Disclaimer: I am borrowing from the creative mind of J.K. Rowling.
Warning: This story is rated as T for a reason. Abuse is mentioned in this chapter.
Thank you to my beta Trucklesinthetree. If you have not read Remembering Me and the sequel Remembering Me: Into the Serpent's Lair, you should check it out. It is listed as a favorite on my profile page and in my community, Melverne's Picks. I am looking for stories to add to the community, if you have a suggestion PM me.
Chapter 3: Leave me alone
Harry still clung to Mrs Figg as she worked in the kitchen. He had not said a word since she had picked him up. Even after he stopped sniffling, Harry held onto her tightly, resisting any attempt she made to sit him down. His raven black head rested in the crook of her left shoulder watching her use magic to make the tea and biscuits.
Mrs Figg felt Harry yawn while she hummed softly to him. Harry's left hand drifted up to tug at the right collar of her blouse. He rolled the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. She briefly pressed her cheek against Harry's head in response.
He is such a loving child. How can they treat him so cruelly? She thought to herself just as one of her familiars alerted her to a visitor. The prowling Kneazles watched the neighborhood, acting as sentinels for the retired Auror.
The animated kitchen utensils paused and Mrs Figg closed her eyes to home in on her familiar's senses. She peered out through the cat's eyes to watch the red haired, sharp-featured woman cross the street. Once again she shook her head at the sudden hostility that arose within her. Tufty arched his back and hissed in response to the antagonistic emotion. It's that wretched woman, Petunia.
Harry was suddenly plopped down onto one of the kitchen chairs, his eyes widening due to being dropped into the chair unceremoniously.
"Harry, stay right here," Mrs Figg commanded before marching from the room.
Tibbles, another one of Mrs Figg's Kneazles, leaped onto Harry's lap and circled once before curling up. He gently stroked her fur. She gave a pleasant cry that was half a meow and half a purr. Her paw patted Harry's leg appreciatively in response. He continued to pet her, which had effectively distracted and pinned him to the chair.
Mrs Figg calmed herself as she stalked to the front door. She forced herself to wait for the doorbell to ring. After waiting a minute she had managed to put a convincing smile on her face. It would not bode well to tip my hand too soon. I have Harry for a week or so. It is ample time to prepare for what needs to be done.
"Petunia! Here, let me take that from you," Mrs Figg said as she took the brown bag full of clothing from Petunia's bony hands.
"Thank you again, Arabella" Petunia replied from the doorstep as she let go of the bag.
"Harry is resting at the moment. He has a bit of a fever and is very tired," Mrs Figg answered, excusing Petunia from seeing Harry.
"How bad is it?" Petunia hesitantly asked.
"Pox marks are scattered all over his body. The worst seems to be on his back and around his waist. I think the belt and backpack he had on scratched him, spreading it in those areas. The oatmeal bath and salve I put on him should help to keep him from scratching and making it even worse," Mrs Figg answered.
"You gave him a bath?" Petunia's face paled as she asked worriedly.
"Yes I did," Arabella answered, a little more curtly than she had intended. Her blood began to boil, now realising why Petunia was worried. The various injuries, hidden by Harry's oversized clothes, had been revealed to her when she had bathed him. How long have they been hiding this? Harry has worn the hand-me-downs for two, possibly three years.
Panic flashed across Petunia's face.
Reining in her temper Mrs Figg smiled sympathetically.
"It is difficult to handle a wayward child. My husband firmly believed in the saying 'to spare the rod spoiled the child'. We had three boys, what else can you do?"
Mrs Figg's skin crawled when Petunia seized her hand and bile burned the back of her throat when Petunia answered, "I knew you would understand Arabella. Thank you again."
"You're welcome, Petunia."
Having heard what she wanted to. Petunia missed the dark menacing tone in Mrs Figg's voice.
Mrs Figg waved at the departing woman before closing the door. She kicked the back of her heel against the doorframe in frustration.
Storming back to the kitchen, she tossed the sack on the table and began sifting through the things Petunia had brought over. Everything obviously came from Dudley. There were two pairs of pajamas, a few pairs of socks with holes in them and some underclothes that she could not bring herself to touch.
Harry's face turned a bright shade of crimson as he watched Mrs Figg sort through the second hand clothes knowing they were for him.
"Did she ask to see me?" Harry croaked from his seat. He could tell that Mrs Figg was upset which made him nervous.
Mrs Figg looked up and smiled sadly at Harry who was watching her from the table with hope in his eyes.
"No, she did not." I would not have allowed her to even if she had. Mrs Figg thought angrily.
"Oh," Harry replied disappointedly. "More of Dudley's stuff in the sack?" Harry asked as he shamefully averted his eyes.
"Yes," Mrs Figg barked. She suddenly snatched the bag, swept everything into it and stomped into the sitting room.
Harry shooed Tibbles from his lap and hopped to the floor. His little bare feet smacked against the tiles as he chased after Mrs Figg.
Mrs Figg threw the bag of castoffs into the fireplace.
"Áccio Harry's clothes!"
The grubby clothes flew from the bathroom to Mrs Figg's out stretched hand. Once caught, she threw them in with the rest.
"Incidio!"
The rags in the fireplace ignited and burned to ash before Harry's eyes. He stood rigidly by Mrs Figg as worry churned in his stomach. His hands worked nervously in a washing motion. What will Aunt Petunia do when I tell her I don't have any clothes?
Mrs Figg's arm drifted down and around Harry's stiff shoulders. She squeezed him comfortingly.
"Well, I feel better now. How about you?" She asked happily, looking down at the distraught boy.
A laugh exploded unbidden from Harry's lips. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but a snort of mirth escaped from his nose, which just cracked him up even more. Mrs Figg laughed heartily with him before picking Harry up and giving him a hug.
She carried him into the kitchen and with a final flick of her wand the table was set. The biscuits were fresh right from the oven and the warm chocolate chips were very gooey. Dark strings of chocolate ran from finger to finger as Harry pulled them apart. He blew on the biscuits, trying to cool them before shoving the treat in his mouth. He opened his mouth between chews to vent the hot contents.
It was disgusting to watch but the delight on Harry's chocolate smeared face was too endearing to admonish him for poor table manners. Between bites he smiled timidly at Mrs Figg. She smiled in return as she nibbled at her own biscuit. She couldn't help but notice the way Harry hovered protectively over his plate like it was going to be snatched away at any moment.
Harry had three cookies before he relented. Although he would have liked to eat more it hurt his throat terribly. He could only force himself to swallow so many times before almost tearing up from the pain. The happy look left his face when he realized that he did not feel well.
Mrs Figg pressed the back of her hand against Harry's flushed cheeks. His temperature was rising. The cool bath had helped to bring it down but now it was coming back. Not wanting to set a bad example of being lazy by summoning everything to her, Mrs Figg stood up and said, "There is a fever reducing potion in the basket from Madam Longbottom."
"What's a potion?" Harry asked warily, not sure that he liked the sound of it.
"Another question, Harry?" Mrs Figg asked with a hint of humor in her voice. She pulled a washcloth from one of the cabinet drawers and wetted it in the sink. Armed with the wet washcloth Mrs Figg started to wipe the chocolate from Harry.
Irritably, Harry grabbed the towel from Mrs Figg and finished scrubbing his face by himself.
Mrs Figg smiled warmly at Harry as he handed the washcloth back. To Harry's irritation, however, she again attacked a remnant of chocolate on his chin before putting the towel in the sink.
"We will discuss potions in more depth tomorrow since you will be adding it to your list of five questions. For now, think of this particular potion as medicine," Mrs Figg answered before turning to leave the kitchen.
Harry made a face behind her back. He was right. It was something he wasn't going to like. Although he had never been given any medicine before, he had seen Dudley take some and saw his bitter reaction. Harry definitely did not want to take this potion.
Mrs Figg returned with the basket and set it on the table. Harry stood up on his knees in the chair for a better look. He was rather curious about what the elegant silver haired woman had sent for him.
The spare nightshirts were laid out on the table in a neat pile. The anti itching salve and oatmeal powder (which Harry thought was bubble bath) were set out next and then a pair of mittens on the nightgowns.
"What're those for?" Harry asked. It wasn't cold enough to wear mittens.
"I will put them on your hands tonight when you go to bed so you don't scratch yourself while you sleep. I had forgotten about that little trick. Fortunately Augusta did not."
"Who is Augusta?"
"Madame Longbottom to you, Harry. I have known her for many years. We were dorm mates at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She has been my dearest friend ever since." Mrs Figg answered as she pulled out a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
Harry leaned across the table, practically laying on it, trying to reach the book. Mrs Figg handed it to him so he could look at it.
His fingers traced the engraved lettering "B - E - E - D - L – E… Beeeeed llll the Baaard." He spelled the first name and then sounded it out.
While Harry was distracted with the book Mrs Figg circled around the table to stand beside him with the fever-reducing potion. She poured out a small cup full for Harry.
Harry looked up with a grim expression on his face before sitting down on his heels and leaning back against the chair, crossing his arms stubbornly.
"Here you go, Harry. This will make you feel better," Mrs Figg said, ignoring his posture of resistance.
He was just about to shake his head no, when he started to think of all the nice things Mrs Figg had done for him. Harry forced himself to relax and hesitantly reached for the cup. "Do I have to?" He pleaded.
"It will truly help, Harry. If I didn't think so, I would not ask you to drink it," Mrs Figg replied sympathetically, handing him the cup.
"It hurts when I swallow," Harry added miserably.
Mrs Figg ran her fingers gently through his hair. She took his hand with the cup and guided it to his lips and smiled kindly. "I know, Harry. I'm sorry it hurts but I know you can do this for me."
With one last beseeching look Harry tipped his head back and forced the potion down his throat. It didn't taste that bad, he decided, but it did leave a bitter after taste in his mouth. He smacked his lips a couple of times as he licked the roof of his mouth, trying to clear the lingering bitterness.
After warming his tea with her wand, Mrs Figg added some honey to make it sweeter. "Try this, Harry. It will help wash away the taste. The warm tea and honey might sooth your throat a little too," She said sitting down next to Harry.
Obediently, Harry did as he was told. The tea tasted a far sight better than the potion and after a couple of sips the foul taste was gone. It didn't hurt his sore throat as much either. He quietly sipped at the tea, stealing a look at Mrs Figg every so often.
Aunt Petunia spoils Dudley all the time and he never thanks her.
Harry patted Mrs Figg's hand and steadily looked at her with his gleaming green eyes. "Thank you for takin' care of me," he said suddenly.
She closed his hand in hers. "You are most welcome, Harry."
Harry spent the rest of the evening on the couch cat napping. Whenever he woke, he would immediately look for Mrs Figg. He never cried out again but he didn't calm down until he saw her.
After seeing Harry panic, Mrs Figg rarely left his side. The constant presence of Mrs Figg's familiars helped to relax Harry. The warmth of the furry little creatures laying on or beside Harry was very comforting to the sick child. They also alerted her when Harry woke up, if she was not in the room with him.
Around eight o'clock, Mrs Figg scooped Harry up from the couch and carried him to the guest bedroom. Tufty followed them to the room and leaped onto the foot of the bed, waiting for Harry to get settled in before crawling up to lay next to his chest. Harry's hand subconsciously stroked the Kneezle twice before coming to a rest on the soft fur.
"Don't go," Harry murmured sleepily as Mrs Figg pulled his glasses off and set them on the night stand.
"Would you like me to read to you for a little while?" Mrs Figg asked as she slipped the soft mittens onto his hands.
"Pease," Harry slurred in reply. One eye opened just enough to look at her.
With a gesture of her wand the rocker glided across the floor next to Harry's bed. Mrs Figg sat down and summoned the storybook.
Even with Mrs Figg reading, Harry's right eye would flutter open every few minutes to see if she was still there. She read to him for nearly fifteen minutes before Harry finally fell asleep for the night.
Mrs Figg set the book on the nightstand before turning off the reading light and turning on the night light. Tufty's eyes glowed in the dark from his post, watching over his ward.
It was nearly nine when Mrs Figg activated the floo.
"Augusta Longbottom," she called out to the floo network.
A moment later Augusta's head emerged from the fire. "Arabella," she nodded.
"Would you like to join me for some cider?" Mrs Figg invited.
The hearth of the fire expanded to allow Augusta to walk on through.
"A pint of cider would be nice. I've noticed how you avoid mentioning your guest over the floo. Is your home secure enough for his safety?"
"I believe so. There have not been any signs of trouble over the last few years. Although certain precautions have always been in place such as never speaking his name on the floo network," Mrs Figg replied after considering her friend's question.
There was no doubting the woman was very astute. Augusta had entered the political arena where it was a necessity to know what was left unsaid and how to read those around you. Mrs Figg often wondered if Augusta was a practiced Legilimens.
Some skills were only taught to the most talented or those with the funds to acquire the training. Augusta was from a very wealthy family after all and had married into the Longbottom Family to preserve the sanctity of her pure blood lineage. She was free from any need to provide for herself or her family. Augusta had the connections, funding and ample talent to learn this art.
On a whim she had taken an interest in the Wizarding courts. With her noble lineage she swiftly acquired great influence over the Wizengamot. Augusta never sought to be the head of the court but she was a major power who could sway any vote. When her son, Frank, and daughter-in-law, Alice, were committed to Saint Mungo's hospital Augusta had stepped down from the Wizengamot to raise Neville.
Augusta sat down at the kitchen table folding her hands gracefully in her lap. "You're going to keep Harry, aren't you?"
Mrs Figg looked sharply over her shoulder, spilling some cider on the floor, before replying confidently, "Yes, I am."
Augusta nodded her head in affirmation.
"How are we going to make this happen? You cannot run away with the boy. It is not safe for him or you. His relatives will need to be proven as unfit guardians. Then you will have to compete with the rest of the Wizarding World for the right to be his guardian."
Leave it to Augusta to be the voice of reason, Arabella thought to herself as she wiped up the spill.
"Do you have any suggestions for us?" Arabella asked pointing out that she had not missed the fact Augusta was already planning on joining her plight. After placing two glass pints of cider on the table she motioned with her wand over the drinks and cast an incantation. The glasses frosted over and the cider darkened as it chilled.
"Perhaps," Augusta answered slowly. She contemplated the dark cider in the glass before her and took a drink before continuing. "Can you honestly say the family is abusive or grossly negligent of their guardianship or are you caught up in the heat of the moment? Can you prove the allegation?"
"I can share my memories of today's events. There might be some other useful memories of his treatment as well. But I have never witnessed physical abuse, just the various injuries I saw on his body today," Arabella said with a slight shudder.
"We should begin to gather the evidence. I have a family metaphysician whom the Longbottoms have been using for years. His credibility in the court would be beyond reproach. If there are any lasting signs of abuse, he could find it."
"With some preparation, it will not be difficult to remove Harry from the care of the Dursleys," Augusta nodded.
"How did Harry wind up with the Dursleys anyway?' She continued after a moment. "I was a member of the Wizengamot and sat on many of the trials but I don't remember anything about Harry's custody. Of course, I could have missed it, it was a chaotic time for everyone," Augusta said quietly as she thought about it.
She had been caught up with admitting Frank and Alice to St Mungos, not to mention caring for Neville. It was entirely possible that Harry's custody had been addressed in court while she was absent.
"I honestly don't know. The war was coming to an end; nearly all of the war criminals had been captured. Bartimus Crouch and I had a falling out over the tactics Aurors were employing to apprehend suspects. Some of the inmates were denied the basic right of a trial. Even the traitorous Sirius Black, may he rot in hell, deserved his turn in court. It was a dark time that I was ashamed to have taken part of. If it wasn't for the information I was gathering for the Order, I would have quit long before," Arabella shook her head sadly and took a deep drink of cider before finishing, "Then they just started releasing people, like Lucius Malfoy, from Azkaban. The wealthy convicts were released in less than three days. It was a good thing Albus had approached me about Harry being placed in protective custody shortly after the Potters were murdered or I would have..."
"Wait. It was just Albus? Why not Bartimus? He was the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement,' Augusta said abruptly. "If anyone would be responsible for assigning this task it would be him. Albus may have strongly influenced the courts decision but the enforcement would have come from Bartimus Crouch. He was still the head at that time. Barty Crouch Jr was not revealed as a Death Eater until the following week."
Mrs Figg stopped and thought for a moment.
"Maybe Albus already knew about Barty's status. Albus has always handled Harry's needs. I always figured it was to minimize the number of people who knew where to find Harry. There are a large number of former supporters of You-Know-Who that are free. Everything handled by the Aurors is thoroughly documented and available to the public. Even sealed files can be opened if the price is right. It would have jeopardized his safety to go through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Yet he placed you, an Auror, as a protector," Augusta noted.
"I am not compensated for this. I retired before Bartimus was removed from his position. Albus had approached me as a member of the Order of the Phoenix."
"Who did James and Lily name as Harry's guardian? It was no secret that Lily and Petunia did not get along. She did not even attend the Potter's wedding, so I sincerely doubt Petunia would have been named guardian. Lily's parents died at the wedding and James' died shortly after. They knew You-Know-Who was hunting them. James would not have left Harry alone and destitute. At the very least someone would have been responsible for handling the Potter estate," Augusta spoke her thoughts on the matter, hoping Arabella would notice if she missed anything.
"I don't know, Augusta, maybe Albus was. He seems to have a hand in every aspect of Harry's life. Who knows!" Arabella replied with exasperation.
"If we could find out who has control of this, we gain one step toward getting custody of Harry. I can discretely ask around about the matter. We also need a sympathetic ear on the Wizengamot to take up our cause," Augusta said fervently.
She was really warming up to the new challenge. It had been years since she had entered a political battle. Anything involving Harry Potter was definitely political and it appeared her opponent was no less than Albus Dumbledore.
"Augusta?" Arabella tentatively asked.
"Yes?"
"I think Albus has manipulated me and possibly altered my mind," Arabella admitted cautiously.
"How so?"
"Ever since I found out Harry was sick my emotions have swung radically. I cried over my treatment of Harry during the last few years and then nearly set out to attack the Dursleys. Petunia seemed to be a dear friend but I think I actually do despise the woman. It all started as an act to gain their confidence but I either convinced myself it was true or I have been coerced."
Augusta paled a little as her friend described symptoms of a powerful Suggestion Spell being used against her. She would never know if her memory had been Obliviated, only a skilled metaphysician could determine that. There was also the possibility of a potion being used.
"I think it would be best if my metaphysician made a house call and examined both of you," Augusta nodded once Arabella had finished.
They both paused to take a drink of the cider before them and during that moment their eyes met over the top of their glasses. Augusta gently probed along her friend's natural mental defenses, feeling for evidence of a forced entrance. She sighed when nothing could be found. That left two possibilities. Either Arabella's mind had never been breached or the Legilimens was by far more gifted than Augusta.
"Doesn't Amelia Bones have a niece that is the same age as Harry and Neville?" Arabella suddenly questioned.
After a moment Augusta nodded her head.
"Indeed she does. Susan is her name I believe, named after Amelia Susan Bones."
"Should I extend an invitation to Amelia for the Pox Party? Her brother Edgar and I served in the Order together. Do you think it would be enough to gain her support?"
"Amelia has a strong reputation for being fair," Augusta said. "Fortunately, I think Harry's case will support itself. This would still open a line of communication with the Ministry of Magic for us and the Wizengamot. Inviting Susan Bones over is a good idea. However, our greatest concern is securing Harry under your custody."
As their pints gradually emptied the conversation drifted to catching up with each other. Eventually Augusta stood to depart for the evening.
"Well, is there anything else you need?"
"More clothes for Harry. He has nothing other than those nightshirts now. I burned the rags he was wearing along with the rubbish Petunia brought over for him."
Augusta laughed richly at her friend's impulsive action. "Good night Arabella."
The women hugged briefly.
"See you tomorrow, Augusta, and thank you for everything," Arabella said before pulling away.
Arabella checked on Harry before retiring herself for the night. To her astonishment Harry's bed was empty and the blanket had been pulled off. She looked around the room and noticed a pair of golden, glowing eyes watching her from the partially open bedroom closet.
She walked over and opened the door wider to find Tufty laying on a corner of the blanket, which Arabella now saw was wrapped around Harry. He was curled up on the closet floor; his mitten-covered hands tucked beneath his cheek as a pillow. Despite the hard wood floor he was sleeping deeply.
"Why are you on the floor, Harry?" she asked softly as she shook her head. She kneeled down and picked him up from the floor, dislodging the Kneezle from the blanket.
She put the boy back in bed and straightened the bedding before kissing the top of his head.
"Sleep well Harry."
Harry extended his arms over his head and straightened his legs, giving a full body stretch. He felt the soft mattress beneath him and stopped to ponder his location. Groping around the night table next to him, he found his glasses. It was difficult to put them on, with the mittens still on his hands. Finally, he managed, and now that he could see clearly, Harry took in his surroundings. It wasn't a dream. I really am at Mrs Figg's.
The closet door was wide open. He remembered that he couldn't stay asleep last night. Being out in the open with a whole room around him felt uncomfortable. So, he had moved to the closet thinking it might help. The enclosed space had been comforting, but he couldn't bring himself to shut the door all the way.
Patting the smooth cotton sheets beneath him, Harry smiled. Mrs Figg must've put me back. He looked at the book on the nightstand. She even read to me. Nobody has ever read to me before. A smile crept across his face. Maybe she likes me more than Dudley.
A grumble from his stomach spurred Harry out of bed. He breathed in deeply, smelling eggs and bacon. Following the scent Harry stumbled to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Once he got there, however, he stood awkwardly by the kitchen door since he was not sure what to do.
"Good morning, Harry," Mrs Figg greeted brightly.
"Mornin' Mrs Figg," Harry smiled back. Stirred out of his confusion, Harry entered the kitchen and after removing the mittens he started to set the table. Unable to reach the upper cabinets Harry asked, "May I have two glasses please?"
Mrs Figg retrieved the requested items and watched him work as she continued cooking.
Harry pulled out a glass container of milk from the refrigerator and put it on the table. He climbed onto a chair and stood up to carefully pour one cup of milk. To Mrs Figg's amazement not a single drop was spilled by the meticulous six year old.
As he climbed down from the chair Mrs Figg called, "I would like some milk too please."
He looked at Mrs Figg with a funny look on his face. She didn't look angry in the least bit. She thought I poured it for me.
A brilliant smile lit his face. "Yes Ma'am!" He scurried happily back up into the chair and filled the second glass for himself.
The two finished their tasks about the same time and sat down together at the table.
"Thank you," they said at the same time. After a pause both of them laughed.
Harry waited patiently for Mrs Figg to serve herself. Everything smelled wonderful but he wasn't sure what he was allowed to eat. To his complete surprise, however, Mrs Figg dished a spoon full of scrambled eggs onto his plate and two pieces of bacon. She was even spreading grape jelly on a piece of toast for him. Harry smiled from ear to ear as he watched his plate get filled first.
"Go ahead and eat, Harry, there is plenty here and you are welcome to anything you want," Mrs Figg prompted when he didn't start right away.
Despite his intentions Harry could not eat everything on the plate. His stomach just was not accustomed to this much food and being sick had reduced his appetite as well. This did not prevent him from sitting politely at the table until Mrs Figg was finished.
Once she was done, Harry dragged a chair to the sink so he could do the dishes.
Out of curiosity Mrs Figg watched the industrious boy. Why would a child now how to clear a table and do dishes? Knowing how to set a table is just teaching good etiquette but to clean up? My boys were nearly on their way to Hogwarts before I expected them to help in the kitchen. He even poured a glass of milk from a full gallon and didn't spill a drop.
After starting the water and adding some soap Harry returned to the table. He carefully collected the dirty dishes and carried them to the counter while warm water filled the sink. Harry was desperately trying to show his gratitude and not be an inconvenience to his host. Once everything was gathered, Harry climbed onto the chair. He had just started to wash the dishes, when he started to sway dangerously. His hand found the back of the chair just in time to keep himself from falling.
Mrs Figg was on him in an instant. She plucked him off the chair and sat him on the counter. Her eyebrows were arched together in concern.
"Are you alright?" She noticed his cheeks had become flushed. Harry's sideburns were slicked down and shinny with sweat.
Harry started to nod an affirmative, when his stomach gave a spasm at the sudden motion. He put a hand to his head to steady the swirling feeling.
"No," he moaned.
Mrs Figg picked him up off the counter and carried him on her hip like a toddler to the living room. She gently set him back against the pile of pillows from the previous night. "I think you have worn yourself out, Harry. Why don't you rest while I finish cleaning up."
"I can do it," Harry resisted. "I just," Harry gave an enormous yawn, "need a sec."
"No Harry, you don't feel well. I will do it," she answered, running her fingers through his sweaty hair.
Harry's eyes closed in bliss at the touch. "I c'n help," he mumbled.
Mrs Figg started to scratch his head in reply. With a content sigh, Harry's head dipped down towards his chest. Eventually Harry stopped responding to her touch and his breathing evened out. She stood up and chuckled at the now sleeping boy. He's as bad as my familiars.
Tibbles stretched out over the back of the couch, watching Harry sleep below her. The cat yawned as the sunshine warmed her fur. Her eyes drifted shut, yet Tibbles' ears remained sharply attuned to her surroundings.
The kitchen was nearly clean when a floo call from Augusta came in.
"Good morning, Augusta, how are you?" Arabella asked.
"Fine thank you. May Neville and I step through? There is also one other guest with me," Augusta cordially replied.
Mrs Figg drew her wand and lifted the ward of protection. Augusta emerged from the magically enlarged hearth and then a moment later a chubby cheeked boy spun out of the fire. He staggered right into Augusta. She swiftly brushed soot from his clothes, tidied his appearance and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The last subtle gesture was not lost to Arabella's wary eye.
A tall thin wizard, dressed in the green robes of a healer, strode through next with the grace of a frequent traveler. He carried a dragon hide medicinal bag with him. The man looked around curiously. Finally his eyes came to rest on Arabella and her wand.
Two of Mrs Figg's Kneezles prowled the floor, sniffing at the new arrivals. Snowy briefly inspected Augusta before turning her attention on Neville. Even as he reached down to pet her, Snowy wound around his legs, feeling the boy's aura and checking for hidden dangers.
Tufty took his time with the other new arrival. The doctor watched curiously as the Kneezle peered up at him. Approaching with caution the cat sniffed him and then rubbed a whiskered cheek along his bag. With a twitch of his tail Tufty then retreated to the corner of the room and began to groom himself. Between licks the cat continued to watch the guests.
Once her familiars completed their surveillance Mrs Figg concealed her wand in the folds of her dress. The three of them had worked in tandem - Mrs Figg supplying the backup while the Kneezles gathered information.
"Hello, I am Dr Paul Henderson. You must be Arabella Figg," the doctor stated with silent awe. Mrs Figg was a magical wonder. She had multiple familiars, which was extraordinarily rare. Less than thirty percent of the population could establish a bond strong enough for one familiar. The fact that Mrs Figg had four was without precedent.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Mrs Figg replied.
She turned to Neville who stood rigidly in front of his Grandmother Augusta. His back butted against the woman, keeping a comforting touch with her. A gentle hand on his back discreetly encouraged him to step forward.
"I am Neville Longbottom, heir to the ancient and noble house of Longbottom," his voice picked up speed blurring his title as Neville nervously introduced himself.
Mrs Figg smiled at the boy's announcement. She crouched down and took him by the hand. "I will have none of that, Neville. Come here and talk to me."
After a glance at his grandmother, Neville stepped closer.
"Your father is my godson and your grandmother is my dearest friend. You are welcome in my home and are to treat it as your own."
"Yes Ma'am," Neville whispered.
"Bella. Your parents always called me Bella. Would you like some milk and biscuits?"
"Yes please. . . Bella," he smiled as the name rolled off his tongue.
Once Neville was served at the table and happily eating, Augusta turned to the metaphysician. "Would you like to examine Harry now?"
"Indeed I would," he nodded. "With the delicate nature of the situation, I will record my findings on parchment as well as in a pensieve. My vault at Gringotts will keep the information secure until it is needed. Under the Hippocratic oath I cannot divulge anything that is found, unless there is a court order or I discover signs of abuse. My findings will remain safely guarded. I will schedule a time at St Mungos to evaluate you Mrs Figg. There is some equipment there I wish to utilize for your circumstances."
"Harry is resting in the other room," Mrs Figg said as she escorted Dr Henderson to the boy.
Augusta sat down at the table with Neville to keep her grandson company and to give them some privacy.
Once they were in the room Mrs Figg kneeled next to Harry and gently shook him by the shoulder.
"Harry," she called softly.
Harry's face was pink from being so warm while he slept. He smiled at Mrs Figg groggily. When he started to wake up a bit more, Harry noticed the stranger standing behind Mrs Figg and his smile vanished.
"Hi Harry. I heard you were sick so I came to see if I could help you get better. Why don't we go to your room so I can give you a check up?" Dr Henderson said calmly.
Harry looked at the man distrustfully. Not a single adult other than Mrs Figg and her friend Madam Longbottom had ever taken an interest in his welfare before. Slowly, he stood up and turned towards the room he had slept in, sheepishly grasping Mrs Figg by her first two fingers and pulling her behind him as he led the way to the bedroom.
Dutifully, Mrs Figg followed the small boy. She was amazed by how quickly the boy was placing his trust in her. The previous day he had sought comfort from her presence at every opportunity.
Dr Henderson closed the door behind them and set his bag on the bed.
"Why don't you hop up on the bed for me, Harry. You may have seen some of this from a previous visit to your family doctor. I have had the luxury of receiving Muggle and Wizard medical training, in fact, I am a Muggle born wizard just like your mother was a Muggle born witch."
There was a sudden soft beating at the door.
Harry's little ears perked up when the doctor mentioned his mother. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't get it," Harry replied. His head was tipped to one side as he tried to figure out what the doctor had just said.
The drumming on the door became more persistent.
"Harry just learned about his heritage yesterday, Dr Henderson. He has been living with his Muggle relatives," Mrs Figg added.
Now the door was rattling non-stop.
A little tug on her dress caught Mrs Figg's attention.
"Mrs Figg, can I ask you a question?" Without waiting for a reply Harry continued, "What's a Muggle?"
There was a soft click and an eerie creek as the door opened. Tibbles walked into the room and jumped up on the bed next to Harry, glaring at the doctor for daring to close the door.
The doctor had just pulled out a tongue depressor and stood in front of Harry.
"Stick out your tongue for me please."
Harry looked at the man grumpily for interrupting him but obeyed.
"If I may," he nodded at Mrs Figg, "a Muggle is a non magical person," he said before inserting the stick into Harry's mouth.
"Lumos," the incantation caused his wand to shine a beam of light, which he used to look down Harry's throat. "Say ah, Harry."
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh," Harry answered back then gagged from the pressure in back of his throat.
"Sorry about that, Harry. Now, hold this under your tongue for me." The stick was pulled out and tossed in the garbage can next to the nightstand and then a thermometer was inserted.
The doctor poked and prodded at Harry while a quill, much to Harry's amazement, took notes on a piece of parchment.
"Would you like to do a magic trick, Harry?" Dr Henderson asked after a few moments, pulling the thermometer from Harry's mouth.
Harry looked at the man like he had said a bad four letter word. He looked at Mrs Figg whom did not look concerned before hesitantly answering, "yes sir."
"Alright then, see this rock." The doctor held up a piece of crystal, which pulsed in his hand. "See if you can get it to shine for as long as you can for me. Like this." Dr Henderson focused his will on the crystal until it glowed non-stop then handed it to Harry.
At first it pulsed with Harry's heartbeat but then it started to glow just like it had with the doctor. Once a steady light was shinning it began to brighten. After a few seconds it was too bright to look at directly.
"OK that's enough, Harry," Dr Henderson said shaking his head in wonder as he took the crystal back. "That was quite impressive."
After the compliment, Harry smiled at the doctor for the first time.
"Would you mind stepping out for a minute, Mrs Figg, while I finish the check up?"
Mrs Figg hesitated and looked at Harry before starting to leave. However, she didn't get far before a little hand caught her dress. "Don't go."
"Are you sure, Harry? I need you to take off your nightshirt so I can get a good look at you," the Doctor replied giving Harry a second chance for privacy.
Harry slid off the bed, hesitated for just a moment, then took off the nightwear in response.
Dr Henderson studied the naked six-year-old boy in front of him. His knees and elbows were knobby and the skin stretched tightly over the pelvic bone. There was not an ounce of fat anywhere. Harry wasn't just small and skinny he was clearly malnourished. He ran a diagnostic charm for an official reading.
"A game of connect the dots could keep you busy for a long time," Dr Henderson teased Harry good naturedly to reduce some of the awkwardness.
He crouched down in front of Harry and looked at his chest. "Now that is a nasty bruise. How did you get that one?"
Harry cringed as the doctor's cold fingers pressed his ribs. "Playin'," Harry said, taking a step back.
The doctor took Harry's hands and pulled him closer. He placed one hand behind Harry's back holding him close as he continued to probe his ribs.
"Ow," Harry complained after a sensitive spot was pressed. He grabbed Dr Henderson's big hand with both of tiny ones to stop the doctor from poking him. Then he squirmed his way out of the doctor's hold.
Dr Henderson let go of Harry and a look of worry flickered across his face. "Take a deep breath, Harry."
Harry's chest swelled as he filled his lungs but before he could finish he coughed.
"One more time please."
Once again Harry failed to fill his lungs completely before having another coughing fit.
Dr Henderson stood up and looked at the growing list of grievances on the parchment. As he suspected, there was a recent rib fracture. He dug into his bag and pulled out a clay jar.
"I have just the thing for your bruise, Harry. It will fix you right up." He crouched down in front of Harry again and opened the jar. Scooping out some of the salve, the doctor gently rubbed it around the bruise. The bruise vanished with the administration. Healing salve, a doctor's best friend. Not only is it a topological pain releiver it is also very conductive to healing magic. With children it less intimidating to have a salve rubbed in while I heal the wound, than to wave a wand at them.
"Now take another deep breath, Harry, and hold it for as long as you can."
He watched Harry's chest swell again. This time Harry did not cough or look pained in anyway. After half a minute Dr Henderson said, "That's good, you can let it out now. You had a cracked rib, Harry. What were you playing?"
Harry hesitated. "I dunno just playin' is all."
"It had to be awfully rough to crack a rib," Dr Henderson pressed.
At that moment Tibbles sauntered to the edge of the bed, sniffing at Harry and meowing. Grateful for the distraction Harry reached out a trembling hand and petted her.
The doctor watched for a moment before speaking again. "Is there anything you would like to tell me, Harry?"
Harry shook his head. "No sir."
"Has anyone ever hit you?"
Harry's head jerked back up to look at Dr Henderson. Suddenly he felt horribly exposed and vulnerable. "Can I get dressed please?" Harry asked in a small, tight voice.
"Let me see your back first."
"No," Harry practically whispered.
"Harry, turn and face me please," Mrs Figg ordered.
After a few seconds Harry reluctantly turned around to face Mrs Figg. His feet shifted nervously as he waited to be scolded for being rude. He flinched when Mrs Figg raised her hand. Instead of the anticipated blow, however, she gently placed her hand on his bare shoulder to comfort him.
Mrs Figg looked down on him sorrowfully. She had seen him recoil from her as she'd raised her hand. Oh Harry, you poor poor boy.
Harry could feel the back of his neck warm and his cheeks flush with shame. He couldn't stand seeing the sadness in Mrs Figg's face and quickly starred at his toes instead. Harry's body shuddered beneath her touch as he drew a ragged breath. His lip quivered and his nose felt full as a tear rolled down his cheek. More tears followed, dripping from Harry's chin down onto his bare feet below.
Harry jumped when Dr Henderson's finger traced one of the many scars on his back. "Harry, this looks like a belt lash. Did someone whip you?"
It was all becoming too much for the small boy and a second later an emotion laden Harry snapped around and shouted in the doctor's face, "Leave me alone!"
A single pulse of energy radiated from him. It knocked Dr Henderson onto his backside and forced Mrs Figg back a step. The force continued on its path, slamming the doors in the room shut. The curtains billowed and the chair rocked in the energy's wake.
Fear seized Harry as soon as it happened. His gut clenched so violently that he nearly threw up breakfast. After a second an ashen-faced Harry streaked around the surprised doctor and ran for the closet. His clammy hands slipped on the knob but it opened on the second attempt and Harry slipped inside.
"Harry!" Mrs Figg cried out with concern as she tried to catch the fleeing child. Before she could reach him, however, Harry had shut himself in the closet. She tried the knob but it would not turn even though there was no lock on it.
There was no reply from the troubled boy, whom had shut himself away from the horrible revelations of the doctor's visit.
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