Adventures of Harriet Potter

A Peck of Owls

"What?" said Harriet blankly. "He left!" said Mrs. Figg, 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!"
"But —" The revelation that her batty old cat-obsessed neighbor knew what dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harriet as meeting two of them down the alleyway. "You're — you're a witch?" She was trying to figure out how Mrs. Figg fit into the Wizarding World. "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 —"
"This bloke Mundungus has been following me? Hang on — it was him! He Disapparated from the front of my house!" Harriet said, still trying to wrap her mind around what happened, aside from the fact that she'd saved her cousin. "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 shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"
"You know Dumbledore?" said Harriet, staring at her. "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 stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands, and tugged. "Get up, you useless lump, get up!" But Dudley either could not or would not move. He was still on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight. "I'll do it." Harriet took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved: With an enormous effort she managed to hoist Dudley to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting: His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment Harriet let go of him he swayed dangerously.
"Hurry up!" said Mrs. Figg hysterically. Harriet pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around her own shoulders and dragged him toward the road, sagging slightly under his weight. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner. "Keep your wand out," she told Harriet, as they entered Wisteria Walk. "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, girl, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"
It was not easy to hold a wand steady and carry Dudley along at the same time. Harriet gave her cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harriet's shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground. "Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib?" Harriet asked Mrs. Figg, panting with the effort to keep walking. "All those times I came round your house — why didn't you say anything?"
"Dumbledore's orders. 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, 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," she said tragically, wringing her hands once more, "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 —" Harriet smiled knowingly, having assumed as much and gone along with the idea of hating it at Mrs. Figg's for that very reason.
"I've got an owl, you can borrow her," Harriet groaned, wondering whether her spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight. "Harriet, 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 —" Harriet shuddered, remembering the trace and how thanks to it the Ministry probably already aware she'd used magic outside of school. "But I was getting rid of dementors, I had to use magic — they're going to be more worried what dementors were doing floating around Wisteria Walk, surely?"
"Oh my dear, I wish it were so but I'm afraid — MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" There was a loud crack and a strong smell of mingled drink and stale tobacco filled the air as a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat materialized right in front of them. He had short bandy legs, long straggly ginger hair, and bloodshot baggy eyes that gave him the doleful look of a basset hound; he was also clutching a silvery bundle that Harriet recognized at once as an Invisibility Cloak. Harriet had also recognized the full name the first time she'd heard it out of Mrs. Figg's mouth, as the man who'd claimed an expensive Wizard tent when he'd slept under a cloak on sticks at the world cup last year. "'S' up, Figgy?" he said, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harriet and Dudley. "What 'appened to staying undercover?"
"I'll give you undercover!" cried Mrs. Figg. "Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!" Harriet winced as she'd never heard such a nonviolent tongue lashing before. "Dementors?" repeated Mundungus, aghast. "Dementors here?" Harriet didn't blame him, the idea was pretty preposterous after all. "Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, *here!*' shrieked Mrs. Figg. "Dementors attacking the girl on *your* watch!"
"Blimey," said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harriet and back again. "Blimey, I . . ." Harriet was starting to get angry with him herself. "And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?" said Mrs. Figg, really laying into him. "I — well, I —" Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. "It . . . it was a very good business opportunity, see . . ." Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noise it made it was full of cat food.
"Ouch — gerroff — gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!" said Mundungus with a lot of wincing. "Yes — they — have!" yelled Mrs. Figg, still swinging the bag of cat food at every 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!" said Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. "I'm going, I'm going!" And with another loud *crack,* he vanished. "I hope Dumbledore murders him!" said Mrs. Figg furiously. "Now come on, Harriet, what are you waiting for?" Harriet decided not to waste her remaining breath on pointing out that she could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. She gave the semiconscious Dudley a heave and staggered onward. "I'll take you to the door," said Mrs. Figg, as they turned into Privet Drive. "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 spilled potion, I suppose . . . but the cat's among the pixies now . . ."
"So," Harriet panted, "Dumbledore's . . . been having . . . me followed?" Not sure how she felt about that. "Of course he has," said Mrs. Figg impatiently. "Did you expect him to let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, girl, they told me you were intelligent. . . . Right . . . get inside and stay there," she said as they reached number four. "I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."
"What are you going to do?" asked Harriet quickly. "I'm going straight home," said Mrs. Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. "I'll need to wait for more instructions. Just stay in the house. Good night." Harriet was stunned. "Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know —" But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking. "Wait!" Harriet shouted after her; she had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs. Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harriet readjusted Dudley on her shoulder and made her slow, painful way up number four's garden path.
The hall light was on. Harriet stuck her wand back inside the waistband of her jeans, rang the bell, and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass in the front door. "Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite — quite — Diddy, what's the matter?" Harriet looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arm just in time. Dudley swayed for a moment on the spot, his face pale green, then he opened his mouth at last and vomited all over the doormat.
"DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!" Harriet's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus mustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forward to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick. "He's ill, Vernon!" Aunt Petunia worried. "What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?" said Uncle Vernon. "Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?" Aunt Petunia asked brushing him off a little. "Hang on — you haven't been mugged, have you, son?" Uncle Vernon said with a glare out the window. Aunt Petunia screamed. "Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?"
In all the kerfuffle, nobody seemed to have noticed Harriet, which suited her perfectly. She managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall toward the kitchen, Harriet moved carefully and quietly toward the stairs. "Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry." Uncle Vernon said. "Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!" said Aunt Petunia. Harriet's foot was on the bottommost stair when Dudley found his voice. "Her."
Harriet froze, foot on the stair, face screwed up, braced for the explosion. And the violation of her body that was sure to follow it later. "GIRL! COME HERE!" With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harriet removed her foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys. The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harriet through tiny, narrowed eyes.
"What have you done to my son?" he said in a menacing growl. "Nothing," said Harriet, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe her. "What did she do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. "Was it — was it you-know-what, darling? Did she use — her thing?" Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded. "I didn't!" Harriet said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. "I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me, it was —" But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropped the large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harriet's feet, and turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden. "OWLS!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. "OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!" But Harriet was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, her heart pounding somewhere in the region where her Adam's apple would be if she was a boy.