Tea and Questions

"I expect you have questions," Mrs. Figg said at length, when their teacups were near to empty.

There was a quiet pause, comfortable.

"Did you ever attend Hogwarts?" Harry asked at last, his voice faint.

"No. Squibs can't do magic, so I never got my invitation. My family were disappointed, of course, but nothing to what I felt." She shook her head. "Those were trying times, I was a young emotional mess."

"So you don't know much about it?"

"I know the basics, of course. Everyone talked about it. What do you want to know?"

Harry left his letter half-folded, so only the first few lines and the last few on the back were visible, pointed to the shield crest at the top of the page. "This represents the four houses?"

Mrs. Figg nodded.

"What are they?"

"Badger for Hufflepuff," she said, pointing to it. "That's the house I always wanted to be in. Friendship, loyalty, hard workers. Hufflepuff's colour is yellow. Ravenclaw, for intelligence and learning, colour blue. Griffindor, for bravery and strength, colour red. Some call it the heroes' house, though Gryffindor heroes have a lower life expectancy than most if you ask me. And Slytherin, cunning and ambition, colour green. Never much in favour, the poor dears."

Harry nodded, stared at the crest. Bravery was one thing he would never be accused of showing. He was a hard enough worker, but proper friendship was an almost alien concept to him. As much as he wanted a friend, the thought of being surrounded by a whole housefull of friendly loyal types made him feel small and inadequate. He was clever and creative, wanted to learn, so all else being equal he would probably have desired to join Ravenclaw.

But though he did not think of himself as particularly ambitious, he would not deny his legacy. He was one of only two people in wizarding Britain with Slytherin's greatest gift. He would not turn his back on his great-ancestor's memory.

Well, that was assuming he had any choice in the matter. For all he knew, you were assigned based on where there were openings, or drawn by lot.

"How is your house decided?" he asked, worried now.

"Oh, there's a Sorting ceremony. Very mysterious, and I never went myself so I couldn't tell you. But everyone talks about where they want to end up, and they usually go to the house they chose. Some houses seem to run by family lines. Your parents were both in Gryffindor, you know."

Harry's certainty fluttered and died. "Gryffindor?" he asked faintly. Then he remembered what Quirrell had told him, about them both standing in defiance against Lord Voldemort. They had been brave, they had been heroes.

And they had died young.

He resolved that he would not be placed in Gryffindor if he had anything to do with it. He'd even prefer Hufflepuff, at least there people wouldn't expect him to get himself killed in foolish defiance.

Why hadn't they run? Why hadn't they let Lord Voldemort go on doing whatever terrible conquest he wanted to do, why did they have to stand in his way? If they hadn't placed their bravery before their family, then he would never have been sent to the Dursleys. Dudley would be his cousin, only over on holidays if then, and Harry would be a wizard born and raised, able to turn his piggish relative into a toad or something if he ever tried to chase him or hit him.

Harry blinked and the image vanished. He didn't want to imagine a perfect life where his parents were alive and everything was right. It only served to make reality that much more unbearable.

He had other questions, but he couldn't bring himself to ask them right now. The reminder of his parents had muted his curiosity, brought back his weariness from days upon days of straining for magic instead of sleeping.

"I think I'd like to go home now," he said quietly. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'll come over another time if you don't mind, I do have more to ask."

"You are always welcome," Mrs. Figg said, clearing away the tea things. "No need to ring ahead, just press the bell and come right on in."

"Thank you," Harry said.

The street outside was darker than he'd remembered, or perhaps it was that Mrs. Figg's house felt brighter than it had in the past. He made his way to the basement window, slipped into the Dursley's dark house. He painstakingly shoved the toolboxes back to their original locations, crawled across the carpet fluffing it back up to hide any slide pattern, and relocked the door at the top of the stairs.

That only left his cupboard, with a good six inches of bar just missing from both slide bolts. He climbed back inside, tried to will it back into place, but his heart wasn't in it. At last, resigned to his punishment being extended or intensified yet again, he pulled the cupboard door closed and lay down to sleep.

A snake under him squirmed, he pulled it out and set it aside where it curled up contentedly.

"You live such simple, trouble-free lives," Harry whispered.

The snake hissed softly, but whether it was a reply or just a sleepy sound Harry didn't know. His mind full of distant hope, his stomach tight with dread. Despite how tired he was he found it very hard to finally fall asleep.

—======—

Though Harry had intended to wake up early the next morning, so he could pretend he had accidentally magicked his way out of the cupboard in desperate need for the bathroom - a much more innocuous wrongdoing than the reality - he was so tired that he didn't even stir when Vernon roared his name the first time, and barely recalled the second or third.

"What are you playing at now?" his uncle demanded, throwing the cupboard door open. "What did you do?"

Harry blinked at him, tiredness helping his expression look uncertain. "What did I. . .?"

"You've done something to my cupboard, you've broken out somehow, haven't you?" Vernon's face was right up close to Harry's, his uncle's glower filling his view.

"I don't know what I did," Harry said weakly.

"None of that nonsense will be tolerated in my house, you understand me, boy! We swore when we took you in that you would be a normal child, no making glass disappear, no climbing about on roofs and replanting hedges, and no bloody melting through metal bars!" He reached in and pulled Harry to his feet.

Harry was genuinely afraid now. His uncle rarely hit him, leaving that to Dudley's discretion for the most part, but the few occasions he had were still burned into Harry's memory.

And right now Uncle Vernon's face was as bright red with fury as Harry had ever seen it. He wanted to cringe backward into his cupboard, would gladly have barred himself in just to be away, but Vernon's grip on his collar kept him standing.

"You know how much we've done for you, despite the fact you show up on our doorstep without a word of warning scaring your aunt half to death. We've made a place for you in our home, fed you, clothed you, all without asking so much as a word of gratitude. But here you are, disrespecting our rules, disrespecting our family!"

Harry honestly had no idea how to react to this rant. Vernon's voice kept getting louder, his face getting tighter and tighter. When at last he paused for breath, Harry found he couldn't speak. He wanted to look away, look anywhere but his uncle's furious glare, but they were nose to nose. He waited, frozen with confusion and terror.

"And if you had any thoughts of us letting you out before school starts up again, you'd better lose them now. You will do your chores, assist Dudley with his practice, and return to your cupboard any time you are not making yourself useful, do you understand me?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, uncle Vernon," he whispered.

"Speak up!"

Harry whimpered, cleared his throat. "Yes, Uncle Vernon, I understand."

"None of your lip now. Better hurry if you're to finish breakfast on time." He released Harry, brushed off his shirt as though sullied by their near vicinity, and stalked away muttering to himself. "Lying abed so late, lazy ungrateful. . ."

Harry swallowed his nervousness, set about making breakfast. He was relieved that his punishment wouldn't be worse, but hated the restriction more than he'd thought possible. He'd been restricted to his cupboard for long periods before, but they usually only meant that he would grow weaker from the inactivity, fidgety and restless. Now that he had a contact point with the greater world, the wizard world through Mrs. Figg, he couldn't bear the thought that he would lose it so soon after finding it.

Professor Quirrell would be expecting a reply. Mrs. Figg would be expecting him to return. He couldn't slip out at night again, it was too hard and too unreliable. He needed to slip away from Dudley somehow during the day. If he could steal just a half hour a week, long enough to collect any new letter and send one of his own, that would be enough to sustain him.

But Dudley would be watching for any trickery, and the longer Harry was restricted to relative inaction the more out of practice he would be at running, the slower he'd be to slip away.

He had to act fast, or else come up with an excuse to spend more time outdoors.

What possible reason could he give. . .?

He turned the problem over and over all morning as he cooked and cleared up, all afternoon as he sat in his cupboard or fled from Dudley and his friends. He needed a valid excuse to be away from the house, needed a way that the Dursleys would accept. What could he possibly do to convince them to let him out during the day, despite his frequent misdeeds of late?

It took him two days before he finally thought of the perfect scheme, but he smiled and laughed even as he slipped on a wet patch of grass and Dudley's skinny friend caught and pinned him, sure his plan could work.

He had to appeal at the right time, in the right way. He had to get Mrs. Figg's agreement, his professor's assistance, but all the pieces were in place. All he needed was to present the plan to his uncle.

He waited three days before the opportunity presented itself. He knew Uncle Vernon's moods, and had to catch him at the right moment. Gruffly pleased by something, either a happening in the newspaper or his day at work. This particular morning, it was the news.

"And they'll be replacing that lout at long last," he exulted. "About time. I've been saying it for years, he's been a problem since the day he was appointed."

"Oh, surely," Petunia agreed, nodding absently. She was flipping through a fashion catelogue and Harry thought she wasn't actually listening to her husband.

Harry wiped his hands on his stained apron, passed his uncle another plate of bacon. Waited. Vernon nodded briskly at him, but didn't begin speaking again. Harry cleared his throat, wiped his hands again.

"Uncle Vernon," he squeaked out in a small voice. "I was thinking, and. . . I know I've never properly appreciated your generosity. I remember Mrs. Figg mentioning she wanted to hire someone to clean for her once or twice a week. If you'd let me, I'd like to work toward paying for my place here. Out of gratitude to you all."

His presentation had faltered, he knew. His voice uneven, points that he had laboriously planned out suddenly felt weak. He lowered his eyes and waited, tense.

"What do you think, Petunia?" Vernon asked. He still sounded happy enough, so Harry dared to imagine he hadn't botched things too badly.

"I think it's about time the boy start paying his way," Petunia snapped, looking Harry up and down. "Eleven years old and he only now thinks to start repaying what we've given him?"

Harry exhaled, careful not to let his relief show too visibly. As long as she was treating it this way, there was a good chance they wouldn't suspect him of any duplicity.

"Yes, you're quite right," Vernon said. "Good. You'll make all the arrangements, of course?"

Petunia nodded curtly.

The hardest part was done. Now Harry only needed to get word to Mrs. Figg of his plan somehow, before his aunt approached her and learned that there was no actual job opening, get word to his professor that he needed to borrow some money, and give every appearance of behaving himself the rest of the summer.

Dudley screamed for more eggs, which Harry jumped to bring him. Dudley smacked him with his Smeltings stick for being slow, but Harry didn't mind. He was already calculating, imagining potential future events, trying to find one that allowed him to get to Mrs. Figg first.

Petunia would generally start gossiping with the neighbors shortly after breakfast, then would do any walking to important visits between lunch and dinner. Dudley would have his friends over, as usual, and they generally wanted Harry for their 'exercise' time for at least an hour or two in the morning. Sometimes right up to when Harry had to start preparing lunch.

That would be his only chance. He had to slip away for long enough to give her the brief rundown on his plan. Ten minutes would be enough, and running away from Dudley's gang would be enough excuse for being out of breath when he returned. He could do it. He had to.

Uncle Vernon left for work, Aunt Petunia left to ask Mrs. Next-door - ever so subtly of course - about her daughter's recent and unfortunate associations. It was the talk of the neighborhood now, and Petunia didn't want to miss out on the chance of getting some exclusive word on the matter. Harry finished the dishes and returned dutifully to his cupboard, waiting for Dudley to call on him.

The morning passed. A snake slithered into the cupboard, draped lazily over Harry's leg. It had to have been hours. Harry grew more and more anxious. He pushed the cupboard door open a crack, peered out. The house was quiet and empty, the sounds of everyday life drifting through the kitchen window which was thrown open to the breeze.

Dudley and his gang must have gone out for the morning, because there was no sign of them or sound. Harry closed his eyes, picturing the world outside by the sounds. His aunt's voice still drifted from the yard, she would be leaning over the hedge. A neighbor's dog barked a few times, a distant sound of a lawnmower made itself heard. No Dudley.

Harry waited a long moment, pushed the cupboard door open halfway, leaned out. The hall was empty. He could go out the back door, slip through the hedge, run down the street to Mrs. Figg's house. He would be back before anyone noticed him missing.

He pushed the door the rest of the way open, stepped out of his cupboard. The moment his foot touched the hall floor his heart started to race. He could not think of anything more the Dursleys could do to him short of unbearable. They had exercised some restraint thus far, he'd never actually been in danger of starvation or forced to sleep out of doors or anything truly dangerous.

They could make his life miserable, but they did have some lines - seemingly arbitrary ones, but still. Harry was terrified that one day he would overstep the rules a little too far and those lines of restraint would vanish. He knew he was on shaky ground, he had no idea why they kept him, but he was truly glad not to have been sent to an orphanage. However horrible his relatives may be, at least he had a stable home.

He almost turned back then and there. Aunt Petunia would talk to Mrs. Figg, discover there was no actual job offer. Harry would be discovered as a liar, they would wonder what ulterior motive he had for wanting to visit his babysitter. They would forbid him from visiting her, hire someone horrible to watch him. But it would be a small enough problem. The months until the summer would be unbearable anyway. Did he want to risk making them that much worse just for a few letters?

Harry turned shakily, forced his feet to carry him toward the back door. Yes, he decided firmly. It was worth the risk. If he could create a lifeline to Professor Quirrell and Mrs. Figg, he could survive the summer with strength and dignity. He would be able to serve the Dursleys however they demanded, because he would know that he wasn't alone any longer. He had someone to talk to, someone to keep the hope of Hogwarts school always alive in his mind, unfolding new facets of its promise.

He had his hand on the doorknob when he heard the front door click and swing open. He jumped, skittered back to the corner and grabbed his apron, forcing his movements to look slow and casual as he placed it over his head with trembling hands. Aunt Petunia entered the kitchen as he tied it behind him.

"I didn't tell you you could start lunch yet," she snapped.

Harry ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. I didn't want to interrupt your conversation."

She sniffed. "Well, get on with it then." She crossed to the livingroom and flopped herself down on the sofa, reaching for her stack of magazines.

Harry suppressed a groan. His indecision had cost him the opportunity. Though this may have been a good thing, at least he had changed course before leaving. If he'd been caught coming back in, that would be far harder to excuse away.

But even if he hadn't been caught sneaking out, he'd have no chance now to get to Mrs. Figg first. His heart sank still further. Preparing and serving lunch, clearing up after, washing the dishes. By the time he was finished, Aunt Petunia would already be off on her way.

He was doomed.

Author's Note:

Thank you for the feedback! I'm going to try posting smaller chapters more frequently for a while to see how it works out. The tentative schedule for next month is 2nd, 14th, and 25th, give or take a couple days. I should be able to keep this up a couple months at least, so far I think it's actually less of a strain to do more shorter updates.

Things will probably slow down around November-December; I have an overall plan for the storyline, but there are several subplots I haven't fully decided how to integrate yet. While the Privet Drive chapters will be fairly self-enclosed, once the story reaches Hogwarts I may need to pause a while to figure out things in more detail.

Thanks for reading!