Disclaimer: Still don't own CSI or Harry Potter. I keep wishing really hard, though.

A/N: Sorry it took so long ( I get distracted way too easily, but I always come through in the end . . .no matter how far away that "end" is), but here's chapter two! Thanks for all of the kind reviews! As for my silly little "Easter eggs," they were just that Sara's father died on March 15 (the ides of March, when Julius Caesar was murdered), the hotel room was 217 (the haunted room from "The Shining," and Sara's apartment number was 221(the apartment number of Sherlock Holmes's . . .home). I like to throw things like that in there sometimes. None in this chapter, though.

And a little note for those who haven't read "Deathly Hallows" yet . . .read it soon! It's amazing!

Chapter Two: Meanwhile in Little Whinging

For the past half hour, Harry had not moved from his position on the somewhat lumpy sofa. He was also still clutching onto Jasper, a stuffed dog who had seen better days. Arabella Figg had nothing else to give to comfort the poor boy, and she was sure that her now twenty-five year old nephew didn't even remember his dear old friend anymore.

She glanced down at her wristwatch for perhaps the third time in thirty seconds. Dumbledore should have been here by now. With all of the charms he had around the Dursley house, she thought he would have been here sooner. She always got uncomfortable around muggle police.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Figg, but I'm going to have to ask you a few more questions." The officer peering down at her was young looking, as if he had not been an officer for long. She glanced over at Harry, the blank look on his face that conveyed that he did not even register that the police officer was in the Figg residence. She sighed, and looked back up at the young man before her.

"Let's go somewhere more private," she said quietly. Giving Harry's hand a gentle squeeze, she lifted herself from the sofa and led the way down a short hall to the kitchen. She shooed Beesley and Pompey off of two of the kitchen chairs and gestured for the officer to sit down. The old chairs gave quiet creaks as the bodies settled into them.

"How's the boy taking it?"

"As well as can be expected, Officer . . ." She had left her glasses in the parlor, and had to squint at his nametag. "Greene."

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were Harry's uncle and aunt, correct?"

"Yes." He looked at her expectantly for a moment, as if waiting for her to continue.

"Well," he said after the silence did not convince the older woman to keep going, "What happened to his parents?"

"They died several years ago." She sifted slightly in her chair.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," said Greene, with a look that made it seem as if he was actually concerned. "Poor kid, he's been through quite some difficult times. Does he have any other relations?" Mrs. Figg thought quickly.

"Not that I am aware of, but I know of several friends of his parents who would be more than willing to take him in. I would keep him myself, if I wasn't getting on in years. I do not believe I could keep up with a six-year-old all the time."

"You knew his parents, then?"

"Yes. Very nice people. It was the least I could do to watch Harry when Petunia was busy."

"It's too bad, he seems like a nice boy." He stood up and pushed his chair back in under the table. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Figg. I assure you that we will try to find a suitable foster home for Harry."

If Greene had noticed the momentary panic spreading onto her face, he didn't react. "Officer Greene, do you think Harry could just stay with me, at least for a little while? I think the best thing he can use right now is a familiar face." The man gave a small smile.

"All right. A few hours here would probably be good for him."

Arabella smiled in return. Hopefully I won't need all of that time . . . Dumbledore, please hurry . . . She stood up as well, and walked back into the parlor with Greene. Harry remained in the same position as she had left him; not even his eyes had switched their focus.

"Hello, Harry," said the officer, trying to seem as if nothing was wrong. Harry's eyes darted up for a moment, and then returned into drilling stare into nothing, not saying a word. Arabella resumed her place on the sofa, glancing at the clock as she sat down.

"Is there somewhere you have to bed, Ma'am?" said the other officer in the room, a man who seemed to have seen several more years than Officer Greene due to the splotches of grey in what would normally be dark brown hair.

"Um, no, sir, I'm fine, I-" Mrs. Figg never had the opportunity to finish what she was saying, for the simple reason that it would no longer be possible to hold a conversation. Both Officer Greene and his companion with the graying hair, whose name Arabella had never quite caught, seemed to be frozen in place. Their eyes did not budge from where they had last looked, and to her it seemed that they were completely oblivious to the fact that time had continued on without them. Harry, it seemed, was conscious enough of his surroundings to lift his head up with a look of confusion. Whiskers the cat seemed equally confused, walking up to Greene to see if he could figure out why he was so still by sniffing him. Arabella offered a small smile for the boy.

"Don't you worry yourself, Harry. It's just Professor Dumbledore." Harry opened his mouth, as if this bizarre turn of events was reason enough to break his silence, but he was interrupted by the entrance of the man he had just been about to question.

His coming into the room was silent, and one would not have known he was even present if he had not chosen to walk directly in front of the only two conscious beings in the room that weren't cats (for there were many cats . . .). The front door, which had the tendency to squeak whenever it was touched, had also been silent.

"Hello, Harry, Arabella." The professor walked closer over to the sofa, Pompey and a few other cats showing no fear of the man as they played with the gold colored tassels hanging off of a purple robe as they followed. He settled down on the opposite end of the couch from the older woman and the young boy. Pompey immediately made himself comfortable on his lap, and began purring even before Dumbledore began to stroke him. He lifted his eyes from the very content cat and onto Harry, whose young green eyes had followed his every move.

"Harry," began Arabella with a compassionate tone, "This is Professor Dumbledore. He's here to help you." Harry remained quiet, but continued to gaze at the professor.

"Harry! My, has it been a long time. Far too long. I don't believe you remember me, do you?" The effect of Dumbledore's words on Harry seemed almost magical in themselves. His eyes seemed to regain a little bit of their energy, and seemed more focused than empty.

"No, sir, I don't," said Harry quietly, slightly above a whisper. Mrs. Figg smiled up at Dumbledore.

"Hopefully we'll be seeing more of each other in the near future, Harry. Maybe we can be friends?" His blue eyes twinkled in an almost surreal way.

"Am I going to stay with you?" asked Harry in a tone very close to eagerness.

"No, I'm afraid not. That wouldn't be possible right now." He looked slightly disappointed himself as he said it.

"Oh." Harry looked away. Mrs. Figg's face lighted with curiosity, and her eyes eagerly went to Dumbledore, trying to anticipate what he would say next. He, however, said nothing for a moment, and instead pulled a light blue pouch out from somewhere within his robe.

"Harry, Arabella, would either of you care for a lemon drop? I find them rather delicious- I always carry some with me." Harry looked solemnly at Dumbledore for a moment before accepting. Arabella declined, trying not to show her impatience. It was quiet for a few more seconds as both Harry and Dumbledore sucked on their candies.

"Harry," Dumbledore began again, "I know how you must be feeling right now. You're probably frightened, scared. What you should know, though, is that you are going to be all right." If either Harry or Mrs. Figg detected the slightest of falters in his voice at this point, neither of them showed it. "Things may seem difficult at first, but I can promise you it will get better. You'll be going to stay with another aunt of yours living in the United States." At this Mrs. Figg immediately shot up her eyebrows and dropped her jaw ever so slightly. To her knowledge, Lily and James had had no other siblings.

"The United States?" said Harry meekly, obviously not very excited about the fact. "But that's far away, isn't it?"

"Far away is all relative, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "Your aunt's house may seem far away to your home when compared to Mrs. Figg's house, but when compared to the stars and moon, it isn't that far at all, is it?"

"Maybe, I suppose," said Harry after thinking for a moment, "but do I have to go now?" Mrs. Figg glanced expectantly over to the old professor. Catching her look, he smiled reassuringly.

"You don't have to go anywhere tonight, Harry, or for a few days, for that matter. I'm sure Mrs. Figg would not mind having you stay with her for the time being."

"You're always welcome here. My dearies love you as well, don't you?" she asked of Dusty as she rubbed against Harry's legs. Upon hearing "dearies," though, the elderly cat had immediately ran over to her mistress and began meowing and whining. She was soon followed by a crowd of about ten other cats. "What's wrong, dearies, are you hungry? Do my pretty girls and boys want their dinner?" She suddenly looked up with a start at Harry and Dumbledore

"My, forgive me! The both of you must be nearly famished! Just let me take care of my pretty dears." Without waiting to see whether or not her two visitors were actually hungry or not, Mrs. Figg had trotted off busily to her kitchen, followed by a very furry parade of hungry cats.

"Ah, she's a rare lady," said Dumbledore with a small smile, not really talking directly to the young boy beside him. Loud clangs could be heard coming from the kitchen area as Arabella attempted to avoid the cats underneath her feet.

"Is she nice?" Dumbledore waited until Harry lifted his eyes up from Jasper, whom he had begun to pick the stitching out of. He was met with an understanding smile.

"I am not well acquainted with your Aunt Sara, Harry, but from what I do know she seems to be a kindhearted woman. She is very much unlike her sister Petunia, though." He added after a few seconds, "She's going to be very fond of you." Harry looked unconvinced.

"Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge didn't seem to be too happy about me." He sounded as if he didn't want to maintain the direct eye contact, but seemed compelled to do so anyway.

Dumbledore's smile faded slightly, and he put his hand reassuringly on Harry's shoulder. "Have some faith, Harry. I believe you'll find you and your aunt have some things in common."

The chance for their conversation to continue was cut short by Mrs. Figg's announcement that her cabbage soup was warm and waiting.

x-X-x-X-x

It wasn't yet 5:30, and Harry had already fallen dead asleep on the same place on the sofa. It had seemed as if he had barely left the kitchen from dinner when he had proved himself unable to keep his eyelids open. Mrs. Figg sighed as she saw his head drop down, and scooped up Kitty from the rocking chair where she too was asleep. She was not happy to oblige, even with Arabella's promises of extra treats for her little dearie later. With the cat gone, she was free to take the worn quilt from the chair and drape it over the sleeping boy.

"Thank goodness he's getting some rest. I was dreading the poor boy would be up for the greater part of the night after what he had to go through today!" She looked over at Dumbledore, who seemed to be closely examining the police, still frozen in place in the parlor.

"What are you going to do with them?" Mrs. Figg had completely forgotten about the other two men in her house, and now could not help but think that whatever Dumbledore was doing, it involved much more than an unblinking stare. Her thoughts were confirmed a moment later, when both of the officers disappeared with a loud "pop." Harry didn't stir from his nestled position on the couch, much to Mrs. Figg's relief.

"There, that's all done. They'll wake up at their respective houses, thinking they spent a busy day at work and fell asleep during the evening news. They won't remember a thing about being here. They may perhaps have some odd dreams concerning cats and lemon drops, but aside from that, they'll be no worse off."

"What about Harry? Surely someone will come looking for him?"

"They'll both believe he died in the crash with the Dursleys. It will be much easier to get him out of the country without the muggles starting an investigation. Better to interfere now than later." He briefly paused, and seemed, to Mrs. Figg, at least, to sink slightly within himself.

"I stopped by the scene of the accident, Arabella. While the Dursleys certainly were not the best guardians, they were far more worthy than the deaths they received. Another car had been reckless, and came speeding towards them. They never had a chance to respond. It hit at the worst possible angle, making it so their vehicle immediately ignited. The bodies were utterly unrecognizable."

"That's awful, Professor. I know we never were on the best of terms, but still . . ." She shook her head sadly. "It won't be difficult, then, to make it look as if poor Harry was with them?"

"Sadly, it won't be." He sat himself down in the now vacant rocking chair, where he was soon after jumped upon by Tibbles, the latest addition to the Figg family of cats. Dumbledore scratched him behind the ears, but Tibbles, unlike Pompey, was silent, leaving the only noise to be Harry's even breathing.

"I see my sleeping draught was successful," said Dumbledore, finally referring back to Mrs. Figg's original comment.

"That would make sense," she replied, nodding her head. She thought to herself for a moment, and then said, unsure of herself, "Will Harry be attending the funeral?" The elderly professor's plaintive stare moved from the cat to the boy.

"I can take him, I won't let him be seen. The day after he will have to go to his aunt."

"Yes. Yes, that would be fine. I just hope Harry will be able to handle it all. He is so young, Albus."

"There is no doubt of that, but I believer that Harry will surprise us all with how he recovers. I have the strongest feelings that the new environment will suit him exceedingly well."

"I do hope so," said Mrs. Figg quietly. "If I may ask, though, who exactly is this aunt? To be honest, I've been wondering about this since you brought it up earlier this evening." She tried to hide the impatience for the answer. As far as she had known, Harry had had no other aunt (or uncle, for that matter) other than Petunia Dursley.

"Until this morning, my dear Arabella, I myself wasn't aware. I received word of their deaths almost instantly after they occurred, and I knew a new relation would have to be found for Harry, and the sooner, the better. I then, by chance, happened to take a look at the School Trees. Usually there would be no need, for when situations like this occur, rare as they are in peaceful times like this, there have always been other relatives willing to take them in without our interference. Harry already is an exception to many circumstances, and this is the same. No immediate living family." Mrs. Figg seemed a bit confused.

"The School Trees?"

"Family trees of the Hogwarts students from the past one hundred years. Many people are not aware of the fact; only headmasters have access to the files, and they generally have the tendency to remain mysteriously hidden when their usage would be less than pure. I thought when I saw the extra drawer appear in my desk, I would take the opportunity to look at Lily Evan's tree, Harry not yet a student." Mrs. Figg's mind briefly wondered why Dumbledore had not mentioned looking in James Potter's tree, but she quickly forgot this observation, regarding it as irrelevant.

"As you can imagine, I was quite surprised to discover that Lily had a second sister. Really a half sister. She shared a father with Lily and Petunia, though their mothers differed. She would be the eldest of the three, though I am quite certain she was not aware of the fact she had two sisters, and the same goes for Lily and Petunia knowing about Sara." Arabella looked doubtful.

"Professor, it just sounds a little seedy to me. Sara's birth does not seem to have been under the best of circumstances, seeing both parties knew nothing of each other! And what of Mr. Evans, didn't he know of the daughter he had back in the States? And what about this Sara herself? What of her nature?"

"Rest assured, Arabella, I did some investigating. While I know myself nothing of what her father truly was aware of, she seems to be of an admirable enough character."

"I can only hope she will be more understanding than Petunia Dursley," said the middle aged woman looking worriedly at the very young boy.

"Well, I suppose I shall go find out now for sure," said Dumbledore, smiling suddenly and pulling the oddest pocketwatch (for lack of a better word) out of his robe. "I had left her a note saying I would meet her in-" He glanced down at the spinning object in the palm of his hand again. "-thirty seconds. So, Arabella, I must bid you, Harry, and your felines farewell for now. Expect me for the funeral. Keep Harry out of the muggles' sight. Oh, and by the way, the cabbage soup was some of the best I've had in many a year. Quite delicious."

With that final compliment and a small popping noise, Dumbledore was gone.