CHAPTER ONE: A MOST PECULIAR DAY
The longest day of the year, and unfortunately the hottest as well, was heading toward a captivating climax in the common muggle neighborhood of Privet Drive. There was a slight summer's breeze that swept down and about the street, disturbing tree branches and making paper bags and other bits of trash scuttle across the dusty roadway. But although the breeze seemed useful for relieving the surrounding area of unwanted garbage, it did not seem capable of driving away the incessant heat.
Of course, the reason for that might have had something to do with the fact that it was the hottest day that Little Whinging had endured in over a century, as Wendy Uragano had jubilantly informed the despondent residents of the town on that morning's addition of the local news. She had seemed overjoyed at the prospect of such a miserably torrid day and had, in her overly zealous and chirpy voice, suggested that the 'youngsters', as she had referred to them, go and have fun at the city pool and enjoy the sunshine and warm weather.
The children in the area seemed more than happy to follow her blithe advise and could be found swimming or running through sprinklers throughout the neighborhood, providing them with some relief from the day's heat. Parents lounged about the pool watching the children play or idly fanned themselves on shady front porches, where the view of their offspring was unobstructed.
Those without young children tended to keep indoors where the comforts of their air-conditioned homes allowed them to go about their daily business as usual. Despite the record heat, the day was relatively uneventful, though that would soon change, to the obliviousness of many an unsuspecting inhabitant of Privet Drive.
The fact of the matter was that this day, one that had started off in a most ordinary and unsatisfying way, would end on a most unusual and exciting note. For it was on this sweltering June day, a most unbearable one to say the least, that a seemingly common orange tabby cat walked swiftly down the sidewalk of Privet Drive, tail twitching and cinnamon colored eyes casting surreptitious glances every which way as it progressed down the pathway. One might think that the cat, a most unusual cat despite its commonplace appearance, was keeping an eye out for stray dogs or children (both of which could mean trouble for a feline), though that could not be further from the truth. As it so happened, this cat, walking so warily down the sidewalk of the unbelievably drab Privet Drive, was not really a cat at all. Now, for those of you who may not readily comprehend how a cat can be anything but a cat, let me back up a few pages and do a bit of explaining, for I am getting rather ahead of myself.
In the wizarding world (Yes, wizards do exist!) there are a select few who have the rather remarkable ability to become animagi. This ability is extremely rare and takes quite a bit of time and effort to refine, though once done is quite a useful ability to have. Now, I know what you're thinking, that this is all well and good, but that I still haven't really explained anything at all. But an animagus, you see, is a wizard or witch who has the ability to turn themselves into an animal at will. And that, my friends, is how a cat can not really be a cat at all.
This 'cat', the one walking down Privet Drive that is, was really a most distinguished and accomplished witch, and a member of the elusive Order of the Phoenix. The order, made up of the finest witches and wizards on the side of the light, had just been re-established in the past year to help fight the newly regenerated Dark Lord, the darkest and most feared wizard of all time. His name, which few dare to speak (usually preferring terms such as He-who-shall-not-be-named and other long and just as heavily hyphenated aliases), happens to be Lord Voldemort, which is an anagram of his given name, Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Now, it is because of him that the aforementioned cat, (who really happens to be a witch) was taking an evening stroll down the humdrum walkway lining the avenue of Privet Drive. This witch had a most important message divulging the whereabouts and recent activities of He-who-shall-remain- nameless, a message that must be delivered in person, and very secretively, to an order member living on this very street, as dull and lifeless as it may seem.
The cat, who had by now come to the house in which she was to discuss her top secret order information, skillfully made her way to the rather lush and overgrown backyard after pushing her way through a slight gap in the surrounding fence. She was certain no one would question her presence in the house, for the owner, and therefore the person privileged enough to receive classified order information, was an avid cat lover and cats were swarming about her place constantly as it was.
There were large, muscled, black cats; and tiny, fluffy, white kittens; striped, multicolored cats; and spotted, short-haired breeds, along with just about every other kind of cat you could ever imagine. In fact, there were so many cats that the witch had a hard time making her way through the dense foliage without bumping into the cats bustling about the place; so, you see, there really was no need to worry about getting caught, for this witch had the perfect cover.
As she made her way to the back door and consequently the small flap inserted in to it so that the cats could come and go as they pleased, a sense of relief flooded her travel worn body and she let out a contented sigh, which came out sounding slightly more like a purr. She, Minerva McGonagal, transfigurations professor and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had finally made her way to number thirteen Privet Drive.
With an audible click the key slid into place and the door, a rather old and well-worn one that suited the house it belonged to, groaned open with a whoosh of air as a rather eccentric looking elderly woman pushed it aside with one of her grocery laden arms. A big, fat, white, fluffball of a cat idly began to snake its way between her legs, purring with the satisfying knowledge that it would soon get a nice petting.
"Not now, kitty" replied the woman absentmindedly as the cat began to meow insistently at her. She balanced the groceries for a moment longer before setting them precariously upon the countertop, which proved to be quite a difficult task with the furry feline twining between her legs and seemingly out to trip her (perhaps as some sort of revenge) all the while.
As she bent down to pick up one of her many cats—How many did she have now, 46? She seemed to remember having lost count some time ago at 39—she noticed another cat lying oddly in the middle of the linoleum-tiled, kitchen floor near Fluffy (as she had dubbed the white cat, not remembering its actual name, if ever it had one) and slowly approached an orange tabby that she had no recollection of owning, though that in itself did not bother her. The cat didn't so mach as twitch its striped tail as she approached, exhausted as it was, and so she bent down as to more closely examine her unexpected houseguest.
As she peered at the markings surrounding the, at the moment, closed eyes—quite peculiar square-shaped markings they were, which gave the cat the odd appearance that it was wearing square-rimmed spectacles—something within Mrs. Figg's poor, old, muddled mind finally clicked.
"Why Minerva, whatever are you doing here?" she exclaimed, addressing the cat still passed out on her kitchen floor as if it was a dear old friend who had just dropped by without prior notice.
Although the cat took no notice of her words, Mrs. Figg seemed wholly unbothered by this fact. After all, she was quite used to talking to cats that could not possibly understand what she was saying, let alone respond (What can I say? She's a lonely, slightly eccentric old woman...) and merely sat herself upon one of her rickety, old chairs. It promptly tilted so that it felt as if she was slipping slightly to the front-leftern side of the chair, though that was not entirely unexpected, considering that the chair leg on the front, left side was shorter than the other three.
And so it was, in her lopsided chair, with Fluffy still idly meandering about her outstretched legs, that Mrs. Figg patiently awaited for the only creature in the house that could actually respond to her mundane soliloquies to awaken from its slumber.
She was lying on something hard and cold. Needless to say, she was not the least bit comfortable. Amber eyes slowly blinked open, squinting as a shaft of sunlight glared at her through a crack in the moldy-green colored blinds covering the kitchen window. She was disoriented and her mind was foggy. Then, suddenly, it hit her like a bludger: She was here on a mission—here on a mission to save Harry. There was no time to be wasted.
She looked around her, making sure that there would be enough room for her to transform before actually doing so. Her joints were stiff and her muscles ached, but she had much more important things to think about at the moment. She slowly moved so that she was in a sitting position on the linoleum floor, before spotting Arabella dozing on a chair nearby, her head resting on her chest and one of her many cats resting in her lap.
With a small sigh and a groan she lifted herself up from her position on the floor, her muscles aching in protest. She sure wasn't as young as she used to be; she should have thought about that before she decided to take a nap on the floor. But there was important business to discuss, no time to waste.
She gently shook Arabella, who awoke with a sharp intake of breath and one last snore, before taking a seat on one of the kitchen chairs. Arabella's mind was still a bit hazy from sleep as was apparent by the first question she asked. "Did you have a nice nap, Minerva," was her innocent and relatively unimportant inquiry.
Minerva shook her head slightly, pieces of hair that had fallen loose from her bun shifted, the frazzled strands of her usually immaculate hairdo making it apparent that she was quite careworn and distressed. "No, but that is trivial at this time. Our informant has brought it to our attention that Harry is in danger. I was sent here to not only tell you this, but to formulate a plan to safely remove him from his relatives' house without alerting the enemy of his escape."
Although Mrs. Figg had been quite aware of the fact that Minerva's visit surely meant bad news, she had been quite unprepared for what she had just heard. "Wh—what about the blood magic? It's protected Harry all this time...I don't understand." She was now getting greatly distressed and very confused. "You-know-who can't get around Lily's spell. I mean how could he possibly...he can't, can he?"
Minerva let out a shaky sigh, clasping her hands in lap and studying them for a moment before raising her eyes to Arabella's and giving her the horrible truth. "I'm afraid that the protection Harry's relatives have brought him all these years has finally run out. Once he reaches his majority...he will no longer be safe staying with the Dursleys." Minerva let out a long suffering sigh, the toll the war was taking on her was readily apparent, her worry lines more pronounced than ever.
Mrs. Figg seemed at a loss for what to say. She shook her head as she contemplated the situation. Finally she turned back to Minerva, her face marked by uncertainty. "But...but that's only two days away...what are we to do?" It was a simple question, really; however, the answer was not nearly so much so.
As more and more time passed by in silence, it became apparent that Minerva did not have the answer to that question. They had only just received the news of Harry's immanent danger before Minerva had set off to warn Mrs. Figg and Harry, in turn, of this most unfortunate situation. She had not had time to plan for the great escape yet...she had been too focused on just making it to Privet Drive.
Could they perhaps have Harry ride his broom to Hogwarts like he had the previous year? He could wear his invisibility cloak to shield him—no, the wards surrounding the house detect any magical activity, so the broom's out. Let's see...some way to get him out without using magic. Perhaps Arabella would know, after all, she had lived her whole life as a muggle, being a squib and unable to do magic and all. "We can't use any magical means for Harry's abscond. The ministry can detect any magical activity within one hundred meters of the house. As both you and I know, the Dark Lord has followers with high positions in the ministry; the information would quickly make its way back to him." She stopped there, expecting Arabella to provide any ideas she may have on the topic.
Mrs. Figg idly stroked the cat still curled up in her lap as she contemplated this new information. What do muggles do to make themselves unrecognized? "Well...we could buy a disguise for him. Will his invisibility cloak be detected by the wards?"
Minerva pondered the question for a minute or two before finally coming to a conclusion that she was sure was correct. "The wards won't detect the invisibility cloak. It won't detect any magic that isn't actually cast by a wizard or witch. The only reason why it would detect the broom is because the broom works with the user's magic in order to power it. It seems like you have come up with some sort of plan?"
Arabella thought through her hastily made plan, looking for possible flaws. It had some, of course, but it was the only viable solution that she could think of; Minerva would have to help her decide whether or not it would actually work. "Yes...I have a vague idea of what we could do, but I don't know for sure that will truly work. I was thinking that you could go into the house tonight, in your animagis form mind you, and speak with Harry. He would then need to sneak out with his invisibility cloak on and head here. I'll go to shopping today and buy him some things—muggle things—that will, hopefully, hide who he really is. I could say that he is my great nephew if anyone inquires. I'm not quite sure where we could go, though...do you know anyone with a floo port that we can trust who lives nearby?"
Minerva sifted through the list of order members in her mind. Which would be the closest one to Little Whinging? "I believe Kingsley Shacklebolt lives in Kingston on the outskirts of London...but that might be too near the ministry headquarters, and he's an auror...they might be keeping close tabs on him. Hmm...oh I know! How about we head towards Crawley. That's where Magdaline Ariella lives; we can trust her and I'm sure she has a floo connection. Besides, she isn't suspected of being in the Order, probably because she isn't a prominent member, but that will be to our advantage."
Mrs. Figg contemplated this idea for a couple of minutes, visually imagining where Crawley was in relation to where they currently were. And who was Magdaline again? Was she the one with the graying blonde hair that had spilled pumpkin juice all over herself at that one meeting? Quite clumsy, but she seemed nice enough. "Okay, I believe that will work. I'll have to go out and buy all of the supplies quite soon. And perhaps I should call Magdaline, tell her that I'm going to come to visit with my great nephew. Yes...well, I suppose I should be off. I'll be back in no more than a couple of hours." With that said she began to search for her purse, finding it after a bit of searching lying under the kitchen table. Now how did it get under there? Oh well. As she turned around to head towards the front door, she suddenly spotted the groceries that she had brought in earlier. Oh dear, she had completely forgotten about them. She peered into both of the large paper bags filled with food, some of it not so good anymore. She withdrew the milk, setting it upon the counter with a slight sigh. It would be no good for her to drink anymore, but perhaps it would be allright for the cats.
There was relatively little else that had spoiled, and she could do without the things that had until her next shopping day. After throwing away the things that were no longer any good, she once again made her way towards the door, but once again stopped, this time because of Minerva.
Minerva had grabbed the sleeve of her jacket as she was passing by, a questioning look on her face. "What exactly do you plan on buying as a disguise?" she asked, not being too familiar with the muggle world.
Mrs. Figg just smiled serenely before delicately lifting Minerva's grip from the knitted fabric. "Why, Minerva, you should know by now that just because muggles can't use magic doesn't mean that they cannot think of other ways to achieve the same results. Don't worry; I know what I'm doing." And with that she was out the door and off to accomplish her task.
Minerva simply slouched down in the chair that she sat upon, resigned to wait for her friend to return. She decided that sitting on the couch would be a great deal more comfortable, and slowly made her way to the living room, contemplating Arabella's parting words. "I sure hope that you do," she muttered under her breath, "for much is at stake and I'm afraid that there is no room for failure."
The supplies turned out to be nothing more than a box of hair dye, colored contacts, a bit of make-up, and a bag full of clothes and various accessories. At this point, Minerva felt quite certain that their hastily and inexpertly crafted plan was sure to fail. Arabella, however, seemed oblivious to her partner's worries, humming as she went about taking items out of bags and boxes and setting them up upon the kitchen table.
Suddenly the humming stopped, though, as the cat clock hung up on a butter yellow wall meowed out five times. "Oh dear, it's already five o'clock!" Arabella cried out in alarm, her motions speeding up as she hurried to get everything somewhat set up.
Finally, she had gotten all the items situated to her liking and, after pausing to examine that all was in order one last time before leaving, Mrs. Figg headed toward the door calling out a lengthy farewell to Minerva. "I'm just going to go over to number four and see if I can steal Harry away without arousing any suspicion. I should be back in a couple of minutes; try to get everything ready to go while I'm gone." And with the creak of the hinges and the click of the lock sliding into place, she was gone.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Note: Updates will probably be few and far between (it takes quite a long time to write a substantial amount of quality text), but I will try and update as frequently as I can. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. The next chapter, which I have already written quite a bit for, will feature Harry and I am planning on calling it "The Great Escape." I'll bet you can guess what it will be about. Anyways, if you liked the story, please let me know. When I know that people are reading and enjoying my fic, it tends to make me more eager to update.