Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter! There is some original text used here, but I don't own it :)
Harry turned.
"Mrs. Figg?" asked Harry, sighing with relief.
The woman frowned. "Tufty. I thought I'd be seeing you around here."
"Wait," said Harry. "You know him?"
Mrs. Figg nodded. "Thank god he was here, too. He's my cat. I'm surprised he remembered how to transfigure back. He's been a cat for over thirty years, you know."
Harry spluttered. "Y-your cat? What the ‒?"
"You did a good job scaring away those dementors. They send chills down my spine, those things do."
Harry blinked. For some reason, the fact that his old neighbour Mrs. Figg could see dementors was more shocking than the fact that the man who had saved him was actually Mrs. Figg's cat. "Y-you can see them? B-but I thought ‒"
"I'm not a witch," she said harshly. "I'm a squib."
Harry stared at her. It was like looking at a completely different person.
She sighed loudly. "I'm going to kill that Mundungus Fletcher."
Harry looked back to 'Tufty'. "You're a cat?"
The man nodded. "I've been a cat for a while. Maybe even thirty years. Last week Professor Dumbledore asked if I'd help out in the school. This is only the, uh, second time I've changed back in my time being a cat."
"Second time?" asked Mrs. Figg, her grey eyebrows disappearing up into her hair for a moment. "When was the first time?"
"Why did you stay as a cat for so long?" asked Harry.
Tufty smiled, ignoring Mrs. Figg for now. "Let's just say that many people want me dead."
"Even after thirty years?" asked Harry.
"That's enough of that," snapped Mrs. Figg. "Tufty, turn back into a cat. No, wait, pick up that poor boy. He's shaking like a twig. Wait, no, a tree. Ah, you're making me lose my mind. That poor boy is shaking like a LEAF! A LEAF!"
Tufty saluted with a sly smile. "Yes, ma'am."
"And I want no cheek. Harry, help me ‒" she snapped again, but was interrupted. There was a loud crack and Mrs. Figg screeched. "You! Fletcher!"
A short, man materialised next to Mrs. Figg. His hair was a dull red, greasy and lying limp around his head. He smiled manically, patting her hard on the back.
" 'S' up, Figgy?" he said, then looked around (missing Harry, who was standing behind Tufty). "We at some kind o' reunion? I thought you were just getting cat food."
Mrs. Figg almost growled. "'Just getting cat food'?" she asked. "'Some kind of reunion'? If you haven't noticed, Harry and his cousin have just been attacked by a dementor. On your watch, you oaf ‒" She swang around her bag of cat food. With every word she hit him again. "They–both–could–have–been–killed! You idiot! What–the–hell–were–you–thinking?"
"Look," he said, raising his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay? I just had to ‒"
"Don't you go making excuses," she screamed. Harry had an urge to put his hands over his ears but just about managed to resist it.
"Look, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "We need to – wait, Quentin Summerbee? Oh, wow you still look so young. How long has it been? Gosh, almost ten years now."
Harry wondered who Mundungus was talking to, and looked around to see if he had missed anyone's arrival. Then he realised who Mundungus was talking to: Tufty.
"Tufty?" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. "Tufty's my cat! My good, old cat! How on earth do you know my bloody CAT?"
"Ahh," said Mundungus. "From school, y' see. He came in our seventh year. Bit odd, but we were good friends, weren't we, eh?" Mundungus proceeded to elbow Tufty awkwardly in the ribs.
Tufty's eyes narrowed, and Harry could see the sweat gleaming on his face. "Uh, well maybe. I recall attending Hogwarts for a year or so. Perhaps."
"But you're my cat!" exclaimed Mrs. Figg. "You've been my cat for THIRTY YEARS!"
Tufty pulled at his collar. "Um. Well, you see I'm not really your cat, I'm just ‒"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'RE NOT REALLY MY CAT?"
Tufty looked at Harry for a moment, green eyes pleading, and then turned back to Mrs. Figg. "I mean, I am sometimes. But you know what Tufty's like, right? Always disappearing . . ."
"YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME THAT YOU'VE BEEN LYING TO ME FOR THIRTY YEARS?"
Tufty looked down. "Uh. . .yes, I suppose."
"So there aren't any wizards trying to kill you?" asked Harry cheerily. This was starting to turn into a rather interesting conversation.
Tufty glared at him. "Harry? You're not Harry Potter, are you?"
Harry nodded silently. He wanted to find out more about Tufty's double life.
The man's eyes lit up and he extended his hand. "Merlin's beard. Harry Potter, finally. My name's . . . uh, we'll worry about that later. You can just call me Tufty. It's a pleasure to meet you. I have to ‒"
"What the bloody ‒?" screamed Mundungus. "The muggle's been sick. OVER MY NEW SHOES! They cost me 10 galleons, they did. Ten bloody galleons."
"Mundungus," said Mrs. Figg, voice strained. "Help T-Tufty carry Harry's cousin back home. I – I – I need to send a letter to Dumbledore. I'll be going. Tufty . . . I'll understand if you d-don't want to come back home."
And then Harry watched as she trotted off quickly.
"Damn," said Tufty. "I thought she'd take this better."
"A muggle house?" asked Mundungus, eyes glazed. "Awesome. Never been in one o' those before."
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