Harry Potter and the Missing Memories

Chapter 2

Arabella Figg

The Dursleys booked their flight to Rome for the afternoon of Tuesday 29^th July, to return on Saturday 2^nd August. Over the days before their departure, their excitement and preparations reached fever pitch. Aunt Petunia could be seen fretting over which dresses she should take, and she kept asking Uncle Vernon how many times they were supposed to dine with their clients. "I couldn't possibly be seen wearing the same outfit twice. That just wouldn't do." Harry reckoned he had seen her pack and unpack the suitcases at least a dozen times, carefully ticking off each item on her checklists to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything.

Uncle Vernon had taken no less than five suits to the dry cleaners, and he kept drilling Dudley on Italian greetings and etiquette.

"Bog-jewerno, comma star," repeated Dudley dully, at his fifth attempt.

"No, no, no, Dudley, it's buon giorno, come sta," said Uncle Vernon in exasperation. "And remember, always shake hands first, that's safest. The ladies may then want to kiss you - always kiss the left cheek first, followed by the right." Harry, who was dusting the windowsill at the time, smirked to himself and wondered why any lady in her right mind would want to kiss Dudley. Uncle Vernon then handed Dudley a CD-Rom entitled 'Teach yourself Italian in Seven Days' and suggested that he should retire to his room and do what he could in the time available.

Harry tried to keep out of the way of these preparations as much as possible, as being 'in the way' seemed to be rewarded either with an even longer list of chores to do - Aunt Petunia seemed to want the whole house spring-cleaning before she went - or a reminder from Uncle Vernon's foot that his very existence meant he was in the way.

The matter of where Harry was to stay had not yet been settled. Aunt Petunia had made numerous telephone calls, but apparently without success. She had rung Aunt Marge, who had said she couldn't possibly take Harry in, because Ripper, her favourite bulldog, was recuperating from a stomach operation and needed her undivided attention. Harry was rather pleased about this, as he surmised he would probably have needed surgery after five days of Aunt Marge's attention. Aunt Petunia had also phoned her friend Yvonne, and even Mrs Polkiss, the mother of Dudley's best friend Piers, but to no avail. Harry started to hope once more that Aunt Petunia might relent and let him stay by himself at Privet Drive. After all, she might not have any choice.

Harry was just finishing off cleaning out the wall units in the kitchen, when Dudley came in and sat on a stool behind him. Even without turning round, Harry could sense that Dudley was watching him again. He could almost feel his gaze boring into the back of his head. This was really starting to get to him. Keep calm, Harry told himself as he felt the colour rising in his neck and ears, or you'll really blow things and stand no chance of staying here while they're away. He hurriedly put the last bits of crockery back into the cupboard, put the cloth and cleaner away and headed upstairs to the relative safety of his room.

As he opened the door, he heard a scratching noise in the corner. Hedwig had returned and was sitting in her cage. As soon as she saw Harry, she flew over and settled on his forearm, nibbling his thumb affectionately.

"Hello, Hedwig, did you have a nice time at The Burrow?" he asked. Hedwig hadn't been at Privet Drive much over the summer so far. As Uncle Vernon hated Hedwig's nocturnal habits so much, Harry had thought it best to send her out as much as possible, even though he missed her company. After sending her on a few errands, delivering letters to Hermione and Sirius, he'd sent her off to the Weasleys' house for an extended visit, with a letter asking Ron to look after her and feed her for a couple of weeks. It was definitely better than being locked in a cage here, which is what would have happened if she'd stayed.

Then Harry noticed that she had a letter tied to her leg. He untied it and opened it. It was from Ron:

Dear Harry,

Hedwig was getting a bit too restless here ~ Pig was annoying her too much and they'd started scrapping. No offence or anything, but I'd like to keep my owl in one piece. Anyway I think she was missing you. Hope you're surviving OK there. Do you need Mum to send you any food?

Hermione's coming to stay for the last couple of weeks of the hols as usual. Mum's going to owl Dumbledore to see if it's OK for you to come and stay with us as well.

Take care,

Ron

Harry smiled. It was always nice to get post from his friends, especially from Ron. He was so steady, so dependable. Harry hoped Dumbledore would let him stay at The Burrow for the last two weeks in August. It had almost become a tradition. Then the idea struck him: if Aunt Petunia wasn't going to let him stay at Privet Drive, then maybe she'd agree to let him go to the Weasleys'. But how to broach the subject in a way that would guarantee success... Harry hurriedly grabbed a scrap of parchment and a quill and wrote:

Dear Ron,

Thanks for looking after Hedwig and hope Pig has recovered!

I need a favour. Could you ask your mum if it would be possible for me to stay at your place from Tuesday until Saturday? The Dursleys are going away and they don't want to leave me here by myself. Not sure they'd approve of me coming to yours either, but it might be worth a try.

I need a quick answer, so please could you send Hedwig straight back?

Thanks,

Harry

Harry folded up the parchment and tied it to Hedwig's leg. He checked the bedroom door was shut, then reached under the loose floorboard and pulled out the remains of a box of owl treats he'd bought on the last Hogsmeade visit.

"Sorry to send you out again so soon, Hedwig, but I need you to take this letter straight back to Ron as fast as you can and bring his reply," he said, as the owl gratefully took some treats from his hand. Hedwig finished the owl treats, stretched her wings and soared back out of the open window.

*

After lunch, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went out to do a spot of Saturday afternoon shopping, leaving Harry with strict instructions to have the lawn mown before they got back. Dudley stayed upstairs in his room with his computer, still trying to master rudimentary Italian. Harry set to work on the lawn, making sure that he mowed it in even, straight rows, the way Uncle Vernon liked it.

He was on the second time through (Uncle Vernon insisted that the lawn should be cut three times to ensure not a single blade got missed) when Dudley emerged from the kitchen onto the patio. After idly pushing a stone around with his foot for a minute or two, he walked to the edge of the lawn and watched Harry working.

Oh no, not again, thought Harry, as he reached the far end of the lawn and turned round ready for the next row. Why on earth is he doing this? Harry managed to ignore him for a couple more rows. But then as he emptied the grass cuttings from the mower onto the compost heap, he heard Dudley walking across the lawn. He waited with his back still turned, expecting Dudley to say something or push him or even hit him. But no, Dudley stopped a few feet behind Harry and just stood there. This was just too much. Unable to contain himself any longer, he dropped the grass box, wheeled round sharply, his fists clenched, and yelled, "WHAT?!"

Dudley looked quite taken aback by Harry's sudden outburst and just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Harry yelled again, his eyes narrowed in anger. Dudley paused for a second, then stammered, "C-c-can I t-talk to y-you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Dudley wanted to talk to him? This was getting weirder by the minute. "Why on earth do you want to talk to me? You never have before. And why are you watching me all the time?" Harry asked sharply, his anger subsiding, but still very much on his guard.

"Well, Rosie said I need to understand other people better in order to improve myself. She says my problems stem from being too inward-looking and wrapped up in myself and that I need to get to know types of people I wouldn't normally speak to or have anything to do with," Dudley blurted out, his face and neck reddening.

"Who's Rosie?" asked Harry, the corners of his mouth turning up into a mischievous grin. "Dudley, have you got yourself a girlfriend?"

"No, Rosie's not my girlfriend, she's the school nurse," said Dudley, going even redder. Then he added, "But her daughter's kind of alright."

There was a moment's silence, and then Harry said slowly, "So, I'm your summer project in 'unusual people types', am I? You won't get very far by staring me out all the time, you know."

"Well, I've been watching how you spend your time and wondering what you're thinking. I've never really paid that much attention before. Sorry if it freaked you out. You get a pretty rough deal here, don't you?"

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. Dudley had actually apologised to him, something he'd never ever done before. "I don't think your mum and dad would agree with that, somehow," Harry replied wryly. "Look, I'm going to have to finish this lawn, or your dad'll go mad at me."

"Oh, yeah, sure, carry on. Here, let me get that for you." Dudley bent down, picked up the grass box and fitted it back to the mower.

"Er, thanks," said Harry awkwardly, starting to wonder if he was going to wake up soon and find this was all some sort of strange dream.

"Do you mind if I sit over here while you finish up?" Dudley asked, wandering over to one of the patio chairs.

"No, that's OK," Harry replied, as he started mowing the lawn again.

"So, do you have any friends at that school of yours?" Dudley called over, as Harry started cutting the lawn for the third and final time.

"Yes, of course I do," Harry called back, puffing as he pushed the lawnmower along.

"Oh yes, that red-headed bunch that picked you up last summer. Lots of them, aren't there?" commented Dudley.

Harry just couldn't resist asking: "So how was that toffee? Did it take your tongue long to get back to normal?"

Dudley visibly winced. "That really scared me, you know. Thought I was going to die. But that man, their dad, seemed to know what he was doing - once Dad let him get near me, that is. Only took a couple of seconds to shrink again after that. Suppose I deserved it really."

Harry stared at this philosophical version of Dudley in disbelief. Could he really have changed as much as he seemed to have done? "Fred and George are great practical jokers - they're looking to open a joke shop when they leave school. They were looking for someone to practice on," said Harry by way of explanation. "And the effects are always temporary." Dudley looked uncomfortable, so Harry decided to change the subject. "So what this Nurse Rosie's daughter like?"

"Nurse Brown?" said Dudley, starting to blush again. "Oh, I met her daughter - her name's Lavender - just before Easter. She goes to a boarding school up north somewhere, and her term finished a week before ours did, so her mum brought her to work with her. She's really pretty, and, I don't know, different to the girls around here. She actually had time for me."

Just then, they heard the sound of the Dursley's car turning into the front drive. Dudley sprang up as if he'd sat on something sharp. "Don't tell Mum and Dad about this, will you Potter?" he said brusquely as he hurried back inside.

Harry looked after him for a moment, then set to work again. A minute or two later, Uncle Vernon appeared at the back door. "Haven't you finished yet, boy? Hurry up or you won't get any tea. Have you seen Dudley?"

"I think he's upstairs, sir," Harry replied.

Dudley, mused Harry, as Uncle Vernon disappeared from view again. Had he really changed? And this Nurse Brown and her daughter, Lavender...Lavender Brown. No, that had to be pure coincidence. There must be lots of girls called Lavender Brown around.

*

As Harry lay in bed the following morning after another broken night's sleep, not really awake or asleep, something heavy landed on the bed beside him, causing him to jump. Hedwig had returned and dropped a package onto the bed. With a tired squawk, she retired to her cage, eating the scraps of bacon Harry had managed to put there the previous night, then settling on her perch with her head under her wing.

"That was quick, Hedwig, you must be really tired," mumbled Harry, as he reached for his glasses and opened the package. Inside was one of Mrs Weasley's rich fruitcakes and a short note from Ron:

Harry,

Mum sent this cake just in case you needed it.

About this week, we're really sorry, but we're off visiting Dad's sister and her kids in Wales from tomorrow until Wednesday, so we can't have you to stay here. Mum said she would have cancelled it for you if there'd been more notice. I'm really sorry. Hope you don't have to stay anywhere too dire. Couldn't be a lot worse than where you are, could it?

We're back on Thursday, so let me know then how it's going.

Ron

Harry's heart sank. He couldn't go to The Burrow. At least he didn't have to think of a way to get Uncle Vernon to agree to him going any more. Maybe he'd manage to stay at Privet Drive after all.

Later that day, Aunt Petunia walked into the lounge, a triumphant look in her eye. "I've finally sorted it out," she said to Uncle Vernon, who was reading the Sunday paper, "Harry can stay with Mrs Figg while we're away."

"Didn't you try her before?" asked Uncle Vernon, looking up briefly.

"I did, but she's been away, visiting some distant relative. She only got back yesterday. But she says she's more than happy to take Harry in until Saturday. It's all settled."

"What about Hedwig?" asked Harry hesitantly. "Can I take her with me?"

"Is that ruddy owl back?" scowled Uncle Vernon. "Well, it's certainly not staying here without you. Petunia?"

"I did mention the pet owl to her," Aunt Petunia replied. "You know what an animal lover she is, all those cats of hers. Said she used to have an owl herself in her younger days. She seemed quite happy for Harry to take the creature with him."

So that was it. He wasn't going to stay at Privet Drive. Harry hadn't actually been to Mrs Figg's house since he'd started at Hogwarts. The last time had been shortly before he had found out he was a wizard, when Dudley had been buying his Smeltings uniform. And although he'd often been left there when Dudley had been taken out for birthday treats, Harry had never had to stay overnight before.

A sense of gloom descended on Harry as he remembered how he'd always disliked going to Mrs Figg's house. Her house smelt of cabbage and she had a large number of cats. She had insisted on every visit that Harry look through her album of photographs that showed pictures of every cat she'd ever owned or looked after. Harry could just imagine what it would be like to stay there: no proper food and cat hairs on all his clothes, for a whole five days.

Aunt Petunia seemed to take satisfaction from the despondent look on Harry's face. "Thought we'd let you stay here, didn't you boy? Never mind, I'm sure you'll survive well enough at Mrs Figg's. You'd better go and pack your things."

Suppose it could be worse, thought Harry, as he went upstairs to his room. But he also had a strange feeling that there was something he'd forgotten, something that was gnawing away at the back of his mind.

*

Tuesday morning arrived all too soon. It was a grey, rainy day, which did nothing to help lift Harry's spirits. The rain meant that he'd be cooped up inside Mrs Figg's smelly house with no means of escape, and the cats would probably all be inside too.

The car taking the Dursleys to the airport was due to arrive at half-past-ten, and Aunt Petunia had told Harry she would walk him round to Mrs Figg's before this. Harry checked his bag one more time. He'd managed to smuggle a few items from under the loose board in his room into his bag after Aunt Petunia had checked what he had packed, including Mrs Weasley's fruitcake. He still had that feeling that he'd forgotten something, even though he'd checked everything several times. Now he knew how Neville felt looking at a bright red Remembrall.

"Come on, Hedwig, in you get," he said, coaxing the snowy owl back into her cage and shutting the door. "I promise I won't drop you on the way round. Hope you like cats."

Harry carefully carried Hedwig's cage and his bag down the stairs, to where Aunt Petunia stood waiting with her coat and shoes already on. All the Dursleys' suitcases were in the hall. It was amazing how three people could generate so much luggage for a five-day trip. It looked more like they were going for a month. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were sitting at the kitchen table finishing breakfast.

"Come on then," she said sharply, opening the front door. Then she paused and called back, "Dudley, do make sure you finish your breakfast, won't you dear? You'll need your strength for the journey."

Harry followed his aunt out into the pouring rain. Mrs Figg only lived two streets away, so it would only take a few minutes to get there. Aunt Petunia walked silently ahead of Harry, sheltered under her umbrella, while Harry struggled along behind her, his bag in one hand and an increasingly soggy-looking Hedwig in her cage in the other.

Eventually they reached Mrs Figg's house, a run-down semi-detached house with an overgrown garden, and Aunt Petunia knocked on the door. Mrs Figg opened the door. She was a small, wizened old woman, her grey hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a tweed skirt and a bottle-green cardigan, with a faded grey apron over the top, and a couple of cats weaved in and out around her legs. "Hello my dears," she said, smiling at them over the top of her little rectangular glasses. "You'd better come inside out of the rain."

Aunt Petunia stepped to one side to let Harry and Hedwig past her. "Thank you so much for looking after Harry for us, Mrs Figg, we really appreciate it. But I must rush straight back - I still have a bit of packing to do. Is there anything we could bring back from Italy for you?"

"Well, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth, Petunia dear," Mrs Figg replied, "so some of those lovely sweets they make would go down very well, if you don't mind. As long as they aren't toffees..."

While Aunt Petunia and Mrs Figg were discussing sweets and making their farewells, Harry dropped his bag in the hall and carried Hedwig's cage into the lounge. It was a fairly dark room with heavy net curtains, a highly patterned Paisley carpet and an imposing marble fireplace. There were a couple more cats curled up on the old sofa. As usual, the smell of overcooked cabbage hung in the air. Harry put the cage down on a small table at the far side of the room, near the window to the back garden. He heard the front door close, and Mrs Figg came into the room.

"You're a bit wet, aren't you Harry? Perhaps a nice cup of tea to warm you through?" she said, looking him up and down through her glasses.

"Yes please, Mrs Figg," Harry replied politely.

She disappeared into the little kitchen and came back five minutes later with a large mug of strong tea and a plate of biscuits. "Ginger nuts," she said, as she put them down on the coffee table. For some strange reason Harry's thoughts wandered to Ron and his family. Would his cousins all be redheads too, he wondered.

Harry sat down in a cat hair-covered armchair and gratefully took the mug of tea. It was really warming after the rain and wind outside. Then a small white cat clambered over the arm of the chair and settled on Harry's lap.

"Ah, I see you've found my latest addition," said Mrs Figg, settling herself at one end of the sofa. "His name's Albus - I named him after a dear old friend of mine."

It was as if a firework had gone off inside Harry's head. That nagging feeling of having forgotten something, which had been bothering him since Sunday, suddenly blazed to the front of his mind, and then a hazy memory of the hospital wing at Hogwarts came into focus. He heard, like an echo in the distance, the sound of Professor Dumbledore's voice: "Sirius...You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd."

Harry stared at Mrs Figg, aware that his mouth had dropped open. Realising how rude this must have looked, he pulled himself together, then asked tentatively, "Mrs Figg, is your first name Arabella?"

Arabella Figg smiled and nodded slowly, a gleam in her eye that hadn't been there before. "I wondered how long it would take you."