Chapter 23- Harry hunting anyone?

Saturday, July 15, 1995

Once she was clear of the wards surrounding the Dursley's former residence on Privet Drive, Arabella Figg apparated, materializing in her own living room. Once there, her eyes quickly sought out the locator clock. Harry's hand had moved at some point, and was now pointing to "Unknown."

Belle narrowed her eyes at the device. How could this be? It doesn't make sense! she thought dazedly. Harry had been at #4 Privet Drive the night of July 1st-that much she knew. What had changed? The witch racked her brain, trying to recall any possible clues. She had seen Petunia briefly at one of the local shops a few days before Sirius and Remus had appeared on her doorstep. It had been a chance meeting, and their conversation had been brief and bland for the most part. Harry's aunt had mentioned something about Vernon and an exciting new job opportunity, though...and the realtor mentioned a transfer.

She just hadn't said exactly where.

Mrs. Figg sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she did so. Come on, old girl. Think! You're no good to Harry like this. Taking a deep breath, she held it a few seconds, then let it out slowly. Feeling a little more centered, she considered the clock again. It was as it had been the night he was due back from Hogwarts. Harry wasn't where he was supposed to be, true, but at the same time, he wasn't in any real danger. As long as his hand stayed away from, oh, say, "Mortal Peril" she had time.

Irritably, she re-cast the spell that would alert her if Harry's hand moved, vowing it would stay active until she knew exactly where her young charge was. Idiot, she fumed angrily. She knew better than to trust appearances-especially now that the truth about Peter Pettigrew had come to light. She should have verified Harry's whereabouts before leaving for America.

Walking over to where she kept her telephone, she picked up her phone book and began flipping through the section that listed business numbers. Perhaps she could get a clue from Grunnings, the drill-making firm Vernon had been a director in ever since she'd known him.

Arabella frowned as she worked. This was unusual behavior for a man who usually clung very tightly to established routines and schedules. The Dursleys were nothing if not predictable, and Vernon especially, highly resented anything (or anyone) that deviated from the norm. The idea that they would suddenly pack up and move away should have been laughable.

Finally locating what she was looking for, the witch dialed the number, and waited for someone to answer.

"Good afternoon, this is Grunnings Drills, how may I direct your call?"

"Good afternoon," Arabella responded politely. "I would like to speak with Mr. Vernon Dursley, please."

"One moment, please."

Arabella found herself listening to "on hold" music. While she waited, she calmed herself slightly. The Dursleys probably moved to a neighboring village, or maybe even to London. At any rate it wasn't the first time Harry's clock hand had pointed to "Unknown."

The "on hold" music was starting to repeat itself, but the old witch found she didn't mind too much. If nothing else, the annoying little tunes and ad slogans for Grunnings reassured her that the connection hadn't been broken. Absently, she wondered what was taking so long. Was Vernon not at work today?

Drumming her fingers on the table, Arabella thought back to two...no three summers ago now. Right before Harry's second year. Oh, dear what a mess that had been! The only useful information that had come out of that fiasco was how inefficient their plan of action was.

The proximity wards, that warned her of another witch or wizard in the area had gone off in the middle of the night, rudely waking her. Soon after, alarms sounded, indicating the house itself had been breached. Similar alarms had been placed at Hogwarts, and the Ministry. Arabella had been forced to waste a few precious minutes waiting for her backup to show up, because they wouldn't know the way to Harry's house.

Arabella had found it odd that although a full compliment of Aurors was supposed to be dispatched immediately, only Professor Dumbledore and had shown up. He was sleepy and rumpled looking, but had his wand out and ready.

They had waited a few more minutes before heading over to Privet Drive, and got there just in time to see Harry waving out the window to the Dursleys, and calling "See you next summer!" as a turquoise and white Ford Anglia banked gracefully, then disappeared into the night.

The Dursleys were all but hanging out one of the upstairs windows, presumably seeing him off.

Acting quickly, before the car got too far away, Mrs. Figg had fired a tracking charm. "I've got them!" she whispered excitedly to the aged wizard at her side. "We can follow them easily once we get dressed." She had turned, meaning to hurry back to her house, but Dumbledore stayed put, a bemused expression on his face.

"I had not considered this," Albus had muttered distractedly, "though why I cannot say..."

"What?" Arabella asked, watching as Harry's family shut the window and went back inside.

The Hogwarts headmaster smiled then, blue eyes twinkling. "It seems young has Harry decided to go visiting this summer. I do believe those were the Weasleys who collected him."

"Arthur Weasley?"

"His sons, apparently," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Arthur usually goes calling at a more civilized hour."

Arabella smiled, remembering the gales of laughter that had floated down from the car's open window as it sped away, then grimaced. She still cringed when she thought about the delays she had experienced getting to Privet Drive. Harry could have been killed five times over before she and Albus managed to get there had he actually been under attack. It was a case of a plan looking good on paper, but failing miserably when actually put into practice.

Of course they hadn't actually thought it would be necessary, Harry was well hidden, after all, but looking back, she couldn't believe they'd been so careless. A simple dry run would have uncovered the inefficiencies and flaws, but no one had bothered.

Belle glanced over at her clock again. It had been sitting on "Unknown" that night as well. Dumbledore had stayed until they knew Harry was safe, making tea, and re-planning their actions in the event of an attack, and helping her modify her locator clock. They had changed the spot that referred to Harry's old muggle school to "Burrow/With the Weasleys." That way the house was covered, as well as any outings Harry went on. His hand would move to that spot whether he was with one Weasley, or several.

During his second school year, Harry's clock hand had seemed quite confused. Between his friendship with Ron, and his position on the Quidditch team, Harry was "With the Weasleys" quite a bit. Seeing this, Arabella had further modified the "Burrow/Weasley" location to mean "away from Hogwarts." The clock hand had immediately settled down after that, never moving from "Hogwarts." That had been satisfactory though third year. Well, except for the two weeks he'd been on Diagon Alley.

Arabella chuckled lightly in spite of herself. Everyone had been so worried-afraid he'd run afoul of Sirius Black! She'd considered adding Diagon Alley to the clock, then dismissed it as unnecessary. Harry had had the entire Alley looking after him that summer, and she was far more concerned with the hunt for Black. Besides, he was generally "With the Weasleys" when he went, and the clock face was getting rather full, so the addition of Diagon Alley seemed rather superfluous.

She had noticed a little fluctuation during Harry's third year between "Hogwarts" and "With the Weasleys" which she had assumed were Hogsmeade weekends. Fourth year she had added "Hogsmeade." Harry had evidently visited the wizarding village without his trusty partner in crime, and his clock hand slid over to "Unknown" again. Harry and Ron Weasley evidently had a bit of a falling out during the fall of fourth year, but by all appearances things were back on track before Christmas. Harry's clock hand became confused again, and she'd had to modify the "Hogsmeade" setting.

She'd had a few anxious minutes at the end of the year when the clock hand had swivelled around to "Traveling," when he and Cedric touched the TriWizard Cup, then to "Mortal Peril," when they landed. Arabella closed her eyes a moment. Thank heavens Barty Crouch had used the "round-trip" portkey charm when he'd enchanted the trophy. If he'd used one of the more sophisticated one-way charms, Harry would have been trapped, with no obvious way back to Hogwarts.

"Ma'am?" the operator was finally back on the line.

"Yes?" Mrs. Figg responded quickly, opening her eyes, and returning her attention to the phone.

"Mr. Dursley has been transferred, ma'am. He's not at our London office at this time."

Arabella blinked in surprise. "What?" she finally managed.

"Grunnings has been doing quite well the last few years," the lady she was speaking to explained. "So we have been opening new offices, here in Britain, and abroad. Mr. Dursley was offered the opportunity to oversee the building, staffing, and initial operations of one of the new manufacturing complexes."

"Oh, yes. I remember hearing something along those lines," Mrs. Figg said, recalling her conversation with Petunia. "Which office will he be working for now?"

"Mr. Dursley chose the Australian site."

"Australia? How long will he be there?" the witch asked, aghast.

"These assignments are typically three to five years in duration, ma'am." The woman on the phone paused a moment, then added, "Mr. Dursley's local clients have been divided amongst the other members of our staff. If I could have your name, I will find out who has taken over your account."

"Oh. No. I'm not a client of Mr. Dursley's. I'm a neighbor. I found out today his house was for sale, and...noticed he had forgotten something," Arabella improvised. "I've been away myself, and didn't realize they'd moved. Could I have his new address so I could send it to him?" she asked hopefully.

"No, ma'am. We aren't allowed to give out personal information on the phone. If you'd like, you can drop off or send whatever you have to the London office, and we can forward it to him."

"Oh. Yes, of course. That would be lovely," Arabella replied. Sensing the other woman was about to end the conversation, she tried to get a little more information. "Just out of interest, where will your new Australian offices be located? If I can be frank, I'm really rather surprised they didn't tell me they'd be moving."

Surprisingly, the secretary's professional mask slipped a bit. "Mr. Dursley will be heading up a new manufacturing and distribution complex in Perth," she supplied. "I expect he and Mrs. Dursley will be sending out address change notifications shortly. They weren't originally scheduled to move until closer to the end of summer. I don't know the exact circumstances, but something came up, and they changed their plans."

"Do you happen to know how long they've been gone?" Mrs. Figg pressed.

"Not long-a week or two at most. Don't worry, dear. I'm sure they'll be in touch once they get themselves sorted out. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you. You've been a great help." Belle wore pensive frown as she hung up the telephone. Harry was in Australia? How on earth was he supposed to get back to Hogwarts? Surely Dumbledore wasn't planning to transfer him to another magical school!

Arabella scowled, and began to pace. Every now and then she glanced at her clock, but Harry's hand remained steadfastly on "Unknown."

Nothing about this entire scenario made sense. She'd never met a couple, muggle or magical that were more set in their ways than Vernon and Petunia Dursley. She could possibly see them moving to another house, maybe a larger one in a more upscale neighborhood. If there was one thing Petunia loved more than routine and order it was status. But the idea of them picking up suddenly, and just moving out of the country would be laughable if it wasn't obviously true.

What was the motivation? Money? Status? A chance for promotion? And what of Harry's schooling? And Dudley's? Vernon and Petunia had gone on for ages about how happy they were that their boy was attending Smeltings. Surely there were closer assignments that would allow the boys to continue attending their current schools.

Was it something else, then?

The Dursley's behavior with regard to Harry had always been a little odd. Arabella had noticed it for the first time when she had "met" Petunia one morning in early November, just a few days after the Potters had been killed.

That had been a carefully orchestrated affair, but by the end of the visit, Petunia was comfortable enough around her that she had accepted when Arabella had offered to mind the boys at any time. Thinking back, Belle absently noted that although she had watched Harry often, Petunia had only left Dudley in her care a few times-generally on the infrequent occasions when Harry had needed to see the pediatrician, or the optometrist.

The witch shuddered delicately, and thanked her lucky stars for young Potter's good health. The two boys were as different as night and day. Harry she could deal with easily. Dudley was enough to drive a wooden man crazy.

The initial contact had been successful, and everything seemed to be going as well as could be expected. Harry was quieter than she remembered, but seemed all right. Petunia doted on Dudley outrageously, which Mrs. Figg found worrisome, but it had only been a few days. They (herself included) were still very early in the grieving process, and to be fair, Dudley had been Petunia's only concern until a few short days ago. Perhaps the Dursleys still needed time to adjust to Harry's presence in their household.

As she'd left, she had noticed a box out with the rest of the Dursley's rubbish. Belle wasn't the nosy sort, and wasn't generally disposed to flashes of premonition, but something just didn't seem right. She had been shocked, when she'd sneaked a look, after making sure she wasn't being observed. It was James and Lily's last effects, delivered to Harry from the Ministry of Magic-the few precious items which had salvaged intact from the wreckage of their home, as well as some news clippings, including James and Lily's obituaries.

Without a second thought, she had shrunk the box and pocketed it, deciding Petunia must still be distraught over her sister's death, and not thinking clearly. Perhaps the memories were too painful, or she was regretting the rift that had grown between Lily and herself. Why else would she toss out Harry's only link to his past?

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