The ride from King’s Cross to Number 4 Privet Drive was unusually quiet. The further the got from the station, the more uneasy and alone Harry felt. Occasionally, he would catch his uncle glaring at him through the rear view mirror, but he never actually said anything. That, in and of itself, was enough to unnerve him. The silence that pervaded the car’s atmosphere began to take its toll on Harry as his mind wandered back to the conversation he had overheard between Dumbledore, Sirius and Snape. He couldn’t help but worry about Sirius and wish that he hadn’t had to leave to find the “old crowd.” Even though he felt selfish for even thinking it, he wished that Sirius had chosen to stay close to him instead of following Dumbledore’s wishes.

When they pulled into the driveway, Uncle Vernon snapped at him to ‘hurry up and get his stuff put away’ and then waited impatiently as Harry pulled his trunk from the boot. He had just managed to get the trunk out when the front door flew open and a trimmer but still husky Dudley came bounding out, looking far happy and excited to see his cousin Harry. Grabbing Hedwig’s cage in his free hand, Harry began walking toward the house and tried to prepare himself for the onslaught of Dudley’s usual abuse. Much to his surprise, Dudley merely stepped out of his way.

“Hurry up! You’ll make us late.” Dudley whined.

“We’ll be leaving in a minute, Duds. We have plenty of time” Vernon said as he turned to Harry and snarled, “Boy, take your trunk in the house and put it away. And hurry up.” Harry simply nodded before he dragged his trunk into the house, not wanting to earn his uncle’s displeasure so early in the holiday. As he approached the cupboard door, his Aunt Petunia came down the stairs carrying one of Dudley’s old duffle bags. He had no sooner gotten his trunk wedged into the small cupboard when his Aunt walked up behind him and forcibly turned him to face her. She stood there silently, looking him up and down, and for a moment he thought he saw a flicker of concern flash in her eyes before they hardened into the familiar disdain he was used to seeing.

“We have won a trip to EuroDisney." Harry's felt a flicker of excitement before it was dashed as his aunt continued, "Mrs. Figg has agreed to take you and that bird of yours while we are away. I have packed a bag for you. I expect you to return here daily and do your chores. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, “How long will you be gone?” He had tried to keep his sudden feelings of disappointment from coming through in his voice, but failed miserably. It seemed like his bad luck was continuing to hold out; Dudley gets EuroDisney and two parents that want him and all Harry got was the cabbage-smelling cheek pincher.

“Two weeks, maybe three,” she replied haughtily. “Now come along, we will drop you off at Mrs. Figg’s.”

Harry felt his heart sink as she turned and walked out the door. She waited intolerantly as he followed, then pulled out a key and locked the door behind them. He climbed into the back seat, pulling Hedwig’s cage in beside him and waited while Dudley stuffed the three large suitcases into the trunk. Staring down at the ratty old duffle bag, a sense of being unwanted and worthless overwhelmed him. As soon as the car pulled up to Mrs. Figg’s home, Uncle Vernon was out of the car and pulling him, along with Hedwig’s cage, up to the old woman’s door and pushing the doorbell several times, impatiently waiting for the door to open. Harry looked down at his feet while his uncle began to grumble and pound on the door.

“I’m coming.”

The muffled sound of the old woman calling from somewhere in her house partially calmed his uncle. A few seconds later, the door flew open to reveal a huffing, flustered grey-haired lady with an odd set of pale blue eyes.

“Why, Vernon,” she said, her voice definitely more sarcastic than usual. “How nice to see you.” Harry had the definite impression that the woman didn’t particularly like his uncle.

“And Harry! Come in, Come in!” she cried gleefully, just before reaching out to pinch his cheeks and then ushering him inside her home. “Good-bye Vernon. Enjoy your trip,” she said as she shut the door on the sputtering man’s face.

“You just shut the door in his face.” Harry said, staring at her with round, surprised eyes while he gingerly rubbed one of his aching cheeks.

“Sure did, Harry-bean. Felt damn good, too. Never did like them much.” She smiled at him. “Now let’s see what we can do for that owl of yours. Hedwig, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but how did you know? And did you just call me Harry-bean?”

The plump old woman ignored his questions, taking Hedwig’s travel cage as she walked into her living room. He followed her and watched curiously as she glancing around her living room. Finally, her eyes fell on a wooden high-back chair. “Yes, I think this will do nicely,” she commented, pulling a wand from her sleeve. Aiming at the chair, the old woman uttered a spell and the chair morphed into large perch. “There, that’s better.” She said as she opened the cage allowing Hedwig to fly to her new perch.

“You’re her . . . Arabella Figg, aren’t you?” Harry asked

“Where did you learn my first name?” she inquired, seemingly surprised.

Harry looked at her for a moment, before diverting his eyes. He wasn’t sure why, but the look in her eyes gave him a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was unlike anything Harry could remember feeling, yet similar to how he felt when Mrs. Weasley would greet him; like she wanted to wrapping him protectively in her arms and shelter him like she would her own child. It wasn't a bad feeling, per say, just unsettling. In all of Harry's memory, he couldn't remember having someone care for him in such a manner until he went to Hogwart's and even then, demonstrations of affection were still very rare in his life.

“Harry?” she asked again, her voice soft and curious. There was something in the tone or the simple sound of her voice at that moment that compelled him to answer.

“I overheard Professor Dumbledore talking to my godfather and Professor Snape in the infirmary. He thought I was still sleeping. He was telling Si… my godfather to find you.”

For a brief instance, Mrs. Figg’s seemed to regard him closely. Then she smiled and her eyes flashed brightly. “Oh, I think that old wizard knew very well you were awake. I swear that man is cunning enough to be a Slytherin,” she chuckled and shook her head, before making a final statement, “I think he was just trying to prepare you.”

“I don’t understand. Prepare me for what?” Harry asked, now completely confused.

“Well, I'm guessing Dumbledore thought that you would less likely to outright hex me if you thought I was someone he trusted and that Sirius and Severus knew me. Now, why don’t you take your things upstairs and get settled. I made up the same room you usually use. I will just make sure Hedwig has what she needs and come get you when dinner is ready.”

Harry nodded and started to make his way to the stairs, feeling a bit better about having to stay with Mrs. Figg. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with being called a freak by his family for a few weeks.

Halfway up the stairs, he heard her call out, “Oh Harry, there are several presents waiting for you on the bed. Go ahead and open them. Think of them as belated 2nd through 14th birthday gifts.”

Harry just stood there, unsure of what to say or do. The old woman had bought him presents? “Um, okay. Thank You, Mrs. Figg,” he finally called back. He quickly climbed the remaining stairs and opened the door to the guest room and turning on the light. Even expecting to find gifts, the sight of twelve wrapped presents stacked neatly on the bed left Harry dumbfounded. He dropped the duffle bag Aunt Petunia had given him just inside the threshold, forgetting it the moment it hit the floor. Reverently, his eyes scanned the mound of packages. Reaching out, he lifted the envelope that sat on top.

Dear Harry,

I know the past few weeks have been difficult for you. I wish I could have been there to help you. I have watched you grow up and I want you to know I am very proud of you.

I love you, Harry-bean.

There are many things you will learn about yourself in the coming weeks No matter what comes, Harry, you won’t face it or anything else alone.

Your Godmother,

Arabella

Harry was stunned. Old Mrs. Figg was his godmother! The idea left him stunned, not to mention extremely confused and a little hurt. If she was his godmother, why didn’t she take custody of him? He had known her, apparently, all his life and she’d never said anything! He sat, dejectedly, for several minutes just staring at the letter in his hand, while a small voice in his head tried to convince him that maybe there was a good reason, maybe they had felt he was safer with the Dursley’s. Besides, at least she had moved to be closer to him.

Glancing at the pile of gifts, he hesitantly reached for one. He didn’t quite feel right opening presents at the moment, but Mrs. Figg had wanted him to open them and he didn’t want to insult the woman. He gingerly pulled the paper off the box and lifted the lid to reveal several new knit shirts, plain like t-shirts, but more stylish like Harry had seen on television. He moved on to the next box and then the next; by the time he got to the last box he already had several additional shirts, sweaters, jeans, slacks, shoes, toiletries, socks and everything else imaginable.

Reaching for the last gift, he very carefully removed the paper, folding in neatly and placed with the rest of the wrapping paper. Before he could open the box, Harry suddenly found himself distracted by the sound of Mrs. Figg’s soft chuckling coming from the doorway behind him.

“Your father used to drive me nuts whenever I gave him a gift. He would do the exact same thing," she said as she entered the room, carrying a small chest.

“I open presents like my dad?” he asked, curious about the offered information as he pulled of the lid to reveal another pair of slacks and a nice button down shirt.

Arabella looked at him questioningly, as if she were weighing what she would say next before she smiled sadly at him. “Yes, Harry, you do. Here, I have one last thing for you.”

She set the chest on the floor and pulled out her wand. Harry watched as the small chest grew into a large wooden chest with a curved top. “It’s not really a present. Everything in here has always belonged to you. I just been holding onto it until I could give it back.”

Harry jumped off the bed and moved quickly over to stand before the chest, eager to see what was inside.

“And that is definitely the Lily in you coming out.” Mrs. Figg laughed.

Harry looked at her questioningly before dropping to his knees in front of the chest. For a short time, Harry forgot his worries at the prospect of finally having tangible proof that he was once very much wanted and loved. Carefully, he pushed the lid, finding the chest half-filled with treasures of the past. Reaching for one of the bigger boxes on the top, he lifted it from the chest and opened it. He stared, eyes wide with awe at the contents, feeling as if he had found something precious he hadn’t know was missing in the first place. Reaching inside, Harry pulled out a black fluffy plush dog. Harry chuckled when he saw the collar that was around the toy’s neck; it read “Snuffles.” For a few minutes, he just ran his hands over the worn faux fur of the animal, trying to imagine what his life was like back when this dog was his constant companion.

After several minutes, he laid the toy aside and turned back to the box. Gently, he lifted out a baby’s quilt. Unfolding it carefully, he laid it out in front of him, examining the details. He realized it was quite small, about the size one would use in a crib. It was off-white in color, trimmed with a navy border and very soft to the touch. In the center of the blanket was a large appliqué lily with a several small purple flowers surrounding it. In each of the four corners were appliqués – starting clockwise in the top left corner – a stag, a black panther, a wolf and large black dog.

“The toy was a gift from Sirius and your favorite as a baby. You never went anywhere without it. The quilt Lily made for you before you were born. I was able to recover them both from Godric’s Hollow.”

He ran his hand over each flower and animal, mentally filing away his curiosity about whom the unfamiliar flower and animal represented. He suspected one would be Mrs. Figg, if she was his godmother. Folding the quilt carefully, he placed it back in the box along with the toy and replaced the lid. For a minute he just studied the rest of chest’s contents, his mind racing with questions.

“Are you really my Godmother?” he asked in a small voice as he finally turned and faced her. Her penetrating gaze made him feel like his very soul was being exposed to her. Finally, she smiled and Harry was amazed at how bright her eyes became, as they twinkled not unlike Professor Dumbledore’s.

“Yes, Harry. I am your godmother.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Will I…” he asked hurriedly, half scared of the answer.

She held up her hand to stop the questions. Her smile turned forlorn as she reached out to brush a stand of hair away from his eyes. “When you were old enough to understand, I did tell you. We had a lot of fun together, you and I. However, thanks to your Aunt and Uncle’s attitude, I thought it best to temporarily mask those memories, to hide them so to speak. The charm will wear of around your fifteenth birthday or if you like, I can remove them tonight.”

Harry just stared at her, dumbfounded. He had always found it unnerving that everyone seemed to know more about him than he did himself. I was even more unsetting, not to mention confusing, to know that he knew more about himself than he thought he did.

“Harry, why don’t you take that black leather case, the one tied up with a red ribbon? Grab that, and we can go down to dinner. We can talk and after dinner I will show you how to activate the book, okay? ”

He simply nodded, beginning to feel overwhelmed and uneasy again. He watched as Mrs. Figg stood and started to walk out of the room. Taking his cue, Harry took the black leather case and followed Mrs. Figg to the kitchen. He just hoped that whatever she made for dinner, it didn’t involve cabbage.