Arabella\'s Shining Moment

Red-moused by Jilliane. Thanks J!


Arabella's Shining Moment

It wasn't easy watching what those shameful people did to that boy, year after year. If Arabella Figg hadn't had her orders, she just might have contacted child welfare. But no, she was condemned by none other than Albus Dumbledore to watch as those dreadful Muggles squashed the boy's spirit one agonising day at a time.

It was just the beginning of summer hols and the troubles had all ready begun . There had been some talk about how unstable the boy was, but for the most part, when he sat in Arabella's fusty cat-encrusted house, he just seemed a normal sort. Arabella looked on him with some fondness, even if the only hospitality she showed him was of the old-maid variety, with her stale biscuits and even staler conversation. The boy could not be perceived to enjoy his visits with the old dotty cat-lady. It would not do for that loathsome aunt of his to know that Arabella actually enjoyed the boy's diffident manners and desultory attempts at conversation. He reminded her a bit of her late husband. Reggie had always been shy and a little depressed due to his family's reaction to Squibs in their midst. It was ironic that Arabella now had to watch that poor boy being treated as her late husband had, and all over the presence of magic. She wondered sometimes if the god that watched over the wizarding world was a prankster with a cruel sense of humour.

The summer had begun with the Dursley's hooligan son messing about with the neighbourhood cats. The Polkiss boy had been the ringleader on that bit of mayhem to be sure, since the baiting had started before the Dursley boy returned from his posh public school. Arabella daren't let her cats out, even for the tiniest bit of sun, lest the Polkiss boy and his hooligan friends find them and molest them in some manner. Cats had been found in various states of distress, half-drowned, or shaved, or with their feet taped together so they could only yowl until someone found them. None had died, at least that anyone knew of, but it was only a matter of time.

Of course, that vile Petunia had let it be known about that she suspected Harry Potter of being responsible for the mutilations, reminding everyone behind an expression of exaggerated distress that the boy had been the one who lowered the glass at the ophidiarium and allowed a snake to escape, trapping poor Dudley in the display once the slimy creature was clear of the snake house. She mentioned that school they had fabricated for young Harry's embarrassment, and even tutted that she knew he would amount to nothing, with no-good parents like his. None who listened dare insert the fact that the mischief had started before the lad returned from school for the summer holidays. Oh no, this story was met with hushed horror to Petunia's face and quite a few derisive comments by the flock of biddies once she left. The bullying apple did not fall far from the Dursley tree, they said, and Vernon's temper was as legendary, as Petunia's malicious mouth. But they all commented how strange the boy in question was, regardless, with his handed down clothes, untidy hair, and strange ways.

It was all so much pish as far as Arabella was concerned. The boy would no more harm a defenceless creature than he would take the Dark Mark.

And then there had been that whole dark business last evening.

Arabella gave an involuntary shiver at the thought. She had never felt such fear in her life as when she happened along those two boys in the alleyway being attacked by Dementors. The air had been cold and she felt as if the icy fingers of a corpse had wrapped around her brain stem and given it a good shake, at the same time an oily feeling of disaffection and ennui had encompassed her soul. She still felt soiled by the presence of such evil. Young Harry had been quite impressive as he cast the spell to rid his cousin of the Dementor's attention. The glow of the form had filled Arabella with a fleeting sense of awe and peace.

She knew there would be repercussions for the boy, using magic outside of school, but she was sure Albus would take care of the problem, especially since that useless Mundungus Fletcher had failed to keep his promise to the Headmaster. It was just fortunate he was gone for most of the evening, otherwise, Arabella would not be responsible for her actions.

The doorbell rang, and she stirred from her reverie.

It was with some surprise that Arabella opened the door to none other than the most fearsome and courageous Auror that had ever served the Ministry. Alastor Moody, in an attempt to blend into the Muggle surroundings, was standing at Arabella's door in a battered Muggle jacket that had last been popular in the mid nineteen forties. His robes were still visible underneath the jacket as was his wooden leg. He wore sunglasses to disguise his false eye, the effect somewhat lessened by the fact that night was approaching. Arabella opened the door wider for him, her heart hammering rather painfully in her thin chest. It wasn't often that her house welcomed such a luminary. She had read in the Prophet, when it was a more reliable source of information, that he had declined the Order of Merlin, twice.

"Madam Figg." Auror Moody's voice was gruff, sandpaper on wood, as he bowed over her hand perfunctorily. "Albus sent me to check on the boy. There have been some reports."

Arabella ushered him in with a brisk wave of her hand and stooped to catch the largish ginger tom who, taking advantage of the open door, began to thread around the Auror's leg before scooting onto the small stoop.

"Just make yourself at home, Auror Moody. I won't be a moment." She turned a scolding look to her boy. "Bad Mr. Boots. You know those awful boys will capture you and do unspeakable things."

She shut the door, and let the cat jump from her arms, his feet planting on the shining wooden floor with a soft thump. She watched him scamper off after he gave her a voiceless mew of disapproval.

Arabella turned to the Auror who was staring uneasily at Molydenum, the silver and white Siamese whom Arabella had rescued a year ago. "Can I fetch you some refreshment? Tea, perhaps?"

The Auror turned his head slightly as he slipped off his dark glasses. Arabella caught a glimpse of his madly whirling eye for the first time, its blue iris, swirling around in his head as if it had a mind of its own.

She blurted out, "Doesn't all that twirling make you dizzy?"

It had been years since Arabella Figg had blushed, not since her first year of marriage to poor Reggie. She stammered a wordless apology, her face heating almost painfully, and skittered from the room, feeling the Auror's baleful glare on her as she crossed from the small entryway to kitchen. Only when she reached the solitude of her tidy, shiny room did she let her embarrassment flitter away in nervous laughter. She thought she heard an echoing, basso laugh accompanying hers, but couldn't be sure.

She made short work of the tea, paying particular attention so as not to give the Auror the stale biscuits she usually served the lad. She was in luck that she had just gone to market yesterday, and had picked up some digestive wafers. She spread them out on a floral china plate, along with the cucumber sandwiches she had prepared for her tea later and picked up the tea tray. When she returned to the living room the Auror was still looking out the front window, his already scowling expression starkly tense. Arabella followed his line of sight and saw young Potter out in the Dursley's front walkway, hosing it off as Vernon appeared to shout at him.

"Auror Moody, would you care for some tea?" Arabella placed the tray upon the table set aside for tea and began pouring, ignoring his protests. She settled him in a chair, one used only for guests, and placed the fragile, hand-painted china on the table next to him. He glared at the cup as if it were filled to the brim with poison.

Mr. Butters, the yellow tabby she had acquired when one of her neighbours divorced and then subsequently left the area, poked his head out from underneath the guest chair and mewed plaintively. Arabella poured a bit of milk into her saucer and set it by her chair. The cat came out and with a wary, backward glance at the new interloper, began lapping at the treat.

Arabella sighed contentedly as she took the first sip of her own tea, brought with great care at the one shop in London that sold her blend. She slipped a chocolate biscuit from the pile and nibbled on the corner as she waited for Mr. Moody to speak.

Silence stretched out between them, uncomfortable in its length and almost palpable depth. Just when Arabella came up with a question to break the stale quietude, Auror Moody said, "The boy's in trouble with the Ministry."

"Oh, dear," Arabella replied, nonplussed. "Whatever for?"

The Auror grimaced as his magical eye pitched almost to the back of his head and then spun back to her. "What did you see last night?"

"Last night? I saw... you want me to say I saw those things... the Dementors," Arabella said, stifling the urge to make the sign against the evil eye. Her family may have rejected her because she was a Squib, but she still remembered the old ways. "Well, I didn't. You know as well as the next wizard that Squibs can't see..."

The Auror interrupted with a wave of his hand, his ruined face a determined grimace. "That depends on the Squib, now doesn't it? I mean to say, that Argus Filch can see Hogwarts with no problem, and several other cases of Squibs being able to discern magical beings have been noted over the centuries. Surely you sensed something."

"I never said I didn't sense anything, Auror Moody," Arabella said, sipping her plain tea primly before she poured more milk into the saucer for the other cats that had materialised around her chair. "I just didn't see..."

"Don't," the Auror said, the harsh tone of his voice disturbing the shyest of her cats, who flicked their tails and ears in irritation. "I'm here in a semi-official capacity. Whatever you say, it is my duty to report."

Arabella's mouth snapped shut. The nerve of the man, speaking to her in that manner in her own house! But then, she thought of that poor boy, probably locked away in the Dursley's house. Her decision made, she said carefully, "I saw what one would expect with such creatures... darkness, an evil glow, they were..." She searched her mind for accounts she had read of those creatures. "skeletal and... evil."

The Auror relaxed as he took a flask out of his breast pocket. He sipped from it, then quickly replaced it saying, "Very good. Albus will be contacting you for the boy's trial."

Arabella nodded, "I do need some more tangible information on such things, Auror Moody, if you could relay that message to the proper person?"

The Auror stood and with a quick nod in her direction announced, "I must be on my way."

Arabella rose. "Let me see you to the door."

As they entered the foyer, Mr. Moody said, "Albus was right about one thing, Madam."

Arabella felt heat creep up her neck as she noted his close scrutiny of her person. Chin lifted, she asked rather more sharply than she meant to, "And what observation did he make, Mr. Moody?"

"He said you were a damned fine looking woman, Madam Figg," he answered, his own face taking on a glow. "I wouldn't suppose you'd consider letting me call on you again? Just to help prepare you for the trial?"

Arabella's hand flew first to her hair and then to her throat as she answered, "I don't think that would be a problem, Mr. Moody, but only if you call me Arabella."

Moody gave a swift jerk of his head and then took her hand in his, sketching a bow over it as he did. "Done. And I'm Alastor, though most call me Mad-Eye, for obvious reasons."

His twirling eye remained on her as she said, "Alastor it is, then. Perhaps you could stop by for tea, say, Wednesday at half-six?"

"Done," the Auror answered. For a brief moment, Arabella thought the Auror, Alastor, might spit in his hand to seal the bargain. Instead, he turned to the door and opened it. "Take care of yourself, Mad...erm, Arabella. Constant vigilance is what we need in these times."

With a tip of his head, he strode down her walkway and disappeared between the pools of light between her house and the next. The sharp crack of Apparition was masked by the backfiring of a lorry running late for deliveries from the grocers.

As she closed the door to her house, Arabella mused to herself that although dark days were ahead, she could at least keep this shining moment alive.


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