IChapter 2: St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

"Well boy?" Uncle Vernon hissed, his beefy face turning an extremely unattractive shade of red; "Have you sent it yet?"

Harry's own face had gone unusually pale at that moment, and he was staring at the cobblestone walk intently. His mind was buzzing at all the possibilities of what could happen, and he was quite aware that none of them were anything near good. In fact, nearly all of them ended up with a strange group of people buzzing around his living room.

"BOY?!" At this point, Uncle Vernon's head looked like it was on the verge of exploding.

Harry glanced up at him, now would be the perfect time to get a rise out of him, but then again – he would have to send a letter now to even possibly get it their in time. And if he told Uncle Vernon – he'd be screaming at him for a day or so, and he wouldn't have time.

So he glanced up, and said in a hushed voice; "Yeah, yeah I have."

Uncle Vernon stared at him for a moment as if challenging him. Harry looked up at him defiantly – meeting his gaze as best he could. In a clearer, more firm voice he said again; "Yeah, I have."

They remained that way for a while, Harry looking up at him defiantly and Uncle Vernon looking fearful and questioning; and they probably would have continued to do so – except there came a defiant roar from up and down the street – the roar of a motorbike – more specifically, the motorbike that belonged to Harry's gigantic cousin, Dudley.

Uncle Vernon turned around at the sound, just in time to see Dudley whizzing past. In that time, Harry half jumped up (knocking into 'Marv' in the process) and ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

However, to his horror – as he went sliding into his bedroom, he remembered something – Hedwig was out hunting for the night. Her cage stood empty beside the clear window, the newspaper lining rustling in the breeze – as Harry's heart fell to the pit of his stomach.

"No…" He whispered weakly – normally, he wouldn't have minded seeing the members of the Order, but he was afraid…well, he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. It's not as if he cared how the Dursley's reputation withstand the appearance or anything – in fact, he was sure it would be pretty amusing to see Uncle Vernon staring in horror as a green haired Tonks came running up the walkway…but he also had the feeling that if he slipped up this time, they would never shake the feeling of fear they had for him and would strive to protect him (and baby him) more then ever.

He was about to basically crumple in an exasperated heap, when something like a light bulb dimmed on in his head – Ms. Figg.

Ms. Figg was his slightly batty next-door neighbor, who smelt vaguely of cats. Last year, however, he had learned that she wasn't just batty – she was a Squib. A Squib, of course, was a person born into a wizarding family without any magic. But unlike Muggles, they have knowledge of the magical world…and it was just Harry's luck that this particular Squib, just happened to be in close contact with the Order of the Phoenix.

As quickly, if not quicker, as he had run into the room, he turned around – and dashed out – his hair flying into his face as he did so, unfortunately as he was half-blinded by his hair, he didn't see where he was running when he was knocked off his feet when he ran into something very large

In fact, as he looked up, he realized it wasn't much different from a wall – in fact it was his older cousin, Dudley. Dudley, was now larger then ever, and he spent most of his time making extraordinary ugly faces in the mirror and flexing his muscles and patting his stomach, probably wondering how he would try and impress the next slut that went cozying up to him.

And it was that large stomach that Dudley was always patting that Harry had just ran into. Not even bothering to brush himself off and straighten himself out, Harry leapt back to his feet ready to run again when he saw that Dudley had not moved. Instead, Dudley was staring fearful at Harry, which actually wasn't very new, but usually Harry did something to provoke that feeling first.

Harry hesitated for a moment, before he growled; "Move Dudley."

Dudley looked as if he were going to ablige for a moment, but he hesitated nervously and then he moved his hands behind his back – as if protecting something back there. His fat face look torn for a moment, and he swallowed hard and shook his head meekly.

"Dudley, don't be a prick– MOVE, I've got to go down NOW!" Harry snapped, his hand flexing angrily.

"D, you let him talk to you like that…?" A soft voice purred from behind Dudley, who tensed visibly at the sound.  It was only a matter of seconds before the owner of the voice peeked from over Dudley's massive shoulder. It was a thin relatively ugly looking girl, who reminded Harry strongly of Aunt Petunia – and the way she was resting a sharp-nailed hand on Dudley's shoulder, she was his newest girlfriend.

Harry stopped, wondering how 'Big D' would approach this situation.  His face went a funny puce-color, and he looked down – not meeting Harry's eyes – as he squeaked out, "Yeah, well, he's… my cousin…"

She scowled over at Harry, as if looking at a particularly annoying child. Then tossed her head to the side,  "That doesn't matter…for fuck's sake Dudley, If the scrawny prat was my cousin I'd slap him around his head and knock those god-awful glasses off him."

"Yeah…well…my mother and father, they'd…"

"-You'd be doing 'em a favor, it must suck for them…having to take in an unstable boy…" She continued to glare at Harry, "Is it true, y'know, that you go to St. Brutus?"

Harry nodded briskly, the story that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had fed everyone was that Harry was quite frankly unstable – and had to go to St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.  It also meant that Harry had an absolute zero chance of making a friend in the neighborhood.

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked frighteningly like Aunt Petunia, "I bet you're jut a big bully, you know. Well, Dudley's not afraid of you!" She said sharply, and put her hands on her hips,  "Move you stupid ass!"

Harry flexed his hand once more, instinctively going for his wand from where he kept it in his back pocket. Dudley, however, seemed to sense this – and he screeched out abruptly and turned to face the girl, "PAME~E~LA! C'mon then! I…have to show you to my Mum, I completely forgot. She's been anxious to meet you."

Pamela continued to glare over Dudley's shoulder to Harry, before reluctantly turning and leading Dudley back to the living room where the hushed conversation of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could be heard.

Harry followed, glaring at Pamela, but then he remembered his original plan – and started to break off into a run again, pushing past the pair as soon as they got off the staircase…he would have run straight out the door, too, except a voice called out;
"Harry?! Harry where are you going?!"

He halted, not because he felt like responding to Aunt Petunia – but because it was an instinct, and he instantly regretted it.

As he turned, he saw everyone gathered around the fireplace, and they all staring at him. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Marv, Dudley and Pamela. All staring at him. Pamela, of course, looked ready to kill, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley looked nervous, but Marv was standing there nonchalantly.

"Ms. Figg." Harry said, glancing over to the door nervously – every second he wasted here, was another second that the Order of the Phoenix could be closer to looking for him.

"Ms. Figg?" Marv said brightly, obviously trying to strike up a conversation, "Who's that? One of your neighbors?"

The Dursley's didn't know the truth about Ms. Figg, and they all considered her a fairly respectable neighbor especially since she often took Harry off of their hands. Uncle Vernon composed himself, "Yes, she's an old friend of the family, used to take care of the boy when he was…too sick…to come on vacations and such with us."

'Too sick?' Harry scoffed at that, he had been unwillingly dumped off there every vacation and holiday without fail, and he had never been sick…he'd never had thought he'd be wanting to go there.

"Oh-ho, what a charming young lad!" Marv said, breaking out into a smile that made his own face seem rather charming.  He looked a lot nicer then he had seemed about ten minutes ago when he had probably thought Harry unstable,"I could use more boys like you at my school…gah, nasty things those boys are…misbehaving deviants, every last one of 'em."

"Where do you teach?" Pamela asked in a sugarcoated voice, breaking her gaze from Harry and looking interested over at the now-very attractive Marv.

Marv smiled lightly, "Not a school where you'd like to meet a boy, darling." He stretched to himself, and continued, "I'm one of the head directors at St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

Pamela's face was suddenly overswept with confusion, to tell the truth – the look suited her, but she stared at Harry. "But…but Harry does go to St. Brutus'…"

As much as Harry would have liked to stop and watch the Durselys' trying to cover up their own lies – he definitely had to get over to Ms. Figg, and fast, "Pardon me," He said quickly, and before anyone could stop him, he had pushed his chair in and was running to and out the door, into the rain.

*

In less then a minute, Harry was standing in front of the mahogany door that belonged to Ms. Figg. He was dripping wet, of course, but he was more bothered about the fact that the Order could be coming, right now. He raised a hand to the brass knocker and brought it up and down violently several times, bouncing from foot to foot in nervousness.

"Keep your shorts on…" He could hear a voice say irritably from inside, and he could hear the meowing of cats as they moved out of the way for her, and he felt part of the weight lift off of his shoulders – at least she was home…

In a matter of moments, the door clicked open – and a narrow elderly face came peering through the crack. It was Ms. Figg, and her expression changed from annoyed to delighted at the sight of Harry, "Harry!" She exclaimed, "Do come in, we were just talking about you…"

"Ms. Figg," Harry found himself blurting out anxiously, "I've forgotten to write to the Order and I'm afraid they're going to come here and Hedwigs out and I can't and I don't want them to come here!!"

"I do believe that you are a bit late for that, Harry."" A slow and careful voice said from behind Ms. Figg as she struggled to unlock the door an amused looking Albus Dumbledore stepped up behind her. He was smiling beneath his great white beard and his eyes twinkling down at Harry, however, he looked considerably older and more tired then when Harry had last seen him.

"Professor!?" Harry explained, his mouth dropping over – the idea, of Dumbledore at Privet Drive was almost unthinkable, but there he was – in a blue cloak and matching hat, smiling at Harry. "What are you doing here?"

Dumbledore's mouth twitched into a smile, "I'm rather fond of her apple pies…"

Harry blushed lightly, slightly embarrassed again. He looked up at Dumbledore once more, then stared down at his trainers his cheeks turning redder, "They didn't send you here?"

"If by chance you are speaking of the Order, no they did not." Dumbledore said, his smile unwavering.

"But…they said…they said…they would…send somebody…" Harry said dimly, suddenly aware of how foolish it sounded. The Order were not as stupid as to go off to attack some Muggles because they believed they weren't treating Harry right, not without checking things out first… He felt…really…stupid all of a sudden.

"I don't know what the Order promised you," Dumbledore said patiently, his voice and tone careful, "But do not forget they have my dear Martha here, and I doubt they'll act harshly without speaking to her first."

Ms. Figg had just opened the door, and beamed with success up at Harry – then frowned at her name, as she pulled open the door and ushered the blushing Harry inside. "What? Oh yes, I've spoken to them several times about Harry, they're not worried at all."

Harry stood there, his cheeks turning redder as he concentrated hard on the cat that was snuggling happily up to his feet. He could feel his ears burning, and he touched one self-consciously, feeling all eyes on him – how could he be so stupid? He was…so…so…stupid… He acted without thinking, acted on what he felt, not even thinking about it rationally – that was what ended up with Sirus dead…his own…stupidity.

To his humiliation, he felt warm tears rushed to his eyes and he concentrated even further on his trainers, his vision blurring behind his glasses.

"Harry, dear?" A voice said lightly, Mrs. Figgs' – not Dumbledore's. He didn't glance up, but she felt a warm hand on his shoulder stir him slightly into motion and into direction, and the voice continued – feather light. "Come now, you're soaking wet – let's dry you off."

*

Later that night, Harry was curled up slightly drier, on Ms. Figg's couch, one of her cats was in his lap and mewing happily…inside, in the kitchen he could hear the two talking chirply and he could catch glimpses of the conversation every now and then;

"How are things in Azkaban? Are the Death Eaters all still there?"

"Surprisingly, yes. I would have thought Voldermort would have rescued them by now."

"Could you not say the name, Albus m'dear?"

"Certainly not, Martha. It is better to say the name – it decreases the fear of the thing."

"Yes, but, well – I'm not fond of saying or hearing the name…"

Harry stared at the cat, scratching it between its ears thoughtfully. He wasn't wearing his glasses, as he had taken them off to wipe the tears from his eyes the first moment he'd been left in privacy.

He stared around the room silently, licking his lips to himself, still recalling that feeling inside of him – that foolishness…what was the word? Foolhardy. Reckless. Hasty….and it was because of this that people died, all because of his own idiocy – he sank down into the chair, his eyes tearing once more.

"Well then Martha, I must be going." Dumbledore said suddenly, and there was the sound of a chair scraping across the ground as Dumbledore stood up.

Harry didn't even bother to look, instead he concentrated on petting the cat in his lap as Dumbledore walked passed him towards the fireplace, "I had a lovely time Martha, and I'll be sure to see you soon." He then turned in Harry's direction, and his lips pursed as if he wanted to say something – but he shook his head and walked over to the fireplace.

Harry didn't see what happened next, but judging from the wooshing sound – he had just traveled by Floo Powder out of the room.

The house seemed silent after that, and Harry found himself enjoying it. The Dursley's household was often quiet, but it was never silent and even if it was quiet – they didn't have to physically say anything to make their messages about Harry heard…but here it was different. He didn't feel alone. He just felt….

"Harry m'dear?" A soft voice pressed from his side, and he looked up to see a blurry Ms. Figg standing over him. He fumbled for his glasses and slipped them on, and she instantly became clearer. She was looking at him with a sad expression, and gently she said, "Don't worry too much about it, even the most brilliant of wizards have their faults – yours is rather mild, compared to some."

It took a great deal, but Harry managed to not scream at her in frustration. Instead he looked at the cat, brushing its sooty brown fur to the side; "It is…my fault…that Sirus is dead."

There was a pause from her, and then very slowly she said; "Are you sure? I thought it was Bellatrix's Lestrange's fault."

"I mean…" Harry winced at the name – feeling a surge of anger run through him, He looked down at his fingers. "I got tricked there, it was my own stupidity – then, Sirus followed me and…" He sighed, and didn't finish the sentence.

"But Harry, you didn't…you didn't push Sirus, it's not-"

"It is my fault." Harry said slowly, cutting her off. He now felt somewhat angry at her, and he didn't quite understand why…He rested the cat he was holding onto the couch and he stood up. She was glancing at him nervously, as if expecting him to burst into tears any moment now, and he frowned; "Well, Good night then…."

With those words, he walked out of the door – back into the rain.

A/N: Sorry if that wasn't very good, I was going through writers block, so it sort of jumps all over the place…thing'sll get better around the 4th chapter…hopefully… -_-

Oh, thanks for the reviews ^.^ You're all so niiiiice, oh, and the reason it's different in the summary is that it was too long and ff.net cut it off.