Disclaimer: With humble gratitude to J. K. Rowling for allowing me to build castles in her sandbox once more.
Forty - Seven
Mrs. Figg: A Bridge Between Worlds
At the ripe old age of 99, she had fallen through the rabbit hole and emerged into a world where she finally belonged. At least that’s how it seemed to Arabella Figg. All those years ago when her cousins had abandoned her in favor of attending Hogwarts, she’d never dreamed her own journey would take such a circuitous route.
Yet here she was, rubbing elbows on a daily basis with budding young witches and wizards. Most surprising of all, they found her tales of living among Muggles to be edifying and informative. Amusing even, as her thorough knowledge of the wizarding world made her sense of humor accessible to them. Why they’d even bestowed on her a nickname, much as they did for one another. It was the ultimate honor that they called her –Figgy.â€
Granted, the Headmistress frowned on such wanton liberties -- or would have, if she’d overheard. It was always –Professor Figg†if there were any authority figures nearby, the bolder ones venturing as far as –Professor Figgy†if they thought they could get away with it. She didn’t mind one whit, and her students knew she was not one to set detentions over what was essentially a compliment to a Squib like herself.
She was fairly certain the only other Squib in their midst, Mr. Filch, resented her deeply. Well, he resented the whole world, if you wanted to know the truth of it. They called him names behind his back, too. But those were jeers not nicknames.
It didn’t matter that a wand was nothing but a useless stick in Figgy’s hands; there was always someone about to cast a necessary spell if she was caught in a lurch. Most situations in life could be worked out in the Muggle manner, anyway.
Nevertheless, the talking portraits responded to everyone and the trick step hardly played favorites. Her calf muscle ached just recalling how many times she’d been caught unawares. And while passwords didn’t always function for her, the staffroom door recognized her presence without any difficulty.
How fortuitous that she’d run into Dumbledore sifting through the used books in that outdoor stall so many years ago. Among the bohemian vendors who dotted the London sidewalks at the weekend, he seemed just an eccentric old man. Perhaps one who had traveled to Asia Minor and adopted their kaftans as a comfortable way of dress. But Figgy had known he was a wizard from the start. Not just any wizard, but the one who’d been offered the Minister for Magic post a number of times and always politely, but firmly, declined.
Frankly, she was a bit awed, even though her cousins insisted he’d been a right chap as their Transfigurations teacher and then later when he’d taken over as Headmaster. She’d been even more dumbfounded when he’d deliberately walked up to her and invited her to tea.
–I have a small flat not far from here,†his twinkling blue eyes asserted. –But not much like-minded company when I’m in town, I’m afraid.â€
She’d gotten the gist, of course; perhaps it had been some sort of test. –But I’m not…†she stammered in reply.
–A Squib, if I’m not mistaken.†Dumbledore’s voice was like the rustling of dry book pages all around them. –I can always tell. There’s a faint glow of magic about your face that’s missing for a true Muggle.â€
She’d accepted his invitation more out of curiosity than anything else. The flat was comfortably appointed and filled with eclectic collectables accumulated from the street markets. The Levitating tea service which filled cups of its own accord was nothing new to her, even if it had been years since she’d seen another.
It was his devilish sense of humor that kept her unbalanced, however.
–Please don’t think I’ve enticed you to see my etchings,†he’d joked.
She nearly dropped her teacup at that.
–Although I do have some woodblock prints that are rather charming,†he added. –The seller claimed they were original Rembrandts, but are likely the work of an enterprising art student.â€
–Do you collect art?â€
–Merlin, no! That’s a full-time occupation if one wants to do it justice. I just buy what I like -- as long as I can negotiate a reasonable price.â€
He’d given her the tour of his collections then, his easy way with the details of each item’s provenance soon making her confide her own lifestory to him. How she had turned her back on the wizarding world that systematically ostracized Squibs, determined to live among Muggles even though that meant very little interaction with the remnants of her own family. He offered appropriate sympathy for the first two husbands who’d been claimed by world wars; the first when he was barely old enough to enlist; the second, a seasoned lieutenant whose expertise had been essential in the fight against Hitler.
–But surely that’s a wedding band you still wear,†he observed softly.
–My third,†Figgy confided tearfully. –We were together for thirty-three years before old age caught up with him. It was only last summer and I haven’t been able to shed all the trappings, I’m afraid.â€
–No need to explain yourself. Everyone’s sentimental in his or her own way.â€
–Seems a right shame I inherited a witch’s longevity without any of the other fringe benefits,†Figgy groused.
She was pleasantly surprised how often she ran into the august wizard as she went about her business; although thinking back, she probably shouldn’t have been. He liked trains of all sorts, she soon discovered, sweeping her off on impromptu visits to the seashore. The Cliffs of Dover were a particular favorite, just as the bustling quay with its ferries departing for Calais led him to dream of a day when the train from Victoria Station would cross the channel itself.
–I waiting to see how Muggles manage it; their ingenuity in the face of their limitations is truly astounding,†he confided to Figgy.
–Wouldn’t wizards benefit as well?†she urged.
He shrugged. –Why have a dozen wizards on each side Levitating a locomotive from one shore to the other? It’s not so difficult to master long-distance Apparition -- if one’s familiar with the destination. And for first timers, there’s the International Floo Network.â€
Figgy didn’t mention that her limited experience with Floo Powder had left her pondering whether the convenience outweighed the sensation of being tumbled in a commercial clothes dryer. Not to mention the descriptions of Side-Along Apparition confirmed that a Squib like herself would likely die of a panic attack before reaching her destination.
After one of their forays to the medieval history museums he so loved, Dumbledore surprised her by offering her a new direction in life. It seemed she was ideally suited for a project he had waiting in the wings. What most surprised her was that he offered to install her in a twee semi-detached villa in Surrey. Of course, her cats would be welcome!
He warned her that it would be a very different existence from that in a bustling and anonymous city. This was deep into Muggle territory where the slightest nuance of the magical world would be noticed by inquisitive neighbors. She would have to send her reports via regular post to an address in Dorset. An associate of his would retrieve them.
–Just pretend you’re writing to your Cousin Minnie,†he instructed. –You can be as circumspect as you feel necessary, but I hardly suspect the Muggle post is being intercepted. Much safer than owls in that respect.â€
–And just what will I be reporting? What could manifest itself in the middle of the Muggle jungle, so to speak?â€
He threw back his head at her irreverence. –A diamond that I’ve hidden in the most unlikely of places: among those who will deny its true value.â€
The more Dumbledore told her of the poor orphaned Boy-Who-Lived, the more Figgy identified with Harry’s second-rate status. It was just like her own experiences growing up in a wizarding household. As an only child, she had avoided the sibling bullying, but her cousins had done their best to fill the void.
–Are you so certain little Harry is being treated unfairly?†Figgy prodded. –He seems the ideal playmate for his cousin.â€
–You’re thinking that magical children are raised by Muggle parents all the time,†Dumbledore surmised. –I’m pleased to learn that you bear no ill will towards the Muggle-born.â€
It was something which Figgy had considered in exquisite detail during her younger years. Even with a Muggle husband, there was a better than even chance of her giving birth to a magical child, or so Healers assured her. Only she had never conceived, not with her first two husbands. By the time she’d married the third time, she was too old for childbearing -- although outward appearances said otherwise.
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. –As much as I’d like to take a more optimistic view, we have to prepare for the worst. Harry’s Aunt Petunia felt that the magical world stole her beloved sister from her; when she tried to follow, it slammed the door right in her face. That disappointment has festered into a hatred of all things magical.â€
–Which is why I can never let on that I know anything about the wizarding world,†Figgy concluded.
–Precisely. It could be enough to send the family to relocating elsewhere,†Dumbledore concurred.
For fourteen years, Figgy had played her role well. Even to the point of making Harry despise her obsession with cats. As Dumbledore had warned her, if the lad found her house to be a pleasant refuge, his aunt and uncle would never let the poor boy stay with her when they were away.
That had been the most difficult part of her assignment: allowing Harry to fidget and mope when she longed to give him some much needed comfort and encouragement. It was not easy to get him to talk under those circumstances, but she was able to deduce quite a bit from the things that went unsaid and the helpless glances he often threw to no one in particular.
Then that fateful summer rolled around with the relentless drought that left Figgy’s flowerbeds gasping for water. It had been an ideal vantage point from which to peer into her neighbors’ yards. Once the hosepipe ban was instituted, she had spent most of the following weeks digging up desiccated geraniums in the dead of night, then spending increasingly larger sums to replace them the next day. Whatever it took to keep the Dursley household under surveillance. Dumbledore had assured her he would bear whatever costs she incurred.
That was how she’d discovered that Vernon not only cheated on his diet, but on the watering ban as well. At first she thought it was her dotty neighbor with the French poodles who was obsessed with keeping their coats a pristine white. But instead of finding Mimi and Fifi splashing about their tin basin, she had discovered Vernon’s slavish devotion to his lawn and boxwood hedges. Most every night she’d spy his expansive shadow before his prized hydrangeas, one meaty fist clutched around the hosepipe, the other rising and falling from his mouth like a mighty locomotive piston.
By then things were heating up in the wizarding world as well and Dumbledore’s defensive strategy had been thrown into high gear. Figgy now gave regular reports to the underground organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. It was a long journey by bus and then Underground to arrive at Headquarters in Grimmauld Place, but Figgy relished being at the heart of the wizarding world once again. Granted, the magical charm that hid number thirteen could not be penetrated by a Squib, but there was always a kind face to meet her at the tube platform and escort her the remainder of the way.
In that manner, she came to meet Dedalus Diggle, a gentlemen who might have been her schoolmate had she been allowed to attend Hogwarts as a child. Elphias Doge was closer to Dumbledore’s age so she felt instinctively comfortable with him as well.
The shabby Black townhouse fascinated her with its quaint Victorian furnishings so reminiscent of her own youth. As her knowledge of the inhabitants grew, the murky surroundings came to embody the very schism within the wizarding world. The faded trappings of Sirius’ boyhood sanctum established that it was a house of divided loyalties. By contrast, the firmly locked door of his brother’s room epitomized the questions that still surrounded the lad’s fate. Good manners dictated that the question should be avoided in Sirius’ presence, yet the rumors persisted that young Regulus had been hunted down by his former dark comrades when he attempted to leave their ranks.
Pureblood bias has also divided the family of Sirius’ uncle, Cygnus Black. Two of the daughters were Voldemort’s followers while the third, Andromeda, had been disowned for marrying a Muggle-born wizard, Ted Tonks. It was little wonder that Sirius considered the Tonks family his only true relations.
For such a close-knit group, Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal was a wound that refused to heal. Poor Lily and James Potter who realized too late their fatal mistake in selecting the wrong Secretkeeper. Hard-working Arthur Weasley who’d harbored the true criminal under his own roof, never suspecting the homeless rat he brought home to his sons. Dumbledore himself who’d not only accepted the lies about Sirius’ guilt but then allowed the true culprit to infiltrate Hogwarts’ hallowed halls in the guise of a pet rodent. Even kind-hearted Remus, the only other remaining person who’d known of Pettigrew’s Animagus abilities, had not suspected that Sirius had been imprisoned unjustly.
Or were werewolves so marginalized by society that he had not expressed any doubts openly? Figgy had often wondered about that. For when the Marauder’s Map had confirmed the impossibility that Pettigrew still lived, Remus had been the first to unravel the convoluted trail and welcome Sirius back into the fold. Such compassion had won Figgy over from the start.
As for the unwitting scapegoat, Sirius wore his undeserved infamy like a hairshirt about his once elegant shoulders. His twelve-year stint in Azkaban had etched itself into the corners of his eyes, giving him a more haunted look than belonged on a man in his mid-thirties.
Both Remus and Sirius paid close attention to her reports about Harry’s goings on, taking her aside later to ask more pointed questions. It gladdened Figgy’s heart that these two family friends had taken it upon themselves to be Harry’s mentors, one as his defensive magic instructor, the other as his godfather. It was evident how much the lad’s enforced summer residence in Little Whinging chafed at them both.
It shouldn’t have shocked her that Dumbledore’s egalitarian nature had also included the dodgy Mundungus Fletcher as part of their secret league. ‘Dung was clearly a man who could pass unnoticed in areas where respectable people would be intent on avoiding eye contact. Figgy found that she unconsciously clutched her handbag closer to her body whenever the man was present.
Then there was Severus Snape, the shadow which hovered like a malevolent storm about the periphery. His voice was as deep as an underground tomb and no one dared to comment as he gave his reports. It had not surprised Figgy to learn that Snape had infiltrated their enemy’s camp; more than anyone, he felt like an interloper in theirs. He was a man susceptible to long periods of brooding silence followed by bouts of frantic pacing, always in some out-of-the-way spot. He’d throw Figgy a mighty scowl when she accidentally opened an unfamiliar door in search of the loo. It was only later that she’d come to see him as the understudy hovering in the wings, both anticipating and dreading the day that he might have to step into the leading man’s shoes.
Had she witnessed it for herself, Minerva wouldn’t have been so surprised at being cast aside in favor of Snape’s appointment as Headmaster. It had all been there in the man’s manic pacing. But despite having sent her clandestine weekly reports about the goings on in Little Whinging, Figgy hadn’t really known Minerva well at that juncture. Certainly not well enough to confide what could easily be interpreted as gossip concerning a fellow Order member.
After Albus’ suspicious accident, everyone thought Snape a complete blackguard, certain that his loyalties had belonged with the Death Eaters all along. In retrospect, even Minerva asserted that such a misunderstanding had been essential to keeping the teachers safe. For had they known of Snape’s true allegience, the slightest misstep might have brought everything crashing about their ears before the final defense could be readied.
Truth be told, Figgy had been thinking about Snape’s glowering presence on that blistering summer day as she patted the dirt around her twelfth batch of geraniums. Reminding herself once again that he was just as disdainful to everyone; there was no need to take offense. Take a page out of Sirius’ book and insult the man right back. Figgy doubted she’d ever be that reckless, but she fully understood why everyone relished those rare moments when Sirius gave voice to their own innermost thoughts.
Despite the cloudless, scorching day, the dark thunderhead had materialized in record time. Like a crouching predator, it swallowed the last of the afternoon sunlight before sitting back on its haunches. Her neighbor sighed that a much needed soaking was in store as she shooed her poodles into the house before her.
Figgy was not so certain, not one bit. No thunderstorm had ever made the hair on her arms tingle with foreboding. A sign that a person’s about to be struck by lightning, was her immediate thought as she dashed inside.
Even from the safety of her sitting room, the feeling persisted. Through the window sheers, she could see the cloud had grown even darker as it inched its way to eclipsing a widening patch of evening sky.
Evil feels like this! She knew it in her bones without being told. Had their enemies found a way to strike at Harry after all?
She was not the only one keeping watch on the lad, she reminded herself forcefully. Hestia Jones had been sitting near the curb during most of the afternoon, hidden from view beneath an Invisibility Cloak. At teatime, she’d been replaced by Mundungus who kept grousing about having a conflict of schedule.
–Let me guess,†Hestia huffed at him as she fanned her face mightily. –The PM’s invited you to cocktails at half six.â€
–Never you mind,†‘Dung shot back. –I’ll be gone and back in a thrice.â€
–Dumbledore said no one’s to leave his post,†Figgy argued.
–Dumbledore seems to think I’m a man who can set ‘is own timetable -- but ‘e’d be wrong. Problem is business associates seem to think the same.â€
Figgy shot him a sour look, promising herself that she’d give ‘Dung a piece of her mind if he didn’t take his duties seriously. As soon as his back was turned, she inched open the back door so Mr. Tibbles could make a circuit of the neighborhood. The rangy black cat particularly liked to dig for field mice in the hedgerows at number six.
Figgy’s herbal tea grew tepid in her cup as she gazed abstractedly in the direction of Privet Drive. The thundercloud was a cosmic tar brush poised over the row of identically pitched roofs. She could just discern the edges where it occluded a swath of summer stars. Sensing her restlessness, her other cats meowed piteously as they rubbed against her legs.
A flash of silver was followed almost immediately by a peal of thunder.
Her neighbors to the left ran for shelter, their hands covering the rims of their cocktail glasses to keep the contents from sloshing over the sides. The report of the cat flap announced the return of Mr. Tibbles. He dashed up the stairs as if his very tail were on fire.
In that instant, Figgy knew that things had gone awry in a very major way. And not just because that vile Mundungus Fletcher had taken an unauthorized break. The frisson in the dank air was not a brewing storm as her neighbors believed, it was magic held in check. Malevolent magic.
With grim determination, Figgy threw a handful of cat food tins into the mesh bag she took to the market. It was the best weapon she could fashion at a moment’s notice. With naught but a threadbare cardigan to protect her against the elements, she took off at a trot in the direction of the playground where she had last seen Harry heading.
Darkness had fallen in earnest when she spied both him and his cousin ducking into the short alley that emptied into Magnolia Crescent. Beyond the street lights, an impenetrable blackness pooled. The air thickened with malice as it whooshed past Figgy’s shoulder and swept in the boys’ direction. Never had she felt such debilitating despair. She barely caught herself against a fence post as she slipped in a puddle of ice.
ICE? How was such a thing possible when the temperatures had been soaring close to the 100 degree mark just minutes before?
She surveyed her surroundings critically. An overturned bicycle spun a lazy wheel to the heavens. The contents of a water bottle was turning to milky ice on the pavement before her, but no hailstones had fallen from the sky. Now that was pecul--
Before she could finish the thought, the full truth made her stagger against the fence post anew.
DEMENTORS. Right here and now. Right in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood!
Figgy recalled the drawings of the loathsome creatures she’d seen in the books her cousins had gleefully shared with her. The skeletal hands, the ragged cloaks…
The fetid breath of rotting bones assailed her nostrils as another creature sped right past her. Now that she knew what they were; she could see their contours as barely discernable shadows against the surrounding structures.
Without a thought to her own safety, Figgy willed her lethargic muscles into action. She had to warn Harry and Dudley!
With the street lamps sputtering at her back, she found Harry bending over a large, twisted gunnysack. Dudley had been so overcome with fear that his eyes were practically rolling back into his head. If he thought her a barmy old woman who’d left for the market with her slippers on, Harry never said. He nodded grimly at her terse words of advice, then staggered as best he could under the weight of his cousin.
An orange patch of light up ahead signified the front door of number six. Petunia’s cries of dismay and Vernon’s wild accusations spilled into the night, convincing Figgy it was finally safe to return to her own house.
When she gave a full accounting to Dumbledore later that evening, he concurred with her analysis. Such a huge violation of the Statute of Secrecy could only mean that someone very powerful was involved.
Promising he would deal with Mundungus personally, Dumbledore complimented Figgy on her quick thinking, stressing that not everyone could be relied upon to know when the situation was serious enough to merit breaking cover. Now that Harry knew the truth, she would be called upon to bear testimony at the unfortunate lad’s hearing.
–Hearing? I only told him that so he’d recognize the need to head home immediately!†she decried. –What did he do other than save his cousin’s undeserving arse?â€
Dumbledore chuckled at that, but his eyes were deadly serious. –He used magic in front of a Muggle. Under-aged magic.â€
–Would those lummoxes rather his cousin endure a fatal kiss?†Figgy railed.
Dumbledore’s reply was even more chilling. –I doubt that’s it at all. My guess is that the accusations are merely the cover up of an attempt on Harry’s life.â€
–But that’s --â€
–Monstrous? Unconscionable? Ruthless? There’s all manner of adjectives I could employ without getting to the heart of the matter.â€
–Then who?â€
–It might be more than one,†Dumbledore opined darkly. –That’s why we need to play along with the legal charade for the time being. Hopefully, the culprit will show his hand at some point. To jump in too soon is setting ourselves up as the next targets. You in particular, Arabella, living alone as you do. Mere burglar alarms won’t keep these ruffians at bay.â€
–I don’t know what good my testimony will do,†Figgy moaned. –They’ll just say that Squibs can’t see dementors.â€
–Many can’t. What about in your case?â€
Through wooden lips, Figgy described the sensations she’d felt. How she had correctly concluded that dementors were present and the faint outline she could distinguish when the creatures passed before a dark background.
–Too much detail,†Dumbledore declared. –Those nitpickers will just twist your words. You must be firm and concise, Arabella. Say you saw them and be done with it.â€
–I can do that,†she promised with a hammering heart.
She hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to Harry as an elite force spirited him away a few days later. By the time she made it to her back garden to wave, the broomsticks were just specks against the sunset. At the next Order meeting, she was accosted by Sirius’ bubbly young cousin, Nymphadora Tonks.
–Wotcher, ‘bella,†she issued, then winced at the result. –Sorry, Mrs. Figg. It’s just that I have an aunt…â€
–Bellatrix Lestrange,†Figgy replied with a gentle smile. –Every family has its black sheep. It’s best you keep with Arabella, dear, even though it can be a hefty mouthful.â€
–True,†Tonks acknowledged, flashing a quick look to Remus for support.
–Tell her,†Remus urged as he drew up to join them. –No one else should take credit for your idea.â€
With a deep breath, Tonks started anew, –I wanted to thank you for the inspiration, see. Your little aside about Vernon watering his lawn in the dead of night just made me so mad, I had to get even.â€
–Did you seed it with those voracious worms that eat ground cover?†Figgy replied as the image from her cousin’s text came to mind.
–No, but I should have,†Tonks acknowledged with a small pout.
–Oh, for Godric’s sake,†Remus interjected. –Tonks was more subtle than that. She sent Vernon a letter advising him that he’d won first place in a highly selective gardening competition. Even the nominations are secret. â€
–The All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Contest,†Tonks corrected proudly. –They left Harry behind to attend the awards banquet on the night we came to get him.â€
–Where did you send the Dursleys?†Figgy asked through her laughter. No wonder Vernon had been so surly the next day when she’d expected him to be rejoicing that Harry-the-freeloader had left for another year.
–Dunno. Sirius came up with the address.â€
At the mention of his name, Sirius poked his head around the corner. –Bits and pieces from several street maps I found lying about. I dare say those Muggles burned up a whole tank of petrol in frustration.†Placing a congenial arm over Figgy’s shoulder, he drew her away from the others, –Now about those worms, do you know where I can get my hands on a few? There’s this one prank we dreamed up while still at school…â€
She hadn’t expected Minerva to offer her the post of Muggle Studies instructor in the wake of Voldemort’s defeat. After all, she hadn’t any teaching experience.
–Just because absolutely anyone would be preferable to that Death Eater from last year,†Figgy commented wryly.
–That Carrow witch didn’t teach Muggle Studies; she taught institutionalized hatred,†Minerva asserted.
–Even so. Didn’t the previous teacher, Mrs. Burbage, have credentials from a Muggle school?â€
Minerva nodded sadly. –She was a Muggle to boot. The genuine article, as Albus used to proudly declare.â€
Figgy’s curiosity got the better of her. –How did you manage to circumvent the Statute of Secrecy?â€
–Charity had married a wizard considerably older than herself. When he passed on, she was left at a crossroads of sorts. Didn’t want to turn her back on the wizarding world, yet had no real standing in it.â€
–Let me guess, Dumbledore found her.â€
Minerva shrugged. –He seemed to have a sixth sense about such things.â€
–Surely there are other Muggles in similar circumstances,†Figgy suggested.
–It was a mistake to hire a Muggle,†Minerva insisted with a noticeable trace of anger.
Minerva didn’t seem the type of harbor such prejudices, so Figgy latched onto the next best thing, –Afraid some parents will object?â€
Minerva shook her head. –Charity’s naiveté contributed to her death, sad to say. Just read the final report from Kingsley Shacklebolt. She was purposely abducted by Death Eaters who wanted to replace her.†The staid Headmistress took a moment to compose her thoughts, her hands trembling as she folded them before her. –Before you say that the same thing could’ve happened to anyone of us, you need to hear the rest. Since she had only been shown kindness from wizards in the past, Charity went along willingly; it’s all in the testimony given by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The poor woman was further defiled and tortured as a test of loyalty before Voldemort’s inner circle. The report details how she cried out for mercy, begging Severus Snape to save her, calling upon the fact that they had once been colleagues. Severus had no choice but to ignore her pleas or who knows what worse monster would’ve been installed as Headmaster.â€
Figgy was left speechless. Such atrocities belonged in the Holocaust Death Camps, not in the banquet room at Malfoy Manor. –I see your point, Minerva,†she finally managed. –I’ll make a go at teaching Muggle Studies. Just don’t feel you can’t replace me if someone better suited comes along.â€
It wasn’t long after that Ron and Hermione filled her in on the last moments of Snape’s life. He’d been but one more rung on the ladder for Voldemort, his death as insignificant as that of a meddlesome mosquito. In that moment, Figgy revised her estimation of the dour Potions Master and double agent. He wasn’t an understudy at all, but rather Sydney Carton on his way to the guillotine in A Tale of Two Cities, all for the love of a woman who’d married another. How his inner turmoil must’ve raged at the difficult sacrifices demanded of him!
Figgy didn’t get many visitors on the far outskirts of the village. An occasional student or two on a Hogsmeade weekend. Aberforth returning one of her cats who’d wandered too near his goat pen. Mostly, it was Neville escorting her through the Floo and back again, but even that was infrequent during the summer term break.
So she’d been caught off guard when the tawny post owl swooped through her garden window. It perched atop her dish cupboard and stared disdainfully down at the milling cats below. Swatting the more adventurous ones with a handy tea towel, Figgy perched on a chair to untie the bundle from the bird’s leg.
Much to her surprise, there was a letter complete with standard postage stamps rolled into a tight tube. The postmark indicated it had been mailed weeks before. Who knew how many rural post offices had handled it before someone knew just where Hogsmeade, Scotland was located? Likely other communities had a Primrose Cottage but not one on Shrivelfig Lane; it was the very coincidence of it that had drawn Figgy in the first place.
It was from her nephew, Randolph, wanting to come for a visit. He and his wife would be taking a short holiday from the relentless pace of London life. Marjorie had always dreamed of attending the annual theatre festival in Edinburgh. Could Figgy send him more detailed directions to her cottage? Should he hire a motorcar?
She drew a hasty map according to the instructions Aberforth gave her. Muggles could approach the adjoining countryside down a disused track, but they would have to detour the long way around Hogsmeade village. Not that they’d see much other than a dilapidated barn and some abandoned stables -- or so she’d been told.
–How do parents manage to attend the graduation ceremonies at the school then?†Figgy interrupted him with sudden curiosity. –Lots of Muggle-borns these days.â€
Aberforth nodded. –Minerva outdid herself to make sure they would feel welcome. Seems she found an old notation of Albus’ wherein he outlined how he’d crafted a special amulet for Charity Burbage, see.â€
–Of course, she was a Muggle, too. How could I have overlooked that detail?â€
–Because you and old man Filch can see the castle like ordinary wizards and witches. That in itself bears witness that Squibs are part of the magical community. Your nephew isn’t a Squib as well, by any chance?â€
Figgy shook her head. –Just the only one that I had to let in on my secret. Otherwise, how could I explain that I had outlived his grandmother?â€
–Then he’s your…†Aberforth scratched his scraggly beard as he tried to do the calculations in his head.
–Dolph’s actually my great-great-nephew,†Figgy allowed. –But all those ‘greats’ just make me think there’s a chasm between us. Why bother to be so stringently precise?â€
–Well, you won’t have to worry about him running afoul of the Black Lake. That whole area is seeded with Muggle Repelling Charms. He’ll just wonder why all the tracks that lead to that mossy ruin atop the cliff seem to double-back. Then in the next heartbeat, he’ll forget all about having seen the ancient battlements in the first place.â€
–Expect it would look a lot like it did after the Final Battle,†Figgy mused.
–Imagine moss instead of the charred remnants of Fiendfyre.â€
Figgy shivered involuntarily. They had come so close to annihilation when you got down to it. A band of misfits and visionaries against an army of hatred. Not a single day went by that she didn’t stop to think how truly lucky she had been to survive. She couldn’t say the same for the younger ranks of the Order of the Phoenix; they’d been wiped out almost to a man.
As promised Dolph arrived at midday, the roar of his motorbike setting the neighbors’ chickens to squawking in their pens.
Interesting choice,Figgy couldn’t help thinking. Folks ‘round here still remember Hagrid’s prized motorbike. Won’t give this one a second thought, more than likely.
–So where’s Marjorie?†she inquired as she released him from a tight hug.
Dolph gave a casual shrug. –Left her with two old school mates in the heart of the theatre district. Bit of a hen party, to tell the truth. Gave me a chance to enjoy the open air and sunshine.†He didn’t have to add that Marjorie would never have traveled on the back of a motorbike.
Such deliberate nonchalance alerted Figgy that there was likely more to the story, but she had long ago learned not to delve too deeply. Marjorie might indeed be sipping tea with her girlfriends or have returned to their London flat in a huff; rows between these two were all too common. Dolph was too obsessed with his work and Marjorie had been unsuccessful at starting a family to occupy her time.
–You’ll just have to eat enough for two,†Figgy scolded playfully. She helped him to hang his jacket and helmet on a peg then detoured by the kitchen to check on lunch.
–Is that roast partridge I smell?†Dolph took a deep whiff of the aroma as Figgy shut the oven door. –You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble, Auntie.â€
–No trouble at all,†Figgy replied as she shooed him out of the kitchen. –Good friend’s a gamekeeper in these parts.â€
–I suppose you’ve all sorts of new friends you can’t rightly tell me about,†Dolph teased.
–Never you mind,†Figgy returned. –You know the restrictions just as well as anyone else.â€
–Can you at least tell me what made you decide to relocate to these parts?†Dolph inquired as they sat down to lunch among the flowering trellises in the back garden.
Helping herself to some rolls, Figgy supplied her stock response, –Surely you remember the subterranean pipe explosion? Took out a close neighbor’s house; lucky thing the family was away on holiday.â€
Dolph nodded through a mouthful of savory blackberry and thyme dressing. –Dreadful negligence on the part of the developer. Don’t they check these things before they plan their townhouse communities?â€
–One would think so.â€
–So why here? In Scotland, that is.â€
–Housing prices are sky-high near London. Caught me quite by surprise, all things considered.â€
–Why the bucolic splendor?â€
–And just how many times did you tell me that the fumes from the nearby motorway were hazardous to breathe on a daily basis?†Figgy bantered in return.
–Enough times to know that you never took me seriously, Auntie.†He gave her a look over the rim of his glass that said she wasn’t fooling him.
Choosing her words carefully, Figgy replied, –I was offered a post teaching young people about the things you and I take for granted. A friend needed to fill a vacancy in short order and I found that I liked it enough to stay on. It’s nice to feel needed.â€
Before Dolph could delve further, Figgy wisely changed the subject. –How goes your job in London?â€
–Challenging,†he sighed.
–Times are challenging everywhere -- if one accepts what they write in the papers.â€
–It’s particularly bad in the investment field. It only takes a scoundrel or two to tarnish even the most reputable houses.â€
–Are you still in charge of marketing and adverts?â€
–A thankless job that no one in their right mind would take on,†Dolph admitted hollowly.
As her nephew expounded on the monetary woes that plagued the world’s economy, Figgy couldn’t help thinking how the Muggle world so often presented a distorted mirror of the events that consumed wizardkind. While a despot like Voldemort tried to usurp the dignity of those he saw as beneath him, Muggles practiced economic warfare wherein those with the most resources continually preyed upon those with the least. As the tides of power ebbed and flowed, it was all ordinary folk could do to keep from being victimized from all sides.
After a dessert of ginger plum tarts, a rich, dark tea provided a welcome counterpoint. The honey jar used as sweetener soon attracted a few rather outraged bees from the nearby flowers.
–We must seem like monsters in their midst…†Figgy began.
Only to be cut short by a vigorous shaking of the nearby hedgerows. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the shrubbery was uprooting its feet in preparation for a stroll. Surely, Neville’s unique repelling charms continued to keep the garden gnomes at bay.
–A stray cat perhaps, Auntie,†Dolph suggested as he pushed back his chair to investigate.
–I’m not running a regular Shangri-la here,†Figgy protested.
–Maybe he took a wrong turn at Katmandu!†Dolph sniggered at his own abysmal pun.
The shaking came again, this time loosening a cascade of sweet pea petals to float like fat pink snowflakes among the remnants of their lunch.
Sweet Merlin, it couldn’t be! Figgy barely stifled a very unladylike curse. After all the meticulous preparations she’d made, canvasing the house from top to bottom for any scrap of magical paraphernalia.
How forlorn the mantlepiece looked without its assortment of moving photographs and Chocolate Frog cards depicting her fallen comrades from the Order. No one would question spent fireplace ashes in Scotland, not even in the midst of summer; but sparkling green flakes were another thing altogether. All had been secreted under the attic floorboards, safe even from inquisitive kitty claws.
All undone in the presence of the genuine article! she fumed silently.
–Shoo! Shoo, I say, you pesky little Hufflepuffs!†a shrill cry came from beyond the back gate.
Please let it be anyone but Sybill. Anyone else would take the hint and leave them be.
But Dolph was too much of a gentleman to abandon a damsel, regardless of how gawky and singularly strange she might be.
–Thank you, young man,†Sybill uttered as she hugged her spindly arms around her middle. –You must be Arabella’s nephew. I’m Sybill.â€
–Come join us,†Dolph issued graciously as he pulled another chair to the dainty table. –We don’t mind, do we, Auntie?â€
–Not at all,†Figgy replied with a pained smile. Why should that old bat be so bloody curious about that which didn’t concern her? Couldn’t she watch the goings on in her crystal orb, anyway? –Come to borrow some sugar?â€
–No, thank you,†Sybill returned. –I always take my coffee black.â€
–Then you’re bound to be disappointed,†Dolph supplied. –This is tea.â€
Sybill wrinkled her nose distastefully.
–Not your favorite, I take it,†Dolph chuckled.
–Consider it an occupational hazard,†Sybill explained in a breezy manner.
Intrigued by the eccentric visitor, Dolph leaned back in his chair and pressed, –And just how could tea be an occupational hazard?â€
Hoping to avert the train wreck that was fast approaching, Figgy interjected, –Sybill reads tea leaves.â€
–A hobby?†Dolph inquired guilelessly.
–For a living,†Sybill corrected. –A skill that’s near impossible to teach to anyone else.â€
–Why would you want to? More job security that way,†Dolph observed.
–Perhaps if I worked in a sideshow, young man. But my contract requires that I share the gifts I inherited from my forebearers with the younger generation.â€
Perhaps if she dispatched a stealthy owl to Aberforth, he could perform a quick Oblivation Spell, Figgy considered in near panic.
But her nephew took it all with a grain of salt. –You must be a fellow teacher from Auntie’s school. No details please; don’t let a Muggle like me upset the status quo.â€
–Sybill, might I have a word?†Figgy implored as she motioned towards the kitchen door. –I could use a hand with carting all these dishes.â€
Once inside the thick stucco walls, Figgy rounded on her impromptu visitor. –What are you trying to do? Shatter the Statute of Secrecy?â€
–One could ask you the same question,†Sybill noted dryly. –It’s narry a Muggle who recognizes that he is one.â€
–Dolph only knows the bare minimum! Other than their singular longevity, Squibs don’t have many magical secrets. You, on the other hand….â€
–Know enough to keep my wand in its holster,†Sybill sniffed. –Don’t forget I once earned a living in a Muggle carnival.â€
–Then why did you…?â€
Sybill’s eye wandering in the direction of the sherry decanter said it all.
–Just let me pour for once,†Figgy insisted with a look of warning.
The diminutive glasses passed around, Sybill adjusted her voluminous skirts with the unmistakable air of a duchess. Over the rim of his glass, Dolph eyed the woman who provided a rare glimpse into his aunt’s secretive world.
–What does a formidable soothsayer like yourself see of the world around us?†he ventured, eyes dancing with mischief.
Before Figgy could interceded, Sybill cut him short with, –The majority are idiots masquerading as prize stallions. Avarice and greed are the currency of the land. Hard work a sentence pronounced over those who refuse to swindle their neighbors.â€
Dolph gave a mighty guffaw, nearly overturning his half-empty glass. –You don’t need a crystal ball to see that!â€
–Who said I did?†Sybill rejoined.
–Then economic forecasts are not your cup of tea?â€
–Absolutely not! We have go… gentlemen bankers for that.â€
–Pity,†Dolph admitted. –I could use a talent for prognostication in my line of work.â€
–Do you play the ponies, as the saying goes?†Sybill countered.
–In a manner of speaking,†Dolph acquiesced.
–Dolph is in advertising,†Figgy hastily supplied.
–I’m supposed to make a winner of anything,†he explained. –In reality, it’s rarely so simple. The public is fickle.â€
Sybill tilted her head in thought, reminding Figgy of a curious bird with luminous, large eyes. –Why don’t your adverts tell the truth? You’d sleep better for once.â€
Dolph blinked uncertainly at the strange woman’s unexpected frankness. –No one would buy the product,†he conceded.
–Then peddle something worthwhile,†Sybill retorted. –Muggles revel in their zillions of gadgets, each billed as indispensable as the next.â€
–You have a surprising grasp of the concept of advertising,†Dolph mused.
–Wizards call it Compulsion,†Sybill harrumphed. –And it’s illegal to place such a spell on items one wishes to sell.â€
Figgy barely suppressed an internal groan. That crossed into verboten territory; she’d have to ask Sybill to perform an Obliviation at the end of Dolph’s visit. With that remedy in mind, Figgy boldly ventured, –Magical goods must rely on their own merit. It’s rather refreshing really.â€
–Are you implying I’d have no place among your colleagues, Auntie?†Dolph teased with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
–An able young man such as yourself?†Sybill scoffed. –You’d soon find a better use for your talents.â€
–Such as?†he wanted to know.
Sybill stiffened. –My Inner Eye does not provide career counseling.â€
–But all I’ve ever known is packaging a product to appeal to the masses.†Dolph’s upturned hands made him appear innocent. Figgy knew better, but Sybill failed to recognize that he was drawing her out purposely.
–And just what do you sell, young man?â€
With an air that implied he’d already sized up his audience, Dolph provided, –I sell dreams. Aspirations. The means to an end.â€
–Rubbish!†Sybill declared. –Not even magic promises happiness!â€
–Perhaps not,†Dolph allowed. –But a savvy investor can watch his capital grow until he has the wherewithal to buy whatever he desires.â€
–Money schemes are outlawed the world over,†Sybill denounced from the bottom of her sherry glass. –It’s been a major sore point for the leprechaun community for ages.â€
Much to her surprise, Dolph threw back his head and laughed. –I try to limit myself to the legitimate investment houses. Although it’s getting harder and harder to tell them apart.â€
Seeing that the conversation was careening like a drunken lorry driver, Figgy proposed, –Why don’t you show Sybill some of your mock-ups, Dolph? She might enjoy that idea you mentioned earlier.â€
It didn’t take much for Dolph to retrieve his oversized leather portfolio. He displayed the glossy cardboard to which was affixed a photograph of Figgy with her most accommodating smile. The caption read: Would your auntie steer you wrong?
–What precisely are you trying to hoodwink the public into buying?†Sybill denounced.
–An investment portfolio,†Dolph returned with the air of a confidence man. –Selling trust as it were.â€
–And are these particular investors more capable that most?†Figgy demanded. –Seeing as how my likeness is involved.â€
Dolph shrugged nonchalantly. –No better or worse than their competitors. They’re not cheating their clients, if that’s what you mean.â€
–I think Arabella needs more than that if you’re intent on involving her,†Sybill insisted. Turning to the other woman, she posed directly, –Would you invest your nest egg with this firm?â€
–Perhaps if I had any capital worth investing,†Figgy hedged. –But I barely keep my head afloat as it is.â€
–One investment house is very like another,†Dolph admitted. –Although I trust you ladies will deny I ever said that. There’s never any guarantee that you’ll become a millionaire overnight, but knowledgeable investors are apt to pick more winners than losers.â€
–Since you can’t say that you’re better than your competitors, you’re simply begging the public to trust you,†Sybill surmised.
Dolph nodded his head emphatically. –Exactly.â€
–Then you’re doomed to failure,†Sybill projected. –The public is not as guileless as you presume. A maidenly aunt, forgive the expression, is not a reliable judge of money matters.â€
–I tried to tell you as much earlier,†Figgy emphasized. –I know it’s a tough sell, but is that really the only idea you’ve got?â€
Dolph took a final swig of his sherry as he surveyed the two disapproving faces trained on him. –Not unless Sybill here is able to predict which stocks will rise...â€
–Well, I never!†Sybill cried as she took rather shakily to her feet. She was really quite tall when her shoulders weren’t rounded over a crystal ball. –Even if I could, I’d be arrested by the authorities.â€
–Even talk of such a thing is risky,†Figgy hissed under her breath.
–Ah, but you ladies misunderstand my intentions,†Dolph replied with the beginnings of a self-satisfied smirk. –I only peddle dreams. And what’s more easily associated with making our wishes come true that a skilled fortune teller?â€
Examining the final product, it was clear why Dolph has received a bonus. Figgy allowed that the advert has turned out much better than she’d imagined.
Despite her eyes being enhanced by layers of artfully applied make-up, Sybill looked as bewildered as ever from behind her thick spectacles. The jingle of the gold coins lining her scarves was practically audible as she extended a crystal ball towards the camera. Reflected in the shiny orb was the staid front of the investment house; probably a trick that had been added in the photo lab. The caption read: Forget the bean counters. Only we offer advice from the renowned Madam Voula, psychic to kings and potentates the world over.
Of course, the Muggle Liaison Office had insisted Sybill sign a lengthy contract specifying that she would be lending her likeness for photographic purposes only, no personal appearances permitted. No prophesying of any sort was to take place nor was Sybill to be involved in the day-to-day activities of the Muggle investment firm. A representative from the Interspecies Goblin Council had made certain that the banking expertise of Gringotts and the like would not be encroached upon nor maligned by Sybill’s activities.
As the sole Muggle present for the negotiations, Dolph had subjected himself to a mandatory Memory Modification afterwards. The trained expert from the elite Obliviation Squad had adjusted the images so artfully that Dolph only remembered having Sybill sign a standard contract. He would never recall that a subtle spell was attached to his signature to prevent him from seeing Sybill as anything other than a clever actress.
–Well, I have to admit,†the Headmistress commented over an afternoon tea with the teaching staff. –I never expected Sybill to land herself a modeling contract.â€
Sybill’s strained laughter was unmistakable to Figgy’s ear. –The Muggles were begging to be duped,†she supplied. –I was just being agreeable.â€
Pomona harrumphed into her teacup.
–I only helped Arabella’s nephew find his way through a fog of Muggle consumerism,†Sybill defended.
–That’s why I granted you permission this once, dear,†Minerva concurred with a courtly air. –Teachers are not prohibited from supplementing their earnings over the summer term break as long as a certain level of decorum is maintained. But we must be very careful about how we collaborate with Muggles. Is that understood?â€
Her sharp eyes raked over the assemblage to make certain everyone returned a nod of acknowledgement.
Then with a distinct twinkle in her eye, Minerva tittered, –I will not be so generous if Aurora took it upon herself to represent a toy telescope company, for instance.â€
–Why, dear lady, she could be held liable if the ruddy contraptions were used to spy on a neighbor instead!†Horace chuckled.
–Just don’t go peddling second-rate Amortentia to the lovelorn,†Vima Vector shot back. –That’s an infraction under the Statute of Secrecy!â€
As Horace quickly back-pedaled, Romanda ventured, –Then I’d best not endorse those suction machines Muggles use instead of brooms these days.â€
Amid the escalating laughter, Filius offered, –And Madame Pince should avoid the allure of encyclopedias; after all, the wizarding world is grossly misrepresented.â€
Not to be excluded, Pomona chimed in, –No miracle fertilizer revenues for me, then.â€
–What about poor Professor Binns?†Hagrid chuckled, even though the ghost tended to avoid staff functions, especially those involving food and drink. –Is he bein’ overlooked once again?â€
–And what products do you envision a ghost representing?†Augusta countered. –No Muggle camera could capture his image.â€
–Why spot remover, o’ course!†Hagrid chortled.
–So I’ll have to shelve my plans for Every Muggle’s Guide to the Wizarding World,†Figgy joked. –It just a working title anyway.â€
–Unless you’re looking to cross over into the encyclopedia category and step on Irma’s toes!†Filius chortled.
–I don’t See any of those adverts succeeding,†Sybill pronounced with a sense of finality. –Muggles are unduly superstitious when it comes to financial issues. My likeness just made the most of that.â€
–Never underestimate the power of humor to sell a product,†Minerva whispered into Figgy’s ear.
No doubt about it, Figgy concurred silently, a cork floating in water was more reliable forecasting tool than Sybill Trelawney.
As usual, the joke was lost on the short-sighted seer.