Arabella Figg, thirty-eight years old, looked sadly at the boy in front of her. Every month, or whenever she had time, she invited Harry Potter to stay at her house while the Dursleys went out. She hadn't seen the boy outside in a good two weeks. Worried, she had called the Dursleys, volunteering to look after the seven-year-old while they went out for a party. When Harry turned up on her doorstep, she was surprised and angry.

Harry had bruises on his face and his glasses were missing. Mrs. Figg was sure that they were broken beyond repair. His arm was an ugly purple and his right eye looked as if it had been swelling. When Mrs. Figg had asked Harry what had happened to him, he only replied that he had taken a nasty fall and had gotten in a fight with Dudley. She had tried to weasel the truth out of him, but it had been no use.

He now sat in front of her, a slice of cake on a saucer in his hand, dejectedly watching television. Mrs. Figg couldn't contemplate how anyone could do this to a child. He was onlyseven years old! It killed her to watch Harry being abused by his family, but Dumbledore said that he would be safer there.

Safer, ha! If you saw him now Dumbledore, would you think he was safe? Would you believe that the Dursleys had taken good care of him?

Harry Potter could've gone to anyone but the Dursleys. A large number of wizarding families had volunteered to take charge of the boy, but Dumbledore had been firm when he had sent Harry to live with his aunt.

If I could take the boy in, I would, Mrs. Figg thought to herself, petting one of her cats. Dumbledore would take him back to the Dursleys of course, but I'd at least know I had tried.

The telephone ringing interrupted Mrs. Figg's train of thought. She got up as fast as she could (her cats had surrounded her on the couch) and went into the kitchen where the phone was ringing off its hook.

She glanced back in the living room at Harry who still hadn't touched his cake before she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

There was some sobbing on the other line and Mrs. Figg was confused. "Hello?" she asked again.

"Mrs. Figg?" said the sobbing voice. She recognized it as Vernon Dursley. She had half a mind to tell off that man for the way that he had abused Harry, but he did sound really distressed.

"Yes, it's me Vernon, what's happened?" she said in as calm a voice as she could muster.

"It's P-P-Petunia," Dursley stuttered. "She had a stroke while we were out eating."

This is serious. "How is she? I mean, what happened?"

"I don't know," said Dursley, irritated. "The damned doctors won't tell me anything. I can hardly get a word out of them. I think it's bad."

"I'm very sorry Vernon. What do you need me to do?"

"W-w-well," said Dursley, (and this time, Mrs. Figg didn't think he was stuttering because of the shock), "I'm taking Dudders home with me, but I don't want that boy there." The Dursleys hardly ever referred to Harry by name. "It would just upset Dudley even more."

"I can keep him until things are more stable with your family, Vernon. It would be no trouble at all."

Dursley sniffed. "Thank you Arabella. You're a good neighbor."

"Just keep me updated on your wife, Vernon and tell me when you want me to send Harry over."

Mrs. Figg could picture the look on Dursley's face now, but he just said, "Of course, of course. Good-bye."

"Bye."

Mrs. Figg hung up quickly and started to contemplate her situation. Petunia was in the hospital and it sounded pretty serious. Strokes weren't taken lightly. On the other hand, she would have Harry for a few days at least and that would keep him away from the Dursleys.

She would also have to contact Dumbledore. If, in any event, Petunia died, (even though that might be a little too much to hope for) Dumbledore would have to be informed. Mrs. Figg suspected the only reason that Harry was there was because of Petunia, since she (and Dudley) were really Harry's only living relatives.

Mrs. Figg couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the Dursleys. Petunia did do everything for her family (except for Harry) and she knew that despite how vindictive the Dursleys acted towards Harry, they at least loved each other.

She sighed and glanced back at Harry in the living room. It didn't look as if he had moved from his spot, but he was clearly meditating on something. Not happy with the task before her, Mrs. Figg walked back into the living room.

"Harry that was your uncle on the phone." Mrs. Figg saw his eyes darken slightly, but he said nothing and she continued on. "Your aunt is in the hospital."

Harry glanced up in surprise and his eyes became lighter. "Really? What happened to her?"

"All your uncle told me was that she had had a stroke. He didn't give me any other specifics, but he told me that it was serious."

Mrs. Figg saw something close to worry flicker in Harry's face.

"She'll be fine Harry. Meanwhile, you're staying with me until your aunt is better. I suppose you should go pick up your things."

Harry nodded absently. "Right, right." He set the uneaten cake on the kitchen table and left the house without even looking back at Mrs. Figg. She followed him to the doorway. She watched him walk down the street and waited until he turned the corner to go back inside.

It is rather upsetting news, she thought as she grabbed a bag of Floo Powder from on top of the fireplace. She hardly ever had any visitors so she never worried about anyone finding it.

Mrs. Figg set a fire going, even though it was scorching hot and threw the powder into the flames. She stuck her head in and shouted, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office!"


Dumbledore turned away from the fireplace as Mrs. Figg's head disappeared. The chat had been very short, but much had been exchanged between the two.

A stroke? They are not usually deadly, but any further stress caused on Petunia or another stroke or something quite like it could certainly be bad for her.

Strokes weren't something that Dumbledore had seen first hand. He had studied ailments of Muggles and he knew the effects a stroke could have on a person.

I can't believe that I didn't foresee this. Well, not this exactly, but something similar to this happening. If she dies, even though there isn't a very good chance of that happening, I'll have to make other arrangements for him.

Dumbledore sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. This may have been the first time, or one of a very few times, when things didn't go the way he had planned.


Harry was rather dazed as he picked the lock of Number Four (the Dursleys hadn't trusted him enough to give him a key). Aunt Petunia was in the hospital and he would be staying with Mrs. Figg. Somehow, this comforted him.

Harry did feel a bit sad about his aunt being in the hospital, but considering that she had made his life hell for the last seven years, he didn't feel too bad about it. Harry wasn't overly fond of Mrs. Figg either. She was an improvement from the Dursleys, but not by much. Mrs. Figg wouldn't beat him or starve him, like the Dursleys, but she wasn't very nice and anyone that could like the Dursleys wasn't very high on Harry's list.

It didn't take Harry long to gather all of his things (he didn't have many) and return to Mrs. Figg's house. As he walked down the street, carrying his trunk, he saw many neighbors give him shifty glances. The Dursleys had spread the word around that he would be a future juvenile delinquent.

When Harry arrived, Mrs. Figg was waiting at the door for him.

"Hurry up, get in, get in," she said. As soon as Harry had gotten inside, Mrs. Figg had quickly closed the door. When she saw Harry was still standing behind her with his trunk, Mrs. Figg scowled, an unusual thing for her to do, and said, "What are you waiting on? Get up to the guest bedroom and unpack."

Harry hurried upstairs, wandering what the heck had made her so angry.

Probably the fact that she's stuck with the freak Harry Potter for a couple of days.


Vernon Dursley stood up as the doctor entered. He looked very grave and Vernon feared the worst.

"Well?" he asked huffily, bearing down upon the young man.

The man quickly backed up, but he didn't look scared. He had been intimidated by men (and women) a lot bigger (and stronger) than Vernon Dursley.

"We're not quite sure what caused the stroke," said the doctor slowly. "It may have been a number of things, but she will recover. She'll have to stay with us for a while, at least until she can walk."

At this, Vernon was stricken. "She's paralyzed?" he asked worriedly.

"It's only temporary," said the doctor, waving it off. Many women had had strokes in his profession. Paralysis wasn't uncommon.

"She'll have to stay for at least a month or more. Her speech will need work and she may not recognize you or your son. It's difficult to say right now." The doctor said all of this rather nonchalantly.

Vernon sat down, trying to take it all in. He knew strokes were too serious to mess around with. His own mother had had one when he was very young. She had never fully recovered and had died.

"Is there…is there anything else?" asked Vernon weakly.

The doctor sighed as if annoyed and said in his irritatingly calm voice, "If there are any further health complications, such as another stroke or something equally serious, she may die. But the probability of that happening is very slim."

The doctor had added the last bit when he had seen how pale Dursley had become. Personally, he didn't like the Dursleys very much. He had been their doctor ever since Dudley was born and had continually told them that Dudley (and maybe Mr. Dursley) was at risk for a heart attack if they didn't change their diet, but neither listened.

His patience with them was wearing thin, but he did take pity on Mr. Dursley.

"Would you like to see her?' he asked, not unkindly.

The pale Mr. Dursley nodded his head and followed the doctor inside to Mrs. Dursley's room.

When he saw his wife lying in the bed, completely motionless with her eyes closed, Vernon felt a tight feeling in his chest and wanted to scream at the doctor. It suddenly seemed as if it was his entire fault. They had been coming to him for years and he had never mentioned that there was anything wrong with Petunia before.

Vernon turned to the young doctor viciously, but he didn't seem to notice. The calm look made Vernon even madder, but his wife was more important right now. He'd rant at the doctor later.

He knocked over the doctor (which gave him some satisfaction) and went to Petunia's side, grabbing her bony hand with his thick one. It was cold.

As the doctor staggered up, sending a death glare in Vernon's direction, Vernon Dursley made a promise to himself that when his wife became better, he would remove anyone or anything that could cause her stress or make something like this happen again.

I can't lose her, he thought, gripping her hand tightly. I can't, I won't.


A/N: A bit sappy, I must admit, at the end. Most definitely not my style. I think the Dursleys do deeply care for each other and this is how they would act (in my opinion) if one of their own was in the hospital.

Okay, one of you might give me a lesson on strokes in one of your reviews, but I'll say straight out that I don't know a lot about them. Petunia having a stroke seemed realistic to me because she is the mother of a family of four so she has a lot of work to do. If anyone did want to give me tips on how to make Petunia's stroke seem more realistic, I'd appreciate it.

The next one will be a little bit sadder, slightly darker and Hermione will make an appearance. REVIEW!