Chapter four.

" – and so I only meant to jump hehind the trash bins, I didn't mean to go on the roof, I swear," finished Harry, still looking down. He had delivered the entire story staring at the floor.

Nell was a bit shocked at the level of bullying that Harry was subjected to by his cousin. The headmistress looked less surprised, but a great deal more skeptical. "You do know, Mr. Potter, that such wild tales make us doubt the rest of your story as well. You would be better served to tell the whole truth."

Harry stayed quiet, watching at his hands twisting in his lap. Nell felt her protective instincts rise to the surface once again. "Listen here, you," she growled. "Look at Harry. Isn't it clear that something very upsetting has happened to him? Instead of trying to comfort him, you're calling him a liar! What kind of caretaker for children are you? If he says he didn't mean to jump on the roof, he didn't mean to jump on the roof. But there's no denying that it did keep him out of the way of a beating -- a beating that you and your staff would not have prevented him from receiving. You should be ashamed." By this point, Nell was standing and waving her finger in the air for emphasis. The headmistress was watching her gesturing finger as if entranced. Nell shook it at her, and she cringed, then jumped slightly.

"Well," she said slowly, as if not sure what had just happened, "I'm sorry, then, Mr. Potter. We'll, er, try to keep a closer eye out on Dudley and his friends. And, er, you can return to class for today, I think." The headmistress sank down into her seat as though she wasn't quite sure what had just happened.

Nell gave a satisfied smile and marched Harry back to his classroom, making a detour so he could wash his hands and face.

The rest of the week passed without incident: at least, bad or strange or unexplainable incidents. Nell and Harry did have a great deal of fun in the evenings, playing cards and watching telly. Nell even tried to teach Harry chess, but he wasn't particularly interested, preferring draughts.

On Saturday morning, the phone rang. Nell got a nasty shock when she answered. It was Mrs. Dursley.

"Miss Burton?" she asked shrilly.

"Yes?" said Nell

"Please come by our home this afternoon or evening. We wish to talk about the boy and his future care." She paused and added ungraciously, "We would appreciate it very much. Thank you."

"I'll be there, of course, but what --" said Nell, but Mrs. Dursley hung up on her in the middle of the sentence. She stared at the receiver in her hand in disbelief, then turned to Harry. "Looks like we're heading back to Privet Drive tonight," she said with false brightness.

Harry's face fell. "I know," Nell said. "I didn't want this week to end either, but we knew it would, right, Harry?"

He nodded jerkily. "Yeah," he muttered. "I guess." She hugged him, but he remained sitting stiffly in his chair and didn't return the hug. "Can I read for awhile?" he asked.

"Sure," said Nell quietly. "Sounds good."

At around four o'clock, she couldn't delay the inevitable any longer. She stood up, sighing explosively. "Well, let's go," she said.

Harry rose as if he was going off to his own funeral. He glumly collected his things, old and new, and stood miserably by the door.

The drive was awful. Silence reigned, and neither of them seemed to want to put on the radio. When they arrived, Nell was nearly overcome with the sudden impulse to turn the car around and run away forever. But she pressed forward, got them out, and rang the bell.

They were greeted at the door by Vernon. "Look, missy," he blustered, "You seem to put up with his nonsense. Either you take him, or he goes straight into care. We enjoyed this week of peace, and we've decided that we simply won't put up with his insolence or freakishness any longer. Make up your mind quickly, if you please, missy." Over his shoulder, Petunia was looking troubled and vaguely guilty, but when she noticed Nell looking at her, she swiftly composed her expression.

Nell thought quickly, looking down at Harry's fearful little face. His shining green eyes implored her, and she relented. "Fine," she snapped at Dursley. "Where are his legal – things" she waved her hand vaguely, "permission to treat, birth certificate, and so forth? Do you have guardianship papers for me to sign or anything like that?"

Dursley whipped around to his desk and pulled out a thin file folder. "I've been waiting for this for years," he gloated. "Sign here and here, missy, and he's yours."

Nell signed. She grabbed the rest of the folder, which held a birth certificate and her copy of the agreement, seized Harry's hand, and they took their leave.

Once they were back in the car, however, the situation began to sink in. Nell had just, essentially, adopted an eight-year-old boy. She quietly began to panic.

Her car steered itself steadily to a small, quiet estate in Kent. She and Harry, who had been curled up in a little ball of misery for most of the trip, walked to the front step and rang the bell. A nice-looking older woman answered the door.

"Hello, mum," said Nell.