A/N: I own nothing... blah de blah blah blah! ONWARDS!!

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Chapter One: Appearances can be deceiving.

That was IT! Harry had finally had enough. He could feel the blood in his body boiling and the anger that had been accumulating within him was just about ready to burst out in a devastating eruption. And it did.

As he rushed for the front door in a blind rage, his only thought was to get out of that house. To get out of Privet Drive. To get away. He could barely make sense of Uncle Vernon's booming yells. He could barely hear Aunt Petunia's shrill voice commanding that he "come back this instant!". He could barely notice Dudley plodding down the stairs to see what all the commotion was about. He just needed to get out, to finally breathe.

He slammed the door behind him and strode down the garden path as quickly as he could. He just turned in any direction that took his eye, not really stopping to care about his destination. If he were incredibly lucky, which he never really had been, he might never have to see the Dursley's faces ever again. It was that thought which flooded him with a warmth contrasting the oddly biting frosty wind (for it was mid-August. Why hadn't he grabbed his jacket on the way out?).

That was, until he remembered; he had no place to go, the Dursleys had been a last resort. There was no-one. Unless… It struck him. Mrs Figg!! Sure, she was a squib, but she could help him find someone from the Order or even Dumbledore himself!

Harry looked around; fortunately, he had been walking towards Magnolia Crescent which, luckily, wasn't too far from her house. He sped back towards the home of the batty old cat lady (which he had spent most of his childhood wishing that he could avoid) and just hoped that she would be ale to help him. As soon as he got there, he thumped hard on the door, through the cries of "Alright, keep your hair on!" and was relieved when Mrs Figg, accompanied by three of her cats (Mr Sniffles, or whatever she called him, being one of them) swung the door open.

"Oh, Harry, dear, what ever is the matter?" she asked concernedly.

"Mrs Figg, I need your help. Can I come in?"

"Of course, dear." Harry stepped into the house and was immediately confronted by the smell of cat hair mingled with shortbread. Mrs Figg offered him some tea and, when she returned from the kitchen, said:

"Now, Harry, what is it you needed me for?" Harry looked at all the pictures of Mrs Figg's various cats and avoided her gaze before he spoke.

"I need to get out of here," he explained simply, though his tone was full of venom.

"What do you mean?"

"If I stay with the Dursleys much longer, I'm going to seriously lose control of my magic and it'll end up worse than blowing up an aunt. I need to go. Anywhere."

"Are you sure about that, Harry?"

"Absolutely," he had spent more than enough time going over it in his head.

"And where do you suppose you'll stay?" That, he hadn't thought about. Where could he go?

"I suppose I could stay at Hogwarts, if Professor Dumbledore wouldn't mind," he suggested.

"I doubt that, not even the teachers stay at Hogwarts through the summer. What can I help you with, though?"

"I just wondered whether you could contact someone from the Order and tell them that I've left the Dursleys'. I can go to the Leaky Cauldron if none of them can make it-"

"Nonsense!" she cut in sharply. "I won't have you staying there when I can get someone round here. Why, you could even stay here, if needs be."

"Thanks, Mrs Figg."

"Don't mention it. Now, I could write a letter for you but that would take a while to get there. Hold on a second, I think Minerva gave me some Floo Powder to contact them with."

"You know Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked while Mrs Figg began rooting around in the cupboard by her armchair.

"Don't be so dull, boy, we're both in the Order of the Phoenix," Harry then realised that it had been a rather stupid question indeed, "besides, she's my cousin." It was all Harry could do to stop himself from spitting out his tea.

They remained in an awkward silence for a while, before the old lady finally said: "Aha! Got it!"

She pulled out a little red bag with a glistening string holding the top closed. Mrs Figg looked at Harry.

"Do you want to do it or shall I?" Harry's mind wandered back to his previous use of Floo Powder. Definitely not!

"Um, no thanks."

"Okay then." She threw a pinch of grey powder into the fireplace as the flames flickered an emerald green colour. Harry found it rather odd watching Mrs Figg stick just her head into the flames and call about inside it: "Hello? Is anyone there? HELLO?"

After a moment, another voice became apparent to Harry's ears.

"Yes, Arabella, what is it?" It was Professor McGonagall, his Head of House. He was not optimistic as to her reaction.

"I have young Harry here and he needs to talk with you." Mrs Figg said as Harry became increasingly embarrassed.

"Is he alright? I tell you what, I'll be right over." Harry was just about to protest before Mrs Figg withdrew her face from the fire and, hardly a second later, Minerva McGonagall stepped out from the ashes. When she said she would be right over, she wasn't kidding. She wore a dark purple pencil skirt and a white shirt, as if she were a Muggle businesswoman. As soon as she clapped eyes on Harry, her face paled and was overcome by a look of… was that concern?

"Harry, are you okay? You're not hurt are you?"

"N-no, Professor," he replied, overwhelmed by the change in his Transfiguration Professor.

"What's the matter Harry? Where are the Dursleys?"

"They're in their house," this caused her to look slightly confused. "I ran away." He offered by way of explanation. Professor McGonagall looked back into his eyes. Harry was expecting an explosion from her part but he was sorely mistaken.

"Where are headed to Harry?" she asked.

"I don't know. I could just go to the Leaky Cauldron or -"

"Wrong," she interrupted, "you're coming with me. No arguments."

"Professor, really, you don't need to do that."

"I know," she sighed. "But I want to."

Harry smiled at his teacher and, wondering why she hadn't questioned him as to why he had fled his guardians' home, thanked her somewhat timidly.

"Professor?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Where exactly are we going?"

"You'll be coming to my home up in Scotland. That is, if you don't have any objections."

"Of course not, Professor." Harry smiled.

"Now, Arabella, before we leave, any chance of a cup of tea?" Professor McGonagall asked slyly.

Mrs Figg chuckled and bustled off into the kitchen to put the kettle on once again. "How was your meeting with Bumbling Mr Fudge, Minerva?"

"Excruciating! Honestly, I don't see why they have to put us through that torture year after year. And Merlin knows why we have to meet in a Muggle café, of all places. 'Yearly review' my arse."

Harry was shocked to hear his esteemed Professor talk like that and, if he was honest, he was still wondering why on earth she would want to take him in.

"Sorry about her, Harry," called Mrs Figg from the little kitchen, "she's always like this. There's no stopping her. Believe me, I've tried!"

They carried on in this joking fashion while the two ladies drank their tea and Harry began to feel quite comfortable. He didn't say much, he was too interested in the two women sat beside him. Neither of them were what they seemed; Mrs Figg was not as batty as she had always seemed and Professor McGonagall wasn't the strict intimidating person that she was at school (and Harry could have sworn that, despite the fact she was wearing high heels, she was a good shorter than she appeared at Hogwarts. But that could just have been his eyes).

Before Harry knew it, they were ready to go and were bidding Mrs Figg goodbye.

"I think a portkey would be better for us. It seems we share a common disliking of the Floo network."

Wondering how she knew that, Harry held onto the fountain pen they were using for transportation. With a whoosh and a pulling feeling behind the navel, they were gone.