The Hundred Acre Wood
Disclaimer & Warnings: See chapter 1
Timeline: Sunday, August 4th, 1991, daybreak
Chapter 51 – Higgledy-Piggledy
Boy shifted restlessly in his sleep, unable to get comfortable. Not that being uncomfortable was unusual, comfort of any sort being only a passing wish on any day. However, this particular time the lack of it indirectly caused the storybook he was using for a pillow to slide out from under his head. Now this was unusual, for in his cupboard there was nowhere, nor any reason, for anything to slide anywhere. There simply wasn't enough room. Besides, the floor he slept on, while comprised of rough boards, wasn't that uneven to lend credence to that scenario.
The unusual sensation roused Boy from his sleep as the book tumbled to a rest upside-down. When it did, the rumbling in The Woods abruptly stopped and his dream world completed its transitional shift back into reality.
In his half-awake half-dream state, Boy's mind merged the shaking of the earthquake in The Woods with the reverberations that always accompanied his cousin tromping down the stairs over his head. Keeping his eyes closed tight against the dust that was surely raining down on him from above, he idly wondered what had gotten Dudley up so early in the morning. There were only two known reasons for such an extraordinary event: Cousin's birthday and Christmas. The first had recently past and the latter was in midwinter. It wasn't winter so there was no ready explanation.
Boy normally would have tried to puzzle it out to the best of his ability, but this morning, even shrugging mentally caused him a raging headache. Therefore, he let it go as something that didn't matter, recognising he'd likely not ever know the reason for Cousin's early day as The Family seldom ever truly explained anything to him. Master saying it wasn't worth the effort as he was too stupid to grasp even the simplest concept, and Ma'am paranoid that he might somehow find a way to use the information against them. They preferred to keep him in the dark - both literally and figuratively.
The next body part to protest Boy's awakening was his stomach. He wasn't sure if the unsettled gurgling was from hunger or nausea, but nonetheless it did remind him that what did matter was to be fully awake before Ma'am opened his door to put him to work making The Family breakfast. If she caught him dozing, she'd deem him a slothful good-for-nothing, not worthy of even the smallest leftover crumb.
Still, right now he didn't care what she called him, any more than he cared what his stomach was complaining over. He just wanted a few more moments of not moving, as whenever he did a wave of dizziness washed over him. Therefore, credit had to be given, that with great effort and fortitude, and a keen sense of self-preservation, he attempted it anyway.
Although it was something that no child should have to do, or even think of doing, taking stock of his aches and pains was a critical part of Boy's daily morning routine. For him it was normal. He realized early on that if he was mindful of what hurt at the beginning of the day, he could minimize its impact on what he had to accomplish during the day, and thus avoid more hurting added to the list at the end of the day.
Starting with his head, his eyes felt dry and swollen shut. He tried to open them but they hurt. He also felt cold and clammy, and his clothes were wet and sticking to him. That was never a good sign. As he lived inside a cupboard, and seldom, if ever, allowed to squander precious water cleaning himself, odds were that whenever he woke up wet, it was because he had been ill, sweating, or had wet himself.
He sniffed lightly and then wrinkled his nose. The air did smell a bit strange, not the normal musty smell that pervaded his living space, but also not the acrid smell of urine. That was a huge relief as Ma'am always got very angry when that happened. That left the possibility of sweat or illness. Sweating because he was hot wasn't unusual for summer, as his cupboard had little ventilation. Only he wasn't hot – he had a chill that made him feel as if he'd never be warm again. That, on top of the headache and nausea, the process of elimination pointed towards illness, most likely a fever.
'Great…' he sighed to himself, resigned to a very long weary day ahead of him.
Fever meant infection. It also meant it would take a lot of energy to get through the day, as all his limbs would feel heavy and hard to move. Being ill was not an excuse that Ma'am would accept for shirking his chores, as it would be own fault for having to be disciplined so harshly in the first place that it caused something to become septic. She'd announce it was just further proof of the blight he was on The Family. That is, if she noticed at all. He'd prefer that she didn't, as the note of triumph in her voice when she declared his shortcomings always cut through to his soul. Therefore, he'd have to force himself to pay very close attention to what Ma'am told him to do, to make sure she didn't notice, as fever also made it hard to concentrate and made him forget things too easily.
Next, he took note that the skin on his face and the back of his hands felt odd – painful and tingling and somewhat puffy. He sleepily rubbed one hand across his cheek. Big mistake! It now felt as if his cheek was on fire. His skin was so hot! Must be the fever. He pulled his hand into his damp sleeve and gingerly pressed it against his face. Cool. Better. However a puzzle of another sort. He'd had many fevers in the past, but they had never made his skin feel as if it was covered with a million blisters.
He'd have to be careful. If he had a rash, it might be noticeable if someone in The Family looked at him too closely. He'd have to be doubly sure to keep his eyes trained on the ground, so not spark their wrath in case whatever was making his skin hurt was also making him look more hideous than usual.
'Super great…' that would be sure to annoy them.
Not able to solve the mystery of his skin for the moment, he continued with his inventory. One by one, he tested limbs by flexing and moving them ever so slightly. They all checked out surprisingly better than normal, until he got to his torso. Arching his back was a mistake. His back and chest felt bruised and covered with welts. That was the likely site of the infection. He'd just have to be careful to maintain good posture, move slowly, and minimize twisting to lessen the likelihood of reopening any partially healed cuts.
Yawning, he carefully stretched one arm above his head, in a practiced upwards-sideways motion meant to obtain a maximum extension while maintaining the minimum possibility hitting the bottom of the stairs above him, and thus making a noise that might disturb The Family. Only, instead of his fingertips lightly grazing the wall as usual, he unexpectedly rapped his elbow's funny bone against something hard and metallic, causing a large echoing 'thunk' – an exact opposite result from what his movement intended.
'Wha' the…?'
Bewildered as to what he could have possibly bumped into in his small cupboard, Boy's swollen eyes cracked open and saw to his horror that a light was invading his normally dark space. He shielded his eyes by instinct and turned his head away.
'Oh no! Ma'am's already opened my door and I didn't wake up! Breakfast! Cousin wasn't up early - I'm up late! Too late! I should be cooking The Family breakfast already! They will be SO angry with me!'
Alarmed, Boy abruptly rose into a sitting position – doing all the movements that he had just planned to not do - as a result whacking his forehead soundly on the low ceiling above him. A blast of pain radiated over his eyes to match the one still stinging from his elbow.
"Ouch!" Boy croaked out in annoyance as he touched the new bump on his head, only to have fear set in when the collar started to tighten around his neck. Thankfully, it stopped almost as quickly as it started, as that was all it took to reinforce the order to remain silent. Rubbing his head quietly this time Boy felt around for his possessions and found the pair of glasses. Putting them on, his unfamiliar surroundings came more into focus. Now he could see the spot of light wasn't his open cupboard door, but the entrance to a tunnel. All he could think through the thick fog soup in his brain was - why was he in a tunnel? For the life of him, he couldn't remember one in The Family's garden. But where else could he be?
Through the opening, Boy could see that the first rays of the hot morning sun were touching the wet grass outside, seeming to set it on fire with smoky mist despite the sound of rain still spattering the ground in rhythmic spurts. From somewhere in the distance, the sounds of the neighbourhood waking up reached his ears. Normally when those noises drifted across the fence into Ma'am's garden it was Boy's signal to gather up his tools and scurry just as close to the house as his tether would allow. This was so he wouldn't cause Master or Ma'am too much trouble when one of them came to take him inside for the day and away from prying neighbour's eyes.
He slowly stopped shaking as curiosity replaced fear. Crawling to the edge of the tunnel on his hands and knees, he peeped out over the rim.
No garden.
He rubbed his puffy eyes and peeped again.
No fence either.
Maybe it was that bump on the head he took. Shutting his eyes tight, he counted to ten and peeped a third time.
Not even the house was there.
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his brain and the world swam dizzyingly.
A longer glance made his eyes shut tight against the confusing scene before him when it registered that the rain he'd heard was actually shooting skyward from the ground instead of the other way around. That was not normal! Rain was supposed to fall down, not up!
A revised nursery rhyme Cousin used to chant at him occasionally jumped unbidden into his head –
Higgledy-Piggledy, blah blah blah.
It's all for me, none for you
And you don't even got a clue.
Higgledy-Piggledy, ha-ha-ha!
Dudley wasn't known for his poetic ability, but that shortcoming aside, Boy realized he was right – once again, he didn't have a clue what was going on. What Boy's eyes were seeing, was making no sense in his brain, it was all higgledy-piggledy. He never knew what that word meant before, but this was definitely it.
He started to hyperventilate, causing him to feel like sicking up.
Unaccustomed to being outside during the day, Boy was unaware of the effects of sunlight on skin rarely exposed to anything but moonlight. He knew nothing of sunburns or heat stroke and therefore felt this strange malady could only be a punishment for having angered The Family in some way.
The bump he took on the head, combined with fever, was obviously causing hallucinations. He didn't even have to guess that The Family wouldn't consider hallucinations normal. They'd be royally cheesed off if they discovered such deviant behaviour occurring in the cupboard under their stairs.
Crawling back down the tunnel Boy dumped everything out of his bundle and pulled the freed blanket tight around his shoulders. Curling into a ball, with the pin clutched in his hand, and book under his head for a pillow, he started a chant of his own, trying to calm his breathing before The Family heard and descended on him with wrath for using up too much of their oxygen -
Higgledy-Piggledy, close my eyes.
Master hates things all cross-wise
so please be right next time I rise.
Higgledy-Piggledy, no surprise…
In the gloom of the dank pipe, a small creature contemplated the lump shaking on the floor of her now cramped home. The space had been more than generous when she moved in, plenty of room for her and for the hundreds of offspring about to hatch – that was, until last night. Whatever this thing was, it had certainly done enough thrashing about earlier, several times even to the point of endangering her egg sac. This forced co-habitation made her cross. If she had wanted a roomy, she wouldn't have eaten her mate.
Despite having multiple eyes, her eyesight was pitifully poor. Therefore, once the lump stilled, she decided to investigate closer. Lowering herself on a silken thread, she touched down on the surface of its covering sac. It wasn't quite the same as the papery brown layers covering her eggs, but similar. She climbed part of the way back up the thread and swung farther over. This time when her sensitive feet made contact, it was with something familiar and disturbing - the skin of a human. She had only felt it once before as a hatchling and almost didn't live to tell the tale, making the touch hard to forget. Ever since, she had made it a practice to stay far away from them.
Humans were hazardous beings to be around, but they were also normally too big to enter her pipe – one of the main reasons she chose it to begin with. Occasionally a curious small human – 'children' she heard the large humans call them – would venture into her realm, but they never stayed long. Only long enough to destroy her webs. Not nearly this long at all. It was too damp, too musty, too dirty, and too dark. So why was this one not leaving as the rest had? Something was wrong here.
All eight feet down now, she started to creep slowly across the soft surface tentatively feeling her way. It radiated heat. She crept on, cautiously past a flickering eyelid following the curved cheek upward until it was lost in a forest of threads. They were much thicker and coarser than the silken ones she made. Still, she crept.
Wait! What's that? Her many legs felt a tangle of fine strands from a house spider. Strange. Creeping further, it became stranger yet. Another tangle, but this one the making of a garden spider. Further still a wisp of both mixed together – the house strands weaving in and out through those of the garden, a sparkle of healing magic still clinging to it like stardust.
This human child was different from the ones she'd experienced before. This one didn't run, jump, yell, or laugh, and was apparently under the protection of spiders.
She pondered that disturbing discovery as she climbed back up to her egg sac. It was still safe. She blinked all of her eyes and pondered some more. Maybe the human child below was like her eggs. It felt somewhat like a big egg wrapped up the way it was with just the top of its head out of its shell. Perhaps that's why it took refuge in her home – it wasn't quite ready to hatch and be on its own. Perhaps she should look after it as the others of her kind had before her.
Oblivious to the motherly concern of the arachnid, Boy slowly slipped into a deep sleep while his body struggled to restore itself. The only thought in his mind was the hope that the next time he woke, the world wouldn't be all higgledy-piggledy and would be right side up again. Meters above his head, a very tired wizard was hoping the same.
Remus Lupin limped slowly through the gate of the small park in Arabella's neighbourhood. Because of its general lack of muggle use, the Order had designated it as a safe apparition spot for their ongoing mission. Regardless of his refusal to abandon the search, he'd returned to the park countless times that same night as if something beyond his control kept drawing him back here. The early morning automatic sprinklers were just sputtering off, leaving the randomly placed park benches soaked and dripping.
"Bloody great that," he muttered, at the idiocy of watering after a night of rain. He hobbled over to the play area, which was slightly dryer because of the drainage system it was built over. Leaning his back against a post of the jungle gym, he slid down until he was sitting on the ground. Unmindful of the damp now seeping through the seat of his slacks, he put his head back against the cool metal and closed his eyes with a sigh.
He'd only begun to deal with the grief of Harry being dead, when the possibility that he was still alive sent his spirits soaring higher than he'd felt in a decade. Only to have those hopes brought crashing to earth by terrible anguish when he heard about the abuse. Now he was just frustrated beyond belief with helplessness, knowing that the child was somewhere lost and alone. The roller-coaster ride of his emotions were akin to dealing with the werewolf within him, raging to get out – neither was under his control.
The Dursleys should be thanking their lucky stars that the moon still waning, if it had been a few weeks earlier or later, Remus wouldn't have been able to stop the rage inside himself from emerging to rip out all their throats and then dine on their entrails. Admittedly, not that he'd have even tried for restraint. There had to be some benefit to being a werewolf, and a plausible excuse for bad table manners around thoroughly dislikeable people, was the only one he'd ever come up with.
Running a hand through his greying hair, Remus wondered what in the world he was going to tell Tonks when he saw her. Just before dawn, Arthur's two oldest had tracked him down and let him know that Vernon Dursley had escaped, Petunia had been confined to the house on Privet Drive, but not to worry as Dudley was safe and sound at the Burrow.
Uncharitably, he told them he couldn't care less about the state of Dudley Dursley's welfare, and was only somewhat mollified regarding the news of Petunia Dursley's incarceration. In his opinion, house arrest was far too comfortable in contrast to the dark and dank pit into which she deserved to be tossed. However, their revelation that Vernon was on the loose was deeply concerning, and made his stomach churn with anxiety.
Not only was Harry still in danger from the psychopathic paedophile, but any boy that crossed Dursley's path was also vulnerable. Therefore, when he'd received a message via Dumbledore's patronus that the rest of the Order had headed back to Hogsmeade, he couldn't bring himself to give up and join them. He had to keep looking. With Hagrid's help he'd spent the night criss-crossing Little Whinging and its outlying areas. After Hagrid was called back to the castle, Remus had continued on his own, searching everywhere, not just a second, but a third and fourth time without finding a trace of Harry or the long silver car.
He had given his solemn vow to Tonks that he'd find her Little One and protect him. Hell, he'd vowed that to himself and to the memory of James and Lily Potter. Once again, he'd let them all down. It was all he seemed capable of doing anymore. He kicked at a mud clod in disgust of himself and sent a small spider scurrying for the safely of the web stretched across the entrance to the playground drainage system.
"All this wallowing is getting me absolutely nowhere," Remus chided himself, rising to his feet. "I better return to Hogwarts and face up to Tonks. It's just that I have a feeling…" Remus paused. Now that it was growing light his eyes swept the ground for any traces a small child had been there recently – a footprint, a smudge, a scuff, anything…
"Wait! What's that?"
Remus peered closer squinting his eyes before sighing. "So close."
For a moment, he almost thought he had seen the impression of a small foot in the dirt, but upon looking closer there was nothing there save for a few insects. He watched as a column of ants marched back and forth over the drying ground with a purpose known only to them, breaking rank to allow a pair of beetles to scuttle across their path dragging a reed of grass between them. They were likely off to build a nest he thought, while the spider he'd spotted earlier was back poised in her web, waiting for breakfast to fly too near to escape. It was either that, or - it was watching him back. Remus laughed dryly to himself as the ridiculous thought popped into his head.
He decided then and there, that when he starts assigning ulterior motives to insects, it's time to pack it in. With the same feeling of hopelessness, he dismissed the fleeting thought to check out the drainage tunnel. The intact tendrils of the spider's web were all the proof he needed that no small boy was hiding there, as anything of any size would have shredded the web.
"I swear on Merlin himself, I feel so close. But truth be told, I'm so dead on my feet at this point that I could trip over Harry and not notice." The distortion caused by the air displacement as he disapparated sent a rippling sensation throughout the park.
The spider finally relaxed. That was too close.
As the last waves dissipated, the small smug spider crept back into her drainage pipe satisfied. The moment she felt the vibrations of the large human nearing her home, she had set to work. First, she enlisted the help of her crawling neighbours, to erase the tracks leading to her door left by the partially hatched human egg, and then making repairs to her own web, which the child had torn earlier with its awkward movements. It was close. However, working together they had disguised the hiding place of the eggs under her care before they could be discovered and destroyed.
Big and little, they were all safe until ready to hatch.
