THE PROPHECY OF FIRE
Chapter Two: The Great Escape
Written by Kouri no Ryuu
Author's Notes: Sorry that this was so long in the making. I'd had most of it done a long time ago, but there was one scene--the last--that I had trouble with. Sorry about that. It's pretty un-beta'd ... I'd say totally un-beta'd. But I hope you like it anyway. And no, I'm not quite sure what's going to happen to Vernon. You can also find this fanfiction at or at its website: .
* * * * *
"WHAT'SHH WRONG WITH YOU, BOY?!" roared Vernon Dursley, his face apopletically purple. "DIDN'T WE TELL YOU TO KEEP THAT--RUDDY--BIRD--LOCKED--UP?!" He grabbed Harry by the back of his collar and almost lifted him off the ground.
Harry tried to look calm. But he had never, not in his life, seen his uncle this angry before, and it rather scared him.
Harry could smell Vernon's breath; it reeked of cheap whisky and cigarette ash. Vernon shook Harry by his collar, and Harry grabbed his uncle's meaty fist and tried to pry off the fingers.
Vernon shook him harder. "None of that, boy!" he roared, and Harry let go. His glasses fell askew, half-on and half-off his face.
His rank breath blasted Harry full in the face. The overpowering smell of alcohol was nauseating Harry. He clutched at his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that he wouldn't puke all over Vernon.
Vernon shook Harry again. Harry flopped back and forth like a rag doll. His stomach rolled over wildly, and bile rose in his throat, but Harry swallowed it back down.
Don't hurt me ... please ... feeling sick ...
"Vernon," said Petunia in a small voice. She stood safely away from the action, nervous hands clutching her apron. "Vernon, don't kill him."
"Ssshhut up, woman!" slurred Vernon, swaying from side to side, his beady eyes glazing over.
Without warning, Vernon collapsed in a heap on the laminate wood floor. Harry, released, dropped to the ground with a thud, trembling. His hands went up to his neck and he began to gasp.
Petunia meeped and rushed over to Vernon to make sure he wasn't dead. Afer she brushed some dust away from his unconscious form, and adjusted his position to that of a more comfortable one, she turned to Harry.
Petunia straightened his shirt collar and adjusted his glasses to sit straight on his nose. After several moments, she said, "It would be best if you just ... went back to your room."
Harry nodded without saying anything and turned away. His footsteps fell heavy as he neared the stairs. Just before he stepped foot on them, his aunt spoke again, her voice timid.
"Harry?"
Harry couldn't remember a single instance in which she had ever called him by his proper name.
"Yes?" he said, turning to face her.
You old cow.
Petunia wrung her hands and refused to meet his eye. "Well ... do you mind ... please don't, umm, mention this ... incident ... to your, umm, your godfather ..."
Coward. You're not concerned about me at all. You jsut want to save your old hide from big bad Sirius Black. The escaped murderer. Bet that scares you.
"Why should I?" he asked instead.
Petunia shook her head. "This is the only time that will happen, I promise. I'll make sure nothing like that ever happens again ... Please." She glanced over he shoulder to her husband, then back at her nephew.
Her sharp eyes held a kind of fear that even Harry could recognize.
It was the fear of the mouse chased by the cat.
Harry nodded slowly, then turned back to the stairs.
* * * * *
Two days later, at noon.
Ron Weasley stood at the entrance to Hogwarts, dressed in Muggle clothes and carrying a trunk in one hand. This is where I'm supposed to be, he thought, absently glancing downwards at the letter she'd received when she replied to the first.
"Mr. Weasley, there you are," came the strict, no-nonsense voice of Professor McGonagall. "I've been searching for you."
Ron turned around, relief evident on his face. Professor McGonagall walked towards him and opened the entrance to the castle imperiously.
"Come this way," the Transfiguration teacher ordered, steering Ron up the stairs until they reached the boys' dormitories. "There's one other Gryffindor prefect that will come. I am very glad you chose to come to Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley." His ears flushed with a mixture of pride and pleasure.
"Professor?" asked Ron tentatively, a bit overwhelmed.
McGonagall shot a slightly surprised look at him. "Yes?" she queried.
"You said something about Harry and the Dursleys in your letter?"
"Yes, that," she responded, nodding sharply. "Don't worry about it right now. You should get settled in. After you do, please make your way to the Headmaster's office. He will brief you on what you'll be doing. The password is 'white chocolate'. I suppose you've heard the news?"
"About Lucius Malfoy popping off? Yeah, I got it with the prefect letter. What'll happen to Malfoy and his mum?"
A frown creased the deputy Headmistress's brow. "We're still not sure. Mrs. Malfoy has opened up their--hers, now--manor house for the Ministry to inspect. That's a few points in her favor. And young Malfoy's never done anything illegal--so far. He has no record of law-breaking. In fact, he's a Slytherin prefect this year. He's already arrived."
Ron attempted not to gag. Not particularly wanting to continue on the topic of Draco Malfoy, he changed the subject. "Who are the other Gryffindor prefects?" He knew Lavender or Parvati couldn't be prefects.
McGonagall nodded, like she'd expected that question. "Nerissa Warbeck'll be coming here in a few days--she's a sixth year prefect, so is Rina Taget, who isn't coming this summer, and neither is your friend, Miss Granger. Sadly, this year," she heaved a deep sigh of disappointment, "there aren't any seventh years. Oh, and Seamus Finnegan, he's here. Your year, I believe?" the deputy Headmistress stated (it was not really a question) in her usual brisk and detached manner before turning to leave.
Ron dropped his trunk next to a bed and began to unpack it thoughtfully. He didn't know much about the other prefect. In fact, they'd never met. As he pulled out his spare black robes, hat, and dragon hide gloves, he thought, I wonder what she'll be like. Good thing Seamus is here ...
Up in Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster watched Fawkes the pheonix shed a few more feathers. He heard a knock on the door and a muffled voice.
"Headmaster?"
"Do come in, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore called out, still staring at Fawkes. He turned around when Ron entered, looking apprehensive.
"Sir? Professor McGonagall told me to come here after I unpacked my trunk," he said nervously. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Oh, yes, on the matter of Harry. Come here," he said, beckoning him to move forward. "I put a minor scrying spell on Harry before he left Hogwarts," he informed Ron, leaning forward. "The conditions he lives in at the Dursleys' are questionable at best. Here is what I'd like you to do, Ron ..."
* * * * *
Two days later, at noon.
Life cannot become worse, Harry Potter thought morosely. He leaned back onto his bed. Nothing is worse than this.
A sharp rap on his door roused him from his thoughts. Internally he groaned. Do I have to water and fertilize Petunia's flowerbeds again? he wondered. "Yes?"
"There's a young man here to see you! Says you did something to his grandmother's flowers!" Petunia's voice reverberated sharply through the small room.
Bewildered, Harry sat up and walked to the door. "What?" he asked, opening the door.
Ron stood at the bottom of the steps. He stared at his friend, shocked. "Mr. Figg, tell Harry your story," Petunia said sweetly to Ron.
Ron swallowed nervously. "My grandmother, Arabella Figg, lives next door." It was surprisingly easy for him to lie. "I'm her grandson and I'm visiting her from Kent. I went out for a few groceries to make dinner. When I came back, she said a teenage boy with black hair and green eyes and a funny scar on his head had mutilated her flowerbed. She couldn't stop him, she's getting on in years, you know. Saw him through a window, she says. Mostly rare, expensive flowers," Ron added for good measure.
"Well, boy?" demanded Petunia, turning sharply to Harry. "What have you got to say for yourself?" Ron's eyes looked at him, pleading with him to play along, though he hadn't the foggiest where this was going.
Harry lowered his head. "Yes, I did it," he admitted, and he saw Ron give him a quick wink. Petunia's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"All those rare and expensive flowers, and all you can say is 'Yes, I did it'?!" his bony aunt shrieked. "How dare you?!"
Ron intervened. "Mrs. Dursley?" he asked quietly. Petunia turned to face him.
"Yes, my dear?" Apparently Petunia was fond of anyone who got Harry in trouble.
He hesitated before continuing. "Well, my grandmother has an idea. She wants me to watch him mend her flowerbed." Harry thought he detected the hint of a malicious smile growing on Petunia's face. "It'll take hours, you know," Ron added in a rush. "Good, hard work for four or so hours should teach him a lesson, she says." Of course, thought a relieved Harry.
A glint appeared in Petunia's eyes, and Harry gulped nervously. No doubt she would insist on watching him work and he'd never escape. But Petunia said, "That sounds fair to me. Drop him off when he's done, will you? And don't let him out of your sight." Ron nodded obediently.
The horse-faced woman pivoted on her heel, calling out, "Duddykins, dear, did you do your summer homework?"
The second Petunia walked out of earshot, Ron turned to Harry with a grin. "Dumbledore sent me to rescue you," he confided. "Where's your trunk and Hedwig's cage? I'm going to bewitch them to Hogwarts."
Puzzled, Harry shook his head. "Underage witches and wizards can't do magic out of school," he reminded him.
"It's a restriction, they don't forbid magic out of Hogwarts when there's an emergency," Ron whispered impatiently, then sheepishly grinned. "Sorry," he said, "Dumbledore told me there's a loophole yesterday."
"Oh, that's right," Harry whispered back. "Hermione said something like that when we flew the car to Hogwarts in our second year."
"Where's your bedroom, Harry?" he hissed, and Harry took him upstairs. When Petunia came to check on them, she glanced out the window and saw Harry working in the garden.
"Here," Harry said quietly, pulling up a loose floorboard. He picked up pieces of parchment, a quill, some ink, and a few schoolbooks. "The trunk's locked in the cupboard downstairs, I was able to filch a few things in the middle of the night."
"Wow," Ron admitted, glancing around his room, if one could call it that. "Dumbledore told me the living conditions here for you were bad, but I didn't imagine they were this bad." Harry shrugged, a bit embarrassed. Ron waved his wand over Hedwig's cage, murmuring a chant, and in with a pop it disappeared. Harry, though, didn't notice. He kept peeking hastily out the crack in his bedroom door, waiting for Petunia to catch them.
Carrying all his pilfered school items in his arms, he whispered urgently, "C'mon, hurry up. Petunia's going to catch us." Ron shook his head with a mysterious grin and refused to say anything.
"Alohomora," Ron whispered, unlocking the cupboard underneath the stairs. He opened the trunk itself and quietly dumped all of Harry's stuff in it. Ron glanced at Harry in embarrassment. "I can't charm something this heavy to go to Hogwarts," he admitted quietly. "We'll have to carry it outside."
"What?" Harry asked in a normal tone of voice, forgetting for a moment to be quiet. They both heard footsteps in the hallway. They crammed themselves into the cupboard and closed it almost all the way. Ron was tall and lanky, and almost squished Harry. Through the small crack, they saw Petunia come to investigate and then turn away with a shrug.
Ron was the first to open the door on his side and step out. He gestured for Harry to come out too. After a few seconds of stretching, they noticed Petunia washing some dishes. Every few seconds she would turn and look through the window and then turn back with a satisfied smile. For some reason, this made Ron grin even more.
As quietly as possible, the two friends crept out of the door and into the front yard. Harry saw himself working on the flowerbeds at Ms. Figg's house. Ron stood over him, barking out what looked like orders. "What?" he asked, amazed, pointing at the image. Ron chuckled.
"That's an enchantment," he told Harry. "Arabella Figg--the real one--conjured it for me so that Petunia wouldn't get suspicious. That's what she saw out of the kitchen window," she added. Hermione led Harry across the street, where someone had parked a red Ferrari.
"So, how many Figgs are there?" Harry asked, plainly confused. "The Dursleys' next-door neighbor, Mrs. Figg, can't be a witch."
"Arabella is one of Sirius's old friends; I pretended to be her grandson," Ron explained as they crossed the road to the parked car. "Mind you don't tell her that, though, she's not that old."
A woman--Harry guessed her to be about Sirius' and Remus' age--sat in the driver's seat on the right side. When she saw Ron and Harry, she beamed. "I wondered when you'd get back," she said. Her voice sounded rich and full with something of an Irish accent. "I'm Arabella Figg."
"Can you drive?" Harry asked cautiously. Arabella looked at him in surprise.
"Of course, what made you think I couldn't?"
"Well," Harry began, "most witches and wizards can't even operate a telephone"--Ron grinned--"much less a car."
Arabella nodded. "Well, I'm Muggle-born, known how to drive for years. Don't worry, you're safe with me. Come on, get in."
* * * * *
"Um, can I ask you something?" Harry asked, leaning forward so Figg could hear him, as he sat behind her. Unfamiliar land swept past on either side of Figg's Ferrari: forests he'd never seen, thick with trees.
Figg started and they almost drove off the road. "Um, sure."
"Where are we going?" Harry said. "Sorry, but this doesn't really look like the way to Hogwarts ..."
Figg turned to frown at Ron, almost driving into a tree as she did so. "You didn't tell him?"
Ron shrugged. "Was I supposed to?"
"Yes."
"Oh, okay then." He turned to face Harry. "We're not going to Hogwarts," he said, his face perfectly straight.
Harry felt as though he was getting nowhere. "So, then ... where are we going?"
Ron burst out laughing. "Shoulda seen the look on your face, like we were a pair of idiots." He grinned. "We're going to Ms. Figg's house."
"And ... why?" Harry wanted to know.
This time Figg spoke. "You're in a lot of danger--you know that, right?"
"Yeah, from Vol--You-Know-Who." He looked at Figg, unsure whether to trust her completely. "He rose again this summer--you know, right?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, unfortunately, I do." She sighed, taking a sharp corner at sixty miles an hour. "Sometimes it would be nice to be like Fudge ..."
Ron looked at her hard. "Why Fudge?"
She shook her head. "Never mind."
I am never going to let her drive again, thought Harry, grabbing the car door as they zoomed over a series of potholes. Doesn't she care that I'll end up bouncing right out of the car? Stupid potholes. It can't be safe.
"Is it because he's a blind idiot?" asked Harry. Ron and Figg snorted.
"Absolutely right, my boy," she said with a smile, narrowly missing a mailbox. "He simply won't admit what's staring him right in the face ..."
"Then why did you say it would be a good thing?"
"I don't know ... not having to deal with all of this would be nice, I meant."
Ron frowned. "What are you guys talking about?"
"At the end of last year? When Fudge came after I ... got back ... and he was all over Crouch Junior, who said the Dark Lord would be coming back, and he didn't believe me when I said I'd been there."
Ron snapped his fingers. "Right! I remember that. What a git."
"Here we are," announced Figg, braking rather precariously near the front gate. "Come on inside, boys."
"And thank God," muttered Ron, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Figg either didn't notice or ignored it.
She tapped her wand against the gate and murmured a charm. The gate sprang open, revealing a large castle with enormous gardens and ... a moat?
Ron stared. "How on earth do you hide this thing? And who has a moat these days, anyway?"
"The moat's a security precaution. Lots of spells. Unplottable, you know, you can't put it on a map. Muggle-Repelling charms covering it. That sort of thing. And the gate will only open when it hears only two voices: mine or ... a friend's. Oh, and you can't see it--the castle--until the gate opens."
Harry's eyes narrowed a little as he though of Sirius. Was that who she was talking about? A friend? Or that other guy ... the Fletcher guy. Him?
"Now, you're staying here, Harry," said Figg, leading them over a drawbridge and into the castle. "And Ron, I believe you'll be going back to Hogwarts?"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Dumbledore didn't say."
She sighed. "Right. You can stay for the night, I guess. I'll talk to Dumbledore about it. He should be okay with it. And I think it'll do Harry some good to have someone his age around."
"You can't be that old," Harry said. "You look only ..."
Figg blew her breath out of the corner of her mouth, her bangs flying up. "Go ahead ... say it. Fifty. Sixty. Eighty."
Harry stared at her. "I was going to say thirty, actually."
She brightened up. "Really? Thanks."
"Yes, anyway," Ron said. "Is this place yours?" He gazed around him in awe, taking it all in--the crystal chandelier, the high ceiling, the shag carpet, the Turkish rugs, the expensive-looking wall-hangings ...
She smiled fondly at her castle. "Yeah. Really nice place. Not too cheap, though. But I didn't pay for it all."
"Really?" Harry asked. "Who did?"
"Oh ... Dumbledore ... some friends," she said vaguely, waving her hand around. "You know."
Harry didn't know, actually, but he wasn't about to press the issue.
* * * * *
Harry, Ron, and Figg sat at the dining table, sipping mugs of tea. It was almost pitch-black outside; the only source of light was a few candles placed around the table.
"You know," mused Ron, "I could really get used to this ..."
Figg traced the top of her mug with the tip of her finger. "Well, boys, there's something I have to talk to you about."
"Mmm? Really?" said Harry lazily. It was nice and warm, a relaxing setting, and the tea was wonderful ... he wondered what exactly was in it ...
"Don't tell anyone you saw me," she said.
Ron sat up straight, the tea in his mug sloshing over the edge. "Don't tell anyone we saw you? Why not?"
"Nobody's supposed to know I'm still alive."
"You're supposed to be dead?" asked Ron, his eyes wide.
She pressed her lips together, aware that she'd slipped about the "still alive" part. "Well ... it's a little more complicated than that, Ron. I was ... presumed ... dead a long time ago, and I saw no need to correct anyone about it."
"Why'd you let them think that?" asked Harry, his voice quiet.
Figg smiled humorlessly. "Curiosity killed the cat, my dears. And while I'm aware that neither of you is a cat, curiosity can be just as deadly to other species."