— CHAPTER TWO —
'What?' said Harry 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
warned
'Yes, yes,
'You know Dumbledore?' said Harry, staring at her.
'Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come
She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged.
'Get
you useless lump,
!'
But Dudley either could not or would not move. He remained on the ground, trembling and ashen-faced, his mouth shut very tight.
'I'll do it.' Harry took hold of Dudley's arm and heaved. With an enormous effort he managed to hoist him 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 Harry let go of him he swayed dangerously.
'Hurry up!' said Mrs Figg hysterically.
Harry pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight. Mrs Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.
'Keep your wand out,' she told Harry, 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
It was not easy to hold a wand steady and haul Dudley along at the same time. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement. He was slumped on Harry's shoulder, his large feet dragging along the ground.
'Why didn't you tell me you're a Squib, Mrs Figg?' asked Harry, 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, 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,' 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 —
'I've got an owl, you can borrow her.' Harry groaned, wondering whether his spine was going to snap under Dudley's weight.
'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 — MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!'
There was a loud
'I'll give you
'Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!' shrieked Mrs Figg. 'Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!'
'Blimey,' said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs Figg to Harry, and back again. 'Blimey, I — '
'And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go?
Mrs Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the lace 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!'
'Yes — they — have!' yelled Mrs Figg, 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
murders
'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 spilt potion, I suppose . . . but the cat's among the pixies now.'
'So,' Harry panted, 'Dumbledore's . . . been having . . . me followed?'
'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, boy, 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 Harry 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. Goodnight.'
'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!' Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone who was in contact with Dumbledore; but within seconds Mrs Figg was swallowed by the darkness. Scowling, Harry readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his slow, painful way up number four's garden path.
The hall light was on. Harry stuck his wand back inside the waistband of his 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! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!'
Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.
'He's ill, Vernon!'
'What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?'
'Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?'
'Hang on — you haven't been mugged, have you, son?'
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 Harry, which suited him perfectly. He managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.
'Who did it, son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry.'
'Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!'
Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.
'
'BOY! COME HERE!'
With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his 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 Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes.
'What have you done to my son?' he said in a menacing growl.
'Nothing,' said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.
'What did he 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 he use — his thing?'
Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.
'I didn't!' Harry 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 Harry's feet, 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 Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.
'
He looked up at the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced, shouting, his fists still raised; Aunt Petunia had her arms around Dudley who was retching again.
Harry's temporarily stupefied brain seemed to reawaken.
There was only one thing for it. He would have to run — now. Where he was going to go, Harry didn't know but he was certain of one thing: at Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out and turned to leave the kitchen.
'Where d'you think you're going?' yelled Uncle Venon. When Harry didn't reply, he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. 'I haven't finished with you, boy!'
'Get out of the way,' said Harry quietly.
'You're going to stay here and explain how my son — '
'If you don't get out of the way I'm going to jinx you,' said Harry, raising the wand.
'You can't pull that one on me!' snarled Uncle Vernon. 'I know
'You're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!'
The madhouse has chucked me out,' said Harry. 'So I can do whatever I like. You've got three seconds. One — two — '
A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen. Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was searching for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: a dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.
Ignoring Uncle Vernon's anguished yell of 'OWLS!' Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.
His mind was racing . . . he could run for it and risk being captured by the Ministry, or stay put and wait for them to find him here. He was much more tempted by the former course, but he mew Mr Weasley had his best interests at heart . . . and after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before.
'Right,' Harry said, 'I've changed my mind, I'm staying.'
He flung himself down at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia. The Dursleys appeared taken aback at his abrupt change of mind. Aunt Petunia glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in his purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.
'Who are all these ruddy owls from?' he growled.
'The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,' said Harry calmly. He was straining his ears to catch any noises outside, in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon's questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. The second one was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry.'
'
When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat out, 'And why have you been expelled?'
'Because I did magic.'
'AHA!' roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. 'So you admit it!
'Go on, son,' said Uncle Vernon, 'what did he do?'
'Tell us, darling,' whispered Aunt Petunia.
'Pointed his wand at me,' Dudley mumbled.
'Yeah, I did, but I didn't use — Harry began angrily, but — '
'SHUT UP!' roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.
'Go on, son,' repeated Uncle Vernon, moustache blowing about furiously.
'All went dark,' Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. 'Everything dark. And then I h-heard . . .
'What sort of things did you hear, Popkin?' breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.
But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain curiosity. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life. What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?
'How come you fell over, son?' said Uncle Vernon, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the Bedside of a very ill person.
'T-tripped,' said Dudley shakily. 'And then — '
He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood. Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.
'Horrible,' croaked Dudley. 'Cold. Really cold.'
'OK,' said Uncle Vernon, in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature. 'What happened then, Dudders?'
'Felt . . . felt . . . felt . . . as if . . . as if . . .'
'As if you'd never be happy again,' Harry supplied dully.
'Yes,' Dudley whispered, still trembling.
'So!' said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. 'You put some crackpot spell on my on so he'd hear voices and believe he was — was doomed to misery, or something, did you?'
'How many times do I have to tell you?' said Harry, temper and voice both rising. '
'A couple of — what's this codswallop?'
'De — men — tors,' said Harry slowly and clearly. 'Two of them.'
'And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?'
'They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,' said Aunt Petunia.
Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs Figg was one thing — but
'I heard — that awful boy — telling
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, 'So — so — they — er — they — er — they actually exist, do they — er — Dementy-whatsits?'
Aunt Petunia nodded.
Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry as if hoping somebody was going to shout 'April Fool!' When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by the arrival of the third owl of the evening. It zoomed through the still-open window like a feathery cannon-ball and landed with a clatter on the kitchen table, causing all three of the Dursleys to jump with fright. Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.