Realizations

Chapter 21 - For Every Action There Is An Equal And Opposite Reaction

The Census Library and Archive is a cluttered and rather nondescript office located deep within the Ministry of Magic. The witches and wizards employed there keep track of Britain's comparatively small magical population by maintaining records on wizarding births and deaths, witches and wizards immigrating into or out of Britain, and muggleborn children who have received and accepted invitations to study magic.

When a new member of wizarding society is made known to the Ministry of Magic a folder is created for them by the Census Librarians, and charmed to automatically update itself regarding matters of public record.

The file is started with a general information form which includes normal census data (name, address, legal guardian (if any) marital status, etc.) This form is typically completed and submitted with birth certificates, immigration papers, or muggleborns' letters of invitation/acceptance, and acts rather like a listing in a muggle telephone directory.

In early November 1981, the wizarding world as a collective whole was still reeling over the events of Halloween night.

While most magical folk were giddily celebrating their newfound freedom, select members of the Order of the Phoenix were in a mad scramble discussing wards, researching charms, and trying to decide how to best protect the tiny tousle-haired baby who was already being hailed as "The Boy Who Lived." They had to act, and act quickly.

While Harry Potter spent a few days under observation to make sure he hadn't suffered any lasting effects from his recent ordeal, his future had been decided. The Dark Lord had been driven from his body, and he seemed to be gone for good, but his followers were still on the loose and could pose a threat to the boy's safety.

By the time he'd been released with an astonishingly clean bill of health, a plan of action had been agreed upon, his guardians had been selected and an unprecedented amount of defensive magic had been put into place.

The Ministry ordered his records sealed, of course, for privacy and security reasons, but before the locking charm was cast, a lock of jet-black hair, bound by a strand of unicorn mane was slipped in. In so doing, Harry's file could be spelled to "watch" him, rather like an alarm system, and given a certain set of rules and parameters. If Harry was away from the main house for example, and his guardians did not know where he was, an alarm would sound, and a team of Aurors would be dispatched to find out what the matter was. If the Dursleys died, or the Blood Protection charm that Dumbledore cast was broken for any reason, then a more powerful fail-safe mechanism would be activated.

To their credit, the Ministry initially did a very good job of guarding Harry's file. The problem was how the charms themselves were set. Harry was a bright and curious child, and tended to "escape" at any given opportunity. More than once a squad of Aurors had apparated in, ready to leap to his defense, only to find the "victim" had merely wandered into the next-door neighbor's garden.

If they noticed Harry's reluctance to return to number four, or Petunia Dursley's tight-lipped glare when they arrived at her door, they chalked it up to simple exasperation. Judging by how often his folder rang, they imagined she fetched him back at least twice as often as they did.

Something had to be done, so a request had been submitted to have the charms modified. Unfortunately, unsealing Harry's folder or changing the magic on it required the permission of the minster himself, and the concurrence of the senior members of the Wizengamot, so help had not been quick in coming.

In desperation, a librarian had finally employed a stopgap measure. After Harry's folder had alerted twenty times in the past week alone, a silencing charm had been cast. The librarian responsible, had only intended to leave it until close of business, but had gotten busy and forgotten. By the time the charms specialist came to investigate the matter, there didn't seem to be a problem to fix. So while Harry lived on Privet Drive, his folder shrilled to no avail:

When his arm was broken.

When Dudley and his gang bullied and punched him.

When the Dursleys withheld food and locked him away, first in the cupboard, then in Dudley's second bedroom.

And when the Weasley brothers essentially "kidnapped" him the summer before his second year.

Nothing, however, had been severe enough, or had lasted long enough to fully activate the failsafe mechanism, and trigger the defensive spells designed to hide young Harry Potter should the unthinkable happen...

...until now.

Saturday, July 22, 1995

(...Mr. Weasley, please tell everyone at the Burrow 'hi' for me. Professors, Mrs. Figg, Sirius, Remus have a good evening.)

Harry Potter scrawled his hasty farewell, threw his quill down in agitation, then stood and quite deliberately turned his back on the parchment on his desk. He couldn't deal with this. Not right now. He was confused and angry, and yes dammit, hurt! The need to distance himself--to just get away--was nearly overwhelming.

Feeling anxious he began to pace, trying to work off some nervous energy and corral his whirling thoughts. He hadn't been completely truthful to Sirius and the others just now. His impendent departure had just been a convenient excuse to cut the conversation short. Janet would be by soon, but he didn't have to dash out the door this split second.

Good thing, too, Harry thought ruefully, glimpsing himself in the mirror and wincing at his own soot-smeared and slightly wild-eyed appearance. He wasn't fit company for anyone at the moment, and it wasn't just because he needed to clean up. Janet might rethink the whole business and refuse to leave Kitty and Becky in his care if he met her in this state!

Yeah, and wouldn't that be ruddy brilliant, the teen thought with a resentful snort. Someone else in my life who thinks I'm useless and helpless and--

(Harry? HARRY!!)

Sirius... Harry stopped his restless pacing and sighed when he spotted his godfather's last attempt to gain his attention on what was left of his stack of enchanted parchment. He lightly touched the letters on the page, then scanned the pieces scattered on the desk feeling strangely divided. On one hand he was angry, and his pride was still smarting from the whole row. Sirius' scolding comments, even written, hurt like no dressing-down from the Dursleys ever had...

(How did you get into this mess?)

(You should have contacted someone at once!)

(I thought you were smarter than this!)

On the other hand, he was feeling ashamed and a little afraid. Sirius' good opinion was important to him, he realized, as was Remus' and Mr. Weasley's and Professor Dumbledore's. Had he managed to alienate the lot of them just now? Harry looked up and blinked his stinging eyes rapidly, before squeezing them tightly shut. No! He would not disgrace himself by crying on top of everything else! He thought not seeing the pages might help, but it didn't work. He could still remember what they said.

(Does Big bloody Ben have to fall on that thick head of yours?)

(This is a dangerous time for you! You need to be protected!)

(EXACTLY WHO IS THE GUARDIAN HERE??!)

More than once in the last few moments, Harry had been profoundly grateful that he hadn't been having this conversation in person. He opened his eyes, and scowled at sheets of parchment that formed an out-of-order, one-sided transcript on his desk. If they had gone at it much longer, he probably would've written "Shove off!" or something equally witty. He didn't imagine that would have gone over very well.

(Where have you been?)

(What the hell are you doing at this time of night?!)

(Stop messing around and tell us where you are!)

Harry made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and wiped his hands down his face. Logically, he knew he shouldn't have cut them off the way he had, and furthermore, he reckoned he should probably pick up his quill, and apologize, but hang it all! It had been getting harder and harder to keep his responses civil. What about 'I am fine' was so hard to understand, anyway?

(This is a dangerous time for you!)

(You need to be protected!)

Shaking his head in annoyance, Harry leveled a glare at the parchment on the desk that should have incinerated it on the spot, before stalking into the bathroom to tidy up. Why were they all so upset anyway? Maybe he hadn't been able to follow Dumbledore's instructions to the letter, but he'd done the best he could, and he had kept his promise! Surely he should get a little credit for that! The way they were carrying on, anyone would think he'd been deliberately and willfully disobedient!

Without waiting for the water to warm, Harry caught a double-handful and splashed his face then shoved his head under the tap, and reached for the soap. What do they want from me anyway? he fumed indignantly. Hadn't he proven himself by now? If he could survive Voldemort, a Basilisk, Professor Snape's Potions Class, and a huge crowd of Dementors, why did they think he couldn't handle himself now?

Irritated all over again, Harry rinsed off and snatched a towel off the shelf. His first night back from Hogwarts was something he avoided thinking about if he could. He'd been such a wreck, it was difficult to remember anyway. Besides being mentally and physically exhausted, he'd been soaked, half sick, and suffering from a mild case of shock.

Harry sighed again as he discarded his sooty clothes and pulled on some fresh ones. He was out of the way...safely tucked away for the summer. Wasn't that what they wanted? Diagon Alley, Privet Drive, what did it matter? He'd stayed at the Leaky Cauldron summer before Third Year, when they'd thought a mad killer was after him! What was different now?

Coming to the Alley wasn't anything he'd planned, or an action he could explain. It had just seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. Things had just worked out. When Tom had given him the means to support himself, the situation had lost a lot of its urgency. Once the crisis was over it hadn't seemed worth mentioning. The Order surely had more important matters to deal with than pointless might-have-beens.

Besides which, once he'd had time to catch his breath, his recent abandonment had slapped him in the face again. It might be a childish stance to take, but Harry found he wasn't keen on announcing he'd been tossed aside like a bit of old rubbish, and wanted to keep this fact to himself as long as possible. He'd immediately be in the wrong, of course. He imagined Dumbledore and the others would shake their heads and tut disapprovingly, and say 'What did you do this time, Harry?'

And if the Daily Prophet caught wind of it...

Harry flopped on the bed with a shudder, as sensationalized headlines danced in his head. With his luck, they'd make the Dursleys sound like bloody heroes for having had "the courage to reclaim their lives" or some such rot. MUGGLE RELATIVES OF THE BOY WHO LIVED REVEAL ALL! Oooooh, yes. The Dursleys wouldn't hesitate to burn him in effigy, and the Prophet would be so busy counting their Galleons, they probably wouldn't be bothered with petty details, like, say, abandonment being illegal.

Rolling over onto his back, Harry stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders, trying to work out the knots of tension in his neck and upper back. Well, at least one good thing had come from this mess. The whole scenario was so completely incomprehensible, he was still having trouble getting his mind around it, but if Dumbledore was correct, at least he knew where his relatives were now.

Bloody hell! Harry thought weakly, as he rubbed his eyes, and mentally revised a few theories he had with regard to his family's whereabouts. As far as he knew, his aunt and uncle had never even considered visiting Australia, and now they were living there? That bit of information had seemed so wildly out of character, so patently absurd, it had left him...well, stunned, really. Moreover, it certainly didn't tally with what he'd learned upon opening the box from Mrs. Figg's house!

And what a merry mess that has been, Harry thought, tossing an amused glance at the innocent-looking container by the dresser. The box had proved to be a bigger challenge than one might expect. There was no rhyme or reason to the jumbled mess inside, and to further confuse matters, Mrs. Figg must have cast enlarging and lightening charms on it.

Harry grinned, recalling how he had stumbled onto that bit of information. It had been the first night he'd worked with the box, back when he'd reckoned he'd have it unpacked and sorted in an hour--two at most. He'd reached in with both arms, intending to scoop everything out at once, and had sunk himself waist-deep in the stupid thing. He'd been so intent on finding the bottom of the box, he hadn't noticed it sizing itself to accommodate him. He was lucky he hadn't toppled in completely.

Because of the charms, it was impossible to tell just by looking how much the box contained. The contents were scattered and varied and spanned ten years or more. He'd removed at least three times more than the box should have been able to hold, and there was still more to go! At this rate it was going to take the rest of the holiday just to decide what to keep, and what could be safely binned. He'd found legal records, photos, items from his muggle school, every Hogwarts letter that had ever been sent to Privet Drive, and loads of random rubbish: notes, lists, calendars, and such.

Oddly enough, it had been those pieces of scrap paper that had given him insight as to what the Dursleys had been planning, and where they might have gone. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, visualizing all the notes and lists he'd unearthed. His aunt's obsessive planning had actually been useful for once.

One calendar, for example, showed that Aunt Petunia had originally had his entire holiday pretty well planned out. She'd typed up a schedule on the computer, methodically listing what needed to be done and when, and by whom. Dudley, of course, had not been required to do anything, but Harry had been expected to pitch in and assist with minor repairs, and packing and inventorying boxes. This information suggested that they'd originally intended to leave much closer to the end of summer.

Another paper that was particularly telling seemed to have been a brainstorming aid. From it, Harry learned that Uncle Vernon had been offered a new position at work--one that would require relocation. Aunt Petunia was fond of using comparison lists to sort through facts and make decisions. She and Vernon both must have taken this turn of events very seriously, because the page held several:

Accepting New Position vs. Retaining Current Position

Moving vs. Not Moving

Staying in Britain vs. Traveling Abroad

Dudley Staying at Smeltings vs. Dudley attending a Foreign School...

Harry had actually taken the time to read that one. His own name (shockingly) had been listed, along with Dudley's, as part of yet another list. Aunt Petunia had jotted down several ideas for both boys' care during school holidays should Vernon accept an assignment outside of Britain. He rolled his eyes and snorted recalling his aunt's notation: Have the boy contact those red-haired louts... then grew thoughtful once again, struggling with the inconsistency. They'd evidently spared him one or two small thoughts, at least in the early stages of their planning. What had changed?

Australia he hadn't seen coming. That had literally popped up out of nowhere. Harry frowned slightly as he tried to recall. There had been a list of cities they were considering, but if he wasn't mistaken, all the foreign locations had been situated on the Western half of the Mediterranean Sea. This actually made a certain amount of sense since his aunt and uncle had always fancied a vacation home in Majorca. Harry had assumed they'd moved to one of the places on the list, either in Britain or abroad, and had left it at that. They didn't seem to be anywhere near London, so he hadn't bothered verifying his theory.

The little gold clock on his night stand chimed, breaking his train of thought. Almost time to go, it read. Harry sat up and took a deep breath, then paused for a second, assessing his own mood. He felt a little better now. A little more centered at least. He could probably get through the evening without biting anyone's head off at any rate.

He made sure Hedwig's feeding dishes were full and the window was open, checked his appearance in the mirror, then turned back to the desk. Hesitantly he walked over to it, half expecting there to be another two or three scolding notes waiting for him, but there were none. Harry bit his lower lip when he saw this, unsure if it was a good sign or not. Sighing, he let his eyes slide over the pages again.

Professor Dumbledore: (Harry, we know you aren't in Australia with the Dursleys. Tell me where you are, and I'll have you brought to Hogwarts until all this can be sorted out.)

Mr. Weasley: (If you agree to stay in the house, you can come to the Burrow straightaway!)

And Professor Dumbledore again: (Perhaps you misunderstood, Harry. I am afraid this is not a request.)

Harry frowned lightly, running his fingers over Dumbledore's statement about the Dursleys and Hogwarts. In the past, when some witch or wizard mentioned the Dursleys, and the phrase "sorted out" in the same breath, it meant someone was planning to go soothe his family's ruffled feathers and ensure that Harry could return the following summer. The green-eyed boy had never understood this. He'd made no bones about the fact that he was unhappy with his muggle relatives, and the Dursleys couldn't have expressed their feelings on the matter more plainly if they'd hired a skywriter, but it hadn't mattered. Every summer he'd been forced to return to Surrey.

Still frowning, Harry tidied the parchment into a stack, then regarded it thoughtfully. He knew what they wanted. They wanted him to admit where he was so they, who were older and wiser, and knew much better than he did what he needed and what he should do, could swoop in to "save" him.

They wanted him to return to the Dursleys.

Besides the fact that he recoiled automatically at the very notion, Harry had a strong suspicion that going to Privet Drive this summer would have been the worst possible thing for him. He'd been in no condition to deal with their derisive scorn and neglect at the beginning of the holiday, and he certainly didn't want to now.

Recalling the little flare of temper he'd had earlier, Harry pulled a face. He might not have been a flawless example of poise and manners just now, but he didn't even want to consider the state he might have been in if he'd been isolated on Privet Drive all summer. The Mountain Troll that he and his friends had taken on in their First Year probably would have seemed a right sweetheart by comparison.

It wasn't perfect. He still had nightmares and visions, and things to sort out, but Harry knew instinctively that working this summer had been good for him. The physical demands helped keep his grief and despair at bay. The fact that he was doing something useful and making his own way had been an enormous boost to his confidence, and being viewed by Tom and the others as worthy and capable, and normal was a gift without price. It was like a soothing balm to wounds on his soul he hadn't even realized he possessed.

His life wasn't perfect, it might never be actually, but it was getting better.

He'd have to come clean once he returned to Hogwarts, but that was more than a month away.

It might be selfish, but he didn't want to give up the scarlet and gold room over the kitchen. Not until he had to.

I'm sorry sir, but no, Harry thought regretfully as he slipped the stack of parchment into one of the desk's drawers. I just can't. Not this time.

Back at Hogwarts, the headmaster's office was completely silent.

No one knew what to say.

No one knew what to do.

Dumbledore had just cast a locator charm, with very unexpected results.

Trying again, Albus stood, waved his wand and commanded, "Point Me, Harry Potter!"

Again, the spell didn't perform as expected. The old wizard's wand jerked out of his hand, then began to spin aimlessly, acting like a compass exposed to a magnet. "Finite Incantatem!" Dumbledore finally ordered, making his wand drop back into his hand. He frowned at it a second, then tried, "Point Me, Arabella Figg!" Within seconds, his wand had oriented itself, and was pointing steadily at the gray-haired witch. "Finite Incantatem." Shaking his head in confusion, he met Professor Snape's eyes at random. "Would you be so good as to try, Severus?" he requested, unable to keep the bewilderment from his voice.

Dumbstruck, the potions master nodded, and raised his own wand. "Point Me, Harry Potter!" he commanded, with similar results.

"Is Harry doing this, Albus?" Arthur whispered in awe a few minutes later when everyone had tried at least one charm without success.

"I do not know, Arthur," Dumbledore said, absently stroking his beard. "It seems unlikely, but I don't suppose we can discount any theories at this point." Wearing a thoughtful frown, the old wizard headed over to his fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo Powder. "Nathaniel Baker!" he called, and a few seconds later, his sandy-haired colleague's head was floating in the flames.

"Hey, mate!" he greeted cheerfully. "I cast a few charms around that muggle family for you. They won't be going anywhere without us knowing."

"Thank you, Nate. I was wondering if I could ask a favor?"

Nate pretended to consider. "Dunno, mate," he said with a cheeky grin. “The last time you wanted a favor, I wound up walking all the way across the bloody city!"

"This won't be nearly as involved," Albus said with a small chuckle. "I merely want you to attempt casting Point Me."

"Attempt?" Baker scoffed, looking slightly affronted. "I'll have you know that's one of me best spells. So what am I pointing to?"

"Harry Potter."

Nathaniel's eyes widened, but he did not question further. If Dumbledore didn't have the kid at Hogwarts by now, something was seriously wrong. "Point Me, Harry Potter," he ordered, then broke off staring at his wand as it jerked out of his hand, and repeated the aimless spinning motion shown by the others just a few minutes before. "It's not working!" he exclaimed unnecessarily. "But it was working earlier! Albus, what's going on?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Nathaniel, but I intend to find out."

Tom looked up from serving a customer, when the bells on the door leading to muggle London rang, and smiled automatically when he spotted Janet, Kitty, and Becky entering the pub.

"Well hello there," he greeted as they trooped in and took three empty seats at the bar. "Bit early, aren't you?"

Janet rolled her eyes in exasperation, while Kitty and Becky giggled amongst themselves. "I broke the First Rule of Parents With Small Children," she announced petulantly.

"Which is?" Tom prompted, amused.

"Never mention an excitement-inducing event more than one hour ahead of time. I mentioned that Steve was arriving this evening, and if that wasn't bad enough, I also verified that the Sparkster was coming over to babysit--at breakfast!" Janet moaned, holding her forehead, and mock-glaring at Tom when he began to chuckle. "That means my entire day has been one long ongoing variation of 'Is it time to go get Daddy?' and 'Is it time to go get Sparky?' I'm ready to strangle both of them."

"Now, now, they're just excited," Tom said bracingly. "Aren't you dears?" he asked, looking to the children for verification, and grinning at their exuberant nods.

"Oh, they're excited all right. They've been bouncing off the walls all day. Whatever he asks to be paid, I'm thinking of doubling it," Janet declared, raising an eyebrow at her children. "He's going to have a heck of a time getting them down for the night. Oh, speaking of Sparky, is he in the kitchen?"

"He's upstairs, I believe. Shall I fetch him?"

"Nah, I just wanted to show you something while he wasn't here. I'd probably embarrass him," Janet said, taking a quick peek around to make sure none of the other customers were watching. She unzipped the diaper bag and began to rummage through it while Tom looked on curiously. "I had some pictures developed while I was out today," she continued, removing a packet of photos and flipping through them, "and I got one of him by accident that was just too cute!" she grinned, finally locating the one she was looking for and passing it to Tom.

Not quite sure what to expect, Tom accepted the image, and studied it carefully. It was, a muggle photograph, completely still and unmoving, but the captured moment didn't disappoint. As Janet had promised, it was truly classic. She had somehow managed to get a shot of Harry while he'd been at her house a few nights ago. Tom grinned, then he chuckled, then he gave up and laughed out loud. Harry had a leggy plastic fashion doll in one hand, and a tiny garment in the other. He was holding both like they were somehow contaminated, and his entire bearing screamed 'You want me to do what??!'

Giggling herself, Janet filled in the back-story, while Tom whipped out his handkerchief and dabbed his watering eyes. "Both sets of grandparents threatened me with death if I didn't send lots of pictures. I was at a stopping point so I decided to grab the camera and see what they were up to," she explained before returning to the matter at hand. "He was so busy being scandalized, I don't think he realized I took it."

"So which one of you naughty things is responsible for this?" Tom said, still cackling gleefully as he turned the photo so the girls could see.

"Becky," Kitty said at once. “I told her he wouldn't want to play dolls, but she wouldn't listen" she grinned with relish, watching as her sister pouted and crossed her tiny arms on her chest.

"'Parky just silly," the toddler said, obviously dismissing the incident. "Dolly's fun."

"Hmm. Fun for you maybe," Janet grinned, kissing the top of her younger daughter's head, and sharing a commiserating look with her older child. "You don't have to dress the darn things!" She grinned up at Tom and elaborated, "Becky adores playing with those dolls, but she has trouble dressing and undressing them. That means she goes to the nearest big person and they get the honor." She glanced at the picture again, and waggled her eyebrows at Tom. "That night Sparky drew the short straw. Look at that face!" she crowed in delight. "Becky couldn't have gotten a better reaction if she'd asked him to swallow a live toad!"

Tom nodded, and stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. "May I see the others?"

"Sure," Janet said looking pleasantly surprised and handing him the packet. "There are a few more that have the Sparkster in them--they're near the back. The rest are from the trip over, and our first few days here," she explained, as Tom flipped though the pictures. He stopped to smile at one of Harry, Becky, and Kitty piled into an overstuffed rocker-recliner. Harry appeared to be reading a story in that one.

"I think that's the best one," Janet with a soft smile when she saw which one Tom was looking at. "He's good with them."

"Indeed." Tom finished flipping through the stack, and replaced them in their envelope. When he looked up at Janet again, he was surprised to see her expression was faintly troubled. "Is something wrong?"

Janet looked a little indecisive, then sighed. "How well do you know Sparky's family, Tom?" she asked quietly.

"Not all that well, I'm afraid," Tom hedged, a bit surprised at her sudden shift in topic and attitude.

"I usually get doubles made when I have film processed," Jan said, indicating another bundle of photos. "When I saw how good those shots turned out, I thought his family might like to have the duplicates. I separated them out, and put them in an envelope, but it wasn't until I tried to write a note that I realized I had no idea who these people are. None whatsoever."

Tom didn't know what to say to that, but Janet spared him the necessity of speaking.

"It just seemed odd you know?" she said, absently studying the contaminated doll shot. "He talks to us when we come by, he's been over to the house once, and he's babysitting tonight. I guess I just assumed that his aunt and uncle would want to meet me--look me over and make sure I'm not a serial killer or something. I'd want to check out anyone Kitty was that friendly with if the positions were switched." She shrugged and laughed nervously. "Maybe I'm just paranoid. Sparky's a sweet kid, and he's got a good head on his shoulders. Maybe they think he's responsible enough to make his own choices. I just thought I'd ask if you knew how I could contact them, or even if I should contact them about the pictures."

"Why not just ask the boy?"

"He doesn't seem to like to talk about his home life, so I've tried to respect that," Janet responded frankly, after motioning him closer and lowering her voice so that Becky and Kitty couldn't hear. "I thought at first that he was shy, or maybe he was just a private kind of kid, but that's not quite right. He'll chat about some things, but he doesn't discuss his family any more than he absolutely has to." Janet shrugged, then met Tom's gaze. "I don't even know their names. Is that normal around here?"

Tom blinked, realizing he didn't either. Harry typically referred to his muggle relatives as "my aunt and uncle." It was probably something Harry had been taught as a security precaution, it didn't do any good to have him in a secret location if every witch on the street knew the names of his muggle relatives. Of course Janet wouldn't know that. "It's the same here as it is anywhere else," he said, finally answering her question. "Some people keep their own counsel, and others are more open about their affairs."

"I suppose," Janet conceded, but she still looked uncertain.

"But?" Tom prompted, curious to know what was really bothering her.

Janet sighed. "Look I like him, and I trust him, or I wouldn't be leaving the girls with him tonight. There are a few things about that kid that I find a little strange, okay?"

"Such as?"

Janet pulled on one earlobe, mulling over what she wanted to say, before then noticed her daughters watching her avidly. "It's nothing big," she said, cutting her eyes toward the children. "I'm sure I'm just being silly."

Tom nodded his understanding, then excused himself to look after a hag who was signaling him.

Janet glanced up at the clock, then soothed her children's inquiries about Sparky's whereabouts, and gave them something to amuse themselves with. She supposed she could have taken Tom up on his offer to fetch the kid, but it didn't seem worth the trouble. Unless Sparky was running late, he'd be down in a few minutes.

Sighing a little, Janet tried to pinpoint what it was about the boy that she found so damn disconcerting. It wasn't anything obvious, nor was it anything having to do with him personally. Sparky had never been anything but nice to her. He was helpful, polite, patient with her children...no, it was as she told Tom. Little things. Like when he'd been over a few nights ago, and he and Kitty and Becky had decided to watch a movie. Becky and Kitty had come over to her asking for snacks, so they'd all gone into the kitchen, leaving Sparky in the living room to fetch and load the video.

From her place in front of the microwave, Janet could see in the living room. The girls had been engrossed with the ever-expanding bag inside, but she'd taken the opportunity to watch the boy instead. He'd found the title without too much trouble, then gone straight to the VCR and tried to load it, but he had it backwards or something and it wouldn't go in.

That in itself wasn't odd. It was an easy enough mistake to make if you weren't watching what you were doing. The thing that bothered her was he didn't seem to immediately know how to fix it. Unless his household didn't have one for some reason, Sparky should have been exposed to the VCR at an early age. Loading and unloading tapes should be as automatic to him as tying his shoes. He'd figured it out, but it had taken him a few seconds to reason his way through it. By that time the popcorn was ready, and she'd had other distractions to deal with.

Then there was the movie itself. She'd expected typical adolescent disdain for the animated feature Becky had chosen, God knew she had seen it enough with her brother and nephews and cousins, but it hadn't come. Unless he was an absolutely flawless actor, he'd honestly enjoyed the movie--like he'd never seen it before. It had been the same with toys--not just dolls--but toys. Everything seemed to be a new experience.

And that was weird. She could buy off on the fact that a British kid might not have seen an American children's movie, but whoever heard of a boy, of any nationality, who hadn't played with blocks for Heaven's sake! Forget weird, that was just plain wrong!

"Janet?"

"Hey, Janet!"

"Mom?"

"Mama?"

"Janet, are you in there?"

Jan shook herself out of her musings, and blinked at the black-haired boy in front of her. Sparky was looking at her, concerned, as were her daughters.

"Alright?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Yeah, I was just off in Never-Never Land," Janet assured, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, I was just trying to work through a problem."

He seemed to relax at that. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting," he said, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder.

"Your timing is impeccable, Spark. We were just a little early. So are you ready?"

Sparky glanced at Kitty and Becky, then gave her an uncertain smile. "I hope so."