Realizations

Chapter 11 - Harry Hunting, Anyone?

Saturday, July 15, 1995

Once she was clear of the wards surrounding the Dursley's former residence on Privet Drive, Arabella Figg apparated, materializing in her own living room. Once there, her eyes quickly sought out the locator clock. Harry's hand had moved at some point, and was now pointing to "Unknown."

Belle narrowed her eyes at the device. How could this be? It doesn't make sense! she thought dazedly. Harry had been at #4 Privet Drive the night of July 1st--that much she knew. What had changed? The witch racked her brain, trying to recall any possible clues. She had seen Petunia briefly at one of the local shops a few days before Sirius and Remus had appeared on her doorstep. It had been a chance meeting, and their conversation had been brief and bland for the most part. Harry's aunt had mentioned something about Vernon and an exciting new job opportunity, though...and the realtor mentioned a transfer.

She just hadn't said exactly where.

Mrs. Figg sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she did so. Come on, old girl. Think! You're no good to Harry like this. Taking a deep breath, she held it a few seconds, then let it out slowly. Feeling a little more centered, she considered the clock again. It was as it had been the night he was due back from Hogwarts. Harry wasn't where he was supposed to be, true, but at the same time, he wasn't in any real danger. As long as his hand stayed away from, oh, say, "Mortal Peril" she had time.

Irritably, she re-cast the spell that would alert her if Harry's hand moved, vowing it would stay active until she knew exactly where her young charge was. Idiot, she fumed angrily. She knew better than to trust appearances--especially now that the truth about Peter Pettigrew had come to light. She should have verified Harry's whereabouts before leaving for America.

Walking over to where she kept her telephone, she picked up her phone book and began flipping through the section that listed business numbers. Perhaps she could get a clue from Grunnings, the drill-making firm Vernon had been a director in ever since she'd known him.

Arabella frowned as she worked. This was unusual behavior for a man who usually clung very tightly to established routines and schedules. The Dursleys were nothing if not predictable, and Vernon especially, highly resented anything (or anyone) that deviated from the norm. The idea that they would suddenly pack up and move away should have been laughable.

Finally locating what she was looking for, the witch dialed the number, and waited for someone to answer.

"Good afternoon, this is Grunnings Drills, how may I direct your call?"

"Good afternoon," Arabella responded politely. "I would like to speak with Mr. Vernon Dursley, please."

"One moment, please."

Arabella found herself listening to "on hold" music. While she waited, she calmed herself slightly. The Dursleys probably moved to a neighboring village, or maybe even to London. At any rate it wasn't the first time Harry's clock hand had pointed to "Unknown."

The "on hold" music was starting to repeat itself, but the old witch found she didn't mind too much. If nothing else, the annoying little tunes and ad slogans for Grunnings reassured her that the connection hadn't been broken. Absently, she wondered what was taking so long. Was Vernon not at work today?

Drumming her fingers on the table, Arabella thought back to two...no three summers ago now. Right before Harry's second year. Oh, dear what a mess that had been! The only useful information that had come out of that fiasco was how inefficient their plan of action was.

The proximity wards, that warned her of another witch or wizard in the area had gone off in the middle of the night, rudely waking her. Soon after, alarms sounded, indicating the house itself had been breached. Similar alarms had been placed at Hogwarts, and the Ministry. Arabella had been forced to waste a few precious minutes waiting for her backup to show up, because they wouldn't know the way to Harry's house.

Arabella had found it odd that although a full compliment of Aurors was supposed to be dispatched immediately, only Professor Dumbledore and had shown up. He was sleepy and rumpled looking, but had his wand out and ready.

They had waited a few more minutes before heading over to Privet Drive, and got there just in time to see Harry waving out the window to the Dursleys, and calling "See you next summer!" as a turquoise and white Ford Anglia banked gracefully, then disappeared into the night.

The Dursleys were all but hanging out one of the upstairs windows, presumably seeing him off.

Acting quickly, before the car got too far away, Mrs. Figg had fired a tracking charm. "I've got them!" she whispered excitedly to the aged wizard at her side. "We can follow them easily once we get dressed." She had turned, meaning to hurry back to her house, but Dumbledore stayed put, a bemused expression on his face.

"I had not considered this," Albus had muttered distractedly, "though why I cannot say..."

"What?" Arabella asked, watching as Harry's family shut the window and went back inside.

The Hogwarts headmaster smiled then, blue eyes twinkling. "It seems young has Harry decided to go visiting this summer. I do believe those were the Weasleys who collected him."

"Arthur Weasley?"

"His sons, apparently," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Arthur usually goes calling at a more civilized hour."

Arabella smiled, remembering the gales of laughter that had floated down from the car's open window as it sped away, then grimaced. She still cringed when she thought about the delays she had experienced getting to Privet Drive. Harry could have been killed five times over before she and Albus managed to get there had he actually been under attack. It was a case of a plan looking good on paper, but failing miserably when actually put into practice.

Of course they hadn't actually thought it would be necessary, Harry was well hidden, after all, but looking back, she couldn't believe they'd been so careless. A simple dry run would have uncovered the inefficiencies and flaws, but no one had bothered.

Belle glanced over at her clock again. It had been sitting on "Unknown" that night as well. Dumbledore had stayed until they knew Harry was safe, making tea, and re-planning their actions in the event of an attack, and helping her modify her locator clock. They had changed the spot that referred to Harry's old muggle school to "Burrow/With the Weasleys." That way the house was covered, as well as any outings Harry went on. His hand would move to that spot whether he was with one Weasley, or several.

During his second school year, Harry's clock hand had seemed quite confused. Between his friendship with Ron, and his position on the Quidditch team, Harry was "With the Weasleys" quite a bit. Seeing this, Arabella had further modified the "Burrow/Weasley" location to mean "away from Hogwarts." The clock hand had immediately settled down after that, never moving from "Hogwarts." That had been satisfactory though third year. Well, except for the two weeks he'd been on Diagon Alley.

Arabella chuckled lightly in spite of herself. Everyone had been so worried--afraid he'd run afoul of Sirius Black! She'd considered adding Diagon Alley to the clock, then dismissed it as unnecessary. Harry had had the entire Alley looking after him that summer, and she was far more concerned with the hunt for Black. Besides, he was generally "With the Weasleys" when he went, and the clock face was getting rather full, so the addition of Diagon Alley seemed rather superfluous.

She had noticed a little fluctuation during Harry's third year between "Hogwarts" and "With the Weasleys" which she had assumed were Hogsmeade weekends. Fourth year she had added "Hogsmeade." Harry had evidently visited the wizarding village without his trusty partner in crime, and his clock hand slid over to "Unknown" again. Harry and Ron Weasley evidently had a bit of a falling out during the fall of fourth year, but by all appearances things were back on track before Christmas. Harry's clock hand became confused again, and she'd had to modify the "Hogsmeade" setting.

She'd had a few anxious minutes at the end of the year when the clock hand had swivelled around to "Traveling," when he and Cedric touched the TriWizard Cup, then to "Mortal Peril," when they landed. Arabella closed her eyes a moment. Thank heavens Barty Crouch had used the "round-trip" portkey charm when he'd enchanted the trophy. If he'd used one of the more sophisticated one-way charms, Harry would have been trapped, with no obvious way back to Hogwarts.

"Ma'am?" the operator was finally back on the line.

"Yes?" Mrs. Figg responded quickly, opening her eyes, and returning her attention to the phone.

"Mr. Dursley has been transferred, ma'am. He's not at our London office at this time."

Arabella blinked in surprise. "What?" she finally managed.

"Grunnings has been doing quite well the last few years," the lady she was speaking to explained. "So we have been opening new offices, here in Britain, and abroad. Mr. Dursley was offered the opportunity to oversee the building, staffing, and initial operations of one of the new manufacturing complexes."

"Oh, yes. I remember hearing something along those lines," Mrs. Figg said, recalling her conversation with Petunia. "Which office will he be working for now?"

"Mr. Dursley chose the Australian site."

"Australia? How long will he be there?" the witch asked, aghast.

"These assignments are typically three to five years in duration, ma'am." The woman on the phone paused a moment, then added, "Mr. Dursley's local clients have been divided amongst the other members of our staff. If I could have your name, I will find out who has taken over your account."

"Oh. No. I'm not a client of Mr. Dursley's. I'm a neighbor. I found out today his house was for sale, and...noticed he had forgotten something," Arabella improvised. "I've been away myself, and didn't realize they'd moved. Could I have his new address so I could send it to him?" she asked hopefully.

"No, ma'am. We aren't allowed to give out personal information on the phone. If you'd like, you can drop off or send whatever you have to the London office, and we can forward it to him."

"Oh. Yes, of course. That would be lovely," Arabella replied. Sensing the other woman was about to end the conversation, she tried to get a little more information. "Just out of interest, where will your new Australian offices be located? If I can be frank, I'm really rather surprised they didn't tell me they'd be moving."

Surprisingly, the secretary's professional mask slipped a bit. "Mr. Dursley will be heading up a new manufacturing and distribution complex in Perth," she supplied. "I expect he and Mrs. Dursley will be sending out address change notifications shortly. They weren't originally scheduled to move until closer to the end of summer. I don't know the exact circumstances, but something came up, and they changed their plans."

"Do you happen to know how long they've been gone?" Mrs. Figg pressed.

"Not long--a week or two at most. Don't worry, dear. I'm sure they'll be in touch once they get themselves sorted out. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you. You've been a great help." Belle wore pensive frown as she hung up the telephone. Harry was in Australia? How on earth was he supposed to get back to Hogwarts? Surely Dumbledore wasn't planning to transfer him to another magical school!

Arabella scowled, and began to pace. Every now and then she glanced at her clock, but Harry's hand remained steadfastly on "Unknown."

Nothing about this entire scenario made sense. She'd never met a couple, muggle or magical that were more set in their ways than Vernon and Petunia Dursley. She could possibly see them moving to another house, maybe a larger one in a more upscale neighborhood. If there was one thing Petunia loved more than routine and order it was status. But the idea of them picking up suddenly, and just moving out of the country would be laughable if it wasn't obviously true.

What was the motivation? Money? Status? A chance for promotion? And what of Harry's schooling? And Dudley's? Vernon and Petunia had gone on for ages about how happy they were that their boy was attending Smeltings. Surely there were closer assignments that would allow the boys to continue attending their current schools.

Was it something else, then?

The Dursley's behavior with regard to Harry had always been a little odd. Arabella had noticed it for the first time when she had "met" Petunia one morning in early November, just a few days after the Potters had been killed.

That had been a carefully orchestrated affair, but by the end of the visit, Petunia was comfortable enough around her that she had accepted when Arabella had offered to mind the boys at any time. Thinking back, Belle absently noted that although she had watched Harry often, Petunia had only left Dudley in her care a few times--generally on the infrequent occasions when Harry had needed to see the pediatrician, or the optometrist.

The witch shuddered delicately, and thanked her lucky stars for young Potter's good health. The two boys were as different as night and day. Harry she could deal with easily. Dudley was enough to drive a wooden man crazy.

The initial contact had been successful, and everything seemed to be going as well as could be expected. Harry was quieter than she remembered, but seemed all right. Petunia doted on Dudley outrageously, which Mrs. Figg found worrisome, but it had only been a few days. They (herself included) were still very early in the grieving process, and to be fair, Dudley had been Petunia's only concern until a few short days ago. Perhaps the Dursleys still needed time to adjust to Harry's presence in their household.

As she'd left, she had noticed a box out with the rest of the Dursley's rubbish. Belle wasn't the nosy sort, and wasn't generally disposed to flashes of premonition, but something just didn't seem right. She had been shocked, when she'd sneaked a look, after making sure she wasn't being observed. It was James and Lily's last effects, delivered to Harry from the Ministry of Magic--the few precious items which had salvaged intact from the wreckage of their home, as well as some news clippings, including James and Lily's obituaries.

Without a second thought, she had shrunk the box and pocketed it, deciding Petunia must still be distraught over her sister's death, and not thinking clearly. Perhaps the memories were too painful, or she was regretting the rift that had grown between Lily and herself. Why else would she toss out Harry's only link to his past?

Deciding preventative action was necessary, at least until Petunia came to her senses, Arabella had returned that evening, sneaking unnoticed under the cover of darkness. She surreptitiously fired some charms through the kitchen window while the family was eating dinner, once again troubled by the rather stilted way Harry was treated. If Vernon and Petunia threw anything out that had anything to do with any of the Potters, they would be compelled to throw it in the kitchen bin. The bin, she bewitched with recognition, repairing and cleaning charms, then made it a highly specialized portkey. Any of Harry's belongings that were thrown into that bin would be restored to like-new condition, and automatically transferred to the box, which she had already fitted with expansion and lightening charms.

Arabella stopped pacing and looked up suddenly in alarm. I never removed those charms! Heavens, what that box must contain! I'll have to clean all the rubbish out of it before I give it to Harry. She scanned her living room, the frowned in confusion. She was almost certain she had fetched the box down from the attic before Sirius and Remus showed up, meaning to give it to the boy when he returned from Hogwarts, but it didn't seem to be around. Perhaps she just meant to get it down. No matter. She could sort that out later, once young Mr. Potter's whereabouts were verified.

Shaking her head impatiently, Arabella Figg strode over to the fireplace, completely overlooking Harry's note which the cats had knocked onto the floor. "Hogwarts!" she commanded, tossing a handful of floo powder into her hearth.

"Easy...easy...just a little more...yes, I believe that does it," Arthur Weasley said encouragingly, as he and Molly worked to enclose his shed with protective spells, and integrate it into the collective whole that surrounded the Burrow and the property it stood on. They'd learned fairly quickly how to conjure, then gently stretch the magical protection to cover the required area, although sometimes they still tore it. No, the hardest part was joining two or more pieces together. Molly had compared it to trying to work with satin. Making smooth, even seams with no holes, tears, or slippage was harder than one might think, and different with every person. No wonder the Aurors who did this all the time tended to stay with the same partners and teams.

Molly nodded wearily, and arched her back, stretching the tense muscles, and making her spine pop in a few places. Leaning against Arthur's work bench, she idly picked up a battery, and shook her head fondly. "I don't suppose I could convince you to clean out some of this muggle rubbish?"

Arthur shrugged, and looked around. "Perhaps I might be persuaded to part with some of it," he hedged. "But not all of it," he finished, staring moodily out of the small window.

His wife raised astonished eyebrows at the first part of his statement, then moved closer and slid her arms around his waist when she noticed his tired and apprehensive body language. "It will work out," she said gently.

"Yes, I know," he responded, resting his chin on the top of her head, and pulling her close. "I just feel a bit overextended right now."

Molly said nothing, just began rubbing his back. Arthur closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax a bit, as her hands moved in slow circles, easing the knotted tension in the muscles of his lower back.

"Mum? Dad?"

The elder Weasleys exchanged a rueful smile, and one last hug, before separating. "Never a dull moment," Molly observed, before calling, "In here, Ron."

Ron and Ginny entered the shed, a few seconds later, each carrying two glasses of lemonade. "Ginny made this," Ron said without preamble. "We thought you might like some."

"How lovely, dear!" Molly smiled, accepting a glass from her daughter, and taking a deep swallow. "Oh, Ginny! This is delicious!" she told her smiling, blushing daughter. "And aren't you the thoughtful ones to bring it out here," she said fondly ruffling her son's hair.

"So, how's it going?" Ron asked, in what he hoped was a casual manner after they'd sipped their drinks for a few minutes in silence. He and Ginny had been snapped at quite a few times during the last couple of weeks by their parents and oldest brothers because of their almost constant queries about their progress. It had been especially bad in the beginning, when everyone had been making annoying, frustrating mistakes.

Molly sighed when she saw the apprehension in her children’s eyes. "I think we're almost done in here," she said calmly, then slanted her husband a teasing look, "unless your father decides to begin sorting through his collection tonight."

"Actually," Arthur said, frowning into a shadowed corner, "I don't recognize this." He rummaged around in the corner for a minute, and came out with a set of bars.

"Oh," Ron said, with a look of surprised recognition. "I'd almost forgotten those."

"Ronald," his mother said seriously, "Please don't tell me that you've begun collecting muggle rubbish as well."

Her son shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. Those are Harry's."

"Harry's?!"

"Well, they belong to his uncle, actually," Ron amended. He took in his parents' and sister's dumbstruck expressions, and shrugged. "They're from summer before second year," he explained, keeping a wary eye on his mother for signs of an impending explosion. "You know, when Fred and George and I took Dad's flying car to Surrey." When his family continued to gape at him, Ron grew irritated. "What? We told you he had bars on his window, remember?"

Dumbly, Molly nodded, thinking back to that summer morning while Arthur and Ginny looked on aghast.

They were starving him Mum! There were bars on his window!

Molly began to feel ill. At the time, she had assumed that this was yet another cock-and-bull story dreamed up by her twin sons. Harry had been a little thin, true, and she hadn't liked the vibes she picked up from his uncle at Kings Cross Station, but Harry had been thin since she'd known him, and he hadn't seemed maladjusted or horribly mistreated. In fact he'd fit right in to life in her household, and hadn't been any trouble at all. "Yes, I remember," she said faintly, horror dawning in her eyes. "I thought your brothers were embellishing the facts again. I never dreamed..."

Arthur, meanwhile, looked furious and had turned very red, remembering his own interaction with the Dursley family the previous summer. He asked Ron to tell him exactly what happened, and his son had obliged, describing how he had become worried when Harry hadn't answered his letters, and sought his brothers' advice. The sky had been cloudy, so they had decided to fetch Harry, and pretend he had shown up in the night. Ron had stopped, and shrugged sheepishly at this, then resumed.

They'd found Harry locked in his room. He'd been there for three days, and had only been let out twice a day to use the restroom. His muggle relatives had been feeding him small amounts of food through a cat flap in his door. His Hogwarts things had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs. Fred and George had been forced to pick the locks on Harry's bedroom door and the cupboard, after they'd literally ripped the bars off his bedroom window. Ron had hoisted the bars into the car, and they'd brought them along, not knowing what else to do with them.

"So this is why you've been so anxious for Harry to come to the Burrow," Arthur stated flatly.

"Yes, sir," Ron said meekly.

"And the food we sent last summer? He wasn't really just missing my cooking, was he?"

Stricken, Ron shrugged, and suddenly found his shoelaces very interesting. When Harry had written last summer with news of Dudley's diet, Ron had assumed he just hadn't wanted to live on vegetables all summer, and was craving a little variety. It had never crossed his mind that his friend might not be getting enough to eat.

Arthur met his wife's tearful gaze, then nodded grimly. "I think a visit to Hogwarts is in order," he stated, in a remarkably calm voice, leading his family back to the Burrow.

Albus Dumbledore sighed sadly as he made his way back to his office from the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Remus Lupin's transformation on the 12th had been especially bad. Even with the Wolfsbane Potion, he was still recovering two days later. Sirius Black had portkeyed them both to Hogwarts as soon as Remus was no longer a danger, and he'd been under Poppy Pomphrey's watchful eye ever since.

Of course, that would change, and soon, if the werewolf had his way.

"Ice mice," he said to the gargoyle who guarded the entrance to his office. As he climbed up the spiral stairway, Dumbledore wondered briefly when Fawkes would be back. The firebird had been his companion for many years now, and Albus found himself missing the phoenix's presence.

As he entered his office, and made his way over to his desk, his attention was caught by a now familiar sound.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Someone, or several someones were sending reports. Curiously, he let his gaze roam along the neat stacks of parchment lined on his desk, stopping in delighted surprise when he came to the parchment he'd set up "just in case." Young Harry was reporting. A lot. Four pages worth, in fact.

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow as he perused the boy's parchment. Harry explained that he had been keeping notes since he realized what was happening, and he'd been waiting for Hedwig to return so he could send them on. Albus smiled. Good lad. Harry had obviously proven himself to Fawkes as well, since he was using the charmed parchment and quills. Excellent.

Scanning the letter, Dumbledore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Some of the information Harry reported he already knew, but there was quite a bit that he did not. Severus and the rest of the Death Eaters, for example had not been aware that Voldemort had gone through a period of weakness just after his rebirth.

Dumbledore's eyebrows drew together in concentration as he read: Voldemort was taking advantage of the Minister's current idiocy and laying low. Possible attack on Privet Drive? Snape's potion would presumably be administered to Peter Pettigrew within the next 48 - 72 hours. Voldemort still hated muggles, muggleborns, and half-bloods as much as he ever did. Arthur Weasley and Amos Diggory mentioned by name by Lucius Malfoy? Malfoy also mentioned that Fudge had refused to allow Aurors to ward the Burrow. Hmm. Arthur and Amos must be warned to be especially vigilant. He flipped through the report, amazed at the wealth of information it contained. This connection of Harry's could prove invaluable, provided it wasn't having a negative effect on his health.

Skimming quickly over Harry's correspondence, Albus searched specifically for any responses the boy may have made to the questions he was asked about his scar, or his connection. Most of the parchment was filled with dreams, impressions, and overheard snatches of conversation, but finally, after he finished copying his notes, Harry had begun to hesitantly pass on some thoughts and theories of his own.

According to Harry, his scar had not been bothering him overmuch...yet. By the way he described his connection, Albus was sure that it would--once Voldemort decided to come out of hiding. The boy was evidently protected from scar pains and visions to a certain extent by the dark wizard's current inactivity. It wouldn't last forever, though. By all indications, in this report, and in others he had received, Voldemort was planning something big. The intelligence he was receiving seemed to indicate the dark forces were gearing up for an attack. Specifically, an attack against Harry Potter.

Albus blew his breath out through his teeth, and massaged his temples. If this kept up, Harry might be well advised to cease his summer employment. Additional wards and spells might not be a bad idea either. He would contact Arabella later, and seek her input. He certainly didn't wish to imprison Harry in his uncle's house, but he shuddered to think what Voldemort and his Death Eaters might do to the boy if he fell into their clutches again.

Re-focusing on the last piece of parchment, Albus read the last bit, then blinked and read it again. It was a small paragraph, just a few sentences, but it shocked the old wizard as few things had in recent history. The wonder of it was, Harry had added it casually. Almost like an afterthought:

I guess that's all I have to report sir, I hope you find the information useful. Oh, and one other thing...my aunt and uncle have sold their property on Privet Drive. The house is currently vacant. If Voldemort is planning to attack me there, I'm afraid he'll be disappointed.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Before Albus had time to recover from this little bombshell, he heard the babble of raised, excited voices outside his door, then someone firmly hammered on it.

"Come in," he called, rising, and observing as Arthur Weasley, Arabella Figg, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin all but tumbled into his office. Arabella was waving a piece of parchment around, and Arthur was brandishing something that looked like a small metal garden gate. Sirius and Remus looked furious, and Snape looked very put out.

When the tumult finally died down to a manageable level, Albus sank back into his chair, and conjured a few more so everyone had a place to sit. When everyone had taken a seat, the headmaster folded his hands on top of his desk and studied his guests. "So, what can I help you with?"