Harry Potter was different. He knew that, though he did not want it. His scar, his magical ability, his courage, his 'saving people thing', as Hermione put it, all compounded to make him special, though he desired no such thing. Who would want to be famous because their parents had died while they survived?
Harry sat under a willow tree in the cold, abandoned park. He knew, with the war in full swing and Death Eaters abounding everywhere, that he should not be out in the open, but he didn't care. He was still hurting over the death of Albus Dumbledore, the Only One Voldemort Ever Feared – if one believed such titles.
A rustle in the grass nearby heralded the arrival of someone. Harry looked up to find Arabella Figg, waiting to talk to him. He only nodded at her, then went back to staring at the dewy ground.
"You can't be blaming yourself, Harry," Mrs. Figg said sharply, in a way reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall, "so what's wrong with you? Hogwarts is still open, barely, but there you go. You can go back to school, finish your education..." Mrs. Figg sat down next to him. "Tell me what's wrong, Harry. If I can, I'll help. I promised you that, remember?"
Now, this was about as big a twist of personality as Harry had ever encountered before. His last meeting with the cat-crazy woman had been… strange, to say the least. Harry now suspected Mrs Figg bred Kneazles, rather than plain, Muggle cats.
Harry looked her over. Mrs Figg was wearing her usual tartan carpet slippers and her clanking string shopping bag of cat food.
“When did you promise me that you’d help?”
“Last – Years ago, Harry.”
Harry looked suspiciously at her. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts. I'm going to finish this war with the help of my friends," he said, looking at her.
Mrs. Figg looked genuinely surprised. "Not going back to Hogwarts?" she gasped, and then looked at Harry. "Where are you going to go? You won't finish the war in Privet Drive."
Harry snorted. "You're right. That's why Ron, Hermione, and I are going to Godric's Hollow as soon as we can work out where it is. The beginning of the end… where it all began."
Mrs. Figg looked at Harry. "I don't approve of you three going off alone. Why not take a member of the Order with you?"
She watched him as he jerked around to look at her. "We can't let anyone else come. They'll say constantly that we're going about it all wrong, thinking they know better." Harry turned back around to stare off at the abandoned playthings whirling about in the Dementor fog. "And I don't want to have to look out for anyone else. I'd rather do it on my own, but they insisted."
Mrs. Figg pursed her lips. "I have a map you can use to find Godric's Hollow. It's in the middle of the Irish Sea. I’ve seen both Muggles and wizards alike make their homes on that island, far from the eyes of the government."
Harry looked around at Mrs. Figg. "I thought you didn't approve?"
"I don't, but I can't stand in the way of a hero and his destiny, can I? Especially when it might save the world." Mrs. Figg laughed lightly at Harry's puzzled face. "All I ask is that you take one of my cats. They all know how to use Portkeys and Floo powder and such. If you get into trouble, it'll be good to have someone you can send for help who won't be ambushed on the way. And they're smart."
Harry stood up. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg."
"Not at all, not at all. Help me up." She held out a hand and Harry pulled her to her feet. "Right. Back to my place."
The pair walked off through the fog, unaware of the watchful eye of Dudley Dursley, who was following them so quietly that nothing could be heard in the fog.
Mrs. Figg returned to the living room where she'd left Harry with a can of soft drink and a piece of chocolate cake. He was looking at a photograph of Mr. Tibbles when she returned. He turned to look at her.
"Are all your cats Kneazles?"
Mrs. Figg nodded. "All but a couple. They were the best that money could buy." Mrs. Figg looked at the piece of parchment in her hands. "This is the map. It's not very clear, like I thought it was, but it does have all the things you need. Location, for one."
Harry smiled at her. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg."
Mrs. Figg waved it off. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Potter."
Harry looked back at the photographs, as still as Muggle ones. "Which Kneazle am I taking with me?"
"Mr. Tibbles, of course," Mrs. Figg said, placing the map on the table. "Come and have a look at this so I know you know where you're going."
The map was only small. A tiny island, of both hills and flat fields, was located seemingly at the base of Wales. Harry looked closely, studying the map.
"You won't get it right unless you come around this side, Mr. Potter. Upside down maps lead you in strange directions." Mrs. Figg smiled at Harry as he walked around the coffee table and sat next to her, leaning over the map.
After a few minutes of Harry's pondering, Mrs. Figg rolled the map up. He was about to protest when she handed him the rolled parchment.
"Know where you're going?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "To the east of Dublin, about twenty miles out to sea."
Mrs. Figg smiled and nodded. "Right. Now, let's see why your cousin followed us home, shall we?"
Harry looked startled but stood up, looking out of the magical spy hole in the large wooden door. He looked down, and the spy hole followed his gaze. Dudley was crouched by the door, listening through the crack at the bottom. If the fog hadn't been so thick as to keep everybody at home, he would have been laughed at or shrieked at incessantly, crouched over on the porch, listening at the door.
"Hello, Dudley." Harry opened the door to find that Dudley was standing back a few paces, the knees of his large jeans dirty, his hands hidden in his pockets. Harry leaned against the doorframe. "What are you doing here?"
Dudley ignored the question. "What are you doing here?"
"Tut tut, Dudley, that's no way to get answers." Harry stepped back and opened the door wider. "Inside."
Dudley frowned at Harry, making no move to enter.
"Inside or I'll hex you." Harry pulled out his wand for effect. Dudley scampered inside, away from the implied hexing.
"Mr. Dursley. How nice to see you here," Mrs. Figg said pleasantly. "Why are you here?"
Dudley wrinkled his nose, presumably against the smell of boiled cabbage that still wafted through the house. "Seeing what he–" Dudley nodded his head to Harry "–was here for. Are you sending him away?"
Mrs. Figg stood up. "Sit down, Dudley, and I'll get you some cake."
Dudley shook his head. "N-No! You'll do something to it!"
Mrs. Figg shrugged and sat down again. "Harry is going on a little trip to alleviate the fog surrounding Little Whinging."
"I am merely helping him along, Mr. Dursley. Where he goes or what he does has no bearing on me." Mrs. Figg leaned back in her chair.
Harry looked at her. Something wasn't right with this scene – although, having a Dursley and a member of the magical world in the same room was strange enough.
Dudley looked skittish. "But he is going?"
Mrs. Figg nodded. Harry spoke.
"I am leaving Privet Drive, Dudley."
Dudley nodded and glanced at the door. Like Pettigrew.
Harry saw the glance and waved it off as Dudley's paranoia. But when he did it again, Harry stepped forward. "Stupefy!"
Dudley went crashing to the floor. Mrs. Figg stood up. "Harry? What–?"
He looked coldly at her. "This isn't Dudley. This is Peter Pettigrew."
"How do you know that?" Mrs. Figg demanded.
"Because you're dead, Mrs. Figg. Voldemort's supporters killed you a week ago."
Mrs. Figg looked startled.
"What? Startled I read the papers? She died in the crossfire between Order members and Death Eaters at Hogwarts."
Mrs. Figg paled.
"You're Professor McGonagall, under Polyjuice Potion. You act like Professor McGonagall, not like Mrs. Figg. She vanished unexplainably before you turned up as I sat under the willow."
Mrs. Figg sighed. "You're right, Harry. She did die in that crossfire. However, how do you know that this is not Dudley?"
"Even under the threat of a hexing, he would not have entered this house. He would have run off." Harry picked up the map to Godric's Hollow. "Is this real?"
"It is." Professor McGonagall-in-Mrs. Figg's-skin sat down opposite Harry. "Now, Mr Potter, do you plan on travelling to Godric's Hollow?"
Harry looked up in time to see her reach for a cup of tea. "No Polyjuice. I want to talk to you without it for a bit." McGonagall looked down at her clothes, swished her wand and they changed into the type of robes she usually wore.
"I am going to Godric's Hollow, with Ron and Hermione. But first I have to go to Bill and Fleur's wedding." Harry looked at the watch strapped to his wrist. "Which is in a few hours."
"What do you plan to do with Dudley, seeming as you just Stunned him?"
Harry looked thoughtful. "Can you do a spell that returns people under the influence of Polyjuice Potion back to themselves?"
McGonagall shook her head. "Only time will change them back, unless they had an accident with it, like Miss Granger a few years ago. Now, while we wait, tell me your plans to end the war. What makes you think you can survive, even if you are the ‘Chosen One’, as the Prophet has taken to calling you?"
"Please don't call me that," Harry said with a look of disgust.
Before they could continue, however, there was a squelching noise. Dudley had become super-thin, and taken on the look of Peter Pettigrew, including the silver hand.
"Told you." Harry took a bite of the chocolate cake he'd placed on the table when he'd left to invite Dudley in. McGonagall stared at Pettigrew.
"How long has he been imitating your cousin?" she asked Harry, looking calmly at him.
"I wouldn't say too long. Apparently he gets nervous about being around me. He would have given himself away ages ago if he had been pretending. I'd say for about a week. That’s when Dudley started acting strange." Harry stood up and pointed his wand at Pettigrew. "However, I say we do something to ensure he never tells anyone my plans."
McGonagall stood up sharply at that. "You can't. The Order will take him and get all the information we can from him. Then we'll ensure he does not tell anything he has learnt to Voldemort." McGonagall looked coldly down her nose at the prone Pettigrew.
Harry nodded slowly. "I can't look after him while I'm travelling. You can." Harry walked past Pettigrew, stopped, returned and stood beside the Stunned man. He viciously kicked Pettigrew, and, nodding to the shocked McGonagall, left the house, Mr. Tibbles leaping into his arms at the front door.