Secrets of the Animagi

Chapter 1 - Mrs. Figg's Favour

It had been another dreary day at 4 Privet Drive. Harry Potter stared listlessly out of the rain-splattered window of the house's smallest bedroom. It had been raining for two days and his Aunt Petunia's garden was a soggy, bedraggled mess. At least the bad weather had given him a respite from the constant sunburn he'd suffered from endless yard work. Unfortunately, he'd more than make up for it once the skies cleared. Aunt Petunia hated unkempt gardens even more than she hated his untamed hair. It wasn't enough to keep the bushes trimmed and the weeds in check. It had to be perfect, an elusive proposition as far as Harry was concerned. Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and their whale of a son Dudley were the most demanding and unpleasant people he had the displeasure of knowing. Thinking about the Durselys almost made him miss Professor Snape, the sallow, embittered Potions instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry wasn't just any almost-15 year old boy. He was a wizard, a wizard in a house of Muggles, non-magical people. It was just one more reason for the Durselys to detest his company.

"Enough of that," thought Harry. He looked down at the piece of parchment on his desk. He had been writing to his godfather, the accused murderer, Sirius Black. If it weren't for the distracting noise of the storm, he would have finished it quite awhile ago. However, he didn't relish sending his owl out into such horrid weather.

Dear Sirius,

The Muggles have been keeping me very busy this Summer. Aunt Petunia demands that I do all of the gardening, and Uncle Vernon buys a tin of polish every week for me to use on his new company car. I hardly have time to work on my class assignments. Do you think that you could convince Professor Dumbledore to let me spend the rest of the holiday with Ron and his family? I'm still having nightmares about the graveyard, of course, but my scar hasn't hurt in ages.

Harry

He folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote his Sirius' name on the outside. His owl, Hedwig, sensing that she was needed, glided from her perch across the room and landed on the edge of his desk. "Take this to Sirius please, Hedwig. Sorry to send you out in the wet, but I really can't stand it here any longer." He tied the letter to the snowy owl's outstretched leg. She hooted reassuringly and tilted her head toward the window. "Oh, right."

He walked over to the window and opened it for the owl. Hedwig took off, rising quickly into the sky. Soon she was nothing but a white speck against the cloudy grey sky. He hoped that Hedwig would return soon with good news from Sirius. He hadn't spent an entire summer holiday with Durselys for 4 years, and had no intention of doing this year, either. This year, like the rest of his four years at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore insisted that he spend his summer on Privet Drive. Apparently, living with his dreadful relatives was the safest option with the Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters at large in the British Isles. Even safer than staying with his favourite wizarding family, the Weasleys, or so Dumbledore had said. Harry was not convinced. He doubted that the Dursleys would do much to protect him if Voldemort himself showed up in the centre of the garden. Aunt Petunia would probably give Harry up in an instant if it meant saving her precious flowerbeds.

Snores from both his uncle and cousin's bedrooms reminded Harry that he had stayed up much later than planned. A late night meant a late morning and the inevitable lecture from Aunt Petunia. He threw himself on the bed, not even bothering to change. Hoping for a dreamless sleep, he closed his eyes.

"Kill the spare!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"I will kill him. He is mine!"

Harry awoke with a start, the shrieks of Voldemort and the Death Eaters ringing in his ears. Yet another nightmare to lump with all the others he'd had since the night of the third task. Harry almost wished for a vision that would set his scar searing. At least that type of dream had some use, warning him of Voldemort's activities. Simply reliving the scene in the graveyard did nothing but remind of the guilt he felt about Cedric Diggory's untimely death. The images were still as vivid as they had been the night he last duelled with the Dark Lord. The figures robed in black, the hideous creature that was Lord Voldemort, the evil laughter as the flash of green light had ended the life of a promising young man. He had to keep reminding himself that Cedric had chosen of his own free will to tie for the Triwizard Cup. Neither of them could have foreseen that the cup had been turned into a Portkey that would lead them into the clutches of Voldemort. Even the Diggory family didn't blame Harry. In fact no one who knew of the events surrounding the tournament blamed him, with the possible exception of the Minister of Magic. Harry just couldn't believe that a man as oblivious as Cornelius Fudge could be in charge of all wizarding Britain. Realising that he was giving into what had become an all too frequent midnight obsession, Harry rolled over in a valiant yet futile attempt to achieve a dreamless sleep. It wasn't the first time he wished for one of Madam Pomfrey's sleeping potions.

As the first light of day crept into his bedroom, Harry woke to hear much banging and shouting downstairs.

"Harry Potter, get down here this instant! You have work to do this morning," shouted Aunt Petunia as she clanged a frying pan on the stove.

His cousin Dudley was wailing something about not having sweets for breakfast. Uncle Vernon, as far as Harry could tell, was shouting at the television in the kitchen. Harry sighed and pulled on his dusty work clothes. It looked to be another long day in the garden. He trudged down the stairs and slumped into the kitchen.

"Why are you dressed in those filthy rags boy? Don't you remember that you're to go to Mrs. Figg's house today? Her note has only been posted on the refrigerator for the last week. Plus, she reminded you in person yesterday when she came to tea. I can't believe they let you stay at that freakish school of yours. You've got the memory of a gnat and the brain of a hearthrug."

Aunt Petunia was in fine form this morning, so Harry sensed he better not risk making the situation worse. "Yes Aunt Petunia, thank you for reminding me. I will change as soon as I've finished breakfast."

"No you won't, you sluggard! You'll change now. I don't want to see those dirty clothes in my kitchen any more than Mrs. Figg does." It was no secret that Aunt Petunia hated dirt.

Harry, wishing to avoid any dishes aimed at his head, hurriedly returned to his room. He pulled a fresh set of clothes from the wardrobe and changed quickly.

"And do something with that hair before you come down!"

Harry sighed again. His hair would always be a sticking point with the Dursleys. It was the one thing inherited from his father he could have done without.

After a rushed and unpleasantly cold breakfast of eggs and toast, Harry left for Mrs. Figg's house. Within a few minutes, he was at her doorstep hoping beyond all hope that she had forgotten their appointment. Mrs. Figg was kind enough, he supposed, but the thought of her cat-scented house made him slightly nauseous. Perhaps he shouldn't have eaten eggs this morning.

Mrs. Figg opened the door before Harry could bring himself to knock. "Harry, how nice to see you! Do come in." At least Mrs. Figg was in a good mood.

"Thank you." Harry stepped into the parlour. He wasn't surprised to see a cat on the sofa.

"Do sit down, dear. We have much to talk about."

The cat didn't move an inch as Harry sat down next to it. "I though Aunt Petunia sent me here to help with your housework."

"Well, I must admit that I may not have told your aunt precisely what I wanted. But then, she is a hopeless Muggle," Mrs. Figg said as she winked at Harry.

"M-m-muggle? You're not, you couldn't be a," sputtered Harry.

"A witch? I certainly am. And one with a strong stomach for those awful Muggles you live with, too. Not many of us could take so many years in the company of that lot. However, I promised Dumbledore that I would keep an eye on you, and I never break a promise."

Harry was stunned. Most of the wizards and witches he knew were terrible at living as Muggles. Mrs. Figg, however, had never done anything remotely telling in all the time she had lived in Little Whinging.

"Scone?" asked Mrs. Figg. She was holding out a plate to Harry. They looked better than Hagrid's rock cakes, so Harry took one. He was surprised to find they tasted a lot better than what Mrs. Figg normally served. But then, he thought, she probably didn't bake the others using magic.

"What I've asked you here for is this," started Mrs. Figg, pointing to small box on the table.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Can't you see it's wrapped in birthday paper? It's an early birthday present. I thought you might enjoy it."

Indeed, it was a present. Harry wondered why he hadn't noticed it before, but then most his presents from friends came wrapped in rather lurid, and obviously charmed, paper. Muggle-style gift-wrappings aren't nearly so eye-catching. Harry took the box from the table and unwrapped it carefully.

"Thank you Mrs. Figg"

"Come on Harry, open the box."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Harry opened the box and was surprised to see a handsome pocket watch.

"I noticed you wearing a watch at the second task of the tournament last year," said Mrs. Figg. "Unless you charmed it, and I'm sure you didn't, it couldn't possibly be working now. This one belonged to Mr. Figg."

"Mrs. Figg, I couldn't possibly accept this."

"Nonsense, Harry. It's a perfectly good watch and I daresay you'll find it very useful. Just remember to leave it on the shore should you have an urge to swim with the merfolk again."

It had just occurred to Harry that Mrs. Figg had mentioned the Triwizard Tournament. "Wait, did you say you were watching me? I don't remember seeing you there."

"Well dear, I'm sure you understand that I wouldn't dare wear this costume in our world. I'd really look like a crazy old witch. Most people do look different with a change of clothes, you know. And as for being at the tournament, why wouldn't I be? Even little old ladies like me like to get out once in awhile."

Harry had to admit that she had a point. After all, his friend Hermione gave herself a stunning makeover in time for last year's Yule Ball. She was hardly recognizable without frizzy hair, buckteeth and a load of books.

"Now," continued Mrs. Figg, "we come to the favour I need you to do for me."

Bugger, thought Harry to himself.

"I need you to watch Rufus for the rest of the holiday."

"Rufus?"

"Yes, Rufus. He's sitting right next to you."

He looked at the black cat. It seemed harmless enough, not like Crookshanks, Hermione's pet.

"Now, be careful with him. Rufus is well trained, but he's not that fond of Muggles. You'll have to keep in your bedroom. I've got to go away for a few weeks, but I should be back before you leave for Hogwarts. I've left his box of things and his cage next to the door. Well, look at the time. I've got to go! Let yourself out and don't forget to lock the door!" Harry heard a small pop as Mrs. Figg Disapparated.

Unsure of what he should do, he looked at the pocket watch he'd been holding. It looked well used, as if the late Mr. Figg had worn it every day. Harry noticed that it lacked a winding knob, such as those on Muggle watches. Opening the case, he saw that it was definitely a wizard's watch. It had numbers, unlike the Weasley family's kitchen clock, but it had two more hands than a Muggle watch. He wondered what they could be for, but without an instruction book, he'd just have to wait until the end of the summer to find out. Perhaps there was a jewellery shop in Diagon Alley that could help.

Harry slipped the watch into his pocket and looked about the parlour. As tempted as he was to explore Mrs. Figg's home for any sign that she had failed with her Muggle disguise, Harry knew it would take the better part of the day to convince Aunt Petunia that having a cat in the house was a good thing.

"Well Rufus, we'd better get home. You wouldn't mind riding in the cage would you?" Rufus strutted across the parlour and into the cage with his bushy tail held high.

"Oh no," groaned Harry, "exactly like Crookshanks." He closed and latched the cage's door. It seemed sturdy enough. He didn't want Rufus escaping during the short walk to Privet Drive. Lifting the cage by the handle, Harry discovered that it had been enchanted to make it feather light. Good thing too, he thought, as Mrs. Figg didn't leave a key. He doubted the old witch would have wanted him to leave the house unlocked while he made multiple trips with the cat and its belongings.

With the cage in one hand and the box of supplies in the other, Harry walked back to his aunt's house. He spent the short walk thinking of how he would convince his animal hating relatives to let him take care of Rufus. He doubted that he'd be able to take the cat up to his room unnoticed. All too soon, Harry arrived at 4 Privet Drive.

"Aunt Petunia?" He peered around the front door, hoping that his aunt wasn't in the front room.

"What is it you want boy?" she snapped. Harry always had the worst luck.

"Mrs. Figg has asked me to care for her cat while she's away. Could I just take it upstairs?"

"Let me see the animal."

Harry was surprised; Aunt Petunia was being right pleasant. He opened the front door fully so she could see Rufus. He suspected her good mood would fail if the cat's cage crossed the threshold. "I know you don't care for animals in the house, and having Hedwig in my room has been inconvenient for you, but Mrs. Figg didn't leave me a key. I can't use m-, I mean, er- open the door without it. Please, Aunt Petunia?" the words came out in a rush. Harry held his breath. Aunt Petunia seemed to take forever to answer. He felt as if he were turning blue from lack of oxygen.

"Doesn't look to be a filthy flea bag. It isn't a freak like your owl is it?"

"No Aunt Petunia, I think Rufus is just a regular cat," Harry said, hoping it was the truth.

"Rufus, you say? Well, we'll give it a trial. Mind you, I wouldn't even consider it if it wasn't for Mrs. Figg looking after you so often. One step out of line and that thing is going to be out on the street. I don't care if it is our good neighbor's pet." Harry paled when he saw the cat nod its head in agreement. He hoped Aunt Petunia hadn't seen.

"I better not have seen what I think I saw," Aunt Petunia said with a hint of warning in her voice.

"Rufus," Harry hissed, "be still!" Rufus, looking as innocent as possible for a cat, yawned and curled up on the bottom of the cage.

"Thank you Aunt Petunia, I just take him upstairs, shall I?" Harry stepped cautiously into the house.

"Just be glad your uncle isn't at home boy. And if I so much as smell that cat..."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry started up the stairs with the cage and box. He hoped she didn't see how light the cage appeared to be. Luckily, his aunt had already returned to the front room. The sofa cushions apparently needed a very vigorous beating.

Reaching his bedroom, he placed the cage and box on the floor. Looking into the hall to make sure Aunt Petunia and Dudley weren't nearby, Harry closed the door. "You heard what Aunt Petunia said, Rufus. If I let you out, you have to be a right perfect cat."

While Rufus strutted once about the room and subsequently made himself at home on Harry's bed, Harry changed quickly into his work clothes. If progress wasn't made in the garden before sunset, he was sure that he and the growing menagerie in his room would be cast out of 4 Privet Drive. He rushed down the stairs and out the back door. After the morning's tension, he didn't feel much like stopping in the kitchen for lunch. Besides, Aunt Petunia was sure to lecture him again if he did. He wasn't sure just how much longer he could be polite.

Harry decided to start with the flowerbeds farthest from the door. That way, he figured, he'd be able to avoid contact with his relatives for a little longer. His cousin Dudley was nowhere in sight; Harry thought he had probably waddled to a friend's house. Usually, Dudley lolled around, insulted him and generally obstructed his work. It was hardly a pleasant way to for Harry to pass the time.

The rains had softened the earth, making it easy to pull up the weeds that had sprouted during Harry's two-day break. All too soon, he had worked his way up to the back door. He glanced up at the windows to see his aunt watching him. Hoping she'd soon lose interest, Harry arose and carried his pile of weeds to the compost bin next to the garden shed. He opened the shed door and reached for the pruning shears. The hedges were starting to look overgrown, and nothing annoyed Aunt Petunia more than not being able to see into the neighbors' yards.

Harry jumped back in alarm. He seemed to have grabbed what felt like a nose. There was a squeak from the thing sitting where the shears should have been.

"Dobby!"

"Begging your pardon, Harry Potter, sir. Headmaster Dumbledore ordered Dobby to take a holiday."

"In Aunt Petunia's garden shed?"

Harry was relieved that the inside of the shed couldn't be seen from kitchen window. There had been too much excitement today already.