Assimilative Adaptation
Chapter 3
A Harvest of Resilience
Authors note:
Hello again! Here we are with Chapter 3. I won't give you a huge author's note this time, I promise. I wanted to thank those of you who left comments and critiques, I do appreciate them! Things like that help me gauge interest in the story and let me know if people are actually interested in the work. For those of you who write your own stories, I'm sure you understand how awesome it is to see engagement from your readers. I may have more to say at the end of the chapter, so keep an eye out for that! With that, enjoy the chapter!
Still don't own any part of Harry Potter or the world-scape built around those books/movies.
No beta this time. Le wife is traveling, and I lack the patience to wait until she gets home.
Albus Dumbledore leapt from the chair behind his desk as alarms blared from the trinkets in his office. Three months had passed since he had left young Harry Potter to the mercies of his Aunt and her family. The wards that he had built were meticulously designed to ensure that Harry would return to the Magical world desperate for a savior and completely ignorant of anything to do with the magical world. He had patted himself on the back for the ingenuity that went into those same wards.
Now, however, it seemed that those wards were all nearly gone. Several of them were failing as he examined the monitors on them, while the others were only severely weakened. Dropping a quick note to his Deputy Head, Albus apparated directly into the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. The scene he arrived to was already in chaos. He did not help the situation, not that he really gave a damn about excitable muggles.
"AAAAAAEEERRRGH!" Screeched Petunia Dursley, doing a number on Albus' ears as he had arrived only a few feet from the woman.
Albus cut off her scream with a quick stunner, if only to save his poor eardrums. He ignored her less than gently descent to the floor in favor of the now bellowing, and charging, Vernon Dursley. The man had not yet lost all of the physique held from his champion boxing days from university, so he moved faster than his slight pudge might have indicated. Albus saved himself some personal embarrassment by apparating behind the man just before Vernon had the chance to hit him. Unfortunately for Vernon, that meant he tackled the couch, upending the furniture and spilling himself to the floor in the process.
"I say, young man! What ever are you doing!?" Albus queried in alarmed reproach.
"The devil are you doing in my house!?" returned Vernon as he scrambled to his feet. He would later consider the difficulty he had doing so, but at the moment his only focus was his long boiled over temper and the freakish old man that had just appeared in his living room and apparently killed his wife. Vernon was far too enraged to recognize the man who had caused he and his wife such horrible pain just a few short months ago. "Who the bloody hell are you!?"
"No need for such raised voices." Albus calmly responded as he petrified the man's body. "We are in the same room, after all."
Vernon Dursley was never the calmest, nor the most rational of individuals. He really only had a handful of major concerns to his daily life. He enjoyed good food; the more, the better. He loved his wife and his son, no question there. He would wax poetic about his boxing career, given half the chance. A solid knock-out by a foreign exchange student left him with a heavy ringing in his left ear and some trouble balancing. This gave Vernon two of his most notable dislikes, foreigners and loud noises. The foreigner(s) were responsible for the loss of his future world championship in boxing, and loud noises made him feel queasy.
Vernon, like many who felt they had been unfairly robbed of the success that they could have easily and rightly obtained, became more and more irritable as time went by. This may have lead to an abusive relationship with his wife and son, despite the love that he felt for them, were it not for one thing: a convenient scapegoat for his frustrations delivered ever so conveniently by one interfering and meddlesome old man. Not that Vernon remembered that Albus was the one to deliver his newest frustration.
Despite his current disposition and ever-mounting ire, things began to tumble into place through Vernon's furious haze. It did not help him find his calm.
"Now," Dumbledore began cheerfully, "let's see what the problem is."
Taking a quick look around the room, Albus noted that much of the room's décor had already been overturned or broken. Certainly some of that could be the result of his arrival and the muggle's attempt to attack him without reason. However, it rather looked like a small tornado had run amok around the living room of Number Four.
In the room with him were the two adults, and Albus noted their already quite sizeable young son peaking his chubby face around the corner. "Where is young Harry?" Albus asked rhetorically.
A quick revealing charm found the boy in the boot cupboard under the stairs, much to Dumbledore's surprise. Striding over, Albus noted the closed latch on the outside of the cupboard. It appeared to have been repeatedly broken open and repaired. He did not know whether such things were normal so it made no difference to him whether they had a latch on the cupboard or not. It was unseemly to have locked a young boy inside, but then, he really did want Harry seeking salvation in the Wixen world so why not let it be.
Dumbledore himself found the situation distasteful in the extreme but he would allow a great deal of suffering if it furthered the Greater Good. So long as Harry Potter arrived at Hogwarts at the intended time, starved for love and attention, perhaps a little worse for wear (but not visibly so), Albus would let the muggles do as they pleased.
Opening the cupboard, Albus had that notion put to the test. A shivering, pitiful lump of bruises and misery lay heaped in the furthest corner of the cupboard on a very small mattress from a cot. The inside of the cupboard was rank and it was obvious that the child spent most of his time locked inside.
"Dear me!" Albus muttered quietly, casting an air freshening charm around his person and into the cupboard.
Reaching in to retrieve the toddler, Albus got a bit of a nasty surprise.
"NO! PEEZ NO! Din't do'id on purpose!" cried Harry. At this point, the young child still had some fight in him though, and lashed out to protect himself on instinct. He had already been hurt by Vernon and he had no wish to be in any more pain from the man. A solid kick to the arm attempting to grab him resulted in a loud SNAP and a pained cry from whoever had a hold on him.
Albus reared back sharply with a yell of pain and surprise. The boy had broken his arm! Clenching his teeth hard through the pain, Dumbledore slammed the cupboard closed again before storming back into the living room. Vernon, from his frozen aggressive posture by the overturned couch could almost crow with vindication, seeing the intruder return with a very obviously broken arm.
Drawing his wand awkwardly with his off hand, Dumbledore cast an overpowered numbing spell followed by a bone mending spell. While there was no pain, the grinding pops of the bone resetting and then healing over was not something one could hope to bear comfortably. Vernon no longer felt vindicated. This man was obviously a freak, and here he was invading Vernon's home without so much as a "How do you do?".
"What. Happened?" Growled out Dumbledore, all semblance of a kindly old man left behind.
Vernon merely glared at the strange old freak.
"Ah, my apologies" Dumbledore gave a dark smile. "I can release your head so that you may talk. Do remember to remain civil. It would be most unpleasant if you were not. For you, that is."
Vernon got the message and began to wrestle his temper down. Feeling the freakish hold on his head release, he took a moment to work his now sore jaw. It had not helped him to strain so hard against whatever was holding him in place.
"Gave you a good kick, did he?" sneered Vernon. His voice, to his reckoning, remained just this side of civil. Though from the deepening frown of the old freak in front of him, he may need to try a little harder.
Albus could see the resentment in the other man's eyes, but also the recognition that Albus was the one with the power. It would suffice.
"Yes" was his clipped reply.
He continued "The boy should not have been able to do that, nor should that have been his instinct. What has been done to him to leave him in the state that he is in?"
While Albus was perfectly willing to force Harry to endure misery in order to further his own ends, there were certainly limits to what he would allow. Albus did not consider himself an evil man, just pragmatic. Some people would naturally have to suffer for the vast majority to enjoy their rightful success. The Greater Good required sacrifice, and Albus understood that he would need to extract that from those unwilling or unable to give on their own to the cause. Unfortunately for one Harry Potter, his suffering was paramount to the success of the Greater Good.
Turning to Petunia's still prone form, Dumbledore cast silent and wandless ennervate. With his wand, he righted the furniture and the décor, repairing anything broken and setting it all to rights. He figured that restoring order to the room might make the couple more amenable to civilized discourse. He never even considered that they might be fearful or upset at the repeated displays of magic. To Albus Dumbledore, it was only natural that muggles be in awe of a wixen's work.
Levitating a now awake but petrified Petunia onto the couch, Dumbledore towered over her while he maintained eye contact with Vernon, employing a little Legillemancy in order to keep an eye on the man's honesty. Even without speaking, the picture painted by Vernon's mind greatly concerned Albus.
Vernon considered his options. He wasn't unintelligent, no. He had a business acumen that had allowed him to quickly rise in the ranks of Grunnings after he had left the boxing ring. He needed to work in sales, as the noise of the production floor left him sick and irritable for hours. Still, he had succeeded with the work of his mind. He could bellow and make demands, but even he could see that wouldn't get him anywhere with someone who could freeze him in place and apparently knock him out without ever even touching him, if Petunia was anything to go by.
Petunia was nearly in a blind panic. She had only ever seen Albus Dumbledore in person just the once, and the descriptions that Lily had sent to her parents and, with her limited knowledge of the Wixen world, was only of a kindly but powerful doting old man. Lily had described Albus Dumbledore as a larger-than-life figure, a war hero, and the most powerful wixen of the age. She knew she was entirely at this man's mercy and from her perspective, she and Vernon had done little to earn it. Especially considering the state of that freakish boy in her boot cupboard.
"Well?" Dumbledore gave an impatient huff, urging either of the Dursley's to answer his question. He was digging around in Vernon's head, but he did want them to put words to those memories.
"He – he was doing something… something freakish." Vernon gave a stuttering start. "He isn't allowed to play with Dudder's things. We don't want our good boy to catch any of that freakishness!" Vernon slowly gained confidence as he spoke. He had hopes for how to handle the situation. With luck, the old man would take the freak away.
"We won't stand for him to be here, interrupting our lives with constant freakish behavior!" What if somebody sees!?" Vernon tried to reason. "Better he go with someone who understands that rubbish!"
"Ah, I see what you are trying to do." Chuckled Dumbledore. "No, good muggle, he will be staying with you. You should feel honored, shouldn't you? To care for a wixen child, to see the miracle of magic as it grows?" Albus was very aware that he was stoking the flames here, but he felt he could enjoy the budding outrage before laying down the law.
"No, Vernon Dursley, you will be keeping the boy here." Dumbledore's voice was no longer amused as it seemed to fill the room without ever raising in volume. The intensity of it felt like a physical pressure to the two non-wixen in the room.
Whirling suddenly, Albus petrified and levitated the sneaking Dudley into the room and over to Petunia, who he righted on the couch whilst she could not move a muscle. A show of power would do well to curb any of their worst idea's of how to treat Harry. The boy would seek salvation in the Magical world, yes, but any severe abuse may lead to uncomfortable and unfortunate questions that Albus would not allow to complicate his plans for the Greater Good.
"Tell me, Petunia," Albus released the woman from her petrification, allowing her to quickly grab her child up like an obese teddy bear. "What did you do when you found that Harry was playing with Dudder's toys?" Albus gave the Dursley boy's nickname a condescending twist as he said it.
"I – Ver – We took it from him…" Petunia seemed to be reluctant to assign blame on any individual in particular. She was protective of her family, Dumbledore would give her that.
"I made sure he understood that it wasn't his to touch" Vernon interjected. He was sore on the implied slights that Albus had levied towards him, and still hopeful he could sell the idea that Harry should go somewhere else. "It isn't right for freakish people to just assert their world on us good, red-blooded, normal Englishmen!" He put as much emphasis on normal as he could.
"What's to stop us from going to the bobbies over this? Eh?" Vernon tried "Turn the lad over to them, tell them he was just dropped on our doorstep!" Petunia had made sure that he was well aware of what could happen if they tried to tell anyone about the wixen world. He wasn't even going to suggest that they might do that.
Lily had grumbled about it often enough, feeling in her youthful perspective that the separation was unfair, that it was driving her from her family and that she had to choose. Petunia rather hypocritically resented her sister even more for not choosing the normal world.
"I do not believe that such an act would be in your best interest, Mr. Dursley" Albus returned ominously. "I have already told you that Harry will remain here. I will be making sure of that. Any extra work that you force upon me will be met with… repercussions." He threatened. He had enough to worry about without this uppity muggle adding to his stress.
Vernon swore to himself internally. 'So much for that bloody plan' he thought to himself.
"Were you, perhaps, overly forceful in your remonstration of young Harry?" Dumbledore asked Vernon. Petunia's paling expression gave away the same answer that Albus had already found in Vernon's mind.
"He wouldn't let go." Was all that Vernon gave back.
"Hmm…" Albus gave a thoughtful look as he eyed Vernon skeptically. "Are you saying that a small, possibly underfed toddler was able to resist your initial attempts at taking away a toy?" His purposeful inference towards the declining state of Harry's body was not well received.
"We never planned for his added expense and we don't even want him here!" bellowed Vernon, only to seemingly turn slightly green over the volume of his protestation. It only served to pique his ire even more. "We don't have the money to support the little freak!"
Now Albus was both slightly confused and losing patience with the word freak.
"You have been given a stipend, I told you that." He would not tell them that the money was from the boys own family vaults. That money was mostly going to go to Albus and his supporters, not ignorant muggles.
The vexed and embarrassed expressions that he received in return only served to lessen his already low opinion of these greedy muggles.
"What have you been using the stipend for?" he queried
"It's- well- we just" the Dursley's sputtered over one another.
Reading more from Vernon, Dumbledore found that they had been lavishing themselves and their own son in gifts and expensive treats. Meanwhile, he could see, Harry had been left hungry and had been living in the clothes that Dudley had either outgrown or had replaced with the newfound money. The influence of his wards was causing the Dursley's already extraordinary distaste for magic to fester to greater and greater malignance. Harry, being a specific target of the wards, was catching the brunt of that hatred.
While Harry did need to suffer and seek shelter and salvation from Albus in the future, he did need to make it to that future. Albus considered that he may need to make some adjustments to the wards. The hatred for magic was useful to Albus. However, these worthless muggles really did set him off his appetite. Where was the awe? The fascination with the wonders that they could never reach? Fear, he could understand, but this all encompassing hatred? It wasn't even religious!
Dumbledore's distaste for non-wixen was still very present even after all these years. The attack on his sister had left him very stubborn in his views. The notion that he was "pro-muggle" or in any way fascinated was largely a façade to help him with the politically progressive. It also won him points with the muggleborn wixen that came into the school.
"How did Harry become so injured?" Albus decided to bring the discussion back on track, much to Vernon's distress.
Deciding to just buck up and shove the situation into this old meddlesome freaks face, Vernon just laid everything out. Unknown to Vernon, he rose ever so slightly in Albus' respect, such as it were, for his spine. "When I got one of the damn toys from the freak - "
Albus' sudden irritated frown seemed to have no effect on Vernon's favor towards that word. "- the little shit threw the other one at me. Had some power behind it too."
Loathe as Vernon was to admit it, that had hurt. "He started screaming that he wanted his mum! Much too loudly, I might add." Vernon huffed.
That was the reason that Vernon had reacted as strongly as he did, Dumbledore could see. Vernon's mind was quite open to him. The entire catalyzing situation had apparently occurred nearly a week ago. He would need to work the Dursleys into informing him of what had happened so recently to set off all of his alarms.
Vernon had reeled from that high pitched scream. Children that age could reach a certain tone and decibel that parents everywhere had a special, secret loathing for. Or not so secret, in Vernon's case. Dudley knew of that tone. He also knew he could use it to get what he wanted. Vernon would not direct his ire on his son, no chance. Harry, it seemed, was fair game though.
Vernon had struck out on reflex, smacking the boy across the mouth. Unfortunately for Vernon, Harry had his mothers temper.
Being a very small child who had figured out walking fairly early, Harry was a very mobile storm of confused, angry emotions. He hadn't seen his mum or his dad, nor his uncle Pa'foo or even Moony (he had figured out how to say that one just like his parents did. He was quite proud and made sure to pronounce in correctly whenever he said it.) He was very hungry, he was tired, and he only wanted to play with the toys to distract himself from the confusing maelstrom of emotions occurring within him.
In response to the introduction of pain to his world, after a brief pause of surprise, Harry did what most children do at that age. He threw a massive tantrum. His magic, blocked and limited as it was, reacted in tandem with his outburst, drawing in and assimilating more and more of the wards and potions in his system. The overall result was a suddenly very strong, very expressive angry wixen child.
His first action was to charge forward and hit his tormenter back. Surprising Vernon, he had actually succeeded in hurting the much larger man. The impact, to Vernon, would not have felt out of place in friendly brawl between he and his mates at university. It would certainly leave a large and unsightly bruise, he could tell you that! As Harry drew back for another hit, Vernon kicked out to get the boy away from him. Harry took that kick with aplomb and staggered back only a few steps. His lighter body definitely had a disadvantage, but he was far, far hardier than Vernon could have ever guessed.
As Harry rushed back in, seemingly unfazed by the kick, Vernon decided he was having none of this freakishness and kicked out with much more purpose. That kick got Harry's attention.
Taking the hit on his side, Harry was lifted up and thrown bodily to the ground a short distance away. His screams only got louder. Panicking at the idea that any neighbors might hear the squalling and call the police to investigate, Vernon dove forward and tried to cover Harry's mouth.
It wasn't one of his brightest moments, he could admit that after the fact. Harry promptly attempted to bite him, though he managed to avoid that, thankfully. However, Harry was struggling to get away and was managing to leave nasty welts and painful bruising on Vernon's arms and chest.
Finally, the moment that truly set Vernon off in front of a horrified Petunia (She may have hated the child, but she certainly did not enjoy watching any child be brutalized) A swing of Harry's arm came up and caught Vernon in his left ear, momentarily disorienting him and taking him back to a different moment of humiliation and subsequent loss.
Bellowing like a mad bull, Vernon proceeded to pummel the instigator of his current pain and misery. Hardy or not, Vernon was not a weak fellow, and Harry felt every impact keenly. Had Harry been like any other child, he would not have survived the first few strikes.
As it was, Harry was severely injured and unconscious. He was breathing and he would occasionally whimper, so the Dursley's knew he was alive. Vernon was slightly ashamed of himself, but was doing a reasonable job of disassociating and pushing the blame anywhere but at himself internally.
Petunia spent a few moments in horrified shock, having witnessed the display, but then went to Vernon to try to pull him away from the freak gently. He followed her lead to sit in his favorite chair, breathing hard.
Calming down slowly, Vernon cast a guilty look at Petunia. "I – I'm not" Was all he got out before Petunia interrupted. She had decided that the best course was to pull Vernon mentally and physically as far from the incident as possible.
"I know dear, I saw that he hit your ear." Petunia cajoled Vernon to lean back into his chair. "I know what that does to you. The little freak shouldn't have done that. Don't worry about it dear. Just stay here while I get you something for your nerves, all right?"
"Thank you, Poppet" Vernon gave his wife a weak smile as he tried to get his heart to stop pounding. "I just need a moment…" He steadfastly avoided even glancing at the freak.
Petunia was all for Vernon not interacting with Harry in that moment. Deciding she needed to get the boy out of sight, she quickly picked him up and then hesitated. They had set up a small cot from the consignment shop in the room meant for Dudley and his friends to play in.
She did not want to carry the freak all the way up there, and honestly she needed a place that he would be utterly out of sight for now… Standing in the hallway, she glance at the boot cupboard. Though normally Petunia Dursley would never have considered that place an option, several things worked simultaneously to make it seem viable to her.
First, the stress of the situation and the urgent need to see to Vernon, considering the horror that had just occurred. Second, the wards placed by Dumbledore pushed on the minds of all and sundry within Little Whinging to see Harry as unimportant, to be less considerate of any troubles or problems with the boy; mentally assigning any issues, as well as the boy himself, as completely irrelevant. So it did not seem a large issue to stuff the child into the boot cupboard where he would be out of the way and out of sight in this moment when she had so many other, higher, priorities.
Later, not wanting to bring the boy out just yet, she had brought the mattress from the cot and pushed it in with the boy. She hadn't even consciously thought about it when she closed the latch, locking Harry inside. The latch was intended to keep Dudley out of the closet in the first place, and she certainly didn't want Dudley being around the other boy's freakishness.
After bringing Vernon a snifter of one of his finer whiskies, she sat with him and they discussed the situation, though eventually the wards had enough time for them to dismiss any trauma to Harry, or even any importance to what Vernon had done.
If they had been given the chance, Vernon likely would have sought help, at Petunia's urging. Instead, because of the wards, the violence towards a child was nearly normalized. They simply couldn't regard it with any significant concern.
Albus took another moment to consider whether he might need to rework that particular ward. He wasn't sure if it could lead to gradually heightened violence over time. It wouldn't do for Harry to wind up dead at the hands of his non-wixen relatives when it was Albus himself that would face the scrutiny for their actions. Shrugging to himself, as it was an issue for later, Albus continued to listen and to search around in Vernon's memory.
The most recent event, and what had set off the wards, did not occur until the following day. They had simply left him in the cupboard, out of sight, ignoring his occasional fit of crying. Dudley was confused by the matter, but didn't seem to give it much attention. That evening and into the next morning, they hadn't even brought him out to eat. Therein lay the crux of the problem. Sore or not, Harry was no ordinary child.
Much less inhibited than before, Harry's magic began to react to his needs and pain. He was healing quickly already, as many of the potions in his system were now gone. That healing required energy though, so he was very hungry.
The smell of food from the night before, then again in the morning, was pure torment. By mid-morning Harry had long forgotten his sore muscles and fear of the big man, so hungry was he. A non-magical flimsy door for a boot cupboard with a tiny latch was not going to prevent Harry from finding food.
The other occupants of the house were made aware of that fact with a great crash as the latch was torn from the wall and the door slammed open with Harry staggering out. He had put all his weight and strength behind opening the door, and that strength was by no means inconsiderable. As Vernon and Petunia raced to find the cause of the commotion, Harry made his way into the kitchen and started looking for food.
Responding to Harry's distress, his magic washed about the room searching to fulfill the boys need. Various food stuffs were torn from cupboards, the refrigerator door was nearly torn from its hinges as it flew open, spilling food everywhere. By the time the Dursleys made it to the kitchen, it was already in shambles. There sat Harry in the middle of the floor, hungrily stuffing anything he could reach into his mouth.
"Damn you, boy!" Bellowed Vernon, stepping forward to snatch the loaf of bread from Harry's hand.
Harry rapidly turned away from Vernon, trying to keep the food while stuffing as much as he could into his mouth.
Vernon was wary by now of the boys freakish and unnatural strength, and so was loathe to give Harry the opportunity to strike at him. Moving back, Vernon and Petunia considered how to handle the situation. Obviously, this couldn't be allowed. Regardless of anything else, nearly their entire stock of perishable food was strewn about the floor. The milk had spilled out and Harry was actually sitting in a puddle of the stuff.
Harry, having somehow managed to inhale most of the bread, saw a jar of biscuits sitting on a shelf exposed when a cupboard had been wrenched open. As he suddenly very much wanted those biscuits, the jar flew off of the shelf to shatter on the floor in front of him.
Surrounded by a field of spilled milk, ruined foodstuff, and shards of glass, Harry happily shoveled the sweets into his mouth, glad to have something to sate the ravenous hunger in his stomach. He was completely heedless of Petunia's shriek at the use of magic and the destruction of the biscuit jar.
"AAAGH, NOOooo" Petunia's anguished wail was painful to Vernon, the vertigo quickly souring his stomach, but his anger was directed at the boy on the floor in front of him.
That particular jar was something that Petunia had received from her mother before she had died. Petunia was distraught, naturally. Vernon gingerly stepped to Harry and, carefully, grabbed him by both arms from behind. He didn't try to take the biscuits from Harry's hand and used all of his will-power not to yell, as he didn't want Harry to begin to fight just yet. Not around the glass. Even while angry and under the influence of the wards, neither Petunia nor Vernon were willing to risk that sort of injury on a child. Of course, with time, the wards would even manage to remove that as a relevant concern.
Dumbledore realized that he did indeed need to work on those wards. Everything else aside, he couldn't allow the Dursley's to be so desensitized to the boy's needs that they simply killed him by neglect or because they were prevented from seeing a situation as direly unsafe or unhealthy.
That concern did not live long in his mind. Albus Dumbledore did not consider that he too may be under the influence of those oh so powerful wards of his own making.
Harry had not put up any significant struggle as Vernon moved him. At that point, he still had food in his mouth and in his hands. He was thirsty though, and so looked about. Spotting the spilled milk on the floor, Harry turned his head enough to look over his shoulder towards a red-faced Vernon. "
"Mi'lt peez?" Harry got out around the biscuit still in his mouth.
This only served to further push the boundaries of Vernon's already severely frayed temper. His effort to not yell and therefore set the boy off completely failed at that point. "YOU BLOODY WELL WENT AND SPILT IT ALL YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE FREAK" he spewed, spittle flying from his mouth.
Harry now found himself being held in a painful vice grip as Vernon began to squeeze his arms. Harry started to struggle in Vernon's hold, eventually dropping the no longer important food as he tried to get away from the scary, mean man.
"MUMMY!" Harry cried, struggling for all he was worth. He eventually managed to squirm loose as Vernon was careful not to bring him in close to his body again. They had wound up facing the kitchen in the melee and so that was the direction that Harry fled. He was barefoot as he began his path across the kitchen. He very quickly stumbled as his feet lit up in horrible pain. Falling down as his brain disengaged in response to the pain he was feeling, Harry slid across the shattered glass along the wet floor.
An immense flare of magic, which only managed to not set off the wards because Harry was pulling inwards on those wards with his assimilative abilities, albeit unconsciously, and was therefore rapidly draining their strength. That interference was enough to confuse the monitoring wards enough that, up to this point, Albus was still unaware of the situation.
Glass was sent in every direction away from Harry as his magic forcefully removed anything that was hurting him. All the while, magic worked internally for Harry, speeding up his already accelerated healing until the large, profusely bleeding gashes on his feet, legs, and torso were gone as if they'd never been there.
Gone too were all the bruises left on Harry from Vernon's bout of violence the previous day. However, the biggest surprise for Dumbledore as he watched the events unfold in Vernon's mind had nothing to do with glass or Vernon.
Harry's runic scar was gone.
Dumbledore leapt up, rushing away from the surprised Dursley's to wrench open Harry's cupboard again. This time, Dumbledore levitated the boy out without getting within arm's reach of him. He promptly guided the boy through the air and into the living room, setting him down in the middle between himself and the Dursleys. He absently took note of the very leery looks they were giving the young Potter heir.
Realizing that the boy was not in a cooperative mood based on Harry's effort to, quietly, get out of the air and away from everyone, Dumbledore stunned the child. Surprisingly, Vernon and Petunia looked mightily relieved at this.
Having seen that all of Harry's initial bruising had healed, Dumbledore now questioned why the boy was, once again, completely covered in mottled bruising. More importantly, the scar was indeed gone.
Dumbledore sat back in wonder at this. That scar had been caused by magical feedback, as far as he could tell. Dark magic funneled through from Tom and searing some form of protective rune that Lily had attempted to use on Harry.
There was no possible way, that Albus could think of, that the scar could have healed. He had even begun working on using it as a symbol for that whole Boy-Who-Lived fiction he was spinning. It was to be the mark that Riddle left to show that Harry was his equal, according to the prophesy.
He knew that the prophesy was a little something of his own making, with the unwitting cooperation of Sybill. However, it was the narrative that he was planning to use for many of his future designs regarding Harry. That mark was important!
Deciding then and there that he would need to take a little creative license in order to both emphasize to the Dursley's that they should not draw his ire, and to keep the narrative that he had been building for Harry intact, Albus chose a course of action.
Had Dumbledore not been under the influence of his own wards when it came to assigning importance to Harry's well-being, he may or may not have made the same choice. As things stood, Albus was aided along the route of choosing the easiest course to aid the Greater Good at Harry's less important expense.
While Harry was stunned, Dumbledore propped the boy up on the table in front of the Dursley's. Sending a quick, significant glance in their direction before beginning a short, ad hoc lecture.
"I realize that he has cost you a great deal, regardless of the fact that you had funds available to you in order to support him as you saw fit." Albus stated. "However, that does not excuse the brutality you seem to have displayed towards him."
Vernon looked a little green at the mention of what had happened to Harry. Petunia looked even more frightened as she worried herself nearly sick trying not to consider what Albus might do to them.
"You told me that he had healed from your first beating, Vernon." Here, Dumbledore turned a grave stare onto Vernon, "But here he is, bruised and injured again."
Vernon looked as though he was going to interrupt, but Dumbledore quickly continued on. "I am not going to allow you to continue your story just so that you can make excuses."
Vernon joined Petunia in becoming ghostly pale.
"I will admit, though, that I did not expect this sort of strength or magic from him. If I had thought that he was capable of such feats, I would have prevented them at the start." Albus conveniently ignored that he had, in fact, done his best to prevent such outbursts. "So, first, we will resolve the issue of his physical strength."
Calling on a house-elf bound to his service, Dumbledore went about reapplying the weakening solutions that were meant to limit Harry's physical capabilities. He was unsure how they had been overcome, but assumed it was due to the boy's magic attempting to defend him from the stressors surrounding the boy once his magic had broken through the bindings.
"Tweak!" Albus suddenly called out, much to the Dursley's confusion. What a mad old freak.
Their confusion was shortly replaced by fearful shock as the strangest creature either of them had ever seen just popped into existence in their living room. It was very small, only a couple of feet tall, and wearing what appeared to be a pillowcase with a coat of arms upon it. Grey skinned and quite knobby all about, it's huge eyes and bat-like ears gave it an all-together alien look for the two adults and one very frightened young boy sitting on the couch.
"Master Headmaster, sir!" came the squeakiest voice imaginable, as if one had found a very large mouse and taught it to speak!
Dumbledore seemed completely unfazed by its arrival. "Go to my quarters and bring my potions box, as well as a tub that can fit this child" Albus ordered, indicating Harry.
Once Tweak had returned with the required supplies, Albus set to work recreating the original blocks and limiters that he had used upon Harry. Describing each step to the horrified muggles was a treat that he gave to himself for his own amusement.
The Dursleys were not horrified by what was being done to Harry, no. What they were terrified by was what Albus revealed was possible to be done to them. Every moment that passed gave them greater and greater reasons to fear Albus Dumbledore and all else that was magical.
Albus himself took each step further, doing his best to inhibit the boys capabilities so that the Greater Good could be served. Hours rolled by, during which Dudley himself became bored and hungry. Dumbledore magnanimously allowed Petunia to feed her son with what was still available.
There had been no chance to clean up after Harry's outburst and the subsequent violence that followed. While Albus had not allowed the Dursley's to continue their story, it had all been in Vernon's mind.
Shards of glass had flown away from Harry and both the adult Dursley's had been struck by some of the now tiny fragments. While both had been only slightly injured, Vernon had flew into another rage. Harry was barely conscious when Vernon seized him from the floor. The subsequent beating was what had returned Harry to the state that Albus had found him.
This time, Harry had remained conscious. Amidst a flurry of kicks and punches that left him reeling Harry fled around the house, spreading the violence as his drained magic attempted to throw things into the path of the violence chasing him. This only served to further enrage both Dursley adults.
The only thing that saved the Dursley's a phone call to the police from any of their very alarmed neighbors was the fact that most of the wards influencing the town as a whole were outside of Harry's immediate space, and therefore had not been drained at all. While the noises were horrifying, none who could hear them could gather the will to call the police.
Eventually, and with no conscious decision making on his own part, Harry made it to the last safe place that he could remember, which was the cupboard where they had stashed him the night before. It was only as he managed to crawl inside, bleeding and with several broken bones, that Vernon stopped pursuing him.
"YOU BETTER STAY IN THERE IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU LITTLE FREAK!" Vernon screamed after him.
"IF I SEE ANYMORE OF YOUR FREAKISHNESS, YOU'LL WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN BORN!" Vernon slammed the cupboard closed again, ensuring the catch took hold. He would repair the outer latch later.
Unbeknownst to the Dursley's, Harry's tired magic was not in any shape to stop the wards from activating this time. Dumbledore's arrival would come a short hour later.
Later in the evening, Albus finished nearly all the work he needed to do on Harry. He added in several draining magic sinks in the hopes that Harry would be unable to overcome both those and the wards in place.
Turning his attention to said wards, Albus pondered just what he needed to do.
"I suppose that I could merely replace those that fell…" he mused to himself. He cast a glance at the Dursley's, once again piled on the couch and watching wide-eyed in fear as he held his wand aloft.
"What I am going to do, Dursley, is tie several protections to your house, with young Harry here being the anchor. These will drain him, keeping his magic more limited." Albus figured an explanation like this would go a long way towards making the Dursleys more amenable to Harry's continued presence.
"I will also include wards to help keep your family healthy, as well as maintain your home. With all of those wards feeding from Harry's magic, you will find that he hasn't a chance to become such a problem again."
Albus had not been wrong. Vernon sat back, staring at the child who was once again the picture of health after the old freak had finished his work.
"Do you mean to say that as long as he is here, we will be kept whole and healthy? That these 'Wards' will keep him from doing magic while keeping the house in good condition?" Vernon hated all things magic, there was no question about that. However, if the freakish brat was going to be forced on them… he didn't see the problem with benefiting a little.
Dumbledor was pleased that the muggle would show some appreciation for magic at last, grudging as it was. "Yes, that is exactly what I am saying."
"Is – Is there anything else that you can do to make sure he won't be using his… stuff on us?" Appreciating those ward thingies was still not going to make Vernon comfortable with magic. The old freak was willing to work with him though, and Vernon was a businessman.
Albus was not going to play along though. It was time for the other side of his persuasive gestures.
"I believe that the wards, as they are now, will suffice, Dursley." Albus gave the man an evil sneer.
"However, I believe that a little reminder for yourselves and young Harry about his place in the world is in order."
The adult Dursleys paled and cowered back into the sofa as Dumbledore loomed over the still comatose Harry.
"Perhaps a permanent, visible reminder. In fact, I know just the thing." Albus was beyond irritable at this point. His time under the wards had already influenced his views on Harry's wellbeing. Because of this, he had not changed that aspect of those wards, not seeing the need to.
With that lack of perceived importance, and the ever paramount needs of the Greater Good, Albus believed that Harry Potter still needed his famous mark. He knew just how to return the mark in a way that no magic could ever heal.
'It is regrettable, but necessary." He thought to himself as he prepared to cast a truly vile and reprehensible spell. Working his emotions into the right frame of mind, Albus called up every hateful memory, every moment of torment and anguish in his long years.
The stormy and wrathful expression coming over the old freak's face did not help either adult Dursley find peace with the notion of magic. Even a non-wixen could feel the terrible foulness of the gathering magic as Albus continued his work.
The spell would require his utmost concentration and control. This was something that Albus had in spades, far and above what Tom Riddle could accomplish. The upstart was merely a dearth of power. No, Albus alone had attained this level of control, and he would need every ounce of it to not destroy the child in front of him.
"Fiendfyre" Dumbledore nearly hissed, his expression dark and filled with menace. His wand was pointed slightly upwards in front of him as a small burst of hellish flames erupted outwards, only to be quickly corralled into a single furious point.
The insignificant family observing his monumental work could only cower and weep, the mother covering her child as he shook and shivered in fear.
As Albus forced the hell-fire into the shape he desired, a fiery scalpel was formed at the end of his wand. Being forced into such a tiny, confined shape turned the roaring flames into a shrill scream of power and heat.
This magic was everything that Vernon and Petunia believed. Horrid and vile, painful to even be in the room with. The heat from the spell, even from their distance, was blistering. The light coming from the old man's flames was truly malevolent, feeling for all the world like hot grease sliding across their skin.
And then the old man bent towards the comatose child in front of him.
In a short moment that would have surprised everyone in the room if they had been able to consider it, Petunia nearly leapt to yank Harry away from the terrifying old man. No matter what else, the boy was practically a babe, and her nephew to boot. None of the Dursley's did have the chance to consider this swell of protective emotion. Besides the influence of the newly strengthened wards, they were all terrified out of their minds.
A sound unlike any the Dursley's had ever heard hissed through the room as fiery scalpel met flesh. Albus took his time, carefully searing the runic scar back into Harry's forehead. His focus was absolute, injecting as much hatred and fury as he could into the spell, fueling the dark magic as powerfully as he could while still maintaining his fine control.
Finishing his work, he ruthlessly crushed out the Fiendfyre and turned to the supplies still set beside the child. Waving the Elder Wand in an impromptu mesh of spell-work and alchemy, Albus mixed both to ensure that the scar would not ever fully heal. He cursed the wound, using only magic with intent to leave himself a link, so that he could manipulate the scar in the future.
He had only an inkling of plans with which to use the link, but Albus Dumbledore was a pragmatic opportunist when he could be.
Lastly, Albus injected an aversion hex into the scar and tied it with the dark magic that lingered, ensuring that anyone that drew near the boy would be put off by the disturbing feelings that Harry's presence would inspire.
Anyone who tried to be close to the Potter Heir would feel the need to distance themselves. Being anywhere near the child would cause a feeling of unease and distrust. Albus gave himself a small pat on the back for the addition, considering that it would absolutely keep him forever isolated. Harry Potter would grow up without friends, only to be suddenly given a new lease on life when Albus removed that aspect via some special work on the boy's Hogwarts letter.
Completely finished with his work, Albus used an air freshening charm to remove the sickly smell of burned flesh.
Standing back and forcing down the violent emotional state required to cast the magics that had just spewed forth from his wand, Albus turned to the Dursley's.
"I trust that I will not need to correct any further issues?"
The Dursleys only response was to continue gaping in horror at the demonic thing that had invaded their home.
"Hmm. I believe we understand one another, then." Albus continued.
"You will keep the boy in the cupboard, but he will have enough food to survive." Albus began explaining to the Dursley's just how things would proceed. "He will not be beaten like that again, though you may discipline him as you see fit within reason."
"…" The Dursley's merely continued to stare. It seemed that he had accomplished his goal of cowing the disgusting muggles. Good.
"I will assign a watcher to keep an eye on things."
That got their attention. "Ergh… ah…"
"Worry not, she will not be magical." Albus gave a placating gesture, amused at how affected the muggles were.
"She will merely be in the area, without interfering unless there is a need." Albus explained. He gave a short pause as he thought to himself how he could go about improving upon his plans for Harry.
"I do not believe that Harry should leave the area. The chances that he could be spotted by another wixen are far too high. Wouldn't want to draw any other… unsavory attention to yourselves, no." Albus' eyes gleamed viciously.
Here, surprising herself most of all, Petunia interrupted. "B-but what –" she stuttered and hesitated, shocked at her own temerity. Still… "What about school? S-surely people would talk if we didn't –"
"Are there any within Little Whinging, or perhaps Surrey?" Albus cut in.
"Surrey, yes" Petunia responded, keeping her words clipped and to the point.
"Then he may go there, but no where else." Albus replied. "In fact, should you choose to go anywhere outside of Surrey, you will leave him with my watcher."
'The more isolated the young boy is, the more he will seek salvation with the wixen world, and myself in particular when I allow him to occasionally visit with friends.'
"Arabella Figg will move in to one of your neighboring houses as soon as I can arrange it." Dumbledore continued. "If you find yourself in need of a short break, or going anywhere outside of Surrey, then you will leave the boy with her."
A few ground rules were needed.
"However, you will not leave him there all the time, and he will spend the majority of his time at this home." Dumbledore laid down the law. Though he figured he could redirect some of the potential ire from anything physical.
"Harry will need to be kept busy, tired even. His magic, while being drawn away significantly, would be better served attempting to keep the boy going, rather than ever being so full of energy as to cause mischief." Dumbledore reasoned.
"Perhaps a regular list of chores, so that he may make your lives here easier."
While Vernon and Petunia were still absolutely horrified of what they had witnessed, both suddenly had a gleam in their eyes as they imagined the various chores they could pawn off on the boy as he became capable.
Why should they do the busy work when it served them all the better if Harry was kept busy and tired. Everyone could benefit. Harry would be kept out of the way and busy, and they could spend more leisure time with their Dudley.
Vernon had to ask though; "He's a willful fr- boy… what if he won't do his chores?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "He is no where near as strong as he was before, and so long as you do not overly injure or deprive the lad, I'm sure you can convince him to earn his meals."
Late evening had crept its way through Albus' work and he found that he was beyond sick of mingling with muggles.
"I do not believe we shall have any more troubles, should all do their part." Albus gave the Dursley parents a significant look when he said this.
"For the time being, I will depart. Do not make me return again, Dursley." Dumbledore warned. "The boy will not be the only one with permanent disfigurements."
Vernon and Petunia quailed.
"You will meet Arabella in a few weeks at most." Dumbledore's suddenly cheerful switch left the Dursley's off balance.
"What if-" Vernon cut off as Dumbledore popped away along with all of his supplies.
Vernon stared at the space where the terrifying old freak had just been.
Turning to the scarred and even slightly burned child still laying on his coffee table, Vernon harrumphed "Bloody well could have put the little freak back where he got him."
"Vernon!" Petunia hissed "He might not be gone!" she glanced around with nervous eyes. She did not want another display of his displeasure.
Vernon joined her in looking about the room in alarm, half expecting the old man to suddenly rematerialize. After a few moments of quiet, he mumbled under his breath and moved towards Harry. Picking the child up, Vernon quickly carried him back over to the closet and stuffed him inside on the mattress.
Reclosing the door, Vernon turned to his wife. "Pet, I'm going to go out and pick up some take-away. You er… well." Vernon glanced towards the disaster of a kitchen.
Petunia followed his glance, looking displeased with the thought of cleaning up after the little freak. "I suppose I shall have to tend to the mess. Take Dudders with you? I don't want him around all the glass."
Vernon agreed and in short order, was driving away towards some greasy comfort food.
Cleaning the kitchen, Petunia vowed that this particular chore would be Harry's as soon as she deemed him able.
Somewhere outside of material existence, several conceptual entities watched on in disgust and fury. Fate's gift would work its wonders, and the watchers would help it along.
In the cupboard under the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive, Harry Potter lay silent. His magic and body was utterly exhausted. Fate's gift would not be denied, however. Ever so slowly, hour after hour, and then later day after day, Harry Potter was drawing in the magic around him. Potions, curses, wards, fiendfyre induced scars, blocks, and everything else used on the poor broken child. All were being drawn in, weakened, reduced to base magic, repurposed as possible. Harry Potter took it all in, bit by bit.
Months rolled by as the Dursley family resituated themselves and Harry was forced to contend with his new reality.
For a short time, he regressed hard in development in reaction to his trauma. This only served to infuriate the Dursley's even more. They saw the little freak as a burden and a drain on their time. His cupboard would smell and he wouldn't talk at all. As a year passed, they withheld food more and more when he made a mess, which prompted a less than polite knock on their door by Arabella Figg one day.
"What do you want?" Snarled Petunia, casting a quick look around to see if anyone else had spotted the crazy woman on her perfect doorstep. Arabella had already made a name for herself with the locals.
Arabella had agreed to this job hoping to look out for the poor orphaned Potter whilst helping to repay her debt to Dumbledore. Albus had done some quick wand-work to align the woman's outlook on Harry to more suit his needs while the wards did the rest. Even so, Albus had gotten an alert from his monitors on Harry's health and figured that the Dursley's needed a reminder that he was watching.
"Albus sends his regards, and would like to know if you require him to visit?" Mrs. Figg stated imperiously. The look in her eye suggested to Petunia that both women knew the results of such a visit.
"Ah, no. No that won't be necessary." Petunia stammered out. "I was just going to check on the fr-boy."
Although Petunia did her best to keep her face clear of the panic building in her gut, Arabella was keen enough to spot it.
"Would you like me to come inside and check up on the lad?" she asked in an overly sweet voice.
"S-Sorry, we are-aren't prepared for company at this time!" Petunia slammed the door closed, locking it quickly.
Harry's care improved, though only just enough.
Another year passed slowly and torturously for the poor boy.
The sounds of footsteps in the upstairs hall brought the small child out of his nightmares. He had long ago learned to be quiet at all times, so no-one heard his whimpers during the night.
Listening to who was coming down the stairs, Harry recognized his aunt's stride. She would be coming to let him out so that he could use the bathroom.
"Up, boy. Now." The door to his cupboard opened.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."
Harry had been conditioned, very successfully, to respond in an exact manner.
Although the Dursley's had not used their conditioning as a way to prevent future misfortune should Harry rediscover his strength again, that conditioning was the only reason that no-one had noticed that Harry was indeed a bit stronger than a child in his situation should be.
"You will clean yourself up, and then you will wipe the floor in the kitchen." Petunia instructed with narrowed eyes. The boy was just so untidy. "My Dudder's will be turning four today and you WILL make sure that this house is spotless if you want to earn your meals."
While the Dursley's had yet to assign every chore in the house to Harry, there were few that he did not do. Petunia did not believe he was capable yet of cooking, the freak was far too small, and she wasn't sure he was even trainable for such things. She certainly wouldn't start on her baby boy's birthday, that was for sure.
A few hours later, and Harry had swept the floors and mopped in the kitchen (with a rag, he hadn't earned a real mop yet). He wasn't tall enough for the counters and Petunia wanted the little freak out of the way for her Duddikins special day.
"Mrs. Figg will be by shortly to pick you up. You will not give her any grief, and you will not return until this evening." Petunia informed the boy.
"Go wait in your room until she arrives." Petunia stated, shoving a small, plain pancake into Harry's hand along with a glass of water from the tap. Hot water, since that was all they allowed him. It wasn't necessary, but it amused the Dursley's that Harry was only allowed hot water to drink, while his baths were only ever in cold water.
"And you had better not go back to sleep!" Petunia called as Harry climbed into his cupboard. "No call for you to be such a lazy thing." She finished almost to herself.
The wards were doing their work, ensuring that the Dursleys despised the boy. All the while the scar on his forehead ensured that they remembered that there would be consequences if they went too far.
Had they actually paid close attention to that scar, they might have noticed that it seemed to be ever so slightly clearer and less irritated over the last couple of years. It was a very slow process. Even now, it looked like a wound only a couple weeks old.
Had Dumbledore seen it, he would have been alarmed by the amount of healing that had actually occurred, as his layers of curses and alchemical treatments should have kept it looking as though it would start weeping at any moment as a fresh burn.
In short order, Harry heard the sound of doddering old Mrs. Figg coming up the sidewalk leading to the door. No one else heard a thing. He made sure that he was sitting up on his mat for when his aunt opened the cupboard.
A brief knock at the front door signaled that Mrs. Figg had arrived and Petunia let Harry out. She opened the door for Mrs. Figg with a sour expression.
"You'll take him until this evening?" She asked.
"As we discussed" Returned Mrs. Figg. This had been arranged via phone call earlier in the week.
"Good then." Petunia dismissed the both of them as Harry stepped forward out of the door.
Although Harry gave his required responses when his aunt or uncle spoke to him, he uttered not a word elsewise. Questions were not permitted, comments were not welcome, and his voice only brought attention on himself. He learned quite quickly about the drawbacks to such behavior.
"Come along, Harry" Mrs. Figg called as she turned back down the sidewalk. The confusion that Harry displayed at that statement was directed at the ground, so Arabella missed it. This would be the first time she was taking Harry over to her home and she looked forward to seeing how the boy was doing.
Harry was just shocked that he might have a different name than "Freak". He had vague dreams, very strange ones, where people called him nice things, even a few that might have been something like "Harry". He couldn't see their faces and most of the words were very jumbled. Yet, here and there, these near faceless figures would loom over him and he would hear some iteration or derivation that name.
His mind, so restricted and awash with various alchemical substances, charms, curses, and other such magics, was slowly but surely dulling their effects. The magic held in each of those limiters were being drained at a pace that would make winter molasses seem dangerously fast. The influence of all of the drains upon Harry kept the process slow, but even those were weakening as time went by.
As the two walked the path towards Arabella's home, Harry studiously kept his gaze on his feet. As such, he did not see the part-kneazle streaking towards him until it dived between his legs, tripping him up. Dodging away with a hiss, she fled from the dark feeling boy as he tumbled to the ground.
"Oh! Mrs. Lacy!" Cried the old woman "That wasn't very nice!"
'What odd behavior!' Thought Mrs. Figg. Normally her babies were so sweet to children!
Quickly picking her charge up from the ground, she checked for any scrapes he had likely picked up.
Harry stiffened at the contact and seemed to shy away as she patted him down during her inspection.
"Don't you worry, dear, Mrs. Figg is just making sure that you're right as rain" She spoke in soothing tones.
'The boy didn't make a sound! What a well behaved young man!' Arabella thought cheerfully.
While no one else would have even noticed Harry's fall, due to the wards, Albus had taken the time to provide the woman with a charmed necklace, allowing her an exception within the wards and the influence of his various curses, hexes, and other works. This was so that Arabella could do her job and ensure that Harry made it to Hogwarts, not out of any regard for either Arabella or Harry himself.
Interestingly, rather than push anyone else to consider that Harry wasn't such a problematic young boy, her presence around Harry simply reinforced the local opinion that there was something off about the crazy cat lady that had moved in.
Ushering Harry into her home, Arabella set him down and went about making some tea for the two of them.
"How do you like your tea, dearie?" she asked.
"…" Harry had no experience with an adult offering him anything like tea. He didn't know how to respond and was quickly becoming alarmed. Not responding led to punishment.
"Harry?" queried Mrs. Figg, popping her head around the doorway into the kitchen.
"Erm… I don't… know? Ma'am?" Harry tried not to mumble. Mumbling led to punishment.
"Oh." Arabella blinked. Maybe the Dursley's thought him too young for tea. 'Tosh' She thought to herself.
"Perhaps some milk and honey then, young man. We are Brits, tea is a part of our heritage." She chuckled.
While Mrs. Figg was busy in her kitchen, Harry was trying to sit as still as possible on her couch. Being allowed on the furniture was something strange and new to Harry. Worse, several of the old woman's cats were glaring at him from around the room. It was all so very uncomfortable for Harry.
Once finished with the tea, Arabella wandered back in with a saucer of biscuits, shortbread of course, to share with Harry while they enjoyed some small-talk and she learned how Harry Potter was getting along.
"Well, go on then!" Arabella indicated towards the biscuits. "They won't eat themselves, dearie." She laughed.
Tentatively, and with all caution, Harry stretched his hand out towards the dish, never raising his eyes to look at the woman across from him. He was completely out of his element, but had decided to go with the flow to the best of his nearly 4 year old capability.
To disobey or question an adult was to earn punishments. If Mrs. Figg told him to eat the biscuits, he would eat the biscuits. It was quite nice to be able to eat so soon after his pancake this morning.
Sipping from his tea, he was delighted as to it's sweet taste. Mrs. Figg had assumed that, as a very young boy, he would prefer it very sweetened.
Arabella took this as a sign to start asking some probing questions while encouraging some light conversation. Unfortunately, Harry had been well trained not to talk unless directly asked a question or given an order. When he did talk, it was as minimal as possible while remaining as polite as could be.
Mrs. Figg seemed to be growing quickly frustrated with him and he was not sure what he was doing wrong. The tea was wonderful though. So sweet. The biscuits were rich, too. The old woman kept prodding him to eat as much as he liked.
When a person goes without, or on minimal sustenance for a long period of time, they should take great care with their meals. Harry experienced this for the first time in his life right there on Mrs. Figgs nice carpet.
Having felt an oncoming rush of nausea sitting there giving minimalistic answers to the old woman across from him, Harry was unsure what he should do. As a rule, he was never to be sick in front of the Dursley's. If he felt ill, he was to inform Aunt Petunia, and then either go to his cupboard with a bucket, or to the bathroom first.
Here, he had very little time to react. There was no bucket nearby and he had not been shown where the bathroom was. Before he could so much as ask for the bathroom, Harry felt the sick coming up until he leaned quickly to the side and made a mess.
"Oh, my goodness!" Cried Mrs. Figg "Oh, why didn't you say anything!?"
Seeing Harry's stricken and still slightly green face, Arabella did her best to reign in her surprise and slight irritation.
"No matter, Harry, we can clean that right up." Arabella wasn't too worried. One did not breed any kind of cat without a mess or too. Fur balls were an unfortunate natural hazard of the occupation.
"I will, Mrs. Figg. May I have the cleaning supplies?" Harry's small voice piped up.
Arabella considered the potions that she used for cleaning up hairballs from the carpet. They weren't really safe for children to use, even if Harry was so kind and well mannered enough to offer.
"Do you still feel unwell, Harry?" she asked.
"y-yes ma'am"
"Hmm, well perhaps you should just sit, dearie. If you feel yourself need to be sick, the bathroom is just down that hall, there." Arabella pointed.
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Were you sick before today?" Arabella was an old squib. While more resilient to non-magical illness' than a non-wixen, she was much more susceptible than full wixen. Anything that could make Harry sick could ruin her week quite thoroughly.
"No, ma'am" Harry reassured her.
"Not to worry then, perhaps you weren't ready for such a strong tea after all."
Arabella had a slight worry at the boy's reaction to tea and biscuits. Did wixen have allergies like the muggles? She wasn't sure. Arabella was not an idiot, though. This boy's behavior and reactions were a little… off.
By themselves, she wouldn't have considered his mannerisms and shyness as any real problem. He was a small boy with a stranger in a strange environment. Coupled with his small size, his shying away from physical contact, and apparent issue with rich foods… things were pointing in a direction that Arabella didn't truly enjoy contemplating.
"I might have something for your stomach if you'd like, Harry." She offered. Perhaps a cleansing potion might help the boy and clear out anything that had made him sick before. They always did wonders for her. Potions were something that still worked for her as a squib. She could make the most basic ones herself, too.
Arabella supplemented her income by providing low grade potions to a few apothecaries that farmed out their brewing requirements. It wasn't much, but a squib had to make due however they could.
"I…" Harry hesitated. This was all so new and he did not know how to act.
How was he going to avoid punishment if he didn't know what he was supposed to do or say? Why was she asking him so many questions!? How was he supposed to stay quiet and unnoticed if she kept on asking him stuff!?
Arabella continued to glower internally. She had experienced plenty of her own misfortune as it became more and more apparent that her magic wasn't growing as it should. She knew what caution looked like in a child.
She could feel a strong aversion to the young man in front of her slowly working its way into the room, but it did not sit right with her. Something was off. She had seen how her cats were reacting. Kneazles did not react well to dark magic. Even if she could not feel the magic afoot, they could. So the aversion was something magical. She did not think it originated from Harry naturally, as he was such a shy and polite child.
Albus Dumbledore had told her that he had created wards to protect the Potter boy and to keep the wizarding world away from him. He had explained that Harry could not know about the Magical world, since he did not live in it. He would not be able to be trusted to keep such a secret until he was old enough to understand why it needed to be kept. Thus, Harry Potter was to be blind to his heritage and Dumbledore had taken steps to ensure that the rest of the wixen world was blind to Harry Potter.
Arabella considered the possibility that something went wrong with those wards, and Arabella only considered that briefly since it was Albus Dumbledore who had put them in place. He had even been so kind as to give her an exception to the wards. He would certainly know what he was doing.
Another possibility was a reaction to her Kneazles. He could be allergic. That didn't really explain the foreboding aura about the young lad, despite his quiescent mannerism.
Arabella Figg was a squib. She was no expert on magical phenomenon, most certainly not. What she did know was that this was the easiest and best paying job she had ever gotten. All the while she could keep up her normal occupations and save up galleons for when the job ended. She did not want to lose this opportunity.
Harry may even remember her when he grew up. He could end up hiring her on or just help her out when she needed it. That sort of thing was rare and coveted by squibs everywhere who didn't just flee the wixen community all-together.
Arabella considered her options. Coming to a brief plan, she set about it immediately. A quick cleanse could be just the thing.
The brief time spent in close proximity was beginning to wear on the charms cast on Arabella Figg by Dumbledore. More and more, she was beginning to see a variety of problems with the situation. Albus had never thought to monitor the charms he had placed on her. They were cast by the Elder Wand, they would not fade.
"Not to worry, dearie, Mrs. Figg will fix you right up!" She assured the nervous boy in front of her. "You just wait right there, or run along to the bathroom if you need to."
Stepping back into the kitchen, Arabella opened the cabinet that kept her potions supplies. If the muggle authorities ever searched her home, she would be in quite a bit of trouble with the ministry, but Albus had helped to ensure that such a thing would not happen.
Retrieving a vial of cleansing potion and the one she needed to clean the mess, Arabella walked back into the sitting room. Harry was still calmly sitting, eyes on the floor but averted from his sick.
"Drink this right up, Harry." Arabella told him reassuringly. "Then you'll need to go visit the loo for a bit. It won't feel very good for a while, but then you'll feel right as rain!"
Looking at the vial dubiously, Harry did as he was told. Grimacing at the taste and fighting the urge to gag, Harry downed the potion. Eyes going wide, Harry made a dash down the indicated hallway and out of sight for Mrs. Figg.
Chuckling to herself, she set to work cleaning up the mess on her carpet, all without even suspecting the proverbial anthill that she had just kicked over.
Elsewhere, a roomful of smirks formed from ethereal nothingness ever so briefly before returning whence they came. Mortal expressions were alarmingly contagious.
End Chapter
Thank you all for joining me. Do good things, have fun, and be creative in life.
