Chapter 3: Mrs. Figg
Dudley found himself staring at the ceiling in his bedroom. He massaged his temple, feeling a headache coming. Dudley didn't want to think about his cousin, but thanks to the Dementor things, he couldn't take his mind off him.
He's happy - relieved - that Harry had gone back to his world. However, he couldn't help feeling the emptiness in the house - an emptiness he ignored since his cousin had left for his school for the first time.
No, Dudley thought. I don't miss him, the pathetic boy. But even his own thoughts didn't sound convincing. Then he heard his mother's voice calling his name.
"Dudley! One of your friends want to talk to you on the phone!"
Glad for the distraction, Dudley got out of bed and went downstairs to find his mother holding the phone in one gloved hand.
She smiled adoringly at him. "You're such a popular boy, sweetums."
"Thanks, mum," Dudley answered, hoping his friend didn't hear her. He took the phone from his mother, who resumed to her cleaning in the kitchen.
"Hey, Big D!" said Piers' voice. "How are you?"
"Hey, Piers," Dudley said, happy to talk to a friend. "I'm fine." It was a lie, but how could you tell your oblivious friend that you had gotten attacked by invisible creatures?
"That's good," Piers said. "Listen. Gordon's parents will be out tonight. D'you want to come over and have a bit of fun?"
According to Dudley's gang, fun is causing trouble in the neighborhood. Dudley shuddered as he remembered all the things the Dementors showed him and his nightmare. He couldn't make up an excuse not to hang out because he didn't want to lose face in front of his friend (through a phone, but that's besides the point), so he agreed.
"Great!" said Piers happily. "See you tonight at eight." He hung up.
Dudley looked at his watch; it was seven o'clock so he'll have an hour to kill. He didn't want to stay in the house. He shuddered as his eyes swept over the cupboard under the stairs. He couldn't help it; every time he so much as walk passed the cupboard, an uneasy feeling would enter in the pit of his stomach.
Dudley turned away from the cupboard. No, he thought angrily, my parents are good people. They were trying to help Harry overcome his freakishness. His family did nothing but took in a burden named Harry Potter into their home.
Even so, Dudley did not want to stay in the house any longer. He decided to take a walk through the neighborhood to clear his head.
Before walking out, he called to his mother, "I'm going out to see my friends! I'll be back soon."
"Okay, Dudley," Petunia called back. "Be careful!"
"I will."
Dudley walked out of the house. He didn't have to worry about getting attacked by those things again because Harry was gone. As he walked through the streets, Dudley spotted Mrs. Figg across the street walking home with her crutches. He frowned. She was always a batty cat lady, but there was something off about her. He thought back to the night he and Harry were attacked. He could've sworn he heard an old woman's voice echoing in the background.
Could Mrs. Figg had been there? Dudley questioned to himself. No, she was normal - not by Dursley standards but normal enough. Besides Dudley and Harry, no one was out that night, so there was no way she could possibly had witnessed the attack. Unless…
"No," Dudley muttered to himself. "She couldn't be one of them."
Dudley never liked Mrs. Figg. She was the only person who wasn't afraid to call him out about his behavior (not that it'll do much good anyway). Despite his dislike and fear, curiosity took over Dudley; he wanted answers and the possibility of his weird neighbor having them was enough for Dudley to gather his courage.
He crossed the street and walked behind the old woman. "Mrs. Figg?"
Mrs. Figg turned around. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously when she realized who called her name. "Dudley Dursley? What do you want, boy?"
Dudley winced at her rudeness, but he couldn't blame her. She knew his reputation as a bullying thug in Privet Drive.
"I just want to talk to you," said Dudley sincerely.
She raised an eyebrow. "Talk to me? This is one of your tricks, isn't it?"
"No, no," Dudley shook his head. "I really want to talk to you about the night the Demen -"
"Don't talk about that here, idiot boy!" Mrs. Figg hissed, looking around in case people overheard. "Fine, then. Follow me. But if you step one toe of out line, you'll have to answer to me."
Dudley briefly wondered what Mrs. Figg could possibly do to him before remembering that she might be a witch. He followed the old woman to her home. She got her keys out of her purse and opened the door. Dudley walked inside her house behind her, closing the door. He resisted the urge to gag as the smell of cabbage entered his nose.
No wonder Harry didn't like being here, Dudley thought in disgust. But despite the smell of cabbage, the house wasn't really bad. It was surprisingly clean despite the many cats Mrs. Figg owned. The walls were decorated with portraits of her family and - strangely - cats. The thing that stood out the most in Mrs. Figg's house was a large painting that was above the fireplace. It showed a fat middle aged man with dark hair holding an opened book in his hands, looking as though he was reading. For a split second, Dudley thought he saw the man moved a tiny bit, but he dismissed it as a trick of the light.
Mrs. Figg went into the kitchen. "I'll make us some tea while you sit on the sofa."
Dudley nodded and sat down on the purple sofa. A brown cat the size of a bobcat trotted into the room. Its dark green eyes landed on Dudley and it hissed. It unsheathe its claws and growled at him. Dudley grimaced at the look of pure anger on the cat's face. Mrs. Figg came with the tea.
"Calm down, Tufty," she said to the cat, giving the tea to Dudley. "He's our guest."
Tufty sheathe his claws and relaxed, but he looked at Dudley with dislike.
"Your cat is mad," Dudley couldn't help but say. He didn't expect one of Mrs. Figg's cats to be aggressive. Surprisingly, Mrs. Figg chuckled. "Yes, that's what all my cats do when they meet people they don't like."
She sat in the armchair with Tufty in her lap, purring. "Now, you wanted to talk about that night?"
"Yes," answered Dudley. "But I have to ask. Are you a -" he gulped - "a w-witch?"
Mrs. Figg gave a sad sigh. "A witch? No, I am not."
"But how do you know about those things if you're not a witch?"
"I am a Squib," said Mrs. Figg softly. "Sort of the opposite of Muggles. Squibs are people with no powers, but have magical parents."
Dudley looked at her with wide eyes. "That's possible?"
"It is rare, but possible."
It wasn't Mrs. Figg who answered. It was the cat sitting on her lap. Dudley gasped and pointed at the cat, who had a smug look on his face.
"That cat can talk?"
Tufty laughed. "I can talk, kid. Most of the cats in this house can. And before you ask how, I am a half cat half kneazle hybrid. Kneazles are magical cats."
Dudley just gaped at the cat. He had the urge to run out of the house - a house full of talking cats (Dudley inwardly cringed at the thought) - and never look back. But he fought the urge to run away and stayed in his seat.
Mrs. Figg scratched Tufty behind the ear. "No need to scare the boy, Tufty."
"But after what he and his family had done to Harry," he growled, glaring at Dudley. "He deserved it."
Mrs. Figg didn't say anything, but Dudley can see the anger in her eyes. He shifted uncomfortably.
He wanted to say "Harry was a freak" to protest against Tufty's accusations, but he swallowed the words before they could come out. He knew he'll get in trouble for saying such things in Mrs. Figg's house.
Instead he asked, "So why had the Dementors came? They don't appear randomly, do they?"
"No," said Mrs. Figg quietly. She was staring at her tea, not meeting Dudley's eyes. "They were likely sent here."
"They were sent here?" Dudley asked fearfully. "But who would do that?"
"You-Know-Who - Voldemort - would have."
When Mrs. Figg said the name, the fur on Tufty's neck rose. His dark green eyes widened in terror.
"It's all right, Tufty," Mrs. Figg said to the cat soothingly, but even she shuddered at the name.
Dudley's face crushed up in thought. "Isn't he the wizard who killed Harry's parents? Harry said he was back."
He remembered very little after Harry brought him home; he was too shaken up to recall much that night. He only remembered lots of shouting and owls.
"He is," answered Mrs. Figg grimly.
"Oh," said Dudley, not knowing what else to say. He checked his watch and remembered he was supposed to be with his friends. He got up from the sofa and said, "Thank you for the information, Mrs. Figg, but I have to get go."
Mrs. Figg nodded, but she did not say anything as Dudley walked out of the house.
She looked down at Tufty. "Do you think that boy could change?"
"Who knows?" Tufty replied, jumping off her lap. "But I have hope for the child. I can't say the same for the boy's parents."