Chapter 5- The Dursleys and Mrs. Figg

Saturday, July 1, 1995

Harry stared wide-eyed at the scene before him, his brain unable to accept what he was seeing. Knowing it was childish, but unable to help himself, he squeezed his eyes shut, waited a couple of seconds, then cautiously opened one eye.

Nope. Still dark. Still empty.

Numb with shock, Harry stumbled back to the door, and sat heavily on his trunk. He was picking up details now that he had overlooked before...like the realtor's lock box on the doorknob. Oh, well done, Captain Obvious. How had he missed that?

The wind was blowing harder, rustling the leaves in the trees, and carrying with it the smell of impending rain. Dark storm clouds completely obscured the moon, and thunder rumbled ominously.

Glassy-eyed, Harry stared straight ahead, not really seeing. Dimly, he realized he must be doing a remarkable imitation of a Petrified person, and it would probably be wise to stir himself and figure out what to do before he got drenched.

Unfortunately, his heart was pounding, his mind was reeling, and he felt about ready to faint or throw up.

Get a hold of yourself! This is no time to panic! the small corner of his brain still capable of rational thought snapped. Unfortunately, the rational part was not currently in complete control.

Are you mental?! the horrified and irrationally overwrought part screeched. This is the perfect time to panic! Your family is gone! You have no place to stay, nowhere to go, you just blew most of your muggle money on a useless train ticket and you hiked all this way to get to an empty house!

Harry clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut as a fresh wave of adrenaline flooded his body. What was he going to do? He tried to rein in his skittering thoughts, but couldn't seem to manage it. At the moment, running screaming down the street seemed perfectly reasonable...if his legs would support him, this is.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before a sudden, sharp pain in his hand cut through his body's autonomic response. "Ow!" Harry yelped. He looked around for the source of his discomfort, and discovered he was no longer alone. Hedwig had arrived.

She had also nipped him on the thumb.

Hard.

The snowy owl had her feathers ruffled. She was also clicking her beak and looking at him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. Evidently she had been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

"Hedwig!" Harry swallowed, and took a couple of shaky breaths. Now that he had something else to focus on, he was beginning to shake off the unreasoning fear and re-engage his brain. "Hullo, girl. Sorry about that. Just...just had a bit of a shock."

Hedwig regarded Harry with her large amber eyes, and tilted her head questioningly. Where have you been? What took you so long? she seemed to say.

Harry's eyes grew distant again. "They're gone, Hedwig," he said softly. "We can't get in. We have no place to stay." Harry got a lot of good-natured teasing for talking to his owl like she was human, but he didn't care. They understood each other, and that was all that mattered.

Absently stroking her feathers, Harry paused to observe as the first raindrops began to fall, then continued in a dull monotone. "Uncle Vernon never came to King's Cross. I caught a commuter train. Walked here. Found the house empty. Found them gone..."

Harry stuttered to a stop as the truth hit him like a punch in the gut. His family had abandoned him. He was alone. Somehow saying it out loud made it real. He felt betrayed and deeply hurt, though why he couldn't say.

The Dursley's had never claimed to love him. Heck, they barely claimed to know him. All his life, he'd been an inconvenience-an unwanted and resented burden. Oh, he'd tried to win at least their acceptance when he was younger, but no matter how hard he tried nothing pleased them.

Harry sighed, shaking his head in irritation. He had resigned himself to this fact years ago. He was used to it. He didn't care. It didn't matter. They didn't matter. It shouldn't hurt like this, but it did, dammit, it did!

Stop that. The dryly logical part of his mind was asserting itself again. The same part that allowed him to fight, and eventually throw off the Imperious Curse this past year. Calm down! That's not getting you anywhere.

Yes, Harry agreed. Quite right. Stay calm. Keep your wits. Wasn't that was the cornerstone of every Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson?

Harry hadn't had a Defense professor two years in a row since he started at Hogwarts. The people who had held the position over the last four years had vastly different skill sets, personalities, and teaching styles, but all his Defense professors, the capable and the incompetent alike, had agreed on one fundamental truth: Don't panic.

With effort, Harry managed to refocus, and shove the hurt away. He'd sort that out later. Right now he needed a plan.

He needed a plan, but he'd settle for an idea.

Or a hint.

Even a place to start would be better than nothing. Agitated, the green-eyed boy raked his fingers through his hair. Where were those patented flashes of insight when he needed one?

Known affectionately as the "Gryffindor Trio," Harry and his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were a nearly unbeatable team. Each brought a different skill set to the mix, and they complimented each other perfectly. Hermione was a veritable walking library, and exceptional with logic and deduction. Ron, though he didn't always show it, was a brilliant strategist, and quite good at spotting strengths and weaknesses. Harry, like Hermione, was good at figuring things out, but his gift was more erratic. He had a knack for noticing details others missed, and figuring out the big picture from apparently unrelated bits of information.

There was no obvious method, which irritated Hermione to no end. She sometimes had trouble taking things on faith. 'It just happens, Hermione,' was far too imprecise an explanation for her tastes, although it was about as close as Harry could come to describing the phenomenon. His "inspirations" were usually triggered by an offhand remark or event. The last puzzle piece would fall into place and he would just know. The inscrutable would suddenly become obvious.

Not that it was doing him any good at the moment. Currently his mind was helplessly and distressingly blank.

"I can't believe this. It can't be happening," Harry muttered, shaking his head in denial. Sensing his agitation, Hedwig made gentle, soothing noises, and rubbed her head against his hand. What in the world am I going to do? I certainly couldn't stay on the porch all summer. The boy growled in frustration. Drat Dumbledore and his stupid promise, anyway. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Harry felt his hysteria threatening to rise again, and brutally squelched it. Stop that! he commanded himself, more firmly this time. Focus! You can gibber later.

Harry closed his eyes and leaned against the door. The door! He regarded it thoughtfully. He could easily use the unlocking charm on it, but was it worth the risk? Underage magic was governed by a set of strict laws, and taken very seriously by the Ministry of Magic. Harry had gotten an official warning the summer before his second year, for magic that wasn't even his doing. If he was caught again, he'd probably be expelled, no questions asked.

Okay, no magic. Harry really didn't want to enter the house, anyway, but if he didn't where could he go? Was anyplace safe?

Hagrid's voice came floating up from memory. The half-giant had once told Harry that there was no place safer than Gringott's, the wizarding bank. Except perhaps Hogwarts. Harry scowled. Fat lot of good that was. Concentrating fiercely, he tried to solve his predicament. After a few minutes, Hedwig hooted, drawing his eyes back to her. When she saw she had his attention, she held out a leg expectantly.

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. She was right, of course. He could send a message to someone and be away from Privet Drive in a few hours. The only problem with that plan was the weather. The wind was whipping through the trees now, and the rain was falling fast and hard. Harry knew Hedwig had probably flown through rough weather before, and she would probably be all right, but he felt bad about tossing her out in the rain. He told the owl as much, but filed the idea away for later use if needed.

Unfortunately, staying put until the storm passed wasn't a good option either. The porch was not providing adequate protection. He was already wet from blowing rain, and the wind felt uncomfortably cold. The last thing he needed was for Hedwig or himself to get sick. First priority had to be finding shelter. The question was where? If he couldn't ask Ron or Hermione for help, who was left? Sirius? Professor Lupin?

No, they were helping Professor Dumbledore. Something about rounding up the "old crowd."

Professor Dumbledore was probably insanely busy as well, but he would surely know what to do.

Harry fought a mad urge to laugh as he imagined himself on his headmaster's doorstep. Sorry to bother you, sir, but my relatives have disappeared. Since I'm not allowed to go to my friends, do you mind if I kip here? Or even better: Yes, Mr. Goblin, I need to be locked in my Gringott's vault for the summer...

The easiest solution, of course, would be to ask one of the neighbors for help, but because of his aunt and uncle, Harry didn't know anyone very well. The first ten years he had lived with the Dursleys, they had kept him in the cupboard under the stairs, and tried to keep his contact with "normal" people to a minimum. Since he had been attending Hogwarts, Vernon had taken to telling everyone that Harry went to St. Brutus' Secure Facility for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Harry pulled a face. Help from that quarter wasn't likely. If he even tried to approach one of them, they'd probably panic and call the police, although...

Weren't you supposed to go to the police when you were in trouble? Harry turned the idea over in his mind. It was an intriguing notion, but no. If he went to the police and admitted he had been abandoned, and that he was a minor, he would probably wind up in a runaway shelter, or foster care, or an orphanage. Harry shuddered. He had no intention of going to an orphanage. Oh, no. Nonono.

His aunt and uncle had been filling his head with horror stories about muggle orphanages since the beginning of forever. When Harry was much younger, if he dared complain about his cupboard, his measly portions at mealtime, or his ridiculously oversized clothes he would be subjected to a blistering lecture.

Vernon and Petunia would paint themselves as long-suffering saints who took him in, and clothed and fed and sheltered him. They would tell him anyone else would have turned him out on the street or turned him over to an orphanage because of his freakish abnormality. He would be cast as a grasping, greedy little beggar who thought himself too good for what he was so generously given, and was incapable of the smallest bit of gratitude. They would berate him, call him worthless, evil, ungrateful...

Then the threats would begin.

He would be beaten at the orphanage, they said. Starved, abused, and locked in the cellar with the rats. To make sure he got the point, they even began "showing" him small samples of what he would be facing. They withheld food and locked him in his cupboard (with the spiders) as punishment so that he could better appreciate how good he had it. Over the years it had become habit. Deep down, Harry knew it wasn't right, but he had been effectively trapped. They were his guardians until he was an adult in the eyes of the law. His only option had been to simply keep his head down and wait it out.

The boy sighed and batted the memory away. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past. Harry was realistic enough to realize that his aunt and uncle probably exaggerated the orphanage living conditions, but he'd rather not risk it...just in case. Hadn't Tom Riddle, the boy who'd grown up to become Voldemort lived in a muggle orphanage? Hadn't his experiences there twisted him into the cruel, psychotic killer he had become? And perhaps most importantly, didn't Harry have enough in common with Voldemort without having to live in a bloody orphanage, too? Besides, how would he ever explain Hedwig? And Hogwarts! With his luck, they'd put Hedwig in the zoo aviary, and try to make him go to state school.

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