I am so excited about this chapter! It's quite a pivotal point (so sorry for the lack of Fred! I'll make up for it in the next one, promise) so rather important. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I loved writing it. This hasn't undergone much editing, I was too excited about finishing it to bother. But I most definitely will soon.

Thank you once again for all the fabulous reviews (I love all my reviewers. Hugs and Kisses to you!) and for the follows and favourites. Reviews the most though. Please do leave feedback, I would really like to know how to improve and what you like most.

Do enjoy!

Disclaimer: Dialogue at the end from Order of the Phoenix, slightly edited, most of JK Rowling's words.

33. The Order of Rampage

The timer pinged and I had just opened the oven door when the whishing of the Floo sounded. I pulled the brownies out and set them on a wire rack before turning to see Dumbledore enter.

"Sir! Hello. I wasn't expecting you," I said, taking off my oven mitts and smiling at the Hogwarts headmaster. He smiled back, but it was a tired tilt of the lips not quite reaching his soft blue eyes that looked uncharacteristically old.

"Ella," he said in greeting, dropping his head in a small bow. "I've been rather busy and wasn't able to inform you beforehand. Is this a good time?"

"Yes, of course, it's fine. You want some tea?"

Dumbledore nodded and pulled out a chair, humming in surprise.

"Your pet?" he asked, and I looked over the table to see Kiwi sat on the chair, small green eyes staring up.

"Not mine," I glowered at it, "Sorry about her."

He left the chair pulled put and sat himself down adjacent to her as I prepared two cups of tea. Slicing the brownies into squares, I plated them and set everything on the table.

"Are you aware of the Order of the Phoenix?" he asked as he picked up his mug.

"Um…" I wracked my brain, eyes pinched in concentration. "A…an organisation for the welfare of phoenixes?"

"Not quite," he said, his smile less forced this time, "It's a society of witches and wizards that all work for one aim, and unfortunately it does not, as you suggested, have to do with caring for phoenixes. It's been dissolved for quite some time now – since 1981, in fact. I've been busy this summer due to its reformation."

"Are you the head of it?" I asked, thinking perhaps he was offering me a career proposition to work with phoenixes only to remember it did not actually involve phoenixes. The significance of 1981 fell short on me.

"Indeed I am. And after the events of the final school term I thought it best to reinstate the Order to fight back against Voldemort."

Harry had told everyone on the night of Cedric Diggory's death that Voldemort had returned. I had believed him, but to hear it confirmed by Dumbledore made it real, solidified the knowledge that I had already accepted yet shoved to the back of my mind. Facing the ordinary occurrences of the muggle world that seemed so significant had made my other life irrelevant. A shiver ran through my body and I returned the brownie square to the plate.

"I see."

"The Order of the Phoenix is a secret organisation which works to defeat Voldemort and all his followers. It emerged during the seventies, when he first rose to power with dark intentions towards muggleborns. Now that he is back I am afraid I will be of little assistance to you with your studies, however I am sure many of your other professors will be more than capable in ensuring your studies are going soundly," he said.

"I understand," I said, nodding slowly. My gaze flew to the window quickly, hoping to see the familiar form of Pigwidgeon. The owl was nowhere in sight, had not been for days, and I wondered just what Fred could be so busy with that he couldn't send a letter. "What are you doing right now? Fred and George haven't mentioned anything from the Daily Prophet about it, surely the news about Voldemort would be everywhere?"

He sighed. "I am afraid due to personal reasons the Weasleys no longer care much for the Daily Prophet. I am sure you will be notified about that in due time. Lately I've been recruiting some new members as well as getting some old members back. It's not easy, what with the Ministry completely rejecting Voldemort's return and labelling us – Harry and myself – as wizards who have lost their wand. Can you imagine – me being condemned as crazy? Preposterous."

"The kind of rumour a bumbling Billywig would make?" I smirked.

"Precisely," he winked.

"I don't understand why they're ignoring this. Don't they remember the first wizarding war? How disastrous it was – they could put a stop to it now!"

"My dear, the Minister is scared," Dumbledore said calmly. "He is frightened to see reason, would much rather believe that I am attempting to overthrow him and replace him."

"Why would he think that?" I frowned.

"Before he was Minister there were many people supporting me to take on the role and leave Hogwarts, and although I never even considered the idea, it would seem that the Minister still holds some resentment. And ignoring the issue of Voldemort rising means less problems for them to worry about. Yes, the first war caused many problems, problems that Fudge does not want to deal with and is therefore brushing it away."

"That's stupid, Voldemort isn't going to just disappear until it's convenient for Fudge."

"Which is why the Order is of the utmost importance."

"What's Harry saying about all this? He must be fuming," I said, sipping on my tea.

"That is another reason for my visit," Dumbledore said, holding up his own cup to his lips. "How would you like to do a little job for the Order?"

"Me?" my eyes widened. "What could I do?"

"It wouldn't take long, just a few hours of guard duty. Harry won't know you're there, you'll be with his neighbour, a Mrs Arabella Figg. She, like you, is a squib, and a member of the Order."

"Really?" I asked. I had only met one squib before at Hogwarts, Argus Filch, and he was a horrible creep even though I continuously gave him the benefit of the doubt, knowing the cruelty he received openly from students. To hear that a squib was fighting for a good cause, one which I had momentarily believed was out of my reach, gave me hope. "Wait – I'll be guarding Harry?"

"She lives in Little Whinging, near Harry and the Dursleys, his muggle family. I have already informed her of a possible visit and she is more than happy to have you with her for the evening."

"Why is Harry with muggles? Wouldn't he be better off and more protected with wizards, the Weasleys? He wouldn't have to be guarded then."

"He is not yet of age and must stay with his family," Dumbledore said, and I had no doubt it was a phrase he had repeated several times over the years. "And while you are away, I have someone to help me go over the protective spells on your house here."

Before I could question further the Floo rushed again, and the thudding through the house had me thinking that it was Bill who would walk through the archway any second, only for me to skid back on my chair.

The man limping through the doorway was familiar, but his presence did not bring the pleasantness I had been expecting. He was a very tall man, adding to the intimidating features of his scarred face. His nose looked as if there was a large chunk missing from it and I noticed it was his wooden leg that had been the source of the thumping. However, it was his eyes that were the most shocking – his one electrical blue eye, rather, that rolled around while the other grey eye narrowed on me.

"Professor Moody," I said, acknowledging the man who had been impersonated throughout the entire school year by the Death Eater Barty Crouch. I was not taught by him, but he had been a very conspicuous staff member, and incredibly shifty.

"Never got round to much teaching, did I?" he growled, sitting himself down. No flask was pulled out from his pocket. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of his tea, "I'd like to introduce you to Ella Wood. Ella, Alastor Moody."

"Wood, 'eh?" Moody said, his eye flying everywhere before settling on me for just a second. "Bill's girl?"

"You knew Bill?" I asked.

"Course, stuck by each other when we were Aurors and in that first war. Both lost our legs together."

I noticed the Scottish twang to his voice, just as thick and strong as Bill's. "Were you related?"

He shifted in his seat, threw his hand under himself and pulled out a little sweet, one I observed was a prototype of the twins'. He tossed it onto the table.

"Yeah, second cousins or something."

"The two were like brothers," Dumbledore added. The two men averted their eyes, and I was struck with a sense of suspicion.

"It's nice to properly meet you, sir," I said to Moody, offering him a brownie to which he declined with a rough shake of his head.

"Now, Ella," said Dumbledore, clearing his throat. "I will Floo you to Mrs Figg's house and she will explain to you what you will be doing. I will come and get you once Alastor and I are done with the charms here."

Moody stood and made his way over to the window, looking out into the garden.

"Under no circumstances are you to make yourself visible to Harry, is that understood?"

"Why not?" I asked.

"It is very dangerous, Ella, and the less Harry knows right now, the better."

"For who? Surely not for him. Doesn't he deserve to know? He saw Voldemort. He saw Cedric die."

"Be quiet, girl," Moody snarled without removing his eyes from the garden. "Either you listen and obey or don't bother joining, we have no problem going about our business with you here."

"Join?" I whirled back to Dumbledore. "You want me to join the Order?"

"If you would like," he said, locking his fingers together and resting them on the table.

"Seriously?" I let out a hollow laugh. My heart beat accelerated and my hands clammed with sweat. I couldn't believe it. "You mean it? I can join the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Would we joke about this?" Moody said.

I bit my lip. This all seemed so impossible.

"Under extreme circumstances I am allowing this, Ella," said Dumbledore seriously. Kiwi hopped onto the table and purred as Dumbledore's fingers scratched her through her wild fur. "Even witches and wizards of age who are still in school are not able to join. We usually take into consideration the thoughts of parents or carers, however, there is special predicament in your case. Nevertheless, you have permission. You must promise that you will not tell anyone of your involvement or any missions you go on. This is a very serious matter. Only a select few Order members will know. Me, Alastor, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Professor Snape."

My eyes bulged out of their sockets. "Snape? He's in the Order?"

"Professor Snape has his own intentions and orders," he continued, "Trust him. There will be times you will be dubious over his commitment but I assure you that Snape is with us." He smiled crookedly, and then added, "I trust him with my life."

I nodded. Trusting Snape with anything left me feeling uneasy, but I would just have to grin and bear it.

There was a sudden bang on the window and I jumped out of my seat, my mug soaring to the ground and shattering. With my heart beating furiously I looked to where it had come from. A stain painted the window, a light pink mixed with a translucent liquid. Moody stared unflinching as I ran over; leaning over the sink, I saw a mangled heap of feathers in the long grass, and my initial thought that it was Pigwidgeon, dead, until I saw that it had no letter attached to it and was simply a pigeon. Circling above in the sky, squawking, was a flock of birds.

"Albus," said Moody.

I felt my stomach gurgle at the dead bird, twitching sporadically, and backed away.

"Ella?" Dumbledore said, ignoring Moody as he stared at the shattered shards of porcelain decorating the ground. It was then I noticed that I was trembling. "Ella, has anything odd been happening?"

"Like pigeons committing suicide on my window, no I can't say anything of the sort has happened before," I said in a rush, feeling panic begin to choke me.

"Not the bird," Dumbledore shook his head and gazed at me thoughtfully, the look that made me feel as if he was trying to read my mind, "Anything else? Strange happenings when you've been in a state of shock? Any other emotion that has taken complete hold of you?"

I was shaking my head, unable to think of anything even though I was sure he knew something, suspected something that was very wrong.

Old withered hands rested on my shoulders until I met his soothing light-blue eyes.

"Ella, with your permission, may I use Legilimency?"

"Albus, there's not much time," Moody snapped, "Take her to Little Whinging."

Once again Dumbledore ignored Moody. I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. Whatever had possibly worried Dumbledore was beginning to frighten me; I had always assumed very few things could get Dumbledore so anxious. Maybe I was just imagining things, seeing a bird crash into a window and die could do that to you.

As his eyes bore into mine I felt a calmness sweep through me, washing away my unease from the bad omen. I couldn't take my eyes off of him if I tried. The awareness of him rifling through every thought and memory should have made me awkward, but all I could think of was him having done this before, only not as intensely.

"Albus."

I was no longer looking at his face. The kitchen had been swallowed in shades of black and Moody's voice was silenced. I was all alone.

A hiss, loud and clear from all around, and then as if looking through the eyes of another, the doors of darkness opened to a grim scene. Pacing on marble floor was a man, his back to me, clad in dark robes. His blond hair was neatly combed back. The room was dark, blocking out the sun streaming in from the window as if by an invisible barrier. A large bookshelf dominated much of a wall, dark, leathery spines with gold symbols. A glass cabinet sat in a corner filled with potions of an assortment of deep colours. There was a large desk, neat and bare, and the chair behind it was facing away from me. The only thing visible was skinny fingers drumming together.

From the corner of my eye I saw the figure of a woman leaving the door, spirals of wild hair hiding her face. Feet dragged behind her on the ground, leaving remains of a trail of crimson.

The blond man stopped as a garbled voice spoke. I could not understand the cold whispers, but the feel of something sliding on my skin was so real and fowl that I made to jump back, only I couldn't. A voice moaned out, small and fearful. A child.

With rings of black smoke the scene fizzled out, replaced by another. The bed in the dark room embellished in green held the blonde man, shirtless, a blanket draped sloppily over his lower half. His pale face was clear in the moonlight cascading in from the wide windows. He chuckled, sitting up abruptly, and to my absolute horror looked right at me with a baleful grin.

"Hello, princess," he crooned, voice low and hoarse. From the bedside table he grabbed his wand, twirling it between his long fingers before pointing it directly at me. He opened his mouth, and the air buzzed with momentary deafness as he spat out his curse, a jet of red coursing through the air.

Before the scene gave way once again I felt the distinct warmth of stickiness below.

More ripples of black. I was under a table, for that I was sure, hugging my knees to my chest. Ribbons of tears streaked down my face as the screaming escalated followed by smashing glass. A dark liquid dripped from the edge of the table, the feet storming away.

All was silent but my muffled cries.

"Ella," a voice drawled. I whimpered, biting my lip so hard that blood puddled into my mouth like the amber drink on the floor.

Feet, bare and grey swanned into my sight, scarcely touching the ground. They began slow, then increased in speed, skipping and skidding backwards and forwards, and I knew that they were taunting me, relishing in my mounting fear. A sob escaped me, and the feet stopped.

"Ella," it hissed again, and then his face was in front of mine, and a scream tore through my lips at the serpent like face before I was dropped back into the safety of my kitchen. Other than the sweat drenching me I was otherwise completely dry.

"Albus!" Moody yelled, who I was relieved to see in his same position by the window.

"I believe we should be going now, Ella," Dumbledore said as calm as ever.

"Sir?"

"Are you ready now, Ella?" Dumbledore said, standing as I looked between the two men, catching my breath.

"What was that?" I asked, eyes flying everywhere, making certain that I was not still in my nightmares.

"I'm afraid it will have to wait, we must be on our way."

"Is there someone out there?" I said, worry once again settling as Moody growled under his breath. Dumbledore had left, and I considered staying put, wondering what was going on before following him, taking the plate of brownies with me.

"Those were my nightmares," I said, thoughts jumbled and wild, "Why were you looking at those? They're just nightmares, I've had them ever since I got here."

"I saw much more than bad dreams, Ella, much more than I allowed you to see," Dumbledore said, hand closed around Floo powder.

"What?"

But he had flung the powder into the fireplace, filling it with emerald flames.

"Come now," he called, holding out his hand for me. "We don't want to keep Mrs Figg waiting."

Against my better judgement I placed my hand in his, and together we were engulfed by the fire and stepped out into a room that had the distinct scent of cabbage.

The room that I surmised was the living room was dark, the curtains shut but with the slightest slither of light escaping through a narrow gap. They were old and green, mismatched chairs with sickly yellow cushions and crocheted covers. To my utter surprise, a tail swished out of one of the cushions, a mouth opened wide in a yawn, followed by blinking eyes, and it wasn't a cushion at all, but a very furry cat.

"Ah, good afternoon, Mr Tibbles," Dumbledore greeted the cat with the squished face. "You wouldn't happen to know where Arabella is, would you?"

The cat let out a throaty meow and snuggled back into itself. A woman shuffled around the corner, frizzy grey fly-away hair nestled under a hairnet.

"Albus Dumbledore," she said, "How nice to see you. I've just been out in front, Harry's outside again. Ah, I expect you aren't here long."

"Unfortunately not, Arabella. I've brought along Ella Wood," Dumbledore said.

"Hello," I said with a nervous smile, standing straight when I realised I couldn't see through the exposed net curtain or behind the large bush separating the houses.

"Ella dear," her face wrinkled around her grin and a black tooth prodded out from her gums, "How nice to meet you. Oh, it's so nice for another squib to be a part of the Order. How is it going for you?"

Stunned silence overtook me until I finally found my words.

"Well, I've only just started so…"

"Ah, I see. Mr Tibbles," Mrs Figg snapped at the cat until he lifted its head. "Go on and keep an eye on Harry, that's it, good boy, go on now, under the car you go."

The cat meowed and jumped off the sofa, rubbing itself against Mrs Figg's legs as it exited the room.

"Sorry, Albus, but I can't bear the thought of Harry being left under the watch of that awful Mundungus, not on his own," she said.

"It's quite alright my dear," Dumbledore said, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it, "And I'm afraid I must run along now, I have Alastor waiting for me. I'm sure you can keep Ella occupied until I come back for her."

"Of course, of course, no problem at all. Off you go now, mister busy wizard."

"I'll be back once we've finished going over the charms, Ella," Dumbledore informed me. He picked up a brownie and inspected it before popping it into his mouth. "Take care."

"But sir –"

He disappeared into the green embers, and I was left with a million thoughts banging inside my head. What had we seen back in the kitchen? Why were they acting so suspicious? Something had been in my garden, I knew it, and it confirmed my own suspicions of feeling watched in Ottery. But who – surely a matter much bigger than Stephen Casey. Alongside those qualms was how Dumbledore didn't manage to get any crumbs scattered in his silver beard.

"I'll take those from you, love, ta. Dear Harry will love these," Mrs Figg murmured, grabbing the plate out of my hands and scuttling off to the kitchen. "Sit down, make yourself at home."

Perching myself on the edge of a chair, I surveyed the room more closely and noticed another cat sleeping inside a rotten slipper. All along the tables and walls were even more still pictures of cats. Brushing my hand on the fabric of the chair showed cat fur flying through the stream of sunlight with dust particles. I pressed my lips together.

"That's Snowy," came Mrs Figg's voice as she re-entered the room, a thick book in hand. On the coffee table, what I first assumed was a large ball of cotton wool, stretched another fluffy cat, and I amused myself with the thought of poor Mrs Figg accepting a cat infestation due to loneliness.

She sat herself beside me and opened the book which I now realised was a photo album.

"I thought we'd help time go along by going through my family," she smiled, eyes sinking into her face.

"What about Order work?" I asked. "Aren't we meant to be watching Harry? Making sure he's safe?"

"Us? Oh no, that's for Mundungus to do, it's his turn today, the daft little gnome. What could we possibly do? No, I just watch him every now and then. The boy can't stand being within a foot's distance of me. Now, here's my first little –"

"Why not?"

"Because he's not supposed to," she chuckled as if to a silly child.

"But why? I thought the Dursleys were really horrible to him."

"Dumbledore's rules. If everyone understood Dumbledore he wouldn't be the greatest wizard, would he now, hm?"

A crack went off in the distance, and both Mrs Figg and I looked to the window.

"What was that?" I asked, although I had an inkling, having heard a similar noise before. Shouting was heard from next door: the Dursleys. I grit my teeth and was ready to storm outside when Mrs Figg stopped me.

"Never you mind," she said, and then grumbled under breath something that I couldn't hear. "So, these pictures now."

I felt disheartened that my evening would be wasted away looking at photos. It had been foolish of me to think that I could ever be useful in the fight against Voldemort. The sudden noise

Nevertheless, I steeled myself, anticipation slowly building at the family of another squib. I looked down at the first page and my stomach dropped once more. Displayed in the photo album were even more cats.

"These were all yours?"

"Oh yes, I've been breeding kneazles and cats for many years now. They're all I have, my lovely, wonderful cats," she grinned down at the album, and I was mortified to see some moisture build up in her eyes.

"What about your human family, Mrs Figg?" I asked softly, eyeing her quivering lip.

"I had a husband once," she murmured, "A little, stout muggle. Brian. How wonderful he was."

There was no doubt that poor Brian Figg was dead. I left the questions unasked.

"Do you have someone special in your life, Ella? Besides your family."

"My family are dead," I said vacantly. "But I do have someone special – a boyfriend, Fred."

She smiled sweetly. "Wizard?" At my nod she continued, "He must be a good boy."

"He is. The best."

Three hours later and Mrs Figg had gone through both photo albums and an entire box of tissues. Her sniffs had gotten the best of her as she recounted the story of each cat, how she had come upon them, bonding them together, watching them grow with babies of their own and then selling them. Although her narration had been full of love and happiness I noticed the underlying sadness of having loved something so much to part with it, allowing it a precious life and love she could not offer wholly.

The evening brought along a breeze that cooled the earlier heat. It had been hotter in Ottery, but Mrs Figg's house was humid; only her garden door remained open. A glass of water sat on a coaster, condensation dripping down the sides. Fanning my hands around my sticky skin, Mrs Figg went to dispose of her used tissues.

"Ella, I'm just off out to get some cat food, you'll be alright here, won't you?" she asked as she entered the room, her purse over her arm.

"Can't I come with you?"

"I think it's best if you stay put. I'll be back in no time," she said as she left the house.

I groaned loudly at the click of the door shutting, falling back and immediately regretting it as my t-shirt stuck to my back. The kitchen did not offer much for decent food, I found, searching through the cupboards and fridge and finding only stale bread, eggs, half a tin of tuna and cucumber. The smell of cabbage was even stronger; there was a large pan with cabbages boiling inside. I hoped Dumbledore would Floo in any second, even my brownies were nowhere to be seen.

Stomach growling even louder, I decided to walk it off a bit. I wouldn't go too far, just up and down the road. Maybe even see if I could see the Dursleys through their window. I hadn't heard anything from their house for a while and wondered what they could be doing. It was too early for bed.

As soon as I opened the front door Mr Tibbles ran inside and jumped up on my leg, his claws digging into my leg.

"Ow!" I yelped, jumping back as the half kneazle ran back out.

Pushing Mrs Figg's orders aside I followed Mr Tibbles, knowing from experience with Kiwi that a startled cat always had a reason causing its distress. He streaked down the street and around corners, shooting ahead until I was sure I had lost sight of him, only finding him from his mewls. He stopped by an approaching Mrs Figg.

"Mr Tibbles – Ella," she glared, in her hand a string shopping bag weighed down by tins of cat food and still wearing her tartan slippers and hairnet. "What on earth are you doing here? I thought I told you –"

Too busy catching my breath, Mr Tibbles yowled at her.

No longer was it summer where I stood, the air colder than the iciest winter's day. Shivers erupted all over my skin and I heard something draw long, rattling breaths, like a skeleton breathing, but looking around I saw nothing. A sense of dread came over me, and I was consumed with horrible thoughts that had settled in my mind since they had first materialised. Fred finally wanting rid of me because I'm a squib. George pushing away my friendship. Dumbledore no longer allowing me to attend Hogwarts. My father taking me. Loneliness. The snake, the hissing, so much black…

I had never felt so cold, so full of terror before, as if my soul was waning. I could hardly breathe. All life around the area was cut off from my senses, the sounds of cars dying as if they had all stopped at once, the streetlamps blinking off and the stars fading out. We were in complete darkness, in mind and life. My heart hitched.

It was only when Mrs Figg gasped and ran off in her slippers did I ignore the chill and run off after her. Several times I staggered from the intensifying fright, the images opening in my mind mounting in their horror. Jets of green and red blinding me in the darkness.

Harry's voice broke through; I pushed my legs harder, sprinting past Mrs Figg and turning into an alleyway. A wave of light surged past me, surrounding me in delicious warmth that my body soaked in greedily. He turned around, wand held high as the white stag dissolved. Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept away the cold, trees rustled, and the mundane rumble of cars filled the alleyway once again.

Laying curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking, was a large body – a muggle. Mrs Figg ran over to Harry, her hair even more uncontrollable from the haste in which she moved. Seeing who he presumed was his batty muggle neighbour, Harry attempted to slide his wand up his sleeve.

"Don't put it away, idiot boy!" Mrs Figg shrieked, and I was bemused at how angry she sounded; it seemed an emotion out of her boundaries. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mundungus Fletcher!"

Harry met my eyes, quickly looking back to Mrs Figg and then to me again.

"What?" said Harry blankly.

Mrs Figg wrung her hands together, cursing aloud Mundungus Fletcher, whom had left his guard duty for cauldrons, completely missing the arrival of Dementors. I had read about the creatures but did not see them. I zoned out of her declaration of being a squib, wondering why I hadn't seen any Dementors and who would possibly leave Harry when he was in danger.

A hysterical Mrs Figg caught my attention; the two were attempting to lift up the unconscious lump on the ground.

"Here, let me," I said, taking the arm Mrs Figg had seized and heaving, Harry tugging on the other. "Alright, Harry?"

"What are you doing here?" he gasped as we successfully dragged the muggle up. His weight was too much, and we sagged under his arms.

"Honestly? I have no bloody idea."

He gave a breathless chuckle.

"Keep your wand out," Mrs Figg snapped at Harry, walking ahead of us. She rambled on about the Statute of Secrecy, and it was then I was reminded that Harry was still underage. He had used magic in front of a muggle. Would he get in trouble? He had done it to protect himself, so surely not. Even the Ministry could understand the circumstance of him having to use magic. I tripped over a rock and stumbled, focusing on maintaining a good hold as I proceeded.

"Who's this?" I asked Harry, gesturing to the body we were holding.

"Dudley," he wheezed out.

"Your cousin."

Harry nodded, the difficulty of having to haul Dudley and hold his wand steady showing on his face, and I was pleased to see him dig his cousin in the ribs. It did nothing to sober the boy, his feet dragging even more.

The two conversed some more, much involving what I had asked earlier on the reasoning for Dumbledore's orders. Mrs Figg went off again, more Mundungus this, Mundungus that. Wishing she would shut up before our spines snapped under Dudley's weight, there was a loud crack, and a squat, unshaven man in a tattered overcoat appeared, bringing with him a strong smell of sour drink with stale tobacco that had my stomach rolling.

"MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Mundungus Fletcher had long, straggly washed out ginger hair and bloodshot, baggy eyes. In his hands he held a silvery bundle that Harry eyed suspiciously.

"S'up, FIggy, and new girl," he said, eyes raking over each person, "What 'appened to staying undercover?"

"I'll give you undercover!" Mrs Figg cried in outrage. "Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!"

"Dementors? Dementors, 'ere?" he gasped, aghast.

"Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!" she shrieked. I would have laughed if I wasn't breaking under the monstrous dead weight. "Dementors attacking the boy on your watch! Even they knew how unreliable you are."

"Blimey," Mundungus mumbled weakly.

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go?"

"I – Well, I –" Mundungus shifted uncomfortably. "It was a very good business opportunity, see –"

The old woman shook angrily, her red face scrunched. Raising the arm with her string bag, she whacked Mundungus around the face. I winced, hearing the thudding of the tins of cat food against the short wizard.

"Ouch – gerroff – gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!" he yelped, his outstretched hands taking the impact from the attack.

"Yes – they – have!" yelled Mrs Figg, swinging the bag at every available part of Mundungus she could reach, his hands following and feet scuttling back.

"Keep your 'airnet on! I'm going! I'm going!"

Lifting her arm, she swung the bag down only for it to hit the air, a crack signalling Mundungus' departure.

"Oh, the rotten – I hope Dumbledore murders him!" Mrs Figg raged furiously. "Didn't even bother to apparate you home, now worries, Ella, you'll just have to wait a little longer. Come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?"

We both tugged harder on Dudley's meaty arms and staggered forward.

"I'll take you to the front," Mrs Figg said as she turned onto 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…" – ("Wouldn't be the first time, right, Harry?" I whispered with a smirk, recalling the twins' re-enactment of their version of him in his third year. Now that the danger was over with I was energised and full of excitement.) – "and Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic at all costs…well, it's not good crying over spilt potion, I suppose…but the cat's among the pixies now."

"So," Harry started, panting, "Dumbledore's…been having me…followed?"

"Of course he has," Mrs Figg answered, and I shrugged as well as I could, trying to let him know that I was only recently involved. "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…"

A breathless laugh escaped me, quickly turning into a raspy cough as Mrs Figg whipped around to scowl at me.

"Right…get inside and stay there," she said as we approached house with the number four printed on the door. "I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked quickly, looking to both me and his neighbour.

"I'm going straight home, and I believe Ella will be on her way too," I opened my mouth, ready to protest as Mrs Figg stared around the dark street with a shudder. How could she expect me to go home with absolutely no idea what was happening, not even an explanation on the Dementor attack, or this guard duty business? "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 trotted off. Harry shouted after her, but she was gone. He scowled, then, realising he wasn't the only one supporting his cousin, turned to me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again, manoeuvring Dudley's arm. He sent a quick glance to number four.

"As fucking clueless as you," I said blankly, eyes still on the patch of darkness Mrs Figg had vanished in. "Dumbledore said he needed to check over my house and brought me here. If anything what little bits I have been told has only left me more confused." I sighed. "I should probably go."

"Wait, don't," he pleaded. "You saw Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, he came to my house – in Ottery. Said he had to look over the protective charms."

The dead bird came back into my mind and I shivered. I did not want to back. Not in the slightest. Screw the possibility of going home to Fred's letter, I wanted Fred.

"So you get protective charms and I don't? What kind of shit is that?"

I would have been annoyed at his complete disregard of my blood, my family, the threat following me, had he known a thing about it other than my being a squib. He had his own issues, his own nightmares coming alive.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"It's fine. I'll help you get him to the door – what do his parents feed him?"

With the last of our strength we hauled Dudley's still unconscious form up the dark path, grunting as our shoulders and back ached.

"Diddy!" a female voice called. Harry looked over to me, eyes wide, and with a tilt of his head I escaped from under the arm, watching Harry's face crumple at the extra weight before he too let go and ducked.

"Go!" he whispered, waving his hand.

Mrs Figg was pacing in her living room when I returned. She paid me no mind, continuing to mumble under her breath. Her hairnet was askew on her head and her feet bare, looking entirely unstable. Clearing my throat, she looked up and sighed.

"You should be off home now," she said weakly.

"What about Dumbledore?"

"I'm sure he's done. He has Mundungus to worry about now," she said, lip curling.

"Mrs Figg, about what happened, this Order work –"

"This is not for me to talk about," she said quickly. "Go on home now, no doubt you'll be told everything quite shortly." Then, falling into her own world again, murmured, "Oh, Albus, whatever do you have up your sleeve. Poor children. So much danger, so much. No more pain, please. Stop this."

"Goodbye, Mrs Figg," I said, standing in the fireplace, watching her with worried eyes.

"Yes, yes, goodbye," she said, smiling tiredly. "Perhaps I'll see you again someday."

"I hope so," I said, closing my eyes as I called out my house in Ottery St. Catchpole. Opening my eyes, I was met with lavender walls and a pistachio-green sofa, the room flooded in silence and peace that was absent in Surrey.