeting of the order one fine autumn day, alight with the news that Lily was pregnant.
"And your Mum, look they're holding you!"
Lily was holding Harry in front of the camera, tickling him. The Harry in this picture was giggling madly. It had been taken on his first birthday, James looked positively alive with pride and happiness as he gazed adoringly at his lovely young wife and baby son.
The four year old on her knee had gone very still, he seemed to be listening hard.
"I can't remember them...I want to so badly, but I can't."
"They can remember you," Arabella whispered, "they will always love you Harry. It's not going to be so hard forever. One day you'll be grown up and I'll give you these photos, then you'll always be able to look at them and be proud of your parents. And even if they can't look after you, there are still people like me who care about you. A lot of people love you just as much as your Mum and Dad did. Never lose hope!"
It was the hardest thing in the world to take away that photo album from him. His eyes followed it all the way to the dusty cupboard. She didn't want to have to do this, but if he remembered then there was no telling what the consequences might be. She picked up the spare wand and summoning all her meagre power performed the spell.
Harry didn't look at the cupboard again, he didn't mention his parents and he didn't speak to her for the next six hours. She sat and knitted, listening to the Muggle radio. He curled up on the settee and fell asleep, only waking when she called him to the table for his liver and onions. It was well past Eight O'Clock when Petunia rang the bell. Harry followed her passively into the hall and stood patiently by while the small talk was exchanged.
"What do you say to Mrs Figg boy?"
Harry fixed her with a calm stare, "Thankyou." He said quietly, and stepped out into the night. Petunia stared open mouthed at her nephew.
"Well we shall have to let him stay with you more often, he seems to get some manners at your house."
Arabella smiled, perhaps her magic hadn't been powerful enough to do the job properly. But then that might be for the best.
Arabella Figg had perhaps the hardest duty any Order member had ever received. She was the one assigned to watch Harry Potter grow up. She was best for it of course, no chance of her magic exploding when she was enraged, no way that Voldemort's followers would be able to detect her if they ever came snooping around the neighbourhood. But then, this was precious little reward for a Muggle in a Magic world.
She stood by the net curtains, ready for her daily duty. Sure enough Petunia Dursley appeared at the end of the street bang on time. The four year old Dudley Dursley was sat in his push chair like a small fat prince. His thick winter coat made him look like a small red tomato. The effect was further heightened by the mauve shade of his face, which was currently scrunched up and bawling.
Exactly two paces behind the Mother and her son a smaller boy trotted nervously along. He wore a coat which was much too small for him, forcing his arms outwards. He had a shock of untidy black hair and, although you couldn't see from this distance, the most unusual green eyes. He slipped repeatedly on the icy pavement, banging his small knees on the hard stone. He didn't seem to be bawling like his bloated cousin. He remained silent as he stoically struggled onwards.
Harry Potter- The boy who lived. Walking, frozen, tired and unloved through the drab suburbs of Surrey. It was an outrage, what would Lily and James have thought if they could see their son now? It was at times like this she dearly wished that she was a Witch and that she could curse that evil woman clear out of her Muggled brain. She breathed out slowly, trying to calm herself. Any minute now Petunia would present herself at her front door and apologise as she always did for having to "foist this ill-mannered, slow witted nephew of mine on you." She never discussed the reason that Harry was living with them. So far Arabella had been able to resist the temptation to prod.
The doorbell rang. Straightening her hairnet she proceeded into the hallway. She could hear that wretched son of Petunia's squawking even through the double glazing. As soon as she opened the door she was met with a simpering smile and sweet, sugary words of apology from her bony faced neighbour.
"I am terribly sorry we're late, the boy wouldn't behave you know." Petunia twittered, casting a dark look at Harry who positively shrunk out of view. "Dudders is going to be late to the nursery and Vernon and I must get to this conference. It's for his drills you know," she said earnestly, "they might make him a foreman if he keeps climbing the ladder, quite the business man Vernon." She smiled again, that horrible self satisfied smirk of one who thinks they are better than the person they address.
Arabella suppressed the urge to tell Petunia what she could do with her drills and instead smiled forcibly back.
"When are you coming back for him?" She asked, nodding casually at Harry.
"Would you mind feeding him? It's just that Vernon and I will be late and I haven't arranged for the Polkiss's to take the boy as well."
"It's no trouble, if he doesn't behave I'll make him."
Harry seemed especially eager to escape from his relatives that morning. He stepped across the threshold and glanced meekly up at her.
"What do you say to Mrs Figg Boy?" Petunia asked sharply.
Harry jumped as if he'd been stung, but he didn't say anything. Petunia sniffed airily.
"Never talks, he's backwards that one, just like his good for nothing parents."
It was a very good thing that she picked that moment to swing her pushchair vigorously around and proceeded swiftly down the path, chirping sweetly to her son. Arabella stood stunned in the doorway not knowing quite what to do with herself. That sanctimonious, stone hearted creep of a woman! How dare she? How dare she talk about Lily and James like that? It was almost too much to bear.
"Come on Harry," she said thickly, wiping her eyes discreetly. "Let's feed you up, are you hungry?"
Harry nodded shyly. He sat down on the floor of her living room playing with the cats while she stood in the kitchen, gripping the worktop very hard. A torrent of rage, hurt and disbelief rattled around her head. Albus must have been mad, how could he condemn a child to a life like that? How could she call herself a friend to Lily and James if she didn't help their son? She had to do something, but what could a mere Squib do?
Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen shelf, his spare wand! Did she dare? Could she? Squibs couldn't do magic, came the familiar voice in her brain, she'd been told that often enough. It wasn't strictly true, squibs could do magic, but they weren't powerful enough to merit magical training. Lily and James's faces appeared in her minds eye, they were smiling, they'd always been smiling. Would they smile now if they could see what was being done to their beloved baby boy. Then she knew. She would do it, she didn't care if she was landed in Azkaban, she would make that child smile.
"Harry, I've brought you some sweets..."
She pressed the chocolate frog into his small hands, his eyes grew round as saucers as it hopped onto his head. He reached up and looked at it incredulously before opening his mouth to cautiously chew.
"Do you like that?"
Another nod.
"Harry do you like your Aunt Petunia?"
He froze, as if uncertain how to answer. Then he shook his head slowly. She couldn't sit there, so calm anymore. She crossed the room and caught him up in her arms hugging him tightly. For a moment he was rigid, as if he didn't know how to react. Then instinct took over and he relaxed, knowing she wasn't going to hurt him. She sat down, cradling him in her lap. "I'm going to tell you a story Harry," she said softly.
"Most people don't know this, but Magic is real, there are lots of Witches and Wizards and dragons, and even the odd castle or two. Your Mum and Dad were magic Harry, they could cast spells. You can too."
Harry looked utterly thunderstruck, she couldn't stop herself. She had to tell him everything, she couldn't bear to see him so unhappy for another second.
"Don't believe your Aunt, she never knew your Dad and she didn't like your Mum. I knew them both Harry, they loved you very much. They miss you a lot, they can see you up there in heaven and they wave to you."
Harry made a small indistinct noise, he was crying. She was probably the first person in years to tell him about his parents. She went on, her voice low and fierce.
"They weren't good for nothing, they were brave and young and clever. Your dad could ride a broomstick better than anyone else I knew. And your Mum, well she had eyes just like yours."
"Why aren't they here now?" Harry said suddenly.
Arabella fought to control herself, he had talked. He had a soft, clear voice...Lily's voice. How did you tell a child about Voldemort?
"They died, a bad wizard came and wanted to hurt you, but your Dad tried to save you and your Mum, the bad wizard killed him. Then your Mum loved you so much that she saved you by dying instead."
It seemed very strange to be having this conversation in the sitting room of a suburban house. It should never have been this way, if only Sirius hadn't done what he did then Harry would have been happy. The world was so full of unfairness and pain, why was it made like this? Arabella was startled to find her face was wet with tears, she hadn't thought about Lily or James in so long. She reached over towards an old dusty cabinet that she hadn't opened in years and extracted an ancient looking photo album.
"There's your Daddy," she said hoarsely, watching as James waved merrily up at them, he was circling the garden of Godrics Hollow on his broomstick. Harry pressed his hands against the surface of the photo, leaning as close as he could to the image of his Father. His eyes were filled with a sadness that no four year old should ever experience. He knew and understood that he would never meet the man in the picture. Arabella closed her eyes remembering James, bouncing into a meeting of the order one fine autumn day, alight with the news that Lily was pregnant.
"And your Mum, look they're holding you!"
Lily was holding Harry in front of the camera, tickling him. The Harry in this picture was giggling madly. It had been taken on his first birthday, James looked positively alive with pride and happiness as he gazed adoringly at his lovely young wife and baby son.
The four year old on her knee had gone very still, he seemed to be listening hard.
"I can't remember them...I want to so badly, but I can't."
"They can remember you," Arabella whispered, "they will always love you Harry. It's not going to be so hard forever. One day you'll be grown up and I'll give you these photos, then you'll always be able to look at them and be proud of your parents. And even if they can't look after you, there are still people like me who care about you. A lot of people love you just as much as your Mum and Dad did. Never lose hope!"
It was the hardest thing in the world to take away that photo album from him. His eyes followed it all the way to the dusty cupboard. She didn't want to have to do this, but if he remembered then there was no telling what the consequences might be. She picked up the spare wand and summoning all her meagre power performed the spell.
Harry didn't look at the cupboard again, he didn't mention his parents and he didn't speak to her for the next six hours. She sat and knitted, listening to the Muggle radio. He curled up on the settee and fell asleep, only waking when she called him to the table for his liver and onions. It was well past Eight O'Clock when Petunia rang the bell. Harry followed her passively into the hall and stood patiently by while the small talk was exchanged.
"What do you say to Mrs Figg boy?"
Harry fixed her with a calm stare, "Thankyou." He said quietly, and stepped out into the night. Petunia stared open mouthed at her nephew.
"Well we shall have to let him stay with you more often, he seems to get some manners at your house."
Arabella smiled, perhaps her magic hadn't been powerful enough to do the job properly. But then that might be for the best.