"Come on mum, let me have just a bit. I'm starving!"

Ginny smiled at the sound of her brother's pleading voice. It was his umpteenth vain attempt to ask for some food. She glanced up from the book she was reading to look at Ron. She was in the kitchen with her mother, where she was asked to wait for a task to do.

"Now Ron," returned Mrs. Weasley sharply, "We're not going to eat until Harry comes."

Her back was to him. She was concentrating on a bubbling pot that she had magicked to boil. "Goodness," she said to herself, "It's nearly five 'o' clock." Mrs. Weasley picked up her wand, about to charm the food to self-stir itself, then paused. Suspiciously, another complaint hadn't come from Ron. Eyes narrowed, she turned quickly and slapped Ron's hand, which was sneaking stealthily toward the puddings.

"Serves you right," she said in an aggravated tone. "Now, out! Go clean your room, Harry will be here soon!"

Ginny laughed as Ron walked past her. He scowled at her, but she merely smirked and stuck her tongue out at him. He glowered even more, but under Mrs. Weasley's watchful eye, he did not retaliate. With an exasperated noise, he left the kitchen. Ginny giggled and turned back to her book; it was compiled of short stories. Old as it was, she adored it.

"Ginny?"

For a second, she thought her mother had caught her teasing Ron.

"Yes?" she replied cautiously, expecting a reprimand.

Mrs. Weasley was putting her wand in her apron pocket. "Would you mind watching this?" She indicated the pot, which was bubbling steadily.

Ginny sighed quietly with relief. "All right mum." She put down her book on the counter as Mrs. Weasley went past her and disappeared into the living room. Bored, she stared blankly at the mixture in the pot, folding and mixing itself at a sluggish pace.  She wrinkled her nose in distaste. What was this, anyway?  It looked sort of . . . orangey. The fruitless thought was interrupted by the conversation in the other room.

". . . Just be kinder toward him, Ron. He's had a difficu– "

"Mum! I know already. You think I was going . . ."

It was Mrs. Weasley and Ron. Their voices faded a little; it was hard to catch the words. Ginny took one last look at orangey concoction, deemed it did not require supervision, and edged toward the discussion in the other room. She walked along the length of the wall, pressed her hands on the doorframe, and peered carefully into the room. She could see Ron and her mother talking at the foot of the stairs. Ron had an expression of slight annoyance on his face.

"If he looks like he wants to be alone, give him his space, " continued Mrs. Weasley.

"I know, I know," said Ron. "You're acting like I haven't known Harry for four years."

"He's been through a lot. Experiences, especially the horrid one he went through, change a person."

Ginny drew away from the door.  She felt a familiar feeling course through her at the sound of that name.  So, they were talking about Harry. She walked back to the counter, nipped a carrot of a dish with one hand, and picked up her book with the other. She felt butterflies in her stomach, as she usually felt every time Harry came to the Burrow.  Naturally, she looked forward to Harry's visits.  Though they rarely talked, it was nice to be in close company to him; at least she didn't turn beet red and become impossibly clumsy at the sight of him anymore.

She nibbled the carrot in her hand, contemplating the incidents at Hogwarts last year. Harry had practically been the center of them. From Professor Dumbledore and her parents, she heard of the horrendous experience he went through. Witnessing the death of Cedric Diggory, coming face-to-face with Lord Voldemort – and seeing his parents as lifeless apparitions . . .a shudder went through her at the thought of it. 

She wasn't quite sure how Voldemort came back, but Harry had been there, she knew that much. He had faced him a fourth time, and had survived. She opened her book, flipping through it absentmindedly. She was not really concentrating on the text, but on her mother's words, which played back to her 'He's been through a lot . . . Experiences, especially the horrid one he went just went through, change a person.'

Had he changed a great deal? It was difficult for her to tell. She certainly hadn't asked him how he was, but had wanted to. All she could note was external appearance. She tried to recall how he had looked after the third task; so much different from the first time she saw him. 'Yes, definitely different,' she thought vaguely.  A certain quality rested in him, one that hadn't existed before, or that she hadn't noticed before. He had looked . . . older. Her eyebrows furrowed. 'No, that isn't the right word,' she thought, feeling a little ridiculous. Of course he was older, but . . .

What was it then? He hadn't looked angry or depressed; it was almost as if he was tired.  He really wasn't older, but so very young.  Too young to have burdens like Voldemort or death in his life.  'And he's had those burdens, since he was born.' Ginny often heard her mum speak of Harry in that manner, and she herself had realized this before her third year at Hogwarts. It became more apparent after the Triwizard Tournament, though. She then realized how he looked different. There was something weighty in his appearance. As if the entire burden he's had to carry on his shoulders was beginning to sag. He had looked deep in thought the last term, and she wondered what could be on his mind. There was an almost haunting expression on his face. It was as if he were fluttering through a dream; a terrible dream he couldn't wake from.

She would like to do something, to offer him consolation or even a few friendly words, but it would seem rather awkward.  After all he's been through, words like 'Sorry about what happened,' seemed to simplify the means she would like to get across to him.  Yet, she could not express her deepest condolences to him; it wasn't her place to tell him those sort of things.  He had friends for that. Ron and Hermione. They were the people he confided in, and they were there for him. They were his best friends. He didn't need her, or want her, or even really know her. 'And I know that,' thought Ginny. She focused determinedly on her book. A faint feeling stirred in her stomach, a wistful feeling, which she hated.  'But still . . . ' She would still like to be his friend. She really would, but he was so – distant.

Ginny put down her book, suddenly not having the desire to read it anymore. She picked up and spoon from the counter, dipped it into the viscous substance she was 'supervising,' and sampled it. Stirring the pot a little, she licked her lips thoughtfully. It was quite good, whatever it was.

☼ ☼ ☼

Harry sat on the couch in the living room, his hands knotted in his lap. He glanced at the grandfather clock; It was five-fifteen. His belongings were already packed and ready to go, but Dumbledore hadn't arrived. Hard as he focused to sit still, his body refused to cooperate. He leaned back on the couch, and sat forward, crossed and uncrossed his arms.  'It's only a quarter past,' he told himself firmly. 'It's not that late.' Although, he had always thought Professor Dumbledore a punctual sort of person.

He glanced up the stairway. There hadn't been a sound for nearly an hour. It was a deadly silence, though. Dumbledore's lateness was probably adding fuel to the fire that was Uncle Vernon's temper. Harry knew by now the Dursleys considered people of the wizarding world to be never on time, as a well as abnormal and dangerous. Harry stood up and sat back down. He wanted to leave badly.

He had told Uncle Vernon yesterday about Professor Dumbledore coming to pick him up. The response was extraordinary, in a way. Uncle Vernon had told Harry (in so many words) he refused to meet 'that old fool' and would stay upstairs. Harry tried to hide the relief on his face when he'd heard that. He would tell Professor Dumbledore his Uncle wasn't feeling well, if he were asked. Uncle Vernon had also said would not come down until they 'take Harry away.'

'I wish Dumbledore would come and take me away soon,' thought Harry. He leaned one elbow on the arm of the sofa, still looking at the clock. Hedwig gave a soft hoot, as if sensing his tension, and Harry put his fingers through the cage and stroked her feathers. More minutes ticked by. It was half past five.

A knock sounded from the doorway so suddenly Harry jumped, disrupting Hedwig's cage. She hooted indignantly, and pecked his hand in a reprimanding manner. Harry stood up to get the door; thankful Professor Dumbledore had finally arrived. When he opened the door, however, he quickly wanted to slam it shut. 

"Hello Harry. How have you been?"

Harry gaped, loosing all the feeling in his legs.  Oh no. This was very bad.

"Mrs. Figg?" he croaked. He cleared his throat. "What are you . . I mean, er – how are you?" His expression was purely bewildered.

"Just fine, thanks." She stepped into the door, surveying the room. Harry stood fixed on his spot, not knowing what to do. He hadn't known the Aunt Petunia was expecting a guest. His mouth opened and closed to speak, but he couldn't think of a word to say.

"Aunt and Uncle home?" she asked Harry. She began shuffling through her green bag, which displayed very interesting patchwork.

Harry nodded mutely. Aunt Petunia wouldn't invite someone over at this time, he knew she wouldn't. The Dursleys would never take the chance if it involved someone finding out about their connection with the wizarding world. Maybe it was a surprise visit. And if it was . . . what was he going to do?

"I see all your things are packed up," said Mrs. Figg, making Harry jump again. She took no regard to Hedwig.

Harry nodded vaguely, his mind still reeling. He couldn't send her away. But, she couldn't be here. She just couldn't. Dumbledore might be here any minute, and here was Mrs. Figg, pulling out a wand. "A wand?" Harry said aloud,  snapping0 to attention. Mrs. Figg blew a bit of dust of the end of the wand, looking at Harry with interest. He looked from the wand to Mrs. Figg in disbelief. She was smiling very slightly.

"Are you a – witch?" The words were incredulous. He barely heard himself saying them.

Mrs. Figg actually laughed. It sounded very bizarre coming from her. The change in her manner was incredible. It was not that she looked any different. She was still old, still wore hand-knitted clothes, and still smelled of cats. Her demeanor was what had completely changed. She was acting like a stranger to Harry. She looked cheerful and gave him warm smiles, a great contrast to her usual crooked expression. He had always thought her a bit mad, but that had faded as well.

"Ready?" She stood by Harry's things, her wand raised.

Harry started at her abruptness. "What, right now?" he asked.

"Well, I see no need to waste time," Harry noted the briskness in her nature. She motioned him to come near her.

"I thought Professor Dumbledore was going to pick me up."  He said curiously.

"Professor Dumbledore is very busy these days Harry. I'm the next best thing."

'Next best thing?' He thought quizzically. "How, er, what do you mean?"

"Well, I'm a very powerful witch Harry. I needed to be."

"But . . . why?" Harry hoped he wasn't asking too many questions, but Mrs. Figg seemed to be leading him to ask one after another.

"I'm your guardian in the Muggle world, Harry. That's a very important job." She paused in afterthought. "I'm one of few, actually."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say to that. He walked up to Mrs. Figg. There were people in the Muggle World who watched over him? He began to wonder who possibly it could be, but those inquiries shoved to the back of his mind when Mrs. Figg raised her wand again. Going to the Weasleys became his main concern again. He could ask more questions later.

Mrs. Figg laid a gnarled hand on his shoulder. She gripped her wand very surely in the other hand. It suddenly dawned on Harry what kind of magic she was going to use. He turned his head to ask, when his vision blocked out.

Harry tripped, but something caught his balance very quickly again. It was the ground. It was as if it had flickered off for a second. He looked around, still stunned. The Dursley's living room had disappeared, and new location was familiar.  He was at the Burrow. Before he could completely come to sorts, someone ran to him and embraced him tightly. The force of the hug nearly knocked off his glasses.

"Oh Harry dear, I'm so glad your safe."

It was Mrs. Weasley. Harry caught sight of Ron over her shoulder. His finger was pointing to his ear, and he was twirling it slightly.  He was grinning, though.

"You can let him breathe now, mum," said someone good-naturedly.

It was one of the twin's voices. Mrs. Weasley withdrew. "Oh, sorry Harry," She straightened his collar and glasses, looking at him with a concerned face. "Are you alright? Did you have a safe trip . . . you look worn out dear . . . "

"I'm fine," he replied, hiding a smile.

He bent to pick up his things. Mrs. Weasley turned to the three Weasley boys behind her. From the looks on their faces, Harry could tell Mrs. Weasley was looking at them expectantly.

"Well, help him with his things," she finally said.

"Oh no, I can get it," said Harry quickly. Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

"They need something constructive to do," she said tersely, glaring at Fred and George. They, however, both grinned and flashed Harry thumbs-up signs. Mrs. Weasley looked a little baffled.

"We live to serve," declared George, picking up Hedwig's cage. They both lugged Harry's things upstairs. Ron stayed behind with him. Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley turned to Mrs. Figg, and took her hands graciously and shook them. "Thank you for bringing him Arabella."

Mrs. Figg nodded. "Was no trouble at all," she said "Besides, it only took a minute." Harry was all of a sudden curious on how they got here.

"Did we Disapparate?" he asked. It was the only conclusion he had come to.

"It is sort of like Disapparation, but with more than one person," she replied. "I had to go through some training. It's a privileged power, and is only used in emergency situations, really."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley suddenly. "I left something cooking." She said goodbye to Mrs. Figg and hurried back to the kitchen.  Mrs. Figg brandished her wand again.

"I'll be off now, " she said, straightening her hat.

"'Bye Mrs. Figg," said Harry quickly. " . . .and, thank you."

She pinched Harry's cheek affectionately. "Take care of yourself, Harry," she said. She stood up straight, raising her wand over her head, and was suddenly gone.

"C'mon," said Ron. Harry stopped looking at the spot where Mrs. Figg had just been standing. "Maybe if we both beg, my mum will give us some food."

"I wouldn't count on it," said a blunt voice. It was coming from the entrance to the kitchen. Harry turned and saw Ginny standing in the doorway. She was leaning slightly on the doorframe, holding a stack of plates with a book laid on top.  Her bright hair was in a ponytail, a wry grin on her face.   "Hello Harry," she said affably.

"Hi Ginny," he replied.  He glanced at the heavy load in her hands.  "You need some help?"

Ron gave an exaggerated groan, his mind quite apparently still on food. "It's already past six," he complained.

Ginny shrugged. "I know," she said. She lifted the plates she was holding a bit. "I've been assigned table-setting duty for eating – um, whatever that stuff she's cooking was. And she wants your help too Ron."

Ron was aghast. "But I didn't eat anything! That's not fair."

He walked grumpily to the kitchen, and Ginny stepped aside as he huffed past her.  She looked as if she was trying not to laugh.  Harry found it hard not to laugh as well.  He walked towards the kitchen, again offering Ginny assistance.

She went slightly pink when he asked her again, but shook her head.

"Thanks for offering," she answered. She went to set the tables outside. Ron called him from the kitchen.

"Hey Harry! Come help me with these table – "

"Ron! I told you to do that."

Harry laughed; glad he was back with the Weasleys. He felt much more relaxed, and joined Ron and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen; it was comforting to be back among people who really knew him, and cared about him.

☼ ☼ ☼

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/U: Whew! This is much longer than chapter one. As for Arabella Figg, she is mentioned in book four as being part of the wizarding circle, but I don't even know if it's the same Figg as Harry's neighbor. Ah well, for this fic, it is ^-^