Chapter 2
My first dinner a little later that night after settling in turned out to be quite an interesting affair. In all the times I'd been over to stay at Miss Figg's in the past I had never once experienced it. I found it was something that was so strange, that even now, having just fully experienced it I could still hardly believe it. Miss Figg, the woman who only seemed to boil cabbage all day long. Someone, who usually feed me a stable diet of stale cake with a side of dead animal pictures, was to put it mildly a wonderful cook and nothing I had previously experienced compared, not the magical food they prepared at Hogwarts or Mrs Weasleys scrumptious homemade fare, it was simply breath taking.
After we swiftly finished the meal, my years of training at the Dursley's came to the fore, rushing to help clear the table and wash the dishes, without paying any attention to her weak protests, soon we both fell into a simple routine with me washing and her drying, a comfortable silence settling between us.
After a few minutes of this, the silence; that had been broken only by the occasional clattering of china on china; from the plates that she would almost casually throw into a pile after drying was shattered, and I, found myself interrupted mid scrub.
"Harry?" it was more the questioning tone of voice that I had been dreading rather than anything else, but at the same time it was something I had known was inevitably going to happen, eventually anyway. I'd just wished I'd had time to unpack first at least, it made being thrown out much more realistic.
I made a non committal grunt, one that had seemed to serve Dudley so well with his mother. it was the power of the male teenager at its finest I thought, through reverting to Neolithic communication methods in which, my grunt could quite clearly explain how I was tired and didn't really want to talk now but also didn't want to be rude by saying this aloud. After hearing this grunt the annoying person; whom had just been grunted at. Should so just smile, nod their head, the rolling of their eyes was entirely optional, if possible this happens while muttering something along the lines of 'boys will be boys.' This is a nice way to finish this pleasant convocation always safe in the knowledge we could talk in the morning anyway.
Unfortunately for me it seemed Miss Figg couldn't seem understand this highly advanced language and took my grunt to mean, please, ask away.
"So Harry" she began slowly, sounding for all the world that she was just going to ask about the weather. "Vernon told me that you were sent away, to um, what was it, oh yes, St Bruttus School for incurably criminal boys." She says keeping her eyes on the dish she is drying.
"Now I wouldn't normally believe it of course, you're such a sweet boy, no trouble whatsoever." She smiled at me in such a way that I it found vaguely reminiscent of the one Professor McGonagall had given me, right after we won the Quiddich cup last year, or possibly one of the Weasley twins before she returned her attention to the plate in front of her. "You are though missing for most of the year, and well you know how people talk" she give me a quick sideways glance, though not once stopping once in her actions of drying the plate.
Now this put me in quite a conundrum, I wondered what the best solution would be. Telling the truth as I normally would, I decided, would most definitely not be the best idea. I could see myself even now being carted off in a padded van, straitjacket and all. Shouting insanely about talking to snakes and foaming from the mouth as I shouted at people in Latin while waving a stick around from between my teeth as the rest of privet drive looked on, all so very disappointed that this had happened on their perfectly perfect street, no I decided, I don't think that would be the best idea at all.
I could, of course own up to all my evil deeds, it could be fun, like division homework; making things up that had turned me, from the upstanding respectable citizen I once was, to the downright diabolically evil criminal genus I had become. I let out a sigh; the looks I got in the street around here were just as bad as the ones from my second year, when the student body had mostly believed I was the hair of Slytherin and was in the process of cleansing the school of filthy mudbloods and the ilk. No, I didn't think I could take it if the only person who treated me as a normal human being around here started to hide the family silver, so I settled for some kind of half truth instead.
"Uncle Vernon told everyone that because he was jealous, you see, I got into a school that Dudley didn't and well, it's a really good school." Wow, I impressed with myself just how stupid did that sound, seeing her look of disbelief I grabbed on to the first thing I could think of to make this rather outlandish statement a little more believable. "Justin, he was even down to go to Eton, well before he got accepted." At seeing her shocked look I realized that I might have just sent this lie the wrong way with that little fact, I mean come on; no one turns down Eton, ever. There was a strange, almost hungry gleam growing in her eyes now.
"Well" she began. "That is interesting, so what is the name of this school then? For it to hold sway over an Eton boy is impressive, very impressive indeed. I wouldn't think it's in England. Come to think of it, you're sounding a little different yourself, I can't quite place you though" oh bugger it all.
I started cleaning the same plate again, scrubbing it like I would a cauldron in a detention with Snape standing there; glaring over my shoulder. The clank of another plate hitting the pile pulls me from that happy image and rattles my nerves.
"Yes, well it's called, umm Thorps, and it's found in Scotland I think, but." Her laughter broke through my clumsy lie as easily as one of Neville's potions going through the bottom of his cauldron. I turned to look at her, as she stood there with an almost crazed smile on her face, that made her look younger, surrounded with a somewhat familiar knowing air. I scrubbed harder. Before she stopped laughing and turned serious; a frown appearing on her face.
"Why didn't you just say you went to Hogwarts Harry?" I turned to her the plate still in my hand slipped from my grasp falling the floor, I closed my eyes waiting for the impending smash but none came. Something bumped into my hand and I grabbed it out of instinct, it was wet, I looked down to see the unmarked plate in my hand once more. I stared down at the plate almost as if it held all the answers to the questions bubbling inside me, what happened why didn't the plate smash? How did she know about Hogwarts? Followed immediately by, why didn't she tell me?
The funny thing was, after my mind caught up with my questions the plate did, as inconceivable as it was seem to hold the answers, not all, but as they say, two out of three andhdt bad. Miss Figg or whoever this person was, they must be magical. I couldn't understand it was just too much for me to take in at once, dropping the plate again I turned and ran, running up the stairs taking them two at a time before barrelling into my room. I paid no heed to Miss Figg's voice, as it seemed to chase me up the stairs onto my room.
Snatching my wand out from where I had left it; under my pillow. I relaxed slightly, its familiar weight in my hand instantly calming me, taking me from the blind panic I'd felt at first. As the panic and confusion seemed to ebb away it left behind only anger, anger that was bubbling away, she must have known who I was, what I was. Facing the door with a scowl firmly attached to my face I waited calm on the surface, waiting for her to make her move. My mind though was something else it was moving at about a mile a minute, running through several different scenarios, asking several different questions.
Was she really the same person?
Whoever she was, was she like Mr Malfoy or possibly working with the ministry?
Through it all, there was one overriding thought though, one idea that I had fight against again and again; I have to get out of here it would be so easy it would say.
Grabbing my still packed bag off the bed, down the stairs and out the door, wand waving in the air, on the night bus to Diagon alley and wham bang thank you mam, I'm staying at Tom's pleasure in the leaky cauldron once again, room 7 if I can get it for another summer of fun in the alley. I shook my head, as if that would work I would never mak...
Several light taps on the door had my mind focussed once more on the present.
"Harry, don't do anything rash, we need to talk." Ha! Do anything rash, I thought to myself the reality of the situation setting in. I'm stuck in a room, with you blocking the only exit. I eyed the window briefly, no; the door was my only real way out.
"Ok I am going to come in, just don't hurt me alright. There are a few things I have to explain to you" slowly the door opened crept open slightly. Then two hands were slowly pushed through the gap, open palmed, which I supposed it was to show that she was unarmed.
"Please Harry, let me come in, please" it wasn't so much her pleading, but the sound of tears in her voice stopped my negative if rather creative response about where she could go, and just where she could stick her hands in its tracks.
"Please Harry, Don't leave" knowing that if I ever wanted to find out what on earth was going on I knew I would have to at least hear her out. Hoping I wouldn't regret it, I sharply bit out. "Ok, but don't make any sudden moves. I don't want to hurt you" The door slowly swung open with an almost ominous creak to reveal, a very small and scared looking Miss Figg indeed. Looking nothing at all like the imposing figure she had appeared to be earlier when asking me her questions.
I'd just started to lower my wand instinctively, but I caught myself before I could. Thinking how foolish it would be to let appearances deceive me. Look at Flitwick and Dumbledore proved another of those that old adage's that you should never judge a book by its cover, especially it seemed, in the magical world.
"You must have many questions Harry, I'll answer them the best I can." She slowly moved to the opposite side of the room to me before, sitting daintily down on the corner of the bed leaving the door free for escape I looked at open exit a few seconds, before steeling myself.
"If you know about Hogwarts then you must know about me." I started. "Why didn't you tell me? You could have helped me with the Dursley's. If they had known there was a witch living..."
"Harry sorry, but I'm no witch" she looked down for a moment a sad smile adorning her features. Before looking up into my disbelieving eyes "I am what the magical world calls a squib. Do you know what that is?" with my sharp nod she looked down in shame.
"Being born without the ability to perform magic is something no other can understand. To hold a wand, something that can, that has performed miracles in one hand yet in your own it feels just the same as any you would pick off the ground. It's something I have always found hard to cope with, when I was younger most of my family treated me like a leper. Someone like me was barely welcome in her own home. Let alone a magical world, filled with wonder. It's truly the cruellest joke that fate can play.
When I turned eleven without my Hogwarts letter, only my farther still accepted me, cousins turned away and friends stopped calling, my own brother wouldn't even speak to me, he could barely even stand to look at me. You know how it is to be treated this way, by you own family. In some ways we both grew up in the wrong world but when you had your reprieve at 11, my sentence truly started and still goes on. I'm stuck in the middle, knowing too much and not enough to be a Muggle but without the ability to be a full witch."
Looking at her defeated face I couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for the old woman. Thinking back to the most caring family I knew; the Weasleys. Ron told me once of some squib relation his uncle or cousin and even they don't speak of him. It seemed even Mr Weasleys love of all things strange and peculiar didn't extend to something as taboo as a squib. I have to admit though with her story about being a squib all my, I suppose you could call it righteous anger had passed; it even seemed a little petty in comparison, the poor woman. Fully calm I could now focus on something strange, something I could have missed with a clouded mind.
"What do you mean" I asked "a full witch, do you have some magic then? Do you use quick spell like filch or" it was a seemingly uncharacteristic bark of laughter stopped me mid sentence. "Ha, that old fool, quick spell" before quietly muttering to herself. "What some will do?"
"No Harry my magic is real; to give and take life or live forever, bring eternal sleep or even help someone to win a bet, with a little bit of liquid luck. My father was one of the finest potions masters of the 19th century. When the world turned its back on me, he opened his arms. Potions, you see harry it uses an ambient magic; it's the power of the ingredients mixed together brings the results, not the magic of the brewer." Seeing her almost fanatical look as she spoke of potions I looked away. This was enlightening interesting even but it told me nothing of what I wanted to know. In my anger, well original anger I would have missed it. Now though focused, it seemed as she was expertly leading me away, away from asking the questions I wanted to ask, leaving me with only the one's she wanted to answer. To be fair though, I had to admire the little mad old lady for it, but enough was enough.
Seeing my expression she intercepted my question. "It's all relevant Harry, please let me finish. My story will answer most of what you want to know" and at my nod she continued.
"Yes, he taught me all he knew. Without the distraction of other branches of magic I excelled under his guidance. For years we studded together brewing potions and making improvements, funding his research by selling readymade potions to the incapable. For the first time since l found out I was a squib, I was happy. Then about thirty years ago that happiness ended and he passed away. Leaving my brother, as the head of the family I was swiftly cast out my fathers dying wishes discounted by him as delirious rambling. I was sent form our estates by my brother, him finally erasing what he saw as a blemish on our good family name.
At first I was not worried; you see anyone alive that possessed half my brewing prowess was considered a master in the field of Potions. As such it would only be a matter of time before I got a job. Only for door, after door to close in my face, without a Mastery none would employ me no matter who my father was. So I petitioned for my Master y. Only to be told squibs could not qualify as masters of magic, due to the fact that we have none. For a few years I bounced from job to job in both the Muggle and magical worlds before I meet Albus." You see her face light up in some kind of reverence before it seems to fade, yes there's some old history there.
"He came to me for help, wanted someone to brew a list of potions, no questions asked. He'd remembered me from a paper I'd co-authored with my father. About a possible thirteenth use for Dragons blood, naturally I was intrigued. Looking at the list it was mostly Childs play but a few would be interesting to brew. Veritaserum and Horsraserum even Wizard's Bain. In return for brewing these he would see what he could do about getting my mastery approved. As you could probably imagine, I was over the moon soon I was set up and brewing again.
I was at it constantly at it for around fifteen years or so. Then when he had some spare time he managed to get my application approved, I was over the delighted. So when he asked me to keep an eye on James's boy I just couldn't turn him down." She finished with great affection.
So I mused, she knew my dad and my mother no doubt. Adults never had credited me with enough intelligence. She was from what I could gather brewing potions to help fight Voldemort, and knew my parents from the war. This helped as I said you have to know peoples weakness's, if you can figure it out then you know where you can push, for just a little bit more information. I had Figg all worked out.
"Ok, I understand why but you could have told me something. For years the Dursley told me that my father was an unemployed drunk, a good for nothing low life" cutting across me in an eerily similar way that Hagrid did the first time I saw him, with Vernon was mentioning crackpot old fools.
"They what!" she practically screeched. "He saved my life you know. He even battled you-know-who himself to do it. If it wasn't for Albus I would have taken you in and never let you go back to those horrible people." She seemed shocked at what she said or possibly what she had let slip I didn't know. "Oh Harry, can you ever forgive me"
What she had said was interesting, so it was Albus who kept me locked up at the Dursley's and I'd wager he was the one who stopped any wizards coming to take me away from my own personal perfect little hell.
I'm not surprised, and surprisingly I find I am not angry, well, not nearly as angry as I thought I would be anyway, but felt rather reassuring in a strange way. now I knew at least I was definitely put there for a reason, now I just have to figure out what it was then I can find some way around it, Looking up I see Miss Figg looking rather distraught about her roll my life. The need for more information is overcome by my conscience, dropping my wand on the desk I walk over to her before gently resting my hand upon her shoulder. Giving her the support she needs and letting her know I wasn't going anywhere. After all, there was a lot this old lady could tell me and her promise to answer my questions still needed to be satisfied. Now though, was not the time for such things.
"So what's up with those plates then?"