Chapter 4:

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch

"The test of the morality of a society is what it does for its children."

-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

2130 ZULU

THURSDAY, 15 OCTOBER, 1998

LEAVING DULLES AIRPORT

WASHINGTON, DC, USA

Mac flipped her cell phone closed and smiled in satisfaction. Harriet was meeting her at the Navy Exchange so that they could get some furniture for Harry's new room. She stepped on the gas, hard, as she got onto the freeway. She'd never been fond of furniture shopping, so she wanted to get it over with. The things she did for friendship...

Mac reached over and turned on the radio, flipping to her favorite country station. Absently, she sang along as she maneuvered through traffic. She grimaced when her cell phone chirped and picked it up. "Major Mackenzie," she said, keeping her eyes on the road.

"You must be Harmon's Sarah," a soft voice said.

"Mrs. Rabb?" Mac hazarded.

"Of course I am. Jacob, my hired man, is bringing me down next week with the rocker."

Mac wasn't exactly sure why Harm's grandmother had called her, but she was willing to go along with it, she supposed. "Rocker?"

Grandma Rabb sighed. "Yes, dear. The heirloom rocking chair. It's been in my husband's family for around two hundred years. It was supposed to go to Harmon when he got married, but he's doing things a bit catawampus, so he's getting it now. Rabb babies have been rocked in it for generations, and I don't see why this one should be any different, for all he's a McKinnon. I thought you might want to know if you're buying furniture for the little one; it's made of oak."

"Thank you, Mrs. Rabb," Mac said quietly. She hit the turn signal and slowed, trying to get over.

"Call me Grandma, dear," the older woman said.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied automatically. After a few more pleasantries, Mac ended the call. She supposed that they ought to try and get at least the same kind of wood for Harry's bedroom furniture. It depended on what she and Harriet liked, really. Before she knew it, she'd arrived at base, flashed her ID, given the guard an analyst's salute*, and was on her way to the Navy Exchange. Quickly, she whipped into a parking spot, climbed out of her small car, and locked it.

"Major!"

Mac turned around to see Harriet waving at her. She smiled at her blonde friend and hurried towards her. "Hey, Harriet," she said. "You know, we're not in uniform, so..."

Harriet smiled. "I know, it's just-"

"Yeah," Mac agreed. She knew it was hard to get out of the habit.

Suddenly, Harriet was all business. "Any ideas of what kind of furniture to get?" she asked. "You said the Commander's new son is four, so he'll need a booster seat or a car seat for him."

Mac bit her lip. "I didn't realize that he'd need more than a bed, desk, and a dresser," she admitted. "I doubt that Harm has anything for a twin-size bed, so we'll need to get linens, too."

Harriet nodded as they walked into the store. "With the weight limits on international travel, he'll need clothes and things, as well."

Mac groaned a little. "Clothes can wait," she said. "From what Harm said, the kid's been neglected and abused, so we'd need him along to make sure that they fit."

Harriet nodded absently as they headed to the furniture. "Perhaps we should just throw the Commander a baby shower," she suggested. "We could combine it with a house warming or something. I mean, with the Admiral pushing the paperwork through, if he's lucky and there's an opening, Commander Rabb should be in base housing by the time he gets back."

Inwardly, Mac grinned. She could see it now—Harmon Rabb surrounded by pastel wrapping paper and frilly baby presents. "It would probably help," she offered finally. "Right now, though, we need to just get the basics for Harry's room."

Harriet looked interested. "Is that his name?" she asked.

Mac nodded. "Come to think of it," she said, "Harry could easily be a nickname for 'Harmon.' I wonder if Harm's cousin named her son after him. And considering that it was Harm's father's name, it could well be a family name, anyway."

"True," Harriet said, her blue eyes sparkling. "Now, furniture..."

Mac caught sight of a bright red bed shaped like a corvette and laughed softly. "Now that," she inclined her head towards it, "Is something that Harm might buy."

Harriet examined it briefly. "True, but it won't last long."

Mac nodded in agreement. "He'd outgrow it, and it doesn't look too sturdy." She grinned. "If it was an airplane bed, I'd bet a month's pay that Harm would buy it anyway."

Harriet simply grinned, but Mac could see the suppressed laughter in her eyes. "Harm's grandmother is bringing down his family's rocking chair, and she said it was made of oak," Mac said.

"We should probably get furniture made of the same material, at least," Harriet said. "Do you know if it's light or dark?"

Mac shook her head, because Grandma Sarah hadn't said. The two women wandered around a bit, but didn't see anything they liked. They did, however, purchase a toddler car seat that was touted as being able to fit children from two to five. After a bit of discussion, they headed to another store before they found a bedroom set that they liked. It was yellow oak, and she hoped it would at least partially match the old rocking chair. After arranging for delivery to Harm's apartment, they picked up some classic Winnie-the-Pooh bedding, with matching curtains and a valence, as well as a matching lamp and night light. She figured that there was a pretty decent possibility that Harry would be familiar with the character, and perhaps it would bring him a bit of comfort in an unfamiliar environment.

With a promise to help plan Harm's party, Mac and Harriet separated. Mac hoped that they had at least the basics. Quietly, she made plans to get little Harry a few toys as a welcome home present. She wasn't sure if she'd fit into Harm's new life at all, but she didn't want to lose her best friend. If that meant convincing Harry to like her, then she'd do what she could, because she simply couldn't see her life without Harm's friendship.

1330 ZULU

THURSDAY, 15 OCTOBER 1998

JAG HEADQUARTERS

FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA USA

Admiral AJ Chegwidden leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. He'd spent more than a few hours on the phone pulling strings to arrange base housing for Rabb, but it was worth it. He'd been lucky in that someone had just been transferred and was moving out so there had been a vacancy, and he'd been able to get Harm's name on the top of the list. Harriet was arranging for everyone to come and help move the bulk of his things, but it would be another few days before Harm's new quarters would be ready to move into anyway. The Lieutenant Commander was one of his best people, as well as being the son he'd never had. Some would say that Rabb was the son he'd never wanted. AJ smiled slightly. Ever since Bud and Harriet had gotten married, he'd figured that they'd be the first of his senior staff to have children, but now he knew he'd been wrong. True, Harm's method wasn't quite orthodox—after all, how often did one inherit a child?- but he was still the first.

They would be having a moving party to move the Commander's things to his new house on Wednesday next, and the Admiral figured that it would take at least that long for Harm to take care of all the loose ends of his cousin's estate. Everything would be in place in plenty of time for the man's return.

AJ could see that Rabb had been feeling restless lately since discovering the truth about his father's death. He had a feeling that gaining a son would ground the man. At least, he hoped so. He needed Rabb on staff; his unique combination of talents were hard to come by. Not to mention that he was the best investigator that AJ had. With a grimace, he turned back to one of the banes of his existence—paperwork. There were days when he wondered why in hell he'd accepted his job; as Judge Advocate General for the whole damn US Navy, he had paperwork coming out of his ears. Then again, he was too old for fieldwork anymore, his SEAL days were long-gone, there weren't many two-stars driving ships, and he truly loved the law. Besides, one of the perks of his job was that he could arbitrarily decide to be counsel on any case he damn well pleased.

Hell, if it kept the Commander at headquarters, he'd even stand as counsel when the man inevitably adopted the boy. He was jolted out of his musings when the intercom buzzed. "What is it, Tiner?" he asked.

"It's the Commander's parents, Admiral," his yeoman replied.

"They do know he's in London, don't they?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir!" Tiner said. "They're on the phone for you, sir. Line three."

"Thank you, Petty Officer," AJ said, then picked up the phone and hit the correct button. "AJ Chegwidden speaking."

"Admiral, this is Frank Burnett," a quiet voice said.

"How can I help you, Mr. Burnett?" AJ asked.

"As my son's commanding officer, I assume you would know... Has he made arrangements for someone to take care of my grandchild when you send him out of town?" Frank asked.

AJ leaned back in his chair. Even he hadn't thought of that. "I'll be doing my best to cut back on how many out of town assignments he gets at first," he said slowly. "But I don't think that he's thought of that yet."

"I thought not," Frank said with satisfaction. "My son thinks well on his feet, but long-term planning isn't exactly his forte, Admiral."

"True," he admitted. "I believe that's why he works so well with Major Mackenzie—she's the one who plans for them."

Frank chuckled. "My wife claims it was the same with herself and her first husband. Between the two of us, we've thought of something that might work. My wife and I will be there on Monday, and we'll be checking a few agencies to hire a bonded nanny for him."

AJ sat up straight. That hadn't even occurred to him. "Mr. Burnett, I'm not sure if he can afford that at his rate."**

"Money is not a problem," Frank said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "Trish is insisting that we pay for it, and I can't say I mind. And even if we didn't, he's never touched his trust fund-he could retire right now and never have to worry about money. We just have to get it through our son's thick head that we are going to do this for him."

AJ laughed softly. "It's a good thing he has a thick skull," he remarked. "At least sometimes." A slow smile spread over his face. "I think I shall have to assist you and your wife," he said.

"Admiral?" Frank questioned.

"I know of a man who is currently between jobs who has degrees in early childhood development and child psychology," he said. "Last I heard, he was working on a Master's in art therapy. I'll run a security check, but I'm sure he'll pass."

"Thank you, Admiral," Frank said quietly. "Now all we need to do is convince Harmon to accept the new car we're giving him as well."

For a few moments, AJ was shocked. "New car?" he asked.

"Small children and classic corvettes don't mix," Frank said simply. "It's not like it will cost us much; I do, after all, work for the company."

Belatedly, AJ remembered that Frank Burnett was a senior vice president for Chrysler. It only made sense that the man could get a car for his stepson at cost. "Ah," he said. "Please tell your wife that I'm looking forward to meeting her."

Frank laughed. "We've heard quite a bit about you and your staff over the years, Admiral," he said. "She said to tell you that if she has it her way, Harmon won't be in base housing for long; she remembers those houses far too well to allow her grandchild to grow up in one."

AJ snorted. Base housing was fine for short term, but if he had it his way, the Commander would be staying in the DC area for the foreseeable future and would need something more permanent. "Good luck to her," he said.

"She's already contacted some agents," Frank said. "I have the feeling that we'll be dragged around looking at properties for the next few weeks."

AJ laughed softly. "I'll have to tell the Commander that I'm sorry," he said. After a few more minutes of conversation, he ended the call and leaned back, a little smile on his face. He'd have to call the Gunny. The man was okay... for a Marine. He had the qualifications, and with psychos like Palmer who kept turning up like bad pennies and coming after Rabb, it would be wise to have someone around when Harm wasn't to protect the child.

1000 ZULU

WEDNESDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1998

THE BURROW

OTTERY SAINT CATCHPOLE

DEVON, UK

Harry stared, wide-eyed as a triple decker, lurid purple bus appeared from seemingly nowhere with a loud bang. The lady who had brought him to the red-haired people had held out her stick and somehow made it appear. He tightened his grip on Harm, not wanting to be put down at all. He didn't remember ever having been held as gently as the man was holding him, and he liked it. For the first time he could remember, he felt... safe.

The woman climbed inside it, and Harm followed. Harry listened quietly as the conductor explained that the bus was called the, 'Knight Bus' and that it was transport for stranded witches and wizards. Harry held on tighter. He'd heard about witches from stories that his aunt had read Dudley. Witches were bad in the stories. According to his aunt and uncle, magic was bad, unnatural, freakish. Maybe they didn't like him because he was magic? Strange things did just happen around him, after all.

Harry looked around with interest as the grown-ups paid the fare. The bus was filled with mismatched squashy armchairs that didn't seem to be bolted down or anything. There was a chandelier hanging from the middle of the bus, all lit up with candles. It smelled like melting wax with a bit of an undertone of sweat socks and hot chocolate. He barely noticed when Harm told the driver his Aunt and Uncle's address in favor of getting as close to his new guardian as possible. Harm sat down in one of the chairs and smoothed Harry's hair back. The little boy closed his eyes and smiled softly. It felt so good!

"Blimey!" the conductor exclaimed softly. "It's 'Arry Potter!"

Harry simply turned his face into Harm's neck. In his experience, getting noticed was a bad thing.

"He's a little boy," Harm said quietly. "I don't know why you know his name, but you will leave him alone."

The conductor gulped audibly. "Yes, sir," he said. The bus started with a bang, almost hurling them forward.

Harm rubbed Harry's back gently, and he leaned into the touch. He relaxed a bit and allowed himself to be settled in the man's lap. He grabbed handfuls of Harm's shirt to make sure that he couldn't be separated from him.

"I can't believe that you don't know," the woman said.

Harry felt it as Harm moved to look at her as the bus lurched forward. "Know what?" he asked. "I came because my cousin here needed me."

Harry tightened his grip as they started sliding back and forth in the bus, occasionally lurching from side-to-side as well. "I'll set up a meeting with someone who can explain," she said.

"Thank you," Harm said.

The motion of the bus, combined with the feeling of Harm rubbing his back made Harry sleepy. A slow, drowsy smile slid over his face. Lulled by the sound of Harm's heartbeat, he fell asleep.

1030 ZULU

WEDNESDAY, 14 OCTOBER 1998

4 PRIVET DRIVE

LITTLE WHINGING, SURREY UK

Harm stepped out of the Knight Bus and eyed the house. It was more than simply squared away; it was obsessively tidy, and that was only the outside. He walked up to the door and rang the bell. A grossly overweight woman who greatly resembled the bulldog standing at her feet answered the door. "You must be here for the funeral," she said, by way of greeting. He could smell the alcohol around her.

"Harmon Rabb," Harm said. He shifted Harry so that he could hold out his hand. "I'm Petunia's cousin."

She shook his hand, holding on a shade too long, then snorted, but moved aside. "I wasn't aware she had any."

Harm went inside with the casewitch at his heels. "My grandmother and I are her last living relatives, aside from her nephew, Harry, of course."

"The runt," she said with a scowl. "Takes after his mother. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there's something wrong with the pup! Wouldn't have allowed that one to live, I wouldn't!"

Harm's stomach roiled. How dare she? He employed some of his military discipline to keep from doing something he'd regret later. His mother and grandmother would kill him if he decked the woman. "And your name is?" he asked in a deceptively soft voice.

"Marjorie Dursley," she answered, not-so subtly glancing at his ring finger. "I'm Vernon's sister." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You may call me Marge." She smiled at him in a way that Harm was sure was supposed to be seductive, but only succeeded in making him nauseous. "The funeral is day after tomorrow at eleven in the morning at Christ Church, Harmon—may I call you Harmon?"

"Ms. Dursley," he said quietly, ignoring the request to address him by his given name. "May I assume that you have taken custody of Petunia's boy?"

"One must look after family," she simpered.

Harm nodded, absently stroking Harry's hair. "That is the reason why I flew in from Washington," he said quietly.

Marge frowned a bit, her face scrunching up and her beady little eyes disappearing into rolls of flesh. "You got the runt?" she asked. "Poor you."

Harm frowned. "You'd be short and skinny as well if you'd been starved," he remarked.

"Starved?" she sputtered indignantly.

Harm adjusted the sleeping boy and pushed up the sleeve of his shirt so that a hand-shaped bruise was showing. "Abused as well," he informed her. Gently, he laid Harry down on the couch, making sure that the bear stayed tucked under the child's arm.

Marge's frown deepened into a scowl. "Who are you to bring such accusations?" she demanded.

Harm leaned back a little and favored her with a slight smile. "Oh, I didn't," he replied. "Children's Services did. I am Harmon James Rabb, Junior, Lieutenant Commander in the United States Navy, Naval Aviator, currently assigned to the Judge Advocate General Corps, and my Commanding Officer would say that I'm one of his best lawyers and investigators. Part of my job is seeing that scum like Petunia and Vernon Dursley get sent to jail where they belong. And since they conveniently died to escape justice..."

Marge paled, then her face started to redden. "I think I would know," she said frostily. "I do visit several times a year..."

"Perhaps we should speak to Petunia's son," he said mildly.

Marge gave him a stiff nod and headed towards the stairs. "Dudley," she called.

It was a long few minutes before a blond child who was obviously working on a goal to become wider than he was tall waddled down the stairs. The boy hadn't managed it quite yet, but it was only a matter of time. Harm supposed that the best way to describe the kid would be "a pig in a wig." Small watery blue eyes buried in rolls of fat spotted Harry and he lumbered over. With a nimbleness that belied his size, he scampered to his cousin and snatched the bear out of the sleeping child's arms. "This is mine," he proclaimed.

Without conscious thought, Harm reacted. He stood up, took the bear from Dudley, tucked it back in Harry's arms, grabbed Dudley, turned him around, and delivered a hard, stinging swat to the child's ample backside.

Dudley let out a yell as if Harm had murdered him. "That was a warning," Harm said dryly. "Lying and stealing... you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

Marge's face turned an ugly shade of purple. "How dare you accuse my nephew of lying and stealing?" she demanded. "If Dudley says that the bear is his, then it is!"

"I can show you the receipt, madam," Harm said. "I gave that bear to Harry less than an hour ago, and I brought it from Washington."

Dudley crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harm. "The Freak doesn't own anything," he said with a scowl. "Mummy and Daddy told me that he doesn't deserve the stuff we give him. Daddy says that they should've left him on the doorstep instead of letting him live in our cupboard."

"Cupboard?" Harm's voice was dangerously soft.

Dudley waddled over to a small, wallpapered door and opened it. "The Freak lives in here," he said. His small, piggy eyes must've spotted something, because he snatched it off the floor and almost ran to where Harry was sleeping, his footsteps shaking the room with the force of a small elephant, causing the china to rattle in the hutch. He punched Harry, hard. "You took my knight," he said.

Harry whimpered a little, but didn't wake.

Harm wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, because he could feel a headache coming on. His first instinct was to spank Dudley, but he resisted. Instead, he grabbed the boy, put him in the nearest armchair, and squatted down to his level. "Why did you do that? We don't hit people." He was pretty sure that his godson, Josh, at four, hadn't gone around hitting smaller kids like Dudley did.

Dudley glared at him while Marge made protesting noises. "He stole my knight," Dudley whined.

"Let me see it," Harm said.

Dudley opened one fat fist and showed him a one-legged knight.

"And when was the last time you saw it?" Harm asked.

"When I threw it in the bin."

"Then why does it matter, if you threw it away?" Harm asked quietly. "You didn't want it anymore."

"Because it's mine!" Dudley shouted. "And the Freak can't have anything of mine! It's bad enough that he gets my old clothes!"

"You've got five minutes," Harm said. "You will stay where you are or there will be consequences you won't like."

Dudley simply scowled at him. "The Freak deserves what he gets," he said. "Daddy and Mummy said so every time he got punished. Mummy even said so when I pushed him down the stairs."

Harm turned to Marge, who was still sputtering, and raised an eyebrow. "My condolences, madam. It looks like you have your hands full with this one if you don't want him to end up in prison."

Marge sneered at him. "You're a fine one to talk," she said. "That one," she pointed at Harry, "Will end up dying like his parents, unemployed drunkards who were at fault in the accident that killed them. Bad blood will win out. Should've been drowned at birth! I don't know much about the father, but his mother was the runt bitch of the litter, and it shows."

Harm snorted. "I spent the summer with the Evanses when I was twelve," he said dryly. "Lily was a very sweet girl, but Petunia was a jealous, spiteful harridan. I guess some things never changed."

"I don't know where you get your information from, Ms. Dursley," Ms. Wilson said. "I really don't. Lily and James Potter were murdered. And they were far from unemployed drunkards. Lord and Lady Potter had no need to work—everyone knows that—but Lord Potter was well known in law enforcement, and Lady Potter was in research for the Ministry."

Marge's face changed colors so fast that Harm was almost sure that she was going to have a stroke on the spot. "Grandma said something about some entailed estates that Harry will get once he comes of age from our side of the family when I talked to her on the telephone this morning," he said mildly. "I believe there was a title attached to those, as well."

Marge sent him a glare. "Petunia was older than her sister and Dudders is older than the runt," she sneered. "If there are estates and titles, they should rightfully belong to him."

Harm knew he would probably hate himself for this later, but he couldn't help himself. The woman simply rubbed him wrong. He'd heard from his grandmother that the estates were entailed for the first fully qualified magical male descendant; Dudley didn't count. Lily couldn't inherit the estates, being female, but they had passed into her keeping after the death of their other cousin as the first magical descendant for her firstborn son. Because Grandma was older than her identical twin sister by 12 minutes, if he or his father had been fully magical, they would have been the ones to inherit. He walked over and glanced into the cupboard before replying. "I believe Petunia failed to meet the conditions to inherit," he said mildly. "Now who's the runt bitch of the litter? My lawyer will be contacting you about remuneration for the way you Dursleys treated my new son, and we'll see you at the funeral."

Harm walked back to the couch and picked Harry up. "There's nothing worth taking," he said. "I'll buy him new things that fit and a few new toys before we go home." Without another word, he left the house. Ms. Wilson followed and called the Knight Bus for them. Briefly, he wondered how people like Petunia and Dudley had come out of the same gene pool as the rest of his family. Sometimes, he reflected, some things were meant to remain unknown.

*My Grandpa (career Naval aviator) defined an analyst's salute as a "lazy wave in the general direction of the forehead" He swore that it was all that was necessary for saluting base guards. :D

** rate, or pay rate, depends on rank and time in rank...(please note, it's not time in uniform, but time in rank)

TBC...