Thank you to everyone for your patience and your encouragement! Chapters 2-6 are being replaced today, so sorry for spamming you all!
I am planning on updating again next week, so stay tuned!
Chapter 2
A Surprising Squib
Harry was dumbfounded. He stood in front of Dudley, staring at Mrs. Figg slack jawed, waiting for her to speak- to make sense of the situation.
"Keep that wand out, Potter. Mark my words Mundungus will get an ear full from me- I'll kill him! Not to mention what Molly will have to say—"
"I'm sorry, you're a witch?" Harry had snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth. He peered at her through his glasses, hand now firmly on his wand again- Mrs. Figg did not seem like a witch, her habit of hoarding cats aside.
The frail woman considered him for a moment and pulled her floral dressing gown tighter about her shoulders. With a furtive glance up and down the alley she answered him.
"A squib- come on, get him up- we can't stay here. They may come back."
Harry regarded her a moment longer before securing his wand in his back pocket and leaning down to hoist Dudley back to his feet- something that took a considerable effort seeing as Dudley seemed to have been reduced to a great puddle of nerves and sniveling.
"We need to get off the street, first and foremost. I'll firecall Albus- Come on!" She barked at Dudley who was slumping over again, seemingly unable to support his own girth. "Dear me, he's in a right state. We can't take him back to his parents like that- back to mine then, there's really nothing for it…"
Harry listened to her nervous babble as he grabbed Dudley by the bicep and tried to steer him down the street. With some prompting and quite a bit of leaning on Harry's much narrower frame, Dudley managed to move forward, albeit at a shaky and slow pace.
The odd trio limped up the street, past the windows of Magnolia Crescent, each reflecting back the bluish hue of the evening news on the telly. Mrs. Figg trotted back and forth, alternating between checking around corners ahead of them and coming back, either to berate Harry to move more quickly or to reassert her displeasure with the situation at large.
"What a louse!" She growled, "Mundungus knows I'll not be any good should something happen- and look at this!" She gestured wildly- "He skives off and not a half hour later there are dementors running amok! In Little Whinging!"
They reached the door of her home and she stood aside in the entry hall as Harry edged through the door, supporting most of Dudley's fantastic weight, to deposit him in one of the fur covered, overstuffed arm chairs in her parlor.
No sooner had Harry released his cousin and staggered away from him, did Dudley lean over and vomit all over the plush pink carpeting in front of him.
"Oh my- Are you sure they didn't get him? No of course not- he's still capable of making a mess all over my carpet isn't he?" Mrs. Figg did not look pleased with the mess covering her floor. "Sit down, Harry, dear. I'm going to make a few calls-"
She leapt away, more agile than Harry had assumed a woman as boney as Mrs. Figg could be, as Dudley hurled again. "Perhaps a healer first…"
She puttered around the pool of vomit on the floor to the fireplace, tossing a bit of sparking floo powder into the unlit grate as she knelt.
"St. Mungo's!" She called, and thrust her head inside of the green flames that sprung into being.
Harry fell onto a paisley patterned sofa with a grunt and only vaguely registered a tabby cat leaping into his lap. He stroked it once and let out a hysterical giggle as he thought of Professor McGonagall's animagus form and what she would say if he dared attempt to pet her.
A loud screech shocked him right back out of his seat as a barn owl soared through the still open front door. Several cats hissed and scrambled for cover as it swooped toward Harry.
The bird dropped an envelope onto the coffee table, heavily laden with tabloids and newspapers, of both the muggle and wizard variety, and took off through the door. Harry hurried behind the bird and shut and locked the door, peering out one final time at the darkening sky before shuffling over to the table to see what had been delivered.
His heart sank when he saw the creamy parchment and official Ministry seal.
He had just picked it up when Mrs. Figg backed out of the fire place and the flames roared a bright green.
A robust little man wearing white Healer's robes stepped out, carrying a large carpet bag in his left hand. He took a cursory glance about the room, spotted Dudley and the pool of vomit and immediately drew his wand.
Harry gave a small cry and his wand was pointed at the man in an instant.
"Who are you?" He demanded.
"Easy lad- I'm a Healer! Abram Dohrman- I'm on the night shift at St. Mungo's, responding to the firecall..."
The man raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner and raised his bushy eyebrows at Harry.
"May I?" Dohrman gestured at the vomit on the floor.
Harry nodded quickly, shoving his wand away and turning to hide his embarrassment at pulling a wand on a man who was clearly here to help, now that Harry had a moment to reflect.
With a flick, the man had vanished Dudley's mess on the floor. He walked swiftly over to large boy and pushed his head back against the chair, muttering under his breath and twirling his wand over Dudley's chest.
The man was left handed, Harry noticed absently, still too embarrassed to look up properly. The healer did not seem to be a threat and Harry was exhausted.
"Mrs. Figg-" Dohrman began, with a glance over his shoulder, "This young man is a muggle, yes?"
Mrs. Figg nodded her assent.
"Hmm…" The man riffled through his carpet bag, thrusting his arm in up to the shoulder before drawing out a bar of chocolate. "And could you explain how a muggle bears all the tell tale signs of exposure to a dementor?"
Mrs. Figg shot him a sharp glance. "I really couldn't tell you, Healer- dementors roaming the streets of Surry? It's lucky the boy had his cousin with him!"
The Healer turned his attention to Harry.
"And you are what- sixteen? You're telling me that you dealt with the dementors then?" Dohrman lifted his bushy eyebrows at Harry, in obviously incredulity.
"When Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban the Ministry set the dementors to guard Hogwarts. Professor Lupin thought it prudent to teach students to repel them." The last bit might have been stretching the truth since, as far as Harry knew, he was the only student to receive private lessons from Lupin.
The man tutted but shuffled over to Harry and performed the same charm as he had on Dudley, and seemed to confirm that Harry only needed a bit of chocolate as well. Dohrman's grey eyes searched Harry's face as he bit off a chunk of the offered bar, and widened when they found the scar on Harry's forehead, plainly visible through his sweaty bangs.
"You're Harry Potter!" He began excitedly, before Mrs. Figg interrupted.
"Fantastic- the bill then, please. Mr. Potter and his cousin have had a rough night and I am sure they'd like a spot of coffee and some rest." Mrs. Figg held out her hand expectantly.
Healer Dohrman stammered for a moment before pulling a small pad and a long green quill from his bag and scribbling out a receipt and handing it over to Mrs. Figg. His eyes darted back to Harry's scar several times.
"Wonderful! Thank you, Healer- you've been ever so helpful!" Mrs. Figg was bundling him back into the fireplace and with a flash of green, the man had disappeared from the living room. Mrs. Figg folded the bill crispy and handed it to Harry at once. He stuffed it unceremoniously into the pocket of his trousers.
Harry stared at Mrs. Figg as he munched on his brick of chocolate. He had never seen the diminutive woman act with such authority in his life. Where was the woman who cooed over ugly tom-cats and served tea with enthusiasm matched only by Aunt Petunia?
"Finish your chocolate Dear, I'll need to place a call to the Order, and we'll see about getting you somewhere a bit more safe than this," She flapped her hand through the air, to indicate the whole of Little Whinging Harry thought, and ducked back down to thrust her head back into her fireplace.
Harry sank back down onto the sofa, glanced at Dudley's hulking frame, and settled in to his chocolate bar.