Broken
By Neurotica
Six
Remus sat in the living room of his temporary home reading that day's edition of the Daily Prophet. It had been a week since Sirius had escaped from Azkaban and the Ministry still had no leads on his location. Dumbledore assured him and Julia that Sirius would not be able to cross the wards of Privet Drive—they were set to recognize the Dark Mark, and anybody with intent to hurt the nearly six-year-old. Dumbledore meant for this information to put Remus and Julia at ease, but the Headmaster didn't know what Remus knew.
The fact that Sirius Black was an Animagus had been haunting Remus since the wizard's escape from Azkaban. He'd been so close to telling Dumbledore everything a few nights before when he'd visited, but he'd lost his nerve. Julia seemed to be fighting the same internal battle. Remus knew she'd never tell, though; she was still too in love with Sirius for her own good. Remus wished she would move on, but she still had a loyalty to Sirius that frustrated the werewolf to no end.
Bored with his newspaper, Remus stood and crossed to the window. He could very clearly see Number Four from his position, and he raised an eyebrow as he spotted the familiar form of a small boy with black, untidy hair digging in the garden. Vernon and Petunia were nowhere to be seen, but Dudley was sitting on a bicycle that looked ready to collapse under his weight. This was starting to become a pattern at Number Four: Harry seemed to be outside all day, everyday working, while his cousin remained a drain on society. The other day, Julia said she'd seen him cleaning Vernon's new company car while Dudley sat on the porch eating a disgusting amount of ice cream.
I wonder what else happens to Harry that we don't see, Remus thought angrily.
There were moments that he'd been tempted to go over to Number Four, just take Harry, and curse the Dursleys; Julia had been all for the idea, but they both knew Dumbledore would frown upon that.
Who gives a damn? Dumbledore doesn't know what's good for a six-year-old orphan...
He knew what was good for you before you started Hogwarts, said a voice in the back of his head.
That was different.
Not really...
Further argument with the voices in his head was impossible as a soft pop sounded just behind him. He turned around just in time to see Julia collapse on the sofa.
"Long day?" Remus asked casually, sitting in an armchair next to her. She grunted in response and turned to bury her head in a pillow. "Harry's outside working again," he said quietly.
Slowly, Julia turned to face him, frowning. "We need to do something, Remus. If this keeps up—it's probably been going on for years already—he'll end up in hospital... or worse."
"I know, but you heard Dumbledore the other night 'Don't act unless the circumstances grow desperate'," Remus said.
"You know, I do love the man, but I'm starting to wonder about his sanity," she said lightly.
Remus smirked and snorted. "You've known him since you were eleven, and you're only now starting to wonder about his sanity?"
Julia shrugged. Apparently she wasn't in the mood for another 'Dumbledore's Insane' conversation. "I'm hungry. What do you say to ordering in tonight? I can't be bothered to cook," she muttered, turning back to her pillow.
Remus raised an eyebrow. "Okay, then. I'll order dinner, and you try and suffocate yourself."
Julia grunted in response again and fell asleep moments later.
Living on the run from the Ministry of Magic was quickly starting to lose its appeal. At first, it was like a new adventure, but now he didn't see the fun. Sirius had spent the last four days in the woods next to the playground on Privet Drive, scavenging for food, and he hadn't seen his godson since the day he was being pushed around by those other kids. He wanted to go to Number Four and if nothing else, just see Harry.
The problem with that plan was that Remus was always taking long walks around the neighborhood. If the werewolf caught onto any sign of him before he could explain the truth... Well, Remus wouldn't be too thrilled to see him. He'd thought about going to Julia—she'd believe him, he'd convinced himself—but he wasn't ready to see her just yet.
He looked up to the sky as he heard the distant sounds of thunder. Figures... And nothing's worse than a wet dog, he thought dully. Then he smirked mentally. Well, wet werewolf isn't a very pleasant scent...
Just as that thought passed through his mind, a drop of rain hit his black nose. Seconds later, he was in danger of being flooded out of the woods. He took cover under a large tree with low hanging branches, and hoped the storm would pass soon.
The rain hit Harry's back at the same time it hit Sirius. He was still in the front yard doing the weeding for his Aunt Petunia. The cool rain felt good on his sun burned skin—Aunt Petunia used some sort of aloe cream on Dudley's sunburns, but obviously felt Harry wasn't deserving of it.
He felt eyes on him and turned to look down the street. The rain was starting to fall harder, but the small boy could make out the shape of a tall man watching him. A delivery car was pulling out of his driveway.
"Boy! What are you staring at?" Uncle Vernon had opened the door to yell at him. Harry had hoped his uncle would let him go inside.
"Nothing, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quickly, hoping he wouldn't be punished.
Uncle Vernon glared suspiciously. "Get inside and get cleaned up. You're to go to Mrs. Figg's tonight; your aunt, cousin, and I are going out."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, taking off the gloves he used to work in the garden. They didn't work too well to protect his hands, though; they'd been used so much that the fabric had started to wear out. Harry usually always had calluses and cuts on his hands when he finished in the garden.
On his way in the door, Aunt Petunia threw a towel at him, telling him to dry off before walking across her clean floor. He took the towel with him to his cupboard and sat on the small cot his aunt and uncle called a bed. He changed into some old clothes that had, naturally, once belonged to Dudley. At least they're dry, Harry thought miserably.
Once he was changed, and semi-dry, he left his cupboard and Aunt Petunia gave him the usual threats about what would happen if they found he'd been "acting up" at Mrs. Figg's home. Harry hoped Mrs. Figg would just let him sleep that night instead of forcing him to look at pictures of her stupid cats—the day in the sun had exhausted him.
On their way out of the neighborhood, Uncle Vernon agreed—reluctantly—to drop Harry off to Mrs. Figg. "What if that Prewitt man sees him walking down the street in this storm?" Aunt Petunia had asked him.
Shivering (was he coming down with a cold?), Harry followed his "family" outside to Uncle Vernon's car. The man glared at his nephew when he spotted a smudge on the hood—the boy was supposed to have cleaned it the day before.
The small boy pulled himself into the car, ignoring Dudley's stuffing popcorn in his fat mouth. The other boy reached over unexpectedly and punched Harry hard in the shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.
"What's all the noise about back there?" Aunt Petunia snapped while Harry rubbed his shoulder.
"Harry tried to steal my popcorn," Dudley whined loudly.
Harry started to protest, but the glare Uncle Vernon shot to the backseat silenced him immediately. He saw Dudley smirk at him as Uncle Vernon turned back around in his seat. Harry glared at him and turned to look out the window. The skies were turning blacker as the storm raged on.
A minute later, Uncle Vernon pulled into the driveway of Mrs. Figg's home. The batty old woman was waiting for Harry on her front porch with an umbrella in hand. She ran to the car and held the umbrella over the door while Harry got out. Together, they walked back to the porch. Mrs. Figg turned back to wave goodbye to the Dursleys, but they'd already started to leave. Harry missed Mrs. Figg's glare to the car.
"Come in, Harry, wouldn't want you to get sick out in this weather," she said, opening the door for him.
Harry entered and the smell of cabbage filled his nostrils immediately making him waver slightly. Mrs. Figg shook out the umbrella and sat it next to the coat hanger. She told him to sit at the sofa while she made them some dinner. On the television was some game show from America with a big wheel and a board with letters. Though he hadn't meant to, Harry fell asleep where he sat.
Just after dinner, Remus and Julia sat in the living room watching television when the telephone rang. Remus got up to answer it, as it seemed Julia was incapable of doing so—she'd fallen asleep on the sofa again.
It was Arabella Figg. Apparently, Harry was at her house for the evening while the Dursleys went out. She told Remus that Harry was horribly sunburned and she treated it as well she could without a wand—Arabella Figg was a squib. He seemed to be running a horrible fever, but was shivering something terrible. She wondered if she should take him to the hospital, or just keep him at her house for the night. Remus peeked into the living room to make sure Julia was really asleep—she was—and told Arabella he would be over shortly.