Harry Potter and the Missing Memories

Chapter 5

Going Home

The last full day at Arabella Figg's contained no more surprises, just more pleasant companionship, food and gardening. By lunchtime on Saturday the small front garden looked quite respectable, and Harry had even had time to cut half of the grass in the back garden, which pleased Arabella no end.

But it was with a heavy heart that Harry sat at the table on the patio that day, having lunch with Arabella. Aunt Petunia was due to collect Harry sometime after three-o'-clock that afternoon, and he was not looking forward to it in the least. A last meal for the condemned, he thought to himself grimly, picking at the salad with his fork, but not eating it. Arabella watched him thoughtfully.

Finally she broke the silence. "Have you enjoyed your stay here, Harry?"

Harry managed a weak smile as he glanced up at her. "Yes, of course I have. You've been really, really kind, and I've had the best birthday ever. It's just...it's just..."

"It's just that you don't want to go back to Petunia and Vernon's," she finished the sentence for him. "I don't blame you really, Harry. They're not exactly the most tolerant people in the world. But they are your only living relatives. And no matter what you may think of them, it is better that you've lived with them and know them for what they are, than have never known them at all."

This annoyed Harry. He wanted to protest that he would rather have lived in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, that he would rather have never known them at all, but Arabella continued.

"And, as I've mentioned before, some of the protection Albus has placed around you all these years only works while you are in the care of blood relatives. I'm afraid you do have to go back. It's quite simply the safest place for you, especially as we have no idea at the moment what Lord Voldemort's plans are."

There was an awkward silence for a minute, during which Harry sulkily stabbed a sausage roll and Arabella gazed down into her teacup. Then she added, quite slowly and deliberately, "We have received news of increasing Death Eater activity, even if we don't know where Voldemort himself is at the moment. It's for that reason - and I know you're not going to like this, Harry - but I'm afraid you cannot go to The Burrow at all this summer. It's just too risky."

He couldn't go to The Burrow? Four weeks left at the Dursleys, not just two? Harry felt like his last lifeline had just been severed. He pushed his plate away from him, scowling, got up and stalked indoors and upstairs to his room.

His partially packed bag lay open on the bed, with a few clothes and other items scattered around it. Harry folded some of the clothes into the bag, carefully stowing the books that he'd smuggled in from the Dursleys between the layers so they wouldn't be immediately visible to Aunt Petunia's sharp eyes. Then he picked up the quaffle and gloves that Ron had given him for his birthday. He slipped the gloves on and tossed the ball lightly from one hand to the other. He smiled as the memory of his party just a couple of days before flitted across his mind. But the pleasant memory was quickly replaced by pangs of guilt. Arabella had shown him nothing but kindness over the last five days, and she had really gone to a great deal of trouble to organise his birthday party for him, especially the complicated travel arrangements for Ron and Hermione. And now he had repaid her by taking out his bad mood on her, by sulking and storming off, when it wasn't her fault at all. Harry sighed, tossed the quaffle and gloves into the bag and headed back downstairs to apologise.

But as Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard voices. Arabella was talking to someone in the lounge. Surely the Dursleys couldn't be here already? Instead of walking straight into the lounge, Harry quietly approached the door, which was ajar, and listened intently, tuning in to the conversation that was taking place. He also pressed one eye as close as possible to the crack in the door to try and see who was there. What he saw, however, was not Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. Arabella was kneeling down beside the fireplace, and in the grate was the head of Albus Dumbledore. Harry had seen wizards do this a couple of times before, but it still never ceased to amaze him.

"...and he's just stormed off upstairs. I'm afraid he's taken the news quite badly, Albus," said Arabella with a sigh. "Is there no way we can review security at The Burrow to allow Harry to go?"

The head of Albus Dumbledore shook. "No, Bella, the inconvenience for Arthur and Molly would be considerable. And even if we did, I'm not sure it would be wise after last week's attack on Elisha Mossop in Epsom. He's recovering well enough at St Mungo's, but it does prove the Death Eaters are getting more and more active, particularly in your area. Even Cornelius couldn't muzzle The Daily Prophet on that occasion. It wouldn't surprise me if you had an attempt or two on Harry to deal with before the month is through. It is vital that he is kept safe."

"He understands so little of his history and his importance. When are you going to tell him, Albus? Surely it isn't fair to keep the boy in the dark when so much depends on him?"

"Little by little, Bella my dear," Dumbledore replied. "He knows some parts already, and you have added a few more pieces of the picture over the last few days. He needs to digest those before he will be ready for more. He will know soon enough, I promise you."

"Alright Albus, it's in your capable hands as ever. But as he has to stay at Petunia and Vernon's, isn't there something we can do to improve conditions for him? Things really have been quite intolerable. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he's turned out as well as he has."

Dumbledore chuckled slightly and smiled at her. "You really are the most kind-hearted woman I know, Bella. But in my humble opinion, it is, at least in part, the School of Hard Knocks that has made him the extraordinary person he is."

Arabella tutted and shook her head, so Dumbledore added, a twinkle in his eye, "However, I'm sure a woman with your ingenious mind can think of a few ways to lessen his discomfort without compromising security. I'm afraid I must dash now, but I'll contact you later to let you know when the Order is meeting next. Do take care, Bella."

"I will, Albus, I will." With these words, Arabella leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then there was a faint pop and Dumbledore had gone.

As Arabella got back to her feet, Harry realised he had better move before she found out that he'd been eavesdropping. He quickly and quietly retraced his steps up the stairs, then turned and walked down again as loudly as he could. This time he walked straight into the lounge, where Arabella was now sitting in an armchair, deep in thought.

"I - I'm sorry, Arabella," he said, avoiding her eyes as she looked up, "I shouldn't have sulked or run off like that. I know it's not your fault that I live with the Dursleys or that I can't go to The Burrow. I was just really disappointed. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Sorry."

Arabella paused for a second, frowning slightly, then said, "That's alright, Harry. I understand it's hard on you. I've been thinking, and I may be able to sort out a couple of ways of getting you out of the house a bit more while you're at Privet Drive, but I can't promise anything."

A smile broke out on Harry's face. "That would be excellent!" he said.

"You'll have to leave it with me, and I'll see what I can do," Arabella continued. "But I must warn you, it might not be your ideal choice of things to do. I'll let you know as soon as I can. Now, back to the matter in hand. Petunia will be here in little over an hour to collect you, so you need to ensure that all your things are packed, and that your birthday presents are well concealed. Also, you need to start calling me 'Mrs Figg' again, just for appearances. It would also help if you could look like you've looked all morning when Petunia gets here - like you've had the worst time in the world."

Harry grinned sheepishly. Had he really looked that bad? "Yes, Ar - Mrs Figg," he replied.

"Good boy," she said, smiling back. "Oh, and when you get back, send a letter to Molly Weasley asking her to get your books and school supplies from Diagon Alley for you and authorising her to take the money for it from your vault. That's something else you won't be able to do this summer."

*

One hour later, Harry sat on the bed in his Gryffindor-coloured room, his bags packed, Hedwig in her cage on the floor, ready to go. He was sifting through the conversation he'd overheard, wondering what it was that Albus Dumbledore was putting off telling him, when the doorbell rang. Harry crept out onto the landing and listened as Arabella Figg answered the door. Arabella invited Aunt Petunia in.

"Hello, Petunia dear. Did you all have a good time in Italy?" she asked, as Aunt Petunia stepped inside.

"We did, thank you Mrs Figg, most successful," Aunt Petunia replied. "And we brought this back for you as a token of our appreciation for looking after Harry."

She handed over a large ornate jar of sweets with a big red ribbon and rosette round it.

"Thank you, Petunia, that's very nice of you. Harry's been no trouble at all."

"Really?" Aunt Petunia looked at her doubtfully.

"Yes, and as you saw on your way in, he's done a marvellous job on the front garden while he's been here. He started on the back too, but didn't have time to finish it. Pity really," she added, looking absent-mindedly down at a cat that was rubbing against her leg. "I do find it difficult to keep abreast of the gardening these days. It's my knees, you know, they're not as strong as they used to be."

"Well - maybe -," Harry could almost see the thoughts ticking over in Aunt Petunia's brain from his vantage point on the landing, "I suppose as Harry has started doing the back garden, he ought to finish the job. Perhaps he could come round one afternoon this coming week to finish it off?"

"Oh, that's very kind of you, Petunia. If you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble. Shall we say Wednesday afternoon?"

*

So for the rest of the summer Harry spent every Wednesday afternoon at Arabella Figg's house, doing the gardening. Arabella made sure that Aunt Petunia could always see enough work left to do the following week to ensure the visits continued. These times were the highlight of Harry's week, especially as Arabella laid on lots of food for him to supplement his meagre diet at the Dursleys'. He had hoped to be able to glean some more information or news from the wizarding world from her during these visits too, but none was forthcoming.

Arabella also managed to persuade Aunt Petunia to volunteer Harry to help at the Over-50's coffee morning each Saturday at the village hall. Harry wasn't that enamoured with the prospect of setting out and clearing away tables and chairs and of serving endless cups of tea and coffee each week to groups of little old biddies who talked of nothing but the weather and the local gossip, but as Arabella was quick to point out to him, at least it was a Dursley-free zone.

The combination of his gardening chores at Arabella's and the coffee mornings did give Harry more chances to escape the scrutiny of the Dursleys than he had ever had before, and for this he was grateful. He also found that just knowing of Arabella's existence meant that he didn't feel so isolated any more.

These improvements aside, life at number four Privet Drive remained largely unchanged. The business deal with the Italian clients had been successfully signed off, and this meant that Uncle Vernon was especially busy at work, often working late into the evenings. Aunt Petunia took great delight in mentioning the international business connections to the neighbours at every opportunity.

Dudley, however, seemed to be wavering between his old bullying self and his newfound desire to broaden his social awareness. Once or twice just after they'd returned from Italy, Dudley fell back into his old habits and thumped Harry when he didn't get out of the way quick enough. Harry noted that this seemed to meet with Aunt Petunia's tacit approval and suspected that she had been working on him to counter the effects of the school nurse's counselling sessions. Yet at other times, he said thank you when Harry passed things to him and passed the time of day with him when his parents weren't around. Harry was conscious of the advice Sirius had given him on his birthday and tried to make sure he didn't give much away to Dudley, just in case.

Once or twice when Harry picked up the post from the doormat in the mornings, there would be a lilac-coloured envelope for Dudley, which Dudley would promptly pocket and disappear upstairs with. Perhaps he was getting letters from Nurse Brown over the holidays, thought Harry, or maybe even from the daughter. Whoever they were from, Dudley was certainly making sure his mother didn't see them.

One Tuesday morning, towards the end of August, Aunt Petunia went shopping to a nearby hypermarket, leaving Harry at home cleaning the silver cutlery. She only made these trips once every two to three weeks, and they were always lengthy affairs that took several hours. Not that Harry minded this, as it meant he had a few more hours' respite where she wouldn't be watching his every move.

As Harry finished polishing the knives and started on the forks - always the worst bit in his opinion - Dudley came down the stairs, dressed in his smartest clothes, his hair neatly sleeked into place with ample quantities of hair gel. Harry could smell the aftershave even before Dudley reached the kitchen door.

"Has Mum gone out yet?" Dudley asked, standing in the doorway.

"Yeah," Harry replied, looking Dudley up and down. "So what's with the clothes? Got yourself a hot date or something?"

Harry realised he'd hit the jackpot when Dudley immediately went bright red.

"Who's the lucky girl, then?" he enquired further, trying to suppress a smile, and thinking that 'lucky' wasn't exactly the right word for her. 'Deluded' probably would have fitted better.

Dudley looked flustered and seemed undecided at first whether to tell him or not. Eventually he said, "You've got to promise not to say anything to Mum and Dad, and you've got to stay out of the way while she's here."

"I will if you tell me who she is," Harry replied calmly, holding his cousin's gaze.

"Oh, alright then," Dudley said, scowling at him. "It's Lavender - Lavender Brown, you know, the school nurse's daughter. We've been writing to each other for a couple of months now, and she's coming round to see me at half-past-ten. Wanted to see where I live for some reason. Now, you will keep out of the way, won't you? And if you let it slip to Mum and Dad, I'll...I'll kill you with my bare hands."

From the look on his face, Harry didn't doubt for a second that he meant it. He nodded in reply. Harry was quite interested in finding out what this Lavender was like, to see what sort of girl would actually go for Dudley, so he wasn't likely to do or say anything that would jeopardise his only opportunity to catch a glimpse of her.

Half past ten came and went. Dudley paced nervously up and down the hall, hands clasped behind his back, and in and out of the lounge, peering out of the window every minute or two. Eleven-o'-clock arrived, but still no sign of Lavender Brown. By now, Dudley was looking extremely tense, his face purpling just like Uncle Vernon's. When Harry made the mistake of asking if he was sure she was really coming, he kicked a shoe forcefully at him down the hall. Finally, Dudley slumped down on the sofa, his face as black as thunder, reached for his Gameboy and started blasting armies of aliens into oblivion.

Then the telephone rang. Dudley sprang to his feet, pushed roughly past Harry and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?... Oh, hi Lavender. Aren't you coming over? I've been wai... Oh, oh, I see... Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you're feeling better soon. D'you think you'll get a chance to see me before you go back to school?... That's a shame. I'll send you a card...OK, take care. 'Bye."

Harry watched as Dudley's face, which had lit up with excitement at the start of the conversation, slowly fell into despondency.

"So she isn't coming then?" Harry asked, as Dudley replaced the receiver.

"No, she had an accident on her way here - broke her ankle. She was ringing from the hospital to let me know. Probably won't get another chance to see her before Christmas now."

"What school did you say she went to?" asked Harry, who by now had a niggling feeling that he was overlooking something obvious.

"Don't know the name of it. Just that it's a specialist boarding school in Scotland." Dudley replied with a frown. "I'll have to ask her for the address in my next letter."

With that, Dudley headed upstairs to his room, presumably to change back into his customary jogging bottoms and T-shirt before Aunt Petunia arrived home.

Harry, meanwhile, sat thoughtfully in the kitchen fitting together the pieces of the puzzle in his mind. A girl called Lavender Brown - goes to a specialist boarding school in Scotland - quite pretty, Dudley had said - got hurt trying to visit him. Harry shook his head in disbelief at the unlikely idea that popped into it. This girl couldn't possibly be Lavender Brown from Hogwarts, could she? The Lavender Brown in Gryffindor? All the evidence pointed towards it. After all, Brown might be a common name, but Lavender certainly wasn't. And now that he thought about it, Lavender was fairly pretty, and she did indeed go to a boarding school in the north. To top it all, there was no way that Lavender Brown from Hogwarts would be able to visit Dudley, because of Arabella Figg's protections around Harry. And she certainly hadn't been in the list of authorised people Arabella had told him about. It all made sense - she'd bounced off the Clauderweb and broken her ankle!

But what didn't make sense to Harry was why the Lavender Brown he knew would be at all interested in Dudley. This was why he'd discounted the idea when Dudley had first mentioned her: He just wasn't her type at all. The Lavender Brown he knew was very style-conscious, fond of make-up and jewellery, very concerned with looks and physique. He couldn't picture her even passing the time of day with someone like Dudley, let alone getting romantically involved. The very thought of it made Harry wince.

But none of this could be proved one way or the other, not just yet. Harry realised how little he actually knew about Lavender Brown, despite being at school and in the same house as her for four years. Truth be told, Harry couldn't even remember if she was Muggle-born or not. He would just have to bide his time, wait until he was back at Hogwarts and try to find out then.

*

The summer holidays were now almost over. Harry had sent a letter to Mrs Weasley with Hedwig almost as soon as he'd returned to Privet Drive from Arabella Figg's to ask if she would mind getting his school supplies and some spending money for him from Diagon Alley. She had written back saying that she was more than happy to do so. She knew exactly which books to get him from Flourish and Blotts anyway, because he took all the same subjects as Ron.

Apart from the message from Mrs Weasley, Harry hadn't had much owl post that last month at Privet Drive. He'd had the usual school letter containing the book list for coming year. He'd also had a short note from Hermione saying thank you for inviting her to his birthday party - not that he'd had anything to do with that at all - and letting him know that she was going on holiday for a couple of weeks and wouldn't be able to write. Sirius hadn't written to him at all, and Harry was starting to worry about where he was and whether he was safe or not. Now that he knew Sirius could get inside the Clauderweb, Harry had even been looking out for the familiar shape of the black dog on the street outside, but there had been no sign of him. Ron had been pretty quiet too and had only sent one cryptic note with Pigwidgeon about ten days before the end of August, which read:

Dear Harry,

Sorry I haven't written sooner - been really busy. Have some news to tell you, but you'll have to wait until I see you at Kings Cross on 1^st September.

Ron

Harry frowned. No news directly from Ron since his party and now this - effectively still no news. Or at least a tantalising hint of some news. Harry wondered what it was that Ron couldn't tell him by letter and suddenly felt impatient to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters to see his friends again.

This was the only thing Harry still had to arrange for the start of a new year at Hogwarts: how to get to Kings Cross station. For the last three years, Harry had always been with the Weasley family when they went to catch the Hogwarts Express, so transport hadn't been an issue for him. And in his first year, Uncle Vernon had agreed to take him, but that had been mainly because he wanted to see Harry make a fool of himself trying to find the platform. Harry didn't particularly want to ask him again if he could help it.

So on the last Wednesday in August, on his final gardening visit to Arabella's house, he asked Arabella for her advice on the matter.

"Hmm," she said, stroking her chin with her hand and frowning slightly. "Let's go through the options one at a time and see what we come up with, shall we? Going by yourself on public transport is out of the question, I'm afraid. Much too risky in the current climate, because you wouldn't be under Petunia and Vernon's protection. The same applies to the Knight Bus. And of course I can't take you because it would draw too much attention to me. Well, if you really don't want Vernon to take you himself, perhaps you could persuade him to order a taxi for you. That way it would be something he has sanctioned and you would still be protected. But that's really all I can suggest."

"Hmph, he's hardly likely to do that, is he?" Harry replied darkly. "Look, is all this protection really necessary? It'd only take an hour or so to get to Kings Cross from here. What could happen in that short a time? I mean, I know you've said the Death Eaters are more active than usual, but that doesn't mean they're hanging round the edge of the web twenty-four hours a day waiting for me to put a foot wrong, does it?"

"Don't you be so sure," said Arabella, equally as darkly. "Voldemort suffered a severe disappointment when you escaped him last time, and that makes you a trophy for any Death Eater trying to make a good impression on his or her master."

Put like that, Harry could see the logic, though he did feel there was at least a bit of overkill in the methodology. But as so much effort had been put into his protection, Harry didn't think he should throw it back in their faces. Uncle Vernon it had to be.

*

Over the next couple of days, Harry looked for opportunities to talk to Uncle Vernon about getting a lift to Kings Cross station, but none presented themselves. His resolve was strengthened, however, by something that happened on Saturday morning.

It was Harry's last time to help out at the Over-50's coffee morning. He had arrived on time and set everything out as usual. Just over halfway through the morning, when he got a break from serving coffee, he looked around and realised that Arabella, who usually sat in the far corner with Mrs Buttle and Mrs Pearson, was not there. Very curious, thought Harry, especially as her parting greeting that Wednesday had been 'see you on Saturday'. So under the guise of collecting used cups for washing up, he made his way slowly to the back of the hall, where Mrs Buttle and Mrs Pearson were lamenting the state of the world.

"...terrible thing to happen, Vi, and so near to home too," Mrs Pearson was saying as Harry came within earshot. "Things like that didn't go on when we were young."

"Too true, Ethel, too true," Mrs Buttle replied, shaking her head.

"Good morning, ladies," said Harry, approaching the table with a bright airiness that belied the concern he was feeling, "have you finished with your cups yet?"

"Oh, hello young Harry. Yes, this one's empty, thank you dear," said Mrs Pearson, pushing the empty cup towards him.

"Isn't Mrs Figg with you today?" he enquired further, as he put the cup and saucer onto the tray.

Mrs Buttle and Mrs Pearson's eyes widened. "Ooh, haven't you heard, dear? We were just discussing it"

"Heard what?"

"Mrs Figg was attacked late last night - mugged. Mr Taylor found her on Magnolia Crescent about midnight while he was walking his dog. He says she was unconscious when he found her - must have taken a knock to the head or something. Battered and bruised she was too. Terrible thing to happen, terrible," Mrs Buttle said, shaking her head yet again.

"Did they catch whoever did it?" asked Harry, his heart now racing much faster.

"No dear, they didn't," Mrs Pearson continued. "The police searched the whole area of course, but the perpetrators had simply vanished. She's in hospital now, and we'll go over to see her this afternoon. It just isn't safe to go out alone these days. Now when I was a little girl, you could play out on the street at any time of day or night without a care in the world..."

Harry cut across her. "Well, when you go to see Mrs Figg, please would you pass on my regards and say I hope she recovers quickly?"

"Of course we will, dear, of course we will."

With that, Harry took his leave quickly, dropped off the dirty crockery in the kitchen and headed for the toilets. He shut himself in one of the cubicles and sat there, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself down. Arabella had been attacked. Was it a genuine mugging or something far more sinister? He somehow couldn't imagine her falling victim to a 'normal' mugger; she was far too resourceful for that. And what had she been doing out so late anyway? Had she been protecting Harry from attack by wizards and witches unknown, as he now suspected? It was this that upset him the most: that this gentle woman who had showed him so much kindness this summer would willingly risk her life to protect him - as his parents had done all those years ago. I'm not worth it, he thought angrily, how can I be?

But one thing was sure: he needed to heed Arabella's advice and somehow get Uncle Vernon to take him to Kings Cross that Monday. Harry finally broached the subject after lunch on Sunday. Dudley and Aunt Petunia were somewhere upstairs, and Uncle Vernon was in the lounge reading the Sunday papers.

"Uncle Vernon?" he asked hesitantly.

Uncle Vernon's eyes only did the briefest of flickers up from the newspaper. Harry stood near the door, waiting for a response. "Well, what is it, boy?" Uncle Vernon eventually replied, without looking up.

"I need to get to Kings Cross station tomorrow morning to get the train back to...er...to school."

"So?" Harry could see his uncle's ears start to purple at the very thought of Harry's school.

"And I was wondering if you could possibly give me a lift."

The newspaper snapped down onto Uncle Vernon's lap sharply, as he looked up at Harry.

"Left it a bit late to ask, haven't you boy?" he blustered. "Didn't think about whether it would be convenient for me, did you? Well, it's out of the question - I've got too much on at work to take time off to drive you into London."

"If you can't take me yourself, perhaps you could order a taxi to take me?" ventured Harry.

"Certainly not! You'll have to make your own way or not go at all!"

Harry could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he turned on his heels and went up to his room, where he spent the rest of the afternoon making sure that he had everything he needed for school packed in the trunk he had liberated from the cupboard under the stairs the previous night. There was no way he was going to stay here. He was going back to Hogwarts somehow, no matter what the risk. At least he'd tried to do things Arabella's way.

*

The following morning, after Uncle Vernon had already left for work, Harry sat in his room, his trunk shut, Hedwig asleep in her cage, wondering what to do. Making his own way to Kings Cross was problematic. Much as he could order a taxi, he had no Muggle money of his own to pay for it. And going by public transport would mean taking two different buses followed by a train journey, all of which he would have to pay for. It would also take too long - he'd probably miss the Hogwarts Express. He'd even considered the Knight Bus, but he wasn't sure if it was possible to hail it during the day. Even if he could, a bright purple triple-decker bus appearing out of nowhere in Magnolia Crescent would be sure to arouse suspicion.

While he was sitting thinking, Dudley emerged from his room, wrapped in a bathrobe that barely met round his ample midriff. He stopped abruptly on seeing Harry surrounded by his school things.

"You going back to school today, Potter?" he asked.

"I'm supposed to be," Harry answered gloomily, "but I've no way of getting to London."

Dudley paused for a few moments, looking thoughtful. Then he said hastily, "Leave it with me" and marched off downstairs. A few seconds later Harry heard raised voices coming from the kitchen. He crept downstairs as quietly as he could to better hear what was going on.

"...so you're going to let him stay here, while I have to go off to boarding school, are you?" Dudley was yelling at his mother. "Perhaps you like him better than me, wanting him to stay around..."

Harry couldn't quite catch what Aunt Petunia was saying in reply, but he could hear the soft, placating tones she was using.

"I want him out of the house now! This very minute!" Dudley continued, in full tantrum mode.

A few moments later Aunt Petunia came scurrying out of the kitchen. Harry watched in amazement as she went straight to the telephone in the lounge and rang for a taxi. Dudley came out of the kitchen too, his face red from the effort of shouting so much.

"You owe me for that, Potter," he murmured, as he pushed past an astounded Harry and headed back upstairs.

*

The taxi arrived ten minutes later, and Harry loaded his things into it, still hardly believing what Dudley had just done for him. He was going to make it to the station on time. And he was travelling under the protection of his relatives, just as Arabella had wanted.

The taxi pulled up outside Kings Cross station at half-past-ten after an uneventful journey. Harry found a trolley and loaded his things onto it. As he walked through the station concourse, he spotted Mrs Weasley's familiar red hair in the distance and smiled to himself. At last he was going home.