AN: Tnx for the new reviews.

Disclaimer: My first name is actually Joanne. What a coincidence.

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III. The Form We Assume

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Five years after...

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Emerald green eyes peeked out from a wavy fringe of dark hair. A delicate hand tried to swipe away fringe to no avail. Two newly grown front teeth bit an already swollen lower lip. The boy, better known as nine year-old Harry Potter seemed to be concentrating on a serious task. His attention was diverted though as he listened to the footsteps that was heading his way. He immediately threw away a particularly narrow branch. It hit a small rubber ball that was lying on the bare ground, making the ball roll sideways, towards a small puddle.

Harry pulled himself up from his leaning position on the window. He almost fell out as he lost his balance but he was able to lean on the window frame at the last minute. Sighing in relief, He was about to close the window when a big white cat suddenly jumped in the sill and hissed at him as it struggled with the small space that the half-opened window provided. Harry was about to push it out when it scratched his hand, making him let go of the window. He rubbed the sides of his ride hand that was lightly scratched by the temperamental feline; he was about to kick it when the stooped figure of Mrs. Figg sedately walked in, carrying a tray of cookies. The cat immediately headed towards the old woman and accusingly mewled at Harry's direction before it rubbed its flat face on its owner's leg.

"Oh, are you feeling cold? I've got some firewood in the shed…"

Mrs. Figg was about to head back out of the room but Harry quickly shook his head in the negative; Mrs. Figg could've misinterpreted his rubbing of his hand as feeling cold. He glared at the rather smug-looking cat, annoyed at its antics.

"I'm not really cold Mrs. Figg, thank you for the offer. But Mrs. Figg, could I get Kean's ball? It's in..."

"Oh…*chuckle*. You're of course curious about why I still have a stone fireplace, but I like the way the firewood crackle as it burn away. It's very reminiscent of my childhood and the days where watching and tending the fire had been the main entertainment of every winter night."

Harry gazed at the empty stone fireplace, confusion obvious on his expression. Mrs. Figg followed his line of sight, as if expecting him to notice something but Harry immediately lost interest and was looking rather impatient as he shifted from foot to foot.

"Oh, I forgot about the tea..."

Old Mrs. Figg exited the room with the cat hot on her heels. Harry immediately ran back towards the window sighing in defeat at the distance of the ball. Suddenly, someone called his name; Harry stupidly looked around until he saw Dudley's pudgy forearm hanging from the fence as the latter berated whoever is pushing him up for falling down into the ground. Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's friends was precariously perched at the top of the fence, cupping his left hand around his mouth while his other hand supported him. Harry mouthed the words 'Just wait' to him, but the boy just dumbly opened his mouth in question. Harry was about to shout at Piers in annoyance but he immediately plastered an innocent smile on his face as Mrs. Figg came in and directed him to a corner where a tea service was being set up.

"Here, have some cookies. So anything exciting happen at school lately lad?"

"Uhm...Mrs. Figg, I really did not came here for tea. You see..."

"Well, how about your archery, I've heard that you qualified for a national competition."

"Oh yeah. But Mrs. Figg..."

The fat cat, Mr. Tibbles if Harry remembers correctly hissed and screeched at Harry from his perch on Mrs. Figg's lap. Harry reluctantly took a seat and proceeded on to tell Mrs. Figg that a private company had hosted an archery competition for grade-level competitors. Not even questioning how the woman heard about it. Mrs. Figg seems not too interested on the details but she always insists on talking about Harry alone and nothing else. It really creeps Harry out for Mrs. Figg seemed so interested on him. His Aunt and Uncle doesn't like the old lady for some unknown reason but whatever that reason is, it would be good enough for Harry. The woman is really something else in Harry's opinion. Soon enough the conversation degenerated into random questions about anything and everything under the sun about Harry Potter.

"It's a good thing that you have good eyesight. I've seen your father before, while visiting the Dursleys. He was just about 23 yet he had glasses."

"Yeah."

Harry fidgeted on his seat and carelessly swung his legs back and forth, making his muddy trainers bump the chair's leg and drag mud on the carpeted floor. He just came here for the ball, why can't Mrs. Figg understand that? He badly wanted to bolt out of the room but he knows that it would be very rude. Even if his aunt doesn't like the old woman, Mrs. Figg is still a notorious gossiper; can't have her telling the neighborhood that he's a bad-mannered boy. Harry is sure that his aunt would hire etiquette teachers just to fix that. Just the thought made him shiver.

"Aunt Petunia was worried about it so she had me checked every year but the doctor said that my eyesight was completely fine."

By this point, Dudley was widely gesturing, now from another window – the one facing Mrs. Figg's backyard. Harry badly wanted to glare at Dudley but sadly Mrs. Figg was sitting opposite him with her back to the window. He tried to drink some tea but it somehow tasted like paint mixed with leather. Oh how he long to spat it out but he just politely swallowed the vile concoction and smiled at Mrs. Figg.

"Oh, that's good."

"Yeah."

Mrs. Figg suddenly paused. Harry thought that maybe she is letting him go home but he stiffened as Mrs. Figg stood up and shouted to someone outside. Harry turned around his seat, towards the window that he had just occupied moments ago and saw Andrew Malcolm reaching for the ball in Mrs. Figg's yard using a long stick. Harry immediately straightened back to his seat as Mrs. Figg opened the window to berate the older boy. 'I don't know him at all' Harry sarcastically told himself as he nervously set the teacup back to the table. Harry's attention was so intent on Dudley who was still on the fence by the backyard, gesturing for Harry to come out that he did not notice as green flames flared to life in the old stone fireplace.

It was just a tiny flicker at first and then it grew into a small bonfire. It was dancing merrily as its tongue of varying shades of green harmlessly licked the charred log that lay on the fireplace. For a moment, the flames stilled and then a face suddenly appeared…

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"Don't worry Minerva, I'll inform Arabella. She would surely find a way to prevent Harrod from wandering into the woods."

Albus Dumbledore, current Hogwarts Headmaster was about to throw the floo powder into the fireplace but was unable to do so because of his deputy's incessant questioning. He can't understand why she has to remain silent while they were discussing this issue face to face yet blabber when he's already decided on a course of action. He just shook his head and threw floo powder on the fireplace before shouting 'Mrs. Figg's!' He resumed on a very uncomfortable and awkward position of crouching down the floor. His vision was soon filled with green; there was no one there. He was about to call for the former Ministry pencil-pusher when he saw something or rather someone. He wasn't able to decipher the person's image but he was sure that it was a child. How could Arabella be so careless? That child could be the one she said to be weeding her garden. He could only hope that the child hadn't noticed him.

"What's wrong Albus? You immediately pulled out."

"There was a child in the room."

"Oh my! Did the Muggle child saw you?"

"I don't know Minerva, the visibility allowed by the floo powder is limited at a certain distance. I better just send a note. Arabella shouldn't allow Muggles inside the room where there's floo access."

Minerva McGonagall just nodded her thoughts still on the rogue werewolves that are wrecking havoc on the British Isles. She just hoped that they won't reach Surrey.

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Mrs. Figg continued shouting insults as Andrew together with Piers, Dudley and a couple other local kids ran away from her house. She started when she turned back and saw the last vestiges of green flames from the fireplace. She turned to Harry to find the boy craning his neck over the window, trying to see where the other children had run to. Harry smiled sheepishly at her when he noticed that she was watching him.

"Oh, it's getting dark. You better be home before your Aunt worries."

The sun was indeed sunk low in the horizon. It's a good time to head home so Harry just politely bid the old lady goodbye and led himself out the door. Mrs. Figg's various cats rallied behind him, purring and rubbing their bodies on his legs. Mrs. Figg did not even see him out. She was busy deciphering if a floo call was really made. Harry grabbed this opportunity and as he motioned to open the gate, he sprinted towards the direction of the side of the house amidst the screeching of the cats. He hurriedly grabbed the ball and ran back to the gate. Well, that was the plan anyway.

"Harry! Is that you? What are you doing there? Harry!"

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"Incidents of kidnapping had been rampant on the Scottish highlands with the mangled bodies of the kidnapped children found floating in streams and…"

"Pet, are the kids home yet?"

The news report continued on the background as footsteps could be heard climbing up the staircase. Vernon just settled comfortably on the couch. A lot had changed on the man for the past four years. The once broad frame had now become stout and heavyset but not yet on the overweight category. His moustache was removed, his clean-shaven look complimenting his round and pinkish face. There were a few more wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and there were a few grey hairs showing on his sandy hair.

"Yesterday, there was a report of a very similar incident in the east of Devon where…"

"Devon? This can't be the same group."

Vernon successfully shrugged off his jacket and placed it neatly on a divan before he unceremoniously plopped down the leather seat. There were loud sounds of the door closing from upstairs and then another door opening.

"Their school bags are here but where could've those two gone? I was just at the kitchen preparing dinner and they didn't asked permission from me!"

The last part was drowned down by Petunia's footsteps as she descended down the stairs. The telly's loud volume also helped that Vernon shouted over the newscast to be heard.

"What did you say Pet?"

He was only answered by Petunia's shrill voice as the front door opened.

"Where were you from? Why do you two look like tramps? Harrod, come here."

Whimpering sounds could be heard as Petunia fussed on some scratches on Harry's face and neck.

"Dudley, why is your arm red? Come here. Where are you going?"

"Is Dad home already? I want to ask him something."

"Dudley, come back here! Clean up first, dinner's almost ready."

But Dudley wasn't listening. He ran as fast as his pudgy feet could carry him towards the sitting room. The door was half-opened and Vernon was still on his seat, his attention intent on the images of missing children flashed on the TV screen.

"Hello son. How was school?"

Dudley plopped himself beside his father, the couch almost groaning at their combined weight. Dudley then scooted nearer to Vernon while the latter smiled down at his son and affectionately put his arm around Dudley and patted the boy's tubby arm.

"It's fine Dad. Can I go to a sleep over at Alden's place? He has this new video game that I really want to try on!"

"When's that? Where were you, your mother had been looking for you just a while ago?"

Just before Dudley could answer, Vernon heard Petunia shriek from upstairs. "You won't be having dinner until you're all cleaned up understand Harrikins?" Vernon flinched at the deceptively sweet voice and flinched once more at Petunia's next words. "Now where's Dudley?" Vernon gave his son a commiserating look, considering the boy's messy hair and wrinkled clothes. He didn't notice that he missed half of what his son had said.

"What did you say son?"

"Hmphf! You weren't listening! Now I've got to say it over and over..."

"C'mon, just humor your old man."

Upstairs, in the bathroom, Harry was smiling at the conversation going on downstairs. Well, it's technically only half of the conversation. He could only hear Dudley's loud voice over the equally loud background noise. He was only half-listening as he was bent over, trying to unbutton his jeans. When the button finally popped out, his stood on one foot as he tried to get the fabric off.

"We were trying to play cricket when Harry threw the ball too hard it got into the batty lady's yard. I swear he has monster arms. So we asked him to get the ball from Mrs. Figg's house. You should've seen him Dad, he was so scared."

Harry snorted upon hearing this and was about to turn on the shower but changed his mind and headed to the rectangular mirror that was very similar to the ones used in public loos. Why his aunt want this type of mirror, Harry can never understand but it's actually quite nifty. Especially now as Harry stood on a footstool as he observed his reflection. He had just had his recent growth spurt, making him look gangly and awkward on his feet. His facial features still look really young for his age but his face is no longer as round as it used to be and the baby fat below his chin was slowly disappearing.

"Mrs. Figg, isn't she the...?"

Vernon's voice is louder now and the telly's volume seemed to be lowered. Vernon could've addressed Petunia because Harry did not hear Dudley reply directly, only saying things like "Don't you wanna hear what Harry did?" and "Harry looked silly". Harry leaned closer to the mirror, supporting himself with the sink. He observed that his hair was getting brownish and that his scar, well it still looks like charred flesh and his teachers think that it was still a product of a ritual that the cult who killed his parents performed after their murder. Harry scoffed at that thought and examined the scratches he got from crashing into Mrs. Figg's bushes (who keeps ugly, thorny things like those anyway?). The scratches looked raw but they weren't deep, just a brush. Harry slid the mirror slightly to the right and rummage through the built-in cabinet behind the mirror in search for a tube of ointment when he saw at the corner of his eye his reflection showing the multiple scratches on the other side of his face. He was about to slide the glass panel back in when he noticed that the other scratches were slowly disappearing right before his eyes. He just stood there, shocked at what he saw.

"I told you many times Dudders that you should not come near that woman by any means. How many times would I need to remind you?"

"But Mom, she's just okay. She even invited Harry for tea and chat..."

"What?"

Harry was not paying attention to the shouted conversation. He was frantically rubbing his face as if it would stop the scratches from disappearing.

"No, no. Don't disappear. That's not normal...why is this happening?"

Raising his left hand up to eye level, Harry panicked to see the scratch from Mr. Tibbles had already disappeared. A sudden thought came to him and twisted his body just to take a look at what he expected to be a deep gash in between his waist and middle back. He just had it the other day when he and his friends were daring each other on who could climb highest on the school's old oak tree. Harry gasped as the wound was also gone. He was disturbed from his frantic thoughts when a door was slammed from down the hall.

"Dudley! Don't you dare young man! You need to clean up!"

"But Harry's still there! I will just play while waiting..."

There was a soft knock on the door and before Harry could answer, it opened to reveal his aunt. Petunia looked distraught, making her face look more sunken and emaciated.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm the one that should be asking you that. Did the old lady give you something strange? Did she ask you silly questions?"

Harry was confused on why his aunt was asking him these questions. He just nodded and answered while his aunt was cupping his face. Harry noticed a flicker of something on his aunt's eyes when she saw that the scratches and bruises were almost all gone.

"She...she gave me this foul-smelling and foul-tasting tea Aunty. It was horrid!"

"Don't ever come into that house again okay? I told you...both you and Dudley that that woman could not be trusted."

Harry felt uncomfortable as Petunia's hold on his head become tighter that she was almost pulling out his hair. Petunia's gaze was blank as if she was in a trance.

"Aunty...my hair..."

"Oh, why aren't you cleaned up yet? I'd be serving dinner soon."

But as Petunia was saying this, she wasn't actually looking at Harry; she was inspecting Harry's hair. She was feeling the hair from root to tip and mussing it up as if she is looking for something hiding behind the curly locks. When it seemed like Petunia realized that she wouldn't really find anything, she stepped back with only a muttered "Oh" leaving her mouth. She then hastily made an exit, leaving a very bewildered Harry Potter behind.

Meanwhile downstairs in the sitting room, Vernon had just returned to his previous seat. Pocketing his wallet (which is 50 pounds lighter) for good measure, Vernon settled back and picked up the remote control.

"Parents are advised to always keep their children…"

There was a resounding click as Vernon turned the TV off. All he could see now is his reflection. He stared at his reflection intently. He heard the bathroom door open and then banged shut and then steps hurrying down the stairs.

"Vernon, go prepare for dinner already. You haven't changed your clothes yet."

Vernon just smiled and nodded at his wife. He looked at his wristwatch and then sighed. 'I think I do have the time' he thought before he stood up to prepare for dinner.

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"No Albus, I think he wasn't interested at all. Yes, it's his first time here. Yes, I understand that you're very busy Headmaster. Oh, I think someone's at the door. Who could be it at this time? I'll call you Headmaster if I notice something strange about the boy."

Mrs. Figg stood up and brushed away the soot that peppered on her shoulders. Mr. Tibbles was seated on a chair with his tail erratically sweeping left and right. He was making a strange noise that was making his jaw vibrate and his sharp teeth jutting out of his stretched mouth. Mrs. Figg observed the tomcat for a while before she reached for her walking cane and headed out of the sitting room. Her stance was stiff and there was a calculating gleam on her eyes.

"Don't worry Mr. Tibbles, there's nothing that we can't all handle."

As if sensing their owner's distress, the other cats banded behind Mrs. Figg. It was with great trepidation that Mrs. Figg opened the door only to come face to face with the last person she expected to see.

"Good evening Mrs. Figg, I'm sorry for the intrusion but I really need to discuss something with you."

"Of course, Mr. Dursley. Come in."

Vernon's presence somehow made the old Squib ill at ease. She turn behind her every step or two as if Vernon would attack her from behind if she so much as blink. She followed Vernon's every gaze and interpreted every movement that he makes. Vernon on the other hand, felt so annoyed at the woman's antics. He's not some criminal for god's sake! And all these cats make him want to sneeze badly.

"You can take a seat Mr. Dursley, I'll just prepare some tea."

"A stone fireplace."

That wasn't something Mrs. Figg expected for a reply. She sharply turned towards Vernon who was yet to take a seat.

"Oh, Harry made a comment about that also..."

"My wife once told me that witches and wizards can travel through fireplaces using a powder called floo."

Mrs. Figg's eyes widened and then narrowed at what Vernon said. Her grip on her walking cane tightened as he observed Vernon's every movement.

"What are you talking about Mr. Dursley? I haven't..."

"Just don't deny it Mrs. Figg. We've known...for five years now, ever since you approached my nephew in the park. I know that you're a Squib just like my wife."

"You're wrong; Petunia is just an ordinary Muggle."

Mrs. Figg stiffened upon realizing the blunder that she made. An awkward silence enveloped the room for a moment before Vernon spoke in a very cold tone.

"I don't know what your intentions are or who you are answering to, well I have some speculations. If it's Dumbledore I'm sure you're here to look after Harry – to ensure that he is safe. We appreciate that. But why you? Why would he send for you, a Squib who can't do magic, what help can you give Harry anyway?"

Mrs. Figg's hold on her walking cane became tighter if that is possible with her already tight grip. She looked like somebody had just thrown one of her cats in the ventilation shaft. Mr. Tibbles and a squat grey cat hissed menacingly at Vernon as they stood as if in sentinel at Mrs. Figg's side.

"Or is it that Dumbledore just wants to insult us? Are you reporting to him how inadequate we are – how we are just lowly Muggles, undeserving of your world's savior? Maybe this is just one big joke for Dumbledore. Then when Harry goes back to the wizarding world and things won't go according to the old coot's way, he would dump all the blame to us."

By now, Vernon was turning an interesting shade of purple. He was almost out of breath as he finished speaking. His fists were clenched tightly as his resentment to wizardkind came out on its own from his tongue. Mrs. Figg on the hand was sputtering denials and indignations. She had to lean on something more solid at the severity of Vernon's accusations that she ended up heavily leaning on a chair.

"That is not the truth! How dare you disrespect Albus Dumbledore! He's the greatest wizard to walk this earth!"

"Indeed. But that doesn't make him beyond fault. How would people react when they hear how the 'greatest wizard to walk this earth' left a child in a basket, out in the freezing November night without ensuring his safety – a child that your world venerates and yet he was dumped just like an unwanted runt in the litter!"

"You don't know what you are talking about Muggle!"

"Of course I do. But I'm not here to rant about everything I know right? I'm here to warn you..."

Mrs. Figg looked defiantly at Vernon as the latter menacingly pointed a finger at the old woman.

"...and your master. He left Harry to us with not even a single word. He should respect our authority as Harry's guardian. He wanted Harry to live as a Muggle so he should give him that Muggle life he deserves. We don't like you sneaking behind our back, without even the courtesy of informing us about your presence. We gave you the benefit of the doubt, thinking that you'd be helping us educate Harry about your world but you did nothing of the sort. You lied and connived your way into the trust of people here in Little Whinging, asking them questions that made them think that there could be something decidedly wrong about us. You don't have the right...because you never did anything to help Harry. You're doing this just for yourself. So if Dumbledore won't expend the effort to send a magical guard for Harry, it just shows what Harry's worth is for him."

Vernon stormed out of the room, his mind a chaotic mess. 'Did I say all that I should say?' 'Did I say it the right way?' 'Should've I said more?' these where the thoughts swirling in his mind as he exited Mrs. Figg's house, any common courtesy forgotten and ignored. He kicked some kittens out of his way and forcefully turned the doorknob. He only somewhat calmed down when reached the curb in the intersection between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and tiredly rubbed his face with his hands. When did he become so confrontational? He hadn't even given the old woman time to respond. He composed his self and started the short walk back home, the early October breeze greeting his every step. He somehow felt content. He had never felt like really achieving something until now. Vernon Dursley had just learned what courage really meant.