Disclaimer: I am borrowing from the creative mind of J.K. Rowling.
Warning: This story is rated as T for a reason there are some scenes of child abuse in this chapter and mild cursing.
Thank you to my beta Trucklesinthetree. If you have not read Remembering Me and the sequel Remembering Me: Into the Serpent's Lair, you should check it out. It is listed as a favorite on my profile page and in my community, Melverne's Picks. I am looking for stories to add to the community, if you have a suggestion PM me.
Chapter Two: Dragon Pox
Harry was sitting slumped down over the school desk. His throbbing head was propped up by his sweaty palms. While praying for the end of the day, Harry stared at the open textbook between his elbows. When the afternoon bell finally rang it felt like his head was being used as the clapper.
He waited for the row to empty, avoiding the throng of students eagerly pushing their way towards the door. Slowly, Harry gathered his things then slouched after them. On the way out Harry took a detour to the boys' bathroom.
After using the loo, Harry went to wash his hands. His head ache was soothed by the sound of the cold water flowing over his hands. Eventually he turned his palms up and formed a cup. He watched his hands fill with water then roll over the sides. Harry leaned closer to the sink and poured a handful of cold water over his head. It felt cool and refreshing to him. He started to feel better almost immediately and splashed his face a few more times until he didn't feel so hot. The water moistened his lips and felt good in his mouth but he could only force a little of it down his sore throat.
By the time Harry left the boys' room the halls were empty. He walked out the front doors in a daze. Normally he avoided the park where Dudley's gang played, but Harry just wanted to go home and this was the most direct route. He was thinking about asking Aunt Petunia if he could lie down for a little while, hoping she would let him, when the first clod of dirt hit the side of his head.
"Bulls eye!" Dudley hollered as the boys unloaded on Harry.
Harry wiped the grit out of his eyes and kept walking. The gang of boys followed along, pelting him with dirt and calling him names. Piers ran up swinging a chunk of dirt by the weed he had uprooted. It smashed down on Harry's head to the thug's amusement. When they ran out of dirt they started throwing rocks.
The rocks hurt but Harry didn't feel up to running. He just ducked his head and tried to walk a little faster. Fortunately, most of the rocks were hitting his backpack. One rock bounced painfully off the back of his head though and Harry rubbed the spot until it stopped hurting.
"Where you goin' baby?" Dudley taunted. "Gonna run home and tell? Too bad nobody cares. You freak!"
"Yeah, freak," Piers echoed.
"Gonna cry, freak?" Gordon mocked, stepping on the heels of Harry's shoes trying to trip him.
"Cry freak cry," the boys started to chant. Harry's head pounded with the chant.
Again with the freak. Why does it always come down to that? Just bugger off and leave me alone! Harry thought to himself, irritated that being called a freak still hurt him deeply.
oOo
"Happy Mother's Day Mum," Dudley announced happily. His pudgy hands held out a single white rose. "They were out of the pink ones you like."
Petunia cupped his round cheek and gave him a quick peck before Dudley could pull away. "Its lovely Dudley, thank you."
Harry watched them longingly from the hall. A piece of green construction paper adorned the refrigerator. Three stick figures graced the page. A woefully misspelled 'Happy Mother's Day' in a scraggly print was above the smiling family. Harry's drawing went out with yesterday's rubbish. He scooted forward and hovered by the arch leading into the kitchen. He felt like a stranger peeping through the window.
Dudley wiped the kiss from his cheek and scowled at Harry. He stomped out of the kitchen bumping Harry with his shoulder. "What'd you get for Mother's day? Oh yeah, you don't got one," he tormented under his breath.
The hinge of the cabinet door squeaked when it opened. There was a little scraping sound as Petunia pulled a slender clear glass vase out. Petunia's feet clapped loudly on the kitchen floor as she walked to the sink. For such a small woman, she made a great deal of noise when she walked.
Once the vase filled with water, Petunia sat the rose in the middle of the kitchen table and sat down to admire it.
Cautiously Harry crossed the room to the table. He climbed onto the chair and stood up. Harry timidly looked at Petunia then leaned across the table. The gentle fragrance of the rose tickled his nose as he inhaled. He closed his eyes and breathed out heavily upon the flower. His breath sparkled as it blew upon the rose as visible as your breath on a cold winter day.
The tips of the petals frosted then darkened to Petunia's favorite shade of pink. Harry's green eyes sparkled when he opened them and he smiled brilliantly at his Aunt.
Her chair scraped across the floor as she stood up with a look of aversion upon her face. "You freak!" Petunia shrieked at the startled boy.
Harry quickly backed off the table to stand in the chair. His green eyes widened in fear.
Petunia took two quick steps to Harry and slapped him. His glasses skidded across the kitchen floor. Harry reeled against the back of the chair which tipped onto two legs precariously. His arms spun wildly as he fought to keep his balance.
After a moment, which felt sickeningly long to Harry, the chair tottered over backwards. Harry bounced painfully off the kitchen counter and onto the floor. He looked up at Petunia with tears in his eyes.
"Get out of my sight!" She shouted angrily as she shook the long vase with the pink rose at him.
Harry rolled to all fours and crawled quickly towards his cupboard. A hard kick to his backside sent him careening into the hall. Shortly after Harry righted himself there was a crash when the vase hit the cupboard over his head.
Glass crunched beneath his bare feet when he jumped up to open the door. He took one step on his bloodied feet and fell. Unable to walk Harry rolled to the furthest corner to cower. Darkness consumed Harry when the door slammed shut.. The dead bolt banged into place locking Harry away.
oOo
The bullies cruelly harassed Harry the rest of the way through the park. Finally, Dudley pushed Harry down and left him there, sprawled upon the ground, as he and his two thug friends ran off laughing.
Harry's right knee was skinned from the heavy fall and he winced when he sat up. Running a hand over his knee Harry noticed the hole in the knee of his jeans. His stomach plummeted at the sight, knowing Aunt Petunia would punish him for being careless and ungrateful.
Harry picked himself up and adjusted his backpack so it didn't chafe his sweat soaked back as much.
Sweat trickled down between Harry's shoulder blades and along his spine. He scratched around the waist of his jeans just over the belt where perspiration gathered. Once he started scratching Harry couldn't stop. The stream of sweat running down the side of his face and along the hinge of his jaw tickled. Harry scratched at the spot before wiping away the sweat, smearing the dirt into a muddy complexion.
Harry was accustomed to being in the heat. The yard work he was responsible for was never ending and it was Harry's job to do it no matter what the weather was like. But this was different; it wasn't just hot outside⦠Harry was hot. He felt like he was burning up. The sweat just boiled out of his pores, dampening his hair, shirt and jeans. The hot itchy spots just kept getting worse.
Mrs Figg was out checking her mailbox, as usual, when Harry trudged by. Bits of dirt still clung to Harry and his cheeks were so mud streaked Mrs Figg almost missed the red inflammation on his jaw.
"I know it is considered to be good for the skin to have an occasional mud bath but you are supposed to wash it off afterwards," Mrs Figg teased the little six year old boy.
Harry liked Mrs Figg, even though he knew Dudley was her favorite. She was still kind to Harry and when ever Mrs Figg gave a gift to Dudley there was always something for him too. He didn't mind getting his gift after Dudley unwrapped his even if it was still in the sack. He was just happy to get anything at all.
"Hullo Mrs Figg," Harry half-heartedly greeted her.
"Are you feeling alright, Harry?" she asked with concern. Mrs Figg pressed the back of her hand to his flushed cheeks then placed the palm of her hand on his forehead feeling for a temperature.
"I'm fine ma'am, thank you," Harry replied. He grabbed his belt and twisted it back and forth around his waist, scratching his itchy skin. He sighed at the temporary relief.
Mrs Figg watched him itch with sympathy in her eyes. When Harry finished she lifted his shirt to see his waist. As she suspected, there were red dots all along his waistline. A few more blemishes were sprinkled across his stomach and ribs. He was already starting to get a green hue to his skin. Where did the poor little child get Dragon Pox? She wondered.
Harry jumped and brushed her hands away from inspecting him any further. When he saw her startled expression, he averted his eyes to avoid any questions.
"I better go. It was nice to see you, Mrs Figg," Harry excused himself.
"I think I better go see Petunia with you, Harry," she said empathically, "and try to stop itching if you can." Taking the hand that had been scratching at his jaw, she lead him to the Dursleys' home.
By the time they reached the Dursleys' house, Harry was trembling. He was afraid of what Mrs Figg would say. He was positive Mrs Figg was going to say something about the bruises on his ribs. They marched up to the front door and before Harry could stop her, Mrs Figg rang the front door bell.
Harry was really in for it now. Aunt Petunia had declared Harry a disgrace to the Dursley name and he was never supposed to use the front door where the neighbors could see him.
Mrs Figg could feel Harry's little hand trembling in hers.
He must be feeling weak from the fever. She thought mistakenly.
"Arabella," Petunia warmly greeted her neighbor as the door opened. Her eyes slid down to take in Harry's dirty appearance, already condemning him for not having the sense to stay out of the dirt. Her voice turned from friendly to disapproving as she asked, "What did he do now?"
Mrs Figg lifted the front of Harry's shirt exposing his red pox marked stomach.
"Harry has the pox."
The door almost swung shut when Petunia took an immediate step back from the plague-ridden boy.
"Chicken Pox?"
Seeing Petunia's aversion, Mrs Figg knew that Harry would not receive the attention he needed. She quickly devised a plan to place Harry in her care until he was better.
"Yes, chicken pox. Did you and Vernon get chicken pox when you were young? It can be very unhealthy for adults to get it. I assume that Dudley has not had it either since Harry is just now getting it. If one child in the home has the pox, the others will get it too."
"I've had it but I don't know about Vernon. I will have to ask him. You're right about Dudley, he has never had it," Petunia answered warily.
"Harry is at a very contagious stage right now and will continue to be for about a week. He will need to stay home from school and you might need to call a doctor."
Mrs Figg watched Petunia's face pale at the thought of taking Harry to the Doctor. Her instincts as an Auror were triggered by the sudden change of emotion.
Why would she hesitate to get Harry medical attention?
"It is a shame that this had to happen now with your turn to host the bridge party this weekend," Mrs Figg continued. "Everyone looks forward to getting together at the Dursleys the most." Mrs Figg sighed sadly. "Unfortunately, you will have your hands full taking care of Harry and most likely Dudley too. I doubt anyone would want to be exposed to chicken pox for fear of spreading it to their families." Mrs Figg tactfully paused then added. "Unless..."
"Unless what?" Petunia asked hopefully.
"Well, with your plans for the weekend, not to mention for the sake of Dudley and possibly Vernon's good health, it would be easier to have someone else take care of Harry. Perhaps Vernon's sister, Marge, would be willing to?"
Harry jerked his hand away from Mrs Figg and glared at her for suggesting that Marge would take care of him. Their mutual dislike of each other was the only thing Harry had in common with that woman. It seemed like the only reason she visited was to torment him.
"Marge hates the boy. She would never do it," Petunia replied bluntly in front of Harry.
"I would hate to miss the party. But if you promise to bring me some of that incredible food you always make, I would be willing to take care of Harry until he is better."
Petunia hesitated a moment considering the offer.
"That would be wonderful, Arabella. I cannot thank you enough. Just let me know if there is anything you need."
"Just some clean clothes for Harry. The sores will weep so he will need to change clothes a few times a day. I will do the laundry as necessary."
Petunia hesitated, "I just started the laundry. I will drop off some clean clothes in a little while." Just like the freak to cause problems. I will have to pick out a few things of Dudley's for him.
Mrs Figg took his backpack and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, Harry. You will feel better in no time at all."
"Thank you again, Arabella, I really appreciate your help," Petunia called after them.
"Your welcome, Petunia. Tell Vernon and that little darling, Dudley, hi for me."
Harry cringed at the nauseating comment about his cousin.
From the second story window of Mrs Figg's house a cat watched them cross the street. As they started up the front side walk two more furry feline heads poked out from behind the curtains to watch them.
Harry was barely in the door when Mr Paws started pawing at his leg for attention. Mr Paws rolled upon the ground when Harry crouched down to give him a good petting. To Harry's delight, Mr Paws purred his appreciation.
When they visited Mrs Figg for tea Dudley would chase the cats away from Harry. That was alright with Harry though, he knew the cats liked him as much as he liked them. For as long as he could remember, Harry had spent one day a week with Mrs Figg so the Dursleys could have some family time. So he had plenty of time to play with Mrs Figg's four cats without Dudley around.
Mrs Figg smiled down at the child who generously stroked her cats. The four kneazles twined around Harry shamelessly competing for his attention. I should report Harry's illness to Albus, she thought hesitantly.
"I will be back in a little bit, Harry," Mrs Figg said as she left the room.
Her familiars continued to occupy Harry's attention while Mrs Figg left to make use of the floo network. A pinch of floo powder opened a line and a sense of foreboding filled her. On a whim Mrs Figg called out "Augusta Longbottom."
Mrs Figg was wondering why she called on the head of the noble house of Longbottom when the regal head of Augusta appeared in the fire. Emerald flames flickered around her silvery grey hair.
"Arabella, it is a pleasure to see you," Augusta Longbottom greeted.
After a slight hesitation Mrs Figg replied, "May I intrude on your time? I have something that might interest you."
"Is there a litter of kneazles? Neville isn't quite old enough for a familiar."
Mrs Figg lifted the ward to let Augusta through and stepped back.
Augusta emerged in a navy blue dress, which accentuated her silvery white hair. The woman's air of authority was nearly tangible. She dropped her pretenses immediately, however, and hugged Mrs Figg.
"It has been far too long old friend. What brings me to your humble abode?"
"Has Neville had Dragon Pox yet?"
Augusta was surprised by the question and hesitated a moment before replying, "No, he hasn't. I hope he does in the next few years. I don't want him to catch it during his first year at Hogwarts like so many of the children do."
"Muggles have started to have Pox Parties. They deliberately expose their children to the illness," Mrs Figg added.
Augusta laughed. "It is a tempting idea."
Mrs Figg led Augusta over to the archway leading into the front living room. They watched a small black haired boy laugh and play with the four cats. He had pulled the laces out of his shoes and was using them as toys, dragging the strings this way and that about the floor laughing at the cats as they chased the laces.
Being of a noble house Augusta Longbottom was not impressed with the dirty little urchin. Yet she was curious as to why her friend Arabella took such a keen interest in the boy. She stretched out her magic feeling his aura. The power blossoming in the boy was amazing. Much to her surprise, it was even more potent than Neville's.
Harry shivered like someone blew a cold breath across the back of his neck. He sat up straight, feeling eyes upon him, and turned to find a woman in the archway watching him. The woman standing next to Mrs Figg looked very proper to Harry. So, he quickly stood up to make a better presentation of himself.
"Madam Longbottom this is my neighbor, Harry James Potter," Mrs Figg introduced. "He is temporarily in my care until he recovers from the pox."
Augusta looked at Mrs Figg then back at Harry again. She could see a single red pox mark on his right jaw and his skin had a green hue. Clearly he was in the early stages of Dragon Pox.
She advanced on Harry, who looked up as she loomed over him while Mrs Figg walked behind and placed her hands on his bony shoulders. Almost reverently Augusta brushed Harry's bangs out of his eyes revealing the lightning bolt-shaped scar. "It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Harry." She offered her hand, knuckles up, in a very lady like greeting.
Harry smiled timidly then took her fingers and bowed to her like she was the queen of England.
"Thank you Madam Longbottom."
"Madam Longbottom has a grandson your age, Harry. If you feel better tomorrow, maybe you would like to play with Neville." She looked significantly at Augusta, whom nodded her understanding of the previously mentioned Pox Party. Time had not diminished the strong bond they had developed during their time at Hogwarts many years ago.
"Yes please," Harry blurted out eagerly before seeming to rein himself back in, "but only if he wants to. I... I understand if he doesn't want to play with me."
"Of course he will. Why wouldn't he want to play with you?" Augusta asked exchanging a questioning look with Arabella.
Harry shifted his feet nervously then drew a horseshoe with his big toe poking out his sock. He almost shrugged but Vernon usually smacked Harry a good one for being disrespectful when he did that.
"Just because..." I'm dirty and smelly and everyone at school calls me a freak, Harry finished to himself.
"That doesn't sound like a very good reason to me, young man. Neville will be happy to have a new friend to play with," Augusta replied confidently. The cool demeanor that Augusta projected almost slipped when she saw how much Harry ached for someone to play with.
Something here is clearly wrong. I will give Arabella the opportunity to confide in me without little ears listening. She called me here for a reason.
"Well I should go so that you may rest. Neville and I will see you in the morrow. Arabella, can I talk to you about some of the details?"
"I will be back shortly, Harry," Mrs Figg nodded to him before leading Augusta from the room.
Once they were out of Harry's earshot Augusta turned to face Arabella.
"What is going on?"
"It is too complicated to delve into the details now, so I will make this brief until we have more time to talk," Arabella replied in low voice. "Harry is being raised by his Muggle relatives and is completely unaware of the wizarding world. His home life is not ideal but Albus Dumbledore insists this is where Harry is the safest. There is something else I can't quite place. Something which has me uneasy. Will you be available later to discuss this after I put Harry to bed?"
"Yes. Is there anything you need?"
"An anti itching salve, a fever reducing potion and some clean clothes. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. He will only be using them for the next few days. Nightclothes only would be fine. Some of Neville's old clothes would be nice."
"Where is his clothing? Didn't his relatives send anything with him?"
"What he is wearing might very well be the only clothes he has. The woman who keeps him is probably rooting through the charity bins for some more clothes right now. Although, I have my doubts if she will even do that," Arabella vented. She wondered at her own sudden vehemence towards Petunia. They had always gotten along.
Augusta eyed Arabella skeptically. "The Potters are part of the Wizarding upper class. His immediate family was among the social elite with great wealth and influence. Why is he living like a pauper?"
"The family is very well to do by Muggle standards. But their fortune is not shared equally. Their own son's every whim is catered to while Harry is miserly provided for." It was almost like someone else was speaking.
"I will provide everything he needs, but we must talk about this Arabella. Something is amiss here. Floo me once he is asleep." The gallant woman activated the floo and stepped into the roaring green flames, disappearing a moment later.
Mrs Figg returned to watch Harry play with her familiars, turning the last few years over in her head as she did so. The Dursleys' treatment of Harry had always seemed cold and distant, but she had brushed it off to being Muggles. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest; in her eagerness to subtly insert herself into the life of the Dursleys she had overlooked his welfare.
On the few occasions Mrs Figg mentioned her concerns to Albus he had offered a sweet and said she was overreacting. She had readily accepted the Headmaster's conciliation. For some reason this bothered her, it seemed like she should be more concerned about it. She massaged her right temple at the onset of a head ache. Behind her the fireplace erupted suddenly. It took a moment for the ghostly flames to recede but when they did a whicker basket was left on the hearth. She retrieved it and immediately looked through the contents. Her old Hogwarts room mate and long time friend had delivered much more than promised.
There were two big clay jars on top, one was full of an oatmeal bath powder and the other was an anti itching salve. There was also a fever-reducing potion, enough for three or four days. A pair of soft, cotton mittens separated the jars, cushioning them from a leather bound copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and at the bottom were four silk nightshirts. The soft, cool fabric glided through her fingertips as she picked them up. There were two gold ones with red clothes strings and two red ones with gold strings; all four had a lion over the heart.
Hmpf, so much for nothing fancy. These probably cost more than I made in a month as an Auror. It is a nice tribute to our house though, Arabella thought to herself as she placed the items back into the basket.
Mrs Figg carried the basket to the bathroom.
"Let's get you cleaned up, Harry," she called as she passed through the living room.
Harry gave her a worried look before reluctantly following her to the bathroom.
The water was turned on and adjusted so that it was cool but not cold. Harry lingered hesitantly at the door watching the tub fill. Mrs Figg dumped two handfuls of the gray oatmeal powder into the churning water and to their surprise a rainbow of colors swirled about the bathtub as the splash of running water triggered an explosion of bubbles.
Harry slowly moved to Mrs Figg's side drawn in by the colorful water display. Some of the bubbles began to drift up into the air. A blue bubble, bigger than Harry's head, floated towards him. He laughed happily when it popped on his finger.
When the tub was half full Mrs Figg turned the water off and removed Harry's glasses. She sat down on the closed lid of the toilet then and started to lift Harry's shirt when he suddenly snapped his arms down in response. "I can do that."
Startled by his reaction Mrs Figg thought about her sons and grandsons. None of the boys had minded being undressed until they were eight or nine years old.
"I know you can, but I would like to help you, Harry," she pressed.
Brilliant green eyes considered her reply. "You don't have to be nice to me cause I'm sick. I've been sicker and did alright by m' self."
"It's not just because you are sick. I want to help you," Mrs Figg quickly replied.
I took the child in to do what Petunia did not or will not do herself. She was more than willing to desert him with the excuse I gave her.
"It's alright," Harry said, shaking his head a little. "I know you like Dudley better and are doing this so he doesn't get sick too. I still like you and 'preciate the stuff you give me after Dudley opens his gifts. You don't have to be nice, if you don't want to. I don't mind."
I would hex that woman into oblivion if she were here right now. The things I have done to get close to the Dursleys, to watch over you. All the compromises on your behalf only to inadvertently hurt you.
"I am so sorry, Harry!" She cried suddenly, pulling Harry close and hugging him.
Harry was startled by Mrs Figg's actions. Awkwardly, he hung his arms around her neck and hugged her back.
"I'm sorry too," he replied, not knowing what else to say.
Half laughing and half crying at his awkward but sincere reply Mrs Figg composed herself. Where is this coming from? I have watched him for five years. Is it because he is letting his guard down? Or maybe it is because he is sick and Petunia does not care. I was spitting mad at Petunia when I was talking with Augusta and now I'm weeping like a little girl.
Pulling out of the hug after a moment, Harry nervously raised his arms to her and asked in a timid voice, "Would you help me please?" It was a peace offering and Harry was partly afraid Mrs Figg had changed her mind.
Mrs Figg obliged and gently pulled the shirt over his head. There was a splattering of red pox marks on his chest. Mrs Figg wondered how long Harry had been suffering before she noticed his ailment. Beneath the red dots was a nasty bruise on his ribs.
She touched the bruise and Harry winced.
"Sorry Harry, I didn't realize it was still hurt. What happened?"
"Jus' playin'," Harry muttered under his breath as he started to work on unbuckling his belt. Harry sucked in his gut, grabbed the belt strap with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. The boy was as thin as a reed and looked like a corpse with his stomach pulled in.
After the third try Mrs Figg stepped in to help. She had a difficult time herself unbuckling the belt and Harry sighed contentedly once he was free. The ill-fitting clothes slipped right over his hips and dropped to the floor. They looked big enough to wrap around Harry's emaciated waist twice.
Harry stood bare before Mrs Figg. She could see the belt had been synched so tight it had left a red ring around his bony waist. There was no way he could have fastened it so tightly himself.
"Who fastened your belt Harry?"
"Uncle Vernon."
"Tell him not to fasten it so tight. I could barely unbuckle it. By Merlin's beard, how do you manage to?" She asked, the Wizarding World oath slipping out in her distress.
Harry turned a bright red. Mrs Figg thought she had embarrassed him until she saw his hands were rolled up into two tiny little fists.
"I bloomin' can't!" Harry tipped his head back and closed his eyes trying not to cry.
"I've had accidents at school cause I can't. They make fun of me for not bein' potty trained," Harry almost sobbed. "And last week he had to come get me 'cause Aunt Petunia was getting her hair done. He was so mad he poked another hole in it n' said it wasn't tight enough if I still shat m'self.
His sudden outburst was shocking. The vulgarity of his language felt horribly honest. "Why would Vernon do that?" Mrs Figg coldly asked.
"He does it 'cause I whinged about being hungry."
Mrs Figg leaned back on the toilet, recoiling from his statement in shock. Images of Harry baring bruises, pilfering apples from her yard and his fear of the Dursleys in general raced through her mind. A foggy meeting with the Headmaster drifted into focus.
oOo
"He shook Harry, Albus. He shook him hard. Then dragged him into the house by his arm. The toes of Harry's feet were barely touching the ground, the boy was positively white with fear."
"Did you see him hit Harry?"
"No, but I have seen bruises on him. Just the occasional glimpse of his back or wrists. The clothes are so large it is difficult to see."
"He could have been playing with his cousin, Dudley. They are boys."
Mrs Figg shook her head. "You don't get marks like this from rough housing. Harry doesn't get enough to eat either."
"I find that difficult to believe. Vernon and Dudley look very well fed. Petunia is thin but healthy looking. With the monthly stipend and Vernon's considerable Muggle income they have ample resources to feed themselves."
"I have watched him collect apples from my yard on the way home from school. He eats one or two on the spot."
"Maybe he likes the apples."
"When I invite them in for tea and biscuits he licks the plate. Dudley always expects more and will take Harry's if I don't separate them at the table. Harry is far too thin."
"James was always lean. He takes after his father in many ways."
"I am concerned that he is not being properly looked after. In comparison to his cousin Harry looks like a vagabond. It's not just the poorly fitted clothes either; Harry is rarely clean. His personal hygiene is distressing."
"Boys of that age often resent baths. I must have something more concrete before risking the safety of the blood wards," Albus answered pouring two cups of tea. "Continue your watch. Remember the enemy may try to find Harry and possibly attack him once he is beyond the safety of the home's property lines. That is the weakness of the wards. There is plenty of tea if you would like more, Arabella."
oOo
The barmy old man has tampered with my mind!
Mrs Figg leapt to her feet so fast she almost knocked Harry down. Her hands shook furiously as anger twisted her face.
Harry had dropped to the floor in response. He cowered in the corner between the bathtub and wall. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he pleaded.
Through the red haze of her rage Mrs Figg saw Harry's naked little body curled up in self-defense at her feet. With deep pity she realized Harry had deliberately rolled away from her to better protect his stomach and face.
The anger fled as quickly as it had come yet left her with a deflated feeling. Once her emotions were under control Mrs Figg knelt down next to Harry and waited patiently for him to realize he was not going to be assaulted.
"Harry," she called softly. "Harry, please look at me. You have absolutely no reason to be sorry. It is I who must apologize to you."
"Why?" Harry sniffed over his shoulder. "You didn't do nuthin."
Mrs Figg sighed. "First, I lost my temper and frightened you. Second, I have made you feel like you are less important than Dudley. And finally, perhaps the worst thing of all, I did nothing. You may not understand how I have hurt you but I assure you that was not my intent."
His eyes marveled at the enormity of having an adult apologize to him. To recognize he had been hurt even though he did not understand why Mrs Figg seemed to think she had done something to him. She hadn't hit him at all.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he became skeptical of her apology.
His eyes were so expressive that Mrs Figg could see Harry's emotions play out. On an impulse she pulled out her wand.
"I swear to you on my magic that I will make this right." The tip of the wand shimmered sealing the oath.
A silent O was on Harry's face. He was still stunned when Mrs Figg slid her hands under Harry's arm pits and picked him up. She was holding him over the bath tub when he came to his senses and started to thrash about.
"NO!" Harry shouted and pulled his legs up.
She quickly put Harry back on the ground before she accidentally dropped him. His chest heaved as he loudly gulped in air.
"Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothin," he answered a bit to quickly for Mrs Figg's liking.
He inserted a shaky little hand into hers and sat down on the side of the tube staring at the kaleidoscope of colors. His grip tightened as he leaned over the bathtub. Carefully Harry reached through the bubbles and skimmed the top of the water with a single finger.
Satisfied with the results Harry stood up and allowed Mrs Figg to help him into the bathtub. He had barely settled into the water before hurling an onslaught of questions at Mrs Figg. Somehow she managed to get Harry cleaned up between talking about magic.
The only time Harry was silent was when Mrs Figg washed his hair. His head swayed heavily from side to side under her fingers as she worked in the shampoo. A geyser of water sprayed from the tip of her wand rinsing the soap from his hair.
Gently she ran a wide toothed comb through his hair untangling the snarled mess. Harry's head would bob against his bare chest when the comb caught in his hair.
This has to hurt. Sadly he has probably suffered much worse behind the closed doors of the Dursley's home.
Nearly twenty minutes later Harry was clean. She had just finished trimming his fingernails so he wouldn't spread the rash by scratching the pox marks. Harry's lips were turning blue and his fingertips were wrinkled from being in the water for so long. And he still had questions.
"Harry please, I cannot tell you everything in a single night. You will need to learn these things over time," Mrs Figg reasoned with him. "I know you have many questions but have patience, the answers will come. Now climb out of there before you freeze."
She helped Harry out of the bathtub noting the petulant look on his face.
"Tomorrow I will introduce you to parchment and quill. I will answer five questions you write down for me," Mrs Figg said as she carefully patted him dry.
"What's a quill and parchment?" Harry asked innocently.
She smiled at his sly wit and opened the anti itch salve.
"I will tell you what a quill and parchment is because it is used in both worlds. A quill is a bird's feather used to hold ink for writing much like a pen. Parchment is what you will write your questions on, which is how you will ask about what you would like to know from now on."
"Can I see what I look like?"
To Harry's amazement Mrs Figg used her wand to shut the bathroom door, revealing a full-length mirror hanging on the back. She then slid Harry's glasses onto his nose.
Harry walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. It was almost like having freckles all over his body. He touched the red pox marks as he counted them.
"Be careful Harry. If you scratch them they will spread."
He stopped touching the blemishes, turned around and craned his neck trying to see his back.
"My back is badder."
"Worse Harry. My back is worse," she corrected. "Yes it is. I think your backpack rubbed the sores, spreading them. Come here so I can put some salve on you."
"Why do I look green? What's that stuff?"
"You have Dragon Pox. It is common for young wizards and witches to get it. When you are better your system will have developed immunity to it. The ailment is not as severe for the young. Green skin is one of the symptoms."
Mrs Figg held up the jar of salve, scooping some out on a finger.
"This is an anti itching salve."
Harry smiled when she answered two more questions.
"I know what you are doing imp," she said, dotting his nose with the salve.
"What's an imp?"
"That will be the first question I show you how to write tomorrow."
Mrs Figg searched his body for red blemishes and applied the salve to each one. Her sharp eyes took inventory of every bruise and welt on Harry. With great difficulty she managed to keep her voice steady when she said, "There, I think that is all of them. Do you feel better now?"
"Loads better, thank you."
She stood up and put away the salve then pulled out one of the silk nightshirts.
Harry watched Mrs Figg curiously as she unfolded the nightshirt. His look of curiosity turned to aversion.
"I'm not wearing a dress," Harry said with disdain.
"This is not a dress. It is a nightshirt made for boys. You will feel much better in it. Feel it," she said coaxing him into touching the nightclothes.
He rubbed the fabric between his hands. The silk was cool and ran smoothly through his fingers.
"It feels nice and soft," Harry reluctantly admitted.
"The silk is a very light fabric and will keep you cool. When you are hot you are more likely to scratch yourself. Nightshirts are still used in the wizarding world to sleep in. My sons and grandsons all wore them until they were nearly teenagers," she said, sliding the shirt over his head.
Harry smoothed the nightshirt down his sides. True to her word, the nightshirt felt nice against his bare skin. It stopped a hand width below his knees. When he felt a breeze down below, Harry found himself wishing it was a little longer. He gave a little shiver.
"It kind of tickles."
"This is what you will be wearing over the next few days," Mrs Figg told him as she laced up the top. "It is clean and soft now but your pox marks will start to weep. We will give you a few baths each day to keep you clean and to help stop the itching. Changing your nightshirts and cleaning them will help stop the pox from spreading. Madam Longbottom sent four, so you will always have a clean one ready," she explained to him.
Mrs Figg put a gentle hand on his shoulder and ushered Harry into the living room. She noticed Harry was holding down the nightshirt awkwardly as he walked.
I will have to get some underwear for him from Marks and Spencer so he doesn't feel so exposed.
"Would you like to rest on the couch Harry?"
"Yes please," he graciously accepted with a sigh. Harry was worn out and had been hoping to rest since getting out of school.
Once Harry was on the couch she stacked some pillows behind him until Harry was comfortable. She straightened Harry's nightshirt then fanned a lightweight quilt over him.
Snowy, Mrs Figg's longhaired white kneazle, leapt onto the quilt as it drifted down over Harry. She chased the fluttering blanket down to Harry's feet. When Harry moved his legs to make room for Snowy, she batted at his feet playfully. If Harry even twitched a toe, Snowy would jump over and attack the quilt where it moved. It was a great deal of fun for both of them.
"Would you like some tea and biscuits, Harry?" Mrs Figg asked with a bemused look on her face.
Harry's stomach rumbled his reply. His cheeks flushed with shame and he guiltily pressed his hand against his gurgling tummy, wishing it would stop. If he were at the dinning room table, the Dursleys would have dismissed him. Uncle Vernon would then force Harry to empty his plate into the garbage disposal for being rude and ungrateful.
There were a few times Harry had been so hungry he actually begged to keep his food. It never did any good. Vernon would belt him if he took too long, so Harry would sometimes cry as he watched his food get mulched and washed down the drain.
Harry waited nervously for Mrs Figg's reaction.
Please please please don't be mad. I can't help it when my tummy does that.
Mrs Figg's wrinkled hand closed over his and gently pried it away from his stomach. After laying Harry's arm next to his side, she pressed her ear to his tummy, which promptly rumbled again. Mrs Figg lifted her head and patted Harry's belly.
"I think chocolate chip sounds good too," Mrs Figg smiled as she talked to Harry's stomach.
Harry smiled shyly and softly replied, "Yes please, that's my favorite." Each syllable of favorite was carefully enunciated.
"Try to rest until it is ready. If you need anything, call for me." She tucked the quilt in around Harry and departed to the kitchen humming contentedly.
Harry looked at all of the smiling faces in the Figg family pictures scattered around the room. He could still hear Mrs Figg humming as she bustled around the kitchen. Snowy had draped herself across his ankles and was purring loudly. His feet vibrated softly with the cat's motor. Harry could hardly keep his eyes open.
It felt weird, in a good way, to have someone wait on him. Even though he was a little embarrassed about being undressed earlier. Especially since, it had been at least a year since his Aunt or Uncle had helped him with anything other than his belt.
He had been reluctant at first, mostly because Harry knew how dirty he was. The kids at school told him everyday and the teachers kept their distance from him too. Mrs Figg's persistent yet kind request to help him had won. Harry was just happy that she didn't recoil from him like most adults seemed to do or make cutting remarks about his cleanliness.
The only humiliating moment was when he confessed that he had soiled himself on multiple occasions at school. It was a hard thing to admit, but Mrs Figg had seen that he could not unbuckle the belt himself.
Normally, he would never have told her about messing himself but she had been so nice and he wasn't feeling well. At that moment he had felt like an uncorked champagne bottle and his darkest secret had come bubbling out of him.
At his pronouncement Mrs Figg had immediately got to her feet looking madder than he had ever seen anyone in his life. She was even worse than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. It had scarred him badly. But Mrs Figg hadn't kicked or used the belt on him. She even apologized for scaring him.
Afterwards she had bathed him. It made him feel a little babyish but Mrs Figg had been rather straightforward about it all. Directing him this way and that between his questions. Mrs Figg had even softly hummed as she'd washed him.
The best part was when she had cleaned his hair. Harry's head tingled pleasantly when he thought about it. She had used her wand to wet his hair. The shampoo was liberally applied and she gently massaged it into his scalp. Her fingers ran through his hair unraveling the snags. She even wiped the soap away before it could get in his eyes. When she rinsed his hair out with her wand Harry's head ache washed away too. At peace and comfortable Harry's eyes drifted shut.
oOo
Steam was rising around Harry from the scalding hot water he was standing in. His skin was red from the knees on down.
"It hurts," Harry said lifting one foot and then the other until he fell. He had banged his chin on the way down, bloodying his lip.
"That's what you get for playing around," Petunia scolded as she roughly soaped him. Petunia pulled him to an upright position closer to her. She poured some shampoo onto his head and rubbed it to a thick lather. When her hands became entangled in his hair she jerked them free.
"Ow," Harry complained. When soap ran into his eyes Harry started to cry.
"Shut up and lean back," Petunia shouted.
"It's too hot."
Despite his protests she lowered him into the water to rinse his hair. Harry's wailing was grating on her nerves just like Dudley's did. She fumed about her son's terrible behavior and the unkind remarks she had overheard from a neighbor.
"Why won't you just behave? Screaming and carrying on all the time. They whisper about what a brat you are. What am I going to do? You have to stop acting like this." Petunia ranted on about her own son as she continued to get rougher and rougher with Harry.
"Owwie," Harry cried, his entire body was red and he was starting to squirm.
"Dudley! Just stop." Petunia yelled then pushed Harry under...
oOo
Harry thrashed about on the couch, starting to choke, before he rolled off onto the floor and screamed.
Mrs Figg ran into the living room. Harry had his back pressed against the couch and had a wild look in his eyes. He stopped screaming the minute Mrs Figg took a step towards him.
"Please no. I'll stop. I'll be good. I promise. I didn't mean to scream," Harry frantically begged.
"Harry," she called softly.
I should take him and run.
"Harry, it's Mrs Figg. You're safe with me," she comforted him from a distance and crouched down to the floor so he could see her eye to eye.
Harry trembled as he watched Mrs Figg cautiously.
In a surprising action Harry held his arms out to her, just as he had in the bathroom - reaching out to Mrs Figg for help.
Mrs Figg picked Harry up and stood in one fluid motion. Her right hand supported his bottom and the left gently patted Harry's back. I doubt he weighs three stone, she thought as she rotated her torso back and forth comfortingly.
He trembled in her arms, silently crying. Occasionally his whole body would shudder from the effort of stifling his sobs. She could feel the dampness of his tears on her shoulder. Harry's fingers clutched at her back afraid to let go.
"You're a good boy, Harry. Nobody is going to hurt you. I've got you now."
Thank you to everyone who placed an alert or left a review. It is good to know someone enjoyed it.
