(Edited)

I've changed lots of stuff in here – its fanfiction after all.

First off, some people will go in different Hogwarts' houses, and ages are different; for example, I've made Arabella young – in her twenties – the rest of the marauders too. Thought it would be amusing to have a younger Arabella looking out for Harry – her personality is more or less the same. ^

Right, I think that's all. I hope you like, it's my first HP story and I seriously need backup.

So yea.

Halp.

Fill your paper with the breathing of your heart – William Wordsworth

Arabella Figg blinked.

There, right on the train tracks, lay a boy.

And a train was coming right at him.

Arabella let out an undignified shriek. "Somebody get him off the train tracks, now!"

A nearby worker startled at her squeaky voice, and hurried towards where she directed him – and not a moment too soon, the train whizzed by them. She mentally congratulated herself on wearing pants today.

The worker carried the boy to a bench a few feet away and set him down. Arabella suddenly breathed in, realizing she'd been holding her breath. Her voice came out in a hushed breath; "Is he alive?"

Robert – as his name-tag said – checked his pulse, on his wrist first, then the boy's neck, when he couldn't feel anything.

"He's alive – just unconscious. Do you know him?"

Arabella stared at the boy.

Harry?

No – the boy's hair was brown. Not Harry. She let out a breath of relief. Then she remembered Robert's question.

"I- oh, no, I don't know him."

Robert looked at her suspiciously. "You were staring at him for quite a while, miss."

Arabella flushed. "I-I'd mistaken him for someone else."

Robert stared at her for another two seconds. He then dragged his stare back to the boy and spoke again. "What should we do with him?"

Arabella balked. She'd love nothing more than to hand the boy to the police and let them to their thing. But no. Of course not. Just because she was a squib, didn't mean she couldn't feel the magic coming from him. She looked weary for a second, then quickly made up her mind, knowing she would regret it. Quite soon, in fact.

"I have some free time – I suppose I should take him to the police? Perhaps they have something about a missing boy….." She gulped as her voice trailed off.

Robert looked satisfied though. "Alright then miss. You should wait a while though, if he wakes up. If he don't, my lunch break is soon, an' I'll come with you." He left to continue with his work.

Her heart sank. Please wake up soon, please wake up soon, I need to take you home, not the police station, and I can't do that when he's with me, oh Merlin, why wasn't I born with magic, please wake up soon, I hate situations like these, wake up, wake up, wakeupwakeupwakeu-

The boy's eyes fluttered open.

Arabella nearly sagged in relief. She moved the boy's bangs from his forehead and blinked.

He has silver eyes…..? Grey. They're grey.

Robert somehow seemed to have noticed the boy was awake and was making his way back to the bench. She blamed it on herself for not controlling her expressions.

"You awake kid?"

The boy glanced at Robert. He then proceeded to completely ignore him, and stared at Arabella, who glanced at Robert, then back at the boy.

She spoke softly to him, "Are you hurt?"

The boy blinked – his grey eyes were just so bright-

"No." His voice was hoarse. Arabella rummaged one of her bags for a bottle of water and handed it to him. He gulped it down quickly, drinking three quarters of the bottle without bothering to take a breath in the middle. He seemed to realize he had just about finished a whole bottle, and looked at Arabella as if he were trying not to look guilty. Arabella just smiled.

Robert looked rather put out at being ignored, but tried again.

"Where's your parents? How'd you end up on the rails, anyway?"

The boy's face blanked. He seemed rather annoyed at the questions, but gave an answer anyway;

"I don't know."

…or as much of an answer one would consider that to be.

Arabella decided if she wanted to take him home, she'd have to get going soon before Robert declared his lunch break. She stood up from the bench, dusting off some dust and offered her hand to the boy.

"Can you walk?"

British accent, Arabella thought, growing increasingly suspicious.

The boy glanced at her briefly, refusing to take the offered hand and tried to stand on his own. Which he surprisingly did.

Arabella dropped her hand, but kept an eye on the boy – he was wobbling slightly. She said her goodbyes to Robert as hurriedly as she could without seeming suspicious. She also had an inkling he'd try to follow her. She sincerely hoped he wouldn't.

"What's your name?"

He seemed to ponder over this; "What's yours?"

Arabella smiled slightly. "Arabella Figg."

"Draco."

Arabella decided not to push him. "Are you the son of a Wizard?"

She'd obviously startled him. His eyes darted around nervously. He licked his lips and gave his answer in a hushed voice. "Yes."

Arabella hummed, looking around, pondering which way would be the quickest way to her house.

"Are you a Witch?"

She thought about lying to him, thinking he might turn against her if he knew the truth. She decided not to lie, but not give the entire truth either. She didn't know what type of family he was from, after all.

"I'm not a Witch, but I know about the magical world."

A few more minutes passed. Arabella tugged his hand, making sure he wouldn't end up getting lost in the crowds. She bit her lip, squinting her eyes slightly. She finally chose upon a path that would lead her quickly home. She'd gone no more than 10 steps when Draco pulled her hand.

"Miss Arabella? That man's following us."

Arabella briefly closed her eyes, willing her annoyance to go away. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at Draco. "How close is he?"

"…I'm not really sure, but I think if we run, we can lose him."

Yes, and make him even more suspicious than he already is of me.

She made some quick calculations. Draco couldn't run, she had grocery bags with her, and Robert was getting closer. Arabella sighed.

"Draco, we're going to turn that corner over there," she pointed at a nearby shop, "and you're going to climb onto my back and I'm going to run. Okay?"

Draco frowned at not being able to run, but nodded.

"Come along then, we'd better be going before he catches us."

She and Draco reached the shop and turned the corner – right into the middle of what seemed a million people. Arabella cursed. "God, I forgot there was an event somewhere here, we're going to have to find an alleyway and – follow me, I know a place-"

She ran into a shop with Draco. It was rather full – good. Taking Draco's hand, she ran through the crowd, found the counter she was looking for and dived behind it. The cashier standing there looked startled – even more when she realized it was Arabella.

"Arabella, what - ow!"

Arabella, as discreetly as possible, explained her problem – minus the magic, of course. After a second, she added another thing; "You have clothes upstairs, right? I need some for him – his aren't exactly clean at the moment."

In fact, the whole of Draco seemed 'unclean' at the moment.

"You know what? Lend me your bathroom, too."

"Your hair's blond."

"And yours is black." Came the dry reply.

"How'd it get so dirty? You looked like some ragamuffin." She offered him a sheepish smile when he glared, "Sorry."

Draco sniffed. In all his eleven years of living, he really couldn't remember meeting anyone so carefree. Although he supposed he should be glad it wasn't someone like his father. And no one washed hair like that, either. She'd practically held his head over the tub, told him to hold his breath and close his eyes, and suddenly there was cold water over his head.

And then she'd used a towel to ruffle his head.

He'd briefly wondered if this was why the magic world found muggles so queer.

And now, he was finally clean again, wearing normal clothes – he had yet to remember how in the world he had gotten himself into the previous rags – and filling himself with food – which he was grateful that there was at least one thing that was normal. He'd begun to entertain himself with the idea of muggles eating snails. When he told Arabella this, she had laughed and told him he was lucky he wasn't in France.

They'd waited an hour before they set out again. When they reached her house, she let her eyes sweep over the Dursley's, as she always did when she returned home. The sun was setting now, and the downstairs lights were on. The garden outside was clean too – it was late autumn, and there were heaps of neat piles of leaves in a corner. Arabella was getting rather wary of the Dursleys' and couldn't help but think there was something wrong with them. Before, she'd usually shrug it off – now she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was actually wrong.

She opened the door to her house, going inside, Draco behind her. She was rather surprised now, wondering why he had trusted her so easily. She decided not to think about it.

She led him to her living room and promptly stopped, causing Draco to bump into her.

There, on the table in the middle of the room, sat an owl – which didn't look rather pleased, with its feathers ruffled up and its angry hooting upon seeing her. It flew towards her, but before she could duck, it rammed into her stomach. She winced.

Arabella let the owl perch onto itself onto her arm. She quickly went to the kitchen, drawing out a bowl of – something – Draco couldn't see, and gave it to the owl to eat. She then gently untied the letter from its foot, praying it wouldn't peck her.

It was from Dumbledore. Not that she'd expected anyone else, as her parents rarely wrote.

She opened the seal carefully and peered inside the envelope. Sure enough, he'd stuffed in some type of candy in there. She sniffed them.

I hope they're not vomit flavor again.

The squib mentally shuddered.

Dear wonderful Arabella,

She lifted an eyebrow. He wants something.

I hope all is well with you and the lovely kneazles. Unfortunately, I must get straight to the point of this letter, as I was informed no more than five minutes ago by Minerva that I have a meeting with the ministry.

I wanted to inform you beforehand that Harry will be receiving his letter to Hogwarts this year, along with quite a number of other eleven year old children. You are more likely than not acquainted with one of the children already, by the name of Draco Malfoy. I apologize for suddenly handing him over to you – apparently, one of his family members was out to get him, as he is the heir to Lucius Malfoy and all the fortune will be handed over to him when he is of legal age. I assume you can imagine quite well how it would have turned out, so Mrs. Malfoy decided to consult me, and I thought there would be no better place for young Draco to hide, than your wonderful home.

So, therefore, what I am trying to say, is that I hope you will take good care of Draco Malfoy until he receives his letter – which will be about three months from now and then your hands will be free again.

Mrs. Malfoy sends her love to her son, and hopes you will take good care of him till he is allowed to return. She also wishes her son to know everything that is going on, so I encourage you to tell him he will be staying with you for a few weeks.

Best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore