Wheeh, chapter two. I wasn't sure how to write old British ladies, so I sort of went for the forgetful grandmother approach. Sorry it looks a little short, I'm trying to make them long but my brain doesn't think as fast as I type.

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Harry cautiously pushed the wood paneled doorbell of #6 Privet Drive, where Mrs. Figg lived. Her house was practically identical to the Dursley's, except for the decorating tastes were very different. Her lawn in front was much smaller, and not as neatly kept. If Harry strained his ears enough, he could hear Uncle Vernon's booming voice yelling at someone. A crack in the time-weathered door appeared, and one deep blue eye peeked out. Then, Mrs. Figg opened the door, and the whole of her was visible. She was wearing a dress very much in the 1950s style, with a bias flared skirt that seemed to ripple. A rose pattern covered the length of it, and it complimented her petite figure. The old woman's flaxen hair was streaked with silver white strands, but her cheeks were rosy nevertheless. A red homespun apron covered her dress.

"Why, the Harry boy is here!" she exclaimed cheerfully, sticking her pale hand out to shake Harry's. "I almost forgot, silly me. I seem to forget a lot of things these days." Mrs. Figg sighed. "They never said getting old was very much fun. Oh! I'm sorry, love. I can't believe I left you at the doorstep for so long. I thought you were- someone else."

Her blue eyes turned a bit cloudy for a moment, but then returned to their normal color. "I'll help you with your trunk."

"No, really, you don't have to, Mrs. Figg. I can-" Harry protested. He didn't want the older woman to break her back or something- he'd heard horror stories about elderly women stuck like a bent nail.

She waved her hand about, ignoring Harry's objections. "Nonsense. I'm as strong as a cow."

Harry couldn't really think of a remark on what to say about that comment. "Er... Okay then." They both took two sides of the trunk, one of the snaps getting caught on Harry's loose-fitting dark jeans. He winced for a second, but finally managed to get it into her house, hefting most of it on his side.

Mrs. Figg smiled brilliantly, as though to prove her statement. "See? Strong as a cow, I am."

Harry suppressed a grin.

Now inside the house, Harry could tell it hadn't changed. Once getting into the door, you would enter a living room, full of plump and sagging leather couches, covered with colorful crocheted blankets Mrs. Figg had made herself. Harry could already see one calico and one tabby cat lounging on the two long couches, perpendicular from each other. A shiny mahogany table held a silver tea set resting on a china platter, and a couple of "Hello!" magazines.

Mrs. Figg saw him staring at the magazines, thinking the same thing Harry was thinking. "Oh, I don't read that trash. I just have it laying around in case visitors come. Of course, if you read them, then that's-" she was at a loss for words.

Harry continued looking in the cream and white wallpapered area, the rug on the bottom matching the colors of the walls and the old leather couches. Several bookcases lined the walls, holding old and boring looking books. One shelf occupied several photographs, one of which was a a sort of old looking one, as if it had been taken in the 60s or so. It showed a teenage girl that looked remarkably like Mrs. Figg, and a handsome boy with dark hair about the same age, arms flung over each others' shoulders. It rather reminded him of the picture of him, Hermione, and Ron, except this one wasn't moving.

"Your house is great," Harry told her, trying to be nice.

"Thank you, lovey! Would you like to see your bedroom for the next 3 weeks?" she asked kindly.

"Sure," Harry told her, getting a tight hold on the trunk. She guided him through the living room, Harry being careful to not tread on any of the cats (they really did stink up the house). Then, they reached a small hallway flooded with light from a large window at the back. A small stool stood the purpose of holding a large plastic plant under the window, making an odd shadow on the glossy wood floors. She walked briskly to the end of the hallway, turning right and showing him into the doorway.

Harry had never stayed longer than 9 hours at Mrs. Figg's, so he had never needed a bed. Or a room, for that matter.

Inside the room, at the end, was a large white double bed, with a blue and white patched quilt. Two small nighttables stood watch next to the bed, a jug of water on one, and a lamp on the other. A comfortable looking chaise lounge was set next to the two windows, its blue suade appearance looking very welcoming. A blue rag rug dusted the wood floors, and various paintings of china dishes were along the walls of the light and airy room. The windows were open, and suddenly, he could hear an extremely loud high-pitched scream coming from next door.

"Good lord, what is that sound?" asked Mrs. Figg, very surprised. The Dursley were most of the time very quiet, and the green hedge helped block some of the sound coming from the house next door.

Harry looked out the window, grinning. "Just the sound of a very surprised mother." He didn't have to wonder what the sound was. He strained his ears, hoping to catch some of their conversation.

"Well, I'll just let you settle in. Yell if you need anything. Later tonight, I can show you some more pictures of Froosky! He's such a lovely kitty..." her voice trailed off, and she smiled happily and walked out of the room, leaving Harry alone to hear what the Dursleys were saying. Usually, nothing was interesting at the Dursley's unless he wasn't there. It was always such fun to get Dudley in trouble, because Dudley got him in trouble a lot more than the former. He sat down on the blue quilted bed, finding it quite comfortable and not at all squeaky.

Then, he could hear his aunt screaming for Vernon. "Vernon! Come heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeereeee!"

"Mum! Go away! I had left a Mars bar in the pocket of my trousers and I was ju-" yelled Dudley. The space between Mrs. Figg's and the Dursley's was really only about 10 feet, and just the tiny hedge seperating them. Harry hadn't had so much fun getting somebody else in trouble since Draco Malfoy came along.

"Do you think I don't know what you were doing? And us about to leave for holidays? Young man, that is disgraceful and it'll shriv-" Mrs. Dursley's voice probably could be heard through the entire neighborhood. Harry felt sorry for the rest of the houses on this street.

"Go away!" screamed Dudley, whose high and whiney voice was barely distinguishable from Mrs. Dursley's.

"What is going on? What happened to Ron? Is he all right?" asked Mr. Dursley, who sounded a bit out of breath, apparently just have arrived in the room. Then, he must have seen Mrs. Dursley's look on her face, judging by the force of the next blow up.

"What did that-that- VERMIN WIZARD of a boy do to you, son?" he yelled roughly. "I'LL GET HIM! I'LL GO OVER INTO HIS ROOM AND BEA-"

"Harry didn't do a thing. He's at the old lady's house next door," said Mrs. Dursley, with a certain amount of patience through her voice.

"Could you two please stuff it a little more? Everybody can hear you!" said Dudley, obviously humiliated.

"Then what bloody happened here?" he asked, growling and getting impatient.

"Well..." started Mrs. Dursley, her voice getting into lecture-mode for Dudley, which she never ever had to do before. "There comes a time in every man's life when- certain feelings arise... And, well, your son was... Doing what all boys do."

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL!" shouted Uncle Vernon. "HE WASN'T!"

"He was, love. Now calm down. It's perfectly natural and normal..." she trailed off, giving Dudley some time to yell.

"Mum! Just drop it, all right. I promise I'll never do it again. I love you," said Dudley, even more mortified, trying to shake off his father, who had apparently gripped his arm forcefully by the wincing in his voice.

"IT'S NOT NORMAL! IT'LL SHRIVEL OFF AND THEN WE'LL NEVER HAVE GRANDCHILDREN!" shouted Mr. Dursley. Probably the entire town could hear them by now.

Harry didn't have to keep in his laughter now. "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAAA!!!" let out Harry. This too much to handle. This was possibly the funniest thing he had ever heard the Dursleys talk about. And he'd heard a lot. He flopped back on his new bed, finally noticing the odd painting on the ceiling of all things.

It was a heart, with a dagger inserted into it. Several blue vines crept in and out of a circular hoop, around the heart and the rusty dagger. "Some break-up she must of had," thought Harry, blinking slightly. It might be a little harder to sleep tonight, but he'd manage.

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Since this chapter was so small, I'm probably going to take the next chapter and smush it onto this one. Sorry it was so short, I just started school and I've got a lot of A level classes I have to pass.