A/N: This chapter was supposed to include the visit to Diagon Alley but including that would have made a very long chapter (well my chapters aren't that long but I think 1-2k per chapter is an acceptable length for the average reader). Anyway, not much happens, other than a bit of set up here... and most of it is me trying to fix a mistake that was flagged up in the last chapter - it was thought that Harry's attitude changed too quickly, and he became too cold and manipulative. That wasn't the impression I was trying to convey, more that Harry just doesn't care. At this stage, he doesn't have the energy to care about Dobby, even to ask what he is. It's indifference.

I didn't want to labour that point too much, because I sometimes feel like dragging it out and going too deeply into the description of emotions with no action gets a bit much for me.. almost cliché, but clearly I didn't even explain it at all, so I went too far the other way... hopefully this gives a better job and at some point I might try to re-write chapter 1.

Chapter 2

The next few days passed in a flurry of chores and Harry, for the most part, was ignored by his relatives. Uncle Vernon's lack of attention, especially, was a relief, and Harry knew that his schmoozing must have gone well. The lack of negative attention did nothing for Harry's own mood, however, which dropped lower and lower with each passing day as the silence between himself and his friends continued to stretch.

Six days after the elf-creature Dobby was found in Harry's room with warnings of threats to his life, Harry found a familiar letter atop a small pile of post on the doormat. One, which was, of course, addressed to him. Remembering last year, this letter he opened in the hall, and he found his textbook and equipment list for his second year at Hogwarts.

A frown settled over his emerald orbs as he wondered how to approach his aunt and uncle about taking him into London to collect the necessities for his arcane learning… or at least lending him the money. It didn't take him long to decide against it entirely, instead shoving the letter into the back pocket of his baggy jeans, knowing his over-sized t-shirt would cover it.

The other letters, he brought through to his uncle before returning to his toast. He didn't really want it, but his aunt was under the impression that the house was being watched, thus she was ensuring that he was getting at least two meals a day. They were small meals, and they tasted of nothing, but it was an improvement, definitely.

"We want you out of the house today, boy," Harry didn't even glance up from his glass of water as he took a sip, only nodding as he replaced it on the table and taking another bite out of his toast. "Dudley needs a new school uniform, after all the muscle he's put on from his sports," came the unwanted explanation, and Harry was glad of the distraction of food to halt the snort of derision that threatened to burst through. Vernon's eyes narrowed, but Harry didn't look up to notice. That could have been another reason that much of the abuse had slowed: punishable transgressions were few and far between now, with Harry's apathy. More importantly, the indifference that the boy wizard displayed meant that much intimidation went unnoticed.

At least the weather was good, he decided, knowing that there would be no shelter for him until the Dursleys returned with Dudley's new school uniform and Merlin only knew what else. Stuffing the last of his breakfast into his mouth, Harry stood up with his glass and plate and placed them in the kitchen sink. He'd deal with them later. "See you later," he muttered.

Without waiting for a response, he trudged out of the room and down to the front door, making a quick escape into the crisp morning air. A momentary shiver passed through his arms and torso as the cold winds hit him, but the deep azure of the morning sky gave him hope for a warm day, and he decided not to return into the house for a jacket.

Slowly, his steps took him away from Number 4 Privet Drive and he made his way through an alleyway, towards where he knew a park would be empty at this time in the morning. He would have a couple of hours there before mothers brought their children there to play in the sun.

His feet brushed lightly against the ground as he sat on a swing. He had pulled his letter out again and was staring at it intently, as if it might suddenly give him the answers to his predicament of going to London and buying his new books and equipment.

"Harvey, dear boy! You're out early." Harry glanced up, quickly crumpling his Hogwarts letter in his hand as an elderly woman approached, wicker basket in hand. It probably contained a cat, too.

"Good morning, Mrs. Figg." Harry greeted, trying - and failing, to summon up some enthusiasm into his voice as his old former child minder came to a halt in font of him. The sun, ever increasing its height in the sky, glared at him from behind the woman's form, and he turned away.

The silence dragged on, and the shadow over the ground in front of Harry made it clear that the woman hadn't moved. He kicked at the dusty ground with his shoe. He heard the sound of an approaching, optimistically early ice cream van. "How're your aunt and uncle, Hadley?" Go away.

It was a strange sensation: Harry knew, logically, that he was borderline overwhelmed by the emotions surging through him. The difficulty was that he could not give a name to any of them, such that they all merged together, an almost indistinguishable swirl.

Despite this the Boy-Who-Lived was surprised that he was able to maintain even a modicum of a sociable, pleasant persona. "They're well, thanks." Though it felt like every word took an absurd amount of energy to speak… and the effort to smile was insurmountable.

Somewhere, a listless curiosity questioned why he was bothering to be the polite little boy that this woman remembered him to be. He wondered why he didn't ignore her, or tell her bluntly to leave him alone. He would get away with it too; it would be passed off as a preteen attitude. He didn't even like the woman. So what if she thought him to be rude.

But a small part of him hated the idea of someone forming the same option of him that his aunt and uncle held. "They have taken Dudley to get a new school uniform."

"Ah yes, your cousin goes to Smeltings?" Harry nodded. "I remember, Petunia said how well he was doing there. Lovely school I hear. And how about you, Harold? Your aunt told me that you were attending a boarding school… somewhere in the north? Are you enjoying it?" Another nod, this one accompanied by half a smile.

"I hope you're making the most of it, young man. Your education is very important, for who will you be if you don't learn all you can?" A murderer. The silence dragged on. Had Harry looked up, he would have been witness to a saddened expression on the ditzy woman's face. "Well… it's been very quiet without your visits to me. It's lovely to have you home and to see you again, dear boy…"

She paused, groping around in her wicker basket for a moment before pulling out a piece of paper and shoving it into Harry's hand, which rested loosely on the chain of the swing chair. "The cats have missed you… It's a lovely day, let me buy you some ice cream. Please, come and visit me before you go back to school, Harris." The shadow left him, and Harry glanced up to look at the note in his hand, and his eyes went wide.

"Wait, Mrs. Figg, I-" but she was toddling off out of the park, and Harry didn't have the energy to go after her, lest she extend the conversation. The boy wizard glanced back down at the £20 note in his hand. It was far too much for a single ice cream. The woman was batty… he didn't even want an ice cream, not with his agitated stomach since returning to Little Whinging. It had been hard enough to eat a slice of toast.

But the money… the money was enough to get into London and back. He looked up and gazed after the small, retreating silhouette of his former babysitter, a frown settling onto his face. After a few minutes, he stood and trudged down the path away from the children's play park. When he reached Diagon Alley, he had the option of exchanging his galleons for sterling, then he could repay her.