Fanfiction

Harry Potter and the Eye of Power--by Berilac

Chapter 3
Author: Berilac
Rating: PG

Summary: It's time for the Dursleys to leave, but Harry's mood has not improved since the disastrous night. Neither has his uncle's, and Harry is darkly amused when he's rushed over to Mrs. Figg's house only half a block a way. But there are questions he still has, and even Mrs. Figg seems to be holding back. But when a mysteriously cloaked stranger appears, Harry has the feeling that the madness has just begun!

CHAPTER THREE
BREAKFAST AT FIGG'S

Harry awoke the next morning tangled in his bed sheets and blinded by the rising sun that was pouring in through his undraped windows. Surprisingly, it had been a dream-free night (from what Harry could remember), if he didn't count the horrible experience in the evening before.

As Harry stood up and stretched, a nervous knot slowly tightened inside his stomach. He remembered what was going to happen today. The Durselys would leave for a week's journey in Majorca and Harry would stay here, being watched by Mrs. Figg, his neighbor.

What would the next few days bring, and will Mrs.Figg actually be nice to me this time around—floated through Harry's head as he pulled a too-big T-shirt and unusually baggy jeans from amidst the unbelievable mess of a room he had made the prior night. Would Mrs. Figg know about the close watch the Order of the Phoenix was keeping on Harry this summer? Or was she just as in the dark as he had been the year before when everyone was so tight-lipped?

Hopefully she knew... Harry didn't feel much like hearing the snaps and tuts from Mrs. Figg every ten minutes. He also wasn't looking forward to the many cats that would be swarming around her house....

And then suddenly, from underneath Harry, there came Uncle Vernon's loud booming voice. He wasn't pleased.

"Potter, you'd better be up!"

Harry sighed angrily and picked up a shattered ink bottle that lay in an inky pile next to a few textbooks of his. He then tried to sort out a pile of crumpled pieces of parchment that he had thrown everywhere the night before in his unbridled rage. One was torn in half—Hermione's letter to him. Sadly, Harry looked over the note and something written on it stood out to him so vividly that he flinched and sat down on his disheveled bed.

Only one owl is allowed per family a month and I was hoping to wait until your birthday to send you this note...(I'm only one day off!)...

Harry reread this sentence once more and groaned furiously. How could he have forgotten about his birthday? It was today...! After fourteen straight years of anticipating the 31st of July with an insane impatience, this year the thought of turning another year older was not on Harry's list of priorities. Nowhere...

Everything that occurred the day before must have driven the idea of his birthday out of his head—Harry thought to himself, blinking back tears of frustration. All the crap that had been happening... but still! This is a birthday...not some stupid ceremony or holiday! A birthday!

After a few more seconds of self-disgust at his forgetfulness, Harry suddenly stood up and frowned. If it was his birthday and Hermione could only send one letter a month, where was her present?

A strong surge of disappointment seethed through Harry and he crumpled up Hermione's letter and flung it fervently at the garbage can. It bounced off and landed on the floor next to other balls of used paper. Harry frowned again and felt completely miserable. Had he really just gotten angry at Hermione because she didn't give him a present? She had mentioned his birthday...was that all Hermione meant to Harry? Her friendship wasn't good enough unless she gave him a present...?

Still grumbling because of his superficial emotions, Harry walked over to his trunk and opened it. Lying there at the bottom, untouched the whole summer, was his Firebolt, gathering dust, spiderwebs stretching from the broom handle to the corners of the trunk while even larger circular webs lay around the neatly-clipped twigs at the broom end. Harry picked up the Firebolt and blew the dust that lay over the handle. The want to return to Hogwarts began to filter in and Harry closed his eyes imagining himself in the cool crisp air over the Quidditch field, thoughts of practicing with the Gryffindor team once again without the fear of being suspended from the team like he was last year.

As he was placing his Firebolt neatly back into his trunk, Uncle Vernon's voice boomed reverberatingly again from the first floor of the house.

"Potter?" There was silence and then again- "POTTER?"

Harry stood stock still as the scream sifted from underneath him. Then, he dashed around trying to straighten everything else up before any of the Dursleys could step inside the room. The door creaked open and the smirking face of Dudley appeared from the other side.

"Dad wants you," he said, grinning and cracking his knuckles, trying to appear threatening.

"Oh really?" Harry said, shutting his trunk loudly. "That's why he was screaming my name. Thanks Dudley! You deserve a treat-"

"He also says that you better not give him any cheek," Dudley interrupted his grin getting wider and wider. He stood right where he was on the threshold and gazed around the room.

"Well, seems like you got a little irritated last night," he said vaguely. He picked up a piece of parchment that still lay forgotten next to his bed.

"Yeah, a bit," Harry said coolly, his eyes peering menacingly at Dudley. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to finish getting ready."

"Dad says you have to see him...now," Dudley said not moving an inch.

"Thanks Big D," Harry said his voice rising in a tone of aggravation. "I would go, but your fat arse is blocking the way out."

At Harry's last words, Dudley's face became such a shade of pink, it would have made Professor Lockhart jealous at its luridness.

"You take that back," Dudley said through gritted teeth.

"No," Harry replied.

"Well, I guess that you'll have to learn the hard way," Dudley raised one of his fists high in the air, mustering as much strength as he could to perform a deadly uppercut he was only too famous for in his boxing league.

"Go ahead and hit me," Harry said calmly, "and I'll write to my friends and they won't be happy. You remember what they did the first week I returned here...."

Dudley automatically lowered his fist, his eyes widened in fear. His face clashed horribly with his blond hair.

"I remember..."

"Yeah, that was some surprise, wasn't it," Harry said evilly, his green eyes twinkling with sadistic delight at watching his cousin squirm upon remembering the incident.

During a typical summer at the Dursleys, the magicking of all the pictures on the wall to chant monotonously at two in the morning would not have been taken too kindly. Nor would have been the incident that occurred the following morning. Uncle Vernon would have murdered Harry if it weren't for the warning note that Mad-Eye Moody gave that ordered Harry to send them letters telling them how he was doing. Uncle Vernon had read it to a continuously screeching Aunt Petunia, her hair gone and replaced with long slimy maroon worms that struggled to crawl out of her scalp. The few that escaped fell upon the bed with a sickening quickness that Uncle Vernon would not soon forget.

The taker was when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia (with her head wrapped in a towel that did nothing to stop the worms that had escaped) found Dudley in his room, headless. That was when Aunt Petunia had fainted and Harry had entered the scene completely normal. Before Uncle Vernon could pulverize Harry, Dudley's squeal of fright came from the den where his head was daintily perched upon the mantle. His eyes were wide and when he saw Uncle Vernon enter the den, his head started bouncing back and forth on the immaculate mantle like an out-of-control extra large tennis-ball. That was when Uncle Vernon saw his own reflection in the grandfather clock. He had sprouted an extra nose and three extra ears.

With that realization, he rounded upon Harry in a rush of fury and ordered him to write to those insufferable wizard freaks if he wanted to stay intact.

Harry readily acquiesced and sent Hedwig off to the Order of the Phoenix with Uncle Vernon muttering angrily about "dementoids" and "Voldythings" and how Harry was not going to live to see the light of day after they returned to normal....

Within hours, Uncle Vernon's extra body parts vanished, Aunt Petunia's hair grew back, Dudley's head reattached to his body, and the pictures on the wall stopped chanting eerily in a hypnotic trance. Despite the act humorous, Harry didn't want to see his aunt and uncle that way again. The next few days, Harry walked on eggshells all day, waiting for some grandiose punishment to be administered.

The mishaps of the weeks before spilled out of Harry's head in a good quick second as the voice of Uncle Vernon's roared louder than before.

"You ruddy-" His footsteps thundered from just outside his room. "You better be-"

And then he appeared, livid, with eyes narrowed.

"You-" He pointed at Harry. "Out-now!"

"But I'm not finished pack-"

"GET OUT IN THE HALLWAY, NOW!" Uncle Vernon snarled with such ferocity that it made Harry double back onto his bed.

A few stunned seconds afterward, Harry got up and slowly ambled out of his room. He looked up at his uncle's violently puffing face. Uncle Vernon was taking in air at a disturbing rate and the color in his cheeks were redder than Harry had ever seen them.

"POTTER, WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR A GOOD HOUR! EXPLAIN WHY YOU'RE NOT READY!"

"No one woke me up!" Harry answered exasperatedly, appalled at the injustice of his accusation. "If you wanted to leave on your precious trip on time-"

"I will not-" Uncle Vernon roared, interrupting Harry abruptly. "I will not tolerate that tone of voice!"

Dudley edged among the wall silently, peering at Harry and an angry Uncle Vernon. He was clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"You will be ready in ten minutes, OR you will be sorry indeed," Uncle Vernon said, his voice encased with malice.

Harry had the strong urge to kick Uncle Vernon down the stairs in one nonchalantly forceful motion, but held the temptation in as his uncle stormed down the stairs, violently slamming his feet on each step. Dudley grinned evilly at Harry and followed his father.

In exactly ten minutes, Harry had dragged his trunk along with Hedwig in her cage. His uncle peered nastily at him as he made it to the bottom stair, his aunt was gazing at Harry in a different way than he had ever witnessed. She was obviously angry with him, but her face showed a certain misty unconcern...as if it was a kind of veil blocking out her true emotions.... Dudley was nowhere to be found.

Harry stopped at the foot of the stairs and readjusted the trunk he was lugging behind him. He made sure he had everything inside it while he was upstairs and double-checked that his wand was in his direct possession before leading the way toward the front door.

"Wait!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the silence that followed Harry's entrance downstairs.

Harry turned around and looked at his uncle; he was approaching Harry with a slight tenseness fixed upon his brow.

"I go first," Uncle Vernon muttered quietly and nervously. He opened the front door and stood there looking out, peering from one side to the other, making sure no one was peeking out their windows or traipsing by on the sidewalk.

"Coast's clear, Petunia. We're headed out..."

Harry peeked around Uncle Vernon's bulky frame to get a glimpse of the outside... he couldn't see much, but he saw the outline of Uncle Vernon's car, which was parked at an odd angle, the trunk facing the doorway.

"Walk quick and I mean quick..." Uncle Vernon ordered. He dashed outside and briskly walked to the trunk of the car and unlocked it.

"You can shove your things in here."

"But-" Harry interrupted perplexedly. "Why're we taking the car? Mrs. Figg lives across the str-"

"Didn't I tell you to walk faster?" Uncle Vernon said warningly, his eyes narrowing as the trunk flew up revealing the inside to be completely devoid of anything. "Put that ruddy cage in here too...."

"Hedwig's in it!"

"So...?"

"She'll get irritated. She'll squawk the entire way there."

Saying the last sentence made Harry smirk uncontrollably. The entire way consisted of Uncle Vernon leaving his driveway, crossing the street and pulling into Mrs. Figg's.

Uncle Vernon didn't seem to realize this.

"Fine! Put it in the backseat. Now hurry!"

Finally, when everything was packed, Harry got into the front seat and looked back at the Dursley house. At the front door stood Aunt Petunia alone, Dudley forgotten somewhere inside, most likely back in his room doing who-knows-what. Harry suddenly felt a slight pang of resentment for his aunt, most likely stemming from the prior night's occurrences. He looked away and ahead as Uncle Vernon's car smoothly crossed the street and pulled into Mrs. Figg's driveway.

Mrs. Figg's house was almost identical to the Dursely's, except for the fact that the lawn wasn't as well-kept as the other lawns on Privet Drive. The entire house looked a bit shabbier than the rest, but still gave off the common ordinary vibration of the mundane as the car came to an abrupt stop dangerously close to the garage of the house.

This was when Mrs. Figg made her entrance. She walked outside and stood there waiting, her frizzled gray hair crammed tightly into a hairnet. She was wearing a loose tartan nightgown along with a pair of tartan carpet slippers. The expression on her face was partly disgruntled and partly anxious. One of Mrs. Figg's many cats was stalking around her slippers and sniffing on the paved path she was standing on.

Uncle Vernon and Harry came to a squealing stop. Then, Uncle Vernon moved quicker than Harry had ever seen him move in his life-possibly even faster than when Harry had set loose a vole in the house when he was six, nonplussed as to how he did it. Harry knew that he was rabidly angry and that he wanted Uncle Vernon as far away as possible.

Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage flew out of the car so fast that Harry only had to unbuckle his safety belt for Uncle Vernon to be completed with the job. Uncle Vernon almost yanked Harry's arms off as he pulled him out of the now-empty car and ushered him in the direction of Mrs. Figg.

"Here he is," Uncle Vernon said curtly.

"I see..." Mrs. Figg yapped unnecessarily loud. "You won't be gone too long, will you Vernon?"

"A week at the least," Uncle Vernon replied, looking around warily, trying his utmost to get Harry into the house before any of the neighbors witnessed Hedwig, Harry's gigantic trunk, or Harry.

"I supposed that would suffice. C'mon inside Harry."

Uncle Vernon forced his face into a grotesque smile and dashed back to his car.

"Enjoy the trip," Mrs. Figg said a little more lightly than when she first started talking. Her cat had now been looking at Uncle Vernon, eyes flashing wildly and hair bristling unwelcomingly; it was right next to Harry's trunk and cage. Hedwig didn't seem all too pleased with the feline being so close....

Uncle Vernon sped in such a clip that people now were looking out their windows and glaring irritably at Uncle Vernon's escapade between driveways.

"Yeah, enjoy the trip...." Mrs. Figg mumbled as she shoved Harry into her house. Mrs. Figg slammed the door so quickly that the cat outside waiting for Harry with her didn't get all of it inside the house as the door slammed shut.

"I can't believe that that bumbling fool had to drop you off at my doorstep, now! They'll be far away...who is going to protect you now? Who?"

"Excuse me?" Harry said with obvious confusion as he released the cat from the closed door.

"You obviously know why you're at the Dursleys, right?" Mrs. Figg's hairnet was slowly beginning to loosen its grip on her hair.

"Well, yes...I know," Harry was starting to feel a little aggravated. It seemed that Mrs. Figg didn't want to be the babysitting him. But Harry wasn't really a baby after all. He just turned sixteen...today!

"Well, well, well... then you know, silly boy, that the protection that you get will be insanely far away," Mrs. Figg said shrilly as her skinny self ran into the kitchen.

Harry peered around the place and remembered the insipid décor immediately from his prior visits. The faint smell of cabbage rose slowly from the depths of the floor and off the walls. As Harry entered the kitchen, he had seen at least fifteen cats already in the other rooms. There was around ten more lounging about in the kitchen, on the table, eating food and gazing out the windows, a numerous number more than Harry had seen a while ago when Mrs. Figg had watched him.

Mrs. Figg was stirring something on the stove as Harry found his way near an open, cat-free chair. She was muttering to herself.

"Majorca? Honestly!"

"It's not that bad having me, is it?" Harry asked.

"Not that bad?" Mrs. Figg shouted as she dropped her wooden spoon in a pot of something that smelled vaguely like bacon. She looked at Harry, a manic glint twinkling in her eyes as one of her cats jumped on the stove and started to paw around what was inside the pot. "With that aunt of yours gone...there's no one ‘round this street or town to watch over you!"

"Well, you're here-" Harry said looking at an unnaturally large cat with spotted black-and-white fur that began to sprawl on the table, covering most of it. Its larger-than-normal ears were upright and listening intently.

"Me? Can you use your brain, dear boy?" Mrs. Figg looked hysterical. "I'm a Squib! A Squib! I can't do anything. If You-Know-Who comes now-"

"He won't."

"How do you know he won't?" Mrs. Figg left the pot on the stove and sat down in the chair across from Harry. A yelp followed. Mrs. Figg had sat on one of her cats. With an exasperated sigh, she picked up the squashed feline and stroked it slowly in her lap. It began to purr, completely forgetting that it was just in contact with Mrs. Figg's rump a minute before.

"'Cause he's somewhere else," Harry said nonchalantly. He looked at Mrs. Figg with an air of importance that he hadn't felt all summer. "I saw Voldemort in my dreams."

"You did?" Mrs. Figg said with extreme concern. "You dreamt about him?"

Harry nodded, grinning widely.

"When?"

"Last night," Harry said, shocked at how calm his voice was at saying this.

"This is big-I mean-bad news!" Mrs. Figg screeched and stood up. She placed the cat down on the floor and shuffled over to the stove to check on whatever was cooking there.

"I've dreamt of him before this summer, you know," Harry said, his voice low and serious. "And I know I shouldn't. But I do."

Mrs. Figg pursed her lips tightly and turned the temperature for the stove higher. The sizzling from the pot grew louder and the pungent smell of bacon cut through the air like scissors cutting through paper.

While Harry waited a little longer wondering if Mrs. Figg would say something else, the enormous cat stood up. It was then when Harry decided to speak up once more:

"Where'd you get all these cats? And this one, it's huge!"

"Ah, that one on the table-Mr.Tibbles-he's not a cat," Mrs. Figg said, readjusting her hairnet. "He's a kneazle."

"A kneazle?" Harry said dumbstruck.

"You know what those are, don't you..."

Harry nodded and watched the cat-like creature intently. It stretched its front paws and ambled around the table, seemingly awaiting for some breakfast and looking at Harry from time to time curiously, as if it had some treats in his pocket. Mrs. Figg was now dishing freshly cooked bacon onto a place.

"I have some toast already made as well. Black pudding, too. Hope you're at least a bit hungry," Mrs. Figg said with a grandmotherly air to her voice.

"I am, thanks," Harry said as Mrs. Figg placed the plate of bacon on the table along with another porcelain bowl of black pudding next to it.

After a few minutes of the three of them eating, Mrs. Figg looked at Harry and chuckled softly.

"So, I hear your aunt's real irritated with you..."

"She told you?" Harry said disgustedly.

"A little bit, but c'mon dearie!" Mrs. Figg smiled and pulled the kneazle away from the bowl of black pudding. "I have nothing better to do than make sure you're all right over there-"

"So you've been snooping around the place..."

"Well, I wouldn't call it snooping," Mrs. Figg said hesitantly, dishing more bacon onto Harry's now-empty plate. "I said I've been making sure you're all right...making sure the Durselys are treating you okay."

"Doesn't matter if you've been snooping anyway," Harry said resentfully, not touching any more of the food Mrs. Figg was egging him on to eat. "I've been writing to Mood-certain people-almost every day...."

"And you best be doing that!" Mrs. Figg said as she buttered some more toast. "I can't make sure you're fine twenty-four hours a day...."

At these words, Harry's face reddened and his eyes narrowed. Why would Mrs. Figg know of Harry's promise to send owls? Perhaps she was tipped off by one of the members of the Order? Or Dumbledore...?

He couldn't delve further on the matter. He didn't want to. Only a few hours ago, Harry wanted Mrs. Figg to know what was going on with him. Right now, he thought strongly otherwise. Now, all Harry wanted to do now was surprise Figg so much that she'd fall off her chair backwards and stay there speechless for a good half-hour.

So he said it-

"My Aunt Petunia is my godmother."

"Well of course she is!" Mrs. Figg said as if it should have been common sense to know that bit of news. "And Uncle Vernon co-parenting you was such a scream, if I do say so myself-"

"Wait!" Harry clearly wasn't expecting this. He stood up and held out his hand as if signaling Mrs. Figg to stop. "You know all this? You know that my aunt was almost killed by Voldemort? That she kept letters from long ago? That she has some secret that she tells no one?"

"Harry, Harry," Mrs. Figg stood up and took the half-empty bowl of black pudding and the plate of leftover bacon and placed it on the floor. A swarm of cats and kneazles dashed to where the food now lay, cleaning both the bowl and plate in a matter of seconds.

"Harry-" Mrs. Figg continued. "You don't realize how much of a connection that I do have with your Professor Dumbledore. I've more than you, I'd imagine."

"Oh really now!" Harry said snidely, his green eyes glittering in a mocking fashion. He clearly wasn't enjoying this little breakfast with his neighbor as he had wished.... "So, you know everything about me? And you're just a Squib! You're all buddy-buddy with Dumbledore, eh? So, he comes ‘round here, chatting with you? Making sure things are all good while I suffer living with my aunt and uncle-?"

"No, no, no! It's not like that at all!" Mrs. Figg snapped with obvious annoyance. "You don't see that I'm excruciatingly close with Dumbledore.... I chose this job to watch out for you because I cared. Because I know! Because I've listened in and have heard...."

Mrs. Figg paused and Harry stood stock still, waiting for her to continue her impromptu narrative. After a moment's silence passed Mrs. Figg groaned, almost gleefully, and said:

"C'mon boy, you should know everyone in this village is a snoop, and eavesdropper! Look at your Aunt Petunia! I clearly fit in here in this small community...for that reason...to snoop. I know all about your troubles because I'm close to Dumbledore. I heard him speak one day...about your prophecy, about your future," Mrs. Figg cleared her throat loudly and went on, her voice now quivering with excitement. "I'm related to Albus Dumbledore, boy! Actually, I'm related to Minerva McGonagall as well, to tell you the truth!"

Harry's jaw dropped in complete shock. What was he hearing? Mrs. Figg was related to Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall? Then that would mean both his professors were related!

"S-so," Harry stuttered finally after Mrs. Figg had finished basking in the shock she had created, "so, w-what's the relation b-between-"

"Albus and Minerva?" Harry nodded at Figg's question and she continued. "Well, Albus's brother married one of Minerva's aunts. So, they're related through marriage. Professor Dumbledore and my mother were cousins and close friends. I accidentally overheard the major piece of news, about you. Naturally, I'd be around him when he was in his younger, more vibrant days...."

Harry flinched at the last sentence, although he was still trying to take in everything else he was hearing. In his younger, more vibrant days.... Dumbledore was getting old, now that Harry was thinking about Mrs. Figg having older relatives. Dumbledore must been getting downright ancient compared to Muggles. With that thought, Harry became saddened greatly and he looked at the floor, where a few of the smaller cats were stalking around-

BAM!

The back door suddenly flew open and a man emerged from the dark shadows of the backyard. His face was silhouetted from underneath a dark brown cape that was draped messily over his head. When the light filtered down from the kitchen lamps, his face was still barely visible. He did have a devilish smile on his face and the eyes through the shadows were raptly soaked with definitive determination.

Mrs. Figg dropped the dishes she had in her hands and they shattered all over the linoleum floor. She looked at the caped man and screamed.

"I would like to ask what you are doing in this house?"

The man made no noise at first; then he walked quickly toward Harry and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He peered resolutely in Harry's eyes and Harry could see that the man's eyes were as brightly green as his were.

"You," he said in a sleek and composed voice. "You, Potter. You're coming with me."

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Posted by rockygirl at September 15, 2003 06:11 AM