Lost in a Memory

A couple of bemused looking shoppers stood together whispering about the strange woman who had just entered the shop. They weren't regulars there, they were just passing through Little Whinging (or getting lost as the wife kept telling her husband, who had turned right instead of left at the main road and they'd entered this labyrinth of a housing estate) when they had decided to stop to buy some sandwiches from a little corner shop.

The strange woman was wearing a purple housecoat which clashed with the flowery skirt that peeped out the bottom. The ensemble was finished with a pair of tartan slippers, a hairnet holding back the woman's grey hair and a string bag hanging at her side. There was a faint whiff of rotten cabbages about her. If the couple standing observing her had to describe her in one word it would definitely be batty.

"Good evening, Mrs Figg. Here for your usual?" The stocky shopkeeper at the counter said, attempting to keep the amusement out of his voice that had started brewing up when he had noticed the reactions of his other patrons. She was certainly unusual, he thought, but after the years he had got used to her and, after all, she was a very good customer, preferring to do all her shopping at his store than take a bus to a big supermarket.

"Good evening, Mr Grant, no milk today just the cans of cat food and tuna please," Arabella Figg replied rather hurriedly.

"Off out somewhere this evening?" Mr Grant enquired, his nosiness aroused by the brisk nature in which she had replied.

"No, no. Just got things to do, you know."

"I'll just add this to your tab then," he said as Arabella hastily stuffed the tins that Mr Grant had placed on the counter into her string shopping bag.

"Thank you, that would be excellent."

Meow, meow. Just as the final tins were being swept into the bag, a cat appeared in the doorway looking as if it were searching for someone. Arabella swiftly glanced over her shoulder.

"Mr Tibbles, what's happened? What are you doing here?" She said this in a practised sing-songy voice that she'd seen Muggles use to talk to their pets. She tried not to sound too anxious.

"He obviously knows that you're buying his supper, cheeky devil," the shopkeeper chuckled. "Well, see you tomorrow." And with that he watched Mrs Figg dash as fast as she could out of the shop.

*

Arabella furtively scanned the street before she ducked behind the wall of a garden. The owners were away, holidaying in South Africa she believed, so there was no one to see her once she'd crouched down as best as her body would let her. The grey tabby was sat neatly in front of her staring up at her intently.

"He's gone hasn't he, Mr Tibbles? That ruddy man has gone off chasing after those ruddy stolen cauldrons, after I specifically told him not too on pain of death!" Arabella angrily whispered.

Merow. The cat seemed to be replying, nodding his head in a feline manner.

"I'd best go find Harry, though how I'm going to keep undercover I do not know. He's used to seeing me about, but not following him! And what use will I be if anything happens? Oh damn and blast!" Arabella quickly rose to her feet, the tins in her bag clanking together and, with an appreciative glance at the cat, she set off at a rather undignified run in the direction of Privet Drive.

She stopped halfway up Privet Drive and while she gasped for breath, her eyes searched the street for signs of the bespectacled boy she was looking for. However, Harry Potter was no where to be seen and he certainly wouldn't be indoors with his hated aunt and uncle when the balmy evening meant he could still be outside. There was nothing for it; she was going to have to search for him. The risk was too high for him to be left alone, even her protection was better than nothing. Of course, she thought, if that good-for-nothing Fudge had a brain the size of his ego we wouldn't be in this situation! So, with a little more breath in her lungs and her heart thumping a little slower in her chest she set off again at full pelt.

*

Suddenly, everything was plunged into pitch blackness; it was like someone had a Put-Outer that in one go removed every light in the neighbourhood, although that was impossible. Muggles would put this down to an electrical fault, a temporary glitch that would soon be repaired.

Arabella knew differently though; she had just swung into Wisteria Walk and despite the fast pumping in her chest she quickened her pace and all at once she felt like she had been thrown into an ice cold lake. Dementors, she thought. A sickening feeling hit her stomach and the nausea forced her to stop and dry wretch. Fragments of things she couldn't understand swirled around in her head.

A taunting giggle. A scream. Her parents. A white room. A gentle hand on her. A man.

In an instant, she realised she recognised that man, but, before she could place him, the next vision occurred and she tried to stumble on along the road.

A black case being levitated into the attic. Hushed talk. A ward room.

Slowly it dawned on her- these were bits she recognised. However, she couldn't stop to reflect on that now, so with the visions circling around in her head she blundered on.

From the mists of her visions, she heard Harry's voice. It was distant but it sounded like it was coming from the alleyway just up ahead, she had no idea what she was going to do but the only thought that was relatively clear in her brain was that she had to get Harry out. However, as she reached the corner of the alleyway, the iciness lifted to be replaced with the close, mugginess that had been around for many days and the street was ablaze with light, the darkness having lifted as instantaneously as it had descended.

It didn't slow her pace though, she practically flew around the corner, her feet bashing loudly against the paving slabs, shopping bag clanking and breathing heavily. She was worried about what she would find, but when she saw Harry, she felt a rush of relief, which quickly evaporated when she saw him hurriedly try to stash his wand.

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

"What?" said Harry blankly. The confused look on his face suddenly brought Arabella back to her senses. Of course, she was breaking cover, doing everything Dumbledore had been trying to avoid and the boy knew nothing of it. Ah well, she thought, this will take some explaining.

"He left!" she said, hoisting her bag further up her arm and wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will kill him!" She was still gasping for breath but now it was partly due to the anger welling up inside her.

"But - you're - you're a witch?" The look on Harry's face would've been priceless under other circumstances but given the current situation Arabella hardly took notice.

"I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely without cover when I warned him -" She thought back to the conversation she'd had with Mundungus back at the house before his watch started. It was just blooming typical of him!

"This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on - it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!"

"Yes, yes, yes, but luckily I'd stationed Mr Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone - and now - oh, what's Dumbledore going to say? You!" She'd just realised that fat lump was still flopped on the alley floor and they needed to get moving. They couldn't leave him here, no matter how much he deserved to be left. Arabella still hadn't forgiven him for knocking her over on his bike when she was on crutches. She'd been checking up on Harry, quite an effort on those contraptions, and that was the thanks she'd got! "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"

"You know Dumbledore?" Harry was staring at her, with a slightly dazed look on his face.

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come on - I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag." She'd been gripped by a sudden sense of fear, whatever the Dementors had caused her to think about it made her insides wobble.

She tugged at one of Dudley's arms, thinking that it reminded her of a huge sausage she had once seen at a Muggle food fair. It had won the prize for the biggest sausage and there had been stiff competition

"Get up, you useless lump, get up!"

It was no good though. He lay there in a heap, trembling like a jelly and as white as a sheet.

"I'll do it." Harry stepped forward and heaved at Dudley's arm. With a good deal of straining Dudley was hoisted to his feet but he was wobbling on the spot as if he was about to faint. Harry let go of him and immediately had to grab him again to stop him falling back down.

"Hurry up!" Arabella called hysterically. She had moved a few steps away from them back towards Wisteria Walk. With some effort, Harry threw one of Dudley's arms around his shoulders and, sagging slightly, dragged him along.

She stopped anxiously at the corner, peering around and surveying the street. No one was about so they entered Wisteria Walk.

"Keep your wand out," she hissed. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery ... this was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of - What's that at the end of the street? Oh, it's just Mr Prentice ... don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"

Harry seemed to be getting slower as Dudley slumped more heavily on him. Arabella also noticed he seemed to be having a hard time balancing with Dudley and keeping his wand poised. There was little she could do however - if she took the wand it would just be as useless as a piece of wood in her hand and yet if she took Dudley she'd end up spread-eagled underneath him. They walked on in silence for a bit, both of their nerves heightened and Harry beginning to get out of breath.

"Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs Figg?" Harry broke the silence. "All those times I came round your house - why didn't you say anything?"

Arabella slowed at this. She'd expected the question and although it was straightforward to answer it still broke her heart the way she'd had to treat him just so that he would be able to keep on coming. The number of times she, amongst others, had pleaded with Dumbledore to take him back into the wizarding world was countless, but underneath they all knew he had good reasons.

"Dumbledore's orders." She answered the question in a tragic tone, wringing her hands again. "I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, Harry, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they'd thought you enjoyed it. It wasn't easy, you know ... but oh my word, when Dumbledore hears about this - how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight - where is he? How am I going to tell Dumbledore what's happened? I can't Apparate."

"I've got an owl, you can borrow her," Harry groaned from somewhere underneath Dudley's bulk.

"Harry, you don't understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they'll know already, you mark my words."

"But I was getting rid of Dementors, I had to use magic - they're going to be more worried about what Dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?"

"Oh my dear, I wish it were so, but I'm afraid -" she was interrupted midflow by a loud crack that made the bird in a nearby tree fly away with shock. "MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Directly in front of them had appeared a short, unshaven man. He reeked of stale smoke and alcohol and wore a tattered overcoat. He peered out of his bloodshot, baggy eyes from beneath his straggly ginger hair and he clutched in his hands an Invisibility Cloak.

"'S'up Figgy?" he hiccoughed and blearily looked amazedly round at the group collected in front of him. "What 'appened to staying undercover?"

"I'll give you undercover!" Arabella cried, feeling uncontrollable anger bubble up within her. "Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!" By this time she looked like she ought to have steam coming out of her ears.

"Dementors?" repeated Mundungus, aghast. It seemed to have brought him slightly out of his drunken stupor. "Dementors, 'ere?"

"Yes, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!" She shrieked in a very high pitched voice. "Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!"

"Blimey," said Mundungus, which Arabella thought was a bit feeble as she watched him gulp. He looked at her, over to Harry and then back at her again before he continued. "Blimey, I -"

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?" She continued to rant.

"I - well, I -" Mundungus spluttered, looking as if he wished the ground would swallow him up. "It - it was a very good business opportunity, see -"

That was the last straw for Arabella, she swung her arm above her head and let it come down around Mundungus' head. It was only when she heard the can smack into his face and neck that she realised it was her right arm and she had forgotten to drop her string bag. Serves him right, she thought angrily. She decided that it made a particularly good object to beat Mundungus about with, no more than he deserved and much better than her hand, so she continued to use it.

"Ouch - gerroff - gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!" Mundungus said while attempting to shield himself from the blows still raining down upon him.

"Yes -" clonk, the bag hit his arm, "they -" bash, the can hit his thigh, "have!" Smack, the bag hit his backside. Arabella was in a total rage now, aiming the bag at every little bit of Mundungus she could reach. "And - it - had - better - be - you - and - you - can - tell - him - why - you - weren't - there - to - help!"

"Keep your 'airnet on!" grumbled Mundungus, who was now backed against the privet hedge of the nearest house, his arms over his head, cowering. "I'm going, I'm going!"

With a quick glance around to check there weren't any prying Muggle eyes, he disappeared with another loud crack.

"I hope Dumbledore murders him!" said Arabella furiously, her whole body still stiff with rage. "Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?" With that she tottered on ahead, her senses so much on full alert that she almost walked past the turning into Privet Drive.

"I'll take you to the door. Just in case there are more of them around ... oh my word, what a catastrophe ... and you had to fight them off yourself ... and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs ... well, it's no good crying over spilt potion, I suppose ... but the cat's among the pixies now."

"So," Harry tried to make himself understandable while gasping for breath, "Dumbledore's ... been having ... me followed?"

"Of course he has," she replied impatiently. "Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent ... right ... get inside and stay there," she ordered. They were now standing outside number four, Harry buckling even more under Dudley's weight so he was almost bent double. "I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."

"What are you going to do?" enquired Harry quickly; able to speak more easily now he had stopped and found that the garden wall was of a suitable height to lean Dudley against.

"I'm going straight home," she responded, staring down the street and shivering despite the warm night. "I'll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Goodnight." With that Arabella quickly turned around and started off down the pavement.

"Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know -" she heard Harry call after her but she had already set a comfortable trot. Her carpet slippers were making a strangely reassuring flopping sound on the ground and her string bag was creating a gentle breeze against her leg as it swung by her side. She couldn't stop now, it was best she got home. Again she heard Harry shout out to her, but she continued resolutely onwards, only pausing to look back when she was sure that she would have been swallowed by the darkness. Naturally, she couldn't see anything but she did hear the click of a door through the darkness and she breathed a sigh of relief knowing that at least Harry had done as she had asked and gone directly inside.

She felt a bit guilty knowing that she had left Harry in such a confused and vulnerable state and that now he would be facing the Dursleys but there was nothing she could do about that. She would have been of no help in confronting the Dursleys; in fact it was more than likely that she would have just complicated matters. She was also not the right person to be answering any of Harry's questions; it was best to leave that to other members of the Order, people he trusted more and that hadn't just sprung on him that they in reality knew a lot more about him than he believed. Also, those people could explain things an awful lot better than she could; they would be in possession of more information and also know what he ought to be told.

By the time this had gone through her head she was almost at her front door. She was glad that she had had things to think about otherwise she was sure that every little noise would have made her jump a mile.

She walked up to her front door and three cats appeared, rubbing themselves around her legs and purring deeply. She slotted her key in the door, turned it and went inside, thankful she could now shut out the night. Even though it was warm she drew the curtains - it made her feel safer somehow and as she knew that at some point she would be receiving messages, it was better that the neighbours couldn't see in.

In the kitchen, she put the kettle on and, while it was boiling, emptied her bag of the tins and put them away. She popped into the small dining room that had very rarely been used since she had moved here fourteen years previously. In it, there was a small cabinet where she kept some sherry, which she was quite partial to; and some Firewhisky for visitors, which she would also indulge in if any visitors had any. It was the latter that she removed from the cabinet and re-entered the kitchen with. Here, she made herself a mug of tea and added a rather large dash of the Firewhisky to it, aiming to ease the stresses of the evening.

She sat down on the worn sofa in the living room and Mr Tibbles came and curled up on her lap. She absentmindedly stroked his soft fur and in doing so thanked him for his work that evening. Both were content there; Arabella, sitting and sipping from her mug, and the cat luxuriating in the attention.

*

Albus Dumbledore sat in his study, his half moon glasses resting on the desk in front of him. He sat with his hands over his eyes, relishing the coolness they brought. It had been a long night, although it only told on Dumbledore slightly, in the mildly haggard look about him and the almost unnoticeable frown on his forehead that only someone close to him would pick up on. Of course, there was no one in the room and that was why he had allowed these signs to slip into his usually completely composed self.

It had taken some sorting out. The Ministry had been looking for more ways to discredit Harry ever since he arrived back at Hogwarts after being transported to the graveyard, announcing that Voldemort now had a bodily form again. All summer long, the Ministry had been denying the truth and getting The Daily Prophet to support their ascertains.

It's all a total sham, thought Dumbledore, their frightened and I can see why, but that doesn't excuse their behaviour.

For now, however, Harry was safe and Dumbledore would work with the Order to make plans to bring Harry to Grimmauld Place sooner than planned. He would be safer there, and now that so much had occurred it was unfair to expect him to stay contentedly in Privet Drive. He'd heard snippets from Molly and Sirius that Harry's letters had been getting more annoyed as the weeks had gone by and it certainly wouldn't be advantageous to let Harry's mind be opened even more to possible infiltration.

Well, he didn't need to worry about Harry for the moment, the Howler had done its job and he would still have a home. There were also plenty of others to worry about Harry without the kindly Headmaster's mind also being filled with it.

He reflected on other aspects of the night. It had all been so unexpected, as the Dementors were still guarding Azkaban and under Ministry control. When Mundungus Apparated into Dumbledore's residence in London, where Dumbledore had been having a quiet evening enjoying reading a Muggle children's book- 'The Wind in the Willows'- he immediately knew something was wrong. Mundungus was meant to be on duty until midnight and he was here with a distinctly sheepish look on his face and several colourful bruises beginning to show.

He had only now just finished with Mundungus. Once he had realised the severity of the situation, he had asked Mundungus to wait until he arrived back and immediately flooed into the Ministry.

By the time he got back, Mundungus was sprawled on the floor, snoring loudly. Dumbledore had woken him and spoken to him about what had occurred. There had been no point in dragging him over the coals; Mundungus Fletcher was an intelligent man despite plenty of evidence to the contrary and he knew that leaving Harry unprotected and vulnerable had been wrong. He just needed a gentle reminder that getting priorities in the right order was absolutely essential at the present time.

Many in the Order had failed to see initially why Mundungus was so useful. In actuality, the fact that he is a rough diamond is what makes him so vital. He can find and obtain information that otherwise may not reach the ears of Order members and given the current climate every scrap of information is immensely important.

Yet, the reason for his frown was neither of these things. In fact, it lay with the other main player in the events in Little Whinging that evening- Mrs Arabella Figg. Dumbledore, had known her all her life, having attended school and being close friends with her father. They had grown apart in recent years, as people do when they see each other little and feel they have conflicting interests. However, he had always got along well with Arabella and she had proved herself worthy over the past fourteen years. Tonight, though, could have changed everything.

It was her being near the Dementors that raised his concern. Not because she had been in any danger, but because Dementors have the same effect on every human- making them relive their worst memories.

I only hope she didn't see what I think she may have seen, thought Dumbledore, I just hope she saw the time's she was bullied for being a Squib, or the times she was given all the menial tasks in the Magical Menagerie and looked down upon by other wizards. I just hope so ...

He would have to go and see her, he had sent her an owl as soon as he arrived back, prior to waking Mundungus, but there were other important matters that he needed to talk to her about. She would be bound to have questions as she was an intelligent woman, even tough many people just saw her batty side. There was plenty of that but there would also be plenty of things she would ask, if she had seen what he feared. It would not be long before she thought through the events of the night, if she had not done so already, and then she would come to him with her queries. Queries that required him to have thought through his answers.

He walked over to the black cabinet beside Fawkes's perch and extracted from inside a shallow stone basin, which had carved runes around the edges. Dumbledore's Pensieve.

*

The cat flew from her lap, with it's tail like a bottle brush and letting out a loud hiss as it went, as Arabella awoke with a start from her dream. She'd sat bolt upright but now, as the vividness of the dream began to ebb away, she slowly reclined back into the sofa allowing her muscles to relax.

She had been dreaming about the night's events and then the dream had changed angles and the Dementors were running after her. Their coldness and hopelessness had buried beneath her skin and she had felt it slowly seeping into all her organs. Then the visions she had experienced earlier had started.

A taunting giggle. A scream. Her parents. A white room. A gentle hand on her. A man.

But here it had stopped. Instead of continuing at the breakneck speed it had done earlier continuing onto seeing a black case, it had seemed as if someone had frozen the dream, as if she had been standing staring at this man. Then, suddenly, she had been plunged into another dream. This one had reoccurred throughout her memorable life:

She was sitting in a bland, white room. It was small, from what she could see. She guessed she was sitting about in the middle, as there were at least two people moving behind her. The chair was hard and made of wood. It had no cushioning, so probably was not meant to be sat on for long. Unless this was some form of punishment. Then things started to happen, she could hear a soothing voice, it was distant but she thought it was male. That could be because a man kept popping just into the edge of her vision. He would only stay a few moments, just long enough to look at her face, as if evaluating her or summing her up. The look on his face was soft, pitying almost. She could hear soft murmurs in the background that stopped whenever the man moved into her sight, and she judged from this that she wasn't supposed to hear what was being said. The strange thing was that each time the man came into her vision he looked slightly different, some feature about him was altered and more distinct. The rest of the man was always vague- a generic male body- but whichever feature seemed to be enhanced it was always clear. He kept coming and going, coming and going, coming and going. It became almost a game to guess which feature would be next. What would be next? Here he comes; his arm's swinging into view ...

And that's when Arabella had awoken with a jolt. She realised now that the last part of the dream had never occurred before, she had never seen the man so definitely. She swallowed as she pieced together the meaning of it all.

That man, she thought, that man was the one from my vision.