Rated: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

The International Wizarding School Championship

School and Theme: Beauxbatons, Hagrid's Hut

Main Prompt: [Genre] Hurt/Comfort

Additional Prompts: [Action] Searching, [Character] Cornelius Fudge

Year: 5

Word count: 2805

Thanks a lot to the whole Beauxbatons team for beta'ing this!

Searching for Solace

She was always searching.

Searching for her place in a world that refused to accept her. Her inability singled her out from everyone. Yet, out of sheer desperation, she searched. And she searched on and on till she realised that her efforts were worthless. Just like her world considered her to be.

It took her a while, but Arabella Figg had decided to keep moving and somehow adjusted to the Muggle world, which—despite everything—judged her less harshly than she'd anticipated. How ironic. Didn't wizards hide themselves away from Muggles because they feared discrimination? Yet here they were, discriminating against people of their own kind.

Well, maybe I'm not one of their own kind, she had thought bitterly.

Since then, she had pretended to be a Muggle for so long that she hadn't even needed to hide from any of the Death Eaters during the War. But of course she had to take precautionary measures, since Death Eaters—while they didn't kill specific Muggles—hated Muggles in general.

And she was supposedly a Muggle.

Her parents died, and she never really became close to anyone. So it was painfully easy for her to erase herself from the wizarding world.

It was at the end of the Wizarding War that he came. Well, he didn't really come; it was one sunny day that she noticed an owl flying in the sky and remembered how she'd see owls daily when she was younger. That was when she realised that the owl was coming in the direction of her post.

She got up quickly, opened the window and observed the curling calligraphy that bore her name with shock. It was dangerous to be associated with magic in those days; just because the War was over and You-Know-Who had disappeared didn't mean that the attacks on Squibs and innocent wizards had stopped. So she quickly ushered the owl inside and shut the window. One of her cats, Mr Paws, mewed at the owl as it made itself at home. She skimmed the parchment, hardly believing her eyes. Then she wrote a letter back—her hands shaking, her heart drumming, and excitement coursing through her veins in a way that it hadn't in years.

It was only after she sent the letter that she reflected on her decision. Should she have said, "no"? Was she really that desperate? Was she ready to dive—once again—into a world that despised her? She had loathed them as much as they loathed her. So why did she accept the letter? Was it because her search was finally coming to an end?

Or maybe, deep down, she just wanted to be accepted again.

"Dear Arabella Figg,

I hope this letter finds you in good times. You must have been relieved to hear of the end of the war. I am writing this letter to ask you for a favour.

I hope you are familiar with the Dursleys, a Muggle family in your neighbourhood. They are the only living relatives of the Potters. We have decided to leave Harry in their care. However, I feel that there should be an additional person watching over him. If you wish to do me this favour, please meet with me at The Busy Bean, Surrey. I wish to discuss this with you more in depth.

Thank you,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)'

"Dumbledore, have you really given that child away to a family of Muggles?" Cornelius Fudge asked, aghast. They were in The Three Broomsticks, sitting on opposite chairs. The air smelt of food, and the chatter of other patrons filled the smoky room.

"I have done what is for the best, Cornelius," Dumbledore said in his usual calm voice.

"Who is going to take care of him? And keep watch over him?" Cornelius asked. "Surely, you need someone who knows of his worth and is familiar with magic."

"I have scouted the area well," Dumbledore said. "And I have decided upon someone who, I am sure, will be more than willing to accept this task with utmost sincerity."

"And that person is...?"

Dumbledore looked at Cornelius in the eye before speaking. "Arabella Figg. I do not think you have heard of her."

"No…" Cornelius shook his head. "She's a witch?"

"She is a part of the magical community," Dumbledore replied.

"That's a relief," Cornelius said. It seemed like he hadn't noticed that Dumbledore had tactfully avoided the question. "When am I going to meet her?"

"Well, you will meet her now," Dumbledore said, pausing. His eyes twinkled in a certain direction, and Cornelius looked over to see an old woman wearing a hairnet. The older wizard waved and gestured to an empty seat between him and Fudge. She hurried over and sat down.

Dumbledore had met her once before, at a Muggle cafée called The Busy Bean, only a few days ago. He would have preferred meeting in Hogsmeade, but he felt that the overwhelming presence of magic, for someone who had separated herself from that world, would make her uncomfortable. There he had explained to Arabella about her job and also warned her of the upcoming meeting with Cornelius, so as to ensure that she wouldn't accidentally reveal her secret.

Just as when they had first met, Arabella looked quite nervous before nodding at Dumbledore. "I-I cannot thank you enough—"

"Please, do not thank me," Dumbledore said graciously. "I am the grateful one, for you have agreed to my proposal."

"Of course." Arabella nodded. "I-I am willing to be of any help."

"This is Cornelius Fudge." Dumbledore gestured to him. "I'm sure you know of him as one of the Junior Ministers of the Ministry of Magic."

"Yes, yes." Arabella nodded. "I know, of course."

"Cornelius, this is Arabella Figg," Dumbledore said. "She will be keeping an eye on Harry Potter."

Fudge examined Arabella up and down—as if trying to make out what kind of person she was—before asking sceptically, "Do you have any idea how important your job is?"

"Yes," Arabella murmured. "He is the one who defeated You-Know-Who. The Boy Who Lived."

"Precisely," Dumbledore said. "He is, therefore, a very important child, and you must take utmost care to keep an eye on him while not revealing your true identity."

"I understand," Arabella said, and they began to discuss the details of her task.

It was strange.

Keeping an eye on someone who was just as much of an outcast as she was was definitely an odd experience. She had become quite familiar with the Dursleys before they started taking care of Harry. She disliked the family. Even though they smiled and always said hello, she was aware of the looks of disdain they'd give her behind her back. Moreover, she disapproved of the way they spoiled Dudley.

However, she decided to change her attitude slightly when she was assigned to keep a watch over Harry. The polite smiles continued but she no longer frowned when she saw them spoiling Dudley—instead, she nodded at them. Sometimes she dropped in, whether they liked it or not, asked about their little Dudders, Vernon's business, and talked about her different cats. She engaged in local gossip with Petunia and even came to being on a first-name basis with her.

One day, Petunia said, "The Murrays are inviting us over again, and we can't take Harry with us this time. Do you remember how much trouble he caused when he came with us last time?"

"I think you've already told me about that," Arabella said, remembering a conversation they had a few months ago. Harry did create a lot of trouble, and Arabella figured it was probably because of accidental magic.

"It was terrible," Petunia said. "I can't believe they're inviting us again! They're too kind! But for their sake, I absolutely cannot take Harry. But I don't know if anyone is willing to take care of that child."

"How sad." Arabella masked her disgust. "I'll take that child with me and drill some manners into him. You'll be free to go to the Murrays."

"Are you sure you can handle him?" Petunia asked.

"Of course I can handle him," Arabella said. "Troublesome kids are no difficulty for me to take care of."

"But I wouldn't want to burden you."

"You wouldn't, Petunia. I enjoy drilling manners into troublesome children."

And that was how it began. Every now and then, the Dursleys left little Harry at her house. They gave her some baby supplies when he was a toddler, and as he grew, they stopped supplying. She knew Harry never had a good time with her, and she felt sad for him. There was only so much she could do to stop Harry's problems.

At first, Harry used to be fascinated with the cats as she showed him the pictures of all the cats she had owned. But as the years passed, she could sense that he didn't exactly like visiting her place. He started getting annoyed at the pictures of the cats, but that was probably because she repeated the same things every single year.

He started getting annoyed at the smell of cabbage which clung to her house, and once even showed up with a mask, which she promptly removed. Unfortunately, it looked like he had an extra mask, but one of her cats tore it. He had more masks (where did this kid even get this many masks?), and he was more careful with them. He left the place with a mask on his face. He didn't try to do it again, which Arabella assumed was because he couldn't find any more masks.

Sometimes she wondered what the world would think if Harry Potter had turned out to be a Squib. Would they have thrown him out, just as the Dursleys threw him out? Just as the wizarding world had thrown her out? But he was Harry Potter. Harry James Potter. This boy was the reason for You-Know-Who's downfall. He wasn't someone they could ignore, even if he turned out to be a Squib. And he wasn't a Squib; she'd seen him do accidental magic.

Arabella was happy for him. Despite everything the Dursleys did, he would have a future. Even though he was an outcast during his childhood, he wouldn't be after he turned eleven. From the looks of it, Arabella assumed that Harry was searching for a place where he belonged, just like she was. But at least he wouldn't have to when he became older. It was already decided for him. And if it wasn't, he would find it easily.

Because he wasn't like her.

It was Dudley's seventh birthday, and Petunia left Harry at her doorstep again. He was already frowning as he entered her house.

Just as she did every year, Arabella asked him how he was, and he responded with his usual answers, but that day he looked out of it. Usually, he answered with a bored look on his face, but that time, he looked… blank. Not that it was unusual, unfortunately. Sometimes he would wear a blank stare on his face. It was one of those times.

Arabella sighed. "Harry."

Harry appeared not to hear her.

"Harry!"

Harry flinched. "Yes, Mrs Figg?"

"Did… something happen?" she asked with uncharacteristic kindness.

"No, nothing," Harry muttered, and there was an air of finality to his answer. Despite her bad social skills, Arabella could sense it, and so she would drop her question. They would pretend that everything was okay and their day would go back to normal.

Even at such a young age, that kid had a habit of hiding all his problems, and Arabella didn't know what she was supposed to do. Once upon a time, she had been that child, but she had never been at the receiving end. She had never been a bystander or a person who was supposed to support the lone child. She didn't know what to do. So she repeated hesitantly, "Harry, did anything happen?"

Harry remained silent.

"Are you sure?" Arabella pressed. Usually, she didn't bother asking him about himself, as she wasn't supposed to make him too comfortable. If the Dursleys knew he was having a good time at her house, they'd never leave him at her place again. She couldn't risk that. But this time, Harry seemed much more distant and isolated. Seeing this, she thought it was better to ask.

"No," he choked out. "Nothing happened."

"Is that so…?" she asked lightly.

"Yeah," he lied. After a silence, he spoke in a shaky voice, "Mrs Figg… do you think... I… should've gone with them?"

"I can't hear you, Harry."

"I mean…" Harry started, but shook his head. "Sorry, nothing."

Arabella's heart fell. He was lonely. He was a child, and he was tossed aside by his own family. It was quite obvious that the Dursleys had been treating him terribly. Watching them going out for Dudley's birthday so happily and leaving him in her care, as if he was a burden. As if they were better off without him.

She didn't know how to approach this situation. Should she confront him about it? After all, she hadn't confronted him before. All those times he had cried silently in her house, thinking that no one saw him; all those times he had frustratedly punched the walls; all those times…. There were so many times. He thought she never knew. But she knew. She just never stopped him because he echoed her past self. She let him take out his frustration because he wouldn't be able to do it at Privet Drive. But she never confronted him about it, never asked him about it, not even, "Are you okay?". She should've, but she didn't. She didn't know how. She had no social skills whatsoever, and that was the result of being so isolated in her own childhood. Besides, she couldn't risk her cover.

This was the first time she had confronted him about it. And he refused to reveal anything. She knew from experience that that wasn't the best course of action. She was supposed to make him feel better. But how? How could she make him feel any better if he was feeling so miserable? She almost hadn't noticed a silent tear falling down his cheek. It was followed by another and another, and another, and another, till he was shaking and he could no longer hide that he wasn't okay.

"Harry," Arabella said, giving him some tissues. At least she could do that. She bit her lip and then spoke hesitantly, "You… you can tell me what's wrong."

"I just…" Harry shook his head. After a silence, he spoke. "I don't want to go back to them."

"The Dursleys?" Arabella asked lightly.

Harry nodded. "I don't know why… they hate me… I didn't do anything to them…" Arabella's heart clenched as the young boy silently cried more.

"You'll be okay, sweetie…" she muttered. He would definitely be okay. Once he got his letter… he would go to a place where he would be accepted.

What had the Dursleys been doing to him? She wished she could do something about it. She wished she could just slap their false smiles off their faces for daring to treat their own family as bad as her world treated her.

Arabella shook her head. She couldn't let her emotions get the better of her. After all, it was an important job, and Dumbledore had given her strict instructions not to interfere. But did Dumbledore know? Could he even understand? Could someone as great as him even begin to understand what it was like to be an outcast?

No, he couldn't. He could never understand.

But he had given her a job. Someone like her didn't deserve a job. Yet he had given her one of the most important jobs ever—to keep watch over the Boy Who Lived. It was not a joking matter. She had to do it properly.

That meant she shouldn't interfere, even if she wanted to. It was for the best, after all. Or so he said.

Harry stopped sniffling, and she offered him a glass of water.

Then she went back to washing the dishes.

I love writing about minor characters. Have a nice day~