At What Price?

Chapter 2

Surprises on Privet Drive

It was late when Harry finally went to bed. He had been wet and cold and more than a little miserable. The Dursley's hadn't noticed that he wasn't in his room, but that did not surprise him. He had to use magic to get back in the house and when he had gotten to his room, Harry had expected to see an owl swoop in his window carrying a letter from the Ministry, but none turned up. For that he had been grateful, but he was too worn down to consider it important. His bed was warm and welcoming, not so much as his bed at Hogwarts was but still welcoming enough.

He slept fitfully and his dreams were troubled with visions of old crones whacking him with sticks and belittling his parents and his magic. Tossing and turning in bed, he muttered constantly during that night. Harry roused himself early and went downstairs just as Uncle Vernon was getting out of bed. Looking at the clock on the wall, he noticed that it was about 6:00. Immediately, Harry grabbed an apple and decided he would be better off in his room with his books. As he headed back up the stairs, Petunia stumbled out of her room. Her hair was disheveled, greasy tangles falling down her face and her eyes were swollen with deep bags under them. Her normally flat complexion was pale and blotchy with red spots.

Harry took all this in at a glance and slipped into his own room without being noticed. As he did so his hands felt that the paint on his door was warped and cracked breaking away easily under his hand. He looked at it closer before closing the door, noticing that the damaged area was about the size of his hand. Puzzled by the things he had seen, Harry went to his desk and sat down. He looked down at the rain spotted envelope on his desk. Hedwig had delivered Ron's response to him last night on the garden bench, but he hadn't bothered to open it yet. Slowly he turned it over in his hand and opened it.

Harry,

Summer with Figg? I know you like her and that you've known her for a long time, but why would you spend most of the summer with her? Are you being punished for saying "Nee" to little old ladies in a past life? Mom's gonna contact Dumbledore and find out if it's OK for you to come spend all of August with us, it'll be a hoot. Hermione is on the network so that she and I can study together. How dare you question my motives, scurvy knave. For slighting my honour I shall challenge you to a duel you cannot win, I shall make you play chess against me. And then after I have trounced you soundly, I shall sweep away with fair maiden to yon tower for much snogging. Ha Ha!

Ron

P.S. Hermione says hi, and to study hard. What else would she say?

Harry smiled as he closed Ron's letter. Ron had developed a warped sense of humour after spending part of the summer with Hermione last year. He claimed it was from watching several hours of something called Monty Python. Harry had never heard the name before last year, but Ron quoted it all the time for various witty and sundry remarks. Ron was now the school clown and was as funny as his brothers had been before graduation. He decided to wait until later to respond to Ron's letter. To kill time he pulled out his homework list and tried to decide where to start.

Harry sighed as he looked at the list again; it hadn't gotten any shorter since the train ride home. No doubt Hermione had already started on it. If she stayed true to form she should finish it by the middle of July. That was provided she could get Ron to keep his lips to himself, which was not terribly likely since she was as guilty as Ron of wanting to run off and snog instead of working. Harry was happy for them, now if he could only get them to stop trying to set him up. It wasn't that he didn't like girls, he just hadn't found her yet; the girl who inspired symphonies to play and flowers to bloom and birds to sing.

"Boy," the door exploded open with a crash that matched his uncle's bellowing. "Good, you're up. Get dressed and get moving. Get the kitchen cleaned up before you go over to Mrs. Figg's. It's already 6:30, time's a wasting." Harry remembered with dismay that the kitchen hadn't been cleaned up after dinner last night except to put away the few leftovers there were. "Now get a move on before I cuff you, I should anyway for speaking to your aunt like that. If you had spoken to like that you wouldn't be worrying about homework, or anything else for that matter." Vernon slammed the door as he went back out.

Harry rose and dressed quickly. He went down and cleaned the kitchen without hearing anything from Aunt Petunia besides their brief encounter before his meagre breakfast. He assumed she had gone back to bed since she never came downstairs.

She still had not made an appearance when Harry closed the front door and headed up the street to Mrs. Figg's flat. "What do I care if she doesn't get up in the morning." Harry muttered to himself as he walked.

"So, I don't need her to get me up."

"Yeah, but, well maybe she was just tired and wanted to turn in early last night. And sleep late this morning," he added lamely. Harry knew that this point couldn't convince anyone least of all himself, but fortunately he was at Mrs. Figg's and didn't have to continue this conversation with himself any longer. He reached up and knocked on the door. The door opened and invited him in.

"Morning Harry." Professor Figg's voice carried to him from the kitchen. Harry passed through the open door and was amazed by what he saw. In the past, her living room had always had a lived in look, but before his fifth year he would never have guessed she was a witch. Today he couldn't think she was anything but a witch. The clock on the mantle was similar to the Weasley's clock in that it didn't record time but rather kept track of locations. He noticed there was only one hand on it, labeled "Harry". A cauldron bubbled in the large fireplace. Her owl Theseus sat on his perch, preening himself. A copy of Moste Potente Potions was open on her coffee table surrounded by several bottles and jars. A picture of a much younger woman with a man in an army uniform waved from the wall. Three of her cats lounged about the living room.

"Morning Professor." Harry's voice was distracted as he took in the room. "I can honestly say, I don't ever remember your place looking like this before. If it had I might have spent a lot more time here as a boy."

"Perhaps, but there were reasons why I couldn't tell you then. Now, you already know." She came into the living room with Harry, handing him a cup of tea. "Did you remember your wand?"

"Yeah, but I can't cast spells during the summer, I tend to get in trouble when I do. A few years ago I got a letter from the Ministry saying if I kept casting spells at the house I was going to get expelled." Harry was still looking around, taking in the small details; the little things that made this house a witch's house. He saw her wand on the table next to her chair, the jar of Floo Powder on the mantle, the sneakoscope on the knick knack shelf, and a pair of dragon hide gloves hanging from a cloak rack.

"There's a letter for you on the table by the door, read it and all will be made clear young Mr. Potter." Harry tore open the letter and read:

Cornelius Fudge

"Really?" Harry was pretty sure he sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. "So this summer you'll be teaching me advanced Defence against the Dark Arts techniques? This is great. Hermione's gonna be so jealous. So is Ron. When do we start?" Harry's questions were coming so fast that he began tripping over words because he couldn't get them out fast enough.

"Hold on Harry, I am going to be working with you this summer to help you refine some techniques and teach you some things that you will need to know. It will not be all Defence against the Dark Arts. Today, we work on potions. Also, you cannot say anything about this to anyone else, that includes Hermione and Ron." She leveled her gaze at him, and he knew she would not tolerate any funny business from him, she never had. "Sorry to rain on your parade Harry, but that's the way it has to be. Understood?"

Harry looked at the floor, scuffing his toe over the design in the rug. "Yes Professor," his tone was dejected and disappointed. A small pout was on his mouth.

"Good, now stop sulking and help me get this small cauldron set up." Soon Harry was brewing four potions in four separate cauldrons set up around the kitchen. Three of them were remarkably similar; each contained crushed butterfly wings, silk thread, and slivered caterpillar along with several other ingredients. By noon, all 4 potions were finished and she began to quiz him about them. "What kinds of potions are these?"

"I'm not quite sure, you never told me what we were making." Harry jogged his memory trying to remember if she had, in fact, told him what they were. "Professor Viscol usually gives us the name of the potion, what it does, and how to make it. With these I just followed your instructions on how to make them."

"There are two things to be learned here Harry." She had gone into lecture mode and Harry didn't dare interrupt her. "First, always know what you're doing before you start. Ask questions if you have to. Second, look at the problem differently. There are common threads in these potions. Analyse those threads and figure out what they mean. Now, what kind of potions are we making? Think out loud."

Harry looked at her curiously, then began talking out the problem. "Well, three of them used slivered caterpillar, silk thread, and butterfly wings. The common connection is..." Harry stretched out the statement while he made the mental leap to the answer, "Transfiguration. We were making some kind of shape changing potions."

"And how did you know that?" Her look indicated she was not impressed by his leap of faith.

"Well, the common ingredients are all for something that changes form. A caterpillar becomes a butterfly by a process of change. He transforms into something else, leaving no sign of his original form." Harry stopped here for a moment thinking he had answered the question. The look he got from Professor Figg indicated she was still waiting for something. "In the case of the fourth potion, we used sand and powdered granite to show the change from rock to sand over time, also a transformation, though considerably less so. They were transfiguration potions." Harry was confident in his answer and smiled.

"Seventy-five percent correct is not a passing mark Harry. Being seventy-five percent right when you come up against a Death Eater will get you killed." Harry's face fell. Professor Figg continued on, her lecture in full swing now, "In the case of the caterpillar and butterfly, it is a slow change and could just as easily have been a metaphor for the passage of time, this would also fit the theme of the rock and sand. Over long periods of time both of these items change. It could well be an aging potion, or a time travelling potion. The fact is Mr. Potter that three of them were transformation potions; the other is a stasis potion. Rocks and sand are relatively unchanging and thus are strong symbols for resistance to change. Tell me, which is more powerful?"

"Beg your pardon?" Harry was confused by the sudden change of direction in the conversation.

"Pay attention Potter, and keep up." Her voice snapped and carried a hint of annoyance. "Which potion is more powerful, Stasis or Transformation?" She crossed her arms over her chest and began tapping her foot.

"Stasis?"

"Explain." Her voice contained a certain level of intellectual brutality, like she was waiting to shred his answer.

"Stasis would be the more effective, and thus more powerful, potion because it locks in what already exists, the transformation requires something to change. It is easier to be sedentary and not change than it is to force a change." Harry waited for the rebuttal he knew was coming. He had seen her do this to Hermione and it was better than watching a wizard duel because Hermione fought back like no other student at Hogwarts.

"However, does the rock not change? You yourself said the rock could be a symbol of slow transformation as it erodes down to sand. Does the world change every day or does it exist in stasis?"

"The world changes every day." Harry's voice started slowly as he carefully considered his answer. Once he had decided on a strategy he picked up speed. "Volcanoes erupt, earthquakes break the surface, people are born and die. However, since the stasis stops that, it has overcome the most persistent force on earth. It is therefore a stronger potion." Harry was beginning to understand the attraction that this Potions stuff held.

"Make a fist Mr. Potter." Not anticipating this turn of events Harry was slow to react, Mrs. Figg's wand was very loud as it snapped down on the table. "Make a fist." Harry raised his hand before him and followed her instruction. "Imagine your fist is a field of stasis, Finite Cambire." Harry's hand was suddenly enveloped in a field of blue energy that felt like needles of ice stabbing into his hand.

"Painful?" Her question was both clinical and rhetorical.

"Very," Harry responded through clenched teeth. "I can't move it and it feels like its dying."

"Interesting, tell me Mr. Potter, if its dying how is it dying?"

"The blood has stopped moving, the skin itself is shriveling... arghh!" The pain in his hand was quickly becoming unbearable. "The nerves that create feeling are contracting and," Harry clenched his teeth against the phenomenal pain in his hand, "and the muscles will relax once the process is complete."

"And?" Harry thought she was perfectly capable of standing there and watching his wand hand fall off, dead and useless. He looked up and into her eyes, seeing the fires of curiosity burning there.

"And it hurts like hell!" he shouted. Harry took several deep breaths. "At this moment the hand is different than it was when the spell was cast so the stasis has failed." As Harry wrapped his mind around this epiphany he understood how the spell could be defeated. With what seemed superhuman effort, he clenched his hand into a tighter fist and tried to will magic into the hand. He relaxed the hand and clenched it again, the field flickered. Again he repeated the process and the field again flickered, then died. His hand was suddenly awash with fire and heat. It was slightly painful but not nearly as much as the stasis field had been.

She picked up his tea off the table and handed it to him and motioned for him to sit down. "That was enlightening, wasn't it Harry?" Her voice was gentle and light again, as though nothing had happened.

"It was bloody painful is what it was. I suppose now I should share my great insight into this and tell you that the Transformation potions are more powerful because they are assisting a natural process while the Stasis potion is actively working against a natural force of the universe and is thus doomed to fail." Harry's breathing had returned to normal and he was massaging his hand. The feeling was slowly returning.

"Something like that." She smiled at him, "Would you like some cookies?"

Harry shook his head as though clearing cobwebs. "How do you do that?"

"Flour, sugar, chocolate chips, baking powder, and eggs. Bake at 325 degrees for 15 minutes." Her tone was light.

"No, not that!" Harry was agitated and wanted to make sure his voice conveyed that. "The way you change trains of thought so quickly. In the middle of one thought you're suddenly going off in a different direction."

She sighed deeply, "Years of practice Harry, years of practice. It's a great way to distract an opponent though. If you suddenly jump tracks and they miss the jump you have a huge advantage." She took a sip of her tea and continued on. "You even proved it for me. When I told you to make a fist you weren't ready for it and it took you a couple of seconds to catch up. If we had been dueling I could have body bound you and turned your hair green by the time you got that fist made."

She rose and headed towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make some cookies. Why don't you clean up these potions and bottle them up. Then there's a book on the table for you to read. It's called Ingredients for Improvised Potions, sit down and study that guide until it is time for you to go home. Yes, you can borrow it for your homework for Viscol's class." The Professor was good to her word and Harry ate a dozen chocolate chip cookies as he spent the rest of the afternoon reading through the monstrous tome.

When Harry returned home about 5:00 that evening, Aunt Petunia was up and out of bed. However she didn't look like Harry expected her to; she still wore pyjamas, a hideous flower print housecoat, and her feet were encased in fluffy pink slippers. She had not yet started dinner and was staring out the kitchen window when Harry came in. If she had noticed her nephew's entrance she certainly didn't say anything; she remained rooted to the spot staring blankly at the window. Harry got the disturbing feeling that if he turned into a Norwegian Ridgeback right there on the spot, she would never notice. He had seen Hermione look like this before when she was working on something complex, but Petunia's face showed no signs of life, let alone thought.

A little unnerved Harry walked past his aunt and carried the book Professor Figg had given him up to his room and put it down on his desk. He sat down in his chair and began to read. After a few minutes he shoved his chair back away from the desk and stood up. "Bloody hell!" he growled out loud to no one. Grabbing his wand, he turned and walked out into the hall and down the stairs.

Petunia was still sitting in the chair where he had left her. He sat down at the table directly across from her and snapped his fingers in front of her. She blinked once, but that was all. Her breathing didn't change; she didn't move an inch.

"This ought to get a rise out of her," Harry muttered to himself as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. She didn't so much as flinch. "Enervate," he hissed through clenched teeth.

She stirred and looked at him. Her eyes were red and bloodshot and the dark circles around them made her look like a lemur. For a spark of a moment Harry thought he saw the lights of intelligence in her eyes again, then they glazed over and she continued looking out the window.

"Well, that was useful." Harry's voice sounded sarcastic and hollow in the quiet house. Feeling spiteful, Harry turned on his aunt. "This is payback for all those times nobody ever cared when I had nightmares. For all the scraped knees and black eyes that nobody ever treated. For making me wear Dudley's old clothes and making sure I never had anything of my own. For all I care you can sit there until Hell freezes over. It's not my problem, you never cared enough to tell me anything so I'm not going to ask you now." Harry stalked from the room and went up the stairs to his room. Over the sound of his own anger he never heard the tears splashing on the kitchen table.

Back in his room Harry grabbed a handful of coins and stuck them in his pocket. Grabbing his school cloak he headed back outside, deliberately ignoring the woman sitting at the kitchen table. He walked out into the street and extended his wand as he stepped down into the gutter. With a bang the purple triple-decker bus known as "The Knight Bus" appeared and came to a stop in the middle of the street. Mailboxes jumped out of the way as the bus careened towards Harry.

"Neville!" A man in a purple conductor's uniform jumped out the open door and greeted Harry with enthusiasm as the bus squealed to a stop.

"Stan," Harry said as stepped in, "how much for a ride to the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry had long ago decided it was easier to let Stan keep calling him Neville after his escape from Privet Drive just before his third year.

"Eleven sickles. So Neville, 'ow's it going? 'Ow's school this year?" Stan looked over at Harry then sat down in a large overstuffed chair before Ernie, the driver, started the bus up again. Immediately the surroundings disappeared and they were trundling down a busy country lane.

Harry sat down in the green Queen Anne chair opposite from Stan to steady himself before answering. "Oh, the usual. Harry Potter and his gang of friends round up the bad guys, You-Know-Who gets away, Sirius Black turns out to be a hero. Just another year at Hogwarts." Harry sighed as he said this and handed Stan twelve silver sickles, "Keep the extra one Stan."

"Neville, you is a good kid. Gotta be if you're a friend of 'arry Potter's. He's a great wizard, I 'opes 'e finds someone special. Too bad 'e couldn't get that girl 'ermony, I bet they'd make a cute couple." Harry began to laugh in spite of himself. "You don't think so Neville?" Stan's tone was a little indignant.

"No Stan, it's not that at all. Harry is perfectly happy to let Hermione and Ron be together. Between you and me, I don't think Harry wants all the complications that go with having a girlfriend. I say he's got enough on his mind right now, what with catching that rat Pettigrew and worrying about his godfather Sirius Black."

"Great wizards, Black is 'arry's godfather?" Stan sounded genuinely shocked.

"Well, yeah, it was in all the papers." Harry hoped it had been in at least one paper. Thinking for a moment, Harry decided now would probably be a good time to shut up before he let anything more slip out of his mouth. Besides, it was weird talking about himself in the third person.

"I can't believe I missed that, but it was a pretty excitin' story about how 'arry and Black laid that trap to draw out Peter. That broomstick chase and all, and then 'arry savin' Pettigrew from the Dementor's kiss and makin' sure he stood trial." Stan was getting really wound up now, his voice growing more and more excited. "That 'arry Potter is a 'ero just like in the old tales. Men like that don't come along very often, 'e's one of a kind, 'e's a great man. Probably treats 'is family real good too."

At that statement Harry felt like he was going to be ill. Here everybody thought he was some kind of hero and all around great guy and everything he had done recently was for selfish motivation. He hadn't saved Peter from the Dementor for the sake of a fair trial. He had done it so that Sirius could get a pardon. Then he wouldn't have to come back to Privet Drive anymore. He didn't even want to think about all the horrible things that he had said to Petunia before he stormed out of the house.

"'Ere we are, The Leaky Cauldron. Neville, you OK, you look like somebody stole your best friend." Stan's voice was genuinely concerned, but Harry waved it off with a seemingly free air.

"Don't worry Stan, everything's OK, have a good night." Harry stepped off the bus and into the Leaky Cauldron. It was busy tonight, several people looked up when he walked in and the hushed silence was quickly filled by whispers. He walked quickly to the bar.

"Harry, how ya' doin'?" Tom asked in his typical low-key manner. "Nice job on Pettigrew, congratulations on getting' Black off, that must be a real relief."

"Yeah it was, thanks. Tom can I get a private booth? I just need to be alone with my thoughts for a while." Harry was tired of being congratulated on catching Pettigrew, and given the conversation he had just had with Stan, he really didn't want to think about it.

"Can I also get two butter beers and something to eat?" His stomach growled at him; the cookies were good, but not very filling.

"Sure Harry, roast chicken and garlic potatoes sound good?" Harry nodded, not really hearing what Tom was saying.

"Sure," he replied half-heartedly, "sounds great."

"Need somebody to talk to?" Tom appraised Harry with a look that came from watching people for many years, one shared by tavern keeps and bartenders the world over.

"Not right now Tom, but thanks. Have you got any parchment and ink quills?"

"I'll bring 'em with your dinner. You gonna need a room too?" Tom was the perfect host, making sure his guests had everything they needed Harry thought as he saw Tom peering at him with concern on his face.

"No, I'll be heading home later, but thanks." The dinner Tom brought was warm and tasted excellent, probably even better than what Aunt Petunia had fixed the night before. Harry stumbled on that thought; last night seemed like a month ago so much had happened since. As Harry picked at his dinner he began to write.

Sirius,

How's everything going? Things around here are different. I am studying with Professor Figg this summer; today I had my first lesson. She is putting me through my paces to be sure. She had me make 4 potions from scratch without knowing what they were or their purpose. Then she made me figure out what they were, based on the ingredients. It was tough, and then she gave me a book on potion ingredients to read. The book is kind of interesting, and it might be helpful later on. She also locked my hand in a stasis field and made me figure out how to break it. It was pretty painful but I learned something about the nature of potions and magic, kind of cool really.

Dudley is serving an internship with his dad, so I have to help Aunt Petunia out around my studies. She doesn't know I'm studying though, she thinks I am helping Mrs. Figg situate her house following a year of teaching at a school in Scotland for "miscreant youth and wayward teens." I didn't know Hogwarts had any "miscreant youth" since the Marauders left.

I suppose I should stop rambling and get to the point of this letter. What do you know about my mum and her mum? Aunt Petunia said that her mum didn't approve of mum being a witch, and so she wanted nothing to do with her or me. Is that true? Professor Figg won't tell me anything, and Aunt Petunia is kind of lost in space since our fight last night. I don't know what to do or who to ask so I am hoping you can help me.

Thanks

Harry

P.S. Have you had a chance to find a place yet? Let me know when you find a place and I'll get Uncle Vernon to bring me out. It'll be a riot, literally.

Harry put down the quill and folded up the letter. Setting that aside he finished his dinner in peace and relaxed as he drank his second butterbeer.

Harry stared into the flame of the single candle that burned on the table. In it he seemed to see the faces of his family, or at least people he guessed were his family. They seemed to be looking down at him, but that wasn't possible because he was looking down at them. There were a lot of people there, wherever it was. It seemed that an awful lot of them were wearing black robes...maybe he was at Hogwarts. If so, why was Dudley there and why was he talking to Hermione? Who was that in the chair next to Dudley, and why did she have a blanket on her lap? Dudley got up and pushed the chair away from where Hermione was. He was coming towards Harry. Why was he pushing the chair with the woman in it, and why did she look so familiar?

The only woman he knew with hair like that was Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Weasley didn't use a wheel chair. As Harry watched the two of them with curiosity, they stopped in front of what appeared to be a large white table.

Dudley was looking down at something on the table and his lips moved, saying something. Harry listened more closely "...for saying something like that to my mother. If it hadn't been for her you probably wouldn't have lived long enough to go off on some fool crusade to save the world. It was what you said to her that made her like this, you and your hateful words. Everybody else in the world thinks Harry Potter is some kind of hero, but I know the truth. Soon, everybody will know the truth. You were a hateful man Harry Potter. Your hatred destroyed my mother, and vengeance will be mine." Harry watched in horror as Dudley turned and faced the crowd, the wheel chair in front of him. He cleared his throat and called for the attention of the room. "Everybody, I would like you to meet my mother, Petunia Dursley, Harry's aunt." Harry was shouting to everyone that it wasn't true, but all anybody heard was Dudley, nobody could hear Harry. He was shaking now, shaking with the effort of getting people to listen to him and not Dudley.

"Harry, Harry!" Harry opened his eyes to stare with shock into the eyes of Tom, the owner of The Leaky Cauldron, who was shaking his arm trying to wake him. "Harry, are you OK? You were shouting, saying it wasn't true. What isn't true Harry?" Harry stared with wide-eyed horror at Tom's words.

Then everything went bleary as the tears came. Harry heard a woman's voice; he could feel her hands on his shoulders and feel her shoulder as she drew his head into it. He didn't know who she was, but at the moment he didn't care. At the moment she was the mother he never had, comforting him as he cried, and he was profoundly grateful for her concern.

In time his pain ran it's course and he became more aware of the world around him as his tears and sobs abated. He blinked several times though he wasn't quite ready to move from the comfort of where he was. He turned his head and saw Hermione sitting across from him, her face a mask of fear and concern. Next to her was a man Harry thought he recognized as her father, Dr. Edward Granger. He looked up as a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. The woman looking down at him appeared to be in her late forties, she had long, thick, dark blonde hair pulled back in a plait. Her face was soft and concerned, and she looked a little like Hermione.

"Oh God, I'm sorry Dr. Granger." Harry straightened and looked at her only briefly, his face flaming with embarrassment. Harry turned and put his head down on the table, hoping that somehow the table would simply swallow him whole.

"It's OK Harry, it's OK." She reached over and rubbed his back. He felt Hermione's small ice cold hands taking hold of his own. He heard her draw breath like she would normally do just before asking a question, but the question never came and she breathed out a long deep sigh. He sat up and leaned back, wiping his eyes with a napkin. He looked at the three others sitting at the table with him. Hermione had a look of deep concern on her face; it was the same look she got whenever she saw him in Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing. Her father had a look that Harry guessed was what was generally called "fatherly concern." Her mother's look was one he had never seen before though.

Mrs. Weasley always fussed over him, mothered him, and generally made sure he was warm and safe. Her look was always that of a woman fussing over something, protecting that something from outside harm. The look on Dr. Emily Granger's face though went far beyond that. Her brown eyes were filled with a warm affection, and reminded Harry of chocolate. Her look bespoke of taking him home and banishing nightmares, about cleaning scraped knees, and chasing away monsters that hid in the closet. He choked as he tried to look into her eyes; he simply couldn't do it.

"I, I'm sorry I created such a scene, and I'm sorry about your jacket." Harry felt miserable. He had always wanted to look good in the eyes of Hermione's parents. Now he was afraid that two Dr. Grangers would always look at him as a scared little boy suffering from nightmares.

Hermione would worry about him constantly now, always hovering, even if she wasn't nearby. Her letters would all start 'Harry, are you OK, any more nightmares?' In that moment, he resented it, despite the fact that it hadn't even happened yet.

"Harry," Dr. Emily Granger's voice was soft and concerned, comforting him like a blanket on a cold night, "my jacket is of no concern to me. However, I am quite concerned about you though. Would you like to come stay with us tonight?" Harry knew he should say no, knew that he shouldn't impose on them. In a way he felt guilty and thought he should return home to check on Petunia. His eyes, however, told the truth that politeness would deny; he wanted nothing more than to go with the Grangers. Dr. Granger sensed his reluctance just as she read the look in his eyes and rescued him yet again. "Harry, come spend the night at our house, Ed can call your aunt and uncle when we get there. I'm afraid I may have to insist if you say no." She smiled at him and all was right with the world as the last of his defences crumbled.

"Thank you Dr. Granger, thanks to all of you." Harry felt light-headed and suddenly his throat was very dry. He looked to the door of the private booth with fear. He was going to have to go out that door. Face the people beyond it, those he knew and those he didn't. He'd probably be the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow, he could see the headline already, "Harry Potter, The Boy Who Cried." He suddenly felt very ill.

"Harry," Hermione's voice was timid in the candlelight, "would you come with me to get something to drink?" Harry marveled again at just how well she knew him. He knew her well, but wasn't sure he would have had the insight to catch what she did.

"Yeah, can I get you anything?" This last part he addressed to Hermione's parents. Her dad nodded, saying he wanted something dark and her mom said she just wanted water. Once they were outside the booth Harry noticed that the tavern was blessedly empty with a couple of exceptions. Trying to sound lighter than he felt he turned to Hermione as she looped her arm around his waist. "So what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Hermione looked at him as though he had sprouted another head. "Harry James Potter, how can you ask a question like that at a time like this? I mean, really," she threw herself against his chest and embraced him fiercely. Unsure just how to react he simply put his arms around her and nestled his cheek against her bangs. He could feel her breathing hitch as she nestled in closer to him.

"It's OK now Hermione, the storm is past." He wanted to sound reassuring, like a big brother. He didn't want her to cry, although it sounded like he might be too late. It was painful when she cried, like somebody rubbing sandpaper over his soul. When she had come to him crying over a fight with Ron last year, he had finally understood how the Weasley brothers felt about Ginny. As she had poured out her heart he had felt a murderous rage build in his chest, how dare anyone hurt his Hermione? This time, her crying didn't make him murderous, but in that moment he would have traded anything in the world to take away the pain she was feeling. It made him feel even worse that she was crying on his account.

"The storm is past, the sun is coming out. C'mon Hermione, I'm OK. Let's go get something to drink." She shuddered against him and he wrapped his arms around her tighter, as though he could absorb the pain out of her heart. Apparently it worked because with a deep breath and another shudder she broke away from him and wiped her eyes.

"Oh Harry, are you OK?"

"You're crying against my chest, and then asking me if I'm OK? Hermione, you are confused." She laughed a little and he felt better, then he laughed as well. It was the laughter of dawn breaking through a stormy night and the two of them laughed together as they walked to the bar. "Tom, can I get two waters, a dark beer, and," he looked expectantly at Hermione.

"Two pumpkin juices." Hermione smiled at Harry, "I figured you'd want one as soon as I started drinking mine." Turning back to the bar, she asked "Tom, are you still serving dinner?" Harry felt bad that he hadn't even known that they were stopping for dinner.

"The roast chicken is excellent," Harry offered.

"Yes ma'am, dinner for three?" Hermione nodded her assent to Tom's question. "What about you Harry, second helping, dessert, after dinner liqueur? Best treacle pudding this side of Hogwarts." Harry's mouth began to water with thoughts of good treacle pudding.

"Dinner for three, and a treacle pudding, and the drinks. How much Tom?"

"Don't worry about it Harry, on me tonight." Tom waved him off.

"No Tom, I can't, I won't do that. Give me a total or I'll empty my pocket on this counter." Harry's tone indicated he would do just that too.

"OK Harry, don't blow a vein on me. Three galleons, not a knut more or less. I'll bring your drinks and dinner over in just a moment." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his money, counting out two galleons, sixteen sickles, and twenty-nine knuts. He looked at the two silver sickles in his hand, the only coins he had left, and was profoundly grateful he didn't have to catch the bus home, it was a long walk to Little Whinging in Surrey.

After excusing himself to go wash up he returned to the private booth and pulled up short when the conversation stopped as he opened the door. The only thing he had heard was "love him."

"Should I, uh, go out and come back again?" He noticed that Hermione was blushing furiously, her ears were even red.

"No, come in, sit down Harry." Dr. Ed Granger's voice was full and commanding and filled the booth. Hermione's parents sat on one side of the table, Hermione on the other; the only place left was next to her. Harry slid into the seat next to her. "So what brought you up to London today, Harry? That's a pretty good jaunt from Little Whinging."

"Oh, the usual, running from oppressive guardians, looking for a place to have a nightmare, searching for the meaning of life. You?" Harry's deadpan answer even caught him off guard; it was almost like having Ron around. Ed spluttered and choked on his beer while trying to laugh at Harry's joke. His wife cracked a smile, though she tried to suppress it. Hermione stared at him in wide mouthed shock. He reached over and closed her jaw like he had seen Ron do so many times. At this, Emily broke down and joined her husband in great gales of laughter. Hermione blushed again, and then began to laugh along with everyone else. The rest of dinner was pleasant and the conversation centred on school projects and homework and summer plans.

It turned out that Ron was studying divinations with a gypsy witch who worked sideshows at a travelling carnival. It had all started after Ginny had gotten a Tarot reading done as a lark. In ten cards the number 7 had shown up four times along with the Wizard, the High Priestess, and the Hierophant. From his own fifth year studies Harry remembered that the Wizard and the High Priestess were a powerful combination. From that, the gypsy woman figured out that something had skewed Ginny's reading. It turned out Ron was a seventh son, traditionally this granted great powers of Divination and was considered a good sign by seers.

"That's a riot, you have no idea how much Ron hates divination." Harry commented after hearing the story, "Although it does explain why his readings always seem to be so accurate when Trelawney does one on him. I still think the one that gives me the biggest creeps though is that one he had fifth year."

"You don't mean the one that lead to him kissing me, do you," Hermione interjected. Ed's eyebrow rose at this heretofore-unknown bit of Ron/Hermione history. "Um, well, its just that, he, uh-"

"-Allow me madam," Harry interrupted with a florid bow and a mock stage voice. He then relayed the whole story with as much lurid detail as he could recall of the original story, much to her parent's entertainment and Hermione's chagrin. As he completed his tale with remarks about Hermione's scathing review of Mr. Weasley's first kiss and his much improved second, third, and fourth attempts Emily feigned being dramatically faint and fanned herself while Ed looked at his daughter with an arched eyebrow. Hermione blushed scarlet to her toes as everyone laughed with delight at the story.

"Masterfully told Harry. That was marvellous, I can't remember the last time I heard anything so funny or so touching." Ed had finally regained his composure after several long minutes of laughing. Harry was enjoying this immensely, he had never seen grown ups laugh like this. The thought sobered him as he thought about returning to the Dursley's within a day. Sensing his sudden change of mood, Emily reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

"We should get going Ed, it's still a bit of a drive to the house and you need to call Harry's aunt and uncle and let them know he is safe."

"I don't think they'll be worried, if I dropped off the face of the planet tomorrow they would probably throw a small party saying, 'it's all for the best this way.'" Harry's tone was bitter and self-depreciating.

"Harry, I seriously doubt that is true." Dr. Emily Granger was giving him the look that Professor Figg reserved for those students who asked questions they already knew the answers to. "Yes, Hermione has told us the stories of your summers at home. But I can't believe the Dursley's would have taken care of you for 16 years without some love being there. And love is what makes people worry. So when we get to our place, Ed will call your uncle and inform him of the situation. Ed can be very bull headed when I tell him to." She smiled archly at this last comment and her husband groaned.

The Granger's house was huge; Harry didn't even have a frame of reference to compare it to. It was bigger than The Burrow, it was all stone, and it was massive. The outside could only be described as imposing. Once inside though, the house was very modern and quite homey. Harry sat down on the plush rug by the fireplace next to Hermione's favorite reading chair. He listened as Ed called Uncle Vernon. He kept hearing statements like, "everything will be quite fine, I'm sure," "tomorrow evening," and the one that concerned him the most was "I understand, I will let him know. I look forward to meeting you tomorrow."

The look on Dr. Granger's face was grave as he joined the small group by the fire. "Harry, your aunt is in the hospital. The doctor's say it is just a combination of dehydration and anxiety and that she should be home in a few days. I will be taking you home tomorrow evening and meeting with your uncle then. I have my concerns about leaving you there because he seems determined to blame you for what has happened to your aunt. I don't understand it, but there it is." His voice was quiet as he made this final statement.

"I do, he's right. It is my fault." Harry's head hung low as he said this and he couldn't meet the gaze of anyone else in the room. In a flash, Hermione was at his side. He quickly pushed himself away and began to pace. "It's like this, Petunia's mother hated my mum after she became a witch. Petunia said some pretty awful things about my mum, and they must have been at least partially true because my grandmother doesn't want anything to do with me. Apparently, because of me, Petunia has very little contact with her mother. She takes care of me at the expense of her mother's love, and I pay her back by embarrassing her in front of a family friend and saying horrible things to her. I said things that were so horrible she ended up in the hospital. She hasn't made my life easy, but now I know what raising me has cost her, and I pay her back in betrayal. I'm no better than Peter Pettigrew." Hermione gasped at his last statement. Emily was already out of her seat and had him by the shoulders.

"Harry, you mustn't believe that. She is telling you something horrid so that she can control you. Your words cannot put her in the hospital. I don't know you that well, but I think I know you well enough to say that you would never utter the only words that could put her in the hospital. You wouldn't say them because you know better than anyone what they do." She gathered Harry into her arms as he collapsed to the floor. Cradling his head against her shoulder she asked Hermione to go get the guest bedroom ready. She then asked Ed to help her get Harry off to the room. Between the three of them they managed to get him into bed and his shoes off. Emily removed his glasses and kissed his forehead bidding him sweet dreams before shooing everyone out of the room.

It was about two in the morning when Hermione heard the shouting. Remembering Harry was in the guest bedroom she rose quickly and went to the room, opening the door ever so slightly. Her mother sat in a rocking chair by the bed sipping tea by candlelight. "Was that him?" Hermione asked her mother quietly, worry evident in her voice.

"Yes, he started doing this about two hours ago." She didn't take her eyes off of him as she answered. Worry was etching deep lines in her face in the candlelight. "If it gets bad I rest my hand on either his chest or his forehead and tell him everything will be all right. He mutters something that sounds like 'thanks mom' and goes back to sleep." Pausing for long second, she continued, " Hermione, what do you know about his younger life, how he grew up and all?"

Hermione heaved a deep breath. "Not much mom, he doesn't talk about it. It's almost like he had no life before we met on the train. There are only a couple of exceptions. The first are the pieces of memory he has of the night his parents were killed, and that came out when the Dementors got on the Hogwarts Express. He doesn't talk about it anymore, since third year anyway. The other thing he talks about is when Hagrid came to rescue him, as he puts it. Other than that, I know everything he is willing to talk about, because I've been there for most of it. Why do you ask?"

"Because I think something very important is missing in his life. It may be something no one can give him now, because he's never had it before and he's too old to gain the benefits of it now. However, I can't help myself, I want to give it to him. But I'm not sure if I should." After a long moment she stood up. "Hermione, can you stay here with him for a couple of minutes, I want to go look something up in the library."

"Sure mom," Hermione sat down in the vacated rocking chair and took Harry's hand in her own. "Harry, what can I do now? I think you need something that I can't give you, because I already gave it to someone else. Maybe it's something I could never have given you because you didn't even want it." Hermione felt the sting of tears rolling down her cheeks and rubbed them off on Harry's hand. "Harry, I'm scared. You're the brave one here, but if you're off fighting this other battle, then whose guarding the dragon at the gate?"

Harry rolled over in his sleep and began to mutter about Dudley. With a shout he sat bolt upright in bed his eyes wide open and unseeing. Hermione placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back down on the bed telling him to go back to sleep. He did so, but seemed reluctant, as if waiting for something.

Emily returned to find Hermione on the edge of sleep, holding Harry's hand. "Button, you look tired, why don't you go back to bed."

"I can't mom, my best friend in the whole world is suffering nightmares and unfair pangs of guilt, and Merlin only knows what else. What kind of friend would I be if I abandoned him now?" Her voice was plaintive and weary, but there could be no doubt that she intended to stay.

"Very well Button, why don't you go get the extra rocking chair and bring it in here. We can discuss boys and first kisses and giggle like school girls." Emily grinned wickedly at her daughter.

"Mother!" Hermione's voice rose an octave in shock. Her voice returned to normal as she whispered to avoid waking the stirring Harry. "I... I can't discuss boys and kissing with you."

"Oh, why not?" She almost sounded hurt, but mostly curious.

"Because you're my mum. I am not telling you how good a kisser Ron is." Comprehension dawned on her face in a look of horror. "Oh damn, I didn't say that out loud did I?" The look on her mother's face said everything. Flushing with color, Hermione stammered, "I... I'll be right back."

The two women sat on either side of Harry talking late into the early morning hours. Both would linger with looks of concern as he began to mumble or toss and turn in his sleep. Eventually, both drifted off to sleep one on either side, each holding one of his hands.

Harry could feel the sun; it was shining on his face. Somehow he was flying without the benefit of a broom, and he was in his own body. He looked to either side of him; he was being borne on the wings of angels. There were two of them flying him somewhere, he guessed on to the afterlife, where else would one see angels? He was amazed at how real their hands felt, and how warm the sun was. "Why wouldn't they seem real," he asked himself.

"I think, therefore I am?"

"Then why do their hands feel so real, and why is the sun so warm?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry's eyes fluttered open and were assaulted by the bright sunlight coming through the windows. The sun was still low in the sky painting the clouds gorgeous shades of orange and gold and red, so he assumed it was early morning. The feeling of something warm in his hands had not left him yet so he looked to see what it was. On either side of his bed were two women, one about his age, rather cute. The other was older; her face bore a strong resemblance to the younger girl. Suddenly memory flooded his brain. "Oh God," he moaned his head falling back to the pillow. He flexed his fingers to see if he could withdraw his hands without waking either of his sleeping guardians. As though they both sensed his thoughts, both yawned and woke as one.

"Morning Harry," they spoke as one, Hermione blushed slightly. "I never thought I would say that after spending the night with you," she blushed even darker.

"Hermione Anne Granger." Her mother sounded positively scandalized by the remark, and then she laughed. Then Hermione laughed; finally Harry managed a wan smile.

"I..." Harry faltered and started again. "How long have you been in here? You didn't spend the whole night sitting up with me did you?" Harry was fairly sure he knew the answer, and he felt all the worse for it.

"Hermione came in about two, I've been here since about midnight, that was when you started having nightmares and talking in your sleep." Dr Emily Granger reached out and laid a hand on his forehead. "No fever, just a restless sleep."

"I'm so sorry Dr. Granger, you too Hermione." Harry held up his hand as both Granger women began to protest. "You came into The Leaky Cauldron last night for a quiet dinner and then you end up sitting up the whole night with me while I impose on your hospitality." A wave of self-loathing rose up in Harry's throat. "I should go, you probably need to get some sleep, I apologize again." Harry tried to get up, but the sudden crushing weight of Hermione against his chest prevented that from happening. "Hermione, please!" He tried unsuccessfully to lever her up. Finally, after the third try, she separated and stood up reluctantly.

"Harry," Emily's voice was rich with concern, "I am going to insist that you stay here today. We're all going to get up and have a descent breakfast. Ed has to go in today, but I can afford to stay home." Her voice took on a bossy tone that reminded Harry distinctly of his first meeting with Hermione. "And Harry, I forbid you to leave without telling me first. If you leave without my permission I will be most put out with you, and right now I don't think you want that, do you."

It wasn't really a question but Harry answered it anyway, "No ma'am."

"Good, now give me a hug, promise me that you won't upset me, and then Hermione will get you some bath linens while I find you some clean clothes." Harry stood up awkwardly, and looked down into Dr. Granger's face.

"Thank you, Dr. Granger, and I promise to be a good boy." The last he said with a light hearted tone, like he was trying to imitate a much younger child. Her hug was fierce and strong, and it rather caught Harry by surprise. He hugged her back, and wondered if this was how it was supposed to be. He felt better, stronger now. Like maybe he could face Aunt Petunia. He closed his eyes and relished this feeling as something deep in his psyche breathed a pent up sigh of relief.

Hermione showed him to the shower, and after he was dressed she showed him how to use Floo powder to call Mrs. Figg through the fire. She had been quite worried, but her clock had never put him in mortal danger, so she only worried that he was getting into trouble. Ron got away from his studies with Madam Marix, and joined them for a trip to the London Botanical Gardens. There the four of them laughed and ate ice cream while the two Granger women both reminded them, rather insistently, that they were there to do homework. Their lists completed, they returned to the Granger's home for dinner before taking Harry home.

Harry and Dr. Ed Granger crawled out of the Dr.'s silver Jaguar sedan. Harry had enjoyed the ride; he had never before been in a car that was so nice. "Even nicer than the carriages taking students from Hogsmeade to the school," he had commented, and meant it.

Dr. Granger was a fan of classical music, and so they had listened to Mozart's Requiem and Beethoven's collected symphonies on the drive to Little Whinging. Harry looked up to see Dudley approaching him. Too late Harry recognized the look on his face; it was the same one he wore when he and Piers had gone "Harry Hunting." His fist connected with Harry's face with a bone-crunching thud. Blood spattered from Harry's nose and mouth onto Dudley's white shirt. Harry's head smacked the top of the car and he simply slid down the side of the car to lay in a pile on the sidewalk.

When Harry woke again, everything smelled of cats, and he could hear voices, a man's and an older woman's. Slowly Harry tried to open his eyes, but the room began to spin so he closed them again. "Nightmares you say." It was the old woman's voice, he was confident enough to say that it was Mrs. Figg. "Any idea what they were about? When Harry has nightmares we all worry. Did he say anything about his scar?"

"No, nothing about his scar." Harry thought it sounded like Dr. Granger, but something was wrong with the way he was talking. "Emily said he kept shouting for Dudley to stop, but she could never find out what Dudley was doing. When we found him at The Leaky Cauldron he was shouting about something not being true. When we got home last night he kept saying it was his fault that Petunia was in the hospital. He was beating himself up about it, saying his words had put Petunia in the hospital. Emily tried to calm him, assure him that everything would be OK, and he just collapsed. I don't know Harry all that well, but he's never struck me as a boy who just collapses, he's a tough kid."

"Being a tough kid is its own punishment sometimes. I'll take care of him tonight and make sure he's OK. Are you folks on the Floo network?" Mrs. Figg's voice was reassuring and Harry felt better knowing she was there.

"That's the fireplace thing, isn't it? Yeah, Hermione's boyfriend got her hooked up for the summer. They talk through the fire most every evening," Harry felt a pang at Dr. Granger's words, that was how Hermione knew about Ron's divining and he didn't. "I can't do it, neither can Emily, but Hermione can."

"That girl of yours is as sharp as a dragon's claw. You should be proud of her, she's top of her class."

"We are," Dr. Granger's voice seemed full of pride, not the false pride of the Dursley's, but of genuine pride in her accomplishments. "We are immensely proud of her. She's the apple of my eye."

"OK, Dr. Granger, that should fix that eye up for you. Everything should be OK tomorrow. Make sure you soak that shirt so that the bloodstain doesn't come back. Do you want to ring Hermione through the fire before you go and let them know everything's OK?"

"Um, OK, can you do that? I thought you had to be able to cast spells to use the fire."

"No, just stand here. What's your first name?"

"Edward." Harry heard the whoosh of the fire growing large following the addition of the Floo powder.

Listening to Professor Figg cast always impressed Harry, this was no exception. "Communus Infierno Proxium Edward Granger, Hermione Granger."

"Dad?" It was Hermione's voice, Harry could tell she was startled. "What's going on Dad, how are you doing this?"

"So I just talk to her now?" It sounded to Harry like he was asking Professor Figg. "Hi pumpkin." Dr. Granger was shouting and Harry was reminded of the time that Ron called him at the Dursley's. "I'm at Mrs. Figg's house with Harry; she fixed us both up pretty well. Harry is laid out on the couch recovering but should be OK by morning. You know, you look really cute with flame coloured hair."

"Dad, what do you mean 'she fixed you up?' What's going on there?" Hermione had that frantic sound to her voice that she always got when one of the boys was off getting into trouble.

"Dudley punched Harry, broke his nose. I grabbed Dudley and he punched me, then Vernon got involved and it was a big row. Mrs. Figg separated us and brought," he was interrupted.

"Are you OK dad, what about Harry?" She was full on panicking now.

"I told you pumpkin, were as right as rain thanks to Mrs. Figg. Tell your mother I should be home in about two hours, I'll see you then, OK. Bye." No longer shouting into the fire Ed's voice asked, "how do I hang this thing up."

"Finite Incantatem."

"That was a bizarre feeling, but it was kind of...interesting. I can see now why Hermione is so drawn to it." Harry decided to use this opportunity to stir a little bit and make his presence known. Dr. Granger rushed over with Professor Figg. "Harry, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I think so, my head hurts something awful though. My nose feels a little, disjointed." Harry also noticed that his voice was a little more nasal than normal.

"That's because Dudley broke it." Dr. Granger's tone was matter of fact, like he was assessing a patient. "What happened to those legendary seeker skills I keep hearing about. From what Ron tells me you move like the wind, I can't believe you didn't see that one coming."

"I haven't had to dodge Dudley's punches in years, I must be a little out of practice." Harry thought something else but didn't say it out loud, I had it coming anyway. "So, are you heading home now Dr. Granger?"

"Yes, Hermione is frantic, that means her mother is about half a grade lower, probably overly concerned and pacing the floor. By the time I get home she'll have worn a track in the carpet. If you ever have kids Harry, pray for boys, being the only man in a house full of women will drive you crazy, or to an early grave." Dr. Granger was grinning like a Cheshire cat, leaving Harry wondering just how serious he was about the whole thing. Harry could see over his shoulder that Professor Figg was giving him "the look."

"What a fascinating opinion you have Dr. Granger. Your wife and daughter are pulling their hair out worrying about you, and your making light of their concern. Tell me, do you worry when Hermione is out chasing down Death Eaters, or running from crazed mountain trolls, or in stasis at the bottom of a cold lake waiting for some Quidditch player from Bulgaria to rescue her from the merpeople? Do you think that's funny too?" Harry noted that Dr. Granger seemed to be visibly shrinking before Professor Figg's drumming. "Why don't you go home and kiss them both soundly and thank them profusely for worrying about your carcass, which you seem only too willing to throw into battle for no apparent reason." With a flick of her wrist the door opened allowing the cool night to come in. "Thank you for bringing Harry home, thank you for not letting Dudley kill him, now go home to your wife and daughter before I become vexed with you. Good evening Dr. Granger."

Dr. Granger seemed only too glad to get out the door and head for his car; Harry could hear his dress shoes running down the sidewalk. With a movement of her hand Professor Figg slammed the door shut, "Men!" she said in an exasperated tone and looked meaningfully at Harry. "You remember that when you're married and your wife is worried about you, Mr. Potter."

"Yes ma'am," Harry nodded his head emphatically to show his agreement. As soon as he stopped he realized the folly of that action, as the room began to spin.

"Tell me Harry, did you accomplish anything worthwhile today?" She seemed to be highly annoyed and Harry decided it would be best if he answered quickly and thoroughly.

"Hermione, Ron, and I went down to the London Botanical Gardens and cataloged the 623 species of plants there for our Herbology project. I found out Ron is a seventh son, so apparently he is going to be some kind of a great diviner. He has started working with some gypsy witch who will be training him for the whole summer. Doesn't sound particularly interesting to me, but Ron seems to be enjoying it. Hermione has already finished her Arithmancy project, went right over my head." Harry heard the sound of glasses and silverware clinking in the kitchen. As he went on talking about his day Professor Figg returned to the living room with a tray of tea service and something that turned out to be Pumpkin Pasties.

"Well good, I'm glad you had a productive day. Now, Harry, tell me about what happened when you left here yesterday. Don't leave anything out, it's important that you tell me everything." She listened carefully as Harry relayed the whole story, seeming appropriately horrified and sympathetic at all the right times. Finally, he told her about the fight, or at least what he remembered of it, she filled in the blanks for him.

"Very well Harry, I am going to go over and check on Vernon and Dudley, you will stay here. You will behave yourself and if you try to go sneaking around, Ginger will tell me about it." An orange cat that reminded Harry distinctly of Crookshanks raised her head from her resting place on the back of a large chair and gave Harry a stern look. "There's a book there on the table for you to study." Harry reached over and picked up a yellow book entitled The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell. "Not that one, the other one." Harry picked up a large blue book with papyrus pages entitled Decoding Enchantmens and Deciphering Curses by Mahajir Al'Fahad. After Professor Figg left Harry opened the book and began to read.

When Harry woke the next morning he did not remember falling asleep, nor did he remember crawling into this bed nor taking his shoes off. He sat up groggily. "I gotta stop doing that," Harry said out loud to no one.

"Stop doing what?" Mrs. Figg's voice carried from down the hall. Harry crawled out of bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He was still wearing the slacks and polo shirt Dr. Granger had loaned him. He walked down the hall to the kitchen,

"Stop waking up in strange beds with no memory of how I got there." Mrs. Figg was consulting a text and appeared to be mixing a potion of some kind. From the directions it looked involved and complex, it reminded him vaguely of last year's potions exam.

"Is that a problem you have often Mr. Potter? Or should I call you Casanova?" She added something that looked like a worm to the potion.

"Casa-who?" Harry watched with interest as the potion went from yellow to a dark brown color. She opened a can of Coca-Cola and added a small amount to the cauldron. The remainder of the can she handed to Harry.

"Casanova, a ladies man of great reputation that was supposed to have bedded over a thousand women." Harry spluttered and spit Coke all down his front.

"No, you should not call me Casanova, I've never even done that once. Let alone a thousand times. I... I wouldn't even know where to begin." Harry choked again, "I don't believe I just said that, I'm sorry Professor." She laughed at his sudden awkwardness.

"Don't worry Harry, these things all happen in good time. However, if word got out that on two consecutive nights you woke up in a bed at a woman's house with no memory of how you got there, you could be infamous, a legend in your own time. Men would flock to you for advice and women to try for themselves. Remember that next year when you start thinking about sneaking out of the castle. Remember what I know." She turned and looked at Harry, her eyebrow rising archly over her right eye.

"I believe they call that blackmail." Harry sounded shocked at what was happening.

"Why yes, I believe they do. And don't you go getting all moralistic on me now either. Remember, I'm not a Gryffindor, I'm a Ravenclaw, we have fewer compunctions about these things than you do." Harry's mouth fell open as he goggled at Professor Figg. "Oh, don't give me that look either. It's not like I'm as bad as a Slytherin. If I was a Slytherin I would have taken pictures and saved them until I could destroy you with them. I'm at least giving you fair warning. Now close your mouth before you start drooling and hand me that vial there on the counter."

Harry handed her the empty glass vial, and she poured the now dark brown fizzy liquid into it. Once it was done she stoppered the bottle. "OK Harry, Vernon and Dudley left for work an hour ago. Go home, change clothes, and be back here in half an hour. We're going to see your aunt, you have some things you want to say, and I want some answers. This potion will make sure we both get what we want. Now, get moving."

Thirty minutes later he was getting into a cab with Professor Figg and they were off to see Petunia at St. Catherine's Hospital. Harry had only been in a muggle hospital one other time that he could remember. The white walls and starched appearance of everything seemed too stuffy and sanitized to him, but it would suit Aunt Petunia well he thought. They checked in at the nurses' station on the fourth floor and were directed to her room. She appeared to be in a private room with a nice view of the park. "Harry, you wait out here in the hall while I go in and talk to her, I'll motion for you when it's OK to come in."

Harry looked into the room and saw that Petunia's face was drawn and pale. The dark circles under her eyes were gone though, and she looked considerably better than she had the last time Harry had seen her. Harry went across the hall and sat down. He watched as Mrs. Figg took the potion out of her purse and moved to the bed. The bed moved and he saw his aunt raise her arm in an expressive gesture. Soon the two women were talking animatedly, though Harry couldn't hear what they were saying. Mrs. Figg leaned over and hugged Petunia after a little bit and Harry was surprised to find he actually felt a little jealous. Petunia had never hugged him like that, of course he had never realized what a hug like that meant until two nights ago.

Mrs. Figg stood and stepped back, motioning for Harry to join her. He rose and walked into the room. His aunt seemed to stiffen as she looked at him. Mrs. Figg stopped him a few steps short of the bed and whispered to him "She won't talk long, she's very tired. Be nice and she'll be relaxed and friendly, be aggressive and she's likely to collapse again." Mrs. Figg stepped aside and Harry walked to his aunt's bedside.

"Hello Aunt Petunia." His voice was neutral as he fought the conflicting emotions that threatened to erupt from him. He noticed she looked weak and tired, as though she could just sink down into the bed. In an awkward gesture he reached down and straightened her sheets. She flinched at first, then eyed him cautiously, as though unsure of his intentions.

"Hello Harry," her voice was guarded and tentative. She gave him a wan smile though as he straightened the sheet and withdrew his hands to his pockets.

"Aunt Petunia, I... I'm sorry about Sunday night, I didn't know. I just really wanted to know about my grandmother, she's the only other family I have." Harry's voice was grave. He was in uncharted waters, he had never really talked to his aunt, and it was difficult given their long history. Petunia turned her head away and Harry could see her blink hard several times.

"Harry, I," she turned to look at him again. Her face was stricken and the colour had drained from it. She appeared to be fighting some kind of battle. Harry reached down and took her hand; he wanted to give her strength for whatever she was fighting. His action had unexpected consequences though. She gripped his hand like a lifeline that could save her from drowning. Her grip was like a vice and Harry had to grip her hand harder just to keep the blood circulating in his own hand. After several long seconds she released her grip and Harry relaxed as well. She gave him another small smile.

"Harry, I always thought it was for the best." Her eyes were brimming with tears and Harry could see the light glisten off of them. "I always thought that if you never became a wizard, then nothing bad would ever happen to you. You're all that's left of my sister, and every time I look at you, all I see are her eyes. Harry," the tears ran freely down her face now and her voice was thick with tears, "you're all the family I have left. I can-" the last of her words were swallowed up by her sobs. Harry sank down into the chair beside her bed.

At some point he realized she had stopped crying and had fallen back to sleep. He felt Mrs. Figg's hand on his shoulder and realized he was still holding Petunia's frail hand. He marvelled at that, he had never thought of her hands as frail, but then he had never held her hand either. Somewhere, far away, he heard Mrs. Figg calling him, something about leaving. For all that he could move though, he might well have been a statue carved from the tiles of the floor.

Harry could hear voices in the hall, they sounded angry. He turned his head, Mrs. Figg was standing in the doorway, beyond her Vernon and Dudley were both yelling and flailing about. A bevy of nurses and doctors had gathered around them. Harry turned and looked out the window and was surprised to see that the evening was moving along rapidly and that the shadows outside were getting long. Harry stood up despite the fact that every muscle in his body protested the action. He looked down at his aunt's pale face, her eyes fluttered and opened. She gave him a small smile.

"Thank you Harry," she croaked out, she looked around and Harry saw that she was looking at the water pitcher on her bedside table. He leaned over and poured her a glass of water, helping her sit up so she could drink it.

"Aunt Petunia, Vernon and Dudley are here, I should probably go now." He proceeded carefully at this point, not quite sure how he felt about making the next statement, so he stumbled a bit looking for something else to say to fill the uncomfortable silence. "I, uh, I hope you get to feeling better."

"Harry, wait a moment won't you, please?" Harry was dumbstruck; he couldn't remember Petunia ever saying please to him.

"Sure. Anything you want."

"Could you ask Vernon and Dudley to come in here please?" Harry stumbled towards the door. Vernon stopped shouting and looked at Harry darkly. Dudley was flexing his fists and eyed Harry threateningly.

"Uncle Vernon, Dudley, Aunt Petunia wants to see you." Mrs. Figg stepped slowly aside eyeing all three carefully. Harry stepped out of the way so that Vernon and Dudley could go past him, neatly side stepping the half-punch that Dudley shot his way. He moved closer to the door as Vernon and Dudley created a wall between Petunia and everyone else.

Aunt Petunia's voice rose over the wall. "Harry, come over here please." Harry walked around to the far side of the bed, just beyond Dudley's expanding reach. Petunia began levering herself up out of bed and Vernon and Dudley both tried to get her to lie back down. She waved away their hands and stood up behind Harry placing her hands on his shoulders. She looked weak and Harry watched her carefully to make sure she didn't suddenly faint.

Her voice was weak, but very sure, and she spoke with a certain air of authority and, at least to Harry's ears, pride. "Vernon, Dudley, this is my nephew Harry Potter, he is my sister's son."

"We bloody well know who he is!" Uncle Vernon's voice was dangerous and loud. "This sodding git is why you're here now. He's-"

"Quiet Vernon," Petunia's voice was sharp and forceful, like lightning. Her voice softened again and went back to the introductory tone she had been using before. "He is the only son of my only sister. In light of the fact that he has no other family to go to, he will be staying with us until he returns to school in the fall. He is welcome in my home and every effort should be made-" Harry never heard the rest as the ground came rushing up and collided with his forehead causing everything to go black.