Arabella Figg and Dumbledore have officially entered the scene.

Oh Albus...you poor, fragile senile old man

Arabella owns my heart
Nature is magic and magic is nature
It made sense for Harry to learn American English since it's so similar to British English.
Also yes it's true, I fucked with Christianity because why the hell not? As long as it makes sense right?
You know the deal with Parseltongue by now

June 23rd, 1991

Harry was right in his guess that his aunt wouldn't allow him to go outside in the garden alone. Despite spotting the snake waiting for him since that fateful day, it also caught the eye of his aunt, who made sure to keep them away from each other. If Harry wanted to speak with the snake again, he would have to wait. Luckily for him, Dudley's birthday brought about the perfect opportunity.

On the morning of June 23, Harry was awoken by his aunt banging quite loudly on the door of his cupboard. Ever since she left her room, she has made sure to voice her displeasure even more than before. Unless Harry was in his cupboard, his aunt made sure to never leave him alone—not outside, not in the kitchen; he couldn't even go to the bathroom without her standing watch—thankfully, she stood outside for that one, but nonetheless, wherever Harry went, his aunt was right behind him, and vice versa.

"Hurry up and get out here!"

Slowly, Harry woke up, his mind still foggy from his dream. In his opinion, it was the worst way to wake up; the screeching of what sounded like an angry barn owl was not ideal. Knowing he had limited time before the screeching turned into hitting, Harry hurriedly made his way into the kitchen where his aunt was waiting, hand on hip, foot impatiently tapping on the floor.

Aunt Petunia sniffed down at Harry, her nose scrunching as if she smelled something unseemly. "You won't be cooking today. I don't want you anywhere near my Duddy's birthday breakfast." As she manhandled Harry to the living room, she muttered under her breath.

"There's no telling what you'll do to it."

Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes at her words. She had no problem when he cooked any other day and it wasn't like Dudley put anything good in his body anyways. As far as Harry was concerned, she was doing more damage than he ever could.

"In an hour, the neighbor, Ms. Figg, will be here to take you over to her home," she explained as she marched him into the living room. She handed him a list of things she wanted him to do but she was still talking. "In the meantime, I want you to clean up the living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen once we've left."

With that, she turned around and headed back to the kitchen to cook her Duddy's "birthday breakfast." Even with the feast, his aunt was bound to fix it; it would most likely take them less than 30 minutes to eat. The one thing the male Dursleys did better than anyone else on this planet was inhaling food as if they'd never eaten.

'Not that they knew what it was like to not eat at all' Harry thought bitterly.

Harry really didn't want to go with the neighbor; she stared at him weirdly, like she knew exactly what had happened in his life. She knew more about Harry than anyone else on the street, which didn't make sense as she was more of a lady who spent so much time alone. It was one thing Harry noticed about her quickly, but he could not find a way to ask her how she knew things she really shouldn't have known. Granted, it wasn't all bad. Mrs. Figg usually let Harry do whatever he wanted. He got to read or watch television. She'd make him snacks and give him plenty of water or juice. She never asked, but Harry would often help her feed her cats or help tend to her garden, and afterward, she'd let Harry sleep until it was time for him to go home. She was just really weird and oddly intuitive about things Harry would rather her not be.

'Maybe I can sneak out and come back here to finish speaking with the snake.' It was a thought Harry had, but how to do it was the problem. As he was dusting the shelves, he was broken out of his musing by the sound of his fat cousin and uncle stomping down the stairs, and Harry could feel the vibrations on the floor. How his petite aunt put up with two whales was beyond Harry. She went grocery shopping every other day, and while Harry usually did most of the cooking, he knew it took a toll on the bills. They liked to say taking care of Harry was draining and a burden, but Harry heard his aunt complaining to his uncle about his eating habits. Nonetheless, how she could look down on other big people yet not blink an eye at her husband and son made no sense to Harry, but then again, there wasn't a lot about his family that made sense.

"Thirty-six," Dudley said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

Harry overheard Dudley complaining about the abundance of gifts he had received. Tuning him out, Harry went back to his tasks. Dudley did this every birthday without fail, while Harry was lucky if he received a sock on his.

The time passed quickly, and soon Harry found himself outside his house waiting for the neighbor to come pick him up. By the time his family left, she'd already been 15 minutes late, and instead of taking him, they left him locked outside the house as they left for the zoo. Luckily, it was June, and the weather was perfect for Harry to be outside especially since he wasn't working. The sun was shining, and there was a small breeze, which made any heat bearable. Harry took the time to breathe in the crisp air, a small smile gracing his face. It's been too long since he was able to enjoy time by himself, and he felt a small bit of gratitude toward his aunt at that moment. It didn't last long, however, as he shuddered to think about how it would have been different had his cousin been born in the winter. Although something told him, not much would have changed other than allowing him to wear a jacket.

HARRY POV

"Young speaker."

Turning around to the familiar hiss, I was met with the beautiful grass snake as it slithered up to me from a hole in the side gate and I couldn't contain the wide smile that broke out on my face. Sad to say it but the snake was my best friend because it was my only friend but I couldn't be upset by that too much. Not when I gained the ability to learn more about myself.

"Hello, I haven't been able to talk to you since my aunt got better." Kneeling down, I sat down in front of the snake.

"Yes, I wait every day, and your guardian makes an awful sound of displeasure every time," the snake complained. I giggled and allowed the snake to slither on my shoulders before moving to where the sun would be hitting the snake. I smiled when I heard it hiss with pleasure.

"I'm supposed to be going with a neighbor today, but she's late," I said, frowning. Mrs. Figg was never late when she had to pick me up, so I wondered what happened. A thought crossed my mind of my aunt telling Mrs. Figg a different time just so I'd be here by myself. With how my aunt's been acting, I wouldn't be surprised. I scowled when I remembered I'd have to come back here the moment my aunt arrived home again. I wasn't sure I could stand being followed anymore; it was suffocating.

I was lucky to have stashed as many cans as I did in my cupboard. With how close my aunt has been, it would have been hard to sneak food out. I knew my aunt had an idea about what was going on since I had started to fill out; I wasn't as skinny, and my stomach didn't grumble as much, but she didn't say anything.

"Maybe she's stuck somewhere?" The snake offered, and I think that could've happen, but I wasn't so sure, so I just shrugged in response.

"Hey," I began, changing the subject.

"Do you know the history of Parseltongue?"

I had managed to learn an entirely different Parseltongue dialect. After I found out that the dialect we spoke was British English, it was easy to learn US English. It was very similar except for the different words. The snake explained that some snakes were native to both countries, so they automatically knew both dialects. It wasn't easy, per se, but it was simple enough.

"I wondered when you would ask me that," the snake replied. There was the tiniest hint of disapproval in its words.

"Hey," I said with a slight frown.

"It wasn't the first thing on my mind," I muttered.

"Parseltongue," the snake began to explain, ignoring my words.

"Has a long and ancient history, spanning many cultures and religions. There is no singular origin, although some say Adam and Eve were the first Parselmouths in history, according to the Bible. Apparently, when Satan transformed himself into a snake and they conversed with him, they were given the ability to converse with all snakes. That is only within Christianity and does not speak for other religions, but do be sure to remember that young speaker. You do not want to offend anyone in the Wizarding World. Almost certainly, Christianity is a muggle religion."

I wondered what my aunt would say to that. Knowing her, she'd just have another breakdown. The thought was actually funny.

"Parseltongue is prevalent in many cultures, and in turn, parselmouths speak different forms of Parseltongue. This you already know young speaker," the snake said, and I nodded.

"There are many families and tribes in which this ability presents itself, and the language is different for each tribe and family. Not all Parselmouths will understand each other, and many spend months learning new forms. Parseltongue, while a foreign language, is just that: a language capable of being taught to those who can speak it; however, this is not a language that can be taught to those who do not descend from the lines to which Parseltongue has been gifted."

"Wait," I interrupted. I was confused here. "Does that mean my aunt could learn Parseltongue?" I asked.

The snake shook its head and said, "No. Your aunt is not magical, and Parseltongue is a magical ability given at birth. The ability to speak is, in a way, locked inside of her."

"Why?"

"I do not know. I do not know of your magic, young speaker, as I've said." I sheepishly apologized and gestured for the snake to continue.

"To be blessed with the gift of Parseltongue means that the Gods chose you or your family for a special reason. It's the same reason why certain people are gifted with magic. Nature chooses those who are worthy, just as the Gods do."

I could understand Gods but nature? Did the snake mean plants and animals? Was there a different type of nature? When I asked the snake, he nodded yes.

"There are herbs you can eat or use to heal the body. The sun provides life, and water provides sustenance. Nature is alive; it provides for us all. How else would anything work?" The snake questioned me, and I had to think for a moment. I learned in school that it was because of science, so it was hard to think of nature as something more than that. I knew magic was real, but the idea that nature was magic was a little hard to believe.

Maybe the snake knew because it had better senses than us?

"Can you taste it too? Like how you can taste my magic?"

The snake swayed from side to side, occasionally flicking its tongue out.

"Yes, but it's harder because it's not in one place like you. It changes and never has the same taste. Sometimes it tastes like air, water, or dirt. Other times, it tastes like blood and death. It depends on what has happened."

I was surprised and a little scared. I wondered what would cause magic to taste like blood and death, but I didn't ever want to find out.

END POV

It was sometime later that Harry and the snake were finally done talking, and he had learned so much. While he was sure he wouldn't be able to travel and learn new Parseltongue languages until he was older, he had something he didn't have before.

"Oh! Harry, there you are!" Looking away from the snake, Harry saw Ms. Figg hurrying across the street at a rapid pace.

'Oh! Harry, are you there? Where was she?!' Harry thought angrily. He had been outside for almost two hours, he bet, and now Ms. Figg was coming to get him?

Harry grumbled under his breath before answering, "I've been out here waiting for you since my family left." At this, Ms. Figg frowned. "Your aunt informed me that they planned on leaving at 12 p.m. and that you would be making your way to my house at that time." Now it was Harry's turn to frown.

"My family left at 10 a.m. to take Dudley to the zoo. My aunt told me I was to wait here until you came to "fetch" me. I just thought you had forgotten." Clearly, Aunt Petunia had "miscommunicated" with the neighbor on purpose...

"Well, never mind that Harry; come now. You must be starving; I bought a roast today and some cookies." With that, Ms. Figg turned around and walked back to her home, the problem of Harry being left out for two hours already off her mind.

"Goodbye, young speaker; we shall meet again." The snake slithered off his shoulder and made its way toward the backyard. Most likely to perch itself on its favorite rock.

"Goodbye," Harry called over his shoulder as he ran to catch up with the elderly lady.

"Have you eaten today, dear?" Mrs. Figg asked. She stepped aside and let Harry inside her home, where he was immediately greeted by one of her many cats. For as many cats as she had, her house never smelled like it. It smelled nice and airy; it was brighter than his aunt's house. The only ugly thing was all of the flower-print furniture. There were flower-print sofas, rugs, and curtains everywhere. It was exactly how Harry imagined a grandmother's house would look, and despite being ugly, it was comforting.

"No, ma'am," he answered. Harry bent down and picked up one of the cats. He didn't remember all of their names, like Mrs. Figg. There were too many to remember, and she switched them out all the time. Harry vaguely recalled her telling him she liked to foster cats from the street and give them forever homes. It must be nice, Harry thought, to have someone who cares so much. At least they'll eventually be loved. While Harry was jealous, he was also happy that they didn't have to suffer anymore.

Mrs. Figg frowned as she looked Harry over. "Your family left you outside without feeding you?" She said it incredulously. Harry merely shrugged in response; he didn't want to talk about how he was treated. It was hardly something he wanted to think about, let alone admit to someone he barely knew.

"Well," Mrs. Figg said. "Just sit down, sweetie, and watch some television while I put the roast in the oven." She set down one of the grocery bags and fetched the remote from atop the fireplace. "There are cookies and water in the bag; help yourself." She walked into the kitchen with the other bag, and Harry did as he was told, happy that she dropped the subject.

Little did Harry know; the problem was far from Ms. Figg's mind. In fact, it remained at the forefront of her mind long after Harry had been returned to his aunt.

If one took a single look at Arabella Figg, one would see an older woman, her gray hair wrapped neatly in a bun, her clothing appropriate for a woman of her age. They wouldn't believe she'd ever been a spy in her youth, that she'd ever smelled the scent of death and blood before the age of 50, and that despite her age, she was well trained in self-defense. Nobody would believe Arabella Figg, a widowed cat lady, had ever been in a war, but there were those who knew and those who forgot. The things she witnessed and the people she's lost formed her opinions and beliefs, and they shaped her outlook on life and on people. There were many things Arabella Figg liked and loved. She loved her cats, even when they covered every inch of her home in their hair. She loved apple cider more than tea because it reminded her of Christmas with her grandmother. She loved puzzles and crosswords; she loved flowers, even those that grew in weeds.

Ms. Figg liked and even loved many things, but... as much as Ms. Figg liked and even loved many things, there were many things she did not like, things she harshly criticized, things she despised. She did not like dogs; they always chased her poor cats into a frenzy. She did not like the dark; too many nights spent alone as a child told her nothing good came when all the lights were shut off. She did not like Dumbledore, despite what they would both have you believe. If one asked her who Dumbledore was, she'd answer,

"Oh, a wonderful man." She'd say. "He led the fight against Voldemort during the first war and defeated Grindelwald too."

However, those would not be her true feelings. She knew all she said was true, but she also knew how those she told would take it. They would not ask her if Dumbledore had ever done anything wrong; they would not ask her if she had any lingering resentment. No, her answer would put all those concerns to rest because it was what people wanted and needed to hear. For Arabella Figg, Dumbledore was not a bad man, but he was a man who did bad things. Because of this, the last item on her list was that she disliked child neglect.

For nine years she watched #4 pivot drive. For nine years, she was forced to pretend she did not see a little boy out doing yard work meant for a more developed body. She had to pretend for nine years that she didn't see how easily forgotten and unloved the little boy was.

Every time she babysat, she would feed him nutrient potions in the hopes that she could help reverse the problems that would eventually make themselves known once he grew up. She let him sleep if only to help chase away the dark bags under his eyes. She let him do whatever he wanted; she let him be a child for a few hours. She tried not to ask questions or raise suspicions, but those bright green eyes were hard to ignore. It was impossible not to see the emotional pain when asked about his family and how it burned itself into her dreams. Ms. Figg did a lot of things, but despite all the things she did for a little boy she barely knew but knew too much about, she did not do the one thing she'd always wanted.

Ms. Figg was not a violent person; in fact, she hated violence with every fiber of her being, but, oh, how she wished she could take the little boy away and let his family rot. So, when she had to send that boy back home after his family left him alone for two hours, it felt like someone took her heart out and poured melting lava into its place. He shut down the moment she told him his family had pulled into their driveway; his bright green eyes became dull as if a cloud of gray swarmed over them. It was heartbreaking to watch and know there was little she could do to restore the light; it tore something in her. That night, her anger reached an all-time fever pitch, and we found her in Dumbledore's office at three in the morning, giving the "leader of the light" a piece of her mind.

"TWO hours, Albus!" She screeched, "He was out there for two hours! Who knows what could have happened to the boy before he got there?"

Her face was red as a tomato, and her chest was moving up and down as she tried to calm her heart rate. She might be healthy for her age, but that's no reason to send herself to an early grave. But she knew it was virtually impossible to stay calm with the way things had been going. She'd been arguing with Albus for the past hour, trying to convince him to send Harry to anyone else the Potters listed in their will, and yet the stubborn old mule would not budge.

A testament to her frustration, Albus merely gave her a small smile, but it was tinged with an annoyance he made sure to keep from his voice. "As I've said, Arabella, I'm sure he would have been fine. It's certainly not the first time he's been by himself." There was a twinkle in those bright blue eyes of his; it made her want to scream.

"Surely his family would make sure he was fine," he said.

'Just how far did his delusions go? He knows the horrors Harry is going through... He knew what he was condemning the child to when he left him on their doorstep.'

"That's the problem, Albus," Arabella hissed. "He's only 10; he should not be left alone that young. His family locked him outside of his home for two hours today. His aunt made sure to tell me the wrong time just so I would be late. You cannot honestly believe that his family truly cares for his safety!"

Her stomach coiled at the thought, at the notion that one could look an innocent child in the eyes and knowingly place them with those who would hate them for simply existing. The cruelty this man exhibited knew no bounds, and it was a harsh realization that prompted her next words.

"I know you think those blood wards help Albus," Ms. Figg said, her tone dangerous. "However, that protects him from those with the dark mark. That does not and will not protect him from muggles or, Merlin forbid, a werewolf!" Lowering herself until she was at eye level with him, she spoke once more.

"We all know Voldemort," she said, and at his slight flinch, she smirked. For a man who constantly told others that saying the name only gave the wizard more power, he seemed scared. How ironic, she thought.

"We all know he would not mark Greyback, and there is nothing anyone could do against a determined man with an unhealthy obsession with children. Harry is unsafe as long as he leaves that house. There is nothing protecting him when I babysit him or when he goes to school or whenever his aunt decides to take him to the store." Even as her words rang true, the horror of Greyback ever stumbling upon Harry was enough to almost make her lose her dinner. The man frequently went after muggle children, and it was hard to know if a muggle stole one or Greyback decided he needed a midnight snack.

It was silent for a moment; neither Albus nor Ms. Figg was willing to look away as they stared at each other. It devolved into a battle of wills, with whoever thought they were right winning. Sighing, Albus let his head drop in what seemed like defeat, but Arabella knew better. After all these years, she knew better.

"I understand your concern, and I'll talk to Petunia about it," Albus said slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes, the twinkle long gone.

"I cannot give you what you really want; Harry will have to stay with his aunt." It was more than just frustration that filled Ms. Figg to the brim. A solemn resignation, a hesitant acceptance, and a fierce defiance took root in her chest. Arabella had no idea Albus was in contact with Harry's aunt, and if he was, why would he need her to look after the boy? It made no sense.

"And what if his aunt is responsible if something tragic happens to the boy?" Her voice was cold.

"I'm sure his aunt will not harm the boy, Arabella." Albus protested again.

"She already has," she retorted. "What of the Potter's will? Surely there were others listed besides Sirius that could have taken the boy."

Please, Arabella," Albus said exasperatedly. "Harry is safest with his aunt; that is all that matters. I will hear no more of this from you."

"I see," Arabella muttered before turning on her heel to leave his office, plans to write to Azkaban already on her mind. 'If Albus won't tell me, Sirius might know who else is on the will. I just hope he'll be willing to let me know.'

Dumbledore sensed trouble was brewing as Ms. Figg left his office and it was a heavy feeling that settled at the bottom of his stomach like lead. Arabella was an asset he needed but she was quickly becoming a mistake he just couldn't afford. His plans, carefully laid since he received that accursed prophecy, were too delicate and too intricate for anyone to ruin. He just couldn't allow it.

The thing that Albus had come to realize at an early age was that he was smart, deceptively so, and as he grew older and gained more experience, he had come to hold knowledge others would kill for. It was a skill of his that he relied on heavily, but for all his wealth of knowledge and despite the depths of his intellect, he was not expecting Arabella to feel so strongly about Harry. The most disturbing part was that he truly didn't know when those feelings began to grow. Then again, she had regular contact with the boy and even as a baby, Harry was hard to dislike or keep away from. He was the very best of his parents, with a gentleness that would have been nurtured so greatly if he had grown up with them. Nonetheless, this was quickly becoming a problem. He only meant for Arabella to keep watch over the boy, not develop feelings of protection over him. The boy was not destined to live with love, he was not fated to have a happy ending. His suffering was going to save the Wizarding World and no matter how great it must be, no matter how much it affected him, suffering and loss is what he would come to do.

There was a significant possibility that Harry's experiences with the Dursleys would shape him. It was possible that Harry would harbor resentment toward the entire world and everyone he encountered. Albus wasn't stupid; he was fully aware that this might turn out to be another failure, but he was more than ready to take the chance. Harry and Voldemort were at the center of the prophecy, which served as the sole thing preventing peace in the wizarding world. Despite his confidence in himself and the trust others have placed in him, Albus knew he couldn't solve this issue by himself. He knew he couldn't defeat Tom, despite his ability to do so.

This time...Albus wasn't the answer and for the first time in his life, he didn't know how to make peace with that. He had never experienced this before. He was used to being the one who solved other people's problems, the one to whom people turned when they needed assistance. He was the political leader of the wizarding world; he was the one Snape —a willing death eater— ran to when his love was in jeopardy. He was the one who made all the difficult choices, who took the risks, and who was constantly in the middle of the conflict. Being confronted with the hard reality that he would not be the savior this time was not something Albus was used to.

Albus buried his face in his hands, a few tears trickling down his cheeks, as Arabella's words tore at his heart and soul. Albus had never loathed someone more than he did when she left his office because she was right. It was one thing to realize for yourself that what you were doing was cruel; it was quite another to hear it from someone else. The tears that fell from his eyes felt so artificial at that moment that he wiped his face wandlessly, forcing his tears back. Heaving a great sigh, Albus slumped in his chair, feeling the weight of his actions as they bore down on his shoulders. It was as though the years had finally caught up with him and were devouring him from the inside out; he finally felt his age. He may have been considering this, which is why he wanted to keep Harry away from the wizarding community for so long. He might not have been prepared to give up this authority or his position. That was not something Albus was prepared to face, but he was not prepared to analyze the truth of those thoughts.

This was not the moment for introspection or self-hatred. In the torment that would undoubtedly await him after death, he could do that many times over. No, now was the perfect time to complete and implement the plans he had been developing for the past few years. He convinced himself that his actions were necessary, even in the face of his cruelty. Even if Harry became resentful, he would defeat Voldemort just to protect himself and that Albus found was perfectly fine. Albus didn't need Harry to be compassionate or the great savior everyone already believed him to be. Harry only needed to kill the Dark Lord for the greater good. It is what he was born to do, after all. That was the only thing that mattered.

Yay for character studies except it kinda makes me hate Dumbledore even more than I previously did.