Family Life

Chapter One: The Final Straw

"What was that?" Vernon Dursley yelled as a loud crash from the kitchen could be heard out into the living room.

Storming into the kitchen, Uncle Vernon found Harry attempting to pick up the pieces of a shattered plate as fast as he could. Force of habit more than anything else had driven Harry to try and clean up the mess before Uncle Vernon saw it. Sitting at the table, Harry's cousin Dudley was barely containing a smile.

"What's going on?" Uncle Vernon yelled at his nephew.

"Harry dropped a plate," Dudley spoke up quickly before Harry could answer.

"That's not true," Harry countered. "You dropped it."

Since Harry had returned home for the summer after his fourth year, these fights had become more and more frequent. But gone were the days when Harry had had to silently take the blame for the majority of Dudley's acts. With the Dursley's ever increasing fear of him, Uncle Vernon had become less and less likely to automatically assign blame for anything that went wrong to Harry.

Harry was also starting to stand up for himself more against such accusations. For too long he was forced to bare the blame for every little mishap. But noting the family's growing unease around him, he had started to use their fear to his advantage. And even if he couldn't use magic outside of school, that was no reason not to make it work for him in other ways. After all, it was the Dursley's own prejudice against anything magical that caused them to fear it so much.

"Boy, go to your room!" Uncle Vernon yelled. This was usually as far as Uncle Vernon ever went with him anymore. Simply get Harry out of his sight as quickly as possible.

"But I didn't do anything!" Harry yelled back. "Why am I being punished? Why don't you send Dudley to his room for a change?"

Uncle Vernon's face began to take on the characteristic purple coloring it adopted whenever the fights would start. But they had now begun to be accompanied by a slight shaking of Uncle Vernon's whole body as he fought to restrain himself.

"Go to your room, boy!" Uncle Vernon repeated. "Or it'll be much worse for you in the end."

"I didn't do it!" Harry yelled. "It was Dudley's fault!"

"How dare you accuse your cousin like that!"
"Make him apologize!" Dudley piped up suddenly. "I want an apology!"
"I'd sooner turn you into a pig!" Harry snarled at his cousin.

What happened next came so suddenly Harry didn't even have time to react. A sharp blow hit him in the side of the face so hard he was knocked to the floor. When he looked up, Uncle Vernon was standing over him shaking a threatening finger in his face.

"How dare you..." he sputtered. "How dare you...threaten anyone...in this house. I should...."

But whatever Uncle Vernon felt he should do, Harry never found out. A slight vibration suddenly echoed through the house, rattling the dishes and the furniture. Harry stayed where he was on the floor, which seemed the safest place for the moment. Apparently Uncle Vernon and Dudley thought so too since they dove for the floor and huddled there on all fours. Aunt Petunia came flying in from the living room.

"Vernon!" she screamed, diving for the floor next to her son. "What is it? What's happening?"

Uncle Vernon had turned his purple face to Harry.

"Is this your doing, boy?" he bellowed above the clattering.

"I can't do anything like this," Harry yelled back, his own fear growing. He wasn't capable of such a strong force of magic, but he knew someone who was.

Voldemort.

Harry's mind was racing. He had to get upstairs. He had to get his wand. Without it he had no chance of fighting.

But just as Harry was pouring over what spells he might be able to use, a sudden flare of light appeared in the center of the kitchen. Harry brought his hand up to shield his eyes, then slowly lowered it as the light faded.

In it's wake stood the last person Harry would have ever thought to see. Elderly Ms. Figg from next door. Wearing a simple, pull over blue dress, Ms. Figg stood in the middle of the Dursley's kitchen looking as angry as Harry had ever seen anyone in his whole life.

"Dursley!" Ms. Figg roared, brandishing a small thin stick at Harry's uncle. It took Harry several seconds to recognize the trim, elegant, mahogany wand in her hand.

Uncle Vernon barely managed to turn his head enough to look up at the infuriated old woman.

"Ms. Fiiiigggg?" He stammered.

Ms. Figg stormed over to Uncle Vernon, her wand never wavering off it's target.

"How dare you!" She shouted at him. "Haven't you abused this poor boy enough? Now you're resorting to physically beating him?"

Uncle Vernon could think of no reply, his whole attention focused on the slender wand pointed between his eyes.

Ms. Figg turned finally to Harry, who lay still on the floor, staring up at her through wide eyes.

"Hello, Harry," Ms. Figg said, her whole composure changing to that of an old family aunt addressing her favorite nephew. "Are you all right?"

Harry could do nothing more than nod mutely.

"Well," Ms. Figg sighed, "We'd best be going, Harry," she turned an evil stare back to Uncle Vernon. "Before I lose my temper and do something I might enjoy."

"Go...going?" Harry stammered. "Going where?"

"Anywhere away from here is a good place, dear, wouldn't you say," she said kindly, offering Harry her hand.

Harry quickly grabbed her hand and found himself pulled effortlessly to his feet. Ms Figg place her hand under his chin and turned his face to the light. She then shot Uncle Vernon a murderous look. "Come on, Harry," she repeated, never taking her eyes off of Uncle Vernon until the last moment as she led Harry into the living room. "Don't worry about your things. We can collect them later. First things first, and right now the best thing I think is to get you away from here." Ms. Figg looked around the room. "Well, you can't apparate yet, am I right?"

Harry numbly shook his head, staring transfixed at his elderly neighbor.

"And there's no fire, so port key it is." Ms. Figg stated, pulling a large brass door knocker out of her pocket. "Do hold on tightly, won't you, Dear?" she said kindly as she offered it to him.

Harry grabbed hold of the brass circle and instantly felt the familiar pulling sensation and sudden blurring of everything around him as the portkey transported him away from Privet drive.

Chapter Two: Arabella

Harry landed with a soft thump in the center of another livingroom. But this one, though somewhat smaller than the Dursley's, somehow seemed more friendly. A thick blue carpet had cushioned his landing a bit, and he had come to a stop just in front of a small, cherry table that sat behind a large, plush tan sofa. Looking about quickly, Harry saw a set of stairs off to his left. To his right a large picture window opened to a shaded yard with several large oak trees.

"All right, Harry?" a solicitous voice asked behind him.

Harry pulled himself to his feet as quickly as he could manage and turned to face Ms. Figg. It hadn't dawned on him until that moment just how foolish what he had done was. He had no idea where he was being taken. He could be anywhere at that moment. But as eager as he had been to leave Privet Drive, he consoled himself, if Voldemort himself had stuck out his hand, Harry would likely still have grabbed it.

"Feeling all right, Dear?" Ms. Figg asked a bit concerned by Harry's lack of response.

Harry still only stood and stare at the old woman in amazement.

"Well now," she stated, looking puzzled, "I've heard of people being a bit disoriented by portkey travel, but you certainly take your time with it, don't you, Dear?"

Harry fought to find his voice, but the first statement out of his mouth seemed to find it's way there by itself.

"You're a witch!" he exclaimed.

Ms. Figg chuckled. "I would hope so, Dear," she giggled. "Or I'd have some explaining to do, wouldn't I?"

"I think you have some explaining to do anyway," Harry stated, but immediately regretted it. If Figg was working for Voldemort, irritating her wasn't going to help things.

But Ms. Figg continued to smile at him pleasantly. "I suppose I do, don't I?"

"But you....you lived practically next door to me!" Harry nearly shouted. Hysteria was quickly seizing hold. "You used to baby-sit me."

"Oh, and such an adorable child you were," Ms. Figg flushed at the memory.

Harry stood staring at her open-mouthed. Nothing was making sense. Surely this couldn't be crazy, old Ms. Figg. Who would practically restrain Harry while she sat with him on her sofa showing him one picture after another of her cats. But she certainly didn't sound half as crazy as she usually did.

"Ah, well," Ms. Figg sighed. "I suppose explanations are in order, but first..."

She quickly pulled out her wand and tapped it lightly on her head.

A small, spiraling light encircled her. To Harry it looked as though someone was peeling an outer shell off of the body before him. When the transfiguration was complete, in front of him now stood a tall, slim, very pretty, brown haired woman of about 35. A pair of bright blue eyes sparkled as they watched his amazed stare.

"Any better?" She asked. "I do hate that costume," she added. "It makes me look so....I don't know...'old'."

"It's certainly a change." Harry agreed.

"So, you have some questions?" she prompted.

Harry was immediately pulled back to his present situation. As well as the potential dangers he was now facing.

"Who are you is a good place to start."

The woman stuck out her hand. "Arabella Figg. Auror."

Harry stared at her. "Your an Auror?"

"Hand's getting tired here, Harry." she commented.

Harry quickly grabbed her hand and shook it.

"And to answer your question, 'yes'. Have been for years. It's one of the reasons I was chosen for this job."

"Job?"

"To look after you. Oh, there were a thousand restrictions placed on me, I'm sorry to say. The worst of them that I couldn't interfere. Not unless some dark force was involved." She snorted lightly. "Can't think of one darker at this moment than that uncle of yours. But.....had to follow the rules. Probably going to lose my job for this. This was a tremendous no-no. Still," she stated angrily, "can't see how anyone can object here." She turned sharply back to Harry. "Surely they couldn't expect me to sit by and let that bastard beat you. I think you've taken more than your fair share from him over the years."

Harry gingerly put a hand self-consciously to his cheek. The mark had started to sting and he was sure the bruise was starting to show as well.

Arabella grabbed his hand and pulled it down. "Here, let me see that," she said comfortingly. "Oh, that's going to need something. Come on," she dragged him with her through the hallway.

"Ms. Figg?" Harry asked as he followed her.

"Oh, Dear, please," Arabella stated as she stopped abruptly and turned to face him, "call me Arabella."

"Ok. Umm....Arabella, can I.... asked you something?"?"

Arabella gave him one of her solicitous smiles. "Why, of course, Dear. You can asked me anything."

"Umm....what was the deal with all the cats?" Harry asked.

Arabella's smile grew deeper at the question. "Oh, well, some of them were mine. But most of them belonged to friends of mine who let me borrow them. They were excellent helping hands in keeping an eye on you a well as very reliable messengers. Not as fast as owls, mind you, but very dependable. I mean, honestly, who looks twice at a cat sitting on a fence?""

"So how many of them were yours?"

Arabella thought for a moment. "Ah....one."

"One!?"

"Well, you see, " Arabella admitted, "I'm not really that fond of cats, Harry. You'll find I'm actually more of a dog person."

Harry gave her a slightly stunned look.

"Now come on," She headed back down the hallway, "let's get something for that cheek."

Within a few minutes Harry found himself seated at a table in a small, cozy kitchen. Arabella had taken some ice and wrapped it in a towel and laid it over his cheek.

"That should help some." she said, staring at him with concern. "Does it feel any better?"

Harry nodded slightly. "Yeah, thanks."

Arabella began to pace the kitchen like an angry tigress, muttering more to herself, Harry felt, than actually talking to him.

"Ohhh, he is not going to like this one bit," She mumbled. "And when he finds out even Dumbledore'll have his hands full restraining him."

"Dumbledore!" Harry asked. "You know Dumbledore?"

Arabella turned back to him, giving him that comforting smile that he was growing to like more and more. "But of course, dear," she replied. "Dumbledore was the one who first approached me with the offer of this job. I guess he felt I was best suited for it."

Harry was about to asked why, but Arabella had gone back to pacing the kitchen, tapping her wand in her hand.

"He needs to be told, no doubt about that," she muttered to herself. "But how best to do it? Can't send an owl...take to long. Can't reach him by threads. Can't apparate there....to many protections around him. Ah well," she said finally with a sigh, "Nothing else for it. Best to be direct, I always say." Arabella stood back and waved her wand at a spot in the center of the kitchen and spoke a few words. Immediately a large, blue-green fire shot up from the floor.

"Sirius!" she called into the fire.