Harry took a moment to process what had just happened, then a wave of dread settled on him. Mr. Weasley had said to stay in the house when he had performed the patronus charm, what would he- everybody- think of this.
"Got expelled?" A quiet voice said from behind him.
He turned around and saw that he was standing in front of Mrs. Figg's house, and she was slowly hobbling toward him.
"I got kicked out," he said, turning toward her, unable to look at the hell he had grown up on, around, and pushed out of.
"I know, I figured. I know what you are," she said reassuringly, gently herding him into her house.
"Sit," she said the moment they had entered, pointing to the dusty red couch. He did without complaint.
He sat patiently, waiting for her to return, wondering what she meant. She returned with a book and cups of tea. She sat down in the rocking chair by a knitting basket and faced him.
"What did you mean?" Harry asked impulsively and immediately regretting it when she stopped her rocking, but it was too late to stop now. "When you said you knew what I was?"
The old woman sighed and handed him the book she had brought and set the tea on a nearby coffee table. Harry peered at the book curiously. He may not have Hermione's need to read everything, but he did have the natural Gryffindor curiosity that he couldn't help read the title.
It said "The History of the Obscurus."
Harry opened the first page out of curiosity and was met with a danger level and pictures. Out of five, it ranked seven. The pictures depicted of young children- no more than ten- with a large shadow with white eye looming over them.
He took a closer look at them, and saw that their arms, faces, and necks were covered in small scars, with barely visible lines connecting them to the monster.
"What- what does this mean?" Harry asked, turning the page to a chapter called "How They Form".
Mrs. Figg studied him for a long moment. "You really don't know do you?"
Harry shook his head, singling no, and she continued.
"You are one."
There was a lengthy pause. "No I'm not," he said finally.
She have a low chuckle. "Yes, you are. Believe me, anyone who've witnessed such power would know it when they see it."
Harry stood up frantically and began to pace. "You would've told me if I turned into- into this," he said, gesturing to the open page of the thing.
"Oh good lord boy, I haven't told you I'm a squib, or know you're a wizard, or tell you that you're being follow by members of the Order of the Phoenix." She shook her head. "They told me you were intelligent!"
"I'm not the smart one. Ever. That's my friend Hermione."
"Oh?" she laughed. "What about stopping Quirrel? Or the basilisk? What about revealing the truth about Black and Pettigrew? I think your quite intelligent indeed," she finished off, her laughter becoming a hoot.
Harry felt that sinking feeling take place in his stomach again, but this time something else had growled on response. Not out of hunger for food, but to be understood.
Harry glared at her, trying to repress his anger. "I'm not this monster," he hissed, and Mrs. Figg continued to laugh. "I am one person, and one person only."
By the end of the sentence he had begun to tremble violently and there was a loud crack behind him. He turned around to see that he had demolished half her wall.
Mrs. Figg's laughter had begun to quiet down back into a chuckle and said, "You see that Harry? That was you. I had to push you to see it yourself."
Harry felt that anger rise up again, and this time he didn't want to try to contain it. Impulsively, he threw out his hands on either side of him and held onto that anger for everything that had every happened to him.
Then the house exploded.