The Representative
Harry wrote another letter the next morning, explaining in greater detail what had transpired. He wrote one to McGonagall, one to Quirrell, another to Quirrell, and then a second to McGonagall with fewer details and a bit more succinct. He crumpled the first, then glanced between his two letters to Quirrell. Though there was some duplicate information, he decided to include both. He wrote a third explaining a few more things, asking a few more questions that came to mind, and begging for a way to leave early.
It was three days short of his birthday, which fell on the last day of July. Then he had to make it through August. While staying on Mrs. Figg's sofa was a fine solution for one night, he doubted his aunt and uncle would stay intimidated. Vernon would have regained his courage and his fury by now, and Harry couldn't imagine his reception would be polite. They would know he came here, and they would not just allow matters to stand.
They had legal custody of him, after all. If Mrs. Figg refused to send him back, they could have her arrested for kidnapping or something. Uncle Vernon had always put great store by the effectiveness of the government.
Harry laid his head on his arm, stared sideways at the letters strewn across the desk. It was barely past sunrise, no one else was awake in the neighborhood but perhaps the milk man or paper boy.
He was so tired of worrying, but he couldn't make himself stop. His mind just kept replaying, over and over, every possible scenario, each worse than the last. He couldn't think of a single way out. Quirrell couldn't come for him. He couldn't get to anyone. Mrs. Figg was his only protection, and a meager one she would prove in the face of the law.
Harry groaned, flopped his other arm over his face. He was so tired of it all.
He sat up at last, added a postscript to his third letter to Quirrell, then folded them all and shoved them into an envelope. He reread his letter to McGonagall, decided it wasn't good enough and rewrote it again.
By the time Mrs. Figg walked by toward the kitchen, Harry had six discarded drafts and no idea what he would say. He smoothed out the first version, which upon rereading seemed less lacking than it had previously. He copied it out to a new page with a few minor alterations, stuffed it in an envelope, then hurried to the kitchen.
"I'm sorry breakfast isn't ready, I didn't know what you wanted."
Mrs. Figg gave a quiet squeak, then relaxed when she saw Harry. "Oh. I forgot you were here, my goodness." She put a hand to her chest. "I haven't had visitors overnight in so long. I'm sorry."
"If you don't have enough food for me, that's fine," Harry said, though his stomach grumbled in protest.
"Nonsense," she said briskly, and set about assembling a batter. Harry had always used mixes, the Dursleys didn't want there to me any chance of him slipping up, so it was fascinating watching her deftly measure out all the ingredients without pause, moving with the confident rhythm of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
He was spellbound. She didn't even seem to measure half the time, grabbing a handful of sugar, shaking her hand as though weighing it by instinct, tossing in salt by pinching it between her fingers.
She hummed quietly, her voice creaky and occasionally off-key, but Harry thought it was beautiful. She seemed not to notice his presence so he just sat at the table and watched, glad of the distraction from his thoughts.
Shufflepaws wandered in, Mrs. Figg's newest, a large grey cat with gold eyes. The cat glared at Harry disdainfully before jumping up on his lap and kneading his paws against Harry's legs. It tickled terribly, and Harry squirmed and giggled.
Mrs. Figg turned, still mixing the batter with one hand, the bowl held securely in the other.
"You're in his seat," she said, but chuckled to make it clear she wasn't ordering him to move. "Seems he likes you well enough though, don't you Shuffly?"
The cat didn't deign to acknowledge her, continuing his detailed inspection of Harry.
Harry sighed with relief as the cat finally settled down, as though Harry's lap were the most natural place in the world for a nap. He found he rather enjoyed the feeling of Shufflepaws, warm and soft and heavy. He would like a cat someday.
A snake slithered in through the hallway door, hissing softly to itself. It eyed Shufflepaws with its head raised, tasting the air with its flickering tongue.
"Be nice," Harry hissed to it, instinctively sliding through the veil in his mind. "This is a friend."
"What was that?" Mrs. Figg asked, watching him with a look of complete surprise.
Harry turned to her, startled. "I, uh, it's a wizard thing. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
"I've never heard a wizard do that," Mrs. Figg replied, then shrugged. "I suppose you'd know better than me," she said, a poorly-concealed hint of bitterness in her tone.
Harry realized he'd been insensitive, but couldn't think of a way to apologize without seeming condescending and the last thing he wanted was to alienate his one ally.
"It's a very rare ability," he said instead. "I'm not surprised you haven't met another."
Mrs. Figg nodded. She heated up a frying pan and began pouring the batter out in neat even ovals. Harry was surprised by how thick and fluffy the pancakes were when she finished. She had the batch done within a few minutes, piled them on a plate and offered it to Harry.
It felt like an eternity since he was last allowed to eat breakfast. He had never tasted anything so delicious in his life, he believed, cat-hair, slight metallic taste, and all. He ate all of them by the time she was finishing the second batch, and she offered him all but one of those as well. He accepted gratefully.
She nibbled the last pancake with one hand while with the other she rinsed the bowl and frying pan out, started frying the ham. Thick slices, a bit on the old side, but more filling than anything Harry had been allowed in years.
Aside from the sheer novelty of eating something he hadn't prepared, he couldn't recall the last time he'd actually been completely satisfied with his portion.
Harry thanked her profusely, and then a few more times for good measure.
"Please, don't mention it," she said. "If there had been a way to have you over for breakfast all these years, I would have done so."
"I'll probably never be allowed back once they recapture me," Harry said glumly. "They won't trust you now."
Mrs. Figg shrugged. "I couldn't stand by another year without at least trying," she said. "I hope it wasn't the wrong decision."
"I think right now is when I need you the most," he said after a moment. Just over a month, and he'd be off to Hogwarts. He'd have friends, allies, his wealth and power and status to aid him. He could make arrangements well in advance, never spend a minute longer than needed in his relatives' cupboard. It was now, the fragile nexus between past and future, between fear and hope, when he really needed an ally.
Mrs. Figg smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. I only hope in a few years you'll be able to still believe that."
Someone ponded on the door. Harry's spirits dipped, threatened to plummet again. He knew it was Uncle Vernon, come to reclaim him.
"Don't let him take me back," he whispered, knowing full well it was a futile request. "I don't want to go back there."
Mrs. Figg patted his head. "I'll do whatever I can, but I'm afraid it won't be much."
Harry nodded, shrank lower in his chair. Shufflepaws lifted his head, glared at Harry reproachfully, jumped down and walked away with his tail in the air. Harry wanted to hide under the table, crawl under the sofa, find someplace to hide and just refuse to leave.
He heard Mrs. Figg's voice, Vernon's angry tones, Petunia's sharp interjections. He couldn't make out the words, his aunt and uncle were both talking fiercely, but quietly, probably wary of being overheard.
It sounded like the argument was getting louder, sharper. Finally, the voices stopped, and Harry heard the door click firmly shut. He watched the hallway warily, but heard only Mrs. Figg's footsteps coming.
She sighed, then sat down opposite him. "I told them you weren't here, that I didn't know who you were writing to. They didn't seem convinced, but they left for now. Petunia wanted me to promise not to allow you to write here any longer, or you'd not be allowed to work for me in future. I lost my temper then, said more than I meant to." She let out another sigh. "They'll be back, I'm sure. I'm sorry."
"Thank you," Harry whispered. "I'll find somewhere else to stay, I don't want to cause you any trouble."
"Tell me before you go anywhere," Mrs. Figg said sternly. "I won't have you disappearing on me, I'd be worrying for weeks."
Harry nodded agreement. It still felt so strange, every time he realized that someone actually cared about what happened to him.
"I have letters to send," he told her.
She nodded, accepted the envelopes. She unlocked the guest bedroom door, which turned out to be a chilly and mostly empty room with an open window. An owl sat on a perch by the corner, hooted softly when it saw them enter.
"For Hogwarts again," Mrs. Figg told the owl, holding out the two envelopes. The owl took them, one in its beak, one in its foot, then flapped into the air and out the window. The curtain drifted in the breeze of its passage, slowly fell back to rest.
"There. We'll be hearing back from them in a few hours, I expect. In the meantime, what shall we do with ourselves?"
Harry shrugged. He had no idea what normal people did during the day, any more than he knew what wizards did during the day. He only knew what he and Dudley did.
"I shall teach you to play dominoes," Mrs. Figg said to Harry's indifference. "That will pass the time quite nicely, I believe."
It was a calm game, a quiet game which allowed for casual conversation and strategy and Harry enjoyed immensely. They played a dozen games, the table growing more and more covered in the little porcelain tiles with each progressive round. She had double-twelves, so they had plenty of tiles to work with, but he found himself growing increasingly restless as the day wore on. He was used to action, to moving, and had more energy than he knew what to do with. Mrs. Figg clearly had no idea what to do with him either, but he didn't want to insult her hospitality.
A hoot from the back room interrupted them, and Harry was surprised to find it nearly lunchtime. Mrs. Figg hurried off to the owl room, stepping around the dozen snakes that had taken up residence on her floor, and returned with a pair of letters.
"Both for you, dear." She set about assembling sandwiches while Harry opened the first.
Mr. Potter,
While your circumstances are cause for concern, we cannot allow you to leave your aunt and uncle's residence until the proper start of term. As they are your guardians, you must remain in their home during the summer holidays.
However, we understand that they must be made to see the truth of your situation. Your parents already made it clear that they intended you to be a proper wizard, and your name has been down since you were born. So long as you choose to come, you can not be prevented from attending Hogwarts at this point by anything your muggle guardians attempt.
We believed that a letter had been given to them explaining everything, but it seems they may not have received it after all. A school representative is on his way. He will explain matters to them in person, and make arrangements for your trip to Diagon Alley for your school things.
Thank you,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry opened the second, a much shorter reply than he'd ever seen.
Will meet you in Diagon Alley. Don't let on we've met. See you soon.
Your friend, Quirinus Quirrell.
Harry grinned, eager to see the professor again. First, though, he had to get through the interview with the Dursleys.
"Harry, come and meet your Hogwarts representative," Mrs. Figg called. Harry had feared the pounding at the door meant Uncle Vernon's return, but it seemed not to be the case.
The man standing outside was huge. Vaster than any of the Dursleys' relatives, taller and wider than Harry had guessed it possible for anyone to be. He had a wild beard and hair, wore a heavy coat with more pockets than Harry had ever seen in one place.
"Rubeus Hagrid," the man said, his voice deep and accented heavily. "Lovely ter meetcha again, Harry. Yeh've grown up nice since I last saw yeh."
"I don't remember meeting you before," Harry said, sure he would have. Mr. Hagrid was very distinctive.
"'course you wouldn't, you was only a babe at the time. I brought you here, to Dumbledore, after yer parents'. . . well, after that night."
"Dumbledore?" Harry asked. "The Hogwarts headmaster? What does he have to do with it?"
"He's in charge of yer affairs, innit?"
Harry's heart skipped a beat as he felt the information fade behind the veil in his mind. Albus Dumbledore was the Watcher? The headmaster of the school he was about to attend was. . . ?
He couldn't think about that yet. He filed it away, resolved to ask Quirrell just what Dumbledore had done to be labeled as their adversary. But not now. He let the veil fall over the knowledge.
"My aunt and uncle hated me," Harry said.
Mr. Hagrid looked sad and angry all at once. "Hated you? Jealous, maybe, but that's no cause—"
"No," Harry interrupted. "They actually hate me. I don't know why. But I don't think they realize how famous I am to wizards, and I'm sure they wouldn't care."
"We'll see about that," Mr. Hagrid said. He beckoned to Harry. "Come on, let's go tell them how it'll go."
Harry followed the huge man down the street, smiling at the thought of what the Dursleys would think when their neighbors saw this wild giant of a man coming to their front door.
It was almost enough to overcome his dread, but he couldn't help thinking that something would go wrong.
Hagrid banged on the Dursleys' front door, the sound carrying across the neighborhood. "Open up, Dursley!" Mr. Hagrid shouted. "I need a word with yeh."
Petunia opened the door so quickly Harry knew she must have run. She stared up at the giant at her door with big, scared eyes, then caught sight of Harry standing beside him. Her expression tightened.
"We don't want any of your sort around here," she said. "If you've come to bring the boy back, well, he ran away from us. I have been true to my word."
"Yeh, and a fat lot of good it did 'im. You be good to th' boy, you hear? And no more talk of 'im not attendin' 'ogwarts. He'll be comin' and that's the end of it."
"We swore when we took him in that we'd put an end to that. . . freakishness. My sister got herself killed because of that nonsense, and we'll not have that happen again."
Harry was surprised by this. He wouldn't have guessed the Dursleys cared whether he lived or died. "Funny way of showing affection," he muttered, too quiet for her to hear.
"Yeh swore a more important oath when yeh took him under yer roof," Mr. Hagrid said firmly. "To care for him and protect him."
"And we have done that," Petunia snapped. "We have fed him, clothed him, given him space though he's as ungrateful as ever a boy could be, and he just up and runs off on us like this."
"Because yeh wouldn't listen, obviously." The huge man's voice had risen, and Petunia took a furtive look around. She looked half as though she wanted to bring Mr. Hagrid inside just so no one would see him standing on her front step, and partly as though she couldn't bear the thought of him setting foot indoors.
"What more can you demand of us? We have done everything for the boy!"
"HAH!" Harry couldn't hold it in. "You've done nothing but the barest minimum to get by. If you could get away with it, you'd do even less."
"You hear?" Petunia snapped. "Ungrateful to the last."
"Well he's stayin' through August, and be back nex' summer too, an' ungrateful or not yeh'll take good care of him. Unnerstand? And 'e will have his own owl, so we'll expect to be hearin' from him regular like."
"Vernon would never allow—" Petunia began, but Hagrid cut her off.
"You will allow him to write, and tha's the end of it."
Petunia wilted under his glare, unable to hold her ground against the sheer volume Mr. Hagrid represented.
"Now, I'm takin' 'im for his books an' things, we'll be back in a few hours. Remember, Dursley."
Petunia watched him warily as they turned to leave, then shut the door firmly.
"Now?" Harry asked, excited. "We're going to buy my wand and magic things now?"
Mr. Hagrid grinned. "Yeh, I've got other business in town too, so yeh'll fit right in. Our new defence professor offered teh show you around while I take care of affairs at the bank, so you can get to know at least one of our faculty. He's much better than the last two, seems t' be, I'll be sorry to lose him."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Well, 's not anything real," Mr. Hagrid said, looking uncomfortable, "but it's been a long time since we had a defence professor stay longer'n a year. They just can't take it, I s'pose. Sometimes you think they will, but then there's an accident, or they turn out to be embezzling, or they've gotten too attached to certain students. . ."
The big man sighed. "I hope this year turns out alright. He was teachin' Muggle studies fer a bit now, he's a nice lad, hope nothin' terrible happens to 'im. He traveled abroad, see, came back this year all excited teh teach everyone what he learned. Bit touchy about vampires now, though, wonder what happened."
Author's Note: I've obtained a beta! For now, my chapters remain un-beta'd as we're starting at the beginning, but I'll be updating the earlier chapters as I can, probably starting next month. :)