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The (Muggle) Girl Next Door
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Harry picked at his tablespoon of cottage cheese disinterestedly. It wasn't that he was full, more like with all the delicious food he had stored under his bedroom floor, cottage cheese was the last thing he wanted to be eating. It was disgusting really, and cold and lumpy…
"Not hungry boy?" Uncle Vernon asked. An outsider might of thought he voice was full of concern, but it was just a mockery. "Well, then YOU WON'T EAT, will he Petunia?" he roared, snatching the pitiful plate away from Harry. He turned back to his paper.
"Quite right. You think he'd be grateful!" Aunt Petunia sighed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Dudley laughed piggishly, and stole his mother's tofu cubes. Dudley was extremely large, and pimply to boot! Harry wasn't sure if he was trying to get in the Guinness Book of World Records, or simply just liked to eat. Whatever the case, Dudley was so large he had stopped attending Smeltings, the boarding school he had attended since he was 11 because they just didn't stock uniforms big enough (though Aunt Petunia insisted that the teachers at Smeltings just didn't understand Dudley's creative genius). He now had a private tutor hired to "cater to Dudley's special needs". Dudley had gotten straight A's ever since. Of course, the teacher was grossly overpaid, and a close friend of Uncle Vernon's…
Even though Dudley had been on a diet for over a year, it had very little effect- except to the trained eye. He still was wider than he was tall. Harry thought it was because Dudley only followed the diet at mealtimes, not in between.
"Petunia, Dudley, I have some good news," Uncle Vernon announced, looking up from the news. "Since Grunnings' profits are up, and I sold so many drills this quarter, I finally bought that vacation home in Majorca! We leave tomorrow!"
"Oh Vernon, I'm so surprised!" Aunt Petunia fluttered. "The Green's will be so jealous! They've been bragging ever since they got back from that ski trip to the Swiss Alps…"
"Dad!" Dudley grunted, "I'll miss The Great Humberto!"
Harry got a sudden vision of himself laying in the sand, Cho Chang, a very pretty sixth year, in a string bikini, feeding him grapes. Someone was strumming on a ukulele, and a seagull honked in the distance as the waves crashed against the shore. Cho leaned over…
"Vernon, what about the boy?" Aunt Petunia asked.
"I've arranged for him to stay with Mrs. Figg for two weeks."
Harry fell from his daydream rather abruptly. He hadn't been to Mrs. Figg's since he was 11! She was a very old, cabbagy-smelling lady, who had too many cats and was in serious need of dentures. "I'm not going," he announced.
Uncle Vernon got a very annoyed look on his face.
* * *
Harry sat Mrs. Figg's living room, sulking.
"Would you like some cake dear?' Mrs. Figg asked.
"No thank you."
Harry remembered the last time he had had cake at Mrs. Figg's. It was almost as hard as Hagrid's rock cakes. This was going to be a long two weeks.
* * *
Harry sat on the edge of his bed. He was sleeping in Mrs. Figg's spare bedroom, and even with the lingering cabbage scent masked by Aunt Petunia's "Mountain Stream" air freshener, Harry kept sniffing in the corners, and spraying compulsively. Finally he sighed and collapsed on his bed. The mattress creaked and the brass frame shuddered. He lay there, spread eagled, he eyes following a hairline crack in the pale yellow ceiling.
Hedwig hooted softly in her cage. Harry sat up and took a good look at his owl. She can't stay here.
"Well, this is it Hedwig," Harry said, unlatching her cage. "You gotta clear out. Go stay with Ron or something. Mrs. Figg is going to be suspicious as it is, I can't have you around."
Hedwig gave an offended squawk.
"You know why girl, she's bound to say something if she does see you."
Hedwig screeched in a resigned tone and pecked Harry on the nose. He opened the window, and Hedwig flew into the night.
Alone, and cut off from the wizarding world- he had arranged for the Daily Prophet and Quidditch Weekly to be sent to Ron for two weeks, goodness knows he didn't want strange owls dropping off papers at the breakfast table- Harry drifted off to sleep.
* * *
"So, yuh'll be staying with Missus Figg, will ya laddie?"
Harry spun around.
There was no one there, except for Snowy, one of Mrs. Figg's cats.
"What are you doing here kitty?" Harry crooned. He bent down and scratched the cat between his ears.
"I've not seen yeh fer a long while, 'arry Potter," Snowy purred.
"Did you j- I didn't kno- what is goi-" Harry was flabbergasted.
"We cats know more then we let on 'arry Potter. Yeh're a good lad, I hope to be seein ya soon," said Snowy, rubbing against Harry's legs. And then he was gone.
* * *
What a strange dream, Harry thought rubbing his eyes.
"Meow."
Harry looked down.
A cat.
There had been a cat in his dream.
The cat- Mr. Paws, he remembered,- was sitting on the floor, looking up at him expectantly.
"I guess this is my wake up call," he remarked, getting out of bed.
He sorted through his suitcase, looking for something suitable to wear. All his Muggle cloths were hand-me-downs from Dudley, and he was hard pressed to find anything that wasn't big enough to fit three Harrys inside. He sighed, and settled on a red tee shirt, and a pair of khakis that had fit Dudley in third grade. They were short, coming just past his knees, but they nearly fit in the waist. No one needed to know that they were pants, not shorts.
He picked up Mr. Paws, and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Mrs. Figg was banging around the kitchen, stirring up something or other, and frying a pan of this and that.
"What's for breakfast?" Harry asked.
"Oh, good morning Harry!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. "We've got oatmeal, and hash browns. You like that don't you?" she frowned.
Harry nodded. If it wasn't any good, he still had the food Hagrid had sent him. He sat down at the table. The kitchen, he decided, was the nicest room in the house. The sun shone through the blue checked curtains cheerfully, and the furniture was reminiscent of the 1950's.
"So, how have your holidays been dear?" Mrs. Figg asked, pushing a bowl of oatmeal in front of Harry. "Sugar?"
Harry nodded. "I'd rather be in school."
"You like St. Brutus's?"
Harry had forgotten. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia told anyone who asked that Harry went to St. Brutus's Secure School for Incurably Criminal Boys, or something to that degree. He shrugged, not wanting to get into a conversation about his "school".
Mrs. Figg sprinkled a mixture of cinnamon and sugar over the steaming oatmeal, and poured a little milk into the dish. Harry poked it a bit suspiciously with his spoon. It smelt harmless enough. He WAS hungry.
"Well, go on, eat it," Mrs. Figg urged.
It wasn't half bad, Harry thought, halfway through the dish. He couldn't remember why he had always avoided oatmeal at Hogwarts.
"There's a party this afternoon Harry," Mrs. Figg conversed. "The Greens invited me to their barbecue. Would you like to go? I think they have a girl your age."
The Greens had lived next door to the Dursleys, at number 5, for as long as Harry could remember. On long hot days, Harry would often peer through the hedge separating the two yards, and imagine what it would have been like if he had been dropped on the doorstep of number 5. They seemed like such a close knit caring family. Despite going to primary school with her, he had never really known the girl, Fiona, partly because the Dursleys never let him play with anyone, and partly because the Dursleys competed with the Greens in everything. Who's side of the hedge was more perfectly trimmed? Who had more Christmas lights? Who had the newer car? The Dursley's swimming pool was twelve feet, two deeper than the Green's… Harry would have thought it quite funny, if he hadn't always been the one to trim the hedge, and tend the manicured lawn.
"Sure, I guess so," Harry answered. Anything would be better than looking through photo albums of Mrs. Figg's cats, which was usually first on the agenda during Harry's visits to Mrs. Figg.
"You had better change though, that shirt is hanging off of you," Mrs. Figg commented.
Five times Mrs. Figg sent Harry back to his bedroom, insisting that he find something that fit him properly. Finally she gave up. "We'll just have to buy you something then, won't we?"
Except for his yearly trips to Diagon Alley, where Harry bought his school supplies, and the occasional day at Hogsmeade, a wizarding village near Hogwarts, Harry had never gone shopping for himself. And no one had ever taken him before, except for Hagrid, and the Weasleys. "But I don't have any money," he said sadly.
"My treat Harry!" Mrs. Figg laughed gaily.
* * *
An hour and a half later, Harry was parading in front of a mirror at a department store. He was wearing a black suit (Mrs. Figg had insisted he get something fancy for special occasions) and he had to admit he looked very smart. He hoped Cho would think so too. He had been in need of a new wardrobe for quite some time, and he could just picture Cho's reaction.
'Oh Harry, you're so devastatingly handsome, and well-dressed,' she crooned as they stepped out of the limosine. She was dressed in a backless, strapless, navy blue gown that sparkled like the night sky. The lights began to dim, and Harry took Cho's hand, and they began to dance. They were so close together, and she was so beautiful…
"We should get you a swim suit," Mrs. Figg was saying. "You can use it at the Green's the afternoon."
Harry picked out an evergreen one with the Nike logo emblazoned on the right thigh, and they went to the check out counter, and paid for the shopping cart full of clothes.
* * *
"I'm so glad you could make it Arabella!" Mrs. Green was saying to Mrs. Figg. "So this is Harry. Imagine living next door to you all these years, and never being properly introduced.
Harry grinned and shook the outstretched hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Green."
"Oh please, just call me Victoria. Everyone does. Oh, you better go around back, Carl is just organizing a dodge ball game. He's my oldest, 17 actually," she grinned. "Just introduce yourself, I'm sure Fiona remembers you from primary school."
Dodge ball. He had played that in phys ed, and he had always been rather good at it. Except when Piers Polkiss was holding his arms behind his back so Dudley could peg him. He frowned. Well, there was no Dudley here tonight, and he was going to have a good time.
Harry wandered into the backyard. There were quite a few adults sitting on the porch, and Mr. Green was grilling chicken, frankfurters, baby back ribs, hamburgers, corn and other summery fare on the outdoor oven, a new appliance that made Uncle Vernon green with envy. There was a line drawn down the center of the brick patio, dividing it into two equal parts. A large group of kids, around twenty, from the ages of five and fifteen were gathered around an older looking boy, Carl, Harry realized, (he had his father's bright red hair), who was shouting out "Who wants to be a captain?" The pool which had made Aunt Petunia so jealous was rather empty, it seemed that the kids had abandoned it in favor of dodge ball.
"Hey you!" Carl was saying. "You wanna play? Fi's team is down a man."
Harry grinned. "Sure!"
"Hi! I know you from somewhere, don't I?" Fiona asked. She was a very pretty girl with curly black hair halfway down her back. She was wearing a sea green bathing suit, the two piece kind with a halter top and bicycle shorts, and was just about Harry's height.
Harry flushed and flattened his bangs nervously. "Actually, I live next door, and I think we went to primary school together. Harry Potter."
Fiona smiled. She had a dimple in her left cheek. "Oh that's right. Fiona Green. You don't go to Stonewall though, do you?"
"Nope, I go to boarding school. So, we going to play or not?" Harry grinned. He didn't want to have to tell Fiona he went to St. Brutus's, it didn't seem like a good conversation starter.
"Okay guys, the object is not to get hit," Carl was saying. "If you get hit, you're out. If you catch a ball, someone on your team comes back in, but you can only come back in once. If you throw it, and somebody else catches it, you're out. And if bounces off the ground and touches you, it doesn't count. You're still in. And don't worry, I'll be watching."
Fiona tossed Harry a beach ball. "Good luck!"
"You too," Harry smiled.
"On your mark, get set, go!"
The air was full of flying beach balls. Harry's hit a boy of about 14. This is good practice for Quidditch, Harry thought. Sure, there weren't any beach balls in Quidditch, and the game took place high in the air, on broomsticks, but Harry did have to dodge quite a few Bludgers during his search for the Snitch, a golden winged ball that flew around to elude the Seekers.
"Nice shot!" Fiona exclaimed, ducking a particularly hard-thrown ball.
"Thanks!" Harry responded, catching two beach balls.
"Hey, get out of there!" Carl shouted pointing to a girl of about ten.
"It didn't hit me!" she exclaimed, as a beach ball bounce off her head.
Before long, most of Harry's team was down for the count. He dodged shots left and right, and kept on catching, but pretty soon he was all alone, and it was a show down between him and three members of the other team. He pegged one rather easily, but he was having trouble catching anything the other two threw at him.
"Go Harry!" Fiona cheered him on.
He grinned at her, and with new determination played on. One of them chucked a ball at Harry's feet. Nimbly, he dove and caught it before it hit the ground, then quickly rolled out of the way of another shot. Now there was only one opponent left, a boy Harry's age. He was rather large--but in the muscular way girls liked-- and Harry recognized him from somewhere. Probably an old schoolmate.
"Hey Fi, won't you cheer for me?" he asked.
"I want my team to win silly!" Fiona laughed. "Watch out Harry!"
Harry ducked the beach ball easily, and hurled a shot at the other boy's head.
It hit him, bouncing off harmlessly.
Harry's team cheered loudly. "Good game!" Harry said, holding out his hand to his opponent.
"Yeah whatever," he muttered, refusing to shake.
Harry raised an eyebrow. Somebody was taking this a bit too seriously. Then Harry's team picked him up. "Winner gets dunked in the pool!" Fiona shouted, and before he could say a word in protest, Harry was splashing around in ten foot deep water. At first he was a bit nervous, he hadn't really learned to swim properly (using gillyweed to swim in the Hogwarts lake hadn't really counted, since he had grown gills and flippers), but he got the hang of it pretty quickly and was soon swimming towards the side of the pool. He climbed up the ladder and began wringing out his shirt.
"You might have warned me!" he exclaimed. "I'm soaking!" At least his sandals were waterproof he thought ruefully, unstrapping his Tevas. He pulled off his shirt, and draped it on an empty lounge chair, and sat down. It was lucky he had gotten that bathing suit.
"You didn't mind, did you Harry?" Fiona asked. She was frowning, and Harry thought she looked rather pretty.
"That's okay, I can take a joke."
Fiona laughed and sat down across from Harry, and soon the pair were engaged in a lighthearted conversation. Harry hadn't realized how much he missed the company of people his own age, and he didn't even notice the boy he had beaten in dodge ball staring at him darkly.
"I'll be right back Harry, I'm going to go get some Coke," Fiona was saying, moving to get up.
Harry put his hand out. "No really, it's okay, I'll get it."
"Thanks."
Harry grinned and pulled on his white tee shirt, which had dried considerably in the late afternoon sun, and walked towards the refreshment table.
The large boy who had been Harry's opponent in dodge ball stepped in front of Harry, blocking the stairs up the porch. "What're you trying to pull kid? You think you can prance in here and steal my girl?"
Harry gulped. He had just remembered something about this particular boy. He was Malcolm, a particularly large and stupid friend of Dudley's, who had been the one responsible for catching Harry and sitting on him until Dudley could catch up and beat Harry up personally. Harry did not think it would be a good thing if Malcolm choose this moment to remember exactly who he was.
"Harry Potter!" exclaimed a shrimpy little man wearing a seedy looking suit and square shaped glasses with thick frames. Dudley's tutor.
Harry's heart sank.
"Your uncle will be very upset with you! He did not leave you with Mrs. Figg only to have you bothering the neighbors. You should be more like Dudley," he babbled in his squeaky little voice, nostrils flaring, eyes gazing upward.
Just my luck, Harry thought. Malcolm was squinting at him in a confused sort of way. Quickly, Harry turned and walked towards the soda. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Wait a minute. You're that freak that lived at Dudley's house! The one who lived in the cupboard under the stairs!" Malcolm smiled piggishly.
"You know, you would be quite attractive if you learned how to smile properly," Harry said stiffly. "Girls like that sort of thing."
Malcolm snarled angrily. Harry contemplated escape routes from the Green's backyard. Picking a fight with a muscular, fast and angry bully-- with wounded pride-- had not been a good idea. The larger boy cracked his knuckles menacingly, but, quite surprisingly, walked away, muttering something foul under his breath.
"Hey Potter!" Carl said with a friendly grin, beckoning Harry over. "You want a frankfurter? Dad just took them off the grill and they're going fast!"
Harry sighed with relief. "How 'bout some grub Carl?"
"Sure thing little man," Carl smiled, piling Harry's plate high with grilled vegetables, barbecued ribs, corn on the cob, and a frankfurter dripping with ketchup, mustard, and relish. "Oh, by the way, don't let Malcolm get to you. He has no idea what he's talking about!"
Harry smiled and poured two cups of soda. "Thanks. You mind giving me a plate for your sister?"
Carl obliged willingly, and laden down with food and drink Harry walked back over to the pool area.
Halfway there, Malcolm stuck out his foot, tripping Harry. Soda, barbecue sauce, coleslaw, ribs, frankfurters, and corn on the cob all went flying, and Harry crashed down into the sticky mess.
"Better learn not to trip over you own feet," Malcolm laughed, pointing at Harry cruelly. "Clumsy oaf, isn't he Fiona?"
Fiona ignored him. "Are you okay Harry?" she asked, kneeling down.
Harry blushed. "Yeah," he squeaked. Frowning, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He was thoroughly embarrassed, and furious with Malcolm. Mrs. Green gave him some clean cloths of Carl's, but for Harry, the rest of the night was ruined. Just once, he had fit in, a normal kid. Nobody had known or cared that he was different. His scar hadn't drawn any attention to him, no one had gasped at the mention of his name, and for the first time since the end of the Triwizard Tournament, he wasn't dwelling on Cedric's tragic death.
* * *
A/N: Aragog, in answer to your question, I invented Lauren (the female exchange student from America who is not in this part) in July of 99'. She has been my RPG character since then, and I have always wanted to write a fan fic with her in it. I wanted to write her into the third book, I wanted to write her into the fourth book. The only solution I could come up with was to write my own version of the fifth book, with her in it! Sorry for the repetitiveness, but this was an original idea I had ages ago, and it is finally being fulfilled! Thanks for the great review though!
This title was chosen for lack of a better one, but there IS going to be some stuff about the Ministry soon.
All feedback and constructive criticism welcome, but I don't appreciate being char-broiled. :)
For all of you who read this chapter before January 31, 2001, I edited and added A LOT. Sorry this took so long, but this was a really difficult chapter for me to write. I was having trouble not adding too much dialogue, and the dodge ball scene gave me some problems. I TRIED to make this part longer, really I did, I'm not sure if it worked to good.
Next Chapter: Fiona visits Harry at Mrs. Figg's house. Some interesting discoveries (MAYBE the bit about Mrs. Figg that I couldn't fit in this chapter), and I will definitely get to that owl from Cho.
DISCLAIMER: Mrs. Figg, her cats, Harry, the Dursleys, Cho Chang, Malcolm, Hedwig, the Weasleys, Stonewall, Privet Drive, ect. all belong to JK Rowling. Coke belongs to Coke. I own the Greens, Lauren, and the plot (basically).